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sardonicallys · 3 years

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𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗻𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Corporate AU, Mature, Smut, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, mentions of trauma

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You don't like to think of the word "workaholic" as an insult, but rather as a title of prestige. Everything you have accomplished in your career has been reflected as a glimmering treasure in your trophy case that doted on your work ethic and undying tenacity to put your best effort in everything you have involved yourself in. When you're transferred to what feels just a step away from a demotion, rewritten as an opportunity to "help" the new CEO, you find yourself in a predicament when you realize he's an unbearable nuisance.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10,072

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: This chapter took forever to write, for literally no reason at all.

[ chapter one ]

The coffee tastes like water.

What you noticed about pondering is that it somehow took all the energy from everything else and redistributed it for its own selfish purposes, in this case you were left wandering your snapshots of last night while your tongue savored liquid that was mute. You wouldn’t necessarily call your behavior appropriate but it was concocted not from pleasure, rather delivered from revenge. It was resentment that fueled your desire — sexual gratification could not fulfill this hunger — it was about power. It was about control. It was seizing back every ounce of pride you let your good for nothing chief of executive operations put out like a lousy cigarette on the ground after you had offered humility. These murky thoughts were the reason you felt no regret for your actions, but you were still subjected to the over seasoned yet tasteless rice balls and the coffee that emulated muddy rain water on your tongue. You felt like shit, essentially, but in the complexity of things you had won. Grinding the ball of your foot into the pavement as rock scraps rolled beneath your sole, you slouched into the backing of the bench while listening to the sprinklers douse the grass, quietly piecing together what you were going to do.

What were you going to do?

Now without a job from a company you bent backwards and jumped through flaming hoops for, your mind raced with the anxious reminder that you were going to have to build your way back up. Convincing yourself it wasn’t so bad because you had attempted, and succeeded, was becoming a struggle every passing second. The flood of contemplation had you wondering if you should have accepted the offers that were given to you while you were being scouted by other companies who wanted to poach you from the market. Had you known you’d be assisting a living piece of shit, you may have resisted less.

Honestly you always wanted to live simply, at least amongst the standards of society. A small one bedroom apartment in the city but not on prime real estate, a middle manager job at a branch of a main company with opportunities, a stray black kitten turned cat, and you, the whole of these extensions. You always did your best and prided your perception off these little views into the whole reflection of you, regardless of what the outcome was because in reality, you expected only this much. This was simple and humble living, and this is all you wanted. You worked hard and you minded your own business, so what kind of karma did this entail exactly?

Pushing yourself off the bench, finally grappling with the sore result of your body, you felt the weight sink to your ankles as they balanced between carrying you and keeping poised on your heels. The walk of shame carried a different meaning to you, and it was that you were unemployed for the first time since university started. Discarding the remnants of your tasteless excuse for a breakfast, you brisked through the park and back towards your neighborhood where you could finally wash yesterday down the drain and start over, perhaps through job hunting. Just a block away from your building, you practically planted into the ground at the sound of your mobile phone as it erupted in your purse. Fishing it out, you squinted at the unknown number and somehow between the second you saw it and the second you answered, you hoped it was a pleasant coincidence that maybe someone you knew was looking to hire. Or perhaps a friend of yours recommended you and someone was reaching out to see if you were interested in a new career path? Better yet, that friend opened a company and needed you on the team for a start-up. Anything, desperation chimed, anything.

Anything but the sound of Mr. Im’s voice that oozed with impatience, instead, surfaced into the canal of your ear, “Why aren’t you in office?”

To say you were shocked was an understatement, completely in disillusion to the point where you pulled the phone away from you just to check if you were starting to hear things all on your own. After a brief pause, you curtly responded, “…Because I was terminated?”

There’s silence before a sarcastic laugh sparked from the receiver, “I don’t have any official documentation of that, you need to work until we find a replacement.”

A long pause, “Or did you not know that.”

The last comment was made to be a complete fucking asshole, you knew he was provoking you. Inhaling deeply, assuring not to allow the noise of frustration earn the exact reaction he was seeking, Mr. Im spoke once more, “I’ll see you in fifteen.”

And the line cut off.

Sometimes, you had a habit of taking too shallow breaths and you spoke to a few doctors to which they deliberated that you may have had some form of anxiety that lie dormant between the physiology of your being. Mostly because during these questionnaires, you had a bit of trouble answering honestly and it wasn't that you weren't aware of what you were doing, but you couldn't bring yourself to say the words that were on your mind. Instead you vaguely referred to them, like a directory more than an explanation. You assume the psychiatrist you met with saw through this, but knew how to communicate without causing a catalyst to exacerbate the symptoms. Besides, it wasn't abundant enough for medication but it wasn't quiet enough for you to go through your day to day without feeling a stammering worry that plagued every atom of your body. You remembered reading some time ago that there was a man who had some disease — common or not — and he committed to these breathing exercises that extended his life expectancy tenfold. That was what you wanted, right now in this moment, just to breathe enough to survive this because you were not going to crumble here, not when you were going to prove a point.

Turning on your heel, you started charging back towards the main street only to halt to a stop. But why should you return? It was already decided, just moments ago, to start anew. Right? You had made your resolution the second you slipped your clothes back on and disappeared from the room you shared with Mr. Im that you were going to rebuild this but better. There was no reason to go back to that fucking office to suffer the berating existence that it was to be a secretary of someone who had very little respect for you. There just wasn't. You barely realized how tensed your shoulders were until you exhaled deeply, feeling your muscles release your bones.

I'm going home.

But you can't seem to move because somewhere in the depths of your overthinking, riddled with holes and passages that descended down to nowhere, labyrinths of darkness that encased your every motive you wondered, what if he screws your entire career? What if, being a heavy hand in your industry, he crushes every possible pathway for you and you're left with nothing? Because he knew how much this whole thing meant to you, if it wasn't enough that you were willing to miserably put up with his shit the day before, then at least your work record could prove that much. The worry filled your being, as if someone was pouring water and it was already at your knees. Before you know it, you feel the water climb up your throat and now you're sprinting through the subway as you bite back your tears of frustration because you had never, not once felt that you lacked this much control in your entire life.

Entering the building, the embarrassment crashed into you like a flood, your head hung as you balled your fists up, creating crescents of your nails into your palms, wearing the same navy chiffon dress that adorned you the day before. The several years of pride that you built on your appearance, work ethic, and upstanding quality were crashing down onto you in just a matter of days and you could barely bring yourself to take the elevator up to your floor, the brief glances of your peers and coworkers feeling as if you were scrutinized — regardless if they had noticed your disheveled appearance or not. You're absolutely disgusted as you dropped your things at your desk, no time to even peer at yourself in a mirror, and threw Mr. Im's door open, not bothering to knock.

"Great, you're on time," he doesn't even bother to look up, but you're not surprised. Parting your lips to speak, he finally lifted his head and you could feel his revolting gaze scan over your appearance, causing you to feel nauseated and hold your speech which allowed him to interject first, "You didn't even bother to change?"

There were no words that you could find, or at least, no single formed sentence to use that could have described the frustration that coursed through every vein in your body. Your breathing turned shallow again, reflecting on how your superior had cleaned up — hair slicked back and a freshly dry cleaned suit, the collar of his shirt starched and ironed perfectly to press against his neck. The piercing and judgmental gaze gripped your lungs, forcing you to keep your composure, "...I didn't have time this morning. I had assumed—"

"Your affairs outside of the office aren't my business," sneering your name, you could see half a smirk appear on his lips as he continued, "but it seems you must have had a long night if you were irresponsible enough to show up...Like this."

Leaning back in his chair, you have to program your nerves not to let your jaw drop from his comment. The back of your neck warmed instantly, creating a trail to a migraine as you repeated to yourself breathe breathe breathe because you could feel your throat closing up quicker now.

"My apologies," through gritted teeth, you managed to surface a cruel smile, "I promise it won't happen again."

Rather than wait for his direction, you turned and slammed the door behind you before striding towards your desk, dropping your weight into your chair while quietly gasping for air. I shouldn't have come back, head tilted back as you attempted to ease into steady breathing. As childish as it was, you wanted to blame the whole of this on Jaebeom, every last fucking bit of it. But you can't and perhaps that's what created even more friction, because you knew that this wasn't his fault, at least not entirely. You created this situation yourself, and had you not selfishly decided to seek revenge for something as egotistic as pride, perhaps you could have walked away with your hands clean. This worked in tandem with the arrogance of your boss, of course, but he didn't do anything that was outside of your expectations. You earned this and so you attempted to recenter yourself by focusing entirely on work. There would be no time for your wandering thoughts and regrets, so long as you did what you did best and that was to work. Surprisingly, this is successful, and you managed through most of the day without feeling the combustion of frustration you had that morning, even avoiding Mr. Im as he had several clients to see to that day — all of which did not line up with your schedule, to your relief.

Just as the last two hours of your work day were resolving, greeting you every hour closer to your escape, you suddenly saw one of the sales associates frantically dart towards your desk with a heavy binder in her hands. It's a long explanation you can barely fathom through her shaky sobs, but you managed to piece together that a backorder she had placed had an exponential amount of quantity in contrast to the original form and she wasn't sure where to redistribute it. Apparently she heard you were a savior for these sort of situations at the branch, and now you were her only hope. Perhaps you pitied her tear stained face, and how could you possibly let her be fed to Mr. Im after he put you through the wringer this morning? Assuring her you would fix the mistake, you sent her home and began revising her work. Overtime wasn't new to you, but you hadn't thought this would to be a commitment as someone who was only an assistant. In some ways, you were relieved you were still seen as helpful, and that was honestly the ego boost you needed.

The office was empty, Mr. Im long gone due to some client meeting, the only sounds were your nails clacking away on the keyboard and the hum of the air conditioner every so often to keep the printing room cool. Occasionally, you'd hear the ice maker in the break room, but otherwise you were savoring the paradise of peace you were draped in while you began sorting the order. The work wasn't difficult but tedious, as you sent several notices to the global order management team, making them aware of certain changes you needed to override and why it was so sudden. The familiarity of work offered a sense of comfort to you, so much so, you didn't realize the figure hovering near your desk, "You're still here?"

The recognizable tone rekindled nausea as you focused on your screen, not bothering to look at the owner of the voice, "Yes, why are you here?"

"A meeting got moved and I thought I'd work on something..." the tone is flat and suddenly your vision blurs, fingers cold and unmoving, wondering why he's still looming before he suddenly grabbed the bottom mount of one of your monitors, turning it towards him. The silence indicated to you that he's probably reading, and you prepared yourself to hear him blast you with his uninvited criticism.

"...You know for someone who was at your managerial level, but unable to delegate, it's no wonder why you're a secretary now huh?"

"Excuse me?" Turning your head to look at him for the first time, you felt your blood pressure spike, "You do know you're in charge of overseeing the sales associates right?"

"It's not my job to clean up someone else's blatant mistakes, and it isn't yours either," turning the monitor back, he spoke his words firmly, "But someone who can't create a boundary on what their job title is..."

Sucking in a breath between his teeth, he folded his arms across his chest, "Certainly will do the work for them, huh?"

"Maybe, if you knew how to do your job better, they could follow," folding your fingers together, you leaned across the table, offering a sickeningly saccharine grin, "That way there wouldn't be any mistakes to clean up, don't you think, Mr. Im? You are only as strong as your weakest link."

"That's why you have to learn to strengthen those links, not baby them and do their damn work for them," leering at you, head tipped down, you have no other comments to make and there isn't time for it, because Mr. Im took his leave almost immediately after. It takes everything in you not to throw the monitors out the window behind you, use the computer itself to break through Mr. Im's door to trash his office, light the chairs and shelves lining the walls as a starter for a fire that would burn the building to a crisp. It takes everything in you not to boil over and cry every tear you had been holding in all fucking day. You pace back up to speed while continuing your work, still struggling to breathe.

A mug is delivered onto your desk by the devil's spawn, and you can't help but offer only disgust as he sips his own coffee. You dream a hundred different ways to splash the hot beverage at him as he lies in waiting, you assume, for you to take a sip, "Please tell me you put poison in it."

"You really think too highly of me."

"Trust me, I don't," rolling your eyes, you scanned through the worksheet, scrolling down towards a row in question.

"Drink it."

"No."

"Drink it and don't show up looking like you did again this morning."

Glaring at him, you begrudgingly took a sip before slamming the mug back down on the desk, holding your eye contact. If he was anyone else, you wouldn't have been so aggressive, stubborn. You would have certainly expressed your gratitude, but because he wasn't anyone else, you would never let him hear a single thank you for the rest of your life. It's close to midnight when you finish, and you depart without saying anything, letting the blur of catching the last train and of how you get home consume you through the sticky night air. You can't even recall a hint of how you washed up and got into bed, so drained you don't even notice when you fall asleep.

Water is the most pure and present representation of neutrality, a concoction that occurs only as a reaction. Though many physicists would argue otherwise, its state is a result more than a stable initiator. The temperature of water is adjusted due to exposure of heat, an outside conductor, its movements are recorded through the tectonic plates that grapple against one another hidden beneath the earth’s surface, another outside conductor. With the ability to control small increments in the human hand, it can also be a significant abundance and in mass amounts, water could flood whole cities, countries. Water brought life just as easily as it swept it away and as you float in an endless sea that had no horizon, blended to reflect the ash sky above, you wonder just how much of this is a reaction to you.

Though you were never particularly good at swimming, you could at least float. Fingers parted while exploring the viscous space, head bobbing just above the surface, the water that filled your ears and kept you recording your breathing in silence, soft licks of waves creeping beneath your inhales. Your body must have acclimated to the temperature since there was no particular differentiation when it came to heat and chill. Dipping down as you closed your eyes, you held your breath but soon realized while being under just slightly and seemingly too long, there was no reason to be doing so. Soft dancing bubbles escaped your nostrils as you looked up to see the dim light cadence against the reflective surface, glimmering for your return.

Instead, the urge to sink into the dark abyss intrigued you while you curled up and felt your weightlessness create some form of mass that drifted your being down. Lulling your eyes closed, the shadow depths began to creep over your skin as the gentle shifts in the water turned and rocked you at its will. Each breath you drank let no salt touch your tongue as you listlessly floated through limbo, no particular attention towards anything yet all things, all at once. Opening your eyes once more just to observe how far you fell, now in utter darkness. A deeper smudge of obsidian seemed to cloak your vision the deeper you descended, something stained the water, and what was once faulty oxygen in your lungs surged as you observed the surface growing closer before you broke through the ceiling. Gasping suddenly as the flesh of a palm cradled you in its confines, you were horrified to watch as the fingerprints began to unravel, skin coiling and peeling back. The nails decayed in slivers and crumbled into the water, ribbons of the epidermis effortlessly withering away as the imagery instilled panic — not because you would revert to sinking once it had completely peeled apart but the rotting flesh itself was enough. Ready to abandon ship, you felt your ankles locked in place as the vibrant crimson began crackling in desperation, forming vertices through the bone structure before dying the boards of a small paddle boat to carry you in. It happened so rapidly, vividly, your unease became a beacon of confusion once more as the vessel gently turned in a counter clockwise motion.

Suddenly, you're shivering. You weren't the least bit cold earlier, but between then and now, there's a draft. Craning your head back to peer up at the sky for clues, you notice not even a change in the cloud's structure has budged. It's as if air had no presidence here, not a requirement for you and certainly not present. Left without an oar, you clenched your teeth and leaned over the edge of the boat before scooping water towards the direction the head of the boat was pointed in an effort to escape. Hands cupping the frigid liquid, as if freshly melted ice had made its home in your hands, you continued to part your way before seeing a dark object in the distance. It swayed heavily and must have had some weight to it, creating its own ripples that licked at the bottom of your boat. Flicking the water off your hands as best you could, you squinted while shielding your fingers around your eyes as the vessel drifted closer. It's sinking now, whatever was peeking at the surface began bobbing lower and lower, circumscribed by the buoyant surface of the sea as it swallowed up the mass. When it finally broke the pendulum swing, it sunk and the fibers of protein that warped as the clear reflection finally imprinted on your gaze had you fully forming the inference.

It was Jaebeom, and he was sinking.

Humans like to think — in a hopeful sense — that we could independently peruse this lifetime without a need for others. It's the selfish and human thing to do. But in reality, we all pour from our cup, to another's cup, to another's cup, and to another's cup. We pour a little of our responsibility, our support, the love we share, our sanctity, and humanity all in different people's cups whether we like to acknowledge that or not. In a way, no matter how selfish an individual is, there is somehow a rift created from them that inherently has helped someone else, and that's the beginning and ending of it all. Because of this human response to how we accept the traumas that we experience through others, it really is no surprise that you didn't hesitate for a moment as you stood at the edge of the boat and screamed his name.

Im Jaebeom.

There's no sound. Gently reaching your frozen fingers around your neck, you amplified with what you could, kicking your diaphragm up as you felt your throat quiver in desperation. Still no sound. Panicked, you plunge into the water on a whim, swimming with what clumsy form you could remember — what your body could remember — as your fingers grasped through the intangible material with haste. Every time you reached to propel yourself forward, you realized that the image of Jaebeom would crystalize and somehow turn into fragments before resorting into one whole piece. At first, you assumed it was the water that was claiming your vision, but it wasn't, it was as if his entire existence was shifting before you. With each paddle, his physical being was disintegrating. As you grew closer, seeing the unconscious body drift lower and faster, you reached forward in an attempt to grab him as your mouth opened and struggled to claim any kind of volume you possibly could.

But somehow every time your fingertips drew forward, he was reeled backwards just as far. Kicking your feet faster, harder, aggressively attempting to bring yourself closer, you continued to desperately shout into the abyss, no water and certainly no sound departing or returning. A shadow from above began to cloak over as you watched the onyx shade creep up from behind the descending form in front of you, screaming even more frantically now.

Wake up! Wake up!

Every nerve in your body jolted forward as you sprung from your mattress, awoken by the perilous screeching of your own voice before desperately gasping for air. It was just a dream, but that doesn't comfort you as you felt an overwhelming chill bite at your skin while your alarm ripped through your bedroom walls.

Were you appreciative that you were still employed? Sure. Were you desperately looking for a way out? Absolutely. Wanting nothing more than to escape this reality you had little to no control of, you decided on your commute that you would create a deadline for yourself that would shape the rest of your time as Mr. Im’s assistant. That is, if he didn’t throw some fit and cut your contract short. Though confident in your work and abilities, on the off chance you could not make your way out, you would leave when the allotted time was up. It was a way for you to look forward to something, anything. Settling in your chair as your rolled it towards your desk, one of the sales managers strutted towards you, her elated but professional grin painted on her lips. Though you couldn't recall her name, how could you forget the most gorgeous employee at the main office? A stunning beauty, you were half surprised when you were introduced and told that she was responsible for many of the large trades and shipments that were from overseas; she looked more like an actress or movie star than another one of the pencil pushers here, like yourself. Residing with the top numbers for countless months, she was easily one of the top sales managers after her training period.

Resounding your title and last name formally, she gently placed a hand on your desk as your gaze followed her beautifully glazed nails up her neatly ironed dress, engaging in her glance finally as she spoke, "Is Mr. Im free today? I would like to discuss something with him."

Typically, you recited — like some kind of voicemail message — that he would be unable to take any appointments and you'd have him take a look at whatever was the subject of said request when he was free and return the documents or inquiries after the fact. This was, of course, full of shit and he really just didn't want to meet with anyone and especially not a woman one on one. After what happened the other day, you couldn't really blame him. But you could blame him for the past few hellish days where you listened to his condescending tone beat into your skull and insult any sort of work you did that didn't follow his organization — which you realized was a lot more picky than you initially suspected. With a saccharine grin, you beamed at her, "I am sure I can find some time for you. What did you want to discuss and when would you like me to pen you in?"

The expression that plagued her every feature was priceless, absolutely appalled that it was that simple because in the past, you were sure whoever was the makeshift scheduler refused to have anyone meet the CEO without obstacle and challenge. Leaning into your desk, a patient and friendly smile masquerading your expression, you tilted your head as she stuttered through her words, something you never imagine you'd witness, "...It's just some numbers with a new brand we're working with, just to double check."

The end of her sentence faded into the air similarly to how her tone wafted away, an almost sheepish grin now forming on her lips. It was made clear that she may have had a crush on your boss, how funny. This would make for an interesting meeting, you began jotting down buzzwords that held seemingly more importance than what she was spouting about. Nodding vaguely while she spoke, you peered up at her, "He's free in an hour, if you're available, I can have you meet with him then?"

With that, she fervently thanked you before departing back to her desk. What could you say? You told Mr. Im you were good at you job, which included but wasn't limited to, helping him grow and supporting him. If that meant you were going to help him through his phobia — or condition? Whatever it was — why wouldn't that be considered growth and support? Chuckling to yourself, you mentally began the countdown to your most exciting encounter of the day.

Or so you thought.

Somehow — and you had a feeling that the sales manager must have let that elation loosen her lips — you had a ton of inquiries from every female identifying human in the building to see Mr. Im. What a surprise. You let them come in and deliver him tea, host meetings with him in person and not over e-mail or some poorly streamed video, bring his mail to him personally, and even do their presentations in his office. The rest of his week was fully booked with more or less, mundane and useless appointments with the women of the office who wanted to court him. The current quarter was always notoriously slow, so it's not like you were sabotaging anything of importance. Rather, you filled his time with your very own unpaid therapy and for that, he should be thankful.

By the end of the week, you could tell he was on his last leg, his expression depleted of energy and yet somehow it roused with rage and frustration you knew was targeted at you. Feigning innocence, you went by each day carefully avoiding him in spaces where he could scold your behavior, even going as far as having your lunch out in the courtyard. You were as close to paradise in hell as you possibly could have experienced, as if you had begrudgingly crawled through a desert — famished and dehydrated — and somehow the mirage in the distance had fabricated into a tangible scenery, why hadn't you decided to floor him earlier? Forget fucking him, this was a hundred, no ten hundred, times more satisfying.

Honestly, you expected him to call you into his office at some point, though you were surprised how patient he seemed since he picked Friday and right before you were about to clock out. This may have been his own oversight though, based on the fact that he knew he'd be dipping right into your weekend. Just to add to your misery, why would he not eat up your time?

"Are you insane?"

"...According to my health records, no, not clinically," pausing, you let your eyes wander a bit as you hummed, creating an illusion as if you were thinking through something. Scoffing in response, palm resting at the edge of his desk, you watched as his fingers curled around the margin. Gripping the furniture, you wondered just how agonizing his week had been while his knuckles surfaced an alabaster tone that was wreathed by a rush of blood beneath his skin. Honestly, you only complied to the last minute meeting just to have him relive his entire week through the festering wound you created, "You have got to be fucking crazy."

"Well you aren't a doctor, are you? So what do you know?"

He shot you a look as you smiled at him sarcastically.

"I didn't tell you all of that in confidence, but I didn't think you'd act smart with me," wedging his lip between his teeth in frustration, he finally released the desk as you barked out a laugh. It's the first time either of you hear this curdling trill, and it's rather frightening because you never once imagined that you'd be laughing in the presence of Mr. Im and he certainly never thought he'd be hearing it either.

“...You know, for someone who’s got some kind of issue around women, you seem to know how to fuck them,” lulling your head languidly to the side, you eyes traced over the features on his face as they contorted into a strange expression, “…I said I didn’t know how to interact with them, not that I didn’t know how to have sex with them.”

“All the more reason you should thank me for helping you,” shrugging your shoulders, a smile graced your lips, implying directly that you did him a favor. Which he obviously did not consider. Exhaling a halfhearted laugh, one that does not fill its full resonance, he grit his teeth as he spoke, “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”

“Do you have any idea how stupid it sounds that you know how to have sex with women but not talk to them?”

Silence. Because it was stupid.

"...It makes a lot more sense than you imposing your so called help onto me," folding his arms over his chest, he narrowed his eyes while glaring at you, your smile never leaving your lips. You learned, in a matter of days, your actions held more weight than your words. It started on the very first day and his impression of your preparation, it was as if he complimented you when he arrived at expressionless silence. And it also didn't help that the language you both used seemed to be littered with spite alone. It was how you adjusted his schedules so he wouldn't constantly be parked at his desk for twelve to sixteen hours a day, or how you knew that he liked to stand on the right side of the elevator when you accompanied him to meetings. Even how you arranged his pens and documents in the morning to suit his left handed preference, all these little actions that created a warped way of understanding that held no flames to how you responded to him or would call him by his first name as an insult. It's how Jaebeom worked.

"I'm here to guide you Mr. Im, don't question my methods. I'm supposed to be both your support and mentor," placing a hand at your chest, fingertips gently grazing your necklace as you played victim, your sarcastic tone dug right into him as he sneered.

"You're doing a shit job at it."

"Well, I haven't been terminated yet have I? So I might not be so bad," wandering towards the bookshelf beside him, you peered at the generic picture frames that were made into partitions before glancing over your shoulder.

"Well don't get too comfortable," Leaning into his desk, arms still crossed tightly, his stoic expression reeked of rage as you mimicked his stance arrogantly. It really was all about action with him, and it had a lot to do with how well he read others. Watching his eyes roll as he exhaled yet another frustrated breath, your gaze incidentally found that his condition was acting up. Forcing your laughter back down your throat, you decided on a whim to instead, provoke him first, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really have to ask? Don't get comfortable where you're at."

Realizing that his exasperation to your behavior must have circumvented any other physical response, the receptors in his head simply overworked by the onslaught of cortisol it must have been pumping this whole week, you discern that he had no idea he was straining in his slacks.

"...Speak for yourself," a stride forward, and you impetuously tucked a finger into his belt before pressing your other palm up against his very obvious erection. The sudden tension that plagued his face leaked down every feature until it dripped down his body, his skin instantly searing beneath your touch, "You're getting a little too comfortable, don't you think?"

The impulse trip kicked up again as you squeezed him through the fabric, guiding yourself just a breath closer. Just as you inhale, you captured the blunder of tobacco and pepper cease your senses before feeling the familiar hand grip at your hip, his thumb finding the slope of your protruding bone.

"...That's your best apology for the bullshit you did this week?"

But, that's how Jaebeom worked, his actions were always alluding to his true intentions. One curved revolution and your positions were reversed, your back creased along the edge of his desk as he trapped you with his hands along the margin. Unflinching, your pupils must have been flooded as you locked your gaze with his, fingers gliding up his silk tie before you gripped the fabric and yanked him a little closer, "That's the best you're getting from me."

In one deft motion, he hoisted you up onto the edge of his desk while dipping forward, the perimeter between the two of you filled with only anticipating breaths. It was as if you were both expecting the other to give in first, a quiet war that sparked a flint that was igniting a swarming fire that could be used to burn the other. But in some ways, you were the guilty verdict, and you took that as a victory rather than a loss. Palms settled behind you, you were ready to recline as you abruptly felt Jaebeom's hand press into your spine to restrict your movement, "As much as I'd love to watch you crack your head on the edge of one of my monitors, I'm not really in the mood to clean it up."

It half surprised you that he read your motion even before you committed to it, but he was always a little too observant anyways. Narrowing your eyes at him, the grimace on your lips deepened when he drank in your expression, his fingers gripping the plush of your cheeks as your mouth rested at the valley between his thumb and index. Crooning in the most unbearable tone you had ever heard, you rolled your eyes at him while he spoke, "Don't be a brat, aren't you supposed to be apologizing to me?"

A brat? Wrinkling your nose, you sneered at him, "Takes one to know one, huh?"

Forcing his thumb into your mouth, you were half tempted to bite down — you heard that all it took was the pressure of splitting a small baby carrot with your teeth to detach it from its joint. You decide against it belatedly as you heard sharp droplets littering the wooden surface before rolling onto the plush carpet, peering down at the lost buttons of your blouse, you groan in displeasure before using your tongue to push out his finger, "You fucking idiot, how the hell am I supposed to go home?"

"Not really my problem," shrugging, a shit eating grin plastered over his mouth, he continued his own handy work as he dove into your shoulder while reaching up to cup your breast in one of his hands.

"You're such a fucking jerk."

"Mhmm," savoring the way your jasmine infused perfume clung to the cotton of your shirt, he reached around and unclasped the hooks of your bra as the garment fell. Pushing the sleeves of your shirt away and discarding your bra along with it, you begrudgingly yanked on his tie — harder this time — as you drew him in and pressed your forehead against his, "Are you really not going to apologize for ruining one of my favorite blouses?"

"I don't remember you apologizing to me yet," and he sealed his sentence onto your mouth as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, causing you to freeze up, brows furrowing, "...I told you not to do that."

"I told you not to schedule anyone without my permission."

"It was important."

"You want me to believe you thought it was that important?"

Lies were always a struggle for you to vocalize, they just never seemed to fall from your lips without some sort of awkward contradicting action, and even now you were fumbling with the silk fabric around Jaebeom's neck as you tried to pull it loose, "It could have been."

Sliding his index finger into the knot, he pulled the loop with one swift movement before grabbing ahold of your chin to induce eye contact, "But it wasn't, was it?"

"...I wouldn't know, I wasn't the one meeting with them."

The snarl you heard blossom in his throat had you flinch, Jaebeom taking advantage of your staggered movement by gripping your wrists and bringing them to his belt as he began carefully slipping the buttons of his shirt through their respective holes, "Then I can assure you, they weren't. So no more scheduling useless appointments, right?"

