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eleanorfenyxwrites · 1 year

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I Wish I Could Quit You

(Brokeback Mountain Nielan) Excerpt 1

Less than three hours after I started the document...how about 3k words of The Tent Scene?

(cut to me wailing screaming crying etc about why can't I have similar bursts of inspiration for my ONGOING WIPS?!?! anyway it's fine I'm fine it's GRAND, I'M SO COOL ABOUT IT)

anyway, @wincestielfttfwin, @scarlet-gryphon, and @wishthatiwasnessiesgirl - here you go lol

--//--

The cold comes in as bitterly as the afternoon’s hailstorm had promised.

A little over an hour after they separate to go to sleep, the wind howls through the crags of the mountains enough to rattle the tent nearly off its pegs. When it dies down again in the darkest part of the night, its howling is replaced by the sound of Mingjue’s shivering just outside.

Xichen sits up, reluctant to leave the pocket of warmth in his sleeping bag but unwilling to let Mingjue continue this ridiculous crusade of his, acting like he isn’t freezing his ass (or really any/every other body part) off out there trying to sleep alongside the dead black coals of the evening’s fire. So Xichen sits up and he shivers even before he unknots one of the ties holding the oiled canvas together and parts it enough to just make out Mingjue’s hulking figure by the light of the moon.

“Mingjue,” he calls, sleepy around the edges. The shivering and chattering cuts off abruptly, guiltily. Xichen fights not to roll his eyes. “Just get in here.”

For a long moment, it seems like Mingjue’s going to pretend not to hear him; his stubbornness has already been made painfully apparent in the month or so they’ve been up here, Xichen wouldn’t be surprised if he stuck to his guns on this one and shivered through the night just to prove some ludicrous point. But in the end, after a long silence, he shudders to his feet and drags his paltry excuse for a blanket with him, enormous shoulders huddling inwards as he accidentally kicks their water jug with a tin-can clatter on his way back around the fire. Xichen makes short work of untying the rest of the knots holding the tent flaps shut with deft flicks of his fingers, and then there’s more shuffling and jostling than the poor tent should ever really be asked to contain as Mingjue hurries into the promise of warmth.

Xichen ties the tent shut again over and around Mingjue’s bulk as the other man tries to fold himself into the too-small space, and once it’s firmly tied against the weather he lays down again to scoot a little further into the one-man shelter in an attempt to give Mingjue enough room to actually manage it. It’s clear immediately, though, that such a thing is great in theory, but the reality of their sharing the space is just inevitably going to have to be more intimate than that.

In all their shuffling, Xichen ends up turned on his side, Mingjue’s enormous bulk pressed against him from head to toe. Literally. Mingue’s cold nose is buried in his hair, chest pressed to shoulder blades (closer with every breath, still touching on every exhale); hips to ass, thighs cupping thighs and ankles knocking, boots tucked up against boots where they both have to curl up in a space never meant to accommodate even one man their height, let alone two.

Xichen’s heart thumps hard in his chest as they settle.

He can’t remember the last time he’d been held, even for something as basic as warmth.

Perhaps never.

Mingjue’s hand, he realizes after a few more rustling readjustments as Mingjue attempts to get comfortable, is on the curve of his waist, too light and uncertain a touch for Xichen to have any hope of sleeping beneath it. This is an easier decision than the one to get up and untie the tent.

He withdraws his hand from the depths of his jacket, his sleeping bag, Mingjue’s blanket tossed over both of them, to curl his fingers around Mingjue’s ice-cold hand and drag it forward. Up.

He curls his fingers around Mingjue’s and presses the man’s hand to his chest under the open side of his jacket. If Mingjue can feel the too-hard ba-dump of his heartbeat pounding against the press of his palm, under the layers of his shirts, he says nothing of it.

Kind of him, in that quiet way Xichen is learning he has.

Mingjue’s hand warms in his slowly until it isn’t just cold skin pressed to his, it’s work calluses and blunt nails; it’s dips and valleys between the tall, craggy ridges of his knuckles that Xichen cautiously explores with a fingertip — the mountains around them in micro, held gently in his one hand and traced in reverence.

In the strange place between sleep and waking, he doesn’t fight the urge to feel them with his lips, lifting Mingjue’s hand to his mouth just to brush them with the sensitive skin. He barely applies pressure, and Mingjue’s breathing stays even and slow behind him — asleep then, in the warmth, the quiet, the safety of a shared space with him? Xichen hopes so. He wants Mingjue to feel safe with him. There’s no one out here to look out for either of them but each other, after all. They have to trust each other for the length of the summer, at the very least.

Xichen presses his lips against Mingjue’s knuckles with more intent. His skin is rough from ranching, from calf-roping, from leather reins looped over them, from the sun that beats down on him every day of his life. Xichen lets the roughness of it catch on the soft give of his lips and he closes his eyes to better feel it reaching down into his soul, this stolen intimacy.

Lips, warm now and chapped from the wind, press against the back of his neck just above the stiff fold of his collar, too firm to be anything but intentionally done.

“What are you doing?” Mingjue asks against his skin, breath tickling and slinking its way down beneath Xichen’s jacket, his shirts, to shiver down his spine. Warmth pools low in his belly, unbidden and unexpected, but not at all unfamiliar.

At the volume he’d used, Xichen can’t tell what Mingjue is feeling, what he’s thinking.

He has to trust him.

He doesn’t have a choice.

Xichen doesn’t answer with words — what is there to say? He releases Mingjue’s hand and turns onto his back with as little jostling as he can manage, and suddenly Mingjue is right here, not shivering out by the remains of their fire, not an unseen solid presence behind his back. His eyes are open, glittering in the dim light of the lantern Xichen had left burning in the corner for the spare bit of warmth it throws off, and he doesn’t look like he’d been asleep at all during Xichen’s little exploration. He looks…wary. Afraid.

Xichen doesn’t think twice about leaning up to kiss him.

For a heartstopping, breathless instant that seems to last an eternity, Mingjue does absolutely nothing about it. His mouth is still against the insistent press of Xichen’s, lips softly parted in shock but Xichen doesn’t take the opportunity to slip his tongue between them. He nips at the curve of his bottom lip, hungry for something he can’t name, and that, at least, gets Mingjue moving.

Mingjue lets his mouth fall open wider around a gasp like a sudden dousing of ice water and tries to shove him away, but Xichen knows. He knows that Mingjue is like him. It has to be true. He can feel it, the ache of it, the empty yearning of it, and so he grabs Mingjue’s shoulders, his waist, and yanks him in closer until he can roll the other man on top of him, his bulk pinning him down in the tangled mess of their blankets. He slides his hand up from behind Mingjue’s shoulder to the back of his neck to yank him in for a bruising kiss this time, all passion with no finesse, and he doesn’t allow Mingjue the space to attempt to pull away again.

Xichen’s ridden rodeo his whole life. He knows that the best way to stay on a bronco is to move with it — to know what it wants before it wants it, to expect the way that it wants to protest, and to become, very briefly, an extension of it that cannot be thrown. He’s a damn good hand at it, he wins most any competition he enters, and as Mingjue wrestles him without seeming to know what it is he even wants beyond an excuse to touch him in the only way that’s ever been acceptable — rough, violent, hungry for something unnameable — Xichen rides it out with him until the urge to fight fades, and when Mingjue tries to pull away again Xichen lets him only because he’s doing it to trail desperate, biting kisses down the column of Xichen’s throat.

“Mingjue,” he breathes around the pleasure of it, the thrill of victory entwining with the sweetness of being touched like he’s something worth savoring. “It’s alright. It’s okay, it’s…we need it, that’s all.”

Mingjue doesn’t reply, apparently too busy where he’s biting and sucking at the juncture of Xichen’s neck and shoulder to use words (not that he’s a man of many of them anyway). But then again, maybe he does reply, in his own way. Xichen flushes at the sound of jingling metal, the feeling of a broad, firm hand down between their hips muffled through their layers that in moments, he knows, won’t be a problem anymore.

Mingjue manages to unhook Xichen’s championship rodeo belt buckle he’d turned his nose up at mere days ago, and when it’s out of the way Xichen arches his back to help Mingjue in his apparent quest to get Xichen’s jeans down his thighs enough for whatever it is he wants.

The wool blanket rumpled up beneath him is rough against his ass, the tender backs of his thighs. The denim waistband of his jeans is too tight around his knees, and Xichen yanks MIngjue back up to kiss him again with hard hands in his hair, both of them gasping each other’s air and their bodies rocking together without thought (at least Xichen certainly isn’t thinking about anything beyond what it feels like to have Mingjue’s broad hands gripping his naked hips tightly enough to bruise, and he can really only hope that the same is true for Mingjue).

When Mingjue turns him over Xichen hisses for the scratch of the unconditioned wool against his cock, hard and leaking already and far too sensitive for this. Mingjue presses him down harder with an arm laid across his back, an iron band of pressure that Xichen has no interest in trying to escape from.

They don’t speak as Mingjue unbuckles his own belt, nor when he shoves his own jeans down. Mingjue ducks in to bite at his ear before he leans up to spit in his hand and use it to ease his way, Xichen’s entire existence narrowing down first to the obscene and familiar rasp of a rough hand against much more tender skin, and then to the enormous sense of weight and pressure he barely has time to brace himself for before Mingjue forces his way inside of him.

It aches, too sharp, too insistent. Xichen groans and reaches back blindly with one hand, clumsy between all their layers and the angle and the way he shudders for the intrusion somewhere he’s never felt such a thing before (well that’s not quite true, but it’s far from the same when it’s like this so it’s true enough anyway). He finds Mingjue’s hip and wastes no time in sliding his hand under the other man’s loosened jeans and around the broad plane of his pelvis until he’s got as firm of a grip as he can hope for at this angle on his ass.

A single squeeze, a gasp of Mingjue’s name, and a strangled, “Please,” is all it takes to coax Mingjue into finishing what he started.

Xichen tries to muffle himself in his sleeve, in the blankets, something, but Mingjue buries a free hand in his hair to yank his head to the side so he can lean in to kiss him as they fuck and Xichen can’t find it in himself to complain.

It’s quick, and it’s dirty, and it’s everything Xichen has never allowed himself to want.

He comes on the horrible scratchy blanket with a bitten-off shout for the way it tears something loose inside him, something he already knows even now he’ll never be able to put back exactly as it was. It’s pleasure so intense it’s more pain than anything else, and it leaves him feeling raw and exposed as Mingjue’s hips snap too hard once, twice, and then on the third he stays there as deep inside as he can get as Xichen feels his cock jerk inside him. Within moments the place where they’re joined isn’t dry enough to burn anymore.

