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oliversrarebooks · 3 months

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The Rare Bookseller Part 37: Alexander's Housekeeper

Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control, mentions of abuse and murder

Just as Oliver had feared on his first night, it was far too easy to get used to living in a vampire's manor.

He'd spent the past few nights utterly engrossed in the books Alexander had picked out for him, primers on the supernatural world and its history. Oliver had always had a fascination for material like this, for horror stories and medieval descriptions of witchcraft and pictures of fairies at the bottoms of gardens, but he'd logically seen it all as just entertaining curiosities. Now he wanted to devour everything related to the strange new world he'd found himself in.

Naturally, he was focusing on information about vampires -- their strengths and weaknesses, their culture and habits. He learned that only blood taken fresh from live humans could truly sustain them -- bottled blood of the sort found in his master's icebox was at best a temporary salve to hunger, and animal blood did very little. It also was clear that very few vampires held moral objections to taking thralls. At least according to the vampiric author of the book he was reading, any vampire of means would have a handful of them in the household, usually taking the roles of servants and pets.

He remembered what Alexander had said in the auction house, that it had been months since he'd had a fresh human. If he were speaking the truth, he must have been starving and weak. That did track -- he had looked so utterly exhausted and spent when Oliver had arrived, and acted so much like a starving man when he'd fed. And now that he had fed, he was very obviously healthier and in better spirits.

The strange part was that a vampire that clearly had so much wealth went so long without sufficient blood. His master had remarked several times now that he hadn't been prepared to take a thrall, and that Oliver's situation had forced his hand. Why not, though? If moral considerations and money were clearly no object, what reason did he have for depriving himself? Given his power, why hadn't he taken Oliver from his bookshop the moment he decided he wanted him?

And what had happened to his previous thralls?

Perhaps he might get a chance to ask his master himself.

"Well, now, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Oliver whipped around to see a complete stranger, a curly-haired man with a dusty blouse and a curious expression. He was grinning and baring her fangs. Oliver's heart raced -- what was another vampire doing here? Did his master know? He must, or so Oliver hoped, but he couldn't help but shrink himself against the shelves in fear.

"What a rich morsel Lord Alexander's found. Not every day I come across a thrall like you," he said, putting an arm on the shelves next to Oliver, blocking his means of escape. "Wonder if the lord of the house would mind me taking a taste."

"Please don't, sir," he said. Being fed on by his master was one thing, being fed on by a strange vampire with unknown intentions was quite another. "I think my Master -- I don't think you should --"

He laughed, loud and long, and backed off. "You know I'm just yanking your chain, right? I'm not going to eat you. Lord Alexander would fire me on the spot, if he didn't ram a stake straight through my heart."

Oliver let out his anxious breath as he remembered who this person must be, the vampire housekeeper that Alexander had mentioned. "So -- you're not going to --"

"I'm Kenny. I keep the place tidy and do the lord's laundry and such. And it looks like I'll be cleaning up for his pretty little thrall, now," he said, and Oliver wasn't sure how he felt about that designation. "Honestly, it's about time he got a new one. Whoever heard of a vampire lord who doesn't have any thrall? I think he was even drinking bottled blood."

"That's... bad, right, sir?"

"I mean... I drink bottled blood a lot, yeah, but that's because I've only been a vampire for a few years and I'm poor as dirt. Can't afford a fancy thrall, too much of a coward to go get my own and risk hunters. At least bottled blood sates the urge for a little bit," he said. "If I were a rich lord, I'd have a whole mansion full of thralls at my beck and call. A different flavor of blood for every day of the week, and they'd all be attractive, too."

"So do you know what happened to Master's last thrall, sir?" Oliver asked, before Kenny lost himself in his fantasy world, seizing on the opportunity to get some of his questions answered.

"Oh, yeah, Henry? Awful thing. Got killed by a jealous vampire, from what I heard." He leaned in a little too close to Oliver. "I assume that vampire's dead now. Lord Alexander's not a vampire I'd like to cross. Not a bad boss, though."

"How long have you --"

"I see you've met my new thrall," said a deep voice from behind Kenny. "I hope you understand that his blood is not part of your compensation."

Alexander was barely taller than Kenny, and significantly scrawnier, but Kenny still was immediately cowed. "I'm not harming a hair on his delicious little head, sir," he said, bowing meekly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"See that you don't. And refrain from terrorizing him as well, in the future."

"Yes, sir."

"And make sure you do a thorough job of cleaning the main bed and bath on the second floor from now on, and do any laundry left out for you. I won't have my thrall living in squalor."

"Yes, sir, understood."

"...I'll increase your pay, to compensate for the additional time."

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Kenny, his face lighting up. "Between rent and saving up for a thrall of my own, I can always use the money. I'll go clean the new thrall's quarters right away, sir."

He scurried away, and Alexander fell sideways into an overstuffed leather couch. "Are you doing well this evening, Oliver?"

Any of Oliver's unease melted away in his master's comforting presence. "I feel very well, sir. How are you? Is there any way I can be of service?"

His master's smile was relaxed, and he looked so much more at ease than Oliver had ever remembered, even when he was patronizing the bookshop. "Not at all, you're doing quite enough, and I hate to interrupt your reading," he said. "But if you don't mind, I would appreciate your company by the fire. The nights are starting to grow chill, and it's quite agreeable to have one's thrall near."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver eagerly, sitting next to Alexander on the couch, and feeling a soft thrill as his master beckoned him closer, close enough that they were brushing up against each other. His master gently pet his hair before cracking open a book and settling in to read.

Oliver picked up his own book, relaxing with the warm fire and the proximity of his master. A perfect scene of contentment.

Except for the one thing that had been worrying him and stealing his focus...

His master did seem like he was in a good mood. This might be a good time to press him.

"Excuse me, sir," said Oliver, "I don't mean to interrupt your reading, but could I ask you a question?"

Alexander's eyebrows raised, and the look on his face suggested that Oliver's request was about to be denied. "Very well," he said, after a long moment. "But I might advise against asking questions if you suspect you won't like the answers."

Oliver felt a small twist, a spark. "With all respect, Master, I prefer to know the truth regardless."

"That's admirable. Truly," said Alexander, looking surprised. "Lily really did do a fine job with you -- I appreciate that you can push back. I've been lacking that, lately. Too far up in my own head. She'd put it in much more vulgar terms, of course." He sat up. "Ask, then, but understand that many things are better kept private."

Oliver felt relieved that they had an understanding of sorts. "What happened to your last thrall, sir?" he said bluntly.

Alexander let out a sharp laugh. "Of course that's the first thing you'd ask. I can't say I blame you. I'd want to know the same in your shoes." He sat in silent thought for a moment. "He was killed by a vampire."

His heart pounded. "Why, sir?"

"It was the doing of my sire. Most of the misfortune that befalls me is," Alexander said. "I haven't been eager to have this conversation, but you should know about him."

Despite his curiosity, Oliver was getting the feeling once more that he was in over his head.

Previous >> Masterlist >> Next

The Bookseller parts have been getting longer and longer, so I've been splitting them up so I can return to a more regular posting schedule. 1-2K words a week was possible, 3-4K words a week was pushing it. Hopefully I'll be able to post a part a week along with asks and side stories!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader

#whump #whump writing #vampire #mind control #vampire whumper #rare bookseller #alexander #oliver

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greatbritishsimchallenge · 4 months

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"Cassian! I have amazing news!" beamed Elizabeth.

"Is that so, my love? Pray tell!"

"I'm pregnant!"

Cassian hugged Elizabeth and began to rub his hands over her bump, "How far along are you? This is... a sizeable bump."

"I don't know much about these things, sweetie. Must have been from one of our spirited love-making sessions a while back and it's just taken me a minute to realise."

"But we didn't make love in a manner that could bear children until quite recently?" asked Cassian, confused.

"What are you talking about?" laughed Elizabeth, "We've been at it since long before our wedding day! It's honestly a wonder this hasn't happened already."

"No, but -" Cassian tried to interrupt, but Elizabeth quickly covered him in kisses.

"Oh, you are going to be such a wonderful father, I can't wait! I must dash, sweetheart, I have a riding lesson booked and you know how fussy the squires get if you're late. Honestly, you'd think the mood of the horse was more important than my own!"

Before Cassian could challenge her further, Elizabeth had left.

Cassian sought out Henry to ask his thoughts.

"Perhaps she is right, father. Perhaps you just forgot one of your particular episodes with her? You have been rather active, after all."

"Maybe I am just becoming forgetful in my old age..." Cassian replied, unconvinced. "I'll try talking to her again when she returns from riding."

Hearing that Elizabeth was out riding, Henry quickly shifted tact.

"Although," he added cautiously, "If you are that concerned, I wouldn't wait. Perhaps she didn't feel able to speak openly in the castle - the walls have too many ears. Perhaps in the privacy of the woods she might feel able to be more honest?"

Cassian nodded sombrely, "I suppose... I'll go talk to her. I'm probably wrong, but... something just feels off."

"Better to be sure with these things," Henry agreed. As he watched his father leave, Henry felt a cautious happiness build within him.

Story continues under the cut (NSFW: sex, murder, domestic violence against women)

It took Cassian some time to find Elizabeth. Eventually it was the noise that drew him to her; at first it sounded like the intense rustling of animals fighting, then the noises became distinctly more human and sounded like moaning and groaning. Concerned she might be hurt, Cassian rushed towards the sound and halted to an abrupt stop when he was able to see the source of noise.

Cassian watched Elizabeth rolling around in the grass with her lover, his rage building as she failed to notice that she was being watched. As he watched, he thought of all the times she was with him. With him, sex with her suddenly seemed like an amateur dramatic performance filled with over-the-top cries of pleasure and performative declarations of love. Seeing her with this man, Cassian could see how real and genuine her pleasure was - and that only infuriated him more.

"Elizabeth!"

"Cassian!" Elizabeth pushed the man away from her and lept up, looking frantically around as if for some reasoning she could give to what Cassian had seen. "I... umm... thank goodness you're here! That man attacked me!"

Cassian looked the petrified, naked man once over and saw the way he looked at Elizabeth with eyes filled with hurt and betrayal.

"You're lying. I watched you two together and you were wanting every fucking second," Cassian snarled, before adding to the man, "Get out of here." The man grabbed his clothes and rushed to his horse, galloping off without looking back.

Cassian stepped menacingly towards Elizabeth.

"That baby is not mine, is it?"

"Cassian, darling, of course it is. This was a one time mistake, I -"

"Stop lying to me!" Cassian yelled, grabbing Elizabeth by the throat. "How long have you been lying to me? Did you ever even love me? Or have you just been using me all of this time? You were going to pass another man's child off as mine? You made me think you loved me! How could you do this to me, you evil whore!"

In his rage, Cassian failed to recognise how tightly he gripped Elizabeth's neck, nor how her flails were growing weaker. It was only when her eyes closed and her arms dropped to her sides that he released her. Her dead body fell in a crumple to the floor.

The moment her body fell, all of Cassian's rage left his body and was immediately replaced with sadness.

"What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?" I repeated over and over to himself.

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#possibly the most brutal death in the challenge so far?#sims 4 history challenge #great british sim challenge

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jenthetranskitsune · 5 months

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Anger

[TW: minor description of gruesome murder, nothing very detailed but it's probably important that I mention it] I haven't ever posted my writing here before but uh, yeah, i hope you like it. I killed someone today, I haven't done that in a long time. Maybe if I keep telling myself that he deserved it, it'll make it easier.

Even if he really didn't.

She was an Oak, that one he cut down. Mortals, they need the wood. The tree spirits understand that. I understand that.

So why did I get so angry, why couldn't I stop myself? Why did I break his head open with the axe he used on her?

We had been together for nearly three centuries, surely that was long enough. Surely I should feel like we had enough time together. Surely I shouldn't feel like every bone in my cursed body is aching for her embrace again.

I feel broken without her, maybe I always was & she just let me ignore it. She'd hate me being like this. Unable to focus on anything.

That anger, I haven't felt it since I was mortal, those eons ago. Everything in my body screamed for revenge, & when I satisfied the urge, I felt nothing. Nothing but the pit of loneliness, heartbreak & something else, some emptiness I can’t quite explain

Maybe that's the burden put on us by this curse?

Maybe I should find the others, they'd understand. I can't remember their faces, but the mark should make it a little easier. I think the emptiness might be the cost. I never felt this way when I was mortal, sad? Absolutely. Angry? Like the heat of a thousand suns. But this emptiness? It's... different. I've felt emptiness when I was mortal, but it didn't feel like this. I can't explain it, but I'm sure it will drive me mad if I don't fill it soon.

I think she filled it before. That's why I never felt it before. I was enamored with her before he did this to us. Maybe her love filled the empty.

But it's gone now, I can only hope that the others found something to fill that emptiness. If they haven't... I hope there's a way to kill us. I do not like the idea of a loose, crazed, immortal. I will also need something to fill my own emptiness, I think my search will fill it for a short time, but there is only so much that curiosity can do.

I must not let my anger get the better of me again. The only thing that stopped me today was the thought of how she would react. That won't work forever. For now I shall sleep under oak trees. They will sadden me, but they will keep me calm. I will just have to deal with the grief.

The thought just crossed me. That emptiness I feel, I fear what it will lead to. Maybe I should also fear what the others will fill it with. If love could fill it for me, might some of the others have filled it with the devotion of others? Could they have sought out worshippers? Is this how gods are made? I hope not, I have dealt with the gods, they are more fickle then mortals, if one were to be created out of the curse? I shudder to think of what kind of god devotion & emptiness would create.

Perhaps I should find a way to kill the other cursed ones. But if I find one of the others seeking worship, I must be ready to keep a careful watch of the others. If one could not resist that temptation for a few centuries, how might the rest of us resist for eternity?

I do not like the idea of watching the others for eternity, but someone must. Our immortality could easily be taken advantage of, enough training & you could become a master at anything, the idea of a master of everything unnerves me. If one of us spent long enough lying to mortals, they might become so good that they trick themselves.

I must also be careful to keep from becoming known among the mortals as well. It would not be helpful if when I make sure the others don't seek out worshippers, I accidentally gain them myself. There already was a watcher goddess before, she may have died but people are annoyingly good at justifying anything they want. They may think I am her reincarnation or something of the sort.

I'm rambling too much, but this is a journal, I guess that's what it's for. That reminds me, I once met the deity of... librarians I think? They were one of the few reasonable ones. Anyways, they told me of the time one of their journals got lost & into the hands of a small cult, they took it as a religious text. That better not happen to my journal. Or journals? I don't write in this journal that often but even then, it's nearly filled. I guess I'll need more soon. Perhaps I should create a library as well, there are many books I had wanted to read, hopefully not too many of them have been lost to time.

That idea... It feels good. Perhaps I could create the greatest library in the world. I could dedicate it to her. She would like that I think. She always loved the books I bought her from my travels. I could build it out of stone, have scribes make copies of all the books & scrolls I find. Put some of the copies in vaults across the continent.

Perhaps watching the other cursed ones could be something I do on the side. This library idea sounds filling, it might even fill the empty. After all, there's not much point in making sure the others don't go insane from the empty if I don't make sure I also stay sane.

Yes, I have decided, that is what I shall do, I shall create a great library & name it after her. I will work to save as many works as I can, & I shall do it in her name. Dianthea shall become the best library in the world, I will work for eternity to ensure it. Dianthea was a beautiful Oak spirit, & I will make sure her name lives on forever.

#lgbt #lgbtgia+#fantasy #it's probably not obvious but the main character is supposed to be a woman #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #Jen's scribbles

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moxfirefly · 3 years

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I have to thank @southernblossoms for this one, she got evil!Leo in my brain and he hasn’t left ever since.

TW: Violence, Gore, Blood, NSFW content below

Rated Explicit (18+ years)

“She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal

She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

She said that I don't look like me no more, no more

I said I'm just tired”

Leonardo always knew there was an inch inside of him that was darkness.

If left alone and unchecked, it would spread. Fester like some disease and he feared that someday he’d allow it to course through his body so freely.

And let it win.

It seemed today would be that unfortunate day. A night like any other, just more bloodshed than necessary. But hey, who said they should go and kill his father? Torture him to such an extent and string up his body for his brothers and him to find.

In that very moment that inch had grown in his soul to a degree that it blinded him. All he knew was to destroy, to hurt and erase those who had done this. He felt so cold, hands cupping his fathers motionless bloodied feet, the gentle tapping of blood and the cries of his brothers echoing in his ears.

So when Leo stood, bloodied (not bathed in his own), holding the head of the monster responsible, how could he regain peace? This had only brought a momentary second of reprieve and it was so fleeting. He looked into Shredder’s lifeless eyes, numbness spreading but a need that had started out as an inch. A need to kill everyone who had been part of this, directly or indirectly.

They all deserved so much worse.

They all deserved death.

Slow and torturous.

He had disappeared after that night. His brothers knew that this was the end of their leader, of their beloved brother who wanted to believe that good in this world could prevail.

For them they never imagined that Leo would just let the darkness take hold of him, nestle him with such a loving embrace. For him to embrace it right back felt justified, for his brothers it painted the gory picture of things to come.

They never expected to meet him in the opposition. To view him as foe and not family. Leonardo had quickly taken hold of the scum of the earth. He had molded the darkness to serve him.

Raphael thought Shredder was their worst enemy.

He never expected to have Leo claim that spot in a matter of months.

The Foot had fallen under his ruling, and he wasted no time in setting examples, and the bloody path those examples left behind never seized to churn the brothers stomachs.

There was no means of bringing him back, and perhaps it’s for the better.

Because whatever has eaten away inside of Leonardo cannot simply be flushed out of his body, nor ripped from his very soul. The body counts too high by now as he strays further and further away from what he was taught.

From what his father taught him...

_______________

You run with the unsavories. An eat or be eaten mentality that has caused you to survive years and years of gang wars and mutant freaks. Not like you’d throw about that last bit, much less when you’re standing single file, close to pissing yourself because he’s there.

And Christ he’s a sight to behold.

A rumor, a legend, a monster.

You tell him you’ve got valuable info, you know where to follow the trail that’ll lead to success. Even when your partner tries to push his chin up in front of Leonardo, you’re already wincing at what his demise will be shaped in.

Leo really loves cutting heads off.

A strong emphasis on loves.

You swallow, eyes flying anywhere but the rapidly growing puddle of blood that approaches your feet. Even then, your eyes stray towards the newest leader of the Foot, Leo punctures his katana into the head, a crude skewer as he lifts it and examines the severed body part as if answers lie in the gush of blood that falls. Those dark blue eyes move on you, you swallow.

He walks over to you, blade in hand, blood tap tapping onto the ground “Your information” Leo’s voice is weightless, bored almost. You motion towards your pocket, the crumpled up note with a poorly drawn map the key to your salvation. Leo reaches his hand in and you’re still, stiff and frightened by the intrusive touch and his proximity.

He pulls the note out and examines, the ghastly expression of horror on the decapitated head so close you can smell the coppery scent. “Can you get more of this? The coordinantes?” You crane your neck to look at him, his stature imposing. “Yeah, I’m your girl for that shit, swear on it” He flicks the blade and the sound of the head rolling makes your stomach flip flop along with it.

You feel the tip of a bloodied katana on your chin.

“Don’t make me cut off such a pretty head, hm?” You want to nod but the blade digs and Leo’s mouth twitches in something akin to a smirk. The small cut to your chin stings, but you wonder why other parts of you vibrate.

The danger, the adrenaline, Leonardo.

