#manager who i am still upset at but would have my back probably - is out until after the weekend

[bipidin]

Coworker confirmed with me that it was most likely last Saturday that this guy followed me, and he followed me today so there is a high chance he will show up again tomorrow

#i don't know what to do #im pulling aside my mom coworker tomorrow and telling her but idk if i should text her now or just wait till i see her #but i'll have an sos ready to send to her while on the floor #bossman is useless and so is branch manager - they're both guys who basically shrug (or equivalent) at problems #idk if the assistant branch manager is going to be in and idk her well enough to guage her reaction #manager who i am still upset at but would have my back probably - is out until after the weekend #i dont know what to do #im in a government building so they don't kick people unless it is an ultimate last resort #but i don't really feel safe #i knownit has only been 2 times but i can't put into words the creep vibes i am picking up

[rafeandonlyrafe]

bruised knees

words: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of blowjobs, losing virginity, virgin!reader (but fic is not smut), jealous! and overprotective!rafe, childhood friends to lovers, fluffy

rafe has been beyond overprotective of you his whole life. ever since you met in first grade and you let him borrow your brand new crayon box, only for a bully to come up and tug on your pigtails, causing rafe to pause his coloring to shove him away and tell him not to touch you ever again.

you smiled at rafe, the same smile you look at him with now, and he knew he would take care of you no matter what. you hugged him tightly and from that day on always shared your crayons, and everything else you had, with your new best friend.

“ready?” rafe slings his arm around your shoulder, pulling you towards the boat.

“yes!” you squeal, trying to navigate holding your tote bag and backpack at once, when suddenly both are out of your hands as rafe takes them and carries them down the pier.

“rafe, i can carry my own stuff.” you roll your eyes. it's a losing battle, your best friend will always lessen your load, hating seeing you do any sort of physical labor, feeling like that's his job.

“yeah, whatever.” rafe just ignores your argument, it's one he's heard so many times before, yet you make no attempt to take the bags back. “who all did you invite again?” rafe asks as you enter onto the boat, quickly beginning preparations for the day at sea, having gone through the motions so many times, knowing the boat like the back of your hand even though it's the cameron familys.

“uhh, topper, tina, kelce, steph, tiffy and hayden.” you go through the list of names in your head of friends that will be joining you and rafe on the yacht.

“how is tiffy since the break up?” rafe asks, knowing you like to talk while you work, pulling various lines while you straighten up the boat to make it more presentable, going through the motions together, always together.

rafes question launches you into a gossip session with rafe, spilling all the secrets your friends told you at your last hang out, but they know you don't keep anything from rafe, so it's no surprise when he knows as well, not that any of the girls would complain, rafe often takes over the role of protector to your friends as well, caring about who you care about.

“there's hayden!” you call to rafe, pointing down the dock to the parking lot where haydens truck just pulled in, a few minutes earlier than you expected anyone to start arriving.

“great.” rafe mumbles under his breath, making sure you don't hear his upset tone. he liked hayden at first, sharing some common interests (mostly golf), but then hayden got far too touchy with you, his gaze heating when it turned to you in a way that infuriated rafe, and he made sure to show hayden when you weren't around how much it pissed him off.

rafe is probably to credit for you never having a boyfriend for an extended period of time, but he can't help it, you're so perfect and no guy can possibly deserve you, so he has to scare them off before you get too invested and give them all of your attention instead of him.

“hey, heyds.” you greet him with a hug after he makes his way down the pier, making rafe grunts as haydens hand rests a little too low on your back for his liking, making rafes mind reel at the possibility of something going on between the two of you.

your other friends slowly begin to pile onto the boat, steph being the last one to get there as she is notorious for being late, which is why you told her to show up half an hour before everyone else, and somehow still managed to get there last.

“ready for takeoff?” you ask rafe, stepping away to join him at the wheel while your group of friends find places to sit while rafe navigates the boat towards the ocean.

“i am.” rafe nods, having disconnected the last line. no matter what is happening, you always sit next to rafe on the bench as he directs the boat, ready to be his second in command at any moment, even if its just fetching him a drink or checking the water depth.

“i can’t wait to swim.” you say with a sigh, having not gotten out into the water all week, which is rare with how much peace you find in the ocean.

“how about that one sandbar we took wheezie to?” rafe questions, wanting you to decide where he anchors the boat.

“ooh, yes.” you nod.

“she complained to me last night that you weren’t over.” rafe smiles at you when you let out a laugh.

“i don’t spend one friday night and she complains! ugh, i love that girl.” you grin thinking about wheezie, treating her like she’s your own little sister, having known her since she was born.

“you’ll stay tonight, right?” rafe asks, missing you sharing his bed like you do every weekend. 

“mhm, i’m not driving home after being out on the boat all day, gonna be so exhausted.” you roll your eyes.

rafe smiles at you, wrapping one arm around his shoulder, leaving him to drive with one hand, but wanting you close to him, secretly hoping hayden would look through the windows from the lower deck and see you all cuddled up into his side.

neither of you have ever broached the topic of taking things beyond just friendship, despite rafe desperately wanting to take things further, he doesn’t want to mess up the one good thing he has in his life. you’re such a source of brightness that when you’re around him he forgets all about his fights with his dad, or issues with barry.

“here.” rafe nods to you, immediately going to drop the anchor, planning to stay in one spot all day.

you help him make sure its secure before moving to the main deck with everyone else. “alright, who is ready to swim?” you shout with glee.

“you know i am.” hayden smirks at you, pulling his shirt off over his head.

“mhm, that’s why i like you, not afraid to get wet.” you say, rafe carefully watching the interaction, unsure if you meant the innuendo or not.

you take your tshirt off as well, tossing it onto the pile that everyone is making on the sofa, revealing swimsuits underneath their clothes. rafe also undresses, but slowly and quietly.

you tug your yoga pants down next, having kicked your shoes off upon entering the boat. you turn towards rafe, always checking in with him, seeking him out amongst the crowd.

rafe smiles at you, his eyes dropping subtly down your body, quickly checking out your pale lilac swimsuit before he sees a different shade of purple, this time blossoming around your knees.

hayden seems to notice too, a smirk growing on his face when he sees the localized bruises.

“what the fuck did you do?” rafe grunts out before he can stop himself and use the calming methods you so carefully taught him.

“what?” hayden turns to look at rafe, but he’s already charging at him. rafe shoves hayden backwards, making him stumble but he manages to maintain his footing.

“rafe, chill!” you shout, grabbing at his arm.

“did he-did you fucking blow him?” rafe questions, pointing to your knees. “how did you get those bruises?” “jesus, rafe!” you take a step back, but don’t drop your grip on his arm, not sure if he would try to pull away. “you seriously ask me that in front of all our friends? for your information i was working out in the garden yesterday and bruised my knees kneeling on the pavers. but thanks for embarrassing me.”

you drop his arm when you feel tears welling in your eyes, quickly turning and sprinting into the interior of the boat.

you throw yourself onto the bed in one of the two bedrooms, hiding your face in the white pillow as you cry. 

“y/n…” rafe says softly. you don’t jump at his voice, you expected him to follow you, but you don’t feel like talking to him.

“please, y/n.” rafe pleads, and you feel his weight dip the bed down as he climbs onto the mattress.

“stop it.” you whine when rafe pulls you into him, but you don’t struggle as he cuddles into you, pressing a kiss against your hair. you’ve cuddled rafe before, of course since you’ve been friends for so long, but never with this little clothing on, and you are very aware of how much of his bare skin is touching yours.

“i didn’t mean to embarrass you, y/n. i just… i just got so angry thinking about you possibly doing anything with hayden. i don’t like him. he’s not good enough for you.”

“why would you even think i would do that though? you know im a virgin.”

the words shock rafe, and you can physically feel him tense up. you pick up your head to look at him, brows furrowed together.

“i-i didn’t know that.” rafe just assumed you lost it to one of your short term boyfriends.

“no… no i would have told you, rafey. you’re my best friend, i… you told me when you lost yours.” you remind rafe of when he was 16 years old and had sex for the first time, calling you only an hour after to confide in you, partly hoping you would get jealous.

“i thought you knew that i wouldn’t want to hear about you sleeping with someone. i guess i just figured you kept it to yourself for my sake.” rafe doesn’t realize the implication of his words as they flow from between his lips.

“why would i?- wait… you like me?” you blink up at him.

rafe pauses. now is as good as time as any, especially with the growing threat of hayden and other guys who aren’t scared of rafe potentially taking you away from him. “yes. i love you. i think i’ve loved you since first grade.” “holy shit, you asshole!” you shout, and it’s not the reaction rafe was expecting as he tenses, waiting for you to run off, or get mad, but instead your shout turns into a laugh, “i can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner!” and then your lips are on his, finally feeling the perfect meld of your mouths together as rafe quickly snaps into action, his lips moving against yours as he cups your face.

“i love you too, in case it wasn’t obvious.” you whisper against his mouth before resuming the kiss.

“thank fuck, i was ready to murder hayden just because i thought you liked him.” rafe laughs, tugging on your waist to bring your bodies even closer together, leaving his large hand resting against your bare back.

“pshht.” you shake your head. “he’s not even half the man you are.” 

“holy shit, i love you.” rafe repeats, taking you in for another kiss.

“my friends are never gonna believe that we finally got together.” you giggle. “i think they’ve all placed bets.”

“your friends?” rafe shakes his head. “baby, i think even our parents have.”

“i… i’m really happy we admitted are feelings.” you say shyly, a blush covering your cheeks as you look down, breaking eye contact. “everyone told me that you liked me too but i was too nervous to ruin what we had.”

“hey, it’s okay.” rafe says softly. “we have forever this way.”

you feel tears well up in your eyes again as you wrap your arms around rafe, pressing your head into his bare chest.

“gosh, i can’t wait to go tell everyone.” you admit with a giggle.

“yeah? wanna go get in the water too?” rafe asks, unsure if your friends waiting for your argument to be over to swim.

“hell yeah.” you slide off the bed, rafe taking a minute to check out your body, not hiding his heated gaze as you catch him.

“holy shit, you are checking me out!” 

“duh, you’re my girl now.” rafe smirks, also getting off the bed, placing an arm around your shoulder. “gonna give you bruised knees for a different reason, baby.”

“wait, rafe-” you begin, suddenly not feeling like swimming anymore, but he pulls you out onto the deck, seeing all your friends sitting awkwardly on the sofas, waiting for whatever argument to be over with.

“don’t worry baby.” rafe drops his mouth to your ear, making sure your friends can’t hear. “we can talk about that virginity of yours later.” rafe doesn’t give you a second to respond, placing his fingers on your chin and tilting your head towards him to press a kiss to your lips to the chorus of all of your friends letting out woops and claps, along with shouts of “finally!”

“i told you!” tiffy shouts, holding her hand out towards stephanie. “you owe me 20 bucks!”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

#despite the name this is pretty fluffy #rafe fic #rafe cameron fic #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x oc #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron smut

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your second day isn’t as intimidating. You find your desk by yourself and even remembered your honey bear mug! You tuck your bag underneath as your computer boots and check your phone for any updates from your blog. Nothing special, just a hobby.

You yawn and sign in, taking two tries to remember your credentials correctly. You check the shared calendar and see that you have a meeting after lunch with IT. Daniella mentioned you had to get your security passes before the end of the week, that’s probably what that’s for.

You swivel back and forth as you open up your training list. You’re making good progress. You think. You don’t really know. It seems like a lot and despite feeling as if you’ve run a marathon, there are only a few ticks marked off.

Before you dive in, you need a pick-me-up. You really liked that butterscotch coffee but you might try something new. You enter the kitchen and wait behind a woman you don’t know as she brews her coffee. When she’s done, she returns your ‘good morning’ but doesn’t stop to chat. Must be a busy day.

You place your cup on the tray and pick out a French Vanilla pod. You don’t really know what the difference between regular vanilla and French vanilla is. Maybe the French stuff is fancy. Ooh la la.

You hum as the coffee grinds. It sounds angry. Well, it is probably the most overworked fellow in this place. Every day, seeing the heart caffeine hounds, having them poke his face, and glare until he does his jobs.

It’s a machine. Your mother always said you put a bit too much empathy into objects without sentience. Well, your English teacher shouldn’t have made you read that book about Electric Sheep or whatever.

Your cup is full and you grab it, focused on putting the lid on it to keep it nice and warm. As you turn, you fail to stop in time. Your hand knocks against the man’s chest and you gasp as coffee splashes onto his dark shirt. Not much as you manage to block most of it but enough to make him grunt and step back.

It’s him! Oh no. You’ve upset him again.

“I’m sorry, mister,” you say as you hold out your dripping cup, “I didn’t hear you. You sure are quiet.”

He grumbles and stomps to the sink, slamming his mug down as he snatches paper towels from the dispenser. You bite your lip nervously and near. You keep your cup from dripping onto your light blue cardigan with the little white clouds.

“Can I have some–”

He wipes his hands and shirt with a growl. He swipes up his cup without and answer and moves around you to the coffee machine. His cup hits the tray hard and he jabs the screen as it beeps at him in demand of a pod. He takes one and peels open the package before shoving it inside.

“I’m really sorry,” you say as you dry off your cup and fix the lid firmly, “you snuck up on me… like a wolf.”

He shakes his head and looks at the ceiling. He’s tall, his posture is straight and unbending, making you more conscious of your slouching. He wears all black that day, it makes him look lean, and the silver rings shine around his fingers. You only then notice the stud in his ear.

“Oh! I like your earring–”

“Why are you talking to me?” He snarls without looking at you.

You recoil and sputter. You’re not being rude. You’re just trying to be nice. He reminds you of that guy in university who used to call you airhead.

“Because… I wanna?” You say with a shrug, “I still didn’t get your name.”

“Look, I’m not interested in making friends. I come in,” he takes his cup from the tray, “do my work,” he points at you past the porcelain, “and I mind my goddamn business.”

He turns and strides out, another beastly sneer rolling out of him. You furrow your brow and pout at the door. Tammy enters with her own mug, a bright pink thing with a picture of Dolly Parton on it. Ah, you get it, 9-5.

“Ugh, that man is always in a mood,” she says.

“Yeah…” you agree thinly.

“Try not to get in his way. Five years and he’s never said a word to me. It’s too bad, he’s not bad on the eyes.”

You don’t acknowledge her last sentence. It’s not very appropriate for the workplace and she’s married. Quite happily as she only ever talks about her husband. You tell her to enjoy her coffee and go back to your desk.

Maybe you should just steer clear. Eat at your desk or somewhere else.

#curtis everett #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #drabble #series #au #sunshine lollipops and rainbows #snowpiercer

[swordofsun]

@scoobydoodean had been posting about 4x17 It's A Terrible Life and it's reminded me of one of my favorite overlooked bits in the episode and how it shows that Zachariah is just wrong about Dean.

Zachariah's whole theory with this little experiment is that Dean will choose hunting.

ZACHARIAH To prove to you that the path you're on is truly in your blood. You're a hunter. Not because your dad made you, not because God called you back from hell, but because it is what you are. And you love it. You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time and you're miserable without it. Dean, let's be real here. You're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it.

But Dean has expressly denied hunting already at the end of the last act:

SAM Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be. DEAN No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo. SAM When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them? DEAN Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused— SAM Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number and I got a damn animal hospital. DEAN Okay. What are you saying? Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on. SAM All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know—I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you. DEAN Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go. SAM leaves.

Sam tried to get Dean to drop everything and go hunting. They stopped a ghost! It was fun! They could do this, but Dean's not going to give up his life for it. Dean has no intention of turning his life upside down to start hunting and it's not until Zachariah lays out one of the most depressing 10 year plan ever:

ADLER Positive. You are Sandover material, son. Real go-getter. Carving your own way. DEAN Well, thanks. I try. ADLER I see big things in your future. Maybe even senior VP, Eastern Great Lakes Division. Don't get me wrong, you'll have to work for it. Seven days a week, lunch at your desk, but in eight to ten short years, that could be you. DEAN takes off his headset. DEAN Uh, well, thank you. Thank you, sir. It's, um...but... DEAN passes the paper back. DEAN I am giving my notice.

He's already the director of marketing and sales and his career plan is 10 years of nothing but work to make VP of a division? Probably a small division? Everyone would quit with that laid out. Maybe not as directly as Dean does, but yeah, they'd be going home and revamping the resume. That's a dead end career path you'd have to bust your ass and give up your life for.

Hearing that and going "hmm, maybe I take some time and check out that hunting thing with that Wesson guy. He was less creepy once we started working on the haunting, for the most part" is actually a pretty normal thing to do.

And really Zachariah doesn't even give him the chance to go find Sam. Because there's actually a good chance Dean gets home and after thinking about it he just updates his resume and LinkedIn. He had to give Dean back his memories in that exact moment in order to try and leverage the situation to his advantage.

Zachariah stacked the deck and still barely managed to get Dean to quit his job. Dean wasn't running to hunting with open arms. He was, at best, looking at it as a more viable option than the shitty 10 year plan Mr. Adler just laid out. And Zachariah couldn't wait for him to actually choose hunting, he had to strike before Dean could second guess himself.

(Even Sam is making the choice between IT support call center or ghost hunting. This isn't hard.)

4x17 Transcript

#supernatural #04x17 it's a terrible life

[harrystylescherry]

A/N: i am finally back from the pits of...my life, where all i do is work and complete grad school homework. i have like 15 fics started but not finished--but this one got done in 2 days!! look, girls (me) just wanna have fun (erotic fantasies) okay? thanks

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain

what this is: pure smut tbh

word count: 7.1k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

“Come,” Harry’s voice was low, demanding, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands gripping the end of the mattress.

Your insides melted and heat spread between your thighs–but you weren’t in the mood to play the part of the submissive today. Although your boyfriend would argue that it wasn’t a part you were playing at all, but who you were deep down. And you hated that he was right. Because underneath your frustration was the need for him to not be upset with you, to please him, to ask for forgiveness.

But you had had a shitty day, one filled with pointless meetings that kept you from doing the work you were actually hired to do, and then got chewed out by your boss for not having met a deadline–one she told you not to worry about in favor of attending those stupid meetings. So you had worked late, hammering out a piece on the benefits of vitamin C, which was really just a regurgitation of all the other info that existed on the internet.

Harry had tried to comfort you, to rub your shoulders as you typed as fast as you could, sighs slipping so fast from your lips it sounded like a single, never ending sound. It was when he suggested, or more-like commanded, that you take a break and eat something that you snapped at him. At the time, you hadn’t really been thinking of the consequences. Especially since he brushed it off with a light squeeze of the back of your neck.

After you sent off the piece (along with a very fake but very polite apology to your manager about missing the deadline), you slapped your laptop shut and finally took a seat across from him at the table.

You didn’t even acknowledge him as you dug into the pasta he had made, realizing for the first time that you hadn’t eaten since ten that morning, despite working from his home office. You were wound tight, your shoulders still tense even after Harry had attempted to relieve some pressure.

“You really need to quit.” He said, his eyes on you.

“I know,” you sighed. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him again. It happened once a week. He just didn’t get it–he was older (only by a few years, teetering on the edge of his twenties) and was already established, already successful. He was already a partner at an ad firm, already proved he was worth something. You, on the other hand, were a struggling journalist who wanted into the music industry–but freelance was hard and you needed money. This job paid a lot. Probably because they needed to make up for the fact that the company itself was a shit show. But it was fine–and you were applying. You were trying to quit, but you needed a net. And Harry didn’t understand that.

“You work ridiculous hours and your boss is insane.”

“I know.”

“It’s killing you, and–”

“Jesus Christ, I know,” you snapped. “Do you really think I don’t know? I hate my fucking job, but I need it, okay? And no, you can’t help me so I can quit and not have to worry while finding something new. I don’t need you to take care of me. So stop.”

His shock morphed into irritation. “That’s strike two.” His voice was hard. “And only because I know you’re having a bad day, and that you didn’t mean it.”

“And what if I did,” you mumbled as you moved your food around your plate.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up from the table. “Finish eating. Then we’ll talk.” It wasn’t a request. On his way to the sink, he dropped a hand into your hair and scratched softly. “I’ll be in my office.”

Even in a shit mood, Harry in Dom mode was hot. This wasn’t something new to either of you, but you two weren’t very hardcore either–no whips or masks, or gags. You were more of a bondage and mild pain kind of girl and Harry respected that, though he did sometimes push your limits.

When you two were out in the world–on dates, at parties, with family or friends–the dynamic was normal, but in the evenings, after you were both home from work, and over the weekends he got to order you around, punish you and take you however and wherever he wanted. So, really, you should probably apologize before you got yourself in trouble.

You weren’t in the mood to give up control tonight, not entirely. You didn’t even think you could if you wanted to. The stress was at an all time high and you were gripping tight to whatever control you had, since at work lately, it felt like you had none; at the whim of everyone you worked under. The late nights, the Teams messages at random hours of the day–your control was slipping in a way you didn’t like. There was no way you could give up whatever semblance of it you had left.

