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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Prompt: WWX is one of JGS's bastard sons, raised by his mother and her husband - until they die when he's young. Then he gets taken into the Jin sect instead of the Jiang.

Right Hand Man - ao3

It was a bad day.

All the days were a little bad, but this one was especially bad.

“He’s Cangse Sanren’s child,” Jin Zixuan’s father said, tapping his fan against his palm so that he would look more like a scholar. Secretly, shamefully, Jin Zixuan thought that it didn’t really work – he just looked like one of those scoundrels that tried to pay for their meals with calligraphy instead of pennies. “Taking him in will show our strength.”

“You dare bring one of your bastard children here,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, “and I will drown A-Xuan myself rather than let him suffer through the shame of it.”

Jin Zixuan shivered. No matter how many times he heard his mother say that in her cold and vicious voice, he never got used to it. She’d explained to him that it was the only thing that might work on his father – the fear of losing face like that, of shaming his ancestors, of cutting off his legitimate line – and she was his mother so of course Jin Zixuan believed her, but sometimes when she said it like that he thought she might really go ahead and do it.

“It’s the immortal mountain,” his father argued, ignoring the threat. “The perceived connection is only to our benefit…and anyway, he wouldn’t be legitimized or anything. Legally, his father is that Wei Changze – I could even bring the boy in as a servant if that pleased you more!”

“Nothing you say or do will ever please me,” she said, and that’s when she started throwing things and he started shouting and Jin Zixuan waited until they weren’t paying any attention to him before slipping out.

They’d make a decision one way or another.

It didn’t have anything to do with him.

Wei Wuxian was nominally brought in as a guest disciple, but everyone knew he was really a servant.

Jin Zixuan’s mother made sure everyone knew.

Despite this, Wei Wuxian smiled at everyone, seeming as carefree as a butterfly. It didn’t seem to bother him when he wasn’t allowed to wear sparks amidst snow, or even the usual gold of the guest disciples – Jin Zixuan’s mother said that it was better that he wear plain colors, like white or black, to represent his father and mother and show the world that he hadn’t forgotten his filial piety. It didn’t seem to bother him that he had to room with the other servants, or that he wasn’t invited to dinner at the same time as the rest of them, or that he got less training time –

Whatever it was, it didn’t bother him.

It bothered Jin Zixuan, though.

He started having the old nightmares again – the ones where his mother belatedly found out that he’d been swapped in the cradle for another bastard child of Jin Guangshan, and started treating him just the way she treated all the rest of them while praising some other boy up to the heavens – and his temperament, never considered especially good, got worse due to lack of sleep.

“Go talk to him,” Mianmian suggested. “Maybe if you see he’s reallynot bothered by it…”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s not bothered,” Jin Zixuan muttered. “It’s that I would be bothered if I were him.”

She didn’t understand, of course. Most people didn’t.

They couldn’t understand why Jin Zixuan was so bothered by the knowledge that his parents’ love was conditional on his bloodline and legitimacy – after all, he was the beneficiary of that bias, wasn’t he? What did it matter to him if they were cold to others?

Jin Zixuan didn’t know how to explain that the problem was in knowing that their love was conditional.

It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian was excelling despite all his disadvantages – all their teachers praised him in private, or else when they thought that no one surnamed Jin was listening. All of his mother’s dark speculations about what his father would do if ever there was a bastard child brought back that turned out to be even more talented than he was rang in Jin Zixuan’s ears, and he couldn’t help but look at Wei Wuxian, and wonder if this was it, this was the moment, if he was finally going to be replaced…but no, that would never happen. He was the one with the right blood.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually the best.

Nothing he did in life mattered, really. Nothing had ever mattered since the day he’d been born from the right womb.

“He’s actually really nice,” Mianmian said, and Jin Zixuan looked up, wondering what she was talking about, only to blanch when he realized that she was talking to Wei Wuxian. “Just shy, that’s all –”

“Mianmian!” Jin Zixuan hissed, rushing over, horrified. “He can’t be here! If my mother finds out –”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Wei Wuxian asked, his face brightening. “I thought you just didn’t like me!”

“I don’t know you,” Jin Zixuan said. “How could I dislike you? But really, my mother –”

“We can be friends!” Wei Wuxian declared, and Jin Zixuan was rendered immediately mute. What exactly could he say to that?

He wanted to be friends, too.

His mother found out, because she always found out, and when she did, she threatened to feed Wei Wuxian to the dogs.

It turned out that Wei Wuxian was scared of dogs, something Jin Zixuan’s mother had figured out pretty quickly. That wasn’t a surprise – she knew best how to find people’s weaknesses, and also how to use them. Looking at Wei Wuxian’s sickly pale face, it was clear to Jin Zixuan that this wasn’t the first time dogs had appeared in one of his mother’s punishment, although this was clearly more severe than in the past.

“It was my idea,” he lied, acting on impulse. “Mother, I want him to be my personal servant.”

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“Why is it ridiculous?” he asked. “Wouldn’t the contrast between us only be magnified that way?”

She pursed her lips, but that wasn’t a ‘no’.

Seeing a possible waver, Jin Zixuan decided to trade away one of the very few point on which he and his mother had long disagree.

“He’s charming,” he said. “He can help me woo the Jiang sect girl.”

His mother knew him well enough to know that he was trying to manipulate her, but he also knew that she liked it when he did that. Men were supposed to be upright, straightforward, and virtuous, and yet she liked to see him being subtle and sly – it reminded her of herself. It made her feel like he was more her blood than his father’s, even though in actuality those traits could very well be his father’s, too.

Unfortunately, sneakiness wasn’t really in Jin Zixuan’s nature. Comparing his straightforward and even a little stupid self to his clever and cunning parents, he didn’t know who he took after – it was part of the reason he had so many nightmares about being some cuckoo’s child left in the Jin sect’s nest.

“Fine,” his mother said at last. “He gets one shot.”

Later, when she’d swept off, an empress with her retinue, Mianmian looked at Jin Zixuan with wide eyes. “But Jin-gongzi,” she said. “You don’t wantto marry the Jiang sect girl.”

“I’ve never met her,” Jin Zixuan hedged, which was also true but a little vaguer. He didn’t want to marry a girl he’d never met, one who was several years his elder and who had been described to him only as ‘nice’ and ‘average at best’, just because her mother was his mother’s old friend. He didn’t want his marriage to be yet another thing he had to do because he was someone’s child, rather than his own man.

He wasn’t going to get a choice, though, no matter what he did, just as always. Might as well use it for something good.

Wei Wuxian crashed into him a moment later, clutching him so tightly that it hurt.

“I’ll pay you back,” he promised, his voice tight. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be your best friend ever!”

“That’s good enough,” Jin Zixuan said, his face suddenly hot. “There doesn’t need to be anything more.”

Wei Wuxian really was very charming when they went to visit the Lotus Pier, far more charming than Jin Zixuan ever was or would be, and his future bride seemed positively enchanted by him, which was probably a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan felt he should probably do something about it, but he didn’t know what, so he just snuck off and went to go dip his feet into the river, something he almost never got the chance to go while at home.

“I’m sorry,” the Jiang sect heir, Jiang Cheng, said, sitting gingerly next to him.

Jin Zixuan looked at him sidelong, a little surprised. He’d thought that Jiang Cheng hated him. “What for?”

“My sister. Your half-brother.” Jiang Cheng looked uncomfortable. “I can’t even imagine growing up with someone who’d flirt with the person I was engaged to.”

Jin Zixuan thought it over, then shook his head. “I don’t think he likes her like that. Or her him, either,” he said, since it seemed like Jiang Cheng had misunderstood both Wei Wuxian and his own sister. “Wei Wuxian’s just – like that,” he added. “Always. Everyone loves him unless they’re specifically told not to.”

“That’s worse.” Jiang Cheng wrinkled his nose. “He’s the ‘other person’s child’ here, you know. My father really liked his parents – he’s always talking about him. My mother says he wishes he were his son, instead of your father’s.”

“Now that sounds awful.” Probably better for Wei Wuxian, though. Jiang Fengmian would probably treat him like a real son, not the way Jin Guangshan did, like a pawn or a liability or a bastard brought in just for his possible connections – but it would probably be much worse for Jiang Cheng, who’d have to live with that happening right in front of him. It seemed mean to wish for such a thing. “He’s actually pretty nice? We’re friends. I asked him to help me make friends with your sister…I’m not really good at making friends, when it’s just me.”

He hadn’t expected them to hit it off that well, though. At least to Jin Zixuan’s eyes, they’d clearly all but adopted each other as brother and sister the moment they laid eyes on each other…which in his opinion was actually a little bit worse, since he felt like he himself was still painfully trying to figure out what being a sibling was like, and maybe failing at it.

And in all honesty, he felt a little resentful at Wei Wuxian for being picked, too – or was it a little bereft? No one ever picked him just because they wanted to; it was all because of who he was.

Who his parents were.

“I can be your friend, too, if you like,” Jiang Cheng said. He was scowling into the distance. “A better one.”

“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, startled. “Don’t you – not like me?”

“We’re friends now,” Jiang Cheng scowled at him. “Deal with it!”

Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a lot, and he liked Jiang Cheng, too, and Nie Huaisang, who he’d just met, fit in with the two of them as if they were three peas in a pod, so he guessed he must like him, too – but if those three endlessly chattering idiots didn’t shut up and let him study he was going to throw himself off some cliff in Gusu and be done with it.

“You really don’t mind me sitting here?” he asked Lan Wangji, who nodded.

Nodded and did not respond verbally – blissful silence!

Still, Jin Zixuan lingered a bit by the door to the peaceful little pavilion he’d found and thought to claim for himself as a secret study place – necessary on account of the fact that Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang spent all their free time together making trouble instead of studying, because Wei Wuxian just did that to people, winning them over despite themselves and then leading them into mischief – only to learn that it belonged to Lan Wangji. It was filled with gentians, which were more Jiang Cheng’s color than Jin Zixuan’s, but Jin Zixuan had seen enough peonies for a lifetime and needed the concealment besides.

It was very kind of Lan Wangji to let him stay, but he still felt he ought to apologize.

And not just for the intrusion.

Wei Wuxian’s ignominious departure from Lan Qiren’s classroom had made it much more peaceful, but that had come at a cost to Lan Wangji’s own education and opportunity to make friends with others – and while Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a great deal, he wasn’t sure how Lan Wangji felt about being stuck having to monitor him all day.

And now Lan Wangji was being nice to Jin Zixuan, letting him disturb his privacy like this without complaint, and even agreeing to let him stay so that he’d have somewhere quiet to study…he really ought to say something. Maybe apologize for Wei Wuxian, if that was appropriate. It probably was: he was responsible for him, in his own way. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation –

“Do you like Wei Wuxian?” he blurted out, then felt his face go bright red. He hadn’t meant to ask it that way! After all, who didn’t know how much Lan Wangji disliked Wei Wuxian? He was always glaring at him and saying he was speaking nonsense and telling him to get lost and –

Lan Wangji nodded.

Jin Zixuan blinked. He did? But then why –

“Oh,” he said, suddenly realizing. “You’re socially awkward, too!”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, and Jin Zixuan waved his hands.

“No, no, I don’t mean that as an insult,” he said hastily, trying to cover for his blunder. “It’s like me! I always say the wrong thing, so most of the time I try not to say anything – of course people always get the wrong idea anyway, thinking I’m being quiet because I’m looking down at them…Wei Wuxian’s getting better at understanding people, but he’s still not very good at it, either. I bet he has no idea! If you like him, you should say as much.”

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“…I could say it for you, if you want?”

Even more urgent head-shaking.

Honestly, if Lan Wangji were a woman, Jin Zixuan would’ve thought that he had a crush.

As it was, he was probably just like Jin Zixuan: naturally awkward, and shy about it, too.

“It’s all right,” he said encouragingly. “Next time they throw a party, you can come and sit with me; we can have tea and pretend not to know them. It’s what I always do.”

Lan Wangji stared at him for a long moment, and then finally nodded very slowly.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice neutral. “Thank you.”

When the time came and the Wen sect pushed things too far, naturally Jin Zixuan stood up for Mianmian.

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji all did, too.

Naturally, this made Jin Zixuan feel like complete crap on their account – Mianmian was his friend, his sect, and naturally he had a responsibility towards her; the rest of them were just helping because they were good people, and good friends. But at this point they’d done it, and Wen Chao was angry at them all over it, and there was nothing to be done about it.

And then there was the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and they were all trapped inside with it.

Sometimes, he really hated the Wen sect. Often, even.

“Jiang Cheng, you and Jin Zixuan lead the way out,” Wei Wuxian instructed. “No, don’t protest! You’re heirs of Great Sects; everyone will follow you and listen to you, and that’s critical – you’ll need to evade the Wen sect’s efforts to recapture you. That means cohesion, and cohesion means hierarchy. I’ll stay behind to distract the Xuanwu…”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jiang Cheng exclaimed.

Jin Zixuan nudged him. “Wei Wuxian’s usually right about this sort of thing,” he reminded him. It was a good thing they’d gotten over that period in their lives when Jiang Cheng thought Wei Wuxian was an evil thief who wanted to take away his older sister and Jin Zixuan’s rightful spouse, when they’d fought all the time while Jin Zixuan desperately tried to get between them. He still had no idea what magic alchemy had happened that had suddenly made them best friends – he suspected Mianmian, or maybe Jiang Yanli – but he was deeply grateful for it. “And we can’t risk the majority. Preserve human life above all else, remember? Teacher Lan’s lessons were very clear.”

“I will remain with Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, to no one’s surprise. They’d been more or less inseparable after Jin Zixuan had recruited Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang to help them get along better after Wei Wuxian’s temporary exile to the Library Pavilion had ended. It helped that Lan Qiren had pulled Wei Wuxian aside for personal lessons to help him catch up with the rest of them, and that those had somehow metamorphosed into afternoon sessions about inventing new types of musical cultivation techniques in which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were the most enthusiastic, and only, students.

Best of all, it had given the rest of them a chance to finally actually do their work.

Well, not Nie Huaisang, but that was only to be expected.

“But your leg –” Wei Wuxian started, and Jin Zixuan nudged him.

“He’ll only be more worried if you don’t let him stay back and join you,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, it’s good for you to have an incentive not to detour into some big flashy heroic bullshit.”

“Awww, but Jin Zixuan, I like big flashy heroic bullshit!”

Jin Zixuan was, by this point, almost entirely convinced that Wei Wuxian actually was the biological child of Wei Changze, and that his father had lied, both about the man’s supposed infertility and possibly about having slept with Cangse Sanren at all. From Jiang Cheng’s stories, inherited from his father, it seemed that Wei Changze was also the sort of person who went in for big flashy heroic bullshit and reckless humor, the sort that would win him a disciple of an immortal mountain as a bride; it certainly seemed more likely than him sharing blood with Jin Zixuan or his father or even Jin Zixun, all of whom tended towards arrogance, but whose flash was all in their clothing.

Not that it mattered at this late date, of course. They were brothers now – as Nie Huaisang would put it, there were no takebacks allowed.

“No bullshit, you hear me?” Jin Zixuan repeated, looking pointedly at Wei Wuxian. “Not allowed. Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t make me have to tell Mistress Jiang that I lost her favorite idiot friend.”

“You tell her?” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “I’ll have to tell her. All right, let’s go.”

Jiang Yanli was not impressed with the fact that they’d left Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji alone in a cave with a giant murderous turtle.

She still made them soup and gave them bandages to wrap up their bloody feet, though.

(Jin Zixuan was never going to make a good impression on her, no matter what Jiang Cheng said.)

“Wen Chao has demanded recompense for the mess at the Nightless City,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, reading a letter. Her lips curled up in a strange little smile. “He said Wei Wuxian’s right hand would do.”

“Mother,” Jin Zixuan exclaimed, leaping to his feet with his eyes wide. He’d only been home a week from the indoctrination camp, and Wei Wuxian was still lying in bed most of the time, pretending he wasn’t exhausted; Wen Chao must have sent the letter almost immediately after he’d realized they’d escaped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s just what the little bastard deserves, always trying to outshine you.”

Jin Zixuan shook his head, frantically trying to think of a way out of this, because he knew his mother wouldn’t so much as hesitate to order such an atrocity. She’d never forgiven Wei Wuxian for the possibility of being a threat to Jin Zixuan’s position, however remote the chance, and she’d tried very hard to convince Jin Zixuan of it, too – it was the only thing they didn’t agree on, the only thing Jin Zixuan didn’t yield to her on, and he hated every moment of it.

But not as much as his mother hated it.

It was the only thing she couldn’t control in his life, and she hatedit, and hated Wei Wuxian for it, too.

(She couldn’t hate Jin Zixuan. She couldn’t, because he had the right blood, because he was her son, because he was the heir of Lanling Jin and the source of all her power. But sometimes, when the light was dim and she glanced over too quickly and thought she saw his father when she looked at him, he thought that she wanted to.)

“You can’t be serious,” Jin Zixuan said a second time, keeping calm by sheer willpower. No one but him would dare to object if his mother made a move, especially in his father’s absence…and even if his father was there, Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure his father cared enough about Wei Wuxian to endure another fight with his fearsome wife. “Mother, he’s my servant – my responsibility. Whatever he does is my responsibility, whether to my credit or to my deficit. That’s how that works. They may be asking for Wei Wuxian’s hand, but who’s to say, when they come to claim it, that they won’t seek mine instead?”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s the Wen sect,” Jin Zixuan reminded her. “What don’t they dare?”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over, and for a moment he thought he’d won. “Perhaps,” she allowed, and before he could even breath a sight of relief continued, “But no matter. They’ve set the price, and we can pay it, so why not? We can cut off his hand and send it to them as a peace offering in advance. After all, they’re important allies of ours, and he’s just a bastard.”

“But –”

“No, A-Xuan. No more arguing; I’ve decided.” Her smile broadened. “We’ll do it now.”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t fight with his mother. He’d never had the courage – he was as spineless as his father.

Almost as spineless.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, and drew his sword.

“A-Xuan..?”

“My servant, my responsibility,” he reminded her, and he knew that she’d misunderstood, that she thought that he was going to go take care of the grim task himself. He knew, because for a brief moment in time she looked happy – not true joy, but the only way she ever looked happy for as long as he could remember, like she’d won one over on someone and gotten her way despite everyone’s efforts. He hated to disappoint her. “I have my honor to think of, too.”

Jin Zixuan sent Wei Wuxian to the Lotus Pier, bearing words of warning. His father’s spies had reported that the Wen sect would probably target them first, using Jiang Cheng’s interference in the Xuanwu cave as an excuse – there wasn’t any point going after the Lan sect a second time, and the Jin sect were longstanding allies of Wen Ruohan, with Jin Guangshan being a coward at heart; if Wen Ruohan could keep him out of the inevitable war for a little longer by playing nice, he would.

Word came back not long after that they’d been right: the Lotus Pier had been destroyed.

It also said that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were missing – missing, but not dead. It didn’t say anything about their parents, and that was suspicious, too.

Maybe sending Wei Wuxian had helped after all.

“We should reach out to the Nie sect,” Jin Zixuan told his father. “With our money and their strength, we can resist the Wen sect long enough for the smaller sects to catch up.”

“The Wen sect is all-powerful,” his father objected. “What’s even the point of resisting? We’d be better off reaching out to them to see if we can reach a peaceful agreement.”

“We’ve already seen what agreement they want to reach,” Jin Zixuan said, and his father’s gaze dropped guiltily to his waist. Jin Zixuan didn’t bother looking down himself. He didn’t do that much, these days. “Am I your heir or am I not? You promised me that I’d inherit a sect, not slavery. Reach out to the Nie sect.”

Jin Zixuan should not talk that way to his father. He had always been a filial son, and a spineless one; his father’s son, and nothing else. The only thing he had going for him was the right blood – and even that wasn't that sure a bet, these days. He knew his father was already thinking about Jin Zixun in a way that suggested that all those rumors about his ‘cousin’ having a different father than the one everyone said he had might have some merit.

