#possessed by immense drawing energy in the middle of the night
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⁜ Il cielo guarda solo chi merita ⁜
--
Kofi | Patreon
#oc#casity#broken dahls#knight#doodles#possessed by immense drawing energy in the middle of the night#Definitely the realm of the kinda art-vibes I wanna do more of--#edgey pseudo-catholic aesthetic tarot card sorta stuff o vo#mixed some of Casity's OG goth/angel vibes into the newer fantasy direction she and her world have taken these days#a good drawing night for me -- would love a repeat#lyric is from mahmood's ghettolimpo#for no reason other than i like how it sounds#cuz in reality i was listening to MCR and ibaraki while actually drawing c:
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pick a card: your energy translated to a famous horror movie
pile 1 -> pile 2
pile 3 -> pile 4
JOIN MY DISCORD
MASTERLIST
MY KOFI
INSTRUCTIONS: breath in, breath out and choose whatever picture that draws you in the most!
NOTE: it’s completely fine if you are attracted to more than one pile - the universe probably wants you to see some other messages. this is also general reading, not everything may resonate! enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: spooky themes
PILE 1
THE NUN (2017)
your energy translates into dark abandoned-looking churches and a cold eerie atmosphere. you embody something that shouldn't be happening, that is considered forbidden: the evil taking over a holy place - a demon haunting a nunnery. for this reason, you have a certain duality; you are both bad and good in your own sacred temple.
your aura radiates a feeling of mystery, like something is off, something is not completely right, and that something is safely kept hidden. if other desire to know your true self, they must fight and search for it restlessly. your being is an unsettling question to many, and you do not wish to surrender the question easily.
you are subtly coordinated, you enjoy a certain feeling of order. however, again, you don't back away from chaos. you have to have both, black and white - it completes you. the peace and patience of a nun and the mayhem and sharpness of a demon - both beautifully coexist in you.
you are a graveyard of long-dead nuns in the middle of the night - you understand the beauty of silence, you understand the immense power of it. you have an affinity with the night, the moon or the stars, or something about this time is weirdly important to you.
but you are also the light in the same nun graveyard, a dim corridor, or in any evil-powered room. you are a lantern of wisdom and logical hope. it must be because you are spiritual - you see things that other don't, and you apply the knowledge to each of your steps.
and you can be very determined if you want to. in fact, if you truly want something, you will have it. your enemies may think they have won, but you stay one step ahead. you win in your own silence - after all, the demon was not defeated fully, the end of the movie showed that it has left a possession mark on one of the protagonists.
PILE 2
THE CONJURING 3: THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT (2021)
your energy is comforting. people may often find solace in your embrace; you are cosy wooden houses, warm lights and a hopeful, unbreakable belief. however, it doesn't change the fact that those wooden houses are haunted, and the lights are from the candles used in satanic rituals, and the belief is the hope of being more powerful than an evil spirit. but everything still feels like home, known and weirdly safe. maybe it's your power to persuade, to trick others into thinking what you want them to think. most believe you easily, no matter what. for this reason, not everyone knows the realest you. in fact, you rarely voice out your real thoughts. you tend to hide main aspects of yourself.
you are complex. your personality consists of many facets. you have several faces and each of them are equally you. you don't exactly fake your personality, but you do hide.
your energy is like a ritual - compelling and attractive. you may find people getting attached to you or your presence. your energy is as addictive as a baleful cult. others may even feel a special connection with you as if you have used black magic on them - but it's just your nature.
you are protective and selfless to the ones you love. you are strong, but people love to underestimate you. your power sometimes goes beyond your expectations or knowledge. you are an enigma to the world and even to yourself.
you are crimson red blood, cold tears, deep rivers, night rain and holy water. you flow; either the way you speak or the way your hands move flows like a liquid. you are flexible - you adapt well. you understand human psychology well; you have a gift of easily "breaching" into someone's mind or heart and manipulating it the way you want to. you are a full-blown possession.
PILE 3
ANNABELLE COMES HOME (2019)
your energy translates into a story of a haunted doll. you are a doll, seemingly innocent and unconventionally pretty. you choose to have only a few to keep nearby, or maybe no one at all. you are good at making friends - you are quite friendly and kind.
but all of this is a façade that people blindly assume to be true at first. the real truth is that you have a hidden side that could be even described as sinister. you are usually in control of it, and when you aren't - god bless the surroundings. you can unleash yourself and become absolutely unhinged.
you have a duality that people don't see: on the outside you are a bit weird but cute dolly with a tidy white dress, but inside - the hell is boiling. you are a being full of emotions, and you could tend to release them with the usage of your hobbies or talents.
because of your deceptive looks, people may underestimate your smartness/wisdom. your opinions or advices may get overlooked, but most of the time they end up being true - and others regretting not listening to your words. whatever you tell is like a curse, an incantation, a cite from the bible - it's powerful and has a strong meaning attached.
you can have obsessive tendencies just like annabelle: stalking, heavy reading into people's social behaviour - and using all of this to your advantage. you are a strategic thinker.
you are a possessed porcelain doll, a ghostly victorian girl's room, a dusty pale lace. you are greyishly pastel; you have the innocence of an abandoned little girl but the recurring thoughts of a thousand year old malevolent entity.
your energy is hauntingly beautiful, and it's ever living. you always come back no matter what. no force can destroy or stop your distinctive persona. especially not a glass cage.
PILE 4
AMITYVILLE: THE AWAKENING (2017)
your energy is eerie. extremely eerie. there is a constant feeling of something is "off", something is unknown and not exactly safe. people around you may feel like they have just met a supernatural being; a ghost, a vampire or a demon. people can't fully relax around you, every minute they seem to be trying to puzzle you out or calm themselves down. you are intriguing.
you like realistic approaches to life, you don't ponder too much about praying or hoping. you like to take action. you might be considered a bit impulsive because of this.
you are a leader. you are not scared to be alone, you are not scared to be left misunderstood or unheard. you can lay in bed completely paralysed with a barely functioning body while also getting constantly tortured by demonic spirits, and you would still fight until your last breath. you are not scared to make sacrifices.
you have a gift of courage and curiosity, combined with an appropriate amount of knowledge. you are a survivor. you are not afraid to fight a demon, you are not afraid to protect your family from any horrors.
your energy is intense. you are like tag the game, just instead of an innocent touch of a hand we have a cold metal bullet in your head. you are nerve-wrecking and bold. you are the fear of every shy boy or girl.
you are a demonic room hidden behind a wall under a quite normal-looking house. however, the house was never normal and never will be; the whole town knows. you have an influential persona and aura. many talk about you, their conversations can't leave your name alone. you are the classic blueprint.
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caught in the middle (1); m. barzal
SYNOPSIS: For the sake of your friend’s wedding with Tito, you and Mat agree to maintain the facade of still being the happy couple everyone sees you as. But the act comes with its consequences, one more taxing than the other.
WARNINGS: language.
WORD COUNT: 11.2k
A/N: I am so excited for this because it contains some of the tropes I enjoy seeing in fics, and I was dying to also put out some new content as opposed to only reposting my old writing. I wish I wrote this when I was still decent at doing the thing, but I hope that this is still an enjoyable read that makes you look forward to the next part! Title is based off Alexander 23′s Caught in the Middle which is such a good song and I really recommend. Sections in italics represent flashbacks.
PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4
“We’re getting married!”
You gasped, bringing both hands to cover the lower half of your face as your jaw dropped at the announcement. It shouldn’t be so surprising – you would’ve bet even your most prized possession that this was bound to happen at some point eventually – but knowing this was actually now a sure thing sent a thrill through you. It didn’t take long for the shock to wear off and in place of it, your expression mirrored that of your best friend’s: the wide grin, the bright eyes and of course, the giggles of sheer excitement as soon as the news sunk in. Elise was glowing and next to her, Tito embodied the idea of what the world’s proudest man would look like.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, and Elise burst into laughter, not hesitating to jump out of her seat at the same time you did so that the two of you could embrace. Among your squeals and giggles, you could faintly make out the sound of hands being clapped, then caught sight of Mat and Tito hugging. Over Elise’s shoulder and over Tito’s, you and Mat exchanged smiles and you couldn’t help the chuckle that left your mouth as soon as he winked at you. “Congratulations!” you said as soon as you broke apart, though the two of you still held hands. Immediately, your gaze fell down to her hand where a ring now rested, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t taken notice of it earlier. “Just—when? How? Where? Who else knows?”
“We don’t have a date or venue set yet, but we wanted you and Mat to be the first to know,” Elise informed you as soon as you took your seats again.
“We have a favour to ask from both of you,” Tito supplied. As soon as he said it, you felt Mat’s hand wrap around your own and the two of you exchanged a brief look during which he squeezed your hand gently, before diverting your attentions back to the soon-to-be newlyweds.
Newlyweds. The immensity of the word sent a discrete shiver down your spine.
“I can’t imagine asking this of anyone else: I want you to be my best man,” Tito directed at Mat.
“You shouldn’t even think of asking this of anyone else,” Mat responded immediately, and the two shook hands on it. You couldn’t help but think that if they weren’t as comfortable as they were now, they’d probably hug again, do their typical pats on the back or fist bump as they usually did, but Elise’s head now rested on Tito’s shoulder and Mat’s hand was so warm, so firm atop your own.
“Be my maid of honour, please?” Elise asked. “I can’t think of anyone more suitable than you and Mat as best man and maid of honour. We’ll return the favour of course,” she added playfully.
“I’ll hold you to that,” you warned without hesitating because after all, you had no reason to – and you knew Mat would agree with you.
Although the two of you hadn’t touched on the subject yet, there was an unvoiced knowledge shared between you that eventually, this would also be you. Eventually, Mat would ask you and your heart would grow and your soul would warm, and you would say yes. Yes, yes, yes.
As you all settled down to hear a replay of how Tito popped the question and Elise accepted the ring, Mat’s thumb began caressing the back of your hand. Though the gesture wasn’t a novelty, you couldn’t help but take notice of the way your heart fluttered each time he seemed to linger more on your ring finger. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a ring wrapped around it but neither of you were in a rush: you simply waited for the right time to take your relationship to a point in which it would become a forever thing, fully confident it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ but rather, ‘when’.
*
This was anything but the right time.
You frown as you cast a glance down at the phone resting on your lap, eyes narrowing a little at the name which brought the display to life for the second time in the space of less than a minute. You click the side button twice, silencing the vibrations of it and from your side, your colleague leans in to whisper to you.
“You can take it if it’s urgent. I’ll fill you in afterwards.”
“Thanks,” you whisper back. “I think it can wait until the meeting wraps up though.”
Luke gives you a well, if you’re sure look as he leaned back in his chair and you flash him a grateful smile.
Still, it is difficult for you to settle comfortably in your seat again and much to your chagrin, you find yourself crossing and uncrossing your legs as if the call had sent some sort of signal to your entire body kickstarting jitteriness you can honestly do without. Not long after you find some comfort and energy to draw yourself back to the present, your phone buzzes again – only once this time, indicating a message.
I’m waiting for you in the lobby.
Fuck, you curse inwardly, locking the phone in frustration. As quietly as you can, you gather your notebook and work tablet then lean in towards Luke who met you halfway. “Have to run but let me know if I miss anything important.”
“At the current rate, I wouldn’t count much on it but will do anyway,” he states as quietly as he can and the two of you exchange sly, conspiratorial smiles before you excuse yourself quickly and very quietly while making a swift exit.
Internally, a string of curses follow without a break in between, and you have to physically bite down on your lip out of sheer fear one might unconsciously slip out. If anyone would be in your shoes, though, they wouldn’t blame you for it. You are the type of person to stick closely to any plans and agreements made, so the fact that he just chose to turn up so unexpectedly doesn’t sit right with you. Not anymore, that is. Besides, you had both agreed to do this after your workday ended as opposed to midday and definitely not in this place. Now, you have to brace yourself for coping with a foul mood on top of whatever else the rest of the day would throw at you.
“You’ve got a visitor,” Rachel announces quietly in a sing-song voice from behind the reception desk as you approach. She doesn’t bother masking the giddiness in her tone and you struggle to work up as genuine of a smile as you can when she nods her head towards the waiting area.
“Thanks, Rach.”
“Bet he must be so happy your redeployment to the Baltimore offices was cut short so quickly,” she coos.
“Sure is. We’re still on for tonight?” you ask quickly in an attempt to drive attention away from the subject before she can try to lead into it too far for your own comfort at the moment.
Rachel’s smile falters a little, her expression somewhat quizzical. “Don’t you want to postpone so you could spend some time with him? You only just got back yesterday, after all.”
You swallow uncomfortably before shrugging. “We’ve got plenty of time to do that. So tonight, okay? I’ll catch you later.”
“Your call. See you then, Y/N!”
You only had just a split second to brace yourself for what is ahead of you, so you draw in a breath then slowly exhale it as discreetly as you can while cutting your way across the lobby. Since agreeing to this meeting, you prepared yourself as best as you could, imagining every single scenario and devising the appropriate plan for it: from the way you presented yourself to what you said, you had a mental plan for everything including a few backups just in case. The only thing you hadn’t factored in, apparently, was how little was under your control and you hated that. Each step you take made you feel less and less prepared for what is ahead, and the thought rattles you. If you were swift enough on your feet, you could just about make a quick turn and dip into the hallway leading to the visitor restrooms. All you need is just a few more seconds. A little alone time for you to run over your lines in your head.
Except—
Mat looks up at the same time you take a step sideways, ready to bolt towards temporary safety. His eyebrows rise a little as if surprised by the sight of you, but you refuse to appear outwardly deflated by the turn of events. Instead, you square your shoulders, tip your head back a little and arch an eyebrow. You can do this. You note he is dressed casually, and his hair is pushed back underneath a black cap.
Unless there was a change in schedule, Thursdays were scrimmage days.
Your jaw clenches ever so slightly as you recall that with so much ease. Then again, you basically built up a collection of information that was practically helpful or useful to exactly no one over the course of the past few years. It’ll probably take just as much or maybe more to replace that with something different, so you try cutting yourself some slack whenever you are willing to.
“I thought we agreed on five thirty,” you state coolly, pitching your voice at just the right tone to also express surprise.
Mat pushes up from the armchair, returning whatever magazine he’d picked up back on the nearby glass table. “Sorry, I tried calling earlier this morning to ask if we can reschedule but it went straight to voicemail.”
Oh. You mentally curse yourself for not charging your phone as soon as you made it home from the airport the previous night or bothering to check the voicemail message you’d been notified of once it did begin charging earlier this morning at your desk.
“They rescheduled the viewing of the new arena for this evening, and I was in the area, so I thought I’ll drop by just in case,” Mat continues, throwing a cursory glance around the place though to you, it seemed more like a way of having a break from the eye contact. You don’t complain; you welcome that.
You open your mouth, ready to berate his poor timing but even you could admit you carry some fault here too. Only a little. You bite down lightly on the tip of your tongue, before nodding towards the seats though you didn’t wait for Mat; you sit, deciding he could make up his own mind if he wanted to follow or not.
“How was Baltimore?” he asks after a few moments of awkward silence while settling in the same armchair he previously occupied.
“Mat,” you say, hoping it comes across as more of a warning than a plea. You can’t deal with small talk and a part of you thinks that’d make the entire deal even more difficult to go through with. He presses his lips together into a thin line and you take that as your sign to continue. “Elise told me she’d like us to be at the venue a day in advance of the rehearsal dinner if we can. I’ve already arranged my leave for that, so it’s not a problem for me. I’m planning on making my way there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“We can go together then. I can pick you up after work.”
“There’s no need—”
“Y/N.” The sharpness of his tone catches you off guard and you can swear Mat was equally surprised by that, though only for the briefest of moments. He slides forward a little in the seat almost as if he is more than ready to leave but Mat has never been one to back down so easily and you doubt any of that changed during the course of the past three months or so. “You were the one who insisted we go through with this and I’m trying. I really am, but you’re not giving me anything to work with. So please. Let’s just put everything to the side, do what we need to do and then it’s done.”
Done. Like it is a task, like it is something you needed to cross off a to-do list, scrunch it up then trash it.
The finality of the word is so heavy that it feels as if it had managed to knock out all the air in your lungs. You and Mat were running headfirst towards a fork in the road, and deep down you knew that was truly it. If until now the two of you have been dancing around each other, playing pretend as if you were kids living in a world of fantasy, you know that eventually, you have to let light shine on the truth: whatever lay ahead, you and Mat could no longer walk the same paths. It is just a matter of admitting it not only to yourselves, but also to the people you were lying to.
Lying for, you prefer.
Defeated, you slump in your own seat a little, legs crossing and fingers tapping lightly against the back of your notebook. “Be at my place by two. I’ll have everything that I need ready the night before so we won’t need to wait around.” A pause, and then, “how’s Tito?”
Mat lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Excited. Nervous. It’s the only thing he talks about in the locker, outside of it, on ice and off ice. How’s Elise?”
“Same deal with her. I never knew there were so many shades of blue before, but I’ve been proven wrong before.”
A pause follows that could easily be attributed to the group of people rushing into the building and allowing noise from the street outside to filter in while the doors were kept open, but you can tell there is more to it than that if you are to go by the shift in Mat’s expression. His expression changes and you find you can’t quite read into it or guess what could be going on through his head. You try not to focus much on the little voice inside your mind that was bothered by it but find it takes a considerable amount of effort to do so. Force of habit, you conclude.
“You don’t say,” Mat finally responds. There is a hint of accusation in his tone. Or regret. Maybe both.
Your lips press together firmly, a light frown forming on your face but chose to let that slide. Not only is the lobby of your workplace the least suitable place to have an argument about the two of you, but you find that even those short moments of seeing Mat face to face months after you called it quits appears to take a toll on you. You feel tired, worn out and willing to be the first one to back down for once.
It is cruel irony that a big red neon EXIT sign is visible from the corner of your eye.
You release a quiet, long sigh then stand up from the seat. “Well, I guess we’re done here? I do have another meeting to prepare for, so…” You trail off, already backing away a few steps.
Mat opens his mouth as if ready to say something else but promptly presses his lips together, deciding against it. He gives a swift nod of his head then stands up. It’s then you notice the two Styrofoam cups in front of him and the neon EXIT sign imprinted in your mind starts flashing temptingly at you. Mat is a step ahead. He holds out one of the cups towards you and you are ready to tell him off for it, but he cut in.
“Thought I wouldn’t drop by empty handed.” When you don’t make a move to accept it, his eyes briefly peek behind you. “Rachel’s all eyes this way, by the way,” he informs you and a brief glance over your shoulder confirms Mat hasn’t been lying.
As soon as you turn to look towards the reception desk, Rachel grins, waves quickly at you then turns back to her computer screen. Begrudgingly, you accept the cup of coffee and force a tight smile.
“See you soon,” you say by way of greeting and didn’t wait to hear a response from Mat.
It isn’t until you scan your pass to cross the security barriers and make a turn out of sight that you take a sip from the drink and almost immediately wish you didn’t. It’s your order to a T. The two of you even brought a coffee machine that would let you replicate it on days when you didn’t feel like leaving the comforts of your apartment, especially days when Mat didn’t need to get up early for practices or scrimmages or evening games. It stayed with Mat when you left and the memory left a bitter taste in your mouth, despite the gentle sweetness of the beverage.
Without thinking twice, you throw the cup in the nearest trash can.
*
As soon as your order is set on the table, you ignore the basket of fries and reach straight for your glass to take a long sip from the straw, letting out a content sigh as soon as you felt satiated enough.
“Long day,” you state in response to Rachel’s raised eyebrows but she seems to accept that by raising her own glass. You clink yours against hers, take a smaller sip then set it back down on the table. “What time do you think you’ll make it over to the hotel?”
“Well, I was thinking of trying to get there by midday on the day of the rehearsal dinner but it’s starting to look more like late afternoon. I’m…” She trails off, and you can just about pick up on her hesitation and the way her gaze shifts over to the side momentarily as if avoiding something or considering whether to continue that. You move in your seat, peeling your back away from the plush backrest to lean in a little closer.
“You’re…” you trail off, voice peaking just a little into a question in an attempt to prompt her to continue.
Rachel takes a deep breath in, shoulders visibly drooping and when she looked back at you, she did so with a look that could only reflect…shame? Embarrassment?
“Luke and I are sort of thinking of coming along together.” At the sight of your widened eyes, she quickly adds, “just as friends! We’re still working out through a few things and we’re taking it slow. As in, much, much slower than the first time around.”
“No way! That’s… Rach, that’s so good. I’m happy for you both, seriously.”
You find that you truly believed that, though it wasn’t a surprise to you. You had introduced Rachel to Luke while she visited you in Baltimore and at the time, he worked with you there also. Initially, you didn’t think much of it - you simply invited her to come along to a few after work drinks and the two kicked it off easily that night. Very easily apparently, because as the night started coming to an end, Rachel prompted you to go ahead without her. Ready to say you weren’t going to leave her own her own, you shortly found out exactly why: you watched with plenty of amusement and fascination as she and Luke climbed into a taxi together and whizzed off to his place, undoubtedly. That was pretty much their start and continuation. Her visits to Baltimore were more frequent and though you were seeing her often enough, it definitely wasn’t as much as Luke saw of her. And you were fine with that. They fit almost perfectly and it only took a few more meetings for them to label themselves as a couple.