It seemed your boyfriend knew that, and was giving you opportunities to relax in a way he didn’t do very often–ever, actually, up until a few weeks ago when you started shutting down from stress. Instead of bending you over his knee or edging you until you were close to tears, he’d let the disobedience slide and curl you into his lap or side instead. Still, he’d demand you tell him how you felt, talk through your stress and frustration, refusing to let you disrupt the free flowing communication that needed to exist between the two of you, or keep yourself closed off from him.

Opening up to him wasn’t hard. It never was, and it’s what made him the perfect Dom for you. That and he was really fucking hot, lean but strong. And the way he looked in a suit? Jesus.

Your muscles clenched at the thought.

You finished your plate and drank the rest of your wine. After dumping your plate in the sink and refilling your glass, you made your way up the stairs and down the hallway where Harry’s office was. You paused to the right of the doorway and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to talk. It wouldn’t do any good. Why couldn’t he just let you stew and drink. Why did he have to know everything?

Something inside you flared. That was bad. Anger wasn’t good–anger meant a biting remark that would surely get you in trouble. You took a long sip of wine and another deep breath before relaxing your shoulders and walking into the room.

Harry was sitting at his desk, typing away on his laptop. He had cleaned up all your work stuff from the day, piled your notebooks neatly on top of your laptop, recapped all your pens and fastened them back into their case.

You stood next to him, and he didn’t even look at you. You tried not to tap your foot or sigh with impatience, but it was hard.

“Plan on behaving now?” He asked with his eyes still on the screen.

You bit your tongue and counted to three. “Yes.”

He raised his eyebrow and peeked over at you.

You swallowed the annoyed sigh. “Yes, sir.” You ignored the way your cheeks flared when you said it.

“Better,” he said before going back to the document on his screen.

Oh my god. Couldn’t you two just get this over with so you could take a bath and go to sleep? The thought of having to wake up and work tomorrow made your jaw clench. You closed your eyes and told yourself it was fine.

But it wasn’t fine. You were miserable and so stressed out that you woke up every morning with a sore jaw. The anxiety bundled in the pit of your stomach before making its way up your throat. The thought of logging in tomorrow, being met with at least seventy emails and your submitted draft hacked up by your manager–who had never written a thing in her life, by the way–made your cheeks burn and chest clench.

If Harry noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t tell you to sit down or go to sleep or…literally anything. The anxiety morphed itself back into frustration as you just stood there, waiting.

He pulled his hands from his keyboard and rubbed them over his face before motioning to you. You took a step closer and he pushed the chair back slightly and pulled you to stand between his legs. Harry took the glass from your hands and put it on the desk. He planted his hands firmly on your hips and squeezed until it was almost painful.

A rush moved through you.

He dropped his head against the spot right under your chest and kissed over the t-shirt you wore. Before you could drop a hand into his hair, he stood up.

He walked towards the small love seat that sat next to the tall bookshelves and pulled you after him. You worked hard not to shuffle your feet.

Harry sat down and pulled you into his lap with ease. “Talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You were met with narrowed eyes and a stern look. You crossed your arms protectively over your chest and his eyes narrowed even more. When you wouldn’t relent, Harry squeezed one of your thighs harshly. You jumped and resented the heat that returned below. You dropped your hands into your lap and Harry’s big hand fell over them. Holding them here.

“Try again.”

You stretched your neck, trying to expel some of the frustration and anxiety you felt. You didn’t want to talk about it. Why did you always have to talk about it? Maybe if you just apologized, it would be fine and he’d let it go. Maybe. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You morphed your face into something that you hoped looked sincere and sorry. Even though you weren’t. At least, you weren’t sorry [enough]. You didn’t want to upset him, ever. You wanted his praise, for him to be proud of you–but there was only so much succumbing to power a girl could take. You were taking it enough at work. Succumbing at home wasn’t as easy these last few weeks. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t be lying to me either.”

“I’m not–” Another harsh squeeze to your thigh. When you saw the disapproving look on his face, a part of you yearned to fix it. And you fought that part of you away. Keep your control.

“We don’t lie, love.” The softness seeped back into his voice. “If you’re going to apologize, you’re going to mean it.”

You raised your eyes to his, a rip of fire going through you. You didn’t want to apologize to him–not when he started it. You had dolled out enough apologies for one day–to your manager, mostly, after taking the blame and fixing problems she created. “Well, then I guess I’m not apologizing.” A pause. “Sir.”

Harry clicked his tongue in disapproval and gave a laugh devoid of any humor. “Strike three, then.”

You rolled your eyes and he caught your chin between his fingers roughly. “You and your fucking attitude lately. I’ve been patient.” His eyes darkened. “Not anymore.”

He put you on your feet and tugged your hair before walking wordlessly out of the room.

You knew you were supposed to follow him, that he [expected] you to follow him–a shiver ran down your spine. The urge to follow him, to relinquish your control started to consume you and you fought it.

If you don’t go, it’ll be worse. If he has to call your name, the punishment will be worse.

You squeezed your eyes shut cursing yourself for being stupid, for forgetting your restraint; for thinking that Harry would allow you a little power, that you could hold onto it.

By the look in his eye and the tone of his voice, he hadn’t been joking. His patience was spent and you were in for it.

Your thighs clenched at the thought and a little apprehension mixed with the thread of thrill that laced through your stomach. He wouldn’t be too harsh, would he? It had been a while. A few weeks at the least–maybe even two months since you had been punished, since things had hurt just a little more than they pleasured.

You realized you were still standing in the middle of the office and hurried after him down the hallway, not wanting to give him another reason.

His back was to you when you stepped into the room and he was taking off his tie in front of the mirror. “Strip,” he ordered.

The deepness of his voice was welcome, though your nerves spiked just a little.

You pushed your jeans down your legs and slipped off your t-shirt. Then, your bra and panties. When he turned, his gaze was disapproving and your heart sank.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to look at me,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

You dropped your eyes immediately. Christ, he was serious. You were in more trouble than you had been in in ages.

“Turn around and bend over. Hands around your ankles.”

Your face heated. Immediately, you did as you were told and chastised yourself. So much for keeping a semblance of control.

“What’s your safe word?”You heard him open the wardrobe in the corner of the room and then rummaging.

“Red,” you said, your uneasiness evident. His movements paused. “Red, sir.”

You heard him hum, satisfied. “Good.”

Your heart rate increased as his footsteps grew closer and you heard him tap something against his leg. You peeked around your legs and your breath caught.

“It’s been awhile so here’s a reminder: the safe word is only to be used if absolutely necessary; when you physically or mentally can’t take it anymore. Not because you’re nervous or scared. Not simply because it hurts. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You made sure not to forget that time. His taking a moment to clarify left you shaking slightly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. He didn’t try to assuage your nerves either.

He held the crop at his side while he ran a hand over your ass. “Soft,” he said, his voice anything but. The crop smoothed over your ass before tapping lightly against your skin. When he brushed it over your exposed pussy, you forced yourself to hold back a whimper. “I’ve been nice. More than nice. And you’ve taken advantage.”

The crop came down on your ass and you flinched. It was only a sting–one that morphed into pleasure quickly.

“I’ve been patient, letting you speak to me in a way that would usually have you bent over the table in less than a second.”

It came down on the other cheek, harder. You released a small sigh at the sensation.

“It’s my fault really, for encouraging it. For letting you get away with it.” His voice told you that he didn’t really believe that. “Or maybe it’s your fault for continuing the behavior, knowing I would disapprove, knowing you were being disobedient and doing it anyway.”

The clear disapproval in his voice made your chest ache and cheeks heat in embarrassment.

Another swat to your ass–and then another, quick on the other cheek. Hard. Your body scooted forward involuntarily and you whimpered. Harry grabbed you and held you in place. “Don’t move.” The growl in his voice sent heat straight to your core.

“This fight for control, it needs to stop. I don’t know where it’s come from because you refuse to talk–another rule broken–but it’s got to end. You need to understand your place, sub.”

Your cheeks flamed. He hadn’t called you that since the early days of your relationship when you tested his boundaries, when the two of you were still getting used to one another and your dynamic. You didn’t like the typical nicknames like pet, or kitten. They made you feel inhuman and a little gross, so Harry tended to call you ‘love’ even when he was angry, when you did something wrong, or were being punished. It was never about what he said, but the way he said it–the fact that he had pulled that out meant you were absolutely fucked.

He swatted your ass a few times in succession, giving you no time to recover between. The stinging sent shocks straight to your clit. You knew you were wet. You could feel it drip through your folds.

“I won’t stand for the disrespect any longer. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice wavered. You wondered if his approval showed on his face, but you were still folded over.

His fingers grazed over the sensitive skin of your ass and you inhaled. They trailed down between your cheeks and circled your clit once. You moaned. His fingers moved up and he pushed one slowly inside of you. Pleasure always came after the punishment–so was it over? Was that it? That was nothing, thank–

“Seems you’re enjoying this a little too much, huh, sub? Not much of a punishment if you’re soaked but not begging. Right?”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

“Ah!” You shrieked when the crop made contact with the sensitive spot where your ass met your thighs.

“When I ask you a question, you answer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stand up.”

When you stood, all the blood rushed back down from your head and you stumbled. Harry caught you easily with a hand on your arm. Once you recovered, he dropped his hand.

“On the bed on your stomach. Ass up, knees apart.”

You kept your eyes down and didn’t move. Nerves filled your chest. It had been so long.

Harry stepped in front of you and tilted your chin up towards him, but you kept your eyes down, not wanting to disobey again.

“Look at me.” When you lifted your eyes, there was a slight smile pulling at his cheek. Approval. Your shoulders relaxed and a small amount of pride swelled in you. “Good girl.” He brushed his thumb over your lips. “It’s gonna hurt. It’s a punishment. You remember those, right?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

The warmth in his eyes returned for a moment and he brushed his knuckles over your cheek. He dropped his hand. “Get on the bed, sub.”

The check-in was over and your all demanding dom was back.

While you got situated on the bed, Harry returned to the wardrobe. You couldn’t see what he was getting, but what you heard lit your nerves on fire. It wasn’t the jingling of the restraints, but his knuckles against the paddle that sent your heart into your throat.

You liked mild pain. Last time he used the paddle, it was a little more than mild. The last time–your skin paled when you remembered. The last time he had used it was during a punishment.

“Hands above your head,” He said as he made his way to stand to the side of the bed.

Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it reverberating off your ribcage, but you obeyed–slowly. He took cuffs from the bedside table and secured them onto your wrists. The coolness of the leather sent a reminder of want straight down to the spot between your thighs. Harry’s fingers brushed over yours unintentionally as he attached the cuffs to one another, and then to one of the restraints attached to the headboard, and you stopped yourself from reaching for him.

Roughly, he pulled you back by your hips until you couldn’t move your arms from where they were above you. Silently, he looped similar cuffs around your ankles and attached them to the restraints at each corner of the bed. There was nowhere for you to go.

In a small moment of panic, you attempted to tug at the restraint keeping your hands above your head, and felt the heat of fear in your cheeks. When Harry heard your small whimper, he came to the side of the bed, placed one big hand over your cuffed wrists and the other on the small of your back, warm and reassuring. Immediately, you felt your heart rate slow.

“Relax. It’s okay.” He paused while you took a deep breath, but your face was still hot. “Do you trust me?” He asked with a voice full of caring.

Of course you did. Harry wouldn’t ever give you more than he knew you could handle; he would never actually make you feel unsafe, or the kind of fear that wasn’t linked to pleasure and excitement.

Speaking of which, as he rubbed the spot on your back, you felt the heat pool at your core.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He smiled before disappearing from your view.

From somewhere behind you, he knocked his knuckles on the paddle once more, almost as a warning.

When it came down the first time, it was nothing more than a sting–one that, you admitted, you quite liked. The next few continued like that, the stings turning into a warmth that had you on the verge of moaning.

Once you finally let one slip, the next spank came down harder. You flinched and sucked in a breath each time it came down.

“Does that hurt?”

You whimpered in response.

You attempted to move forward, away from the paddle, when it came down even harder across both of your cheeks.

“Does that hurt, sub?” His voice was low, hard.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Do you like being punished?”

“No, sir.”

Your ass stung--a burning kind of sting that would have you wincing until tomorrow. And yet, you felt your arousal drip down your leg.

Suddenly, Harry’s fingers were at your core, swirling in the slickness that coated your folds.

“Lying again, are we?”

“No, sir.” And you weren’t lying. You didn’t like being punished, who did? It wasn’t your fault that your body enjoyed the pain, the stinging.

He sighed. “I was going to be nice and only go for ten more, but bad girls don’t get ‘nice’.” He swiped his thumb over your clit and you moaned. When he pulled his hand away, you tried to push yourself towards him, but the goddamned restraints wouldn’t allow it.

“Ah!” You cried when the paddle came down so hard that it more than stung. The pain thudded through your muscles. Twenty of that? The worry prickled over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The harsh pain faded, leaving a stinging that you could handle.

“Count them.”

Whack

“One.”

Another.

“Two.”

Another.

You whimpered. “Three.”

By ten, your voice was shaking and your eyes had begun to water. He wasn’t feeling very accommodating anymore, which was fair considering how far you had pushed him and the rules, and wasn’t giving you a second to recover. Wasn’t giving the sharp pain a chance to dull before coming down again.

By fifteen, you were tensing in preparation for each spank and your ass felt like it was on fire. The heat extended down to your clit, where it ached with need. Each hit sent a vibration straight past your core and to your clit, which was swollen and aching to be touched. You hadn’t let a tear fall yet, but you weren’t sure you could hold them back for much longer.

Your grip on the restraint was tight, your knuckles clenched in desperate need of something to hold onto.

Whack

“E-eighteen.”

Again.

“N-nineteen.”

Again.

“T-twenty.”

You released a breath of relief. It hurt. It really fucking hurt, but you were keenly aware of how turned on you were, at the ache between your legs.

Harry rubbed his hands over your skin and you flinched. “S’okay,” he said. You whimpered and he kissed the small of your back.

He released your ankles from the restraints and then did the same with your wrists, but you didn’t move. Your heart was still racing, even as your body untensed. Your muscles felt sore from useless tugging at the restraints as you blinked the tears away.

Harry walked around the bed and sat down.

“Come,” Harry’s voice was low, demanding, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands gripping the end of the mattress.

Your body immediately tensed again.

When you didn’t move, he sighed, annoyed. “Fucking hell.” He twisted, gripped your hips and pulled you over his lap like a rag doll. If you weren’t so worried about what was coming next, you would’ve enjoyed his manhandling a little more. Not to say that you didn’t enjoy it at all.

He positioned you so that your ass was directly over his lap, where you could feel his erection dig into your hip through his dress pants. Your upper body hung off one side of his lap, and your legs hung off the other. He ran his hands over your skin and you began to squirm.

“When are you going to learn.” It wasn’t a question and so you kept your mouth shut. He shifted you so that you were folded over his left thigh. He lifted his right leg and placed it over your legs so you could kick them or wriggle off his lap. He swiped his tie from where he discarded it on the nightstand and expertly twisted it around your wrists before tying it to the nightstand’s leg. When he sat up, he laid an arm across your shoulders.

Once again, he had rendered you immobile. And once again, heat seared through you at the idea of it–the way it always did. You had been trying to hold on to your control, but this is what you liked. You liked being commanded, ordered around, at Harry’s will and mercy. You ached at the idea of relinquishing it all and letting him do whatever he wanted. Take you however he wanted. And you needed this, you thought. After all the stress and frustration, you needed to just let go.

You relaxed against him and his cock twitched against your leg. He ran his hand over your skin that still burned and a soft whimper escaped you.

“Talk to me.” a hint of softness seeped into his voice. “What’s going on with you lately? What’s this need to disrespect and disobey?”

“Nothing.”

You cried out when his hand landed harshly on what was starting to feel like bruising skin.

“Why are you still trying to lie to me?” He ground out.

You didn’t know. There was no reason to, but you were stubborn. You always had been.

When you didn’t say anything, he pushed a finger inside your dripping center. A long, low moan escaped your lips. He moved it in and out of you at an agonizing pace.

When he pulled his finger out, you squirmed in protest.

“Stop.” You stilled. “If you want more, you’ll talk.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m just stressed out.” You flinched slightly as he dragged his nails over your ass. “And frustrated.”

“With me?”

“No, sir.”

“With work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you to quit.”

Immediately, you went rigid and you knew he could feel your back tense beneath him. He massaged his fingers into your muscles. “See, there. What happened just then?”

“Nothing.”

You cursed when his hand came down. Right after, his fingers moved to your clit and you moaned while trying to push yourself further into his hand, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“You want a reward, huh? Don’t know what makes you think you deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“If you’re sorry, you’ll talk. So talk.”

He took his fingers away and you whined. He was going to hold you there until you gave him what he wanted, until you let him have all your control.

“Stop being stubborn, sub.”

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Another swat to your ass. And fuck it burned. Tears sprang to your eyes.

“I’ll stop once you learn your place. Once you’ve earned back my affection.”

Your heart sank and your cheeks heated in shame. After two deep breaths, your body relaxed.

“I feel like–I feel like I have no power at work.” His fingers traced up and down your slit. “I get ordered around all day; blamed and chastised for stuff that isn’t my fault. I spend my whole day feeling degraded and out of control.”

“When you’re used to being your own boss,” he said in understanding. He traced his fingers over the hood of your clit, refusing to make actual contact and you whined in anticipation. “Go on.” The timbre in his voice was back.

“And you telling me to just quit–” He squeezed your clit between his fingers as a warning to lose the attitude. You adjusted your tone. “I want to quit and I know I need to, but I can’t. And when you make it out to be so easy, it makes me mad.” He trailed his fingers through your folds, running them over your labia, spreading your arousal until every piece of you was wet. You gave a shuddering moan. “It felt so defeating–giving up all my control after a day of having it just taken from me.”

“It is easy. If you’d just let me take care of you.” The frustration in his voice was clear.

“I-I can’t.”

“You can, you’re just being stubborn.” He sighed, releasing some of the hardness from his voice. “Bottling up on all that stress and frustration hasn’t done you any good, has it?”

“No, sir.”

“I could’ve been helping you get rid of it, let it go.”

“But–”

He dipped his fingers into you. “You’ve got to let it go, love.” Your chest warmed at the pet name. “Just let me take care of you.”

You attempted, again, to push yourself into his hand when he brushed his knuckles over your clit.

“If you want to come, love, you’re gonna have to relinquish control. You’re gonna have to let me take care of you.”

You moaned in frustration as his fingers ghosted over you.

“Please.” He pinched you again. “Please, sir,” you corrected.

“Let me take care of you.” His voice was soft. “Will you let me take care of you?”

When you whimpered in agony, he shoved two fingers deep inside of you–and pulled them out just as quick. Your breathing had sped up and your nipples hardened as they brushed against the fabric of his pants.

“Will you let me?”

Fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore–and he wanted to, so why wouldn’t you let him?

“Yes, s-sir.”

“Ask me.”

Of course he was going to make you ask him.

He circled around your clit, but didn’t touch it. You felt yourself begin to pant with need.

The embarrassment began to encroach on your chest but you pushed past it. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, take care of me.”

A slap to your pussy sent you reeling.

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Please, take care of me, s-sir.”

“Since you asked nicely.” The smirk was evident in his voice.

He pushed two fingers into you, curling them in the way he knew you needed. A moan broke from deep in your chest and you tried to grip onto his thigh, but the tie held your hands firmly in place. As he fingered you deeply, he leaned forward and kissed the skin of your back.

“If I untie you, will you be good?”

His fingers still moved in and out of you, and with the sounds falling from your lips, all you could do was manage a nod. Your boyfriend chuckled. He held his fingers inside of you and bent over to tug at the knot to release you. Your wrists were slightly red from writhing against the fabric and the sight of them sent a shameful spark of excitement through you.

Easily, he lifted you up and placed you so you were sitting up, your back against his chest and your ass on his lap, rubbing against his erection. He stretched one arm across your chest and placed his hand on your breast, holding you against him, while the other opened your legs, lifting each one up and draping them over his open knees.

“You’re not going to try and close your legs, are you, love?”

“No, sir.” You placed your hands behind your thighs, onto his, working to hold yourself up. Your body was tired. Even if you wanted to close your legs, you weren’t sure you had the energy.

“That’s my good girl.” You melted at his approval. He dropped his head down and nipped and kissed along your neck and shoulder while the hand that wasn’t holding you to him landed between your legs.

He traced slow circles over your clit and your head dropped back against him. You were so ready, that it didn’t take much for the tightening in the pit of your stomach to start; as it did, your moans increased and your chest began to heave. His pace was agony. When you tried to increase the pressure by lifting yourself to his fingers, he held you back.

“Please…” you breathed. “...faster.”

“No.”

You groaned and he laughed softly against your skin.

The build up was almost painful and your ass stung fresh each time it rubbed against him, but soon you saw white and a loud cry escaped you as your hips bucked against him and your chest shuttered in his hand.

“Good girl,” he whispered, holding his pace as you came down. You were swollen and shaking, each stroke of his finger bringing through a new aftershock. “You’re not done, love.” He whispered.

Before you could question him, he lifted you and laid you on the bed on your back. When you went to sit up, you were met with a glare. You lowered yourself back down and waited, legs open, for him.

