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thehistoriangirl · 1 year

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The Tides Have Veiled [Five]

With this chapter, the first arc of the story is completed! :D So beware if this starts in 1 and ends like in 8/9 jkfjhdkjfjkf

I'm also playing around with a slightly different formatting for my fics, but it isn't like very obvious right?

Viktor x Fem!Reader----Gothic AU/Spooky Sea-----3K----SFW

> M A S T E R L I S T < ← Previous // Next →

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both building are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: Even when there's seemingly nothing left to lose, you find yourself fearing still. But all new beginning start with a slight flick of dismay.

Taglist: @local-mr-frog

The only sound echoing in the middle of the dining room was the clinking of the silverware against the dishes, and the occasional glass settled against the wooden surface of the table.

Your hair was still wet from the boiling bath Viktor coerced you to step inside as soon as your legs felt steady enough to climb toward the house, occasional drips falling from your shoulders toward the worn-out sweater that had been better days; the black wool loose from the knitted geometric pattern around the wrists, softened on the elbows.

You could almost picture it stretched in Viktor’s lean arms as he reclined against the desk, all those books you dusted off scattered over the surface, keen to his scanning gaze.

“I hope the meal is of your liking,” Viktor said, tearing you up from your sidetracked mind. “Not many people like fish.”

You were playing with the fork, hovering it against the mashed potatoes he had thrown in with whatever remnants of food he had in the pantry. "Not liking fish when your family is constituted by fishermen it's like sentencing yourself to starve," you replied despite the way talking about them make your heart sink into an unknown abyss within your chest that howled just like the cliff.

Viktor clutched his spoon, eyes filled with worry that not even the bright lamp hung above your heads could conceal.

“Thank you for the meal,” you said, trying to change the topic, for you didn’t wish his pity. “You didn’t have to. It’s truly delicious.” Even if your stomach couldn’t contain that much food right now, each spoonful and bite weighting as if you'd been fed lead.

He observed you, eyebrows slightly raised when you forced the mashed potatoes down—your worrying brain telling you that you hadn’t tasted anything ever since early morning, that it would be rude not to eat what he served you.

“You don’t have to finish everything,” Viktor muttered noncommittally. “Forcing yourself would only make you sick.”

One would think that you were used to forcing things into your life already. From following people that clearly didn't care about you; a life aboard a swaying, tiny fisher boat despite your aversion to deep water; an adult life bound as a perfect housewife to another human in exchange for money without the chance of second-guesses.

You looked at him, thinking the way he pictured you now. As a broken, unstable person that was about to jump off the cliff. If Viktor was rehearsing the gentlest way of firing you, your mind couldn’t blame him for it.

Because your aunt was right, you were too unlovable to find a shelter that would be willing to guard you.

“I think you should go sleep now,” Viktor said, settling the napkin from his legs back to the table. “It’s getting late.”

Your jaw tightened, and a strange dread settled in your heart when you thought about how in the upcoming morning, you would have to say goodbye to the old lighthouse.

The chair scraped the wooden floor with a horrible shriek, and you cringed for being so petty after all the kindness Viktor had shown you.

"Ah, yes. Of course." You nodded, forcing a smile. "Where can I borrow my raincoat?" you muttered, walking toward the living room without daring to see him when you felt his gaze burning at your back.

“I mean here,” Viktor said. “You shouldn’t go outside alone at this hour.”

Because you may truly jump this time, your brain told you. That was it, then. Your entire recollection of encounters with him will be reduced to that fatal misleading call from the hollow echo of the waves scrapping the rocks of the maritime abyss.

“And what about the lighthouse?” You bit the inside of your cheek. “It’s my job to keep watch.”

Viktor stood up, his cane thumping against the floor when he took a couple of steps closer to you. You blinked, looking from the corner of your eye at how his hand raised awkwardly only to fall back to the back of his chair before hovering in the air. “You’d been maintaining the power system, so I’d say the lighthouse can stay alone for one night.” He left the crinkled napkin atop his full glass of coffee with milk. “Allow me to lead the way.”

You returned to the familiar second floor, passing further down his office toward the end of the hallway that was flanked with closed doors and wide windows covered in dusty curtains Viktor had to change soon. From the drapes, golden light flooded in flicking pools against the red wood of the floors, the windows vibrating with the howl of the foghorn.

"I'm afraid I have no spare rooms presentable enough for a guest," Viktor said, opening the door of his bedroom at the far end of the hallway. "But I hope you can be comfortable enough here."

“Oh, no, no!” You looked at him, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “I can’t take your room. Please, I would rest somewhere else.”

He observed your state with a slight smile, barely curving one side of his lips. “Take no mind. I have urgent work to do tonight anyway. You will be using it better than I can tonight.”

You squinted your eyes at him. “Is that a coaxing lie?” you had to ask, because how he could have already work piled up when he had just returned from Piltover?

Viktor shrugged. “There’s always something to do,” he answered with an amused smile. Barely an answer at all. “I will be in my studio.” Viktor gestured to the second door to the left, at the start of the hallway. “In case you need something.”

The bedroom was just how you left it, except for the towel hastily thrown in the bed—Viktor had been in a hurry to find where you had been, it seemed. You peeked at his figure as he hurriedly took the towel to put it under his arm. Crumpled bedsheets and the tossed duvet half-laid in the ground, the open curtain showing the ghostly tower of the lighthouse, white and red against the grey of the endless sky, the gargantuan eye watching over ink-black waves, and mossy cliffs.

“Thank you, Viktor.”

He didn't stay long to extend the awkwardness of both your presences inside a single room. Muttering an "It's nothing," Viktor walked away with you watching his reflection from the misted window, his white shirt contrasting against the darkness outside while you seemed to be absorbed by it.

Viktor closed the door with a soft click, and until then you allowed yourself to sit at the edge of the fluffy bed, your hands passing over the worn-out fabric of the bedsheets.

You didn’t wish to pry, but your eyes were drawn to the organic chaos inside the room. This room had been locked when you were cleaning the rest of the house, so papers were scattered over the desk, tucked in the bookshelves. All filled with Viktor’s cursive and tilted calligraphy—written with the inferior velocity of the hands while the brain concocted thoughts much faster.

The door of the closet was left ajar, your feet muffled against a carpet when you went to close it, not without smelling the essence of Viktor’s clothes as the air blew toward you when you swing the door closed.

At that moment, the entrance door creaked open, Viktor's face looking inside.

You jumped backward, almost tripping over a coffer filled with sweaters and shirts.

He had the decency to look embarrassed. “Eh, I’m… I’m sorry.” He extended a glass of water toward you. “I forgot to bring this the first time.”

Your nails scratched his fingers when you took the cold glass with a shaking hand. “Uh, thank you. Thank you, Viktor. You didn’t have to,” you said with a smile. “I could go for one myself.”

He opened the door enough for his body to slip inside, closing the door behind his back without getting you out of his golden gaze. For some reason, your heart started beating faster.

“Viktor?”

He rummaged through the pockets of his jacket, getting out your pink and orange shell. "I almost forgot to give you this. You left it in the lighthouse."

The shell was warm from his body proximity, soft and bright against your skin when he put it in your palm.

The ghost of a smile appeared. "I suppose it doesn't bring much luck to me, huh?" you commented. "Or perhaps it did until I forgot to carry it with me today."

Viktor didn’t say anything, instead placing an elegant hand over your shoulder, long fingers barely squeezing through your sweater. “Perhaps, if I carry it around enough, things will get better,” you added in a whisper.

He chuckled. "We shall see." Viktor stepped away, eyeing the door. "Miss, I would like to ask you to please refrain to get out of the room later tonight," he said suddenly, making you want to seek his gaze. Finding nothing more but a fleeting look from the corner of his eyes.

“Why?” It wasn’t like you would like to creep around his property when he wasn’t looking.

Viktor stood on the threshold of the bedroom, only looking back at you when he was about to close the door. "Do you remember what I told you when we met?"

You blinked, and he sighed.

“I’m not trying to scare you now,” Viktor said, his tone serious. You could imagine it reverberating in a fancy lecture inside Piltover’s university. “But you should consider my words tonight, at least.”

How all stories might have something of truth wrapped between them.

He left after that.

*~*~*~*

The foghorn startled you awake, in one of those flicking instances when slumber grew thin enough for sounds to filter from reality through the dreamlands. The cliff's screams vibrate in your window. Calling you back.

You sat in the dark room, the headrest solid against your shaky limbs, hands barely swiping away the beads of sweat clinging to your forehead.

When your fingers took the glass off the nightstand, your mind had already accepted that something was off. It was too light, and when you tilted it between your lips, there was no water left.

Viktor's words clung to you like a heavy coat when you slipped out of bed, thinking that rather than go to the kitchen, you could fill the water with a tap in the sink outside the bathroom. Or better, you could ask Viktor to accompany you all the way to the kitchen.

It didn't matter if you felt childish, voice trembling while asking. It was better than the heavy weight of expectation settled in your stomach when you opened the door, the orange light of the bulb above your head mixing with the one drawn with the oil lamps turned off all along the hallway.

You closed your eyes, a sigh relaxing your muscles when all the air was out of your body.

The wood was calm and silent tonight, forgotten the tantrum of early in the day. You thought the house had been amused by the sight of the conundrum, the most interesting thing that had happened in the vicinity in how long.

You stopped at the start of the hallway, where the stairs were sunk in a dim light from the landing below, the oil lamp flicking as if a window had been left open.

Viktor wasn’t in his studio. Or maybe he was, but asleep already. The door closed and the space beneath the wood and the floor tinted in black. You bit your lips anxiously, gripping the glass in a forceful grip.

You swallowed; tongue so dry it made you want to cough for the salty aftertaste clinging to it.

Tap water was it—nothing you weren't used to doing back with your grandparents.

Without thinking, you turned back toward your room, the corner of your eye still and covered in darkness. After a couple of steps, you heard a door closing downstairs, the same cry of rusty metal hinges protesting.

You looked back at the stairs, hoping to see Viktor appear after a night of hard study.

But then, doubt settled in your stomach, gluing your cold feet to the ground. What if he gets upset to see you disobeying the rules of his house? You were already being a nuance with how many things he had been doing for you, from feeding you to saving your life—

Stop, you begged your mind. Stop.

But your mind didn’t. My aunt is right. I’m a nuance. I understand why they wanted to exchange me away.

The light in the first oil lamp started flicking, the supply dying from being kept on all night. From bright yellow to sicken orange to, finally, red blinks.

Your nails got buried in your palm, steps go backward without turning your back to the stairs. The bathroom door was at an arm's distance, doorknob cold when you turned it in your palm, slipping inside so quickly you felt a cold breeze against your cheek.

The bathroom was divided into three parts, the first one with a sink, a mirror, and a cabinet filled with amber glass bottles with shampoo and lotions. You filled your glass there, waiting with your ear against the wood to hear any sound coming from the stairs.

When nothing happened and you felt your eyes weighting from sleep, you opened the door, welcoming the orange light of the lamps that would guide you back to the ajar door of the bedroom.

The stains caught your attention the first second you exited the bathroom. Coming from the stairs down the hallway, stopping in front of the bedroom. The brown outline of muddy feet.

Your heart sank, ironically picking up speed. The glass slipped from your grasp, water absorbing the mud marks closer to you, almost erasing them away.

"Viktor?" you said, knowing that it was impossible. It was impossible to gather mud like this so near the sea, here where everything was endless sand and broken shells.

Nobody answered. You didn't see messy chestnut hair coming from the office door, nor golden eyes squinted in sleepiness and confusion at the sound of broken glass.

A silly thought danced in your head. I should’ve brought the shell.

You returned to the bathroom, finding a cold, uncomfortable bed in the bathtub. The mosaic filtered its freezing temperature through your back, but you weren't shivering because of it.

You had to be seeing things. It was still a dream. You had sleepwalked, painting all sorts of fantasies into the real world. And yet you didn't move, you didn't look away from the tiny window until the grey and black of the sky faded into blue, where the light of the beacon died alongside the foghorn.

Until then, you slipped out of the bathroom with a sore back, peeking out the hallway that still had the oil lamps turned on.

Only that this time, the muddy prints were gone, leaving only the shards of your broken glass behind that prickled your skin when you picked them, walking toward Viktor's bedroom, empty and silent. The glass had opened light cuts on your fingerpads, as if to assure you that it hadn’t been a dream.

*~*~*~*

“Bad night?” Viktor said when you entered the living room. His voice made you jump, hands grabbing the stairs rail with so much force your fingers felt numb.

The coffee table in front of him was dirty with breadcrumbs, and two plates were left on top of each other in front of his untouched toast.

You quirked an eyebrow, wanting any excuse you could hold onto to forget that last night even happened. You didn’t have to return to this damn house at night anyway.

“Did you have visitors?” Who would come so early in the day? Were they still here? You removed awkwardly on your place, feeling your face hot if said visits get to catch you here with him, alone. It wouldn’t do good to his reputation if they were friends who came from the city.

Viktor reclined against the couch. "Your family is very insistent," he said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his beverage. You wanted to recoil into yourself, to become a speckle of dust and fly away unnoticed. "It's alright. After all, it was me who told your aunt I wanted her blessing," he commented, and you couldn't stop a smile from growing.

"Oh, Viktor. I'm so sorry," you started, making your way to pick up the dishes they had left behind. "I've abused your hospitality too much for my liking." You tilted your head. "I—I'll pay you. Please. I don't like to feel as if… as if I owe you something." To him and everyone.

He reclined his chin against his elbow, propelled between the cushions. The living room was slightly dark from the curtains covering the windows near the hearth despite being drawn already.

"Miss," Viktor breathed, his soft voice stopping you midway toward the kitchen, dishes, and cups balanced in your arms. "Please sit."

He’s going to fire me. He had enough of me. And could you blame him?

You sat there, your back stiffening as you felt tears of frustration prickle in your cheeks. The only noise flowing through the room was the distant roar of waves.

Viktor started stirring his coffee cup, movements so forceful the black liquid started pouring over the porcelain rim. His eyes kept you from squirming nervously, shining like twin suns in a clear sky.

“I ask you to please listen to all I have to say before answering—before you even decide to go away, even.”

What? How could you even fantasize to go away from this place that was everything left for you?

With growing fear, your nod was barely perceptible. But he was watching you so closely that he caught the gentle sway of your hair.

Your mind was sent overdrive, filled with a turbulent whirlpool of ideas. He's going to fire me. He knows I snuck out of the room last night. He's the one behind the footprints. He—

In the end, nothing could have ever prepared you for what came out his mouth right after calling your name in such a strange tone, you could try all your life to decipher, only to come out fruitless.

“I want you to marry me.”

#arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor arcane x you #viktor arcane fanfic #arcane x female reader #viktor x reader arcane

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violivs · 5 months

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NMTDaily: BIRDS

- There he is, folks. My favorite fictional character ever. In his first solo episode. I cannot be held responsible for the level of fangirling that must now commence.

- I mean, I was a lonely teenage girl watching this show in 2014, and he was a cute, nerdy, dark-haired guy with an accent. It was a foregone conclusion, shallow though it might sound. There was no way I was watching this show and not loving Benedick. Including when he’s being cringy and over the top. And then we peel back the layers and see that “having a new friend every week” just means Ben is ALSO desperately lonely and self-conscious? I was toast. It was so over for me, from day one.

- I love that his header image is just a piece of paper with The Ben Show written in messy Sharpie and he’s still acting like he’s presenting the most exciting show ever. The confidence! His icon image being him kissing his reflection and the username “benaddicktion” are also strokes of genius. The cocky, overconfident characterization is so strong just based on those choices. Truly a teenage version of the character from the play.

- We must note the heinous laser cat t-shirt and how Ben is matching Beatrice with her Grumpy Cat t-shirt in recent videos. Love it. Another parallel- they both have extensive collections of nerdy and random t-shirts. AND they’re both cat people!

- Set dressing: Ben has a horse lamp for some reason, which reminds me of “Hero, it’s Darcy on a horse!” Beatrice, meet your very own personal Darcy. He’s just, you know, a lot less shy and buttoned-up than actual Darcy.