Mingjue pants in his ear and Xichen’s eyes prick with overwhelmed tears he absolutely will not allow Mingjue to see, but the other man isn’t paying that much attention to him anyway. He doesn’t pull out as he rummages around for something beside them. When Xichen turns his head with an effort he has to bite back a smile upon realizing that it’s the blanket from outside; Mingjue tugs it clumsily over the both of them laying there spent and too tangled up with each other to bother untangling again tonight. Xichen falls asleep with chapped lips pressed to his cheek and an ache in his hips he can already tell will keep him off his horse for at least a day or two.

Morning comes early, birdsong and the peculiar damp coolness of dawn both stealing their way into the tent. The sweat (and other fluids) from last night have grown tacky and cold; Xichen shivers in the gray dawn haze and tries to huddle into Mingjue’s bulk, seeking warmth. An arm curls around his shoulders, but through their layers of cotton and denim and leather it offers little more than pressure. He presses the cold tip of his nose to the little bare patch of Mingjue’s chest exposed by the open top two buttons of his shirt, and he thinks he might receive a kiss to the forehead in return, but if so it’s too soft and his mind too sleep-fogged for him to be sure.

He wakes again properly when bright sunlight cuts across his eyes with a blast of cool, fresh air that doesn’t smell like wool and sweat and sex, and he sits up on his elbow, blinking, to watch Mingjue unfold himself from the tent into the morning and stretch. Xichen glances down at himself, alone once again, to find that his pants are still around his knees, their combined mess dried to flaking trails of white on his hips, the insides of his thighs.

He lays there for long, hazy moments contemplating how the fuck they’re going to talk about this when getting Mingjue to say anything much at all that isn’t about the sheep or the horses is such a challenge (a welcome one, but a challenge all the same). When his thoughts bring him no closer to an answer, and his stalling makes it more and more likely that Mingjue will simply leave him there at their camp to go tend to the flock for the day, Xichen shimmies his jeans back up and makes his own way out of the tent, standing with a soft, startled groan for the expected ache in his body. It radiates from navel to knees, and he finds he can’t bring himself to feel anything but pleased by it.

“Listen,” Mingjue says from where he’s focusing on saddling up his placid mare for the morning’s ride. He doesn’t look up from the girth he’s tightening. Xichen tries not to think about how he knows the shape of the calluses that other leather straps just like it, wrapped around his fingers too many times to count, have left. “I’m not queer.”

The word — dangerous, taboo, electrifying in its naked honesty — sends a jolt through his belly, though of what emotion, good or bad, he isn’t exactly sure.

“I’m not either.”

Mingjue looks up at him then, his eyes unreadable. “It’s just for the summer.”

Xichen nods, something like hope flickering in his chest though he tries not to let it show.

“I’ve got a fianceé back home, when we come down in the fall. This’s got nothin’ to do with her.”

“Of course, Mingjue.”

Mingjue nods. Tightens the girth with a final creak of leather, his mare sighing her displeasure but otherwise making no complaint. Xichen watches Mingjue check over his pack job one last time, his lunch and his canteen in a satchel hanging off the saddlehorn, the shotgun strapped behind the high crest of the saddle at the back on the patterned blanket beneath it that he tugs straight next, ensuring there are no wrinkles in it beneath the saddle. It’s his usual pre-ride check, Xichen’s seen him do it plenty of times now and he knows all the beats of it.

Mingjue stops with one foot in the stirrup, and Xichen drifts a little closer when he doesn’t actually mount up, concerned by the sudden break in routine. Before he can ask, Mingjue drops his foot to the dirt again with an irritated huff and turns around so quickly Xichen jumps. He doesn’t have time to react before Mingjue has stomped across their tiny camp to grab him by the lapels of his jacket — leverage he uses to pull Xichen in for a kiss that stings his bruised lips and curls his toes as he grips Mingjue’s collar in both hands to hold him still right there, just like that, just for a little bit longer.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” Mingjue tells him, mouths brushing together with each word. He knocks the tips of their noses together once, a gentle bump that might even be affectionate, and then he’s gone again, breaking Xichen’s tight hold easily to sling himself up onto the saddle and nudge his mare into a brisk canter without a glance back.

Xichen watches him go long past the time he’s lost sight of him between the trees.

#the untamed fanfic #nielan #Lan Xichen #Nie Mingjue #brokeback mountain au #I Wish I Could Quit You #does the Tent Scene happen so soon after the hailstorm? I can't remember #It does now #as per usual we're here for vibes y'all. Sad (and horny) gay cowboy vibes.

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azvolrien · 4 months

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Home, for now

I fancied going into a little more detail about some stuff that was briefly mentioned in some earlier stories, but didn't have a lot of time spent on it, so I wrote this to fill in part of the gap. Chronologically, it fits between the first two sections in the little vignette series I wrote a while back - specifically, immediately after the first and a few days before the second.

---

As Pirate walked, barely seeming to notice Asta’s weight on his shoulders, the city grew quieter. It was never deserted – the people of Stormhaven, both humans and gryphons alike, still went about their evenings in every street he passed – but the seething throng of Seacourt eased off as they left the harbour behind. Gradually the chatter of the markets and warehouses along the seafront faded until it was swallowed up by the general bustle of the city.

“Not spent much time in Duncraig,” said Pirate as he waited for a tram to pass before crossing the road. “Sailing up any of the sea lochs makes for a big detour, so Captain Steel prefers to trade at the towns along the headlands. How’s it compare to Stormhaven?”

“Colder,” said Asta to a chuckle from Pirate. “And Duncraig is on much steeper ground – the whole city is built on the slopes of the mountain overlooking Loch Gorm. I think Siraki Square – that’s the main marketplace, just below the High King’s castle at the summit – is probably the biggest stretch of level ground in the whole city. Stormhaven is – well, not flat,” she gestured up to the old fort atop the black, rocky crag in the middle of the city, visible above the nearby buildings, “but it’s much more level, and the hills you do have are gentler overall.” She glanced around. “I’d estimate the populations are about the same, but the buildings here are a little more spread out with fewer storeys. In Duncraig there’s been more pressure to build up rather than out to fit everything between the castle and the water.”

“What about the Imperial City?” asked Pirate. “How’s Stormhaven compare there?”

“I…” Asta paused for a couple of seconds. “I haven’t been back to the Imperial City in a… in a long time. Stormhaven is… Well, certainly much smaller. Area, population or however you want to measure it. Warmer, at least at this time of year – I expect Kiraan is several feet deep in snow right now, though it gets baking hot in summer.” She gazed unseeing into space for another little while before she gave herself a shake and sat up straighter on Pirate’s back. “Actually, the thing that really strikes me about Stormhaven is how many constructs there are everywhere. They’re not unheard-of in Duncraig or the Imperial City, but they’re far, far less common.”

Pirate made a thoughtful noise and crossed the road once the traffic had cleared. “Suppose I’m just used enough to them that I never thought it’d be weird that there’re so many of them.”

“You’d be lucky to see a dozen over the course of a day in Duncraig,” said Asta. “Here, well…” She waved at their surroundings. There were at least twice that many constructs in sight at that very moment: little street-sweepers patrolling the roadside gutters, winged messengers flying overhead, elegant horselike riding-constructs, heavyset beasts of burden laden with packsaddles or towing carts, and more whose purposes she couldn’t even guess at. “You remember I said that I used to watch for them from my bedroom window when I was little? I think I would have had a hard time counting all the ones I saw if there had been as many as there are here.”

Pirate nodded and kept walking, heading north through a district he said was called Windstone and occasionally highlighting various landmarks, such as the extensive hospital the harbour clerk had mentioned, small roadside shrines and larger temples, and anything else he found interesting from brightly-painted murals on the walls to cafes and restaurants he liked. Near the northern wall of the city, as it was almost fully dark, he crossed a bridge over a canal and pointed out the headquarters of the City Watch, a fortified building surrounded by water where the canal had been extended into a moat.

“Anything day-to-day, like… I dunno, bag-snatching or whatever, you’d be better going to one of the local guard posts,” he said, following the road up the far side of the canal towards the northern wall gate, “but if anything happens that you need to take all the way to the top, the Watch-Hold is where you take it.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Asta, eyeing the Hold a little warily. “Though I certainly hope that isn’t necessary.”

The north gate – a sign on the stone archway declared it the Soldier Gate – overlooked a wide, empty square, its surface a mixture of concrete slabs and flagstones made from the same dark rock as the central crag. At the square’s southern edge, a second, smaller gate led through an inner wall across the lower, less steeply-sloping end of the ridge. The actual gates had been removed long ago, leaving only a stone arch and some rusty iron hinges in the wall, though the top of the arch was low enough that both Asta and Pirate had to duck their heads to fit beneath it.

“The city council’s been meaning to make that taller,” said Pirate, “but they never get around to it. I reckon someone’s just going to take a sledgehammer to it one of these days. Anyway, here we are!”

Asta climbed off his back and looked up at one of the strangest houses she had ever seen. It stood right up against the wall, but towered several storeys above it even without including the little turrets that had apparently been slapped on at random over the years. How many storeys, Asta couldn’t exactly say; from the number of windows, she counted four, five and seven in different places with no change to the level of the roof. Perhaps the oldest part had once been some kind of keep or tower house – a bricked-up archway on the first floor suggested that the ground-level door was a later addition – but various extensions over the years had given it a footprint at least twice as wide as any other house she could see along the street, while still more turrets, dormers and balconies poked out from the higher levels.

Pirate reached out with one claw for the ring-shaped bell-pull beside the door and paused. “Wait – what day is it?”

Asta had to give it a moment’s thought. “...Sssstarsday.”

“Ah, good. She should be in, then.” He hooked a talon through the ring and pulled. A bell gave a musical chime somewhere inside the house, and the door – solid wood painted a bright, rich blue – swung open a few seconds later.

The woman who had opened it frowned in mild irritation for a moment, before a broad smile appeared on her face and she reached up to ruffle Pirate’s crest-feathers affectionately. She was a little shorter than Asta, but much curvier and broader in both shoulder and hip, with deep brown skin and curly hair of a slightly darker shade. Clearly, she had been prepared for a quiet evening curled up with a good book: she was wearing a long flannel dressing gown over loose, comfortable-looking nightclothes, and her lack of any footwear other than a pair of thick woollen socks suggested she had no intention of stepping over the threshold.

“I haven’t seen you for a while, Pirate,” she said, folding her arms. “You’ve been off voyaging with your cousin, I take it? Which direction?”