He tugged you to the edge so that your toes barely touched the floor and your ass hung off the edge. Harry leaned over you and for the first time all night, brushed his lips against yours. When you whimpered, he grabbed your jaw and deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth, swirling it over yours. He was warm and still tasted like the wine the two of you drank with dinner. Your body reignited, your nipples rising to peaks and your clit throbbing for more. He rubbed his erection against your thigh and indulged in a moan.

When you tried to loop your arms around his neck, he grabbed them and held them against the mattress. “I don’t want to restrain you again, so don’t make me.” It was a warning–one that sent a jolt straight to your core.

Not looking for a response, he pushed himself up and went to the nightstand. He pulled out a vibrating dildo and kneeled down in front of your open pussy. He kissed the inside of your thighs, the spot between your thighs and your lips, and just over your clit. Each time his breath hit you, you shuddered.

The tip of the dildo touched your core and you shivered against the cold silicone. He dipped it into you slowly, allowing you a moment to register its size, before he pushed it into you entirely. It curved, scraping against the spot inside that sent your back arching off the bed. It was big–and thick. You felt yourself stretch around it, filling you entirely.

It clicked on and your muscles tightened around it. “Oh, my god.” You gripped at the comforter beneath you as your hips began to roll.

Harry squeezed the inside of your thigh and began moving it in and out of you again. Your breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to keep your legs open, to keep your toes touching the floor.

“Does that feel good?”

“Ye–yes, s-sir.”

He kissed your clit before increasing the vibrations. You cried out as your hips bucked, your clit searching for any kind of friction. Harry hummed and you felt the slick of his tongue against you. You struggled to keep your hips down as pleasure rolled through you, hot and intense.

“Oh, my god.” Your hips began to buck–and suddenly you were empty. Cool air replaced Harry’s tongue. You whimpered and lifted your head. “Wha-”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come, did I, love?” His voice was thick, his pupils blown out in desire.

“N-no. I’m sorry, sir.”

Without warning, the vibrator was inside you again, pushing against your walls, while Harry flicked his tongue quickly over your bud. Your grip on the comforter was deadly and your chest heaved as you attempted to stave off your orgasm.

It continued to build and moans slipped through your lips unallowed.

“Sir…” You groaned.

“Not yet.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t.”

A sweat broke out across your forehead and dampened your chest. You tried to focus on anything other than the way Harry’s tongue lapped at your clit and how well the dildo filled you. But it was hard. You could feel yourself losing control.

Harry nipped at your clit in warning, but you were so far gone it didn’t hurt, only added to your pleasure.

He was holding out, but you weren’t sure for what. He had already punished you–what more did he want?

Relief filled you when you realized: he wanted you to beg. He wanted you to give up control, to beg him to help you come undone.

“Sir, p-please.”

He ignored you.

“Please, can I come.”

He hummed against you.

“Please–fuck–please, can you help me come…”

He kissed your clit. “Go ahead, love.”

You relaxed and let your orgasm rip through your body. The pleasure was so good it was blinding. Your cries mixed with curses and you had the comforter balled so tightly in your fists you were surprised it didn’t tear.

After its peak, you had a moment of contentment before searing pleasure sent your skin on fire. He had upped the vibrations–and not just inside you, but against your clit. It seemed he had been hiding the vibrators rabbit attachment from you, saving it to send you over the edge one last time.

He rocked the dildo inside of you, hitting your g-spot while the points of the rabbit pressed against your already swollen clit. He reached his free hand up and pinched your already erect nipples, while kissing your hips and mound.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered against your skin. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head. Teetering on the verge of coming undone for the third time, he lessened the vibrations and came to lay next to you on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you.

He started moving the dildo inside you and bent down to give you a hard kiss.

“You need to let go. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m n–” Your argument died in your throat when you realized how tense your body was. You tried to relax, but it was too much. It would be too much. You were sore and swollen and so sensitive that a few tears had already slipped down your face.

He dipped down and rubbed his nose against your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

You looked at him and saw only tenderness and love. “Yes, sir.”

He changed the vibrator’s setting once more and you cried out.

“Keep your legs open,” he commanded while you writhed against the bed and he watched you.

He licked at your now tender nipples.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

You wanted to please him–and you wanted the release.

You breathed through the unbearable pleasure and the second your body relaxed, an orgasm unlike any other tore through your body. You let out a scream as Harry rocked the dildo against your g-spot and continued his assault on your nipples with his tongue.

Your cries grew hoarse as he forced you to ride out the entirety of your orgasm with the vibrations set to high and your body shook with the aftershocks as your muscles tightened around the toy still inside you.

He pulled it out and kissed you softly, as your body continued to shake with the aftermath. He wiped tears from your cheeks that you hadn’t even realized had fallen and pulled you tightly into his chest. Your breathing was ragged as he ran his hands over your back. When he brushed his hands over your ass you flinched.

“That might hurt for a bit,” he whispered. You cuddled closer and he kissed the top of your head.

When he started to move, you whimpered. He sat up and pulled you with him. You groaned in protest and scratched down your back. “Just moving us under the blanket, love.”

As he settled against the pillows with you between his legs and your head on his chest, the relief pooled in your chest. The stress was gone, as well as the frustration.

Then, just as quickly, an emptiness moved in–an embarrassment at the fact that you had been punished. This always happened afterwards and you hated it every time.

When he heard you sniffle, he tilted up your chin to look at him.

“Oh, poor baby.” He said when he saw the tears in your eyes. He hugged you tighter and you burrowed into him, though it was impossible for you to get any closer. “I’m sorry I had to do that. I know you’re not a fan of the paddle.” He rubbed his hand up and down your arm.

“It’s okay. I mean, honestly, I probably should’ve been punished weeks ago.”

Harry’s chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “That’s exactly right.”

“I’m sorry, sir. For being mean.”

“It’s not about meanness. It’s about disrespect, love–disobedience. You know how this works.”

“I know–”

He pinched her side. “Don’t interrupt. It’s unnecessary, so it’s willful. All I ever ask is that you talk to me.”

You looked up at him, asking for permission. He smiled and your heart swelled.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful,”

“S’okay. I think you’ve learned your lesson” Desire flashed in his eyes and suddenly you were reminded of his still very hard cock pressed against your back.

“Oh–do you want–”

He smiled and shook his head before guiding your head back to his chest. “Not tonight. Sweet of you to think of me.”

Your body relaxed further into him. “My butt hurts.”

You felt his lips against your hair. “Proud of you for taking it so well. You did a good job, love.”

Warmth filled you, knowing you had pleased him. “Thank you, sir.”

The comforter shifted off your shoulder and you shivered.

“How about a warm bath–for the two of us? How does that sound?”

You hummed your approval.

He nuzzled your cheek with his nose. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

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[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 24

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

Not even having to explain to Yu Ziyuan why they had ruined the Jiang sect’s event for a second time running could put a dent in Wen Ruohan’s good mood.

“You can’t really blame us for it,” he told her, wondering with amusement if he should mention that the sound of her teeth grinding in irritation was becoming almost audible. “We came here at your invitation to enjoy your sect’s little party and then were unexpectedly set upon by murderous assassins…assassins, let me remind you, that somehow managed to defy your sect’s security precautions, borrow your disciples’ clothing, and then attack your guests, when by all the rules of hospitality we ought to be under your protection. If the party also happened to be ruined as a result, well, that’s really nothing to do with us. In fact, we’re quite upset by it all.”

“Really,” Yu Ziyuan growled. “If that’s the case, then why – are – you – smiling?!”

That was mostly because Wen Ruohan couldn’t help it.

Lan Qiren was in love with him. Lan Qiren loved him. Lan Qiren was willing to trust him. Lan Qiren loved him!

That wasn’t anyone else’s business, though.

“Just trying to put a good face on it for the sake of your sect,” Wen Ruohan said, voice almost syrupy with how condescending he was being. “After messing up not one but two gatherings in front of the whole cultivation world, you practically have no face left at all…really, a smile or two is the least we can do for the sake of our good friends in Yunmeng Jiang.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eye was twitching. So was the finger upon which she wore Zidian, which hadn’t quite started crackling but had started emitting an almost subsonic hum of spiritual energy as if it was considering it.

Hmm. Perhaps he was overdoing it a little.

Not that Wen Ruohan cared.

Still, in the interest of not starting yet another fight that he was presently in no condition to win…

“At any rate, as you can see,” he added smugly, unable to feel any genuine caution when his heart was full of repeated refrains of I am loved, I am loved, “my husband has taken today’s events to heart.”

He nodded over at where Lan Qiren was sitting, still cleaning his sword and glaring balefully at everyone around him as if he suspected them of wrongdoing, having apparently decided to appoint himself as the paranoid one for the day.

If Lan Qiren were anyone else, Wen Ruohan would say that it was a beautiful display of subtle intimidation. The almost pristine glow of Lan Qiren’s almost entirely white outfit, marred only by the almost artful flecks of drying blood that highlighted the subtle red suns at the hems, acted as vivid contrast to the gory imagery of the bloody and at times incomplete bodies the Jiang sect disciples were still carrying out on mats from the room behind him, while the steady and sure motion of his hands drew the eye to focus on his sword, the one that had slain most of those people – an unspoken but extremely clear threat.

Of course, since this was Lan Qiren, he probably hadn’t thought about that at all.

Lan Qiren was a very good politician, when he put his mind to it – but he often forgot to put his mind to it. In fact, if Wen Ruohan had to bet, he’d say that Lan Qiren was probably currently thinking about some obscure Lan sect rule about cleaning your sword as soon as possible to avoid rust, about how it was valuable and taught all sorts of larger lessons and so on and so forth. Also, he’d probably want a bath as soon as possible, quite understandably, and certainly at a minimum by the time they got back to the Nightless City. He could just change clothing to get rid of the bloodstains, of course, but there was that general rule on changing clothing after bathing, and Wen Ruohan knew that Lan Qiren, with his fondness for routine, would prefer to do things in the proper order whenever possible.

(Lan Qiren, who loved him. Who was in love with him. Who would probably make that part of his routine as well, an everyday reminder that he belonged, body and soul, to Wen Ruohan…)

Lan Qiren was insisting on their leaving at once, which was quite reasonable under the circumstances. Wen Ruohan certainly wasn’t objecting. His sect’s disciples, who had rushed over as soon as he’d been able to properly signal them, had managed to keep a few of the assassins alive, including the one Lan Qiren had purposefully preserved. They had all been taken away to be interrogated – with the Fire Palace for once serving in its traditional capacity as a prison rather than Wen Ruohan’s personal playground – and answers would be forthcoming. Wen Ruohan had made that extremely clear to all of the assembled sect leaders.

Wen Ruohan had also made a number of very ominous statements about the vengeance he was imminently going to undertake as soon as he found out who was responsible for sending the assassins. Moreover, he had made clear that, as the victim of a dishonorable attack, he fully expected the cultivation world to back him in seeking reprisals, no matter what penalty he demanded – or else.

His announcement had spread a great deal of consternation throughout the crowd, all of whom were already somewhat keyed up due to the last near-war they’d been drawn into. It had caused any number of people to consider departing early as well, each to go back home to think over what to do next in peace rather than stay any longer in the Lotus Pier. Presumably it was those impending departures that had caused Yu Ziyuan to march up and pull Wen Ruohan aside for a quiet confrontation, with all of the seething, barely-concealed rage that had made her old Purple Spider moniker quite so famous visible on her face.

Again: not that Wen Ruohan cared.

Oddly enough, though, it seemed that something he’d said had soothed Yu Ziyuan’s fiery temper, or at least distracted her from it. Zidian was no longer making that irritating humming noise and her fingers no longer shook as if they were on the verge of being clenched into a fist; she was practically verging on normal.

Well, normal rage.

“Sect Leader Wen is very open-minded,” she said, very begrudgingly.

Wen Ruohan looked at Yu Ziyuan with some suspicion. Was she referring to the fact that he wasn’t blaming the Jiang sect for the assassination attempt? He’d wanted to, even though he was fairly certain they had nothing to do with it. Even if they hadn’t hired the assassins, it had been their negligence that had allowed the attack to occur at all, which meant that they ought to carry some share of the blame, and therefore some of the responsibility of making it up to him…but Lan Qiren had objected.

He’d said something about not sowing discord, or maybe about being easy on others. Wen Ruohan thought it was more likely that he just felt belatedly bad about having accidentally incited Cangse Sanren into stealing away the Jiang sect children at the same time she’d taken his nephews.

(They hadn’t told anyone that Cangse Sanren had brought them to the Nightless City, or indeed that Cangse Sanren and her family were currently residing with them rather than traveling the cultivation world. It seemed unwise to officially confirm it, lest they attract unwanted attention.)

“I will still be expecting Yunmeng Jiang’s support against the perpetrators, of course,” he clarified, but unexpectedly Yu Ziyuan waved her hand dismissively.

“Naturally you will have it,” she said coolly. “Whoever planned the attempt on your life, Sect Leader Wen, deliberately chose to use our Jiang sect as its scapegoat. In order to restore our good name, we must of course take every measure necessary to seek vengeance. That was not what I meant.”

“What, then?”

Very uncharacteristically, Yu Ziyuan hesitated for a while before answering. Just as Wen Ruohan was about to lose patience, she finally spoke, saying, “I meant…in the matter of your marriage.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. What about his marriage? He’d made an excellent marriage. He’d known it from the start, and now the rest of the cultivation world was starting to realize it, too. And they hadn’t even figured out the bit about the classes yet!

None of that seemed to him to fit the criteria of rendering him “open-minded,” though. So what was Yu Ziyuan talking about?

Yu Ziyuan seemed to realize that she’d lost him, a frown appearing on her face as she watched the confusion on his.

“Do you really not mind?” she asked. “You are the stronger party, politically and personally, and you’re both men, not restrained by convention – shouldn’t Lan Qiren be the one calling you husband, rather than the other way around?”

Oh, so it was that again.

Ridiculous. Hadn’t they already covered that?

“My husband,” Wen Ruohan said, emphasizing the word mostly for the amusement it gave him to see the way it made her frown deepen, “is an innate conservative. He’s very fixed in his habits, and averse to change. Having been raised with the expectation that he would one day become a husband, it pleases him to be one, and it pleases me to see him pleased. What more does there need to be than that?”

“It cannot be that simple.”

“Why not? As you said, we’re not restrained by convention.” He smirked, deciding to needle her further. “Isn’t that part of your Jiang sect’s motto? Isn’t it ‘Make it work’?”

Her eye twitched again. “Attempt the impossible.”

“Isn’t that what I said? Make it work despite it being impossible.”

Yu Ziyuan scowled at him. “A mountain cannot contain two tigers,” she said testily. “A household cannot have two husbands. If he is the husband, then you are the wife, Sect Leader Wen. You cannot possibly be satisfied with the expectation that you are to submit to him, to abide by etiquette and decorum for him, to restrict your own activities for his sake…!”

“Does the sun care for the expectations of the earth?” Wen Ruohan asked carelessly. Lan Qiren had never demanded his submission in anything, except in bed – and even there, it was only ever something that added to Wen Ruohan’s pleasure, never something that had turned into an expectation or an insult. Lan Qiren had never once thought that what they did in bed meant anything about how they conducted their life outside it, as some men might have. On the contrary, when they were in public, it was Lan Qiren who sought wherever possible to abide strictly by etiquette, and part of that etiquette was supporting Wen Ruohan’s sect as the sect he’d married into, which in turn by default meant supporting Wen Ruohan himself as sect leader. “I have never restricted myself for the sake of others. I hardly plan to start now.”

“Really. Then does that mean, Sect Leader Wen, that you plan to take on the duties of a wife as well?” she asked scathingly.

“Actually, Qiren seems to have gotten it into his head that it is the duty of a husband to do the satisfying,” Wen Ruohan said dryly. “A Gusu Lan peculiarity, I expect. I wasn’t planning on disabusing him of the notion.”

Yu Ziyuan turned red. “That’s not what I meant!”

Wen Ruohan scoffed. “Then what do you mean? Do you expect me to manage my household like some commoner? I manage my sect, that’s close enough.”

“It is exceptionally different.”

“Perhaps for you,” Wen Ruohan said condescendingly. “Allow me to remind you that I am sect leader. I am free to implement my will as I wish – however I wish – and you have not identified one good reason why I cannot deviate from tradition.”

“At least you know you are deviating from tradition,” she snapped.

Wen Ruohan just barely restrained himself from saying something sarcastic like And of course your marriage is such a model of happy compliance with tradition, mostly since he was pretty sure she really would try to kill him if he did.

From the look on her face, he’d managed to convey the message anyway.

“If it matters to you, then it matters to you,” he said indifferently instead. “It certainly doesn’t to me.”

Yu Ziyuan’s expression somehow worsened, which he hadn’t thought was possible.

“We’ll be leaving now,” he said smoothly, deciding that it would be impolitic to drive his hostess into apoplexy. Not to mention that it would be such a shame to rob himself of the moral high ground right after a perfectly good assassination attempt had given it to him. “Qiren wants to fly back to the Nightless City to avoid any threat of ambush, and we must leave early if we are to arrive before the end of xu shi, which of course we must. You know how Gusu Lan is.”

Everyone knew how Gusu Lan was.

(If Wen Ruohan was ever to seek to invade the Cloud Recesses, he would be wise to launch his attack in the evening, right when their internal clocks would be urging them to rest instead of fight. Not that he would, of course – he couldn’t even imagine Lan Qiren’s reaction if he did, not even if it was forced upon him by Qingheng-jun’s actions. It was only something he’d considered before, in the abstract hypothetical…)

“Have a good journey,” Yu Ziyuan said. She was gritting her teeth again.

Wen Ruohan smirked and took his leave.

And then he took Lan Qiren, who was very relieved to hear that they were finally departing, and went home.

Wen Ruohan spent the entire flight back to the Nightless City, painfully long and boring as it was, feeling lighter than air.

Sure, there were still problems to be dealt with, not least of which was figuring out who had tried to have him killed – not just killed, but drowned, and at a party surrounded by the rest of the cultivation world, no less. Whoever it was had figured out that Wen Ruohan had used up all of his spiritual energy, that he was temporarily vulnerable, and they were undoubtedly already thinking through the next step in their plan, knowing that they only had a brief window in which to act before Wen Ruohan regained his invincibility.

Really, his paranoia ought to be going completely haywire, questioning everyone and everything, trying to figure out who was behind it – given that it couldn’t be Qingheng-jun, who was too newly out of seclusion to have the resources necessary to train up assassins unless there was something very significant Lan Qiren had left out of his descriptions of the Lan sect – and his political instincts ought to be focused on how all of these developments would impact the balance of power in the cultivation world and how to turn them in his sect’s favor. Even considering it purely from the standpoint of cultivation, he ought to be worrying about how weak he still was, how tired he was, how much the fight and even this journey home was taking out of him.

Instead, Wen Ruohan couldn’t stop smiling.

(Interestingly enough, it turned out that genuine smiles while issuing threats only made people even more inclined to worry – exceeding even their reaction to an intimidating smirk or ominous scowl. Who knew?)

But in his defense: Lan Qiren was in love with him.

There was always that.

There was always going to be that, because Lan Qiren was a Lan, a good Lan, in the classic model of his sect. When he gave his heart away, he did so irrevocably. Even if things were to shatter between them, the way things had gone somehow wrong between Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie, or the way they had with his first wife, with his brother, with his family – even if Wen Ruohan did something utterly beyond the pale, utterly unforgivable, the fact that Lan Qiren loved him wouldn’t change.

Of course, if he did something like that, Lan Qiren would make his life absolutely miserable, up to and including leaving him in the dirt, and that probably after yelling at him until he went deaf. Lan Qiren had been quite emphatically clear about his intentions in that regard, repeating himself several times, though Wen Ruohan privately thought that it was all a little unnecessary.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know.

He’d figured it out after the fiasco with the Fire Palace: the price of Lan Qiren’s continued good regard was nothing more or less than his own good conduct, persistent and maintained.

Once, that would have been infuriating.

Wen Ruohan had always been his own person. He had always gone his own way, done things in his own style, bowed to no one – his Wen sect’s symbol was the sun, and he as their sect leader was the sun in splendor, directly overhead and shining in full midday glory. Even among his brothers he had always been the most stubborn, the most bull-headed, whether in his insistence on learning the sneered-upon “support skill” of arrays to the point of mastery instead of focusing on the sword or his slow but persistent approach to becoming sect leader, which had been successful in the end. He had never yielded to anyone, whether through force or coaxing. He had never adjusted his behavior for someone else’s sake.

But now…

Well.

After a lifetime of betrayals, his own or others’, Wen Ruohan was willing to consider it an equal trade.

Love for love, that was easy. Trust for trust would be more difficult, but he was the best of the best: he was Wen Ruohan. He wasn’t afraid of a challenge.

And it wasn’t as if he was going to find someone else he wanted more. Who could be more fascinating or full of ridiculous contradictions than Lan Qiren – a rigid moralist who had nevertheless demonstrated his sincerity through slaughter? That had always been a surefire way to Wen Ruohan’s heart, though not a route he’d previously believed Lan Qiren likely to take. It had always been more along the lines of what he’d gotten out of his relationship with Lao Nie, both of them vigorous and blood-thirsty and suiting each other perfectly – or at least, they had before the other man had grown distant and disdainful…

Well, never mind about that.

Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren now, and if he played his cards right, he would have him forever.

That was surely something worth smiling about.

He continued smiling even when they arrived, frightening his servants. Lan Qiren didn’t notice, but then he was practically falling asleep standing up. Whether that was because of the energy expenditure of having to fly such a distance immediately after a vicious fight and emotional upheaval or simply that it had gotten late enough for all good proper Lan disciples to go to bed, it was impossible to tell.

“Do you require my services tonight?” Lan Qiren blearily asked Wen Ruohan, who snorted involuntarily in amusement at his serious expression.

“I think not,” he said dryly. “Look at you, you’re already yawning. I doubt you’d be able to, ah, rise to the occasion.”

Lan Qiren frowned censoriously at him. “Even if I cannot, I can still do my duty, if that’s what you desire.”

Wen Ruohan did desire, as it happened – he had a great deal of appreciation for Lan Qiren’s hands and tongue, both of which had become exceptionally skilled through the application of consistent practice – but he still said, “No need. You can make it up to me with interest tomorrow.”

It was an interesting novelty to deny himself for another’s sake. He’d observed that Lan Qiren, lacking as he did an internal instinct towards desire, at times also lacked a good sense of judgment as to when it was appropriate to offer to have sex, although tragically he’d picked up enough etiquette to be resistant to frolicking in public where people could see. It therefore fell to Wen Ruohan to bear the responsibility of being the final arbiter of such things, to ensure that Lan Qiren would be in a position to enjoy himself as well as providing enjoyment for his partner.

With a final yawn, Lan Qiren nodded and went off to find his bed, not bothering to wait for Wen Ruohan to join him. Presumably he’d figured out that Wen Ruohan was too full of nervous energy to rest, meaning that tonight was going to be one of his occasional bouts of insomnia.

Normally, on nights like these, Wen Ruohan would stalk through the halls of the Nightless City like a wandering ghost before eventually finding himself drawn to the Fire Palace and its screams, its reminder that he was alive, but that was unnecessary tonight. Tonight he already felt wholly alive, completely vibrant. In fact, that was the issue: he felt full of energy, like he wanted to do something. And not just anything, but something productive – to set up an experiment in arrays, perhaps, or practice sparring with the sword against some worthy opponent, or even…

Even…

Wen Ruohan smiled.

Cangse Sanren found him the next day.

“It’s already noon, you know,” she announced, having entered the room without knocking. “Also, my husband was the one who actually found you here, but he decided to nominate me to be the one to interrupt you. I’m less killable than he is.”

“Is that the case?” Wen Ruohan asked, not looking up from what he was doing. “And here I thought all you celestial mountain disciples were doomed.”

“We are. There’s some big scary beast marching towards my future, coming to tear me limb from limb; it’s inevitable, as sure as the dawn, but that also means there’s no point in worrying about it now. But putting that aside, people are more used to me being annoying, so they put up with it more.” She paused. “Are you painting? I didn’t know you knew how to paint.”

Wen Ruohan ignored her. He was almost done, so he wasn’t going to stop now just to talk.

“You’re a good painter,” she commented, peeking around his shoulder. “I had no idea. And I mean…you’re really good. Exceptionally good – ”

“You can stop sounding surprised about it at any point.”

“I’m just saying, I didn’t know you had hobbies other than torturing people.”

“This is not a hobby,” he clarified, finishing the final few strokes and putting down his brush. “This is an aberration. It’s a gift. For Qiren.”

“As if you would pick up a brush for anyone else,” she snorted, and inelegantly tried to shove him to the side so that she could get a better look at what he’d created. It didn’t work, of course, since he was stronger than she was, but he stepped aside anyway. “…huh. That’s…not what I expected. This is the first painting you’re going to give to him?”

Wen Ruohan shrugged. Other than his brief flirtation with portraiture, which had been an exclusively financial decision during a period of time when his backing within the Wen sect had been especially shaky, he’d always treated painting the way he did his cultivation: something to develop and nurture and even perfect, but not to force.

Back when he’d been alive, his favorite brother, Wen Ruoyu, had been Wen Ruohan’s primary target for these sorts of painting gifts. He’d had a fondness for collecting things, so he always accepted the gifts, but he’d found them confusing. You say this is meant for me? As in, you painted it specifically for me? he’d often asked, squinting at whatever the latest one was. What in the world do you mean by giving me this in particular? What’s the symbolism here stand for? What does it mean?

If I could have told you what it meant, I wouldn’t have needed to paint it, now would I? Wen Ruohan had always retorted. Tell me if you like it or not. If you don’t, I’ll take it back and give you another.

I like it, I like it! Don’t you dare take away things that are mine!

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t know you were several kinds of fucked up in the head,” Cangse Sanren remarked, interrupting Wen Ruohan’s wandering thoughts. “If there’s anyone who’d think that painting a war scene is a good gift for their lover, it would certainly be you. But lucky for you, Qiren’s taste in art runs towards the complicated, so I think he might like it anyway.”

Wen Ruohan had indeed painted a war scene, though he was mildly impressed that Cangse Sanren had been able to identify it as such. There were no people in it – it was mostly trees, and rocks, and blood, the occasional glint of broken steel and furrows dug deep. Hidden in the painting were the signs of cultivators at battle: splintered bark with smoldering anchor points, smeared ash and cinnabar left behind by burnt talismans, sharp and unnatural angles revealing cuts by sword or string.

Color had been used only sparingly, as an accent, and his brushwork was as brutal and ruthless as it had ever been, leaving the whole image with a gloomy and morbid air, grey, hopeless, and depressing.

He’d even painted it from the angle he’d once seen it from, with the trees reaching up into the heavens, tangled limbs suffocating the sky.

It was probably not an appropriate gift to give to one’s lover.

Wen Ruohan was going to give it to him anyway. Maybe he really would get lucky, and it would suit Lan Qiren’s tastes. Even if it didn’t, though, that would be fine – the point had always been in the making and the giving.

“Where is Qiren, anyway?” he asked.

“Meditating in your yard. He did sect business for a shichen in the morning, earlier on, once he realized you were busy, but as soon as he finished the urgent business, he told them all to come back tomorrow with the rest.”

“Good.” Wen Ruohan hadn’t been planning to do any business at all. Lazy days were what secretaries were for. “Next question: where are the children?”

Cangse Sanren arched her eyebrows. “Yours, mine, the Lan or the Jiang?”

“I meant Qiren’s nephews, as it happens. But you referred to mine – did you just mean Chao-er, or is Xu-er back?”

“Yes, he arrived yesterday morning, so there’s both of them here. He’s in his room, as are all the others. Do you want to see him?”

Oddly enough, even though he had no specific purpose in mind, Wen Ruohan found that he did.

“Father!” Wen Xu stood up quickly when Wen Ruohan strode into his rooms. So quickly, in fact, that he accidentally knocked all the papers off his desk and all over the floor. “I didn’t – I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wanted to confirm that you were in one piece after what happened with the army in Jiujiang, Xu-er,” Wen Ruohan said mildly, doing his best not to smirk. Unfortunately for his son, Wen Ruoyu had also been a master of the “knock everything off the table so that they don’t see what I was looking at” dodge, and it hadn’t worked when he’d done it, either. “I am pleased to see that you are.”

“Uh, yeah,” Wen Xu said. He was blinking rapidly. “I…Teacher Lan said the same thing.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. Lan Qiren moved quickly when he wanted to, it appeared – Wen Xu was already calling him “Teacher Lan” despite having undoubtedly met him all of maybe once. “Did he?”

Wen Xu looked embarrassed for whatever reason, so Wen Ruohan put his hands behind his back and gave his son an expectant look.

“He said you were proud of me for how I handled myself. Even though all I did was get sent away!” Wen Xu blurted out, then looked horrified at himself. Presumably at the gross sentimentality of what Lan Qiren had said, which was more than a little ridiculous – Wen Xu really hadn’t done anything of note, not unless one counted not complaining about being sent away and listening to the generals’ advice to avoid making the situation worse. And, well, not getting kidnapped and used as blackmail at any point while retreating.

Which Wen Ruohan supposed had been rather helpful.

Well, be your spouse’s partner and all that. If he wanted Lan Qiren to have a genuine shot at improving Wen Xu, it wouldn’t do to undercut his authority as a teacher before he’d even had a chance to get started.

“I am,” he said, and reasoned virtuously to himself that it wasn’t a lie even if he hadn’t given the subject a single thought before this exact moment – after all, he was always proud of his sons, who were his bloodline and therefore superior to all others. Anyway, even if it was, it wasn’t like the Wen sect abided by Do not tell lies. “You did well.”

Wen Xu looked stunned to the point of breathlessness.

Actually, he looked like he’d stopped breathing entirely.

Wen Ruohan decided that that was probably enough torment for a teenager for one day.

“You should write to your master in the army and advise him that I will be keeping you by my side for the near future,” he said, moving to practical matters instead. “If he wishes to continue your training, he should send someone here.”

Wen Xu recovered with admirable speed, straightening his spine and looking as dependable as he could at fifteen. “Yes, Father. I’ll do that at once!”

Wen Ruohan nodded. And then, because he could, he added, nodding at the pile of paper on the floor: “I’ll leave you to your romance novels, then.”

The horrified sound Wen Xu made was appalling.

Wen Ruohan walked off, chuckling to himself.

Continuing his inexplicable impulse from earlier, he decided to check in briefly on Wen Chao as well.

“Go away,” Wen Chao said, not looking up from where he was lying on his stomach reading something with a great deal of pictures and absolutely no substance. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“You do not command me, Chao-er.”

“Father!” Wen Chao jumped up at once. He didn’t make any effort to hide his picture-book – a heavily illustrated adventure, rather than a romance – and scurried over, looking delighted to see him, as usual. “Father, you’re here, you’re here!”

“Mm. Tell me what you have been up to.”

“I’ve been spending time with the other sect heirs, just like you told me to,” Wen Chao said proudly. “They’re very annoying, lots of trouble, but I can handle them. They’re no match for me!”

Wen Ruohan had no difficulty in discerning that this was extremely high praise for Wen Chao’s new friend group, potentially even gratitude and joy that they’d willingly included Wen Chao in their antics, and also that Wen Chao desperately wanted the present state to keep going forever.

“Good,” Wen Ruohan said. “Continue as you are. Become close to them and learn more about them, learn from their virtues and vices both. And listen when Teacher Lan tells you things meant to improve you. Make me proud.”

“Yes, Father! I will!”

That done, Wen Ruohan finally made his way down the hall to where his original targets, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, were being housed. He needed the two of them to do something for him.

After all, he owed Lan Qiren a debt, and it was time to deliver.

“Qiren,” he said, walking into their rooms later that afternoon. “I have something for you.”

He’d picked a good time: Lan Qiren was neither meditating nor playing his guqin, and neither was he composing – an activity that also involved a guqin, but a great deal more angry plucking, grumbling, and furious scribbling. Instead, he was only writing something down on scrap paper, though whatever the content of the note was, it was making him frown deeply, with a furrow between his brows that suggested that the subject was genuinely concerning to him.

“There you are,” Lan Qiren said, looking up. “I have something to say to you as well – ”

He paused, his expression suddenly clearing, discomfort making way for an expression of surprise, as well as something that seemed torn between pleasure and apprehension. “Did you say that you had something for me?”

“I did,” Wen Ruohan said agreeably. “Several things, in fact. Is what you have to say urgent?”

“Not at all,” Lan Qiren said bemusedly, rising to his feet and coming over. “It can wait, and indeed I would insist that it do so, given the alternative. What have you gotten me?”

Wen Ruohan produced two small booklets from inside his robes and handed them over.

Still looking somewhat wary, Lan Qiren accepted them, then opened the first one.

A moment later, he let out a surprised bark of laughter.

Wen Ruohan smirked triumphantly, watching the tension in Lan Qiren’s shoulders disappear. The man was too used to bad surprises, to everything that was unknown or a change being a bad thing – it was about time that he learned that some changes were good.

“I realize that my behavior was inappropriate, both in the specific situation and in general,” Lan Qiren read out loud. “When I am angry, I should withdraw from the situation and do what it takes to master my emotions, to better maintain my own discipline, before making any bad decisions. Under no circumstance should I take my mood out on other people, and especially not family. Additionally, I particularly recognize that I should always take the time to listen to you before making a final judgment. I have learned a valuable lesson from what I did, and I will not do it again – Wen Ruohan, did you get Xichen to write you an apology essay for me?”

“I got both your nephews to write me apology essays to give to you,” Wen Ruohan corrected him. “The second one is from Wangji.”

“Of course it is.” Lan Qiren’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter again. “That’s - this is terrible. Your apologies keep getting worse and worse – and this one is unnecessary! I have already forgiven you.”

“This one isn’t an apology. It’s punishment.”

Lan Qiren’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

“You said the purpose of punishment is deterrence and remediation – that I need to take some loss in order to show my sincerity, to pay for the past and to make a deposit as assurance for good conduct in the future. A loss that means something to me, the way pain and time don’t.” Wen Ruohan reached out and cupped Lan Qiren’s cheek with his hand. “Something that can show you that I really have…how did he put it? That I ‘learned a valuable lesson from what I did, and will not do it again’.”

Lan Qiren leaned into his touch, smiling faintly. “And you think you have done that with this? What is your logic?”

Wen Ruohan found himself returning the smile. There it was, there was what he’d been looking for.

Lan Qiren was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

On the surface, it was patently ridiculous to think that convincing two boys to write essays could be a sufficient punishment, something that it could constitute a loss for someone of Wen Ruohan’s stature and power. Lao Nie would have thought he was joking, would have laughed along with a jest he wasn’t making, while his wives would have thought he was being sarcastic, that he was mocking them; they would have stormed out, maybe after throwing something at his head.

Lan Qiren just waited, certain that an explanation (of whatever quality) would be forthcoming.

“In our first visit to the Lotus Pier, I offered to help your nephews find you,” Wen Ruohan said, withdrawing his hand. “But not for free. I asked each of them to promise me a favor: one each.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Unrestricted?”

“Your Xichen tried his best – he insisted on it being ‘nothing bad.’ But he’s young. He put no other restrictions on it, neither time, nor goal, nor extent…”

Lan Qiren winced. An open-ended favor like that, from a future sect leader, from a sect that did not make promises lightly, that did not break promises lightly, not even when they were extracted under duress…he knew exactly the sort of mischief Wen Ruohan could get up to with something like that. He’d seen it, even. In the ten years that the Lan sect was under his leadership, Lan Qiren would have been well aware that Wen Ruohan had twice utilized far more limited favors he was owed to devastating effect.

No, Lan Qiren well knew to be wary of such favors. He understood the gravity of such a thing – and just as he recalled it, that was when the understanding hit.

Wen Ruohan had the pleasure of seeing Lan Qiren genuinely shocked.

“You used those favors to get them to write these essays?” he exclaimed. “Surely not!”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “Is that sufficient loss for you?”

“More than sufficient! I would not have asked you to give up an advantage like that,” Lan Qiren said, frowning at him. “I might have sought to blunt the effects of the favors they had given, particularly in light of their age and immaturity, but a promise made is a promise made. Surely you know that – you are sect leader, and this is not a personal matter between us. Favors between sects is a matter of your sect, which is your first priority. I would not wish to abuse my position as your husband to interfere.”

“You might not wish to, but you might regardless,” Wen Ruohan said dryly, having figured out a little more of Lan sect cleverness with words by now. “And you might not, though I wish that you would.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are my husband,” Wen Ruohan said, as much for the pleasure of seeing Lan Qiren automatically smile at the reminder as to make the point. “That makes youhalf-master of my Wen sect in your own right…of our Wen sect. Our Wen sect is known for its arrogance, our superiority, our certainty that we deserve everything good in the world, and I would be very happy to see the same in you, Qiren.”

He shook his head.

“It is not abusing your position to want things, even things that are not necessarily to our Wen sect’s immediate benefit,” he said. “I want you to want things. I want you to ask for…no, I want you to demand everything that you want. I want you to learn to expect to receive what you ask for, rather than expecting to have to struggle to obtain it.”

Lan Qiren didn’t understand, Wen Ruohan could see that.

He found his voice softening. “You deserve the best, Qiren. You deserve to have the best given to you: without pain, without struggle, without effort, just for the asking. The world is your rightful due, and if you only ask for it, I would give it to you.”

“You are not using me as an excuse to take over the world,” Lan Qiren informed him primly, but there was something in his eyes that suggested that he had understood a little of what Wen Ruohan meant, even if he didn’t comprehend the fullness of it. At minimum, he’d understood that Wen Ruohan meant that he was family now – Wen Ruohan, who had always put his family over everyone, for good or for evil, with reason or without, following faithfully in the path laid out by Wen Mao in prizing their Wen clan over the whole world. Perhaps he even understood what Wen Ruohan was really saying: that he would now put him first, first before anything.

It might take some time before Lan Qiren could really bring himself to believe what Wen Ruohan told him, and even longer before he was willing to act with that glorious arrogance that Wen Ruohan so longed to see in him, that carelessness and freedom that accompanied true power. But at least he understood that that was something Wen Ruohan wanted to give to him.

A good change, rather than bad.

“This is my promise to you,” Wen Ruohan told him, nodding at the essays. “My loss, yes, my sect’s loss, also yes, but it is the loss I should take. It is my payment for not trusting you, as I should have, because not trusting you is a loss.”

Wen Ruohan was known for many things. He was blood-thirsty, a tyrant, a madman who delighted in torture; he was brilliant, a master of cultivation, ancient and terrifying. He was paranoid and cruel and selfish, and he put his ambitions above everything else.

He might be all those things, but Lan Qiren had chosen him anyway. The least he could do was choose him in return – to let Lan Qiren change him the way he wanted to change Lan Qiren. To trust him, yes, but also…to be worthy of his trust in return.

To be anything less –

Now that would be the real loss.

And, of course, Wen Ruohan did not lose.

Lan Qiren was staring at him open-mouthed.

“Do you understand?”

“…yes. I understand.”

Wen Ruohan kissed him. After a moment, he released him.

Lan Qiren still looked dazed. It was a good look on him.

“Now tell me,” Wen Ruohan teased. “Was that a good enough punishment?”

“If I were grading you, I would pass you with honors,” Lan Qiren said fervently.

Wen Ruohan laughed.

“Now, it is your turn to tell me,” Lan Qiren added, recovering a little. “Do I dare read what Wangji wrote…?”

“I genuinely have no idea,” Wen Ruohan said cheerfully. “He did it all in musical notation.”

“Oh no.”

“I like your second nephew. He’s clever.”

“Please refrain from getting any bright ideas. I am already working diligently on helping him recover his equilibrium; he does not need any further assistance in growing any more feral, and still less does he need to grow any more tyrannical than he already is.” Lan Qiren shook his head. “I will review the essays in full later, and I expect to be greatly amused by them, both immediately and for a great deal of time into the future. Thank you.”

“Of course. Would you like to see what else I have for you?”

Lan Qiren glanced at him sharply. “There’s more?”

“No need to sound so plaintive,” Wen Ruohan chuckled. “Do not do things in excess, or however the rule goes.That was all for the punishment. This one is an out-and-out gift – I painted something for you.”

“You painted…? Is that where you were all morning?”

“All night and all morning,” Wen Ruohan corrected. “It’s in my secondary study, if you’d like to come see it now. Or would you prefer to first discuss the subject that you mentioned earlier?”

Oddly enough, that caused the worried furrow to return to Lan Qiren’s brow, and he hesitated for a long moment before eventually saying, “Do not harbor doubts or jealousy, do not fail to carry out your promise. I think we had better discuss it now.”

That didn’t sound promising. Wen Ruohan tilted his head to the side. “Very well. What is it that you wanted to discuss, then?”

“It is about Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren said slowly. “I promised to myself that I would speak with you on the subject at the first instant I could. And yet, as time goes on, I find myself searching for further reasons to refrain for a little longer – which is misconduct on my part, although understandable. I have only just had you confirm that you returned my feelings, which has brought me tremendous joy. When one feels great joy, one seeks to preserve it…I suppose I wished to have you to myself for a little longer.”

“You do have me to yourself,” Wen Ruohan said, a little confused. “Lao Nie and I are not on the best of terms, as you yourself have seen. While it is true that we have never officially broken off our relationship, his recent actions and behavior make it clear enough that that will be the inevitable result, and sooner rather than later. He suspects me at every turn, disdains me, becomes angry at anything and everything I do – ”

“He had a qi deviation.”

Wen Ruohan stopped.

For a moment his mind rebelled, refusing to accept what his ears told him they had heard. “What?”

“He had a qi deviation, not long ago,” Lan Qiren said. His voice was solemn, serious, and Do not tell lies. He was telling the truth. “His son, Nie Mingjue, told me about it. You know what fate awaits the sect leaders of Qinghe Nie. You know how it looks, when it starts. You know what it does to them. How it makes them feel – ”

“Rage,” Wen Ruohan said, finding that his lips had started tingling, even if the rest of his face felt strangely numb. He did know. He’d seen Lao Nie’s father and grandfather suffer from the very same thing. “Disdain. Irrationality. Suspicion, paranoia…are you saying that you think his qi deviation is the genesis of his recent behavior?”