Things began crumbling as soon as Luke had moved to the New York office just a few weeks before your own return. While he seemed fine with the idea of Rachel working in the same place, that wasn’t also her take on things.
“It’s weird,” she told you through the phone. “It just… It’s so weird. I’d be seeing him at my place or his and in the office? No thanks. That’s way too much for me, you know?”
It made sense, of course, and though you rooted for them, you didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with. Yet, there was a tremble to her voice, a sort of uncertainty that made you think otherwise. It wasn’t that Rachel didn’t have any feelings for him - maybe she was simply shocked to see him walk through those glass doors one morning to pick up his brand new ID and claim what would soon become his permanent desk across from yours.
“Thanks,” she tells you, pulling you back into the present. “But like I said, slow and easy does it. We’ve been talking more and that makes a huge difference.”
“For sure. If communication isn’t the backbone of a relationship, I don’t know what is,” you agree and wasn’t that ironic? You’re hardly in the position of giving any relationship advice at all or saying what is good for one and what isn’t. Not anymore. Not when your own had fallen apart.
Rachel grins. “You’d know. You and Mat have been together for… how long now?”
You should’ve seen it coming a mile away. You swallow uncomfortably, take another sip of your drink and take a few fries just to buy yourself a little more time. “Maybe four years? Don’t really keep track of that anymore,” you said as casually as you could muster, lifting your shoulders in a shrug.
“I think I’d stop doing that eventually too at the rate you two are going. Honestly, I would’ve bet anything you would’ve been the first to tie the knot. Actually, thinking about it,” she says, clicking her fingers in recollection, “Elise said the same thing to me the other day when we caught up on the phone. She went—“
You don’t really register her words. There is a low ringing in your ears and an uncomfortable draft sweeps in the locale as the entrance door somewhere behind you is being kept open, no doubt a large group making their way in; it sends shivers down your body, but really, you are pretty sure you can’t only attribute them to a brief gust of wind. After all, your sweater is keeping you sufficiently cosy and warm. In front of you, Rachel continues praising your relationship with Mat, talking about how anyone took a look at you both and would say, whatever they have going, I want it too and you are trying so, so hard to block out as much as you can of it. You can stop her, of course; distract her with whatever random topic and you know she’d go with it but your jaw is locked in place, teeth clenched uncomfortably. You blame that and the way your nails dig into the palms of your hands on the sting behind your eyes and the sudden heaviness weighting down on your chest.
It isn’t so much the pain of your relationship ending that was rendering you in a state of daze, but the shame of what you and Mat agreed to do: pretend the two of you were still the happy couple Elise, Tito and everyone else thought of you as just to not spoil whatever luck they thought you’d be passing on to them by being their main witnesses. And then, once the event passes and they would return to New York from the honeymoon you and Mat would soon gift to them on their wedding day, you’d tell them the truth. Or part of it anyway. Definitely no mentions that the two of you were childish enough to play pretend; just a simple, clean break timed just perfectly with your request to be permanently redeployed elsewhere. Preferably, as far from New York City as possible so that you no longer have to walk the streets you once both did or yearn to once again visit that perfect pie place the two of you once dubbed your own.
“We’re not together anymore.”
The words stumble out of your mouth in a desperate now or never manner. Despite the anxiousness that came with the act, you find relief in it also. It feels freeing to be able to admit the truth to someone that isn’t only yourself though perhaps you should’ve thought of this more carefully: the idea of now needing to come fully clean to Rachel is somewhat daunting, mostly because of what she might say in response to the front you and Mat are trying to uphold. But for the first time in what feels like too long, you no longer feel like a fraud; like a person lying to everyone around them.
“Wait.” Rachel frowns, and it was obvious she doesn’t quite know what to do with that information or how to best process it. Her head tilts a little, palm idly rubbing against the side of her neck so you take the initiative to come across as unbothered by this as possible by leaning into the seat, legs crossing as you fiddled with the drink’s straw. “What? I’m confused. Didn’t Mat just drop by earlier? You two seemed okay. He was…fine when he came in. We didn’t talk much, sure, but he was all smiley and just…normal.”
You laugh quietly and shortly. “It’s been a while now. Maybe two or three weeks before I left for Baltimore, I think. It’d be pretty worrying if he was still hung up about it. After all, we both agreed on it. And this,” you add, a little more disheartened and embarrassed. “This…thing we’re doing. We promised Tito and Elise we’ll be there for them on their big day and we will. But they had this… I guess, idea of us being an ideal couple. Whatever that is,” you continue more quietly and with a roll of your eyes. “He wanted to tell Tito, but I didn’t want to spoil Elise’s day, you know? So he agreed. Took some convincing because it feels so… Gosh, it sounds so stupid, doesn’t it? Pretending we’re still together just to spread some fake cheer around.”
“Oh, honey…” Rachel whispers and you read the sympathy in her voice. Not that she makes it particularly difficult to take note of. “But… I thought everything was okay. Actually, way more than okay. Perfect, even. What…uh—“ She trailed off awkwardly, but you could easily fill in that gap.
What happened?
You bring the beverage to your mouth, this time drinking from the glass directly as opposed to using the straw. The mixer stings your throat this time around but the small ice cube you take into your mouth numbs it away pretty quickly. Slowly, you chew it to small pieces and speak only when you finish it.
“I thought long and hard about this the first few weeks after we called it quits,” you admit. “We always talked about what bothered us or if there was something on our mind, but at one point we just… We stopped wanting to compromise. When I was put forward for Baltimore, it was going to be a permanent thing. Mat was happy, sure, but I could tell he wasn’t being entirely honest with me, you know? When I called him out on it, he asked me well what about us? And I said we’d be fine. Baltimore isn’t a different continent. It’s not even a different timezone. He could come over when he had free time and if he didn’t, I’d always spend weekends in New York anyway. It’s Baltimore, Rach. Not fucking San Francisco or whatever. Eventually, he told me exactly what was on his mind: he couldn’t do long distance. Not even for a short period of time while I figured out if Baltimore is really what I wanted. Isn’t it a bit hypocritical, though?” You question, but it’s clear Rachel feels a bit awkward about giving her take on it right now, so you make it easier for her by responding to your own question. “I felt lonely too when he was on the road. I was worried he’d find someone different, someone much better while away. He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but a small part of me still thought what if. This happened right before he was on the road again, actually. We didn’t call, barely even texted those weeks and then when he returned, we decided it’d be best to break up. Didn’t take us a long discussion to get to that conclusion because at that point, it just… I don’t know. It felt like we didn’t have much to say to each other.”
Rachel presses her lips together, the frown still on her face and hesitantly, she asks, “who said it first?”
“I did,” you respond without hesitating. “He wanted a break while we work it all out but come on, Rach, a break? Look me in the eyes and tell me people really believe in breaks and they come back to each other as if nothing happened.”
“I mean…” she trails off, pointing at herself by way of explanation. “Look at me and Luke, I guess.”
You shake your head. “Nope. Not the same thing, trust me. This was for the best, Rach. It’s much neater to call it quits. That way, neither of us will feel obliged to hold back if life puts something different ahead of us.” You pause for a moment, teeth biting into your lower lip. “They said they’ll always have me back there if I decide on it, so who knows. Once I wrap up the project their called me back for, I might just take them up on it. Not quite a promotion, but it’ll be a good sidestep and maybe a change of scenery is what I need.”
“And do you think it’s good? What the two of you are doing right now?” Rachel questions, not at all deterred by your weak attempt at trying to divert conversation to a more work related topic. “And I don’t mean it just for Elise and Tito’s wedding, but for you and Mat generally speaking. I mean… the two of you have been together for a pretty long time. Doesn’t it… Isn’t it odd?”
“It’s not normal, that’s for sure,” you confirm. “But it’d be weirder for everyone if we were to tell them we’re no longer together given we’ve been asked to do what we need to do. Rach, promise me this stays between us, okay? Promise. I know how it sounds, I know how it’ll look but trust me on this, okay?”
She fixes you with a sceptical stare, a look that holds yet more questions than certainty but eventually, she nods her head and relief washes over you at the gesture. “I’m sorry it happened, Y/N,” she offers, voice warm and sympathetic as she places a hand on the table palm up. “And I’m sorry you went through it alone.”
You smile softly and reach for it, returning the squeeze she gives you. There is comfort in the gesture, comfort in her words and you find yourself rooting for it, so grateful to have received it. “The worst part is over, but thank you, Rachel. “It means a lot.”
“Feel like carpooling with Luke and I?”
“I’m good,” you assure as you both relax back into your seats. “Elise wants us there the day before the rehearsal. I guess just to have some familiar faces around that aren’t just wedding planners, so Mat and I agreed to go together tomorrow. Promise I won’t lose my shit if our song plays on the radio,” you add jokingly and find yourself laughing along with Rachel.
“What song’s that?”
Too many, you think, although one in particular stands out to you. “Brett Young’s In Case You Didn’t Know.”
*
A tray containing an assortment of dishes is set on the table and shortly after, an ice cold pitch of sangria accompanies that. Eager to cool down, you reach for one of the empty glasses to pour yourself a drink but Mat’s quicker. He takes them both, filling your glass first before his own. You laugh to yourself and Mat grins at that, briefly looking towards you as he fills his glass. You’re about to take a sip, eager to both quench your thirst and cool down but Mat takes the initiative of initiating a toast by raising his glass a little, elbow resting on the table.
“What’re we toasting for tonight?” You ask, imitating his pose by leaning forward a little. “To our first holiday together? To how perfect the weather’s been so far? To how I mastered paddle boarding way before you did?”
Mat laughs, lowering his head as he did so but when he looked back up at you, he clinked his glass against yours and held it there. “To all of that. To one of the many, many holidays we’ll have together. To this moment right here, to us, to you.” He pauses and the strobe lights of the bar switch from dark blue to hot pink, and the way Mat stares at you in this moment makes your heart race inexplicably. “To how much I love you.”
He takes your breath away. Draws it right out of your lungs and you feel heady. It’s the first summer with Mat, the first I love you from him and it suddenly feels as if this bar is too small for the both of you. You love him, and he loves you too and the only thing you could imagine doing is jumping in his arms but there’s a table between you and sangria topped wine glasses in your hands, and he’s wearing a pristine white shirt that looks incredible against his tanned skinned and there’s a lot of people around (the majority significantly older than both your age and Mat’s combined) so you simply grin and carefully lean forward more, pressing a kiss to his mouth.
“I love you,” you murmur against his lips and even if your voice is low compared to the loud, cheesy country music blasting through hidden stereos, you know Mat catches on to that.
“I love you,” he says right back and before you pull away, he bumps his nose against yours gently, making you giggle.
You both take a sip of your drinks and you smack your lips together, content with the turn of the night.
You and Mat had been dating for a few months, but this was the first time the two of you will spend back to back nights and days together without needing to rush somewhere. Of course, a part of you was anxious about it - while it was easy to spend a few hours together now and then, maybe even the odd night together, it was entirely different being together pretty much all the time. There were habits and quirks you each had that might get in the way, but your worries were soon put to rest. You and Mat had wonderful chemistry together, easily able to spend your time together but also still enjoy each other’s company while doing separate activities. You didn’t want to rush into things and you made no move to do so, but it was ever so easy to imagine what living with Mat would be like. And sure, you were well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t always be sunshine and rainbows; the two of you would eventually transition out of this honeymoon-type period of your relationship, but something told you life would Mat would never bore you. It’d never make you wish for anything different.
“Give me a second,” Mat says and before you could ask him what he meant, he’s out of his seat and you follow him across the bar, a little confused.
He makes his way past the bar, past the pool tables and stops in front of what is undoubtedly a jukebox. Curious, you arch an eyebrow and watch as he fiddles with finding the right amount of change before inserting the coins in the slot. It takes him a while before he finds whatever song it is he wants and it takes enough time for him to make it back to your table before the jukebox and sound system registers the request. You don’t recognise the first few notes at all, much less the accompanying guitar strings but you don’t have time to search your memory for a title.
Mat stops by your side, holding a hand out to you. “Dance with me.” It’s more statement than question and under any circumstances, you may have felt a little awkward about doing this, but it’s the heat of the moment and your giddiness that pushes you to your feet, hand in Mat’s.
The two of you are beaten to an emptier area in the establishment by two other much older couples that were closer to it anyway, and you find that gives you a bit more of a boost also. Mat pulls you to him, wrapping one arm around your waist while holding on to your free hand while you hold on to his shoulder with the other. Your fingers lightly clench and unclench the soft material of his shirt, lowering your head a little and you smile against the back of your hand. It’s so painfully cheesy and there’s nowhere near enough other people dancing along to the song but you love it much more than you thought you ever would.
“Know what I’d invest all my money into?” He asks you suddenly.
You pull back a little, still swaying along with the song. “Cryptocurrency seems like a safe bet right now.”
Mat laughs, that big hearty laugh of his that makes your smile wider and when it passes, he presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Well, I’m glad one of us has a good head on their shoulders, but no.” He shakes his head, then laughs again, shorter and quieter as if recalling your response. “A time machine. I want to stop time right here and right now so that we can be as we are for a little while longer.”
“Cheesy,” you joke, despite the warmth coursing across your entire body and the jelly-like feeling forming in your knees. “But perfectly understandable.”
“Eventually, we wouldn’t need it, but it’d be nice to have one for tonight.”
“Eventually? How so?” You question, then narrow your eyes a little, the gesture playful. “You plan on getting bored of me and breaking up?”
“What!” He exclaims and pulls you in just that much closer. He lets go of your hand only so he could bring his to your chin, tipping your head back a little. “Never,” kiss, “say that,” kiss, “again.” The final kiss you share with him is a little longer and you take the liberty of bringing your hand to his chest, palm pressing against it to feel the thump of his heart against his ribcage momentarily. Then, slowly, you graze the tips of your nails along his exposed collarbone and peck his lips once more before pulling away. It’s then that the song’s name and artist comes to your mind, almost as an afterthought. From hidden speakers, Brett Young declares I couldn’t live life without you and Mat gives you a pointed stare. “Damn, he said it before I could.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” you assure him. “Either way, I think I prefer hearing it from you, Barzal.”
“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t live without you,” he recites and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He sways you both in a more exaggerated manner that makes you cling to him more out of habit than necessity. You’ve known you’d trust Mat with anything, but each day, he seems to do something that makes that thought solidify more and more in your mind. The comfort and safety that brings wraps around you like a warm blanket.
Be it the hot weather, the somewhat stifling interior of the bar, the sips of sangria on an empty stomach, the euphoria of the moment or all things combined, you nod quickly. And from somewhere in the depths of your mind, the very bottom of your heart, you respond with, “I can get used to this day after day. So don’t let me go, baby.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, tone full of care and love and warmth. He gives you his promise without hesitation and you know it’s bound to stick.
*
Your phone buzzes once.
I’m downstairs. Need help with your bags?
You push up from the comfort of your couch and make one last round of your apartment to make sure you had everything you definitely needed from where it was placed.
I’m good. Will be down in a minute, you text back but don’t pocket your phone right away. Instead, you stare at the screen for a little while longer, half tempted to scroll through the thread of messages. They’d provide a stark timeline of when things started going wrong and you would probably be able to see exactly how things changed between the two of you from the moment you suggested a mere break wouldn’t do it. But doing that would be like breaking a streak you had going for sufficient time to earn a pat on your back. The journey of getting to a point where you were sufficiently okay with being in Mat’s presence without any other company was a long one and the last thing you needed was to recall how it once was.
You and Mat started out as friends after Elise introduced the two of you just a short while before he started his professional career with the Islanders. She talked about how the two of them met in school and how great of a guy he was; real down to earth, funny and incredibly ambitious - traits she also assigned to you, and therefore thought the two of you would get along great. She wasn’t wrong about it. You knew a little about hockey, going to games every now and then mostly whenever Elise dragged you along but you found that Mat made the game more enjoyable. He explained it to you in a manner that didn’t make you feel belittled or as if it should be something you already knew of, and didn’t mind explaining some things more than once. On the other hand, you introduced him to your own hobbies and the little world you created for yourself in a city as big and busy as New York. You showed him the more lowkey but homely establishments, including your favourite pizza place that - unbeknown to you at the time - would become yours and his, and even took him to a few student bars where you regularly beat him at pool while he showed off at darts. Occasionally, it felt weird to watch him unwind in such…normal places and ways while on other days, he shone on ice and was easily one of the best rookies emerging from one of the country’s most well known sports leagues. Yet despite that, you found that athlete Mat wasn’t all that different from Mat the person.
He never put a front and his genuine manner was refreshing to you, particularly during a time when you were still a college student and a good portion of the guys around were textbook frat boys. Being around Mat was comfortable and safe. You didn’t feel the need to speak a certain way or be a different person, and retrospectively, the way you felt towards him developed almost organically. You felt yourself gravitating towards him and were pleasantly surprised by the moments when he’d seek you out first. A day off here and a day off there until eventually, you found yourself spending much of your free time with him and vice-versa.
Falling in love with Mat was easy. Being without Mat was difficult. But, thankfully, not impossible apparently.
Convinced you packed everything you needed, made your way out with a duffle bag on your shoulder and a suitcase at your heels.
True to his word, Mat was parked in front of your place and as soon as you pushed open the building’s door, he looked up from his phone and made his way over to you. The last thing you needed was to make the journey any more awkward or difficult for the both of you, so you didn’t argue when he took the bags from you to stow them away in the trunk.
“Are you going across the country?” You ask, peeking into the trunk while he plays Tetris with the bags.
“What?” He questions, evidently distracted by the task at hand but straightens up when you delicately place a hand on his arm, pushing him to the side a little.
“You’d think you’re going across the country for like, two or three weeks rather than a couple of days,” you repeat. “Maybe put that smaller bag sideways? That might let the bigger suitcase fit.”
He follows your guidance and sure enough, that does the trick: the suitcases fit perfectly in the trunk and you grin to yourself, triumphant.
Mat steps back, closing the trunk and brushes his hands together. “Thanks,” he says and you nod, heading towards your seat in the front. He follows you inside just as you click in your seatbelt. “I don’t think it’ll take us more than two or three hours to get there if traffic’s as good as it was when I checked it a little while earlier. Got everything?”
“Everything important that is. Everything else, I’ll just worry about and pull my hair out when we get there,” you tell him and you can’t help feeling proud for being able to keep conversation light and as normal as you can.
After all, you’ve known life before Mat and you’re rediscovering it after him too.
Mat laughs ever so quiet, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him brushing his hand across his mouth though he’s a few seconds too slow in trying to mask his smile.
“I think I’ll need to fill up soon, but let me know if there’s anywhere else you want to stop along the way,” he tells you while pulling out of the parking spot.
You nod even if he probably might not see it and take the liberty to scroll through radio stations. Mat doesn’t seem to be against it, so you continue switching to them until, a little frustrating that nothing seems to work for you, you connect your phone to the car and play one of your playlists. A mix of upbeat pop and an assortment of viral tracks fill in the silence for a while, and the act of singing along in your head takes your mind away from how it almost feels as if you’re sitting on needles. It takes a conscious effort on your behalf to remind yourself to loosen your shoulders and stop fiddling too much with your hands, and you’re glad Mat seems to be plenty preoccupied with driving. Once upon a time, he would’ve immediately picked up on even the most mild of your discomforts and tried to do anything he could to alleviate them. You don’t know how much, if at all, Mat changed during the time you spent apart but you want to think that you no longer wear your heart on your sleeve as much and your emotions are much more guarded, especially in his presence.
Apparently, though, there’s only so much he can take with silence filled in by music because once he’s off busier streets, he leans in his seat more comfortably and you can tell he very briefly turns his head towards you. “Think they’ll like their wedding gift?”
You direct your gaze away from the flashing scenery outside to Mat. “Absolutely. Who wouldn’t like it? Trust me when I say Bali’s been a place Elise always wanted to visit and I can’t think of a better time than now,” you assure him.
“If they don’t, it’s on you,” he says and it takes you a beat longer to realise he’s just joking so you huff out a laugh, relaxing back in the seat.
“If they don’t, they can give one of the tickets to me and I’ll happily go there.” You cast a glare out at the scenery ahead, eyes narrowing upwards towards the overcast sky. “I don’t think summer will ever come at this rate. I’m starting to hate it here.”
“Doubt Baltimore was any better,” Mat points out.
“Hardly,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll ask them to send me to Miami instead. That’d be much better.”
Mat clears his throat quickly, shifting a little. “So, are you planning on going back to Baltimore or... Why are you back?” You catch sight of the frown forming on his face, and he quickly shakes his head as if trying to rid the hint of accusation from his voice. “That sounded wrong, sorry. But just genuinely curious. I thought a permanent move was on the table?”