It seemed, though, that when pushed to it, he was also his mother’s son.

He hoped she choked on the knowledge.

“Reach out to the Nie sect,” he said again. “With all the cultivation world uniting, the Wen sect’s fall is inevitable. If we don’t act now, we’ll be seen as cowards, hanging back and waiting to see how things fall out to eke out the best advantage – if we act, we’ll be seen as heroes.”

“But what if you’re wrong, and the Wen sect does win?”

“Then we’ll tell Sect Leader Wen that we’re perfectly positioned to negotiate the other sects’ terms of surrender, and use that to win anyway,” Jin Zixuan said, less because he thought that was an acceptable course of action and more because he knew it would be what his father would do anyway. “Call the Nie sect.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng hissed, wild-eyed, and Jin Zixuan blinked at him, taken aback.

“Is it because I wasn’t able to do more to help with the Lotus Pier?” he asked, feeling helpless. “I really did try to convince my father to send more people, but I barely even got him not to block my sending Wei Wuxian –”

“Not because of that!”

Jin Zixuan took a step back. “Uh, then –”

“You cut off your own hand you maniac!”

“The situation –” Jin Zixuan started backing up. “It was necessary – Wei Wuxian, help!”

“No, he’s right,” Wei Wuxian said, arms crossed. His eyes were teary, but they’d been that way since he’d left Jinlin Tower – ever since the Wen sect’s letter. “You’re a maniac, and Jiang Cheng’s going to kill you, and you’re going to deserve it.”

Lan Wangji, standing beside him, nodded.

“It’s not that bad, really.” Jin Zixuan tried to explain. “My mother and father would never have accepted anything else – threats to me are the only thing that work on them, and even that’s stopped working after all these years. Only a real injury would have an impact. If they hadn’t been so shocked, they would’ve just continued to ignore what the Wen sect was doing, or offered them an olive branch, and then then the Wen sect would’ve used that as an opportunity to come and divide up everyone else. We’d lose precious time to regroup, and the Wen sect would only get stronger and stronger –”

“You. Cut. Off. Your. Hand!”

“The Wen sect demanded the hand of the person who started the rebellion in the Xuanwu cave,” Jin Zixuan said quietly. “That was me, not Wei Wuxian. Why should he pay my debts?”

Everyone still seemed very upset, but maybe a little less murderous. Definitely a lot more teary-eyed.

“Couldn’t you have at least picked your other hand?” Wei Wuxian mumbled. “Your right hand – that’s your sword arm.”

Jin Zixuan shrugged. “They demanded the right hand,” he said. “Anyway, it’s fine, I’ve been using my left, and it’s been going smoothly enough…you know, I think I might actually be left-handed? I never knew; everyone always made me use my right.”

“Does it hurt?” Lan Wangji asked suddenly, and Jin Zixuan hesitated, not sure how to respond to that.

Unfortunately, everyone else took that in the worst way possible, and insisted on taking care of him, no matter how much he tried to explain that it didn’t hurt, not really, not anymore; it was just the strangest feeling of absence. Like something that had always been there wasn’t there anymore.

A bit like his mother. She wasn’t talking to him anymore.

He was a terrible son, and would probably end up spending eternity in some afterlife hell being tortured for failing to properly honor his parents.

He’d already resigned himself.

“How are your parts of the war going?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Chifeng-zun says it’s going well, but you know how he is; it’s all business with him, you never hear any stories. Did Wei Wuxian really knock out old Sect Leader Jiang when he refused to leave the Lotus Pier? Tell me he didn’t.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng said, and he looked amused about it – maybe he’d be in the next boiling pot over in the afterlife of unfilial descendants. “He was a little frantic, you see, on account of not wanting to fail you by letting them die. After all, you had just cut off your own hand for him…”

“Are you ever going to let that drop?”

“Sure. As soon as you have two hands again.”

“…so, never.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said patiently. “Never. Never ever, if that makes it clearer for you.”

Jin Zixuan’s new hand was made of steel and wire, under the gilding, and functioned using some of the innovative new talismans that Wei Wuxian had invented. He couldn’t help but hope that they weren’t part of the subset that constituted demonic cultivation because people were being really weird about that.

“It’s like people wanted for me to just die in the Burial Mounds,” Wei Wuxian complained. He was dressed in black and grey and red, which he’d apparently adopted as his new sect colors – Jin Zixuan had only managed to send him out of Lanling the first time by officially ejecting him from the Jin sect, a decision his father had initially endorsed but now, he suspected, was regretting.

It was a lot easier to throw out a servant than it was to invite back the founder of demonic cultivation, especially now that he was a war hero and a sect leader.

“You didn’t have to be in the Burial Mounds to begin with,” Jin Zixuan reminded him, to no avail. “I know I said I needed an army because my father wasn’t supplying us properly, but I didn’t mean ‘invent an entirely new cultivation technique and raise an army of the dead’. You know that, right?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged it off, because of course he did.

“You know, they’re calling me the Yiling Patriarch?” he said, and grinned. “It’s because the Burial Mounds are in Yiling, and because I’m founding my own sect. Or whatever. Like I wouldn’t be supporting you, anyway.”

“It has to be your own sect because otherwise you might be forced to share your secret techniques,” Jin Zixuan explained, not for the first time. “Rogue cultivators don’t have the same protections that sects do, even small sects. It doesn’t matter if you’re the only person in it. Or, well, you and Lan Wangji, I guess.”

“I still can’t believe he’s willing to leave the Lan sect to join me,” Wei Wuxian sighed happily. “He’s such a good friend.”

Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure about the strength of his new hand, which was the only reason he didn’t try to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You’re a bad influence, you know,” he said instead of trying to explain to Wei Wuxian that people didn’t generally leave their natal sects for the sake of a ‘good friend’. “I nearly hit a girl the other day.”

“You did? You? What’d she do?”

“She gave me soup and implied that she’d made it,” Jin Zixuan said. “Except it tasted exactly the same as the soup Mistress Jiang is always making for you – I’ve had it recently enough to know. Sure enough, I push the issue a bit and it turns out it was Mistress Jiang’s. The girl was just trying to claim credit as an excuse to get close to me.”

He sighed. He’d been so angry about it. They were at war! People were dying, losing their homes, losing everything, and this stupid girl could only think about how to plot and scheme to try to get to a prized position as the future Madame Jin. Had his mother done the same, when it’d been his father…?

“You’ve had shijie’s soup recently?” Wei Wuxian asked. His expression looked slightly odd. “Shijie made you soup?”

“Yeah, I think she’s been dropping off whatever’s left over at my tent when she’s done,” Jin Zixuan said, shaking his head. Jiang Yanli was so nice, really truly genuinely nice. He’d never met anyone like her. “Could you thank her for me? I appreciate the thoughtfulness – it’s filling enough that I don’t need to go to the mess, which means there’s more left over for everyone else.”

“…sure,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’ll tell her. Or, and here’s a thought – why don’t you tell her yourself?”

“Why would I? You’re the one she likes,” Jin Zixuan said, puzzled. “I mean, you’re her adopted little brother, aren’t you? She’s practically your second soulmate, after Lan Wangji.”

“I’m really busy,” Wei Wuxian announced, despite having been lazing around complaining that they didn’t have any encounters with the Wen sect lined up for a whole week only a few moments before. “I couldn’t possibly take the time out of my schedule to go talk to her – you see, I’ve had an idea, which is going to keep me very busy…in fact, I’m not even going to be here at all! I need to go to the Lan sect encampment to consult with Teacher Lan.”

Discovering that Lan Qiren had a mad scientist streak when it came to musical cultivation had been extremely disquieting, Jin Zixuan reflected. The world might’ve been better off if Lan Qiren had never had a chance to actually get friendly with Wei Wuxian – Wei Wuxian provided the terrible ideas, Lan Qiren scolded him about them and then helped him smooth the kinks out of them anyway.

Teacher for a day, father for a lifetime…

“All right,” Jin Zixuan said, though he still didn’t exactly understand what had just happened. “I’ll go talk to her, I guess.”

“I just wanted to make sure you know you’re not obligated to make me soup or anything,” Jin Zixuan said, not sure where this conversation had gone off the rails.

Probably around the time that Jiang Yanli had started smiling at him, because he always turned into an idiot whenever that happened. She was so very nice, not just average at all no matter what anyone said, and blissfully down-to-earth – she wouldn’t be wasting her time and everyone else’s thinking about how to politically advance herself despite there being a war on. She spent all her time learning field medicine and helping cook meals for the mess and –

And he’d better stop thinking because he was turning red again.

“I enjoy making soup for you,” Jiang Yanli said peaceably. “Especially since I know you enjoy it, too.”

“I do! It’s just, I don’t know, you already do so much, with the medics and organizing and everything…It’s – uh – I – listen, I know our parents – you don’t have to pay attention to that. I only have one hand, I’m not – don’t feel obligated, not because of that. And don’t let Wei Wuxian make you think making soup is the only thing you’re good for, no matter how much he likes it, okay? You do so much more than just that!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, covering her smile with her hand. “You’re very sweet, you know.”

Jin Zixuan made an incoherent sound.

He would need to do something in return, he thought, a little frantic; he really didn’t know how to deal with a sincere compliment from someone he actually liked. Maybe poetry? Girls were said to like poetry. He couldn’t write poetry worth a damn, but he could pay someone –

She kissed him on the cheek.

All thought abruptly departed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not inappropriate – after all, we’re already engaged,” Jiang Yanli said cheerfully. “Which I’m very good with, so don’t worry about that. Good luck in your next battle, Jin-gongzi.”

At some point she must have left, because she wasn’t there anymore, and Jin Zixuan was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Mianmian peeked in, then snickered. “Oh no,” she said. “She broke him. Everyone! Come look! She totally broke him!”

“Did you actually cut off your hand to save a servant?” Jin Guangyao asked.

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” Jin Zixuan said, uncomfortable, then added, “Welcome to the family.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

For some reason, Jin Zixuan felt a shiver run up his spine. He didn’t think he liked this new brother of his, and he felt bad about it – he’d welcomed Wei Wuxian whole-heartedly, hadn’t he? Was it really that different when it actually was someone of his own blood?

He didn’t like that thought.

“I hope we can be friends,” he said, willing it to be true, and Jin Guangyao murmured something agreeable in return.

Jin Zixuan wished he liked him.

“My mother is going to hate you,” he said, because he knew that she would. “If she does, let me know, and I’ll try to stop her…not just her. If anyone treats you wrong, just tell me. I’ll stand up for you.”

Jin Guangyao smiled again.

“You’re so kind,” he said, and for some reason Jin Zixuan had the feeling that he didn’t mean it at all.

Jin Zixuan had been engaged since before he was born, and it still somehow came as a surprise to find himself married. Not just the event, either – these days he woke up with his wife in his arms and was forced to just stare at her lying there in the soft morning light and wonder how he got so lucky.

He was married.

To a very nice girl, who actually seemed to like him a great deal – she’d made that clear enough when she’d had a chance. Very clear, in fact, which was why there was also a very slight curve in her belly that meant that soon enough he wouldn’t just be married, but a father.

“You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who was visiting again. He did that a lot, but in fairness he didn’t really have a settled place to live – everyone knew the supposed ‘sect’ he’d founded was little more than a sham. He’d been technically kicked out of the Jin sect and refused all offers to rejoin, and it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to scandalize the entire cultivation world by marrying into the Lan sect no matter what Lan Xichen had been hinting. Sometimes he and Lan Wangji spent time at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, or the Unclean Realm with Nie Huaisang under Nie Mingjue’s long-suffering gaze…everyone called Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch, on account of him ‘founding’ his sect there – or rather, summoning up extra resentful energy from the Burial Mounds for the purposes of obtaining an army while minimizing the number of disturbed graves – but he wasn’t, not really. He didn’t live there or anything.

Who would want to live there?

“I would,” Wei Wuxian agreed, but he didn’t follow it up with teasing or anything the way he usually did.

He just looked very uncharacteristically perturbed.

“What is it?” Jin Zixuan asked. “Can I help?”

“No heroic bullshit,” Wei Wuxian said at once, which meant that there was a possibility of heroic bullshit. Given Wei Wuxian’s personality, that also meant that it was heroic bullshit that would be bad for the Jin sect, which he still felt bad about on account of them raising him and all…in all honesty, it might be a good thing in the long run that Jin Zixuan’s father and mother had been so awful to Wei Wuxian as a kid, and that he’d known it. If they’d been good to him, he never would have been willing to leave. “But, uh, remember Wen Ning?”

Jin Zixuan blinked. Wei Wuxian had told him some stories: a junior disciple of the Wen sect, from a branch family – Dafan Wen – who’d helped Wei Wuxian out a few times when he’d been smuggling the Jiang clan to freedom.

More than a few times: he’d been Wei Wuxian’s first disciple in matters of resentful energy, which Wei Wuxian had apparently been thinking of since forever and started playing around with more or less the moment he was no longer officially tied to a sect, and had been a valuable contact during the early period of the war before events had changed and he’d been lost.

“Yes,” he said. “What about him?”

He hadn’t thought of Wen Ning in ages, beyond abstractly hoping he was doing well. It might be hard, with a surname as he had, but surely there was somewhere in the cultivation world for those surnamed Wen – Wei Wuxian had argued fiercely in favor of leniency for the remaining Wen cultivators, and the Lan sect had backed him, thanks to Lan Wangji. The rest of them had been exhausted, Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and his parents, even Jin Zixuan…his father had ended up volunteering their sect to help with resettlement of the refugees, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Sure, Jin Zixuan knew his father well enough to know that he was only doing it for the clout and possible advantage it would give him, but he was pretty sure the Wen civilians didn’t especially care why they were going to get a reprieve from death and a new place to live, only that they did.

“I’ll get there,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s a bit complicated…you know how Jin Zixun’s in charge of resettlement?”

Jin Zixuan nodded, puzzled. “What about it?”

“You can’t do that!” one of the guards shouted at Wei Wuxian. “We’re disciples of the Jin sect –”

“Is that so,” Jin Zixuan said, and they all turned to look at him, each one of them blanching in utter horror. “And why didn’t I know that my Jin sect had such people as you?”

“Where’s Wen Ning?” Wen Qing asked Wei Wuxian, looking desperate. “I don’t see him…Where is he?!”

“That monster?” one of the guards blurted out.

“My brother is not a monster!”

“He’s been hiding in the woods,” one of the Wen civilians volunteered. “He’s been raiding the camp, rescuing people who are being abused –”

“Our response was reasonable in light of his aggression,” the guard argued. “He used demonic cultivation – he’s a monster! We had no choice –”

“We’re going to need to question them,” Jin Zixuan said to Lan Wangji, who was looking faintly murderous in his usual righteous sort of way. “To find out who’s their backing – Jin Zixun wouldn’t have dared something like this, not on his own. Can you bind them for me?”

It was his father.

Of course.

“A-Yao, what do you want?” Jin Zixuan asked, and Jin Guangyao stopped in his tracks, staring at him in confusion – as well he should, since he’d only come into Jin Zixuan’s study in order to say good morning on his way to breakfast. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you know, in life.”

Jin Guangayo blinked at him.

Probably not the best question to spring on someone before breakfast, Jin Zixuan reflected.

“It’s about the trouble that my – that our father got into,” Jin Zixuan explained. “The other cultivation sects are furious to no end that he took advantage of their trust in order to do such a disgraceful thing…I’ve ordered Zixun to be confined for now, and I suspect he’ll have to be banished to some country house for a few years. And as you know, my father will be retiring soon and handing over the position of sect leader to me…”

Neither of them especially wanted that to happen, his father as loathe to give up power as Jin Zixuan was to take it. But what other solution was there after such a scandal?

The Lan sect, ever concerned with morality, had been horrified when they’d found out what had happened; the Jiang sect, despite their close relationship to the Jin sect, had immediately denounced it, and Jiang Yanli, who was Wei Wuxian’s friend, was the very first to speak. The Nie sect, never a firm ally for the Jin sect, was growling about righteousness, and if Nie Mingjue was sincere about that being his only concern – and having worked with the man, Jin Zixuan believed he was – then there were plenty of others in the Nie sect that had their eyes on the greater influence and power that would accrue to their sect if Jin Zixuan’s father were allowed to bring his sect down with him.

Handing over power was the only way to make sure their Jin sect remained strong.

“He won’t be alone, at least,” Jin Zixuan sighed. “I won him that much.”

Jiang Fengmian had agreed to step down from his position as sect leader as well, making it seem as though Jin Guangshan’s retirement were voluntary, part of a joint agreement of the older generation handing over power to the newer. Everyone would know in their hearts that that wasn’t the case, but it would be far less shameful than the alternative – saving a little bit of his father’s face.

“You did well,” Jin Guangyao said, listening with a neutral expression. “In uncovering everything, and revealing it.”

“I would’ve brought you in to help, but I couldn’t,” Jin Zixuan explained. “I know he asked you to help in finding demonic cultivators to join the Jin sect, and…”

He hesitated.

“He implicated me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

He had. Their father was shameless: he’d even sought to move all blame to Jin Guangyao’s back, whether as the actual mastermind or, when that was rejected, as the inciter of the scheme. Nonsense, of course.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Even if Jin Guangyao had suggested it, it would have been his father’s responsibility to refuse.

“No one believes it,” Jin Zixuan said, which was only partially a lie. “Even Chifeng-zun laughed in his face and said you wouldn’t be nearly that stupid.”

Jin Guangyao looked – oddly pleased by that, if Jin Zixuan had to guess.

“Still, it’s awkward,” he said, rubbing his head. “People talk, and our subsidiary sects have never been as quiet as some others…you don’t have to tell me right now what you’re planning, or what you want in the long term. But maybe – uh – you have two sworn brothers. Is there any chance…”

“I could go visit them for a while?”

Jin Zixuan smiled helplessly. “I wish it weren’t necessary. And if you did know what you wanted, I could take it into account when planning the future…”

“No, no,” Jin Guangyao said. “Visiting my sworn brothers will be – fine.” He looked thoughtful. “You said Chifeng-zun didn’t think I was involved?”

“Zewu-jun was also vociferous in your defense,” Jin Zixuan said, trying to elide the fact that it wasn’t so much that Nie Mingjue didn’t think Jin Guangyao was capable of such atrocities, but rather that he declared, and loudly, that if Jin Guangyao had intended to do something horrific like that, he’d have handled it better. Judging by Jin Guangyao’s amused expression, he might have guessed anyway. “I appreciate your understanding.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

Jin Zixuan thought he might even mean it, this time.

“I’m an uncle!” Wei Wuxian crowed, holding Jin Ling in his arms. “I’m an uncle, I’m an uncle!”

“Big deal,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, which would be more convincing if he wasn’t beaming foolishly. “So am I. Hand him over...hey, A-Ling! It's me, your jiujiu!”

“Can I be an honorary uncle?” Nie Huaisang asked – Jin Zixuan had no idea when he’d even arrived, or why he was here, or anything, really, but that was probably because he hadn’t really slept on account of over-excitement. “I mean, my brother’s sworn brothers with Jin-xiong’s brother, so it works, right?”

“That’s ridiculous –” Jiang Cheng started.

“No, I love it!” Wei Wuxian immediately declared. “That means Lan Zhan’s his uncle, too!”

“Wei Wuxian…!”

“Don’t worry,” Jin Zixuan said, hugging Jiang Cheng out of sheer excitement. “You’re his only jiujiu, right? Everyone else is related through me, so they have to share.”

Jiang Cheng seemed pleased by that, and Wei Wuxian laughed.

Nie Huaisang was calculating on his fingers. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “This might be the most well-connected baby in the entire cultivation world? The only thing we’re missing is the Wen sect…Jiang-xiong, how about you marry Wen Qing? Then we’d have them all!”