“I believe it is likely. You know how subtle qi deviations can be, particularly the small ones that the Nie sect initially suffer from – even if it was only discovered recently, it is likely that the deviation has been affecting him for months, perhaps even a year or two. From what I have observed of your disintegrating relationship, and based on your description of past events, his seeming distrust and your reaction to it…yes, it seems likely.”

Wen Ruohan…

Wen Ruohan didn’t know what to do with that information.

He didn’t want to believe Lan Qiren. He wanted to accuse him of lying, even though he knew he didn’t. He wanted to throw something, hit something, hurt something – he wanted to claim that this was all some sort of sick scheme, designed to strike him right when he was most vulnerable. But he’d promised to trust Lan Qiren, and he did trust him, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that Lan Qiren did not lie.

Lao Nie had had a qi deviation.

Lao Nie was dying.

Lao Nie – Lao Nie had come to Wen Ruohan when he’d been at his lowest point, when he’d been sick and tired of living, entertained by pain and nothing more. At that time, Wen Ruohan had been on the verge of considering entering the way of clarity, a path that cut off his feelings entirely as a means of avoiding the endless misery of having them mostly cut off already. He’d been searching for some method, any method, to stop the way he felt dead inside most of the time, dead and bored. Dead, and bored, and…and alone.

Lao Nie hadn’t let him be alone.

Lao Nie had brought to bear all the good cheer his considerable force of personality gave him, and he had aimed it at him. Lao Nie had laughed at him, had teased him, had all but demanded a place in his bed, and Wen Ruohan had found him amusing. It hadn’t been anything more than that at the start of it. He’d been glad that it’d been nothing more than that – he’d thought at the time that he didn’t want any more connections to the world to tie him down, to hold him back. What Lao Nie had offered him had seemed perfect.

A friend, an occasional lover, someone willing to slaughter his way into Wen Ruohan’s good graces, but without any serious commitment…it’d been easy. Casual. Light-hearted, the way Lao Nie always was, no matter the circumstances.

Even when their sects had been at odds, it hadn’t ever gotten any more difficult. Lao Nie was a Nie after all; he was straightforward and blunt, even when he was being clever or tricky. He held no fear of lying, did not refrain from it like Lan Qiren, but his actions, at least towards Wen Ruohan, were so lacking in malice that it was impossible to take offense from them. He’d always saved his malice for other people, and let Wen Ruohan share in the fun with him…

Yes, that was it. Lao Nie had always been fun.

And then he’d disappeared for a while, and returned with Nie Mingjue.

That had been the first break between them. A small one, but still a break – it wasn’t that Wen Ruohan hadn’t expected the man to marry eventually, since as sect leader he had a duty to continue his family line, but for whatever reason he’d expected to be involved in the process. Helping pick out some likely girl, debating her merits, that sort of thing, the same way they amiably argued over the pick of prostitutes during parties they attended. He hadn’t expected to be taken by surprise.

He hadn’t expected to care.

It had been only a little consolation that everyone else had been taken by surprise, too.

And of course it had helped that the First Madam Nie, Lao Nie’s much talked-of goddess, never actually made an appearance herself, even if she did get full honors in the Nie sect’s family record. It had been awkward, yes, and had made Wen Ruohan realize that he felt more things for Lao Nie than he really ought to – he’d reacted by ignoring said feelings for nearly a decade – but it hadn’t really felt like a betrayal.

The second wife felt like a betrayal.

They’d argued over that one. Lao Nie hadn’t understood why Wen Ruohan would care, and Wen Ruohan was too arrogant, and too embarrassed, to admit the truth that he did. After all, hadn’t he been the one to insist on them being nothing more than casual friends who occasionally indulged in more than that? And that was all he wanted, too, or thought he’d wanted, only he’d also wanted to be the most important part of Lao Nie’s life, and it came as a nasty shock to discover that he wasn’t. To discover that Lao Nie was actively pursuing others, and that he would pick them over Wen Ruohan if it came to it.

Things had never quite gotten better after that.

Oh, once Lao Nie’s second wife had died – or disappeared, whichever – they had fallen back into each other’s orbit, being almost too familiar with each other not to. They were the leaders of Great Sects, who knew virtually no peer; of that smaller group, they were the only two who were genuinely powerful in their personal capacities, or at least so Wen Ruohan had thought at the time. He’d known that Lao Nie was exceptionally fond of Lan Qiren, fond enough to almost drive Wen Ruohan into jealousy, but luckily he’d heard enough of Lan Qiren’s lectures to know that the two of them would never be compatible in any real sense. Even if Lao Nie had managed to get Lan Qiren into bed, the way Wen Ruohan had semi-seriously suggested to the man a few times that he try to do and which Lao Nie had laughed off as impossible, he’d been confident that Lan Qiren would never eclipse his own position in Lao Nie’s regard.

It certainly hadn’t occurred to him that he might be the one to fall for Lan Qiren in the end.

Wen Ruohan felt confident that he would have acted in the same way, fallen in the same way, even if his relationship with Lao Nie had not deteriorated to such an extent before he’d married Lan Qiren, but that didn’t change the fact that it had. It didn’t change the fact that Wen Ruohan had been growing steadily more offended by the way Lao Nie never seemed to trust him anymore, the way he always ascribed the worst possible motives to him, the way he seemed to think so little of him. Lao Nie had always had a suspicious side to him, which Wen Ruohan had once liked, a point of similarity between them, but he hadn’t liked it when it was aimed at him. Especially when he actually hadn’t done anything to deserve it!

Suspicion – anger – disdain –

It had never occurred to Wen Ruohan that it could have been caused by a qi deviation.

Perhaps it should have, given Lao Nie’s poisonous heritage, but it never had. Lao Nie was Lao Nie: he laughed where his ancestors would have shouted, let his anger carry him forward without letting it master him. He’d looked for solutions to his familial issue, of course, the way all of his ancestors had, but he’d done so idly, not serious, never serious. He always took things so easily. How could he die of rage?

How could he die?

“How long?” Wen Ruohan asked. The Nie sect doctors knew their business by now, after as many generations as it had been. “What do they say?”

“Ten years,” Lan Qiren said, and Wen Ruohan actually took a step back, staggering, horrified: that was so short. “Nie Mingjue said they’d expressed hope for fifteen, maybe even twenty, but that may have been meant only as comfort. As you know, Nie sect leaders die faster the more powerful they are, and Lao Nie’s cultivation is very strong.”

Wen Ruohan shook his head in denial, but he knew even as he did that it wasn’t something that he could deny.

Lao Nie was strong. And now that very strength was going to take him to the end of his life – too young, too soon, even for a Nie. It was all well and good to speak of trading your future for your present, but one day the future would come calling to collect the debt that had been incurred…

“I told Nie Mingjue that we would help however we could, do whatever we could about it,” Lan Qiren said. “Both of us. I assume you do not object?”

“There isn’t anything to be done about it.” Wen Ruohan pressed his fingers to his temples, which throbbed with a sudden headache, his body already starting to express the grief his mind could not yet accept. “Do you think the Qinghe Nie hate their children? They know what inheritance they are passing to them, they know what it costs, what it will take. They all look for a way out, every one of them…if it was easy, if there was a solution, don’t you think they would have found it by now? Every generation has its geniuses. Medicine, cultivation, esoteric arts; they’ve tried them all.”

“I know. There is no guarantee of success. We can only continue to try.” Lan Qiren hesitated, his face twisting into some strange expression that Wen Ruohan couldn’t quite parse. “If you wish…I had already told you that – that I would not object, if you wished to – with Lao Nie – ”

It was unusually garbled for the typically eloquent Lan Qiren, but Wen Ruohan still got the gist.

He shook his head.

“His mood at the party was foul,” he said. “He’s not taking it well, I assume? He’s still processing the revelation himself. Right now he wouldn’t accept a kind word, much less anything else.”

Lan Qiren nodded.

“And…” Wen Ruohan grimaced. “And I don’t know if I want to, anyway.”

That took Lan Qiren by surprise, Wen Ruohan could tell. He hadn’t been expecting that.

In fairness, before he’d said it, Wen Ruohan hadn’t been expecting to say it. If a few months ago someone had come to him and told him that they could prove that Lao Nie hadn’t really meant all the ways he’d been cruel or distrusting – and even if they’d warned him that there was no way to fix it, no way to have the old Lao Nie back, back as he’d been when things had been good – then Wen Ruohan wouldn’t have hesitated to jump right back into his bed.

But that was then. That was before he’d had Lan Qiren – Lan Qiren, who wasn’t light-hearted, who didn’t take everything easily, who was serious and sober and sincere. Who’d given Wen Ruohan his heart, whole and entire; who trusted him, and had faith in him, and forgave him, even against his better instincts. Who loved him, and wasn’t afraid to tell him. Who had let Wen Ruohan change him, who hadn’t been afraid to seek to change Wen Ruohan in turn.

Lan Qiren, who’d told him with all seriousness that he had lost his mind over him.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t alone anymore. He didn’t need to be content with the scraps of Lao Nie’s inconstant heart, which in truth belonged to no one and likely would never, could never. He didn’t need to be constantly hurting himself by wanting more than he could get, and never getting even what he deserved as the man’s friend.

“The qi deviation might have been the cause of his changed behavior,” Wen Ruohan said slowly, feeling it out for himself even as he spoke. “But it still happened. He still did it. Isn’t it the same for you, what happened with the Fire Palace? Just because there was a valid explanation doesn’t change the reality of it – what happened, still happened.”

He’d been hurt by Lao Nie’s seeming disregard of him. He’d been angry, yes, his vanity offended, but…it had been another betrayal, in a lifetime full of them.

Wen Ruohan was so very tired of betrayals.

He could admit, if only to himself, that some of the incompatibility between him and Lao Nie had preceded the qi deviation. Wen Ruohan was ambitious and greedy, he couldn’t be content with only a part of a person’s heart rather than the totality of it, and Lao Nie wasn’t capable of giving him what he wanted. And Wen Ruohan wasn’t able to give Lao Nie what he wanted, which was a connection that didn’t come with jealousy or unhappiness, something to enjoy without concern, without any strings attached.

“I forgave you for the Fire Palace,” Lan Qiren protested.

“Not everyone is you,” Wen Ruohan said, and omitted to mention you’re also in love with me, so your judgment is skewed in my favor – I’ll never complain about having an unfair advantage, but I prefer to recognize when they exist. “Anyway, like I said, it’s not the time. Lao Nie has ten years, and we will help him, just as you promised Nie Mingjue. Maybe we’ll figure out some way to give him a little longer – ”

Alternatively, they could try to find a way to make him immortal.

Wen Ruohan knew that most people thought he was joking when he said that becoming a god would solve a lot of his problems, but it really would. He was already so powerful, surely he just needed a little bit more…

Anyway, that was a later problem. As was the fact that Lan Qiren was also not yet immortal, though Wen Ruohan felt very confident that he’d be able to solve that problem before it became a pressing issue.

(And once they solved the problem of Lao Nie dying, they could perhaps once again discuss the other question. Lao Nie had always been very good in bed, and Wen Ruohan would be delighted to have the chance to introduce Lan Qiren to that fact, if he were willing. But he would only invite him in as a guest, the way Lao Nie preferred, and this time he would leave his heart out of it.)

“For the moment, we need to figure out who is trying to kill us. That’s the immediate issue,” he concluded, deciding not to think further on the subject of those he loved dying when there was a more pressing practical concern, denial and postponement having always served him very well in the past. Anyway, it was relevant. After all, immortality, in the sense of not dying of old age, was all well and good, but it wouldn’t help you if someone assassinated you.

In fact, even knowing that it had happened, even having lived through it, the whole thing still seemed somehow fake to Wen Ruohan. Who would dare try to assassinate him? With actual assassins, no less. Even if he was personally weakened, he still had all his influence, all his army, all his sect behind him. Surely whoever had ordered it would know that he would take vicious reprisals against them? Why would anyone risk such a thing…?

“There should be an answer to that by now,” he added. “Should we go see what it is?”

Lan Qiren blinked owlishly at him, as if surprised. “Have you not already figured it out? It took me a little time, thinking about it, but in retrospect it seems obvious.”

Now it was Wen Ruohan’s turn to be startled. He most certainly had not figured it out.

“What,” he said, a little disbelievingly, “surely not your brother again?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said. “It was Jin Guangshan. We are going to have to go to war.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #lan qiren #yu ziyuan #wen xu #wen chao #my fic #my fics #Megafic #just so you all know it's a (mostly) valid translation of the phrase :D

[acediaedeus]

this does contain them sweet

SPOILERS

what I find really upsetting about Ichigo’s dynamic with his friends/family/mentors is how they treat the fact that he’s part-Hollow. especially when it comes to the Visored and Orihime.

bc yeah, the Visored did struggle with their Hollows, bc they already lived hundreds of years without that aspect. they were comfortable with their shinigami existence, but then this hollowfication bullshit drops on their heads and suddenly they’re not only barely in control of themselves, constantly in a fight with an inner “demon”, but also there’s no one to support them AND they’re getting fucking exiled and then they exist as this tightly knit community of eight for a fucking century with no one to understand them but each other. I’d hate the Hollow in me too, probably.

BUT, then there’s this fresh guy, that hasn’t accepted the fact that he’s now an amalgamation of a million different things, including something that he has been told he has to fight and exterminate, that they have to teach to manage the hollowfication bullshit™️ so what do we do? correct, scare the shit out of him and present existing with a Hollow as amensalism (one is harmed, one is unaffected) or parasitism (one benefits, one is harmed) when it’s more like commensalism (one benefits, one is unaffected), in which the shinigami is clearly the one who’s benefiting from this.

(although we could argue that for the Visored this is a symbiotic relationship in which both are getting harmed, but even then the shinigami still gains benefit and the Hollow gets nothing but hatred, so like, fuck them, lol (I’m advocating for inner-Hollow rights 💀🙏🏻)).

biology lesson out of the way, they essentially do not teach Ichigo anything that would bring long-term benefits (we see this when Ichigo is unable to complete his training with Squad 0, bc he has no fucking idea who Zangetsu (or he himself) actually is (this is, of course, in part his quincy power’s doing, but I wouldn’t say his supposed “mentors” helped much).

in conclusion what does Ichigo get out of this? self-hatred and the habit to suppress what is, whichever way you look at it, a big part of his being, thus blocking himself and Zangetsu from reaching their full potential.

but I guess you can’t teach lessons you haven’t learnt yourself, so there is that with the Visored.

now onto my dear Orihime, who I love dearly (this is a disclaimer). for someone who, supposedly, loves Ichigo more than anything and who we have to take seriously as not only just a potential love-interest, but the actual, one-and-only lover, she is a little bit too scared of Ichigo.

this, of course, for me, begs the question of how am I supposed to accept a love-interest who is consistently terrified of the mc? not a single battle with Orihime present (and Ichigo using the mask) without her shaking in fear and having to be reminded by others (who have known him for much less time than she has), that not only is it still Ichigo in front of her, but he’s also fighting and pulling out the mask he himself doesn’t like much, in order to protect her.

it’s plain and simple upsetting how there’s absolutely no one to accept and embrace the essence of Kurosaki Ichigo. everyone around him wants the shinigami and human in him, no one is interested in the Hollow (except for *ahem* Grimmjow *ahem*), all they do is reject and cower and isn’t that fucking hypocritical after hiding behind his back and begging him to save them?

everyone around Ichigo just really pisses me off with their constant whining. I feel like the only ones who love and cherish Ichigo for the absolute gem of a person he is are Chad and the fucking Arrancars 💀🙏🏻

as I mentioned in the ALT to the last photo in this parade of idiocy: trying to separate and think of Hollow Ichigo and Ichigo as two different entities is crazy and delusional behaviour, bc we have been told countless times, that a person’s inner Hollow is a manifestation of all repressed emotions and traits that they view as unsavoury. which for Ichigo happened to be aggression, cruelty, being merciless and thirst for bloody battles.

let me remind everyone that you cannot truly love a person w/o accepting and acknowledging all their flaws (including yourself).

this is not me trying to say Orihime doesn’t love Ichigo, it’s not really about the characters, more so the writing. I am actively trying to square up with Tite Kubo. for many reasons, but this is one of the ones I pay most attention to.

Ichigo is someone who is in perfect control of himself, who protects no matter what, bc even when he turned into the vasto lorde (after getting his heart ripped out of his chest) it was all his Hollow, yet it still carried out the mission of protection seamlessly, that’s how strong his will is. Kurosaki Ichigo deserves ppl who actually love him around, thank you.

thanks for coming to this ted talk, love y’all!

#bleach #kurosaki ichigo #inoue orihime #ichigo x orihime #kind of #but not really #bc I’m being a hater about them #it’s actually much more #grimmichi #I can’t go a single post about Ichigo without mentioning Grimmjow #they are very dear to me #also #they are in love #visored #I’m an opinionated bitch #can you tell? #literally don’t piss me off about this #I don’t play about Kurosaki Ichigo or Hollows #this is NOT me hating on Orihime I love that girl #I just hate the treatment Ichigo has to endure #my friend had to listen to different variations of this same rant 20 times I think #she’s TIRED #oh also #Chad is mentioned bc I love what he has with Ichigo #truly beautiful #this is what true male friendship looks like #overuse of coloured text for a bigger oomph #surprisingly no italics? #random biological bullshit #this got long

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Can I request Nubbins x fem reader? She has friends who don't want Nubbins near her because they don't like the way he is. But when Nubbins is with the reader it is pleasant because she does not judge him or treat him badly. How would he manage to have her all to himself and not let anyone ruin it?

I don't know if Nubbins would be possessive and rude like Johnny or if he is more passive...

Nubbins x Reader

The Only One that Counts

Contains; fluff, derogatory names

"Guys, cut it out," you say, shooting a glare at your two best friends.

"Seriously though, what do you see in him? Everything about him is weird, even his name. Who names their kid Nubbins?" Emily says, snickering.

"Maybe I like weird," you interject.

"For your birthday, he got you a dead possum with a lightbulb in its mouth. He's twisted," Joey adds, looking more concerned than anything.

You cross your arms. "That was cute! Pulling the tail turned it on. I named him Henry."

"You have a dead giant trash rat named Henry by your bed," Joey says flatly. "See why we're concerned?"

You shrug. "Not every girl wants chocolate and makeup. I like his little crafts. He's really creative."

"He's gonna turn you into a lamp next if you're not careful," Emily says. "I heard he cuts himself for fun."

"Guys, just stop. I'm happy with him, okay? Isn't that enough?"

Both Emily and Joey look incredulous, shaking their heads.

"Don't you see we're trying to protect you? That guy's whole family is messed up. Have you seen his giant brother? What if being a giant retarded freak runs in the family? Do you want giant retard freak kids running around the house?" Joey says, as if he could think of nothing worse.

"I'm tired of listening to this," you say, fuming. You stand up from the bench and glare at your friends before turning your back, a tear streaking down your cheek.

–

"Y-your friends want you to leave me?" Nubbins asks, cocking his head. The two of you are sitting in the sunflower fields as the sun rises, painting the sky pink. He doesn't seem upset, just curious.

"They think you're dangerous," you say, looking down at your joined hands and running your thumb over his. You can't bring yourself to tell him what they've said about his brother.

"W-well," Nubbins laughs, smiling. "I mean, I am. Grandpa wouldn't think I'm the best if I w-wasn't!" He pauses, then squeezes your hand. "But, 'course I'd never hurt you!"

"I know, Nubs, I'm just sad my friends are so judgmental," you say, sighing and leaning against his shoulder.

He uses his pocket knife to etch into the dirt between his feet, drawing your initials beside his. "Why does it matter w-what they think?" He pauses, looking up at you worriedly. "Y-you aren't gonna listen to them, are ya?" He asks, as if the notion hadn't occurred to him.

"No, of course not!" you soothe, instantly erasing the worried expression off his face. "I just don't like hearing them talk bad about you and your family."

"I could cut out their tongues!" he offers cheerily. "You ever had tongue pudding? It's real good!"

"No no, please don't," you giggle, and he laughs wildly, his whole body shaking beside yours.

Nubbins, still in a giggle fit, nuzzles at your ear before nipping it, making you laugh and shove him away. He lunges after you, tackling you to the dirt and touching your nose to his with a loud "boop!" A wild grin lights up his face, and you pull him down for a kiss, surprising the man into a fleeting moment of stillness.

When you break the kiss, he stares at you in a stupor before sense returns to his brain, and he blinks rapidly, his earlier grin returning. "Wow… sometimes I forget we can do that. Talk about crazy; your friends musta never had a kiss like that. Well, probably 'cause they never kissed you," he peters off, pure adoration in his eyes as he holds himself over you.

"You're so sweet, Nubbins," you say, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you."

His face flushes pink, and he traces your lip with his thumb, cradling your face in his hand. "I l-love you too."

Nubbins doesn't care what anyone thinks but you. As long as he knows you love him, he will never get jealous.