- He also has several sports trophies on his desk there, I like that he’s accomplished. Proud of you Ben! A good soldier becomes a good football player, modern adaptation choices! (I can practically hear Beatrice snickering about them just being participation trophies though lol)

- The trophies do remind me of another question: why does Ben never try out for sports at university in Lolilo? He can go intramural just for fun, he doesn’t have to be on a scholarship or trying to go pro. Maybe anxiety??? Maybe he just wasn’t feeling it anymore, or maybe he did try and didn’t make whatever team? *adds to social anxiety headcanon evidence list*

- I always wanted to know what book was on Ben’s bed, and someone in the comments has come through for me! It’s Children of Huron by Tolkien even though that cover art looks like it should be literary historical fiction about a tragic married couple who are lighthouse keepers. Which is also a valid literary genre!

- He also has Game of Thrones books, another connection to Beatrice and her interests. You know they must argue about whether the books or show are better at least once offscreen.

- He also has a little rubber duck dressed like Shakespeare (thank you again comment section for your eagle eyes), which has catapulted me back in time to one of the NMTD fandom’s finest early crack!posts: the Beneduck. Born of an unholy typo made by yours truly these many years ago. (I only made the typo, though, not the edit. Credits for that at the link lol. Miss you both, hope you’re well.❤️ ) You’re welcome. 😂

- “A story about birds”- this reminds me, Ben doesn’t seem as upset about all the bird killings as someone who loves birds would be, so does that mean him loving birds wasn’t set in stone yet? I sometimes wonder if I’m misremembering Ben liking birds because Jake likes birds. But the flamingos are canon so I guess it is canon.

- “easily the best driver in Messina High School, no matter what Beatrice says” Oh, Ben is absolutely only making a video about this topic because he and Bea had another argument about this recently. He’d be like, “I’m an excellent driver” and she’d say, “oh yeah, how many living things have you killed” and that’s the true “how many hath he killed in these wars” moment!

- This video is, of course, intentionally, very cringe. But Ben is so damn good at making it likable. Honest props to Jake, the comments in this video are all loving Ben already because he makes him so likable and fun to watch make a fool of himself.

- Not even 45 seconds into Ben’s first video and he’s already mentioned Beatrice TWICE. Speaking of it’s so over- he was literally always obsessed with her. It’s adorable.

- “obviously he’s quite nervous- but it’s all good! He knows he can do this ‘cause he’s great.” Oh my GOD there it is! There it all is! His entire character. Ben gets so nervous- anxious- and he gets through life by ignoring that feeling and having a big head. Because if he keeps telling himself he’s wonderful and perfect and confident, then he can make himself believe that’s true long enough to get through the scary thing. I love him.

- The fact that Ben definitely scripted this and hunted down all these props ahead of time though. The water gun for the rainstorm! It’s so cute and earnest of him. It reminds me a little of Lizzie Bennet-style costume theater, but it’s puppet theater instead. Good thing, too, because some of these stories sound like they were extremely visceral and gory in real life 😬

- “Bird death rua” Ben knowing a little Te Reo Māori reminds me of another backstory question: how long has Ben lived in A/NZ at this point? He’s lived in Auckland since he was 13, because that’s when he met Peter/Pedro, the year leading up to the summer he was 14 and met Bea. But did he live in another part of A/NZ before that for a while? Or did he come from the UK at 13? I just feel like the timeline is important for the “has a new best friend every week” thing, and actually it could make sense if they lived in the UK for his early years (he didn’t know the reference to an A/NZ little kids’ tv show the flatmates made in Lolilo because he was too old when he moved there to have ever seen it), but then also maybe bounced around different parts of A/NZ for a while before settling in Auckland- he was always the New Kid and that’s why he comes on so strong in friendships and never believes they’ll last. But it’s also very cute if Peter and Beatrice are his actual first friends he makes in A/NZ right after moving countries. I don’t know.

- Extremely funny to me that Ben is a Taylor Swift fan since the moment we meet him. The artist who is stereotyped for only writing about Ben’s supposed least favorite thing, romantic relationships. It’s not even like he gets into her music while he’s coming to terms with his feelings for Bea, no, he’s already singing I Knew You Were Trouble back when he says he hates relationships and romance. Actually, goddamn, that’s a good song choice for him right now, when he sees Bea as the ex-best friend who broke his heart. She’s the one he knew was trouble when she walked in! She’s the one who puts him down!

- Now I am admittedly not a pet person, but it seems unusual for a teenager to be taking the cat to the vet by himself. He doesn’t hold the pet insurance policy, right? So this is the first moment that shows Ben is actually really independent and mature on some levels (foreshadowing), and that his parents are very hands-off. That’s partly because of the “parents must be absent so the kid can have a plotline fully unencumbered by rules and adult interference” trope. But I also always interpreted Ben’s parents as loving but emotionally neglectful. And that also contributes to his anxiety, loneliness, and wild self-esteem fluctuations. (It suddenly occurs to me that this interpretation of it being unusual for a teen to be able to take a cat to the vet by himself might be colored by the fact that I had severe social anxiety as a teen, so I literally could not have gone up to a person working a desk and asked for what I needed in most contexts. If it’s normal for a teen to take a cat to the vet alone, then never mind. But I still hold these headcanons.)

- He dedicated the video to Hero and Bea! Oh he was definitely so nervous and hyperaware that Bea was on the sidelines that whole game and he doesn’t know why it genuinely made him happy that she was there. He’s being sarcastic here, but still! Cute.

- As mentioned in one of my other NMTDaily posts, Ursula helped edit this video and Ben thanks her in the description, and I love that for them. Ursula is probably relieved that Bea hates the video too much to bother reading the description, or she would be mad at Ursula for being friends with him.

- I still can’t watch this video without thinking of the song “Live in Living Color” from the musical Catch Me If You Can. Really, it’s literally the perfect MT song to represent this video. I should find and reblog my old NMTD as a musical fanmix just for fun.

- You see? A big long analytical post about a video in which my cringy dorkass boy pretends to gnaw a bird-shaped oven mitt to death. I can’t even help myself.

- I am so behind on these but i promise I’ll catch up!

💖🦩🥭

#nmtd #nothing much to do #nmtdaily #benedick hobbes #episode 11: BIRDS

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alessiathepirate · 2 years

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The Dark Pictures Anthology: The Devil in Me

PROMISE: Charlie Lonnit x fem!reader

Summary: Death won't spare them over 'til another year...

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: angst (get the tissues ready), death, mentioned torture

•••

Kate and her were about to open a door in the lighthouse when a sudden noise made both of them jump. They bumped into each other as they turned towards the stairs where the sound came from.

"Hey! No, no it's me. It's just me. Sorry." Erin said as she walked up the stairs getting closer to them.

"God, Erin you almost gave me a heart attack!" she tried to calm her racing heart. "Where are the others?"

"Thank God it's just you. Have you seen Mark?" Kate asked and she was sure from her heavy breathing that she got scared from the noises as well. But it wasn't surprising. She was sure she could jump from a feather landing on her hand at this point after everything they went through.

"He's up here! We are trying to turn on the stupid light!"

Erin joined the duo at the top of the staircase, when suddenly groans and painful moans came from behind the door Kate wanted to open.

"Mark?" she asked uneasily.

"Please tell me you can hear us." Kate continued with concern in her voice.

She stepped in front of Kate and slowly, carefully opened the door only to see Mark. He was on the floor, seemingly in pain as his hand was resting on his chest. It was like he couldn't get enough air.

Kate quickly squatted down next to him to try and help him. The door opened again as Erin rushed in as well - she was followed by Jamie.

"Mark, I thought I lost you..." Kate muttered as she hugged Mark.

She just stood there looking at the cute moment in front of her. Those two for sure deserved a happy ending and if anything good happened that day in the Murder Castle it was the fact that they were getting back together again. She smiled at the thought. The romantic gestures reminded her of Charlie - God, that man can be a handful from time to time, but still... she loved him with all of her heart and she was sure he felt the same.

But now that she thought about it - where is Charlie?

"I- I was-" Mark muttered as he hugged Kate.

She suddenly felt uneasy and a shiver ran down her spine. Something isn't okay. Everyone is here except Charlie - but that wasn't the only reason why she was nervous. No, there was something else - something isn't all right in that very moment, in that place. And then she felt it. The air, the presence... She turned around as quickly as she could as the door behind her closed and showed Du'Met, who was hiding behind it the whole time.

Everyone was reacting fast. Kate helped Mark up and Erin grabbed a table lamp and threw it at Du'Met.

In the next second all of them were running - down the stairs, by the creepy lady with the book, out the door.

Erin immediately ran towards the fence and what she said next made her heart skip a few beats: "He's gone! Charlie's gone!"

"Charlie's alive?" Jamie asked.

She tried to think - what does she mean? Why is he gone? Where was he? Why wasn't he with them? Fear took control as she examined Erin's expressions. This was a different kind of fear. This wasn't what she felt when she ran while Du'Met chased her or trapped her. This wasn't what one feels when there is a chance of getting hurt or dying. This is the feeling what one feels deep inside when a loved one is in danger. And this damn thing comes from deep within making the limbs heavy and the stomach empty - it makes the heart ache.

"Why would he be here?" she asked when she found her voice.

"Charlie made it out, but we- uh-" Erin's voice was panicky. "thought he might be in on all of this."

"What?" she asked and her eyes were stinging. This was the first time she wanted to cry that night. "We?"

"We're sorry, but-" Mark started as Erin started to shout out for Charlie.

Her heart couldn't take it. Oh God, she's gonna throw up! Mark out of all people thought Charlie tried to kill them... She could imagine anyone else - Jamie, Kate, even herself, but Mark?

"Charlie!" she shouted too instead of jumping on either Mark or Erin.

Erin ran off and she went right after her even though Jamie wanted them to wait. But she couldn't - she couldn't wait. There was no way she will stand there and slowly walk around.

Please, be okay. God, please be okay. Let him be okay. Please...

Erin suddenly stopped in front of the edge. She looked down at something she couldn't see yet. The girl looked like she's gonna faint and it made her slow down. Her chest was heavy with fear of what she'll see.

No... No, no, no. Not now - not like this.

There are moments in life when we know something bad is going go happen. It's inevitable - yet we still keep on hoping til the last minute, only to be hit by reality. We were hoping that's why we are hurt.

As she looked down to finally see what scared Erin, she felt like she'll faint.

There he was - the man she loved, the man who loved her back. But he wasn't in the state she wanted him to be in. He laid there with tied hands lifelessly, the rock behind him was red from his blood. His shirt was open and a word was carved into his chest: complicit. His glasses were broken and parts of the script he wrote were tucked in his mouth.

She fell on her knees as she hid her face in her palms. Hot tears were running down her cheeks as she tried to get away from the people next to her, from the place and from the sight.

But she couldn't. And she couldn't forget the sight. The picture was in her mind even if she closed her eyes. And the more she saw it the more painful it became.

He's dead. He isn't coming back. He killed him. They killed him. I killed him.

He was alive when he carved that word into his chest, the thought ran through her mind. The script was put in his mouth so no one could hear the screams. And then he threw him down there. He died because of that.

In that moment she hated that she was a true crime investigator.

"You just left him?" she asked between sobs. She didn't have power to continue.

But Kate did. "You left him with Du'Met out here?"

They didn't try to explain it. She didn't want to hear it. It wouldn't matter.

As she sat on the ground she opened her eyes to take one last look at him. She was hoping again. Hoping that what she saw wasn't real. Reality hit her again. It hurt again.

God, what was the last thing she said to him? What was the last thing he said to her?

They were in Erin's room after her first run in with Du'Met. Erin had an asthma attack in that dark room and she needed reassurance. Mark and Kate wanted to pack their stuff and leave, while Charlie and Jamie wanted to find Du'Met.

"We'll find him and we'll come back, all right?" that's how their last conversation started.

"You promise?"

"I promise." he smiled at her.

"Be careful, okay?"

"You too."

"I love you." she whispered, but Jamie heard in anyway and rolled her eyes.

"I love you too." he whispered back and then he was gone.

She let out another sob. She felt a presence behind herself and in the next moment she was hugged by Kate.

"I loved him, you know..." she choked out.

"It's okay, I know."

"He promised he'd come back." Kate's arms around her tightened as she tried to help her up.

Her whole body was on fire - including her mind. And it didn't want to stop. Memories of him and her, together flooded her head.

Their first day working together, their first kiss, their first date. Her bringig him coffee every morning. Trying to keep the relationship a secret, but not being able to. She remembered his hugs, his kiss, his touch, his smell - and even though remembering them hurt, she didn't want to forget them.

That's how she wants to remember him: Charlie being Charlie - not him resting down there on that rock.

She tried to stop crying as Kate wiped the tears away.

He couldn't keep his promise...

#charlie lonnit #charlie lonnit x reader #the dark pictures anthology #the dark pictures the devil in me #the devil in me #fem!reader #charlie lonnit x fem!reader

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zahri-melitor · 10 months

Text

SURPRISE UNLISTED SANTA! This is why I’m plowing through all the specials anyway.

DC Special Series #21

This is 5 first-time Christmas stories, several of which get reprinted at later times. The theme of this set is the Christmas Star.

Jonah Hex: The Fawn and the Star. This is Jonah Hex stopping a frontier man shooting a fawn that his daughter had been looking after, for Christmas Dinner. Jonah promises to go find them an alternative Christmas meal. He reminisces about the time he rescued an injured raccoon as a child and his father gave it to his mother to cook for dinner (grim!) and how shattered he was by that. The Christmas Star then points Jonah to a cave where two crooks he’s been hunting down are hiding. Jonah beats them up to turn in for a reward and takes their food supplies, which he gives to the family (it’s just hard tack and jerky). The father says it won’t be much of a Christmas, but admits he couldn’t kill his daughter’s pet.

Wanted: Santa Claus – Dead or Alive! No Santa here – this is from the Christmas Star special. It’s… fine. Batman finds out an old crook, Boomer Katz, is working as a department store Santa and suspects he’s doing the work as a front for a robbery. However, while Boomer is in fact doing this, his heart is swayed by honest work and all the little happy children, and no longer wants to help the gang rob the shop. He’s forced to help, beaten up by the gang, Batman comes and busts everyone, and the Christmas Star helps Batman find Boomer.

The House of Mystery – SURPRISE SANTA! This is a mystery/fantasy set of characters from various books that all ended up in Sandman eventually. We’ve got Cain and Abel, the Kindly Ones, plus what looks like Destiny of the Endless by the fire. Everyone decides to tell Christmas stories.

The story I think, checking references, confuses Mildred and Mordred, but the Kindly Ones proceed to tell a story of a family adrift in a life raft after their yacht sank. The family are guided by a light that the think is a lighthouse, and manage to come ashore – only to find the lighthouse lamp is out and they’ve been guided by the Christmas Star.

Cain and Abel tell the story of a pawnbroker who is the usual level of cheap; he’s depicted buying a diamond ring from a woman who is selling it to pay for Christmas dinner and is planning to mark it up 20x to sell. However another customer in a red coat with a white beard enters the shop. He offers the pawnbroker a diamond – “The largest diamond in the world” (this is clearly an exaggeration; all the Cullinan pieces are larger than this gem, let alone the original Cullinan, without even considering any other diamond) – in trade in exchange for the entire contents of the shop. Our greedy pawnbroker doesn’t want to do the deal, but decides he really wants the diamond, so gives all the contents of his shop to the Mysterious Red Coat Man. After the trade happens, the diamond turns to coal! And the Mysterious Man tells him to squeeze it for a few million years (look the panel I’m about to post is both racist and contains a slur but also it’s Santa being very snarky, so take it as it is)

And then of course Santa transforms and flies away in his sled to return all the things people have had to sell to the pawnbroker.

The third story, by Destiny, is about a space ship going to look for the Christmas Star – and which blows up, travelling through time and creating the Christmas Star.

After this everyone bickers about whose story was best, and the Phantom Stranger and Madame Xanadu show up.

Sgt Rock: The Longest Night – this is a story about the Christmas Star leading the soldiers and a pilgrimage to the shrine of Santa Maria.

LOSH: Star Light, Star Bright…Farthest Star I See Tonight – The Legion discuss celebrating Christmas (with a single Hanukkah panel)! Clark decides he wants to track down the Christmas Star, so he and a handful of Legionnaires (Phantom Girl, Lightning Lad and Wildfire) go hunting for it, but end up a planet where they need to help three species living there who are undergoing climatic disasters. They come up with first temporary and then a combined solution, and everyone goes “ah the spirit of Christmas!”