The tone he used put you off, and your decision to push him came into fruition almost immediately when your thumbs simply line the leather and silver plated buckle of the logo, as if memorizing the design. You weren't so keen as to drop your hands, but they certainly were not moving at the pace of his impatience. With your jaw in his hold once more, the empty eye contact held your silence between the two of you, as he articulated with more emphasis, "Right?"

"...Right."

Rather than succumbing — much to his desire — you instead only respond to give him the answer he was seeking, because in all essences, you were the one in control. If Jaebeom wanted to create an opulent fantasy where he could overrule your decision, he certainly had not learned about you the way you had learned about him. Pressing the hook through the hoop as the plate and metal hinge knocked against one another — the only sound that seemed to be reverberating between the short and shallow breaths you both shared — the belt came apart in your hands, a touch of fabric against the suede lining whistling in your ears as you let it descend. The dull thump of the heavy buckle hit the carpet as you kicked your heels off along with it, struggling to shimmy out of your own slacks before feeling your weight lifted up. Tucking you against his sturdy frame with one arm, he effortlessly helped you out of your pants before setting you back on the desk unceremoniously, "You're slow to undress, even this time."

"...You just always know what to say, don't you?"

"I'm rather good with my mouth," the smart comment instantly invoked a heavy desire of wanting to redress yourself and leaving without a single word more.

"Are you? Jokes are only funny when you're not lying."

"Do you think I'm lying?"

You weren't sure what your initial intention was but that was a threat, you were sure of it. But a threat you were tempted to see through. There was a prominent suggestion swirling in your mind as you contemplated whether to guide it into vocalization or to simply continue and slice through his ego, perhaps gaining a more intense result if you committed to the latter. The performative action of how you uncrossed your legs decided for you, "I don't believe things until I see them."

"Since when did your apology turn into me doing you a favor?"

Mouth agape, you feigned shock, "A favor? Mr. Im, it's only a favor if it's good."

And you receive the response you were eager to be in through the presence of a brute and concise expression of competition that riddled the perimeter of his whole face. Though he seemed to be composed, you realized early on that Im Jaebeom was a competitive bastard and a few carefully plucked nuanced words were all you needed to get his ignition going. You also realize, in the few moments where you let him finally rid you of the last garment on your body, he doesn't know how to take a joke the same way he delivers them and when he flattens his tongue ardently against your bundle of nerves, you suddenly realize what they meant when they said there were 8,000 of these endings in the clitoris alone. Dipping backwards, you winced as you felt Jaebeom yank your hips closer to him, skidding along the smooth wood and his teeth sinking into your inner thigh as he spoke into your skin, "I told you to be careful your hard head might crack one of the monitors."

The only noise you could utter in response is a groan as he stiffened his tongue back against you, causing an instant slur of moans to escape your lips. As much as people liked to credit the heightened experience of alcohol induced sex, there honestly was no comparison to sobriety, not when you felt every fervent breath between the calculated way Jaebeom used his tongue against you. Even the gentle brush of his teeth against your skin caused you to squirm in absolute delight, feeling yourself drip over every lick you received. Pure euphoric noises passed your lips as your fingers threaded through his hair the moment he slid a finger into you, and even he noticed how hard you were clenched around him. The labored breaths that sunk your lungs was his indicator that you weren't going to last, unraveling at his hands as he pulled away, timed perfectly before your uncoiling. Gasping desperately, you peered at him with a dazed expression as the words fell out on their own, "Why did you stop?"

"To check if it was good."

The violent desire of having his mouth meet your fist was all that roused your thoughts as your hazy expression began to take a tumble, absolutely speechless at his childish action. But he reassured you that he was simply the same asshole, nothing quite so new, you thought he was when he cleared his throat, "...If it was, you can tell me, and I can finish the job."

"So you got a praise kink, now?"

Earning yourself a deadpanned eye roll you can't help but expel an amused laugh, watching him hover over you with an acrid and unimpressed expression, "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised...What with you being an only child, mommy and daddy showering you in all their attention, right?"

There was a fleeting spark of something that crossed over his eyes, just for a moment, and if you had not been staring directly at him you may have missed it. It was a strange chill that emulated an emptiness you had not felt in ages, but you don't address it as he readjusted the banter back towards a boundary you had not meant to cross, realizing you may have not learned all you thought you did, "Call it whatever you want, but unless you say it, you're going to be the one dealing with your own mess."

"Mess? At least when I put my pants on, it doesn't look like I have a weapon on me."

"...So you think it's that big?"

Sucking in your lips, you held them in place with your teeth, a tight line bit down desperately when you realize your words were getting clumsier the more you spoke. Though he wouldn't be lying, you weren't willing to disclose that information with him just yet, "...You did good."

"That's it?"

"Very good," your eyes turned like a dial as you nudged your knee at him, "Are you going to let me cum now or what?"

"I don't know, it doesn't feel as convincing when you say it..." The provocation is supported by a warm growl that you recall from several nights back, a sound that easily caused a kindling and lust filled response. Typically, he spoke with a natural timbre and tone that even the occasions when he cleared his throat to speak during presentations caused your mind to stray and wander far from your reality. You let him win the round, "Could you please? You were right, your mouth is not just for talking shit."

You couldn't help the latter, honestly. But instead of taking offense he bellowed a laugh of disbelief, "Are you seriously begging and insulting me in the same breath?"

"Will it get you to go down on me again?"

"If it was that good, I thought you'd be more desperate."

Pride in humans was such a complex concept that molted and formed where it needed to, and it found a home between your legs at this moment, your knees kissing to relieve some of the tension you had pent up inside you, "...I need you to do it again, please? It was good, and I honestly don't know if it will feel the same if I try and get myself off."

The words jumbled when you attempted to feed them back into your own ears, the sound of distance in your own voice causing confusion in the strange tone and desire that lost to your human will. But the moments you have to feel any last shred of embarrassment is dispersed as soon as you felt Jaebeom's grip on your thigh, spreading your legs once more before continuing his ministrations. Pleasure instantly washed over you as he worked his middle finger back in, lips encapsulating your swollen bundle of nerves as he worked in tandem to let you meet your peak once more. Convulsing as your abdomen tightened, your fingers card back through Jaebeom's messy hair as you gripped hard and bucked your hips forward. When he referred to how apparent your arousal was by calling it a mess he should have simply referred to you instead, your reaction was intrinsic but your movements and inherent being were falling apart before him. A final exhale and you choked out his name while a high pitched moan managed to gather and release from your tongue.

The moment you found to steady your breath is the same one that Jaebeom used to turn you over on his desk, your chest against the wood surface as he propped your knee up at the edge. Hissing as you attempted to adjust for comfort, he selfishly began pressing against your overstimulation as your arms gave out from your position, "Why are you always so impatient?!"

"Can you not comment once in a while, I let you cum already."

Your hips react differently to the way he lined his tip up and down your folds as opposed to your tone, back arching to meet his touch with wanton abandon as you shuddered when he finally entered you. If you were still in the mood to tease him, you liked to think you would have turned around and retorted some well thought out remark, but even then that could have lost to the possibility that the results would be the same. You had him inside of you recently, but somehow it felt like the first time again, the stretch sudden but coercing adrenaline in a way that blinded any initial soreness by raw pleasure. Fervent fingertips traced up your hips and finally to your waist, you plant one hand to pitch you up on the desk but the other curled around his bare wrist — if you grabbed his watch, you knew you'd leave a bruise on him with how tightly you're holding — giving it a squeeze. With no surprise or hesitation, Jaebeom took his cue and pushed his length entirely into you as you moaned.

The pace is slow for only as long as you can sneak a respiration, but his rhythm easily picked up to suit his impatience, and the string of obscenities that left your lips was growing in volume and length. Dousing the back of your neck with his breath, your sensory overload had you losing the last bit of control you had, submitting even your pleasure over to him as he thrust into you with perfect strokes, back and forth. The only focus you had left was to not cum too early and give him new ammunition to use against you, because he seemed to take pride in what he could manage to squeeze, whether that was a reaction or a way to beg him to fuck you, you now learned.

Without intention, you managed to complete his request of not commenting, simply relinquishing noises of delight and pleasure. Reaching for your neck with his free hand, he gently wrapped his fingers around your throat as you felt your skin blister from anticipation — it was sick how much he must have paid attention the first time if he noticed that you got off with how he choked you. Refusing to react, you simply pushed your hips back at the same rate he fucked you against the desk before his grip fused against your skin, pressing the column of your throat to capture your breath. You quietly thanked him for having turned you around because you weren't sure what kind of face you were making, lost in bliss the way every inch of his cock stretched you and how his rough hands were keeping the last bit of controlled ownership to himself.

Stifled moans are the last emission you can manage as you feel the quick snap of your core, completely unwound as Jaebeom crashed his hips into yours. By now, he knew exactly what you felt like when you were cumming, clenched around him and he'd be lying if he said there wasn't an insatiable desire that caused him to chase it every time. Not slowing his pace, he released your neck while pulling you closer towards him, his warm skin greeting your own while you rode out the last bit of your orgasm with soft whines, "You've cum twice and I still haven't gotten an apology."

There it was. But you don't have the energy to argue rather, you languidly reached around and draped your hand over his neck while catching your breath, peering up at him, "...I'm sorry I let all the nice and pretty girls in the company bother you this week. Don't be too mean, they just think you're cute."

Your words snuck between labored breaths as your half lidded eyes shut, your body still drowning in a post high you weren't quite sure you would come down from. There isn't any effort from you as he continued to thrust up to meet your hips, a smudged bout of laughter leaving his throat, "Never thought I'd hear you actually apologize."

"Then why'd you mention it."

"Just to mess with you."

"...You're such a fucking jerk, you know," while you mumbled, he moved his fingers that were originally inside of you against your lips, allowing you to taste what was left of when you soaked his skin and it's enough to make you want to cum against his cock again. You still hadn't figured out why he lasted so long and you decided it was because of his reverse erectile dysfunction, it had to be. When you managed to finish catching your breath, reality no longer lapsing you between a euphoric lust led fantasy, you alternated between how tightly you squeezed him with each thrust — hoping this would usher him to his end, but he doesn't react how you expect, instead his hands traveling over every inch of your skin and causing you to shudder.

It wouldn't be right to cum again, you keep telling yourself, but the way he's groping your breasts or how his fingertips were dug into your thigh was convincing you otherwise, "...I'm gonna cum."

You think the admission is at least better than not mentioning it at all, now for the third time, but you decide it's much worse once his lips pressed against your neck — just below your ear — and he whispered in a tone so gentle that the way he said it probably was what caused you to unravel rather than the way he fucked you, "Go ahead, cum."

Instant gratification was at his disposal as you leaned forward, only held in place by Jaebeom's arm around your waist as anything below your hips grew hot then numb, your toes curling in response to your body's reaction. Mentally you chant and beg for him to finish because you can assure yourself you're not going to be conscious for much longer, and though he could read others well, you started to wonder if he pretended he didn't know your intent especially when you felt his finger against your clit, "Wait!"

The yelp is instant as you shivered against him, torn between a mix of succumbing to every pleasurable desire you ever had being fulfilled or stopping to catch up with how your body’s reaction. Jaebeom, of course, ignored your request as you puddled out moans from your throat. Teeth in your shoulder, the onslaught of sensations were overwhelming every one of your receptors because it really did feel that good yet you couldn't savor any particular moment because it happened all at once.

Lost in a haze, your body felt as though it no longer belonged to you, every extremity inherently detached from the organic state and so heightened by pleasure and tension that they were simply extensions hanging from a frame. If begging could get Jaebeom to finish, you would have done it but you didn’t have the slightest idea how to coax him to cum. What was so intricate about the male physiology, anyways? Yet, through contradiction, you were the one spent over and over. The sudden rough grip on your breast forced you to hiss as the erratic tempo of Jaebeom’s thrusts offered a possibility of an end — finally — while your eyes pooled, festooning your cheeks with tears that were gifted from overstimulation.

The ragged breathing into your skin was your relief as you felt his sudden pull, but in your panic — especially from his disorganized way of spilling and leaving behind his mess — you gripped his wrist, “Just cum inside.”

“What?” A disgusted expression plagued his face as he seemed to lose his rhythm, “You really are fucking cra—”

“I’m on birth control so get over yourself and it’s gonna get on the carpet and your desk,” narrowing your eyes at him, you spoke quickly through your breathy pants. With a contorted expression, he rolled his eyes as he simply nodded, and not a breath later you could hear his painstakingly elongated growl. Shivering at the tone and how he held your hips in place, you finally released a sigh of relief before reaching over the desk to grab the tissue box near his keyboard. While his grip loosened, you secretly savored the warm and viscous feeling of how he filled you.

Watching your fingers tremor as you carried the cardboard container, you realized just how tense you must have been the entire time. Focused on gaining a proper grip back, you witnessed a flash of white as Jaebeom snatched several sheets and did the cleaning himself — much to your surprise and a tinge of embarrassment. You'd mostly expected to have done it on your own, and though this was already the second time you were allowing yourself to be completely naked and blissed out from being fucked by him, something about this action had induced some form of shyness. Gentle swipes over your skin and you listened to him discard the sheets as you whimpered while removing your knee from the desk, a heavy red mark along your thigh and your hip searing with initiated soreness.

The marks and fatigue would fade into an ephemeral glimmer, the same way your high would only last those fleeting moments more, but now in your sobriety you were left with an impression you weren't quite so sure would emulate the same transience. Several nights ago, you barely remembered how you managed to get your dress back on, how you purchased your breakfast, or even how you ended up at the park. Now, with full clarity, you were pulling on fabric over your skin with amplified sensory, listening to how every zip and clasp reattached itself in utter silence. It left your mind to wander once more, why you let this second time even ensue, better yet with your initiation. Two for two, right? You hadn't felt such a deeply mortifying realization until this moment as you awkwardly attempted to figure out how to wrap your blouse so you wouldn't be committing some form of public indecency.

How the hell were you supposed to get home?

all work, no play series masterlist

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mirrerover · 3 years

Text

Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks.

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could.

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all.

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre.

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare.

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now.

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

----------------------

@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

#jaydick #jaydick-flashfic #jaydick-flashfic: big plans #jason todd #dick grayson #mirre writes

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transbuckaroo · 3 years

Text

pain, applause

hello. my name is andrew, and i wrote a short lambden fic a few days ago. this will be based on the “following the thread” quest from “the witcher 3: wild hunt” developed by cd projekt red. the characters are based on dev patel as sir gawain in the 2021 film “the green knight” as directed by david lowery, and paul bullion in the upcoming 2021 seaon 2 of “the witcher” as directed by stephen surjik. i haven’t written very much these past two or three years, but i am proud of this finished product. please keep any comments/criticisms kind. thank you, enjoy!

_________

The moment Aiden realized how well and truly fucked him and Baby Steadfast were, he was already surrounded on all sides. He could sense them. His medallion hummed gently against his chest with the signal of danger with every step he took. If he could get out of this clearing, he thought, just into the tree line to stay hidden. It wasn’t far; he could make it, just keep going. The Cat kept his hand at the ready to make quick work of grabbing his battle axe and kept his breaths even as he walked. Aiden knew what was waiting for him. It seemed the fox did as well. Always intuitive, the little one.

Jad Karadin came out of the trees in front of him like a shadow from an alley, looming and dagger drawn in his right hand. Aiden slowed his pace, too exposed, ears picking up the slide of multiple steel swords off to the left. Then two figures emerged from behind Jad, appearing as if they had come directly from within his body. Lund first, after came Hammond. Baby laid back his ears flat, centering himself lower to the ground in a defensive position. He placed himself between the three and Aiden as he went.

There was no running from them. These people were never meant to be his enemies; Jad was supposed to be his brother especially. If anyone here was supposed to be on his side more than anyone, it was Jad. An elder Cat, someone Aiden was supposed to be able to look up to as a mentor. Jad had broken the mold. Had children, a wife, a life away from being a Witcher. Beyond it. He had proof that there was more.

These things didn’t matter anymore. Whoever Jad Karadin was supposed to be was pointless now. Because he was an evil man today. He and whoever else followed him here.

Aiden drew his axe, pulling a deep and centering breath as he went. There were more of this group, hiding somewhere in the thick of trees, awaiting their moment. This was only to end one of two ways. There would be no other option besides these. For a split second, Aiden found himself missing the presence of a certain Wolf over his right shoulder.

Lambert. Lambert wouldn’t let him get hurt. He would protect Aiden here and now, and the Cat wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. In fact, Lambert would have already drawn his sword and made a calculated advancement on their enemy. He would have won, too, because Aiden has never seen him fail a task when he gets that crease between his brows as they furrow in his determination. Lambert, with his fiery curls and attitude to match. Lambert, with his impossible wit and unrelenting promises made to Aiden that have never broken. Lambert, the little brother of Kaer Morhen, baby of the lot of them.

Lambert, who Aiden swore to see back in the valley in Kaedwen where the Buina and Gwenllech rivers part in Daevon so them and Baby Steadfast could finally make the trek up to Kaer Morhen together.

The heat in between Aiden’s shoulder blades told him he wasn’t going to make it up to the keep this year.

“Aiden,” Jad spoke, knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger. Aiden snapped back into focus. He didn’t even dare to blink. “You know why I’ve come?”

“I didn’t kill the Duke’s daughter. I couldn’t save her. I tried.” The contract Aiden had held just months ago in the start of spring. A young girl, cursed, incurable despite the Duke’s pleads and Aiden’s best attempts to reverse it. She had succumbed to her circumstances. Aiden was paid for his efforts, bowed his head with sorrow as the Duke grieved, and went on his way.

“I’ve come to hear otherwise. You’ve botched it, boy. People are angry with the results of your work and lack thereof. You fucked up, and you’ve not shite to say for it.”

“I didn’t botch anything, I did my job. Not everyone gets a happy ending, Karadin. You’re a Cat. A Witcher. You should know.”

To be completely honest, Aiden hadn’t a goddamnable clue how he was going to get through this. Maybe he could take them. Most rivals don’t tend to waste time talking through events, let alone listen to their target. This time, maybe this time, Aiden could walk away with a mere banishment from the city. Possibly, hopefully, he could meet Lambert in time in the valley.

“You’re right,” said Jad, some semblance of resignation on his face. It wasn’t real, his tone sounded fabricated. “Aiden. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

The arrow came right in that moment, whizzing through the air and lodging itself into the ground by Aiden’s left foot. He startled, stepped back, whipping his head around to try and follow its trajectory. Someone was up high. Someone was in the trees. Jad brought a sniper with him. Of course he did. Oh, of course that motherfucker did. This horrid, abomination of a man. The tree line was too dense, impossible to know where in the leaves the arrow came from where Aiden was standing in the field. He had only tried to look for a moment though before the sound of running footsteps came too close for comfort. And fuck, he could only gain so much momentum with his axe from this angle but he had to try.

Aiden spun back around on his heel, hands braced on either end of the hilt of his axe, prioritizing blocking the blow and creating distance before landing a strike of his own. Jad was successfully pushed back at the chest. Sent fumbling backwards to regain his footing. He growled in anger at the same time Aiden swung at his accompanying attackers, just barely missing them with the blade of his weapon. Steel struck and sounded a metal clang through the clearing. Aiden grunted with the effort of three-and-a-sniper against one, swinging his axe to catch a sword under the head and vaulting his enemy away. Distance was vital, energy was crucial to use sparingly.

“Baby!” He shouted towards his fox, whom of which was bee-lining for the trees where the arrow had come. “No! Run home! Home! Go home!”

It was something they’d agreed upon once. Home. They knew what home was, who home was. Where home was. The valley. Lambert. The point they meet and part at every year, the small town the Wolves have passed through many times in prior years. It was an easy place to go. That was where they found home, him and Baby. Lambert was home. Baby Steadfast knew this command well and clear as day. Go home. Go find Lambert; he’ll know what it means for the fox to show up without the company of his Cat Witcher. He’ll spring into action.

All it took was one incorrect turn, expose just a little too much of something or other, at just the right moment. It wasn’t because he’d called out to Baby; he knew how to give direction without faltering in his task. It was fucked luck. Terrible, awful, shit luck. All he did was avoid another two arrows in the ground, one grazing his cloak as it went.

Jad caught him in his right side with his dagger, blade plunging in deep and ripping a pained and surprised shout from Aiden’s throat. All the way in and right back out. Aiden staggered, snarled, and lunged at the man in front of him. Jad was a monster on this day, and Witchers know damn well to dispose of those. His side was on fire. The younger Cat swung, but Jad ducked underneath the blade. As Aiden turned with the momentum, one of the others kicked a boot into his chest and sent him backwards into Karadin’s grasp. The dagger entered the same area as before as Jad grappled an arm around Aiden’s throat. He was stuck. He was bleeding horribly. Baby Steadfast had gone to get Lambert. There was no way they would find one another in time.

With a strong shove from the man behind him, the dagger dislodged, and in the same moment whoever was at his left ripped his axe out of his hands. Aiden tried to spin around to face them as he propelled forward, but only managed to end up on his back on the grass. It was still cold with morning dew. Aiden could see the fog of his breath as he fell.

And in the most startling of realizations as Jad came to kneel over him, Aiden realized he was going to die. Without Baby. Without his dignity. Without Lambert. Without telling Lambert how much he truly and purely loved him.

He thought he had more time. Had it all planned out. They would meet in three weeks hence, and the night before they would make the ascent to the keep for the winter, Aiden would tell Lambert that he loved him in their room. This incredible, selfless, beautiful Wolf. Part of him even believed Lambert might say it back. He would feel the same. They were just like comfortable lovers already, what with the way they shared beds and blankets and curled up in the night to sleep, the way they helped wash and put up one another’s hair, cooked for each other, looked out for each other, lost all sense of personal space with each other. Melitele, the two of them even refused to separate their bedrolls while they camped out during their travels. They called each other “pup” and “kitten” respectively, dressed wounds, mended clothes and armor, cleaned weapons, hunted together, laughed and smiled and hugged and shared stories. Oh, Lambert was beautiful. Of course Aiden was in love with him. To expect anything else were a fool’s game.

“Oh, kitty cat,” he heard from above, and focused his eyes on Jad. The coldness of his gaze, so detached and unaffected. The only indication he’d ever been in a fight at all was the way his chest pulled bigger breaths than before. “Don’t go and cry now, will ye? This is just the natural order of things.”

Oh, Gods above, Aiden was crying. Silent little tears slipping free from the corners of his eyes, sliding down into his hair that lay fanned out in the grass below. Without dignity indeed. Wounds screaming in white-hot pain, vision blurring with tears that he could not control, heart aching, voice beyond him.

“Please,” the younger Cat spoke in a soft, quivering voice. He blinked hard once, twice, willing the tears away. They did not relent.

“Please.” He was being mocked. Then someone spat from out of his sight right into his hair. It smelled of salmon and tobacco. This time Jad’s dagger entered slowly, and new hot tears fell from Aiden’s eyes with the hurt of it, hand coming to grab his wrist in a feeble attempt to stop him. It did nothing. If anything it encouraged the man.

Aiden couldn’t grant him the final victory of looking away from Karadin’s eyes. Even as the blade ripped out of his body once more. Karadin spoke again. “You beg me to spare your life. Your pathetic little life. Insignificant, worthless, liar’s life. You were never going to change; your batch was doomed from the start. Your death is hardly any repayment, but it is the best we can do to provide peace and closure for the Duke and his people. A life for a life. It is but the way of the world, Aiden. Certainly you understand.”

Oh, he understood. A life for a life was the most polite way to speak of revenge. Talk of debts and dues, exchanges of wins and losses. A life for a life meant a day of reckoning to come. Lambert, kind as Aiden ever saw him, would cash this in as quickly and mercilessly as he could. He was coming no matter what. If he was unable to save Aiden now, he as sure as all things was going to tear apart whoever hurt him. What a gorgeous soul he was.

The fourth and final stab, a telling sign of Karadin’s assassinations. Aiden couldn’t fight it this time. A cluster of wounds just under the right side of someone’s ribs, always in four, always fatal. Aiden choked out a cry of searing agony, feeling the blade twist inside of him with force, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw so tightly he should have broken a few teeth. It twisted again as it was taken out, and all Aiden could do was let the fat tears roll as it happened. He felt Jad grab his medallion from under his shirt and opened his eyes as it was ripped off his neck and placed into a pouch at Karadin’s hip. Proof of death. The easiest form of it, but still worth enough to get paid. Hired by anyone associated closely with a Duke, Jad was sure to be rewarded handsomely for his work.

“Now,” spoke Jad. Aiden’s eyes were starting to get heavy, chest heaving, vision spotting behind the blur of tears. “You’ll be gone in moments, boy. A few minutes and this will be over. The pain will dull just prior, don’t fret. I will not seek out your fox nor that Wolf you travel with, but should they come I will be ready. Goodnight, Aiden. Sleep well.”

Then Jad started to walk away. Hammond and Lund went with him. Aiden could only lay there in the grass, sending his apologies to Baby and Lambert skyward and hope they would understand. He never meant for this to happen. If there hadn’t been that damned sniper, then maybe he could have taken them. But there was no time to dwell now. Darkness crept in, and Aiden’s breathing slowed, and it went dark once and for all as he bled out. He had failed. He was sorry. He could only imagine how horrifically pathetic he appeared. Perhaps he could be forgiven in time by his fox and his Wolf for never coming home.

In some months, when the snow lay thick on the ground, white and untouched blanketing where grass once resided, there would be the choking gasp of a man within the Brokilon Forest. Waking from a healing sleep induced by an old magic, cast by resident Dryads within the cover of trees that towered above. Known by many as the forest of death, breathing life back into someone who simply had not been due to die.

“Sir Witcher Aiden,” said a calming voice, a person standing kindly to the side. Her palm lay gently at the crown of his head, soothing. “We welcome you back to the living world. It has been some time.”

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 31

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

The Lan Sect camp is small. It is also a bit pitiful, with a distinct lack of tents, bedrolls, or any other necessary accommodations.

Still, Wei Ying is impressed by their diligence. Long before he is aware that there is a camp in the vicinity, a lookout has already spotted them and signaled their approach. The location had not been carelessly chosen either. The sight lines to the north, east, and south are clear, and to the west, a rugged hill rises sharply, hiding the camp from the Immortal Mountain watchtowers.

He does not have to ask how the site for the camp was chosen. He is already beginning to suspect that Lan QiRen has many more layers than he lets on, aside from the unexpected sense of humor.

Three other Nie Sect disciples have caught up with them on the outskirts of YiLing, providing a small escort. According to Nie XuanYu, another dozen are following a distance behind, ensuring that the Emperor’s presence remains a secret. Lan Zhan is walking by his side, his posture dignified and reserved. He does not speak.

Despite clearly intending to remain out of sight, the Lan Sect disciples have not gone as far as to trade in their white uniforms for something a little less obtrusive. Among them, it is easy to pick out Nie MingJue’s dark shape, which makes the figure next to him that of Lan XiChen. The two people across from them are unfamiliar. He takes one of them for a Lan Sect disciple precisely due to the color of robes, the white layers glowing brightly in the darkness. It is not until the figure turns, displaying an equally white blindfold, that Wei Ying stumbles a step.

“Uncle?”

The answering grin, visible even in the gloom, propels him forward.

“Uncle!”

Forgetting he is no longer twelve years old, he crosses the last bit of distance at a run, and nearly knocks Xiao XingChen over with his exuberance. XingChen laughs, his grip as tight as Wei Ying’s.

Oh, but when had uncle become so small?

Nearly four years have passed since their last parting. Is it possible that Wei Ying had grown so much, that he no longer has to lift his gaze to see XingChen smile? Unexpectedly, he feels his eyes prickle, and rubs his face with both hands, covering the sudden wistfulness with a laugh. He is happy to see that uncle’s faithful shadow had not grown smaller, still towering over them both.

The man attempts to bow, and Wei Ying latches on to his forearms, keeping him upright.

“Song Lan. Did I not say my uncles should never bow to me?”

A ripple of shock travels through the surrounding Lan disciples. The Empress’ brother is conspicuous enough, his sword and blindfold easily giving him away, but the man at his side had been taken for a simple bodyguard. To hear the Emperor address him as family raises more than one speculative whisper.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Song Lan says, “I had forgotten.”

“Ah, ah, now I am Your Majesty, but the last time you were at the Immortal Mountain, you called me a rotten little troublemaker. You threatened to kick my royal backside off the rooftop if I insisted on staying out past midnight. Do you remember that?”

The politely respectful expression on Song Lan’s face shifts into fond exasperation, “I am afraid my memory is especially poor lately, Your Majesty.”

Before he could think of a way to respond, Wei Ying suddenly realizes that Lan Zhan’s presence, which had been steady at his side since YiLing, is no longer there.

He turns to find him standing a few steps back with Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue, obviously attempting to remain invisible.

“Lan Zhan!”

Although he thinks he has never seen Lan Zhan look this alarmed, not even when he had mistaken Wei Ying for an assassin, he grabs the edge of the voluminous sleeve anyway, excited to introduce the man he means to marry.

“Come meet my uncle.”

Lan Zhan allows himself to be tugged forward, and offers a formal greeting, his posture rigid, his face unreadable.