_____________

Your next meeting doesn’t quell your nervousness. Leonardo is an impressive sight as always and it’s imposible to ignore that maybe you won’t make it out alive every time you both meet. Unless proven useful, which you take to heart. You bring all sorts of information, names, rumors, possible gangs wanting to take him on, the police. Any word you heard in regards to him.

“It’s possible they might try to meet you half way, catch you off guard” The warehouse is chilly, that fall weather starting to hit but Leo’s unfazed, the black tails of his mask move with the gust of winds. “Stupid of them to assume that” The second floor of the warehouse seems to be his own, leaving the rest of the crew bellow. He sits on the windowsill, cloth running up his katana, it had been bloody when you were brought in.

“I’m just repeating what I heard, I’m sure you’re more than adept to take them on” You stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket, you’d been frisked not like you were stupid enough to bring a weapon to this.

But then again, the more he polished that sword, the more you wished you had something.

“What else have you heard? Any word on Karai?” The woman in question had appeared to have disappeared into thin air after Shredder’s death and Leo taking command of the Foot soldiers. Wether she planned to reclaim what was hers or if she had simply quit was beyond you and anybody else. “Nothing on her, she might’ve skipped town or the country” You offered, eyes following the sword as Leo placed it on a nearby table.

“She strike you as the type? A coward?” He walked over towards you, his expression so eerily unreadable.

Yet, your eyes wandered over him. Over muscle and scales. Overs scars and bruises. That illogical part of your brain making you wonder and fantasize, because fear could be exciting.

There was something exciting about Leonardo.

“Well?” He was in front of you, looking down at you. It hits you how minuscule you must look to him.

“Probably plotting? You did murder her dad” You find his eyes, you swallow.

“Well he murdered mine. Eye for an eye...” He spoke gently almost.

“Makes the whole world go blind” You finished for him, and maybe that was stepping on a line but you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch up. For a brief second you catch his eyes scan yours, move across your face and settle at your lips.

Passed your neck, towards your breasts.

He turns around and grabs his sword.

“One week, find more info on her, your pay is downstairs” You’re dismissed and before you process anything a Foot soldier is ushering you downstairs and shoving an envelope in your hands.

That night you dream about what your lips might feel like against reptilian scales.

—————————

Karai’s whereabouts are practically unheard off. If there was a trail it had run cold months back and judging from the word of mouth being passed around there wasn’t anything sustainable. You dig up anything and everybody. Every dirt bag with an agenda, ex Foot soldiers, opposing gangs, the mob and just about anybody you have in your radar.

It yields nothing.

You can’t return to Leo with nothing.

Rubbing a hand across your tired face, you make your way through the back alleys of the city. Your one week was coming up and all you had were weak possibilities and baseless assumptions. In your line of business enough information to create doubt can go a long way, but this was conspiracy levels bad.

So you thought and you thought quick.

Pulling out your phone you called him first. Perhaps a dumb move but at the same time you figured it showed that you were trying. You asked if the two of you could meet, the line briefly went quiet before your text tone startled you. He hung up and you were met with the address of a building in Brooklyn and to go up to the roof.

To say you were scared was to put it lightly.

You were shitting yourself.

The roof of the building had a green house which seemed unused but it looked like it was being kept up with the vegetation still green and alive. Your hand made for the door knob but something you could only name as a sixth sense made you freeze.

Leo was there, the shift in the atmosphere was impossible to deny. Your turned and blinked.

Wherever he had been, it must’ve been worse. There was blood on him, a fresh gash by his arm and the steady drip drip of blood hitting the concrete. “Jesus are you...?” You knew he was ok, but whomever had been on the receiving end of this had it by far much worse.

“Inside, go inside” He motioned for the green house and you did. Your eyes scanned around hoping to find something to help with. There was a nest of sorts in a corner, several blankets and cushions, a table and a chair amidst the plants. You found what you were looking for near the bonsais, a shelf with a box of first aid. Leo went towards a counter with a basin and a jar of water, he went about cleaning the gash on his arm.

You approached him with the box of first aid, blue eyes were cautious as you took out antiseptic and gauze. Leo had turned to face you, giving you more room to work on his arm as you bandaged it. “You alright?” Your voice held hesitation, Leo’s questioning gaze turned to amusement. “I’m fine, what I want to know is why you wanted to meet” You finished bandaging him and took a step back.

Pick your words wisely, you thought with a slight shutter.

“Listen I’ve spoken with any and everyone who might have any clue but Karai is off the radar”Swallowing a lump in your throat you shrugged off your jacket, worry manifesting in heat. “I know this isn’t what you wanted and I’m really fucking good at my job but this bitch is either underground or who knows! Dead for all I know!” The exasperation and worry was clear as day, he either took this the right way or the wrong way.

Wrong way being you end up pushed off this very building, at best ironically enough.

Leo swallowed the information, clearly bouncing it around his head. The dry specks of blood scattered across his green flesh. An odd silence fell amongst you both and even when he rose in all his imposing glory you kept your eyes focused on him. Getting a read on that cold calculated gaze of his was hard enough.

Your throat feels painfully dry once he has you backed up against the wall. Something about dying alone with not even an audience to witness it didn’t sit too right with you.

But then again, Leo’s large hand gripped your neck, nothing too tight but enough to alert you to its presence. Those blue eyes looked haunted but just beneath that laid something you couldn’t just place your finger on. The tips of his fingers lightly caressed you, one of them fascinated with your quickened pulse. You can’t blink, unsure what may happen and when he dips down your adrenaline makes you flinch.

Leo halts his movement, his blood feels like it’s pumping loudly enough for you to hear. Wide eyed you lean up instead and ghost your lips against his, Leo sighs through his nostrils and it stays that way. A pull but not enough of a push because there’s still fear in your blood and a hesitation that you can’t put a name to from Leonardo.

Your phone going off startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin and to a fraction of your dismay Leo takes a step away. One of your contacts name flashed on the screen which meant there could still be some good news. Your turned away to speak, pulling a marker from your pocket you write down some information on your forearm. It’s a quick conversation and once done you turn to see Leo putting together his gear again.

You bit your lip, whatever was about to happen would just have to take a back seat. ‘Fucking coward’ you can’t help but think about yourself.

“One of my guys says he might have it on good authority that Karai is still here” You watch him turn his head to listen, even if he’s got his back/shell to you. “Well?” He pushes while adjusting his swords.

“He says she might’ve just met up with...with one of your brothers” Tense doesn’t even begin to explain what his body did, the mear mention of his family was a sore subject and you had been warned to not even attempt to open that can of worms. Swallowing and feeling your throat stick from how dry it felt you see him pull out a key and toss it to you. “Send me that address, you’ll get your money at the warehouse” You barely manage to catch the key to the greenhouse, but still you raise a brow at the offering.

“Come back here when you’re ready” Is all he says about it, confusion is painted on your face but when he moved to leave he takes a moment to hold your chin. “Don’t make me regret this” He says and before you can attempt to ask he’s gone.

You stay there, twenty minutes or so in nothing but your thoughts and his words swimming around your mind.

Feeling heat between your legs and a lick of frustration consuming you.

_____________

Two weeks you contemplate the key in your pocket.

Two weeks you let your thumb hover over his number but never press down.

For two weeks you find your pillow between your legs, trying to reach the sensation he managed with just his body close to yours.

But nothing.

It’s not enough.

New York is covered in rain as you make your way through the sea of people. Regardless of the many umbrellas you still get soaked and by the time you’re up on that roof, hand digging out the key to the green house you’re drenched.

Inside you shake off the excess and remove your jacket. The cold hits you and you can’t help but feel silly that you’re here, maybe this is his way of taking you out, you’re not needed anymore by now you assume.

You turn on the few lanterns that are scattered through the room. Kicking off your boots you rub your arms and shiver, flesh breaking out into goosebumps as the door creaks open once more.

Leo’s equally drenched when he steps through, the black tails of his mask sticking to him. The two of you just stare at one another, steady drips of water and the rain outside picking up more strengh.

Carefully you watch him begin take apart his gear, leaving his katanas by the door. He’s trying to keep your apprehension at low levels, his steps slow and soft. You let your arms fall to your sides and as your heart tries to hammer out of your chest you don’t flinch this time, even as his hands go for the hem of your long sleeve. You take a deep breath as his eyes wander across your now exposed flesh. The fascination goes straight to your core, feeling yourself warm up as his hands rest on your stomach.

With trembling hands you unbutton your jeans and step out of them and the inhale Leo takes as he closes his eyes makes you reach for him. He holds you against him and sighs, large frame shuddering at the feel of your skin against his reptilian one. He buries his snout against your neck, breathing harder as his hands run all over your back and rear. Leo grips and kneads the flesh and a groan escapes against your ear that makes your wrap your arms around his neck. He feels the softness of your breasts against his chest, he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about them for months now.

You can’t wrap your head around it but he feels just as you fantasized about him. The roughness of his flesh, the edges of his shell and god his teeth nip at your neck with a growl. Wiggling out of his hold you start to undo whatever else needs to be taken off and Leo can’t help but smirk at your frenzied movements. He allows you to undress him, he’s gutted when your hands land on his waist as you start to kneel before him.

“No, no, kiss me first” He cups your face and presses his mouth against yours and that’s it, you’re done for, you’re hooked and can’t go back now. His kiss is possessive, forceful and it drowns every thought in your brain.

You pressed against one of the tables with the many Bonsais when Leo’a tongue slithers into your awaiting mouth. He sits you down on the table and nudges your legs apart to fit himself in between them, you crane your neck up losing yourself in his kiss. He can taste rain water, feels the sweat and rain mingle on your skin. God he wants to run his tongue all over you, eat you whole if he could.

It feels like forever when he pulls away, reluctance in his body. Blue eyes search into your e/c eyes, he wants to see something maybe your fear so he denies himself falling into this rabbit hole. Your hands press against his plastron and gently you run your nails down the hard plates, you shake your head fascinated by the texture. He’s rough but strong, a marvel of a species.

With some difficulty you managed to push your underwear off and spread yourself again for his viewing pleasure. “I want you,” You nodded, eyes falling to the hard length between his legs. Leo wraps a large hand around it and pumps slowly, body shivering at the sensation. “God I fucking want you so bad” You feel him come back to you, mouth on yours in yet another harsh kiss.

The tip of his cock nudges against your wet heat and he bites your lip at the sensation. Leo pushes into you so frustratingly slow, even as his girth stretches you to a point you’ve never been before. You want him inside of you now, and Leo couldn’t agree more. He bottoms out inside of you with a lengthy groan, head thrown back in ecstasy. “You feel... so fucking good” He growls out through gritted teeth, hips picking up speed as you wantonly take him in. You press your lips to his chest and moan with each slow but pronounced thrust of his hips.

His hand finds itself at the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to keep your gaze on his. The slight tug burns so good and you can’t help but keep your pleasure filled gaze on his own. Lips parted you let him rock into you steadily until his thrust start to slam into you. The sensation spreads all over your body, little shocks of pleasure rocking your body.

“Mine, you’re going to be mine and only mine” He voices lowly, a threat laced in his passion. You’re too far gone to speak, nodding aimlessly at his every word, moans falling from your lips. “Nobody will own you like I do, nobody will touch you, Y/N? You understand? I’m making you mine” He pressed his forehead to yours, lost in this feeling.

“Fuck yes, yours, I’m gonna be all yours” You lick his lips and when he reaches a hand between both your bodies your mind goes blank. A vicious shudder overtakes you as you muffle a scream against his jaw. He fills you up so good and so warm with a strange vibration that sounds like an endless growl. Each rope he pumps into you making his eyes roll back. You’re shattered against, limp and raw throat from the scream that leaves your mouth.

He watches your come down, hand against your cheek, thumb running across your lips. When he pulls out just enough to watch his essence cascade out of your pretty little hole, he pumps himself back into you. His eyes say it all, from here on out whatever your life was up to this point is over and done with. Leo nuzzles you still lazily pumping himself in you, blissful to the little tremors your cunt produces around his member making him harden once again. Picking you up, bodies still joined, he makes his way to the nest of blankets on the floor.

You hold onto him, all you can do is hold onto him.

____________

It’s rather odd to be in this position. With an entire year that’s passed it never seems to feel normal, not that you’re complaining though.

Being in a position of power by proxy has its fucking fun rewards.

For example nobody in this city will ever contemplate taking you out. Unless they want a very pissed off Foot Leader to set fire to the city and maybe even the world. From opposite points to now standing at his side. No one is to address you as below them, or touch you or let alone breath the same air you do.

You can still hear the bones that were cracked when one particularly unruly Foot soldier made snide comment about you. Each crack of the mans arm being slowly twisted until his arm broke still rang in your ears to this day. Leo hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even scowled even as the twist turned to pulling the limb off.

He did in fact fuck you hard against the glass windows of the hotel suite he had you both in. The copper scent lingering on his scales, but enraptured with the heat enveloping his cock.

With the city at war everyone had began to run amok to do their own barbaric things. Each part of the city divided between gangs, mobs, mutants, police and civilians. You were out on active Foot duties, you were still free to do as you pleased but with protection and Leo demanded your whereabouts on the hour due to possibilities of abduction.

He knew you were a weakness.

But did he give a shit? Of course not. Let them try, he hasn’t needed an excuse for his tyrannical acts thus far, but if harm did ever befall you, you only wished you could witness what his methods would be to exact his revenge.

And he was so familiar with revenge after all.

You admire yourself in the full length mirror, examining the body that training under Leo has provided you. The mutant terrapin in question comes up from behind you and wraps his strong sculpted arms around your waist. You can’t help but smirk as he rest his chin a top your head. “We’re heading out in half an hour” He mumbles against your hair, enjoying the scent. You watch through the mirror as his hands rub up and cup your breast, with a sigh you rest against his strong build. “What’s on the agenda tonight? Purple dragons?” You feel him shake his head, fingers dipping inside the cups of your bra. “Mob,” Is his sole reply.

You bite your lip, gripping his wrists. “We’ll be late” You try to muffle a moan as he tweaks a nipple, he grinds against your backside. “I’m killing them regardless, and I much rather have the scent of your cunt on my hands while I listen to their boring excuses for parley” Your knees buckled when you felt his hand slither inside your underwear, finger already parting your lips and humming as he feels how wet you already are.

You feel his other hand wrap around your neck, keeping you upright and your gaze on the mirror as his finger dips into your welcoming heat.

He engulfs your every thought, every sensation; and what’s the fate of the world when you’ve got him? He chose you just as much as you chose him. You’ve never considered yourself good, scumbag street rat who just happened to make a living amongst the other scumbags. But this? With Leonardo and the trail of bloodied heads he’s left behind, it’s hard not to be excited to see gasoline be poured on the city. He trails his lips to the shell of your ear and you can’t help but grin.

“Mine” He says.

Burn everything.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt Leonardo x fem reader #leonardo #Leo #leonardo x reader #leo x reader #leonardo tmnt #leo tmnt #ns*w #oneshot #evil!Leo #dark!Leo

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Y/n meets her savior and officially joins the investigation.

@deadman-inc-bikeshop @viviace and @dovahdokren here you go. If you want to be on the tag list, send me a DM.

Trigger warnings: dissociation, implied sex abuse/trafficking, discussions of death, drugs

It was only when the man left your line of sight that your senses started to return. And even then, you felt like you were on a separate plane of existence from everything happening around you. You were floating, completely numb to your surroundings, letting the world push you wherever it needed you to be.

You weren't entirely sure how you made it from the dumpsters to the FBI headquarters, but there you were.

You listened in on the conversation happening in the other room. From what you could tell, the man who saved you was arguing with his boss.

"Because if there's so much as a Tylenol in her system, you're going to pass it off to the DEA." The man said, his voice soft but firm. This wasn't the first time they had this argument and it showed.

"Will, it is not my fault that the DEA gets preferential treatment." The boss sounded exhausted. "We have a better chance of catching this man with their resources. And we can't turn a blind eye to how substances affect human behavior. I thought you of all people would accept this."

"What if there's nothing in her system?" The man posited. "Then all we have to work with is our own resources. Would that be so bad?"

"Look," the boss said, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. "We can't determine anything until forensics gets lab results back tomorrow. For now, see what you can find out from the waitress. She was able to keep her talking, maybe we can find out about what."

The man resignedly left the room and made his way to you. You glanced around the hallway, hoping he wouldn't notice that you've been eavesdropping.

He sat on the opposite end of the bench. You pulled the security blanket from the ambulance tighter around your shoulders.

"I know this is such a stupid, insensitive thing to ask," the man broke the silence. "But are you okay?"

"If it makes you feel any better," you sighed and dropped your shoulders. "I wasn't really okay to begin with."

"Yeah." The man agreed. "It doesn't matter how much you break something, it's still broken. Broken is a... Boolean value."

"It's just that.." You clutched the receipt between your fingers. "Just as I thought things were starting to improve, the universe sends me a cultist strapped to a bomb. I'm never going to recover from this."

"I don't think anyone expects you to." He said. "My name's Will, by the way."

"[F/N]." You said, just for formality's sake. He already knew your name. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life."

"Don't worry about it." Will smiled weakly. "If you think you can, though, it would be innumerably helpful if you told us what happened."

You knew you weren't in a position to be asking for favors, but you were desperate. "Could I maybe stay with you for a while?"

Will hovered his hand over yours as if asking for permission. You took it, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"I'll stay with you as long as you want."

Will's presence made it easier to tell the man, whom you learned was the head of the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI, everything that progressed that night.

"And then she started chanting that one bible verse about the martyrs inheriting the kingdom of heaven." You finished. "That was when Will shot her in the leg."

The director, whose name you learned was Jack Crawford, took a moment to ponder the information. You felt like a child that had been sent to the principal's office.

"Do you have any reason to believe that the woman was under the influence of any drugs? Alcohol?" Jack asked, resting his hands on the desk.

"Not with any certainty, no. I didn't see her ingest anything." You shook your head. "If she was under any influence at all, it was probably against her will."

"What makes you say that?" Jack cocked his head. "In your own time, of course."

"She was..." you glanced at Will, just to remind yourself that he was there. "Scared. Nothing she said had any conviction behind it. It was like she was a hostage being forced to read a fake suicide letter."

"What about these 'cult names' you mentioned?" Jack said. "What significance do you think they have?"

"She kept referring to Chase as 'vanguard'." You began.

"That's what Keith Raniere called himself." Jack interrupted. "Keith Raniere was the head of a sex trafficking cult."

"And the only reason I know that is because I listen to a lot of podcasts." You felt the need to explain. "I'm not sure how Mulvaney decided it would be a fitting title. Maybe he identified with Raniere."

"Did the woman call herself something, too?" Jack leaned in.

"Funny you should mention that," You forced a laugh. "Because she referred to herself as an 'unwoman'."

"That is interesting." Jack brought his hand to his temple, perhaps trying to convince you that he knew what ‘unwoman’ meant.

"He probably thinks Handmaid's Tale is some kind of instruction manual." You said, emphasizing the title of the work.

“Handmaid’s Tale!” Jack exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "So, are you thinking maybe he's running a breeding cult?"

“Like a borrasca.” You turned to Will, hoping that maybe he would understand what that meant.

As if on cue, a woman in a lab coat burst into the room.

“Dr. Katz,” Jack announced, taken aback by her urgency. “Welcome.”

“Jack, you’re going to want to see this.” Dr. Katz said simply.

Jack stood up from his seat. “Excuse me, Ms. [L/N], Will. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Again, you were alone with Will.

“I’m...” Will broke the silence, pausing to find the right words. “Jack isn’t as scary as he looks. He just has a habit of asking too much of people. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re perfectly within your rights to tell him to back off.”