Next stop? Christmas With the Super-Heroes #1 for the two stories in it I haven't read yet.

#DC Santa read along

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ugfriends · 2 months

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After launching a flotilla of rubber duckies into my bath I was arranging them in a flying wedge formation when I noticed a water drop encased ant slide down my shower wall as if it was the inventor of some new form of locomotion and was proudly speedily on its way. Later dry and dressed I grabbed a book and sat outside on the back porch to enjoy the evening air. An orange sunset was winking out over the horizon and it seemed to have left shards of itself scattered in the adjacent pumpkin field. The book was V. by Thomas Pynchon and I began reading about a great amoebalike boy Benny Profane who chased alligators in the New York sewers and clownish Herbert Stencil who chased V. capering along behind her, bells ajingle. I lit a cigarette and as I puffed away I imagined the pulsing coal at the butt end as a lighthouse lamp at dusk guiding lost porch sitters into safety. Too dark to continue reading I closed the book and being a fan of minimalist titles I looked at the V. on the cover and mused about what finally might have happened to the mysterious lady. Perchance V. became inanimate and now graces some Maltese plaza as a mystery statue of Venus or possibly manifesting her inanimation as a painting she became a Jean Fouquet Madonna sans infant one breast exposed anyway but not a diptych this time around or maybe she took a wrong subterranean turn and was eaten by one of Profane's big albino sewer gators? Perhaps we need not worry about V. in any of her manifestations. "So it came about that God wore a wide-awake hat and fought skirmishes with an aboriginal Satan out at the antipodes of the firmament, in the name and for the safekeeping of any Victoria.” Peering off into the gloaming I saw distant lightning flickering continuously behind clouds and it looked like someone had found a rip in the fabric of the universe and was trying to weld it quickly closed.

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dondon-patapon · 8 months

Text

Observation Log 6: 1/19 2:32 AM

Temp: 35 deg.

Weather: Light rain

Obs: No major disturbances to note

The rain outside is a fine backdrop tonight to collect my thoughts and attempt to rifle through the notes I’ve collected thus far. There isn’t much else to be said for this night; the lamp is lit, the sky is quiet, and even the cold is more bearable tonight. So I’ve collected all the scraps and books I’ve collected over the past few nights and have spent the past few hours reading and organizing accordingly.

Near as I could tell, all of this debris came from a passenger ship of some sort. Bits and pieces of notes from different authors appeared to be personal in nature. Self-reflective, in some cases. Others addressed to specifically named people. Friends? Loved ones? One in particular was looking forward to seeing their kids again - that one hurt to read. If that note wound up on my shores, then, well.

Passengers. With hopes and dreams of their own, stories snuffed out in one fell swoop. Lost into the void of space, left unfinished. Some of these I could identify by name, while other effects I only had bits and pieces of, distinguished only by their handwriting. So I just kept filing them away as I read, took in the snippets of their stories. I’ll have to try and gather some supplies, make a proper memorial for them.

A few logs in particular caught my attention, from a well-preserved black logbook. This here was written in the tone of a ship’s officer, by my reading. Couldn’t discern a name, but there were plenty of detailed observations to comb through, labeled with dates and times, as well as unique navigation specifics. Definitely a member of the ship’s crew at minimum.

I wonder sometimes if I should be more succinct and to the point, instead of waxing lyrical like I tend to do. This was never previously in my nature, but I’ve taken a liking to it. If anyone reads this, perhaps you’ll have the grace to forgive me for it.

At any rate, a few things stood out to me here. Of note, the crew were on edge after passing through a contested sector of space. I am not most familiar with said conflict, but our officer friend was concerned with a hostile military presence as well as the threat of pirates pursuing them. And yet the logs continued for another week or so without any further mention of this threat. Curiously, though, they started noticing odd lights following them. First, an aurora-like observation, colors flashing through the night sky. Further down the line they saw orb-like colored lights hovering in the distance. Orb-like lights… Now that rung a bell. How close did they come to my lighthouse? Closer than I had expected. And fairly recently, too.

Whatever tore them to shreds, it happened far out of my line of sight, unfortunately. Their last log ended abruptly.

My conclusion? This was a professional crew contracted to transport passengers out of a contested sector of space - refugees, most likely. I’d have to look through any sort of physical wreckage that washed up if I wanted to draw any conclusions about how they met their end. The potential of something truly dangerous being out there around me does give me pause. But tonight, of all nights, my thoughts are only with them.

Voices, whispering all around me. Faint gasps of wind muttering indistinct words within earshot. Am I intruding in your memories?

They linger through the rest of my night tonight. They bring me no anxiety. Why should they? They’re mourning their own loss. There is no ill will in this lighthouse tonight.

You won’t be forgotten, I’ll make sure of that.

#the lighthouse at the edge of the universe #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #dondon-lighthouse #oopsie running a little behind

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patsypat · 2 years

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“For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in the eyes of God…”1 Corinthians 3:19 Are we weathervanes or lighthouses? Weathervanes are made to revolve to show the direction of the wind. It is usually mounted to the top of a structure. I remember that my dad wanted to make one, a rooster, to rest on top of our building along Roces Avenue, at the very crest of the corner “tower”. Although weathervanes can be beautiful and artistic, people are not meant to be weathervanes. Last night we were talking of a politician who has been around a long time. There are so many memes about him, that he gave Eve the apple, that he helped in the construction of the pyramids in Egypt, etc. My husband said he was “user friendly”, and so he is. He changes with the political wind to survive. He changed his beliefs and his words depending on who is the sitting President. We were created by God not to be weathervanes but lighthouses. For several centuries, thousands of people perished in the perilous seas around Scotland. The only light along the coast was a coal fire that was easily extinguished when it rained. So in 1786 the Northern Lighthouse Trust was established with Robert Stevenson, the great great grandfather of the author of the classic book, “Kidnapped”, as the chief engineer. For the next two hundred years, four generations of the Stevenson family designed lighthouses and constructed them along the coasts of Scotland. It was not easy as they had to make the foundations so strong to withstand the enormous waves, and had to design lamps and lenses that could send a gleam of light across the battering seas for miles. Thousands of lives were saved that would otherwise have been lost in the storms. If we stand with God, read His Word, stay on His path, we will be like lighthouses. Our light will keep shining even if there is a storm raging around us. Others will see our light, and we should also look for the light in others. Sometimes it may grow dim, but if we encourage each other, pray for each other, love and support each other, we can burn brightly so our world can be a better place to live in. https://www.instagram.com/p/Co0nDaLBcQV/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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skruttet · 4 years

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the way he says “but I don’t have time for you anymore”.....this scene always makes me cry........

#im still tryna figure out all the meanings behind it tho ik i'd be overthinking it plus it's probably partly up to interpretation anyway #he's obviously facing his fears & no longer allowing them to hold him back. i think here it's mainly his fear of being alone #his fear of independence (hence him now being ready to set off on his solo adventure)#i just feel like there's more to it tho #especially regarding the hurricane lamp because they put a lot of emphasis on that and how guilty he felt about it #the lamp usually represents like....love and warmth right? and he used it to look out for the sea-horses...#and when mamma used it to guide her fam back to the lighthouse pappa said 'i always knew you held a torch for me'#maybe this is just moomin no longer holding a torch for the groke/his fears? or does it also extend to his feelings for the sea-horse #and/or snufkin and/or snorkmaiden?#anyway he's growing and im proud of him but also very sad that the groke didn't really get a happy ending like in the book :( but we do #have 2 seasons left so we'll see!#moominvalley #moomintroll #groke #ALSO marika said that he has a fear of not being extraordinary and being insignificant and mediocre...which ig he also solves by going on #his lone adventure

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years

Conversation

DISNEY'S "GARGOYLES" SEASON 2 QUOTES RP MEME

Why do you read that stuff?

I like a man who brings me weapons.

Nice wake up call.

We won't have to find them. They'll find us.

Revenge, as they say, is a sucker's game.

I'll settle for tearing this jerk IN HALF!

Want to see me use both hands?

That's no way to treat a lady!

That was no lady.

Thanks for saving my bacon before it got fried.

Look, just promise you'll call if there's trouble.

Go ahead, try something!

I'd love to do that again!

That wasn't a tranquilizer dart.

It was loaded with a mutagenic formula!

You don't know anything about her!

Why are you stomping on my friend here?

I was particularly proud of my death scene.

You never let me drive.

The important thing is, you're alive.

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Something's not right here.

Then you leave us no choice!

How are we supposed to find them?

Please, I beg you, be quiet.

This isn't a good idea.

I'm best qualified to go.

My memories are clouded.

Why should I trust you?

If you can't trust me, then trust your heart.

Why do you fight me, my love?

We are destined to be together for all eternity.

I will choose who I love!

Now we'll see what this creature looks like up close.

Why stare at marks on a page when you can rent the video?

Well, I can't read and I don't think I'm missing anything.

Harrier jets! They can take off and land like helicopters. When your life's this exciting, who needs books?

Are you all right?

I had a little trouble.

This beach isn't safe after dark.

Do you need a doctor?

Come on in. I've got a fire going.

There's little I can offer in return, except my thanks.

You understand, I don't get any real pleasure from this. Well you've got courage, beastie. I'll give you that.

Funny, something about your voice made me think you were a soldier, once.

You were there.

I'm old, but I'm not that old.

I'm glad you came back.

I'm afraid I can't stay, but I think I left something on the terrace this morning.

Have you come across a large canister?

The name sounded phony.

I do know him, but he's not a friend!

A magic book?

They're worthless. No magic at all.

The written word is all that stands between memory and oblivion.

Without books as our anchors, we are cast adrift, neither teaching nor learning.

Books are lighthouses erected in the dark sea of time.

Is this how you welcome all your guests?

They have a sense of humor. You have none.

Yeah, I know, you're as relieved I am that everything's back to normal.

Wouldn't it be great to be a shapeshifter?

Well, let's just get this over with, shall we?

How can I be of service, hmm?

Out with it. I haven't got all night.

I'm sure you'll fit right in.

What is it you really want?

This just might be fun after all.

I thought everyone knew this.

Shapeshifters, elves, fairies, you mean they're real?

You mean, you thought I was ugly?

I want you to get rid of the humans. ALL of them.

Does this look like Aladdin's lamp? I have limits, after all.

Humans love a battle hearty.

I'll never get the hang of jumping off rooftops.

I'll always be there to catch you.

Do it, and you win your freedom.

It will be my pleasure. But afterwards, I'm going to need a very long nap.

There. You're free.

The sun, it's glorious! I never thought that it could feel so good.

I'm sorry about the bomb. But it proves how dangerous this case is.

When someone messes with your partner, you're supposed to do something about it.

You still haven't learned that crime doesn't pay.

A trade?

Let's just say, I don't trust you with it.

So, now you know my weakness.

Only you would regard love as a weakness.

A momentary lapse, I assure you.

Halloween! Tonight is the night!

Come on. I've wanted to stroll down a city street with you for a long time.

Marry me.

Are you serious?

We're genetically compatible, highly intelligent, and have the same goals.

You could've been hurt. I should've been with you.

Oh-well, spilt milk. Let's move on to plan B.

Don't listen to him. It's a trick! He couldn't tell the truth if his life depended on it!

Even if what you say is true, why should I help her?

Because you know what it means to lose some you love.

Not a good night for you.

You can't believe anything he says.

If someone like him can love, perhaps there is some hope for this world.

Take this as token of my love.

Upon this I pledge my heart to you forever.

Why do you need all this?

I wanted it, so I took it.

It's so unlike you to attack first.

I simply invited you here to talk.

Our past encounters have not inspired me to trust you.

It's crazy to even consider going!

I'm not interested in reminiscing!

Have you no respect for anything?

Believe me, I know exactly how you feel.

I will never be like you!

I do not wish to hurt you.

I do not wish to be you!

What am I to do?

Do nothing.

Do not worry.

Live in the moment.

Attend the petty angers and jealousies that fill your heart.

Fortify yourself with love and trust.

Fulfill the vows of love you make, for they can surely save you.

Time travel's funny that way.

Get away from me, you sentimental fool.

It's a pretty good likeness.

You know more than you're letting on.

T'was your handiwork.

very life is precious.

Take care not to become what you fight against.

Vengeance begets only a further cycle of more vengeance.

Do you want vengeance or a solution?

This is bigger than either of us has ever faced.

We'll have to work together to stop her.

Truce?

You are the cause of all this.

Humans will learn to respect you.

I would rather they fear me.

What are you doing to help?

That's one way to settle an argument.

I thought I'd rid myself of you long ago

You've forgotten about me.

You're too late. You can't save them. No one can!

I'm not here for them. I'm here for you.

I want it over between us!

I wear this as a reminder of your treachery.

Let's not start that again. You blame me, I blame you. Aren't you tired of talking about it?

I'm not here to talk.

Killing me will gain you nothing but your own death.

Death is never the answer. Life is.

I'm just so tired

Your thirst for vengeance has only created more sorrow.

I offer you one last opportunity for forgiveness and mercy.

I merely offer a sample of what you planned for me.

You have learned nothing.

I will still have my revenge!

What do we do with them?

You come in handy now and then.

I'm quite glad the plan worked.

I'm no hero, I just do my job, and my job for tonight is over.

All I want to do is hit the sack.

Why would you want to hit a sack?

How long was I out?

Even shadows must be true to their shade.

We don't need to wait for sunset.

Is it supposed to hurt that much?

Just get on with it.

Recognize the woman?

She seemed familiar, but I just couldn't place her.

You're getting real good at bypassing alarms

Don't give me credit.

It was too easy!

Maybe misery loves company.

If you're human, then you're subject to human laws.

Either way I win!

I fear no human!

There are forces at war within me.

I will return some day, if I can.

You sound like every human employee I ever fired!

Crush all of them together and you couldn't squeeze one iota of personal integrity from the lot!

No excuses, creature!

Learn to take responsibility for your own actions! And STOP whining!

Oh, I am trembling in my chair.

You believe I am not responsible. Yet I remain your prisoner?

Who said you're not responsible?

It doesn't matter that you were tricked, you know now that your actions inflicted grievous damage. Do you take responsibility for them or not?

Well, what are you going to do?

You seem distracted, having second thoughts?

We'll celebrate over breakfast.

No more excuses. I accept full responsibility for my actions. I was wrong.

Integrity is never easy. It's a daily struggle, a costly struggle.

I know I owe you a great debt for the mistake I made a year ago.

If the text wasn't new to me, it was at least worth revisiting.

All I know is I'm about to be wiped out!

It doesn't have to be that way.

I can break these chains. But only you can get me past the bars.

Automatons know nothing of betrayal or honor. They know only what they're programmed to know.

Only living beings possess the ability to change, and make new choices.

You've given me much to consider.

We are friends.

I'd rather not have your death on my conscience

You'll never reach the bridge!

You have two minutes until impact, one minute before I detonate.

I don't want any innocents hurt!

If it goes down, I'm going down with it.

I knew you wouldn't let me down.

Yes, well, you have that effect on people.

I built this company for you!

I'd probably give it to you, if you'd just stand up and ask me for it honestly!

Asking for it wouldn't be any fun at all.

'Fun' is still more important to you than honor. I can't understand that.

Well, maybe you'll have better luck relating to the next generation.

You should've heard him laugh.

Made my hair stand on end, if I had any.

Surely you know I am not in the habit of playing childish pranks or laughing maniacally in the dark.

Do you even know how to laugh maniacally?

Don't tempt me.

Typical. You do and do and do for them, and what happens? They twist the knife in you!

I think I've created a monster.

Have you ever considered the bounties of genetic engineering?

Or maybe cybernetics is more your style?

Save the horror show for Halloween.

I'm sure tired of taking punishment, and I'd love to be able to give some back

That's the source of the trouble.

I hope you not planning to eat your catch.

Now that I'm in charge, I'm not taking any more of your cracks!

You're barely our species!

I'm in charge, here!

I find him very attractive.

Well, that's sicker than usual.

I'm a partner in a freak show!

I should'a figured it was crazy to stick with this crew

And if you play it smart, there'll be plenty of lettuce for everyone!

I should get my own cable TV show.

Oh, me and my big mouth.

It is the cure! It has to be!