Uncle is all gentle politeness, admitting that he had been the one to send the Lan Sect disciples into YiLing, unaware that his request had gone directly against the Sect Leader’s orders. He expresses regret for having placed them at risk, and from Lan XiChen’s expression, Wei Ying surmises that uncle had already apologized once.

XingChen inquires after a few of the Lan Sect members he had met on his travels, mentions that he dearly misses the excellent cuisine at CaiYi town, and compliments the Lan Sect efforts in LianYi during the drought.

In short, uncle is trying, to the best of his ability, to put Lan Zhan at ease. But although Lan Zhan is unfailingly courteous in return, his palpable discomfort does not wane.

Suddenly, Wei Ying feels guilty.

It occurs to him that he has done nothing but pull and push Lan Zhan in every possible direction for the past five days. Less than an hour ago, he had done a terrible job of confessing how he feels, managing to not give voice to any of his carefully planned out, honorable intentions. His fumbling is unlikely to have produced anything other than frustration and confusion, to which now, Lan Zhan must add a dose of casual banter with the Shan Empire’s notorious Rogue Prince.

The moment XingChen runs out of pleasantries, Wei Ying tugs on Lan Zhan’s sleeve again, but gently this time, trying to convey an apology, “Lan Zhan, we should go sit by the fire. The night is getting cold. Uncle, come sit down and tell me what brings you to YiLing.”

“Your Majesty,” Nie MingJue cuts in, “it is quite late. If you mean to enter by the Five Phoenix Gate instead of sneaking in the same way we had snuck out, I am afraid that delaying your return will only work to our disadvantage. We should start back the moment the rest of the Nie Sect arrives from YiLing.”

Wei Ying cringes. He had not even considered the mechanics of returning with the rest of the Lan Sect disciples, let alone with uncle in tow. Uncle Jiang will be upset, and Madam Yu-- he shudders. Best to not think of unpleasant things until they are upon him.

“Very well, please instruct the Lan Sect to break camp. Uncle, will you come with us?”

XingChen turns to Song Lan, and Wei Ying thinks that even after all these years, it is still eerie to see, how they seem to share a look of understanding.

“We are hunting,” XingChen says, “so our stay must be short.”

Wei Ying waves his hand, “I knew that much without being told. You are terrible uncles, both of you. I know you would not have come all the way to YiLing just for my birthday.”

The fond exasperation on their faces is now identical.

“Tell us what you are hunting,” Wei Ying grins, “Perhaps we can help.”

“Not what,” XingChen says, “but who.”

“A person?” Wei Ying exclaims in surprise, “an ordinary person?”

“There is nothing ordinary about this person,” Song Lan says, his expression turning hard, “So far, over three hundred people have been slaughtered by him. He has obliterated four villages and two small clans, leaving no one behind.”

Wei Ying feels a chill, “Who is he?”

“We do not know,” XingChen says, his calm edged with frustration, “He leaves no witnesses. One merchant, who had happened upon a village not long after everyone in it had been killed, spoke of seeing a young man, a boy, still alive. He could have been a lone survivor, or he could have been the perpetrator, but he was long gone by the time we arrived. So far, we have been following the trail of dead bodies across the Empire, but know little more than we did months ago.”

“You think he is here,” Lan Zhan asks, his discomfort seemingly forgotten, “In YiLing?”

“The trail had gone cold in LanLing,” Song Lan says, “but there was an incident between LanLing and YiLing, a group of bodies discovered in an old barn. The method by which they were killed was similar enough to bring us here.”

“I do not understand,” Wei Ying says slowly, “There are appropriate channels in place to deal with ordinary murders, even if they are beyond gruesome. What are you not telling me?”

Song Lan glances at XingChen again, but this time, XingChen ignores him, the twist of his mouth tight and unhappy.

“You know why the murders are occurring,” Lan Zhan says coldly, “There is a purpose to them.”

Lan Zhan’s expression is hard and determined, as if he means to shake them both until the information they are holding back flows forth. He looks grim, his spine straight, his fingers tightly wrapped around the sword. He looks dangerous. He looks regal.

Wei Ying feels his face tingle. There is an uncomfortable coil of heat building in his stomach at the sight, and he bites his tongue, hoping the flash of pain will stop the heat from spreading.

“Resentful energy,” Song Lan says.

XingChen looks even more unhappy now, but he does not make a move to stop Song Lan from speaking.

“We think he has found a way to harvest and store resentful energy.”

“Impossible,” Lan Zhan breathes, “even YanLing DaoRen himself could not--“ he cuts off abruptly, mouth snapping shut.

Wei Ying is still reeling from the information, not quite able to come up with the right words. But he immediately understands why Lan Zhan has fallen silent. YanLing DaoRen could not store resentful energy, but his failed attempts are the stuff of nightmares. Raving mad, he had threatened to shift rivers and level mountains once his experiments were complete. But in the end, the only place he had ever been able to store resentful energy was his own fragile human shell, which had rotted from inside out, unable to contain the power he craved.

Wei Ying clears his throat, “How can you be sure he has found a way to store it? Perhaps he is only following in YanLing DaoRen’s footsteps.”

Song Lan shakes his head, “Over three hundred people gruesomely slaughtered by him alone? Taking in that much resentful energy would have driven him mad. He could not have passed all this time unnoticed. The signs of his deterioration would be obvious to anyone who crosses his path. No,” he shakes his head, “I am afraid we must assume that he has succeeded where YanLing DaoRen has failed.”

“The greatest threat since YanLing DaoRen,” Lan Zhan says softly, “and you did not inform anyone. You did not send a word of warning to the Emperor.”

His voice is soft, but the grip on his sword is now so tight, that Wei Ying can see his fingers turning white from strain. He has seen Lan Zhan angry before, but never like this. This fury is cold, and devastating, and magnificent to behold.

“Did it not occur to you,�� Lan Zhan says, “that he is heading towards YiLing for a reason? That the Emperor’s birthday festival in YiLing is precisely the sort of chaos in which he can be easily concealed? That hundreds of visitors are entering and exiting the Immortal Mountain City each day, being screened by ordinary guards who would never sense an object filled with resentful energy? Did it not occur to you that the Emperor is the most likely target of this creature, and that he should be warned?”

“WangJi,” XiChen’s voice comes from behind them, a gentle warning.

He moves to stand by Lan Zhan’s shoulder, a calming presence next to Lan Zhan’s cold fury.

“Please forgive my brother,” XiChen says, “he spoke in haste. He means no disrespect.”

Lan Zhan’s expression clearly states that he may have spoken in haste, but that the disrespect was meant and well deserved.

Wei Ying does not want Lan Zhan upset with uncle. He does not want Song Lan angry with Lan Zhan for disrespecting uncle. But he can do absolutely nothing about either of those things, because his mind is utterly preoccupied by the fact that Lan Zhan is dangerous, and beautiful, and incensed on his behalf.

Lan Zhan is afraid that this madman means to hurt Wei Ying. Lan Zhan is worried about him. Lan Zhan cares about him. Lan Zhan cares about him.

He feels his mouth trying to stretch into a smile, and curses himself six times over. Everyone around him is tense enough to draw swords, he should not be grinning like an idiot.

Lan Zhan cares about him!

“Your Majesty.”

XiChen is looking at him. There is something uncomfortably knowing in his gaze.

Wei Ying clears his throat, then does it again. He is afraid his voice will come out hoarse and obviously besotted.

“Lan Zhan is right,” he says, “I may be well protected, but every Sect Leader and Young Master in the Empire is currently residing at the Immortal Mountain. They may all be at risk. Why would you not send word?”

Song Lan has moved closer to XingChen, as if he means to protect him from Lan Zhan’s fierce gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, but XingChen silences him with a touch to the elbow.

“I believe the Young Master is correct,” XingChen sighs, “We were wrong to conceal it for so long. It has been a frequent subject of discord between us, this decision. But Song Lan does not understand the power dynamics at court. He does not understand the precarious balance involved in ruling all the Sects in the cultivation world. YanLing DaoRen’s name still invokes fear and mistrust. I was afraid-- I was afraid that the truth would sow panic. Worse, that it may give some of the Sects an opportunity they have long sought, to remove YanLing DaoRen’s bloodline from the seat of power, and take the throne for themselves.”

“We intended to catch him long before now,” Song Lan says roughly, “We could only be certain that he is heading in the direction of YiLing on the second day of the festival. The trail was days old by then.”

“I am sorry to have placed the Lan disciples at risk,” XingChen says softly, “but once we learned that you were wandering around YiLing on your own, unprotected, we used whatever means we had at our disposal.”

“I was not unprotected,” Wei Ying says absently, “Lan Zhan was with me.”

He spends a few moments preoccupied with the idea that the incidents at the Immortal Mountain and the man uncle is hunting must somehow be connected. But no matter how he turns the events over, he cannot see that they have anything in common. A man who had slaughtered over three hundred people in order to collect the resentful energy from their corpses does not seem like someone who would go through the trouble of coating Lan Zhan’s teacup with poison.

Still thinking so, he realizes that everyone else has fallen silent. Song Lan is frowning at Lan Zhan. Xiao XingChen is smiling softly, his head turned in the direction of the camp, as if privy to something amusing that only he can hear. XiChen is smiling softly too, his eyes trained in the opposite direction.

Lan Zhan is not smiling. He is staring at Wei Ying, his ears red, his expression somehow lost, as if Wei Ying had done something preposterous again.

Wei Ying is pretty sure he has not done anything to merit that expression.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head and looks away. Behind them, Nie MingJue clears his throat.

“Your Majesty, I do not mean to interrupt, but the Nie Sect is all accounted for, and the Lan Sect is ready as well. We should head back.”

Wei Ying nods. During all the fascinating revelations, he has managed to forget what waits for him at the Immortal Mountain.

He thinks he would rather face a mass-murdering madman than Madam Yu.

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hobbitsnapes · 3 years

Text

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 22

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @iamhollows)

A/N: thanks to my lovely friend @geekonaleash, who wrote majority of the letters, I was able to put this out for you guys.

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever.

Tags: @comic-nerd-dc c @comic-brew @psychovigilantewrites @psych0crybaby

Weeks go by of the same routine, taking odd jobs and small cases from her father with little to no hiccups.

It was easy, almost too easy. She had taken on the likes of croc and bane just some months ago, now dealing with petty thefts and bank robbers. She longed for the night she could truly test her skills, whether that be in her fighting or brains.

That night came on a chilly November night.

Her heart raced in her chest as she rounded the alley, her body cold to the core from the deep winter air. Hardly any snow lay on the ground, mostly turned to a dark brown slush that made a God awful noise against her boots.

Her legs felt like they would give out any second, having run through the street practically the entire night in the freezing cold.

She spotted a dumpster up ahead, willing her legs to go a bit further. ‘Just a few minutes’ she thought as she sat down behind it.

It was late, nearly 3 in the morning. Having been out since 8, her body freezing cold making any and all energy in her body disapste.

Her heart sank to her stomach when she saw it, making her eyes widen as she got up.

There, at the opening of the dumpster, lay a hand.

She inspected the body for a split moment, to the best of her ability. Having it been thrown in, trash covering it almost completely.

She knows this is a bad idea, but her curiosity gets the best of her as she pulls it from the dumpster, laying it in a heap on the ground.

From the looks of their clothes, or better yet lack thereof, she’s able to tell it's a prostitute. Long blonde hair a tangled mess as her clothes torn.

The most notable wound being a slash to her throat, that bled down to her chest.

The cut wasn’t deep but torn, the skin fraying like ripped denim. A serrated knife, or a sawing motion from a dull blade. She tries not to think of the immense pain that was caused, even with the cut not being very long. They were left to bleed out, or the killer watched as the Poor woman choked and tried screaming out from the pain, only being able to cough up blood.

“What in the?” She whispers when she sees it, a piece of paper?

She grabs for it from under her top, looking it over and, what?

It almost resembled a riddle, her mind flashing momentarily to the green wearing man before she remembered. Riddler never does kills like these, especially with the body being hidden. His is always a show, a way to get attention. This was sloppy, definitely the persons first.

She took one last look to the body, before making a call to the GCPD, telling them the coordinates. She looked one last time at the letter, before folding it, tucking it into her jacket. Well, here’s her chance she’s been waiting for.

She takes a seat at her desk, lamp set on the letter as she peers down at it.

society mocks those who be different, who dwell in the dark like the shadow of a once bright star, only to cry out when the star be a comet, painting the streets in scarlet and ash. You’ll find the next body where care is to be given, but only to let them die in the end.

What does this mean? She thinks as she reads over the words. Who dwell in the dark like the shadow of a once bright star. They must’ve been someone of status of some kind, whether it be from wealth, family or great skill and achievements, who had everything ripped either by their own doing or another.

only to cry out when the star be a comet, painting the streets in scarlet and ash. They must blame others for what happened to them, and subsequently for loosing their status, so they’re desperate for the game and notoriety they were used to, but from whatever trauma they went through, it broke them. Causing immense anger and rage to fill them, warping their mind, thus the killings. They’re so angry at the world, they want fear, and to cause others the pain they must feel the world brought them.

Her heart drops when she hears her door open, shoving the letter into her desk as she turns around.

“Hey you busy at all?” Tim asks, “no why?” She lies, hoping to God that her voice won’t give her away.

Either he didn’t notice, or chose not to ask as he sits on her bed, her joining him immediately after.

They sit and idly chat about their day, but her mind keeps playing over the letter. What does all this mean? Why is-her questions stop when she looks up, seeing him looking at her in question. “You alright?” He asks. “Yeah why?” “You just seem, out of it. You sure you’re feeling alright?” She sighs at this, truly wanting to ask him to help, but in her gut, she knows that’s the easy way out. He would be able to crack it in seconds, fully able to get the profile on the man easily. She wanted to prove to her father that, she could actually do this on her own. Which is why, she had to lie. “Yeah, sorry just really tired. The cold really made tonight way harder.” A soft smile player on his lips at this. “Well then in that case, I’ll leave you to sleep, and maybe look at upgrading your suit to make it warmer. How’s that sound?” Her heart warms at this, a smile on her face. “That'd be great, thank you.” “Hey no problem, I’ve had to do it so many times, it takes me a few days at most.” He chuckles. She pulls him in for a hug, hey arms wrapping around his shoulders before pulling away.

She gets under her covers as he walks out, a smile on his face as he shuts her light out.

She gets up as soon as he shuts the door, walking quietly back to her desk, pulling out the letter.

She knew she had to do this by herself she thought, as she got her notepad out and got to work.

After reading and deciding the letter, she was able to figure out where the next body would be. The Gotham general hospital. And she knew, this body wouldn’t be hard to find.

And she was right, as soon as she finished the few cases her father sent her on, she got straight to making her way to the hospital. For once thankful for the simple missions he would put her on.

She was right to her suspicion, finding the body directly on the roof of the hospital. Sprawled out was a nurse, who was just as gruesome as the last. A stab wound to the heart. Blood soaked her scrubs, making the soft blue a deep, almost blackened purple. Her eyes wide in horror, set like stone to gaze up to the sky.

And as she knew, there was a letter in her pocket.

She quickly grabbed for the letter, calling the GCPD once again, before leaving.

‘An open casket filled with treasures In one sudden move of utmost pleasures. Sweet cries of the poor carer, Thinking someone cared was her error. You’ll find the body where people gather to see history, not knowing history be made there.’

Something happened to them, something that made their fall from fame so breaking, it broke them in the process.

It not only broke them physically, but emotionally. They hated the care from the hospital and the staff. They were strong, powerful, capable. They were hurt and had to get help for a while, something they loathed. They were probably an athlete, relying on their bodies for their fame.

You’ll find the body where people gather to see history, not knowing history be made there. History, a school? No, that’s not right. History, that word stuck out in her mind.

She quickly got out her laptop, and within a few minutes, she found the Gotham Museum of Antiquities.

She turned back to the letter, setting it flat to her desk.

She ran her fingers over the writing, feeling the harsh indents from the pressure of the pen. It was shaky, the deep indents feeling jagged. They were hurt, humiliated by what happened, causing rage to fill them. They felt such anger that, she could feel it in how hard they wrote. This wasn’t a psychopath, no, this was someone deeply hurt, driven mad.

She wrote all this down as she went, setting the papers over her desk in as neat of a pile that she could.

She quickly set it all into her desk, making sure they were all in an order. She had to make sure nobody would come in, or else, they might find all of this.

It was highly irstional, to think that any of them would go hunting in her room. But the fear of them doing so, kept her up most of the night.

She came up with yet another lie, faking being too ill to go out the next night. Her father concerned for the believable cough she let out, finally being calmed once she told him she was going to stay in that night.

She felt bad, truly. She hated keeping not only a secret, but lying to both her father and her best friend. But she knew this would give her more time, and having her soul focus on this one case.

She waited to hear them leave for over 15 minutes before she readied herself, making sure to leave her door locked.

They all at least knew that, if it was locked, not to enter unless emergency, even then, it would have to be the manor burning down.

She climbed out her window, making sure to listed in to where Alfred was before she made the trip from her high window.

‘So this is what most teenagers feel when they sneak out the house.’ She thought as she got down to the cold ground. Snow had finally fallen in a large heap over the city, making her trip to where she hid her bike that morning harder. It’d be a dead giveaway she snuck out if she just walked through the snow, so it took her time to reach the shrub where her bike lay.

Finally managing to get out of the trees surrounding the manor, she made sure to shut any and all tracking devices she wore, before leaving.

“He’s getting bolder.” She whispered as she reached the museum. There, on the front steps of the old building, lay a man. A security guard to be exact.

She walked over to the man, crouching down to the body. Only this time, there was no stab wound to either his throat or to his chest. But blood looked underneath.

She turned the body around, finally seeing where the source of the blood came from. A deep stab wound to the mans upper back, nearly exposing his shoulder and spine.

She groaned out, reaching for her shoulder blades as memories of the healing played in her mind. To this day, any injury to the upper back or shoulders on another person sent her back, back to the worst time of her life.

Another note, placed in his front pocket pocket out.

She reached for it, tucking it into her jacket before standing up.

She froze in place when she saw them, her eyes trained on them as her heart slows. Prints in the snow nearly filled in, but still visible.

She crouched down to them, looking at each one closely.

They were almost filled in, so this had been taken place only some hours ago. Before the heavy blanket of snow hit.

The thing that stood out was the spacing and the pattern. They were jagged, almost slipping looking like.

The man had a limp. She thought, before standing beside them. She walked to recreate the steps, an evident limp in how they went. It was his right leg. Something happened here, and she thinks she knows what.

She sat at her desk, her blanket securely wrapped around her as she peered down to the letter.

‘It all ends with no more laughter, you’ll find the next body where families gather to watch stars be made on a Field, A trophy that can no longer be concealed’

It all ends with no more laughter. He was mocked, or he believed he was when maybe others looked at him with sympathy. In his eyes, it was them mocking him.

Where families gather to watch stars be made on a Field, A trophy that can no longer be concealed.

He was an athlete, had to be. A gasp leaves her lips as it hits her. Her heart drops to her stomach as she reached for her laptop, hurily turning it on as she writes down her thoughts.

Garrett Wilkins, star quarterback of the Gotham Rogues. Well, used to be.

Star in the game, having played it all his life from school to professional. He had everything. Fame, Wellth, everything.

That was until a fateful day in November, as he was walking out of the old museum with his longtime girlfriend, he was shot in the back.

He was able to make outstanding recovery, no longer wheelchair ridden like doctors thought. But he didn’t walk away how he was. He developed a bad limp, causing his team to kick him off.

Last people heard of him, was his girlfriend left him because of a rumored drinking problem.

This all took place 2 years ago.

She ran as fast as her legs took her, nearly falling over due to the thick snow on the ground.

Her heart hammered against her chest as she entered the arena, eyes searching around until she saw it. Her heart sank to her feet, as a pained sigh left her lips.

She thought she could make it in time, hoping, praying that she would be able to get there before him or when he was here. A small amount of hope that, she could save her.

She crouched down to her body, a tear slipping into her mask as a pained whimper left her lips.

She had hoped he wouldn’t have, but she knew, he would kill her.

“I’m so sorry Cass.” She cried, as she closed her wide eyes. Her body a bloody mess, nearly unrecognizable due to the many stab wounds that littered her body.

And again, like it was a call from a screaming Banshee, lay another letter.

Once more my face will grace your screen A star running on a field of green But now and forever my title I reclaim Never will I lose my newfound fame. You’ll find the next body where families go to play, to be surrounded by others as they watch their children’s play.

“God fucking damnit!” She exclaimed as she slammed her hand against her table, tears filling her eyes. She really, truly hoped she could make it in time. But sadly, she knew this would happen eventually. You can’t save everyone she thought.

Her feet carry her all the way to the park, her heart heavy in her chest from the memories flooding back.

She laughs out as he spins her around, nearly making him fall from both their laughter.

Their faces only inches apart as he sets her down, arms still around her as they gaze into one another’s eyes. Hearts beating at a steady rhythm.

Her eyes search around the park, head tilted slightly as she looks around.

There’s no body? Maybe he hid it? No, he definitely wouldn’t. He WANTS them to be found, wants the fame back on him. Hiding the body gives a chance that it won’t be found, a risk he’s not willing to take.

She rounded the corner, walking further into the snow. Where could it be? She thinks, before her heart stops, everything going black.

A sharp slap to her cheek wakes her up, a cry breaking past her lips. “Jesum dude, a safe word would be nice.” She groaned out. “Where is he?” He demands, hand grabbing a hold of her neck. Her hands and legs tied to the chair. Surprisingly, they felt pretty secure.

“Who?” She asks, anger evident in her voice. “I know you work with Red Hood, Batman, all of them! WHERE ARE THEY!” He screams in her face.

She starts laughing, causing him to grow even angrier. “WHATS SO FUNNY!” She can’t help but throw her head back in laughter. “They’re not coming.” His face falls momentarily, before turning angry once again. “What do you mean THEY'RE NOT COMING!” “I mean exactly that. They aren’t because they don’t know you exist. Only I know and that’s only because I found the first body by accident. All you want is the game again Garrett, well guess what, you lost. Not red hood, Batman, fuck even the GCPD know who you are. You, lost.”

He slams his fists into the table beside her, letting out a frustrated scream. “Fine. Well, I guess I can get fame some other way.” He says, grabbing a gun beside him. Her heart drops to her stomach, shutting her eyes as she waits for the bullet. But, the gunshot never came. The sound of the door breaking down and the man falling to the ground screaming drowned out any and all noise.

She hisses out at the burn of the alcohol on her cheek,trying to drown out the thick silence of the room. “You could’ve gotten killed you know. No correction, you were about to be killed before we came.” Says Jason, anger evident in his tone. Her heart pains in her chest as she looks away from her father. She knows he’s only angry because of fear. Fear that his daughter could’ve died.

“I mean how could you be so careless like that! You should’ve been able to hear him! God I fucking trained you better than that!” He yells, arms up in anger. Everyone stays silent as he rants, knowing not to step between them. Memories of how protective he gets with her, none of them dare to try.

“You could’ve died tonight. This is why I’ve only sent you on smaller cases. I’ll be DAMNED if my daughter gets fucking killed because she was reckless!” “Jason, stop it.” Says dick. Everyone’s heads whip to the man, holding their breaths. “Oh yeah, why should I. My daughter almost got herself killed!” “Because you and none of us have any room to talk. We all risk our lives everytime we go out there. You can’t sit here and scold her for messing up. You, me, Bruce, everyone in the room has slipped up at least a dozen times. So don’t stand there and yell at her when what she did was highly impressive, especially where all you taught her was combat.” He says to the younger man. Jason knows he’s right, lowering his head.

“I’m sorry but what? What was impressive?” She asks nobody in particular. “How you were able to figure that out in such a short amount of time.” Says Tim. “I’m sorry what? How was that impressive? And also, how did you guys find me? I turned off all my tracking devices.” She was completely lost. How is that impressive to a room of some of the worlds greatest detectives. And how in the hell did they find her? “I was worried about you. Last I heard from you was you were sick, and I hadn’t seen or heard anything for over a day. So I, went to go check and found you weren’t there. And, you left all your research on the table. I was able to figure out where he lived, and we all just went.” Says Tim. She wasn’t mad, actually grateful. “And to answer your other question, it’s impressive because, Jason never taught you any advanced detective skills. You not only figured out his letters, but where. And, you can naturally profile handwriting. None of us can do that on our own. It took years to even somewhat make a good guess. Which is why, we wanted to ask you something.” She looks at dick in question, trying to figure out what he meant. “We wanted to ask if you’d join us. Be a part of our team.” Says Bruce. She looks at all of them like they’re mad, before she could say anything, her father beat her to it. “They brought it up to me, and I think, it’s a good idea. Dicks right. You’ve got a lotta skill that they could really use. Especially the handwriting thing. Plus, it’ll be good to have others around just in case something happened. It’ll not only make me feel better knowing you’ve got backup, but I know it’ll give you more room to lean. I’ve, been to scared to let you go out and really test not only your fighting, but your smarts. And I’m sorry for that.”

Everyone’s eyes train on her, as they wait for her response. Even Damians eyes look to her. She lets out a sigh, looking to her father first, before to all of them. “Fine. But on one condition.”

“Wait, you're asking what?” “Exactly that. I’ll be a part of your little Scooby gang as long as if there’s no other option, that if it’s life or death for any of us or civilians, I take them out.” She says, arms crossed. “You’ve gotta be fucking-.”Damian says, before Bruce cuts him off. “Fine. But only, if I, or anyone of the others apart from your father give the okay to that.” Damian looks to his father, eyes wide in anger and disbelief. “Are you-“ “deal.” She says, extending her hand out to Bruce. They both shake on it, neither paying attention to Damian. “You’re all okay with this?” He asks, anger still in his voice. “Didn’t you hear what they agreed on? She won’t do it unless one of us says she can.” Says Tim. “And we need her skills Damian.” Dick replies, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re all fucking crazy.” He says, heart beating wildly in his chest, walking away from everyone.

#damian wayne fanfiction #older damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne smut #batman #batfamily #damian wayne #dc #dceu #jason todd #batfam x reader #Jason Todd #red hood #dick grayson #Tim drake #dc imagine

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webrokethe4thwall · 3 years

Note

Can you write a Fanfic where Rupert Swaggart finds his own brooch and gets his live back?

Sorry for the wait @the-deku-guy, but here’s your request!

Brooches before Swine

A large man adjusted his trench coat and fedora as he scanned the stalls of the jewelers’ black market. He was not searching for your standard silver necklace or ruby ring, but a brooch. Specifically, a cloaking brooch. Meat Sweats was once again on the hunt for a mystic cloaking brooch. However, even now as he looked over the charms laid out on the table, his hopes plummeted. Several brooches, ranging from simple to ornate to tacky, were lined up, but none of them were mystic.

He had been through all of the black market stalls, antique malls, and even online auction halls. Each location yielded the same result: nothing. The former celebrity chef released a frustrated groan. He had been so close to reclaiming his old life with the last brooch he had found here. If only those two pesky girls—the curly-headed one and the slime-ball—hadn’t stolen it from him and ruined his plans!

And to add insult to injury, they had trapped him in that backwater barbeque studio. Did those amateurs not understand how to properly prepare meat before cooking it?!

“Rubbish, pitchfork-wielding hicks,” Meat Sweats grumbled, stalking away from the broach district. “Don’t know the difference between brine and a bay leaf.”

Regardless of the past, Meat Sweats was determined to regain his fame, his cooking show, and his previous life as Rupert Swaggart. Nothing and no one was going to stop him! …Well, except for his lack of a human appearance. Meat Sweats continued to mutter under his breath. He had seen other mutants—pardon, yokai—with cloaking brooches. Why was he unable to find one? Maybe there was a recall for some kind of mystical enhancement.

“One moment,” Meat Sweats grunted. “A memory stirs.”

He put a fist to his chin as he thought of a past conversation. It had been a few weeks ago with a tiny worm mutant whose name completely slipped his mind. The fellow had said he purchased a mystical enhancement jewel from some mystic shop disguised as a secondhand corner store.

“If that’s the case,” Meat Sweats mused, “perchance a visit is in order.”

That very night, the pig mutant went to the corner store. He pulled his clothes tight to his frame upon entering the store. He didn’t much care if he looked suspicious; he just didn’t want the police called on him tonight. The first thing Meat Sweats saw was some skinny greasy guy standing behind the counter. This fellow must’ve been the cloaked yokai. Meat Sweats took in the man’s lackluster appearance, baseball cap, and vague scent of chevon. After taking a moment to size each other up, the mutated chef decided to break the silence first.

“I heard that you sell delectable jewelry in this establishment,” Meat Sweats said.

“Oh, we sell all kinds of things here,” the man stated. “Lamps, dolls, and toasters to name a few; but yeah, jewelry is in the mix. The name’s Clem!” He gave Meat Sweats a lazy onceover. “You, uh, looking for something particular, friend? Nudge, nudge.”

“Nudge, nudge?” Meat Sweats asked. “It’s ‘wink, wink,’ matey.” What a peculiar character.

“Clem, get your act together!” The man shook his head in self-deprecation. Giving the password away again because he forgot an idiom. How embarrassing!