You shook your head. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

“Tell me about it.” Will muttered and leaned back in his chair. “It does seem pretty out of character for him to want to drop the whole case on the DEA, but he does have a point about their resources. You can’t argue with money.”

“No.” You agreed. “You can’t.”

Will sighed. “I’m sorry. The last thing you probably want to hear about is FBI in-fighting after almost being killed twice in a two-week period.”

“It doesn’t really inspire confidence, no.” You said.

“Let’s talk about something else.” He offered. “Do you like... fishing?”

You laughed at his strange attempt at making conversation, but answered honestly. “I used to go fishing with my grandpa when I was a kid.”

Realizing he’d tapped into a happy memory, Will decided to follow it. “Where did he take you?”

“My grandparents had this lake house up in Michigan.” You reminisced. “On this dinky little manmade lake where all the rich boomers took their spoiled grandkids for the summer.”

“Did you ever catch anything?” He shared a little smile.

You realized that he was doing the same thing to you that you did to the unwoman. He was trying to keep you talking to avoid, or at least prolong, some catastrophic event. But he was doing it for your sake. You appreciated that.

“We pulled up a ton of bluegills, some walleyes, occasionally a bass.” You listed. “One time he and his brother-in-law settled a dispute by seeing who could catch a catfish first. They were outside all day.”

“Did he ever take you downstate to go fishing on Lake Erie?”

You stared vacantly ahead. “He wanted to.”

Will lowered his head in respect. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was, like, fourteen years ago.” You admitted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Still,” Will shrugged. “Grief takes a lot out of you. I’m sorry for bringing it up, I had no idea.”

“At this point, most avenues in my life end in death. It’s not your fault.” You smiled at him. “Thanks for trying, though.”

You settled into another prolonged but comfortable silence.

“I think Jack is going to arrange to get you into some kind of protective custody, by the way.” He said, shifting his body to face you. “And I don’t think he’s going to give you a choice now that he knows Chase is targeting you, specifically.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that.” You answered. “I think they’re probably going to insist I quit my job, too.”

“You sound disappointed.” Will nodded. “You’ve grown to like that job, huh?”

“I was good at it.” You admitted. “My boss was gunning for me to take over when he retired. I had big plans for that place. I know waitressing is supposed to be a job that’s ‘just a job’ but--”

“You had ambition.” Will finished. “You were making an investment for your future.”

For the first time in a while, you felt heard. “Right.”

“If you would permit me to say,” Will stood up and walked towards Jack’s desk. “I think you would be an invaluable asset to this investigation.”

You leaned on the armrest. “I don’t know, Will. I feel like I would just get in the way.”

“But the sooner we catch this sick fuck, the sooner you can get back to your restaurant.” He said, grabbing a post-it note. He gestured to you with a pen. “And I will do everything in my power to get you back to that restaurant.”

“Why?” You asked. “I’m just a waitress.”

“Your profile of Chase Mulvaney in your TattleCrime interview was a work of genius.” Will took off his glasses. “And it was incendiary enough to make him come back for you. It wasn’t just a cocaine-fueled bout of murderous hysterics. He remembered you. Now, throughout this investigation, Jack has been ignoring me. But maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“And if he doesn’t?” You raised an eyebrow. “What then?”

Will sighed and leaned back on the desk. “Then I do it myself.”

“Fuck it.” You said, the complete contents of your soul behind those two little words. If he was going to raise the stakes, by god you were going to match him. “I don’t have much else to live for, so might as well die for something.”

“That’s the spirit.” Will agreed.

#hannigram x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x you x will #hannibal x reader x will #will graham x you #tw death #tw dissociation #tw trauma #tw sex trafficking #will graham x reader #hannibal nbc

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thisbuildingshouldbecondemned · 2 years

Text

The Exception: Chapter 5

tags: [#the exception on my blog] egon spengler x reader / slowburn / ghostbusters / fluff / angst / paranormal romance / fem reader

word count: 1467 | ~10min read

Ever since y/n approached Egon, she had been sneaking down to his lab late at night to help him run tests and chat. He was not only curious about her existence as a spirit, but also her life before death. The two had become fairly close over the next few days; acting as if they had known each other for years.

Egon would tinker away at a device, occasionally scanning y/n with it to make sure he was getting the desired readings. He would explain modern technology and concepts to her while she absorbed everything intently, much more so than anyone else Egon ever knew, aside from Ray. Y/N would tell stories of her life before, or reminisce about the most memorable moments from haunting the firehouse. To Egon’s surprise, she had a history of being fairly mischievous in terms of ghostly high jinks, the days of which she swore were over to uphold her end of the bargain.

Y/N told him about the tragedy that occured in the apartment building, and how she considered finding the truth about her murderers identity her unfinished business, and refused to pass on until she was at peace.

“Not to be rude,” Egon hesitated, fearing he might be overstepping a boundary, “But has it occurred to you that you may never know his name? And perhaps allowing yourself to let go of the matter might be for the better?”

Egon’s heart pounded as he hoped that what he said wasn’t taken to offense. Y/N sighed and looked to the ground.

“I have considered it,” she began. “But I feel as though I am the only person… thing… left in the world that cares. To my knowledge, which I suppose is limited as I am condemned to this building, the man has never been caught. And it doesn’t sit right with me that we’ve let this horrible thing happen, and nothing has ever been done to make it right.”

Egon felt the air around him become cooler than usual. It hadn’t occurred to him that her effect on temperature could be emotionally charged. He looked up from his work for the first time in nearly an hour.

“Well, I suppose it’s my duty to care now.” he looked inquisitively into the distance. Y/N snapped to attention, and stared at him.

“Pardon?” she asked, unable to tell if he was being serious.

“You’ve been stuck in this run down building for nearly a century, Y/N. Of course you don’t know the circumstances of this true crime case, and the odds of someone who does know the specifics that is willing to communicate with you taking up residence here are very slim. You’d likely be stuck for hundreds of years, assuming you refuse to pass on.” Egon pushed his glasses up and stood, walking over to the chalkboard.

“But now you have me, and I can help you.” He turned around and looked at her, still sitting on the table where they had been for the past hour and a half, wide eyed and slightly taken aback.

He grabbed the chalk and smirked, turning back to the chalkboard.

“Please, tell me what you know.”

Over the next twenty minutes, Egon and Y/N worked together to gather all the information they could. Y/N recounted her experience, supplying the exact date and time, along with a rough description of the culprit and murder weapon. Egon promised to look up public records at the library the next day, but ever since the Ghostbusters’ business was beginning to take off, neither of them knew when he would actually have the free time to do so.

Nevertheless, it was the closest to optimism she had felt in ages.

Egon really meant it when he told y/n that he cared. Whether it was through the pursuit of scientific discovery, dealing with troubling hauntings, or something unexpected, deep down he felt his obligation in life was to help people. Though cold and calculating on the outside, Egon had mountains of care to give, and y/n was starting to see a side of him very few others witnessed.

Heavily motivated did not even begin to describe Egon in this scenario. Even though he felt a strong connection to y/n, and would be sad to see her pass on assuming his research and dedication to this little side project paid off, he knew this was the right thing to do. It would make her happy, which in turn would make him happy. But still, he had never felt so personally close to someone before.

To his secret relief, Egon found very little after visiting the public library. Not to say he didn’t try of course. He scoured every possible section that might hide within it even a crumb of information. Public records, local non fiction, history, true crime, anything he could think of. The best thing he could manage to bring home to his new friend was a copy of a newspaper clipping, issued the day after the massacre.

“...so far the killer has not been found.” y/n read from the paper. “Authorities say little evidence left on site increases frustrations. Surviving tenants are shaken.”

She stared blankly at the page. Tears welled up in her eyes, and rolled gently down the length of her cheek. Egon took the paper from her hands and set it aside. Y/N barely reacted and continued to stare off into nothingness.

“Nobody cares, Egon.” she whispered, her voice fluttering.

Gently, Egon placed his hands as softly as possible on her shoulders, just barely touching her cold, nonexistent form. He took one hand, and with the slightest touch encouraged her to lift her head and look at him.

“That is not true.” he said, voice deep and serious, yet sympathetic and warm. “I do.”

Egon and Y/N looked into each other's eyes. Y/N could see her reflection, something she often avoided. She had come to terms with being a ghost a long time ago, and had no real opposition to being reminded of it. However, something about seeing herself so gaunt and pale was disturbing, like looking at a corpse. Although this time, she could sense a fondness in his gaze, which comforted her.

Egon could not see his reflection, and instead could faintly make out the floor behind her. He regularly forgot that y/n was a ghost, simply because her presence felt so real. Egon had the urge to sweep her off her feet anytime they made a breakthrough in his lab work, but had to remind himself that he couldn’t. Even holding hands required serious effort and concentration to make sure he didn’t pass through her.

Y/N hadn’t been able to blush in a long time, but knew that if it were possible her face would be as red as a tomato at this moment. Her translucent skin tingled, and a small, shy gasp escaped her lips. Gently, Egon pulled her closer.

Slowly, Egon and y/n drew into each other, as if they were being lured by some unseen force. Egon’s hands were numb from the cold combined with y/n’s spiritual energy, but he barely noticed. He was so enraptured in y/n’s presence, he’d hardly recognize if the room were on fire.

“D-Dr. Spengler, I-” y/n stuttered, but was cut off with the sudden contact of Egon’s lips to hers.

For the first time in her afterlife, y/n felt warm. She closed her eyes and let herself be in the moment. It was happy and safe and calm. She was so unfamiliarly content, and wished the feeling would never end.

Unexpectedly, Egon quickly pulled away. Y/N was faced with a look of confusion and concern from him; his eyes wide and trembling and his lips slightly parted. An uncomfortable silence stood between them like a brick wall, finally being interrupted by stammering Egon.

“Oh dear… my apologies Miss l/n. That was… very unprofessional of me.” he uttered, looking away. “I do not know what came over me but I will never attempt something like that again I can assure you.” His cheeks flushed red and his eyes would not meet hers.

“Egon wait,” y/n began, but was halted by the alarm. A late night call, the likes of which were becoming more and more common as the Ghostbusters gained popularity.

“I have to leave. I’m sorry y/n.”

Egon calmly unbuttoned his vest and removed it as he left the room, preparing to don his flight suit. As he walked up the stairs, he skipped steps in an attempt to quicken the trip. Y/N stood abandoned in the lab, left to deal with her quiet tears alone this time.

Tags:

@bambiswriting

#the exception #egon spengler #ghostbusters #egon x reader #fanfic #paranormal romance #ghostbusters fic

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Text

The Fox Wedding - RUN [Bad End]

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Kita Shinsuke, Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for this chapter: Major Character Death, Blood mention, Death mention, Animal attack, Gore, Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced/Unhealthy Relationships

What makes a human life worthwhile?

Was it the prospect of forming a family? The continual circle of birth, life, and death? Was it the growing as a person that gave each individual worth? Learning how to laugh and love? Long, thoughtful nights and the achievement of creating something? Relationships, conversations, experiences, are those the things that made it worth to live?

Or was it pain, fear, and fight? Would your worth rise if you had to clench your teeth and run until your lungs threatened you to give up if you didn’t stop and rest? Could your life only gain worth from being so scared that your body trembled, but your senses heightened in an attempt to be warier of your surroundings? Every inch of your body was feelable, every muscle straining to get your attention. The perfect coordination of orders to follow was only achieved by panic and fear of falling into the hands of the people you had to get away from.

Or their paws.

Or their teeth.

These and so many other unimportant questions plagued your mind as you stumbled over roots and against trees as if you were in a haze. Was the brain capable of enduring as much fear as you were feeling, or was the reason for your questions that it was unable to continue feeling this way? Going numb would have been a preferable action, as well as a deadly one. As such, it kept you occupied, one way or another.

A loud bang resounded from behind you. It was still far away but too close at the same time. The loud crashing of a tree in the distance was only spurring you on, spreading panic as you questioned what kind of creature could break down a whole tree. You weren’t clever. You didn’t actually know an answer to that.

You didn’t want to know.

Thicket scratched at your skin, broke it, and drew blood as if it were a hundred deadly arms reaching for you, their nails scratching as they tried to grab you. Nothing in this forest wanted to let you go. Not the trees, not the bushes, not him.

Of course, you had regrets now that you chose to run. You regretted being an idiot and doing this to yourself even though there had been so many warnings. Not one of the fox people had advised you to run - at least at your own. But you couldn’t wait for a prince in shining armor. Or fur. You could wait for nobody to save you from this fate. Breaking out when you found some loose stones around the window of your cell, without proper clothing or a sense of direction, is nothing anyone would suggest you do, but then again: what else could you do?

However, most of all, you deeply regretted that you weren’t running faster.

It was almost as if it was taunting you, the heavy footsteps galloping after you. They weren’t created by feet, but you could recognize them as something very different. Perhaps watching these nature documentaries had been a waste of time, but at least they made you remember the sound of bears running through forests, their big bodies producing a hollow, echoing sound.

Not one inch of your brain wanted to acknowledge what was after you, but you were sure it wasn’t a bear.

Somehow, you wished it was. A creature that wasn’t sentient like a human would be just as deadly, but you imagined that it would be less awful than what awaited you. Even if your body still ran and ran some more, way beyond the point of exhaustion, inside of you, you were slowly losing hope.

Maybe hope is what makes life worthwhile, you thought quietly as you kept pushing forward. Only the sounds of your breathing and gasps left your mouth as you tripped over roots on the ground, but never words. Hope could create inspirations and aspirations. It ‘made mountains move’ and saved people from their worst selves if they could stay hopeful. So when had you given up the hope to escape?

Was it when Kita locked you into that cell? When he mentioned the contract? When these two fox brothers visited you but got sent away? Somewhere along the line, you must have lost it, though perhaps, only just recently, when you realized you had been found out. If this hadn’t felt like a hunt rather than a chase, maybe you could have stayed hopeful. But no matter how hard it was to look truth in the eye, you knew you were the prey of a creature you shouldn’t have messed with. All you wanted was to get out. Out of the forest, out of the vicinity of the monster chasing you.

Out of this seemingly endless nightmare.

If you were to die here, could you say your life had been worth something? Did you always do the things you wanted to do or was breaking out from the prison of the foxes your only glorious achievement? Would you leave earth with regrets or regret leaving?

These questions were the last you could think about before the hellish pain of long, sharp fangs puncturing your torso tore you out of it. How nice would it have been to die instantly on impact, unable to feel how the jaw clenched down, your lungs pierced, and your shoulder entirely crushed by force? Hear the bones cracking in the back of your mind and your arms and legs going limb?

You had imagined death differently. Even if you were unsure how you imagined it, you didn’t think it would be this way. There was so much pain that it stopped hurting. Briefly, the feeling of blood pouring out of you and dripping down your body was noticeable before it disappeared, too, as your ability to feel stopped. You realized in your mind that you shouldn’t have been able to turn your head, but pressed by adrenaline and the last, untorn nerves, you did, looking into the gleaming eyes of your monster. With a head as big as your whole body, you could only recognize the shimmering, white fur. The beautiful blue shine was mesmerizing, captivating you in these last moments of your life. Long tails waved in the far corner of your vision, and blue light illuminated this creature, making you wish it wasn’t so darn beautiful to look at, so you could have felt anything but astonishment.

The next thing you knew, the jaw around you loosened, making you drop to the ground, the last parts of your body that still twitched and jerked starting to cease their movements. In awe, you got to see how the beast turned back into the form of a human, your eyesight growing weaker by the second the more blood you lost, but you were still able to recognize the face that stepped closer, crouching down beside you.

In your head, you formed the thoughts to taunt Kita, rub it into his face how you escaped. Had you been able to, you’d have told him you’d never marry him and that he should stop crying like a child. But you were unable to. Gripping the only hand still intact tightly, Kita brought it to his face, nuzzling it. Blood - your blood - was smeared all over his face, and he kept taking deep, pained breaths of anguish. Even now, he seemed dignified, mourning the death of his beloved, and even now, you despised him for it, thinking he had no right.

“No… no…” he lamented, and you thought that it was unfair he got to cry small blue tears about you while you weren’t able to control what was going on with your body.

“I’m so sorry, [Name]! I’m so sorry… I… I couldn’t control it… I was so angry and hurt… I couldn’t…”

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of other creatures approached, and Kita took a deep breath. As if he could hide these emotions he was feeling by simply pushing them deeper inside of him, he bit his lips to keep them locked inside before deciding he’d rather kiss the back of your hand with his mouth. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Please… forgive me.”

What kind of man or creature could sit by the side of the person they claimed they loved, mauled, and then ask for forgiveness? His hand brushed over your head as if to comfort you, and you heard more voices approaching, though they turned quiet as they understood what was going on. Someone said something you didn’t understand, and Kita only muttered, “Not yet,” in return. His eyes never left you, and finally, you realized that this was how you were going to die.

By Kita’s side.

Ah, if only you could have said something to him. Something that would have haunted him for the rest of his life if he truly cared for you as much as he assured you before. Finally, you understood these novels where people sought revenge against others. Though it was probably your body torn apart, but it was as if something was eating you from the inside, this intense desire to at least have an impact on your murderer’s life. Take some of the worth from him just like he had taken from you.

“Do you remember--”

His sentences started to become incomplete. Kita’s mouth moved, but you didn’t hear what he was saying. It was hard to see now, your vision was not blurry, but you couldn’t focus anymore.

“--- fox --- gave me --- we --- never ---”

Then, your name. Again. Your shoulders shaking, but all you could focus on was how hard it was becoming to breathe.

“--- don’t leave --- I love ---”

Taking your last breath felt almost like taking a big gulp of water and breathing out afterwards.

And then it was dark.

It should have been different. Your whole life should have been different. Moving to Japan should have been a new start to an entirely new chapter, but it led to the worst decision you had ever made. Perhaps you shouldn’t have run away. Maybe you should have stayed and embraced the marriage. Or you could have waited just a little bit longer for someone who’d keep you safe after all. Even if you had accepted the marriage, something good could have come out of it, and you should have just taken what you could.

But you didn’t. You died in the arms of the creature you wanted to get away from. The person you despised the most for putting you into this situation and killing you. Are you sure this is the path you wanted to take?

Was it worth it to risk your life?

Or will you try again?

➤ Go back to the prologue to change your fate

➤ Stay dead

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flameohotwife · 3 years

Note

Okay, #41 for the fluff prompt!! (I feel so powerful, hahaha!)

41. "Darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen."

This turned... long! And sad-ish in parts, so I'm sorry! Maybe more hurt/comfort? But there is still fluff. I hope you enjoy!

Rated T. 2.2k words.

“Aang? Have you seen the dumpling pan?” Katara was crouched down, head and shoulders deep in the cupboard, looking for the right pan to crisp the dumplings she was planning on making for dinner. Her husband was flitting about, albeit slower than he once could, on the other side of the kitchen with what she assumed were fruit pie ingredients for dessert. The original Team Avatar were travelling to Air Temple Island from all over the world in a few hours to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the war ending, and their 50th anniversary together. They always tried to get together the week they’d met in Ba Sing Se at the Jasmine Dragon to remember what they’d lost, and to see how far they’d come. Though Aang and Katara hadn’t gotten married until several years after the war, they always counted that day on the balcony as their anniversary, as the only thing that had truly changed with their marriage was the world’s recognition of their relationship and its permanence. They were devoted and dedicated from the very beginning. Perhaps even before that.