“It was. Still is, but they needed me back here to wrap up a project. It was a pretty bad move on their behalf to send me there before we had that wrapped up nice and neat, bow and all, but I guess…” You trail off, shrugging a shoulder. “Guess we’ll see what’s next after that. They do want me back there, though. It just depends how long it takes for things here to fall into place.”
“Fair enough.” Another pause, another moment for him to press his lips together in silent deliberation. He did that often, and you wonder if that remains a habit still. “Was it a promotion? I forgot, sorry.”
“All good,” you assure, brushing off the apology. “Not a promotion per se, but a sidestep with just a slightly bigger paycheck. The office there is a bit smaller than the New York one so maybe there’s a higher chance of getting promoted sooner, but I don’t want to jump the gun on that yet. How did things work out for you guys this season?”
The Islanders had a good season, making the playoffs but fell just short of making the semi-finals, you knew that. After all, you hadn’t removed the Islanders game and news alerts from your phone and you put that on your laziness. You wouldn’t shy away from admitting to him you still followed the team’s progression, but you preferred not to.
“Could’ve been better but there’s lots to learn from it,” Mat tells you and there’s a trace of excitement and determination in his voice. “Next season will be even better, I guarantee.”
It’s a staple Mat response, one he always gave if he felt a game didn’t end in their favour or he didn’t do as much as he thought he should have. Sometimes, it took him some time to accept it. Usually, it came to him after pushing himself in training, after going that extra step in the gym, after re-watching highlights or coach videos and always - always, you’d assure him that it takes a team to move forward, not a single person. Always, he’d kiss you and tell you he loves you and always, you’d spend those moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, more often than not with Mat’s head resting against your chest and your leg slung around his hip.
“Plenty of time to lift that cup, Barzal,” you assure him. “Sure, the sooner the better but there’s always a right time for everything.”
“I hope so,” he agrees pensively, and lingers on that thought.
You let him to it, directing your attention back to the view outside and only now and then picking up your phone either to switch songs or browse through a few applications. A part of you feels almost obliged to try and push for conversation but you avoid doing so. The last thing you need is to make it painfully awkward for the two of you and you figure Mat could always do that himself if he feels like it. So, you let your mind wander to better things - to the upcoming rehearsal and the wedding itself, to how good Elise will look and how Tito will be so proud to watch her walk the aisle towards him. You imagine their reaction to the gift you and Mat contributed towards and smiled to yourself, knowing it was a perfect pick for them both.
You don’t think about telling Elise you and Mat had lied to them. You don’t think about passing this hurdle - the final one before you two will become strangers to one another. You don’t think about how the next time you might both see each other again, you’ll both have such different lives that for a brief moment, the surprise of it will knock the air out of your lungs before you remember: that’s him without me, and this is me without him. And you won’t be the first or the last people to break up, but a part of you is certain what the two of you had was unique and could’ve been grand. So much grander.
You become more alert to your surroundings when he starts slowing the car and you notice you’re pulling up into a gas station. As much as space allows you, you stretch out a little and Mat stops right by one of the pumps.
“Want something for the road?” You ask him, unplugging your phone and taking your card from your bag.
“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Mat tells you and it doesn’t take long for the refill to happen before you both walk into the station’s store, beelining for the snack aisles even if you have only two hours or so until you reach your destination.
“Oh gosh, those are going to be a nightmare to clean up if you spill any in the car,” you groan quietly as he browses through the variety of Nerds flavours.
“But they’re so good though,” he shoots back and flashes a smile that is nothing short of sly when he picks up two boxes instead of one.
“Yeah, until the flavour runs out literally two seconds after you put them in your mouth. I mean, enjoy that but I’m different,” you boast and pick up a bag of sour candy.
“You just like obliterating your taste buds.”
He’s not wrong. Sour candy and spicy foods are your guilty pleasures, and have been for the longest time. You don’t try to look into how easily he recalls that because, you tell yourself, there’s nothing to look into. It’s a mere fact that anyone who knows you would easily recite.
“You’re wrong and you know it, but admitting that is difficult so it’s fine, Barzal. No hard feelings,” you throw back, snickering as you head over to the fridges for a bottle of cold water. Instinctively, you grab another for him and instinctively, he takes your candy and the water to pay for them but you still tag along with him in the queue.
“No shot. I like some spice but to the point where I literally can’t taste anything else? Hey, remember that one time when you made something… Can’t remember what it was but it was so…” He purses his lips and you laugh because yes, yes you remember it so clearly.
“So good you ended up crying over it?” You offer.
“More like, I wasn’t crying but it was so fucking spicy, Y/N, holy.”
“You survived though, didn’t you?”
“I only did because there isn’t a thing you do I don’t like,” he says and then, seems to catch himself but a second too late. “Didn’t like,” he corrects quietly but the damage is done.
You swallow uncomfortably, directing your gaze away from him but don’t hesitate to nod towards the outside. “I’ll head over to the car. I’ll text Elise to tell her we’re close.”
“Y/N—“
But you’re already taking steps towards the exit and out of ear shot, making a beeline for the car. Your heart thumps rapidly and uncomfortable in your chest and find that pressing a palm to your left side doesn’t make it any better. You know it’s an innocent mistake and there are some habits that die hard, but the way he phrased it triggered your fight or flight instinct instantaneously and despite yourself, you leaned towards the latter. You enter the car and take the time to compose yourself as much as you could. The last thing you need is to have a conversation with Mat about this because you didn’t want to have it - it shouldn’t happen for the sake of avoiding making the situation even more uncomfortable. It was an innocent slip up, no doubt, and you should’ve braced yourself to speak of Mat in present tense as opposed to past tense in the presence of others but it comes to you harder than imagined.
It’s odd how you both once knew so much about each other, everything even, and now the two of you are reduced to dancing around all that and making conscious efforts to keep your conversations as short and banal as possible.
You try and busy yourself with formulating a message to Ellie, one that’s long enough to try and make you seem as busy as possible by the time Mat returns to the car, but every line you wrote, every mini paragraph going into dull details about the trip and where you guys currently are seemed like an overthrow. So, you delete that also and simply text her an OTW just as Mat sets the sweets on the centre console and the bottles in the cup holders.
He doesn’t start the engine immediately and your mood quickly switches to frustration. Sure, you hadn’t handled it in the best way possible but trying to have a conversation about it wouldn’t make it any better. Or at least, it’s just something you didn’t want to have to think about for the remainder of the journey.
But he does just that, because that is what Mat always did: he talked with you.
“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he begins, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. It’s force of habit more than anything else.”
“It’s whatever, Mat, so just move past it. I did, simple as that,” you tell him neutrally.
There’s something in that response he must have not liked because you pick up on his small huff and shortly after, the car starts and you’re both on the road again. This time, with silence between you and an atmosphere so heavy it makes you wish you weren’t speeding down an Interstate just so you could open the window and let some of the air in.
-
The hotel the wedding will be held at lies in front of you, sprawling and secluded and perfect for an event like this. Tito is already at the entrance and when he spots Mat’s car, he waves quickly while Mat quickly flashes the headlights before pulling into an available parking spot.
“There they are!” Tito says by way of greeting and you walk right into his outstretched arms, hugging him. “Can’t believe so much time passed since we last saw each other. What is it, two months? Three?”
“Three,” you confirm once you pull away so that Mat could hug him also. “It’s good to see you too. Where’s Elise?”
“She wanted to check on some small details and said she’ll meet up with you guys in a bit. So here I am, the welcoming committee,” Tito explained and when he and Mat stepped apart, he reached out to give you another short hug which you accepted. “So how was Baltimore? Don’t suppose you liked it all that much if you’re back so soon. This guy was happy about it,” Tito adds, nodding his head towards Mat who was already busy emptying the trunk.
You press your lips together, displaying a small smile. “Baltimore wasn’t too bad but they missed me here, apparently. Can’t complete a damn thing without my two cents so here I am for now.”
Tito frowns, but the expression is very brief. “For now? We’ll need to talk more about that later so Barzy doesn’t mope around as much as he did back then.”
You throw a quick glance towards Mat but he’s looking away towards whatever interesting spot on the ground he found, pointedly ignoring you. “I’ll have a word with him about it later,” you tell Tito lightly and together, the three of you make your way inside, towards the reception.
“I think Elise is in the room at the end of the corridor if you want to say hi,” Tito informs you and you jump at the opportunity.
You follow the corridor, making a right turn and continuing along the dimly lit hallway leading to what the signs informed you to be Conference Room 1. The door is slightly ajar and you begin picking up on the buzz of activity coming from within and soon enough, you’re face to face with a spacey room boasting an array of flowers and various arrangements tastefully decorating tables and drooping down from the ceiling. No doubt, the effect will be lovely during the night when colourful neon lights can be turned on. You spot Elise easily: she’s in the midst of the room with what is undoubtedly the scrapbook of ideas she’d been carefully putting together since Tito asked her to marry him. Outwardly, she’s all smiles and laughter but you can imagine the amount of effort and planning putting all of this together and working with planners takes.
When she spots you, she squeals in excitement, sets her book down and dashes across the room to engulf you in a hug, making you stumble a few steps back.
You burst into laughter and wrap your arms around her, squeezing her with just enough force to try and communicate how much you missed her but not so that it was uncomfortable.
“I missed you! You’re here!” She exclaims, stepping back to look at you in disbelief then hugging you again. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy you’re here! Where’s Mat? Is he here too?”
“Of course he is,” you assure her with a laugh. “I missed you too.” You throw a curious glance towards the room over her shoulder, nodding your head towards it. “How’s it going? Need me to take over for a bit?”
“Maybe later. Definitely later. Come on.” She wraps an arm around yours and leads the way out of the room, undoubtedly back to the reception area where you left Mat and Tito. “Please tell me Baltimore is off the table. FaceTime is fine, sure, but it’s not great, you know? I need the real deal next to me. Besides, I’m not sure if you heard, but Mat wasn’t Mat without you.”
“So I heard, but forget about us!” You said in a desperate attempt to try and steer attention away from the subject. “Tell me about how everything’s going. Are you still nervous about it? Because trust me, Elise - you have absolutely nothing to be nervous of. What I’ve heard of so far and what I’ve seen will make it the absolute best day, surely.”
“Of course I’m nervous,” she tells you and to demonstrate, she holds her free hand in front of you and sure enough, there’s just a slight tremble to it. “Please lend me some of those nerves of steel of yours, Y/N, I’d do anything to have even a small percentage of them right now.”
“Pft, as if. Those are all show, trust me.”
“I’ll take even that. Oh, Mat!” She greets as soon as the two of you reach the reception area and Elise spots Mat.
Much like you and Tito, they hug and when she steps back, she immediately stands next to Tito who doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. They exchange a quick kiss and you smile at the happiness and bliss they’re clearly surrounded by.
It’s the slight pressure on your lower back that makes you jolt a little on the spot and it’s then you realise Mat had gently placed his hand there to encourage you a little closer. It takes effort on your behalf to follow his guidance but you move towards him, though you wish you could physically wince at how undoubtedly stiff the two of you must look. Or hopefully, not greatly so because neither Tito nor Elise comment on it or shoot you any funny looks as the four of you engage in brief conversation, mainly surrounding the trip here and any other guests they expect to receive today.
You don’t hang around much, though. Elise’s phone begins buzzing incessantly and she’s whisked away by the message received, but not before she fixes you with a pointed stare and demands the two of you have drinks later in the evening. Tito follows her also, even if he informs you and Mat that he feels as if he’s running around in the right places only because of Elise and the wedding planners, but you encourage him on by joking he could maybe turn a few candles on the tables this way or that for some extra oomph.
“I can’t imagine how she does it,” you admit to Mat once the elevator doors slide shut soundlessly and the car begins moving upwards to your floor.
“Pretty sure it’s not that big of a deal to her, given what all this is leading to,” Mat tells you and you detect a hint of detachment in his voice.
You don’t welcome it, of course you don’t, but you choose to not point that out to him. The last thing you want is an argument to break out the relatively okay mood the two of you have managed to hold, recent events that could be erased from memory aside. Instead, you simply stand back quietly, eyes glued on the red digital numbers aside until they come to a halt on the ninth floor where the elevator stops and you’re both left in a silent, dimly lit hallway.
Mat has the key to the apartment Elise told you the two of you would be in and just before tapping in, he hands you your own copy of it. Up until this very moment, you hadn’t thought very much of the overnight arrangements. You were pretty sure you meant to ask Elise a bit more about them at some point but both your attention and hers were pulled in different directions and here you were, stepping into your place for the next couple of nights, Mat trailing a little behind you.
You stop, arms folding across your chest and you feel Mat stop somewhere close behind you, looking into one room.
“I didn’t think this through,” you state neutrally.
Ahead of you lay only one bed.
#mat barzal#mat barzal imagine#mat barzal fic#nhl imagine#nhl fanfic#nhl fic#*#the synopsis sucks but i'm bad at short summaries lol#i had this idea since i first joined hockeyblr and i'm happy to have finally found the motivation to write it#anyway i have a vague idea for some scenes#and there will probably be three MAYBE four parts to it
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Dee - So! We have a little game in our discord server where writers write a fic together, blindly, without any plot. One writer starts a thread, other follows up, and then another joins in. Our first run produced the story you see below. It was a game between @auspiciouscandy, @whiteflowercrimsonparasol (or justdoityoufucker) and myself or @vrishchikawrites.
We thought it should be shared with everyone. That's why Ju and I decided to start a new section on Pocketful called Storytime with Bunnies. We'll publish all stories that we write there on Pocketful and eventually on Ao3.
Personally, it was a great deal of fun and I'm so happy that we're continuing it! I hope you like the story! It was written by three people and still turned out so smooth!
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A Strange Encounter
by Vrishchika, justdoityoufucker, and auspiciouscandy
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It is dark, but Wei Ying has never been afraid of darkness.
The juniors shuffle nervously behind him, sticking so close to his back, he can feel the warmth of their bodies. Suddenly, there is a noise - loud in the silence of the night and out of place. Wei Ying clutches Chengqing tightly, ready to strike. He turns in the direction of the noise only to suck in a sharp breath and try to suppress the sigh threatening to overtake him.
He’d mostly been following the juniors, letting them take the lead to hunt the nest of low-level yao that had been terrorizing the small mountain town. They’d done well, so far, and had dealt with half of the yao without incident. The problem started when they’d run into a higher-level yao, which was to be expected given his luck on night hunts, but he hadn’t expected to see a strange man.
He seems almost as tall as Chifeng-zun had been; Wei Ying can't see his features clearly, but his instincts warn him to be cautious. The man says nothing as he steps forward. He doesn't have a corpse's stiff gait. Each step brings him closer and reveals more of him. Pale skin, dark eyes, lips as red as blood, almost unnaturally still features.
His beauty is disarming, but Wei Ying is unmoved. He's married to the most beautiful man in existence, after all. But he is curious. What is this strange, beautiful man doing in the middle of the woods? And while he looks the man over, cautious of any sharp movement the man could make, he steps forward. Though contrary to his beautiful appearance, his body is but a corpse and it is difficult to hide when he staggers and what appears to be his arm drops down onto the floor. Wei Ying hears someone gagging behind him, but he cannot take his eyes off the man; every instinct in his body is screaming about the danger in front of them.
Just when he is about to speak, the man's face changes to a look of pained horror, a look that the stiffness of a corpse shouldn't be able to achieve. There is something about the way his jaw moves, that makes it seem as if he was trying to speak, but no sound leaves his red, red lips.
"Stop," Wei Ying says, putting the force of his cultivation into the word. The corpse's mouth opens even wider, and Wei Ying senses it before anything, "Cover your ears!" he shouts, but it is too late, there are some indistinguishable whispers he catches before his hands reach his ears, and he doubts any of the juniors were fast enough even as he hears their swords immediately drop to the floor.
He wracks his brain to match the odd corpse with any of the descriptions he remembers from his studies and it suddenly clicks into place. He remembers tales of bewitching creatures. Beings that can ensnare and seduce with their voice and their beauty. Beings that can control the living mind as Wei Ying controls corpses. He remembers tales of how cultivators of immense strength would drop their swords and simply submit to these creatures, allowing them to consume their Qi without protest.
His eyes flicker towards his juniors, alarm stirring in his chest. What can he do? Think. Think, Wei Ying!
And he reaches a conclusion, the corpse uses its voice to control, to influence, and had Wei Ying not used his own to do the same? Resentful energy and spiritual energy are almost similar, it's risky, but there isn't much else to do. He already perceives the juniors trying to walk past him, and he is overcome with waves after waves of compulsion from his small amount of exposure, so Wei Ying does the only thing he can think of.
He gathers the power towards his throat. His voice laced with command, he opens his mouth and sings not a real tune, at first, but simply unbridled power that cuts off the corpse's control over the juniors.
But he cannot just wrest control; he needs to suppress the corpse, and that takes more than random notes. He slides into a familiar song, lyrics that Lan Zhan shared but have never been sung before in deference to their usual duets. The juniors have never heard Wei-qianbei sing before; they have heard his tuneful humming, whistling, and music, but not his true singing voice. It renders them silent. Wei Ying's voice is resonant and it bounces off the surrounding trees and rocks, becoming amplified. The effect is otherworldly, unlike anything they have ever experienced.
It halts the strange creature in his tracks. He sways dazedly. Something about the expression is almost covetous.
Wei Ying hears Sizhui whisper his name in worry. He is his father's son and has somehow inherited all of Hanguang-jun's protectiveness. Even now, he takes a shaky step forward to stand before Wei Ying. But there's no reason he should worry; Wei Ying's control over his power is absolute, his control over the corpse-creature the same.
He changes the intent of his power, the tone of his singing, to lure the creature to lower its guard and step closer. He trusts that Sizhui knows what to do, that the other juniors will assist as his voice lulls it into submission. The creature stumbles forward, his hand stretched out towards Wei Ying. He sways with every step and Wei Ying tracks his movements carefully.
"Good boy," he croons, maintaining a singing tone in his voice, "Whatever shall we do with you?"
The corpse's hand is still outstretched and his expression is still mesmerized. Wei Ying reaches out and closes his fingers around the hand, keeping his voice mellow and soothing. "You're a strong one, aren't you?" he sings, ignoring Sizhui's alarmed noise.
The corpse will only need to twist his grip to break Wei Ying's arm but something tells him he's safe. He leans forward, curious, "Wei Ying," and Wei Ying freezes. He doesn't let off his control but it is enough for the corpse to pull him closer, a hand reaching up to caress his hair—he is aware of the gasped whispers by the juniors of, 'Hanguang-jun,' the juniors who were just beginning to take control—but this is something out of his expectation. A normally high-level corpse of this type would be troublesome on its own, but one that could mimic?
The danger levels have increased far more than what juniors can handle; Wei Ying pivots in his singing, pulls Sizhui behind him and crowds back, keeping the juniors behind him. He pauses, for the barest moment, to say, "Flare."
That snaps Sizhui to action, and as Wei Ying resumes singing, voice louder and louder, he draws a flare out of his robes and sets it off, the sparkling blue of the fireworks temporarily catching the creature's attention, making Wei Ying snap forward and cup the corpse's face, physically drawing his attention back towards him.
It is intimate, the way he angles his body and draws the creature in. Something burns in him. He has never touched anyone but his Lan Zhan like this, with so much tenderness.
The creature that mimics his husband's voice seems to mimic his affection too. Wei Ying cringes as cold fingers trace his cheek, trailing dangerously close to his neck. One slip, and Wei Ying could potentially lose his life.
"Wei Ying," The corpse whispers in his husband's voice, and something dark stirs within him. His lips twitch into an alluring smile and Wei Ying has his hand slowly reaching up and caressing its cold skin. He thinks the eyes shimmer an amber shade, for they are nowhere near the molten gold of his husband’s. He's all too aware of this cheap imitation's intent and responds in kind.
Wei Ying ignores the yells of his nephew, the sound of another flare going up into the night sky; his hand is coated in resentful energy as it reaches the back of the corpse's neck, and he maintains eye contact with it, his voice softer to only reach the corpse.
It is completely enamoured, that is why when Wei Ying makes a hand sign to the juniors to tell them to leave, the creature doesn't react. It is like a careful, possessive lover, but, unlike his husband, there is no real care behind its actions as it closes in on him. The resentful energy on Wei Ying's hands increases, solidifies, a black, hateful knife.
When he drives it directly into the corpse-creature's neck, spearing it up into its skull, the creature makes a weak, pained groan in that facsimile of his husband's voice, and Wei Ying shouldn't feel the way he does—it is but a creature who had taken up the face of his beloved—but to hear the wounded noises it makes, trying to garner his sympathy, Wei Ying cannot help but feel that sympathy. Wei Ying should know that the hands around his neck are the ones that wouldn't hesitate to kill him, so very cold, lacking his husband's warmth.
He raises his voice, and sings a sharp tune, and the corpse whines once more before it’s rendered mute, opening its mouth wide with a final hissed, “Wei Ying!”