Before Meat Sweats could fake curiosity over what Clem meant, the man began shedding his disguise. The now purple goat yokai rang the bell on the counter, revealing hidden compartments in the displays that contained his mystical wares. Clem spread his arms out, showcasing the jewelry on his shelves.

“You said you’re looking for jewelry,” he droned. “What kind?”

“Cloaking brooch,” Meat Sweats stated, tearing away his trench coat. “Can’t really go on live television looking like this, now can I?”

“Wouldn’t really recommend it, no,” Clem said after a low whistle. “I’ve got just the thing.”

He knelt down behind the counter and pulled up a tray laden with stunning brooches. Clem plucked one up and handed it to the pig mutant. Meat Sweats turned it in his metal hands, admiring the star-shaped silver with a shining pink pearl in its center. He pinned the brooch to his collar and gave it a little shine. Soon his body was wrapped up in the soft pink glow of the mystical cloaking energy. Meat Sweats looked at himself in the counter’s shiny surface. It was perfect.

“All kinds of handsome is me once again,” Meat Sweats, now Rupert Swaggart, grinned.

With a wink and kiss sent to his reflection, Rupert threw a few bills at Clem. He had no appetite for goat yokai shopkeepers at the moment. No, it was time for Rupert to reclaim his previous life in full.

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A few nights later, Mikey upped the volume on his kitchen television. It was time for Kondescending Kitchen, and he was determined to make the perfect risotto!

“Are you ready to unleash the flavor?!”

Mikey came to an abrupt halt. That voice…it couldn’t be! He focused fully on the television. Meat Sweats, disguised as Rupert Swaggart, stood front and center for a cheering audience. Not good.

“Guys,” the box turtle yelled, already reaching for his kusari-fundo, “we’ve got a problem!”

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Rupert left the stage with the sound of the audience’s queued cheers pouring into his ears. He smirked to himself as he entered his dressing room. It was quite refreshing to hear after months of absence from his television career. The station manager even said that she was going to schedule an interview about his dramatic transformations and his unexpected final return. Yes, his cloaking brooch shining brilliantly on his apron was working greatly in his favor. The chef grinned as he picked up the night’s winning dish: pork risotto.

“Time to savor my victory,” Rupert hummed contentedly.

“Not a chance, Meat Sweats!”

One yellow and four green blurs swept into Rupert’s vision. No, not these reptilian nuisances and that ruinous girl! While Rupert hadn’t done anything more than reclaim his television program from an undeserving rival, Meat Sweats should’ve known that these pains in his tendrils would catch wind of his return.

“Not you rotten eggs!” Meat Sweats snarled, ditching his disguise in favor of his more combat-ready pig mutant appearance.

“You know it!” April defiantly retorted. “Which poor yokai did you steal this brooch from?!”

Now Meat Sweats was genuinely confused. He was also annoyed, but he had some modicum of integrity. He never stole the brooch. He didn’t even steal the first one! He bought both pieces fair and square. Granted his newest item was from a slightly more legitimate business. Nevertheless, why are these pests coming after him tonight?! He hadn’t even attempted to eat or poison anyone recently!

Before Meat Sweats could state his innocence, the fight was on. Raphael and Donatello charged him head on, while Leonardo and Michelangelo went for his sides. Meat Sweats easily knocked all four of them back with a swing of his meat tenderizer. He nearly missed April reaching for his rose gold cloaking brooch.

“Hands off!” Meat Sweats roared, stepping away from the girl and raising a protective hand over the shining pearl. “This is me own brooch!”

“Oh, yeah?” Mikey challenged. “Show us the receipt then!”

Meat Sweats, fed up with these annoying teenagers that always seemed to pop up in his life, shoved the seedy secondhand shop’s receipt into the smallest turtle’s face. The turtles and girl clearly didn’t expect this response. All fighting stopped, and it appeared the children were taking a moment to process the strip of paper between the pig mutant’s gloved fingers.

“Satisfied?!” Meat Sweats demanded.

“Wait,” Raph said in disbelief. “You actually, legitimately bought a cloaking brooch?”

“How much does one go for?” Donnie asked, squinting at the too small smudged numbers.

“Enough to get the job done,” Meat Sweats stated, stuffing the receipt back into his pocket. “Now, leave me be before I cook you all into turtle soup!”

“Not so fast,” Leo said. “Why do you need a cloaking brooch anyway. You’ve just been trying to eat and poison people this entire time. Did you want to do that when you were human, too, or is it a pig thing?”

Meat Sweats sighed in exasperation. Maybe he should’ve just let the fighting go on until either he passed out or they ran off. It was too late to find out, in any case. Now he had to converse with, ugh, teenagers about his rather tame plans and not-so-tame eating habits.

“Pig thing,” Meat Sweats stated shortly. He rubbed his cloaking brooch and reactivated his human façade. “I’m taking back what’s mine with this brooch. My show, my fame, and my life need my human face. I’m not about to let some mediocre fry cook take over my kitchen!”

The so-called chef the station had replaced him with was barely out of culinary school his skills were so dull. It boiled Meat Sweats’ blood. Whether those pesky teenagers liked it or not, Rupert Swaggart was making a comeback. Kondescending Kitchen needed him! Meat Sweats just needed a human face to rescue it. While some people were accepting of mutants or cosplay junkies, the public eye required a certain degree of discretion.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” April asked. She gave Rupert a distrustful once over.

“Not a problem!” Mikey interjected. He slid himself between his siblings and the returned celebrity chef. “We’ll just enroll him into my Evil League of Mutants Going Good Rehabilitation Program!”

“His what?” Rupert asked, baffled by whatever the exuberant turtle was rambling about.

“It is Michael’s method of transforming our enemies into allies,” Donnie drawled. “It has been showing promising results for Draxum. Though there may be a learning curve.”

“Yeah,” Leo reluctantly agreed, “but Draxum’s the only one that Mikey has worked with so far. How do we know it’ll work on this guy?”

“That’s easy,” Raph stated, fully confident in his baby brother. “Since we know that Mikey’s program worked on one of the worst people we know, we’ll help him with setting Meat Sweats on the right path.”

“And keep Mikey from getting star-struck,” April muttered, eying the way Mikey fawned over the sweaty chef.

Rupert rolled his eyes. What is wrong with these kids?! Were they seriously discussing the future of his moral status in front of him? He didn’t need to put up with this!

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Rupert demanded.

“No!”

All the teenagers glared at him, except for the orange clad turtle who had stars in his eyes. The audacity!

“Rubbish,” Rupert grunted.

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For weeks, Meat Sweats was under the unnervingly close surveillance of the Mad Dogs. A ridiculously unsuitable name for those five obnoxious kids. He despised how involved they forced themselves to be in his life. Telling him what to do and what not to do. It was annoying! Don’t eat the mutant silverfish this, and don’t sabotage your culinary rivals that. He was sick of it and was very vocal about his displeasure.

However, the teens didn’t seem to care nor let up in their efforts to conform him to the moral high ground. The chef didn’t know if reclaiming his glory was worth the hassle. At least he didn’t have to waste energy tenderizing their bones anymore. Michelangelo even had a realistic view of his character in spite of his fanboy attitude towards Rupert Swaggart.

The box turtle never expected him to become 100% kindhearted, if he ever became nice at all. However, Mikey did put limits on Meat Sweats and made him stick to some simple moral codes. Rupert just wanted to get his status as “Most Pretentious Chef in New York” back on track. Unfortunately, the youngest turtle did not allow him to perform any of his deliciously underhanded tricks on his competition.

“Meat Sweats!” Mikey admonished. He had just caught the reforming chef about to pour mystic poison into his delightful pizza puffs. Again. “What are we supposed to do with our culinary competition?!”

Meat Sweats released an annoyed grunt. He was getting tired of repeating his supposed mentor’s lessons, but it was mildly better than the intermittent fighting they used to go through.

“Out-serve them with quality meals, not quality poison,” Rupert droned. It was verbatim from one of Chef Mikey’s many “Maintaining Healthy Competition” lectures.

“Exactly,” Mikey said in a condescendingly sweet tone. He took the poison from Meat Sweats’ grip and yeeted it into the distance. “Now put on Rupert Swaggart, and let’s make filet mignon!”

Meat Sweats rolled his eyes at the young turtle’s antics but went along with it. Michelangelo was a decent enough chef for his age, proving his potential by the way he prepared that salmon when two drooling snakes were baring down on them. Rupert Swaggart activated his cloaking brooch and picked up a knife. He may as well humor Mikey with an attempt to mature his talent.

“Not a bad idea, lad,” Rupert agreed. “Filet mignon with roasted asparagus and,” he smirked, “truffles.”

Mikey’s eye twitched at the traumatic memory. “Not funny, sweat sock.”

Meat Sweats laughed uproariously, and even harder still when he saw Mikey’s annoyance growing. It was fun messing with this one. No matter what the chef threw his way, the young turtle always bounced back with an even snarkier reply. He might make a Kondescending Chef out of the boy yet. With no further preamble, the two mutants proceeded to craft a fine meal of filet mignon over roasted asparagus drizzled with mushroom sauce.

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A month later, Rupert’s program established itself as the most popular food-related show on television once again. Crimes related to a food truck driven by a pig mutant plummeted as the celebrity chef made more public appearances. He had finally achieved his goal. Now Meat Sweats could kick back in his apartment, resting in his easy chair, and let the adulation from his fans inflate his ego, and his wallet, once more. A loud knock on his door broke him out of the moment, and the door being kicked open entirely had the pig mutant falling out of his chair.

“What in blazes?!” Meat Sweats shouted, quickly activating his cloaking brooch.

“Sorry for the door,” April cheered, giving no sign of remorse at all. “But I come baring gifts, and they’re heavy!”

April lifted several plastic bags filled with groceries. Rupert gave the girl an annoyed glare. He got up from the floor, set his door back into place minimal effort, and stared his “visitor” down. The chef didn’t know why she was in his home without her turtle friends, but he did catch the delightful aroma of raw meat, seasonings, and vegetables wafting from the bags in her hands. April immediately went to the kitchen and dumped a few wrapped lamb chops, fresh artichokes, a jar of capers, and several other ingredients onto the countertop.

“What are you doing, girlie?” Meat Sweats asked, dropping his disguise.

He was well used to the turtles’ surprise visits, but they always came in through the window or a portal into the living room. April rarely came by herself, so the chef had yet to learn her favored way of barging in.

“Setting up an apology,” April replied, organizing the meat, spices, and other ingredients.

“A what?” Meat Sweats was taken aback. This teen had been screwing up his life for months. Why was she apologizing now? What was she apologizing for?!

“You’ve been doing pretty good since you got that cloaking broach and went into Mikey’s rehab program,” April snickered. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “And I started feeling kinda bad about trapping you in the ‘Sauce That Hog’ studio.” Meat Sweats frowned deeply at the memory, and April had the sense to move on to the ingredients on the counter. “So I brought over all the ingredients for fancy lamb chops.” She waved the bag of artichokes enticingly. “Including some mystic artichokes fresh from the Hidden City.”

Meat Sweats snorted at the attempt to woo his culinary pallet. He may not spend much time with the girl, but he knew April could kiss up to anyone’s better nature once she found their Kryptonite. His was fairly obvious, and the chef took great pride in flaunting his cooking skills.

“So you thought that catering to me superior culinary taste with mystic produce and corner store mutton would make up for that torment?” He wasn’t going to let April off that easily though.

“It’s actually hogget from my cousin’s farm,” April corrected. “She raises the best meat livestock I’ve ever tasted, so I thought you might like to try it.”

“No kidding?” Meat Sweats, surprised that April knew different types of lamb meat, looked at the wrapped meats inquisitively.

“It’s sheep meat,” April smirked, “not goat.”

“Why must you pun like the blue one?” Meat Sweats grumbled. “Just give me the ingredients and watch me—”

“Unleash the flavor!” The mutant and teenager chorused.

Meat Sweats wasn’t expecting that either. He gave April an odd look. Mikey was his fanboy, so what was her excuse? April just grinned.

“Mikey got me to watch a few episodes from his favorite seasons of Kondescending Kitchen,” she explained. “What can I say? It’s a catchy line.”

“Yes, well,” Meat Sweats countered, “it’s my line.” He knows it was a lame comeback, but he really didn’t know how to respond. One minute he and these kids are at each other’s throats, the next he’s cooking filet mignon and lamb chops with them. He shakes his head and gestures to the other side of the sink. “Hand me my knife block. I want to chop up these artichokes for a marinade.”

“Yes, Chef,” April saluted.

“Cheeky girl,” Meat Sweats commented.

He and April made a delightful set of lamb chops topped with marinated artichokes and seasoned capers. The chef figured that if the return of Rupert Swaggart meant being badgered by those annoying Mad Dogs, then there are worse fates he could have been forced to endure. They weren’t as awful as he dreaded. If he didn’t enjoy being a jerk so much, he may have been tempted to even call them his friends. He still might. Just not when they were around. He had an image to maintain after all.

#rottmnt #meat sweats #rupert swaggart #writing #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfic #meat sweats isn't fond of kids #but the mad dogs will force him to like them #mikey and april already endeared themselves to him in a way

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Normal ~ A.L.

A/n: Ah yes, this is going to be fun.

Request: “...Alec lightwood x male reader. Maybe the reader is mundane and shows Alec what it’s like being human for a day and then Alec shows him what it’s like being a shadow hunter. And maybe the whole time Alec is like o my word I love this kid...” by anon

Word Count: 5100+ (this is why it took me so long CHRIST I’m sorry)

MASTERLIST

You know, the thing that kept Mundanes seeing into the world of the Shadowhunters was a funny thing. It was supposed to always work, blocking humans from seeing monsters and those that hunted monsters. The problem was, nothing was perfect. Everyone made mistakes. Everything glitched from time to time.

I guess you could call Y/n a glitch.

The thing that kept humans from seeing things they shouldn't? It didn't work for Y/n.

When Y/n had first been seen facing down a vampire, it had seemed a little odd. The woman the vamp was going after seemed miffed that some dude was cutting in on her date, and everyone was confused. When they had killed the thing and Y/n had thanked them afterward, they'd all assumed he might have been like Clary - unaware of his Shadowhunter background somehow. But he had assured them he was human, and had proved it. Thankfully, since the plan had been to use a rune on him and if they had, he would have absolutely died.

Y/n was just immune to the magic that should have kept him far out of the knowing of what was really going on in the shadows of his town. Which left him unable to do anything, other than gather information and share it when he could. Y/n had no magic and no way to fight when he had no training or run protections, but he did have a talent for tricking monsters with their one weakness. He was human, and they were hungry.

Long story short: Y/n was really good at being bait, and he didn't mind it either.

Alec minded it a lot.

The two boys had gotten close pretty quickly. Alec refused to admit it, but Y/n was pretty charming. He had a nice smile and a contagious laugh, and a sort of lightness about him that was incredibly refreshing. It wasn't that he was untouched by darkness, or that he was fresh and innocent and waiting to be destroyed, like they all were before their line of living had ruined them. Y/n had been aware of monsters all his life, and being surrounded by people who could not see what he could see had landed him in either very near death situations, or mental hospitals a few times before he'd learned how to lie. He'd even been medicated really heavily a few times, but when that had done nothing, Y/n had come to terms that there was something going on that other people couldn't see. He had been in this business for a very long. No, Y/n was just the kind of person that refused to lose that inner child. He was soft and strong, and could make anyone smile and any situation bearable.

The way he made life so much more beautiful drew Alec in so aggressively, the Lightwood boy lost his breath every time.

Y/n was good at getting along with everyone else too. He wasn't good at much other than writing, leaving him to connect with Clary because of the similar vibes of their childhood, as well as their mutual passion for art. He and Simon bonded over poetry as well. Izzy enjoyed having someone who could keep up with her flirting, without it meaning anything or leading to something neither of them wanted. Even Jace was enjoying Y/n's presence when he proved that despite his lack of an ability to fight monsters and the such, Y/n WAS well trained in self defense. The two sparred while Y/n cracked jokes and made Jace laugh. Yeah, the blonde and brooding Jace was actually LAUGHING.

Having Y/n around was very refreshing.

So they all missed him a lot when he wasn't around.

Y/n attended college to chase am Arts History degree, and worked two jobs to keep himself afloat. The day Alec got permission to let Y/n move into the Institute was a great day for everyone. Now he was around a lot more- especially because now that he didn't have to pay rent, he could quit one of his jobs. In his free time, Y/n spent cleaning gear and learning how to hone his lame cooking skills. He wasn't great, but he was better than Izzy and was usually the only one with the energy to try it at the end of the day. When Hodge... went rogue, Y/n took charge of keeping up the Garden and learning all he could about how this world worked so he could take care of things and keep everything running smoothly. This left him spending most of his time in the library, reading up on history books.

One day though, Y/n needed Alec's help. Tensions between the two boys had risen almost to over spilling, but every time Y/n thought they were going somewhere, Alec stepped back. Y/n respected the boy's hesitance and never pushed, but the dragging was getting to everyone else. Izzy especially, who wanted the coolest mundane ever to get with her brother.

That wasn't why Y/n was bothering Alec now though. "Hey can I clean the glowing weapons things, or like... will those kill me?"

Alec couldn't help slip a small smile when he heard Y/n's voice. He turned around to see the boy coming in, a huge book in his hand but a confused look on his face. "Please tell me you're not talking about Seraph Blades."

"Those are the ones," Y/n confirmed without hesitation.

Alec shifted, raising an eyebrow. "They're just... fire."

"Well yes," Y/n drawled, rolling his eyes. "But the tubes. I mean, when they deactivate there's still something there, right? Doesn't that get covered in blood and stuff? Won't it getting all icky mess with the magic? And I've never seen any of them dirty. So do you guys have to clean them, or can I?"

That was very confusing to Alec. "Okay hold on. Have you never seen us kill a demon before?"

Y/n got rather sheepish then. "In my defense, I usually get in the way if I help, so I run unless there's someone in immediate danger. The last time, when I tried to help that girl, I almost got her, myself, AND Jace killed.

Alec flinched at the memory. "Jace is an idiot. Him jumping in when he did was his own fault."

"Wouldn't have been necessary if I wasn't provoking a damn vampire," Y/n mumbled.

"That girl probably would have died if you hadn't. We couldn't have attacked him with her there without chancing hurting her, or exposing ourselves. You saved her." Alec was ready to argue this, far too used to Jace's tendency to see the worst in himself despite the fact that he was actively a hero.

Y/n had to relent. "Fine, whatever. So, the blade?"

"Demons don't bleed," Alec explained. "They... well, it depends on the demons actually. Some turn to dust, or explode into fire. Some just kind of fade away. No need to clean blood off our weapons."

Y/n nodded, but obviously had a follow up question, so Alec waited for him to ask it. "Doesn't the dust get on your clothes? Does the fire ever burn you? Perhaps I should pick up some medical skills as well in case you guys come home hurt. Might make me more useful."

Alec rolled his eyes this time. "If you're seriously stuck on the idea of running this place instead of going out there and working in an art museum like you told Clary is your dream job, I won't stop you. That's not my decision to make." Y/n blushed, but Alec pretended not to see it. "However, if you're going to be one of us there are things you have to understand." He hesitated. "I want you to follow us around me around sometime. I can show you what it's like to be a Shadowhunter. You can even come on a mission if you want, but I want you to stay FAR out of danger, do you understand?"

"Yes sir." Y/n was grinning, and between that and what he had said, Alec felt his chest heat up with a weird emotion he refused to address. "When do we start?"

A soft chuckle came from Alec then. "How about tomorrow? I'll wake you up bright and early, so be prepared."

Y/n nodded eagerly, already walking backward - presumably to return the book so he could head to bed. "Great! See you tomorrow, Alec!" He turned around and jogged away then.

Alec couldn't help himself but appreciate the view as Y/n retreated down the hall. He heard someone clear their throat and looked over to see Clary, whose smirk was so wide it wiped the smile off of Alec's face. He turned away from her and moved toward his own room. What had he gotten himself into?

When Alec got to Y/n's room that morning, he was expecting to have to wake the other boy up. Unfortunately for him, when he opened the door, Y/n was already awake. And getting dressed. He wore the long, dark pants a lot of the guys around here wore when they weren't in Mundane clothes. He did not, however, have a shirt on. "Oh, good morning Alec," Y/n greeted brightly.

Alec almost exploded right there. Y/n wasn’t especially muscly, but he was rather lean. Y/n did a lot of walking, running, and casual work outs every once in a while before meeting the Shadowhunters. He knew self defense after all, and liked that the occasional work out filled him with energy after a while, even if it tired him out at first. Since joining the Institute though, Jace had enforced a daily workout. Some days Y/n got even more done when the two boys sparred, or when he had to move things around for research (those books were a lot heavier than they looked) or rearranged his room again because he liked to have a new layout every once in a while. Y/n had become the extra pair of hands everyone was excited to have. He was strong enough to spot for a lot of the other Shadowhunters even, leaving him in that comfortable middle between ripped and soft. He had angles and lines, but plenty of soft edges too. He looked like he could pick Alec up and then cuddle him just as easily. It was a body type that looked very good on the boy, and seeing him shirtless did things to Alec that should not have been being done.

It was then that Alec realized Y/n was talking to him. "I'm sorry, what?"

Y/n laughed, shaking his head in amusement. He put a shirt on, leaving Alec wondering if the boy knew what had left Alec so distracted. "I asked you what was first on the agenda today."

"Have you done your morning workout today yet?" Y/n shook his head. "Then that's where we'll start." And they did. Alec pushed himself further usual, and he knew he was doing it to show off to Y/n, but he also knew a little part of him wanted to outshine Y/n too. The boy kept up pretty well, and Alec didn't want to have a Mundane do better than him. After, they got breakfast, parted to shower, and then rejoined again to head to the sparring ring.

"You guys do a lot of training here," Y/n realized aloud.

Thankfully Alec had caught it, because he was super distracted by the way Y/n's wet hair shone under the lighting of the Institute, and the way it made his eyes look brighter. He didn't need to get caught for staring again. "Yeah. It takes up time, but it also keeps us ready for any surprise attacks, and prepared for nighttime hunts." Y/n nodded but didn't say anything else as they reached the rings. Alec grabbed two long staffs, passing one to Y/n as they stepped up to spar. Y/n knew what to do - he did it often with Jace. Alec was sure he'd claim victory over the Mundane.

Which left him rather speechless when Y/n pinned him. They were both out of breath and Y/n loomed over Alec, his feet planted and knees trapping Alec as the end of Y/n's staff rested threateningly against Alec's throat. "You're dead," Y/n joked.

Alec looked at Y/n with new eyes. What was with this guy? Why did Alec have to try so much harder to end up on top? Mundanes were like Clary and Simon, before they'd been trained. Alec could still remember how long both of them had lost time and time again to even the newest and youngest Shadowhunters. How could Y/n win against Alec? "How are you so good at fighting? I thought your thing was writing stories."

Y/n moved back, letting Alec go. He offered a hand and Alec took it. He was once again knocked breathless when Y/n hauled Alec to his feet without seeming to even struggle. "I'm stronger than I look. And... when I was younger, I didn't have shadowhunters and parabatai to have my back. I had to learn how to defend myself. Whether it was running from monsters, or making sure I didn't get pummeled by bigger kids who called me crazy and laughed at me because of the stories I supposedly made up..." He shrugged.

That didn't settle well in Alec's stomach. "I don't think any of us know what it's like to live like that. Clary doesn't remember, and the rest of us grew up with each other. I... I'm sorry, that's terrible."

There was a second when Alec saw the heaviness that Y/n hid so well in the boy's shoulders. Suddenly Alec was stunned by how someone so burdened by pain and sorrow could still radiate so much light and joy and comfort. How did Alec only now know that Y/n was capable of winning against even a well trained Shadowhunter, if he was really trying? Why was it such a shock that someone who grew up with deformed nightmares roaming around, would be able to kick some ass and defend himself? Alec realized then that Y/n made everyone feel safe. Y/n didn't seem able to hurt anyone, even if he wanted to. It made Y/n even more amazing that he was capable of defending someone if he had to, but chose not to in favor of making people feel safe around him. I dare say it made Alec feel even more safe.

Y/n sighed, and the moment passed. He was smiling again and Alec felt his heart swell with a feeling that terrified the dark haired boy. A feeling that also made him feel... really great too. "So what's next on the agenda, Lightwood?" "Jace will have our goal for tonight. Come on." Alec lead the way as they both headed to where Jace was. Alec explained the situation, and with Y/n's assurance he'd be plenty safe, Jace agreed. Y/n had been around a lot, and Alec was right - if he was up keeping the place, he had to know what being a Shadowhunter was actually like. After that had been settled, the trio headed to track down Izzy and Clary for the mission tonight.

"First thing first, Y/n's joining us tonight. He won't be getting involved, and will only be tagging along for educational purposes so he can know what he's dealing with as he gets more involved with how this place work, as well as the people in it," Jace began. Izzy and Clary both nodded, no arguments to be heard. "Okay, now down to business." Long story short, there were two demons who had teamed up and they had to kill it. Usual stuff.

Since when had demons and murder become Y/n's normal? Yikes.

The kill went rather smoothly, just like it was supposed to. It was a nice change from all the odd things that had been rocking everyone's world since Clary, Simon, and Y/n had joined the team. Very good for teaching as well. Y/n stayed back as promised, taking notes mentally and internalizing it. He thought about his thought earlier on how murder and demonic beings had at some point gone from nightmare to reality. Normal, even. For Shadowhunters, there was no shift. They grew up and lived a life where monsters were more than nightmare and you learned to kill from a young age. Perhaps it was fair, since they were bad guys surviving off of killing humans, but still. Alec knew how to kill Y/n. He probably could, if it was required or just if he wanted to. He could do it and he would get away with it too. Shadowhunters leave no trace and no Nephalim was going to care about Y/n being dead.

As the dark thought started to rise, Y/n pushed it down. As much as he seemed a bundle of effortless happiness and light, even he had his moments. He was just better at keeping them in check.

Everyone came home and got ready for bed as Y/n made food. He finished up before anyone came to eat so he killed time by making everyone's plate and putting them on the counter. When he was still alone, he sat on the counter and let himself get lost in thought. Just as he was, Clary popped into the room. "That smells amazing."

Y/n smiled. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells then." They both chuckled as Clary grabbed her plate and began to leave. "Going so soon?"

She nodded. "I have this... it's sort of um..." she seemed to be struggling. "Drawing. Can I show you later?" It was a habit she'd gotten from Y/n, losing her words when she was excited. She had been a little like that before being a Shadowhunter, when it came to art. Y/n fueled it again and set off her fire. She was more into art than ever and Y/n loved to see it, even if it meant one less person at the dinner table.

Y/n had been trying to have family dinners, but most of the time his efforts dissolved. Rarely did he get everyone. Usually he only managed to wrangle a few, and sometimes he ate alone. When a Clary left, it wasn't long before Simon and Izzy meandered in, lost in conversation about something. Y/n wasn't totally listening, as they were obviously midconversation and Y/n was lost as to what they‘d said up until now. They each grabbed a plate and headed out. Y/n sighed and watched them, but still said nothing.

Jace came next. "What did you think about the fight tonight?"

Y/n jumped and then chuckled. Jace gave a sort of guilty look. The blonde tended to hide his emotions, but when it came to Y/n he was always sorry to disturb the boy. Y/n had just seemed very pensive - nearly sad - and Jace hated the expression on Y/n's face. He was too used to the others who were trained to notice other people in the room even if they were quiet.

Quickly composing himself again, Y/n responded. "It was... cool, I guess. You guys are incredibly talented and there's something aesthetic about watching demons vaporize. It gave me a lot to think about."

"Like what?" Have asked, eyebrow cocked.

For a second Y/n hesitated but then Jace doned a prying look and Y/n was a terrible liar so he gave in. "You guys don't know what it's like to be human." Jace's expression darkened and Y/n flinched. "I mean, you have this angel blood that puts you above everyone else. You slay demons and purify the world and handle the boosting power of runes that any other creature would be destroyed by. You know what it's like to be angel. Except maybe the flying." The joke lifted Jace's mood a little. "But you don't know what it's like to... I mean, you're half human. But I can't imagine any of you getting jobs or going to high school. Being vulnerable without the protection of your runes and the insane immunity they grant you. I mean- like earlier, I realized that Alec could one hundred percent kill me if he wanted to, and he would get away with it. No human would know, and no Nephilim would care so-"

"Clary, Izzy, and I would care." Jace seemed to have not meant to say it out loud. But he had and it stopped Y/n short.

He felt cared for and it made him uncomfortable. Jace could sense that. "Well that's... not the point." He blushed. "But thank you."

Jace nodded, then moved on to spare Y/n. The other boy obviously wasn't used to having people care about him. It made Jace remember that Y/n's life had been really hard. Y/n had spent almost all his life alone. Sometimes it was easy to forget with how kind and loving Y/n was. He was used to taking care of other people but being taken care of? Yikes. "Does it bother you?"