“That is not how I’m determining my marriage!” Jiang Cheng yelped, but notably didn’t reject the idea.

Jin Zixuan looked at Jiang Yanli, who looked back at him, and they both started laughing.

There was more noise after that, and eventually Jin Ling woke up and started crying, making everyone start fussing like a bunch of old hens surrounding a long-suffering Jiang Yanli who’d already grown accustomed to it in a way the rest of them hadn’t.

It suddenly occurred to Jin Zixuan that everyone who was here was here because they wanted to be. Not because of his name or his wealth, not because he was Sect Leader Jin, not because of the circumstances of his birth, but just because they liked him – because they wanted to celebrate with him, and to cherish his child, to share his joy.

It was a good day.

All the days were a little good, but this one was especially good.

#mdzs #jin zixuan #wei wuxian #mianmian #jiang cheng #lan wangji #jin guangyao #jiang yanli #my fic #my fics #right hand man

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campyvillain · 3 years

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Hey guys just letting you know - if you see my twf art on redbubble up for purchase, that isn’t me selling it. I don’t have a means of receiving any payment online and to date I never have, so there isn’t any way I could set up a means of selling my artwork whatsoever. Anyone selling my artwork is not to be trusted, and for the record, no, I do not and never would give someone else the go ahead to sell my own work. The only one I’d feel safe with selling my art is myself. The people selling my art on redbubble have not reached out to me in advance for permission to use my work and for all intents and purposes they are stealing my artwork and using it for their own profit. This revelation is extra upsetting to me because without a storefront to sell stuff on, there’s no official alternative I can offer to this. I cant receive compensation for this. I know art theft on redbubble is as common as seeing fish in the ocean but this stings a lot more considering my art gets stolen/used without credit all the time but at least then there’s the chance I can reach out to the person using my art to get them to either take it down or credit me. I cannot do such a thing in this case, and even if I could, I’m on vacation with my family and I don’t have the time to worry about this sort of stuff. So the most I can do is make you all aware of the different art styles and indicators of my art so you can spot people stealing my content more easier.

Style 1

vibrant/dulled vibrant colors (this can vary from piece to piece)

chunky, thick outlines

very angular and cartoonish

this is my main style as it’s easier to draw in

Style 2

simplified, limited color palette

big cartoony eyes with smaller pupils that can often look exaggerated to push the expression of the drawing

softer more rounded body proportions, designs have a clear use of shape and are very simplified

thin-medium sized lines

shading and lineart often done in greys

warm tones

Style 3

semi-realistic yet still cartoony proportions

shares a lot with style 2 (same color palette, warm tones, grey shading, has a “soft” look)

painterly, fully rendered, lineless style

lush expansive toned-down colors with lots of red typically included

dreamlike, surrealistic imagery

use of blockier shapes

This is nowhere near all the styles I use as I tend to switch things up a lot, these are just the styles whose pieces get a lot of notes (often in the thousands) and therefore have a higher risk of being stolen and used for profit without my knowledge.

Another thing you should note is that nearly all of my art contains a signature - it’s really simple, it’s just the first initial of my name, Jack, stylized as “J.” with a dot at the end. This is how you can tell that a piece was made by me.

Thankfully, it’s also something a lot of these resellers tend to forget to crop out.

Idk how to end a post like this because i am not used to this type of situation happening to me. Again at the time of writing I’m on a vacation with my family so I don’t want to have to think about this, and I can’t really get involved anyway. So if you browse redbubble (and i’m not familiar with how redbubble works) I ask that if you see my work under a name that is not me, find a way to report it and get it removed.

Even if you’re not a fan of twf or you’re just a mutual of mine I encourage you to share this post around, as I’m a poor disabled nd trans artist and I need all the recognition and credit I can get from my work. Also instead of buying uncredited work you can just like….reblog my art instead? LOL i dunno. I just hope this situation gets resolved quickly as I’m so fucking tired of not getting credit for my work -_-

#so far this has only happened once with the above example but i am not gonna sit around for it to happen again.

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cloudyevaa · 3 years

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— warning!!! spoilers for the 2.1 genshin impact archon quest, and a lot of disappointment up ahead. also disclaimer: i am not by any means qualified to give this criticism lol this is just my take and my opinion on the quest's execution, and i need a place to rant.

I can't be the only one who feels very conflicted about the 2.1 archon quest, right??

I think one of the appeals of inazuma's main story was the fact that there was a war, an ongoing conflict between a nation and its deity - the fact that the archons' moralities are not so black and white as we'd thought is hammered home by the dictating reign of the raiden shogun, in contrast to both rex lapis and barbatos, who have directly aided the traveller in their previous endeavours.

the 2.1 archon quest, though?? it feels as if ei is played off to just be a lonely and misunderstood deity, and she so easily changes after... what? yae miko visits her in her realm of euthymia? the shogun knew of the repercussions of the vision hunt decree, the tenryou commission's involvement with the fatui, and even the civil war.

so why was the plot building up to the reveal that the raiden shogun may have just been mislead by false commission reports? what difference does it make that both the tenryou and kanjirou commissions have betrayed the shogun if she already knew they colluded with the fatui?

I hold nothing against ei's character — in fact, I love the way her ideals seem perfect on paper, but works in detriment to the very people she wants to protect. I love that she struggles to understand how eternity is not stagnation, and that growth is the only thing that will stay forever unchanging, because all moments are fleeting, and all life ends.

but mihoyo makes it extremely hard for me to enjoy her story completely when all we do is fight her and rely on the power of friendship vision bearers' ambitions to change her mind about the vision hunt decree. like, ,, what gives?? everything happened so quickly, how could she so easily throw away the ideals she's been so adamantly holding onto for decades?

I haven't done her story quest, but it looks like she's not even being taken accountable for being the spearhead in a literal civil war. all those vision bearers who lost their lives ( including kazuha's friend ), all the common people she has harmed because of her tunnel vision - she lifts the vision hunt decree and she is suddenly absolved? of course, I don't want a perfect morally good character, but at the very least mihoyo can show us that she is not so perfect so as to suddenly change her mind about the vision hunt decree and sporadically feel compassion for the very people she knows she has harmed.

I'm sure people are also really shocked about signora's death - I am too. I was never a fan of signora but her presence was always filled with mystery, intrigue, and an impending sense of doom. she was that antagonist - beautiful, hauntingly cruel, and jam-packed with unknown backstory ( as seen with the crimson witch and pale flame artifact set lore ) that I thought was going to be further explored on future quests. but?? she??? just???? dies???? and for what?

I don't mind if she dies ( in fact, I would like for an opportunity to use traveller to execute her myself ), but the fact that her death brings no substance to the overarching story, especially since scaramouche just. got the gnosis from yae miko. like, mihoyo can do signora MUCH better than this. she deserves a glorious death as a fleshed-out antagonist, yet I felt nothing for her, not even the slightest bit of satisfaction, when she disappeared into ashes.

and scaramouche. I like the guy, he's funny-looking, and kind of sadistic. the fact that he was appearing in inazuma was a welcome surprise. it made sense, considering he was confirmed to be from inazuma, and there were theories about he and the shogun's similar appearamces which I eagerly consumed. but he appears for like, 3 minutes, and then we're KNOCKED OUT???? seriously???????

when yae miko suddenly appeared I actually thought she'd betrayed us and was working with the fatui. but then she wakes us up, tells us nothing about the SINGLE MOST important exchange in the whole quest until AFTER the main conflict is resolved, and just dumps scaramouche's identity on us as a SIDE COMMENT. what is this tomfoolery??? we weren't even there to see it? at least give us a cutscene explaining what went down, because this was LITERALLY one of the most important parts of the entire archon quest, and one of the recurring goals of the traveller.

also, can we talk about the resistance? oh wait a minute, we can't, because they literally did nothing. absolutely nothing. they contributed a total of 0 times the whole quest. only teppei was a memorable figure, and he had more lore than the upcoming 5-star master strategist of the whole army; kokomi.

as a person who loves kokomi, i am devastated by the lack of actual role she holds within the plot. she is a famed strategist and the only reason the resistance has been holding out for so long, as kujou sara said herself. but she's not given so much as a 30-second fight scene, and we never see her cunning wits on the battlefield - we probably never will. why, you may ask? well, because the freaking war is OVER. because baal just decided to stop the vision hunt decree.

i sincerely hope there will be more substantial kokomi content during her banner where we get to see her shine, seeing as it seems that mihoyo is already nerfing her abilities and focusing their efforts into promoting ei instead.

however, seeing as the main inazuma conflict ( the vision hunt decree ) is already over and dealt with... what the frick is kokomi supposed to bring to the table??? 😃 the one character i feel that shone throughout the quest was kujou sara, who had actually had a set-up for potential character development from the previous patch. but even then she's rendered unconscious by signora in front of the archon she is the loyal right-hand of??? like y'all pls tell me I'm not dreaming.

I loved the graphics, the concept, the lore - but the execution fell flat and felt terribly rushed. I wonder if it's because mihoyo is very insistent on hyper-fixating upon the raiden shogun this update.

anyway, that was a long tangent lmao. if you enjoyed the quest, good for you!! I enjoyed it, too; but my enjoyment is far overshadowed by the glaring issues that i had with it. i'd love to hear other people's thoughts about the quest.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin 2.1 #some things about this quest just genuinely confuse me #genshin baal #genshin signora #genshin scaramouche #feel free to discuss/disagree #maybe signora could come back but like lmao look ar her ashes yall. we even got her crown #also soomething i thought was acc interesting was the purple fog scaramouche. Uh. released???#that sounds weird but #its interesting and i might elaborate in another post lol #genshin archon quest #— genshin anecdotes.

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beskar-cowboy · 3 years

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The Following

Summary: The Mandalorian takes an interest in you. He likes to linger in doorways. (2.1k words) link to read on ao3

Pairing: The Mandalorian x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, potential violence against reader, stalking, protective Mando, yearning, mutual pining, sexual tension, this takes place before Episode 1 so no baby and Mando doesn’t know how to process his feelings lol

The Mandalorian doesn't speak to you.

He never has.

He watches you work without ever once coming up to the bar. He conducts his work with Karga, leaves shortly after with every single pair of eyes in the cantina on him. You can’t tell if he doesn’t notice behind all that armour and beskar, or if he doesn’t care.

Then he’s gone for days again. Sometimes weeks, months. Sometimes it's a long time before you see him again and you think you’ve forgotten how shiny that helmet is. But then you’ll see something glimmer in the corner of your eye and in comes the most feared bounty hunter.

The Mandalorian watches you.

So much so that Karga and the people who conglomerate at his preferred table tease the Mandalorian for it. Just go up there, order a drink, say something!

It’s not that easy, Mando thinks. But he doesn’t entertain them. They’ll never let it go if he engages in this conversation so he bottles it up, swallows it whole and one day he’ll die with it deep inside his chest and no one will ever know.

But it’s never that easy either.

The people in Nevaro are anything but sweet, and eventually the Mandalorian notices how the patrons of the cantina bother you. He watches how the entitled ones saunter up to you, bother you with too many questions, too many touches which you recoil from, all of them unwanted. He watches how they don’t get the message and it angers him. Which it really shouldn’t; he’s never fucking spoken to you and you can clearly handle yourself.

He’s taken note of the dagger which you holster in your belt, as well as the one lodged against your ankle, tucked away inside your boot. They’re well hidden, but not from Mando.

Point is, you don’t need his help. You never indicated that you needed or sought protection from anyone other than yourself. He’s seen you throw a punch, he’s seen you threaten, promising a good fight they won’t win. He’s seen you handle yourself.

Which is why this is all the more confusing for him.

He’s started…. Escorting you home….. From a distance. He thinks you don’t notice him, how he’s always a few steps behind you, lost in the crowd with his visor tracked on you.

He’s convinced himself he’s doing it for you, for your protection, for your safety, because he ultimately feels something for you that he can't even fully admit to himself yet but actually.

He’s just as selfish as all those other scumbag patrons that you have to deal with at the cantina.

He’s selfish when he stays till the end of your shift, when he makes sure you see him placing those extra credits for you on the table he was sitting at, when he lets you walk out before him and stays close while you lock up the cantina and then pretends to walk in the opposite direction.

He thinks you don’t notice him, the most feared and prestigious bounty hunter. But you do. That glimmer.

You round the corner, close to home but you press yourself tight up against the wall. Waiting.

And he sees it - obviously - your sudden movements, the sway of your hips as you send yourself around a corner you don’t usually turn on. He plays it cool and keeps walking straight ahead except you’re grabbing his cowl and sending him crashing against the wall you had been pressed against - dagger to his neck.

“You’re too shiny for your own good.” You seethe at him and Mando has to stop himself from laughing.

It’s strange to see such a furious, almost dangerous expression on a face with such kind eyes, soft - pretty features.

“Why are you following me?” You ask, pressing further into his cowl with your dagger, cutting through the thick material. He raises his hands slowly in surrender, friendly.

And you know he is. You know he is because you’ve watched him the way he watches you.

He leaves you extra credits when Karga doesn’t, he stacks the cups everyone’s used to reduce the mess you need to clean up at the end of the day. He’s polite, quiet. He’s never done anything to prove himself a threat. But you can’t help it, not in some place like this, like Nevaro.

“Why have you been following me?” You ask gentler this time, lowering the dagger and slowly putting it back on your belt.

You’re a bit embarrassed, you’re not sure why you nearly attacked him like that, you knew it was him, you know he wouldn’t hurt you like that but that little voice in the back of your head didn’t let you grow up like that, didn’t let you grow up trusting, naive, dumb. You grew up defending, attacking, protecting. Nevaro might breed cowards but it also breeds fighters.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t respond and you huff, frustrated that he still won’t engage with you. He’s nothing but an armoured wall to you, you couldn’t possibly know of the fucking tsunami going on inside his head right now.

How you shine underneath the moonlight, how it lights up your skin all these new colours with the neon lights off in the distance, your eyes, your nose, your lips. He’s never seen you this up close, not in the cantina, not outside in the real world. The feared Mandalorian is rendered speechless.

You back away from him, deciding to let the fight in you die and go on your way home. If he follows, he follows. But you know the Mandalorian won’t hurt you.

He doesn’t walk ten feet behind you anymore.

The Mandalorian has started walking beside you now, keeping up with your pace, however leisurely or rushed - depending on the day.

People stare at him, at the both of you now, when you walk through the night time streets of Nevaro. What’s the bounty hunter doing walking so casually with someone like you? Were you just as dangerous as him? You liked the edge it gave you, that’s what you told yourself.

When he sees your building complex in sight, sometimes he’ll tap your arm and head off, knowing you’re good to make it the last few steps and not wanting to hover like an overbearing parent.

Is that what this is? The need to protect something other than himself?

In his line of work, violence and danger are guaranteed. He can’t control his situation but maybe he can yours. If he can make sure you stay out of danger, that’s good enough for him. But why?

You know why, he’s quick to suppress those thoughts, those bubbling warm and hot feelings he gets when you’re around. It’s easier when you’re not there, when he’s back on the Crest, alone. It’s easier to not think about you. But when you’re right there… he can’t help himself. Can’t help but let those thoughts bubble to the surface like lava.

Whether Mando stays at the cantina until closing, or if he swings back around - after stopping at the shop for parts or the covert - he’s always there. He has been everyday for the last week now. And he’s here tonight.

He watches you work from where he stands, leaned cooly against the entrance with his feet crossed and his hands resting over his stomach.

He watches the way your eyebrows knit together in concentration, trying to scrub the counter clean of whatever substance is clearly caked on. He watches you shine the glasses, put everything away neatly. He notices how tired you look, the way your shoulders sag and bags underneath your eyes - they still shine so bright, even in the low light of the cantina.

“Here.” You toss him something he’s not expecting yet he catches it with ease.

A meiloorun fruit.

You give him such an easy smile - like it really is that easy - as you lock up the cantina and begin on your way home.

He stares at the fruit as you walk side by side, the colours remind him of a sunset.

You both know he can’t take off the helmet and enjoy it now, in the dark of the night. You both know he’ll savour it slowly when he’s back on the Crest, alone and tired. He’ll let it drip down his fingers, down his hands and forearms and think of you.

If he could eat it now he’d share some with you, he’d watch you bite around the skin he just bit into as well and watch the juices drip into your mouth, like they do into his. Maybe he’d kiss you and you’d share the juice together. He wonders if you’d let him kiss you -

“I know you can’t eat it now but, I just noticed that you didn’t eat anything at the cantina today so I thought you might be hungry.” You shrug, kicking some rocks with your boot and watching them roll further away. Anything to distract yourself from looking at him.

Mando is easily flustered, but no one would guess it from just looking at him. His cheeks burn underneath the beskar helmet, eyes wide.

You had seen the fruit lying around the back of the cantina, stole it all for him. Because you thought he might be hungry. His heart palpitates hard, like he’s sprinting after a quarry, it nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Thank you.” His voice comes out rough, harsh. Like he’s not used to saying those two words. He’s not.

You look at him and smile back. At least, you think he’s smiling under there. You wonder what his smile looks like. You hope he can’t tell how flustered you are. That modulator in his helmet must automatically lower his voice or something, it rumbles through your belly and lights something on fire.

You two continue to walk in silence, so close your arms nearly graze. You notice how softly he grips the fruit, how small it looks in his leather gloved hands. You’d be lying if you said you never thought of those hands, those gloves, that old and worn leather - touching you.

You shiver and you blame it on the cool desert night.

“You know I can handle myself, right?” You ask, fidgeting with your hands and avoiding the intimidating T-shaped visor.

That question had been burning a hole in your tongue for the past week, you’d been dying to know why he started doing this, why he took it upon himself to walk you home every single night.

The Mandalorian stays silent. You take his silence as doubt.

“I was perfectly fine before you came along.” You spit, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. He likes how easy you are to light up, little spitfire.

“I know.” He answers cooly, breathy, like he’s chuckling - at least you think it’s chuckling, you’ve never heard him make that sort of sound before.

You huff, unamused. Mando looks at you then, watches you walk with your head held high and looking straight ahead, watching as your small complex comes into view.

The moonlight lights you up like that first night you had confronted him. The Mandalorian remembers how truly dangerous you had seemed - even to him. If you were anyone else he would have raised his blaster and fought back.

The blue light of the moon cools you, makes you seem… chill. Relaxed even. He wants to touch your face.

“You’re very capable.” He adds, as he thinks of you - you with fire in your eyes.

His words nearly startled you, you weren’t expecting anything else, much less a… compliment from the Mandalorian. You suppose that means a lot coming from him. He watches your eyes widen, how they turn to meet his, already looking.

That startles him, knocks the breath out of his lungs and he nearly keels over from the blow. Somehow you got him, dead center, straight on. Your eyes pierce his and he feels like he’s been shot. He feels like you can see him and he’s scared for the first time in a long time.

The Mandalorian is scared.

And you smile, teeth sparkling like a predator and you say, “I am.”

You are.

When you reach your door, you fidget with the keys. He thinks you’ll drop them but you don’t.

The door creaks open into your small hut, smaller than he had imagined for some reason. This is the closest he’s ever gotten, the most he’s ever seen of this other side of you; where you are when you aren’t at work, when you’re not around him.

He watches the light disappear from your face as you step inside the dark cavern. You don’t close the door behind you. You stand on the other side of the precipice, watching him in the dark like an animal waiting to pounce. His heart races.

He lingers in the doorway, waiting for something - admission, confirmation, permission. Anything.

You take his hand in yours and tug him through the doorway. He lets you.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #din djarin #din djarin x reader #one shot #my writing #gender neutral reader

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chefdoeuvre · 3 years

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Under Control

Kelly Severide

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Sister!Reader

Description: Even when you think you have things under control older brothers always worm their way into helping.

Words: 1,595

Requested: yes by @ticklepete; Okay so can you do a Kelly x Sister where y/n is being seriously threatened by someone who she had a run-in with in the past (like an arsonist or former victim, etc) and of course Kelly's overprotective brother side kicks in. Her being the independent woman she is gets a little annoyed but ultimately is thankful. I feel like #46 and #12 would work with this.