“Oh, I’ve got it over here, Sweetie,” Aang called back to her. She jumped up, almost bashing her head on the top of the cupboard before wriggling properly out to stand and face him. Even in his old age he still maintained a certain twinkle in his eye when he was up to something, and Katara’s hands flew to her hips when she saw it.

“What are you doing with my dumpling pan?” she asked, warily.

“I thought I’d cook tonight,” Aang replied, though his hand rubbed the tattoo on the back of his neck tellingly. “I wanted to add some Air Nomad dishes to the menu. Sokka will be bringing some Water Tribe food already, Toph and Suki will have Earth Kingdom, and Zuko and Mai will bring Fire Nation… I just thought I’d add something of my own in.”

Katara’s throat caught for a moment, as it always did when she remembered. His loss always felt bigger on anniversaries, though his grief was an ever-present emotion. It rose and fell like the tides, but was always there, under the surface. Most people saw his smiling face and kind, loving spirit and forgot that there were only two airbenders in the world and why. That Aang had actually known and loved so many of the ones Sozin had murdered. He masked his pain well, but took that mask off around Katara from time to time, when he needed to.

“Sweetie,” she began, stepping forward to grasp his wrinkled hands. “Oh Aang, I was going to make Air Nomad food, too. I would never leave you out like that.” Her tone wasn’t defensive, only calm and reassuring, as she rubbed gentle circles on the blue arrows that adorned the backs of his hands with her thumbs. She wanted to remind him with her touch that his grief didn’t have to be his alone to bear. That she would remember his people with him. Just as she had taught their children old Air Nomad fairytales when they were small, and celebrated their holidays with him, and learned to cook their food. Katara was Water Tribe through and through, but her soul was bound to an Air Nomad. Moreover, she was bound to Aang, and she always felt his loss. Even when he hid it well.

Aang melted into her, then. A hug that was so deeply meaningful it was reminiscent of the one they’d shared on Iroh’s balcony, but with all the weight of his pain crushing down on them along with that promise of love and acceptance. It was as though through this hug she was able to share that weight with him, so she held him tighter. Half a century after learning about the deaths of his people, sometimes the wound still felt fresh, and Katara was always the healing balm to whatever ailed him, even when she knew she could never heal it completely.

Katara stroked his back lovingly with one arm as he clung to her. She waited for his breathing to even out, for his muscles to relax. Waited for a sign that she had taken enough of his grief that he could function again. Finally, he moved his head to kiss her sweetly. It was wet, and salty, but his movements were lighter again. She moved her hands to his face, wiping his tears as she pulled him closer, and he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms fully around her waist and pressing against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He knew his grief was never hers to bear, and yet she did so willingly and with so much love. He could never thank her enough for the way she cared for him when he hit his lowest points. He wasn’t sure he could have made it without her. Sometimes the weight on his shoulders was so heavy he felt like he would sink without her unending love and support buoying him up, keeping him afloat.

“You’re not alone, Sweetie. Never.” Katara continued to caress his face as she looked into his sparkling, sad eyes.”Do you want me to help? I can make the dumplings and the butter tea. I never quite mastered the tofu but I could try if you want…”

Aang silenced her with another kiss. “You’re wonderful,” he said, pressing his lips to hers again. “The best wife, partner, and friend in existence.” Yet another kiss. “I think I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you take a break before everyone gets here?”

Katara laughed, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She reluctantly removed her hands from her husband and settled on making herself some tea and sitting at the kitchen table to observe him. Even though he was aging, Katara still enjoyed watching him when she had a moment, whether it was bending practice, or working hard on something, or even something as simple as cooking. She still appreciated the lithe way his body moved, the smooth, airy motions he made, the way his tongue stuck out when he was concentrating…

She sat back in her chair, grinning over her teacup as she watched him chop vegetables and boil water and roll dough. Sometimes observing him do the most trivial things—like cooking dinner for friends, or braiding their daughter’s hair when she was small, or working in the garden—reminded her how lucky she was to have him in her life. He was the Avatar after all. He could have maids and cooks and servants and never lift a domestic finger in his life, but that was never in Aang’s nature. And he could have chosen anyone as his companion, but he had always and only ever chosen her. Over and over. It was somehow both humbling and assuring all at once.

After some time, she rose from her seat, walking behind him to wrap her arms around him, reveling in his warmth. She couldn’t see the smile on Aang’s face, but she knew it was there when he pressed one arm over her interlocking ones, squeezing lightly with his hand.

She leaned up to press a light kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re awfully distracting, you know,” Aang chided. He turned in her arms to peck her on the nose. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to watch you cook. I forgot how much I enjoy it.” She gave him a very pointed look and he laughed heartily.

“Well, by all means, enjoy the show,” he said, wiggling his hips for her benefit as he extricated himself from her grip to keep working. Katara giggled. She was about to return to her seat when she noticed the clutter Aang was leaving in the kitchen as he worked, and decided to help him by tackling some of that so he could focus on the food.

When Katara cooked, she was very methodical. Every ingredient, pot, pan, and chopstick had its place, and was immediately returned to that place when she had finished with it. She knew if she didn’t keep up with the mess as she worked, it would pile up to the point that she would feel overwhelmed at the end, so she tidied continually. Aang, on the other hand, was much more impulsive in his cooking. He would think of an ingredient to add mid-stir, and leave the remnants on the counter, never quite sure if he might want to add more later. He would wait to clean up all the messes at once.

There was a time in their marriage where this had driven Katara crazy. The kids were still very young at the time, and the extra mess on top of the cacophony of kid-sounds and clutter and Momo swooping around the house would become too much, so she would constantly buzz around him, taking things and washing and putting them away before he was even finished with them. He would turn around for more of an ingredient and find it wrapped up in the icebox. More than once, he had had to take Katara by the shoulders, kiss her gently, and exclaim, “Darling, I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Now, much like in other parts of their relationship, she had learned which parts of the mess to let be, and which ones she could handle that would actually help him. She sat up with him at night while he transcribed ancient Air Nomad texts and histories; her presence a comfort as he worked through it all and felt the loss more keenly. Tenzin joined him now, of course, when he was home, but Aang still felt more able to work through his grief when she stayed too. When they were younger, she had sewn Air Nomad clothes for Aang and for the acolytes, and eventually taught the acolytes to make them herself not because Aang couldn’t sew or teach them, but because it was one of the things that they both could do. Something that she could take off of his already over-heaped plate.

They balanced each other. He was her rock on full-moon nights or when she missed her parents or when her emotional storm was raging. He was her center of calm when she was worried about the kids or about the world. But today, Aang needed her. So she washed the used dishes for him to use again if needed, and cleared the wrappings for him, being sure to leave the ingredients on the counter. She made sure to give him gentle touches as they worked; a hand to the small of his back as she passed him, a bump of the hip as they worked side by side. Loving smiles and stolen kisses as the afternoon sun fell lower in the sky.

Eventually their friends would arrive and they would be able to laugh and joke and remember together. There would be group hugs and arm-punches and happy sounds and smells would fill their home as they reminisced. Through all of it, Aang would sneak looks across the table at Katara, with a special smile reserved for her. Fifty years! They’d made it fifty years together, in no small part because of everything they had learned through their struggles as they grew together. Because of the weights and grief they shared with one another instead of bearing them alone.

“I may be old, Twinkletoes, but I can still feel your heartbeat when you look at Sugarqueen like that,” Toph jabbed as Aang snuck another glance at his wife. “How can you two be together for fifty years and still act as disgusting as when we were teenagers? I’m not going to have to pull you out of a linen closet at the official event tomorrow, am I? Because we are all too old for that.”

Knowing that she still sent his heart a-flutter the way he did to her warmed Katara’s old bones from head to toe, and she sent a look of her own towards her husband. Aang’s face reddened.

“Oh, no,” groaned Sokka. “Oogies! I’m out.” He rose from the table, pulling Suki along with him. “Dinner was great guys, and I’d like to keep it in my stomach, thanks. So, we’ll see you all in the morning when the kids get here?”

“Sounds good,” replied Zuko as he and Mai rose to join them. “We should probably turn in anyway. It’s getting late.” Aang and Katara stood as well to accompany their guests to the door before everyone went their separate ways.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening as always, guys,” Suki added as she hugged them both goodbye. “Try not to wear yourselves out too much tonight, hmm? It’s not as easy to recover as it used to be and we have a busy day tomorrow.”

Katara feigned shock at her sister-in-law’s tease but Aang only blushed further as Sokka faked retching and promptly exited with their friends. Aang was always so open about his emotions and intentions when it came to Katara, whether or not he intended to be. She simply smirked back up at him and took him by the hand, waving to everyone one last time before pulling him back to their bedroom. And, maybe they were a little extra tired the next day, but it was worth it. Loving each other through the many ups and downs of a lifetime together would always be worth it. Even when Toph berated them for it outside a linen closet door.

#kataang #kataang fanfiction #kataangtag #fluff prompts #katara #aang #atla #sweeties #slightly hurt/comfort #sorry!#adcurtis #asks

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ckbookish · 3 years

Text

BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim.

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones.

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call.

6 Two-face: The Better Choice

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat?

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself.

8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?”

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true. That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.

13 Dad: Storge

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily. The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way.

“Your dad must have his hands full with you.” Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view. It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world. The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield... Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad. But he wasn’t.

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard. The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway. Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter. He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it. Wolverhampton.

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been. Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.

23 Kidnapped: Chum

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing.

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

#batman bingo 2020 #Master Post #Batman #CK Writes #Nightwing #Dick Grayson #tim drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Red Hood #Red Robin #robin #My Writing

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Link

raven sun: Ch 1/3, 4.6k

for @mdzsbingo prompts “rarepair, mission, hostile, paranoia”

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Wen Ning becomes possessed by a vengeful spirit. Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng is the closest target.

Rated M, contains nonsexual but dubconny dom/sub elements in later chapters

Post-Canon

Angst and Eventual Hurt/Comfort

Antagonistic Uncles to Less Antagonistic Uncles

Dom Wen Ning

for those who saw the golden core reveal and said “needs more degradation”

Swordplay with Suibian (and all its implications)

Jiang Cheng’s plans for this night hunt did not include this much physical contact with the Ghost General.

His plans hadn't involved any physical contact with the Ghost General. Nor did they involve his right leg being immobilized by a blast of resentful energy from a tiny figurine, or limping out of a crumbling farmhouse with Wen Ning supporting him, arm around his waist. But most things don’t go the way Jiang Cheng wants them to.

As he and Wen Ning hobble out of the farmhouse, each step sending a jolt of pain up Jiang Cheng’s leg, the figurine releases a fiercer storm of resentful energy. As if angered by their attempt to escape, it kicks up dust and shards of wood that fly around them as the house collapses.

A beam crashes to the floor.

Wen Ning grabs Jiang Cheng by the shoulders and leaps forward. His jump is so powerful that it propels them through the doorway and into the forest a few dozen paces away. Jiang Cheng lands on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him, Wen Ning on top of him. They slide across the forest floor, turning up earth, until they crash sideways into a tree trunk.

Ears ringing, Jiang Cheng draws on his spiritual energy to restore his breath. He tries to stand, impatient to check how the juniors fared the attack, but he can only push up against Wen Ning without going anywhere.

Wen Ning seems to be shielding him with his body, a gesture which is thoroughly insulting.

“Get off me!” Jiang Cheng growls.

He lets his anger grow, feeds on the frustration of being trapped. He ignores the disturbing sliver of comfort that the weight of Wen Ning's body brings.

“Get off!”

The weight lifts.

Jiang Cheng sits up. “Where’s Jin Ling?”

“I’m not sure. Jin-zongzhu and the others escaped the house before us.”

“At least they got out,” Jiang Cheng says tersely.

At least one part of this night hunt is going according to plan: Jin Ling is safe.

And, he must admit, he’s been almost as concerned with keeping the other juniors safe, too. He’d taken the blow of resentful energy for Lan Sizhui, managed to shield him just in time. He’d be injured for nothing if the Lan boy doesn’t make it out of the night hunt alive.

He would’ve thought that perfect Hanguang-Jun’s perfect little child—the “most promising disciple of his generation”—would’ve been able to hold his own on a night hunt. But if Jiang Cheng must run around saving the boy…fine. He’ll do just that.

Jiang Cheng’s right leg is still locked, completely immobile. He makes it to his feet with difficulty, but quickly enough that Wen Ning doesn’t have the chance to help him. Thankfully. A few more overly attentive, patronizing gestures from the Ghost General, and Jiang Cheng might let Zidian demonstrate why Wen Ning ought to keep an appropriate distance.

Calling for his nephew, Jiang Cheng starts to make his way back toward the farmhouse, which is likely little more than ruins by now. He wonders if he’ll ever make it there to find out. He can barely manage to limp, dragging his leg behind him.

“Jiang-zongzhu, let me help—”

“Forget it. Just go ahead of me. See how the juniors are doing.”

Wen Ning just stares at him. When he isn’t ducking his head and looking at his feet, his black eyes have a soul-searching steadiness that is both chilling and disarmingly gentle. It makes Jiang Cheng want to crawl inside of himself.

“…Thank you,” Wen Ning says. “For…A-Yuan—”

“I didn’t do anything for ‘A-Yuan,’” Jiang Cheng snaps, refusing to look at Wen Ning any longer.

Wen Ning remains in place for a few moments. Then he turns and runs away, chains clinking behind him.

Last month, Jiang Cheng had to help him put those chains back on after they got knocked out of place by a demonic boar. A lovely experience for everyone.

By now, Jiang Cheng has figured out that Wen Ning keeps those chains on not just to use a weapon, but also as some strange form of comfort. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand it. But for some reason, he just knows it’s true.

After so many night hunts, he’s developed a disturbing level of familiarity with Wen Ning’s habits and expressions. It crept up on him slowly, a few threads woven in at a time. Yet another thing that was not part of his plans.

Unfortunately, spending time in each other’s company seems unavoidable. They are both committed to protecting their nephews. If A-Ling must be friends with the Ghost General’s only living relative, Jiang Cheng will just have to grit his teeth and endure it.

At least it’s somewhat useful to know how Wen Ning fights, as it allows them to coordinate their protection of the juniors more easily. But it’s still unnerving to know the finer details, like the exact way Wen Ning likes his chains arranged, as if Jiang Cheng ever wanted to have so much knowledge about the man.

He doesn’t even care about Wen Ning.

And if he owes a debt to Wen Ning—owes a debt to protect what remains of Wen Ning’s family, too—that doesn’t affect his feelings at all.

Doesn’t even enter his thoughts…

* * *

As willing as Wen Ning usually is to defer to others’ judgment, admitting when Jiang Wanyin is right pricks a nerve. Still, they do need to look after the juniors first, and Wen Ning can do that fastest on his own.

Wen Ning also feels a bit guilty leaving Jiang Wanyin behind while he’s wounded—especially when he’d taken that injury for A-Yuan. But there will be time to heal him later.

Maybe it's because he doesn’t have Jiejie anymore, maybe it's because he has A-Yuan to look after, but Wen Ning has become preoccupied with caretaking. Perhaps it’s for good reason. He has the ability to protect others, and he knows the lost medical techniques of the Dafan Wen. What better use for his unnatural existence than to help others? What better way to atone for the past?

He arrives back at the wreckage of the farmhouse, but it’s deserted. He returns to the forest to continue searching for the juniors.

“Wen-qianbei!” he hears from bushes in the forest near the wreckage.

“A-Yuan?”

The juniors nearly leap out of the forest.

“Wen-qianbei!” Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi excitedly call at the same time. They shoot somewhat surprised glares at each other, then hurry over along with A-Yuan and Ouyang Zizhen.

“We’ve been looking for you!” Lan Jingyi says.

“Yeah, we were really worried!” says Ouyang Zizhen.

A-Yuan puts a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder. Fondness warms him as soon he meets A-Yuan’s gaze.

“Are you alright?” A-Yuan asks.

“Of course,” Wen Ning says, almost wanting to laugh with the relief that washes over him at seeing that everyone seems unharmed. “I’m always alright. I should be asking you.”

The juniors all seem so happy to see him. Even Jin Ling is smiling. He still isn’t quite used to affection from them, especially not from Jin Ling.

“Is everyone okay? Any injuries?” Wen Ning asks.

He’s met with a cheerful chorus of various variations of “We’re fine.”

Except from Jin Ling, whose smile is fading. “Where’s my jiujiu?”

Wen Ning nods over his shoulder. “Close behind. But he needs help getting here.”

Jin Ling flies off to find him.

After Wen Ning has checked the other three juniors for injuries, they start inspecting the ruins of the farmhouse to search for the figurine. But Wen Ning hangs back, a feeling of dread churning inside his chest, clawing at him.

He’d already felt unusually anxious for this night hunt before embarking on it. Still, he’d been able to face it.

But he hadn’t expected the figurine’s spirit to be this powerful.

The rumors about the figurine had all been similar, and had seemed typical for a mid-level vengeful spirit. Recently, a new footpath was created to connect two villages that lay a two-day traveling distance apart, with the abandoned farmhouse as the midpoint. If a lone traveler spent the night in the farmhouse, nothing happened.

But if a group of travelers slept inside, one of them would become possessed. The possessed traveler would accuse their companions of horrible deeds and attempt to murder them all in the name of retribution.

After some research, it was discovered that the family that used to live in the farmhouse had always gotten into fierce arguments—and one day, they all killed each other inside the house. The sole witness was a small figurine of an immortal. The figurine soaked up all the family’s hatred and bloodlust until it developed its own spirit.

And developed an aptitude for possession.

It’s possible that the figurine had destroyed itself when the house collapsed, but unlikely. The juniors will have to dig it up and figure out how to pacify it.

Wen Ning watches from a distance while the juniors search through the ruins. Anxiety continues to churn inside him. It’s different from the nervous excitement he usually feels about night hunts, having never gone on a proper night hunt before his death. And it’s different from his typical parentlike worry for the juniors.

The juniors should be relatively safe confronting the spirit. They have high cultivation levels for their age, and they underwent spirit-calming rituals as infants. Their risk of possession is low.

But Wen Ning is the perfect conduit for possession. To approach a spirit this strong would be like holding a metal rod in a lightning storm.

The memory of fighting against Baxia’s saber spirit still hangs heavy over him. Almost as heavy as what happened in Qiongqi Path. Despite Wei Wuxian having taught him how to maintain some autonomy while in the clutches of resentful energy and spirits, he still has so little control over himself.

He can’t get near this spirit. He could put everyone at danger if he does.

“They’re back!” Ouyang Zizhen calls. The juniors run over to the edge of the forest.

Jiang Wanyin and Jin Ling emerge from the forest. Jiang Wanyin’s leg doesn’t look any better. He’s still dragging it along behind him, with Jin Ling supporting him the way Wen Ning had a few minutes ago.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” A-Yuan says with a small bow. “Thank you for—”

“What are you talking about? I did nothing. Get back to work,” Jiang Wanyin says before he can finish. “The spirit is in that wreckage somewhere. We should deal with it fast before something else happens.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wen Ning, looking a bit disappointed. Wen Ning just shakes his head.

“That means all of you,” Jiang Wanyin says to Jin Ling when his nephew doesn’t move from his side.

With a mix of concern and displeasure, Jin Ling helps Jiang Wanyin over to a tree he can hold for support, then joins the others. The four juniors make to leave, then stop and look over expectantly at Wen Ning when he doesn’t follow.

Wen Ning should help them search for the figurine. Should help them pacify such a dangerous spirit. But anxiety freezes him in place.