Y/n immediately shook his head. "Not at all. I don't feel in danger, at least. I trust all of you guys and know that none of you want to kill me. It does bother me though that you don't get to experience that normalcy. I mean does anyone here bake just for fun? Or have hobbies outside killing literal demons?" Jace went to speak but Y/n cut him off. "Clary doesn't count, she wasn't raised a Shadowhunter." Jace's mouth closed and Y/n sighed. "I just wish more... safe things for you guys. More fun and laughing and loving and less sneaking around in the shadows and killing. Thinking like that all the time... living a life where you only survive and hide and kill. I can't imagine it does good things for your mental health."

"I'm in perfect health," Jace reassured Y/n.

Y/n rolled his eyes. "No you're-" He stopped, shaking his head. He hesitated, perking up when an idea occurred to him. "What if I incorporated a little humanity into how we run things here? We can have like arts and crafts rooms and encourage people to utilize the library and the garden for things other than just necessities. I can enforce family dinners and we can congregate and have awkward family dinner discussions like normal people."

Jace smiled. "That sounds really nice actually."

That encouraged Y/n a lot. "Perfect, I'll start tomorrow."

"Start what?" Two sets of eyes turned to see Alec coming in the room. His eyes lingered on Jace, who seemed to be light on fire by the eye contact, as he was instantly on his feet, grabbing his plate, and heading out.

"Y/n can explain. He has a really great idea." He paused, smiling wider. "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow." Then he headed out, leaving behind a grinning Y/n. Alec snagged the last two plates, setting one by Y/n and the other on the counter next to him. He then pulled up a chair, turning it backward so the back of the chair was against his chest as he sat down, beginning to eat on the counter rather than the table to keep Y/n company. "What was that?"

Another idea hit Y/n then. "I'm going to bring some goddamn humanity to this Institute. You're all half human and you act like that's a bad thing or something! I'll start with a crafting room, and then using the garden and library for fun stuff instead of just what we need. We'll have a calendar with birthdays and celebrate each one with a proper little get together. AND, we're having family dinners from here on. Spread the word."

The authority in Y/n's tone took Alec off guard. "Will do." He found himself smiling a little. "I show you what it's like to be a Shadowhunter and you took from it that we need to be more human?"

Y/n mulled that over for a second, rather than letting it go as the joke Alec had intended it to be. "I don't want to erase your angel half. I know what you do is important, and that you guys save people and stuff. But even though you do good things for others, none of you do anything for yourselves. Self care isn't just staying in shape and getting food and sleep and healing yourselves when you get hurt. Do you have any hobbies other than fighting, Alec?" The Lightwood boy considered before conceding that Y/n had a point. "You showed me how to be a Shadowhunter. Now let me show you what it's like to be human." Alec's smile grew. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Y/n agreed.

The day started the same, with Y/n respecting that Alec still had a routine and also that said routine was one some people carried as well. The waking up early and doing a morning workout, more than the killing demons and keeping vampires, werewolves, and fairies in check, but still.

Next, Y/n pulled him over to his laptop where he was going to online school. As Y/n worked, he answered questions about high school and even middle school. The more he talked the more Alec's face twisted in a bitter expression, like he'd bit into a lemon. Y/n busted up laughing when he got to math and Alec moved away from the screen as if it had offended him. "Not as glamorous as kicking ass and taking names and saving lives and shit, but it's cool. I guess."

Alec shook his head. "Is this... necessary?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Y/n snorted. "Do you use math like this? Ever?" Alec shook his head no. "And you're far more productive than most people who graduate college- and debt free!"

There was a moment where Alec seemed speechless. When he spoke again, it was slow. "This is kind of nice though. Easier to.. handle." He eyed the math page again. "No, I take that back. This is much scarier."

Y/n laughed at that. "Less deadly though. I get it." Alec smiled at him. It was so small it practically wasn't there, but it was, and it was sweet.

After a while, Y/n put his homework away. "That's not due for a while. Having to balance the human world and the shadow world was difficult at first so one night I pulled an all nighter and got weeks ahead on homework. My teachers were a little miffed since thy hadn't taught me the material yet, but easy ones like English were easy to swallow. Just, read a book and write an essay. You know?" Alec did nod knowingly at that. "My point is, we've had enough of this and don't have to finish it for tonight, so now is a good time for a break." He hummed to himself, thinking. "Do you guys have a TV here?" Alec rose his eyebrows. "That's what I thought. Come on we're going to go to my place."

So they did.

Alec had never been to Y/n's apartment before. Y/n had been clearing it out slowly, but there were still some thing here. Things that he couldn't take with him to the institute. Things like the fridge and the big furniture and, yes, the TV. It wasn't that he couldn't fit his bed and couches in the Institute, it was just that it would make it official if he did, and things still seemed to be up in the air for him.

"It's nice." It was perfectly clean and bright. The curtains were drawn to let the sun in and the walls were painted a light baby blue. The whole place made Alec relax his body. He sat on the very comfy couch and practically melted. There was just a sort of ambiance here that gave Alec the impression nothing bad could ever happen here. Which went against logic and reason and experience and training... but I guess that programming wasn't enough to fight the way the couch dipping with Y/n's weight, next to Alec, felt like... safety personified.

The two watched a few movies Alec had never seen or even heard of. Halfway through the Lion King, Alec felt his body lean into Y/n's. Without missing a beat Y/n shifted his arm so Alec could lean into in more, even rest his head on the other man's chest. Every time Y/n moved or laughed or spoke Alec didn't just hear it. He felt it. It was amazing.

All too soon, the sun was down and it was nighttime. "Do you want to watch another one, or should you be heading to bed soon?"

Surprise overtook Alec when he realized what time it was. His body was completely undone and his heart rate had evened out. He'd never been this calm in his life. "I'm surprised Jace hasn't come hunting me down."

That made Y/n smile. "I told him the plan for today. Told him that I was commandeering you and if he showed up to steal you tonight I'd kick his ass personally. I may be a Mundane but that won't stop me from finding a way to knock the blonde out of his hair." A jerking laugh bubbled from Alec then at the mental image of Y/n doing such a thing. "Yeah," Y/n agreed, chuckling along. "Took some convincing to get them to all take the night off. Jace argued, but as much as saving people is important, taking care of yourselves is just as important. And after you showed me what you guys do every single day... Holy shit."

Weird feelings began to twist in Alec's stomach. He could lie very well, about a lot of things. He could lie so convincingly that Jace would back off, and Izzy would let it go. He could lie to his mother to meet her ever demanding expectations. Unfortunately, he could only lie to himself for so long until his realist side kicked in and demanded him to accept what was.

He was in love with Y/n.

Well, shit.

"What are you thinking about over there?"

Alec felt his stomach flip. Double shit.

"Just... uh." He flinched at his sudden awkwardness. Y/n frowned, noticing it since they were so close. "I just want to thank you. The way you've thrown yourself into our lives and way of living and have done your best to keep everything going and then improve upon it? It's amazing. You work really hard to make life better for us."

Y/n swallowed, his face relaxed but his eyes intense. There was something in those eyes that was begging to be seen and known, but Alec was too scared to acknowledge it. What if Y/n could see through him and wanted to just be friends? What if Y/n was trying to be polite? But if that was the case, wouldn't he have pushed Alec away? Why was he pulling him closer?

Then they were kissing and it was all because of Y/n and Alec didn't have any doubts anymore.

When they parted again, Alec's mind was racing and Y/n's voice was soft. "I'll always be here Alec. All I want to do is make your life better and easier and more pleasant. You deserve it."

This time Alec kissed Y/n, and it lasted much longer and was much more intense. When they parted for the second time, Alec whispered, "Will you move in for real? I want you around all the time. I want you close and safe and I don't want you to go anywhere else. I don't want you to have to."

Y/n smiled. "Anything for you."

Male reader tags: @sheepfather

#alec lightwood #male reader #shadown hunters #x reader #imagine #alec lightwood x reader #alec lightwood imagine #shadow hunters x reader #shadow hunters imagine

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grimoire2020aa · 4 years

Text

Why your spells don’t work

You set your intention. You had all the correct correspondences. You even timed your spell with the appropriate moon phase. And yet -- no results. What gives?

Failed spells happen to the best of us, and for a variety of reasons. But a spell gone wrong doesn’t necessarily mean that magic isn’t real or that you’re bad at witchcraft. Magic is complicated, and there are a lot of reasons it might not behave the way you want it to. Here are some of the most common causes of ineffective spells:

1. Lack of real-world follow through

Magic is meant to be used as a tool to supplement your mundane efforts -- not as a substitute for them. How can you expect your job hunting spell to bring in results if you aren’t applying for jobs?

Magic does not exist in a vacuum, and it can’t make something out of nothing. If a spell doesn’t bring you the desired result, make sure that your non-magical actions are aligned with what you are trying to manifest.

2. What you’re trying to manifest isn’t a realistic possibility

Wait, what? Isn’t magic supposed to be, well... magic? Shouldn’t you be able to ask for whatever you want and get it? Yes and no.

Magic is simply a way of directing energy. Magic can’t defy the natural laws of the universe. It can’t make something happen unless it was already a potential possibility.

If your intention is unrealistic for where you are right now, try splitting it up into a multi-step process. No spell is going to make you a billionaire overnight, but magic could help you get hired at a better paying job... and then get promoted... and then get offered a profitable side gig... etc. Starting small and working your way up is always going to produce stronger results, because you laid the foundation first.

3. Your intention was either too vague or too specific

Whether you use written petitions or spoken incantations, clearly stating your intention is an important part (maybe THE most important part) of any spell or ritual. A good intention is specific enough to get you the results you want, but open enough to let those results manifest naturally.

Let’s say you do a money spell, and your intention for the spell is simply, “I have more money.” If you find a penny on the ground the next day and pick it up, technically that is more money than you had before. A better alternative would be to use an intention like, “I have enough money to buy ___,” or “I have enough money for everything I need and want.”

Using an intention that is too specific creates the opposite problem. Let’s say you want to manifest a scholarship to a specific school. You do a candle spell with the intention, “I have been chosen for the John Smith Scholarship at Jane Doe University.” But maybe the John Smith scholarship had already been awarded by the time you did your spell. Maybe there’s another scholarship at the same school that would be a better fit for you, or maybe you’re eligible for a grant that would make tuition more affordable. A better intention for your spell would be “I have enough financial aid to easily and affordably attend Jane Doe University.”

Magic always follows the path of least resistance, so you want to make sure that your intention is specific enough to give your magic a clear direction, but open enough to allow it some flexibility.

4. Lack of focus/concentration

We all know the struggle. You’ve been planning this ritual forever, and it’s finally the full moon, but you’ve got a really full schedule today. If you hurry, you can probably squeeze it into the thirty minute window between school and work, right?

If you say a few quick words and burn some incense before you head out the door in the morning, that totally counts as a spell, right?

Not so much. Rushed, lazy, and/or half-assed spells rarely, if ever, work. Spells revolve around the raising and direction of energy, and that requires two things: a clear intention (see above) and intense focus on that intention. If you don’t have the time/energy/mental capacity to focus, it’s best to take a break, have a self care day, and come back to your spell some other time.

5. You’re subconsciously blocking your own results OR you did a spell for someone else who isn’t open to it

I decided to lump these two together, because they’re different variations of the same issue.

Whenever you are doing magic on yourself, it’s important that your mindset is aligned with your intentions. You can do love spells all day long, but if deep down you don’t believe that you’re worthy of love, that belief is going to block your spells from working. This is why mindfulness, psychology, and self care are all such important parts of a successful witchcraft practice. It’s also why I recommend doing the mental work before you sit down to ritual.

If you did a spell on yourself, or are trying to manifest something for yourself, and it just isn’t working, I highly recommend setting some time aside for journaling and meditation and asking yourself 1.) if this is really what you want, and 2.) if you truly believe that you can have it.

The whole mindset thing gets even more tricky when you’re doing magic on behalf of another person, because their energy is also at work in the situation and could be at odds with yours. For example, if you do a spell to help a friend land a job, but that friend believes that they’re totally underqualified and could never get it, they probably won’t get the job even if you did everything “right” in your spell.

This should go without saying, but it is extremely unethical to use magic to mess around in someone else’s head. Even if you think you know what’s best for them, they need to be open to it. If someone is blocking the spells you do on their behalf, all you can do is try to be supportive and find other ways to help them out.

Other (Rare) Reasons for Failed Spells

If a spell goes wrong, it will almost always be for one of the above reasons. But maybe you did everything “right” -- you did the mental work first, had a strong, realistic intention, put lots of focus into your spell, and followed through in real life -- and you still aren’t seeing results. There are a couple of other things that could be blocking your spells, but they’re very uncommon so I’m not going to talk about them in as much detail. These may be things you want to look into if you really, genuinely can’t think of any other cause.

It’s possible that another witch has done magic that cancels out or blocks yours. This is not common, and it does NOT mean that someone has cursed you. It could be as simple as two witches unknowingly casting spells with opposite intentions, which end up cancelling each other out. (For example, maybe two different people both cast a spell to get the same job. Obviously, they can’t both get that job.) This is why it’s never a bad idea to incorporate a protective element into your spells to block outside interference.

There is a very, very remote possibility that someone has placed a curse on you specifically to block your magic. However -- and I cannot stress this enough -- this is VERY uncommon. If you were cursed you would know it, or at least know that something was very wrong in your life. If you feel like you have been cursed or hexed, I recommend looking into uncrossing spells, which are specifically designed to undo negative magic.

It’s also possible that a higher power is intervening. This doesn’t necessarily have to be a deity, although it certainly could be. Most witches believe in some form of fate or destiny, and it’s possible that your spell didn’t work because what you asked for is not in alignment with your destiny. In these situations, really the only thing you can do is surrender to the bigger picture.

#witch tips #witchery #witch #witchblr #useful #spellwork #spell

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 22)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 21

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Sorceress Ingrith might be going on far more ways to plan your early demise for you and your unborn child without the witcher around. The queen also thinking of plans to punish you without the use of drudging.

Warnings: Derogatory, plans attitude and words. Mention of the Witcher character named ‘Auckes’.

Words: 5.6k

A/N: I’ve been feeling on and off with my mental state since last month. I just don’t tell anyone. Anyways, Feedbacks will be nice to receive. Thank you. I plan on writing two more last smuts for Witcher of the Night in the future chapters. So, watch out for that. I needed more of my Geralt fixation. LMAO. I’m sorry if my fic is beginning to be boring for you, but I needed to write this for the sake of the story. I know I’m not the best writer out here. So, I’m sorry for any disappointments. Stay safe, Bb’s.

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. I only own my original characters in this fanfic. Geralt GIF from the Tumblr account named (B-N-A-O)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It's been a day of hearing from Eanraig that your witcher has started his journey over the hunt for the lost witch.

Hours have also passed after hearing such devastating and surprising news from the druid about your unexpected 'cursed' pregnancy whose father was a witcher that is expected to actually be infertile. The happenings intentionally given by a genie you only knew and expected to watch and read through fairytales; Disney fairytales.

Sleep was hardly your partner last night. Thoughts coming over the idea of a maddened witcher and your pregnancy, having only minutes of light slumber that has gotten you waking up with every single thud you hear from outside your chambers. Thinking that it was someone who wanted to hurt you again especially that Geralt wasn't around for you to hide from behind.

The early knock received before sunrise has got you scrambling on your feet, latching off the locks of your door for the queen of Kaedwen to emerge from your doorstep with more than a trio of servants following her while she trespassed inside your chambers.

She stood before you in her silk, expensively designed, black night gown. With her head held up high and hair bedazzled before she even decided to pay you a visit in her usual lavish gowns.

"You are quite the woman. Also, your witcher is as well."

Queen Makeda interrogated, gaze raking all over the room to check any evidences of her necklace being thrown around. She huffed to herself when there was no traces of her enchanted, Cobalt amulet that has been stolen by your doppelganger.

"---Demanding for a soft bed for you to sleep on while he hunts for the witch who has cursed my son?"

"Not even my young daughter would approve of this," she spoke in animosity, spitting the words like how she truthfully felt, "---Your horrible kind," the latter continued, taking heedful steps forward as you've stood on your ground; firmly and never backing down.

The queen was undeniably taller than you. She'd peered down, glaring into your narrowed eyes fighting back for her attempt on intimidating you. After everything they've done, feeling scared was running through your veins. It was pumping wrath and distaste for how they've treated you like an animal for pointing fingers over the woman who has stolen her necklace---even asking such favors for Geralt when they knew how he acted towards you; using it to their advantage.

"---You and your witcher. It disgusts me,"

"Look who's talking, guess Geralt is the only way to save your cursed son then? But, you still manage to hate his kind when you're depending over him to save your prince,"

Out of the blue, you've felt fingers clasping around your throat. Her long nails sinking through your skin as her hold was tight, ceasing the air passing through your throat that has gotten you growling beneath her palm.

She intently given you a death look, bequeathing the opportunity of laying a hand on you without the witcher who has never left your side from the moment he arrived.

"Give me back my necklace. It was a gift by the king that I hold dearly,"

The bitch was barking when she had no evidence at all. You mindlessly thought in the back of your head whilst being choked at the same time.

"Your h-highness," you dryly coughed out the air she was trying to cut you off with. You've given her a menacing glare as well, your mouth in an obvious lour. Her hold shifting around your neck as she tried to shift your jaw out of its current position, making you tilt your head to give her a sharp, side-eye.

You can't help but bark out a mocking giggle, appearing to be sicko while being manhandled by your very own gender while a taunt left your fuming mouth.

"---what's your kind? I doubt your kind may be human,"

Queen Makeda scoffed after hearing that, pushing you to the ground which has left you heaving breaths and coughing out from the lack of it. Your fingers quickly grabbing onto your growing belly to protect whatever Eanraig believed there is to be inside of you. A child that he was cognizant of; slightly still leaving you in disbelief because of how you weren't seeing any changes at the image of your belly.

Until, you've realized that your period haven't visited you since the last week.

The realization had you staring at the ground you were currently sitting upon while the queen stood before you with all her might and certainty. Your instincts telling you to cease the in-denial for your pregnancy because it was the truth.

"You are awfully disrespectful. Just like your mutant."

At the mere acknowledgement of that towards your witcher, your longstanding antagonism for her has given you all the willpower of spitting on the ground she was standing on, tilting your head up at her from your seated position with utmost spite, glaring from below her in the greatest hostility you can ever give.

"You're not my queen. So I give you the least amount of my respect, Ma-ke-da. That's your name, right? Is there another word for Bitch here?---You're a bloody skank! Have I got the accent correct for everyone? Or should I continue my fake British accent? would you like it to be Scottish?"

Hushed gasps has been audibly heard from the queen's maids who stood aligned in vertical. Their posture slightly curved in a bow and never giving their gazes towards their majesty and had them glued to the ground. Howbeit, their hearing couldn't be helped as it was a natural instinct to listen despite of being ordered not to.

They've been disoriented from their prior poses, taking heed of how you've disrespect the queen who was reigning the whole kingdom. She reached out behind her, ushering over the court lady who was holding onto the used golden kirtle that seemed to be owned by a maiden who left the castle or has been punished to death.

In a cruel gesture, Queen Makeda has balled up the dress with her hands. Throwing them over your head that felt too impetuous and disfavourable because of how her servants felt the need to slyly giggle from the background.

"Womanly hands are needed in this palace," she brashly scoffed, tip-toeing over her tone like a taunt, playing over a prey she decided to amuse for the moment. You heedlessly yanked off the dress overthrown on your head and avoided their loathe-filled peepers who find your vulnerability entertaining their day.

The evil queen couldn't help but laugh beneath her breath, watching you bask in your own solitude and hopelessness---being a woman they believed as a thief or a girl with no name nor worth of living a happy and abounding life. A renegade in their kingdom that deserves the least amount of attention and respect.

It was probably your doppelganger's reality as she lives in Kaedwen; thriving in the most difficult way to live in their world---more desperate to stay alive more than you back in earth.

"I suggest you must help the maids as they serve us through night and day," she nonchalantly reiterated with a slip of her laughter every now and then. Her offhand way of talking resulting in giving her the most stony lour you could muster.

Queen Makeda spurned your woebegone with a simple simper, passing over the sepulchral spirit radiating off you. She'd turn her heels away, parading through your chambers with her servants following suit, but not forgetting to leave without a ridicule.

"Better than any corporal punishment. Am I right, tramp?"

Sundown came earlier than you've calculated. Being given the job of a scullery maid for this certain day has been backbreaking. You've scoured the dirtiest pots and plates with all your healing strength, straining your energy for the heck of it all because of how heavy their utensils and equipment can be. More than how the stuff in your workplace were much more lighter than ever. It wasn't a punishment you've expected from them considering how they've injured you in the flesh, taking Geralt's words accountable or was this just a hoax of their upcoming plans?

You knew that it won't be the only job given. Five days living in the castle has been a crestfallen experience that not any normal earthling could handle well.

Which has probably been also the reason why you were too stressed and angry with everyone and anyone including the father of your unborn child, raving in bluster for his slow-witted self in terms of one's feelings.

That was probably one of the disadvantages of being in love with a witcher. Geralt hardly receives love and care that he doesn't know how to distinguish it even for himself.

Laying on the cold surface of such mattress; back flat with aching muscles and healing wounds, one palm reached up to your slightly bilged stomach. The feeling of another human growing inside weren't obvious yet. Thinking that it was probably just because of the pastry they've fed you with which has gotten your stomach swelling.

"Are you really in there?" you quietly muttered to the ceiling, feeling your chest tighten from being all alone and dealing with what the witcher has said to you before he left. His words becoming an echo of your regret and sadness.

"---Or am I just bloated, Little princess?"

Soft caresses over your slightly curved skin has given you goosebumps all over your body. The act feeling too real for you to be talking to a baby that has probably never learn to kick yet. Simultaneously, a sigh left your mouth when you truly believed and hold on to Geralt's infertility tales when he has gotten you pregnant out of the blue.

Magic. Right. All of what was going on between you both was magic after all, even your growing child. He has been right after all.

"Am I really having a baby grow inside of me when I haven't expected this at all? your daddy probably has great swimmers---oh, wait. He should've been infertile." the train of thought has been ceased, your mouth curling in the opposite of a smile. Frowning being your constant expression the past few days with a round-the-clock dismal mood once you wake up and try to have a nap when you were hardly being given the chance to just like how your insomnia tries to eat you alive again.

It hasn't even visited you since before you've woken up from a different dimension. Insomnia has never been an issue when you've arrived in the continent. Perhaps, the witcher may be one of the reasons for your inner beasts to hide. Though, with the mist surrounding you both---it started to pay you a visit especially after experiencing physical and mental struggles through out your stay in the castle.

No matter how disappointed and angry you were with Geralt, he has still been your refuge from all the danger that his world can cause.

"Is this really happening? I'm going to be a mother now?" you went on in talking to no one in particular, caressing your stomach against the palm of your hand like how a mother would.

"---with the brooding witcher as your father?"

The mouth curled downward languidly pulled the strings to a solemn smile. Memories of Geralt and how he was finding you unappealing as each day passes was like a reality meant for you because even men in your world eventually leaves when you were showing them your humanly capabilities---the darker part of you that nobody can ever tolerate.

Even the witcher found you pathetic---a man from another world seeing what you actually were. Not an angel that all men believed you to be.

With a growing baby inside of you, it would be difficult to forget Geralt because of how he'd left a part of him inside of you and will eventually be born in a world you were fearful of.

When you said back in earth, that you wanted a child with Legolas. You didn't mean for it to happen in real life. Especially from a man who don't take children as a gift---something worth to be proud of as you remembered how Eanraig said that he would rather have his own child as a bait for monsters than to let him live in the continent.

Your heart was tightening further as you continued talking to your unborn offspring and into the brisk, solitary midnight with nothing but shadows to comfort your forlorn soul, "Your poppa' certainly won't accept you if he knows about your existence. Based on how we got into a fight over feelings we both don't understand." Pause.

"---If I shave his white head, will it be worth the revenge? You think he cares for his hair? Or maybe hide his witcher potions somewhere else where he would have a difficult time seeing it?"

You couldn't help but slightly giggle to yourself. The sound dethering and fading in the end from how forced it sounded; faking the happiness and trying to uplift your spirits by thinking that Geralt would still accept you in his life after tying him in a responsibility that he will surely detest.

"---I still can't help but think of him though. Especially after knowing you're growing inside of me now. I doubt he actually thinks of me more than I do,"

"Maybe the witcher might want to say that he loves you and that he is still on his witch hunt!"

Catching you off-guard, a squeaky, upbeat, childish voice resonated in your chambers. Hushed to the most quietest voice she could do, standing before the end of your bed was a curly haired child who was grinning amongst the shadows she tries to hide herself in. Her two front teeth sitting apart which has made her appear more adorable than ever. The features she had slowly coming to a point that it seemed to be familiar---like you've seen her face and heard her voice back in earth.

The child standing before you was a little demon known in your dimension. Delilah Cincinnati. A child who has always made your work more difficult than it can ever be---a nuisance who could always get you tripping when you were serving food for customers. You've had a nickname for her, Deli-the-menace that came from the character 'Dennis-the-menace' but this one was a little girl and her devilish grin suited her name.

But, her grin seemed to be different in this world. It was more sweet, utterly masking in pure innocence that made you sit your back on the headboard. Your fingers reaching below your pillows to grab onto the kitchen knife you've managed to sneak in because of how you didn't trust anyone in the castle---taking Geralt's advices seriously.

People would probably think you were crazy, but you've been thinking that this child in front of you would transform into an evil gnome and eat your unborn baby because she was hungry for flesh.

"Delilah?" your voice turned squeaky as well. Swallowing the nervousness back down the pit of your stomach, you crumpled your legs under your thighs, shifting away from the child when she dragged her feet upon the foot of the bed; crawling towards you with a smile.

She jumped the half of her body beside you, tucking her little legs under the bed sheets. The ends of it pulled by her tiny fingers and tucked under her chin whilst turning her whole body with a ceaseless smile.

"You're a silly lady! I'm no Delilah, miss witcheress."

The adorable child snuggled closer on your side, hiding behind your body as if she was sneaking from someone.

"Princess Corinthia of Kaedwen. You can call me 'Coco' instead. Just don't tell my mother!" she placed a finger in between her pursed lips, giggling behind as she thoroughly sneaked her miniscule body in between you and the headboard.

You've inhaled a deep breath before being cut-off by the princess and her mischievous warning, "Shh. The knights are searching for me!"

She pointed towards a large sized painted picture of the whole royal family hung over the stone walls, enclosing her mouth with her small palms while she whispered.

"---A secret door."

Princess Corinthia offered another giggle that has kept your mouth zipped because of how untrustful she still is to you. Though, you dropped the knife back under your pillows again when she seemed to be harmless than what you imagined her to be; a little devil or a tiny monster that she might be in the witcher's dimension.

"I am a curious child. I've been hearing the tales of a white haired beast slayer stepping foot in our fortress! The maids even said that he has brought a frog for him to protect and this frog is his bride as every single person in the palace has gossiped about. Are you the frog? Do you have a curse like my brother too?"

At the mention of that, the scowl suddenly became one prominent expression since the moment you arrived in the castle. Huffing out a breath of exasperation over what nickname you've gotten. The witcher's frog. It didn't sound too appealing for you and even for the child because she was giggling through it all.

"A frog?! Seriously?! They were calling me ugly. How rude of them," you stated as a matter of fact.

"Our maids are just probably thirsty whores who may want your witcha'!" your eyes grew from the profanity that left her mouth. A single, plain warning of a look has been given to the child.

"That's a bad word."

The castle princess ignored your upbraid, palms covering her mouth with her eyes turning into big saucers that looked like to be as if she was guilty over saying such blasphemy.

"---because of the epic that his humble bard has created, many have been less frightened over their kind. Though, some are quite suspicious and still looking at them in disgust just like how most of our servants are. Is he handsome? they were chattering about him last supper in the kitchen! Also, they've talked about how they have seen how he didn't think twice to point his sword at any of our men---Chivalry at its finest from a butcher as said by them,"

From the way she has mentioned it came with astonishment over the witcher's valiant and chivalrous actions. Your mind in a blurry mess when you have seen him the first time---being brought to a room where Geralt has reacted in an aggressive way towards everyone in the room that not even a king can scare him away when you were a bleeding mess shoved on the floors. Your heart constantly being poked by a knife after realizing that a fight came after his magnanimity, the other side of you thinking that he has done it out of affection and care. Expecting it to be more than just how a sentiment is towards a friend because you've been seeing him more than just your confidante.

Was this how friends with benefits is in their world?

You couldn't help the crinkles on the side of your eyes. A small, close mouthed smile warping your face at the thought of the witcher you were highly proud of deep inside.

"He is quite dashing, brooding and utterly like a knight in shining armor, don't you think?"

"I may want to have a husband like him in the future!"

"I doubt you could," you simply testified, remembering that princesses in the medieval era are forbidden to marry a commoner. More so, for a witcher whom everyone repels towards their kind.

"---A princess can only be with a prince. Unless, you're in a Disney story. Then you can be like---"

She immediately cut you off with a sad pout, "Aren't witchers like a prince? beast slayers but still a prince?"

You've turned to look into her eyes; genuine and seeming to be in a different state of mind as you sincerely implored, "To me---he's a knight. An imperfectly, perfect scarred knight who always saves my life." pause. "---Sometimes, picking a commoner is better than being with a perfect prince because they always make you believe in fairytales that don't exist. The witcher's a mutant. A freak of nature that they always see of him. An experimented human who had no other choice but to accept his lonely fate. But, this doesn't make him any less human, Princess Coco."