Of course it's the cure! You must trust me!

It was you all along! I trusted you!

You turned me into a monster and I defended you!

I'm sorry it had to turn out this way.

You always overplay your hand

Tell me something' Why me?

You're old, and getting older.

I thought you might even appreciate the opportunity.

Growing old terrifies you, doesn't it?

Nothing terrifies me, because nothing is beyond my ability to change.

True immortality isn't about living forever, man; it's about what you do with the time you have.

When all your scheming's done, what will be your legacy

You're still alive! It's a miracle!

Boy, the city sure is different when it snows.

Not a bad life, all things considered.

There is a cure. There must be!

You can't keep me in here forever!

I'll get out! Do you hear? I'll get out!

About time you came back.

Why did you kidnap me? What do you want of me?

See, it wasn't as hard as you made it sound.

Ah, you wish to be immortal.

If the procedure is successful, I'll release you.

This is just a sculpture's model. The real thing is life sized, and lifelike.

What's in this for you?

Service is its own reward.

I wouldn't even know where to start looking.

You may as well be of some use to me.

Open this cage, and I'll show you how 'useless' I am.

It's hard to top that.

What you seek demands a heavy price.

Death and old age have their price as well. And it's too expensive for me.

Without your sword, you're helpless.

Swordless? Maybe. Helpless? NEVER!

What you choose to do with your life is your own affair, as long as it's got nothing to do with me.

You're just full of surprises.

No, let him go. He's earned it.

I wish it hadn't turned out this way.

I was so close to finding out if the legend was true. Now there's no one to test it on.

Throw down your weapon!

Is this a whole city of fools and lawless ruffians?

I'm the law here, pal!

You are a guardian, like myself.

I will submit to your law.

You are learning.

It will take some time.

Prepare to do battle!

I have no fight with you.

What is this, merit badge test night?

Oh well, better make sure it's an uneven fight.

The weak are to be protected, not exploited.

Aaah, who died and made you king?

If you don't know anything, why were you shooting at us?

Do I really need an excuse to have a good time in my own home?

They say a man's home is his castle, and what fun would a castle be without a dungeon?

If it gets any more saccharine in there, I'm going to put a finger down my throat.

I'd sure like to know how you got here, but I'm programmed to shoot first and ask questions later.

I demand a favor.

Death is always pointless. That is the point.

I demand reparation! My son was cruelly and unfairly taken from me!

Death is the ultimate fairness. Rich and poor, young and old - all are equal in death.

Our planet cannot support so many lives at once.

I apologize for any trouble I caused in my efforts to reclaim it.

It seems I'm out of practice dealing directly with mortals.

It seems I am unaccustomed to dealing with a god

We have all gained rare enlightenment this night

Mmmm, what a peculiar sight.

Now, that's odd.

Do you often go wandering about at night, young lady?

My dear, are you saying you don't remember your own name?

I can't seem to remember anything. I feel lucky I know how to talk.

How did I end up in the middle of the Pacific?

I guess I could use a ride

I thought you looked familiar. We've met before.

Do you know what a scroll is?

Get your claws off me!

You might want to reconsider your request.

We're gonna die!

I will not let anything harm you.

You win. I'll behave.

I cannot believe you pulled the trigger on me.

Just shut up and land.

I just don't remember! I'm not even sure I want to remember!

I understand your words, I simply do not believe them.

You have been long expected.

This trough is filled with acid. In about ten minutes its going to do a very nasty job on that soil carving, not to mention your rugged good looks.

It's my first real stab at clichéd villainy. How am I doing?

How are you doing this? No machine can hold me!

I should sue you for trademark infringement.

I've always considered myself a trickster at heart.

History cannot be changed.

You will not win!

What are you going to do? Bite my kneecaps off?

I know from experience the transforming power of a child's love.

The future is not written yet.

I have a sunny disposition and I'm always kind to animals

I've always respected you as a fellow inmate

He's a fool, but he may be useful.

I can work with that!

Now, now! That's your friends' genetic make-up you're insulting.

You are master now?

I should've known. But why this subterfuge?

Hey, I live for subterfuge!

I do not want escape, I want vengeance!

There's no such thing as "a little" vengeance.

No catches. No tricks. No strings.

So, things have come full circle.

You know how I feel about you, right?

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #disney's gargoyles #gargoyles

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Note

hi anna dear, i'd like to place an order for a white wine + charcuterie board + french onion soup + monte cristo? thank you <3

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

Wordcount: 1.4K

Genre: Fluff, Romance, strangers to lovers

Rating: GP (general public)

This is for my sweet Beezy, and Beezy only. I’m sorry this came super late but I’ve been keeping it in my drafts for a while, I was so unsure about it!

Happy very late birthday!!! May you be safe and happy and loved 🥰💜✨You’re the most special aunt I could ever wish for. This world would be a better place if all kids on the Internet could have an aunt half as special and magical as you.

(before I leave you to your gift let me thank @hobiandsprite and @joheunsaram for their moral support and helpful advice, as always. I love you.)

Enjoy 💜✨

>This drabble was a request for Bangtan Bistro. Requests for this drabble game are now closed<

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of stress due to work; briefest mention of family loss (grandparent).

————— The Order —————

White Wine: Kim Seokjin

Charcuterie Board: Romance

French Onion Soup: “After getting caught in the rain you decide to spend some time inside a rather empty café, making good conversation with the attractive owner.”

Monte Cristo: cafe owner

————————————————

The late October day looked perfect for a walk along the beach, collecting seashells and watching seagulls soar the sky in the distance. Solitary boats broke the horizon, far far away, the lighthouse culminating the long walk and protecting the bay a few kilometres ahead of you. The sun was coming through the clouds here and there, creating amusing patterns on the sand just barely slightly moved by the wind. A man was playing fetch with a golden retriever and along the seashore you could see more people making good use of one of the last good days before autumn finally started giving way to winter.

The scenery was relaxing, liberating your mind from all the stress your job continuously put you through. Some days you even dared ask yourself if the slightly fatter paycheck was really worth your mental health.

Spending your health on earning money sounded stupid most of the days. Nevertheless, you somehow managed to keep loving your job, even when the cons heavily outweigh the pros.

A chill song was playing through your earbuds, and with a cloud momentarily hiding the sun, the lightest raindrops began to fall. You didn’t let the thin drizzle scare you and decided to keep walking, the lighthouse too tempting in its romantic solitude.

Stubborn and maybe ignorant, you persevered, though most people had already run to the middle of the bay, where most people had parked their cars or had found refuge in one of the local pubs and cafés. Only a couple people walked ahead of you, going all the way to the end of the walk, where the pier led to your destination.

You followed it like a compass, like the North Star, even when the drizzle turned in rain, even when you had to hold your coat over your head for the last two hundred metres, running desperately once the rain turned in an autumn shower.

You thanked all the gods once you reached the small awning protecting the entrance to the lighthouse, a lovely bell announcing the opening of the door.

“Hold on, wait there!” A man called from the counter. “Lemme grab something for you!” he mumbled, disappearing behind the dark wood countertop and reemerging with a plaid blanket. “Wait there,” he said, walking towards you quickly and taking your raincoat with a kind smile, hanging it out of harm’s way, where it could drip on the floor without causing anyone to slip and fall.

“Welcome to The Bow, you brave traveller!” the barman greeted you, immediately warming up your soul before offering you the blanket and letting you warm your body. “Please, sit where you prefer, I’ll let you take a look at the menu and then I’ll come collect your order.”

He bowed his head slightly, your eyes suddenly focusing on how low the wooden ceiling was, and how lean his physique was, heavily contrasted by his large shoulders, emphasised by the white and blue stripes of his sweater.

You walked to a table beside the counter, near the window that ran all around the circular room. The sky was clear in the distance, the boats still navigating peacefully while the coast had become hostage to the sudden storm, which had crept in slowly and then swiftly attacked.

You stared in the distance for a while longer, the man at the counter waiting patiently and cheerfully for you to get comfortable, leaf through the menu and close it before turning to him with a kind smile — which you eventually did, causing an unexpected effect, an entire flock of butterflies taking flight in his stomach.

He was drawn to you immediately.

“So what can I bring you?” he asked with the most courteous of smiles.

You giggled. The man was very handsome, but something in the air that surrounded him made him even warmer and more fascinating, as if compelling you to be kind and keep your eyes on him. “First, let me thank you for the blanket,” you said, holding it tighter around you.

“Oh, it’s okay. We keep those for old couples who come here for fall and winter walks. They tend to get cold on their legs. And some ladies want to wear pretty clothes on dates but then get cold once the sun goes down. Don’t worry, I wash them after use!” he clarified before you could get uncomfortable.

“That’s so considerate!” you exclaimed, honestly touched at such a kind thought.

“What can I say, I care about customer care,” he chuckled embarrassed, his laugh so unique and funny that you couldn’t help but join.

“I’m ____, by the way.”

“I’m Seokjin,” he introduced himself politely.

“Happy to meet you,” you replied with an interested smile. “May I order an Orange Spiced Hot Chocolate?”

“Yes, sure. Would you like some cinnamon on it?” he asked, twice as interested in pleasing his special customer.

“Uhm… No, just a plain one, thanks,” you confirmed, watching him leave with a quick step.

“Do you have many people coming all the way here?” you asked, your table close enough to the counter that you could chat with the man without having to disturb the other customers.

“Normally we do. There’s always a big rush in summer. Some people go to the beach and come all the way here to have lunch or grab a cold drink before going back. It’s mostly couples, or families with kids. On a summer day you’d have to wait for a table and book one for lunch or dinner. When it gets colder, some people still come here, but it’s slower. I prefer it. Winter weekends are the ideal match of calm and good money.”

You nodded. “I think it’s my first time here. I visited the town four or five years ago but I don’t remember this place.”

Seokjin nodded, the cocoa maker making a bit of a ruckus as it warmed up the milk. It lasted around two or three minutes before the café went quiet again “Yes, that’s because I opened the café two years ago, almost three.”

“This is your place?” You asked, quite amused.

“Indeed. My grandpa loved it here. He always came here with my grandma for walks. He didn’t have the money to buy the place but he wanted to open a restaurant here. My grandmother loved cooking.” Seokjin gave a gentle but sad smile. “When she left us, he gave up. He always says it was their dreams, together, and he would never do it by himself. So I made it my dream.”

The blue vibe faded and a radiant expression sparked up his features. “I must say that for now it’s been going pretty well.”

He walked to your table, your drink, sugar and a couple smaller bottles all balanced on a tray on his hand.

As he stood beside you, his head slightly lowered to avoid the lamp above, he placed down a cup coaster with a vintage lifebuoy ring drawn on it, protecting the beautiful wooden table below.

On the small placemat running across the table, he placed three tiny bottles. “Sugar, cinnamon and cocoa. To your liking.” He offered you a soft grin.

Hesitantly, you looked around again. He had only four or five people around and your table was close to the counter.

You licked your lips as you gathered all your courage and spoke. “Would you like to sit down and chat? I’d like to get to know you, you seem a very interesting person.” You felt heat radiate from your cheeks in stark contrast with the cold crawling through your bones.

Seokjin’s reaction was lovely.

His mouth curled up in a lovely pout, a small surprised ‘o’. His eyes went impossibly wide and so, so round and adorable before his suddenly pale face exploded in a technicoloured blush that expanded all the way to his ears.

And then he smiled the tiniest, most innocent smile. He didn’t show his teeth, just his rosy, plush lips curving up in an expression that was half hamster, half alpaca.

And the apples of his cheeks became impossibly round and squishable.

You felt your heart shot across your chest like a crazy bouncy ball, playing pinball inside your rib cage.

Joy filled your every blood vessel.

“Sure, I’d love to sit down and chat for a bit.”

#Happy birthday Beezy!!!!!!#I love you!#seokjin fluff #seokjin x reader #seokjin drabble #kim seokjin oneshot

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

absorbance of the deep (chapter 6: new duties)

kinda rambling for this because it's more of a filler chapter than anything.

also on ao3

To Simon, the decision to include him in the meeting was, quite frankly, absurd. They had never listened to him before and including him in anything was considered a waste of time - even when it was his own fault that his mind just refuses to focus on matters that didn’t interest him - so why now? It wasn’t like he could suddenly force himself to listen to their boring babbling after all these years but the fact was that he was dragged to school on a day that was supposed to be a holiday, so good luck to them to make him focus.

Unfortunately, his brain seemed to have other ideas.

‘After this incident, we have determined that Simon Parrell is no longer suitable for the school,’ the voice that said this was semi-familiar. The headmaster, maybe? His homeroom teacher? His subject teacher? Hell if he knew. It didn’t matter. ‘The students involved have been expelled, logically, but it will be up to you to decide if you would like your son to be transferred to schools that are… more to his speed.’

Simon scoffed under his breath, but it came out more like a usual exhale. ‘Meaning?’ he heard his mother ask.

‘A school for the differently talented,’ another voice, another new term. ‘It will be quite far away from here, though my understanding is that you’re planning to move to the city anyway?’

City? Simon’s mind snapped into a state of alertness. City meant being away from the sea, away from their home, away from Markus, and what would he do? Where would he be? What would become of him? He found himself shaking his head frantically; that, at least, was a gesture that both he and others understood. He didn’t want to go to the city; he wanted to stay here. This was where he belonged.

‘There will be no need,’ his father replied. ‘We already have plans for him.’

‘Oh?’ the first voice. ‘May I ask what it is? We can help you with the withdrawal, but you’ll have to give a valid reason.’

‘Someone will have to maintain the lighthouse when we’re gone. Simon can do it, can’t you?’

It took him a long time to realise that the question was directed at him instead of the school’s… whoever they were. What did his father say again? Right. Staying here. Not going to school. Being a lighthouse keeper. And although he wasn’t sure if he would be up to the task - his interest was in the ocean, in Markus - he would do everything to stay. So he nodded.

‘I’m glad,’ the second school voice said. ‘Good. The matter’s settled then. I trust you can handle the position transfer on your own?’

‘Yes, we will.’

His father stood so Simon did as well. He wanted to get out of here.

‘Good luck, Mister Parrell.’

He skipped all the way home, every brush of sea breeze against his cheek a caress, every crash of the shore an encouragement, a celebration of a monetary victory. His father, thankfully, left him be. They returned to a house that was half-emptied already. Simon’s things were left alone, naturally, just as the furniture and bigger household items, but the cushions on the sofa, the cups and dishes in the cupboard, even some of the soap and perishables - all the things Simon didn’t bother to notice before, their disappearance were felt acutely now. His father quickly vanished to find his wife, and when Daniel came downstairs with a bag full of things, instead of greeting Simon directly like he used to, his gaze darted away as if he was the one ashamed for once. ‘Do whatever you like,’ he said dismissively. ‘Just stay out of our way. Dad will brief you on what your work will be like when we’re done with packing.’

So he picked a spot he imagined he would spend a lot of time at: the top of the lighthouse. The giant lamp was turned off for the day, the ships having no need for extra light to guide their way while there is daylight. The door to the small office was unlocked because there was never a need to - no one would do such a boring-sounding job for such a small salary now, according to Josh - and he sat in the hardwood chair and brushed the pads of his fingers on the surface of the desk made out of the same material. Both of them were worn out but study and cool and smooth to the touch, and with only a two-buttoned keyer and a radio on the desk, Simon envisioned a spacious working environment. He fit his pointer and middle finger into the two keys and imagined them moulding into the shape of his fingers as time passed. His arms weren’t as long as his fathers so he would have to drag the keyer forward to make himself comfortable, but with the muted sound of the ocean as company always… he could get used to it.

He didn’t know how long he sat there idly tapping nonsense with the keyer along the beats of the sea until the door creaked open, breaking his solitude and dissipating the fog that he had shrouded himself in. ‘Care to use some company?’ North asked as she set a dictionary - a full-sized one this time, not the one he usually brought with him for convenience. Simon nodded and looked around for an extra chair, but North had already perched herself at the corner of the desk. ‘You know they’re abandoning you, right?’

Abandon? Simon frowned in confusion. He flipped to the page explaining the world and checked if it suddenly had a new definition - dictionaries get updated every year, after all - but no, it still meant the same thing. [they - are - just - leave - for - the - city - with - brother,] he manages to construct. [they - are - not - abandon - me]

‘But they are!’ North exclaimed, and Simon’s hands flew up to cover his ears from the loud noise. ‘Don’t you understand? They’re taking everything they can away! They’re moving for good, Simon! They aren’t coming back!’