A-Yuan seems to notice his discomfort. He smiles and gives Wen Ning a tiny nod, making gratitude swell inside Wen Ning for how perceptive his nephew is.

A-Yuan steps forward. “Wen-qianbei, Jiang-zongzhu, we can complete the rest of the night hunt. Facing the spirit on our own would be valuable experience.”

“We are an ideal team,” Ouyang Zizhen adds.

“Yeah, we can hold our own!” Lan Jingyi chimes in. “The four of us even escaped the spirit’s attack way faster than you guys.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns. A-Yuan shoots a chastising glance at Jingyi.

“You’re right,” Wen Ning says, feeling a bit more relaxed. “You’re all capable enough to handle this. I’ll stay behind to heal Jiang-zongzhu. The two of us will be close by if you need help.”

The juniors head back toward the wreckage.

Jiang Wanyin side-eyes Wen Ning. “Why so eager to let them run off without you? Is the Ghost General scared of a doll?”

His words wouldn’t bother Wen Ning so much if they weren’t absolutely true. “They’re all capable cultivators, and Jin Ling is a sect leader. They’ll be fine without us. But you need to be healed.”

“Worry about them first. I’ll last until the spirit is dealt with—and that’ll happen a lot faster if you put yourself to work.”

“They’ll be safer if both of us are on our feet and ready to help if they call.”

Jiang Wanyin sighs. “Fine.”

He winces as Wen Ning helps him to the ground, his back propped against the tree. Wen Ning kneels beside his injured leg. He lifts Jiang Wanyin’s violet robes and trousers up to his mid-thigh, revealing a black wound traveling from his ankle up to just below his knee.

“It’s a curse mark,” Wen Ning says in disbelief.

The skin hit by the curse is blackened and swollen, the muscle tissue immobilized. Currents of resentful energy snake along the wound’s surface like a second set of veins outside the skin.

It looks just like the curse mark Wei Wuxian transferred to himself from Jin Ling, but worse. Now both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin have received curse marks to protect a boy that the other cares about.

Wen Ning can’t decide whether he finds that surprising or not. He knows that Jiang Wanyin cares fiercely about his family, but he also knows that he isn’t the best at following through on it. And he definitely didn’t know that Jiang Wanyin might care about any member of the Dafan Wen.

He looks up at Jiang Wanyin. “This curse mark won’t disappear until—"

“I know how curse marks work,” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

Wen Ning takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Jiang Wanyin received this wound while protecting A-Yuan. “The curse won’t disappear until the spirit’s grievances are resolved, but I can apply a charmed tourniquet to keep it from spreading up your leg.

“…Alright.”

Reaching into his qiankun sleeve of medical supplies, Wen Ning pulls out the tourniquet and begins tying it around Jiang Wanyin’s leg, just below his knee.

Jiang Wanyin tenses as he continues tying. He isn’t sure if it’s because Jiang Wanyin is in pain, or if he just feels uncomfortable with Wen Ning touching him. Probably both.

“Don’t you need a windlass to tie a tourniquet?” Jiang Wanyin asks. Remarkably, it sounds like a genuine question, not criticism.

“The purpose of this tourniquet isn’t to stop blood flow, and the charm is very effective, so it doesn’t need to be so tight. It actually needs to be a little loose so your qi can flow to the wound and suppress the curse mark.”

“Hm.”

Wen Ning could explain more. Could explain how the charm was cast, how the material of the tourniquet was chosen, how it’s designed to last for hours. He enjoyed learning details like this from Jiejie when he was young, and now he enjoys teaching them to A-Yuan. He rarely has the opportunity to share his knowledge with anyone else.

But the topic of medical operations hangs between him and Jiang Wanyin with an uncomfortable weight.

He tries to fill the silence anyway. “Even if the tourniquet did need to be tight, my arm strength is probably good enough to tie it without a windlass. Not that…not that that’s good medical practice—it’s really bad medical practice, actually—so I wouldn’t do that anyway—”

Jiang Wanyin scoffs and turns away. “Just hurry up.”

Wen Ning finishes tying the tourniquet. “Done. Wait—”

Jiang Wanyin tries to stand up. Wen Ning presses down on his shoulder to keep him in place, which earns him a perplexed glare.

Wen Ning doesn’t want to return to the wreckage just yet. Not when he doesn’t know what to do about his dangerous susceptibility to possession. And Jiang Wanyin is the last person he wants to explain that to.

Thankfully, he has a good reason to stall: Jiang Wanyin still needs more treatment.

“I have some herbs that might be able to weaken the curse,” Wen Ning suggests.

“Fine. After that, you’re coming with me to go solve whatever that doll’s grievances are.”

Wen Ning pulls out a satchel of herbs that, at one time, would've smelled sweet to him. He begins rubbing them on the curse mark as delicately as his clumsy hands can manage, while Jiang Wanyin quite obviously tries not to flinch from pain.

“You aren’t here to heal me,” Jiang Wanyin says suddenly.

Wen Ning looks up, expecting to see Jiang Wanyin scowling. What he sees instead is a surprisingly calm gaze of careful scrutiny.

“You’re scared of something.” Jiang Wanyin continues. He speaks slowly, like it’s a question he isn’t sure he should ask.

Somehow, over the course of these night hunts, Jiang Wanyin has learned to read him a bit too well.

* * *

“Well?” Jiang Cheng says. “Is there some other factor in this night hunt that I don’t know about?”

Wen Ning looks unnerved by the question, but he just continues applying the herbs, swirling them in small, gentle circles—almost caresses—with his fingers. It creates a steady stream of pain that makes Jiang Cheng grind his teeth, but Wen Ning’s touch is light enough that it doesn’t hurt more than necessary.

That alone is enough to eat at Jiang Cheng. That Wen Ning is this careful not to inflict undue pain on him—that Wen Ning is helping him at all—when the man has no reason to care about him. Has no reason to be gentle with him other than out of condescension.

But Wen Ning has let down the mask before. Let his thoughts flow freely. Although Jiang Cheng hates to admit it, Wen Ning has hurt him before.

Since then, Jiang Cheng has tried to drop the mask a second time, to get Wen Ning to reveal the spite he knows lies beneath it, but he can only catch mere glimpses.

He knows he’s hurt Wen Ning, too. Knows he deserves nothing.

Knows Wen Ning despises him.

It would just be nice if Wen Ning acted like it.

“If there’s a reason for you to be scared of something,” Jiang Cheng says, “I think I should be informed of it. Unless you’re implying that I’d be of no use even if I did know.”

Wen Ning's jaw tightens. “I’m scared of being possessed,” he says coldly, without looking up. “I’ve lost control in the past, and I don’t want to lose it again.”

The honest answer catches Jiang Cheng off guard.

Visions of how the Ghost General might have looked like at Qiongqi Path flash through his mind—visions of how he might have looked as he slaughtered dozens of cultivators, as he drenched his hands in Jin Zixuan's blood.

Anger seethes through his veins. But something else rises in him, too.

Something almost like…pity.

Wen Ning lifts Jiang Cheng’s leg slightly to rub the herbs on the underside of his calf. His touch is still agonizingly gentle.

“You seemed fine on every other night hunt,” Jiang Cheng says, unsure how to respond.

“This spirit is especially skilled at possession.”

“If you’re so worried about it, what would you do if the juniors called for us right now? Ignore them and keep hiding?”

Wen Ning pauses, resting his hand on Jiang Cheng’s knee. He stares at the ground, his shoulders hunched. “…I’d go help them.”

“And if you get possessed?”

“A-Yuan knows what to do if that happens.”

“And if ‘A-Yuan’ can’t do anything?”

Wen Ning looks up at him.

“Then you can strike me with Zidian.”

A chill runs down his spine.

He’s struck Wen Ning with Zidian three times before—all in the same night, the night Wen Ning struck him with truth in the form of a sword’s blade.

He would strike Wen Ning with Zidian again if he had to. He wouldn’t hesitate. He knows he wouldn’t.

The only problem is that—

“Zidian can only exorcise spirits from the living,” he says.

The spiritual weapon can’t easily incapacitate Wen Ning either. Normal fierce corpses can be taken out in one blow, but Wei Wuxian, in his infinite brilliance, made Wen Ning several times stronger. Zidian would have to nearly destroy Wen Ning to incapacitate him.

Not that Jiang Cheng would have…hesitations about that. Not if it came to protecting A-Ling.

At least, he tells himself he wouldn’t.

Wen Ning is silent for an uncomfortably long time.

“You’re skilled enough of a cultivator to stop me,” he finally replies.

Jiang Cheng ignores how that makes the tiniest bit of heat rise to his cheeks. Silence envelops them again, and Wen Ning resumes rubbing the herbs into the curse mark.

Jiang Cheng has seen Wen Ning heal the juniors on night hunts before, but he’s never needed to be treated by Wen Ning. It feels strange to depend on him.

The thought gives him an inexplicable urge to kick something. Maybe Wen Ning. Maybe himself. He holds himself back for the sake of sparing himself another leg injury.

“What’s Lan Sizhui’s method to stop you?”

“…It’s not necessary for you to know.”

“If there’s a risk of you losing control and harming my family again, I deserve to know how to prevent it.”

Wen Ning’s expression hardens.

That came out more accusatory than he intended.

As if he cares. As if he was ever able to meet gentleness with anything but a daggered tongue.

“Unless you don’t truly believe I’m capable enough to manage it? Unless that was a lie?” Jiang Cheng continues, his tone biting.

He’s already dug himself a ditch. Might as well look like he intended it. At least dealing with an angry Ghost General is less sickening than receiving his kindness.

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes. “Or maybe you don’t believe I’m reliable enough?”

“I do believe in your capability,” Wen Ning says sharply. It sounds like an insult. “But this has nothing to do with you, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Wanyin, not Jiang-zongzhu. He’s losing Wen Ning’s respect. Good to know. As if he ever had it.

“Nothing to do with me?”

“No. This is personal, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Personal?” Jiang Cheng leans forward, already regretting the words he’s about to say. “Do you think the death of my sister’s husband isn’t personal for me, too?”

Wen Ning rises to his feet. At this angle, he towers over Jiang Cheng. The smallest bit of fear flares up inside Jiang Cheng’s chest, making him angry at himself for feeling any fear at all.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Ning says, raising his voice. “I’ve been sorry for sixteen years.” He gestures down at Jiang Cheng’s leg. “I’ve done all I can for your wound.”

He walks off, sinking into the forest. Rage and guilt erupt inside Jiang Cheng, biting at him like wolves.

“Wen Ning!”

Feeling every last bit of dignity leave his body, he manages to stand up and limp after him, using his sword like a cane and dragging his cursed leg behind himself. A pit grows in his stomach as he continues calling for Wen Ning.

Wen Ning—the one to apologize and walk away from an argument, something Jiang Cheng could never do. Just like how Wen Ning was the one to save Jin Ling in Guanyin Temple, the one to protect Wei Wuxian until the end. Of course Wen Ning is everything Jiang Cheng couldn’t be. Can’t be.

“The juniors are still at the wreckage!” he yells once he’s deeper in the forest. “Are you such a coward that you’re just going to abandon them?

“They’d be in more danger if I’m nearby,” says a quiet voice overhead.

Wen Ning is sitting in a tree, not bothering to look down.

Jiang Cheng sighs. He’s found Wen Ning, and now what is he going to do? Say he was wrong? Grovel at the base of the tree?

Having spent most of his life picking up broken pieces, always cleaning up Wei Wuxian’s messes, he should be better at putting back together the things he breaks himself. Instead he always cuts himself on the shards.

He thinks of how Wen Ning saved his life once. Thinks of how much A-Jie liked Wen Ning. The pit in his stomach deepens.

“Back then, maybe you weren't able to stop it from happening. I don't know,” he says, painfully aware of how much he’s stumbling through this already.

No response.

“But you need to snap out of it. You fought against Baxia’s possession in Guanyin Temple."

Still no answer. He'd rather just shake Wen Ning out of the tree at this rate. He grits his teeth, shoves down his impatience, and forces himself to keep talking.

"Look, you could’ve killed Jin Ling. But you didn’t. This figurine spirit can’t be any stronger than Baxia. You can fight it.”

Wen Ning shifts slightly.

“If you give up on this night hunt and the juniors…if you give up on Lan Sizhui—”

That gets Wen Ning to look down at him. He resists the way his body wants to shrivel up under that critical gaze.

“You’ve gotten control back before.” Jiang Cheng swallows and turns his face away. “You could do it again.”

You’ve saved A-Ling plenty of times. I trust you with him, gets stuck in his throat.

Wen Ning still doesn’t speak. The restless silence of the forest is too uncomfortable for Jiang Cheng to keep his mouth shut.

“What you can’t be doing is giving up on protecting the juniors! If you’re not an ally on these night hunts, then I’ll have to consider you a—”

“If it came to it, I would still face the spirit.” Wen Ning’s voice is quiet. Tranquil.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. "Good."

Wen Ning leaps down from the tree, landing with a loud thud. It’s a wonder his legs don’t break with the way he always throws himself around, as if he doesn’t care about looking after his body. Jiang Cheng finds himself startled that he wants to tell Wen Ning to stop doing that.

“I should still keep my distance from the wreckage if I can,” Wen Ning says. “Thank you for…I’m…I’m surprised that you—"

“Well, then don’t be so damn surprised,” Jiang Cheng hurries to interrupt before he has to hear more of Wen Ning’s deadly honesty. “We’re going back to the edge of the forest now.”

Wen Ning doesn’t try to support Jiang Cheng while they walk back. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he’s grateful for the space either way.

Just before they reach the last line of trees, a loud boom comes from the direction of the wreckage, followed by shouts from the juniors.

Jiang Cheng tries not to panic.

Even if things get messy, the juniors can handle themselves.

He forces himself to limp faster—

“Wen-qianbei!”

“Jiujiu!”

Fuck!

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng calls.

He tries to run toward them, but he can only limp so fast. He unsheathes Sandu to fly instead.

Can’t fly.

The damn curse wound must be distorting his spiritual power—

He turns to Wen Ning. “Come on!—”

His stomach sinks.

Wen Ning is frozen in place, staring blankly ahead.

Jiang Cheng grabs him by the arm. It trembles beneath his hand. “Wen Ning! We need to move!”

“I...I…”

“Now!”

Wen Ning sinks to his knees.

The juniors' cries grow louder.

Fuck.

#mdzsbingo #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #chengning #jiang cheng #wen ning #ningcheng #mdzs #cql #the untamed #emilu creations #emilu fics

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 7, Part 1

T/N: For the first time, a chapter will have three parts ( ; ω ; ) This is one very long scene..!

TW for this chapter // Mention of death, blood

If there were a hole in the ground, he would dive right into it.

——Is that what one would call this state of mind?

That was what Kevin Curtis thought as he nervously wandered the forest alone.

After they’d bid farewell to Albert, for a while, he and the elderly nobleman Andy had continued walking on with no destination in mind. Then they ran into a couple of nobles from the opposing team, and somehow started shooting at one another; before he knew it, for some reason, he had found himself all alone.

When the fighting started, Kevin had panicked and knocked into Andy. He’d then dropped his revolver somewhere, and descended into an even greater panic. Kevin crawled on the ground to search for it after that, and just as he’d finally found his own gun, the next thing he knew, he was both lost and alone. For about a minute, Kevin had hugged his knees as he fell into despair, such was the height of his misery.

“But it’s a good thing this card was here.”

Kevin spoke to himself, brushing his fingers over the card that had been tied to the revolver. Without it, he wouldn’t have had the confidence to say that the gun he had picked up was his own. On the card, the number 8 was clearly written.

“But what should I do now……?”

He kept going “But, but” over and over as he swayed, repeatedly turning his head to look around him. Even though the forest wasn’t very large, perhaps it was the strangeness of his surroundings that heightened his unease, for it had begun to seem oddly complex and bizarre.

In times like this, if he were here——

The figure of that man rose to his mind: his business partner, Helena’s father, and his best friend.

In contrast to the timid Kevin, he had an endlessly bright and cheerful personality. There were times when Kevin had thought that cheeriness bothersome, but the man was optimistic, and loved a challenge, which meshed well with his own pessimistic and cautious nature. The store they’d opened and run together had been a success, so much so it had grown into an enormous department store.

Why did he just disappear? Kevin knew it was useless to think about it now, but even so, he still couldn’t help but feel that way.

They’d known one another for ten years, yet Kevin hadn’t noticed him being particularly troubled. Their business was progressing smoothly, and it didn’t seem as though he was having problems at home. After Helena had been born, his wife had fallen ill and passed away, but Kevin was certain that he and Helena had come to terms with her passing for a long time now.

Even so, perhaps there was something else that no one knew about, which had been gnawing away at him for some time. Then, why hadn’t he noticed anything? Kevin had asked himself this question many times over as he was interviewed by the Yard.

Of course, there was the line of thought that no one was to blame, and he’d been abducted by someone. In an industry where resentment was common, perhaps there were some people who would resort to such extreme measures — and Kevin had been too careless to anticipate it. Whether he wanted to or not, that incident came to mind. That was why…….

Unconsciously, Kevin’s eyes began to search for the girl he had taken in.

That was why he would at least protect Helena — that was the duty Kevin had taken upon himself. Even after her beloved father had gone missing, Helena had never once lost her outspoken spontaneity, nor shown the slightest sign of grief, and he was staunchly determined to protect that resolute spirit of hers.

“Hm?”

Unexpectedly, his train of thought had been interrupted. Speak of the devil perhaps, or maybe his thoughts alone managed to influence reality. As Kevin stumbled through the forest, before his eyes appeared a lone girl with her back turned to him.

——Was that Helena? From her hairstyle and clothes, it did appear so. Strangely, she was sitting in the tall grass, her back hunched as she hugged her knees. She appeared to be staring intently at something before her, without showing any sign of having noticed Kevin behind her.

He pondered. Now, he and Helena were on opposing teams. Moreover, this girl, who seemed to be Helena, had exposed her back to him, leaving herself full of openings……. In this situation, what was the right thing to do?

If he were to play the part of a kind and generous father, he could call out to her, and let her shoot him on purpose. But he was quite certain that Helena, prideful as she was, would want a serious battle; if she knew he deliberately let her get away, it was inevitable that she would throw a big fuss about it no matter what good intentions he had.

In that case, should he fire on her right now? But then he was worried he might upset her, and just as all sorts of concerns whirled around Kevin’s head, someone thumped a hand on his back.

“………!”

Kevin had almost let out a yelp, but he frantically clapped a hand over his mouth as he spun around. There, he saw Andy Krueger, whom he’d lost sight of in the battle earlier.

The man placed an index finger over his mouth, signalling Kevin to stay quiet, and walked up beside him.

“That’s Helena-kun, isn’t it?”

Andy sounded fairly certain on that, and Kevin lowered his voice as he spoke.

“I just happened to come up behind her, and now I’m not sure if I should shoot.”

Andy gave him a wry smile.

“That’s quite like you. But even though it’s just for fun, you shouldn’t bring parental affection into a fight. Go on, get her before she runs away.”

“A-Alright.”

He had thought of Andy as a compassionate person, but it seemed he also had this surprisingly severe side to him. At the elderly nobleman’s rapid insistence, Kevin was on edge as he aimed his gun at the girl.

“Come on, quickly now,” Andy pressed.

There was no space for objection. Without thinking straight, Kevin pulled the trigger.

——Bang. A sound like a crack resounded through the air.

The recoil was stronger than expected, and Kevin fell on his bottom. Half stunned, he felt a little out of sync: perhaps it was because he was a complete amateur with a firearm.