#nubbins sawyer #tcm nubbins #nubbins x reader #tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw massacre #hitchhiker tcm #hitchhiker x reader

[thewildwaffle]

Tattoo

This was written in chunks of when I actually had any drive to write in the past few months, which wasn't often. I tried doing a bit of editing, but my brain demands to move on to the next short. I'm just happy my brain wants to write again, so who am I to argue?

***

The shop was not as dark inside as it looked. Sillik was glad for that. As a duib, his eyes were well-adapted to the bright sunlit mountains of his homeworld, and he managed just fine with the medium-light of the city that Human Ernesto had been showing him around.

It wasn't the human's hometown, that was on the other side of the continent, and the crew they were both part of only had a relatively small radius to go while on surface leave due to time constraints. Thankfully, it was a city that Ernesto had visited many times before, and so was very familiar with all the best places to eat, relax, and otherwise explore. Sillik, Ernesto, and the others in the group they’d been spending the day with only had a few more hours before they needed to be at the spaceport to report back for duty. With full bellies after having had a delightful meal at a small local cafe downtown, they were in no rush as they meandered down the wide sidewalks lined with flowers and lovely shrubbery.

“Woah,” Sillik stopped walking and nearly got run into by Human Carol who had been walking directly behind him, “what is that building?” He pointed to a small brick building a few doors down from where they currently were. Not very out of the ordinary in and of itself, but it was the decoration of the building that had pulled Sillik's attention. The brick texture of the building was completely covered in a base coat of black paint with complex and intricate white and gray patterns swirling across the structure like they’d been poured on and across the whole of it. The grayscale was interrupted by strategically placed pops of color in the form of stylized animals, flowers, and characters that Silllik did not recognize.

Painting the building, with its brick-and-mortar texture would have been hard enough, but whoever had done it had gone beyond. This? This was beautiful! This was art!

Without waiting for an answer to his original question, Sillik approached the building in an almost reverent state of awe. The closer he got, the more he could make out the fine details the artist must have painstakingly minded when painting. It appeared to cover all the building, or at least all parts he could see from the street. How long had it taken to do all this?

Sillik almost didn’t notice when the rest of the group caught up with him. Someone, probably one of the humans, let out a long arching whistle sound. “Oh my stars! Look at the name!” Ernesto laughed as he walked up to the front door. “Tatu Shop?” Carol followed his gaze to the white sign above the door. “What’s so special about it? They just misspelled tattoo, or what?” “No, it’s a pun.” Ernesto pointed to some of the colorful animals painted around the shop. They had long pointed faces and looked like they were built out of armor. “Tatu is Portuguese for armadillo.” “Punny!” Another human, Steph laughed. “So it’s a pet shop?” Sillik asked. It made sense, he supposed. The art of the building was so interesting and happy-looking, and it was widely known that pets often made humans happy. Ernesto laughed “What? No, they do tattoos here. As in body art? It’s a play on words.” He turned back to the sign above the door and hummed to himself. “I’ve actually always wanted a tattoo. Just a small one on my arm. I’ve had the design in my mind for years.” Steph made a show of checking their comm device. “If it’s not too big of a design, they might be able to do it before we have to be back. We still have four hours, but keep in mind we’ll still need to walk to the spaceport shuttle.”

Ernesto frowned. Normally the look of having a scrunched-up brow and the corners of their mouths turned down means that a human is unhappy - usually upset, worried, or angry. But Sillik had been around Ernesto enough to recognize that this particular frown was one he made when he was thinking very hard about something. If he continued doing it long enough, he might stick the tip of his tongue out of his mouth as well. “I’m gonna do it,” Ernesto finally blurted out. He gasped a bit like he was surprised at his own declaration. “Oh my stars, I’m… I’m gonna do it!” He started walking into the shop, the rest of the group following after shooting each other amused looks. Sillik followed, a bit confused, but happy to see what tattoo Ernesto was so excited about getting.

That was how Sillik ended up in the fairly well-lit tattoo shop. He got himself comfortable in a chair off to the side as Ernesto talked with the tall human behind the front counter. The others joined him, except Carol, who paused a bit behind Ernesto while wearing the same frowny-thinking expression on her face. “Carol,” Steph laughed lightly, “you thinking of getting one too?” “Hmmmm…” Carol tilted her head as Ernesto turned to look back at her, “Uh, maybe not right now, actually.” She shuffled over to the line of chairs as Ernesto followed the tall human behind the counter and to some cushioned chairs where Sillik assumed the body art was done. He watched intensely. Thankfully the shop was small enough that he could clearly see everything. The shopkeeper, who must have also been one of the shop’s artists handed Ernesto a clipboard of papers for him to sign. One of them must have been for him to sketch out the design he had in mind. From the way Ernesto explained it as he drew, it seemed like it was indeed very simple. If the artist had even an ounce of skill that the painter of the building had, Ernesto’s “tattoo” should look lovely.

Sillik spent the next few minutes just looking around at the art painted on the shop’s interior walls. It was the same style as the artwork outside but with different designs. There were a few more of those “tatu” creatures that popped up here and there. It was a fun design overall. He might just look into getting something done himself. Maybe not here, but back home. After all, who knows if the paints they use in a "tattoo" is safe for duib skin?

“So what made you second-guess yourself on getting one yourself?” Steph questioned. Sillik turned back to his companions. Carol steepled her hands to hold them under her chin and sighed. “I want one, but I’m not a hundred percent sure what I want. That, and I really, really don’t like needles, so that’s kind of the big issue.”

Needles? Wait. Not paint? What kind of body art is a tattoo that needs needles?! Sillik’s head shot toward Ernesto and the tattoo artist sat together in the chairs just as a buzzing noise started up. Sillik saw the artist holding a small gun-looking device up to Ernesto’s arm, and Ernesto wincing slightly as the point of the device made contact with his skin. Normally, Sillik considered himself very level-headed, which was a good quality to have when you worked closely with humans on a regular basis. Even still, he felt his jaw drop as shock spread itself across his face. Was there a needle on the point of that gun thing? Had Ernesto been injected with something? Thoughts flashed around his brain as he stared. “Carol, Steph,” Sillik kept his voice from squeaking, “what, exactly, is a tattoo? What’s going on?

“Oh,” Steph chirped cheerily as ever, thankfully unaware of just how distraught Sillik felt at the moment. “Tattoos are ink drawings that are injected into the skin. That makes them permanent.” Sillik stared at her, then over to Ernesto. “But… but doesn’t that hurt?” “Yeah,” Carol looked over to Ernesto like she was searching for something. “He might have given him some lidocaine cream, but I’m not really sure. Don’t a lot of tattoo artists not like using it?” She asked Steph. “Depends,” Steph looked over to Ernesto and the tattoo artist who was already doing good work on the design. “I doubt he bothered, the arm is one of the least painful places to get a tattoo.” “Isn't the most painful place the armpit or something?” “Why would someone get a tattoo in their armpit? What would you even put there?” “I don’t know, I can think of a couple really funny ideas.”

Sillik gaped at them but then turned back to watch the tattoo process again. Ernesto wasn’t crying out. He looked like he was in pain, but he had personally seen the human get injured in what seemed to be much “smaller” incidents and had had much bigger reactions. Like when he stubbed his toe three cycles ago. What is the deal? Humans and how they react to pain in different ways is so weird!

Steph must have noticed his attention had gone elsewhere again and thought it funny to add, “You know, this method of getting a tattoo is much less painful than it used to be, back in the day.” Of course it was, Sillik thought. Still, it was something that he felt needed more of an explanation, so he looked back at her and waited for her to continue. “There were two different ways, at least that I know of. One was with just a really sharp needle dipped in soot or seal oil or whatever and then the person giving the tattoo just poked you over and over and over to get it all under the skin.” Steph enunciated the “over and over” part by miming holding a needling and poking at Sillik like she was an old-timey tattoo artist. “Another way,” she continued, “and in my opinion, this one seems like the most uncomfortable way to do pretty much anything, was pretty much sewing the tattoo into your skin, with a needle pulling along a thread that had been dipped in dye. And again, the dye back then was either soot or seal oil or what have you.”

Thank the stars Sillik had been serving around humans for a couple of solar cycles now. If he had learned all this from the start, he would have thrown up. Though he felt like if he kept watching Ernesto getting his tattoo, there was a good chance of that happening still.

He spent the next hour or so staring at his feet as thought of why humans do the things they do until Steph and Carol decided to take pity on him and offered to take him to look around at the other shops on the street while they waited. Carol put a hand on his shoulder as they guided him out of the shop, “Don’t worry about it Sil, like I said, I don’t like needles either.” Sillik nodded as they stepped back into the sunshine on the street. He didn’t say anything about how he didn’t actually have an issue with needles. At least not for medical uses, for which he was used to seeing them. But injecting ink deep into your skin? Something about the idea just made him shiver. He wished Steph hadn’t told him about how tattoos used to be done. He’d never get that out of his brain.

Why can't humans just do normal, painted-on body art, like sane people?

#humans are weird #haw #space orcs #tattoo #body art #short story #aliens #humans and aliens #humanity fuck yeah #writeblr #hfy #original writing

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (136-137)

I love it when a plan comes together. Especially when, as in this case, the plan has been in motion for years (on my part, at least. More of a day-to-day thing on theirs)

If you want to follow along, you can here.

136. Hostage Negotiations

Fans howling or not: he’s a star player and you do not hand a star player to your divisional rival. You just don’t. Unless you’re like, the Leafs back in the day, but Lapointe had a bad season before that, and Jared suspects that deal was made on the winged feet of homophobia. The former GM of the Leafs and Deslauriers are probably poker buddies or something.

I like to picture the Old Boy’s Club as a real thing sometimes. It’s at a golf course, naturally. The only women are decorative. Scotch and cigars and toxic masculinity and white privilege and unearned cockiness. Random deer skulls because they like to mount their trophies. Etc.

“I mean, I hope I’m staying in the West,” Bryce says. “Calgary’s probably going to start reaching out, seeing who’s interested, ship me off before the NTC kicks in.

That would certainly be the clever thing to do, considering how few options they’ll have come July 1st. But then, when have the Flames done the clever thing in this universe?

The Senators beat the Scouts in a massive upset.

Scratch and Money become ScratchnMoney. And a Cup for Dan and the boys!

Greg goes back and forth with the Canucks. They ask for 5.5, even though Jared would have been content with the initial 4.5 offer, told him that, Greg exasperated with him on the other side of the phone. The Canucks agree to 5. He knows the two years combined are less than Bryce makes in a single year, but it’s — huge to him. They send him the papers, and Jared doesn’t know whether to sign them or not.

That’s 2.5 AAV on a two year deal, which is pretty fair as far as bridge deals go for a middle-sixer you use heavily on special teams. Jared could have, but didn’t want to sign for longer, with no idea where Bryce was going to be in two months, let alone two years.

“Still,” Jared says. “Foster’s like — he seems like a genuinely nice guy, maybe he’d—”

“He’s a GM, babe,” Bryce says. “He’s not going to just let you like, go because of love or whatever. It’s a business.”

If any GM would…

Jared signs everywhere he’s supposed to sign it, and that’s it. He’s a Canuck for two more years. Bryce has two more years on his contract, so — maybe in two years they’ll figure it out, manage to get to the same place together. It’s hard to be happy about that when two years sounds like, well, two years, when Bryce is already frayed close to snapping.

Obviously the situation is vastly improved very shortly, but I think Bryce going just about anywhere would have probably improved his mental state, though being in the East would be undoubtedly hard on them as a couple.

They crack open a nice bottle of wine, eat good dad cooking, and Jared gets his hair ruffled by his parents like, a billion times, like being a millionaire means they get to treat him like a kid again.

Jared gets so huffy when people fuck with his hair. Which of course both parents are aware of. Gotta keep him humble. (They’re also, you know, proud of their boy!)

“You were already a millionaire,” Erin says, her hand outstretched. Jared eyes it.

“What was your signing bonus, Jared?” Erin asks sweetly.

“Nothing,” Jared says. “Not a cent.”

“Jared,” Erin says, hand still outstretched. “The internet exists. It is literally public knowledge.”

Money please.

It was a quarter of a million dollars of his contract up front and Jared isn’t going to give her any of it. He already offered his parents a cheque and was rebuked and then offered again, citing financial support being the reason he had a hockey career, and had it very grudgingly accepted.

They both have well-paying middle-class jobs and aren’t hurting for money, but they are currently paying for Erin’s schooling and expenses, so it is eventually accepted (very grudgingly).

“Am I boring?” Jared says.

“You are the most exciting person in the world,” Bryce tells him, all earnestness, and takes his hand at the next red light.

Jared squeezes, then lets go. “Both hands on the wheel, babe,” he says.

“You can sometimes be a little boring,” Bryce says.

I mean —

Free-agency comes Bryce is still a Flame, which means all the leverage is his now.

Dropped a punctuation mark and/or word, whoops.

“Who’re your three?” Jared asks that night, fingers running through Bryce’s hair as Bryce drowses beside him.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Bryce says. “Like, I’m going to put Vancouver on it, obviously, but it’s just going to be a flat out no from them.”

“I know,” Jared says.

“If they gave in they’d ask Vancouver for way too much in return and they’d say no,” Bryce says.

“I know,” Jared repeats.

Bryce blows out a breath. “I wanna go so bad,” he says. “I just—”

The scheming is underway.

“I trust you in absolutely everything,” Bryce says solemnly, which automatically puts Jared on guard.

“Except?” Jared says.

“Be patient with me during the negotiations?” Bryce says.

Dave’s now involved in the scheming.

“Are you going to be booed the next time you play in the Saddledome?” Jared says.

Bryce smiles, and Jared doesn’t care if that means Bryce is playing further from him, that they may give up the apartment that’s felt like home since Jared was seventeen. He doesn’t care. Bryce smiled.

Jared really would light the Saddledome on fire for him. And not figuratively speaking.

137. Culmination

It’s all of twenty four hours after Summers comes to town that Bryce literally comes jogging in the door, yelling, “J?” like Jared isn’t sitting on the couch ten feet away from him half-watching the news. One nice thing about living in Vancouver is he doesn’t have to listen to the fucking UCP. “J, turn off your phone.”

He ran the entire way home. It was not a long run — partly due to distance, partly due to speed. He wanted Jared to hear it from him, especially if the ‘Bryce Marcus to Tampa’ came separate from the follow up ‘and then to Vancouver’.

“Your phone was about to go crazy and I need to tell you this before someone else does,” Bryce says, kneeling in front of him like he did last night, clean pressed suit and earnest eyes. “I’ve gotta sign papers still but—”

Practically a proposal, which is fitting because Bryce just did everything in his power to be where Jared was. And yes, it’s his hometown, and his childhood team, and his mom’s there, but he would have done it wherever Jared was (would have been easier to swing, in fact, were they not divisional opponents)

“Please tell me it’s a Western Conference team,” Jared says.

“It is,” Bryce says.

“If it’s Edmonton I’m going to be—” Jared says.

Bryce kisses him. “Shut up for a second,” he says.

Jared scowls, but does.

He knows your proposal derailing ways, Matheson.

“Three teams on my list,” Bryce says. “They picked one of them.”

“They would have to if you’ve been traded, unless you waived your NTC,” Jared says. “You know I know all of this, stop being all weird and cryptic and—”

Jared let him explain his and Dave’s plan to you, he wants you to be proud of his scheming!!!

“Tampa’s over the cap,” Bryce says. “And they were desperate to shed salary so they could re-sign Tanner before someone bit and offer-sheeted him and they gave Calgary Schlitz and Barbieri and a second for me.”

Dear RL NHL GMs: use more offer sheets, you utter cowards!!!

So, deal wise, Tampa comes out of this very nicely. They get cap space they needed, they shed good but too expensive players, and they trade a second for a first (from Vancouver when they flip Bryce), and a goalie prospect when they don’t have anyone particularly promising in the prospect pool.

Calgary gets a decent if not terrific haul from Tampa, and it looks like an okay if not great deal for them, but understandable given the short trade list. Until, well. The second flip. Then they look like dupes.

“Tampa can’t afford to keep me,” Bryce says. “Which is why Vancouver offered Tampa a first, a third, and a goalie prospect because Summers told Foster, strictly off the record, I’d re-sign in a heartbeat when my term was up and I’d give them a significant hometown discount when I did as long as my husband was still in the Canucks line-up when that time came. Do not fucking tell anyone that last part, not even your parents or my mom.”

Obviously Vancouver is over the moon about getting Bryce. Hometown hero, on a sweetheart deal for two more years, going to sign for cheap as long as Jared’s by his side.

Dave Summers was in violation of NHL rules and ethics for conveying that message to Vancouver and we should all tsk and shake our heads. (But we’re not gonna)

Jared beams at Bryce.

Bryce beams back.

This is what we’re doing instead.

“I can’t believe I made you this Machiavellian,” Jared says.

He’s so proud.

He IS so proud of your scheming, Bryce!

“They weren’t really — big on moving me at first,” Bryce says. “Like, even with the media shit and all, I’m on a deal that was pretty normal then but cheap now and they figured my play was back on track so like, may as well wait, see if they could get more for me next season at the trade deadline or throw me at someone before I was a UFA. So I maybe like, held out until my NTC kicked in and then mentioned that my trade value was higher right now because I hadn’t come out yet and I was considering it.”

This isn’t technically against rules or ethics because ‘player wants to come out’ is legally protected, at least in Canada, but you know, it's probably not morally in the clear. But I think weaponizing your sexuality against bosses who have been absolute shits about it falls under ‘they have it coming’ branch of ethics, ie: karma’s a bitch and so am I.

“You’re not considering it,” Jared says. If Bryce was even remotely considering it, Jared would have caught on.

Bryce shakes his head. “Not to media,” he says.

Famous last words, though that shoe won’t drop for a year and a half.

They're both smiling too hard for the kiss to be any good but Jared doesn't give a fuck, he hauls him in, tastes Bryce’s smile against his own, feeling like he can breathe easily for the first time in months.

All of Jared’s favourite kisses with Bryce are objectively bad because they all involve them both beaming their faces off and I love that, especially since Jared isn’t much of a grinner. (Bryce increasingly is, especially after moving to Vancouver, but Jared mentions Bryce grinning so much you’d think he has a perma-grin — he doesn’t, except around Jared.)

As much as ‘actually on the same team now’ calls for some terrific celebratory sex, it’s going to have to wait. Bryce has papers to sign. They have people to talk to. They are grown ass adults who cannot have celebratory sex.

Maturity is so boring.

“Foster wants to talk to you?” Bryce says.

Jared takes the phone.

“Hi Jared,” Foster says.

There’s a bit of a laugh in Brian’s voice right there because he’s been gleefully laughing to himself all day. He did absolutely nothing to earn this deal that makes him look like a genius except be a stand up guy and I am delighted for him.

“You tell Bryce he has the biggest brass balls I’ve ever seen,” his dad says.

This is the most Don has ever liked Bryce. And really the moment Don puts down the Flames fandom. He doesn’t know what was involved, but he suspected it was complicated, and that Bryce did some shit, and that he did that shit so he could be with his son, and Don can’t not admire that. (Also the brass balls.)

“How’d he keep this a secret?” Elaine says, now sounding completely incredulous.

Bryce is way better at keeping secrets than Jared or Elaine. But only if he considers the secrets GOOD secrets. Like ‘I want to marry you, I bought a ring’ — hidden for months. ‘I have been setting up a charity’ — four months of steady work before he felt confident letting Jared know about it. And some of that is Jared being oblivious, but Bryce is perfectly good at hiding something he considers a surprise rather than a secret.

He’s got a next text when he gets off the phone with her, Stephen has not stopped laughing since we found out. Legit is going to make himself puke. Imagine you’re slammed right now but give us a call when you get a minute?

Stephen is DELIGHTED by this. Gabe’s a little concerned honestly, the dude is puce coloured at this point.

“They’re going to boo you,” Jared says.

“I know,” Bryce says.

“Not just the first time,” Jared says. “They’re probably going to do it for years. They might do it for the rest of your career.”

Bryce shrugs. “I know.”

A lot of Bryce’s complete and utter exhaustion in the run up to this deal involved him coming to terms with and making peace with that fact; that he was going to leave Calgary on poor terms, that he was going to get a boo from the crowd rather than a tribute video and a standing ovation. And this was going to happen no matter where he went, but yes, going to Vancouver significantly upped the chances of that happening for the rest of his career.

Bryce shrugs again. “It’s going to suck,” he says. “I’m probably going to feel like shit. But like. I get to play for my hometown team, and live with you all year round, and be near my mom and my grandparents and it’s like — it’s worth it, so. Whatever I have to deal with, I’ll deal with. Plus like, it’s nice knowing going in that it won’t be a shitty room. Because if it was a shitty room you would have bitched about it. Hell, you bitched about the Oilers’ room being nice.”

How dare Darryl Rogers exist, being friendly and supportive to rookies.

“Well,” Jared says. Fair. Stupid Darryl Rogers being a nice guy and welcoming him kindly.

Literally Jared, tho.

“Dmitry—”

“Sounds like a totally normal dude, you just hate everyone,” Bryce says.

This is also probably fair.

“He pied my face,” Jared says. “Twice.”

“On your birthday,” Bryce says. “With shaving cream. Which is a tradition.”

“He pied my face,” Jared mutters.

God I love Jared.