Princess Corinthia had her almond, doe eyes peering up at you. Her spirit filled in utmost inquiry for what your witcher really actually is. Unable to perceive how he also looked like because she had only seen his armored, broad back as he gently dropped you on the bed. Both of you seeming to be in a debate while his face inches away from yours, seeing him lean all the way forward to give you a pucker of his lips. A gesture that the princess has always seen from servants who had a secretive relationship with their knights. The opposite of what she sees from her parents because you never leaned away from Geralt unlike how the queen avoids her husband's affections.

Endearing to be seen from you both because her parents hardly appeared to cherish one another.

"Geralt has a kind heart that no other prince may let me see from and I wish for your future to be best and full of love like how I wish to have,"

"Geralt? is that the witcher's name?"

You've heard loud stomps of footsteps banging outside the room, knowing that it was probably chevaliers searching for the young princess. She was quick to pull the blanket over her head, forcefully shoving herself on your side for cover. Hence, it also made you slip under the covers, grabbing onto her fragile shoulders to pull her inside to veil away from the night that wanted to pull her in for a nightmare. The cloying feeling swaying your insides because of a young child that could delicately press onto your heartstrings, showing you how precious it was to have a daughter who was utterly sweet and gullible.

You couldn't help but giggle under the covers with her, subtly reaching for your growing stomach with a hidden caress.

"Yes it is, Princess. Now, hide!"

Morning came after and the night has still given you beasts as your foe, battling through the hours which has never given you enough sleep. The queen's princess having more sleep as she laid on your arm, telling you that she also had her own monsters to challenge with because she slept alone in her bed, thinking that it was all a lie when she dozed off after half an hour of your stories about Geralt and his adventures.

An understanding hitting you like a freight train when she began snoring as she slept on your bed.

The princess just needed someone to cuddle with. Comfort from another woman that the queen should've been doing because it was her daughter and not yours to begin with.

Dressed in your servant's clothes and standing in the middle of an empty kitchen, most servants have been called to be in the queen's chambers except for you. With a gurgling stomach and a set of pastries lined up in front of you and on the decrepit, wooden table---your fingers reach out for a piece of marzipan cakes until it has been whacked away from your hands with a tolerating slap of strength.

You were too hungry to even process that you have grabbed onto a kitchen knife, seeming to be in a greater starvation as each day passes by due to cravings for more food everyday. The blade has been hastily pointed upon the man's weak spot on his neck---remembering Jaskier's teachings about what vulnerable spot does it take to slash one's neck for him or her to bleed till her death.

Stunned forest green eyes were all wide as you point the tip upon his jugular. Your teeth barred and appearing wild before the familiar gallant whom you remembered to have seen back when Tybalt has forced his entry through your home. He was the cavalier who wanted nothing to do with Jaskier being shoved to the ground. The hesitant knight that you awfully remember.

"What are you going to do to me? Hurt me again?" you bark out loud, your fingers slightly trembling as the blade was close to his porcelain skin, "---You knights are---!!!"

The obsidian eyed gallant raised his palm to covers your mouth, his gaze shifting around the empty kitchen before he talked, "Shhh. Don't eat those."

"---Mmmh!" you battled against his hold, shifting away but he forcefully kept you close by, never risking for you to scream or run away.

He shook his head, seeing him anxiously bite on his lower lip and looking away. His hand promptly leaving your mouth as he reached to grab onto one dessert that he saw one charmed servant bake and pour a nasty vile in the batter, "They're poisoned. I've heard it from Tybalt that you might be having a cub growing inside of you. One of the maids have been enchanted, poisoning your food."

You couldn't help but shut your eyes close in exasperation over people wanting to put you in danger. Your hunches immediately thinking about Ingrith because she has been the only person who couldn't stand you and the child you were bearing.

"Notice how no one eats them?"

"But, I seen them eat before I'm around,"

"But, not these. Correct?"

The maids have never eaten any dessert---nor had it look touched. They were devouring food, right. But, not desserts because somehow they suddenly had no sweet tooth over pastries; slyly knowing that you had a penchant over sweets.

It was probably the reason why they were simply poisoned.

You couldn't help but bite the insides of your cheeks, pulling out a chair from the table to tiredly sit and sigh about how stressful it is to stay alive in Geralt's dimension when people wanted you dead since the moment that an out-of-the-blue child has been living inside your stomach.

Was it a mistake made? was the child a mistake so that was why people were scared for it to be born? Eanraig has said that she would be born with a purpose to save their dimension---receiving such help to save humanity and cease chaos.

As much as how difficult it was to understand that, the only thing that has ever been a mistake was trying to honestly tell Geralt you love him before being cut-off by your witcher.

"Is it true?" the gallant curiously inquired, leaning his hip on the edge of the table as he crossed his arms in front of you.

"---that the Witcher is your child's father?"

It was still quite awkward to tell knowing that he was supposed to be infertile. But, being in a world where magic exists probably isn't the only thing peculiar after all.

"Yes."

"Oh, great. It wasn't just plain gossip after all," he momentarily exhaled a breath, rolling his shoulders back. Quietly moaning as he stretched his limbs, his youthful, juvenile timbre in his tone turning squeaky and nonchalant, "---They'll loathe you more especially that you're up the spout with the witcher's child,"

You could see the disgust in their eyes. People in the castle who somehow managed to see you. Though, the case with Eanraig, princess Coco and this chevalier was different because they looked at you as if there was nothing wrong which it should've been.

"Why?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head, grabbing onto another set of pastry that looked like some pudding as he raised it to his nose, subtly sniffing the food before calmly throwing it back away again, "That's not a question. Think of it---you're pregnant by a monster slayer who had tales of his kind that he is completely barren due to his genetic mutations. Then, you're suddenly carrying his sprog for magical reasons,"

Your eyes quickly narrowed with how sarcastic he sounded.

He continued his chatter, sighing every once in a while as he said his words that seemed to be a quote coming from another, "---Witchers are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives..."

The latter exhaled one last long breathe, dramatic enough to pay heed over how you were trying to see through him; thinking what kind of person he was because after being injured within the castle has made you wary of anyone who wanted to talk. It even got to the point that you were guessing he wanted to talk and seek out information from you.

"---I've always remembered Amaury and his beliefs over witchers since he has encountered one before he was killed by him," he gave a small beam, showing teeth while he was in a flashback of memories from his journey before with a deceased close friend.

"I remember he goes by the name Auckes---maybe your witcher might know him,"

You simply nodded. Still cautious of his presence while you hugged your stomach from him.

"There are other witchers too?"

Geralt has left that question unanswered, back when you were serving ale for him. You've tried to remember that name for when you try to ask your witcher---that is if you're still planning on talking to him after the fight you and him had or if he would even care to answer.

Eventually, it was needed to talk to the father of your own child of surprise. A child of surprise that had no law being given or said.

He noticed you were dazing off, too deep in your thoughts that got him sauntering over the kitchen cabinets, slipping a hand inside to try and eyeball some fruit he tried to hid this morning. The man was thinking you were starving already which tells why you were staring out of nowhere, considering that you were eating for two.

"---Auckes became an assassin. He was formerly a witcha',"

You've snapped out of your stupor, the empathy you had for people swiftly slipping through your mind, "I'm sorry to hear that. May your friend's soul rest in peace."

"Amaury might be having a good time where ever he is right now,"

He strolled back to where you sat, standing before you with a bundle of apples, oranges and boiled eggs. His hands reaching out to give them while whispering the next sentences like he was forbidden to do it from the start or even talk to you, "Watch out for anyone. They have an entire repugnance for his kind and anyone related to him," you've taken the food out of his hands, placing them all on your apron and bunching them to yourself.

The lean built gallant took a step back, hands behind his back and realizing that he was younger than you thought. In the same age as Jaskier when he gave you a boyish smile, "Take care of yourself. Especially your child,"

You've finally beamed before him, slowly loosening up around his infectious presence. Self deciding that he was worth to trust after he took a bite of his own apple hidden inside the pocket of his breeches, showing you that the food he gave was poison free.

"Do you have a name?"

"Of course. The name's Otker."

"Thank you for the warning, Otker." the latter gave a toothy grin before it fell in a hot second, reaching to cup his nape in sheer embarrassment for whatever he was thinking.

"Forgive me for I have not helped you through Tybalt's plans," he honestly apologized.

Without warning, there were voices echoing outside. Voices of maidens chewing the rag over what the queen has told them and it made you shot up from your seat, the bulwark surrounding you suddenly building itself from hearing other people closing in---people who weren't worth the trust.

"It's fine. You had no other choice. You can't betray the man who you work for. Evil or not."

Otker cocked his head to the side with a knowing smile, his mouth in an amused straight line as he walked away with his steps going backward. He was agreeing to what you've said but also somehow disagreeing too.

"Tybalt's not all evil," the green eyed gallant pursed his lips from his psychoanalysis over the higher vampire after working with him for half a year or so; having faith over his ungodly gestures like his appearance had been a misunderstanding for his wicked characteristics that you find in him.

"---but, he isn't good either. Just being whispered words of propaganda by everyone surrounding him,"

A simple shake of your head was enough to get Otker shrugging his shoulders because he knew you weren't convinced after Tybalt basically stabbing you on the hip before he walked away as the judging servants came in the kitchen one by one again---planning to continue the stress they have been pouring.

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings, bb’s! Thank you.) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo, @alexwinchester23

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife

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annakie · 3 years

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A Lot of Words about a Thing

This is a “I’m writing this out so next time someone asks I can just point them to this (or copy/paste) instead of having to type it again” thing.

I’ve been doing Hello Fresh for the last two or three months and I thought I’d talk about the ups and downs of it and if I’m going to keep doing it. This is not an endorsement (which will be clear when you get to the overall middling scoring), but I will put a link at the bottom so we can both get a deal if you want to try it.

---------------

So anyway, I had been thinking about doing a meal kit for a long time but pulled the trigger on it back in... like Mid-January, I guess?

the tl;dr of it all is that I like it and I’ll probably keep doing it for awhile, but it’s not for everyone, and is expensive for what it is, especially if you already know how to cook.

Before I started, I made myself sit down and write out a quick list of what I wanted to get out of trying a meal kit experience, so I’ll rate how successful or not each one of those things is.

First of all, I want to also say, I can already cook. I’m a pretty good cook. I can follow a recipe and improvise successfully when necessary usually. One reason why a lot of people do a meal kit is because they need to learn how to cook and that definitely wasn’t me.

Also, they offer a variety of number and portions on meals to try. I get three meals a week, with two portions a meal, which means I cook Hello Fresh for dinner one night, and usually the next night have the leftovers. Friday night is usually “Yay You Made It To The Weekend, You Get To Order Takeout” night. You can order for several more meals a week, and for up to four portions in each meal, if you want.

So on to the reasons why I decided to try HF, with a grading of how I feel about each one after trying.

Reason One: Try Something New

I was super excited at the beginning of the pandemic now working from home full time, because this was a great chance to really start trying some new recipes. I had fallen into a pretty bad rut for awhile of some of the same frozen type meals or just making super easy things for dinner and sandwiches for lunch pre-pandemic. Even though my commute was stupid easy I often felt too wiped at the end of the day to make like, real meals. So when the pandemic hit and I was Home All The Time, for the first couple of months I was buying interesting ingredients (what I could get my hands on at the time) and really digging into making new and interesting things. Even baking my own bread and bought some new kitchen gadgets like a pressure cooker to expand my repertoire.

By like... the end of summer... well the good news was that I was still cooking and hadn’t fallen back to a packaged-food routine most of the time (though still some frozen pizzas or bags of pre-made Asian or Italian food you cook on the stovetop mostly for lunch) but also I had more or less found The Ten Things I Make (like Spaghetti, a great chicken and rice dish that is so good and makes about 6 meals worth of leftovers) and I was real tired of like, recipe hunting. The most work I was then doing was finding new pressure cooker recipes and tbh almost all of what I was making was Chicken In Some Kind of Sauce Over Rice. I was burned out.

So Hello Fresh... has been great for that. I have only made the same thing a couple of times and those were only because i loved them so much the first time I wanted that thing again. For the most part, I have tried just a ton of new things, including some ingredients I’ve never worked with before or really thought I wouldn’t like! And I did! I feel like I am often trying something I have never made before.

Reason 1.5: Variety

OK this is hand-in-hand with Something New but also slightly different.

Try Something New would be rated like a 4.5 out of 5 stars.... but some stars are taken away though, because a lot of their recipes are very similar. For a protein, there’s like, chicken breasts, hamburger meat, pork chops, chicken sausage and pork sausage. Occasionally steak. Basically every meal will start with one of those things.... oh and I guess there’s like some fish choices, but I hate fish. There’s also vegetarian options, which I have only occasionally gotten. So within the variety, there’s a lot of similarities.

Also there are a lot of same ingredients in their recipes. I have grated a lot of lemons and limes. I have chopped up a lot of carrots, green onions, and potatoes (so many potatoes.) I have consumed more sour cream than I ever have. I have started looking for ways to add even a little more variety to the things that are often-repeats that they give you.

But part of that is my fault -- I am mostly selecting items that I know I will like, or can modify to how I like. There are a lot of veggie and fish-based choices I could pick up most weeks which I avoid.

And almost everything I’ve ever made... I’d make again. I save all the recipe cards so that someday when I don’t wanna do HF anymore, I will have all them all handy to make later. The HF Subreddit also has a lot of resources like how to do their custom spice mixes, very handy. There’s been maybe 3 things I’ve made which I’d say were Just Okay, but nothing I’d say that was bad. And some of the ideas in this paragraph I talk about more, further down.

But also on the topic of “Variety” -- since every meal I make has two portions (occasionally I will stretch something to three) -- points are given back because I’m not “Making a huge pot of spaghetti that I eat for five meals in a row.” So that’s good, even if it means more cooking overall.

So honestly, on Something New overall, I’ll give this like a 3.5 out of 5 stars, correcting up to 4 stars on a curve, since I strike entire categories of their offerings based on my own tastes. They offer a pretty good variety of meals to select, and part of the problem here is my fault for hating All Seafood and not being thrilled with the vegetarian options (I also don’t feel like I’m getting my money’s worth without a protein) so there are a lot of meals re-using similar ingredients. It slides back down to a 3.5 though when you factor in Reasons 3 & 4 below.

Reason Two: Kill Analysis Paralysis

A thing I found increasingly happening by the end of last year was analysis paralysis. Especially as I started a new job where I’m much, much busier (but happier) in October. I would find myself staring at the fact that I’d have to make the decision on What To Make For Dinner and dreading it more and more. It wasn’t really the cooking I hated, but the deciding what to cook, which got me into the lack of variety rut. More often than I’d like to admit I’d just make a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese or like... just... toast... for dinner because the decision-making part of my brain was tired... or out of spoons as the kids say these days.

This is maybe my favorite part of Hello Fresh overall. Once every week or two I log onto HF, pick what I’m going to eat like... 5 or 6 weeks in the future, which I can do at a time when I have that decision-making energy, and forget about it. Every Monday a box shows up on my doorstep, I see what nice things I picked out for myself several weeks ago, and the most I have to decide is which order I will make those things in.

So when it’s a “Make Dinner” day, I don’t have that “shit, I have to make a decision” feeling. I already know because I pre-planned it back when I wasn’t at the end of a long workday. It’s one of those small, dumb things that really really helps me mentally in an almost inexplicable way. And I can feel better about myself because I didn’t eat something dumb for dinner. And I still allow myself to make easy things for lunch, like a small frozen pizza, a sandwich and some chips, or hey, Kraft Dinner. And sometimes I do make a big pot of Spaghetti or something that I love and will just have that for lunch every day for a week, and so I don’t have to feel like I’m always cooking.

And on Eat HF Leftovers For Dinner nights, that’s even better, because I have a tasty meal and it just had to get reheated in the microwave or stovetop. Some meals are easy to half-prepare ahead of time on day one, and just do the last steps on leftover night the next night to have fresher dinner easily.

Just 5 out of 5 stars here. This is my favorite part.

Reason Three: Eat More Vegetables.

Uh, yeah, I’m terrible about eating veggies on my own. The best I can do usually is buy a bag of mixed greens and try to have a side salad with dinner, or buy bags of frozen foods and hope they come with veggies I’d eat.

So the good thing here, is that when HF sends me vegetables to make, if it’s a veggie I like, I’ll probably make it.

The big problem, though, is that there’s no substitutions. And I’m still not gonna eat brussell sprouts or, broccoli, or mushrooms. I was a sport and tried making them (except the mushrooms) the first time I got recipes that used them as sides. And nope... still cant.

But hey, I have done a lot better at eating more fresh green beans, and onions, and carrots, and peppers. Though sometimes I just snack on the bell pepper instead of cooking it. Still, I call it a win.

I really, really wish I could trade out the side-dish vegetables I know I won’t eat for like, a small side salad, an apple, or hey, even just... carrots! But nope, no substitutions. =\ I’d score this way better if we could do so.

Still, I’m doing better here, and overall, more vegetables are being eaten. So, 3 out of 5 stars.

Reason Four: Waste Less Food

The amount of fruit and vegetables I’ve ordered and thrown away over the last year make me cringe. I would order things with every intention of eating them and then just... not. Oh yeah I need two lemons, an orange and two limes in case I make ____ recipe! I need a new bag of baby carrots to snack on and make a side dish and cut into a salad!

And then I maybe... maybe use half of that before it goes bad.

Probably less. Because of the Analysis Paralysis and not trying new things. You run into that problem where you don’t have the ingredients on hand to make a new thing so you can’t make a new thing... but then you buy them but forgot (crucial thing) so the thing still doesn’t get made. Or you just... don’t plan when you’re gonna make the thing and by the time I’d be like “Oh yeah I should make something with those vegetables” they’d have already turned.

SO... I felt shitty throwing away so much produce, and loaves of bread, and other perishable food that got maybe half-eaten. So much, for so long. Yeah, I know I could do better with my meal planning, but it’s been one of those things I always vow to do, and then did not do that thing.

Doing HF has really made me re-evaluate what I buy as groceries, and I have cut way down on ordering unnecessary produce and perishables like bread. Because I don’t really have to worry about dinner and am allowing myself to do easy lunches that don’t require real “cooking.” So, overall I am definitely buying and tossing less food.

Also just as another quick note -- what also tends to get tossed out of my HF boxes is a “spicy ingredient” But in some ways, this works in HF’s favor. I don’t really like spicy foods. A small amount of spice is OK but I’d rather just do without it in most things, sorry I’m that white girl. Most “Spicy” HF meals get spicy by a spice blend, a packet of sriracha / hot sauce, or a jalapeno which they want you to cut up and include. So whenever I see something that looks good but listed as “spicy”, I can check the ingredient list first and see what makes it spicy, If I think the thing still sounds good without the spicy part, I can order it. So yeah, I’ll toss spicy ingredients, but that is 100% my choice and it makes things better because it gives me more variety to order those meals and still make it to my own taste.

Oh, and occasionally, the produce is just bad when you get it or not long after. I haven’t had this problem often, mostly with ginger and garlic. I do evaluate which meal has the most perishables when I get my box on Mondays and make those first. Apparently you can call customer service if this happens for a small credit, but I just use pre-diced garlic or powdered ginger when this has happened to me.

So, this would be a 4.5 out of 5 except for... as discussed above... I end up tossing out HF vegetables on occasion I know I hate and won’t eat, and they won’t let me make substitutions.

But also... cooking for myself... when I make a big batch of something that lasts 4 - 6 portions... more often than I’d like to admit, the last portion or two would never get eaten. Sometimes I’d TELL myself I’d eat them in a week or so and freeze them only to throw it all away months later.

So let’s call this a 4 out of 5. Overall, significantly less food waste with HF.

Reason Five: Save Time

I thought that doing HF would mean less prep-work and less time in the kitchen, especially with their easy-to-follow recipes and pre-measured ingredients.

So in that way, yes, time is saved, and it so again takes that mental load off in a lot of ways of not having to make all those pesky decisions. The materials you’re working with and what you need to do are all Right There for you. It’s really, nice.

As a side note, like I said I’m a good cook, and I haven’t had any problems following along anything I’ve made, but there were a few things I think are more of a moderate skill level and could be a little challenging for newcomers. But then, I see people on the HF subreddit all the time saying they learned to cook with no skill and they find the recipes easy so... we’re good there.

However, Saving Time loses points for two big reasons:

First, I’m only making two portions of each meal. Which, ok... this is my decision. I could order four portions per meal. But then... hey that’s taking big points away on the “variety” front.

The Vegetable Chopping / prep work on a lot of the recipes often takes 10 - 20 minutes, depending on the number of fruits and veggies. So yay for meeting Goal #3 (more veggies) even if it is balanced out by Goal #5.

And unfortunately, most meals end up taking up more dishes than I’d like to clean up (usually at least a pan and baking sheet, sometimes also a pot. Plus knife, cutting board, tongs, stirring spoon, maybe a zester, etc.) So no time is saved on cleanup, either.

Mostly where time is saved is having to pick out recipes and making sure you have/buy all the ingredients. Not much is saved in the actual cooking.

I do, however, enjoy the time I spent cooking and the knowledge that I’m gonna make something good, so we’ll give it a bit back, there.

As a time saver, I’d give HF a 2.5 out of 5 stars.

Reason Six: Save Money

Y’all, Hello Fresh is expensive. Honestly the #1 reason I re-evaluate whether I want to keep going with it every few weeks is the cost. Even though I can afford it.

For basically six meals a week, I’m paying $63 for the food, plus $9 for the shipping.

Which means I’m paying $12 a meal. For food I make myself.

Not cheap. A luxury.

Where I don’t feel quite so bad about it is the fact that... for the most part, I am wasting a lot less food. Except, as mentioned, when I can’t swap out vegetables I hate for something I’d actually eat.

So that makes it irk me even more when I am throwing out vegetables I really hate, because they’re expensive vegetables.

Also that price tag is motivation to make and eat every meal.

Overall, my grocery bills have gone down... honestly pretty significantly. Because I’m not overbuying food! Now, they haven’t gone down enough to even out the cost for Hello Fresh... I’m still probably spending about 50% more overall for each dinner now than I was before.

This isn’t a cost savings. It’s an expense, but one I can afford. And part of writing out this post is to remind myself to decide when the experience is no longer worth the expense.

1 out of 5 stars.

Reason Seven: Eat Better

I would like to challenge myself to define “Better” because that’s all I wrote down when I made the list.

Healthier? Eeeehhhhhh.... maybe? But not much.

Hello Fresh does offer lighter choices, and sometimes I pick those because they look good and are filled with things I will eat!

But I’m just as likely to pick the most calor-ific things on the menu.

HF also adds a lot of Sour Cream to their recipes, and encourage you to salt and butter your food liberally. I try to cut down on some of this where I think it’s too much. But sometimes there’s not much to cut out and still have the meal you ordered.

But also I’m not eating any worse calorie-wise than I was before, probably. And overall I’m eating a lot more “real food” instead of “packaged food” and fast food than I was.... especially pre-pandemic. And again, I AM eating a lot more vegetables, so.... that’s... better?

If I define better as Tastier, yeah, I’m doing pretty good in that regard, haha.

So Better as in healthier: 2.5 of 5 stars.

Better as in tastier: 4 out of 5 stars.

Overall Scoring & Tips

Okay, overall that comes out to a 3.18 out of 5, which I’d round up to a 3.5... which is a pretty good score for how I feel about HF overall. My current plan is to keep doing it until I go back to working in the office again, and re-evaluate. For now, it works for me.

IF YOU WANT TO TRY IT, this is my referral link, you’ll get $70 off over a month’s worth of meals (so like, $20 or something off 3 boxes and $10 off the last one, something like that.

I also have four “Free box” codes to give out, PM me if you want one of those. I don’t think those are compatible with the $70 off link, but it might be a box of completely free food for you? I don’t know how it works, but this may be the better deal? PM me.

If you decide to go for it, here’s a few tips:

Every week or two, go in and choose your meals, don’t let HF choose for you unless you really don’t care.

Read the ingredient list and make sure there’s not too much stuff you don’t like coming in a meal.

The extras are pretty expensive and not really worth it.

Plan on each meal taking about 45 minutes to cook from start to finish including chopping vegetables. Another 10 - 20 with cleanup depending if you have to handwash dishes or not.

Look for ways to make the meal healthier, especially if it encourages you to add more butter and salt near the end. You probably do NOT need to do so.

Buy a decent pepper. I love McCormick’s Peppercorn Medley pepper grinder. Also sea salt grinder is my personal salt preference.

Add some of your own seasonings. I buy a jar of pre-diced garlic (yes yes I know the criticisms of the stuff but it’s easy) and throw in a half tablespoon or so of that into a lot of recipes. Also there are a lot of potatoes that they want you to just cook with olive oil, salt and pepper. Throw some garlic or onion salt on them, or some Lawry’s Seasoning Salt or steak salt of your choice for some variety.

Your basic 2 quart pot, 8 - 12″ frying pan and cookie sheet, plus a cutting board, decent veggie knife, and typical kitchen utensil set are all you need. However, a decent meat thermometer and a zester that collects the zest as you go are both highly recommended.

A sieve and very small rice cooker have also been a lifesaver for making good rice that doesn’t get overcooked.

#personal post tag thingy #hello fresh #food #meal kit #meal kits

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mdzsgildedfate · 3 years

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Gilded Fate - Chapter 11

Reincarnation AU [Chapter 11/?] Characters: Xue Yang, Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, Original Characters. Pairings: Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, Xue Yang/OC

A deafening silence fell over the temple as the last of the students disappeared out of sight. The sun was beginning to sink in the sky and a small chill was settling in, serving as a reminder of the impending season change. Jin Ling stared on down the path long after everyone had gone, mulling over the situation still at hand. Clenching his jaw, he spun around and disappeared back inside the temple.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he quickly made his way through the winding hallways. Even though one of the potential dangers had been somewhat resolved, Jin Ling didn’t feel any less on edge. During Xinyi’s awakening, something stuck out to him- a seemingly insignificant detail that had unsettled him. Perhaps it was nothing. Very likely, it was completely unrelated to the other disturbing occurrences in the temple, but he wasn’t about to leave any stone unturned.

Hunting down Xiao Xingchen hadn’t been difficult. Jin Ling quickly found him drifting about the halls, looking nearly indistinguishable from the other ghosts that lingered around the premises. Even with the noise he made in approaching, Xingchen didn’t acknowledge the other cultivator until he was standing directly in front of him.

“Xiao Xingchen.” Jin Ling addressed him, blocking his path. “What happened back there with Song Lan?”

Xingchen gave his usual noncommittal shrug and tried to move past Jin Ling.

“Cut the crap. I know you’re faking.” Jin Ling squared his shoulders, refusing to let the man leave. “I heard you say Xinyi’s name. I know you can talk.”

The priest paused, looking at Jin Ling with an annoyed expression. “Why do you think I have some hidden information? You saw the same thing I did. Song Lan lost control of his Yin energy for a moment.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Xingchen drew back with a bemused expression. “What are you implying?”

“Song Lan has had over eight thousand years to learn energy control. I don’t believe for one minute that a sword fight with Xinyi was enough to break that.”

“Believe it or not, it’s none of my business.” Xingchen pushed past Jin Ling. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you go ask him?”

Grabbing Xingchen’s shoulder, he pulled him back to face him. “I will when I find him. I don’t suppose you know where he is?”

“No. I don’t. I don’t make a habit of keeping track of his location every second of every day.” He replied, looming over Jin Ling. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with your stories of caves and demonic cultivators, but I’m tired of entertaining this game.”

Jin Ling’s jaw dropped in surprise, shocked by Xingchen’s disposition. He knew Song Lan was reluctant to believe what he’d said, but at least aired on the side of caution. Xingchen’s total lack of concern and blatant disregard of the potential danger was startling.

“Fine!” He snapped after a long pause. “It’s no wonder Song Lan is the way he is, walking through hell for someone who won’t even talk to him.”

Xingchen stopped dead in his tracks, fists clenched. Stepping even closer to Jin Ling, black veins creeping up his neck, Xingchen grabbed the front of the man’s robe. With their faces so close together, Jin Ling could see the faint remnants of tear stains on the priest’s face.

“How dare you make such wild presumptions about us?” He hissed, “Why should I be grateful to someone who condemned me to an endless life as a fierce corpse? Why should I be grateful to someone who keeps me locked away here?”

Suddenly dropping Jin Ling’s lapel, Xingchen stepped back, squeezing his eyes against the tears threatening to spill out again. Jin Ling watched speechlessly, cycling between shock and guilt.

“Song Lan didn’t walk through hell for me.” The veins receded and his fists unclenched, his demeanour relaxing into a state of defeat. “He brought me back so he could feel better about what happened. Everything he did was with complete disregard to my feelings. My refusal to speak is the only mercy I can show him.”

“Do you really hate him so much that Xue Yang’s company was preferable?” Jin Ling asked, muscles tensed.

Xingchen turned his gaze to the Jin Cultivator, falling quiet for a long time before speaking again. “When I died, I was blind. When I woke up, I suddenly wasn’t. That was just one of many secrets Song Lan has kept from me the past three thousand years. Xue Yang’s presence here was likely my last chance to find answers. It was hardly a matter of whose company was preferable.”