Wei Ying's eyes widen because, for a second, before he tightens his hands, he catches a glimpse of his husband, pain and grief on his face that he hasn't seen in years. The corpse falls, its weakness stabbed through, unable to move again and Wei Ying shudders, feeling so incredibly off-kilter.
He needs to see Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is fine, he's sure, but the look on the creature's face, the timbre of its voice--it's almost enough to overwhelm.
The juniors, still near enough to catch the sudden silence, creep back through the trees, worried looks on their faces as they take in the look on their teacher's face, the still form of the corpse-creature on the ground.
"Xian-gege?" Sizhui starts, clearly shaken if he's reverted to that form of address. He continues forward as if to grasp Wei Ying's shoulder, but Wei Ying needs a moment. Maybe it is the leftover effects of the corpse, maybe it is his own fears and concerns.
But he takes in a sharp breath and pulls his mouth into a smile, "Now then, shouldn't we return? I assume none of you are hurt?" He looks them over, ignoring the sneaked glances from the dazed juniors as they stand up on their shaking legs, "Come along now—" he places his hand on top of Sizhui's, which shakes almost unnoticeably.
Sizhui wants to reassure him, but he knows already that Wei-qianbei wouldn't feel comforted until he lays his eyes on Hanguang-jun. Sizhui has seen enough of their love to know this is one of the few things that can rattle his indomitable Xian-gege. If anything happens to Hanguang-jun, Wei-qianbei would—
Sizhui draws his mind away from grim thoughts and watches as Wei-qianbei steps forward to the body, pulling out his qiankun pouch. Suddenly, there's a twitch of movement from nearby. As if called by Wei Ying and Lan Sizhui's thoughts, the austere white of Lan Zhan's robes appears, and he comes to a graceful halt near the corpse-creature.
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying can't help but exhale in relief, "We're fine."
Hanguang-jun casts a look at the corpse-creature, then back at Wei Ying. He looks over Wei Ying completely before turning his gaze towards the juniors while moving towards Wei Ying, almost a split second of a glance but enough to know they're fine; it wouldn't have been noticed if Sizhui hadn't been looking for it. Then, he reaches up to caress Wei Ying’s face and Wei Ying melts into it, feeling the warmth seep into his skin.
"Wei Ying," Wei Ying can't describe how relieved he feels when the familiar scent of sandalwood envelopes him. It takes but a glance for Lan Zhan to see past his welcoming smile and glimpse the truly shaken core of him.
"Go forth, Sizhui, we'll join you soon." Lan Zhan commands and Wei Ying almost protests. He doesn't want the children away from him. Lan Zhan just shakes his head and pulls him close, "Breathe, center yourself."
Wei Ying presses his forehead to Lan Zhan's shoulder and sighs. Lan Zhan is here. Lan Zhan is safe, solid, and strong. That's all he cares about, and he feels his arms encircling him so he completely rests his weight upon his husband, his head on Lan Zhan's chest, hearing his heartbeat go thump thump thump.
He feels the earlier fight leaving his body as he relaxes against him, matching their breaths together. Wei Ying wants to stay there with him, the forest trees and the silence that was eerie and offsetting earlier feels serene and calming. But they can’t, because they have to get back, everyone in need of rest, the kids in need of checking to see if they're all actually okay.
Then there's the issue of the corpse-creature; research will need to be done when they are back in Cloud Recesses, to figure out what it is and if there might be more. Wei Ying breathes in the sandalwood scent of his husband, then steps away, qiankun pouch in hand. The corpse is where it had fallen, and he kneels next to it, Lan Zhan a comforting presence next to him.
"Aiya," He says, "They tried but couldn't get close to your perfection, Lan Zhan."
His husband huffs but keeps a steady, warm hand on his back. It is a reassuring presence that makes it easier to examine the body. Wei Ying runs his eyes along the tall body, mind stirring, "Who could be behind this?" How and why did they mimic Lan Zhan of all people? Wei Ying can't help but feel concerned. Lan Zhan hums in response but offers no commentary; he's probably still in a protective, vigilant state. Wei Ying smiles fondly and kisses him on his cheek, "let's return then,” he says, and gets up after putting it away.
Lan Zhan pulls him closer to himself; maybe he knows what worried Wei Ying as he keeps a comforting presence by his side. They walk to the Juniors standing ahead, who stop their whispers as soon as they get close. Wei Ying looks them over once again. They look at him with a slightly dazed look, but are steady on their feet. Wei Ying frowns, maybe it's the effects of leftover energy?
Jin Ling starts to say something about heading back to Jinlintai. As if Wei Ying would let him! It's almost midnight, and the night hunt has taken them to the far reaches of Gusu-Lan territory, a long trip of a couple days to Lanling-Jin territory. "None of that," Wei Ying chides, feeling like himself again. "Back to the village for all of us; Hanguang-jun needs to make sure there are no lingering effects."
Jin Ling half-scowls, but doesn't deny or try to argue back, and there's a blur as Sizhui all but pulls Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji into a hug. Jin Ling sees Sizhui’s shoulders shake slightly and he looks away. Terrifying situation or not, that illusion had felt all too real. It was as if it were Hanguang-jun standing before them, the mannerism, the voice, how he...he—
Before he can think more he feels a pull at his wrist and he feels the warmth of another person around him. He hears Jingyi make a startled noise as the other two are also pulled into a clustered little group hug. Jin Ling’s face flushes red and he opens his mouth to protest but doesn't push them away.
“You're safe,” Wei Ying says, as the teens start to pull away after a few moments. If a few of them have reddened eyes, or barely-there tear tracks down their cheeks, neither he nor Lan Zhan mention it.
"Aiya," he gives Sizhui an extra pat on the head, a smile finally pulling at his face as he takes in the juniors' despondent looks. "What is all this? I would think someone died if I came upon you all like this! Come now, back to the village.”
"Wei Ying!" Lan Zhan calls suddenly and Wei Ying doesn't understand why. He looks up at his husband, only to see his eyes shining with concern, perhaps even some panic.
"What? Lan Zha—"
An abrupt wave of dizziness overcomes him and he falters, feeling something dripping down his nose. He touches his upper lip shakily, his limbs starting to feel heavy. His vision swims and Lan Zhan catches him immediately as he sways forward. Something cold is settling within him. "Lan Zhan," he croaks. His vision is turning black from the corner of his eyes, and Lan Zhan is saying something but he can't hear it, it’s muffled and sounds so far away.
Wei Ying hates the feeling that floods him, the wave of cold dread that he hasn't felt in a long time. His hair stands up as he feels ghosts of the touches. They linger on the back of his neck, his face, his arms where the corpse had touched him, among the distant noises, he hears a clear, sharp "Wei Ying," but it sounds so odd, so unfamiliar despite it being his husband’s voice and that's when he crumples, losing all control of his limbs.
The cheer and safety of mere moments before has fled, and Wei Ying can't stamp out the panic that grips him as his breath hitches. He's vaguely aware, as if he is not truly in possession of his own body anymore, that his sweet husband, his Lan Zhan, has pulled his body up into his arms.
That awareness lessens even more as Lan Zhan's distant, warped voice sends out some sharp commands, and then he feels the slap of wind on his face and something isn't right. His senses are fading but he has practiced dual cultivation with Lan Zhan for several years now. He's intimately familiar with his husband's core. Something isn't right because—
—they're running. The wind is against his face. He remembers the trapped look of despair. His husband commands the children but something isn't right. He's leaving something behind. The arms carrying him are familiar but recognition slips him and he becomes increasingly aware as a sharp pain increases from his arm and he gasps, because it feels as if fire is under his skin, it moves from his arm and reaches up to his neck and it increases. Wei Ying has always had a large tolerance to pain, but he is in little control and he cannot stop himself as he lets out a pained scream, the wind feels faster as Lan Zhan—
—not right, not right, not right—
—he wakes up to the dark wood and white paint of the Cloud Recesses. He does not move, cataloging his body, the sensations, what he remembers. There was an oppressive feeling of pain, of wrongness, that is now mostly gone. Did they fly back? How long has it been?
He feels like he's forgetting something, forgetting; he thinks it over, the body, the pain, and reaches up his arm and sure enough, there are bright red marks, beginning from his arm, spreading out like spilled ink on paper, they resemble a spiders web as they crawl upwards, up along until they disappear into his clothes and he had no doubt they reach till his neck. What about his face? He reaches up to try and touch but before he can, the door slides open as Lan Zhan steps through.
Wei Ying's entire focus shifts towards the Second Jade. Lan Zhan looks pristine as always, calm like nothing can disturb him. His movements are steady, unhurried. He sets his things aside and walks into the Jingshi casually. There's no trace of urgency or worry in him. Wei Ying feels his heart grow cold. His Lan Zhan wouldn't have been as calm, nor would his Lan Zhan look at him the way it did, unmoving and—the same way that thing had.
"Lan Zhan" comes and sits by his bed, eyes lock over him, dark and amber. "Wei Ying," he—it—reaches up a hand, and cradles his cheek, the same way his husband did. Except, its thumb inches towards lips and it is colder than ice. Wei Ying acts unbothered, showing a soft smile as he puts his hand over the one on his face.
"I'm fine, Lan Zhan!" he says softly. The suspicion grows when he remembers the red veining on his body, when he realizes that the touch isn't as tangible as it should be.
Touching the creature's hand feels like holding a dust mote, and he abruptly realizes that he isn't sure if this even is the Jingshi. It is the same pristine colors, of course, but their possessions seem blurred, as if only half-existing. There is no familiar, comforting scent of sandalwood. Is it an illusion? A dream? Is this creature a figment of his imagination? Or is it something else? He tries to access his core and can't grasp anything. He tries to summon resentful energy but it slips through his fingers like water. His only choice is to get information.
"What happened?" he asks in a soft tone he reserves for his husband. He angles his body to be welcoming, like he would with Lan Zhan. None of his actions give any indication of his suspicions. "Are the children safe?"
Lan Zhan nods, "They're safe. Lan Xichen is looking after them and a healer is examining them. You are the only one to be harmed. We do not know the nature of your injuries—" Verbose. Too verbose. Lan Xichen, not xiongzhang or Xichen. Even his imagination wouldn't conjure an illusion so inaccurate. This isn't just a simple case of his mind making things up.
The last thing he remembers is Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan sending waves of spiritual energy and holding him close, so he can rest assured his body is safe. The hand slips from his cheek, as the "Lan Zhan"—no, the corpse, raises his chin making him look directly at it.
"What is Wei Ying thinking of?" it croons and Wei Ying looks away from it, and bites his lip as way of disguising his eyes roaming over the interior of the Jingshi, now that he looks carefully, the arrangement of the bed, the dresser, everything is out of order—the hand on his chin tightens, "Wei Ying, I'm right here."
The meaning is subtle, and Wei Ying turns to it, his expression as if hesitant, "I..I'm worried about the kids.." he takes on a concerned expression, not entirely faked, "Can you take me to see them?"
A pulse of Lan Zhan's--his Lan Zhan's spiritual energy abruptly floods him, and then is gone. It is a miracle he is able to keep his expression level and unbothered by it, but he's beginning to put the pieces together. He needs to keep the creature distracted, talking.
"Wei Ying," the creature wearing Lan Zhan's body says, almost chiding, "they need their rest, and you need your own rest. I am here with you; do not worry about them for the time being.”
Wei Ying knows it isn't the right time to push. He decides on a different approach, "You know how I get when there's a mystery to solve, Lan Zhan!" he protests with a playful smile, "You can't expect me to rest without any explanation? What happened? How did I get hurt? What did the healers say?" Simple questions, things he would've asked Lan Zhan in any case.
There's a lingering heat of Lan Zhan's qi swirling around within him, too weak to actually heal him or bring him out of this state, but enough to sharpen his perception and remove his pain. He knows his husband is trying to save him and there's no person more capable than his Lan Zhan. Something in him settles at that. Let Lan Zhan work from the outside to resolve the situation. Wei Ying will work from the inside to get more information.
The expression that crosses the corpse's face, of being caught off-guard, seems so foreign on Lan Zhan's face, but it composes itself and lets go of his chin, and seems to contemplate before deciding on an expression of utmost gentleness and care. "This," it says, as it reaches to touch the back of his neck, where one of the webbings must be, "is a mark of possession." A hint of darkness, desire, flashes in its eyes, "It means Wei Ying's qi has been flooded with another’s—" Wei Ying tenses, but the corpse has no suspicion in its eyes, meaning it was referring to that moment in the forest—"and Wei Ying is one of the few who have been able to reject it, so these," it reaches down to his arm, tracing over the red, "remain as a reminder." It looks enthralled, pleased even.
And Wei Ying feels his lips press flat. "I don't like them at all!" He pretends to whine, shows how he absolutely abhors the idea of it, feeling satisfied when it frowns in displeasure. "I don't like any marks other than the ones Lan Zhan makes,” he adds, looking at the corpse through his lashes.
Its facade almost slips, with the anger appearing on its face, and Wei Ying fights back a smug smile when another rush of his husband's warm spiritual energy wraps around him. The corpse-creature's face blurs for a moment, with that rush of qi, but then resettles. It looks distinctly displeased, though it tries to mask the expression with one of fondness that looks laughably fake. Wei Ying does not laugh.
"If my Lan Zhan wanted to make some marks," Wei Ying says coyly, trailing off in a suggestive manner. The creature seems to freeze and flicker, as if it is wholly unsure of what to do with that. And Wei Ying pulls back just as the corpse makes a hesitant hand gesture and says, softly, "Of course I'm joking Lan Zhan, you know your Wei Ying, I can't relax until I see the kids, and—" he adds seeing it fume "—you too, I know you're worried about them but they're strong! So they'll be fine!"
Wei Ying finishes his 'assurance' and Lan Zhan succeeds. There's a towering surge of qi coursing through him, ready to pull him back, his to command. By now, he is so familiar with his husband's qi that he can use it as his own. He sees how it makes the creature's eyes widen and falter. He smiles coyly, tapping his chin as the binds holding him to this place snap one by one.
"Now, who are you, my dear friend?" he asks as Lan Zhan's power unseals his own. The core he has cultivated so diligently pulses with power and the remaining binds disintegrate. Before the illusionary world around him can disappear, he reaches forward and slams a palm against the creature's chest, a smile of triumph curling at his lips.
"There you are," he whispers and drags them both to the real world that awaits them. His eyes flicker towards the real Lan Zhan, who looks pale and strikingly furious, and smirks coyly, "Lan Zhan! Someone had the audacity to steal your Wei Ying from you!"
The fury in his husband's eyes brightens into an inferno ready to destroy the most powerful of foes, and Wei Ying can't help but quiver in delight, in satisfaction. No words are needed between them, their souls and actions in perfect harmony. The creature that had taken him, and now is beholden to him, collapses and rebuilds itself, now not in Lan Zhan's form but again the form of the corpse he and the juniors had first encountered. It tries to fight against his power, but it stands no chance.
Lan Zhan steps forward, Bichen already unsheathed and ready to cut the corpse down, but Wei Ying shakes his head. He turns to the corpse, "Now, my friend, let's figure out what you are."
Wei Ying slams a talisman on the creature's chest and watches in satisfaction as it binds the creature completely. It squirms and tries to break the binds but to no avail. Seeing that the prisoner is secure, the juniors, healthy and hale, rush forward, gathering around him in concern.
Wei Ying smiles and meets Lan Zhan's eyes over their heads. 'Ah,' He thinks with something like heat curling in him, 'still furious.'
Indeed, Lan Zhan is furious. His eyes are dark and tracking all of Wei Ying's movements. His smile takes on an edge and he tilts his head to the side, baring his neck just slightly. Lan Zhan's eyes narrow and lips thin.
"Aiya," he pats the children indulgently, "Let your senior go, your Hanguang-jun is getting impatient."
The juniors flush red, and mutter excuses to leave. Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan and reaches forward to pull him, but that movement shifts his sleeve to show the red markings and he finds his arm in the other’s grasp as Lan Zhan pulls him closer, so Wei Ying’s weight is entirely on his body as if he's hugging him. He's startled.
"Ah, Lan Zhan what're you—" he cuts off mid-sentence as Lan Zhan curls one hand around his waist, holding him close, and the other raises his hair, letting air brush against his nape. The sensation tingles; Lan Zhan knows his weak spot and with the energy flow from earlier it's sensitive, and Wei Ying flushes figuring out—"Lan Zhan, wait, wait—Ah!!"
His back arches and he shivers as Lan Zhan’s lips infused with spiritual energy land on his neck and he continues with a sharp bite, one that lets Wei Ying know just how displeased his husband is, how worried he had been and how thankful he now is that they are safe. Wei Ying can't help the squeak that comes from him at the action, but he is not hurt. The bite is followed by a tender kiss, one that spreads his husband's spiritual energy through him, chasing away the redness of the spider-webbed marks on his arms, filling him with comfort and at the same time lighting a fire in him.
"Wei Ying is careless," Lan Zhan says, lips moving against Wei Ying's skin when he doesn't even pull away to speak, "I have been worried, Wei Ying was gone, alone."
He says the last part softly but Wei Ying hears it anyway with their bodies together, he can feel his warmth, their heartbeats and breaths mingling together, he can feel him and Wei Ying feels at ease, Lan Zhan’s words make his heart ache, 'Aish his beloved', "Lan-er-gege," he begins, his voice mellow and teasing, "Lan-er-gege, I felt you," he says, tracing Lan Zhan's back with his fingers as his breathing hitches. "I wasn't alone,” he finishes.
After waiting for a moment to soak in the comfort, Wei Ying leans back and looks at his husband, before leaning in to pull him into a kiss Lan Zhan leans into him, desperate and fierce. A strong arm curls around his back, holding onto him tightly. Wei Ying feels fond as he cups his husband's face, making soothing noises in the back of his throat even as the kiss grows heated. He pulls away with a gasp, chuckling when Lan Zhan doesn't let go, dipping his head to kiss along his jaw, "Aiya, husband, we're in public. Your uncle could arrive any moment now."
Lan Zhan doesn't let go and Wei Ying yelps when sharp teeth sink into his flesh once again, "How cruel to your poor Wei Ying!"
"It would seem you're well, Wuxian," An amused voice interrupts them and Wei Ying startles, looking beyond his beloved to see Lan Xichen watching them in amusement. Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan away and, this time, his husband parts with him reluctantly to bow to their brother. There's not even an ounce of shame on his beloved's face and Wei Ying feels flushed. How unfair.
He turns to greet Lan Xichen. "Da baizi! Yes, I'm okay!" Lan Wangji's arm around him tightens and Wei Ying squirms slightly. Their robes are already in a complete state of disarray. "Lan Zhan!" he whispers though he's pretty sure it’s still loud, and, sure enough, he hears a chuckle as Lan Xichen shakes his head slightly.
"That's a relief," he smiles at them, which Wei Ying returns just as bright, "I will not hold you up further," he says gently, and adds a joyful and teasing, "I'll go let Uncle know."
To not disturb you is left unsaid as he turns to leave and Wei Ying hides his face in Lan Zhan's neck as he hums in agreement, completely unrepentant. "Lan Zhaaaan" but doesn't say anything else as the door closes. The smile remains on his face; everyone is home safe, Wei Ying is happy, and it all feels right once again.
#storytime with bunnies#mdzs fic#wangxian#mdzs juniors#wei wuxian#lan wangji#lan sizhui#lan jingyi#jin ling#post canon#wei wuxian and the juniors#justdoityoufucker#vrishchika
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➵ changbin, son of ares ➵
Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x seo changbin
Genre: that good good smut n’ a lil fluff, pwp
Word count: 1.6k
demigod skz mini-masterlist coming soon
{see below for nsfw tags and warnings!}
Tags: demigod au, inspired by PJO, sonofares!changbin, hardsub!changbin, tattooed!bin, explicit language, mentions of battle scars, nipple play (r), mild knife play (no blo*od) (m), lil bit of hand focused oral fixation, marking and spanking (r), oral (69), unprotected sex (stay safe lovelies!), creampie, cockwarming
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Fire and fury, scalding hot, fingers biting into the delicate insides of palms. He is passion in the form of white heat that buzzes in your head and glistens with sweat between your shoulder blades. His eyes are gilded in flecks of gold that flicker like the flames which writhe under his skin. By contrast, his lips are soft and plush like the way rose petals crinkle.
He is never cold, and he never falters where he imbues his body into yours with darkened eyes that can see you inside and out until there is nothing left to hide.
He’s told you that the anger that boils inside him is nothing for you to fear: passion and infatuation are just other emotions which we all feel as intensely as fury.
Still, he’s immense: a show of force that makes you feel small and insignificant even though you know that you are nothing of the such to him. He holds you to his chest, letting you feel the pound of his furious heart that resounds and quickens when he pulls you in even closer, stretching out your limbs until they too burn.
The kisses he bites into your skin sink in like he can scald the very words there himself, “I’m just as much yours as you are mine.”
Your loyalty to him is the greatest gift--it is an honor to be by his side so fully knowing that the bend and arch of your back follows the trace of only his hand. You feel honored to have those golden and deep crimson eyes outline your frame. He bears his weight down lower, pressing into you until you gasp under him: your passion for him journeys over every twist of his muscled arms and chest that swells with strength. The illustrations of wars once fought and the symbols of his father rage war on his skin in thick strokes of ink. Your hands tell their stories where you leave no space untouched.