Simon thought of all the empty spaces he would fill with his own things instead of being told no because there weren't any more places they could put new stuff into. He thought of a quiet house where there was no one whispering about him as if he wasn’t there at all. He thought of falling asleep at dawn to the music of the waves and then waking up at dusk to activate the lighthouse with Markus at his side one way or another. No more school, no more sudden outbursts from either his father or twin brother, no more being ignored by his mother. He would be free. [I - do - not - see - any - problem - with - it]

‘Your entire family is leaving you behind in this shithole and you don’t even care?’

Simon was offended. [this - is - not - a - shit - hole,] he argued. [I - have - mark - us - and - you - and - J - O - S -H]

North was quiet for a while, and somehow, that worried him more than her shouting. ‘You know both of us are going to leave sooner or later, don’t you?’

It gave Simon a pause, but it didn’t take long for him to realise that it made sense. [you - are - from - the - city - J - O - S -H - is - smart - so - he - also - goes - to - the - city - because - there - is - not - enough - here]

‘You will have no one.’

[I - will - have - mark - us]

‘What if you two break up?’

As if on cue, a sudden gust whipped past them as the air suddenly cooled down. Then Markus was scooping Simon up and sitting in the chair with the human on his lap. ‘Simon is my intended,’ he declared. ‘Nothing will separate us. Not distance, not time, and certainly not ourselves. Have I not proven myself to you, surfacer?’

North recovered quickly from the sea’s sudden appearance. ‘Sometimes I don’t even think you’re real,’ she muttered, and she was gone before Simon could explain himself.

Markus held him silently for a while. Are you alright? he asked, his voice quiet and soothing in Simon’s mind. I do not hold the highest regard for your family, but this -

I’m okay, Simon interrupted before the ocean could finish. I will be as long as you are with me.

The sea kissed him. Alright.

They were on solid ground, but somehow, for some reason Simon was suddenly too tired to wonder about, he felt as if he was adrift at sea on an enclosed raft, the endless gentle bobs and lulls that terrified most people the softest lullabies to his body. Markus held his hand in his, and despite his circumstances, Simon found himself falling asleep.

When Daniel finally called him downstairs for dinner, the ocean had retreated, leaving a long, slumbering human behind.

His father didn’t say a word about lighthouse keeping that night, but Josh did break the news to him when Simon’s parents dropped him off at his house for the last of their packing - whatever that meant.

‘I’ll be leaving for university after this school year ends,’ he said, straightforward both because there was no way to get around it and also due to Simon’s inability to understand anything more. ‘I have been accepted into one. Full scholarship.’

[how - to - spell]

Josh flipped to the page directly.

[good - for - you - congratulations]

‘Thank you, Simon.’

They read together in his room for a few short hours, during which Simon learnt quite a few new things about the ocean that he had to ask Markus to show him, and he happily asked Josh if he could borrow the book for tonight when it was time to go home.

‘Actually,’ Josh cleared his throat, ‘you can keep it. Forever.’

[why]

‘It isn’t like I am bringing all these -’ he gestured at the books overflowing from the ceiling-high bookshelves which lined three of the four walls - ‘with me. I’ll bring some, of course, but the rest are yours.’

Simon paused in his tracks and let himself take in everything. So Josh was leaving a lot behind, but why? Why didn’t he take everything with him like his family if he was leaving like them? And he asked as such.

‘I’ll come back and visit if I need the books, though I don’t think I will - the book part, of course. I’ll try to visit at least once per year.’

[for - how - long]

Josh shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Simon. It all depends on how busy I will be and how much it’ll cost to come back.’

For the first time since they met, Simon hated the answer his friend gave him. [just - tell - me - when - and - i - will - prepare]

‘You don’t have to -’

He hopes that his firmness goes through by his loud flipping, though the softened paper of the dictionary dampened the impact. [i - will]

‘Okay. Of course.’

They walked to Simon’s house together. Josh initially offered to help carry a few of the books so that they didn’t have to bring them all later at the same time and potentially needing to bother North to borrow her car, but Simon decided against it because he didn’t want to add to the mess that was already stressing him out; either that or it was in fact that so many things were changing suddenly was the actual reason. Either way, he made himself scarce for the next week while strangers entered the house and more and more things disappeared, and in no time, he no longer recognised his home, which felt both liberating and terrifying.

He slept in his cave in Markus’ arms that night and didn’t return until the evening when his family was scheduled to leave. They at least told him that much. He hadn’t known they had a large car, he hadn’t known his father knew how to drive, but these were just two more things on his to-forget list because it wouldn’t matter in the future.

‘Take care,’ his mother said, the first sentence she uttered to him directly in years.

‘Here,’ his father said, handing him a folder no thicker than Simon’s thumb and Simon’s thumb was thin. ‘This is all you need to know on lighthouse keeping.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said, and Simon didn’t know what he was apologising for. He didn’t ask his twin to clarify because he knew Daniel couldn’t stay.

Then they were gone, the car disappearing behind the slope that led to the lighthouse. Simon didn’t even notice that Markus had appeared until his legs finally buckled and he fell back against a warm chest. Let’s get inside, he heard the sea clearly in his mind. Tell me what they took away and what you need.

He turned on the lamp before starting to catalogue the things in the house under Markus’ guidance, discovering that he really didn’t know a lot about practical living, and at some point North and Josh arrived to help as well. There was a look in North’s eyes that Simon couldn’t decipher, but from the way Markus kept glaring at her while they, once more, substituted dinner with canned soup, it wasn’t anything good. Josh took the chance to stock up some of the books he was going to leave to Simon’s care, and North brought a few furniture catalogues and picked a combination that would bring colour to the house and made the place Simon’s properly; Simon let her choose for him because he got overwhelmed by the colours and examples on the small, thick booklets. With things settling down and their decisions made, they arranged two trips, one for groceries, one for new decor, and North and Josh left close to midnight with the promise that they would guide Simon through everything. Simon didn’t manage to process everything until the moment before he fell asleep in the cave, and he made up his mind to thank his friends properly before their eventual departure from the village.

The grocery trip wasn’t that overwhelming given the limited choice in the village’s grocery store and Markus’ and his friends’ calming presence by his side - despite the arguments between Josh and North that he mostly toned out of - but the furniture shopping was - how should he describe it?

Don’t do that again, he told Markus as they wheeled a cart full of new cushions and bedsheets out of the furniture store with too-bright lights and noisy customers. I hate this place.

Markus laughed visibly, though Simon wasn’t sure if it was silent in reality or not because it seemed to echo in his mind instead of being heard from his ear. I’ll find you something better next time.

‘Are you two gonna stand there all day while we do everything for you?’ North’s voice cut through the small bubble that somehow always appeared when Markus was close. Simon had half the heart to tell her that yes, everything was hers and Josh’s idea and therefore they should do the brunt of the work, but since the sea offered to help, he followed him and loaded their new purchases into the car just to return to his house and unload everything again and placing them in the correct spot. They took their time to admire their handiwork, and North proposed, ‘We should paint the walls.’

It took Josh a few seconds to formulate his answer. ‘Agreed. The colour combination will be nicer.’

[no,] Simon grabbed his dictionary and said. [do - not - like - paint - smell]

‘There’s paint that doesn’t smell.’

Simon thought of how many extra things they had to do that time his father repainted all the walls within and outside the house. He didn’t think he had the energy to do it then, but in the future… [maybe - later]

‘Sure,’ North accepted the suggestion quickly. ‘Just hit us up whenever. Not sure how much school work we’ll have in the future, but we’ll always make time for you, won’t we, Josh?’

‘It’ll be fun,’ Josh nodded.

That was the last mention of the renovation project between the three of them. With Simon’s inverted daily schedule and North and Josh’s increasing responsibility in their studies, it was difficult for all four of them - Markus included - to coordinate time to spend together. Sometimes he went to Josh’s for breakfast after spending the entire night on the lighthouse, sometimes North came to his house to do the same, and once per week Simon would stay up to have brunch with them on the beach with an assortment of snacks and food they could prepare with a camping stove. They would hang out together until Simon passed out with his head resting on one of Markus’ body parts - one way or another. He assumed that they always packed up and left afterwards, Markus carrying him back home so that he could have a good rest until the sun started to set. This happened every single week until after Josh and North had their final exam, which marked one step towards Josh’s departure.

Simon threw a party for his friend the day before the big date, or as much of a party as it could be with four people inside a house that was more patchwork than everything else. Instead of moving all the books to Simon’s, Josh merely gave him the key to his house and told him to let himself in whenever. ‘It’s easier this way,’ he said. ‘Besides, it isn’t like you’ve got a lot of room here. I trust you not to wreck my house.’

[cannot - do - it - even - if - i - want - to,] was Simon’s reply. [do - i - look - like - i - can]

‘Not on your own,’ North took a sip of her beer. He had no idea how she got alcohol in the first place given that none of them was of drinking age, but if someone could withstand alcohol, it would be her. ‘But with Markus? Yes.’

‘I promise I won’t destroy your house,’ Markus said solemnly. ‘Not unless you give me a reason to.’

‘I won’t,’ was Josh’s reply. He took a sip of beer from North’s can and was promptly sent into a coughing fit for the next five minutes.

Simon had been awake for more than 16 hours at this point so everything was hazy and blurry, but it didn’t stop him from dragging his friends for a marathon on his favourite documentary. Josh had to leave midway to prepare for his departure, but North stayed until she fell asleep on the sofa. She woke up when Simon tried to tuck her in, and she left and drove back home. Markus made them some tea so that they didn’t fall asleep, they watched over the lighthouse together and waited for ships that never came, and when the sun peeked through the horizon and turned the edge of the sky white, he leant on Markus while they walked to Josh’s house to send him off. He was too tired to feel and do anything apart from waving goodbye and watching the van drive off away from the village by then, but he woke up that night feeling empty, the events and the passage of time sinking in. Markus stayed with him until midnight, after which he returned to the ocean for his own business.

He was all alone in the world now.

It was as if Josh’s absence severed one of the lines holding their group together. There were no more canned dinners on the beach, no more trips to the library, no more squabbling over whose home they should stay at next; Simon was bad at reaching out, his body reacting before his mind did whenever he tried to get close to the school, North’s house was too far away to reach on foot, and North herself no longer seemed interested in ‘hanging out.’

‘Not everyone can be a genius like Josh,’ she snapped one day when Simon finally flagged her down out of what seemed to be pure chance. ‘Not all of us can have a job where you can fuck around all day and get a paycheque delivered straight to your bank account. Someone actually needs to work hard on their grades to get out of this place, so stop bothering me, okay? There’ll be time after this whole exam shit is over.’

But there would not be. Before the exams were apparently university applications, then came the exams themselves, then more university application things which Simon didn’t understand, and the next thing he knew was that North was leaving for the city. Back to where she came from, though he supposed whether she actually went to the city or just another village like theirs wasn’t important; the village was… the village, of course, while everything else was simply ‘out there.’ ‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said after he walked all the way to her house to find her, ‘but I really need to leave. You know how long I’ve been looking forward to this.’

The door slammed shut then, and it didn’t take a lot for Simon to realise that it was a cue to leave North alone. When he returned the next day to check, no one answered the door.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye this time.

Josh visited a few weeks later, having decided to actually use his summer break instead of studying this time, and he told Simon that North contacted him and told him to tell Simon that she wouldn’t come back. ‘It isn’t about you, don’t worry,’ he added as Simon continued to stare at his glass of juice. By that point, Markus hadn’t shown up in two months. ‘Village life just isn’t for her.’

[but - no - contact - at - all]

Josh did not have an answer for that, but he did say, ‘I guess this is growing up.’

Simon turned to face him. Questioning.

‘People drifting apart to do what they want now that they can. Deciding that the old life isn’t worth their effort. Moving on. Stuff like that.’

[maybe]

The space between him and Josh suddenly seemed so far now.

#simarkus #dbh simon #dbh marksu #dbh josh #dbh north #dbh daniel #detroit: become human

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kinkymankey · 4 years

Text

Shantae: Half-Genie Housewife Part 2

It is just around afternoon, as the whirlwind deposits Shantae down on the pier. In front of her stood her lighthouse home, and even though it was well kept it had the feeling of being dingy. “What a state!” She exclaimed, almost in disbelief. “Looks we have some work to do babies,” she says as she pats her belly. “First, a change of clothes,” she declares as she walks inside.

On her first floor was her kitchen, made up of a stove top, an oven and a couple cabinets, joined with a small table with chairs for a impromptu dining room. Some pots and pans hung on the wall alongside a few shelves, and closer to the door was a dry sink with a few books and decorations on it. A rope hung in the middle of the room, leading to the second floor.

Shantae sighed, taking hold of the rope. “However did I manage?” She began climbing up the rope, and though it was quite an effort, she made it to her bedroom with general ease. “Goodness! I should invest in some stairs. Be safer for the babies anyways.”

She looks around her bedroom, which is quite simple. From where the rope hung, a hammock was set up in front of her on two posts, with some sheets hung on it. Above it was a shelf full of books, and to its side was a short nightstand. A bit aways from it was a large brown wardrobe, though some long clean and dried clothes still hung from lines above the room. A gas lamp hung from the ceiling, and behind her was a open window, which was where the lighthouse used to shine its light from.

“Goodness, what a mess,” she exclaimed to herself, beginning her search for some clothes. Opening her wardrobe, she began sifting through it broadly. “No dresses? What have I been doing? Come on, I must have one...ah, this will do.” She pulled out a yellow flowy dress, with some lighter streak of yellow patterning it. She quickly took off her current outfit, hanging it back up in her wardrobe neatly, and pulled her sole dress she owned; she then undid her ponytail, taking a bandana instead to hold the hair out from her face.

“Hmm, none of these look very comfy,” she mused as she looked through her shoes, neatening them up as she went. “Hmph. Ah well, I’ll just go barefoot for now. Besides, it’s time to tidy up this room a bit more thoroughly.”

She slid down her rope and came back up with a bucket of water and a cloth, going down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor. It was a bit of a struggle, her belly getting quite in the way, but she eventually got the floor to shine.

“Perfect,” she smiled proudly, wiping her brow. Her gaze turned to the window. “I think you could use a little once-over.”

She waddled over and scrubbed up the window, providing a clearer view of the town. “There we go! Much brighter, too.” She pauses to look at her progress, cradling her belly. Her eyes soon drift to her hanging clothes and unmade hammock. She shook her head but smiled. “More work for me.”

She started with her hammock, trying her best to get the sheets as even as she can across it. “I should probably get a bed that isn’t a hammock, especially so close to my due,” she talks to herself as she works. “It’s probably a wreck on my back, anyways.” Finishing that, she moved onto her clothes, pulling them down from the lines. She hung up her day clothes and folded up her pajamas.

“There. Much less cluttered,” she smiled, looking around at her work. Suddenly, a realization hits, and she palms her forehead. “I don’t even have a crib yet!” She exclaimed. “I need quite a bit actually. Should probably get a list together.”

Finding some paper and a pencil, she sits by her window and begins to write. “Let’s see...shoes, dresses, crib,” she mumbles to herself, underlining ‘crib’ in particular. “A bed for myself, probably some new sheets with it, some more baby supplies…”

She looked over her list, and nodded. “That should be it. Looks like I am off to the shops today.” She tucked her list away and carefully began down the rope. Partway down, she catches the stove and oven of her kitchen again. “I guess they could use a cleaning, too,” she assumed, shimmying back up to grab her bucket and rag before finally returning to the ground floor. She also did up the floor, chairs and table as well, since she was down there.

Thinking of which, Shantae checked the cuberts, finding them near bare save for some tea packets, a piece or two of fruit, and a few pieces left of a full loaf of bread. “Oh my! Nothing to eat? No ingredient?” She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “How silly. Honestly, I can’t believe how silly I was.”

She pulls out her lists and quickly adds all sorts of fruits, vegetables, ingredients and sweets to it. She also added a ‘perhaps’ with a note for a new table and chairs; the one’s she had were fine, but it never hurts to think ahead. Speaking of which, she thought as she looked around her, I need to make things a little safer for the little ones. She stroked her belly, and jotted down ‘baby proofing’ to her list.