Warnings: mention of minor injuries, blood, fluff as per usual.

A/N: I just love Kelly Severide and his overprotective ways. This can be counted as a stand alone or a part two for Rivalry. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

—

There they were again, flowers sent to the firehouse addressed to you. At first, you thought it was sweet how you had a secret admirer. Now after a month and a half of this you were starting to be fed up with it. Of course, you couldn't throw the flowers away they were too pretty for that, clearly, someone had spent a solid chunk of change to get them for you. Obviously, Kelly offered to tell Jay and get him to find out who they were coming from but being the stubborn Severide you are you declined.

The next shift came by in the blink of an eye and this time instead of a large bouquet of fresh flowers you were simply handed an envelope. The envelope didn't have a return address on it only the firehouse's and your name printed on it. You stuffed the envelope into your locker when the announcement system went off signaling a call. The call was a fairly normal rescue. Thankfully, there was a simple solution to saving the victim and it didn't take long to get them to safety.

After heading back to the firehouse you went back to your locker and pulled out the envelope that's been invading your thoughts since you got it. Ripping it open you unfolded the single piece of paper in it and let your eyes scan the words. Reading over them multiple times you felt a pit in your stomach. It was clear to see that they were threats aimed at you. This only confused you, if this wasn't some secret admirer who the hell was this? The words were generic threats you'd expect from a regular old crime show so that's not what scared you. It was the fact that they went through these lengths just to get your attention. Instead of doing what a rational person would do you stuffed the envelope back into your locker and tried to get your mind off of it.

Making your way out of the locker room you bumped face-first into a hard chest. Immediately two arms reached out and grabbed onto your shoulders to steady you. Looking up with wide eyes you're met with the familiar steel blue ones of your brother.

"Hey, you all right?" Kelly asked as he scanned your facial expression.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You nodded quickly.

You tried to sidestep away from him, but his strong arms kept you planted there. Given the fact that he's your brother, he knew you like the back of his hand and he knew what you were like when something was bothering you.

"No, you're not. Talk to me." Kelly urged as you all but looked him in the eyes.

Sighing you shoved his hands off your shoulder and turned on your heel assuring him that you were fine. In truth, you were far from fine but you'd deal with it your own way. Which was being majorly stubborn about it and completely ignoring the fact that you weren't okay. You made your way into the common room and took a seat in between Herrmann and Mouch who were watching an old movie.

Kelly, being the nosy brother he is took it upon himself to check out your locker. Granted he only knew your combination because it was your birthday and as your brother of course he knew you would use that as the passcode for your phone as well. Pulling open your locker the envelope fell out and he quickly pulled it open. Reading the words across the page he suddenly felt the urge to punch someone.

Soon enough, the announcement system went off signaling a call. Apparently, it was a large abandoned warehouse on fire which meant all of Firehouse 51's help was enlisted.

Pulling up to the scene Boden started giving out directions to each unit. Squad was taking the brunt of the work by checking the building along with some of Truck's help. You and Kelly were paired up to go the furthest into the building, biting back a joke about the sibling power duo the two of you were you headed into the burning building. Kelly stood close beside you with a clenched jaw, still angered by the threats aimed at you.

"We're clear on the West wing." Cruz's voice sounded from your walkies.

"Same on the East." Stella agreed.

"All good on the North wing. South?" Casey asked.

You and Kelly were still making your way through the building about to reply when you heard a shrill scream. Looking up in alarm, the two of you shared a glance before setting toward the sound.

Taking the lead you made your way weaving through the crates to where the sound came from. Another high-pitched sound shocked you into place before you started toward the louder noise again.

"I've been waiting for you." A deep, gravelly voice sounded from behind a large crate.

"We have to go, this place isn't gonna last long." Kelly chided looking between you and the wooden crate.

"That doesn't seem to be in my agenda, Lieutenant Severide." The deep voice tutted.

You and Kelly shared a look of confusion. How the hell did this guy know who he was?

"Oh, allow me to introduce myself." The man all but cackled as he stepped out from behind the crate.

In his hands was a familiar-looking bouquet of flowers. He had a devilish smirk planted on his face and dark eyes that made him look demonic.

"It's Charles, but you can call me Chuck." He greeted with a sickly sweet smile and looked dead at you.

Kelly immediately stood to step in front of you and practically growled at the man.

"Cool it, Kell." You shoved your brother aside with a roll of your eyes.

"All right, Charlie was it?" You crossed your arms nonchalantly, "take your flowers and leave or I promise you I'll let the hound at you." You gestured a hand toward your fuming brother.

Of course, you were naturally sassy, but in times of danger, your sass levels would go up by a hundred. Was this the smartest idea to agitate the guy who lit this place up? No, probably not, but your instincts decided otherwise. The man was rendered speechless, to say the least. He was expecting a sobbing woman not a lady who could even out sass Jay Halstead on a good day.

While the man was a blubbering mess Kelly took the initiative to call it into Boden because of course this had to all go down in a burning building. A few moments later you turned on your heel and began dragging Kelly with you.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kelly berated.

"I'd rather get the hell out of dodge before I turn into a crispy treat." You hissed pulling him toward the exit.

Chuck still stood there trying to mutter out a response when he bolted after the two of you. Pushing Kelly ahead of you, you turned around to see Chuck barreling toward you. Grabbing his wrist in a tight grip you all but dragged him out of the building. Just in time the three of you made it out of the building before a huge explosion erupting out of the ceiling.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught sight of the Severide sibling's favorite detective and pulled Chuck along with you.

"I think your package was sent to the wrong building." You shoved Chuck forward as Jay pulled the man's arms behind his back and cuffed him.

"Thanks, Y/N." Jay nodded with a smirk adorning his features.

"Anytime, detective." You flashed a quick smile before heading back to your fellow firefighters.

Letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding you ripped your helmet off and dropped it to the ground.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Kelly placed his hands on your shoulders before pulling you into his arms.

"Oh, come on. That was totally badass." You chuckled.

Kelly stared at you bugged-eyed, tilting his head in confusion.

"Come here, you big teddy bear." You wrapped your arms around Kelly's waist, hugging him tightly.

Locking your hands behind him you pulled back hissing in pain.

"What? What's wrong?" Kelly scanned you for any injuries.

"Damn bouquet had thorns in it. I'm fine though." You scrunched your brows pulling at the thorns embedded in your palm.

"What do you mean you're 'fine'? You're bleeding!" Kelly exclaimed.

"Dude, they're just thorns." You dismissed.

Kelly pushed you toward Gabby and Sylvie wordlessly as you wiped the little bit of blood escaping your hand.

After getting all cleaned up and heading back to the firehouse you went to find Kelly who was hunched over his desk in his bunk room.

"Thank you." You spoke up leaning against the door frame.

Kelly snapped his head toward the sudden voice.

"What?" Kelly asked with a small smirk.

"I said it once, that's it." You crossed your arms with a pout.

Kelly raised his brows and you let out a defeated sigh, "thank you for being my protective brother, even if I don't need you to be." You stepped forward and placed your hands on his shoulders with a small smile.

"It's in the job description." Kelly reached his hand up to ruffle your hair.

"Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to touch my hair?" You laughed, pushing his hand away.

"You're gonna be the death of me, I swear." Kelly rolled his eyes playfully.

#request #fanfiction #imagine #one shot #one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago fire #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire imagine #kelly severide imagine #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide x you #kelly severide imagines #kelly severide fanfiction #kelly severide #lieutenant kelly severide

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theotherhufflepuff · 3 years

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Simon Snow Trilogy Tarot Cards...

Ok so, a little while ago I saw this frankly stunning artwork by @vkelleyart and I started thinking about the Major Arcana archetypes and how characters from my favourite book series could fit into them.

So I made this list. It took a lot of thought and I’m still not 100% sure on some of them but I have explained my thought process for each card.

I don’t know how much crossover there is in the Venn diagram of “Simon Snow fans” and “tarot readers” but I’d love to hear your opinions and/or alternative suggestions (be respectful though, obviously). I’ve left “visual prompts” for most of the cards explaining what they looked like in my imagination and if anyone wants to draw any of these (or their own alternative version!) please tag me; it would make my day! I can’t draw for toffee so I am 1000% never gonna try to illustrate any of them myself.

List under the cut because it is loooong.

Spoilers ahead for the whole series!

0 The Fool - Shepard - Shepard just follows magickal creatures around and says “yes” to everything... he is the pure embodiment of the Fool archetype to me; care-free, innocent... prepared for everything and yet totally clueless. Visual prompt: Shepard about to (attempt to) step into the fog as he follows a fairy into the forest.

1 The Magician - Penelope - “Penelope Bunce is a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying” Baz, at least once in each book. Penny never worries about not having the power or words available to do whatever she wants; she is comfortable in her power and it is always there, ready to be wielded however she sees fit. Visual prompt: Penny wearing her Stevie Nicks cape, standing by a chalkboard in the classic “Magician” pose, ring clearly held aloft.

2 The High Priestess - Dr Mitali Bunce - Dr Bunce is possibly a more formidable magician than her daughter. Highly intelligent, straightforward and, let’s be honest, judgemental. But she does have all the answers. Visual prompt: Dr Bunce carrying around her laptop, phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder.

3 The Empress - Lucy Salisbury - Lucy exudes the nurturing, Earth Mother vibes that are central to the Empress archetype. She saw the best in everyone and all she wanted was to love Davy and live with him in their cottage with her chickens and their child. Visual prompt: Lucy, barefoot and pregnant, feeding the chickens outside of their cottage.

4 The Emperor - Lamb - This is one of the ones I’m not totally sure about. I went through a few different ideas but ultimately settled on Lamb as the “Vampire King of Las Vegas”. He is an imposing figure, ruling his city with an iron fist; if you are in his favour, Vegas is your playground, but cross him and you will suffer the consequences. Visual prompt: Lamb sits on an antique chair in his opulent suite at the Katherine, the lights of night time Vegas visible through the window behind him.

5 The Hierophant - The Mage - Again, this one took some thought and I’m sure some people will disagree with this interpretation... I’m not completely sold on it myself. The Mage was all about reforming the old traditions of the World of Mages and he amassed a following by doing so. But he turned out to be somewhat of a false prophet; abusing his power to oppress those he deemed “the enemy”. Visual prompt: The Mage in his Robin Hood costume, sitting at his desk at the top of the Weeping Tower, surrounded by his piles of banned books.

6 The Lovers - Simon and Baz - Obviously. As stated at the top of this post, I love @vkelleyart’s version of this card, but there are a lot of scenes across the series that could be used to illustrate this archetype. I personally always love to see the original “and then he kisses me” scene.

7 The Chariot - Fiona Pitch - I struggled with this one a bit and I don’t really think that this is the ideal version. But the image of Fiona, rolling up to Blackfriars bridge in her vintage sports car to rescue Baz from the Numpties really stuck with me so that’s what I went with, for lack of a better idea.

8 Strength - Ebb - Ebb is often dismissed and underestimated by other magicians but she is wicked powerful. But more than that, the Strength card is about inner strength, self control and the wisdom to know when to fight, and when to rest. Ebb is highly intuitive about the people - and goats - around her and is always careful not to talk about her twin brother, only conceding that she knows of his presence once a year and never giving in to the temptation to talk directly to him. Ebb saw the war coming and knew that she could probably end it all by herself with the power she had; but she also knew that she didn’t want that and she had the strength to say no, to eschew the expectations the rest of the World of Mages placed upon her and live quietly, instead. Visual prompt: Ebb in the hills behind the school with the goats, she wears a flower crown that the Dryad made her.

9 The Hermit - Agatha - the Hermit eschews the outside world in order to take an inner journey of self discovery, knowing that this is the only way to find real answers and achieve real growth. Agatha, jaded by the World of Mages, took herself off to California, leaving her wand at home. She didn’t know what she wanted but she knew it wasn’t magic. Visual prompt: Agatha sits on the beach at twilight by a small campfire, Lucy the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel by her side.

10 The Wheel of Fortune - The Crucible - The Crucible’s decisions, like the Wheel’s, are unpredictable and inevitable. Once it’s happened, you’re stuck with the consequences - sometimes bad (being stuck with a toff vampire who hates you) and sometimes good (getting the best room in Mummers house).

11 Justice - Natasha Grimm-Pitch - Natasha needed justice to find peace; her whole story is about justice. She was swift to act when the vampires attacked Watford, dispatching them without hesitation. When she came through the veil to find Baz and ask him to bring her murderer to justice, she knew that would also provide some closure for him, too, both for her death, and for his. Visual prompt: Natasha Grimm-Pitch appearing from beyond the veil, looking for Baz and finding Simon.

12 The Hanged One - Nicodemus - The Hanged One is about feeling stuck, but also about finding peace where you are when there’s nothing you can do about it. Nicodemus chose to cross over for eternal life, but he was stricken from the book; his (considerable) magic effectively taken from him and his fangs removed. He was stuck in between - not a full vampire, not a magician; he exists on the fringes of both communities. He got himself there and then he had to figure out how to get by, carve out a place for himself in order to survive. Visual prompt: Nicodemus sits in the tree in the garden of his mother’s house in South London, waiting for Ebb to come and sit on the empty bench beneath him.

13 Death - [scene on the Great Lawn] - Ok, so.. this might need some explaining. My immediate thought for this card was that it should be the Humdrum but Death is all about clearing out the old junk in your life that doesn’t serve you in order to make space for the new. And the Humdrum isn’t making space for anything. So I was thinking about times that has happened in the story and I thought about how the death of the Mage made room for real progress and an end to the war with the old families. Visual prompt: Penny and Baz (literally) run into a fleeing Agatha on the Great Lawn; the Weeping Tower looms in the background, the Mage and Simon visible through the blown-out stained glass windows.

14 Temperance - Simon and the Humdrum - Temperance is, as you might expect, about balance and harmony. Simon used so much magic at once that he couldn’t control it and it tore holes in the magickal atmosphere. Simon had to fill the Simon-shaped hole to restore equalibrium and stop the magickal firmament from collapsing altogether. Visual prompt: Simon kneeling in the Weeping Tower, pouring his magic into the Humdrum as he fades away.

15 The Devil - Smith Smith-Richards - The Devil is about feeling trapped by temptations in your life, often because we’re afraid of what we would do with the freedom we’d have if we let them go. Which got me thinking about Smith-Richards (that name never gets any less ridiculous) and all the magicians who were taken in by the temptation of “fixing” their magic. But it was a false promise and those magicians who narrowly escaped taking Smith-Richards’ spell were all freed from the idea of their magic being “broken” in the first place. Visual prompt: Smith-Richards (looking like the guy who would be cast to play Simon in the Netflix series) standing on a stage in the packed-out White Chapel, rapt audience hanging on his every word.

16 The Tower - The Humdrum - Originally I wanted to use the Weeping Tower for this card because the imagery is on point but the meaning doesn’t match. The Tower is about absolute destruction, the crumbling of something you thought core to your being. The Humdrum steals magic and renders magicians homeless because of it. The Tower is about having to start again from the ground up - just as the Grimms did when all the magic was drained from Hampshire. Visual prompt: The Humdrum, wearing Simon’s face, stands in the grounds of Pitch Manor, laughing. (I have always thought of the holes looking like a burn in a piece of paper - sort of glowing and smouldering at the edges as it eats away the atmosphere. I know the holes can’t actually be seen - the Normals would freak out - but that is imagery I would use here)

17 The Star - Lady Ruth’s candles - The Star is about hope and healing after the devastation of the Tower. Lady Ruth’s candles were a symbol of hope that kept her going when she thought she had lost her children. They provided comfort and, at the end when it became clear the Lucy was gone, the healing of knowing that her child had finally found his way home to his family. Visual prompt: Lady Ruth’s candles in front of a window, a bright star can be seen through the window.

18 The Moon - Agatha and Simon - So, the Moon is all about examining blurred lines between illusion and reality - nothing looks totally clear in the moonlight. It reminded me of how Simon never really seemed to have a clear view of his feelings for Agatha and what their relationship was. When he properly examined his feelings, he found that he didn’t love Agatha and was going through the motions because he thought it was what other people expected of him. Agatha was doing the same. It also brought to mind Simon, going out of his mind worrying about Baz when he was missing - as well as basically every other thought Simon ever has about Baz before Christmas Eve 2015 - and somehow mistaking it for hating him?? Simon is not stupid but sometimes he’s real dumb. Visual prompt: Agatha and Simon meet on the ramparts, both looking for Baz, and break up.

19 The Sun - Simon - This card is all about innocence, optimism and joy. Nothing about this series personifies this more than Simon flying above Shepard’s truck in America, feeling free and hopeful about the future for the first time in over a year. Visual prompt: Shepard’s truck drives through the vast empty desert, the sun beating down. Simon flies above the truck, joy on his face.

20 Judgement - Niamh and Agatha - Ok, this one was hard to figure out and this is maybe not the right solution, but I was very stuck. Judgement is about self improvement through self reflection. As a small twist on that theme; Niamh and Agatha challenge each other’s view of themselves and their interactions with the world around them. Visual prompt: Agatha and Niamh, sweating to death in Niamh’s “shitty Ford Fiesta” (I’m very salty about that line; my Ford Fiesta is lovely and it has aircon). Niamh is frowning, obviously.

21 The World - Simon, Baz, Penny and Shepard - The World is about completeness, the ending of a story, fulfilment and belonging. At the end of AWTWB, Simon has finally found his biological family, he is starting to accept that his boyfriend and his found family love him for who he is, magic or no, and he can finally start to imagine a future for himself. Baz has learned new information about his vampirism, Penny has found new confidence and Shepard is finally fully accepted into the group. Visual prompt: Baz, Penny and Shepard sit on Simon’s sofa (possibly still pink from Baz’s spell, possibly he spelled it navy blue again) Simon sits on the floor. They’re all eating leftover sandwiches and cake from Lady Ruth’s.

#carry on #carry on rainbow rowell #rainbow rowell #simon snow #simon snow trilogy #wayward son #any way the wind blows #awtwb #tarot #tarot cards #major arcana #baz pitch #Penelope Bunce #shepard love #snowbaz

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hawkland · 3 years

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My (mostly) Destiel Recs, Round-up #6

Well, between working like crazy on my DCBB fic and GISH and injuring my neck last month I haven’t kept up with my rec posts, so this one is going to be LONG and have a LOT and I’m going to try to break it up into sections, from oldies but goodies (some things I found on very old rec lists) to smutty delights to just tasty little bits of fluff, hopefully there’s something or everyone here. Most of these are not super-long, largely in the 10-25k range, though there are a few beyond that. With all the stuff I’ve had going on I haven’t wanted to lose sleep diving into 100k epics (especially when I’m writing my own right now, lol.)

“Oldies” but Goodies: Here are two great fics written some time way back when but that still definitely slap.

Theodicy by manic_intent (11k) - Probably the most brilliant Godstiel fic I’ve read to date. One of Cas’s first acts as the new god is to make a new archangel. Dean isn’t exactly on board with having his soul re-sculpted into wings he hates on sight (especially as they seem magnetically drawn to Cas), but he isn’t exactly given a choice. He, Sam and Bobby struggle with how to handle their former friend suddenly becoming a vindictive deity - trying to make plans to kill him if they must, which is pretty hard when it seems like Cas is always one step ahead of him. Can Dean hold on to enough of his humanity to provide a conscience to Cas and try to steer him toward good acts instead of destruction? This is one that I can’t say has a perfectly happy ending, but it’s a hopeful and imperfect one that’s just right for how the story plays out.