The scars that tatter his skin are more visible in the moonlight: places where his fury has leaked out and healed unevenly. Your fingertips know them well: how they feel like vulnerable little corners where the pieces of him don’t add up. Your lips find the curves of scars on his ribs and stretch around his arms as if you could heal him even more. By comparison, your skin is nearly spotless, and he too brings his lips to caress into the nape of your neck and down your arms all the way to your palms where he presses his passion there too. His hands are rough and calloused, but they still feel light as flames where he grazes the skin between your thighs.
“Let me see you.” He asks, laying down in the middle of the bed larger for just the two of you. The windows creak with the sound of the breeze, which then gather up the linens that bow along with the air. It wafts in and sends shivers down your arms. Intertwined with the air is the smell of smoke carried from afar; it is the scent of the night before battle and restless fires that wait distantly for him. The thought itself is distant: you wrap your legs around his waist to prowl over your lover who cranes your neck and guides your waist to hover over him.
Desire had never left his eyes: it's a type of insatiable fire that ravishes you and follows the way that you let your fingers creep to his bottom lip which you pull at, kissing him, letting the taste of your skin linger between your lips and his. He smirks, digging more roughly into the squishy parts of your hips to melt you into him. You grasp at the wooden handle attached to the leather sheath at his hip, drawing out slowly the curved metal knife which he keeps ready. The pure silver metal of the blade glistens in the moonglow, reflecting the image of your looming figure which brings it tickling up his skin. The sharpened edge draws a thin white line up his chest where you outline the space between his pectorals where he heaves in feeling the cold bite. You trace around his collarbones, threatening the pumping vein on his neck.
“You could kill me if you wanted.” He laughs out with a confident air, “You know that only you’ve got that power.”
You smile wickedly in response, pressing the tip of the blade in harder. Just a bit more pressure and you could draw blood, but you don’t.
“I know.” You tease the blade back down his body, feeling the cold on your stomach too. “Only I’ve got the pleasure.”
You cast away the knife sending it clattering to the floor, finding your hand hungrier than the blade. His arms wrap around you as if he can unfold you, and the heat from his skin marries with your own that trembles. Every inch of your being craves to drip in the fury and passion that consumes him, to make the one man unconquered by anyone weak to you.
You grind your hips hard, languidly taking in the way that his cock swells between your legs no more desperate than you are. His kisses find their way down your chest, leading heavy breaths to your nipples which he pulls at gently with his teeth--only at first--only growing in intensity the shallower he hears your breaths inhale. He moves his focus for only a few moments to suck harder at your untainted skin to place marks and battle scars of your own which tell stories of him.
“Are you going to fuck me, or keep me waiting?” He hushes directly into your ear.
You meet his eyes in their spectral glow: it's a color that you could never recreate, unlike any other creation of the gods.
“And you?” You pull lightly at his bottom lip with your teeth lavishing in the groan that it elicits from his throat. “I’m waiting too.” Your hand creeps down his torso to unfasten the button of his pants.
Incessant fingers meet in the middle where bodies curve and reposition, knees sinking into the feathered mattress that wrinkle with the soft touch of satin. His girth swells pink with the veins outlining and pulsating where your hand wraps, tongue dripping with saliva to his tip which flares until you lean in to give him what he craves. Your body shakes after he pulls your hips closer to his own heated mouth.
Your lover gives you no time to wait, pressing his tongue against your sensitivity and promptly tasting your essence on the tip of his tongue that teases. His fingers bury into your legs to pull them farther apart, burning the skin when he raises his hand to hear the way that your skin sounds.
You take him in until you can no deeper, swallowing his length with the moans that vibrate the deepest parts of your throat and make him growl with pleasure. Whimpers fill up your chest as your body surrenders to the way that he chooses to lap slowly at your sex, pressing in an evil grin.
“I could do this to you all night…” He promises, pressing sloppy kisses over your heat.
You wince, feeling the contrast of his blazing warmth to the cool breeze of the evening that is nearly enough to dizzy you. You know that he’d let you do whatever you want, even letting your impatience get the best of you. You flip back around, facing him, tangling your fingers deeply into his onyx-black hair, finding your mouth smashing against his and gasping with every bit of your want directly into his mouth so he can feel it.
In seconds, you align yourself over his cock until you feel so full that it makes your insides burn with a pleasure so indescribable you’re convinced that your own being must be possessed with some kind of crazed desire.
He coolly looks up to you, only exhaling once you begin to move your hips, finally moving his hands down your sides to help you rock. Your lover brings his thumb to your lip, rubbing away at the way that it trembles in your focus, dipping the digit in to swipe over your tongue.
“I know you can fuck me harder than that, my love.” He tests, ringing the sound of another slap to your skin through the room. “Harder.” He demands, and you flick your waist even rougher, losing your breath as the fire spreads through each of your limbs.
Your vision blurs trying to make out his features: the tattoos that paint nearly his whole form, the vertical scar over his eye which spits his face into a rugged and intimidating picture of the wars which he runs into so fearlessly. To others, they would see him as a monster, but you could never imagine it: not like this, and not for you.
Your frail form threatens to break, and you find the tears of pleasure and pain mixing on your cheeks which he wipes away gently, then taking up your cheeks in his hands to kiss at the stains.
Sweat condensates behind your neck, and your arms feel weak from merely holding yourself up above him, yet your energy still doesn’t falter. He bites at his lip in his pride, seeing exactly the way that you fall apart. You cum for him, loud and indulgently, nearly screaming from how your whole body explodes, then grows numb and placid as you put the world back together. Your lover turns into a madman in his determination: his touch nearly rips you apart. He fills you, pulsing with his seed that drips down your legs white.
You gasp as if you’ve forgotten what it means to breathe, collapsing upon him to feel the warmth of his embrace which you’ve long been addicted to.
Carefully his hand trails up and down your spine to calm you while the two of you connect for moments that carry on forever, pledging, “You are the only one I am powerless to, my love.”
~🌹~
Bunch of (Ro)ses!
@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim
#skz smut#stray kids smut#kpop smut#seo changbin smut#changbin smut#changbin x reader smut#skzstorynet#stray kids drabbles#stray kids oneshots#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#kpop fanfic#skz fanfiction#stray kids fanfiction#kpop fanfiction#changbin x reader#changbin x you#changbin x y/n#changbin x gender neutral reader#kpop oneshots#stray kids imagine#kpop imagine
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what about.. kylo ren with a blind reader?
word count: 1,000+
warnings: none! just a little angst, but other than that, fluff!
healing came naturally to you. your were gifted with your fingers, as many referred you to possessing a “healing touch.” whether it was dressing a wound, salving burns, or providing diagnoses, you were a well respected medic in the galaxy, working under the first order. even if some believed you were a sorceress, there was a clear reality.
four of your senses were heightened, due the fact that you were blind.
you had no idea why you lacked vision, but it was clear it was genetic condition, a recessive trait reflected under the right circumstances. your parents had produced many offspring, as you were the middle child. you had three older siblings, three younger siblings trailing behind you. remarkably, you were the only child who lacked eyesight.
however, you did not let that hinder you. growing up, you were constantly belittled for your condition, your parents remarking you would never amount to anything. to spite them, you worked hard in school, eventually leaving your home to become a medic. immediately, it was clear that you had a gift. you were not quite sure how to explain it, but your knowledge of healing was extensive.
currently, you sat alone in the infirmary of the supremacy, fingertips searching for a datapad. since you could not see the daily agenda posted, often times the other medics recorded it for you, providing clear instructions of the patient’s progress. even if the first order was viewed as a tainted and cruel regime, their acts of kindness left you overwhelmed with happiness. if only your parents had seen the potential you carried within yourself.
the hum of ventilators filled your ears as you searched for the datapad, finally plucking it from its shelf. you clicked the button and it whirred on, your superior’s voice filling the room.
“status update as of eleven p.m. all patients have received their nightly doses of medication. (y/n), there are no further updates on their statuses, as all patients are on the road to recovery, thanks to you. after you proceed with the nightly cleaning procedures, you are relieved from your shift. have a good night, and travel safe.”
a slight smile enveloped your face, the warm praise from your superior dripping like honey in your ears. you were unaware that your methods of treatment were successful. after cleaning and sterilizing several instruments, along with ensuring that the call buttons were on, you left the infirmary, the doors shutting behind you. the sound echoed through the empty hall, startling you.
realizing it was far later than you thought, you made your way to your quarters, your cane held firmly in your grasp. slowly, you stepped forward, in an even march. one foot in front of the other.
you turned the corner, entering a new corridor. luckily, the first order provided you with a room that was in close proximity to the infirmary, so you never had to travel far. biting your lip, you followed your cadence, your boots thudding against the floor.
suddenly, you ran into someone. you cursed to yourself, rubbing your head, your can whacking your knee as it hit the floor. with a long sigh, you bent over to pick up it, your fingers scrambling on the cold marble.
you stood straight, yet again thudding against the mysterious individual. the stranger let out a huff of annoyance, “you really need to watch where you’re going.”
letting out a long sigh, you parted your lips to apologize, but the stranger cut you off, “forgive me, for i did not realize who was standing before me.”
“who are you?” the question tumbled out of your mouth.
the stranger you ran into felt like a brick wall, and you figured it was a male. his chest was broad, his stature tall, as you hit nothing but armor from the feeling of it. your head rang slightly, as you typically never hit someone with such force.
the man chuckled, a low rumble, “i forget that you cannot see me. i am kylo ren, your supreme leader.”
your heart skipped a beat, shame burning in your cheeks. you felt so weak in the presence of kylo ren, the supreme leader of the first order. from the stories told, he was immensely strong, much of the universe bowing before him. the supreme leader was one with the force, utilizing it to his advantage.
you could not see it, but kylo ren was mesmerized by your beauty, his lips parted as his eyes drank in the sight of you before him. your hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, shining in the dim light of the corridor. a rosy hue dusted your cheeks, more than likely from embarrassment. your lips were full, tantalizingly soft. although your eyes were cloudy, they were still a rich color, glimmering with hope, as well as admiration. full lashes framed your beautiful eyes, and kylo could not help the magnetic energy, drawing him closer and closer to you.
“i should be the one apologizing to you,” you murmured, the words so soft kylo could barely hear them.
“you’re (y/n) (y/l/n), aren’t you?” he inquired, his voice thick with authority.
you dipped your head in respect, “yes, i am so sorry.”
he tsked, “sweet one, do not apologize. it was my fault for not looking where i was walking. would you like an escort to your room?”
you felt your cane slip in your hand, your fingers curling around the cold metal. you nodded slightly, kylo ren’s elbow linking with yours. you could feel his biceps taut under the fabric of his tunic, causing a slight blush to spread through your cheeks.
the supreme leader escorted you to your quarters, only a few minutes passing since the altercation. you punched in your code, the doors sliding open. before you entered your space, you felt a pull on your sleeve, stopping you.
kylo’s lips met with your forehead, soft, the kiss full of protection. you blushed, your fingers reaching out to interlock with his.
“thank you,” you whispered, your voice angelic in the night.
“you’re welcome,” he replied, squeezing your hand, “sleep well, angel.”
you felt a giggle rise in your throat, “thank you, kylo ren.”
when you went to bed that night, you dreamt of the encounter, a new scene unfolding before you.
this time, you could see the supreme leader vividly, in all of his mysterious beauty.
#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren#kylo ren x y/n#kylo#star wars#star wars x reader#kylo ren fluff#kylo ren smut#kylo ren fandom#kylo ren fanfiction#ben solo
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Unprofessional Behavior
Rating: M
>>>Read on AO3<<<
Can I write a chapter without a sex scene? Yes!
Is it this one? No....
Oh well.
I just hope that my recent hornyposting will keep you entertained during this damn lockdown.
Enjoy!
As a model, Mikasa did a serious number of photoshoots up to this day. However, this was the first one where she held the camera. And as her own model was totally clueless about what to do or how this whole thing works, she was completely in control of the scene. Standing in the middle of the room, Eren scratched the back of his neck, looking at her with the face that betrayed just how much he needed the instructions. Well, she was the pro here, wasn’t she?
“All right, so if I remember correctly, we should take three photos, send those to the magazine alongside the address of the hospital you work in and that should be it.”
“I need to report where I work?”
“It’s supposed to be the hottest surgeon, Eren, not just a random dude. Apparently, they will check by phone if you are employed as one.”
He shrugged, a bit indifferent to this whole ordeal. Mikasa was so eager to get this photoshoot done, and the reason why eluded him. It just didn’t make sense. She was usually quite possessive when it came to her fiancé, so why was she so hellbent on him getting his “sexy” photos out into the world? There had to be something Eren was missing about this whole thing, something that the raven temptress wouldn’t let on. But before this photoshoot was done, the amateur model was determined to crack the case.
“Guess that makes sense.”, looking around, he tried and failed to locate a good place to begin this thing, turning back to Mikasa instead “Where do you want me?”
“It's fine where you are, gives us the perspective and stuff.”
“Ok….”, Eren drawled, apparently waiting for her to begin.
She stared at him. He stared at her. That’s when it hit her.
“Baby,”, she began, “This is supposed to be sexy photoshoot… You know?”
“So? What is the problem?”
He still didn’t get it. Oh well, no reason to draw this out.
“I’m going to need you to lose those clothes.”, she said.
Eren’s eyes widened.
“Are you serious?”
“Not all of them, just strip down to your… let’s say… underwear?”
Eren thought, no hoped, that it was a joke, but her expression was completely serious. She did have a point, when he thought about it, he could hardly present his sexiness dressed in an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats. God help him. With a mortified face, Eren pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his pants, baring himself almost completely. Normally, he had no problems with getting naked in front of Mikasa, but the camera in her hand gave this whole scene quite a different vibe. The boxers would stay on this time though, he’s definitely not shooting nudes on his first take. Mikasa was watching him with a forced neutral expression, suppressing the smirk that fought its way on her face. She had to appear professional, otherwise Eren would probably just say fuck it and stop this whole charade. And Mikasa really did want to take these pictures, it was fun not being the model for once.
And Eren was a prime specimen to work with. Even like this, shuffling from one foot to the other, hands twitching nervously at his sides as he didn’t know what to do with them, his lean, muscular form was highly pleasing to look at and Mikasa had a hard time staying focused. She had seen his body so many times over those years they were together, but it was still as appetizing as the first time. Tearing her eyes away from that perfect V under his abs that disappeared beneath the fabric of his underwear she forced herself to stay on her task. There would be plenty of time to fool around later. Raising the camera, she once again took charge of the situation.
“All right, the first photo will be full frontal. Stand straight, legs a bit wider, that’s fine, and hands…. Oh, why don’t you put them behind your head, like when you are fixing your ponytail. It will give a great angle to your biceps.”
Wouldn’t be Eren if he didn’t have a stupid comment about that.
“Or maybe you want me to do that because you are just jealous of my glorious mane?”, he suggested, eyes sparkling.
Frustrated groan leaving her lips, Mikasa ran her hand through her tomboyish short haircut.
“Just do what I told you, okay?”
Following her orders, Eren did as he was told, striking exactly the pose Mikasa wanted. Oh yes, this was good. Putting the camera up to her face, she made sure that the lens stabilized enough before snapping the pic. Perfect.
“So, are we done?”, he asked, droppings his hands from behind the head.
“What? Of course not! The rules said three photos, we are doing three photos.”, making a rotating gesture with her finger, she said the phrase that Eren usually told her when he desired to take her from behind, “Turn around.”
“And why is that, my face boring you?”
“Not at all, but I do want a photo of that nice new tattoo you have.”
That was a request he could get behind. Just the memories of a few nights earlier, when she was on all four in front of him, when he was deep inside her were more than enough. Anytime he thrusted back then, anytime he moved to rub those places deep inside her, her body absorbed the punishing impact, the muscles of her back rippling. From his vantage point behind her, hands gripping her hips, Eren saw the tattoo on her back move too, the wings almost flapping as if Mikasa really was an angel with a pair of real ones on her back. In short, it was spectacular.
Turning to obey, Eren presented his back to her, looking over his shoulder to see if she perhaps had any more commands.
“Use your hands to pull your hair away from the tattoo, I want to see it all. Okay, just like that, now make a bit wider stance, again, and throw me a steamy look over your shoulder. Good, perfect, just a second…”
Raising the camera, she took the second photo, immensely satisfied with her model. Returning to his default stance, Eren looked at her, waiting what she will cook up next. Okay, they had a frontal and back shot, but what about the last one. What should the third photo cover? Hmmm..
Letting her eyes roam all over his body, Mikasa tapped her chin, deep in thought, for once unsure how to continue. She wore clothes in her line of work, presented them, yet Eren was supposed to show off his body, but those two photos covered all of it, so what was she missing? And then it hit her. What was one of the sexiest parts of Eren? His eyes. His eyes where he stared down at her, with that fire inside of them, when he called her his kitten and stroked her head. Now she couldn’t translate all that into a photo, but there was something she could do. Coming closer to him, Mikasa dropped down to her knees, looking up into his slightly confused face.
“What are you doing?”, he asked, staring down.
“I want you to show that fire inside you, that raw sexual energy you can do. That’s sure to blow the competition out of the water.”
A slight blush colored his cheeks, face turning from confused to flustered.
“I-I can’t just summon it on a moment’s notice Mikasa, I can’t just…” he threw his hands up, “I can’t do it just because you want me to.”
That was a good point. Then again, maybe Eren didn’t have to summon it out of thin air, maybe she could give him some…. stimulation. There were ways to tickle his fancy, to awaken that dark side of Eren, and Mikasa had plenty of experience in it. Putting the camera down for a second, Mikasa quickly took off her shirt, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra right after. Now topless, she looked back up, seeing the familiar spark in his green eyes, roaming over her suddenly exposed abs and breasts. It was good, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t that blazing inferno she craved. Moving her shoulders back, Mikasa pushed out her small chest as much as she could, placing her hands on the sides of her breasts.
“Please sir,”, she looked at him through her eyelashes, “Just a little bit…”
Pressing her tits together, she slowly licked her lips before biting the bottom one, giving him the best possible view. And it worked. The spark in Eren’s eyes grew into a fire, his breathing quickened and Mikasa could see how the muscles in his long arms flexed. He wanted to touch her, wanted to take control of this offered situation and only that small logical part of his brain that kept telling him it's only for the photo stopped him from doing so. There was now a considerable bulge in his boxers, another proof that kneeling topless Mikasa is unable to be resisted. Quickly picking up the camera, Mikasa aimed it upwards on his face, grabbing a pretty picture from her low perspective. Yes, this was exactly what she wanted.
“This is great,”, she said, moving to stand up, “Just let me…”
Mikasa was rudely interrupted, however, when Eren put his hands on her shoulders and pushed, not allowing her back up. On her knees, she looked up with a question on her tongue, but it died quickly when she saw that the fire she started was still going strong. It would seem that her teasing was just a tad bit too effective in getting him going. Mikasa had awakened that dark side of her fiancé, and now that it was here it demanded satisfaction before going dormant again. Reaching down, Eren took the camera from her numb fingers and placed it on the chair without looking, his eyes glued to her face. Once that was secure, he placed his palm on her cheek, stroking his thumb alongside her scar.
“Miki, I don’t think I want to let you stand now. You wanted to see my sexual energy, so….”, moving his other hand from her shoulder, he placed in on her face too, tracing the shape of her bottom lip, “How about I give you a demonstration?”
Now that the professionalism was gone, Mikasa couldn’t help but feel the heat between her legs, as if the fire in Eren’s eyes ignited her too. Photos were nice and all, but this could be so, so much better. All she had to do was say yes. Swallowing, she held Eren’s gaze as she nodded.
“I w-would be honored, sir.”
“Good, good. In that case, I think that its time for this photoshoot to move onto the fully nude acts.”
His boxers were gone in a flash, the proof that Mikasa’s teasing was a resounding success was now right in front of her face. His hands were back too, once again anchoring her to the ground.
“First, I want you to do that thing you did when you wanted to get me going.”
It took her a moment before Mikasa understood what he meant, but when she did her hands obediently moved back to her breasts and she pushed them together, same as before. It wasn’t that impressive, her bust was small, but Eren did not care. He never did.
“I’m going to fuck your tits.”, he announced, as if it was the most natural thing to do, “It’s been some time since I’ve done it, I’m sure that your puppies are feeling neglected. Aren’t they?”
She couldn’t not fast enough.
“Of course, sir, begging for your attention.”
With a possessive smirk, Eren grabbed himself and guided his length between her warm mounds. The contradiction between the hardness of Mikasa’s muscled stomach and the softness of her breasts was always fascinating, and it felt even better now that he was experiencing it firsthand. Sure, her tits were small, so it wasn’t exactly perfect, but that hardly mattered. Pushing his thumb into her mouth, he loved how eagerly Mikasa sucked on it, losing herself in this as much as he was.