With that, the priest walked away, leaving Jin Ling behind to process the information. Seeing Xingchen’s raw emotions, he could understand why he’d chosen to feign being mute to Song Lan. Jin Ling himself had separated from the two Lans for a similar need to avoid difficult conversations, he could only imagine what it’d be like if he had to live isolated with them like Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Jin Ling returned his focus to the trouble at hand. Song Lan’s outburst still held suspicion for him, regardless of Xingchen’s opinion on it. Returning to his sweep of the temple, he searched every nook and cranny of the building in search of the other priest. Without the students occupying them, the spare rooms echoed eerily, feeling entirely too empty.

Coming to the last room, a fresh anxiety swelled within Jin Ling. If Song Lan wasn’t inside, it meant he had disappeared from the temple again. After his initial encounter with Xiao Xingchen, Jin Ling hadn’t run into a single other person. Something definitely didn’t feel right. Steadying his breathing, and trying to quell his growing unease, Jin Ling reached out and slid the door open. And let out a sigh of relief.

“There you are.”

With his back to Jin Ling, Song Lan stood ridgid in the middle of the otherwise empty room.

“Song Lan?”

The man jolted slightly, coming to life and rotating to face the other cultivator. Ice ran through Jin Ling’s veins immediately. Before he had a chance to react at all, his body suddenly froze, refusing to move no matter how hard he strained his muscles. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard movement behind him- the light footsteps of someone walking just out of view. His vision blurred and everything went black.

~X~

Most of the ride back to Beijing was passed dozing off and on. The adrenaline from his injured hand had worn off, leaving Xinyi feeling exhausted. His head rested on Chen’s shoulder, with one of the man’s arms wrapped around him, occasionally shifting in his seat whenever the ride’s turbulence rattled him awake. In between those moments, his dreams came forward in vague clips- memories from his life before.

As they pulled into the university parking lot, Chen gently shook him awake so they could begin gathering their things. Everyone filed off quietly, having still not quite recovered from the shock at the temple. Most of the students headed back to the dorms, leaving only a spare few stragglers to trudge through the parking lot in search of their own cars. Exchanging a few words amongst themselves, QianHua waved goodbye and left Chen to drive Xinyi home.

Before they made it far, Sizhui and Jingyi stopped them. Urging Chen to keep walking, Xinyi turned to face the two men.

“Xinyi. I won’t keep you long, I know you’re tired and in pain.” Sizhui said, choosing his words carefully. “But we’re obviously apprehensive about what happened-”

“Apprehensive?” Xinyi asked, looking at the two blankly. “You haven’t stopped staring at me since we left the temple. Are you afraid I’ll kill someone if you blink?”

“This isn’t my first time witnessing someone remember their past life.” Sizhui continued, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not ruling out the possibility.”

“Considering what kind of person you used to be.” Jingyi added.

“Right. Because you knew me so well?” Xinyi narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t you know me better now?”

“It’s true, we’ve known you longer as Xinyi than as Xue Yang.” Sizhui said, cutting off whatever thought Jingyi was forming. “But the awakening process can have… side effects. Especially for people who died with regrets, or grudges-”

“I don’t care about anything that happened back then.” Xinyi interjected quickly. “I was a poor orphan that resorted to violence to survive, who glorified someone for showing me bare minimum kindness. None of that applies to my life now.”

Sizhui scanned his eyes over him, not looking entirely convinced. “You didn’t seem terribly indifferent when Xingchen tried to talk to you.”

Xinyi frowned at the name, breaking his eye contact with Sizhui. “I guess I have higher standards for how people treat me now. I’m thankful to you and Jingyi for helping me, but you’re not much different. You’re not looking out for me, you don’t even care that I’m a different person.”

Holding up his injured hand, he looked between Sizhui and Jingyi a few times before continuing. “You still remember I’m your student right? Wasn’t it your job to keep me safe? Everyone’s so worried that I might hurt other people, but no one batted an eye at the danger I was in around Song Lan.”

“I-... I’m sorry… You’re right.” Sizhui tilted his head down, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Jiaoshou. I’m going home. I’ll see you in class.”

Sizhui and Jingyi watched as Xinyi left, at a loss for what to say even to each other. The whole week had been spent worrying about Xue Yang’s return, just as Xinyi said, never once considering the possibility of Song Lan deviating. The two walked back to Sizhui’s car, not breaking the silence until the doors shut them inside. All at once, Sizhui’s emotions broke and he bent over the steering wheel in tears.

“A-Yuan, this isn’t your fault-”

“How is it not?” Sizhui asked, lifting his face. “I keep failing, time and time again! Every time I try to help, I just make things worse!”

“That’s not true.” Jingyi put a hand on Sizhui’s shoulder.

“Yes it is! You know it is, you know I was lying about Wen Chao. He didn’t try to redeem himself! I induced his awakening and he killed himself!” His whole body shook with sobs. “Because of my negligence, Wen Qing slaughtered an entire village. We haven’t seen Zizhen in thousands of years because of what I let happen! And now-!”

Jingyi grabbed the back of Sizhui’s shirt and pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around the sobbing man. Stroking his hand over Sizhui’s hair, he let him cry into his shoulder until the sobs subsided into soft hiccups. He pulled back, wiped the tears from Sizhui’s face, and kissed him.

“Did you do those things alone?” Jingyi asked, looking into Sizhui’s eyes. “I was there with you. You did the best you could, but those were imperfect situations with imperfect outcomes. They likely would have happened whether we were there or not. It’s true, we didn’t handle Xinyi well, but we did the best we could under the circumstances.”

Sizhui let out a stuttered breath, stifling another wave of tears.

“A-Yuan. Xinyi’s upset, and rightfully so, but this is far from the worst scenario. No one died.”

“That’s a pretty shitty minimum standard.”

“Ok, well, just for that, you’re copying the Lan principles when we get home.” Jingyi said curtly, sitting back in his seat. “Using such vulgar language, I’m disappointed in you.”

Sizhui broke into laughter, putting his forehead to Jingyi’s shoulder for a moment before straightening up. Jingyi was right; they had all been prepared for the worst and, at the very least, no one died.

~X~

All the way back to Xinyi’s house, he could see the tension on Chen’s face while he drove. It wasn’t surprising to think he had some questions, or a million, about what happened, but Xinyi appreciated the silence for as long as he could. He was sure anything Chen wanted to ask didn’t have an easy answer. It gave Xinyi a small insight into Xiao Xingchen’s vow of silence with Song Lan, making it seem a little less crazy in retrospect.

The Wang residence was a good forty minute drive from the university, giving them both plenty of time to process their thoughts. Once they pulled off the highway, Chen turned the volume on the radio down, still silent for a while before actually speaking.

“Have you thought of what you’re going to say to your family when they see your hand?”

Xinyi looked down at it, resisting the urge to take off the bandages to survey the damage. “Not really. I’ve got some time though. My parents are never home this time of year and A-Zhou won’t notice.”

Chen let out a small laugh. “Right. Unless she grabs your hand.”

Xinyi winced at the thought. “I’ll just have to be careful.”

“What about your uncle?”

“I’ll just have to pray.”

The roads gave way to a pleasant suburban neighborhood, free of traffic as the hour grew later. The streetlights were just beginning to turn on, giving the area a dreamlike appearance.

“A-Xin…”

Xinyi turned his attention from the window to look at Chen.

“Should I even bother asking about what happened?” He asked, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

“You saw just as much as I did, what-”

“You know what I mean. After QianHua and I were pushed out of the room. What actually happened.”

Xinyi looked down, clearing his throat anxiously. “Why do you think something weird happened…”

Chen’s jaw clenched. “I know you’re still recovering, but if we’re… whatever this is we’re doing… I need to know.”

“It’s really not important.” He replied, his gaze drifting to the sword at his feet. “I want to forget about it.”

The car pulled up in front of the Wang house, rolling to a stop on the side of the street. After a few silent beats, Chen reached his hand over to rest on Xinyi’s thigh. Looking up at the house, Xinyi felt a strange aversion to going inside.

“A-Xin… did something bad happen?”

Xinyi couldn’t help but laugh and hold his hand up. “No, of course not.”

Chen glowered at him, retracting his hand. “Please don’t do that.”

He put his hand down.

“What did you and Xingchen talk about?”

“Ah…” He looked at Chen, trying to find an answer to the question. “I mean. I basically just told him I didn’t want to see him again.”

“Basically?”

“Chen…” Xinyi sighed, putting a hand on JiangZai’s hilt. “I’m not trying to hide anything from you, but if I tell you the truth, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Is that any different from usual?” Chen asked, moving his hand back to Xinyi’s leg. “You’ve always been weird. Your whole family is weird. Don’t you think I knew that when I started liking you?”

Xinyi turned his gaze to the man, looking at him for a long time, weighing the options. “...Fine. But it’s a long story.”

A small smile cracked across Chen’s face and they set to work collecting their belongings to go inside. The house was dark inside, giving no indication as to who was home. Testing the waters, Xinyi flipped a few lights on as they silently made their way through the rooms. Before long, the sound of footsteps came from upstairs. Xinyi held his breath, watching the stairs in anticipation of who would appear.

Slowly coming into view was a young girl, around sixteen, with short, spiky hair, and white eyes. Halfway down the stairs, she paused, listening with a suspicious expression on her face. Xinyi approached the stairs, keeping his movements as soundless as possible. Despite his efforts, her face immediately turned to where he stood.

“DaGe? Why are you home?” She demanded immediately.

Letting out his breath, Xinyi fell into a lighthearted laugh. “How has your hearing gotten so good?”

“You’re just loud!” She retorted, descending the stairs to hug him.

Xinyi wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the stairs and spinning around to set her back down. They stayed in a tight embrace for a few seconds before breaking apart, Xinyi moving carefully to avoid letting her touch the injured hand.

“Someone else is with you, right? Who’s here?” Zhou turned to Chen, reaching a hand out and feeling her way to his face. “Hey, you’re supposed to be on that field trip too!”

Chen pulled away, whipping his glasses off to clean her fingerprints from the lenses. “We got rained out, everyone came home early.”

“ZhouZhou, where’s Uncle? Is he home?”

“Yeah, downstairs.” Zhou replied, turning to face him again.

“We’re going up to my room, don’t tell him we’re here.”

Zhou nodded and the two climbed the stairs to Xinyi’s bedroom, closing the door behind them. Xinyi dumped his stuff onto the desk, letting the sword clatter onto the surface haphazardly, and threw himself onto the bed. Chen dropped his belongings onto the floor and climbed onto the bed beside Xinyi, patiently waiting for him to continue the conversation from the car. Slowly, Xinyi pulled his face from the blankets and looked at Chen.

“It’s been a long day, can’t we just go to bed-?”

“A-Xin.”

Xinyi frowned, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Let the record show, you bullied me into this.”

“Acknowledged. Now spill.”

Where to even begin? How much information did he actually have to give Chen? His actions as Xue Yang weren’t things to be proud of, but could he explain his relationship with Xingchen without it? He looked at Chen nervously, trying to collect his thoughts to put into words.

“Remember the lecture Song Lan gave about Cultivators?” Xinyi asked tentatively, studying Chen’s face.

“Yeah… It’s like the stories about your family’s antiques.”

“Exactly. Everyone thinks we made the stories up to gain attention for our collection. You did too, right?”

Chen opened his mouth with an incredulous expression, prepared to defend himself.

“Don’t look offended, I thought they were kinda bullshit too. The antiques are cool, but the stories sound fake.”

“Are you trying to get us off-topic?”

“No.” Xinyi paused, trying to think of what to say. “Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan aren’t just Taoist priests living in a temple for no reason. They’re Cultivators.”

“...Okay.”

“And they’re about eight thousand years old.”

“........Okay.”

Pausing again, Xinyi looked at Chen questioningly, waiting for the man to accuse him of joking around or lying or just plain sounding crazy.

“So are Sizhui and Jingyi Jiaoshou.”

Chen’s face scrunched slightly. “Are you being serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“I’m being serious. This is why I said you’d think I was crazy.”

“Alright… let’s say I do believe you…What does this have to do with what happened?”

“The reason you guys were told to leave was because…” He bit his lip, hesitating with his words. “They had to do something to make me remember my past life.”

The other man stared up at him blankly, the faintest hint of annoyance behind his eyes.

“Chen, really, I know this sounds stupid. Can we please just forget about it?”

“So…” Chen furrowed his brow, fussing with a stray string hanging from the blanket. “Sizhui and Jingyi Jiaoshou… and the two priests… are 8,000 year old ‘Cultivators’, who you knew in your past life? And they ‘did something’ to make you remember that… right after one of them attacked you…”

Xinyi’s heart was pounding in his chest, painfully skipping at Chen’s expression. Everything he’d just told the man sounded beyond ridiculous, there was no way in hell Chen could believe him. Any second, he’d storm out and never talk to Xinyi again.

“Pretty much…”

“What’d you do to piss off Song Lan that bad?”

“I uh… killed him. Xingchen too, technically…” He replied, surprised that Chen was even entertaining his bullshit anymore.

“I thought you said they were thousands of years old.”

“They’re reanimated corpses.”

Chen drew in a sharp breath, clenching his jaw again. Bringing his eyes up slowly, he looked past Xinyi to the sword resting on the desk behind him. Xinyi could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Chen…” Tentatively reaching a hand out, Xinyi touched his fingers to Chen’s knee. “I swear I’m not lying. You can call me crazy, you don’t have to believe anything I just said, but I swear I’m not lying-”

“I believe you.”

Xinyi’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening into a shocked stare.

“There were so many weird things about this trip, I don’t think I would’ve believed any normal explanation.” Chen finally met Xinyi’s eyes, still looking a little reserved. “It’s a lot to take in though.”

Whether from relief or sheer shock, Xinyi burst into laughter, falling onto his side. After a moment, Chen joined in, filling the room with their combined voices. When they both finally came to their senses and caught their breath, Xinyi shifted closer to Chen, wrapping his limbs around him into a tight embrace. Something about the other man actually believing him made the whole situation less ridiculous, relieving some of the insanity Xinyi had been feeling.

~X~

After more than a year of running on only a few hours of sleep a night, Xinyi’s body naturally woke sometime in the early morning. The room was still dark, the only sounds coming from the soft breathing of the man beside him. Careful not to wake Chen, Xinyi slipped out of the bed and felt his way to the door, pausing as his hand grazed over the sword on his desk. Taking several seconds to process what he was touching, he wrapped his fingers around it and carried it out of the room with him.

Promptly deciding he didn’t want JiangZai hanging around his room as a constant reminder, Xinyi descended into the basement to store the thing in the family vault. He punched in the code quickly and pulled the heavy door open, switching on the lights and pausing to let his eyes adjust. A small shiver ran down his spine, looking around the room with new eyes. The items within were no longer mysterious artifacts, but ancient Cultivating tools, some of which he recognized personally.

Walking slowly through the room, processing each item as he passed, Xinyi made his way to an empty set of shelves towards the back. Unsheathing the sword, he let his eyes scan over the blade, dwelling on the dissonance it brought, before sheathing and discarding it onto one of the shelves. Turning to leave, Xinyi was surprised to see a familiar face waiting behind him. Standing at the door was the unmistakable figure of his dear friend, Smiling Ghost.

“What are you still doing here?” He asked nonchalantly, taking his time in crossing the vault to where she was waiting.

She gave no reaction, patiently watching him as though they were old friends. Coming closer, Xinyi was able to make out more and more details of her face. She no longer wore the knowing smile that had unnerved him much before, looking at him instead with a soft, pleasant expression. A new familiarity settled in his mind as he looked at her, searching his memories for a name to place to the face.

“I know you…” He said quietly, mostly to himself.

Her lips twitched up into a smile, waiting for him to solve the riddle.

“Oh! I know you!” His voice rang out in a quiet triumph, but his features quickly changed to confusion. “But why are you…”

The memories of his last encounter returned to his mind, recalling the words she’d silently mouthed to him that day in the woods. Dawning realization quickly transformed into fearful urgency as her prior actions finally made sense.

“Oh no. Oh fuck.” Xinyi’s eyes widened, garnering a broad smile from his dear friend.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he retraced his steps to retrieve JiangZai before flying past Smiling Ghost, quickly climbing the stairs back up to his room. He flipped the lights on with no care for the man still sleeping in his bed and tossed open the closet door. Pulling on the first pair of pants and long-sleeved shirt he found, Xinyi re-emerged from the closet.

“A-Xin? What are you doing?” Chen asked, watching him with bleary eyes.

“I have to go.” He replied, slipping into a jacket and pressing a kiss to Chen’s cheek. “I’ll explain when I get back, I don’t have time right now.”

Before Chen could even form a thought to argue, Xinyi disappeared from the room again. Waiting by the front door, Smiling Ghost followed Xinyi out of the house and around to the garage. The first snowflakes of the season were starting to fall, making him hesitate for only a moment as he considered the consequences of the weather. One quick glance at Smiling Ghost was enough to chase away his concerns. Without another thought, Xinyi pulled on a helmet and mounted his bike, speeding down the road back to Leng Shuang WeiFeng Temple.

#mdzs #mdzs fic #the untamed #the untamed fic #xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #song lan #junior disciples #jin ling #lan sizhui #lan jingyi

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ablogcalledrevenge · 4 years

Text

Potential (A General Hux x Reader Insert Multi-Chapter Fic, Rated T)

Chapter Four

The sex did help, infrequent as it was sometimes. It was easier to talk once the clothes and pretenses had been removed and the both of you were more relaxed. It felt safer, in a way, to engage in pillow talk. It was easier to talk about everything, from your treasonous plot to the shipment of fruit that the ship received.

Because you and Hux still fought, still argued. True, you hadn’t had a fight like that first one. You were grateful for that. But you and your husband were both headstrong people with specific wants and ideas. Arguing about it made sense, but there was an underlying respect there that wasn’t present before. The fights never went on too long, or got too vicious. Usually, after getting your initial frustration out- sometimes through yelling and sometimes through sex- you were able to figure out a solution.

Hux was trying, and you could appreciate that. You did appreciate that. You understood his background, the way he had been raised. Sympathy you had in spades for him. So to have him take a breath before responding in cruel anger, or thank you for something you did, meant the world to you. There was a vulnerability he was starting to let show. Only visible in the darkness of your bedroom or the steam from the shower. It wasn’t a quick or perfect process but he was trying. In return, you were too.

You were trying to be less stubborn, less haughty. You’d been crafting these ideas and plans for so long but you had to be open to change and collaboration. That’s why you got married after all. You wanted someone to work with. You didn’t want to be alone. You’re surprised you didn’t realize it earlier, but neither does Hux. You’ve both been denied so much in different ways that perhaps this marriage was always going to happen. You’re not ashamed or embarrassed to admit how much you need him now, how much you want him. Thankfully, he echoes your sentiment and his genuine affection for you is visible in every space you share together.

You hear several beeps as you get dressed, memories from the night before dissipating in your head. You’re about to turn around from your bureau to see the cause of the noise when it reveals itself in the form of a fast wheeling mouse droid quickly zipping back into it’s charging post. Then, as if on cue, your Tooka bounds out from under the bed. You snatch her up before she attempts to attack the poor droid.

“Now Millie, we’ve talked about this. No hunting the droids. You have plenty of toys to chase after, leave Messy alone.” You scold, placing her on a tall carpeted ledge. Meowing once, she stretches languorously before curling up on her perch. Shaking your head, you playfully swat at her bushy orange and white tail before continuing your morning routine.

Your husband had asked you to accompany him on the bridge today. This was both to learn more about his job and the ship you lived on and to have you present for a council meeting later. It was a good idea, you concede as you put on your shoes. Shouldn’t a wife be interested in her husband’s work, especially when it surrounded their lives? Shouldn’t a wife of a high ranking general get to know her husband’s superiors? If you were also going to be analyzing each and every one of them for weaknesses, well, that was just between you and your husband.

Getting rid of an entire High Council is not an easy or quick task but you’ve always been patient. The Council has 7 members, all older Imperial officers, with no one waiting in the wings. It’s honestly very telling that these men consider themselves so powerful and irreplaceable that they have not provided someone to step into their roles should something happen. But their folly was your gain and you revel in the exploitation to come.

“Well Millie, what do you think?” You ask the kitten, twirling in a small circle. Though she does perk up at the mention of her name, she barely spares you a glance. Much like the person who gifted her to you, she is not very interested in fashion. Still, you think your outfit is appropriate today.

Your dress is surprisingly simple and modest. You want to be able to blend in behind your husband, something easily passed over and ignored. You don’t want your presence to keep the Council from holding their tongues. The gown is a plain blue-gray jaberwool with a silk lining and thin leather belt to almost pay homage to the specific silhouette of First Order uniforms. Perhaps the only thing that sets it apart from the bland clothing of officers was the neckline. Instead of fitting snugly around your neck, the collar pulled out over one shoulder and down past your clavicle in both an elegant and risque cut. If the open neck also happens to show off a lovely little purple bite mark your darling had left the night before, all the better.

The last thing you do before leaving your quarters is put on a pair of pearl and diamond drop earrings. You decide to forgo your tiara or circlet today, instead braiding your hair up and back in a raised dome. It reminds you a little of an Alderaanian style, long since passed. The earrings start off dark gray, the same color as your dress before fading slowly into pure white with each level, small sparkling diamonds separating each change. They exude your status while also being less noticeable than a crown, and satisfied with your appearance, you leave your quarters to find your husband.

The bridge is bustling and noisy when you enter, everyone doing their jobs to ensure the might of the First Order and keep things running smoothly. As you approach your husband, grimacing at something on his datapad like always, the click of your heels stands out among the sounds. He turns and sees you, a small and rare smile gracing his lips. Holding out your gloved hand, he grasps it lightly, bringing it to his lips for a respectful kiss. Then he surprises you by tugging you towards him and placing a chaste kiss on your temple.

“Hello my dear, looking lovely as ever.” He says as his officers scurry below you. His eyes roam up and down your form approvingly before zeroing in on the open neck and the mark displayed there. You give him a cheeky smile when his face pinks for a brief moment.

“I’m glad you think so darling. I wanted to match your officers in a way.” You explain, hands still clasped together in their respective leather gloves.

“You do in a remarkable way, and yet, I shouldn’t be shocked that you’ve managed to tweak it to your own extravagant nature.” He teases as he walks you over to a screen. It’s displaying all kinds of data and statistics. The Order is looking for a new base, wanting to introduce land troops and influence over various populations without having to fly down stormtroopers every time there’s trouble. Your husband had been going over various planets for days now, nixing some outright while spending hours comparing others.

“Any luck finding a base?” You ask, eyes flitting over the numbers. Hux shrugs and releases your hand to fiddle with the controls, pulling up the image of a forest planet.

“We’re still looking at a few contenders but right now Serenno seems to be the best option. The population is mostly humanoid and easily suppressible though they have had a bit of bad luck with their economy and may welcome us and the jobs we create. The soil there is nutrient rich and we could use the farmland as well as the various sources of energy the planet provides. It’s not official yet, but the terrain and atmo would be perfect for a stationary base and training facility.” He says, pulling up pictures of the bright forests and rolling fields. You didn’t particularly care about where the Order places a base, but you knew it was ultimately important to Hux.

As the day progresses, he takes you to the various departments of the Order, introducing you to all the team leaders and heads. Your husband seems particularly excited to visit the engineering department and it unlocks something in your chest to see him ask such specific questions and offer suggestions that work. There are so many strange sides to him, it’s enjoyable to have them appear.

It also is quite the boost to your ego, being shown around the ship like you are. Everyone knows who you are and what you represent and the amount of congratulations and gifts you receive during the day is touching. There was a part of you, in the early days of your marriage, that worried about whether or not the First Order would love you as much as it did Hux. You were under it’s banner your whole life, but you were also very unmilitary. So to have your husband’s subordinates welcome you so obviously and kindly, eased those worries almost instantly. Perhaps they saw in you a return to the glory and sophistication of the Empire or perhaps they just noticed the half smiles your darling graced you with or the lack of dark circles under his green eyes.

It’s quite a wonderful day, meeting everyone and learning how such an imposing ship was run. It was invigorating to see your husband in his element, commanding troops and issuing orders. No one could say that he wasn’t good at his job, that much was for certain. The admiration he gains from his officers on the bridge, and from you in private, is well deserved.

After a quiet lunch, which devolved rapidly from getting your stubborn husband to try your more palatable food to an indulgent makeout session against the wall, it was time for the meeting with the Council.

Adjusting your husband’s collar and smoothing back his hair, you enter the long meeting room following him as he sits in his appointed chair. The Council was not on board; were rarely on board, so instead of everyone sitting around the sleek paristeel table, they sat only on one side. General Hux, because of rank and respect, sits in the middle seat, while the rest of the majors and captains sit next to him. You choose to stand behind your darling, blending in with the walls and providing a figurative and literal hand against his back.

Just before the meeting starts, the doors swish open and Kylo Ren storms in, his dark cape fluttering behind him. Like you, he chooses to stand, but unlike you he stays in the corner almost fully disappearing into the darkness. He’s still so strange to you, so unpredictable. But, whether he wants to or not, he invites curiosity. You want to get to know him, learn more about him. Your husband speaks disparagingly of him, but you were sure there was more hidden under the surface. That was something to explore later, you thought, as the screens in front of you flicker to life.

The meeting starts with roll and the expected topics of conversation. It follows with circular arguing and tedium. You understand the reasoning behind group decision making and a forum of discussion, but when you take over, these will be the first things to go. Your husband will have advisors of course, but he will make the final choice and none but you shall question him. A movement catches your eye just then, Lord Ren crossing his arms, and you quickly try to clear your mind. How foolish of you to forget the Force user in the room, to forget who he reported to. The last thing you needed was an errant thought to ruin you. You clench your hands in your gloves and hope he’s focused on the more powerful men and women in the room.

The topic eventually and thankfully changes to where the Order base should be stationed. Various officers speak about their preferred planet, providing slides and information to explain their choice. Hux goes last and it is very clear after a few minutes that he has won the support of his fellow officers around the room. The Council will make the ultimate decision after speaking with the Supreme Leader, but it’s obvious your husband has done his research and is passionate about his choice. You beam with pride at his confident tone and crisp speech.

The Council weighs their decision, speaking of the pros and cons of each planet, with Hux’s suggestion of Serenno being the favored one. But then Allegiant General Pryde speaks up and you barely resist the urge to groan.

“I’m not convinced that Serenno would be the ideal place for a new training facility. It has many favorable qualities, but the other planets brought up do as well. Despite General Hux’s notes, I see no reason why we should pick it over any other. Fondor has our shipyards already in place and Subterrel has mining opportunities. Although if the Council is to truly give their opinions, I still say Exegol is an excellent choice for a new base.” He suggests, the flickering video giving him a blue tinge.

“While I don’t deny that Fondor or Subterrel would work fine, they already have their uses. Fondor is a shipyard, there’s limited space for courses and gyms and the constant machinery and flying around would mess with the cloaking devices and intelligence satellites. Subterrel is a mining planet, the terrain is too rocky and fragile in places to build permanent structures onto and the climate is too unpredictable. They could work, but Serenno is perfect in it’s simplicity. It has fields for farming and forests for shielding and training. The weather is temperate and there are no truly vicious species that would attack us. It is in the Outer Rim which provides an excellent spot in between various trade routes. It even has ties to Count Dooku, if you’re looking for something more spiritual and Separatist.” Hux explains, growing frustrated. It seems that Pryde is aware of his hold over your husband and enjoys exerting his power. His condescension practically leaks out of the video screen as the General continues to defend his ideas.

“And as for Exegol, that pathetic bastion of Sith energy, it is too unknown and unstable. The weather is almost always a downpour and would scramble any incoming or outcoming transmissions. While I hold little stock in the Force, you can not deny that the air is oppressive and dark there. There is something not right about that planet and I will not put my troops in danger out in the Unknown Regions! It has no trade routes, no resources, barely any lifeforms. With all due respect, Allegiant General, I don’t know why you continue to bring up that storm planet when everything points against it being even remotely useful. There is nothing there but old scraps of Star Destroyers and a failed Sith legacy!” Hux continues, getting more agitated. You step forward and place a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from leaping out of his chair. It calms him down a little, and he gathers his papers together as a way to center himself again. There is quiet in the room, everyone taken aback by your husband’s sudden ferocity and a few members of the council clear their throats in the awkward silence.

“All of you have provided excellent choices for the new base and I think I speak for the Council when I agree with General Hux about his choice. Serenno seems to have everything the First Order could need for a new permanent base and, once we receive confirmation from the Supreme Leader, construction and deployment can start right away. This concludes our meeting and the secretary droid will be sending you all the minutes shortly. You are dismissed.” The head of the council says, focusing the attention. He is a very old man, having started his career as a Lieutenant in the fledgling Empire and working his way up. It was time he retired, you thought offhandedly, watching him shakily raise a glass of water to his lips before signing off.

Other officers gather their things and exit, more screens turn off. The secretary droid makes a few beeps and exits as well; leaving only you, your husband, and Pryde’s image still in the room. Pryde is leaning back in his chair, eyes focusing intently on you. His gaze lingers on your neck and the bite mark and you can feel his stare as you swallow in trepidation.