“Want to rail me in your Canucks jersey?” Bryce asks.

I would suggest against this for purely Pavlovian reasons, but you do you boys.

Canucks blue really brings out Bryce’s eyes. It’s like, stunning, how beautiful they look.

“Less talk about my eyes, more getting your dick in me,” Bryce says.

The ONE time Jared tries to be romantic.

“Look at me?” Jared says, and when Bryce does, his eyes are so fucking blue.

“Vancouver,” Jared says, and tastes the grin that spills across Bryce’s face in response.

They did it!!! Took 137 parts, but they made it to the same place!

#liveblogging the end

[sgiandubh]

I actually am a shipper so I wasn’t trying to make the rounds to stir shit. I haven’t been around for too long only about 2 years or less. I just got upset when I saw the Getty pictures of Sam’s hand on Eleanor’s hip and hand on her back and then the fan pictures and video too of his hand on her back and giving her hug made me start to question everything since he does that with Cait too. I’m sorry for giving the wrong impression.

But I took a little time to reflect and remembered videos and images we got of Sam and Cait from Outlander promo this year. Between the moments at 92Y where Sam gave Cait a kiss on her temple and rubbed her back as well as the end when posing with Sophie in Rik. To the looks and knowing glances he gave her during interviews and even giving her a pat on the leg I believe in one interview. I overreacted initially and now that I put things into perspective, I can see the difference. There’s an intimacy and connection between Sam and Cait that comes across in promo that isn’t there with Eleanor.

Sorry again for coming across the wrong way. I truly was just looking for some reassurance initially

Dear (returning) Weary and Distraught Anon,

That would be very strange, because it really (REALLY) looks very similar to an Anon @bat-cat-reader showed me perhaps ten minutes before you chimed in.

However, since this is a plausible deniability situation, please accept my apologies, even if I still am not 100% sure about you.

I was just writing a post about body language at tonight's BAFTA preview of TCND, but since you've made reasonable amends, I am including it here for you, Anon:

S&C at OL's S7 Premiere in New York, June 9, 2023:

S & Tomlinson tonight:

Please note the following:

Tomlinson is completely disengaged, watches confidently the press people in front of her. She does not smile. Translation: I am a woman who just showed the press, the PR people and potential employers my latest project. I am a pro. I am very married and I know this hunk belongs to someone else. I am only playing PR games in *urv's mind.

S does the same. He uses his left hand as a completely non-committal blocking shield. Colgate smile is somewhat too calibrated to be spontaneous, the result is pleasant (which is to say 'decent bordering on meh'). Translation: we are all buddies and I (S) hope you liked our wee series. I really, seriously enjoyed working with these people and I am relieved we were allowed to promote this series in the middle of the strike turmoil. My well-rehearsed Optimistic Gaze Nr. 4 hides very well my real thoughts, that even @sgiandubh can't telegraph to her readers. And these thoughts have nothing to do with being here (note to readers: above thoughts probably involve a living-room near GLA).

Alfred Enoch: he is the only relaxed person in this picture and the only one whose smile perfectly aligns with his eyes (both sincere, open and enthusiastic). His arms' position is completely natural. Translation: I am over the moon to be here, I managed to work during a really rough patch and I really hope someone has noticed me tonight. Maybe I'll get another gig soon. These people are my friends, but tonight, it's all about myself: it is me I am showing off, selling and promoting here. Hire me: I am the funny one.

Bonus (dotted arrow shows where S's gaze is directed):

I think that needs no further comments. I rest my case, Anon.

Thank you for clarifying, I think you were brave to come back. Don't be a stranger, if I managed to not scare the bejesus out of you, yet.

PS: who knew my Business Intelligence uni credits would come in so handy, in the most unlikely of situations?

#Anon

[shiftingparadise]

Hey, I’m unsure if you still write for MHA but I’d love a comfort fic/drabble about a reader who’s struggling with guilt and bad thoughts, to eventually get some support from Dabi? I’ve been struggling a lot so much lmao

I'm so sorry to hear you've been struggling. It's been a long time since I've written anything. So forgive me if it's not as good but I hope you like it. I'm here if you want to talk.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1776

“It’s my fault”, your voice shaking. “It’s my fault, right?”, your head now resting against the wall behind you. “It’s my fault that they’re-“. A sentence you fail to say out loud. A stinging sensation greeted your eyes. You were sitting in an ally, your hands resting on your knees as little clouds left your lips. It was a cold night and even though your mind failed to notice the cold, your body did. Leaving you shaking, your teeth grinding on each other. Were you angry or sad? Probably both. It was unfair. The way Deku didn’t flinch, the way Bakugo grinned, … All why you were frozen in place. Too scared to save the lives of innocent people. What kind of hero were you? A joke. That’s what you are. “I hate them”, tears now flooded your eyes. “I hate the way things are so easy for them, the way they always seem to save everyone while I’ve worked so hard for this. I’m not a pro hero. I’m a joke, a coward-“.

He knew you hadn’t noticed. His staring eyes. The way he was leaning against the wall just a little bit further. If it were someone else, he’d probably would’ve laughed, or done something to upset them even more. Probably killed them eventually if they’d dare to talk back to him but… You looked so ‘good’. So, innocent. As if you hadn’t done anything wrong in your entire life. And the way your tears were dripping down your cute nose, the way you cutely rubbed the palm of your hand on your eyelids… Not to mention your voice. So soft, so ‘good’. There wasn’t any other way he could put it. You seemed ‘good’ and here you were, talking down on yourself like that just because you couldn’t be like them. A feeling he understood all too well. The feeling of not being good enough.

“Why? Why am I like this?”, your eyes darted to the sky. Desperately searching for an answer. “If I just swooped in, if I just managed to move my feet they would’ve been saved. They would’ve been able to return to their families, their loved ones… I hate myself”, your sobs getting louder, not caring about your surrounding anymore. Because it hurt. The feeling in your chest, the way you could hardly breathe anymore. “I hate myself and everyone else does too, right?”, your eyes still looking at the sky, hoping someone would talk back. “That’s why I’m always alone. Why I don’t have any friends”. Right, this wasn’t just about the lost lives. It was about your hurt. About everything that you tried to bury in your past.

Alone. He was always alone. He never had anyone. He knew the way you felt. The desperation, the sense of hopelessness.

“You’re not alone”, a raspy voice travelled through the air and startling you.

“Creep”, the word flashed before his eyes. You were crying about being alone, thinking you were alone in that ally. Probably one of the times you even wanted to be alone, and this is what he chose to say? Not even a hello? Or a dry cough to let you know someone was there.

“W-who are you?”, you narrowed your eyes, not bothering to wipe your tears. The darkness around you made it hard for you to see. “No one”, the voice replied.

He already regretted this. That he let you know someone was there. That he was there.

“If you’re too scared to speak, then don’t bother letting me know you’re here”, you turned your head to the side.

Scared? He wasn’t scared, right?

“Then don’t cry in the middle of an ally”, a snappy remark that he immediately regretted. “Well, I’m sorry that I bothered you”, you quietly replied. Your heart felt heavy. The last thing you needed was a stranger that made you feel even worse.

“You didn’t bother me”, the voice sounded almost desperate. “I-I guess I’m… sorry?”.

Did he just apologize? Or tried to anyway.

“Who are you?”, you knew that voice. You heard it on the TV once, right? But if you were right then… “No one”, he repeated himself.

He noticed the way your breathing got heavier. The way you tensed your entire body.

“No one you should be scared off”, his hands now in his pockets, his eyes closed.

Hate. Once again, the word flashed before his eyes. He hated himself.

“I know who you are”, you tried to relax your body. For some reason you believed him. Even though a murderer was standing practically next to you. But you were one too, right? You didn’t hurt people on purpose, but you failed to save them while you were standing so close. Wasn’t that even worse?

“Then why don’t you kill me?”, his voice sounded cold.

“I don’t know”, your teeth digging into the soft skin of your lips. “I don’t know”, tears once again streaming down your cheeks. “Probably because I’m scared, right? I’m a failure”.

“H-huh?”, your breath stopped, your eyes wide open as rough digits stroked over your cheek. His eyes now staring directly into yours as he squatted before you.

This wasn’t like him. He was never like this, or not that he could remember anyways.

“You must be freezing”, he sighed as he let his head fall back. “Here”, his hands wrapped around yours. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to burn you”, he coldly looked into your eyes again. Your heart was racing as you could feel his hands getting hotter, causing a nice sensation against your skin. Like holding them in front of a fireplace. “Feels nice”, you softly whispered.

His eyes unwillingly widened at your small praise. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone said something similar to him.

“It’s fine if you’re not like them”, his gaze now fixed on your hands. They fitted perfectly in his. Your skin felt so soft against his scars… He could stay like this for hours. “It’s fine if you’re scared”, his eyes found yours again. “I don’t need life lessons from someone like you”, you suddenly pulled your hands away, leaving an empty feeling behind. What were you doing? He was a villain. He couldn’t be trusted. “Right”, a painful look in his eyes. “I’m sorry”, he lowered his eyes as he stood back up. “So, you want to fight me or are you going to let me go without a hassle?”, his voice cold again. You stayed quiet for a second as you looked up at him. He looked handsome. Painfully handsome. Even with all of his scars, even with his messy hair… but most of all, he looked lonely.

“Cold”, you turned your head to the side, “My hands”. “Huh?”, his brows pulled together. “Could you please do that thing again?”, your cheeks red as you held out your hands, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Even if this was a trap, even if you were going to capture him… He couldn’t refuse when you looked like that.

“Tsk”, an unexpected smile on his face, “Come here”. He lifted you from the ground with your arm.  “I’m not going to sit on the ground like an idiot. Let’s go to my place, it’s warm. I promise”, he already started walking. For some reason he didn’t doubt you’d follow him. And you did. Without saying anything. If this was wrong, then why did it feel so right?

It was only a five-minute walk and for some reason it made him sad. He could’ve walked through entire countries with you walking beside him.

“We’re here”, he stopped in front of a tall building. To be honest, it looked like it was going to fall apart any minute. “Know it’s not much”, he scratched the back of his head, “But it’s warm… and safe”.

He knew he was a hypocrite. How could he say something like that when he killed people for fun?

“Hm”, you softly smiled. “Y-you still want to come in?”, he now sounded nervous. He couldn’t believe you actually trusted him enough to follow him like this. “Yeah”, your arms wrapped around your body, trying to keep the cold away.

How could he forget? You probably didn’t have a quirk like his, that kept him warm. He should’ve offered you his coat, or at least try to keep you warm.

“Let’s go inside. You must be cold”, he opened the door for you. It. Was a quiet walk to his apartment. Your mind and heart fighting against each other. “So”, he awkwardly kicked some boxes of fast food to the side as you entered his apartment. “Like I said, I know it’s not much but it’s warm”.

He felt embarrassed. He only had a small TV and a bed. Not even a chair or a couch to sit on.

“It’s enough”, you smiled. “Here, sit down please”, he quickly straightened his pillows. “You can sit here. I know it’s probably not comfortable to sit like this-“. “It’s perfect”, you sat down while leaning with your back against the wooden frame of his bed. “H-here’s a blanket”, he grabbed one from a box. You thanked him once again.

“Why are you doing this?”.

Your question pierced through his chest. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t like this. He never was kind to anyone.

“I don’t know”, he awkwardly sat down beside you. “I guess I understand the way you feel. That’s why I said it’s fine if you’re not like them. You don’t have to pretend all the time”. “Pretend?”, you pulled the blanket over your legs. “They’re scared too, you know? Everyone is. They just pretend they aren’t. It’s fine to be scared, to not show up sometimes. It’s fine if you can’t fake being happy, or brave, or …”, he hesitated for a second. “All I’m saying is, it’s fine if you’re you”. “But I-“, your eyes already glossy. “Don’t cry”, he turned to look at you. “You can’t cry. You can’t show them you’re weak-“.

What was he doing? He cried all the time, or he used to anyway. And yes, he felt weak because he did so, but when he saw you cry earlier… All he saw was a girl who was tired of being strong.

“You don’t need this, right? A lecture”, he shook his head, unsure of what was happening to him. “Cry your heart out”, he wrapped your arms around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Cry. Let it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you. It’s brave to cry”, he tightened his grip as he heard your sobs. “You’ll never be alone again”.

#dabi my hero academia #dabi x reader #mha dabi #dabi todoroki #bnha dabi #dabi #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki touya #bnha touya #touya x reader #touya todoroki #bnha fanfiction #bnha #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #dabi x y/n #touya x you #touya x y/n

[ninjaneonleon]

The Side bar

Bringing Raph down to the Speakeasy had been the right call. Between the work of Leo, Cheech and Leonardo, Raph was back on his feet and talking in no time.

“And what have we learned?” Leo asked, making sure Raph’s pupil response was back to normal. It was, thankfully, and Leo was hopeful for his recovery.

“To not just eat everything offered to me without checking first,” Raph replied sulkily. Leo knew he had been excited for the cookies and he was upset that it had made him drop.

“Exactly.” Leo nodded and looked up at Cheech. “Can you keep an eye on him for a bit? Plenty of fluids, preferably tea, and make sure he stays here for at least ten minutes.”

“Sure thing, Leon. Worst comes to worst, I’ll make Leonardo sit on him.”

“Hey! I’m not that big!”

“Sure you are, Dove, but I love that about you.”

“Thanks guys.” Leo gave a cheery salute and wandered backwards. “The Caseys have gone to look for Mona, I think she was still with that adorable little turtle with the flowers and strawberries? Anyway, don’t let him leave until Mona comes to get him.”

‘Raph is more than capable of–”

“Sure thing, Leon. See you in a bit.” Cheech grinned and looked down at Raph. “You can stay here and enjoy some tea. I wanna hear all about your lovely girlfriend from you instead of him.” He nodded towards Leo. That was the right move because Raph lit up and started chattering away. Leo knew he left his big brother in good hands.

Leo turned and decided to go find Yuichi. Last he saw him, he had been chasing Donnie who had gotten hold of some Uranium. Leo knew that even with Juan present to keep them somewhat grounded, Leo would need to keep an eye on his two favourite dumbasses. Donnie and Yuichi were a surprisingly chaotic duo.

He was so lost in thought that he almost ran into someone.

“Hey, watch where you’re– oh, it’s you.” Leo looked up and saw Cleo, the grumpy, drunk Leo that Yuichi had managed to befriend earlier..

“Hey Cleo. How are you doing?” He looked less drunk now, but much grumpier. Maybe his Leo was causing him problems, apparently they didn’t get along.

“Worse. My Leo is trying to get himself adopted by another counterpart,” Cleo griped. “I swear, he’s so irritating.”

“Hey, cut him some slack, dude, he’s probably just still trying to process everything,” Leo said with what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “Just give him some space, maybe try for a smile, it’ll work wonders.” He clapped Cleo on his shoulder and stiffened the moment he made contact. What the–

Cleo recoiled, his eyes going wide and wait, did they just flash purple? “You’re–”

“It’s under control,” Leo cut him off sharply. “Yes, I am aware of the parasite sharing my body, no I am not concerned because he can’t take control from me.” He knew that somehow Cleo had sensed Prime, who was watching with wide eyed awe at the proceedings. “I’m not a threat to anyone here. Don’t mistake me for one.”

Cleo stared at Leo for a moment, his eyes searching Leo’s face with a mixture of revulsion, anger and self loathing. Then he turned with a huff. “Whatever. I need a drink.” He stalked off without another word.

Weird. Leo did not like that interaction and he was glad it was over. Now, he just had to figure out where his twin and boyfriend were…

Something drew Leo’s attention. He wasn’t sure what, but it reminded him somehow of the imprint. It was something soul deep, something instinctual. What was…?

There was a door to the side. Everyone seemed to be walking right past it, as if they didn’t see the swirls of mystic energy pouring off of it. What was it about that door that drew Leo’s attention so strongly? Why was he so compelled to enter it?

Slowly, he walked over to the door, weaving though the crowd as he followed this gut feeling and entered the room.

The room was dark, much darker and moodier than the cheerful, welcoming lighting of the Speakeasy outside. Scattered around were a number of tables, each housing a different person who Leo recognised. There were Draxums, some with minions and some without, Bishops, both male and female but all wearing the distinctive EPF logos, and even some Big Mamas. There was even a table full of villains that Leo knew well, like Meatsweats, Repo and Hypno (Who wasn’t really a villain anymore but he was previously).

“Welcome to the side bar,” There was a man behind a counter. Well, it was sort of shaped like a man, except it seemed to be made entirely of black goop. There was a square of whiteness around it, containing it to the bar area, but Leo got bad feelings from it. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that goop man. “If you’re here, you’ve probably been labelled as a villain in your universe, so make yourself at home. Just watch out for the Bishops, they’re not against grabbing newbies. And if you want to know anything, just ask. I can tell you anything you want, for a price.” Leo shuddered. He would not be asking anything.

Instead, he looked around in shock. The Villains bar? Why was he here?

Wait, he knew why he was here. He was part Kraang and even before that, he had been Blue Oni. He had attacked his brothers, almost killed his dads. Yeah, he was entitled to be here, and that was without Prime’s help.

“It seems to take in former villains too,” Prime pointed out helpfully as Leo spotted a Draxu, who looked to be in his lunch lady uniform. Okay then, that was something to celebrate then. He didn’t need to be actively evil to spot this place.

Before he could explore further, a dark shape suddenly loomed behind him. A wicked red glow lit up the world around him and for a split second, Leo froze. He knew that presence, he knew that glow.

Subprime was here.

Then Leo took a breath and he turned.

“Well if it isn’t the wad of chewing gum I just hate to see.” He drawled. “How have you been, buddy? Prison dimension treating you well?” Leo knew he was playing with fire here. All the others in the bar had frozen, staring at him in shock. Clearly no one had been brave enough to confront this Kraang up until now. Leo, however, was unfazed. He had confronted this monster more times than he could count in his dreamscape. He wasn’t scared anymore.

“I wasn’t aware they let… pests into this place,” The Kraang growled. “Still, you’ll be entertaining to play–”

Leo cut him off simply by waving his hand. “Before you finish that thought, I have a question for you.” The Kraang spluttered in annoyance. “Are you your universe’s Kraang Prime?”

“Yes.” The weaker Kraang Prime said slowly, as if contemplating Leo’s audacity and how best to destroy him.

“Oh, that’s good then.” Leo allowed his mycelia out from his shell, letting them wrap along his arms, legs and carapace. He instinctively knew that his brown eye had turned pink. When he next spoke, his voice echoed with power. “So am I. And guess what, buddy? I outrank you.” With a wave of his hand, Leo grabbed the Kraang matter in this pathetic version of Prime’s body and sent him flying into an unoccupied booth. Heh. That was way more satisfying in real life.

“Don’t get carried away, Leo,” Prime reminded him. “Remember that you brothers have organised it so you don’t indulge in that side of your mindset.”

Right. The shared dreamscapes that his brothers had set up. Leo hadn’t visited the prison dimension in months because of that. He needed to control himself better.

“Y’know, that was pretty impressive.” The voice behind Leo made him jump. That sounded like– “We’ve all had to hide in the corner because he wouldn’t stop looming. Thanks for dealing with him.” There was another Leo, slightly older than him and dressed in a very stylish coat. Woah, he was cool. There were a few other Leos there, as well as a few other turtles too. Huh. Maybe it wasn’t so weird for some of their counterparts to be ‘evil’ after all.

“No problem. He’s just a big bully. You kick his ass, he knows when to stay down.” Leo said with a shrug, allowing his mycelia to retract. “Uh, for reference, I am still Leo. Don’t be calling me Prime or anything, he’s just a ride along who’s powers I can borrow.”

“Good to know. Or else I’d have to kill you.” The fashionable Leo said with a grin. Leo had a feeling that he was being serious but he couldn’t be sure. He was hard to read. “Did you wanna come sit with us?”

“Nah, I’m good, but thanks for the invite. I’m just looking around before I head back out.” Leo didn’t really want to linger here. It was doing things to his head if he thought any of this was okay.

He glanced around again as the turtles left and headed to an empty booth. Well, all but one.

“You’ve met my brother.” The Donatello was familiar somehow but Leo couldn’t place why. Then he realised.

“You’re Cleo’s Donnie.” There was something about this Donnie that just reminded him of Cleo. The thing that threw Leo off, though, was the fact that this Donnie was so much older than Cleo. He was clearly in his thirties, maybe older, but Cleo was mid twenties. “Why are you here?”

“I wish I could tell you, kid. I just know that I can see this place and the others can’t.” Leo was gonna call this Donnie ‘Tello’ for now. Just so he didn’t get confused. “Also, watch your back. Those two drinking wine have their eye on you.” Leo looked over and saw two Bishops both sipping wine. They looked away when Leo met their gaze with a threatening look of his own.

“Thanks for the heads up.” He paused before glancing back up at Tello. “Uh, you might want to check on Cleo, by the way. He caught a sense of Prime and, uh, it freaked him out?” Hopefully Tello would be able to help.

“He doesn’t want to see me.” Was the only answer Leo got. Well there went that idea.