As she does that, a knock comes to her door. “Coming!” She chimes sweetly, tucking her list away and waddling to the door.

“Hey, Shan--!” Sky began as the door opened, but seemed to pause and even do a double take. “Shantae?”

“Sky!” Shantae smiled, pulling her friend into a hug. “It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!”

A bit of a shocked look stuck to the bird keeper’s face, seemingly freezing it as she followed Shantae in. She slowly loosened up as it melted into a look of confusion and hesitance. “Hey, Shantae. Why, uh, why exactly are you wearing a dress like that?”

“Because it’s comfy, silly,” she giggles, heating up the stove and putting a water filled kettle on. “Terribly sorry, I haven’t had a chance to get any food or goodies today, so you’ll have to take your tea on its own.” She sighed.

“It’s cool, I’m not hungry,” she nods slowly and hesitantly. Tea? Why the heck is she serving me tea? “Hey, uh, Shantae. You when I joked, about you going barefoot and pregnant, I, uh, didn’t really think you would.” She laughed a bit awkwardly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asked genuinely, getting down the teacups and packets. “It makes more sense than going off gallivanting and adventuring all risky like, especially in my condition.” She pulled out a chair for Sky.

Sky blinked, clearly dumbfounded. “D-Didn’t you just head out this morning on an adventure?” She asked as she eased herself into the seat.

“I did, but I came back after I realised what a silly idea that was,” she smiles. “Not alone, though. I had some help from a lovely man out there who set my head straight.”

“Hm. I think you mentioned on your way out that you were heading out to fight that new baron?”

“Yes! And he was ever so polite!” She nodded happily. “He wouldn’t even think of hurting a pregnant lady, and even offered to walk me home. He was very sweet, not like those other barons. He was a good one.”

“Sure,” Sky nodded. Maybe she’s right? Though it doesn’t explain...this. “So, why exactly are you like this now?”

“Since I realized I should be at home, getting ready for these two angels,” she explains, rubbing her belly and looking down at it warmly. “There is so much still to be done before they arrive, Sky.”

“I assume so. And when did this realization strike? Must not have been last night, since you were showing off that bump at the Dance Parlor,” she chuckled in memory.

“Oh, I know,” she hand waved, her face blushing in embarrassment. “It was so showy of me. You won’t find me there again, count on that.”

“What? But you love being there. It’s basically your second home.”

She shook her head, and smiled. “Not anymore. That was old Shantae. New Shantae is focused on making a nice home for her babies.” She beamed with a whole smile.

“Sure,” Sky nodded slowly. Okay, something’s up. “Again, when exactly did you decide you needed to do this?”

“This morning, when I started chatting to the baron.” The kettle was now steaming. Shantae took it off the heat and poured it into two awaiting tea bag laned cups. She carried them over to the table, setting one in front of Sky and one in front of where she now sat.

“Thanks,” she nodded, taking the cup. “So, new baron. A nice guy?”

“So lovely!” She reminisced. “Ever so kind and polite.” She took a small sip of her tea. “Oh, I only had blueberry tea left, by the way. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” she nodded. “Shantae, if I can be real here, I think that baron did something to you. You weren’t even close to this when you were running by this morning.”

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious,” she chuckled pleasantly.

“Seriously, Shantae, I’m concerned. Something clearly happened. What went down out there.”

“Let me recall,” she set down her cup and tapped her temple. “Hmmm...I went in...he didn’t want to fight me…we had a pleasant talk...and then he walked me home.”

“That’s it?” She asked, slightly presingly. “Hold on, you still wanted to fight him when you got there, right?”

“I think I did,” she responded, stroking her belly softly, “but I soon realized that I shouldn’t be out fighting.”

Sky takes a slow sip of her tea. “What about this morning?”

“What about it?” She asked, giving her friend a funny look.

“Humor me, tell me what you did before you went off to find the baron.”

“Lets see...I woke up, put on that terribly skimpy outfit I always wore, and headed out.”

Sky made a weird noise, somewhere between choking and spitting out her tea. “Wait, did you just call your outfit skimpy? The one you wear everyday?”

“You mean the belly dancer clothes? That thing?” She let out a solid laugh. “It was so showy! I don’t know how I ever enjoyed showing off that much skin all the time, especially with how big my tummy is now! I mean, I’m sure you and the others were just waiting for me to put some clothes on, right?”

Sky sat back in her chair, looking at her cheery friend with a dumbfounded expression. “Okay, something is definitely wrong here. That baron guy did...something!”

“You’re being overly suspicious again, Sky,” Shantae laughed slightly, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I just realized what’s really important to me right now.”

Sky looked distraughtly down at her tea. “This doesn’t feel real...doesn’t feel like you…”

“Oh, Sky,” Shantae gave a comforting smile, pulling her friend into a side hug. “I assure you, it is still me. Same old Shantae, just now with her priorities in line. Please, don’t worry about me, for my sake at the very least.”

She was quiet for a minute, before bringing her teacup back to her lips. “Okay,” she nodded after a long sip, and smiled. “It’s still you here. Still my friend.”

“Exactly!” She smiled, squeezing her shoulder.

“I still think I need some time to process this,” she admitted.

“Of course,” she nodded. “I made a big change, I don’t expect you to immediately acclimate to it. I’m glad you were concerned about me, even if there’s nothing to be concerned over.”

“Still…”

“Enough of that, now.” Shantae playfully put her finger to Sky’s lips. “No worries from you, okay?”

Sky could not help but crack a small smile. “Okay,”she responded partially muffled. “Good,” Shantae grinned, pulling her finger away. “Would you like some more tea?”

“No, actually, I, uh, think I need to go,” she replied, downing the last of her tea.

“I understand. You need your space.”

“Hate to leave so soon, but I’m sure you have stuff to prepare for the babies.”

“Yeah, actually,” she chuckled a bit. “Was about to head out shopping just when you popped in.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you any longer.” She got up and headed for the door. “See you later?” She asked, pushing the door slightly open.

“Of course. See you later, Sky.” She gave a small wave as she went to pick up the teacups.

The smile on Sky’s face dropped the moment she closed the door, turning to one of urgency as she dashed off to her hatchery. “Wrech!” She called, waking the purple bird from its stoop. “We need to go! We have people to pick up!”

Back at Shantae’s, the half genie set the teacups gently on the left side of the sink with some of the other dirty dishes. She patted her belly happily. “I’m so glad she’s coming around. Hopefully the others understand just as easily. Now, though, shopping!” She walked over to her door and headed out.

#shantae #shantae half genie hero #half genie housewife #sky #pregnant #pregnancy #housewife

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chapitre7 · 4 years

Text

bloodstained

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Vampire AU

For the MDZS/The Untamed Kink Meme

My personal thank you to @bookwyrmling, @syolen and @starfieldcanvas for the beta work and help putting this all together ❤

Read on AO3

Warning: Explicit sexual content and themes written for a mature audience

Never trust strangers blindly, his uncle would always say. Never show who you really are.

Lan Wangji always remembered uncle's words, the earliest he had memory of. Every year in school, he would keep his peers at the corners of his eyes, and his elbows next to his body. Not so much closed off as cautious, as aware. He would watch his classmates bathed in the sunburned light of late afternoon, knowing that as soon as the sun went down, it would be the others’ time to come out and play. Beings not always shaped like monsters from books to scare children, but friend-shaped, speaking in voices that called him by his name, that sometimes asked for his notes.

He remembered uncle’s words and walked home with his elbows close to his body, his jacket closed all the way up, and his eyes high and alert. As a student, Lan Wangji was always home before dark. And after dinner, after homework, he would take out his uncle’s books and he would read about the world of the night and the creatures that inhabited it. On weekends, after practicing the guqin, the erhu and the violin, he would practice with a secular sword, blade stainless and sharp as if it had been forged yesterday, but ever brilliant under the moonlight. His feet would move exactly where he wanted them to move, and he replayed his uncle’s teachings even when uncle was away, too busy to guide his training.

Never ignore a life in need. Never stray from the family path.

He grew up, remembering the words. He went through college, learning both the history of the human world and of the world unseen. He studied and he trained and he was dedicated and steadfast. A jewel in the family of Lan, an esteemed guide to the ancient hunter families. A light in the darkness, working among used books for the common folk, but with a priceless library just down the stairs that most of his customers would never see.

He remembers the words, the teachings, remembers it all. Remembers even as he stares at Wei Wuxian, sitting on the ground, hands laying down a man’s corpse. Remembers everything, even as he stares at Wei Wuxian’s tongue, sees it lick a speck of blood off the corner of his mouth.

Wei Wuxian. The professional in charge of the apothecary adjoined to the Wen clinic, only a few blocks away from Lan Wangji’s used bookstore in Tanzhou. You’d never catch him there during the day; a well-mannered, sickly-looking, oddly inexpressive man named Wen Ning would sell you all manner of Wei Wuxian’s creations if you stumbled upon the shop before dusk. But Lan Wangji had caught glimpses of him, many a time, when the sun was but a flesh wound in the dusking sky, and the moon already shone bright upon her throne above the clouds. All long legs, long neck, long hair. His smiles were all teeth, easily given if your gazes met. The lights by the shop’s front were always broken, always weak and flickering, but his eyes reflected red flames with no outside source. A candle lit from within. He was always gone, back inside the shop by the time Lan Wangji caught himself enough to check if the man had a shadow.

They said he was kind and welcoming, but his hands were cold. They said his food was red with the smell of spices and something else. They said he had a treatment for everything, barring the chronic and the terminal, and even then, in those impossible cases, he could soothe your pain. They said the lost causes that left his shop met their end in their sleep, with a smile on their lips.

Lan Wangji had never entered his apothecary. He had watched, and he had listened to the rumors, and he had held his cloud-patterned coat tightly around himself. If there was no proof, the rules stated that the hunters couldn’t act. And there had never been proof, he had never been caught with his hand in the till. Not before, not ever, not until—

“Ah, little Lan,” Wei Wuxian says, tilting his head to the side, still kneeling on the floor of the subway station. The man he had been touching lies unmoving and unbleeding. His appearance matches that of a serial rapist in the area, and Lan Wangji had only been drawn to the corner where he found Wei Wuxian by a woman that had been running away from the scene, as fast as she could. There’s little light where they are, the walls are old and cracked and stained, but Wei Wuxian’s eyes reflect the lamps shining down the stairs, reflect the headlights of the train. Reflect yellow, reflect red. “We meet at last.”

There had been no concrete accounts of vampires in Tanzhou, or indeed anywhere in China, in hundreds of years. There had only been whispers and rumors and unfounded suspicions. The records only ever spoke of one name. Watching Wei Wuxian get to his feet, stand to his full height, flip his long, unbound hair over his shoulder, Lan Wangji recalls, maybe mouths, maybe gasps it. The Patriarch.

“You knew it, didn’t you?”

Wei Wuxian’s steps are loud in the deserted night. All of the immediate past and future vanishes from Lan Wangji’s mind. What had led him to the man, his conversation with his brother over tea not an hour before, the reading plans he had been making in his head for when he got home. Hunters, missions, victims, deaths. There’s a corpse lying near them, yet there’s nothing but the present, the now, the tunnel vision of Wei Wuxian approaching him. “Of course you did, you’re the Lightbearer of Gusu Lan, is there anything you don’t know?”

Lan Wangji didn’t know Wei Wuxian knew about him; he had only been greeted with friendly waves before. He didn’t know he could freeze before a monster, something more than simple hesitation. He didn’t know much about confrontation, had always been trusted to be the lighthouse in the fog, to have the answers, to defend rather than attack, although he had always wanted, had always craved, had always desired...

(What?)

Wei Wuxian stands before him. He keeps his hands — his bloodstained hands, long fingers with long nails — to his sides. He ducks his head and leans towards Lan Wangji, not touching, but lingering, just... smelling. Perhaps assessing. Lan Wangji catalogs everything about him, the line of his nose, his tongue wetting his lips, the red fabric lining the inside of his long black coat.

“Say, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji's attention snaps back to the man’s face, only slightly dazed. He wants to think Wei Wuxian put him under a charm spell, but his ears burn hot with the truth. “The blood from trash tastes really foul. If you give me some of yours, could you pretend you never saw me?”

The vampire licks his lips again and grins. Lan Wangji can’t look away from his canines, sharp and white and beautiful. There’s no trace of blood in his mouth, nor the stench of death in his breath, just something so sweet Lan Wangji can almost taste it. Wei Wuxian can’t touch him, all of the protection spells woven on the inside of Lan Wangji’s blue coat keeps him away, but it’s less like shelter and more like a cage, and Lan Wangji wants to open the door—

“Oh.”

He doesn’t know what he did, or what he looked like. In the next second, Wei Wuxian’s grin falls. The precarious lights in the station flicker, on and off, more off than on, and Wei Wuxian is cast in sharp shadows, predatory. He takes one step, another, and then he’s coming faster, closer, and Lan Wangji backs away until his back hits a pillar.

The lights flicker on, and his vision is all Wei Wuxian upon him, but still not touching. Lan Wangji doesn’t make any sudden movements, or any movements at all, and doesn’t summon his spiritual weapon. Wei Wuxian regards him with catlike focus, unwavering. Lan Wangji holds his gaze to hold his ground. He’s not a bird. He’s not prey.

“Did you know there used to be a flower spirit in Tanzhou?” Wei Wuxian asks, leaning closer, but still at a distance, as if Lan Wangji himself is his favorite fragrant flower. “And she loved poems, so every year she’d wait for someone to charm her with well-recited verses, and then she’d give them a flower that never wilted.”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to the side, his eyes catching light from someplace else, someplace that is not this decrepit station. Someplace ancient, where the sky is clear enough to see the stars. Lan Wangji swallows.

“Little Lan,” the vampire says, his breath playing on Lan Wangji’s skin. Lan Wangji doesn’t move away; never run away, his uncle had taught him, even though his middle, his very core, trembles. Not in fear of Wei Wuxian. He could try to overpower him, and would suffer no shame in defeat. But he doesn’t want to. He wants...

“I have been waiting all this time for your poem,” Wei Wuxian says, never touching, his fingers and nose and mouth dancing centimeters away from Lan Wangji’s face, his neck. “Don’t you want my flower?”

Dangerous fingers move lower, to the collar of Lan Wangji’s jacket. Wei Wuxian’s eyes follow the movement before locking back on Lan Wangji’s. Time moves around them, seconds, but Wei Wuxian is supernaturally still, having no need to breathe or blink.

He’s even more beautiful up close. Lan Wangji had thought about his proportions, about the swing of his hips, the spring in his step, and the curl of his fingers after he waved, as if he wanted to draw Lan Wangji in. All the rest was imagination, an embarrassing wet dream from a man who had thought for too long about the human contact he had read about in books.

Wei Wuxian is very real. Blinking for his benefit, to punctuate the inexorable passing of time.

Lan Wangji lifts his hands. Wei Wuxian’s eyes follow them, the line drawn by Lan Wangji’s fingers over the buttons of his coat, opening one by one, shedding the material and its protection along with it. The sound of his coat falling to the ground is loud in the silence, but not as loud as the guttural noise Wei Wuxian makes as he pushes forward and Lan Wangji’s head hits the pillar with a painful thud, his wrists pinned above it by Wei Wuxian’s hands.

The vampire’s body is like fire. Lan Wangji knows it’s because he fed tonight, but the heat radiating from his proximity, from his hands around Lan Wangji’s wrists, prickles his skin with goosebumps. One of Wei Wuxian's legs moves between Lan Wangji’s, and he should put up more of a fight over parting them, but he doesn’t. Tension has him frozen, or maybe it’s something else, something more primal, something like—

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian whispers next to his ear, breath hot, dragging every vowel. “My mouth tastes horrible from before. Won’t you cleanse my palate, hmm?”

His nose touches Lan Wangji’s neck, the tip cold, and Lan Wangji visibly shivers. He can feel Wei Wuxian’s smile against his skin, yet there’s no bite, his mouth is closed, almost a lover’s game. Lan Wangji is not a man for games. Not with his senses going haywire, not when he finally recognizes that this vibration, this need, the culmination of his thoughts and dreams is hunger.