“I’m surprised to see your wife here General, I was under the impression that she was not enlisted personnel.” He sneers. Hux bristles so minutely that it doesn’t show in his face but you can feel the insult under your palm.

“My job is one of my biggest concerns and I spend most of my time on the bridge. Any wife that I have would be remiss not to learn more about the things I consider important. Who am I to deny her the opportunity to learn about the Order?” He says casually, barely giving Pryde the courtesy of his attention.

“Although I will admit a lot of the conversation flew over my head. I have a lot to learn it seems.” You pipe up, smiling brightly at the image of Pryde. He smirks in response.

“As nice as it is to see you Lady Hux, let’s not make this a recurring appearance. I’ll speak with you shortly about the base plans, General.” With that, Pryde signs off and his image disappears. You let out an audible sigh of relief and sit down in a chair next to your husband.

“Stars I hate that man! I feel like he’s always looking at me, it makes my skin crawl.” You complain, taking off your gloves. Your darling chuckles and leans back in his chair as well.

“I can tell, he bothers me too. He was friends with my father growing up and I think it infuriates him that I’m General and my father is dead. Perhaps he’s mad he can’t shut me up the way he used to.” Hux muses, looking over at you softly, reaching out and taking your hand. He doesn’t have to say how Pryde used to silence him. The proof is in the faint scars on his back, the ones you have only seen a few times before, the ones you kiss in the hopes that your adoration will melt them away. If there was no other reason to get rid of Pryde and the Council, those scars would be enough.

“His obsession with Exegol is unusual and confusing. A Sith planet should not interest him so much, especially one that the Supreme Leader disregards.” Lord Ren says from his corner and you jump in your seat at the sound. Hux doesn’t react, used to the other man sulking around in strange places. You wonder if you should be afraid that he heard you speak against Pryde, but your husband hasn’t reacted much beyond a tightening of his jaw.

“Lord Ren, forgive me! I didn’t realize you were still here.” You apologize as he approaches the both of you. From your seated position he looks even larger than normal, the black of his uniform subsuming the lights in the room like a black hole.

“Don’t fret my dear, Ren was the one hiding in the shadows like a Mynock. He should apologize to you.” Hux drawls, glaring at Lord Ren’s helmet. There is a stand off between the two men and the air in the room grows thicker and thicker until it finally dissipates with Lord Ren speaking.

“You should consider being more agreeable like your wife. For once I am on your side, I too think Serenno is a good choice. The other planets are unworthy and useless to your cause. The Supreme Leader has many plans I am not privy to but none of them should involve Exegol.” The modulated voice says.

Hux nods his head and raises his eyebrows in acquiesce. You’re sure your face matches his.

“You have my thanks Lord Ren. I’m glad we’re seeing eye to eye on this matter.” He says diplomatically. The leather of Kylo Ren’s gloves creaks ominously in the pause though he doesn’t seem furious. In fact, his hidden gaze lasers in on you and your husband’s held hands.

It is safe to say you are surprised by Lord Ren’s behavior and the mystery of who he is grows deeper. You long to see what’s under the helmet, imagining that it must be absolutely hideous and monstrous. That to look upon the Knight’s face must cause madness or combustion. It must be awful. He turns to you then and your eyes widen with the realization that he has been divining your thoughts.

“It’s worse.” Is all he says before exiting the room. You let out a breath and glance sideways at your husband and smile.

“Oh, I like him.”

Hux rolls his eyes and leads you out of the room to continue his shift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later in your quarters, you and your husband are enjoying dinner. Your meal is a delicious baked fish with seasoned vegetables, the scent wafting pleasantly around your head. For once, Hux has gotten the same thing as you, his immature palate enjoying the lighter fare of fish and vegetables over some of the heartier things you had before. You had to go slow with it, otherwise he could make himself sick with the richer flavors.

Millie has finished her dinner and now sleeps happily on top of your feet under the table. Messy, your affectionately named mouse droid, hasn’t left their charging station but you hoped she wouldn’t terrorize the poor metal thing for much longer. It was hard to send messages when your droid wouldn’t even cross the living room floor. But she’s quiet and still now, her purring is soft background noise to the conversation you’re having with your husband, recounting the day's events and making plans for tomorrow.

It isn’t until dessert; various fresh fruits in an attractive display, that you bring up something more serious.

“I don’t know if we’re going to be able to do this quickly. Killing the Council members all at once will look suspicious and treasonous and it will be harder to stay anonymous.” You breathe out, forking a piece of melon. Hux nods but doesn’t look worried. You feel guilty for being apprehensive, but seeing all the men together and safe in their homes makes you anxious.

“I knew that this would take the longest and that it would have to be done slowly. As much as I want to just open fire on the whole stupid lot of them, we must remain as distant from their deaths as possible. But I don’t think we have to tick off each member one by one over the course of several years.” He says, before popping a dark purple berry in his mouth. His lips twitch at the tartness of the fruit and a spark of desire ignites inside you.

“The death of their fellow members might make a few of them retire for their safety, that would take care of a few. But I’m also worried that if we rapidly take down a chunk of them, the others will respond with heightened security. I’m not a trained hitman, I can’t go up against higher protective measures.” You stress, wiping your mouth and pushing your plate away. Hux looks confused and you’re not sure why.

“What do you mean you’re not a hitman? You’re going to be the one to kill them? Absolutely not! I won’t allow it, I won’t put you in danger. I thought we’d hire a Mandalorian or some upstart Trooper.” He snaps, brows coming together in anger. Carefully pulling your feet out from under your cat, you get up and go to your husband, kneeling on the floor next to his chair. It’s a supplicated position, but you knew how to appeal to his ego.

“Darling I have to. We can’t involve anyone else in our plans, it’s too risky. Someone who can be bought may not care about our reasons but they also will divulge them to the highest bidder. We need to be overseeing everything and what better way than to do it ourselves. While I wasn’t out training with guards, I have taken courses in self defense. I know how to protect myself.” You say, clutching at his sleeve. He looks down at you, forehead relaxing.

“I don’t want you to get caught or hurt, (Y/N), it’s dangerous. Let me do it, I would certainly have reasons to be in close proximity to them.”

“No darling please, I have to do it. You have to stay as far removed as possible. You can’t be linked at all. You just need to look innocent. You need to be perceived as taking the power they leave behind with resigned confidence. It will endear you to the masses to view you as someone not grasping for power, but instead stepping up to be a leader. Coups can work, but this is not the right one.” You plead as he brushes his fingers across your brows and against your lips.

“Don’t you think my being married to the murderer connects me?” He asks, his voice growing fond. You turn your head to kiss his fingertips and the flame of arousal grows within you.

“Only if I get caught.” You counter and he leans forward to kiss you. You get back to your feet and he follows you, lips never leaving each other as you blindly move towards the ice blue couch where you straddle him. It’s a pose that reminds you of your first real memory of him, all those months ago in your parent’s estate. He still grabs and grips your waist with intensity and his eyes still hold such a calculating appraisal when he opens them in between kisses.

Your hands come up to run through his hair as you curve towards each other, breaking up the gelled strands. Your sister had recently become engaged to a businessman, some kind of droid oil mogul, and having seen a picture of the man you can’t help but admire your own husband’s appearance. The warm lighting of your quarters and impassioned down time only benefit him, making him look less wan and pallid than before. While you haven’t discussed it yet, and you aren’t ready for them, you hope your future children will have his looks. You briefly imagine a little boy with red hair and your husband’s dimples, something you had only seen once in the whole time you were married, and the thought causes you to sigh in happiness. Hux relaxes deeper into the couch and you unhook the top of his uniform tunic, your fingers splaying wide on his cool skin. It warms quickly under your touch. He pulls away after a few more moments of this, work always coming first.

“It may not surprise you but many of the Council’s members are incredibly corrupt. Skimming off the top, abusing officers, one even owns pleasure slaves if the open secrets are to be believed. I think with the right kind of publicity, we could spin this. Pin the deaths on a team of justice seeking vigilantes intent on exposing the truth. At the end of all this, we can even ‘discover’ the culprits to be the Resistance and stage an attack without recourse. There’s no downside for us. The Council is gone and with it, we can criticize their behavior and come out looking more worthy of support and praise. We pin it on the Resistance and take out a few of them in justifiable revenge. If you can kill these disgusting, useless men, I can make the Order love you for it.” Hux says and you surge up in a quick kiss before breaking it to tell him some very exciting news.

“I was invited by Colonel Paru’s wife to spend a long weekend at their estate. I believe several other members of the High Council will be there. Shall I come back with their heads for you?” You whisper, your lips moving against his in an almost kiss. You share the same breath and every time your husband leans forward to take them, you pull back imperceptibly.

His hand travels up your side and over your breast to your open collar. His thumb pushes against the bruise he made only the night before and you gasp at the touch.

“Heads seem too messy and hard to display. I don’t need proof of your success, just you.” He says, catching you off guard with tenderness and capturing your lips with his own. He tastes like victory.

Chapter Five Coming Soon....

Tagging: @babbushka, @livy1391, @renaissance-mama, @girl-next-door-writes, @peqchynero, @the-temple-pythoness, @cupofmoonlighttea, @sincerely-cronch, @brujademente, @potato-ren, @ah-callie, @rosirinoa, @niniita-ah, @lwtficrecs, @theold-ultraviolence and please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

#potential #my writing #self insert fanfiction #general hux x reader #general hux imagines #reader insert fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #general hux #i know i said not to expect it but here it is #also i have a pinterest with the fashion of the fic #if anyone is interested #fanfiction

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the-house-of-the-nine · 4 years

Text

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 1

[ And so the journey begins. Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously. Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine? Please Like, Share, and Follow us! We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] - Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

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The Hour was up ....

[ L. K ] Marseille, Pame, and Jursol would break their separate ways to prepare however they would. The Shaldorei knew this was going to be an exclusively hands on effort; he'd pack additional knives around a newly formatted belt holster just in case.

Jursol would no doubt have prepared by readying her weapons for the hunt; voodoo rituals for prayer and protection; and plenty of needed items for her raptor companions.

Pame was very much like the old elf; choosing to ready herself by getting all the necessary armor and weapons she'd need.

Lazarius and Verzatea spent their time with Brinys. Their accelerated ageless daughter that had not only been born into this world using the void and its magics, but also the darkness that came from a ritual Lazarius himself had forbid himself to use again.

The oldest of companions would share one last embrace; and in a twisted turn of events even read and help one another tuck the young girl into her bed.

Abbigael would be in charge of watching the young child as Kross and Koltun had made their way to Silithus in the hunt to find Pyravari. Leaving only the younger sister Siida, to protect the Bastille.

The Hour was up.... Using their ability to walk through the bridged fourth dimension, Lazarius would pull their talismans to the Bastille and convert the energy to give them a straight gateway into Quel'thalas. Lazarius and Verza easily blended in, as well as Mars who was giving Pame a disguise to help her look as much like one of his own. Jursol would probably just give as many dirty looks to the snide little elves if they dared question the majestic Zandalari in their city.

Regardless it would not be for long. They weren't staying. From the large open gates of the city; Lazarius had organized a ride for them to caravan down through the southern parts of the Eversong Woods and into the Ghostlands.

The push to find this hidden grotto that Raelyndia once kept along the shore was indeed dire.

And Lazarius would waste no time getting them on the move.

In Tranquillen the party would disembark from their wagon and prepare to move through the still heavily dead infested lands. They would need to move West to the Coast, then again further south.

Lazarius' only means of navigation and reference was in a small passage he'd found in a book in the former Kashebahl Estate. He'd know Rae kept this place secret; and it would be the first time he'd ever come this far.

[ T ] As the group made it to Tranquillen and began to head westward, they'd find themselves being followed the minute the cobblestone paths began to end. However quiet the figure tried to be, blood elves are simply not made to traverse the leaf-litter and sticks as silently as lynxes can. There were painfully obvious crunches of dead foliage, which were a dead giveaway to anyone who could hear in general, for he was just over 40 yards away.

But hunger can drive people to do stupid things, it seems. But, he at least tried his very hardest. No older than fourteen, the boy did everything he could to attempt to hide as he followed - namely, he tried to break up his outline by smearing mud on his frail, thin body. His clothing consisted of what was once a plain linen shirt and pants, but was now rags, held together with strips of cloth that functioned as both bandages and a belt.

Sadly, mud camo was the only real tactic he knew to avoid being seen, and with how little he knew, it was a miracle that he hadn't been hunted down by a wayward lynx, stuck to the web of an enormous spider, or carried off by some overgrown bat. He was almost beginning to think they'd thought him too pathetic to even eat - he was underfed, scrawny, and decidedly mute.

Even his black hair somehow looked pathetic, the way it was always looking to be wet when in reality it was just that greasy and dirty. He was also missing the very tip of his left ear - no doubt there was some nasty, unpleasant story behind that. The scrawny little runt thought maybe he could snag some food by following the group. Or maybe get a quick and merciful death - whichever happened first.

[ V . D ] The tingle from providing Brinys a last kiss goodnight lingered on the Confessors frowning lips as she moved at the pace of the traveling band. Misfits as they were, she couldn't deny the surge of confidence it brought to be in the company of such worthy and powerful companions. It brought her a glimmer of hope.

She stepped lightly, matching the pace of the grumpy kaldorei. But in truth, unlike the sour faced Pame, Tea truly seemed at peace in the great city of Quel'thalas, surely resembling just about any other tall, thin and graceful woman, but even with the lack of uniqueness there was a great swell of pride in Teas chest to see the majesty of the city once more.

She wore a most genuine smile through their trek, though she clutched the handle of the old black sword from the peak of her youth-- a simple short sword but one which had protected Tea all those years before she fully harnessed her magic.

It felt odd to.wear it again, but that certainly reminded Tea that perhaps she truly had become magic dependent. Alas, rather than linger on that thought she pushes forward and refocuses on the world around their group. Pame, herself, wasn't focused on a damn thing besides the world around them.

This included, as her long ears would twitch with every little step, the poorly disciplined stalker who followed them.

Her eyes move toward Marseille and Jursol, though she made no effort to speak up about the stalker. Surely they knew, though Pame hadn't a clue how to address the situation; If they even needed to address it. Instead, with a soft huff, the elf clutches her gloved hands into fists to still her rising suspicions of what lingered in the shadows.

She'd await for orders to break rank to investigate, but by the heavens didn't she have a mighty need to scold whatever followed them for being so reckless and clueless.

[ L. K ] Through it all; Lazarius was stone faced and reserved. With his Confessor at his side; it seemed all too familiar, the sight of the old miserable Kashebahl and the rapier wit Duskflame. Laz and Tea had been down this road many of times, far too many to begin worrying about some little runt following them. But Lazarius knew. Perhaps not because Marseille, who also like his sister in arms Pame, heard the boy, but because Lazarius was sensing something entirely different.

The boy was giving off a large amount of energy; not magically or anything like that, but in the form of something else. Lazarius was aware of everything around them; be it alive or dead he was detecting the force of gravitational decay on all things near by.

He knew the boy was there and would have observed him by bending the physics of light entering his deadly poisonous iris of venom to see what was actually happening without ever needing to look behind.

But a small finger raised and sent was all that was needed for Marseille. As his Masters Shade, and Pame as well promoted to that position, both predators were cleared.

Jursol knew her job. She was granted the seat on the council as not only a mistress of blood magic but also as a guardian. Her and the raptors were primarily tasked with the outer defenses of the Bastille. That massive gated doorway that bled into the Ruins of the Nerubian empire. The tunnels that went miles and miles under the crust. Jursol had teams to keep them cleaned, patrol and hunt for threats.

She was literally the first line of defense, and as such Marseille did not give her orders but rather knew she would remain by both Verza and Lazarius’ side as he and the Kaldorei did what they did best, hunt.

Only a glance was given to Pame; they’d practiced this drill ten thousand times and ten thousand times more they would repeat it. He broke left, and she broke right. Swiftly moving from treetops and bushes, darting in and out of cover, blades at the ready.

[ T ] The runt was noticing the changes in the group; Children are often more perceptive than adults, in both magical and non magical affairs. Without thinking, he simply hid in a bush, and waited. The rustle of leaves was particularly loud...but to some, there was a slightly louder sound, too.

Fear is an excellent catalyst for magic at times, and this was one of those times. There was an odd, but familiar sound...it was not unlike a shrill whine. Not everyone could hear it, only those inclined to the forces of the elder gods.

It was a maddening sound that would threaten to unravel those who hear it for the first time. But this boy had heard it before; A lifetime of abuse and self-doubt had left him vulnerable to such forces.

Not only did this sound likely broadcast his location easily to others, but it also drew the ire of wild beasts. A small, ordinary bat driven to hatred began to swarm the voiceless child, who had begun to curl up in hopes the angry bat would stop biting him soon.

[ J ] Jursol remained silent as she stayed near the others. Her steps far more silent then most. Long ears twitched as she listened to the tiny stalker. No threat was felt off it, so she remained on the path. Watching the others closely as she moved freely through the area.

Treetops, brush, it’s nothing to her. Honestly she was enjoying the area even though she was focused on the task at hand. Now and then she’d smirk thinking of how the Elves looked at her. It was clear many never saw anything like her before.

This amused her greatly. During the walk many wild animals seemed to look at her. They seemed confused but also some were drawn to her. Jimba was small but fierce. He heard the stalker and was nipping at Jursol to tell her. As she heard the child’s cry she turned to look at the others. Still silent as she gave a nod as if asking to check it out.

[ V . D ] The wonderful thing about Pames armor, in her honest opinion, was the darker shades of green and black. She had been prepared for this sort of drill, given she had spent a good twenty minutes brushing her thick hair down into a sleek updo, her hair braided tight and wound into a swirl bun center on the back of her head, pinned down to not move even a little.

It was meant to help conceal the majority of her scent as well ensure the long strands couldn't get caught up or distract her during a fight. But also... It helped especially during stealth operations. The moment she pulled her hood up and leapt clean from the ground to a nearby tree limb, she'd become one with nature.

Merely a a misplaced blur that disappears between the cracks of the leaves and the winding branches. This was where she was most at home. Bounding with the prowess of an amazonian among dense trees and thick foliage. In truth she wasn't as quiet as she could have desired.

But she stepped as lightly as she could, her balance superb with her sure footing (even if most of it was out of pure confidence and luck), carrying the heavy armor and weapons as gracefully as possible.

Thankfully her hours practicing her fighting became of useful sacrifice in the end, in exchange for her social life, given them beefy arms and thighs. Once she was close enough to the location of interest, and the person of interest, the maiden settled herself within a reasonable distance for to make good use of her throwing knives.

Without a hesitation to consider the situation, the kaldorei swiftly neutralizes the threat of the bats. Knives penetrated the bodies of the flying pests, ripping them straight from the air and pinning them to the ground. Of course she'd leave it at that, lingering in the darkness of the canopy whilst clutching another knife between her gloved fingers. Now she would monitor, to determine an appropriate way to neutralize this issue; Preferably without conflict.

Verzatea was oblivious. Not necessarily blind, simply unconcerned with the issue. She genuinely trusted in the abilities of those in their group for this mission; And so she invested her interest in the two remaining bodies near her so the trio could get far enough away to engage in conversation.

"Have you two eaten in the last few hours? I brought a bit of bread and fruit!"

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 2″

@siidaraykashebahl

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@pyravari-kashebahl

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@whatadarkbitch

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#the house of the nine #thehouseofthenine #guildfamily #originalcharacters #original story #epictale

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the-durin-boys · 5 years

Text

Mushrooms..? -- Thorin x Reader

Howdy yall I hope you like this I got this idea when I was falling asleep and u know those dreams where ur like half awake and half asleep? It was like that, and I was dreaming about this. So I got up and wrote it.

Enjoy!

--- The morning hunt was not as successful as it could have been, Fili and Kili only bringing back two small rabbits that would, in no way, feed fifteen people. Everyone was, of course, disappointed and hungry, but all had the better mind to not complain.

So not the best start to your day. You knew that when you signed that contract that you would be going on an adventure where the next place that you sleep, eat, and drink, would not be known or assured, so of course you knew that there would be some days where there would be little to no food. You aren’t an idiot.

But by the gods. This. This is just awful. Just a truly awful experience.

The day before the company of Thorin Oakenshield had been run down and then chased through a field full of hidden rocks and roots, the hunters being a pack of Orcs (again). This forced the company into hiding, without a fire, and without movement for several hours. By the time the Orc pack had left, it was far too late into the night to actually go out and successfully and safely hunt for dinner. Thorin forbid the use of a fire that night, so everyone went to sleep tired, cold, and hungry, hoping that the dawn of tomorrow would bring about food and peaceful travel. And as you can see, that is not how things went down.

Balin rationalized the lack of game in the forest to the forest just being run dry by other hunters and hungry folk. So the day started off less than lackluster, and as the company slowly and hungirly packs up their bags, the Master Burglar, Bilbo Baggins, has an idea.

“We could go foraging. For food that is.” He pauses and looks around the lightly wooded area that the company hid in. Bilbo’s hands are at his hips as he quickly surveys the trees. “There might be some edible mushrooms and possibly some berries that might make up for a lack of breakfast.” Thorin steps forward, a stern look on his face but a gleam in his eye.

“Well why didn’t you speak up earlier?” Thorin’s shadow all but hides the poor hobbit, who can do nothing but squeak until Bofur claps a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, he’s only jokin’ with ya, Bilbo! Now, what were you sayin’ about those mushrooms?”

It doesn’t take long for a small pack of dwarves to form, and then they’re off, being led into the forest by Bilbo. Left behind in the camp are you (you have no idea what mushrooms are good, bad, and drugs), Ori, Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. You kept yourself busy, puttering around the little camp, mending clothing that needed it, filling up water sacks, the like. You always did little things like this, and thus, quickly became cherished by those around you. It had gotten to such a state where the others would actually jump on your chores, and help you out. A few even asked if they could do anything for you. You politely declined, saying that you enjoyed the work, and that you are grateful for something to keep you busy, as you never liked to dottle.

“Thorin.” You approach the king who sits smoking his pipe. Thorin quirks an eyebrow up at your funny little mannerisms and sees a small, folded stack of (just washed, your friends are considerate of you.) clothes. “You have anything that needs mending?” The lilt of your tongue always surprised him, he doesn’t know why. There’s nothing too odd or off about the way that you speak, or the grammar that you use, and maybe it’s just because Thorin’s used to hearing the gruff sounds of words being pushed past bearded lips. That’s not to say that he is complaining, no, it’s far from that. Each time you spoke Thorin could feel himself being drawn towards you, and he just wanted to sit and listen to you talk. The feelings that Thorin feels aren’t absolutely unknown, just old and dusty from not having been used in many a year. You blink down at Thorin who only just notices that he’s being staring at your lips a little bit too long, with Dwalin trying to hide his laughter behind a gulp of water.

“Ah, no. Thank you, (Y/N).” Thorin then busies himself with smoking his pipe, and looking at the grain of the wood which suddenly got very interesting. You purse your lips and look down at Thorin, but elect to say nothing to the slight quiver of his voice, and choose to turn to Dwalin.

“Have anything for me, Dwalin?” Dwalin rests his hand on his back, and gives you a smile.

“All good here, lassie.” You return his smile and move to a shaded spot under a little tree, leaving Thorin and Dwalin to talk. “So. Thorin.” Thorin takes in a deep breath and promptly sputters on the smoke. Dwalin snorts at watching his King and friend get flustered like a dwarfling over the kindest of the Company.

“Leave it, Dwalin.” The sternness that Thorin was going for gets lost in translation as he chokes on another lungful of smoke, twice now. In one day. More in one day than in an entire year. Dwalin chuckles to himself but leaves the subject be.

In the forest, the rest of the dwarves and Bilbo have successfully managed to fill several sacks with wild mushrooms of all assortments. Several times throughout the little field trip Bilbo was questioned about the different types of mushrooms, giving a variety of different lessons on the types of wild mushrooms (he thought that the dwarves would have known a bit more about forest living, but that’s quite alright.), and gave many reassurances that the mushrooms that they were going to eat would not in any way get them stone, killed, or in any other way affect their health. As the group not-so-stealthily makes their way back to camp, the air seems to lift and the thought of hunger is soon to be forgotten.

The boisterous noise of the small group alerted the attention of you and the others at camp, and soon, you were up with everyone else to help distribute whatever findings they had.

There was a long debate on how the mushrooms should be cooked - and if at all. The argument was that there would have to be a fire and that there would be no point in cooking them as it would only take up time, energy, and resources. On the other hand, the mushrooms should be cooked because it would be easier to digest and would bring out the flavor of the mushrooms, and that would be a pleasant change from the tasteless water soups and dried meats that everyone had grown accustomed to. Bilbo eventually settled the debate by saying that it would probably be best to eat them raw as while it was safe to ingest, the fumes would not be too safe to inhale.

Each portion was dished out equally and the company sat and ate the mushrooms, thankful that they had something to fill their empty bellies, though something…..odd, started to happen. Only to you, apparently. About ten minutes after you finished your portion of mushrooms, all of the colors seemed...brighter? Your body adopts this new sense of freedom, like there’s helium being pumped through your veins and it’s lifting you off the ground. You feel the days, and the yesterdays, stresses melt off of you and you giggle. Just a little giggle. A few more minutes pass and the textures of the things around you start to shift and move, and for some reason, this sends you into a fit of side-peeling laughter, and in turn, this gets the attention of literally everyone in a forty mile vicinity.

“What’s so funny lassie?” Bofur, your best friend through this whole thing, asks, eyebrow quirked and smile on his face.

“I don’t even know! I-” Your face pales very quickly and you almost dry heave, clapping a hand over your mouth in an instant. The rest of the company, who was watching this entire ordeal, jumps to their feet at your sudden deterioration in health. Thorin is by your side in a flash, quickly pulling your hair out of your face as Bofur turns you so that you vomit into the grassy underbrush of the forest, gagging up the little meal that you had. All Thorin could do was gently rub your back and hold your hair while you topple forward, spinning where you sat. Thorin doesn’t know when Oin arrived, but he lets him take over and do his job, whilst he moves aside to watch.

Oin had eventually declared that the mushrooms were the things that had this effect on you, but “not anyone else, which is as strange as it is fascinating!”, and it had been ruled that these mushrooms had a similar effect that one of his medicines had, and he had stated that while these mushrooms had no effect on anyone else, the makeup of the human body made it so it was more like a drug than a food, and that you had simply had too much and needed to let your system calm down and clear out, which would only take about twenty to thirty minutes for the initial high, and from there, he isn’t as sure.

Fili, Kili, and Bilbo have tasked themselves with watching you and keeping you company. Bilbo does so because he feels at fault for this situation, even though he has been assured many a time that it was not his fault that you reacted differently. Fili and Kili stayed because the way you laugh at nothing is probably the most amusing thing they have seen in a long time. Bilbo eventually moved away, taking up the stitching that you were doing to make up for what had happened.

You had been quiet for a few minutes, staring pensively off into the distance, eyes wide and full of an unknown knowledge, something that would probably be lost as soon as your high was gone. Fili and Kili continue to jest and joke, but stop abruptly when they here you sniffle.

“Hey hey hey hey, (Y/N). What’s wrong?” Fili asks scooting a bit closer to you. Fili doesn’t know what he did or what set you off, but as soon as he said those words, fat hot tears burst and roll down your cheeks as you start to sob. Thorin, who was walking nearby, quickly walks over and stands above his nephews.

"What did you do?" Fili and kili look panicked.

"We didn't do anything!" Fili cries. "She just started to cry!" Kili is just as baffled as his brother, frozen and unsure as what should be done. Thorin sighs and crouches down next to you, gently taking your hands in his.

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" You don't look at Thorin. "(Y/N)?" Thorin tries again by gently turning your chin with his thumb and forefinger. You blink up at him with big watery eyes and Thorin can only ignore the pang in his heart. "What's wrong?" You sniffle and more tears well up in your eyes.

"It's not fair!" Thorin's voice is smooth and gentle, unlike anything Fili and Kili have ever heard before as they stand and move away from their uncle and friend.

"What's not fair?" You almost start to wail, and Thorin moves a bit closer, his temple braids brushing your hands.

"You have SUCH pretty hair!” Thorin freezes but you continue. “And I can't touch it and I can't play with it and I can’t even say anything about it.." your voice breaks and your lip quivers. Thorin almost laughs but manages to keep himself composed.

"Really? You think my hair is pretty?" You grip Thorin's hands in your own and lean forward.

"Very." Your expression is dead serious for only a minute before a wide smile spreads across your face and you laugh, letting your head drop into Thorin's shoulder. "I'm feeling' tired." Thorin doesn't even try to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

"Then I guess you best be off to bed then, huh?"

"I guess.." you hum into his coat, letting Thorin gently pull you off of him, but your already fast asleep in Thorin's arms, leaving a very happy Thorin, and a very confused company, behind.

Word count: 2,092

I hope you enjoyed reading! If you want to see something specific or see a certain pairing, feel free to make requests!

Love and best to all,

-ya gorl

#Thorin Oakenshield #thorin fanfiction #thorins company #thorin x reader #thorin imagine #x reader #oneshot #the hobbit #i love thorin oakenshield so much like yall #im in love #sry for the spelling and grammar mistakes im writing this at 230 in the morning

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