“North,” said Pirate. “Steel had Curlew doing lots of little coastal hops all the way up to Valsnes, nearly as far as the great ice. We just got in to port earlier today.”

“And you came to see me this soon? I’m flattered!”

“Well, it’s not really a social call,” said Pirate, smoothing down his crest in a vaguely embarrassed fashion.

“No, I didn’t think so,” murmured the woman, eyeing Asta thoughtfully.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Pirate hastily added. “But – so. Asta, this is Arianrhod Nevitt, the librarian I told you about. Ari, this is Asta zeDamar. She came down with us from the Sea Lochs, and, uh, she’ll be staying in Stormhaven for a while. You know, a ‘foreseeable future’ sort of while. But she doesn’t have much to go on here. I was hoping you’d have a room? At least until she can get her feet under her more steadily.”

“You know I don’t put a time-limit on staying here, Pirate,” said Ari, quietly surveying Asta. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Asta’s neck. Asta resisted the urge to tie her scarf more snugly around it and folded her hands behind her back instead. “Well!” said Ari with slightly forced jollity, clapping her hands together so suddenly that Asta jumped. “If you’d come here a week ago, I’m afraid I would have had to put you up on a couch, but you’re in luck – one of us just moved out to start a new job up in Northold.”

“Which one?” asked Pirate.

“Patricia.”

“Oh… I liked her.”

“We all did,” said Ari, “but she wanted a fresh start away from the city. I can’t blame her for that. Oh, come to that, if you’re getting her room – how are you with stairs?”

“Stairs?” said Asta. “Oh. Um. Fine?”

“You may feel differently once you see how many there are,” said Ari wryly. “But come in and I’ll put the kettle on. I expect you could use a cuppa after your long journey south. Pirate? You as well?”

“Love to, but I can’t,” said Pirate. “Literally,” he added, nodding towards the door. It was a comfortable enough size for a human, but would have been an awkward squeeze for a gryphon smaller than Pirate. Ari gave an apologetic smile. “Besides, I promised the old Upper Mageview gang that I’d see them for dinner when I was back in town. I should go and meet up with them so we can start arguing over where to go. I’ll check in on you later,” he said to Asta. “Steel would have my hide if I didn’t! But you’ll be fine with Ari.”

Asta nodded. “Thank you for everything, Pirate,” she said with a small smile. He nodded and gave her a quick hug with one wing before he trotted away back down the street. He had to go back to the square before he had enough room to spread his wings, and Ari waited until he had disappeared over the rooftops before she gestured towards the door.

The inside of the house was as confusing as the outside. Ari led her along three different corridors that twisted at strange angles and up a narrow flight of stairs before they reached a room that was mostly a small kitchen, but also had two thickly-padded armchairs upholstered in balding velvet beside a fireplace at the far end. The fire had died down to a few glowing embers, but the room was still warm. Ari waved for her to sit down and set a polished, if slightly dented, copper kettle to heat on the kitchen stove.

“How do you take it?” she asked once the water had boiled and she had added tea-strainers to a couple of mugs. “Milk, sugar?”

Asta jumped, looking up from the carvings she had been studying on the fireplace surround. “Oh, uh – neither, please. I prefer it plain.”

Ari made a face that said she didn’t understand that choice but wasn’t going to argue against it. “Plain it is, then,” she said, handing Asta one of the mugs before adding a splash of milk to her own and sitting down in the other armchair with a small sigh. “Well, Asta zeDamar, welcome to Prothero House. I suppose it should really be Nevitt House now, but I wouldn’t want to confuse all the postmen. I’d better go over a few ground rules for the house if you’re going to be staying with us for a while.”

Asta swallowed, wrapping her hands more closely around the mug.

Ari sipped her tea. “Firstly – do your part to keep the common areas tidy. Living rooms, kitchens, bathrooms and so on. I’m not saying everything needs to be spotless all the time, but you know, wash up your own dishes, put your books back on the shelves in the library, don’t leave water all over the floor if you’ve had a shower, that sort of thing.”

“That seems fair,” said Asta slowly. Then one word in particular caught her attention and she perked up a little. “You have a library?”

“A small one,” said Ari, grinning. “Nothing like the size of the one I look after up at the College, but enough to be going on with. I’ll show you where it is a bit later. Now, you can leave your room as untidy as you like, but… Try not to let things go so far that we need to get pest control in.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“Good. Second rule – don’t ask the others here for their stories. People might share if they want to, but don’t bring it up. All of my lodgers have got out of a difficult situation of one kind or another and not everyone wants to talk about it, whether they’ve left an abusive partner or escaped from slavery.”

Asta touched her throat.

“You’re not the first escapee who’s had a room here,” said Ari. “Though you are the only one at present.”

“How did you tell? I don’t have a collar scar.”

“No. But you do have a tan line.”

“Oh.”

“So, yes – don’t ask about people’s pasts and they’ll give you the same courtesy. And… That’s pretty much it for house rules. We’re all adults here.”

Asta blinked. “What – what about rent?”

Ari sighed. “I’m not your landlady,” she said patiently, her tone suggesting this was something she had had to explain many times before. “I just own the house. Obviously there are household costs – groceries, taxes, bills and so on – and yes, once you’re able to contribute to the expenses pool, I request that you do. But I don’t charge extra on top of that, and I’m certainly not going to take whatever little money you have when you don’t have a job to bring in any more to replace it.”

“I…” Asta covered her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment. “Thank you.”

Ari nodded. “You’re welcome.”

They finished their tea in silence, and Ari placed her mug on an end table and stood up. “I’d better show you to your room, then.”

She led Asta up more stairs than she could keep track of until they reached a door right at the top of the house. A small plaque nailed to the door bore a cheerful painting of a daisy, and a key with a little wooden tag sat in the lock. Ari removed the key, handed it to Asta, and pushed the door open.

“I’m afraid it’s pretty tiny,” she said. “I think it might have been a servant’s garret back in the day. But a bed’s a bed, and I had the roof insulation redone last year so you’ll be warm enough. The nearest bathroom is just down the corridor there.”

Asta edged past her into the little room. It was only just tall enough for her to stand fully upright, with one wall sloping with the roof and a dormer window looking over the eastern half of the city, and was less than twice as wide as the single bed. The bed itself stood a little higher off the floor than was typical, leaving room for a small cupboard and a series of drawers beneath it, and bore a firm but comfortable mattress covered with clean linen sheets, soft blankets and a colourful patchwork quilt.

“Think it’ll do?” asked Ari. Asta sat down on the bed, placing her bag on top of the quilt, and nodded shakily. “Good. I’ll leave you to get settled in, and tomorrow I’ll give you a more thorough tour of the house and maybe introduce you to some of the others.” She smiled and laid a gentle hand on Asta’s shoulder. “Welcome to Stormhaven.”

---

I think this might be the first time Ari has appeared in a story without Fayn. I like to highlight sometimes that side-characters have their own stuff going on outside whatever the main plot is, even if we-the-audience don't always get to see it.

#az writes stories

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wythedumpstercat · 2 years

Text

The Happiest Memories

Quiet settles on Gauntlegrym's emptying streets, night herding everyone towards bed and the land of dreams.

Well, not everyone.

Ezekiel is not sleeping, as per usual. He isn't expecting visitors however, so when the door creakes open and Wy's bushy head pops in, he isn't quite sure what to expect.

"Hi." Ezekiel says.

"Hi." Wy replies.

They stare at eachother awkwardly. What.

"Uh...is there something wrong or...can I help you with something?" Ezekiel tries when the weird silence starts really bothering him.

Wy almost looks constipated momentarily. He slips properly into the room, closing the door behind him. "That...that memory thing you did...with the others...could you..."

Ezekiel blinks. "Oh." Unexpected, but not unwelcome. He gestures for Wy to take a seat on the bed with him. Wy obliges like a skittish puppy, sitting down on the very edge.

"So what brought this on?" Ezekiel asks softly. Act like a skittish puppy, be treated like skittish puppy.

Wy just shakes his head. Then thinks better of it, and mumbles, "I...I don't remember my parents. My real ones. So..."

"You'd like to see if I can help you remember?"

Wy nods.

Ezekiel smiles. "Shall we try then?" He holds out a hand for Wy to take. "Now, close your eyes, concentrate on your happiest memories...and just that." He says as he starts weaving the spell, closing his own eyes as well.

The little bedroom of the [insert name of the inn] fades away.

The darkness behind their eyelids flicker.

-:-

First, there's a small cottage. The aroma of boar stew is still thick in the air. A shaggy haired youth wrapped in thick woolens is curled up on a fur pelt in front of a well lit hearth, belly full and lightly snoozing. There's an old man puffing a pipe, watching over the youngling with soft eyes. Danger is locked away outside in the faraway cold, and inside there's warmth and safety and the knowledge that tomorrow will be the same.

Flicker.

A small room that has seen better days. The single window is far up, tiny, and broken in the corner. Glimmering snowflakes flits through, lazily swirling down to the floor. Light from a single candle pours out from underneath and through the cracks in the overturned flower pot balanced on two rough bricks. Heat radiates from it and four children no older than 9 are huddled around it as much as they're huddled together. The single flimsy blanket they're all sharing does nothing to keep them warm, so instead they solve the dilemma of cold by being so close none of them really knows where one ends and the other begins; legs intertwined and arms looped around each other. They talk through occasionally chattering teeth, giggles erupting and mellowing out in waves. There's empty candy wrappers scattered across the rough floor, and an empty bottle refracting the flickering lights.

Tomorrow they'd be saying goodbye to the cold. Tomorrow, they'd move to a new house.

Flicker.

A horse cart ambles it's way down a wide and sparsely populated road, the horses' hooves and the cart's wheels click-clacking on the cobblestones. A small child is bouncing excitedly on the lap of the man holding the reigns, babbling semi-coherently about gryphons. The bard at the last inn had been waxing tales of the creatures the day before. The man nods at the right places, laughs at the right places, and gasps at the right places in-between the boy's wild gesturing, seemingly able to follow the child's chaotic retelling. The woman beside them chuckles at them, the click-clack of knitting pins drowned out by the sound of blissful happiness underneath cloudless skies. Even their biggest worry of rain seems far away.

-:-

When the memory fades, the now sliding back into focus, Ezekiel finds his hand stuck in a vice grip. Not painful, just tight. Wy retracts his hand the moment he comes back to himself, looking thoughtful.

"They seem nice..." Ezekiel murmurs.

Wy hums in agreement.

Another lengthy silence. Wy has always been somewhat unpredictable, so Ezekiel doesn't quite know what to make of the boy.