My Eyes Are An Ocean by entanglednow (10k) - Season 5 AU where Dean averts the apocalypse through a spell that “powers up” all the angels and he sees Cas’s true form - before being rendered blind. Dean tries to adjust to his blindness, Cas tries to deal with his guilt, and it’s just a lovely little read with an ending that’s... *chef’s kiss*

Lots more recs below the cut:

More great reads from some of my favorite authors I’ve recced before:

The Cabin on the Lake by DeanRH (21k) - This may be my new favorite DeanRH fic...at least for the moment. The year is 2152, Sam and Dean are long gone to Heaven, while Cas - stuck somewhere between mortal and angel - remains on Earth keeping vigil, keeping up the hunt, assuming he’ll never see either Winchester ever again. But when he starts hearing things, and imagining Dean visiting him as an angel himself, he starts losing grip on what is and isn’t real, and whether he can trust anything he sees or believes to be the truth. This is one hell of a psychological rollercoaster that kept me guessing right along with Cas until the very end. It also has some super-creepy horror elements, a novel “monster of the week”, and the hot-as-sin smut scenes I always expect from this author.

X Marks the Scot by DeanRH (15.9k) A fun little romp through history in one of this author’s great not-quite-au fics. Crowley sends Dean and Sam back in history to the Scottish Highlands to stop a monster, and while there they meet a blue-eyed clan chief who makes Dean weak in the knees. There’s something familiar about him, too. a very clever au that ties back to canon for an unexpected fix-it. Also, Cas in a kilt. Enough said.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon by DeanRH (12k) - Sweet and slightly angsty AU. What if Dean was a gardener in ancient Babylon when a strange dignitary came to warn that the tower under construction was to be destroyed by angels? Lush, romantic and sexy with some wonderful tie-ins to canon characterizations (of Dean, Sam, John and of course Cas).

sufficient for thee by angelfishofthelord (21k) - This is a beautiful Cas angst-fest and character study that reimagines how angel grace works, particularly in regards to healing others. It covers the whole of Cas’s arc from Season 4 through a post-series fix-it, is absolutely stunning and features some great world-building in regards to the angels. (One important TW: those with cutting/self-harm issues may wish to skip or at least proceed with caution). I love that I can always count on angelfishofthelord when I need a good dose of Cas!whump and pain.

And laugh at gilded butterflies by ireallydidthistomyself (13k) - another great Dadstiel fic from this author featuring one of my favorite angsty subjects! I don’t know how I missed reading this one before. An AU where Cas is raising (baby)Jack on his own until the angels find the two of them and prepare to seal Jack away in the Ma’lak box. Cas begs them to let him go with Jack, so at least Jack won’t be alone for eternity. Meanwhile Dean is frantically trying to find what happened to Cas, and he gets some unexpected help from Crowley. It’s sad and sweet and all the characterizations are great. A+ Crowley use here, too.

what stays (and what fades away) by dothraki_shieldmaiden (64k) - a fabulous read with some great art, too, that started me reading a bunch of fic from this author. Cas goes missing, and when he’s found he seems deep under a spell. When they finally manage to awaken him, he doesn’t remember anything of this life with Dean, Sam and Cas in the bunker. The last thing he knew he was a nurse living with his wonderful husband, Dean, and their two adopted children, Jack and Claire. What I loved about this one was the clever twist as to who was behind Cas’s curse and also how well-developed his AU world/existence was. I’m not generally keen on mundane aus or the one-dimensional way a lot of djinn dream fics tend to go for them, but this one managed to capture a believable version of Dean and Cas living a “normal” life without monsters without making it sugary/too-sweet.

before knowing remembers by dothraki_shieldmaiden (14k) Post 15x04, a wonderful fic that plays with some meta topics in a clever way. Dean and Sam are happy - they have free will and they’ve won against Chuck, even if they suffered some big losses along the way (including Jack). But Dean can’t help but think he’s forgetting something...or rather, someone. Yet every time he thinks he remembers, the name and face of that someone slips from his mind.

weights on my ankles by dothraki_shieldmaiden (9k) Post-15x03 where Cas ends up going back to the Gas ‘n Sip and working with Nora after leaving the bunker. A bitter sweet divorce-arc AU and what I love the most is how it ends - not perfect, not tragic, just very real and believable.

15x18 and Post-canon fix-it fics:

Orbital Velocity Around a Celestial Body by LeverDrift (26k) - An angsty but lovely fix-it fic, one where it gets worse for a while before it gets better. Dean pulls Cas from the Empty, where he’d been living in a fantasy world with a dream!Dean who was giving him everything real!Dean is certain he can’t. Dean has to struggle with wondering if Cas would have been better off with dream!Dean instead of him. This is one that will break your heart before putting it back together again as Dean struggles with his self-worth issues.

so good at crashing in by Wintertree (36k) - Another post-finale fix-it where Cas is back, the world is saved, and things are still...not as easy as it should be for either Dean nor Cas. Monsters are gone, there’s no more hunting to be done, and Cas wants to move out of the bunker somewhere closer to Claire, to move on with a proper human life. Dean thinks he can move there with Cas and stay as “best friends”, even to the extent that Cas encourages him to go out and have sex with others/women. (And wants to hear about it after the fact!) But can Dean figure out what he really wants, and what Cas wants as well? A refreshingly unique take on what a post-series life could have looked like for them.

Delicious smut:

Empty by squirrelofcelestialintent (43k) - Every day this fandom makes me rethink my previous squicks and DNWs in fanfic. Here I find myself enjoying quite a bit more dom/sub elements than I normally ever would! I think because I was absolutely drawn in by the breathtaking first chapter, capturing beautifully the emotions of Cas returning from the Empty in Season 13 if he and Dean had confessed their feelings right then and there. But Dean’s self-worth is all fucked up, he feels there’s no way he can be good enough for Cas, especially when his sexual desires run a little bit...let’s just say outside the vanilla and he’s struggling with shame over doing sex work when he was younger. This was HOT and POOR SAM really gets stuck in the middle of, well, hearing more about his brother’s sex life than he ever needed to.

He's My Mate by Hatsonhamburgers (22k) - This fic manages the delightful combination of humor and extreme hotness perfectly. Dean and Cas catch each other in some questionable masturbation situations. This leads Cas to decide he needs to buy Dean some proper sex toys. He’s just helping his best friend out, right? Sure. As I said, hysterical AND hot as hell.

Generals by nanoochka (9k) - Cas/Dean, Cas/Balthazar/Dean, implied past-Cas/Balthazar. An old LJ fic I found on an ancient rec list that is just scorching hot and a brilliant character study of Cas and Dean. Balthazar decides to invite himself in when he catches Dean and Cas engaging in some frisky business, and it turns into a bit of a power-play between the two soldiers of Heaven. Cas gets DP’ed and it’s all...well. It’s fucking good, read it.

The One With The Preening by HolyFuckingHell (5.5k) Can I do a rec post without including some wing!kink/wing!grooming in it? No, I can’t. (I also really enjoyed some of the other fics in this author’s series including The One With Dean's Horny Movies).

A Single Point of Light by Destina (2.4k) - This is a gorgeous Cas/Dean/Benny Purgatory short! A delicious balance of the two each caring for and caring about Dean in their own, protective ways, definitely a delight for any fans of this threesome.

Short and sweet, fluff to angst:

Snugglebird by almaasi (5.3k) - So, so soft and sweet and snuggly, just like the title. Dean’s things are disappearing from the bunker...and so, suddenly, has Cas. What’s going on? I do love my nesting!Cas fics, so...yeah. If you need a smile this is a good one to read :)

And Cleanse Me From My Sin by thisisapaige (1.6k) - another one for my beloveds who also enjoy wing grooming and sweet Dean-taking-care-of-Cas fluff.

Needle and Thread by Misachan (4k) - Season 5 wing!fic hurt/comfort. Cas’s wings are badly injured, Dean doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s stitched up Sam and himself enough times. He can do this. If you love caretaker!Dean and vulnerable!Cas don’t overlook this little gem.

Deceptive Preludes by sp8ce (2.7k) - One of those stories that delves into some of the difficulties Cas might have after coming back from the Empty a second time, especially in regards to accepting what’s real or not, understanding Dean, and how both of their communication issues can add to their struggles. Painful but hopeful for the future, felt very believable as I read it.

#my fic recs #destiel recs #my destiel recs #ok that's it for right now #should be plenty to keep y'all busy for a bit

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joshslater · 3 years

Text

Quarantine & VR

5500-word story, so I used the Keep Reading feature for once. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

“Are you sure you’re OK with this?”

We were slowly driving through an eerily empty city center from my student flat next to campus on one side of town to Ethan’s flat on the other, with all my belongings stuffed in the back of the U-Haul. Not that I had so much stuff we needed one. I just moved into the state right before the semester started, but it was the cheapest rental we could get. No one is going anywhere with this lockdown in effect. We barely had time to read the syllabus before everything screeched to a halt. You thought we’d know by now how to handle pandemics, but nooo.

“I wouldn’t have helped you clear out your shit if I wasn’t. Bit late to ask now.” “Yeah, but it seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Ethan turned towards me and spoke with a more serious tone. “I’m really happy to have you stay at my place. I think I would go mad staying alone. Go mad or go home, and I don’t think being locked up with the parents would be better.”

He was about as new in the city as I was, but his aunt had moved out of an old apartment last year and his parents had decided to take over the lease. Apparently it was even cheaper than the student apartments and much larger, but further away from campus. Though where it was in the city didn’t really matter as long as this lockdown was going on.

“Someone else is out at least”, I said indicating out the window. Across the street, a police officer with a navy blue face mask followed our truck with his eyes. Or her eyes I guess. Hard to tell in uniform and mask. I don’t know why, but I found it a rather good look. I hate the flimsy paper masks, but these form-fitted ones kind of make you look more badass.

“Do you think he looks sexy like that?” he asked, as if he had the same thought. “It’s a bit dystopian sci-fi, but that’s not to say it doesn’t look good.” “Take next right. The one after is one way.”

The apartment had two bedrooms, a large living room, decent bathroom and kitchen. Ethan’s aunt had left some furniture, but overall there wasn’t that much stuff. Makes sense as he had barely been here a month. That’s how he had a sparsely furnished extra bedroom for me to use. This was only the second time I had been in the apartment. Ethan forced me to have a look in person before he allowed me to agree to stay with him. Now standing there with all my belongings in the truck outside and my student flat lease canceled, I realized we really didn’t know each other. I studied corporate finance and he medical computer science, whatever that meant. When I asked he tried to explain that almost everything in a hospital now has a computer in it, and a ton of work went into things like volumetric renderings of MRI scans and somewhere there I started to tune him out.

There really weren’t any overlapping circles between us, we studied completely different subjects, he was active in computer games and health, I was trying to get into the writing room of the student theatre company and looking to sign up in the cinema club. But both of us had the bright idea to start working in the student pub, and really hit it off during the start of school year party they threw for their workers. We decided to pick the same work schedule and found out we have the same taste in pop culture, music, books, movies.

And now I’m moving in with him.

He had the larger of the bedrooms with a queen-size bed in the middle, a desk with a few computers and screens set up, gaming computer chair, a reading chair. Basically his room was set up so he could live there except for visits to the kitchen and bathroom. My room didn’t have a desk, but a normal bed, an armchair that looked comfortable, and more wardrobe space than I would ever need. He told me that I could basically consider the living room as mine as well. It had two couches in front of a big flat screen. By the balcony door stood a workout bench and weights. Barbell, plates, dumbbells, and that kind of stuff. Apparently it wasn’t Ethan’s but his uncle’s, but that didn’t really make a difference here and now.

Moving my stuff only took a few runs up the stairs, so we were soon back in the truck, returning it to the rental place. Ethan really didn’t have to come with me, but he said that this would probably be the last adventure for a while, and decided to come along.

“You’re supposed to buy pizza and beer for everyone who helps you move, right? What do you fancy?” “I’d like… You know what? We’re not going to get out much, and you don’t look like someone on a strict diet. Oh, no offense!” “None taken.” “How about we both keep healthy macros and workout regimen while locked up. Instead of paying rent you can help me make sure I at least isn’t in worse shape when all this shit ends.” “Macros?” “Diet.” “Sure I can do that, if you show me what to do.” “It’s a deal then. I’d like one with Gorgonzola and ham.” “Come again?” “The pizza topping. I’m allowed one cheat day per pandemic.”

The pizza place was only a block away from the apartment. Just this one time it was great, as we walked back with one quattro formaggi and one bresaola. But it would be so much harder to eat whatever Ethan had in his plans knowing a real wood fire oven pizza was just four minutes walk away.

Unprompted Ethan started to tell his story over pizza. How his father was a successful businessman in Arkansas, but his hometown always felt too small for him. He talked about how he was making synth music in school. How that made him interested in computers. How, since it was such a small town, he had ended up on the football team without any desire or skill to actually play the game. How he had almost by accident found this education program and had looked forward to both leave Arkansas and to study. I too did a year be year recap of my life so far, up to how my girlfriend dumped me just before the summer. In a way that was lucky, because it made me feel free from obligations and actually do what I wanted.

It was 9:21 when I woke up from a knock on the door. I was a bit disoriented for a second until I remembered where I was. I was sleeping in the guest bed left by Ethan’s aunt. After the pizza we did continue to talk over beer all evening, but I didn’t feel any hangover. Just thirsty. It wasn’t that early in the morning anymore on the other hand. “Yep” I called out. “I’m making breakfast,” Ethan called out from the other side of the door. “Coming”.

It literally only took me seconds to get ready. Stand up. Sweatpants. T-shirt. Done. In the kitchen I saw Ethan had a similar fashion sense, but had gone for shorts instead. “Porridge is fine with you? It would be good if it is. Lots of fibers.” I couldn’t really recall if I liked porridge and told him as much. The porridge itself didn’t taste much, but with toppings I could get used to it. “With our schedule in our own hands I think it would be a good idea to start out with breakfast and work out. That way we can get it out of the way.” Sounded sensible enough.

I changed into shorts as well and made myself ready to do my part of becoming Ethan’s gym buddy. At a quick glance we didn’t look that different, Ethan and I. On one hand I never had that big of an appetite, but on the other I had never really done any sports, and had no gym experience, so I let Ethan guide me. He tested different motions and how many times I could do them with weights he selected and noted down the results in a notebook that would log my progress. It wasn’t at all as tiring as I thought it would be. “Oh, you’ll feel it tomorrow for sure.” We each took a shower, and I went back to my room to catch up on my reading.

A few hours later I was starting to think about lunch. More because I was getting tired of reading than actually being hungry, but I thought I should ask Ethan if he had a plan. The door to his room was open, but as I got closer it became apparent it was an oversight on his part. Splayed on the bed was Ethan, naked save for a pair of boxer shorts and a big VR goggles. His right hand was massaging his obviously erect dick through the fabric of his underwear. He must have followed his normal routine and forgotten I had moved in. I’m not a prude and do the occasional tug myself, like any student, so I was more embarrassed than shocked. As on autopilot, my mind decided to ignore Ethan and continue walking to the kitchen to assess the lunch situation, but another part of my brain decided to keep him in sight.

Walking without watching in an apartment I’ve been in for all of 18 hours predictably made me jam my toe into the door frame. In the corner of my eye I could see Ethan’s body spasm and ripping off his VR goggles as I yell out in pain and surprise. He stared right at me, eyes wide open and mouth ajar in an expression that was hard to read. Surprise for sure, but also something else in between horror and delight. Perhaps it was like the smiles and laughter after you have completely made a fool of yourself. My eyes were drawn to his, and I could feel my face twisted in pain. It was like time stood still, waiting for either of us to make the next move. Out of sheer momentum my mind continued ahead as if nothing had changed and blurted out “What’s your plan for lunch?” over whatever Ethan said at the same time.

“What?” and an awkward pause again. “I said would you like to try?” “I… What is it?”

Ethan put down the VR kit on the bed, quickly got up and stepped into his pair of shorts. His erection was still very much apparent. He pressed escape on one of the keyboards and the screen switched from one incomprehensible menu to another.

“It’s a virtual reality system. I’m using an open source environment system to render inputs from an interactive story engine controlled by a GAN AI system. I’ve been experimenting with regenerative NLP feedback loop plugins for it.” “I followed you all the way up to and including virtual reality system.” “It’s like a VR movie that is generated specifically for you. Here.”

He picked up the bulky goggles and held it out to me. It wasn’t just goggles, but a pair of headphones were built in, and there were a few additional sensors glued on. Hesitantly, and with a throbbing toe, I stepped forward and took the headset. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked. I put it on my head and as it settled into place a digital version of Ethan’s room wobbled into place as well. It was remarkably similar. The colors and patterns were all slightly wrong, but the layout of the room and placement of furniture was almost spot on. I assume he had measured everything at one point and put in the data somehow.

“Go lie on the bed.” Ethan told me. I very tentatively stepped towards the bed, and feeling my way there. It was somehow surprised to find a bed where the digital bed was, and although the visuals of the sheets didn’t quite line up with what I felt, if you just moved quick enough the illusion of actually being in the digital room felt very real.

“This is so weird.” “I’ll start a blank session for you.” “A what?”

Almost immediately a guy entered the room through the door frame. This must be some VR video recording or something because he looked completely real. About the same age as Ethan and I but more fit and, I’ll admit, better looking. He looked flush and sweaty, with his french crop unkempt as if he had just ruffled it. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt and sweatpant shorts. I couldn’t see further down from my position. “Fuck, that was so dope! I love getting pump like that, you know what I’m saying” He was stretching his arms in different ways. Then he zoned in on me, like he was actually looking me over. “Fuck, I love how you look, babe. Mind if I join?” I shake my head slowly. He breaks out in a big smile. I notice he has a bit of a sweatpants boner. Carefully he climbs into bed, next to me. There’s no vibrations of course, or heat or smell, but everything I see looks utterly convincing.

“Hey, are you OK?” “What the…”

I’m looking into Ethan’s face as he stands over me. Bewildered I pat my head.

“I removed it once the program stopped. Didn’t shake you from your sleep one bit. I guess it wasn’t that interesting for you.” “It was very convincing. I fell asleep?” “Perhaps moving stressed you more than you knew? Or it could just be, you know, how shit the world is right now.” “Fuck… I only wanted to ask about lunch.” “A bit late for that. It’s like four and something. Let’s wait an hour or two more and have dinner. Ok with you?” “Sounds dope.”

It was like neither of us wanted to talk about what had happened. I certainly had questions. Had I just fallen asleep like that? Perhaps he was right and I had been anxious about the move and how things would work out. And what was up with that program? It wasn’t gay, exactly, and it didn’t mean Ethan was gay, and if he was there wasn’t anything wrong with that. All of it was just so confusing. Perhaps Ethan was right to just pretend it didn’t happen. Poor guy. I walked in on him watching porn, and then I fell asleep when he tried to show his system. Watching the news on how ever more countries were shutting down was probably time better spent.

He had not joked about being sore in the morning. I woke earlier than in weeks feeling stiff as hell. I didn’t want to wake Ethan, but I couldn’t just lie there in agony, so I got up and did some bodyweight repetitions. Squats, push-ups, dips, and stuff like that just to get some blood flowing. It honestly felt great. Me doing morning gymnastics! Who would have guessed that a week ago? When I left my room I found out Ethan was already up, but didn’t want to wake me up.

“Dude, we need to sort that shit out. I’m ok with you making noise when you’re up. You live here.” “You live here too. What if whoever gets up first makes breakfast and wakes the other up.” “Yeah, dope. I’m down with that.”

We quickly worked out the kinks in our schedule. I would typically wake up first, do a quick workout routine in my room. Then set the breakfast and wake up Ethan. Then we would do workout together. We had different weights and number of reps, but we had very quickly settled on the same exercises, though Ethan was still adjusting my form ever so often. Ethan would then shower first while I did stretches. We then kept to ourselves until lunch. Ethan cooked for both of us. Depending on what we felt like and needed we would either go back to study or do something like shopping or that kind of stuff in the afternoon.