However, that shot had felt subtly different from the previous times he’d fired his gun. The sense of incongruity that had arisen when he fired the shot, as well as a mysterious unease, both hit him simultaneously. Getting to his feet, Kevin looked at the girl in fear.

The girl lay curled up quietly on the ground. On her back was a huge splash of colour. But it wasn’t the hue of some artificial paint — rather, it was an ominously bright red.

“……Huh?”

That sinister red blotch gradually bloomed across the girl’s back. As he looked on, Kevin tilted his head in a comical motion.

It was the first time he had hit his target: to think, the colour would be as realistic as that. Moreover, the girl had yet to move a muscle. Maybe she was diligently pretending to be dead.

Kevin’s thoughts couldn’t catch up with the reality happening right before his eyes. As he stared ahead in a daze, beside him, the elderly nobleman spoke up in horror.

“Kevin-kun……. Was that, a live bullet?”

At that word, Kevin came back to himself. He looked at his revolver: both his hands were trembling abnormally. No way. Just now—— did he fire a real gun?

“Why? This is a toy, isn’t……”

“Give it here.”

Andy snatched the revolver from his hands. The card with the number 8 fluttered in the air. That’s right. Wasn’t it precisely that card which proved definitively that the gun was the one he’d been given? But even that little hope had been so easily crushed.

After briefly inspecting the gun, Andy gazed at him, wide-eyed.

“This is the real thing. You’ve just shot and killed her.”

His tone was emphatic, as if he were pronouncing judgement upon him. Kevin’s mind was a complete blank, but Andy shook his shoulders and immediately jerked him back to reality.

“You’ve done something terrible now, Kevin-kun! To think, you’ve killed your own child!”

“N—No…… I was just, playing a game—”

“That excuse won’t hold up! You’ve committed murder!”

As Andy shook him over and over, the word “murder” echoed in Kevin’s mind. Certainly, it was as the old man said. No matter what reasons he had, it was an unquestionable, irreversible fact that he had killed someone.

Andy went on volubly at a rapid clip.

“This is bad. If you go on like this, it’ll be your end. A murder conviction will strip you of your wealth, your name — everything. But you’re lucky that I’m the one who witnessed it. First off, let’s hide the body somewhere inconspicuous. Then we’ll make it seem as though Helena simply disappeared, and you can hide away in a foreign country. Once the furore dies down, you can come back; until then, leave the plans for your new store with me.”

“N-Now hold on just a minute!”

Even as he was overwhelmed by the force of Andy’s arguments, Kevin somehow managed to interrupt his proposal.

“We don’t know for sure whether she’s dead. If we give her first aid right away, she might still be saved. And what did you mean about leaving my plans for the store with you? What does the management of my store have to do with you?”

Kevin’s points were valid, but Andy refused to listen.

“Look at her! She hasn’t twitched at all: of course she’s dead! And it’s the same with the store! You’re a murder suspect, while I, a noble, am clearly more trustworthy, so it would be obviously more effective if I were to operate it——”

“——You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Lord Andy.”

As if he’d been possessed by something, Andy was just making an impassioned speech when a refreshing voice cut him off.

Kevin looked up, and caught sight of a man standing behind Andy.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

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joaquinwhorres · 3 years

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The Fool (Ch. 6) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 4,589

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› General plea for validation through reblogs and comments.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

Wren felt sick all morning.

Ever since Fred and George had been escorted off to the Hospital Wing by Lee Jordan, she felt as if her stomach was twisting in on itself. She supposed this was a natural reaction to sending your friends to the Hospital Wing--a theory that was further solidified throughout the day as it seemed like everybody was talking about the failed attempts to enter the Tournament. Fred and George were not the only ones thwarted by the ageline, but their story was by far the most popular throughout the castle. Wren had even heard a group of ghosts gossiping about it, and several portraits had stopped her on her way to the common room to interrogate her about the incident and settle a debate as to whether their beards had gone down to their waist or their ankles.

The Common Room was not much safer in terms of avoiding talk of the Failure. Lee Jordan appeared to be holding court in the corner, recounting the story from his perspective to an enraptured audience, and even up in her room, Wren couldn't seem to get away from the terrible feeling that had made itself right at home in her core. Even her Potions' homework wasn't enough to distract her from the fact that Fred and George still hadn't made their way up to the common room yet, and it was nearing lunch.

Which was why right before noon, Wren found herself hovering outside the Hospital Wing.

It seemed to be busier than normal, which wasn't that much of a surprise, given how many names of unsuccessful entrants Wren'd heard other students throw around. She had to admit though, that she was a bit surprised at how raucous the noise was. Wren edged a bit closer to the open door, one voice rising above the others in an uncanny imitation of an old Scottish woman. "Albus, last year a known murderer and pack of Dementors roamed the school, and the year before that the heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps, we could open it up to all students turning 17 this year?"

A slow measured voice responded, "Now, now, Minerva. Dementors and Basilisks are one thing, but a student died over 200 years ago from this Tournament. And even though it's now Ministry sanctioned, and we could potentially make it a tad bit safer, we must remain true to the spirit of the games, and only students who are of age can enter."

"But Albus, a student died--"

Footsteps rounded the corner, and Wren jumped back whirling on the couple who just came down the hallway.

Not a couple.

The bronze haired boy who was smirking as he said something to the girl walking beside him was Simon. He looked up from the blonde, his eyes landing on Wren who was just a step away from entering the Hospital Wing, and surprise quickly overtook his features. Still, he didn't look quite as surprised as Wendy Fairchild did, her cheeks turning a delicate pink.

"Wren?" Simon said, as if he couldn't believe that she was actually there. Then again, she could count the number of times she'd been to the Hospital Wing over the past six years on her fingers, so maybe it wasn't entirely unreasonable for him to be so shocked. Her eyes were drawn once again to Wendy, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable and very trapped. Simon stepped away from the blonde and towards Wren. "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

Her eyes shifted to the Hospital Wing's door, the noise suddenly quelled by the sound of a sharp admonishment. "I had a stomach ache, is all," Wren said, stepping further away from the door. "Hi Wendy."

"Hi Wren," Wendy greeted, her eyes darting between the couple as the tension between the three thickened. The blonde Ravenclaw licked her lips, her eyes darting for Simon as if he'd provide a way out of the awkward situation but he was focused on Wren, the worry gone from his face, and a cool stoniness taking over in its place. A small sigh escaped Wendy. "Well, I best be going. Thank you again for the help, Simon," she offered a brief strained smile at the couple before hurrying off down the hallway.

Wren looked down at the stones between her and her boyfriend, eyes studying the grooves and dimples.

"I heard about what happened to Fred and George," Simon remarked, and Wren's stomach rolled. Words bubbled up, excuses and explanations and apologies all at the tip of her tongue as she looked up at him, but he continued. "I'm sure you see now why I didn't want you to do it."

Wren flushed and nodded her head, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Simon I--"

"It's ok, Wren," Simon cut her off, stepping forward and folding her into his arms. "I forgive you." He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hand. "At least you realized how foolish it'd be and pulled out."

Wren offered up a shaky smile which dissolved as Simon bent forward and kissed her, before releasing her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe next time, you'll just listen to me."

The sick feeling in her gut was worse, her insides churning in protest even as she kept her lips sealed shut, keeping her confession trapped inside. Simon looked down at her, seeming to note her silence.

He sighed, withdrawing his arm from around her. "You might as well just ask, I know what you're wondering."

Wren's brow furrowed in confusion as she cast him a look. "What I'm wondering?"

"Wren, I'm not stupid. I saw the look you gave me with Wendy, and I see the look you're giving me now. You're easy to read."

Realization dawned on Wren at what he was implying, and she quickly stumbled over her words. "Simon, I--"

"She needed help with her Alchemy work, and that's it. Nothing happened."

"I know--" Wren started again, but Simon cut her off.

"I made one mistake," Simon said. "One. And you and I both know that you're just as responsible for it happening as I am."

Wren looked to the ground, nodding her head. "I know. I…" she trailed off. "You're right. I shouldn't have even wondered. I'm sorry."

Simon sighed, his arm going around her shoulders once more. "I forgive you, I just wish you'd believe me that I love you."

"I do," Wren said, looking up into his face. "I know you love me."

He nodded solemnly. "More than anyone else ever could," he said before pressing his lips to hers and whisking her away to lunch.

Wren spent most of her lunch picking at her food and absentmindedly listening to Alicia's ranting about her parents and their post-Hogwarts desires for her and to Katie's wondering about whether everything Professor Moody did was strictly legal.

If the other girls noticed that Wren hadn't really touched her food or seemed to be preoccupied, they didn't say anything. It's possible a look was shared, but she didn't catch it.

Instead, she sat there distracted until she noticed her dorm mates getting up from the table, and she did the same, leaving behind a half full plate to follow them up to the common room.

There, she lost four games of Exploding Snap in a row, and was in the middle of losing a fifth when Fred and George burst through the portrait hole, announcing their arrival with a chorus of "Heyyyyy".

Wren's head snapped to them, watching as the twins modeled their newly clean-shaven faces, stroking the smooth skin of their chins to a smattering of applause and laughter.

Fred scanned the common room, his eyes locking on hers once he found her. He navigated his way around the couches and chairs to her. "There she is…" Fred said as he approached, and she flinched. Alicia tapped the stack of cards and looked entirely unapologetic as Wren glared at her.

"Cheater."

"Hardly," the other girl returned, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Fred plopped himself next to Wren as George sat next to Alicia, throwing himself into her lap. She shoved him off, and with a dramatic sigh, he switched to laying in Angelina's.

"About time you're back," Angelina said, tugging at George's ear. He winced, swatting her hand away. "How long does it take to fix a couple of beards anyway?"

"Longer when Dumbledore interrogates us for the secrets of our near success," Fred said, catching Wren's startled glance. "Don't worry--we told him we couldn't divulge any information."

"He seemed to understand but mentioned he'd be much obliged if the recipe should ever end up under his office door," George said with a grin at Wren.

She flushed, shaking her head. "It didn't even work. I mean you two could have ended up--"

"Maybe it didn't work, Fred cut her off. But no one else even made it through the age line. We're the only ones to have crossed it."

"It was a good bit of magic, Wren," George agreed.

"But it just as easily could have landed you in the Hospital Wing for more than a few hours," Wren argued, and the group exchanged looks.

"I thought we'd been over this," George said, sitting himself up. "It was a minor risk, yeah, but we've taken bigger risks with our own testing."

"Besides, I doubt Dumbledore would have put any enchantment on the Goblet that could harm students if the whole point was to keep underage witches and wizards from entering," Angelina reasoned.

Wren wet her lips, turning this over in her mind. She still couldn't help but feel guilty for her failure, but what made her feel even worse was not the fact that she could have hurt Fred and George, but that she was disappointed her potion hadn't succeeded.

"Come on," Fred said, nudging her shoulder with his own. "You've got to admit, it was at least a bit thrilling to give it a go."

The corner of her lips traitorously twitched up. Around her, her friends made sounds of approval, George even reaching forward to shake her leg excitedly.

"He really came to ask you about the potion?" Wren asked, and Fred nodded solemnly.

"Seemed genuinely interested too," George added.

Wren offered a real smile then, and the group seemed to (accurately) take that as an end to the conversation.

The rest of the afternoon passed happily. George finally ended Alicia's streak in Exploding Snap and Lee came into the Common Room about an hour later and recounted recent would-be entrants' failures for them. Now that Wren wasn't wracked with worry and guilt with Fred and George, she was able to laugh along with the rest of the group, especially over Lee's dramatic impersonation of Milicent Bulstrode breaking down into hysterics over her newfound beard.

By the time it was dinner, the events of the morning felt like they had passed weeks ago, and Wren traipsed down to the Great Hall with the group more than ready for the Halloween feast.

She wasn't, however, ready for the selection of Champions. Her heart stilled for a moment as Cedric's name was pulled from the cup, her eyes skipping over the group of Hufflepuffs shaking his shoulders and cheering, and instead focusing on Nora.

If Wren were in Nora's shoes, she'd be pale. But instead her cousin was alternating between clapping loudly and cupping her hands around her mouth to cheer.

She was only silenced when a fourth name came out of the cup.

In fact, the whole Great Hall went quiet for a beat. And then another one. And then the whispers started, moving through the room like wind rustling through the trees.

"Harry got his name in?" Angelina hissed next to Wren.

"How?" Katie whispered back, her eyes moving to Wren, but Wren was already focused on Harry, whipping his head around with surprise and saying something hushed and quick to his friends. Dumbledore called him up to the front table and her eyes followed his path, a clawing tightness in her chest as she watched him pass behind Fred.

How had he, a fourth year who by all accounts was not the smartest in his year, managed to get across the age line when the combined minds of her, Fred, George, and Lee hadn't managed it?

Her jaw clenched as a hand closed over hers. "Hey," George said, leaning across Angelina to get her attention. "If You-Know-Who wasn't able to kill him as a baby, you won't be able to now, even with that look."

The joke, coupled with Harry's disappearance into the chamber behind the professors' table, drew the small group's attention to Wren.

"I'm not trying to kill him," Wren protested as Dumbledore and other adults disappeared into the back room as well. With the disappearance of those in charge, the hall grew noisy once more, the chatter electric. "I just don't understand how he got in is all."

The look of mild annoyance on Fred's face melted as he took her in. "She's jealous!"

"Am not," Wren huffed.

"Come on, Wren, a win for Harry is a win for Gryffindor," Angelina said, but her smile was a bit tight, and Wren felt a bit embarrassed at being jealous when Angelina, who had legitimately entered, hadn't been chosen.

"And more than that," Fred said, bending his head forward conspiratorially. "It's a reason to party."

By the time Harry Potter, the guest of honor and very reason for the party, arrived at the Gryffindor common room, the party was in full swing. Students had come together to lay out a solid stash of snacks on a few tables, and Fred and George had procured a few cases of Butterbeer in a suspicious amount of time. This of course meant that everyone was almost vibrating with excitement to greet Harry. Indeed, all of Wren's friends left her the moment he came through the portrait hole to bombard him with well wishes and questions.

Wren, for her part, hung back with Alicia, making her way through a bag of crisps while staring warily at Harry. "Reckon he'll tell anyone how he did it?" Wren asked as Alicia took a long sip from her butterbeer.

"Harry?" Alicia asked, her voice a bit raw from the carbonation. "Probably not. He's rather tight-lipped. It'd be easier to get it out of Ron."

Wren nodded, scanning the room for the twins' younger brother. As her gaze skipped from redhead to redhead, none of them belonged to Harry's best friend. "Where is Ron?"

"This is really bothering you, huh," Alicia asked, her expression sympathetic. "I know you wanted it to work, but honestly Wren, it was always a long shot. The twins knew that."

Wren had no intention of trying to get Ron Weasley to tell her how Harry entered, but she would have been lying if she dismissed Alicia's claim outright.

She had known it'd been a long shot too. She always had a healthy dose of skepticism throughout the endeavor.

But she couldn't get rid of the small, irritating feeling of disappointment that scratched at the back of her mind.

She doubted Dumbledore would want her potion recipe now that someone had had an actually successful workaround.

"Why the long face?" Fred asked, walking back up with George. Over their shoulders, Wren could see Lee tying the Gryffindor banner around Harry's shoulders.

The two followed her gaze and Fred snorted. "Still on about that, then?"

"No," Wren said petulantly. The twins exchanged a knowing look, and she scowled, swatting at them. "I'm not!"

Fred's eyes darted over her shoulder, and she whipped around to catch Alicia mid-nod before pretending she was sipping from her drink.

"I'm not!"

Fred and George exchanged another look, although this one seemed to be more of a conversation between two pairs of eyebrows than just a look.

"Alicia, we're stealing Wren," Fred announced, wrapping an arm around Wren's shoulders and guiding her forward before Alicia could even respond to the statement. George trailed after the two of them, the group stopping in a relatively quiet nook of the common room, away from the thick of the party.

"It has recently come to our attention that you, Wren Collings, are a natural born inventor."

Wren quirked an eyebrow, staring dubiously back at Fred. "What?"

"You're upset that you didn't find the solution to the age line and Harry did," George filled in.

"Plus, you greatly enjoyed the plotting involved in making our potion," Fred nodded.

"So we were talking…" George started

"And we think you'd be an excellent addition to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes product development team," Fred finished with a smile.

"The what?"

"Fred and I have always dreamed of opening a joke shop. We've been working on a few products over the summer," George explained.

"Fake wands."

"Tom-tongue toffees."

"Trick quills."

"And we think that your mind and potions and Herbology expertise would help us with our next venture," Fred said.

"Your next venture?" Wren repeated.

"Puking pastilles," the twins chorused with a nod.

"Puking pastilles." What they were proposing was so ridiculous, Wren wasn't able to come up with a coherent original thought. Instead she was turning the idea over in her mind--product development with the Weasley twins. It was true she'd enjoyed developing the aging potion with them, but that had been a one time thing. A deal. And even then it hadn't worked. Now they wanted her to come up with entirely original recipes for members of the public to eventually consume? She could poison all of London. Or worse, she could--

"You're spiraling," Fred said matter of factly. "I can see it right here," he said, poking at the crease between her eyebrows, and Wren slapped his hand away. He grinned at her. "Come on Wren, this is an exciting new venture. Nothing to get too in your head about at this stage."

"I just don't think I--"

"If this is going to be another self-deprecating statement, I should warn you. You're wasting your breath," George interrupted, holding up a hand.

"We happen to think you are nothing short of a genius, and there isn't anything you can say to convince us otherwise," Fred added.

Wren blinked at them. "I--" they cast her reproachful looks and she switched directions. "Thank you."

Fred smiled. "I'm going to take that as confirmation that you're in."

Wren shook her head, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It would be easy to tell them no. To stick to the plan of just studying for her classes and spending free moments trying to track down Simon. But she didn't want to.

"Yeah," Wren said with a tentative smile. "I'm in."

While working with Fred and George on the creation of puking pastilles was fun and often led to Wren laughing so hard her sides hurt, it was still, at its core, work . She was fairly certain she had never used her brain so much. Not even for NEWT-level Potions or Transfiguration.

Still, there were far worse uses of her time than being tucked away in the common room or a corner of the library, drawing up plans and theories with Fred and George and sometimes Lee.

"I need a break," Wren announced, placing her book on top of the stack they had pulled.

"Breaks are for the faint of heart," George said automatically, not even bothering to look up from his reading. It had been the line the three used to keep each other on track.

"I fear I'm going into heart failure," Wren answered, dramatically, dropping in her chair. "If I have to read another line about common Italian plants' side effects, I think my heart will finally give out."

"Alright Georgie, I think a break's in order. We don't want poor Wren's heart to explode," Fred said, snapping his book shut.

"So when Wren's going through heart failure, we get a break, but when I'm dying of boredom, you just eulogize me."

"That's about the size of things," Fred nodded, and George grinned, shutting his book and looking over at the two. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, a look of curious confusion crossed his face.

"Hullo," he greeted, and Wren turned to see Simon walking towards the group.

"Hi, love," Wren smiled up at Simon. His bronze hair curled above his eyes, and she reached out a hand for him. He shot a quick look at her and then at the Weasley twins, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. Wren curled her hand back in, resting it on her shoulder as if that was what she intended to do. "What are you doing here?"

"Searching for my girlfriend," Simon offered a small smile. "Have you seen her?

"Simon," Wren laughed lightly as Fred and George exchanged mortified looks at the excuse of a joke.

"Oh! I hardly recognized you. Haven't seen you in ages."