"So..." Ezekiel drags out the word. "Now we know how they look. We could start asking around about them if you'd like."

Wy shakes his head. "This is enough."

"Enough?"

"I'll be able to recognize them if I ever...bump into them."

"But wouldn't you like to actually meet them? Get to know them? Have them acknowledge you as their son?" Ezekiel is baffled; Wy truly lives up to his name.

The mattress jostles a bit as Wy gets to his feet. "I disappeared from their lives a long time ago. I don't want to barge back in and mess up whatever they have now. Just...knowing that they existed and....and didn't willingly abandon me--"

Oh.

"Anyway, thanks." Wy finally continues after gathering himself a bit. "For this." He gestures vaguely into the air between them.

Ezekiel smiles demurely. "I've heard this is what friends do."

"Friends?" He gets in return, inlcuding a confused face and head tilt.

"...we are friends. Right?"

Wy visibly deliberates it. Ezekiel feels his bloodpressure rising. This frustrating little--

"Right. Friends."

"Yes. Friends. And friends helps eachother when in need and seeks counsel with eachother. Gives eachother advice--"

"Uh huh. You should sleep with a knife under your pillow."

"Oh. I--what?"

"In case." Is all Wy says with the most serious expression before he turns into a small black cat, and slinks out the door.

#dnd #out of the abyss #oc #Wy: The Written Saga

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gayrfalcon · 6 years

Text

just finished typing up a summary of caiosverse that tied a bunch of previously totally disconnected plot points together, and ö i am sø sátɨsfiḝd

#jay chatter #caiosverse #yessssssssssss #for those not in the know:#caiosverse is a Story About Gryphons i've been on-and-off ruminating on for a couple years now #and intended to be an eventual webcomic when i actually have an idea of how it's going to end/the overarching plot points/the style i'm #going to use #and this is one MASSIVE step toward that so i'm REALLY psyched

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starlightandust-marejai · 3 years

Text

Tame the Beast

"But there’s something off when Raine comes inside tonight. The first thing they notice after closing the door behind them is something glowing, which they recognize to be a bottle of Eda’s elixir on the bedside table, completely full. And then there is a growl."

Raine meets the owl beast.

Read it on AO3 Here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34020355

There’s always something strange going on at the owl house these days.

Hooty loves chattering everybody’s ears off and he is often swallowing up or breaking things he shouldn’t, Luz and King’s comedy hour somehow turned into Luz and King and Hunter’s prank each other hour somewhere along the way, and more often than not it is Raine and Eda who become their victims. You could say that not even at night the house is fully asleep, and so the constant noises, weird ones at that, are the norm.

Which is why Raine didn’t even flinch when they came up at the door of what now is their shared bedroom with Eda late at night and heard what sounded more like a monster snoring. Eda surely has always sounded like one when asleep.

But there’s something off when Raine comes inside tonight. The first thing they notice after closing the door behind them is something glowing, which they recognize to be a bottle of Eda’s elixir on the bedside table, completely full.

And then there is a growl.

When they look up, what stares at them is not the is not the playful glint of Eda’s beautiful golden eyes; but the void, pitch black of the owl beast’s angry gaze.

Raine startles so that their knees give out under them. They stumble backwards and fall on their butt, their back hitting the wooden door. The beast steps out of the nest, not at all happy at being taken out of its slumber, and slowly creeps towards them, head hang low and teeth bared.

Raine just stays where they are, shaking and paralyzed in fear at the sight of those huge sharp claws that could easily tear them apart. They feel a lump forming in their throat as they remember holding a crying, desperate Eda, after she accidentally hurt her father with those same claws. “It was to protect you!” is how she justified closing off, lying and pushing them away all those years ago. “I was terrified of what the beast would do to you if I ever lost control!” Even though it still hurts that Eda wasn’t able to trust them, Raine definitely understands what she was so scared of now.

Last they say it, when Eda was first cursed, the owl beast was different, smaller, and its mane was fiery gold like her hair. As the beast comes into their personal space, Raine shrinks into themself, whimpering “You’re a lot bigger than I what I remembered.”. The creature comes to a halt in front of them, and Raine closes their eyes and braces themself for a hit that never comes.

After a few seconds, when all they feel is the owl beast’s hot breath on their face, they open their eyes, and to their surprise, the beast doesn’t look angry anymore. It steps carefully around Raine, almost tiptoeing, and starts sniffing at them. “What are you doing?” they ask, mildly amused, even though they know it won’t answer, being too busy sniffing at their neck, their hair, their clothes and whatever it can finds. “Do you like my new cologne or something? That’d make sense, Eda likes it too.” They joke.

The beast reaches a particular sensitive spot at the back of their ear, and Raine lets out a high-pitched squeal. It startles for a second, but something left of Raine’s face seems to have attracted its attention. Raine sits perfectly still as the beast comes really close again. First there’s only the tickling sensation of its mane nuzzling their cheek, and its really stinking breath filling Raine’s nostrils, but suddenly there’s a painful tug at their ear “Ah! No! no, no, no! Don’t do that!” they yell and put their hands up, trying to move the beast’s face away from their own so it stops tugging at their earing. “Okay, okay, I’ll get it, I’ll get it for you, stop that!”

Owl beast Eda huffs, looking mildly offended at Raine’s resistance. They sigh, carefully removing the little piece of metal from their ear, and offer it to the owl beast with an outstretched hand. “Here. Is this what you wanted?” The beast cocks its head and gazes adoringly at the small shiny offering. It gently picks up the earing from Raine’s hand in its mouth and takes the treasure to its nest, along all the others, for safekeeping.

Now that the adrenalin is over and the beast is busy with its new toy, Raine takes a moment to really look at it.

The owl beast overall resembles a lot a gryphon, but half owl instead of the more common half eagle. Even though it is, unarguably, a beast, Raine can recognizes little bits of Eda in its face, in the silver of its mane, in how the ear tuffs frame its head just like Eda’s loose hair strands fall around her face. Its wings, even folded, are obviously very large, to be able to lift such a big creature into the air, (though Raine guesses the sheer amount of fur and feathers makes it look even bigger than it really is). Its appearance is very strong and brutish, but it walks and moves around with what Raine can only describe as cat like grace.

And to be fully honest, the way she looked at the earing and nuzzled Raine with such care was pretty adorable.

The beast finishes stashing its treasure and once again walks towards Raine, who gives it a confused look, right before being scooped by the back of their collar and taken to the nest, where they are very gently placed down. It takes them a few seconds to process what just happen, by the end of which she has already laid down and made herself comfortable, surrounding Raine with its strong paws.

The beast just cocks its head and quietly stares at Raine, as if trying to communicate something with its eyes alone. Against their better judgment, Raine outstretches their hands, and without hesitation, she butts its head against it, leaning into the warm touch of their hand. The silver fur is surprisingly soft against their skin, and just under their fingertips, Raine feels a slight vibration and realizes that she is purring. Loudly.

“Heh, you’re just a really big cat, aren’t you?” they whisper, voice filled with endearment, and slowly stroke the creature’s mane. “I would have never guessed.” The beast leans even further into Raine’s touch, who now has a lapfull of owl beast, and in turn, Raine nuzzles against the beast’s fur. It feels weirdly comfortable.

What a contrast this is to the tales Raine’s heard of the wild witch of Bonesborough, who, when angered or startled, would turn into a giant owl like violent and bloodthirsty monster who hurt countless citizens in its moments of rampage. Raine counts themselves lucky that the beast didn’t immediately pounce them; but then again, Eda said she had made a truce with the owl beast and that they both even talked sometimes. Raine guesses that, since they are Eda’s spouse, the beast must have recognized them as their mate. How cute.

After a while just sitting there, Eda looks a little tired, and Raine wonders how she would feel about a little lullaby. They draw a spell circle in air and summon their violin; and the creature’s eyes, which were half lidded, are now wide open and gazing at them with curiosity. The beast coos at the slow, sweet melody that comes out, its feathers puffing out in contentment. Raine can feel the beast’s loud purring against their back, just in time with the vibration of the strings. At one point in the middle of the song, the beast pulls back a little, just enough to nuzzle Raine’s cheek with its nose and lick them, and Raine’s heart soars. “Feels like sandpaper” they say, chuckling at the ticklish feeling the beast’s tongue left behind.

Raine keeps playing until they feel Eda’s body limping out with sleep. They dematerialize the violin and try to find themselves a comfortable position against her huge fluffy body. They lean against her mane, cradled between one paw and her face, surrounded by her warmth and comforted by the sound of her heartbeat and her steady breathing. Raine’s pretty sure tomorrow they will wake up with the worst back and shoulder pain ever, but tonight is the most comfortable they have been in a long while, the most safe and sound they have slept in their whole life.

#toh #toh fanfic #toh fanart #the owl house #the owl house fanart #the owl house fanfic #the owl house art #eda the owl lady #eda clawthorne #the owl beast #raine whispers #raeda #raine x eda #fanart #digital art

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ask-de-writer · 2 years

Text

FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC (Part 15 of ?) 18+ readers only (sex scenes)

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC

Making Fiends and Influencing Ponies

An Anthro *Tail* of the Mane Six

Part 15 of ? (Work in Progress)

De Writer

26,128 words (story in progress)

//////////////

This story is age restricted to 18 years or older!

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story? Read from the start HERE

///////////////////////

While the Ambassador was saying, “I thank you. That is most gracious,” Twilight was tapping codes into what looked like an ordinary bedroom mirror. In moments, they were looking at the image of Count Utterly, Princess Luna's Protocol Pony, and stuffed shirt extraordinaire.

He snorted down his nose at Princess Twilight and said without preamble, “Twilight, you must call again, at a more opportune time. Princess Luna is otherwise occupied and has no time to hear your empty chatter about some mere party.”

The Ambassador stepped up with Twilight, his crest flat with rage and snarled, “That is PRINCESS TWILIGHT whose business with PRINCESS LUNA is in regard to the present disaster in the Empire. Knowing that it is a PRINCESS who is calling another PRINCESS, it is NOT YOUR PLACE to interfere. PUT US THROUGH or I will report your interference to the entire THRONE OF EMPIRE in my report to them this very afternoon.”

It was at that point that a Royal Guards pony with the rank badges of Captain interfered. “Princess Twilight! Ambassador Graayk! I see your priority listing right here on the Count's list card! Why is he delaying your call?”

Twilight smiled, “We would like the answer to that ourselves, Captain Lightning! I did set my mirror to record the call for the Gryphon Empire Disaster response file. It got Utterly's entire and rude attempt to turn away a call on our International Emergency code group.”