“Kitten, I love your tits, so perky and firm, I swear I could fall asleep on your chest every night.”, increasing the tempo a bit, he bit back a moan, “I just.. Fuck... I just couldn’t wish for a better pillow.”
Rocking his hips back and forth, he slid between those firm breasts, getting himself all excited. But while fucking her tits was good, Mikasa had a mouth to die for, and Eren wanted to take it as well, considering just how nicely she looked kneeling in front of him. Feeling her tongue toy with his thumb only made him remember how godlike it felt when she was worshipping his cock instead. It would be a damn shame not to take advantage of her blowjob skills, especially after he trained his kitten in this art for so long.
“How about a taste test of that sex appeal of mine, would you be opposed to that?”
Almost automatically, Mikasa’s mouth dropped open, tongue sticking out, waiting for him to claim her. Eyes hooded, she watched as he pulled himself from between her breasts and put the tip inside her mouth instead of his finger. Her pink lips sealed around immediately, eagerly even. Mikasa had developed a certain taste for cock sucking during their time together, despite how disgusting she found the concept first. Tangling his fingers in her short raven hair, he pushed in past her gag reflex. Eren let himself be enveloped by the tight hug of her throat, the muscles of her neck flexing around his length.
“You’re so good at this Miki…”, he groaned, head falling back at that divine feeling of her mouth, “So fucking good…”
Emboldened by his words maybe, Mikasa took more of an active role in this, pulling back to gain control. Letting go of her tits, she curled her fingers around the base of Eren’s cock, focusing her mouth to work on the tip. Sucking diligently, she traced the sensitive head with her tongue, paying special attention to the underside. If her experience with that new toy she got for her puppy taught her anything, it was that this spot made Eren go crazy. It worked again, and she could feel his hips bucking into her mouth, desperate. To give him a little bit of time off, Mikasa pulled her swollen lips from him, littering fleeting kisses to the sack instead, only working the shaft with her hand. Not fast enough to make him cum, but enough to keep him excited. Once again putting her mouth back to work, Mikasa noisily swallowed his length, pushing it deep into her throat until her nose met Eren’s skin. Clenching it around him, she used her hand to play with his balls at the same time, the effect almost immediate.
“Baby I…” chest heaving, sweat running down his face, Eren had a hard time putting one word in front of the other, “I’ so close…”
Eyeing him from underneath her lids, Mikasa only pulled back to tease him with her tongue again, dragging the tip of it against the most sensitive parts. Fully expecting him to come into her mouth, ready to swallow, she was surprised when Eren spoke again.
“I want… I want to cum on your face.”
Deep in the act, Mikasa would not protest. Letting go of him, she watched Eren pull out of her mouth and grab his spit slick length himself, giving one, two desperate strokes before his cock spasmed. Closing her eyes just in time, she felt him shooting his load over her face and chest, coating those cute small tits by his finish. Chest heaving, his dick in his hand, he was quite a sight when she opened them again, such a sight that she regretted ever letting the camera out of her hands. Now this, this would be a prime photo right there. To see what she missed, Mikasa dragged a single finger over her left breast, collecting some of the sticky finish there. Her gaze meeting Eren’s, she kept eye contact while pushing it between her lips, licking her digit clean.
“Delicious.”, she purred, and that was about everything Eren could take.
Grabbing her, Eren made Mikasa stand before basically tearing away her pants and underwear in a single go. Turning her around, he slammed her against the wall, chest first, nudging her legs apart with his knees. But he didn’t fuck her, as she expected, his fingers appeared instead, tracing the outline of her soaking wet labia. She moaned at that, a fact Eren quickly took advantage of as he pressed two fingers into her mouth and explored that lovely mouth of hers. She wanted to touch him, but he didn’t allow her to, holding her in place with his own body, and Mikasa was forced to just moan weakly around his digits as he teased her down there, her own fingers scratching helplessly at the wall. If Eren wanted her desperate, he was doing a fine job, because these light touches were driving her crazy. Not enough to give her any real pleasure, but not weak enough to let her calm down.
It was torture. Looking down, she could see the remnants of Eren’s finish, her brand new pearl necklace, white against the paleness of her skin. He found his release and now was dedicated to tormenting her, maybe a bit of payback for this whole photoshoot idea. It wasn’t that Eren could not fuck her, Mikasa could feel his length resting between her ass cheeks, even moving a bit as he bucked his hips in sync with his hands, rubbing himself on her. He could go, he just didn’t want to. Yet.
Eren’s hands were the instruments of his will. One in her mouth, the other between her legs, he was playing with her, circling her, touching the outsides before dipping a single digit in only to pull it out right after. Eren even attended to her clit, gave it a few teasing strokes before stopping, adding to that mountain of frustration. She tried rubbing her ass on him, knowing Eren’s weakness for that part of her body, but it didn’t do anything. And when she tried speaking, he was quick to react. Pulling his fingers out of her sopping wet sex, he slapped her ass hard, making her cry out around his fingers still deep inside her mouth.
“Did I give you permission to speak?”, another slap, another yelp, “Did I?”
Her words were muffled by those digits between her lips, but Mikasa managed to push out an answer.
“N-No, sir. Sorry!”
A satisfied huff against her neck, but Eren picked up on what she wanted. And he wasn’t ready to give it to her for free. Pulling his wet fingers from her mouth, he moved them down to her breasts instead, playing with the hard nipples, not minding that her tits were still covered by his sticky finish.
“Very well, I’m giving you permission now.”, he said, mouth right next to Mikasa’s ear, “Beg.”
His playful tongue coming out to play, Eren traced the metal circles in Mikasa’s upper ears, toying with the pierced cartilage, tugging at them slightly. Her ears were so sensitive, it took her some courage before Mikasa got them pierced at the top and back, but as a stubborn goth she needed some metal in her and that area was about as far as she was willing to go. Highschool could be crazy sometimes, and some teenage pain was worth showing the world how she felt. The piercings surely added to her sensitivity, because she could literally melt from this alone, from how Eren’s mouth played with that jewelry, how amazing his teeth felt lightly grazing her earlobe. Combine that with his fingers on both her breasts and sex and Mikasa could hardly do more than breathe. It took her a long moment to speak, but Eren didn’t seem to mind, having his fun with all those different parts of her body.
“P-Please I ne-need that thick cock in-,” she swallowed, “Inside me, sir. Please, I ne-need you to f-fuck me, I need it so much…”
“No.”
That single word took the wind from her sails. Was Eren seriously planning on turning her on this hard and then not finishing the job? He wouldn’t do that, would he?
“But sir I…”
“I have a question first, “, he interrupted Mikasa’s begging, “And I want to hear a truthful answer.”
The corners of his lips turned upwards.
“If you lie, I will punish you.”
Swallowing again, because her throat was just so damn dry, Mikasa nodded.
“Why are you so eager to do this photo contest shit? What’s in it for you?”
Opening her mouth, she closed it again, racking her brain for an excuse. She couldn’t tell him the real reason, he would probably just laugh and say how stupid it is.
“I just thought that it would be nice if you tried my line of work..”, she lied, watching him over her shoulder, “You know, we could bind over doing the same thing and…”
“You lie.”, two words, falling like stones.
Surprisingly, he let go of her then, and Mikasa thought that perhaps he gave up on the punishment, but then Eren spoke again.
“You will crawl into our bedroom and bring me the cane which I will spank you with. Now.”
And she did. Falling down on the floor, she moved on all fours like a dog, like the kitten she was, crawled to their bedroom and brought him the instrument of her discipline between her teeth. Her sex was throbbing at this point, sopping wet from all this treatment, and it didn’t look bright in the future either. Retrieving the cane from between her teeth, Eren twirled it between his fingers.
“Lean on the wall,”, he instructed her, “Legs open, wider, wider, that’s fine. I will hit you fifteen times for that lie, with you counting of course, and after that, I will ask you again. If you lie, I will continue with the punishment, if you say the truth, I will finally give you what you want.”
Exposed and open, just as he wanted, Mikasa braced herself for the impact. It still made her cry out, the bite of solid wood rather powerful, setting her backside on fire. To make matters worse, the ripples of the hit traveled all the way to the front, teasing her needy pussy even more. Eren knew what he was doing, the bastard, he knew that pain was pleasure when done correctly, and he was determined to get her as desperate as possible. Edging is fun, especially when he could watch her, watch that amazingly toned athletic body of hers move exactly as he commanded it too, letting him spank her just because he demanded it.
“One.”, she counted as instructed.
She made it up to eight without crying openly, but then the tears of pain overwhelmed her, making her sag against the wall. And Eren waited until she straightened her posture again, strict as he was, nudging her legs a bit wider with the wood. It was an intoxicating feeling, to see her writhe and cry while being disciplined, knowing that she has the power to stop it but won’t do it anyway. Mikasa was his kinky kitten, even without that collar around her neck, and Eren would give her everything she could ever ask for. The ninth smack made her shout, to sob out loud, but her posture held. Eren had trained her well. When the last hit came, Mikasa’s usually pale ass was positively red, painted over by the smartly placed strokes of wood. It hurt, but it was all done on the fleshy part of her butt, there was no chance of any serious damage inflicted on her. Eren was an experienced master.
“Going to talk now?”, he asked, the cane still ready in his hands, “Or do you need more persuasion?”
While the threat of more pain was a powerful motivator, it was that inferno between her legs that broke her. Mikasa needed to be taken care of, and she needed it a long time ago. With her legs wide apart like this, she couldn’t even rub her thighs together, she couldn’t do anything without Eren’s approval, and he wouldn’t give it to her until she said the truth. There was no other way out of this torment, he had her trapped.
“I just… I just want the other girls at the agency to see you too.”, she confessed through the tears, “The magazine is popular, the other models will read that article, they will know…”
She couldn’t look at him, admitting her reasons to the wall instead, unable to face Eren’s inquisitive gaze.
“I wa-…” she choked back a sob, “I just want them to know how insanely hot my fiancé is. I want to boast for once, god damn it!”
He sighed behind her. So this was the whole secret, the absurdity making him smirk a little bit.
“Miki, look at me.”
Mikasa did so, and her face, so ruined by tears, spit and cum, that was heartbreaking to watch
“And why didn’t you say it sooner?”, shaking his head, Eren let out a disbelieving laugh, “What’s wrong with that reason?”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“Stupid? No! I did the same thing with you, don’t you remember? Back when Onya had those dumb comments about me being in a long-term relationship.”
Satisfied with her answer, Eren knew that this is the truth, this was the real reason for her eagerness. Shaking his head, Eren dropped the cane, running a loving hand over Mikasa’s beaten and bruised bottom.
“Do you still want me to fuck you?”, he whispered into her ear, “Or does it hurt too much?”
The suffering would surely be too strong if Mikasa wasn’t into it. Luckily, she was just as masochistic as her lovely partner, the pain twisting into pleasure in those dark corners of her body.
“I’m fine.”, she said, “Fuck me. And don’t hold back.”
Eren quickly dropped a hand between her legs, not wanting to make her wait anymore. Spreading her folds open, he slowly guided himself in, making Mikasa moan in pleasure. Finally. She was dripping, there was no need for foreplay, so Eren began pumping into her right away, short grunts ghosting against her neck. Her pussy was so perfect, it was hard to believe it wasn’t made specifically for him. They just fit so well together.
“You’re so fucking tight kitten,” he growled into her ear, “So hot and wet and silky, I could spend an eternity fucking you and I would still want more.”
Flesh slapping against flesh, the contact still sent flares of pain up from Mikasa’s backside, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of finally being filled, stretched to her limits by his girth. Bracing herself against the wall, she panted hard, feeling her insides contract and her toes curl against the floor. Being taken from behind did rob her of the sight of him, she couldn’t watch that beautiful dance of muscle on Eren’s body that was taking place when he fucked her, but it allowed him to reach those depths inside her, rub the head of his cock against those places that made her see stars. It made her hips snap back into his, buck in time with his thrusts, meeting him halfway. His hand wasn’t idle either, playing with her clit, rubbing her in tiny circles, determined to make her cum as hard as possible. Close, she was so close, and Eren took notice. Fingers speeding up, he toyed with that magic nub while steadily thrusting into her velvety heat, that combination so heavenly that it made her scream when the coil finally snapped. Her pussy clenching wildly around his length, her vision going white, Mikasa fell back into Eren, head on his shoulder, unable to hold herself up anymore. High on her climax, she let out a cute giggle that bubbled out of her chest, closing her eyes to savor the feeling to the fullest. Cunt clenching around his length, Eren knew that she was on her high, and worked to extend it for her as much as he could. Burying his face into her neck, muffling his groans by biting into her skin, creating another of those hickeys she would curse him for in the morning, Eren kept his tempo up. It didn’t stop him that he had to hold her weight up, it didn’t stop him that she didn’t help him anymore, lost in the stream of pleasure, nothing would stop him once Eren was determined. It was hard to keep himself from exploding inside her, when her inner muscles milked him, spasming around his cock, begging him for release. Yet Eren was determined to please his dark princess, to give her all the pleasure in the world.
The proof of Mikasa’s climax was running down her inner thighs, that heavenly feel prolonged by Eren’s fingers working her clit, doing those exact little circles that she enjoyed the most. It was a bit embarrassing when he asked her to show him how she touches herself, what she enjoys the most, but it was so incredibly worth it. It was slowly getting too much, the pleasure was not stopping. Bonelessly sagging into his embrace, Mikasa was just leaning on his body, head lolling back on his shoulder, panting for air while he kept moving inside of her, tireless. Her body felt like jelly at this point, thoroughly satisfied and fucked, unable to hold her thoughts together anymore. Seeing it, seeing how done she was and knowing that it was his doing, that it was his body that was able to make her lose it like this, that was enough to break Eren’s concentration. He cursed against her skin as he came too, his release mixing with hers, creating quite a mess between her thighs.
When Mikasa came back to reality, they were sitting on the floor together, as Eren’s legs probably gave way too, hunched into one sweaty, dirty bundle of bodies. Now that her hormones have calmed, she realized how incredibly filthy she is. There was cum on her face, her breasts, between her legs and on her inner thighs, everywhere. She needed a shower. Now. Eren thought so too because when he took notice of the life returning to her eyes from wherever heaven the strong orgasm sent it to, his first words were quite simple.
“Let’s get cleaned up.”
And Mikasa couldn’t agree more.
It was after that much-needed shower and after Eren gently rubbed soothing cream into her aching ass that Mikasa reviewed the fruits of their labor. She was lying down on the couch, on her front to avoid putting any pressure on her butt, scrolling through the photos. They were just as good as she remembered. Eren looked hot as fuck in the first one, the second one showed off both his tattoo and that nice shape of his ass, and the third one…. Despite just being thoroughly fucked, Mikasa had to bite her bottom lip. The third one was something else. The slight hint of the bulge, the submissive angle from below, that emerald fire in his eyes. Look, maybe the photoshoot wasn’t exactly professional, as models are not supposed to fuck the director’s brains out right after, as far as she knew, but who cared about such a formality. The third photo was incredible, and she couldn’t wait to send it to the magazine. The victory was theirs.
“Miki?”
She hummed, letting Eren know that she’s listening.
“I kind of forgot to tell you, but I met someone at Zackly’s shop.”
Oh, a meeting in the sex shop? This should be spicy. Putting down the camera for a second, she gave Eren her full attention.
“Do go on.”
“Ymir and Krista. And before you ask, yes, they recognized me.”
“Oh well, that sucks, but what can we do. “, Mikasa shrugged, “It’s the twenty-first century, it’s not like we are doing anything illegal.”
“I know, that’s not the point.”, he smirked at her, “In fact, they were there to start their own adventure.”
“Really….”
Mikasa could imagine Ymir being into some BDSM, but Krista? She was always so quiet and calm… Then again, Mikasa was also very quiet in public, and look at her now. Forced to lie on her front because her fiancé caned her ass so hard. Looks can be deceiving.
“Long story short, they asked me to come over someday, give them some pointers, maybe tell them some of the stuff we did.”, Eren continued, “And since you play a major part in those stories, I have to ask, would that be okay with you?”
Well, it was bound to make the next meeting a bit more awkward, but to hell with that. If Ymir and Krista wanted in on the fun, Mikasa would be the last person to hinder them in any way.
“Go for it.”, she nodded at her boyfriend, “I’m sure that they will appreciate it.”
Especially Ymir, Mikasa imagined. Getting his answer, Eren moved back into the kitchen where he was preparing their dinner and she was left alone to go back to the photos, once again looking them over. And the more she stared at them, the surer she was. This competition was won. And the other models over at Kiyomi’s agency would find out a thing or two about that usually quiet and stoic Asian girl.
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Mo Dao Zu Shi: Chapter 3
Masterpost
Previous chapter
Wei Wuxian’s first thought was that perhaps the Lan youths’ flag formation contained mistakes.
If the things he invented weren’t deployed with the utmost care, they had a habit of producing disaster—that was why he had specially checked that their yin summoning flags were error-free. Stiffening as several powerful arms began hauling him outside, Wei Wuxian allowed himself to be dragged so he wouldn’t have to waste energy walking. When the mob finally arrived at the eastern hall, it was quiet, a marked contrast to daytime, despite the fact that there were hardly fewer people now than there had been then. Every household servant and family member had come, some still in their sleeping clothes, sporting nests of tangled hair, eyes terror-stricken. Lady Mo sat paralyzed, as though she had just awoken from a nightmare, her cheeks streaked with tear stains. The corners of her eyes were still watering when Wei Wuxian was hauled in. Immediately her glimmering, sorrow-filled gazed began to shine with the vengeance's chilly light.
On the ground laid what appeared to be a human body, draped in a white cloth that left only the head showing. Lan Sizhui and a few of the other Lan juniors surrounded it, bent over in scrutiny, speaking in whispers, grave expressions etched onto their young faces. Their words were just loud enough to leak into Wei Wuxian’s ears.
“...he was discovered less than half an hour ago?”
“Immediately after we finished dealing with the walking corpses, we rushed over here and found his body lying in the hall.”
The body belonged to Mo Ziyuan. Wei Wuxian’s eyes swept quickly over the corpse, but, drawn back again, his gaze couldn’t help but linger.
The corpse did resemble Mo Ziyuan, yet it also did not. The shape of his face, his eyes, nose, and lips, clearly belonged to the young man, but his cheeks had been hollowed out, his eyes and eye sockets protruded grotesquely from the plane of his face, and his skin was parched and wrinkled. Compared to the youthful, round-faced Mo Ziyuan of yesterday, it was as though he had aged a couple of decades in the course of the night. All his blood and flesh had been sucked dry, rendering him nothing more than a thin husk wrapped around a frame of bone. The living Mo Ziyuan had been ugly; Mo Ziyuan’s corpse was not only ugly, but decrepit.
Wei Wuxian was still scrutinizing the body when Lady Mo suddenly charged toward him. In her hand, a dagger flashed, gleaming with the cold moonlight. Lan Sizhui, sharp-eyed and deft of hand, blocked the incoming strike before it landed. Before the youth could open his mouth, Lady Mo shrieked, “My son died a terrible death tonight! I must avenge him! What are you doing? Why are you trying to stop me?!”
Once more, Wei Wuxian hid behind Lan Sizhui. Squatting, he said, “What does your son’s death have to do with me?”
During the day time, Lan Sizhui had watched Wei Wuxian make a scene in the eastern hall and then heard the garishly embellished rumors concerning the poor man swirling through everyone’s mouths. Fully of immense sympathy, he couldn’t help but defend him. “I’m very, very sorry this occurred, Lady Mo. But the state of your son’s corpse, the fact that his blood, flesh, and spirit have been sucked dry, means that he must have been killed by a demon. Your nephew couldn’t have done it.”
Lady Mo’s chest heaved as she spoke. “What do you people know? This lunatic’s dad is a cultivator. Of course he’s learned all kinds of evil tricks!”
Lan Sizhui turned and glanced back at the apparently shellshocked Wei Wuxian. “That’s, um, Lady Mo, you don’t have proof, so let’s—“
“The proof is on my son’s body!” She stabbed her finger at the corpse lying on the ground. “Look at it yourself! Ah-yuan’s remains have already told us who the killer is!”
Without hesitation, Wei Wuxian snatched the edge of the white cloth and pulled it away, revealing the entirety of Mo Ziyuan’s corpse. Yet something was missing.
His entire left arm, from right under his shoulder, had severed itself from the rest of his body, grown wings, and flown away!
“See?” Lady Mo said. “Today, right here, didn’t you all hear what he said? That lunatic said that if Ah-yuan touched his things again, he would chop off his arm!”
Overcome with emotion, she covered her face as she sobbed. “But my poor Ah-yuan never touched any of that lunatic’s things in the first place. Not only did he throw around baseless accusations against my son, now that deranged bastard murdered him in cold blood!”
“‘Deranged bastard!’” “‘In cold blood!’”