It was hard to keep track of time, but I think it was on a Sunday four weeks later when Ethan said during breakfast that he wanted to show me something he had worked on. He moved the workout bench and the barbell stuff to just outside his room and told me to lie down. The bar had no plates on it, and that’s how I’ve used it until two days ago when I started to add extra weight to it. Ethan emerged out of his room with the VR set in hand, and a trail of cables running in into one of his computers. “Here, give this a go.”

I was a bit surprised, given the last time, but I was also curious what he had to show. Once snugly fitted on my head I was transported into a real gym. It wasn’t a very large one, but a few people did their thing around me. He almost scared me, the guy with the french crop, when he called out “Hey, bro!” just to my left. He had the same navy blue sweatpant shorts as the last time, but his upper body was bare, glistening muscles. He took a step back and his eyes were scanning me up and down. “Dude, you look so fucking good! You’ve really been hitting the weights.” I smiled and immediately realized that I was smiling at an avatar that wasn’t actually there and couldn’t see me, but it’s amazing how good some positive reinforcement feels, even if it is from a program. Perhaps that was the surprise from Ethan.

“Here, show me what you got!”

He walked around me, through the couch I knew was there in the real room, and stood behind me. I leaned back fully on the bench and looked up. He stood over me, just behind my head, so all I saw was a navy blue bulge, some abs and pecs, and his face looking down on me. “Go on, I’ve got you.” I could somehow feel him standing over me. Was Ethan spotting me in the real world? Not that it matters with an empty bar. I grabbed it. It felt heavy. “Good. Give me 15.” He started counting as I lifted. “Slower on the way down. Keep control all the way. Ten more” As I was getting to fifteen he upped it a bit. “Come one! Five more!” As I sat the bar back I felt utterly exhausted. “Fucking awesome, dude!”

“You really went all out.” “What?”

I was lying on the workout bench but I wasn’t wearing any VR shit. I sat up and hit my head in the barbell.

“Fuck! Dude, what the hell!” “The idea was for it to be motivational, but you really took it to heart.” “It was fucking dope, bro. I’m so pumped. Guy was kind of cute too.” “You think?” “Fuck, yeah. I wish I had those pecs.” “You better start some supplements then, if you can’t even last a virtual session.” “What you mean, dude?” “It’s already lunch.” “Fuck dammit!”

I rubbed my head where I had hit it and looked around the room. It looked mostly like before, but the sun had clearly moved ahead. Fuck, I really felt pumped to get some reps in hard and really make a difference. Perhaps lunch, and then do my daily sets.

“You ok with shopping without me after lunch?” “Sure. You need anything?” “I… You said supplements.”

Fortunately for me I have a roommate that studies medicine, kind of. Well, he hasn’t actually gone to any of the classes yet, but he has the books, so he picked out some things for me to boost me. Some of it looked like medicine, in small plastic jars with scientific-sounding names that could just as well have been a frat house. Alpha-omega-manganese-BS-whatever. Some of it decidedly did not look like medicine. Enormous containers with lids that looked too fucking small, with names like amazing-gainz-ultra. He set up a regimen for me to follow, basically some stuff with every meal. I started right away that evening with something like a vanilla and chalk milkshake after dinner. I don’t know why, but something made me feel really good drinking it.

I slept fucking fantastic, and despite having done way more lifting the day before than ever I barely felt any soreness or anything. I probably woke up Ethan with my harder than normal pre-breakfast cardio. Lots of burpees and jumping jacks, so I almost felt guilty making breakfast while steaming sweaty, but whatever. Ethan had to remind me what supplements to take. I really should have written that shit down.

I had a strong deja vu while doing weights. It wasn’t until Ethan spotted barbell for me I realized that this was almost exactly what I had seen doing the VR shit. I looked up and saw Ethan standing over me similar to the guy, but Ethan was wearing grey sweatpant shorts and a red tank. I kind of wished he was topless as well, like the other guy.

“You ok down there?” “Fucking dope, bro”

I realized I must have zoned out a bit. What’s worse I could feel I rocked a hard erection out of nowhere. Rather than making a deal out of it, and run to the shower, I decided to pretend like everything is normal. Guys get boners all the times. He’s a guy, so he knows that. I even did a few extra exercises to really drive home that point. While Ethan took his shower I dared to lower my shorts and slowly stroke my dick. I haven’t cummed once since moving in with Ethan, which I realized was longer than I’ve gone in years. The days were blurring together. I hadn’t watched porn either since moving in. I’ve been too preoccupied with the move and everything else going on.

“All yours” Ethan said and closed the door to his room. I just froze. I was sitting on the workout bench, shorts by my ankles and dick in hand. He saw that. There is no way he didn’t see that. I could feel my face getting hot by embarrassment, yet I continued to sit there and stroke my dick. What the fuck is wrong with me. My mind flashed to Ethan, to the guy in the VR, to his bulge just above my eyes, to his abs to the barbell, to the free weights.

No. I got up and took a long shower, trying really hard to not think about anything. Just observing the tiles, the shampoo bottles, the soap. But there were the creeping thoughts that perhaps Ethan will find me a weird creep and kick me out. How would he do it? He’s been far too nice to be direct. Would he bring up this incident or would he just wait a week or something and over one lunch say something vague like we are not as good of a match as he hoped? Fuck. I needed to do something.

I couldn’t concentrate at all on the block on taxation I was supposed to read. Apart from the residual thoughts of unease I was beginning to see what a mistake it was to not cum in the shower. I was very close to surfing porn sites, but decided against it and ended up aimlessly browsing social media. I can’t really explain how, a hundred clicks that trended in that direction perhaps, but I got into the circles of fitness instagram people. Big arms, broad chests, and slinky stringers. Somehow I was hard again. Stealthily I walked back to the bathroom, locked the door, and started to jerk off in the shower. I’d been saving for a week and been hot all day, but somehow it took quite a while to shoot the load. My mind was a soup of barbells, Ethan, sweatpant shorts, vague old porn clips, and more recent instagram models. When I finally came it was like I’ve never orgasmed before in my life. Rope after rope shot out of me, the first few even hit the wall, and my hips involuntary thrust forward for each of them. I felt cleansed in a way, like a weight had been lifted from me. I couldn’t really understand why, though. Nothing had really changed.

I didn’t want to go back to my room and study. I rinsed the shower, got a pad and a pen, and went to the kitchen to get on top of the supplements. I decided to write down all the ingredients from the labels. I had just accepted Ethan’s plan uncritically. It’s probably fine, but I wanted to understand it. That’s where Ethan found me.

“Hey, dude. Already hungry?” “Yeah… No… I don’t know, bro.” “You don’t know?” “It’s like… Fuck. You saw, bro.” “Saw what? You jerking off?” He laughed and sat down. “You saw me doing it first.”

He was right, of course. I didn’t know how that could have slipped my mind.

“Was it porn?” I didn’t know why I asked that. I was curious, but it also felt a bit too personal of a question. “Yeah. Wanna see?”

Before I even had time to respond he continued “Let’s fill up your macros first and then I can show you. If past experiences are any indications you’ll take your time.” “Already jacked off today.” Why did I tell him that? “Even better”

Ethan had this ever changing dish where he would chop and fry vegetables like bell pepper, chili, garlic, ginger, onion, peas, and whatever else was around, pour in coconut milk and whatever spices you craved that day green curry or red curry for Thai, madras curry for Indian, Soy and miso for Japanese, anise and szechuan for Chinese, saffron and parmesan for Italian, and so on. Then serve it with pasta or grains or rice. I helped him prepare it, as I always do unless he started making it without telling me. This time however the air was different, filled with tension and awkward anticipation. He made it with chicken, lemon grass, and brown rice this time. We hardly spoke a word while cooking, and then continued to eat in silence. We both knew what was on my mind, and there wasn’t any question on the subject that wouldn’t be awkward. I was weirdly looking forward to trying out whatever it was he wanted me to try. I couldn’t explain why it felt so compelling to me. Just thinking about it made me hard. “You clean up here and I’ll go and set it up for you,” he said as soon as his plate was empty. “Yeah,” was all I could manage, and he left. I finished my plate as well, put the few things we’ve used in the dishwasher and went to his room.

His bed was made and on it was the VR headset and what I first though was a protein drink shaker. “Dude, is that a… fleshlight?” I asked him both with incredulity and genuine curiosity. Curiosity because a cable ran from it to one of the boxes on the floor that connected to his computers, and incredulity because I couldn’t believe he thought I would use one of his sex toys.

“Yes. No. Not exactly. It’s modified to connect into the haptic subsystem.” “Haptic?” “Force feedback” “It’s a vibrator, bro.” “Eh.. No. Well, not only. You’ll see.” “Why do you think I’d touch that, bro?” Though somewhere inside I knew I would. “It’s a brand new inset. You’ll be fine.”

I walked up to the bed and suddenly wasn’t sure what to do. I would need to at least lower my shorts and boxers to get the until-recently-fleshlight on my dick, but Ethan was still in the room. Not only in the room but almost studying me like a lab project.

“I’ll lie down?” “Got to strip first,” he said motioning towards my tenting shorts. He saw me hesitated and continued “Dude, I just saw you jerk off in the living room this morning”. I blushed and pulled down my shorts and boxers, and stepped out of them. “Shirt too,” he said. I removed that as well and stood naked in front of him. “Wow, you are making progress. Ok, on the bed and hook yourself up. Red dot up.” I climbed into the bed, as he told me, and grabbed the cyber-fleshlight and pushed it down on my hard dick with the red dot up towards my head. There was some sort of lubrication in it and it slid on with very little effort. It must have been heated as well, because the lubrication didn’t make it feel cold. I was given a nod from Ethan and put on the helmet over my eyes and ears.

The alternative version of Ethan’s bedroom was already there, waiting for me. I looked around and as far as I could tell everything looked like in the real world, except no Ethan of course. After half a minute, perhaps more, I was almost about to ask if he had started it when the French crop guy jumped in through the doorway, as if he was in a hurry. He was naked except for a pair of white, tight speedos that both highlighted his big package and created a reference point for his deep tan and made it look even deeper. There was a sheen over all his body, like he had been working out hard or oiled himself up, and he was breathing heavy. “Sorry, I’m late. I didn’t expect you so soon,” he panted. I didn’t know what to say. “You want me to help you with that?” he asked and nodded towards my dick. I looked down and saw a massive erection, easily twice my real size. “As an apology…” he continued.

“Yeah, sure bro.”

He made the cutest little jump of joy in response, and caught my smile. He composed himself and locked eyes with me. Then he started some sort of dance where all the movement was in his hips and abs. Then he added more of the upper body, still keeping eye contact. I thought I would hose him down with cum from my monster penis right there, so sexy was it. He smirked and moved closer. Still swaying he leaned forward and licked the head of my dick, which shot pleasure up my spine. He then started to circle the head with his tongue, before taking it into his mouth. The first few times were shallow, but then he stopped teasing and begun to really do down deep on the dick. In addition I could feel him alternate between stroking my hips, the insides of my thighs, and tugging my balls. Just as I was about to nut he stopped working on my dick and started to slowly run his tongue up my faint abs, circling my nipple. I was squirming in horny delight.

He was straddling me now, face to face. I couldn’t resist it any longer and reached to pull him towards me and kiss him on the mouth. There was a loud crack of plastic against plastic as our VR helmets collided. “Dude?” I was looking at the French crop guy who was moving his hands in front of his eyes. “Ethan?” I asked, suddenly realizing what was going on. The French crop guy looked bashful, did a little wave, and answered in not-Ethan’s voice “Yeah.”

“Did you just blow me?” “I wasn’t… No, it’s still the device.” I hesitated, considering briefly what this would mean. “Would you like to?”

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ohgodmyeyes · 3 years

Text

Hot Wax (Like A Band-Aid)

Luke Skywalker x Reader, 2k words. Modern AU? Mature, but no sex.

Summary: Your infallibly sweet husband, Luke, helps you wax your pussy because you’re too pregnant to do it yourself.

...

"I— um, I'm not sure about this anymore. This stuff is hot."

"Come on, Luke! You promised you'd help!"

Luke looked up at you from between your legs, desperation writ on his face. He had to peek around your belly to do it— you were about eight months pregnant right now, which was why you'd enlisted his help with this in the first place. He might have been nervous, but you weren't about to let him back out now... especially given the fact that it was his baby whose steady growth was preventing you from performing your usual hair-removal ritual.

"I just— I mean, I don't want to hurt you. And anyway, you know I don't care whether or not you—"

"I care," you interrupted him, from your spot on the living room couch. "I like how it feels with no hair down there, and anyway, you've already trimmed everything down to the right length— you don't want to quit with the job only half-finished, do you?" Appealing to Luke's sense of duty, you thought, was the most effective way to get him to do something he didn't really want to do.

"Trimming it was easy," he mumbled, seemingly to himself, as he peered back between your legs as if to examine his own work. "This seems... I don't know, dangerous." He paused. "...You didn't really used to do this by yourself, did you?"

"Of course I used to do it by myself," you told him. You weren't crazy about the idea of a stranger removing the hair from your vulva; you'd always shaved or waxed it yourself. Now that you couldn't see the area in question well enough to perform the task, Luke was the next best option— whether he thought he was or not. "Now, hurry up and start putting it on before it gets too cool. The sooner you get to it, the sooner it'll be over."

Luke sighed in defeat. He was sweet, you thought— sometimes almost too sweet. When you'd told him you needed help with something, he'd agreed right away, before even asking what it was you needed him to do. He was probably thinking, now, that he'd made a mistake; however, you knew that with the right amount of reassurance, he'd do a fine job of grooming your pussy. Luke was good at nearly everything he tried, and you were sure this would be no exception.

"...Alright," he conceded. "Alright, fine. But if I screw up, you're not allowed to get mad, okay?"

"You won't screw up! You'll do just fine." You spread your legs as widely as you could, and went on to instruct him, "Just gather some of the wax up on the little stick, and spread it into a line wherever you want to start. Leave it for a minute or two, and once it's hard enough that it makes a noise when you tap it with your fingernail, it's ready to be pulled off."

"Won't that hurt?" he asked, the concern in his voice coming through loud and clear.

"Of course it'll hurt, but only for a second."

"What if you yell? What if there's blood? ...Wait, this can't hurt the baby, can it?"

"I might yell, but there won't be any blood," you told him. "And no, there's no way this can hurt the baby." You placed a hand gently upon your stomach and smiled. "I think she's asleep right now, anyway," you added. "She won't even notice."

He laughed despite himself. "Still think it's a girl, huh?"

You hadn't opted to find out the sex of your baby; you'd both agreed a surprise was a lot more fun. You had a feeling you were carrying a girl, although Luke happened to disagree.

"I do," you said. "It's just a feeling I have, though— we'll find out soon enough."

"I still can't believe you're doing this for us," he said, peeking around your belly and back up at you one more time. "You're going to be a fantastic mom, you know."

"I'm glad you think so... but you wanna know what I think?"

"What?" he asked, flashing you one of his loveliest smiles.

"I think you're going to be a fantastic esthetician. As long as you don't let the wax get too cold."

"Okay, okay! You just want me to start, then?"

"That's exactly what I want."

He shook his head and sighed again, but that sweet smile didn't leave his face. "Okay. I'm going to start at the bottom, and work my way up. Does that sound alright?"

"Sounds fine to me, Luke. Don't worry, it'll be over in no time."

He went to work, after that— just like he said he would, he started at the bottom, with what felt like an appropriately-thin strip of wax in just the right position. He was quiet while he waited for it to harden, and so were you. Your hand stayed on your belly; the baby still seemed to be asleep.

Luke was going to be a wonderful dad, you thought absently as you waited for that first strip to cool— he'd proven to you over and over throughout the course of your relationship that he was willing to do just about anything for the people he loved. Waxing your pussy was just the most recent manifestation of that willingness, and you appreciated it... especially considering that he didn't care whether you were fuzzy down there or not.

"Okay," he said, after a couple of minutes had passed. "I think it's ready. What do I do now?"

"Can you tap it with your fingernail?" you asked, just to confirm that it was, in fact, time to pull it off.

"Yeah, I can. Do I just... pull?"

"Hold the skin right below the edge of the wax so it's super-tight, and then rip it off as fast as you can."

"'Rip it off'?"

"Yep— just like a band-aid."

You heard him take a deep breath, and then he did exactly as you had told him: He held your skin tight with his fingertip, and proceeded to wrench the strip of wax right off of you. You shrieked, partly because you weren't the one doing it; partly, too, because it stung. It would have stung no matter who'd been doing it.

"I'm sorry!" he said. "Are you alright? I didn't mean to—"

"I'm fine," you laughed. "Actually, it felt exactly the way it's supposed to. How does it look?"

"Like your pussy has a bald spot."

"Well, then you'd better get started on the rest."

Having taken on a more serious expression (Luke always looked quite serious when he was hard at work on something), he glanced up at you, nodded, and went on to complete the task of rendering your pubic area perfectly smooth.

You didn't speak anymore so as not to distract him; he didn't say anything else either, except to confirm, periodically, that you were still alright. Every time you squeaked or squealed or otherwise showed even the slightest hint of discomfort, he looked up at you with concern; however, he didn't deviate from his task. By the time he'd worked his way up to the spot just beneath where your belly bulged out, he seemed as though he'd grown quite comfortable with the process.

"Looks like I'm just about done," he said, as he spread one last strip across your mound. "How do you feel?"

"A lot better," you answered, and that was the truth. Not being able to do this job for yourself happened to be one of your least favourite parts of being heavily pregnant. It was worth it, of course; you'd always wanted a family with Luke... but carrying a child did come with its fair share of frustrations and inconveniences. You were glad to have someone like him, who was willing to help you with whatever you needed, whenever you needed it.

Luke, you mused, was an infallibly sweet man— you'd always considered yourself very lucky to have him, and the fact that he was willing to do this for you only served to drive that point home.

By the time you'd finished contemplating how wonderful he was, he'd warned you that he was about to pull off the final wax strip. You told him to go right ahead, and so he did— and with one final pinch (and shriek), the task was complete.

"You have a pretty pussy," he said admiringly, running a finger along the edge of your outer labia. You looked around your belly and at his face; he was smiling again. It made you smile, too.

"Only thanks to you," you said. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you helped me with that— it was driving me nuts."

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be," he admitted. "I just didn't want to hurt you— you, or the baby."

"You didn't," you said, heaving yourself back up into a seated position (Luke, being the gentleman that he was, helped you by taking your hand and giving it a gentle tug as you did). "We're both just fine. Although I do think I might have woken her up with all my yelling."

"She— I mean he— woke up? How do you know?" He got to his feet, and then sat down beside you on the couch, eyes trained on your stomach.

You gave him a look, and took his wrist in your hand. "She's kicking," you told him. "Right about... here." You placed his palm on the upper part of your belly, just a few inches above your navel. You couldn't actually tell if the baby was kicking or punching right now, but she was certainly doing something, and you had no doubt that her father would want to feel it, too.

He waited a few moments, staring curiously at his own hand. Then, all of a sudden, a broad smile completely overtook his features.

"Feel that?" you asked, with a grin of your own.

"Yeah— yeah, I did feel it!"

"Strong, isn't she?"

He appeared to think for a moment. "...Maybe you're right," he said. "Maybe it is a girl."

"What makes you say that?"

"All the strongest people I know are girls. You, my sister— my mom, too, from what my dad always tells me." He took his hand off your belly then, and leaned in closely to offer you a kiss. "Do you know how proud I'll be if our baby turns out to be even half the person you are?"

You looked into his eyes, which were absolutely brimming with love. Yes, you thought— you really were very lucky to have somebody like Luke to share your life with.

"Whether it's a boy or a girl," you said to him, "I hope they turn out to be just like you— kind and loving, and always willing to help anyone who needs them... even if the thing they need help with is kind of awkward." Like pussy-waxing, you thought. "You know that's why I fell in love with you in the first place, right?"

He blushed, which he'd always been prone to doing. "You're too nice to me," he said. "I just didn't want to hurt you— I wasn't going to tell you I couldn't do it without at least trying first."