In only seconds, they were looking at Princess Luna. She smiled grimly and asked, “Pardon for a moment, Princess Twilight and Ambassador Graayk, I must review Utterly's behavior in regard to this call.”

She spent only a few moments before she turned to Captain Lightning. “Use armed guards of your choosing to escort Utterly to his apartment in the castle and there seal the door on the outside. If he is found outside of his apartment for any reason before his trial, he is to be executed immediately. He is charged with interference with an International Emergency Call for personal gain through embezzlement.”

She turned her attention back to Twilight and the Ambassador. “Now, Twi, Ambassador Graayk, what is it that you wanted to tell me?”

Twilight quickly filled Luna in on all that they had done to start the hospital for Gryphon injured. Ambassador Graayk showed her his now healed wings and explained, “Kindred Spirit was apparently already using her skills on some other project but healed me at once, without thought for herself. She is presently exhausted magically but I am told the she will recover soon. Apparently healing is not normally that tiring for her.”

Luna nodded at the concise report and commented, “So that is what General Ironhooves wanted all that gryphon bedding and bunks for. He requested emergency deliveries to Ponyville for it all. He is sending a military field laundry as well.”

Twilight agreed, “So he told us. My engineers and the contingent from Fort Everfree have laid out the hospital and are already starting to erect the tents. Porta Pots has delivered about a fourth of the necessary sanitation units and the rest are coming as fast as Hackamore Hauling can load and deliver them.”

A genuinely smiling Princess Luna asked, “So, how long until you are ready for patients?”

“The day after tomorrow, Your Highness.”

Luna nodded and turned to a pony out of the view and said, “We have a train with twenty cars about to deadhead down out of the Empire. Have it held and the cars prepared to carry injured Gryphons.

“These should be ones with injuries needing surgical care. The operational hospital aeries of the Empire are already full to capacity so choose ones in need but for whom there is no space. We will need nurses to care for them on the journey.

“It is going to take over a day and a half for them to reach Ponyville, where a Gryphon capable hospital for four hundred patients is being set up. Clear the mainlines for the train as soon as it is loaded. When it reaches Circle Lake have it switched to an express engine and give it a clear run to Ponyville.”

Back to Twilight, Luna added, “We have a few more things to discuss but those will wait. What of Pinkie Pie's, um, party?”

Twilight grinned. “I have volunteered the Crystal Palace's main ballroom and kitchens. I have notified the companies that I normally use to make stage settings and backdrops to cooperate. Pinkie is working with choreographers and setting up the catering. Rarity and Kin are going to provide costuming. Pinkie says only three more days before it is ready to go. She wants another five for advertising it.”

Luna grinned hugely and asked, “You do know what sort of party it is going to be, don't you?”

Twilight nodded, “Little happens in my Principality that I don't know about. I am sort of surprised that YOU know about it.”

Luna's sides heaved as she chuckled, “Little happens in our Kingdom that I don't know about! Excellent.”

Luna signed off and the mirror went back to being a plain looking mirror.

Tapping codes into a corner of the mirror, Twilight explained, “This mirror is part of the Kingdom's Secure Magic Network. What I am doing will allow you to make a private call to your Throne of Empire. It will remain secure but not record your report unless you request it. Just use this field here to input your codes. Should we clear the room for you?”

His crest up in a smile, Graayk replied, “Please do not. I wish to include you all in my report.” He began tapping in his codes. Apparently his report was expected because the mirror cleared in only a few seconds.

The Gryphon in the mirror was obviously used to command. Her crest shot up as she saw the Ambassador! “Graayk! Your bandages! What has happened? Did Princess Luna heal you?”

He bowed to her, spreading his wings as he did so. “Hisst, Strong Right Wing of the Imperial Throne, it is good to see you. My healing and what has flowed from it is what this report is about. You should be hearing from Princess Luna quite soon. The returning supply train is being delayed. It is being fitted for five serious injury cases per car. We are to choose patients in need of surgery but for whom our hospital Aeries have no room yet. We will need twenty nurses, one for each car, to care for them.

“Here in Ponyville, in just a few hours, as they realized our need and pulled together their resources, they have got a four hundred bed Gryphon equipped hospital underway. It is already started and will be ready for patients by the time that the trains can get them here.

“Everypony in this room played a part in setting it up. I would like to introduce each of them and explain their parts.”

The Gryphon in the mirror called, “Empress! Grata! You need to hear Graayk's report! We are getting access to a four hundred nest hospital being set up in Ponyville! The first train, the one that was going to return empty, is now being equipped to carry a hundred of our injured cases to the new hospital!”

Two more Gryphons joined Hisst in the mirror. The Ambassador introduced, “Princess Twilight and the others of the famous Mane Six, before you are Hisst, Strong Right Wing of the Empire, the Empress herself, and Grata, Strong Left Wing of the Empire.

“I shall begin with Rarity's part. She had a lucky purchase of surplus barracks tents. Forty of them. Her assistant in her shop, Kindred Spirit, is one of those rare unicorns whose magic can reach beneath the surface of things and do accurate work. She was apparently already doing some classified work but when she saw my bandages, she immediately began to heal me too. The combination of different works has temporarily exhausted her. I am told that healing per se is not so tiring.”

He flexed his wings for the watching Imperial trio. “I am told that I need two more days before flying again due to the nature of the joints healing.

“It was Kin who realized that their tents could be put to use again. Rarity instantly agreed.

“Applejack volunteered a one hundred acre field near to where the tents were stored and suggested setting up the hospital.

“Rainbow Dash, Princess Twilight's Guard Captain, offered ten more barracks tents that were in the Princess' armory. She also called in the help of EDB Command. Her Engineers and those of Fort Everfree, have laid out the hospital and begun erecting the tents. At her request, EDB Command is scouring the Kingdom for gryphon suitable bunks and bedding. It will all be here by late tomorrow.

“Pinkie Pie, along with another relief project, has provided for sanitation and a galley to prepare gryphon suitable food. She has also arranged for both supplies and patient transportation from the railhead to the hospital.

“Last but not least, Fluttershy has offered to not only nurse the injured, she will coordinate the nurses from the Ponyville area. She does request a few Gryphon nurses to help her to learn how to help best.

“Princess Twilight is supervising the whole effort and has obtained the cooperation of the Ponyville Medical Society. She also recruited Princess Luna to provide us with transportation of our injured on the Royal Railroads.”

He shook his head, crest flared in wonder, “They got this all together in only a few hours. Besides this, Pinkie Pie, working with some local businesses and dancers, is putting together one of her famous gala parties that will be presented in about a week, most of which is a delay for advertising to assure its financial success.”

The Empress nodded, crest high with pleasure. “This is the best news that We have had since the earthquake. We thank you for this excellent news. Do not go just yet.”

The three of the Imperial Throne consulted quietly for a few moments. All three agreeing, the Empress returned to the mirror. “We of the Throne are agreed. We are giving to each of you seven the Order of the Golden Talon, our highest civilian award.

“Our hearts were heavy with the knowledge that so many of our good Gryphons were soon to die or suffer permanent injuries that we could do nothing to alleviate. All of our doctors are working around the clock to save as many as they can. It is not being enough. Most of our hospital aeries were damaged, many too severely to be safe to use.

“In creating this hospital so swiftly, you will save many that we had sadly given up on simply because we could not get needful aid to them in time.

“You are the best sort of friends to have. The ones who are there when we are in need. This award is the least that we can do. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

Kin, leaning on Rarity, and the others were drop jawed at the honor being offered. Shaking her head, Rarity pointed out, “We did not do this for some reward. It was what we could do for friends in need, that is all.”

The Empress' crest lifted in a smile as she stated, “That is exactly why you deserve it. We need to see to getting that train loaded as swiftly as we can.” She blanked the mirror.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS ~ NEXT==>

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#FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC #age restricted 18+#Part 15 of ?#Written by De Writer #WORK IN PROGRESS

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morihaus · 3 years

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Folklore

Two apprentices make their way to the shore of the Isle of the Wise, basket and blanket in tow, already chattering away with one another. Although the College of the Sapiarchs has a reputation its rigorous and cutthroat academic atmosphere, even its most studious pupils are encouraged to take reprieves from their works, if not for their own benefit then for the benefit of the hardworking staff, those who have earned their own breaks from instructing and professing, as well as those who have important duties and research of their own to attend to.

Runalenwe and Pannolaire each possess their own cutthroat reputations, so it is with some surprise that their peers observe them taking these personal allowances of unstructured time not to get a leg up on their competition, but to get out from the halls of learning and into the natural splendor of the wild. They always take their breaks together, ostensibly to keep an eye on their most spirited and contentious academic rival, but also in the spirit of camaraderie; even as they have butted heads over their decades-long apprenticeships, they have found themselves rather transfixed on one another, interested, entertained, some might even say 'enamored.' It's true that they might consider themselves lovers, but they were not young or carefree, rather their love was ennobling and constructive, a means to an end- they would say- and all the fun they have along the way is merely incidental.

Runalenwe reaches what she considers a good place to rest, a nice shady spot under a tree, waves lapping at the shore before them. She unfurls the bright sheet they've brought at, inviting Pannolaire to take her seat before her, to which the other woman smiles and sets herself down very prim and proper. As Runalenwe joins her, she sets their woven basket down beside them, and continues on with their line of dialogue.

"Quite the ambitious project, a catalogue of Tamriel's famed magical artifacts," Pannolaire says. "Was her 12-page dissertation on the Flask of Lillandril not enough?" Her dark crest of brown hair seems to shimmer with life in the sun's light, as does the dress of decorative feathers and scales that she's donned instead of her apprentice's garb. Her companion thinks she cuts a figure rather like a bird of paradise, head held high against her collar of colorful plumage.

"Oh, I'd be fascinated to hear how many she can turn up." Runalenwe replies as she gets comfortable, propping herself up with an elbow against the blanket. "The research will be interesting- and her reports are always wonderfully detailed to be sure. The problem is by just 20 years time, I'm sure we'll be made aware of several new artifacts, or new qualities to the ones we already know, and all her work will be made obsolete. That's the problem with such presumptuous 'catalogues', better to channel your focus on just one thing. She clearly wishes she could be Sapiarch of just about every discipline!" She laughs, a few strands of her curly straw-colored hair swinging free of her top-bun. It's a noble laugh, haughty and mocking, yet it touches Pannolaire just the same as the warm bubbling laugh that came out of her honestly, most often when they were alone.

Pannolaire unpacks the food she'd brought, laying out the small spread as they continue to speak. Rolls of bread, fresh fruit, aged wine, and shellfish. "Which single artifact would you focus on?" Pannolaire glances up as she hands her a warm roll. "Some destructive staff? A weather worker?"