"Ha ha, very funny," Wren smiled and let out an exhale as if he was joking, but he had that look in his eyes that she knew too well. He turned to Fred and George.

"So you're the reason my girlfriend's gone missing."

"What can I say, our presence is a delight." It wasn't the tone of Fred's voice as much as the look of George's face that made her stomach drop.

"Thank you for sharing Wren with us," George stepped in. "Must be hard to let this one go."

"Indeed," he swiveled to Wren. "Speaking of which, have a second?" Simon asked, flashing a seemingly charming smile. Wren looked up at him, and a flash of fear, which she hoped was unnoticeable, crossed her face. She slowly nodded.

"For you? Always," she said, standing up to follow him. Had he heard about George? What did he want? She had heard that tone of voice before, and it never ended well. She followed him a couple of rows over so that it was deserted and nobody would hear them.

"I didn't realize you three were so close," he commented, his voice still friendly, but in the dangerous phase. If Wren thought that her research was going to give her heart failure, she was certain that this conversation might give her a heart attack. It pounded away in her chest, as she racked her brain for an explanation. She had a feeling after Simon's reaction to the aging potion that he wouldn't particularly care for the truth.

"We're not that close," Wren dismissed. "We've just been studying together this year, is all. They're a whiz at Charms, and honestly this NEWT schedule is keeping me so busy--"

"Wren," Simon stopped her. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"What?"

"You're lying. I can see it all over you. What are you really up to with them?"

"What am I really up to?" Wren repeated, her heart beating faster. "Studying. Simon, where is this coming from? Why are you upset?"

"Why am I upset?" Simon asked. "After how you acted when you saw me walking down the hall with Wendy? I should have seen that you were projecting--accusing me of cheating while you're off spending your afternoon in a dark corner of the library with the Weasley twins!"

"Simon, it's not like that. You've just been busy and I—" Wren started to argue, jerking away and shutting her mouth quickly as Simon shoved a finger in her face.

"Do not turn this into my fault."

"It's nobody's fault. There's nothing wrong here!" Wren began to grow hysterical. "You're reading into things that aren't there."

"So I'm crazy?" He dropped his hand, but moved closer to her, and she took a half step back.

"No, of course not," Wren held her temples "I just--there's no reason to be upset. I would never choose them over you. I-I'll go tell them I have to go. We can go to the courtyard, or wherever you want. "

"Don't even bother. I don't want to be your pity pick. Just go back to them," Simon scoffed, shaking his head. "At this point, I'm used to being left behind. Makes sense you'd do it too."

"Simon, I'll come with you. Just let me get my stuff. Please--" Wren reached forward grabbing his arm, and he snatched it away from her, sending her toppling into a bookshelf. A few books came loose, tumbling to the floor in a messy pile.

"You always do this," Simon's lip curled. "Make a mess of everything. I wonder if your precious twins will put up with half the things I do." Wren watched him leave, trying to blink back the tears forming in her eyes. He was right. She did always make a mess of things. She knew what she should have done--what she should have said. She should have packed up as soon as he came over. She should have told the twins she'd see them in class and told him she had more than a second--she had hours for him. She shouldn't have argued.

Wren wiped away a few tears as she bent down to begin picking up the books and finding their proper places. Footsteps approached the end of the aisle, and her head snapped, hoping Simon had come back.

"Everything ok?" Fred asked, standing at the end of the aisle where Simon had been moments before. Wren quickly glanced back at the book she was shoving into the shelf, as if that would hide her splotchy red face.

"Fine," her voice came out high and not quite as lighthearted as she'd hoped.

"And that's why you've decided to take up a part time job as a librarian?"

She let out a sigh that could maybe possibly be construed as a laugh. "No, I just--um--we stumbled into the books." She hoped that would explain the red face if not for Simon's conspicuous absence.

"Ah," Fred nodded, and she could hear the disbelief in his voice. "And where is the other half then?"

“He…he had to run off. Prefect duties. I told him I'd handle it.”

Fred's eyes rested on her, as she picked up another book and shoved it between two other ones, not able to even concentrate on making sure they were in alphabetical order. She couldn't understand why Fred had taken it upon himself to interrogate her. He was silent even as she picked up another book, as if for once he were carefully choosing his words.

"Must've run off pretty quick. I came as soon as I heard the books."

It was Wren's turn to furrow her brow at him. "Why?"

“What happened here?” George appeared over Fred's shoulder, stopping him from continuing the sentence.

“Simon couldn’t keep his hands off Wren,” Fred said to George. Wren flushed from the choice of words.

George wiggled his eyebrows at Wren. “Kinky.”

She turned redder if possible and Fred’s jaw ticked.

“Need a hand?”

Despite the fact that George asked the question, Wren looked at Fred. “That would be lovely.”

George moved around Fred and picked up the last few books, sliding them onto the shelf.

“Thanks, George,” Wren smiled. He reached over and squeezed her hand. His brow furrowed slightly. Wren looked over his shoulder at Fred who caught her eye before turning and heading back towards their seats. She looked back at George and offered a tight smile, standing up. "Let's go back to take our break."

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somethingwritey · 3 years

Text

sneak peek: “run to you” - a rangshi longfic

💖 i am currently working on a rangshi longfic (50k words at the moment) that i’ll eventually publish on ao3. it takes place directly following the events of The Shadow of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee.

💖 my writing commissions are open! message me with commission requests or questions!

💖 here’s a sneak peek of “run to you”!

---

Kyoshi had blood on her hands.

Quite literally, at the moment.

She stared down at her palms and fingers, hoping they didn’t shake as badly as she feared.

She knew she needed to wash the weight of Rangi’s blood away, watch it swirl down her arms and out of sight, as if that alone could wipe away the pain she’d caused her girl, but for some reason, Kyoshi couldn’t seem to move her feet.

Every part of her felt heavy and languid, and it was hard work to imagine that these were the same limbs that had carried, defended, and healed only hours ago. Kyoshi wanted to curl up into a ball and wait for someone else to save the world for once.

Because that was the oh, so incessant problem about Avatarhood. No matter how many messes Kyoshi cleaned up, there were still new terrors cropping up the moment she sat down to catch her breath. It was exhausting. Behind all the makeup and armor, she was still the servant girl in the mansion - tasked with the never-ending job of cleaning up.

“You saved her life.”

Kyoshi lifted her head to see Hei-Ran, standing only a little less poised than usual. The teetering fate of Rangi had taken a toll on even the most rigid members of her group.

“I did my duty.” The words came out defeated, as if Kyoshi had lost instead of won. Then again, with Yun’s grey body lying somewhere inside the ruined mansion waiting to be put to rest, and a bloodied Rangi being tended to by Atuat, maybe she couldn’t claim victory after all.

Peace comes at a price.

She heard the words in Lao Ge’s voice, although she was fairly certain he’d never actually uttered them to her.

“You did far beyond that, Avatar.” Hei-Ran thought about it for a moment, then took a seat beside her - flicking her robes out behind her as she did. “You should be honored for what you’ve done.”

“Yeah, except no one will even know!” Kyoshi slammed her fists down on the ground, causing a small tremor beneath them. “Zoryu’s made sure of that! He gets all the credit, and all he’s done is sentence an innocent man to death!”

This outburst probably wouldn’t win her any favor in Hei-Ran’s eyes - the woman so committed to her duty that she’d willingly sacrificed her hair and honor to acknowledge her failures - but Kyoshi couldn’t help it.

Her first choice for a confidant would’ve been Rangi, of course. Or maybe Kelsang. But with the latter dead and the former barely conscious, she supposed the old headmistress would have to do. The woman had claimed Kyoshi as a daughter back in North Chung-Ling. Perhaps that warranted a bit of sympathy or at least a listening ear.

“The Fire Lord’s job is complicated,” Hei-Ran stated. “As is yours. You’ve both been tasked with the impossible: governing a world that does not wish to be governed by you. Chaos is the natural order, Kyoshi, as much as we pretend it is not. The Fire Nation must go to great lengths to maintain our control. Even if it… requires some bloodshed.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” Kyoshi shook her head. She no longer felt the dull aching in her chest that used to come with a reminder of her station, but that didn’t mean the Era of Kyoshi hadn’t been stained with blood and confusion and deceit.

“The Spirits chose you.”

Why?

The plaintive question would’ve made her sound like a child, so Kyoshi sealed her lips and kept the pleading inside. She wanted answers. And since Hei-Ran would understand nothing more about the mysterious methods of the spirits than she did, Kyoshi decided to at least start with something the woman stood a chance at knowing.

“Was Rangi mad?” She rubbed the side of her face and dried blood flaked off, fluttering towards the ground. “When I left, I mean.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Hei-Ran’s face. “Enough to shoot flames out of her ears.”

For a moment, Kyoshi tried to picture it - a steaming mad Rangi, with her face boiling red and fists clenched into tight balls. The last time she’d gotten that upset, the Firebender had flipped a table off a balcony. For a moment, the memory tugged at the corner of Kyoshi’s mouth - lifting it into a lopsided smile.

And then the moment passed.

“I’m sorry I killed your daughter.”

Hei-Ran frowned. “You healed her, Kyoshi.”

Only after Rangi had traveled to fight alongside the girl who’d locked her into the ground and put her mother on a possible death bed. “Because I put her in danger. It doesn’t count. Doing right by her after that was just… canceling out the bad.”

Kyoshi felt like she’d been doing that her whole life: making mistakes and then fixing them. It didn’t seem right to take the credit for something she’d messed up in the first place.

You were the one innocent party, Yun had told her. Oh, if only that were the truth.

“Hei-Ran?” Atuat had emerged from the infirmary, traveling up to where Kyoshi and the headmistress sat. Hei-Ran was on her feet immediately, but whether to appear respectable in front of the doctor or out of fear for what news she’d bring, Kyoshi couldn’t be sure.

“How is she?” Kyoshi found her way to her feet as well, Atuat’s presence sending a fresh wave of worry down her spine.

“Oh good, Kyoshi’s here, too. Saves me a trip.” Atuat took her time reaching them and with each passing moment, Kyoshi found herself more and more on edge. By the time the Waterbender made it over, she could feel her body vibrating again.

“Well?” Hei-Ran demanded, clearly just as impatient as Kyoshi, but with better control over her exterior.

“She’s asleep.” Atuat’s manner always confused Kyoshi a bit. She never seemed exhausted by the threat of death. Perhaps she’d just become too acquainted with it, or maybe mastering the power of healing made her immune to the fear. Either way, she always emerged from battle hospitals like she’d finished a rather routine examination.

“Will she be okay?” Kyoshi remembered the crunch of earth as it impaled Rangi’s back. The way the blood had rushed away from her lips. How she’d looked up at her as the life drained away. “Is the damage permanent? I know I didn’t heal her right. I tried my best, but -”

“Kyoshi.” Atuat held up her hand. “Rangi is a strong girl. She’s going to be alright. In pain, certainly, but in the end alright.”

Kyoshi exhaled shakily, barely able to keep it together enough to thank her.

“You need rest, too, Avatar,” Atuat pressed, motioning down towards the infirmary. “There’s a spare bed down the hill.”

The last thing Kyoshi wanted to do was sleep. How could she just let herself clock out when Rangi needed caring for? When the Flying Opera Company was wounded? When Jinpa still hadn’t come down from his medicine high due to her own poor measurements?

As if Atuat could read her mind, the doctor narrowed her eyes. “That monk is off his rocker. You gave him too much.”

“Sorry, sifu.”

“Rest, Kyoshi,” was the only response she got in return. “And take off those clothes. You’ve got blood all over you.”

///

“I can feel you staring at me.”

Kyoshi jumped a little, hurriedly switching her gaze to the other side of the room and away from Rangi’s bed before deciding hiding it was futile. The Firebender hadn’t moved in over two hours, but apparently, the wounded girl was more perceptive than Kyoshi had anticipated.

“I thought you were sleeping!” Kyoshi whispered, doing her best not to disturb Kirima and Wong, who were asleep in their respective wooden beds.

“I’m resting.” Rangi still hadn’t opened her eyes. “A concept you might not be familiar with.”

A hum of relief ran through Kyoshi’s arms. If Rangi was well enough to give her shit, then maybe that meant the girl would be alright after all.

“I know how to rest.” Kyoshi crossed her arms and did her best to look wounded.

“Yeah, and Jinpa’s a murderer.”

Kyoshi glanced over at her secretary, who was propped up against the wooden headboard and still singing to himself in dulcet tones.

“Kyoshi, please try to sleep,” Rangi pleaded.

Easier said than done. Sitting still seemed too difficult for Kyoshi at the moment, let alone actually falling asleep.

“Yeah, well,” Kyoshi mumbled offhandedly. “I’m not really keen on seeing you die again in my dreams.” It came out sounding more dire than she’d meant.

Only then did Rangi open her eyes, staring at Kyoshi from across the way. “I’m fine.”

It would’ve been a lot more convincing if her hands weren’t locked tight around the thin cotton sheets, compensating for some sort of pain she must be feeling.

“Fine?” Kyoshi stared at her incredulously. “You were stabbed.”

“Can you two please keep it down?” Kirima suddenly cut in, gesturing to her splinted leg. “Some of us are trying to heal!”

Apparently, her ability to tell who was asleep badly needed fine-tuning.

“Noise won’t delay that process!” Kyoshi shot back, trying to keep her smile at bay. She really had missed her friends.

Silence fell back over the infirmary, and Kyoshi allowed herself to lean against the headboard for the first time all night. She drew in a shaky breath, basking in the safety she felt around the Flying Opera Company - even if their legs were broken.

It was a few minutes before Rangi spoke again, lowering her voice to whisper in that raspy way of hers. “You’re pretty far away, you know.”

At first, Kyoshi wanted to protest that of course her energy was distant - she’d killed one of her closest friends and nearly lost the other one - before she realized Rangi was speaking literally. She closed her mouth. Hard.

A little too hard, actually. Her jaw still ached where Yun had thrown the discs.

Rangi even managed a little grin. “Do you think Atuat will kill you for sleeping with a patient?”

Giddy with the idea of lying beside Rangi again, Kyoshi slid out of bed and made her way over to the other side of the room. She’d flirted with the idea of climbing in before, but with Rangi’s fragile state, she hadn’t wanted to cause any more damage than she’d already done.

“You’re not gonna break me,” Rangi mumbled, but Kyoshi still saw her struggle to make space in the small frame.

“This is a bad -”

“Will you quit worrying and just crawl in, please?” Rangi did her best to pat the bed beside her, wincing horribly. “I’ve suffered worse.”

“Mmm, what a terrible fate,” Kyoshi grinned, finally allowing herself to gingerly lie down beside Rangi. “Sleeping next to Kyoshi. What an awful - hey!”

Rangi had elbowed her in the ribs. She tried to laugh, but it barely masked the tremor behind it.

“Stop hurting yourself,” Kyoshi hissed, laying an angry kiss on the Firebender’s cheek. “I mean it.”

In response, Rangi moved to curl up closer against Kyoshi’s chest, her eyes falling shut again. For a long while, they stayed just like that - Rangi in too much pain to move and Kyoshi too nervous about causing her any more. It felt awfully reminiscent of the first time they’d shared a bed, with Kyoshi awake all night inhaling the smell of Rangi’s hair against her lips.

Kyoshi had vowed to protect her then, and she still wanted to protect her now. She didn’t miss the way Rangi’s face screwed up as she slept, sleep inhibiting her ability to hide the discomfort. A couple of times, Atuat came to check on her. She clicked her teeth together at the sight of Kyoshi in the bed, but didn’t seem altogether surprised. The doctor didn’t force her away either, something for which Kyoshi was eternally grateful.

In the blue-grey hours of the morning, Kyoshi finally succumbed to the heaviness in her eyelids - letting them shut as her head fell back against the headboard - at last, too tired to worry about any new dangers coming for them that night.

-----

💖 that’s all for now :) i might post a little more soon! i’m very excited to get this up on ao3 in the near future!

💖 if you enjoy my writing and want to commission me, send me a message! my commissions are open!

💖 keep an eye out for more commissioned pieces coming soon :)

#kyoshi #rise of kyoshi #rangshi #rangi #rangi x kyoshi #shadow of kyoshi #avatar the last airbender #writing commissions #my writing #longfic #sneak peak #writing #wlw #avatar kyoshi #atla #fic

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

continuation of Star Wars Wangxian AU - on ao3 or tumblr

The way of the Sith is the dyad, the rule of two: always two, no more, no less.

A master and an apprentice – one to represent the allure of the Dark Side of the Force, the other to serve as the baited, walking willingly into a trap. A pair of magnets, the moth and the flame; without each other, they were incomplete, unstable, and only together could they be considered complete.

Perhaps, Lan Wangji reflects, he should have considered this fundamental precept more thoroughly.

Certainly earlier.

If he had thought about it earlier, he could have taken steps, measures, something. Anything, really, as long as it wasn’t…

“Hey, Master! You’re back! Did you have a nice trip? Kill lots of people?”

…this.

“No,” Lan Wangji said, in the tones of one who knew suffering. The Dark Side rippled around him, thickening as he poured his frustration and annoyance into it – a complaint shared with the abyss, in a world where rage and despair only made the abyss stronger. “No deaths.”

The Sarlacc didn’t count.

Anyway, Wei Wuxian had been the one to kill it in the end, in order to enable them to escape. He’d almost looked like he’d felt bad about it, too.

Silly fool, Lan Wangji thought with far too much affection.

Though, speaking of silly fools...

Xue Yang grinned at him, his little tiger tooth making the otherwise vicious expression significantly less intimidating.

Lan Wangji had observed that fact early in their acquaintance, and had resolved never to tell Xue Yang so as to let him continue to be frustrated by the apparently inexplicable fact that people never seemed to take him seriously at first glance. If Xue Yang ever figured it out and confronted him about it, he could even theoretically, at a stretch, justify it as additional Dark Side training.

“Sounds like a wasted trip, then,” he said. “I killed five.”

Lan Wangji met his gaze with a steady one of his own. “I do not recall instructing you to go on a mission.”

“Aww, but Master –”

Lan Wangji was newer to the Dark Side of the Force than Xue Yang, but he had the rigorous training of the Cloud Recesses behind him: he did not even need to reach out deliberately through the Force to oppress Xue Yang, driving him to his knees.

“It was a continuation of an earlier mission, Master! I wouldn’t disobey you intentionally –”

Lan Wangji released him. “Of course you would.”

Xue Yang looked up at him, grin back on his face. “Well, yeah. But not that obviously. I wouldn’t admit it to your face.”

He would, if he thought he could get away with it, and Lan Wangji permitted a look of skepticism to cross his face, though he did not comment aloud.

“What mission?” he asked instead. Knowing Xue Yang as he did, there were very few missions that he had given in which murder was permissible, much less multiple murders. They were trying to keep a low profile, after all.

Xue Yang bounced to his feet. “I invaded another Hutt palace!” he announced gleefully, his eyes shining like stars. “Dressed up as a bounty hunter and everything!”

Xue Yang had once been a slave on a planet controlled by the Hutts, a dirty sandy place with little compassion for the young and none for the weak – and Xue Yang had been both. He had been bartered from one master to another until one careless owner had crushed his hand and his spirit at the same time, rendering him even more useless and condemning him to a terrible fate. No one wanted damaged goods, no one but those who wanted to break them further.

How Xue Yang went from that to being the apprentice of a self-styled Sith Lord, Lan Wangji was unsure beyond a basic understanding that Xue Yang had somehow risen up from his dire circumstances to massacre the entire clan of that particular owner. They had met only when Xue Yang was already in the midst of his training, a slightly gawky teenage delinquent who’d long ago learned that murder was the first, best, and only answer to all of his problems.