“Oh-kay then. Well, I need to get going. It was nice meeting you.” Leo didn’t like the vibes Tello was giving off. There was something broken and unhinged about this version of Donnie, more so than any of the other Donnies Leo had met. He could understand why Cleo was so grumpy if his Tello was like that.

Leo turned and started walking away, only to run straight into a solid chest. He looked up and flinched back when he saw a Draxum in his full armour from back when he was a bad guy, not the Rara that Leo knew and loved now. The helmet alone was enough to make Leo uncomfortable.

“Turtle,” the Draxum greeted with a nod. “That was an impressive display. I don’t know if you’d be willing to help train my current project?” He tugged on a chain and Leo saw a small form stumble forwards. They seemed to have their wrists chained together. His eyes widened when he realised that it was a mutated, turtle version of April.

It took everything Leo had to not draw his swords right then and cut this Draxum down, regardless of his own Rara. “I suggest you get out of my sight before I slice off the hand that is holding her hostage,” he growled. “I will only give you this warning once because part of the rules of being here means that we’re not allowed to cause grievous bodily harm. If you do not leave now, I will be violating that rule. Are we clear?”

To his credit, the Draxum looked disturbed. He ran off with the mutant turtle April following after him. Leo caught the thankful, apologetic look she shot him as she went. At least she still had her fighting spirit, from what Leo could tell. She’d escape soon enough, even if Leo wanted to help her out now. Unfortunately, that was against the rules.

He took a breath.

What was Leo doing again?

Was he… going to get a drink? With the other villains. Yeah, that seemed right.

“Uh, Cos?” Wait, that was Donnie’s voice in his head. The imprint! “We have a problem. I need you asap!”

Like a rubber band that was finally released, Leo felt his mind snap back into place. He wasn’t a villain, he was a hero like his brothers. He was a good guy who just happened to do some bad stuff unwillingly.

“Where are you and what do you need?” Leo asked, turning and marching out of the side bar.

“The uranium may or may not be affecting the plants I’ve got. I need to get it out of here and my portals aren’t strong enough to get out of the arena. Yuichi tried zapping it all away with his katana but it just made the plants start sending out sparks!” Eugh boy, this wasn’t going to be good. Leo needed to track them down and clean up Donnie’s mess, as usual. Not that he was complaining, he’d take this over having no twin any day. But why did his twin and his boyfriend have to be such a chaotic duo? Why couldn’t they just have one safe experiment where Leo didn’t need to save their butts?

“How does that even work? Never mind. I’ll be right over.”

He decided to keep the existence of the side bar to himself for now. It would only upset his brothers, and he’d do anything to keep them happy.

Mentions!

Leo and all the others he’a with belong to me and @geniusbuilttm

Cheech and Leonardo belong to @kinky-asexual

The adorable turtle with flowers and strawberries is @littlemissartemisia

Cleo and Tello belong to @reagi-df

The goop man belongs to @intotheelliwoods

The Kraang is just the regular kraang, you can decide where he’s from

The fashionable Leo belongs to @starrcrossrose

The two Bishops belong to @devotedtosadpoetry

The Draxum with the mutated April belongs to @riseleon

The villains need a place to hang away from all those heroes, right?

This is propaganda @tmntaucompetition

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #surp-rise!au #if I missed you and I referenced your au #dm me and I’ll add you! #propaganda

[sgstories123]

Good Boy Zed

John looked at his watch. It was already past 2 am. The event was supposed to end at 11 pm but these corporate events sometimes can go on longer than expected. As general manager of the hotel, in such a scenario, he would have to get the client to end the event without getting them upset. It was a delicate task especially when most of the people would be drunk and irrational at this late stage of the event. But if he did not do this, the hotel would have to foot the additional cost including paying for all the temp workers who are waiting for the event to clean up.

It was not too bad today, he thought to himself. The person in charge was still sober and apologetic. He managed to end the event and obtained some additional compensation for the hotel. He looked around at the group of temporary workers who were now clearing up the room. All five of them looked young. They were most probably tertiary students working part-time during the vacation break. He recognised one of them, Zed, a young man studying hospitality in one of the private schools. He had chatted with him a couple of times as he had worked for the hotel as a part-timer for quite some time. He had expressed an interest to work in the hotel when he graduated.

But he was more interested in the girl next to him. She was petite, maybe about 1.5 metres tall. She had a innocent and cute face, with large eyes framed by thick, black lashes. She looked like a Japanese school girl. At that moment, the girl giggled at something that Zed was sharing. Zed parted her hair lovingly and the girl looked down in embarrassment. Gosh, John thought to himself. How nice to be young again.

At 50, John knew what it was to grow old. His paunch has been growing every year and he finds it more and more difficult to climb the flight of steps to his second-floor office in the hotel. He had also been taking Viagra for a couple of years as he could no longer perform.

The other three workers, two boys and a girl, seemed to be friendly with Zed as well. While they were working, they were talking and laughing with each other. John was pleased. He did not like it when the temp workers complain about the longer hours. He wanted to reward them for their hard work and positive attitude, knowing that at this time of the night, the additional compensation will not be sufficient for their cab fare home.

“Mr John, Sir! We are almost done. Can I get the keys from you to lock up the stores?” Zed asked.

“Sure.” John responded. “By the way, Zed. Are all of them your friends?”

“Yeah. We are in the same school. I introduced them to your hotel as temp workers.” Zed replied.

“Is that pretty girl your girlfriend? I saw you too behaving quite intimately.” John asked.

“Not really. I thought Nicole was quite chio so we talk a little bit more lor.” Zed laughed.

John was pleased to hear that. “Do you live far from here? Tell you what. I can get you a room for all of you and you can sleep there till morning. There is some wine left over from the event which the client did not want to take back. You can have it as well if you want.”

“Oh my God! Really! Thanks, Mr John, Sir! I will tell the rest.” Zed was clearly thrilled. John was happy that he managed to do something nice.

A short while later, John had led the five of them into a quad room with two queen-sized beds. They also brought up with them several bottles of wine and a small plate of sandwiches also leftovers from the event. John joined them as the group of them joked and ate a late supper. But John was not paying attention to the jokes. He was looking at Nicole at every opportunity. Now out other hotel uniform, Nicole looked even more like a school girl. She had on a white t-shirt and a short denim skirt with a cute, yellow flower at the side. Something a small girl will wear. John could feel his cock stirring.

By the time the food and wine was gone, the two girls were already too tired and were already resting on the beds.

“Looks like they are really tired. I will go back to my office so that you boys can take a rest too.” John said as he got up to leave the room.

Zed opened the door for him. At the door, Zed smiled at John. “Mr John. We actually planned to have an orgy after the event at one of the budget hotels tonight. But because you offered us such a nice hotel room plus free food and wine, it had turned out to be much better than what we plan. We have all agreed that you can join us. Do you want to?

“Erm…No lah…You enjoy yourself.” John was shocked.

“You sure, Mr John? I know you are interested in Nicole.” Zed said with a twinkle in the eye. “I won’t lie to you. You know I want to work for your hotel, right. So I asked her if she is okay with sleeping with you. I did cajole her a little and she finally agreed.”

John was more shocked than ever. “Let me think about it.”

“Alright, Mr John. You can join us if you change your mind.”

In his office, John was still thinking about Zed’s conversation interspersed with images of Nicole. Unable to focus any more on his work, he opened his drawer where he kept his Viagra and popped one into his mouth. He walked to the mini-bar in his office and washed the little blue pill with a good amount of whisky. He left the room quickly, hoping that the blue pill will work in time, his heart beating fast with expectation.

“Oh! Hi, Mr John! Joining us? You are just in time. We are just getting started.” Zed gushed as he opened the door for John. He saw that Zed was naked with a hard, erect cock. As he entered the room, he saw that the others were also naked. The two boys were lying side by side with the other girl, sucking on her breasts and taking turns fingering her. She was moaning softly. Zed was right. They must have just started.

Nicole was sitting up on the other bed. Zed must have been with her before he went to open the door. Seeing John, she blushed and pulled the blanket up to cover her breasts in a bid for modesty. That’s so cute, thought John. But he knew that he needed some time for the pill to work. He could feel his cock stirring but it was not hard yet.

“Come, Mr John. Nicole is waiting for you.” Zed was trying very hard to get into John’s good books.

“You go ahead first. Let me take a shower before joining you.” John demurred, as he slowly removed his clothes.

Zed did not need a second invitation. He climbed onto the bed and started kissing and hugging Nicole. He pulled her down, covering half her body with his own body as his fingers started exploring her love hole. Sighs of pleasure was emitting from Nicole.

John went into the bathroom and took a quick shower. He walked out of the bathroom, his cock still flaccid, the medication still not kicking in. As he watched the the group of young people engaging in sex, he started to stroke his cock, willing it to grow hard.

By now, the two guys were already fucking the other girl. One of them was behind fucking her doggy style while the other was at the front, receiving a blowjob.

John could feel his cock hardening. He turned to Nicole and saw that Zed has now lifted Nicole’s legs and licking her cunt. She seemed to be close to cumming as her moans were getting louder and her body was jerking upwards uncontrollably. Her hands were grabbing Zed’s hair as she tried to ride out her pleasure. John walked over and started sucking on her small, breasts. Nicole moaned loudly in pleasure as John’s tongue touched her sensitive nipples. With an upwards thrust and a scream, she squirted all over Zed.

“Mr John. I got Nicole all wet for you. No one has fucked her yet. I made sure you get the first fuck.” Zed was one hell of a bootlicker, thought John. He must get that boy a job.

John took over Zed’s place, spreading Nicole’s legs to enjoy the view. Nicole had shaved her pussy. It was so smooth, just like a school girl’s. He parted the lips, now wet with her juice before sliding his hard cock in. John just only managed to get the head of his cock in when Nicole screamed in pain, digging her nails into John’s arms as she grabbed him.

“Mr John. Go slow. Nicole told me she don’t have much experience with sex. She only had sex a few times with her boyfriend. You are the second guy she is having sex with.” Zed whispered urgently.

Almost a virgin. Almost too good to be true. John thought to himself. He pushed in slowly, letting Nicole adjust to his penis. It was so tight. Nicole must be telling the truth. After a while, he managed to get his while length in while Nicole was grimacing in pain. Zed must be encouraging her as John could see him whispering something to her and playing with her nipples to get her to continue. With Nicole seemingly adjusting to him, John started fucking her slowly. He removed his cock slowly before plunging in again. He went for longer strokes, slowly increasing his pace. Nicole was starting to moan in pleasure. He lifted her legs to his shoulders as he pumped deeper and deeper. Nicole responded by moaning louder and louder. Zed continued to play a supporting role, kissing Nicole and playing with her tits, to make her even more aroused.

“Let’s change position, Zed.” John commanded. He laid down on his back. “Get Nicole up on my cock in cowgirl position.” Zed obeyed and slowly helped the inexperienced Nicole to straddle John while guiding his cock into her. As she sat down onto John’s cock, she shivered in pleasure as the cock went straight up into her. John pulled her down and kissed her, hugging the small, petite body closely against his fat belly.

“Zed. You are a good boy. Your reward is to fuck Nicole from behind.” John commanded.

“Thanks Mr John.” Zed responded gaily. He took up a position before slowly pushing his cock into Nicole’s vagina, rubbing against John’s cock.

Nicole screamed in pain as she took in 2 cocks for the very first time. But it was soon smothered as one of the boys came over and shoved his cock into Nicole’s mouth. It took a while but Zed finally managed to get his whole length into Nicole. As he fucked Nicole, he rubbed against John’s cock. He was happy that he managed to get such an intimate connection with John.

The group continued with their orgy session until the sun rose and lit up the room. John had fucked Nicole several times with the other 3 boys each taking turns accompanying and supporting him. He did not manage to fuck the other girl although she did come over and gave him a kiss. As the session came to an end, the group got dressed and started to leave the room. John gave Nicole a final peck on the cheek before she left the room. Zed was the last to leave the room.

“Mr John, Sir. Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Zed asked.

“Yes, Zed. You are a good boy. I will make sure that you get a job with the hotel. You don’t have to worry.” John replied, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“Can we fuck next time without Nicole?” Zed looked at John in the eye. John did not know what to say.

[bedlamsbard]

I know this is kind of out of nowhere but for the longest time I was super weird and mentally dismissive of your burning out of Star Wars because I was someone who survived the OEU's insanity back in the day and managed not to burn out of Star Wars in the face of ridiculous nonsense like the Yuuzhan Vong and Killiks, so if I could survive that, you were of course entitled to dislike Star Wars but I still found it silly. Anyway I just finished watching Tales of the Jedi(Resolve) and I Get It Now.

...I recognise that may not be the most hinged thing to say to someone I don't actually know, and apologise for my mild to moderate insanity; I slept three hours, am very sick, it's shark week, and my brain seized on you as someone who'd Get It and who I had been hard on in my thoughts in the past, but, like, none of that actually affected you until I randomly said it? So anyway sorry for babbling at you like that lmfao, I'll stop talking now

Okay. I've been thinking about these since I saw them; I saw the first one before the second one arrived, which was a hell of a thing to wake up to since I saw it first thing in the morning. While my usual policy is to leave messages along these lines in my inbox, I was genuinely upset and wanted to respond once I had a more coherent reaction than "why me, gods, why does this always happen to me."

So, first of all, I'm sorry that you had an installment in canon that didn't do it for you; it happens to the best of us and there are very few people in fandom who uncritically (or even critically) enjoy everything in canon, especially in a fandom as big and long-running as Star Wars.

It's also very common for people to fall out of love with a fandom, even a fandom they've been in for a very long time; I would say that fen who have consistently been in one fandom for an extended period of time are probably rarer than those who haven't. It's not always because there is one installment that is just The Worst; often that's just a tipping point for fen who have been on the edge for a while. (Ask your average former MCU fan who left after Avengers Endgame.) Other times fen just drift away from a fandom without a reason to push them out. Maybe their favorite characters have died, maybe the canon is no longer telling stories they're interested in even if none of those stories are "bad," maybe it's a closed canon and without new stories there's nothing to keep them there; there's any number of factors.

I had a very dramatic breakup with Star Wars three years ago, and it was about three years after I really should have gotten out of the fandom, because I had not been having a good time for a while at that point. And honestly, considering that I hadn't had a healthy relationship with either Star Wars or the fandom for a while before that, for various reasons that go well beyond what was happening in canon, arguably I should have gotten out even earlier. However, I'm monofannish to a fault and I really needed something that would actually kick me to a new fandom -- which meant it couldn't come from Star Wars.

I don't really dislike Star Wars as a whole. There are individual installments that I quite dislike, there are some that I still love, and the vast majority of Star Wars I'm neutral on. I do however have a very fucked up relationship with Star Wars, including the canon, the PTB, and the fandom itself. I have gotten regular abuse on Wake and Gambit for the past ten years, which really screwed up my relationship with AO3 and with the prequel era. There is canon that I really, really dislike, some of it because it personally does nothing for me (the ST), some of it because from my point of view, it completely fucked over a story I love (Rebels S4, TCW S7, some other stuff that contradicts stuff from the EU I love; I came out of the EU too), some of it because I just plain don't like it (THR, most of the comics), and some of it because watching it just plain made me feel like I was being gaslit, which is not something I say lightly (Mando is the worst offender, but there are others). A lot of these are problems that could come out of any fandom, especially a large, long-running, multi-media fandom; I know a lot of Marvel people who have very similar problems, though I think the scale tends to be slightly different there just because the canon is set up differently.

When I switched fandoms, I had to recalibrate my entire relationship to fandom, to canon, to AO3, and to how I interacted with all of them. I still have to check myself in most of those places because my relationship with Star Wars had screwed me up so much. I had to train myself into being able to post on AO3 again; I do talk regularly about how a lot of what I write is shaped by trying to avoid getting the kind of reactions I got and still get from my Star Wars fic, even years later. I have to make conscious decisions not to engage with every part of the canon without feeling like a failed fan, especially the installments I'm pretty sure I'll dislike, because I tried to do that in Star Wars and it regularly messed me up. As a cosplayer, I still have a fairly bad reaction to even seeing the word "approvable," and it took a while for me not to have a similar reaction to "screen-accurate." I'm still destashing most of my Star Wars merch and right now, my reaction to seeing new Marvel merch isn't "ooh, would I wear/use this?" it's "when I inevitably have a horrendous breakup with this fandom will I be able to resell it?" which is not a really healthy relationship to have with a fandom. (I have mostly moved off this but not entirely.) I knew that Star Wars had screwed my relationship with Disney World, when I had a panic attack on Guardians of the Galaxy: Cosmic Rewind because I was so terrified that it was going to be ~necessary canon, even though Marvel has never operated that way; Star Wars does with Galaxy's Edge, which I don't really like being in anymore either.

And yes, I'm aware all of these are an extreme overreaction to getting out of a fandom. I'm not happy about it either and I wish it wasn't happening. It's better now than it was a couple years ago and I'm frankly glad I'm not in the fandom anymore; I'm happy for people who are or who have gotten back into it and are having a good time. I am not one of them; I may some day be one again, but probably not anytime soon.

But even if I didn't have this specific fucked up relationship with Star Wars, a fandom I have not been in for three years at this point, sometimes people just burn out on a fandom. I'm not a CSI:NY fan anymore, either. (Which my last big fandom prior to Narnia, which I just drifted away from. I've only been in five big writing fandoms over twenty years.)

#thelearnedsoldier #bedlam replies #I haven't been in star wars fandom for THREE YEARS #THREE YEARS

[anns-works]

Ok so i've got something that yall would probably hate me for. But ive been holding this simmering pot of angst for a while and the first thing i was taught is to share, so suffer with me.

New ROTTMNT AU:

Rather than being the only one out of his brothers to survive in the no-good-very-bad-horrible future, Leo is the only brother who dies.

Okay okay okay.

But i personally like to think that after the krang come out everything goes to shit in the bad timeline everyone goes oh fuck and start teaming up right? Human yokai cryptids mutants– none of that matters as long as you got eachothers back.

And after the initial stumbles the brothers start their active participation in the resistance.

Heres the thing.

Leo is genuinly terrifying at coming up with a plan. Kid went toe to toe with motherfucking Big Mama and came out victorious. Big Mama, as if the most terrifying yokai crime boss Big Mama. Kid came out with a smile. Its safe to say his strategies were incredibly effective and it kinda pissed off a couple of people.

Military dude 1: I can't believe i'm following a plan made by a 16 yo mutanat turtle.

Military dude 2: Your just upset the kid called out all the flaws your plan had in less than 2 seconds flat.

But the one pissed off the most were the krang. This tiny insignificant insect was able to somehow keep the resistance 3 steps ahead. So naturally, they went to take him down first.

It took a while but eventually they managed to isolate Leo. His brothers were fighting up a storm but the krang got too much and so they had to leave. Without Leo.

About a week later which involved a lot of crying and screaming, the krang brodacast a live footage of torturing Leo (my boi) before krangyfying (did i spell that right) him.

And now the krang have leo on their side. Leo, who knows everything there is to know abt the resistance (hes a gossipy bitch but thats only cuz its important to have the intel) so they are in deep shit now.

And he was a zombie for a while guys. Fighting against him always had people dying and his fam having a mental breakdown.

Eventually they take him down, but at what cost. (One of the brothers killed him. cuz angst. And now the question is who is the MOST angst) Also, Leo is the first person to die in the resistance. (Ouch)

Casey rools up and has no fucking clue who Leo is (ouch) or why his mom wanted him to take up the role as Casey's dad (HC: Cass took one look at tge record of Leo's victories against his brothers in the lair games, strategy skills and medical knowledge; and declared that he would be Casey jr.'s father. Leo was incredibly touched)

But for some reason. For soME FUCKING REASON. Kid is so much like Leo its scary. His family is near tears everytime they see him act like that. That one time he made a shitty pun and Donnie started crying.

Well its probably due to the blue imaginary friend he has that he calls Bluey. Yes we're going towards that direction. His everything comes from being influenced by the cool older brother figure he has as an imaginary friend. (Cuz of ✨Mystic Shenanigans✨ Bluey is still stuck here. Mikey is the only one who can also see him. But he cant. Cuz hes depressed)

Also without Mr. A-Ninja's-Greatest-Weapon-Is-Hope I feel like shit gets really depressing in the resistance. Everyones sad. Baby casey is sad to see everyone sad. So he asks Bluey's help and picks up his general style of humor. Angst shenanigans.

And. AND. AND. During the whole peepaws time travel back after the movie montage (I am a aimple woman w/ simple need) these depressed hunks see this tiny version of their blue brother still covered in bandages and not fully healed from the krangvasion, and their immediete reaction? Protecc.

Leo is confused abt a lot of things. The future version of his brothers that got spat out of nowhere. Casey and how that worked w/ their Casey. The blue projection of HIS angsty future self (who is pretty cool btw). PTSD. You know, the works. At this point my guy is just vibing, and honestly? The story picks up a pretty chill pace from there. Its all abt healing now baby.

So thats the rough outline of the au. And it might sound like a fucking add but heres more abt this silly little idea that came from my silly little head. -> You'll (Never) Never Be Alone

#rottmnt future au #rottmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt future leonardo #rise tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt leo #rottmnt disaster twins #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt leo angst #rottmnt angst #You'll (Never) Be Alone