She chuckles, taking a small bite and clearing her mouth before responding. "Oh, Pannolaire, I've more interests than just shocking the daylights out of things! It's funny you should ask, actually."

"It is?" Pannolaire says.

"Yes, and I'll tell you why." Runalenwe grins.

Pannolaire smiles as well, cracking into a shellfish with practiced grace. "Please do."

"You are, I'm sure, familiar with the Ring of Phynaster? Artifact created by the ascended Aldmeri sorcerer Phynaster, great explorer and adventurer, a hero of the High King Aurthelel's court?" Pannolaire nods, not speaking for modesty as she samples some fruit. "It provides the wearer with protection against magics and poisons- it's popularly believed to have been created to facilitate in Phynaster's daring yet dangerous lifestyle, and even to have aided in his mythical long stride. But this story has been confused with time- it is misunderstood by so many of the scholars of Tamriel, those who forget that Phynaster was once one of us, a mortal, with mortal wants, mortal acquaintances."

Pannolaire watches Runalenwe as she orates, every word uttered with such a poise to belie rehearsal, and yet her character is so spontaneous, like an arc of lightning from a hand, or the first crackle of thunder. These qualities make her quite the speaker to spectate, and so she hangs on her every word.

"Phynaster himself was quite a cautious sort- his stride wasn't simply long, it was measured, well-conceived through careful calculation. His safety and longevity was more or less the product of a wise and careful mind. He did not forge his famed ring for his own sake, but for the sake of a lover." Runalenwe's lips curve into even more of a satisfied smile, the kind that tells Pannolaire she's hanging knowledge over her head right now, a coy mocking gesture. She shoots her a look as though to say 'don't leave me in suspense', and the other apprentice continues on. "A certain firebrand, another mage of Aurthelel's court, the oldest and most venerable court of Alinor, composed of only the most respected ancestors; Phynaster, Syrabane, Ruilil, Peregrine- even noble Trinimac brushed shoulders with her and counted her as his peer, as well as his comrade in arms. She was Eeartora the Tempest, queen of the skies, her words commanded storms and her spells sundered coral citadels to the depths of the sea, all to be forgotten as her own legend grew. It was she who caught the first Alinor Sunbird and brought it, unscathed, to the feet of King Aurthelel, and it was she who first mounted a great gryphon and rode it, as Welkynar, into battle."

Her audience of one helps herself to some shellfish as the other sings the praises of this noble and venerated ancestor. Runalenwe considers herself a woman of action, but Pannolaire finds her waxing lyrical on the matters of magic, of magicians, and most anything having to do with her noble clan of wizards. "That certainly sounds like the type of woman who could benefit from such a ring." Pannolaire remarks, smiling and discarding the now emptied remains of her morsel, golden eyes locked on her companion.

"Indeed!" Runalenwe agrees heartily, laughing softly to herself. "And that is what he must have thought, for with her in mind he endeavored to create the powerful artifact that we know today. She was its first holder, and she would go on to bequeath it to her descendants, before ascending to join with her lover in Aetherius..." Her smile lingers, Pannolaire can feel the purposeful pause she is taking and raises a hand to her lips as she chuckles for her lover's theatrics. "Eeartora's line would follow in her wake, living as war mages, welkynars, and studious heroes of their eras. What's more," She raises her chin proudly at this, the rays of sunlight giving a glow to her tan skin. "Her line leads directly to yours truly."

"Ah, I see... no wonder you were going out of your way to flatter her to such a degree." Pannolaire remarks, smirking behind her gloved hand.

Runalenwe scoffs, but smiles. "I can't be shamed for honoring my ancestors, can I?" And with that, she reaches down and helps herself to some fruit, satisfied with her piece.

Her lover gives her a moment's rest, then says something with no other goal than to prod at her ego. "I'm not sure I believe you. I mean, such a famed and legendary ancestor- I've known whole hosts of wizards who give her worship."

Runalenwe, true to form, almost chokes on her apple. "You don't believe me!?" She asks with raised brows, somewhat aware of the game they now play, somewhat genuinely scandalized.

"I'm not sure if I believe you." She corrects her.

"I'll have you know there are extensive genealogical records in my family's tomb!"

Again, Pannolaire laughs behind her hand, and her lover's eyes trace the glimpse of her lips. "Well then, you must take me there on our next sabbatical."

This time, Runalenwe's laugh is brash and untempered, her grin wrinkles her freckled face and her shoulders bob up and down. "Sabbatical! Oh, how rich- what are we, twelfth years???"

Pannolaire laughs along with her, laying beside her, sharing this bright and tranquil day all to themselves. Their hearts are light- they race when they stack their projects up against one another's, when they give presentations knowing that the other is watching, whenever they hold formal dialogue with their peers and mentors watching. How odd it is that their hearts race now, alone together, wearing no uniform and beheld to no observation, no assessment, free to be as they are. Runalenwe's hand finds its place in Pannolaire's, and after an interlude of silence and pecking at their meal, one speaks back up.

"...I'm no good with enchanting, but," Pannolaire says, dark lids drooping as her eyes wander out to sea. "I'm a fool for such romantic gestures... I would love to make you something, something just for you." With these words she shuffles up against Runalenwe's side, leaning against the other woman.

Runalenwe raises her arm to wrap around Pannolaire's waist, pulling her closer still. She leans in to press her head against the other's. "How sweet." Her forehead lies against her temple, her lips hover about her ear as she speaks softly. "What would you make for me, Pann?"

Pannolaire thinks on her skill sets, shifting about with a small bubble of nervousness. She lets herself fall closer against Runalenwe's soft embrace, letting out a long sigh. "A book on etiquette, perhaps."

The other woman chuckles. "I'm classically trained, love."

"In Aldmeri, sure. But would you know how to say 'good day' to a Nord?" Pannolaire retorts.

She laughs again, and for lack of a response presses her lips against her cheek. Pannolaire laughs too, forgetting the lunch they'd packed and shifting about to bury her face in the crook of her lover's neck, leaving a couple of black marks where she plants her kisses. Arms wrapped around her, Runalenwe replies. "Do they have those- good days- in that frigid country of theirs? Honestly, I'd be shocked if they see the sun."

Pannolaire pulls away only to smile and laugh at her peer. "Of course they see the sun!" The two chuckle on that point for a moment, before she settles in once again. "Well, actually, there is an interesting phenomenon that occurs at extreme northern latitudes- sunless days- they only happen at select parts of the year though..."

Runalenwe, content to hold her lover's body as she goes into a long tangent about novel astronomical phenomena and the Nordic holidays that coincide with them, closes her eyes and smiles. Her hand slowly traces Pannolaire's side, gentle and unobtrusive, as not to distract her from her speech.

She easily goes on for nearly half an hour, and it's only Runalenwe's reminder of the cooling food that makes her take pause, before the two resume their dialogue. They continue on like this until the sun dips down, embraced by the sea.

#tesfest21 #mori writing #oc: pannolaire #oc: runalenwe

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seasteading · 3 years

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find the word tag

tagged by @writinglyra, tysm !!

words to find: scent, broken, water, feather

scent

He didn’t like to be home, then. The screeching of gryphons and the barking of scent-hounds was impossible to escape, and he’d never been much of a hunter.

broken

A hand upon Yevgenia’s shoulder, and Ezra finally noticed his father standing beside her, expression not the burning rage he’d expected, even hoped for. Instead, all he saw was something broken. Something pitiful.

water

Overlapping chatter and creaking horse-drawn carriages and the steady hum of airships above her, air laced with smoke enough to catch in her throat and make her eyes water.

feather

Alva looked like she was about to say something else when the sharp hiss of steam sounded off in the distance, her feathers puffing out comically as she all but jumped.

tagging @xiyais, @sourrcandy, @vitrichor, and @lasbrumas <3

your words are blue, wild, smoke, and fault!

#tag game #wip.tth #tth.excerpt #w.mine

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nirogryphon · 2 months

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"looks like a few residents are still spacing out"

#gryphon chatter #niro plays games #splatoon #side order #side order spoilers #splatoon spoilers

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catboysimulator · 3 years

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Story Two - Daily Grind

In the early morning of the desert, the weather feels warm yet fresh against one’s skin. In the wee hours of dawn is when the Seekers of the Sankres begin to awaken, eager to begin their day while the Keepers continue to rest after having turned in only an hour or two prior. Fortunately, the Keepers are quite used to the Seekers’ morning routine of sound-offs, some hooting and others chirping, while the rest bellow and lazily roar.

Coming out of their adobe homes after getting ready for the day, they are all prepared and eager to finish their workload. The inner machinations of the tribe work like the simplest, yet most efficient, well-oiled machine. Not one person works alone, every Sankre is integral to the pride for things to operate smoothly. Whether it is tending to the farm, taking care of the little ones, feeding the Gryphons, repairing, cleaning, cooking… The list goes on, and on.

After his arrival, Azhi’li had no idea just where his place was. Everyone worked so easily, as though it was complete second nature. Azhi’li was itching to work, to do something, yet he was worried about trying to offer his help, afraid of making a mess of things.

Of course, that was only after the first month or so of his arrival. He still feels a bit out of place, but he has gotten much more comfortable.

“Good morning, Zizi!” a crowd of little voices chime eagerly, screaming and laughing ringing throughout the caverns as a pile of young miqo’te crowd and climb onto Azhi’li. The red Seeker laughs in amusement as the children cling onto him, lolling their heads back as they tug at their cousin.

“Good mornin’, little ones! C’mon, y’all, get back down! Y’know very well I ain’t a tree!” he chastises them, yet his tone is purely amused. Still, the children listen, getting off Azhi’li and lining up, theatrically puffing up their chests and saluting the older Seeker by pounding their chests with their little fists. The older Seeker couldn’t help but bark out in laughter, rolling his eyes with a giant toothy grin while the young ones also laughed and lightly shoved at each other.

“Alright, come on. Let’s all head on over to the trainin’ grounds, yeah?”

Leading them along, the little miqo’te followed their cousin like little ducklings in a row, chattering amongst themselves.

“What are we going to learn today?”

“I don’t know! Maybe he’ll show us how to split rocks with our BARE HANDS!”

“Or maybe show us how to split the EARTH!”

“Oh, oh! What about if he--?!”

“Hey, hey! Come on, guys, cut me some slack! That’s all a bit too much ta be learnin’ right now, don’t ya think?” Azhi’li quipped in return while the children whined and asked, “So what are you going to show us today?”