"That's why you're a perfect husband, Luke... and it's why you're going to be a perfect dad, too."

You put your arms around him after that, and drew him in as closely as you could to give him a tight squeeze. He hugged you back, and went on to whisper something into your ear... something about heading to the bedroom, for the purpose of more thoroughly checking his work.

With a giggle, you nodded emphatically, and watched as he stood up. Once he'd deftly helped you to your feet, you sauntered off together hand-in-hand, down the hallway and in the direction of your favourite place to spend time together.

All of your 'spending time' together might have been the very reason you couldn't wax your own pussy today... however, not being able to see between your own legs for a few months was a tiny sacrifice, given all of the wonderful things that came with being tied to somebody as kind and generous as Luke.

#luke skywalker #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x y/n #fanfic #star wars #pregnant #pregnancy #pregnant reader #pussy wax #waxing

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twilightofthejedi · 3 years

Text

fic: lost in your current like a priceless wine

written for @ahenix !!

thank you sm @trynatalktou for the beta work!

read on ao3: here

summary:

“Or we could just share the bed,” she ventures. his gaze snaps to hers, incredulous. She barrels on hurriedly. “It’s big enough for the both of us, anyways.”

in ep 17, what if chayenzo decided to spend the night in the hotel room after they plotted? and then there was only one bed??

set during episode 17

Cha-young closes the laptop with finality, heading to the table where the tray of food had been set out. She pours a drink into two glasses, and hands one over to Vincenzo where he stands by the large glass window. He smiles, taking the drink from her hand. She leans against the wall, and lifts her brows at him.

“What now?”

“Now we try to get some rest.” He pushes off the wall, and she follows suit. “It’s already late, and we need to be up early tomorrow to see the fruits of our labors.” He grins at her at this, boyish with his enthusiasm.

“All right. If you hand me my room key, I’ll leave first, Mr. Cassano.”

He blinks at her. She frowns at him.

“You didn’t get another room?”

“No. Should I go and get it? I’ll be right back.” He makes to move for the door.

She thinks fast.

“No it’s fine. There are so many couches here anyways. I’ll just make myself comfortable on one of them.”

He looks pained. “No, no it’s fine. I’ll go down and book another room.”

She tries to play it off nonchalantly. “Yah, does money grow on trees for you? I said it’s fine, right? Typical mafia, flaunting how rich you are…”

“All right, all right. Just don’t put your feet up on the coffee table with your shoes on,” he says hurriedly.

Just to be contrary, she sashays over to the couch, not missing how his breath hitches. She flounces on the couch ungracefully, and kicks up her heels-clad feet on the low coffee table, groaning at the relief it brings to be off her feet. Smirking, she looks over at Vincenzo, who looks like he isn’t breathing.

Good.

“What was it that you said?” she asks loudly. He tears his hand through his elegantly styled hair, and she is suddenly seized by the desire to do it herself. To know exactly how the strands of his hair would feel through her fingers.

Focus, Cha-young. You’re supposed to be making him lose his mind, not yours.

He doesn’t seem to notice her racing heartbeat, however. Marching over to her, he takes a hold of her feet and removes her heels, his hands impossibly gentle. Then, he stands abruptly.

“I’m going to wash up. I’ll be done soon,” he says, and she thinks that if all it took to unsettle Vincenzo Cassano was to put her feet up on a coffee table, she would have done it a long time ago.

When he finally emerges, his hair is wet and plastered to his forehead, and all she can think is oh shit.

“You can go ahead, Ms. Hong. I’ll get some blankets for you out of the closet,” he says, and oh, his voice should not be that smooth. She nods, and hopes it doesn’t look like she’s fleeing when she hightails it to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she steps out, clouds of steam at her feet. He is running a towel through his hair, and she has to look away, because the simple act of him drying his own hair should not be this attractive to her. She finds a water bottle and takes a long drink from it, her throat suddenly dry.

He seems to realize that she has come out of the bathroom.

“Ms. Hong, I can take the couch, don’t worry - you can have the bed.” She looks towards the couch, and sure enough, his shoes are neatly arranged in front of it. This is patently unfair, of course. He’s paying for the extravagant hotel room; he should be allowed to at least sleep on the bed.

From middle school, to law school, to her internship and partnership at a firm, Cha-young has been known for her ability to think fast on her feet. It is, after all, what allowed her to win trial after trial, to the point in which she had secured a position at Wusang, a prestigious firm, at such a young age. She prides herself on this ability.

It comes especially in handy now.

“Or we could just share the bed,” she ventures. his gaze snaps to hers, incredulous. She barrels on hurriedly. “It’s big enough for the both of us, anyways.”

He nods slowly.

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll take this side.” He moves to the side closer to him, and she stares at him, unable to believe her own luck. She unwinds her hair from the twist on the top of her head, and catches him watching her. He quickly looks away, cheeks reddening.

She smiles to herself. Still got it, Hong.

He climbs gingerly underneath the covers, and she follows suit, but with considerably less grace.

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, the only light originating from the Seoul night outside. She is acutely aware of every particle of her body, and every centimeter of distance between them.

Much to her relief, Vincenzo speaks first.

“I never thanked you.”

“For what?” For once, her customary brashness has abandoned her. Maybe it’s something about the unfamiliar environment, or the lambent light gilding his face in soft light. Or maybe it’s the quiet vulnerability in his voice, as he stares up at the smooth plaster of the ceiling, determinedly not looking at her. She props herself up on one elbow, and turns towards him.

“For staying with my mother that day. And then staying with me afterwards. I never thanked you.”

She is taken back momentarily.

“Why would you need to thank me?”

“You didn’t need to do that. That went beyond the professional limits of our partnership.” She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, but suspects that if she did that, he would take it as some sort of rejection, which she has no desire to do. She decides to be delicate, for once in her life. Her father is probably gaping in heaven. Cha-young being considerate of someone’s feelings? I never thought I would see the day!

“I think, Mr. Cassano, that we’ve gone well beyond the limits of a professional partnership,” she begins carefully. He goes rigid, and turns to face her, mirroring her position.

“Either way, I greatly appreciated your support. I don’t think I could have gotten through it without you.” Despite his words, his tone is stiff, formal.

Cha-young has known Vincenzo long enough to know when he is holding something back. Still, she won’t push him.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving you to face it alone.” Light, unweighted words. Cha-young still remembers the hushed hours of the funeral, how he had stood, head bowed, in his suit with the three stripes on the arm. She hadn’t known what to say, what to do, so she had simply stood there with him, a silent vigil to the maelstrom of his grief.

He inhales a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “How did you do it, Cha-young-ah?” She is so (pleasantly) shocked at him dropping the honorific that she is rendered completely speechless.

“Do what?”

“How did you go on? I’ve tried to shut out my mind and keep moving, and I’ve tried to keep busy, but then my mind gets quiet and I don’t know what to do. So how did you do it?”

Outside, rain gently hits the glass of the window, and she looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since she had settled under the covers. He always looks handsome, but now he looks almost liquid in the moonlight slanting in through the hastily drawn curtains. His eyes look like storms, shadows whirling around themselves in the dark expanses of his irises, his pupils blown out.

She thinks, rather foolishly, that she wants to kiss him.

“I gave myself a purpose, remember? I vowed revenge, and I didn’t allow myself to stop.” She flops back on her back. “So as far as dealing with grief, I don’t think I can give you good advice. I’m barely dealing with it as it is.” The rain outside picks up, and she huffs a laugh. They’re really two broken people aren’t they? She can’t even offer him any advice, because she is exactly the same as him in that regard.

“So I guess don’t let yourself stop. We’ll figure out what comes next after we’re done doing everything that needs to be done.” She feels bold, all of a sudden. “And we’ll figure it out together. Because I don’t know, either.”

His hand suddenly reaches out, and takes hers. Her entire body feels like it's running through hot water, and she squeezes his hand back.

“That sounds like a good idea. Excellent plan, Ms. Hong. You truly do belong in the mafia,” he says, but his voice is thick.

She laughs, and he smiles, pleased, looking down at their entwined hands. And suddenly, just like that, Cha-young can not wait anymore. The world that they both live in is far too dangerous for her to deny her own feelings any longer. She has enough regrets in her life that she doesn’t want to add to them. She will never be able to live with herself if she doesn’t act now, so she does.

As simple as that.

She leans down, moving her free hand to curl around his neck, and kisses him. He doesn’t hesitate like he did in the gallery, and pulls her into him, and she sinks into the warmth of his chest. He kisses her back and it’s everything that she has ever wanted. If she thought that the kiss in the gallery was amazing, this is simply heady. She thinks that she could get drunk on the feeling, the feeling of his mouth moving against hers, and the sure, steady warmth of him underneath her body.

When she pulls away, his face is soft, and he reaches up to run his thumb over her lips. She runs her fingers through the outrageously soft strands of his hair, and smooths it away from his face.

The rain has slowed down to a gentle backdrop at this moment - this moment that seems to be frozen in time. She leans down to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Go to sleep, jagiya,” she says, daring to call him the word that she has wanted to call him since he lost the bet about the bungeoppang. He smiles at her, slow and luminous, and turns around, his back to her.

She settles behind him, and reaches forward to wrap her arms around him, and press her lips to the nape of his neck. He sighs contentedly, and she can feel it in his chest.

The rain patters on, and Cha-young can not think of a better way to go to sleep.

#vincenzo kdrama #vincenzo x cha young #chayenzo #hong cha young #vincenzo cassano #idiots in love #there was only one bed #vincenzo ep 17 spoilers #my writing #my fic

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kbsd · 3 years

Note

not sure if you’ve answered this before, but what’s your process look like when you make an amv? i’m just curious and in constant awe of ppl who can make videos like you do :)

hello all!!! i have answered this before and i have a vid help tag with other asks i’ve gotten about stuff like this! but i’ve gotten several more messages along these lines so i’m just going to answer a bunch of them together (under a cut since i love to ramble about editing lol). i do just wanna say i’m definitely not the authority on video editing and obv everyone has their own techniques!

edit: i just finished typing all this up and it’s SO long so sorry in advance LMAO god bless anyone who reads this entire thing

so i work in news tv and we have a very specific workflow for writing scripts, sourcing video, producing, and editing. i’ve just applied that to making amvs! for every video i make, i copy the song lyrics into a google doc and adjust them to match the song i’ve cut (i often will trim songs for time and/or content purposes). then i start planning! i’ll mark down what clip i want to use for each lyric next to that line, and any sound bites i want to use (with episode numbers!). i’ll color code between video and sound bites and lyrics, so my scripts end up looking something like this (for my honeybee amv):

doing the planning ahead of time makes everything much easier when it’s a video that spans the whole show or involves a lot of sourcing, like honeybee or sports analogies. that way when i get to the actual editing process, i already know what i’m going to do and have a game plan. for videos like happy ending or believe it or not, where i’m mainly just pulling from a few episodes, i can just plan it in my head as opposed to writing it all down, and produce as i edit. obviously i do make in-the-moment decisions while editing—sometimes a shot doesn’t work the way i thought it would, or i go where the video takes me—but planning ahead definitely helps. i know some people use spreadsheets as well, with columns for lyrics, video clips, and sound bites if applicable. once you find a system that works, it actually goes pretty quickly.

as for sourcing clips themselves/finding clips within episodes, i talked about that here and kind of here. the short version is that transcripts are a must, and the supernatural wiki is hugely helpful by cataloguing all the hugs, prayers, phone calls, etc. in the show. gifmakers that tag episode numbers on their posts are your friends. it gets easier the more video you make—that’s another huge reason i make the google docs for each video (even the ones i plan in my head, i end up going back and making a loose script with episode notes just for reference). if i can’t remember where something is but i know i used it in another video, i can easily reference past scripts!

i also cut all my videos in the same project in premiere pro, so i can flip between them easily. instead of checking a past script, i can just go to the video sequence itself and copy the clip i’m looking for! this was especially helpful when i match cut together the 5x18 and 4x22 wall slam shots for my bestie video, and then stole it from myself for honeybee hahaha. at any given time i have at least 8 sequences open:

because of the sheer volume of videos i make, it’s worth it for me to download the entire show—i have all 327 episodes in HD, plus deleted scenes. if you think you’re only going to make a few videos, i’d start with scene packs. you can usually just google “destiel [or whatever ship/character you’re looking for] scene packs” and there will be any number of ones you can download. if you need other specific scenes, you can always download/torrent individual episodes or screen record netflix (that’s what i did before i got HD download links). i’m happy to share my links if you DM, but be warned it’s a lot of disk space (about 500GB on my hard drive). someone also compiled every destiel scene, downloadable here.

having every episode already loaded in premiere for all my projects also makes it a lot easier to source clips. once i use a clip in a video, i’ll put a marker on the episode file, so that after a while i have most of the important scenes/lines marked to easily find them. to give you an idea, this is my episode file in premiere for 12x10 lily sunder has some regrets (markers at destiel scenes, the car fight, hot girl cas, etc.). markers are the green tabs along the bottom:

premiere also lets you color code and name markers, so ONE DAY i will go back and color code them all. the ones above are all the same color, but in a perfect world, i’d have a myraid—for destiel shots like hugs, touches, looks; for important pieces of dialogue; for action shots; etc. but for now this works ok for me, so that’s a project for another time!

between detailed scripts, one giant premiere project, markers, the wiki, and my own memory, i have so many points of reference that i can usually find any clip i need in about 2 minutes max. sound bites are often harder to start out, or tiny specific shots i haven’t used before, and that’s when i turn to tumblr gifsets or beloved mutuals to crowdsource. but if you’re as obsessive about marking/keeping neat scripts as i am, it gets easier and easier with every video you make. that’s part of why i’m able to cut videos together so quickly. (also i want to stress i do this for a living and have to produce/edit a new piece for my show every day so i’m used to it. and compared to constantly updating content/sources and news that changes every day, 327 highly documented episodes that never change are much easier to handle hahaha)

this is all great for me since i make so many videos and plan to continue doing so, but if you’re only making a few, this level of work isn’t worth it imo. really it’s all about developing a system that works for you. whatever you do with episodes/sourcing, though, i cannot recommend planning things out in a script ahead of time enough.

everything i just mentioned is producing, though. for the editing process, i usually do it in this order:

music first. any parts i want to cut, i make sure it all sounds smooth

then soundbites. i usually try to weave them into the lyrics—i have characters talk in breaks between lines or instrumental sections as much as possible. i’ll sometimes go so far as looped/extending an intsrumental part to make room for the soundbite i want there lol. if i do have dialogue over a line, i do the sound mixing/levels at this point as well to make sure everything is audible/one doesn’t overpower the other. (also i always include the video that goes with these bites when i drop them in, and decide later if i want to show the character speaking or have other clips cover the dialogue)

once i have all the audio locked in, then i bring in all my other video clips. sometimes i edit completely chronologically, sometimes jumping from section to section—it depends on the song or how i’m feeling

double check sound mixing. i usually listen to my videos through a few times, with headphones and without to make sure it’ll sound good no matter how people watch it

once i have picture and audio lock, i go through and color correct my clips. i’m basic and just use lumetri color in premiere, and usually just play with brightness, saturation, temperature, and tint until i like it

render and export! :)

i always have several audio tracks, but i try to keep my video tracks condensed. i’ll drop clips on a V2 level, and edit a section there, and drop the whole chunk down to V1 so i know it’s finished. that way when i leave and come back i can know where i left off/what’s done/etc. to give you an idea, this is the timeline for my what the hell video:

i always render as H.264 with high bitrate, and make sure to check “render at maximum depth” and “use maximum render quality” for the best quality. i’m sorry, but i don’t know what the equivalent options are in final cut, imovie, kdenlive, etc. i post on youtube mostly so i don’t have to sacrifice quality, but usually just using a lower bitrate will get you under the tumblr file size limit and it’ll still look good.

as for the anon who asked about “polishing”: first of all, thank you!! second of all, it’s in the details. all of this is a matter of taste and my own insanity, but here are some little things i always try to do:

after i color correct, i blur out any credits from the starts of episodes. i use gaussian blur for this, but really any blur tool works

as much as possible, i avoid clips where we see a character’s mouth move but don’t hear the words. in tv/film we call it “lip flap” and i just think it looks messy. also i’m trained to avoid it at all costs at work hahaha. it’s more for serious videos that this matters a lot to me (e.g. i think i did a really good job eliminating lip flap in my happy ending amv)—for comedy videos i don’t sweat it as much

i put audio fades on the start and end of every single audio clip i use, even if i don’t think i need it, to make sure everything sounds smooth

i use markers for timing, especially in action-y videos like what the hell. i’ll put a marker on the clip i’m using at the exact moment a punch lands, and in the song on the beat. if i have the magnet/snap in timeline tool on i can just easily snap them together instead of having to spend time finagling it

this is such a small thing but i dip/cut to black for a tiny bit at the start and end of every video. this way if i post with tumblr video player, there’s black between the loops, and it gives you a beat before the video restarts. i do this even on videos i post on youtube, just because i think it looks nicer/more professional

this is 1,500 words so i’m going to stop myself before i pull something. if you have follow-up questions feel free to ask and i’ll continue to add them to the vid help tag, but any more questions about sourcing clips or my process in general i’ll just link this post going forward. anyone who made it this far, i am sending to a telepathic kiss. thank you for reading and happy editing!

#i typed this all up at 4am so i'm just scheduling it to post sometime today #ask #vid help

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Until proven otherwise, my headcanon is that both Ironwood and Watts survived and are going to team up again out of necessity lmao.

HI, ANON. So let me tell you about how this simple, silly sentence sent me down a 4k writing rabbit hole. “Lol I’m going to write a little parody about that” I thought to myself and then somehow? It got serious?? I honestly don’t know what this fic is, but I’m chucking it at everyone anyway.

Also, I changed the whole “Atlas and Mantle are immediately submerged in water” plot point because it’s my coping mechanism and I get to choose the canon we ignore.

***

Once upon a time there were two villains having a Very Bad Day.

The first, Arthur Watts, had survived an explosion, being buried under rubble, and the threat of a ten-story drop only to find himself suffocating amidst a magically produced fire. A horrible way to go, all things considered. Painful, of course, but more importantly, no self-respecting man should die with soot on his clothes.

Or leave behind a charred corpse.

In fact, Watts had just begun to acknowledge the full indignity of his death when the momentum he'd felt — just there on the periphery of his awareness — suddenly ceased, Atlas crashing into Mantle and throwing him with a squawk in the process. His head took a nasty hit against one of the desks, the smoky gray of the room growing darker, and by the time Watts had come to, the fire had been replaced by water.

Ice-cold water, lapping up to his knees.

"Well," he said, lifting a sodden boot. "I suppose this is an improvement."

***

Elsewhere, James Ironwood — former General of the now sinking Kingdom of Atlas — was lying facedown on the stone of the outer vault, contemplating his choices. Upon reflection, no, he didn't regret what he'd done, but it would have been nice if things had turned out...any way other than this.

"Fuck," he said to the empty hall, enjoying the reverberation. He deserved that much at least.

In time, Ironwood was able to pick himself up off the floor, supported as much by the fact that he'd been knocked out by his own blast as his shaky, barely-there aura. Up the elevator running on emergency dust reserves, through the corridors that groaned ominously under damaged supports. Ironwood headed towards the military headquarters purely out of habit and as he did the sound of water grew stronger, almost like waves, until there was an inch of it across the floor, more trickling in from the staircase. Ironwood had been watching his boots splash with each step, almost mesmerized, and didn't look up until another pair unexpectedly entered his view.

Watts froze in the act of wringing out his pantleg, eyes wide. His expression, the water, how the hallway tilted downward at a slight angle... it all felt like something out of a dream. Ironwood just watched as Watts watched him, until his eyes traveled to the gun clipped on his belt. Ironwood hadn't even realized he'd picked it up.

"Here to kill me, James?" Watts said.