Lan Wangji tries to speak, but only a low sound comes from his throat. He swallows, lightly pushes against the hands that hold him down. He opens the door to his cage, not merely ajar but wide open, and invites the monster in with a clear “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian bites him with no flourish and no warning. Lan Wangji jerks in the action, hits his head against concrete again. There’s no pain this time, nothing that could overcome the pleasure of Wei Wuxian feeding on his blood.

One of his hands — for both are now freed, lost in the air — finds itself in Wei Wuxian’s hair, tugs at it mindlessly. Wei Wuxian groans, pushes flusher against him, rubs his thigh against Lan Wangji’s clothed, swelling cock. One of Wei Wuxian's own arms has reached around Lan Wangji’s back, his hand coming to touch Lan Wangji's shoulder, fingers digging into his skin, keeping him in a close, possessive half-embrace. The other hand pulls Lan Wangji’s shirt from the safety of his trousers, snakes up his torso, and Wei Wuxian lets out another groan at the topography of Lan Wangji’s body.

His teeth and mouth release Lan Wangji’s neck with a tiny pop. If he wasn’t being held up by the vampire, Lan Wangji might have fallen, graceless.

“You taste so good, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says, sounding like a whining child. “Did you know how good you taste? Is that why you kept tempting me with your pressed clothes, your perfect posture, staring at me like you knew all my secrets?”

He licks at the twin punctures on Lan Wangji’s neck, and it’s only when his chest presses against Lan Wangji’s that the man notices his own erratic breathing. His mind is foggy, comprehending things at a much slower pace. Lan Wangji is a lightweight of a drinker and his experiences with alcohol are merely blackouts in his brother’s presence, but he thinks this might be something like being drunk.

Wei Wuxian looks down at him, at the state of him, licking his lips as his hand under Lan Wangji's shirt continues its exploration. Finds a nipple, flicks at it with his thumb, but otherwise pays it not much attention. Lan Wangji lets out a choked sound.

“You’re wearing all blue for me today, so much better than that mourning white, hmm? You’re like a cute little bird.”

Lan Wangji pulls at Wei Wuxian’s hair again, remembering he still holds it, and Wei Wuxian gasps, laughs an open-mouthed laugh that draws attention to his sharp canines. Lan Wangji thinks he shouldn’t be blushing, not at the condescending praise, but he is. There’s no grace in arousal, just every sense loud and all-consuming.

(Maybe it’s an aftereffect of being bitten. He wants it again and again and again.)

“You have bite in you, don’t you? But you are so pretty and good. Wrapped up like a gift in blue, begging me to take you.”

His hand travels lower, lower down Lan Wangji’s front, fingers working his trousers open. Lan Wangji seems to remember his free hand, and takes hold of Wei Wuxian’s wrist before those fingers find his neediest place.

“I...”

What does he want to say? No? Ridiculous. He’s almost sprawled on the man’s lap, and his virtues were shed along with his coat.

Wait? He doesn’t want to. He wants Wei Wuxian’s teeth on his neck and Wei Wuxian’s hands on his skin, digging deeper and deeper until he forgets his own name.

Not here? Someplace else, darker, where Wei Wuxian can eat him whole—

Wei Wuxian tuts at him, leaning close, so close; he’s a blurred image, a trace of black hair and flushed lips. He doesn’t quite kiss Lan Wangji, but he licks Lan Wangji's lips, nips at them, threatens to bite but doesn’t. Lan Wangji’s hold on his wrist weakens.

“I hear you,” Wei Wuxian whispers, breath mingling with his. Can he? Lan Wangji’s knowledge is hidden behind his cloud of want. Wei Wuxian leans away from Lan Wangji's mouth to whisper against his ear, “Let me take care of you, my little Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji’s hand moves from his wrist, up his arm, and seems to pull him impossibly closer. It’s all the vampire needs to push his hand past the waistband of Lan Wangji’s trousers, inside his underwear, to touch him at the same time as he bites his neck again.

There’s no strength left in Lan Wangji's legs to hold him upright. He slumps down the pillar and all but falls in Wei Wuxian’s hold. There are only flashes of red behind his eyelids, and pleasure shoots through his veins, alight. He doesn’t know if he breathes, only that he rides the pumping of Wei Wuxian’s fingers around his cock, though his movements are restrained by the vampire’s firm hold on his upper body. A hum vibrates against his skin as Wei Wuxian’s fingers show attention to the head, slowing his movements, appreciatively indulging in the wet mess of Lan Wangji's pre-come. He’s not going to last, not with his head so light, not with the intoxicating pressure of Wei Wuxian’s teeth on his neck, not with the tantalizing movements of his hips against Lan Wangji, ah—

It’s a whiteout. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, nor does he take notice of the trembling of his body against the heat of his still-clothed companion. He breathes through his open mouth, the sound of his exhalations loud in the chamber of his head. His limbs feel lost in a tide. He lets his head fall forward, feeling lulled with the light scraping of fingernails against his scalp, and he breathes. He feels himself being pulled away from the pillar, but he doesn’t fall. He breathes Wei Wuxian in, and out.

By the time he opens his eyes again, he’s not at the subway station anymore. He’s sitting on the sidewalk of his own block, only a few steps away from his home. He can see the apothecary, its malfunctioning lettering, and the shadow that walks towards it. Black hair swishes from one side to the other, flipping over his shoulder as Wei Wuxian looks back at him. He can vaguely make out the glint in the vampire's eyes and the feline smirk on his lips. Then he’s turned away again, and he’s gone.

Lan Wangji should feel sated.

He swallows, mouth dry.

***

It takes only a few days until Lan Wangji sees him again. Or rather, he’s looked for glimpses of Wei Wuxian when he’s at the apothecary, finding excuses to walk by but no excuse to interact. He should have reported his encounter with Wei Wuxian to his uncle. He should have told him the real cause of death of the man at the station, since there had been no marks left on the body. He should have done something, as he was taught to do. He shook with his silence, stayed awake with it, but he never spoke. Once his sleep caught up with his restless mind, his dreams were bathed in red, hands drawing with blood on skin, and he grasped at them shamelessly, throwing himself to the mercy of the wolf. For days he woke up breathless, soaked in sweat, and as he took himself in his fist with aggravation and need, he could still feel the pressure on his neck.

So when Wei Wuxian walks into the bookshop while the sun still tinges the sky with the orange of late afternoon, Lan Wangji still isn’t entirely himself, or at least not the same person he’s known for years. His brain tries to match up the two realities: the man known as Wei Wuxian who was rumored, sometimes in jest, to be a vampire, and Lan Wangji’s personal knowledge of who he really was. Wei Wuxian is sporting vintage, round-framed sunglasses and a different coat from the one he wore the last time they met, but one that’s still black outside and blood red on the inside. He’s flashy in the way he walks — under the sun — but when he pushes his glasses down his nose to look at Lan Wangji, his eyes are an ordinary black. Not compelling, just... charming.

Lan Wangji finds no words to speak. This is not a problem for Wei Wuxian, who walks up to the counter behind which Lan Wangji spends most of his days, props his elbow on its surface, and leans forward. Whether he’s hiding in plain sight or enrapturing Lan Wangji in the dead of night, his sense of boundaries is still wholly defective.

“Lan Wangji,” he says in greeting, belatedly, or maybe just with a dramatic flair he had intended. He beams up at Lan Wangji, as if the very sight of him is a delight. Lan Wangji waits for the punchline. “You’re immune!”

“What,” Lan Wangji asks, but it’s flat, barely a question, and more like an annoyed noise.

“I can’t turn you!” Wei Wuxian says, resting his chin in the cup of his palms, peeking up at Lan Wangji like he’s something worth admiring. “I waited this whole time to see if me biting you—”

“You—”

“—would make you my servant, but it had no effect!”

Lan Wangji sweeps the shop with his eyes, trying to see if he missed anyone entering ever since Wei Wuxian waltzed in, but it’s just as deserted as it was a minute ago. He looks back down at Wei Wuxian, waiting for the continuation of his musings, but the man is quiet, seeming lost in thought, a pleased smile on his face. Lan Wangji sighs, barely making a sound.

“What does that mean?”

He has asked himself the same question for days, but couldn’t find the answer in his archives. The Patriarch, age unknown, is apparently the best source he gets.

The Patriarch leans back against one of his hands, the other pushing his glasses up to rest on his head.

“It means there’s something unnatural in your blood. Or maybe... Maybe someone really loved you.”

He leans back from the counter at the same time as the bell connected to the door chimes. A teenage girl walks in, and in the time it takes for Lan Wangji to greet her with a minimal bow, Wei Wuxian is gone into the maze of narrow aisles of Cloud Recesses — Used & Rare Books, only the end of his coat catching at the corner of Lan Wangji’s eyes.

Lan Wangji waits — one, two, five, ten whole seconds for the girl to call for him or ask for any assistance, but she continues her quiet exploration. Lan Wangji gets up, crosses the front aisles and climbs the small steps to the back of the store. He finds Wei Wuxian perched on one of his stepladders, a mystery novel in his hands, browsing through the pages and admiring the illustrations of a murder investigation.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji asks, voice low but clear in the quiet space.

“It means,” Wei Wuxian says, not looking up from his book, “that either your immunity is hereditary, or someone went through a great deal to keep you protected.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on Wei Wuxian’s foot, moving lazily in the air as he keeps his legs crossed. Lan Wangji’s mind is far away, in a different time, when a woman would whisper, “Don’t you want to run away, darling? Won’t you run away with me?”, all between lullabies and giggles. She’d giggle even though nothing fun happened during those days.

“Or maybe both.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice is distant, almost an echo. Lan Wangji can’t remember anything about his mother and no one would ever tell him what he did not know. If she was remarkable, if she knew about the other world, if she was from there. There was nothing but void. Mother was kind, was all Xichen would say. Uncle would speak no words but say everything in frowns and glares and grunts. She is gone now, only a memory of a pale nightgown glowing in the night, hugging him to her chest, calling him beautiful, calling him precious, and, in between singing words he didn’t understand, asking him to run away with her.

Run away where?

“Ah, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan.”

When did Wei Wuxian get up? He’s close, so close that Lan Wangji flinches, would have stepped away if one of Wei Wuxian’s arms hadn’t moved around his middle, keeping him in place. He’d called him Lan Zhan again, and Lan Wangji can feel his ears burning. Today, his shirt, pants, and even his coat, hanging just behind the counter up front, all of them are in complementary shades of blue. The only white is the ribbon in his long black hair, a ribbon that Wei Wuxian twirls around his finger, all the black of him against the blue of Lan Wangji. His mind had been so full of blue and red, red and blue, the ghost of Wei Wuxian’s breath playing on his skin when he was alone. But it’s here now, real now, and Lan Wangji is rooted in place again, whether by something supernatural or by his own urges, he cannot say. Even though Wei Wuxian is cold, he’s still like the scent of the coming rain to those who have been tired of the heat.

“Someone went to all this trouble, but you don’t want to be protected, do you?”

He keeps a hand flat on Lan Wangji’s back, and the other, which had been playing with Lan Wangji’s ribbon, trails up to run down the length of his hair.

“You want to walk away from this place and into the filthiest corners of the night, don’t you? Find out what’s out there? Stand in the middle of the chaos?”

He crowds in, chest pressing against Lan Wangji’s, his cold lips playing, pecking, pulling lightly at Lan Wangji’s earlobe. And though he’s trained to defend himself, Lan Wangji can’t move.

“The darkness draws you in, doesn’t it, Lan Zhan? You want to immerse yourself in it and come out on the other side. You think yourself strong enough.”

When he traces Lan Wangji’s jawline with his fingertips, Lan Wangji leans into the touch, lets himself be drawn into the spell of Wei Wuxian’s gestures. Lan Wangji looks straight into those thousand-year-old eyes, black and red and shining under the weak yellow lights of the shop. Like a cat’s. The eyes of a predator in the dark.

“Isn’t it wonderful, then, Lan Zhan, that I cannot taint you?”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side, and his lips tip up, closer, within reach. Lips that soak into blood and flesh. Lips that looked alive not too long ago, alive and red and beautiful. Lips that stretch into a wide, knowing smirk, showing a perfect row of teeth. His canines are simpler today, though still protuberant compared to the others. Lan Wangji wants them on his skin. He wants to run his tongue over them and let them hurt, until his own blood warms the mouth they're in. He wants to cast away his sleeping hours and dive into the long night. See what Wei Wuxian sees. Draw his blade, his blood pumping hot in his veins. He wants—

Wei Wuxian breaks contact. Steps away, brings his hands to his own back. Lan Wangji almost falters, almost falls, but he was taught better than that, so he does neither. Wei Wuxian grins, taps his sunglasses back on his nose, but still watches Lan Wangji over the rims. He seems to study the details of the bookseller just like he studied the illustrations of the book he held a moment ago.

“I’ll be waiting for you, my little blue bird.”

And he’s gone. Lan Wangji waits. The seconds stretch into a minute, and when he finally reaches the front of the shop again, it’s deserted. The sun is still up, painting the clouds from behind, brushstrokes rendering the sky in countless shades of orange and blue. Blue like Lan Wangji’s cloud-patterned coat, and his shirt, and his socks.

Lan Wangji sighs, runs a hand through his hair, brings his white ribbon down and looks at it in his hand. Imagines those blood-kissed hands touching it, wrapping it around long fingers, wrapping it around his neck and pulling—

When uncle shows up at five for the evening shift, Lan Wangji says his usual goodbyes and walks his usual path for grocery shopping, just up ahead, a few blocks away. He returns to his apartment above the bookshop, makes his dinner, eats, showers, meditates, and waits.

Waits until the moon is high and bright in the sky, and then he goes out, his uncle never noticing his absence.

***

There is a man who works at the apothecary. He greets distressed parents with a benevolent smile and the perfect cure for tummy aches, and lists all the benefits from his tea blends to the elderly, walking them to the door himself, offering freebies, tonics, and incense to help with sleep.

There is a man who talks animatedly with a youth named Wen Yuan who helps at the apothecary in the early evening while he studies, before the man shoos him off to his home in the second story of the Wen Clinic. Medic Wen Qing needles this man with words every time she stops by, grills him about how he’s always keeping the place a mess despite Wen Ning’s best efforts at organization, about how he should stop instructing Wen Yuan to perform chemistry experiments because now the boy’s room smells as bad as this man does. She points out that he’s always looking for trouble as she pointedly looks at Lan Wangji, resolute in her posture. This man dotes on Wen Ning, always reminding him to take his supplements to boost his immune system.

There is a man who serves Lan Wangji tea by his counter, who asks Lan Wangji about his day and his life and his passions, just little tidbits at a time, like Lan Wangji’s words are snacks he doesn’t want to run out of. When they’re alone, he asks about the missions Lan Wangji assigned to the region’s hunters, laughing and prodding at Lan Wangji’s reticence until he finally gives in and talks about them, not at length or in detail, but enough to keep the man entertained. And when the moon is full, this man takes Lan Wangji out into the night, and then he’s no longer a man.

Although Lan Wangji has worked in a support role for years, he’s known monsters. Wei Wuxian, maybe due to his age, maybe due to the nature of his powers, or maybe for no simple reason, is nothing like them. He’s highly intelligent, stitching sigils and talismans between the layers of his coats so he can walk out when the sun is weakest and torment Lan Wangji, pulling him into hugs the other has not yet learned to accept, making Wei Wuxian laugh. He’s always laughing, so bright, like a youth who doesn’t yet know of life’s struggles.

Wei Wuxian knows. When he leaves the apothecary behind, when he cloaks himself in night, it’s clear as footsteps in the silence. No mission Lan Wangji describes impresses him, no matter how impressed he makes himself sound. No suffering of victims fazes him, nor makes the smile drop off his face. He walks through streets, around corners, up walls, without ever breaking pace, because he knows every place, he’s seen it all, he’s lived it all. Lan Wangji can see it; maybe because Wei Wuxian lets him. Wei Wuxian guides him through the shadows, and by holding his hand, helps him come out on the other side, on some other street, some other place, the top of a building where the wind catches in his long hair.

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he insists on calling him. Inwardly, Lan Wangji delights in it, in being pulled close, by a name, by his hand. “I want you to call me...”