“Mm… Well, before we start, how ‘bout we do some stretches, yeah? Come on! Early mornin’ stretches! Th’more relaxed ya are, th’better you’ll learn!”

As soon as that was said, the young ones were quick to quit their questions and move on to do as told. Once their 10 minutes of stretching regiments were completed, Azhi'li let out a "whew!" before grinning towards the kids and pumping his fists. "Alright, li'l pugilists! Let's get started t'day, aye?"

"Aye!" they repeated before laughing excitedly.

It has been this way for a few sennights now, where Azhi'li would show the children what he knows, ever since his uncle G'sena told him of their history.

"We were built on the backs of monks, you know," Sena informed him with a gentle smile. "Our ancestors were refugees of Ala Mhigo during the time of King Theodric, when he razed the Temple of the Fist. What few miqo'te that had been under Rhalgr's teachings escaped to Thanalan, and made our home the way it is today. They carved the sides of the mountains with their hands to make our home, and gave us the Sun." He gestured up towards Azeyma's watch.

"Yet, the people here have long since forgotten our monkhood, and we have instead taken upon blades and shields, bows and axes, staves and chakrams. No one here has encountered a monk ever since your father, and even then he was not taught the way you were. We have soulstones, but no one uses them, nor has used them for many summers," he explained further, holding a box within his hands. "No one can open the box without the blessing of our matron. Yet... I believe with you here, Dhezi, you might manage to rekindle that fire within our people and the matron. And the best place to start with that, if you are interested, is with the younger generation."

"I could see that you are feeling a bit out of place still, so this might be a great opportunity for you to get in touch with your cousins... What do you think, Dhezi?"

Ever since that conversation with uncle Sena, Azhi'li had volunteered to take care of the little ones who were interested in pugilism. He wanted to take them through the steps he had first learned back in Ul'dah with the pugilist's guild, and fortunately they all seemed to be taking in the lessons quite well.

For the ones who didn't understand or seemed to struggle a bit more than the rest, Azhi'li was sure to be patient with and take his time teaching them. He knows he has plenty of time here, plenty of time to learn more of his family and to teach them what he knows, as well as learn about what they know.

This is his home.

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

After training, he takes the little ones to have lunch. Moving into the kitchens, he cooks them up some aldgoat stew, the same way Mama Azhi used to make it for him. He wears a bittersweet smile on his lips the entire time he cooks, soft hums escaping him as his tail sways slowly behind him.

The children wait outside at the tables for their food, while Azhi'li is joined by some older miqo'te. Sunkissed, sunworn; the crinkles on their face creasing as they smile towards Azhi'li. "Dhezi, dear, that smells wonderful. Is there any way we can help?"

"Ah! No, y'don't have ta--," he stammers out, before one of them chuckles and places a gentle hand upon his arm. "We would like to."

That makes the red Seeker pause before smiling a bit sweeter, nodding. "Alright. Let's make enough fer everyone, yeah?"

And so they cooked together, making steaming pots of aldgoat stew. The smell wafted out from the kitchens out into the caverns, bringing in many Sankres from each corner. A feast was not really planned out, but, here they are, passing out bowls to everyone so they can all eat together.

Sharing a warm, hearty meal like this, surrounded by so many people who are considered his family... It feels so strange, honestly, with how many there are-- yet, it is not an unwelcome feeling. These strangers are warm, kind, considerate, and caring to someone who they were meant to know all their lives, yet only just met. It helps Azhi'li relax, helps him realize that these people are indeed meant to be his family.

The caverns are full of laughing, smiling faces. Warmed by Azeyma's rays, as well as embraced by Menphina's light. This is not the type of tribe people have always warned him about back in Ul'dah, ever since he was a kid. Truly, what farfetched lies and stereotypes he was fed.

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

"What're ya making, Zizi?"

Approached by a young miqo'te, G’luna, Azhi'li looks up from his craft before offering a gentle grin. "Wanna see?"

"Yeah!" The little one's too-large-for-their-head's ears perk up and his giant, round eyes widen considerably as he steps closer and peers down at what Azhi'li was doing.

Weaving beads together, Azhi'li held onto the string carefully before lifting it to show the curious one.

"Oh! You're making a necklace?"

"Well, makin' that 'nd more. There's a lot of tagua that tio Sena told me about, 'nd the abuelitos showed me how to make jewelry out of them, so..."

"Why are you making so many, though? Do you like to wear them?"

"I do! But these are not for me. They are for m'friends 'nd family."

"... But we are right here? And we already have enough?"

Azhi'li couldn't help but to laugh lightly, nodding. "Ya are, 'nd ya do! But, I'm talkin' 'bout m'other friends 'nd family outside of the Sankres. I have more brothers 'nd mamas that aren't here, y'know!"

"More brothers? Why aren't they here, then?"

"Mm, b'cause they have their own family."

"... I don't get it."

"Haha, that's okay. So, y'know how y'have yer friends, right?" Azhi'li inquires while smiling, continuing to polish some more tagua before weaving them with string. Luna nods.

"Well, I have many friends. People who are not related to me, yet that I know and that I enjoy th'company of. Some a'those people I consider very close, closer than anyone else that I know... so they're like family to me, too. Yer family doesn't only have ta consist of th'people y'were born with, but they can be yer friends, too."

"-- Oh. Okay, I think I understand, now. So, my best friend can be family, too?"

"Well, why not?"

"I dunno."

"So then what would stop ya from callin' 'em such?"

"... Nothing?"

Azhi'li would give them a toothy grin at that, nodding. The young one released a small 'ooh' of revelation, before shifting to sit beside the older Seeker. "... Can I help you make these? How many are you making?"

"Aw, hey, a'course y'can. I'm makin' lots! I gotta make some fer Toadie, Miss Rei, K'ilhi, Mama Azhi, Zi'a, Zi'to... Miss Nana, Ryska, Si'ra, Livia, Latika'a, Yato... ... Poki," he murmurs towards the end, his voice growing smaller the more names he listed. The names he missed more and more as the days went by.

The little one canted their head to the side, looking up at Azhi'li with brows pinched upwards. "Zizi?"

He hadn't realized it, but globs of tears were pouring down his face. He takes in a sharp breath, lifting a paw to wipe at his eyes while muttering, "Sorry, 'm sorry."

Wordlessly, G'luna shifted onto their knees, shuffling closer to Azhi'li and embracing him warmly. "Papa always told me to never apologize for tears, he says they are blessings of one's love."

With a nod, the red Seeker shifted to return the embrace, taking a few moments of deep breaths before pulling away and stroking Luna's head. "Thank you, prime. ... Well, let's make the prettiest collares y pulseras for everyone, hm?"

"Yeah!"

#zizi's arc #story time #azhi

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demonbanisher · 3 years

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Chapter 19! Still a few days behind but catching up, thank you so much for all your patience and support 💜

Chapter 19 - Christmas Spirits

Remus sat in The Gryphon trying to keep himself occupied. He didn’t order much because he definitely did not want to be drunk if Padfoot showed up but judging from the way the bartender kept smiling at him she didn’t mind. Remus figured she must be friends with Padfoot considering he remembered her from when he’d dropped the notebook off earlier. Although, he could have sworn her hair was pink then not the vibrant holiday green it was now.

He was halfway through day two of waiting and he wasn’t sure when or if to expect Padfoot. He knew that waiting here yesterday was a little bold, after all he needed to give him time to actually get the notebook, read through everything, and then decide what to do. But he was excited and nervous and spending time at The Gryphon made him feel like he was actually doing something, like in some strange way he was one step closer to him.

The pub was done up for the holidays and in the few days since Remus had been here last it seemed that they had managed to cram even more holiday decorations into the tiny space. Almost every surface was covered in red and green, you couldn’t make it two feet without bumping into tinsel, and there was holly and mistletoe strung up across the ceiling at opportune spots. Even the bar menu had been given the festive treatment and included a list of ‘Holiday Spirits.’ There was a steady and constant stream of clientele from annual Christmas dinners, to groups of friends who were visiting from out of town, and people who were out shopping or caroling and just wanted some place to get warm and out of the cold for a bit. Remus had always enjoyed people watching so he was easily able to pass the time by taking in the revolving door of strangers, trying to understand what their lives must be like, what they were feeling this holiday season, who they might wish they were spending it with. The constant chatter gave something for him to listen to and help drown out the worried voice that was pleading for attention in the back of his mind. Thinking about other people’s stories helped him stop thinking about his and Padfoot’s. Stop wondering who Padfoot might be, whether they had met before, what he would look like, or sound like, or taste like.

Keep reading on AO3

Day 19 was choose your own prompt on the list by the lovely @remus-john-lupin

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

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Request (from this post):

@scarlet-gryphon suggested: Modern pre-3zun AU where for whatever reason, Meng Yao is challenged to do a tough rock climbing wall. Cue the italicized ‘ohs’ from Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue at his flexibility. (also posted to Ao3)

This kind of thing is very much outside of my usual wheelhouse of ideas so thank you so much for the challenge, it was super refreshing! Hope you like it ^_^

Fucking work retreats.

“ ‘It’ll be fun’ he says,” Meng Yao grumbles to himself as he plasters an extremely fake (perhaps slightly manic) smile on his face. “ ‘Lighten up, A-Yao’ he says,” he mocks again, his grin twisting into a mocking sneer for just a split second before he smooths it away again.

The benefit of being wildly unpopular is that no one milling around stops him on his hunt to try to chat, and finally after a few minutes of prowling he finds his prey.

“Nie Huaisang,” he says icily and he has the immense pleasure of seeing the Jiang Corporation heir and his brother look sharply at him over Nie Huaisang’s shoulders in (slightly eerie) synchronicity, both of them looking sufficiently aware of whatever it is they see on his face that promises danger for Nie Huaisang. Of course it’s in their own ways, which means Jiang Wanyin glares first at him and then at Nie Huaisang, and Wei Wuxian’s usual happy grin goes a bit manic as well, eyes glittering as he scents fresh mischief.

“A-Yao, there you are!” Nie Huaisang cries far too cheerfully as he turns, his ever-present fan already fluttering nervously in front of his chest. Why he insists on carrying that thing everywhere he goes Meng Yao doesn’t understand whatsoever, but he’s currently wishing he had the guts to tug it from his hands and snap it right in half.

“Could I speak to you for a moment?”

The fluttering of his fan gets a little faster. “Ahhhh hah, but we’re about to get started!! You know how da-ge is, hit the ground running and all that. Can’t it wait?”

“No,” he says with such a poisonously sweet smile and a faux-innocent little tilt of his head that even Wei Wuxian takes a step back, the brothers leaving their best friend high and dry to face his wrath alone. Sensible of them.