He’d tried to kill Lan Wangji, of course.

The circumstances had been admittedly been rather unusual. The Sith tradition called for dyads, a master and an apprentice in each set (though of course there could be more than one set of Sith, though rarely if ever on a level or in an area where they could challenge each other); the typical way of things for the Sith was that the apprentice struck down the master, rising to take on an apprentice of his own, or that the master tired of the apprentice and lured another promising would-be apprentice into Falling, with the typical test of a new apprentice being the slaughter of the old one.

Lan Wangji was strikingly idiosyncratic in that he had Fallen entirely on his own, without a master to guide him to the Dark Side.

This did not mean he was without knowledge: the Lan sect, which prized learning, of course had a rich collection of treatises on what the Dark Side entailed, although they were meant to be read as warnings rather than guides. After he had had the Force vision of that terrible future, the future he would Fall to the Dark Side, had Fallen, rather than permit to take place, Lan Wangji had stolen several before departing the Cloud Recesses.

It was little surprise, then, that Xue Yang’s old master had put such effort into recruiting Lan Wangji as his own apprentice once he had discovered him.

Lan Wangji had had no patience for such nonsense. Rather than slaughter Xue Yang, who had clearly been incited against him, he had followed the traces back to their origin and killed the Sith master that Xue Yang followed instead.

Unfortunately, per the rule of two, that left Xue Yang without a master and Lan Wangji with the horrible realization that would-be Sith masters would be crawling out of the woodwork to attack him on a regular basis if he didn’t put himself in a dyad at once to prevent it. In the interest of not being harassed, and thereby distracted from his plans, he had recruited Xue Yang as his own apprentice, skipping the apprentice step entirely and becoming a master.

Perhaps that was why Wei Wuxian had called him a Sith lord, he mused. Wei Wuxian was sensitive to the Force, talented in it almost to extremes; maybe he could tell that Lan Wangji was in a position of dominance, rather than growth.

“ – it was great. Even with all the warnings from previous incidents, they were so arrogant, thinking it would never happen to them. Rotten slugs! The leader had a rancor in the dungeon under his throne, too; the thing was kept half-starved so that it’d turn on anyone that got dropped into its nest – wretched little space, I could barely move, much less a rancor –”

“I take it from your explanation that we now own a rancor,” Lan Wangji said, feeling somewhat pained.

Pained, but also gratified: he had been working on teaching Xue Yang the concept of empathy, reasoning that the truly psychopathic would never truly be able to connect with the rage, suffering, and pain that powered the Dark Side of the Force.

Only once Xue Yang understood love, understood it and lost it, could he truly understand the Dark Side as Lan Wangji did.

A pet was a good start.

“Uh, maybe? I mean, rancors are from Dathomir, which is pretty steeped in the Dark Side, so it’s almost like they’re a natural ally of the Sith –”

Rancors were semi-sentient five-meter tall reptiles that resembled boulders, with armored hides that could resist blasters and even light sabers at times, and while it was true that their home planet was rich in the Dark Side, home of assassins and Nightkin and murderers of all sorts, rancors themselves were actually quite friendly and non-combative as a general rule.

Not that Xue Yang knew that.

“You will care for it yourself, without disturbing me,” Lan Wangji instructed, not wanting Xue Yang to dwell too long on whether or not what he had done was appropriate. Some people could only be coaxed, not coerced; Xue Yang’s former master had very nearly ruined him, teaching him all the wrong lessons about divesting oneself of emotions (the Sith way, of course: no emotions but hate) without any of the necessary context, and any future education needed to done cautiously to avoid Xue Yang becoming utterly consumed by the abyss, capable of nothing but lashing out, a rabid dog in need of being put down.

Lan Wangji was not in the market for another Sith apprentice.

Xue Yang, at least, was easy to manage: as long as he was permitted to vent his more murderous inclinations in the way he liked the most, pursuing the vile Hutt clan wherever they had set up their gangster dens full of corruption and rot, his attempts to overthrow Lan Wangji were half-hearted and disinterested, and the worst Lan Wangji would need to put up with was a bit of back talk.

“Of course,” Xue Yang said, grinning with teeth. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from your boy, would we?”

…not that the back talk wasn’t annoying.

“You are not permitted to speak of him,” Lan Wangji said coldly, but that never worked for very long. Xue Yang was an extremely disrespectful apprentice, although Lan Wangji supposed it was his own fault for rejecting the rigid hierarchy of the traditional master-apprentice relationship – of the entire concept of the Sith lord and the classist structure generally associated with it – and encouraging Xue Yang to similarly reject such things in favor of the anarchy of self-determination. “He is not yours to even think of.”

Perhaps a wiser man might refuse to let Xue Yang even know of such a weakness, but Lan Wangji was moderately sure that in an even fight – or even an uneven one – Wei Wuxian would have no difficulty putting Lan Wangji’s unruly, unwanted apprentice in his place.

“Yeah, yeah,” Xue Yang laughed. “I know: hands off, no touching. I still don’t get it. What’s so great about this one guy? The universe is full of people, even force-sensitives; if you’re so hung up on having a Jedi, why not go find one that’s a little more compromising?”

Because there is no one else like Wei Ying. There will never be anyone else for me, not ever – only him.

“One day you will meet someone who moves you,” Lan Wangji said placidly, a touch of his old talent for Force visions shimmering in his soul in confirmation of the dimly uncertain future. “And we will have this conversation again, when at last you understand.”

“Sure,” Xue Yang said, clearly disbelieving. “Whatever. Let me tell you about these two bounty hunters I met on my trip – a matched set, one in white and one in black - fuck, they were so annoying, you wouldn’t even believe –”

#mdzs #lan wangji #xue yang #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #escape your destiny

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

or set your teeth against my throat (1)

warnings: vampires, blood, injury, violence, abduction, non consensual blood drinking, depressive thoughts, mild hypnosis, murder mention

Vampires, Roman was finding, seemed to have an even more shit sense of hospitality than he’d previously assumed.

Maybe it was ungenerous of him, considering this was the only coven he’d interacted with up close and personal, but he wasn’t really feeling particularly generous at the moment. When he’d been cornered, isolated from the rest of his pack, he’d expected a quick and valorous death, fighting to the last. Not… this.

Another rock made contact with the bars of his cage, the clang of stone on metal vibrating around him. His ears twitched down to flatten against his skull without his input, and he snarled low in his throat as a jeering laugh rose from the crowd.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, being taken hostage for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind, bound and muzzled like some common animal, no, they had to parade him through the streets and batter his cage with pebbles and glass and whatever other projectiles the bloodsuckers thought fitting to torment their captive audience with.

None of it could get through the enchantment on the bars, so he wasn't struck, but it was still rough on the ears. And his feelings.

Not that they cared. That was probably the point, actually.

Gathering his resolve, he forced himself to remain still and unflinching as another shard of rock hit the cage and spun away, clenching his hands to keep them from trembling. None of this mattered. It didn’t matter what they did to him, because he would not break. He wouldn’t tell them a single thing about his pack, not one scrap of information.

He would die first, and without regrets.

As it turned out, the coven-- Kin of Æternam, they called themselves-- didn’t seem to care for information. Not a single vampire spoke to him as he was moved further and further into the town, and he couldn’t exactly initiate a conversation himself with a gag in his mouth.

Instead, he watched, and found to no surprise that he didn’t like what he saw.

He’d known many vampires were nomadic, but it was one thing to distantly know and another thing entirely to see the human town around them, half the houses smoldering and the other half looking uncomfortably ransacked. He could see the dark splatters of dried blood along walls or among the dirt, though mercifully it seemed like it had been long enough since their invasion that any remaining human bodies had been cleared away.

Roman didn’t risk interacting with humans often. He knew the tales that were spread about werewolves, and the last thing his tiny pack needed was an angry mob on their tails. Even with his reservations, though, he would never wish something like this upon them. Upon anyone.

The Æternam vamps walked among the ruins casually, as though this was everyday scenery, and Roman supposed that for them, it probably was. Simple routine; find a human settlement, feed to their unbeating hearts’ content, hold revel, and then depart again. Rinse and repeat.

It was enough to turn his stomach, and he was almost grateful when his view of the town was blocked off by their entry into the large stone fort that loomed over all else. Almost.

His opinion of the place went downhill as soon as he saw the ostentatious throne and the vampire sprawled across it, both placed on a literal gilded pedestal. Dark raven hair, corpse-like skin, and glowing red eyes painted the picture of the archetypal tyrant vamp. He found himself strangely disappointed by the lack of originality in the man’s presentation. If he was going to die to a bloodsucker, couldn’t it at least be one with a sense of style?

One of the attendant vamps pulled the door of his prison open, and Roman lunged against his restraints with all his might, snarling past the muzzle. The attendant flinched back, but the iron cuffs that bound him held firm no matter how hard he strained. The vampire on the throne laughed, the way one might at a child throwing a tantrum.

“Oh, you are a spitfire, aren’t you? All the better.”

Roman tried to convey how much this guy’s villain aesthetic sucked with his heated glare alone. He was pretty sure Virgil could have created a better evil persona than this guy in his sleep. At age twelve. While feverish. It was sad, really.

The platitudinous prick-- Roman instantly decided to alternate between very clever and very rude nicknames for the guy in his head-- beckoned, and the attendant unlocked the chain keeping him bolted to the floor of the cage. They proceeded to grab the connecting bar between the cuffs locked around his arms and maneuver him up the steps to the pedestal with probably more force than strictly necessary.

Roman had been riding in that cage for hours, and as such, had time to prepare for a lot of potential scenarios. He grew more and more tense the closer he got to the trite enthroned bastard, mentally readying himself for what was likely to be at best an assault on his person and at worst, a horrifying and gory death.

Instead, he was steered to the side of the throne, and then shoved to his knees, at which point he realized that a horrifying and gory death might not be so bad after all. Because now the attendant was locking his cuffs into a new platform, one that was designed to force him to stay hunched over and kneeling at the side of the throne. He growled, prying at the restraints, but there was little give in the cuffs. He was stuck like this, practically on display for the world to see.

“Perfect, right where a mutt like you belongs,” Vlad the Contemptible smiled sharply, as though proud of his pitiful insult.

Were all vampires this insufferably smug? Like, was it part of the package, along with the dumb looking fangs and the tacky glowing eyes? He was glad that werewolves had eyes that merely reflected light, like the respectable, well-designed creatures of nature they were.

It was possible that Roman was rambling, mentally, a little bit. He wished desperately that he could protest the indignity of it all, denounce these freaks and their humiliating tactics, but in this state, there was little he could do but glare impotently.

The bloodsucker seemed entirely too content to ignore him and his glaring hatred entirely for the next few hours, which confused Roman at first. Clearly, he was still alive for a reason, and he felt as though he’d done more than enough waiting to learn about his fate at this point. Plus, his knees hurt.

At the very least, the pain in the neck on the throne next to him seemed like the type to gloat, so why wasn’t he?

As dusk fell, Roman got his answer. More and more vamps filtered into the wide stone hall, filling the space with their corpse-cold bodies and idle chatter. Once the last bit of sun had faded over the horizon, the Toothed Tyrant slowly straightened up in his seat, drawing all the eyes in the room to him. This was what he’d been waiting for.

What was the point in gloating about your evil deeds without an audience to lavish you in praise for it?

“Kin of mine. As I’m sure many of you have noticed, we have a... guest with us this evening.”

Roman shivered as those icy, glowing gazes moved towards him, jeering or morbidly curious or hungry. He pulled at the chains once more just to have something else to focus on, the shift and clink of the metal drowned out by his rapid heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the vamps could hear it, too.

The pitiful excuse for a villain was still talking. “... fullest potency once the full moon hits, and our hunt will decide who claims such a reward.” His half-lidded gaze slid over to Roman. “A beast like this one has engaged in plenty of hunts before, I assume? Though, probably not as prey. I’m sure it’ll get used to the sensation eventually.”

Even with the gag, Roman could snarl as fierce as any wolf, and the rumbling growl emanating from his chest made some of the closer vamps lean away.

It didn’t seem to have any effect on the worst human leech of them all. He just smiled in a satisfied sort of way before rising to his feet. “What a rebellious spirit. Perhaps you should save that for the hunt, mutt?”

Think up some new nicknames, you absolute bore, Roman thought at him, just in case those rumors about vampires reading minds were true.

The vamp walked closer, until he was at the edge of the platform and Roman had to crane his head back to see his face.

“Let’s give us both a taste of what’s to come, then.”

Without pause, there were suddenly hands on his shirt, dragging him upwards until the restraints threatened to dislocate something. One moment, he was nearly face to face with the vamp, meeting those eye-searing red pupils. In the next, his vision blurred as sharp pain shot through his neck.

The vamp had sunk its nasty fangs in on either side of his jugular, not deep enough to kill him, but enough that it would only take the slightest twitch of the head for his throat to be ripped right out. His body kept frozen even as he began to choke, his mouth tasting of iron and salt.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t attack, couldn’t even die until these monsters allowed it. The more he fought and resisted, the tighter their grasp on him would become, and the more he would suffer. It would be better to just give up now, save himself the trouble.

(Why am I… That’s not right--)

Roman only realized the vampire was withdrawing when those sharp teeth finally pulled away carelessly, causing a new wave of pain to roll through him. He automatically tried to reach for his throat, to stem the bleeding, but his bound hands could barely rise a few inches. He bent his head down instead, his pride stinging silently as a cacophony of mockery sounded all around him.

Once his fingers touched flesh, however, he could only feel shallow cuts rather than the gaping wounds he knew should be there. He coughed wetly, and red splattered across his hands, but he could breathe once more. However bad the bite had been, it had healed near instantly.

Of course. It was beginning to sink in that they wouldn’t let him perish that easily.

The vampire king was speaking again, eyes brighter than before, and his words blurred together and slipped away from Roman’s understanding. He could only notice the smear of deep red on the vampire’s face, and shudder where he lay as a chill set into his bones.

Time passed in a haze, marked by the constant flurry of vamp activity in the fort around him, the occasional meal to keep him alive, and his connection to the ever-waxing moon.

He felt a faint sense of concern about the way days seemed to slip away, and also about how far away and hard to grasp the concern itself felt. There was something seriously wrong when the growing light of the moon felt more like an approaching deadline than a relief.

The one other thing marking the time, he would much rather forget. Every night without fail, no matter how he fought, the same vampire would drag him up and plunge dagger-like teeth into his throat, leaving him drained and weak on the cold floor afterwards.

Roman wasn’t a fool; he knew that the bites were the reason he felt so exhausted and fuzzy. He just couldn’t do anything about it. The feeling of helplessness only grew stronger and stronger after each night, and slowly, he began to lose the will to fight the dreary feelings off.

By the time the night before the full moon hit, hope was hard to find.

He was slumped awkwardly against the ground when the door to the chamber creaked open, and the noise jolted him out of his dozing as quick as anything. His muscles went rigid and tense.

The head vamp hadn’t drank from him yet today, having left in the middle of the day with an extensive entourage for… something. It had probably been mentioned in earshot-- they weren’t very careful about what he did and did not hear-- but Roman hadn’t been paying enough attention. Maybe they were scouting out new territory?

Regardless, he had sort of been hoping it would keep the bloodsucker out of his hair for long enough that he could recover even just a bit before… before he ran out of time. So much for that.

To his surprise, there was no trace of the vamp’s normal arrogant strides. In fact, there was barely any sound at all. Roman could only tell that someone was approaching by the shifting of shadows and that dusty undead smell.

Suddenly, there was a cold palm on his arm, and he jerked up with a jagged snarl, his mind screaming at him to do anything to prevent being bitten again. The palm was yanked away instantly, and Roman could see the silhouette of the vamp before him.

It definitely wasn’t the head vamp. Smaller, and with curled hair that reflected the torchlight. He couldn’t see his expression, and his mind still screamed dangerous. His growl increased in intensity as the vamp extended a hand again, but he’d called Roman’s bluff: he had no way to defend himself in the restraints. Whatever the vamp was going to do, he couldn’t stop it.

The vamp’s other hand rose, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

It made it all the more surprising when he heard the clank of a key in a lock. His eyes shot open, and to his disbelief, the chain connecting his cuffs to the platform went loose, no longer attached. A moment later, the vamp’s hands were on his cuffs, but rather than grab them and drag him, there was another clank.

For the first time in days, fresh air grazed his wrists. His hands were free.

A surge of adrenaline hit him, and he twisted quicker than the vamp could react, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the abdomen and a hand over his throat. It would keep the creature from getting enough air to call out an alarm. With his other hand, he immediately tore at the muzzle, his nails going claw-sharp to tear through the straps. He spat the remnants of the wretched thing out, and turned his attention to the vamp.

Cold hands curled over Roman’s own, like he wanted to pry the hand off his throat, but other than that, he wasn’t struggling against Roman’s hold. Oddly enough, his chest was rising and falling in an uncanny mimicry of panicked breathing, and even his eyes seemed oddly dark for a vamp. Roman would have thought him a human if not for the unmistakable fangs.

His grip tightened at the reminder. “You’re not getting any more blood out of me,” he growled, his voice rough and crackly. His whole body felt out of practice. If he stood up and bolted, he risked falling flat on his own face, and if he turned and the vamp lunged…

No. Easier to just… just vanquish the vamp so he couldn’t do anything. One less thing to worry about during his escape.

He lifted his other hand, claws pinched together as a makeshift stake. The vampire twitched once, his mouth opening briefly as though to speak, and then seemed to slump. His hands stopped tugging at Roman’s fingers around his neck, and he pinched his eyes closed, bracing for the blow.

Roman frowned. Was this a ploy for sympathy?

He could feel the way the vamp trembled under him, unnaturally lifelike.

… It was an effective one. Shit.

He lowered his hand slowly, loosened his grip, waiting for the moment the stranger dropped the ruse and lunged. It didn’t come. He just kept waiting for Roman to hurt him.

He abruptly felt a little sick to his stomach. He let go of the vamp’s throat. The guy opened one eye slowly, like he thought it was a trick.

“If you get up from this spot, if you even twitch before I’m out of this building, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Roman threatened, a growl under the words and his lip curling up slightly to bare his teeth. “You won’t get mercy twice.”

The vamp’s expression did something complicated (Confusion? Relief? Disappointment?) but when Roman scuttled back, he stayed laid out on the floor, not moving a muscle. Roman let a breath out slowly, some of the tension fading from him. “Well… good. Keep doing that.”

He could practically hear Virgil sighing as his awkwardness overwhelmed any menace his threat might have instilled. It wasn’t his fault he was off-script, okay? This vampire was… weird.

Roman shuffled back a few more steps on weak legs, and then, once he was sure he was far enough away, he let the shift wash over him like a warm breeze. Four unsteady legs were better than two, and if he leaned a little on his instincts, his inner wolf would make his gait mostly smooth. It was a small but invaluable aid as as he sprinted down long, musty halls until he was finally, finally out of that cursed fortress.

Roman was so relieved he could have cried. He was still weak, and his head was still foggy, but he didn't stop until there was finally trees around him and dirt under his feet. As he collapsed, the night air still tasted like victory.

#sanders sides #vampire au #fantasy au #ts roman #ts patton #blood tw #violence tw #hurt/comfort #more comfort next chapter lol #writing #my writing #bthb #or set your teeth against my throat #osytamt #werewolf au #this ones a little dark and sad at first but this is only the first chapter!#murder mention #ok i think thats everything #im tired im taking a break for the rest of the day

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