How many years had it been since Wei Wuxian last heard comments like these lobbed his way? They were almost like old friends. He pointed at himself, but he had no reply to give. He wasn’t even sure whether the problem laid with him or with Lady Mo. He had made plenty of outlandish threats when he was young—that he would extinguish entire families, entire clans, that he would vanquish millions and blood would flow in great rivers and dye the lands and seas red. That sort of thing. But most of the time, they had been empty threats, said only for the sake of saying them. If he could actually do those things, he would have long enjoyed dominion over the entire world of cultivation. On the other hand, Lady Mo wasn’t trying to avenge her son. She was only trying to find someone upon whom she could vent hateful fury.
He wasn’t going to further entangle himself with her. After a moment of pondering, he stuck out his hand, groped around Mo Ziyuan’s chest, and pulled out a piece of folded-up black fabric. Spreading it out, he found that it was a yin summoning flag.
In a fraction of a second, his heart flashed with ice, and he muttered, “You were your own victim. How can someone like you expect to live?”
Once Lan Sizhui saw what Wei Wuxian had pulled from Mo Ziyuan’s chest, he also understood what had in fact happened. Viewed in light of the day’s ruckus, it wasn’t difficult to guess the chain of events: Mo Ziyuan had been humiliated by Mo Xuanyu’s crazy display, and had gone looking for his cousin to get even, his heart brimming with resentment. But Mo Xuanyu had wandered off outside—no one in the house had caught even a glimpse of his shadow the entire afternoon. Thus, Mo Ziyuan’s next plan was to catch his cousin when he returned at night and teach him a lesson while no one was watching.
But when night fell and the young man snuck outside, he passed by the western courtyard and caught sight of the yin summoning flags that had been stuck atop the eaves. Even though he had been warned for the umpteenth time not to go out in the middle of the night, that the western courtyard was forbidden, and that touching the black flags was even more forbidden, Mo Ziyuan had assumed the Lan cultivators had only said those frightening things because they were afraid that someone would steal their valuable treasures. Completely unaware of the flags’ ominous effects, he inadvertently transformed himself into living bait. His dirty habit of stealing his mentally ill cousin’s symbols, seals, and spiritual tools had grown into an addiction. As soon as he laid eyes on anything of a similar nature, he became unbearably agitated and couldn’t rest until it was in his soiled hands. Taking advantage of their owners’ preoccupation with the walking corpses, he quietly plucked one of the flags and took it away.
The flag formation required six yin summoning flags. Five remained in the western courtyard, drawing all manner of dark creatures towards the Lan youth. But they were protected by the many spiritual tools they carried, whereas Mo Ziyuan, though only in possession of a single flag, had nothing to keep himself safe. Like most other predators, evil spirits went for the softest, easiest flesh, so naturally they were drawn to the defenseless youth. If there had only been walking corpses tonight, that would have been one thing—he probably would have suffered a few bites at most, and couldn’t have died in less than half an hour. Quite unfortunately, however, the flag had unintentionally attracted something far more frightening than a few walking corpses. It was precisely this unknown evil spirit who had killed Mo Ziyuan and robbed him of his arm.
Wei Wuxian raised his wrists to his face and found that the cut on his left hand had healed. It seemed that the sacrificial contract had indeed tacitly recognized Mo Ziyuan’s death as the product of his hard work. After all, he had invented and popularized the use of the summoning flags—even if it had been a bit roundabout and accidental, he could be perfectly well said to have killed Mo Xuanyu’s cousin.
Though Lady Mo knew somewhere deep in her heart that her son had a few little...problems, she absolutely refused to acknowledge that he had played any role in his own death. At once stricken by anxiety and shame, she grabbed a teacup and charged Wei Wuxian, hurling it at his face. “If you hadn’t made a scene and slandered him in front of so many, would he have gone outside at midnight? Your deranged attack caused all of this to happen!”
Wei Wuxian had long expected her to strike at him and easily dodged and hid. Lady Mo then charged at Lan Sizhui, screeching, “And you! You herd of useless things! You came here as cultivators to excise evil spirits. But what cultivation? What exorcism? You couldn’t even protect a child! Ah-yuan was only in his teens!”
The Lan juniors were still young and hadn’t had more than a couple of real-life experiences expelling walking corpses, so had not cottoned on to the fact that something here was strange until it was too late. They had no idea that there would be an evil spirit so vicious and fierce—at first, they had been guilt stricken, believing they had made some kind of oversight. Subject to such savage abuse from a woman so ignorant she couldn’t tell black from white and blue from red, they began to develop a sickly complexion. Since they had been born into a highly distinguished clan, they had never encountered anyone who dared treat them so terribly. Yet neither could they defend themselves: the teachings of the Gusu Lan Clan were extremely strict, and it was an unbreachable taboo to raise a hand against an ordinary person, who could not fight back. In fact, they weren’t even permitted to be rude. Thus, though their hearts tossed and turned with unhappiness, they all forced it down, suffocating themselves until their faces were tinged with green.
Wei Wuxian found the scene unbearable. “After so many years, the Lan family is still like this,” he thought to himself. “They’re still affecting that stupid, undying self-restraint. Hmph. Watch this!”
He spat at Lady Mo and said, “Who the hell do you think you’re screaming at? Do you think they’re your servants? These people traveled through half the country in order to help you for free. What exactly do they owe you? How old is your honorable son? He should be at least seventeen this year, right? And he’s still ‘a child?’ How old does he have to be to understand human speech? Yesterday, didn’t these cultivators say several times not to touch anything or approach the western courtyard? Because your son couldn’t stop himself from pilfering what isn’t his, as though he were a starving dog stealing chickens in the night, you’re blaming me? You’re blaming them?”
Lan Jingyi and the others exhaled, and their complexions began to return to a healthy color. On the other hand, Lady Mo, both heartbroken and resentful to the extreme, thought only of the word “death.” Not of her own death, of course. She had no desire to accompany her son. Rather, she thought of the death of every other human being on earth, especially the people in front of her. Following her habit of ordering around her husband, she grabbed him and said, “Call everyone in! Every single person!”
Perhaps shaken by the loss of his only son, he pushed her without warning. Lady Mo toppled to the floor, stunned.
In the past, she hadn’t even needed to touch her husband to make him follow her orders. If she only raised her voice a little, he would do whatever she wanted. But today, he had the temerity to strike back!
All of the servants grew white with terror as they saw Lady Mo’s expression. Trembling, Ah-ding helped her up. Lady Mo, shaking and clutching her hand in front of her chest, said, “You...you...you piss off too!”
Her husband behaved as though he had not heard her. Ah-ding ran to Ah-tong and shot him several meaningful glances, but Ah-tong, unable to endure the chaos, was busy attempting to drag the master of the house outside. Once the household had finally quieted down, Wei Wuxian prepared to inspect the body again, but before he was able to catch more than a glimpse, another blood-curdling shriek pierced the air, slashing its way from the courtyard through the doors of the eastern hall.
Everyone inside surged towards the exit. All they found were two bodies on the ground, twitching and spasming. One was Ah-tong, who sat paralyzed but still alive. The other had fallen and looked as though all of his blood and flesh had been sucked clean off of his bones. His skin was wrinkled and withered, and though his left arm had already disappeared, no blood trickled from where it was once attached. The state of his corpse was exactly like that of Mo Ziyuan’s.
Lady Mo had just shaken off Ah-ding’s supportive arm when she saw the fallen body. Her eyes grew wide and numb. All the fury-fueled strength within her finally expired, her world grew faint, and she toppled toward the ground. As Wei Wuxian happened to be standing near her, he caught her before she struck the stony floor, then passed her off to Ah-ding, who had rushed forward to help. He glanced at his right hand and found that another gash had vanished.
Lady Mo’s husband had barely left the eastern hall before perishing right where all the crowd now stood, and it had all happened in the blink of an eye. Even many among the Lan juniors had gone white. Lan Sizhui was the first to compose himself. He hurriedly asked the paralyzed A-tong, “Did you see what it was?”
Unable to pry open his mouth out of terror, Ah-tong would not answer no matter how many times Lan Sizhui asked, but only shook his head without end. His heart burning with urgency, Lan Sizhui allowed the other servants to carry Ah-tong inside, then turned to Lan Jingyi and said, “Did you fire the signal?”
“Yeah, I fired it,” Lan Jingyi replied, “but I’m afraid if there aren’t any seniors in the area who can rescue us, it’ll take our people at least an hour to get here, even if they rush. What should we do? We don’t even know what it is.”
Of course, neither could the Lan juniors flee. If, upon encountering an evil spirit, the juniors of any clan deserted the scene, caring to protect only themselves, then not only would they bring great embarrassment upon their clan, so much shame would hang around their necks that they could never again look anyone in the eye. The terrified members of the Mo household couldn’t flee either—the evil spirit would most likely hide itself among them, rendering the effort completely pointless. Gritting his teeth, Lan Sizhui said, “Be on alert and wait for help to come!”
Once the rescue signal was fired, it would not be long before other cultivators came to offer support. In order to avoid an incident arising over his rebirth, Wei Wuxian’s most reasonable course of action would have been to disappear into the night. If whoever came didn’t recognize him, all would be well, but if they happened to be someone he had once known or fought, who knew what could happen?
On the other hand, the curse was still on his body, so he wasn’t able to go far. Moreover, the thing that had been summoned was unusually ferocious—it had robbed two people of their lives in such a brief period of time. If Wei Wuxian departed so carelessly, by the time help came, Mo Manor might already have enough corpses to line an entire street, among them a few of the Gusu Lan Clan’s children by blood, each missing a left arm.
After pondering this problem for a little while, Wei Wuxian thought, “The faster the battle, the faster the outcome. Time to act.”
Next chapter
Masterpost
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Visit Luxurious City in Dubai and Getting awesome experiences
6 The reason, You Should Visit Dubai at Least Once in Your Lifetime
Dubai is, without a doubt, one of the extraordinary urban communities on the planet. It is one of the seven regions, including the United Arab Emirates. It is arranged in the east of the Arabian Peninsula and southwest of the Arabian Gulf, the city, is generally celebrated for its perpetual daylight, immense deserts, and shocking coastline, among others. Dubai invests wholeheartedly in its appropriate usage of lawfulness all through the city. Luxurious City in Dubai
Guests will have a sense of security and secure while venturing to every part of the territory at some random time of day. Luxurious City in Dubai Jumping up from the Arabian desert, Dubai is a city loaded with desire from uber shopping centers to the absolute tallest structures and the most prominent artificial islands on the planet! Dubai has chronicled sights, cutting edge design, dynamic nightlife, and out-of-this-world attractions.
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The lavishness, charm, and effect of the shopping centers in Dubai cause you to analyze into a shopping delight, which is, however, the city's capacity. The Dubai Mall is the second-biggest shopping center on the planet and a well-known vacation spot in Dubai. Consistent with its notoriety, one can say that Dubai has made a special effort with regards to shopping places. So get your 'shopping inner voice' intelligible while visiting this city of extravagance in light of the fact that once you begin to shop, it is essentially difficult to stop.
Splendid Beaches In Dubai
Seashores in Dubai
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Dubai's Nightlife
Dubai isn't just outstanding for its basic magnificence, shopping events, and huge amounts of world record yet additionally for its lively and captivating nightlife in Dubai. Nightlife in Dubai is a splendid palette, and when you're on your Dubai occasion, you must see a thousand hues this city shows when the nightfalls. Dubai Nightlife talks about the quieting ocean and the colorful clubs that play energetic music to move your legs.
The club scene in Dubai is genuinely mind-boggling and draws in guests from everywhere throughout the world. From lavish to restless, each sort of night club can be discovered everywhere throughout the city. "The City of Gold" likewise offers enormous worldwide jazz and film celebrations just as a territorial shopping celebration. Dubai has such a great amount to contribute about nightlife; it gives the correct sort of air to have safe and yet, a wild experience.
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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/a-direction-changing-full-moon/
A Direction-Changing Full Moon
A Direction-Changing Full Moon
By Alex Myles
On November 12th, there will be a a direction-changing Full Moon in grounded, rational and serene Taurus.
All zodiac signs will be affected by this energy, as the moon in Taurus enhances the bull’s characteristics within us all. However, those born under the sign of Taurus will feel the effects more intensely than others.
The moon is exalted when in Taurus, meaning the moon and Taurus share a sensual affinity and resonate deeply and harmoniously with one another. This causes lunar energy to feel particularly intense during this period, which heightens our intuition and empathy and makes us much more ultra sensitive than normal.
This full moon will feel gentle, but it is also going to flip our lives upside down and shake them up a little—just for long enough so we recognise how we are communicating, and who and what we are prioritising. Reviewing our lives helps us find compromise and achieve balance, and as with everything moon-related, it may destabilise us for a few days, but is beneficial for our highest good and soul evolution.
Some of us may have had throat problems recently, as Taurus rules the throat chakra and Mercury Retrograde’s energy cascades us back in time to reflect on our past so we learn from our (and other people’s) communication flaws and mistakes. The throat chakra is responsible for expression and relates to both speaking and listening, and we may realize that many of the obstacles we face today are due to not authentically communicating our deepest needs, and also because we, or others, have not been openly listening.
The moon in Taurus is the ideal time to clear any energetic blockages we have in the throat area, and we can do this by listening to our intuition and speaking our truths so we courageously and vulnerably voice how we feel—particularly through telling people what they mean to us.
It is important to be mindful when dealing with the throat chakra, as when it is out of balance, we may find our communication style is weak and misdirected, or the opposite, and we express ourselves far too aggressively. It is also likely that we won’t listen to our inner voice, or be empathetic or compassionate toward others when it is out of sync. This can cause all kinds of confusion and problems, and we may find ourselves misinterpreted or unintentionally passive-aggressively play mind games with silent treatment.
This is why it is essential to ensure that before we speak, we think, and before we think, we take time to balance our throat chakra, particularly as we are in the middle of Mercury Retrograde which is renowned for communication issues.
To make the most of this Full Moon there are three main things we will all (regardless of our zodiac sign) feel compelled to do while the moon is in Taurus:
1. Prioritize or let go of certain relationships.
We will feel the need to speak our truth to those we are closest to; however, we will only do this if we feel safe and confident to do so. Therefore, we will be having the types of conversations we may normally shy away from, and the intention behind them is to enhance our relationships with people and let them know the place of importance they hold in our lives. If we don’t feel safe, we will find the strength to silently let go of those who we know aren’t mutually respectful or that aren’t healthy for us to be around.
We will find ourselves detoxing our social media accounts and contact lists, and also re-evaluating why we have maintained certain connections long past their welcome, as this allows space to give higher priority to those that are authentic and meaningful. Although this “burning bridges” phase sounds harsh, it is Taurus’ way of ensuring that people who hold importance receive quality time, care, and attention, rather than being caught up in dynamics with those who don’t have our best interests at heart.
Our intuition will be rocketing during these few days, and while it is an all-time high, we will begin to make sense of why we have continuously put ourselves through turmoil by repeating scenarios without fully recognizing the lessons within them. This evaluation offers the insights and healing we have been searching for and sharply nudges us to compassionately remove ourselves from environments where there are arguments, aggressiveness, manipulation, deception, or judgment. Basically, we will want to remove anything unhealthy or debilitating from our lives and close those destructive chapters we keep drifting back to.
2. The desire to organize and manifest material possessions.
As the moon empties and then refills with the glow of the sun, we too can empty ourselves of any material possessions that no longer resonate with where we are in our lives—this creates room for manifestations of new possessions to enter.
When we let go of items we are no longer aligned with we will instantly feel lighter, freer, and not overwhelmed by messiness and unnecessary objects—some of which likely hold unhappy memories and negative vibes. We not only let go of clutter, but we also release the emotional baggage we have subconsciously held on to, as we may not realize the heaviness that many items are energetically carrying.
If there are any items we want to let go of, but they hold strong sentimental value, we can carry out a small ritual on the night of the full moon in which we wrap the items and place them in a safe and sacred place under the earth.
3. Try to stop being stubborn.
Those born under the sign of the bull are often profoundly stubborn—and during this full moon, regardless of our Zodiac sign, we will all be noticing our stubborn tendencies rising to the surface. This is the universe’s way of bringing this trait to our attention, so we shift out of old patterns of behaviour and learn from past mistakes.
Taurus’ energy is notorious for playing the long game; therefore, situations that we have been unable to figure out for some time will be surfacing right about now. Taurus’ stubborn and infuriatingly inflexible side may have been hindering us and causing us to miss out on valuable opportunities recently, mostly due to pride and arrogance. We can lose the possibility of intensely soul-nourishing relationships and experiences just by being stuck in limited, outdated ways of thinking, feeling, and behaving.
This headstrong, obstinate way of being is draining, so there is inner work to be done in order for us to freely move forward. This involves unlearning and deleting any old fear-based stories that have caused us to sacrifice the things we desire the most—and to replace them with new, up-to-date versions that align with how we’d prefer to interact (and mostly that means standing up to our persistent ego and refusing to allow it to dominate and control us).
When we drop our stubbornness, we may find ourselves wanting to reach out to those we have been temporarily estranged from, as the moon humbly draws us to open our hearts, forgive and communicate authentically.
This meeting between the moon and Taurus brings forward a dramatic and unusual transition phase for anyone who is usually cautious, guarded, bullish in nature and unlikely to embrace sudden change.
If we surrender to this full moon by attuning to its celestial energy, we will receive a window of immense fearlessness, in which we can tear down emotional walls, remove protective armour, embrace vulnerabilities, and cleanse ourselves of whatever (or whoever) is wearing us down and holding us back in life.
This gives us the determination and conviction to declare exactly who, what, and where we want to be in our lives. We may also discover many of the answers to the “whys” that have been resounding in our hearts and heads for way too long.
When this revolutionary lunar energy is at its peak it will be pushing and pulling on our most innermost, hidden emotions and, whether we like it or not, we will be in for a far smoother and harmonious ride if we open up, pay attention and listen intently to our mentor in the sky.
Overall, the moon in Taurus is an intensely transformational phase for us all—and a time when, collectively, we confront our shadow sides.
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I’m going to set aside the pop culture curiosity of a pacifist, anti-nuclear (Japanese) mecha series being re-imagined by a culture (US) without the WWII national nuclear trauma, and instead focus on the tension I do see in the American redux. Mostly, that this image:
is reminding me strongly of this guy:
Meet Ginko.
There are a lot of ways in which the remade/American Voltron has been a strange viewing experience. While it takes a lot of trappings from the original, it’s also removed from a lot of the moral and ethical quandaries usually tackled in the mecha tradition.
Power corrupts, whether or not it’s absolute; true power lies in defending those precious to you, not in attacking blindly. The aggressor is (almost always) wrong. The aggressor’s role is certain to lead to moral defeat, if not outright tragedy. You can see these themes played out and explored in pacifist 70s era mecha like Macross and Gundam, all the way up to present iterations. The American iteration of Voltron lacks any of this moral/ethical element. I keep waiting for it to happen, but at three seasons in, it looks like not only is it not even on the creators’ radar, they’re seeing a completely different (and very American) tension.
Instead of the issue being defense vs offense (or pacifism vs war), the setup across S3 seems to be establishing a tension of nature vs. unnature.
But first, let me introduce Ginko, so you can follow along. This is the first episode of the series Mushishi, which follows the mostly-episodic stories of Ginko’s experiences as a mushi-master. All the episodes are on youtube, and this is the very first episode. Jump directly to about 7:38 to see the relevant part.
youtube
If you can’t get the video to play, the situation is a boy who draws creatures no one else can see. Ginko says:
These are mushi. ... They’re distinct from insects and reptiles. Let me give you an analogy. Let’s say these four fingers represent animal life and your thumb is plant life. Humans are here, at the point farthest from your heart, at the tip of your middle finger. The farther you go down on your palm from there, the lower the life forms become. As you continue to go lower, around your wrist, your blood vessels combine into one, right? Fungi and microorganisms would be here. Once you come to that point, it becomes difficult to distinguish between plant and animal life. Yet, there is still life after that point. Go up your arm... and past your shoulder. And, the life that is around here [at your heart] is called “mushi”, or “green matter”. They are similar to life itself. Because they are so close to life itself, their shapes and existences are ambiguous. Some you can see, some you can’t.
At that point, near the center of all life, embryonic mushi swim in a river of light called the kouki. This river is the basis of all mushi life, but for humans to peer into this river is a dangerous thing. Ginko’s white hair and single visible green eye is a marker of his status as a master of these mushi, and of his liminal state as one who has moved (and can move) between the state of human nature and the immediate presence of that river of light. (If you keep watching the link above and continue on to the second episode, that one is about a girl who happened to look into the river of light, was infected by a mushi, and risked a kind of blindness as a result.)
Throughout the stories, the mushi are rarely malicious as an intentional thing. Their negative interactions with humans result more from the two attempting to share the same space, often to the detriment of one. So the issue is not that there are haunting creatures at the edges of our vision who seek to hurt us, so much as there are creatures beyond our ken who have their own ways of perceiving the world and occupying it, and when humans bang into them, tragedy can result.
Incidentally, Ginko’s ability to use the kouki also allows him to manipulate life itself. At least two stories hint at the kouki being a means of immortality and/or resuscitation from death.