He holds his arm out for Nie Huaisang to take and, with no safe alternative options, the other man reluctantly takes it and lets himself be led away from listening ears.

“Now, A-Yao -”

“When were you planning to inform me that my father’s company would also be present at this retreat?”

“Oh good, you already know! So now the answer doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep, A-Sang. I’m in charge of our company’s hotel assignments. I know exactly where to find you.”

“Aiyah you do not, who in the world stays in their own hotel room during company retreats? Well I guess some people have to, But I definitely don’t. I’ve already found myself better accommodation,” he says breezily, flicking his fan shut to tap him on the forearm a couple of times. “And you’ll lighten up a little if you do too! I heard the Lans are coming~,” he adds, his glance at him out of the corner of his eye far too sly. Meng Yao can’t quite resist glaring at him right back. Nie Huaisang just walked headfirst into dangerous territory, but part of him (a very small part of him) can admire that his sort-of-friend, sort-of-employer is daring enough to tease him when he’s clearly irritated.

“You’re horrendous,” he replies sweetly and Nie Huaisang laughs as he turns them around to head back towards where everyone else is gathered.

“Oh hush, stop glaring at me and go find Xichen-ge, stare at him until you feel better. I’ll bet he’s dressed casuallyyyy~~,” he teases as he snaps his fan open again to flutter it and add to the flirtatious lilt in his tone.

“Lan Zhan!!!!” Wei Wuxian suddenly cries loudly enough to carry over the general chatter and in the next instant he goes flying across the spacious hotel lobby, a blur of black and red as Jiang Wanyin shouts after him for him to stop. Nie Huaisang giggles at his side behind his fan as heads turn to watch Wei Wuxian’s progress to where the Lans have stopped to check in.

“Oh perfect timing, and you won’t even have to waste any time searching! Wei-xiong is so useful, don’t you think?”

Meng Yao says nothing, just glares at Nie Huaisang until the man winks over his fan and carefully extricates himself from where their arms are linked to return to Jiang Wanyin’s side to pat his shoulder as the man fumes. Meng Yao sighs and after a moment he follows in the bemused wake Wei Wuxian had left behind himself on his way to his boyfriend. Though the retreat isn’t being held on any participating company’s actual properties, the Nie Corporation is still technically hosting it so it’s not entirely out of character for him to go and greet the new arrivals.

And if Lan Xichen’s smile when their eyes meet makes his frustration with Nie Huaisang and the presence of his own family melt away like snow in spring, then that’s his own business.

----

A few days into the retreat, Nie Mingjue’s patience is at its limit. He hates these things, he can’t remember just why the hell he let Nie Huaisang talk him into hosting this bullshit, but he can’t change it now. At least the Lans agreed to come - without Lan Xichen here to force him to enjoy himself he really would have become too miserable to bother staying for the whole retreat, he would’ve already packed up and dragged Meng Yao home with him to get back to work. Not that it would take much dragging, most likely. Meng Yao is as much of a workaholic as himself, maybe even more of one (which he hadn’t thought was possible prior to meeting him), and the Jins have been extra insufferable to him on top of that. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if Meng Yao was looking for an easy out of the whole affair.

“Oh dear,” Lan Xichen says softly at his side and Nie Mingjue pulls himself out of his ruminations to glance at him and then look at where he’s focusing on only to sigh as he spots Meng Yao being harassed by his horrible cousin - again.

“How long has that spoiled brat been talking to him this time?” Nie Mingjue growls as he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and flexes his fingers a few times. God he’d like to use that asshole’s face as a punching bag. Mostly because he feels like Meng Yao would appreciate it and Nie Mingjue is maybe slightly too interested in doing things that make Meng Yao get that pleased little smirk on his face. But in his defense it’s also because he’s seen that smirking face far too many times to not want to rearrange it a little. If it happens to be because he’s bothering Meng Yao then that’s the perfect excuse, just two birds with one stone.

“About a minute, but it seems that’s long enough to behave unpleasantly,” Lan Xichen sighs, crossing his arms over his chest in a rare show of open disapproval, his lips turned down in an uncharacteristic frown. “What could he and his friends possibly have to bother him about now?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I’m gonna beat the shit out of him, I’m tired of this.”

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen cautions with a sudden grip on his arm. “Please, don’t embarrass A-Yao and make a scene, it won’t help him.”

“Well what do you want me to do?! We can’t just leave him over there.”

“Ah...I believe we are not his only knights in shining armor,” Lan Xichen says, suddenly sounding amused and Nie Mingjue follows his gaze again to see Wei Wuxian, of all people, shoving his way through the crowd looking positively gleeful at the sign of trouble brewing, Lan Wangji trailing along behind him as serenely as ever. Such a weird pair, in his opinion. And of course, because it’s Wei Wuxian, his voice carries perfectly over the general hubbub of people chatting and the clink of carabiners from the people currently scaling the rock wall they’re all supposed to be taking turns climbing.

“Meng Yao!” Wei Wuxian cries and Nie Mingjue can see the man in question’s shoulders tighten all the way from here as Wei Wuxian throws his arm around them to lounge against him. “Are you holding back to spare the rest of us from having to watch you kick our asses without breaking a sweat? Oh. Hey asswipe.”

“Wei Wuxian!”

Nie Mingjue snickers just a little at the scandalized tone in Jin Zixun’s voice, and even Lan Xichen chuckles softly next to him.

“Yeah? Hi uh...hm. Can’t say I remember your name, Jin something-or-other, right? No, don’t tell me, it doesn’t matter and I want to keep thinking your name is ‘Asswipe’.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“Problem? I don’t have one. What’s yours?”

Lan Wangji says something then, far too low to carry the way Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixun’s voices do, but whatever it is makes Wei Wuxian laugh and turn to Meng Yao. He lets go of him to turn and face Meng Yao fully, putting his back to Jin Zixun, but whatever he says next is lost in the noise of someone reaching the top of the wall and hitting the buzzer.

“Are you sure we should trust whatever Wei Wuxian just did to solve this?” Nie Mingjue grumbles, already knowing what his best friend’s answer will be.

“He’s a good man,” Lan Xichen replies, because of course he does. “I trust him wholeheartedly, and it’s a good solution don’t you think? Everyone expects him to make a scene anyway, A-Yao need not be embarrassed about being rescued if it’s him.”

“Are we sure he even fixed whatever’s going on?” Nie Mingjue watches Meng Yao square his shoulders and step up to take a spot next to one of the employees at the rock wall and he can’t help but frown, still concerned. “A-Yao didn’t want to participate.”

But then he’s quickly strapped into a harness around his hips and thighs and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just….watch...for a second...

Lan Xichen’s slightly choked noise at his side is all the confirmation he needs that they’re in agreement.

Nie Mingjue tears his eyes away from Meng Yao just long enough to see that he’s lined up with the rest of the Jin employees that are in attendance and he blinks as he realizes what’s going on.

“This is Wei Wuxian’s solution?” he snaps. “To put A-Yao up against his stupid cousin and his cronies? He’s supposed to get A-Yao away from them!”

“Patience, Mingjue, trust Wei Wuxian’s methods, he knows what he’s doing,” Lan Xichen soothes, returning his hand to his arm though he still hasn’t looked away from Meng Yao as the man listens to the instructions and allows himself to be fitted with a rope attached to the front of the harness.

“You just like seeing A-Yao tied up.”

“Mm. Multiple things can be true at once.”

Nie Mingjue snorts at that but shakes his head in defeat and goes back to watching, staying still as Lan Xichen subtly steps closer to him and tucks his hand into the crook of his elbow as the start timer counts down from five.

Whatever Nie Mingjue was expecting before the competition started, it certainly wasn’t what ends up happening as soon as the buzzer sounds.

His eyes go wide as he watches Meng Yao instantly take the lead by putting his foot above his head and launching himself a full body-length up the wall while everyone else is still trying to find their first handhold.

“Oh my god,” Lan Xichen breathes at his side and Nie Mingjue is in full agreement. Meng Yao practically flies up the wall, taking the lead by miles simply by virtue of skipping over at least five footholds at a time to get to the highest one he can reach - which is never lower than rib- or shoulder-height.

Nie Mingjue has never seen anything like it and he can’t take his eyes off him. He doesn’t even hesitate, he just makes these impossible jumps and pulls until he smacks the buzzer at the top and turns to sit on the top of the wall, feet dangling and the dimples in his cheeks visible even from this distance as he grins down at the others still halfway down the rest of the wall.

“Oh shit,” it’s Nie Mingjue’s turn to exclaim as Meng Yao wiggles his fingers in a little wave while Jin Zixun slips and falls a few feet before tension gets applied to his rope, leaving him dangling in front of the hardest course on the wall like a sack of turnips.

“That was..oh my.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So flexible,” Nie Huaisang pipes up suddenly from his other side and Nie Mingjue doesn’t yelp but he comes close.

“Huaisang!!”

“Hi da-ge, er-ge. Enjoying the view? It’s very scenic.”

“Don’t be crude, A-Sang,” Lan Xichen chastises without any heat and Nie Huaisang snorts.

“I’m not the one checking out Meng Yao’s ass like a couple of creeps. He’ll want a drink this evening, by the way - he hates dealing with his family.” Nie Huaisang leans forward to look up pointedly first at him and then at Lan Xichen next to him. “Maybe even two drinks.”

“I can feel you winking at me, A-Sang,” Lan Xichen says with a smirk without taking his eyes off Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang laughs behind his fan.

“Good, then we’re on the same page! Does this mean I should tell Wei-xiong not to talk him into going up there again or do you need more convincing?”

Nie Mingjue coughs at that and does his best to glare. “No one said he has to stop. If he wants to go again to prove his point to that smarmy jackass cousin of his then who are we to stop him?”

“Subtle, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang drawls. He stretches his arms above his head with a little sigh before he steps away to look at them over his shoulder with a sly wink. “As many times as he’s willing to go, then? Noted, I’ll let Wei-xiong know right away,” he teases and then he’s off with a laugh.

“Well. That was..”

“We’re definitely buying him drinks tonight, right?” Nie Mingjue checks and Lan Xichen’s responding hum is perfectly easy to interpret as they watch Meng Yao rappel down the wall and set up to go again. “Good.”

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen #Meng Yao #modern AU #prompt fill #I hope this is coherent lol #basically act like this 'work retreat' is like a discussion conference #and Jin Zixun was being his usual dick self and boasting that he was better than everybody at everything or whatever #and just being generally shitty so NHS went to grab WWX who was like ohhh yES LET'S GET THIS FOOL

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