"No." He knew it was true as soon as he'd said it. The mere thought of starting another fight right now was... exhausting. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"Oh really. Does it look as if I'm in a position to fight you? Do use your head for once. I have no weapon, no aura — damn fire ate it all up — I feel as if I've swallowed a hot coal, I am wet — "

Ironwood turned partway through the ramble, meandering back up the way he'd come. He'd passed through two checkpoints before realizing that Watts was not only still talking, but following him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more to shut the man up than out of real curiosity. If Watts was capable of reading the difference between the two, he didn't show it.

"Cinder."

"Cinder?"

"I don't make a habit of allowing people to try and murder me without consequence, James!"

"She's gone."

"Yes, thank you for that stunning bit of info! There's no possible way I could have realized that for myself. What's gotten into you? They left us, fool. Salem, Cinder, Neo, Emerald, even your so-called allies... they all deserve the worst that we can grant them. Though right now, I'd settle for wringing that idiot Pietro's neck. Ten years I gave to that research and he rendered it obsolete with a single report, all because he wanted to play father to some stupid hunk of metal. I never would have gone to Salem if — " Watts cut off, hands balled into fists.

Ironwood just blinked dazedly, coming to a halt. He searched his uniform, the scroll he'd stashed there miraculously whole. Dimly, he registered that he should be feeling some sort of emotion right now.

"I can do that," he murmured.

"What?"

But Ironwood was already keying in the code, the desire to complete a task, any task, taking hold. Watts looked on, mouth twisted in a deprecating sneer.

"I already took out communications, in case you failed to notice."

"But not the trackers I had installed in my top scientists." Ironwood held up the screen where a small, red dot was blinking. "Pietro's still here. Looks like he's out near the mine with a second aura signature. If you want to...?" He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"I see," Watts said in a tone that heavily implied he didn't. "And you'd just give me this information out of the evilness of your heart?"

Ironwood considered that. "I killed a man yesterday, tried to kill two others, and was ready to bomb all of Mantle to keep the rest of my Kingdom safe. I don't care what you do with the man who betrayed me."

"...fair enough."

Except after five steps Ironwood realized that Watts wasn't following him. He was looking down at his arms, still as a hunted hare.

"You put trackers in all your scientists?" he asked.

"A requirement I implemented after you went missing."

"Ah! Ingenious. Lead the way then."

***

The way led to the tundra, an environment that neither of them were prepared for. Watts was wet from the waist down and Ironwood had long ago learned that snow and metal didn't mix. Neither had the aura for the kind of storm that was raging either. Luckily, the panic of Salem's invasion had left plenty of vehicles to purloin and soon they were speeding East with the heat on, the faint beeping on Ironwood's scroll growing stronger.

He'd felt the impact of his city crashing down and the two of them had clamored out of Atlas' husk, dropping into rubble and cracking ice. Still, the true destruction wasn't evident until they were moving away from it. Through the rearview mirror, Ironwood could see pillars of smoke from fires that the water hadn't yet smothered, dark shadows that could only be grimm, and Atlas itself, plunged halfway into Mantle. It wasn't noticeable from this distance, but all of it was sinking.

"I was lucky," Ironwood said, his voice hollow. His eyes flicked back to the expanse of snow ahead of them. "If Atlas had tipped the other way, the vault would have flooded. I'd have drowned."

Watts snorted. "I'm lucky. That damned water put out Cinder's fire. I'd have burned."

Neither felt particularly lucky and for fifteen more minutes, neither was keen to discuss it.

***

Once upon a time, two heroes were having a Very Bad Day.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Maria paused in the act of bandaging Pietro's leg, mechanical eyes narrowing at the two figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Watts sucked in a breath at the duo. Ironwood gave a small, awkward wave.

Then he nodded his head at the scene: one old, exhausted woman and a paraplegic currently bleeding into his chair. "So... going to kill him?"

Watts ground his teeth. "Well now that just feels like a fool's errand. Look at him. He's pathetic!"

Pietro was slumped at an uncomfortable angle, sporting a gash in his leg and an impressive display of bruises across his face. Maria, in contrast, seemed to have only lost her hair tie.

"Pathetic?" she spat. "Your lackey did this!"

"Who?"

"Angry girl with the creepy arm."

"Ah, it all comes back to Cinder." Watts pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for recognizing that I was her superior, but no, I didn't send her to kill the likes of you. Must have done it on her own, the little idiot. Don't believe me? I was in jail at the time, if I recall correctly. Isn't that right, James?"

"You were helping me hack Penny."

Maria let out a skin-crawling cackle. "Why do you think the girl was here? She blew a hole in the bottom of Amity! Penny tried to hold us up, but..." she swallowed, still pressing against Pietro's leg, but turned warily towards them. "You hacked her? You did that? What precisely do you think happens when a man who never learned to apply aura as a shield crash-lands in this hunk of junk!"

"I expect most men in that position perish," Watts said smoothly. "The fool is lucky to be alive, but he won't be for much longer if you keep trying to staunch the wound with your soiled gloves. Move aside."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, put your stick down, you old bat. I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Ironwood hadn't realized he'd spoken until Watts was glaring daggers his way.

"So I can kill him later myself!"

Still surreal. Still dream-like in its absurdity. Ironwood listened to the bickering between Watts and... Mary? Maria? He wasn't even sure. He wandered away, content to gaze out through one of the windows at his Kingdom. Or what was left of it. He idly massaged his left arm, trying to rid himself of a pain that wasn't there, and when the howl of a grimm reached them across the snow, he shivered.

His unlikely companions screamed at each other loud enough to reverberate through the whole building. There were the sounds of two bodies trading blows, but only for a moment. Pietro, voice groggy and high-pitched with terror, demanded to know where his daughter was.

"She's dead," Ironwood said. He didn't turn to see their expressions, didn't need to. "Winter she... she defeated me as the Winter Maiden. That can only mean one thing."

"One thing to you, perhaps." Ironwood did turn then, watching stoically as Pietro tried to right himself in his chair, Watts cursing as the leg continued to bleed. "Where is she? I want to see my little girl. I can heal her, fix her — " he broke off, doubling over with a cough that splattered more blood into his hands.

"Maybe you could have," Watts said, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If her little friends hadn't made her human."

Some of the pieces fell into place then. His Lamp, long missing, had apparently wound up in Neo's hands, then Salem's, before it was finally used by Cinder. Watts described — with immense pleasure — the plan the group had concocted and the wish they'd asked of Ambrosius. He'd been a bit preoccupied with bomb duty to learn the details, but he knew that Cinder lived and Ironwood, it seemed, knew that Penny had perished. What a tragedy. Do you know how to bring back the non-mechanical, Doctor?

Ironwood honestly thought the old woman was about to kill him, murderous intent put on hold only because Pietro collapsed then, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his frame. The only words that escaped the mess of tears were "Penny" and then "Maria," one hand reaching out blindly for comfort. Pietro found it, the two holding onto each other as Watts sat at their feet, grinning up at the display.

Ironwood thought only, So that is her name.

The other, crucial bit of info was that everyone was gone. Dead or evacuated, it didn't matter. As far as any of them knew, they were the last four in Atlas, with Salem on her way to destroy whatever kingdom next took her fancy. It was over. They'd lost. And despite the horror of it, the realization was oddly freeing too.

When Maria asked in a tone edging on hysteria what precisely they were going to do — because it seemed this was a "we" situation now — Ironwood suspected she meant in the short term. What were they going to do about their wounds? The grimm? Finding and reaching the others? But those were foolish concerns, the thinking of someone who'd never had a kingdom's life in their hands. Ironwood knew there was only one answer here, the same one he'd had from the start.

"You can do whatever you like," he said. The metal of Amity sparkled against the rising sun, leaving splotches of color behind his eyes. "I will defend Atlas."

Maria's mouth dropped open and Watts stared. Even Pietro ceased his crying long enough to suck in a breath.

"Defend it from what?" he asked.

Ironwood shrugged. "The grimm. Salem. I don't know. I don't care. To quote a former friend, I have never wavered in defending the Kingdom of Atlas against its enemies and I don't intend to start now. This is my city and I won't leave it."

"It's sinking!" Watts cried, overlapping with Maria's, "We need to help" and though so much softer, quieter, more innocent than the spittle Watts was scattering across the floor... that single word sank its teeth into Ironwood. The woman may as well have stabbed him.

"Help?" he said. "Help? I tried to help! Everything that I have done in the last two days — the last two years — my life! — has been to help not just Atlas, but everyone I feasible could. Don't talk to me about help when you and Ms. Rose did everything you could to stop me. I had planned to help the world and you all lied. You betrayed. You set your weapons against me and kept me from saving what parts of my Kingdom I could. Tell me again: what precisely did you do to help?"

He'd crossed the distance, one hand on his holstered gun and the other leaning against Pietro's chair, using it to leverage himself down into Maria's space. Ironwood didn't need to see her eyes to know the emotion they held.

"I," she spit, "didn't try to bomb a city."

And just like that the fight in him was gone. It had barely existed in the first place. Ironwood straightened, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. "No. You didn't. So it's as I said, go help if you want. If you can." His gaze slid to Watts. "You were one of her men. That says it all." Pietro. "You helped them reveal Salem to the world. Will she have time to destroy the other kingdoms before the grimm do it first?" Maria. "And I don't know you, but you don't earn a prize like that without seeing combat." Ironwood lifted his metal finger, tapping it against Maria's goggles. She flinched away. "Can you honestly say you haven't made mistakes?"

"You and I are nothing alike!"

"I didn't say we were."

Ironwood turned and walked away, as steady as he could manage as the world grew a little darker, despite the sunrise. Behind him Watts' voice rang out like a shot.

"So that's it then? The captain goes down with his ship? You idiot!"

He paused. "Not quite. It turns out I'm not the only idiot around these parts. Ms. Rose left the vault open." One last turn to savor their shocked expressions. "That's where I'm going. There are still plenty of airships if you'd like to leave, but just remember: they abandoned you too."

Perhaps he should have been surprised that by the time his boots hit the snow, three more footsteps were sounding behind him. Frankly, in fourteen hours time Ironwood would barely remember their conversation, let alone everything that came after it. One of them drove back to the sinking city. Someone tested the ice before they cautiously crossed it. Someone else dispatched the stray grimm foolish enough to get in their way. Ironwood saw and heard none of it. He walked with the determination of a wind-up toy, wobbling now that he'd reached the end of his string. Cool blues, a shining gold, and then beautiful, miraculous grass. Ironwood ignored the murmurs of amazement behind him, dropping directly to his knees.

When his palms hit the ground, only one was capable of feeling how soft it was.

I need to update my arm, he thought, even as he curled into a ball and passed out.

***

When he woke they were already running out of time.

For the first two days Ironwood barely spoke to the others and thus he never quite figured out why they'd stayed. Had it been hopelessness? Spite? The all consuming thought that there was nowhere else to go? That Atlas, for all its rubble and slowly rising water, wasn't any different from what the rest of Remnant would look like soon?

Why not here then?

Especially when the vault, filled with wildflowers and an endless sun, made for such an enticing retreat.

"Soil's farmable," Maria said, running some of it through her fingers. It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and the three of them stubbornly ignored the implications of it.

"There's — " Pietro coughed, self-consciously clearing his throat. "There's plenty to salvage. Machinery to pull water from the humidity in here. First aid supplies. We could section off an area for our wa — "

Watts seethed. "If you finish that thought I will — "

"What?" Maria arched a brow. "Kill him? Like you've been saying for the last day?"

Day? Ironwood blinked. How long had he been out?

"I will!"

"Like you'd be able to. Just try it, beanpole."

They argued, and they threatened, but none raised their hands to one another again, and when they finally dispersed across the kingdom to collect what they could, none of the acknowledged what it was for.

Ironwood waded through the remnants of his home and didn't think about building another. Because the idea alone was absurd.

"Don't let the door slam shut," he'd said when they’d first left, nodding to the stone slab that had appeared after Penny had first arrived. Ironwood watched the three exchange glances, unsure if he was joking.

Fuck if he knew.

***

Those four days — or five, if Ironwood counted the one he'd lost — were conducted in a strange state of frenzy. None of them were in a position to be working on such a project, but when had the world ever cared for their needs? Pietro stayed behind in the vault, cataloguing what they'd found and making lists for what was still needed. His chair, while dynamic, wasn't meant for the sort of terrain Atlas had become and his wound was still healing.

He also seemed to appreciate the privacy, frequently mourning his daughter with an honesty that made them all uncomfortable.

Maria went off to do the Gods only knew what, disappearing for hours at a time, then coming back wet, cold, and carrying little. Though she always had information. Which parts of the city were too grimm invested to traverse, which were now completely underwater, which were too unstable as Atlas tilted like a ship, disappearing beneath the waves. It gave them all focus and, surprisingly, something like hope. Whatever else she carried was usually small, such as the seeds filched from the bio laboratories.

"Couldn't take them all," she said, critically surveying the land, "what with so many of the labels getting lost in the crash. Don't want to eat something your lot has experimented on."

"You should. If we're lucky you'll mutate into someone bearable." Watts, taking stock of the clothing they'd gathered, didn't seem to realize that Maria was flipping him off.

He went on a deep dives (sometimes literally) for salvageable tech, most of it of a practical nature, but other pieces... not. Nothing had shifted Ironwood's world view quiet like day two, walking in on Watts looming over Pietro, assuming there was another fight brewing... only to overhear them exchanging theories, the conversation filled with as many insults as legitimate claims. Still, the seeds of camaraderie were there, and were perhaps easier to grow than originally thought. After all, Watts had once been one of them and Pietro, for all his heroics, had once entered Ironwood's office with a manic gleam in his eye, rambling about giving an aura to a machine. Defense technology at its finest!

What was it Glynda had said? Ah yes, agreeing with young Ms. Nikos about how "wrong" it all was. But desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

They'd had that discussion, of course. Soon after Ironwood awoke, talk of Amity began again, this time about whether it was possible to send another message. With enough time and effort, not to mention luck... a short one, perhaps, and only sent to an individual scroll. But what was the point? Who would they call? When no one could — or would — answer that question, the idea was dropped.

In the days since, Ironwood had fantasized about messaging Glynda. One of the few who'd ever been a true friend, perhaps the only one left alive who might care that he was still among the living... if Ms. Rose's message hadn't killed that too. Not that it mattered. Even if Amity wasn't a hunk of metal gathering ice, Ironwood hadn't a clue what he might say to her.

Dear Glynda,

Thank you. Sorry. Good luck.

Sincerely,

General James Ironwood

P.S. If things had ended differently, I would have asked for a second dance.

How ridiculous.

So he walked the broken streets of Mantle and climbed the streets of Atlas, more and more of it disappearing every day. Their hoard grew though, born of not just military property, but personal belongings as well. It wasn't as if anyone was coming to claim them. Unless more magic was at work, both cities would be miles beneath the ice before anyone crossed the border again. Still, Ironwood would always pause before packing away what he found in the hastily abandoned houses. Bedding. Utensils. The literal shirt off someone's back. He'd changed into jeans and a thick sweater the second day, taken from a collection of civilian clothes he'd placed into a locker years ago and promptly forgot about. The uniform felt... obsolete now, no matter that his goals remained the same.

He'd encountered Maria on one of those trips, admiring a basket of yarn in some nameless Atlesian's living room. Her shoulders had tensed at his approach, but she just snorted at the sight of him.

"You knit?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No."

"Crochet?"

"No."

Ironwood didn't know any other crafts that involved yarn. "Then why are you taking it?"

Maria hummed. "Just a thought. That I might, someday, try to learn." She shook a book she’d pulled from the basket: Knitting For Beginners.

A stray thought indeed. The thing they still didn't talk about. The closest they got was on the fifth night when an explosion sounded outside, massive enough to unsteady them even deep within the vault. By the time all four of them had made it out and onto one of the roofs, the sky had turned a sickly yellow, followed by black tendrils that raced, turning, back and around on each other until everything went dark. The only light came from what little electricity they had running on generators and a red aura, pulsing from the West.

From Vacuo.

Realistically, it might have meant that they'd won. It wasn't as if Ironwood had any idea what the death of an immortal witch looked like. But the night wore on and they had no idea because that unnatural, starless black never receded. In time, Pietro wandered off and returned with two bottles he'd pilfered from somewhere, cracking the tops off on the side of his chair and passing them around.

They still didn't say it aloud, though the sky and the alcohol said enough already. Ironwood kept his eyes on the watch his mother gave him, hours ticking by until sunrise was long overdue. Atlas felt even colder now and that red, seeming to inch closer, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. The grimm that still prowled below had taken off hours ago, summoned by some unheard call.

Ironwood downed the dregs of his bottle and threw it into the city.

"Come on," he said. Ordered maybe, or asked. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

Blankets. Glasses. As many non-perishables as they could find. Generators. Tool kits. The building blocks of renewable energy. Clothing. Decorations. Wood to build small, individual dwellings.

Watts hoarded laptops and a small mountain of batteries, never showing them what he was working on, intensely protective.

Maria grew obsessed with entertainment, snagging every book, game, and video until there was a veritable library piled on the grass. She kept muttering about deserving a real retirement.

Pietro built a shrine to Penny, a simple stone monument to the left of the doorway. He tended to organize their supplies there, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush the code he'd inscribed with a laser. Whatever meaning it held, Ironwood couldn't read it within the ones and zeros.

And he... he found a cat. His last day, picking his way across dwindling islands until his eyes found the small, electrical fire just out of the water's reach. The cat had wedged herself into the rubble above it, trying desperately to keep warm.

She was as black as the sky above them and Ironwood was sure, when he reached out, that she'd run, terrified of his prosthetic hands. They certainly weren't any warmer, but she weakly crawled into them nonetheless. Ironwood held her securely against his left side, where his heart and flesh were, and thought with an absurd, internal laugh that he'd at least saved one.

There was so much left to do still, but their time was gone. That evening, eating what little they had the stomach for, water began to pour from the vault's elevator. First a trickle, then a deluge, until there was a sizable waterfall to admire. Ironwood sat on the steps with his unnamed cat on his shoulder, watching inevitability creep towards him.

He could still lie though.

"There's still time," he said, addressing the three behind him. "If you head up the elevator shaft and down the west hall, you can still break the surface. Find one of the remaining airships. Fly away."

Watts scowled, avoiding his gaze. He remained leaning against the doorway though.

Maria and Pietro exchanged glances.

"I'd carry you," Ironwood offered to Pietro. They both knew it would be a death sentence with their combined deadweight, but he'd do it anyway.

"No," he said softly. "I did all I could already."

Maria. She was harder to read with those goggles, but it wasn't peace on her face. Guilt, more likely, but that had never stopped any of them before.

"It's damn cold out here," she muttered and marched back to the grass. Pietro followed her, Watts trailing not far behind. He turned back though.

"You coming?"

Ironwood didn't answer and eventually Watts left, heading into the meadow that stretched until you lost sight of where you'd been — and then reappeared there. A tiny pocket dimension, born of a magic now lost to this world. Ironwood figured that a bit of water and ice couldn't break it.

Probably.

He watched the flood cover the floor of the vault, then lap upwards, one stair at a time. There was a part of him, a part unimaginably tired, that thought he might just sit there. Keep rooted until the water was so high it was too late to do anything. That would be easy. Fitting, even. Shouldn't he go with his kingdom?

But then the cat — his cat — dug nails into his shoulder and Watts said something that made Maria screech. Ironwood sighed.

There were still things to protect, simple as that had become.

He turned his back on Remnant, now encased in an eternal night, and walked to the three who remained, cowering in an eternal day.

Ironwood allowed them one last choice and when they all nodded, he kicked the vault door shut.

#tw suicidal thoughts #rwby #fic things #rwby fic #Ironwood #Watts #Maria #Pietro #idk what this IS #post-apocalyptic RWBY I guess #with a side of questionable people not talking to each other #Anonymous

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