I find those parallels striking. First, quintessence as it’s described in S3E7 is both a source of immense, unending power, and yet also a potential source of Honerva’s illness (this is the only place nuclear metaphors could be raising their head, but these lack the usual moralizing over corruptive power, as in the Japanese tradition). It’s also something that occurs naturally, or else Haggar's experiment would’ve failed, instead of extracting a entire planet’s life force.
That means quintessence is neither sourced from, nor exclusive to, that other reality discovered in S3E7. Like the kouki, is it the other reality’s absolute concentration of quintessence that makes it dangerous? Is this the difference between wading in puddles, versus being swept away in a raging river?
Ginko’s consistent message throughout his series is that one’s interactions with mushi can be negative or positive, but they are never indifferent and they are always natural. The travelling swamp, the white in the ink stone, the one-night bridge, the empty cocoons: these are less tragedies than melancholia about the places where humans and mushi meet.
In contrast, Voltron’s metaphor gets messier, the more I pry apart S3E7. The comet is described as a thing that can transverse realities, yet when Haggar attacked Voltron at the end of S2, she described the extracted energy as ‘pure quintessence’. Are we to conclude that a concentration of quintessence -- so complete that it becomes solid state -- is enough to cross barriers between realities? For that matter, was it even quintessence that poisoned Zarkon and his wife, or was it that red-swirl creature from the other reality? Could the quintessence have saved Honerva, had th creature not consumed and/or possessed the two?
It remains unclear how we’re to see quintessence: as part addictive drug, part powerful radiation, something only for use by certain sacred people with special genetic features, or just an everyday thing that becomes a horror when concentrated? That lack of clarity -- or any simple metaphorical explanation, at all -- makes me think the writers didn’t put quite as much thought into the role quintessence plays, despite how large it looms across the entire storyline.
Big stories -- of which Voltron is doing its best to be one -- should be asking big questions. And not just raising them and tossing them to the side, but digging into and exploring them, in a way only big stories can. Yes, exploring ‘what it means to be family’ is a valuable theme, but in a potentially eight-season story, there is room enough to explore more than just that. Especially when playing against a backdrop of imperialism, warfare, multiple realities, and questions about the nature of life (and reality) itself.
#random commentary#voltron meta#voltron season 3#analysis is my chocolate cake#no one expects the hermeneutical deconstructionists
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The NBA Has No Idea What to Do with Joel Embiid
It’s unclear when Joel Embiid won’t be the best center in the world, but at 24 years old, not even a dozen games into his third season, that’s what he is and will be throughout the foreseeable future. Embiid has entered a phase where MVP consideration is legitimate and first-team All-NBA play is expected every night. While continuing his journey towards a ceiling he still can’t see, Embiid is already (and easily) one of the seven or eight best basketball players alive.
“A summer of health,” is how Philadelphia 76ers head coach Brett Brown explains the improvement. “He had a hell of a summer, you know, and it spills over into his mentality and disposition. It’s connected to his development in his game, and the package equals somebody that wants to dominate...By and large he’s carried this team.”
This isn’t a traditional “breakout” season, as Embiid’s immensely positive per-possession effect was already known on opening night. But without any minutes restriction or schedule-related limitations (he’s playing in back-to-backs!), Embiid has entered the "you're gonna need a bigger boat" stage of his career, where most teams have no satisfiable way to combat his all-around brilliance.
"He’s super dominant.”
“Being able to play all these games and playing all these minutes, back-to-backs, I think he has a better rhythm than playing a couple games, sit out a game, or whatever the case was,” Wilson Chandler says. “I mean, he's super dominant."
Numbers fluctuate from night to night, but as of Monday morning Embiid ranked first in minutes, shots, free throws made and attempted, rebounds, and double-doubles while averaging about the same number of threes per game as Kevin Durant, Otto Porter, Kawhi Leonard, and Jayson Tatum. He’s second in points and blocks, too, a nimble mastodon who could easily be the sport’s most disruptive roll man if the Sixers ever cared to utilize him that way.
He isn’t flawless, but Embiid is considerably better than last year, when he was considerably better than the year before that. The most remarkable improvement can be seen on offense, where he’s turning the ball over less, growing by the game as a decision-maker and, with the seventh-highest usage rate in the league, bludgeoning defenses whether they guard him straight up or with a double team.
“I think his teammates have been excellent on going to the floor spots that we ask them to go to, so he knows where are his outlets in the event that he gets double-teamed,” Brown said. “That’s the first thing. And then I think secondly his ability...to not force things [when trailing the play] and to up fake people that aren’t there and just shoot it, or take a dribble and shoot a long two. Or just move the ball instead of driving into traffic. Those are the two areas that he turned the ball over in the most. Analytics and coach’s gut feel said that. And he’s improved. He’s really done a good job.”
Embiid forces defenders to play on his terms. He realizes that the entire game’s mood, feel, and tempo ultimately revolves around his size, strength, and imposition, knowing no single man in the world can prevent him from doing what he wants without a foul or cry for backup. It's beginning to look like the type of low-post command the NBA hasn't seen since Tim Duncan or Shaquille O'Neal.
“His game’s matured a lot more,” Ben Simmons said. “He’s slowing the pace down, knowing he can get to the rim whenever he wants and draw fouls and get to the line.”
Embiid’s career turnover rate was 16.3 heading into this season. Today, it’s 10.2 percent. That reduction is significant, but never more critical than when narrowed down to how he performs against double teams. Last season, he turned it over 30.3 percent of the time when a second defender swarmed him down low. So far, that number is down to 17.6 percent. Related: Embiid has scored a league-high 102 points out of post-ups this season. According to Synergy Sports, that’s more than every team in the league except New Orleans and San Antonio.
The mark of a true superstar is someone who indirectly and directly makes life easier for teammates on a consistent basis, and while Embiid fit that definition through most of his second season, watching him do it the way he does it, with more minutes, in a perimeter-oriented league, is so freaking helpful.
“Shit, he brings two defenders, so usually I get a free cut to the basket. Most of the time they’re leaving off me or Ben or whoever,” Markelle Fultz tells VICE Sports. “He just opens the lane up for me or with a rebounding opportunity, where two people box him out, I get to crash. Just stuff like that.”
Philly’s rookie shooting guard Landry Shamet agrees: “There’s five sets of eyes on him, so it’s easier to get looks and be effective without the ball.”
Even though the Sixers only have the league's 21st offense with Embiid on the floor, when he sits they fall 8.2 points per 100 possessions below the last place Orlando Magic. (Going the other way, that's the difference between Orlando and the 14th-ranked Miami Heat.)
Embiid's offense is technically a work in progress—he wouldn't be efficient if it weren't for all the free throws—but even as Philadelphia navigates through its new, spacing-starved starting lineup, his presence remains unparalleled. But it's on the other side of the ball where teams try to exploit Embiid's size in ways that place his limitations under a spotlight. Before the season began, I picked him to win Defensive Player of the Year. (Embiid finished second behind Rudy Gobert last year.) He’s a 7'2" wrecking ball who glides in the clear and explodes through tight spaces. Nobody has louder footsteps, underlined by a controlled, back-breaking spasm of unnatural agility and force.
Entering this season, the Sixers always had an elite defense with Embiid on the court and were below-average/awful when he sat. It’s early, but right now they’re a tad less effective when he's out there (just outside the top five) and bottom ten when he sits. Still awesome, but not quite the same disparity or on-court results as before. More minutes probably have something to do with that, but there's something else worth looking at. As he’s undeniably one of the game's most intimidating rim protectors, the Sixers still aren't sure how they want to use him against the increasingly uncomfortable matchups Embiid has struggled to figure out.
“How do you keep 7’2” on the floor with a mobile guy that can shoot a three?” Brett Brown said on Sunday.
It’s a question that calls back to last year’s playoff series against Al Horford and the Boston Celtics, when Embiid was diminished against a center who had to be kept in check 25 feet from the rim. His closeouts were awkward, ineffective, and exhausting. Philadelphia eventually moved Embiid off Horford to reduce his part against Boston's pick-and-rolls, but the ripple effects from this move eventually led to their downfall. (It should be mentioned that Philly's defense in that series was never worse than when Embiid sat on the bench.)
Today, the Sixers want Embiid in the paint as much as possible. He drops back against pick-and-rolls, often below the free-throw line, executing a strategy that's designed to limit three pointers by turning team defense into a reactionary game of two-on-two. As help defenders stay home on the outside, Embiid is briefly responsible for his man and the ball; his job is to force as many mid-range jumpers/floaters as possible. But as the league finds more and more ways to attack from distance, a sagging big is an invitation to pull up for three, or drive and kick back to a popping center who shoots without hesitation. Throughout the regular season, it's a look that should work more often than not. It'll preserve Embiid's body and allow him to unleash mass energy when he has the ball.
But against certain teams (AKA the ones Philly wants to eventually overcome, like the Celtics, Golden State Warriors, and Toronto Raptors) this strategy strains perimeter defenders who have to fight through screens, knowing if they can’t recover in time that a good shooter will take a deadly shot. In the play seen below, once Lou Williams gets middle on Robert Covington he receives a second screen from Boban Marjanovic. Embiid stays back, and there’s no way for Philly to guard it as well as they should.
Again, this applies to ball screens and popping big men, but, just as critically, it’s also ineffective against quick flare screens set by Embiid’s man that generate open spot-up threes.
According to Cleaning the Glass, Philly’s opponents actually had a lower three-point rate when Embiid was on the floor last season. This season, it’s up a monstrous 7.3 percent versus when he sits. That number will probably go down as the season goes on, though—especially since Philly’s backup five, Amir Johnson, executes the same scheme—and Philly’s defense remains scary when Embiid locks in as the dominant, active, mobile anchor he can be. Here he is taking away Jose Calderon’s open shot while providing Fultz with enough time to switch over and block it.
It’s a constant give and take. When I ask Fultz how difficult it can sometimes be to have Embiid so low on the floor, he agreed that the constant threat of a pull-up three, without much help, can create challenging situations. But it’s a work in progress the two are trying to figure out. “I listen to him, he listens to me,” Fultz says. “If I tell him I’m back in front or I’m forcing [my man] in, or ‘step up, Joe,’ he does a pretty good job of listening. He also does a pretty good job of talking to me. ‘Get over the top,’ you know stuff like that."
But at the end of the day, against the best of the best, this strategy won't do. Embiid needs to either antagonize at the point of attack or switch screens more than he already does. The latter strategy may ultimately be what unearths a championship-level postseason defense in Philadelphia, but for now it has obvious drawbacks. For one, it pulls Embiid away from the basket, where he’s most effective deterring shots and grabbing rebounds. Two, it’s not easy! Embiid can’t move his feet with wings and guards for an entire game, especially as they make him dance outside his comfort zone.
That isn't to suggest he's a stiff, by any means. Here, he switches onto Reggie Jackson and sticks with Detroit's point guard the entire possession, eventually forcing a deep three. But with Embiid pulled so far outside the paint, Jon Leuer is able to snatch the miss and finish with an and-one.
It's a conundrum Philly shouldn't lose too much sleep over this early in the season, but in the grand scheme of things it matters. How truly great can a relatively traditional center be—even one as great as Embiid—in a league that's constantly figuring out new ways to fold speed and outside shooting into a winning formula?
For now, he's a monster who prospers against the grain on both sides of the ball and remains plenty equipped for battle in an era that's more than happy to capitalize off his defensive disadvantages. But in the end, how successful Embiid can be without conforming to the NBA's current aesthetic may ultimately decide what his team is able to accomplish. Early results are a mixed bag, but to bet against Embiid's ability to figure it all out would be to ignore every reason he's already so awesome. At some point, his flaws may not even matter.
The NBA Has No Idea What to Do with Joel Embiid published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/
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The NBA Has No Idea What to Do with Joel Embiid
It’s unclear when Joel Embiid won’t be the best center in the world, but at 24 years old, not even a dozen games into his third season, that’s what he is and will be throughout the foreseeable future. Embiid has entered a phase where MVP consideration is legitimate and first-team All-NBA play is expected every night. While continuing his journey towards a ceiling he still can’t see, Embiid is already (and easily) one of the seven or eight best basketball players alive.
“A summer of health,” is how Philadelphia 76ers head coach Brett Brown explains the improvement. “He had a hell of a summer, you know, and it spills over into his mentality and disposition. It’s connected to his development in his game, and the package equals somebody that wants to dominate...By and large he’s carried this team.”
This isn’t a traditional “breakout” season, as Embiid’s immensely positive per-possession effect was already known on opening night. But without any minutes restriction or schedule-related limitations (he’s playing in back-to-backs!), Embiid has entered the "you're gonna need a bigger boat" stage of his career, where most teams have no satisfiable way to combat his all-around brilliance.
"He’s super dominant.”
“Being able to play all these games and playing all these minutes, back-to-backs, I think he has a better rhythm than playing a couple games, sit out a game, or whatever the case was,” Wilson Chandler says. “I mean,
Numbers fluctuate from night to night, but as of Monday morning Embiid ranked first in minutes, shots, free throws made and attempted, rebounds, and double-doubles while averaging about the same number of threes per game as Kevin Durant, Otto Porter, Kawhi Leonard, and Jayson Tatum. He’s second in points and blocks, too, a nimble mastodon who could easily be the sport’s most disruptive roll man if the Sixers ever cared to utilize him that way.
He isn’t flawless, but Embiid is considerably better than last year, when he was considerably better than the year before that. The most remarkable improvement can be seen on offense, where he’s turning the ball over less, growing by the game as a decision-maker and, with the seventh-highest usage rate in the league, bludgeoning defenses whether they guard him straight up or with a double team.
“I think his teammates have been excellent on going to the floor spots that we ask them to go to, so he knows where are his outlets in the event that he gets double-teamed,” Brown said. “That’s the first thing. And then I think secondly his ability...to not force things [when trailing the play] and to up fake people that aren’t there and just shoot it, or take a dribble and shoot a long two. Or just move the ball instead of driving into traffic. Those are the two areas that he turned the ball over in the most. Analytics and coach’s gut feel said that. And he’s improved. He’s really done a good job.”
Embiid forces defenders to play on his terms. He realizes that the entire game’s mood, feel, and tempo ultimately revolves around his size, strength, and imposition, knowing no single man in the world can prevent him from doing what he wants without a foul or cry for backup. It's beginning to look like the type of low-post command the NBA hasn't seen since Tim Duncan or Shaquille O'Neal.
“His game’s matured a lot more,” Ben Simmons said. “He’s slowing the pace down, knowing he can get to the rim whenever he wants and draw fouls and get to the line.”
Embiid’s career turnover rate was 16.3 heading into this season. Today, it’s 10.2 percent. That reduction is significant, but never more critical than when narrowed down to how he performs against double teams. Last season, he turned it over 30.3 percent of the time when a second defender swarmed him down low. So far, that number is down to 17.6 percent. Related: Embiid has scored a league-high 102 points out of post-ups this season. According to Synergy Sports, that’s more than every team in the league except New Orleans and San Antonio.
The mark of a true superstar is someone who indirectly and directly makes life easier for teammates on a consistent basis, and while Embiid fit that definition through most of his second season, watching him do it the way he does it, with more minutes, in a perimeter-oriented league, is so freaking helpful.
“Shit, he brings two defenders, so usually I get a free cut to the basket. Most of the time they’re leaving off me or Ben or whoever,” Markelle Fultz tells VICE Sports. “He just opens the lane up for me or with a rebounding opportunity, where two people box him out, I get to crash. Just stuff like that.”
Philly’s rookie shooting guard Landry Shamet agrees: “There’s five sets of eyes on him, so it’s easier to get looks and be effective without the ball.”
Even though the Sixers only have the league's 21st offense with Embiid on the floor, when he sits they fall 8.2 points per 100 possessions below the last place Orlando Magic. (Going the other way, that's the difference between Orlando and the 14th-ranked Miami Heat.)
Embiid's offense is technically a work in progress—he wouldn't be efficient if it weren't for all the free throws—but even as Philadelphia navigates through its new, spacing-starved starting lineup, his presence remains unparalleled. But it's on the other side of the ball where teams try to exploit Embiid's size in ways that place his limitations under a spotlight. Before the season began, I picked him to win Defensive Player of the Year. (Embiid finished second behind Rudy Gobert last year.) He’s a 7'2" wrecking ball who glides in the clear and explodes through tight spaces. Nobody has louder footsteps, underlined by a controlled, back-breaking spasm of unnatural agility and force.
Entering this season, the Sixers always had an elite defense with Embiid on the court and were below-average/awful when he sat. It’s early, but right now they’re a tad less effective when he's out there (just outside the top five) and bottom ten when he sits. Still awesome, but not quite the same disparity or on-court results as before. More minutes probably have something to do with that, but there's something else worth looking at. As he’s undeniably one of the game's most intimidating rim protectors, the Sixers still aren't sure how they want to use him against the increasingly uncomfortable matchups Embiid has struggled to figure out.
“How do you keep 7’2” on the floor with a mobile guy that can shoot a three?” Brett Brown said on Sunday.
It’s a question that calls back to last year’s playoff series against Al Horford and the Boston Celtics, when Embiid was diminished against a center who had to be kept in check 25 feet from the rim. His closeouts were awkward, ineffective, and exhausting. Philadelphia eventually moved Embiid off Horford to reduce his part against Boston's pick-and-rolls, but the ripple effects from this move eventually led to their downfall. (It should be mentioned that Philly's defense in that series was never worse than when Embiid sat on the bench.)
Today, the Sixers want Embiid in the paint as much as possible. He drops back against pick-and-rolls, often below the free-throw line, executing a strategy that's designed to limit three pointers by turning team defense into a reactionary game of two-on-two. As help defenders stay home on the outside, Embiid is briefly responsible for his man and the ball; his job is to force as many mid-range jumpers/floaters as possible. But as the league finds more and more ways to attack from distance, a sagging big is an invitation to pull up for three, or drive and kick back to a popping center who shoots without hesitation. Throughout the regular season, it's a look that should work more often than not. It'll preserve Embiid's body and allow him to unleash mass energy when he has the ball.
But against certain teams (AKA the ones Philly wants to eventually overcome, like the Celtics, Golden State Warriors, and Toronto Raptors) this strategy strains perimeter defenders who have to fight through screens, knowing if they can’t recover in time that a good shooter will take a deadly shot. In the play seen below, once Lou Williams gets middle on Robert Covington he receives a second screen from Boban Marjanovic. Embiid stays back, and there’s no way for Philly to guard it as well as they should.
Again, this applies to ball screens and popping big men, but, just as critically, it’s also ineffective against quick flare screens set by Embiid’s man that generate open spot-up threes.
According to Cleaning the Glass, Philly’s opponents actually had a lower three-point rate when Embiid was on the floor last season. This season, it’s up a monstrous 7.3 percent versus when he sits. That number will probably go down as the season goes on, though—especially since Philly’s backup five, Amir Johnson, executes the same scheme—and Philly’s defense remains scary when Embiid locks in as the dominant, active, mobile anchor he can be. Here he is taking away Jose Calderon’s open shot while providing Fultz with enough time to switch over and block it.
It’s a constant give and take. When I ask Fultz how difficult it can sometimes be to have Embiid so low on the floor, he agreed that the constant threat of a pull-up three, without much help, can create challenging situations. But it’s a work in progress the two are trying to figure out. “I listen to him, he listens to me,” Fultz says. “If I tell him I’m back in front or I’m forcing [my man] in, or ‘step up, Joe,’ he does a pretty good job of listening. He also does a pretty good job of talking to me. ‘Get over the top,’ you know stuff like that."
But at the end of the day, against the best of the best, this strategy won't do. Embiid needs to either antagonize at the point of attack or switch screens more than he already does. The latter strategy may ultimately be what unearths a championship-level postseason defense in Philadelphia, but for now it has obvious drawbacks. For one, it pulls Embiid away from the basket, where he’s most effective deterring shots and grabbing rebounds. Two, it’s not easy! Embiid can’t move his feet with wings and guards for an entire game, especially as they make him dance outside his comfort zone.
That isn't to suggest he's a stiff, by any means. Here, he switches onto Reggie Jackson and sticks with Detroit's point guard the entire possession, eventually forcing a deep three. But with Embiid pulled so far outside the paint, Jon Leuer is able to snatch the miss and finish with an and-one.
It's a conundrum Philly shouldn't lose too much sleep over this early in the season, but in the grand scheme of things it matters. How truly great can a relatively traditional center be—even one as great as Embiid—in a league that's constantly figuring out new ways to fold speed and outside shooting into a winning formula?
For now, he's a monster who prospers against the grain on both sides of the ball and remains plenty equipped for battle in an era that's more than happy to capitalize off his defensive disadvantages. But in the end, how successful Embiid can be without conforming to the NBA's current aesthetic may ultimately decide what his team is able to accomplish. Early results are a mixed bag, but to bet against Embiid's ability to figure it all out would be to ignore every reason he's already so awesome. At some point, his flaws may not even matter.
The NBA Has No Idea What to Do with Joel Embiid published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/
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