It’s a secret, whispered against Lan Wangji’s lips. Wei Ying, he says, lips forming a smile that falters and brightens a couple of times, like the moon peeking through the clouds. Then he closes the gap, catches Lan Wangji in between breaths. His gaze is heavy, before Lan Wangji dares to close his eyes. His eyes crush Lan Wangji with the weight of centuries.

It’s nothing like a first kiss. It’s wet, Wei Wuxian’s tongue lapping at his lips before he covers them with his own, pulling, pulling at the tender flesh until it’s hot, until Lan Wangji’s mouth falls open and he wastes no time pushing through, making his mark on the uncharted territory of Lan Wangji’s insides. His hands, tongue, breath are a hot brand on Lan Wangji, all over, all under. The kiss is drawn out, their mouths parting only to join again with the tilt of a head, on and on until Lan Wangji’s chest hurts with the desperation to breathe.

There’s a sting on his tongue before Wei Wuxian — Wei Ying — lets him go. He can taste the blood in his mouth, and his partner looks pleased with himself, a satiated cat. Wei Wuxian licks his lips, his thumbs drawing circles on Lan Wangji’s sides. What had Lan Wangji’s hands been doing all this time? Had they been holding on tight, like his core demanded?

Tonight, Wei Wuxian seems to say, without speaking the words. Tonight, he promises, with another peck, another lick, another smile against his mouth. Tonight, he vows, his body a flame, alive, and Lan Wangji can’t fathom the sacrifice made so he could have this. How many have had to die so Wei Wuxian could stay. He wants to think them righteous deaths. He doesn’t want to think. He wants to leap.

Without really breaking contact, Wei Wuxian takes off his jacket, turns it inside out, and throws it over Lan Wangji’s head.

It’s a reflex to close his eyes. He lets his breath falter, blinks into the darkness, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re somewhere else. The room — a bedroom — is drenched in the smell of night jasmine, the pot resting close to the window, a bouquet of tiny flowers escaping the frame, as if eager to jump into the night, into the moon. It is the most endearing part of the room, the rest turned over in a mess of bed sheets, clothes, and papers covered in annotations and diagrams. Surprisingly, there’s a skylight in the middle of the room, through which the moonlight showers down, illuminating the dust and the spiderwebs. There’s so much to look at that Lan Wangji almost loses track of what’s going on, until Wei Wuxian touches him, grounds him back to his presence.

Wei Wuxian’s coat is resting on Lan Wangji’s shoulders, the red turned out. Although Lan Wangji is slightly taller, although they’re standing to the side and not under the skylight, the moon reflects in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and Lan Wangji steps back and stumbles onto the bed, now at the mercy of the beast.

The vampire is on his lap, straddling him, before he knows what to expect. He takes hold of Lan Wangji's face, not quite gently, but not unkindly. There’s nothing kind about the kiss he gives him next, demanding, suffocating, his tongue brushing against Lan Wangji's, against the roof of his mouth. Lan Wangji isn’t quite sitting upright; he has a hand keeping him from falling into the mattress, the other grasping at Wei Wuxian’s waist, but it’s a flimsy balance, the gravity of Wei Wuxian slowly robbing him of his strength. When Wei Wuxian starts moving on his lap, a languid, rhythmic motion, his mouth lets go of Lan Wangji’s for open-mouthed kisses, allowing him to breathe. Those smirking lips travel down, down his jawline, to the spot below his ear, and suck, noisily.

Lan Wangji feels himself slipping. Wei Wuxian’s pearly white teeth graze his neck in the exact same spot as the first time. Wei Wuxian’s hips grind down on Lan Wangji’s groin, and then comes the sudden sharp pain of the bite — Lan Wangji falls, faces the flaring dark behind his eyelids.

Wei Wuxian keeps him from falling, an arm around him, one hand on his back, the other braced on the mattress. He’s still swaying to a nameless song against Lan Wangji’s lap, albeit quieter now, slower, like a soft evening breeze over a warm sea at the height of summer. Lan Wangji is already gone, erect and straining in the confinements of his pants, and if he focuses, if he pushes against the fog of exhilaration brought on by Wei Wuxian’s vampire kiss, he can feel the press of Wei Wuxian’s own erection against his stomach.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. At one point, the biting turns into laps of tongue, then kisses, and then he’s opening his eyes to Wei Wuxian’s moonlit room again. He’s on his back now, having been so carefully eased down that he never noticed, and Wei Wuxian is still on him, licking his lips, running a hand down his clothed torso.

“Lan Zhan ah,” he says, eyes burning golden, burning fire. He leans down, kisses Lan Wangji again, but oh, he tastes different now — it’s blood, it’s Lan Wangji’s blood. There’s a ritual here, there’s a turn here and Lan Wangji couldn’t care less, he arches into it, inhales through it. Wei Wuxian breaks away, blinks slowly and says, “Open up to me, my blue bird.”

His hands slither under Lan Wangji’s shirt and move up. Lan Wangji obediently reaches to remove his jacket, then his shirt, throwing both of them off with uncharacteristic carelessness. Wei Wuxian’s coat is still under him, still smelling of Wei Wuxian, lulling him, causing his eyelids to droop, and he has to force them open to look at the other man. Wei Wuxian kisses and licks his chest, humming at the lines of his body, hand trailing down what his mouth can’t. As if he wants to touch all of Lan Wangji, all at once. As his mouth works on one of Lan Wangji’s nipples with distant interest, his hand is intent on unbuttoning Lan Wangji's trousers, on sliding down his zipper, and reaching inside his underwear to grab him in a now-warm hand, an echo of the first time.

“Do you think about me, Lan Wangji?” he says, pumping Lan Wangji with cruel slowness, leaning over him like a lion playing with its prey. “Did you think about me before that night? And since then — how often?”

Lan Wangji wants to touch him, wants to answer him, but if his words were scarce before, they run from him now, hide behind his overflowing desire. His hands still lie uselessly by his head, where they’ve been ever since he removed his shirt. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, whatever Lan Wangji is showing, whatever sounds he’s making, only make the glow in Wei Wuxian's eyes brighter and his smirk wider. He teases Lan Wangji’s tip with his thumb at the same time as he licks his neck, pumps tighter as he sucks on his flesh, drawing a bruise but not opening a wound.

“I think of you.”

Maybe Lan Wangji says it. Maybe they both do.

Whether it’s from anticipation or abandon, Lan Wangji can’t discern, can’t think, he just tips over the edge, spilling over Wei Wuxian’s hand and onto his own stomach. Wei Wuxian hadn’t even needed to bite him again.

He’s still panting when he registers Wei Wuxian licking Lan Wangji’s come off his hand like it’s a delicacy. The vampire kisses his way down Lan Wangji’s body, and Lan Wangji’s dazed eyes trace every movement. There’s a performative air to the way Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out and noisily licks Lan Wangji clean; it should be insulting, how close to laughter Wei Wuxian is, like Lan Wangji is a cute plaything, but it’s not. Lan Wangji wishes he could claim he knows it because he can read him, but he just feels too good to put the proper thoughts into their right places. If Wei Wuxian is enjoying himself, it’s enough.

Wei Wuxian pulls down Lan Wangji’s pants and underwear, and Lan Wangji barely has a mind to help him in the task. The vampire presses kisses to the inside of his thigh, licking off his perspiration, going from one thigh to the other, until finally his mouth closes around the tip of Lan Wangji’s limp, sensitive cock. He shudders, lets Wei Wuxian open his legs, lets the beast do as it wants. Wei Wuxian’s hands, sometimes cold, sometimes pale, burn against his thighs tonight, as if breaking through his flesh and clutching at his bones. Wei Wuxian licks him clean there as well, long stripes up and down his cock, and the muscles in Lan Wangji’s thighs contract at the touch, too much. He’s not given a second to come back to himself, to breathe. Once Wei Wuxian deems him clean enough, Wei Wuxian crawls up, noses at the dark curls of Lan Wangji’s pubic hair, the cold tip of his nose tickling the skin of Lan Wangji’s stomach. Quick, innocent kisses along his lower abdomen are a sweet distraction, leaving Lan Wangji wholly unprepared for the bite that follows.

Lan Wangji’s hips jump from the mattress, but Wei Wuxian’s hands, supernaturally strong, push him back down. The vampire hums, fingers like claws against Lan Wangji’s hips, leaving imprints that Lan Wangji hopes will last for days. He throws his head back, consumed by his wants. The sounds coming from Wei Wuxian’s throat, the touch of his hair against Lan Wangji’s crotch and legs, and the warmth of his hand moving to grip Lan Wangji’s thigh, all form a song that sets fire to Lan Wangji’s desire, bringing him up to a dizzying half-mast. Does he breathe, does he speak? Is he anything more than the end signals of his skin, of his lust?

Wei Wuxian opens his jaw with agonizing slowness. He breathes on the punctures, licks at them, makes them heal. He backs away until they’re not touching, until his presence is just like the warmth of a campfire. Devastatingly cold, Lan Wangji is forced to look at him.

Kneeling between Lan Wangji’s open legs, Wei Wuxian unbuttons his black shirt, throws it far back. He moves further away, off the bed, and unzips his tight pants, shimmying out of them and his underwear and kicking everything away. The room is already a mess and they’ve only made it messier, but Wei Wuxian is a vision in the dim light. Dark lips and flushed skin, body toned and cock erect, he would almost look like a man, if it weren’t for his eyes. Shining, never straying from Lan Wangji’s, even as he moves to the nightstand. Lan Wangji can only look, can only follow. His body doesn’t have time to cool off. Wei Wuxian returns, climbs on him again, covers him, aligns to kiss him on the mouth.

It’s the slowest they’ve kissed, the slowest Lan Wangji has ever been kissed. He wraps his arms around the vampire, discovering that he still can control his body after all, and pulls Wei Wuxian down, pulls until they’re almost melded into one. When Wei Wuxian moves to create friction between their cocks, Lan Wangji hears himself make a sound, but all he can think is Wei Ying, Wei Ying, ah, you...

You.

Wei Wuxian licks his lips. He suffocates Lan Wangji with his scent, burning millennia-old fingerprints on his skin. Lan Wangji has wanted men before, has touched himself to completion before, has fantasized about a lasting connection with someone before. But tonight, the shadows of a world that was only ever just glimpses through a gap in a doorway live in his lungs. Lives in the blood that Wei Wuxian feeds him in his kisses.

You.

Wei Wuxian breaks the kiss, touches his cheek adoringly, reverently.

“Lan Zhan ah. Where have you been all these lifetimes?”

Where has he been? When has he lived?

Wei Wuxian bites Lan Wanji’s neck on the side yet untouched, without drawing blood. Lost in the sensation of Wei Wuxian’s mouth closing around his pulse, Lan Wangji doesn’t pay attention to the vampire’s hands until one of them touches the inside of his knee, pushes up, and one slicked finger touches his rim.

Lan Wangji trembles at the contact, but Wei Wuxian hushes him, places deceptively kind kisses on his lips, lets him breathe away his tension to melt into the intrusion. Wei Wuxian is patient and reassuring, the perfect lover, and it could be a role, it could be more performance, but it works, so Lan Wangji doesn’t care.

“Look at you,” Wei Wuxian says, voice deep, like the humming strings of a cello. “Noblewomen have been in this exact position, kings, but none can compare to you, none are as beautiful as you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji preens, opens up like a flower when Wei Wuxian’s finger curls inside of him, when Wei Wuxian’s hand envelops his cock to work it perfectly erect again, and Wei Wuxian calls it so nicely curved, so thick, so beautiful, the words falling from the vampire’s lips sounding like polished prose.

“Turn around for me,” Wei Wuxian says. Hours seem to have passed since he last spoke, but it was only seconds. Wei Wuxian pulls away and an embarrassing sound comes from Lan Wangji’s throat.

Lan Wangji does as instructed, even if his limbs aren’t the same as they were when the night started, a tingling sensation blooming at the tip of his fingers and toes, and everywhere that Wei Wuxian touches burns like a fever. The coat that Lan Wangji had been lying on is tossed aside like the rest of their clothes, and Lan Wangji mourns its loss in a detached, dream-like way. But when Wei Wuxian guides him to his knees, his ass high in the air, and holds him there with a hand, the other finding its way back inside him, Lan Wangji wants for nothing. Wei Wuxian is an all-encompassing presence behind him, over him, his hair cascading down Lan Wangji’s back. Letting his forehead fall against his sheets, Lan Wangji breathes nothing but Wei Wuxian. He breathes in and out, Wei Wuxian’s fingers move in and out, turning, searching for a spot inside of him that makes him surrender. The voice that comes out of Lan Wangji sounds nothing like him. No words, just needs, just human.

Wei Wuxian bites his neck again, the expanse of the vampire’s chest covering Lan Wangji’s back. The hand against Lan Wangji’s hip moves to his cock, and the fingers inside of him— ah, when did they move? When did the gentle but meticulous stretching stop and Wei Wuxian start sliding in, so much bigger than his slim fingers had foreshadowed? Lan Wangji doesn’t clench up for long, unable to focus on the intrusion; Wei Wuxian’s mouth is closed tight on him, sucking, drinking, making him light-headed, making him cold and hot all at once. His cock is feeling a different kind of pain in Wei Wuxian’s hold, until Wei Wuxian stops pumping and grips, as though sensing that Lan Wangji might come too soon, and Lan Wangji is both tormented and grateful. He doesn’t know if he can take much more once his orgasm has come and gone, so he lets himself be taken and led in an almost painful dance.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth parts with Lan Wangji’s skin, and it’s only then that Lan Wangji can feel him bottom out, the vampire’s hips flush against his backside. Lan Wangji breathes — in, out, in, out, his panting loud in the quiet room. Wei Wuxian doesn’t make a sound: he has no need to catch his breath.

“Is this what you wanted?” Wei Wuxian whispers in his ear.

Is it? To feel Wei Wuxian’s hand, dirty because it was touching him, reach across the sheets and take hold of his own hand, fingers interlacing? To feel the curve of his cock inside, to know him as much as he knows Lan Wangji, on this night, surrounded by a mist of night jasmines? Is it this, the intimacy, the danger, Wei Wuxian’s teeth breaking his skin, his cock breaching past the last of Lan Wangji’s defenses, while a sentient darkness caresses them?

“Yes,” Lan Wangji answers, not because he has to; Wei Wuxian, with his predatory grin, already knows. Lan Wangji answers because he wants to.

Wei Wuxian starts to move. Pulling out only halfway, slowly, like the introduction to a song, and then he pounds back, the sound of their flesh colliding loud to Lan Wangji’s ears, their shadows mirroring their sensual dance on the wall. He does this once, twice, Lan Wangji can’t keep count. Once Lan Wangji has adjusted to his girth, he picks up the pace, slamming into Lan Wangji as deep as he can, as if, having once dug out his place inside the man, he can’t bear not to fill it.

“Lan Zhan ah, do you feel how wet you are, how you suck me in?” Wei Wuxian breathes against his ear, voice shaking with laughter, but never fully laughing. “Do you like it, when I take you like this? Or do you like it when I suck you better, Lan Zhan? Tell me, tell me everything, Lan Zhan,” he says, repeating the name that is a secret between them like a spell, driving Lan Wangji to the edge like the pulling tide.

When Lan Wangji feels close to orgasm, Wei Wuxian pulls fully out, and, with a single movement, manhandles Lan Wangji onto his back. All Lan Wangji sees as one of his legs is pulled up over one of the vampire’s shoulders is red. The space inside of him, every inch of his skin, his blood in his veins, all scream Wei Wuxian’s name. The vampire covers him, pushes his cock inside of him and possesses his neck, one last time.

Lan Wangji swears his mouth tastes sweet. With the night jasmines, with Wei Wuxian’s flavor. Like the tea they drank earlier, or what blood tastes like for Wei Wuxian. He breathes through his open mouth, taking it all in, his body going taut against the pressure and the humming on his neck, his hole still pulling Wei Wuxian inside. There’s barely any room for Wei Wuxian to move in and out of him, but he’s already on the edge, and with a single brush of Wei Wuxian’s hand against his cock, a single pull, he’s falling, lost at sea.

The colors are bright behind his eyelids, and the world around him is vague, a half-awake dream. He feels Wei Wuxian’s teeth let go, and a small, sad sound come out of him, making Wei Wuxian chuckle. His body is still moving with Wei Wuxian’s thrusts, but he doesn’t see the vampire come, doesn’t feel it until Wei Wuxian pulls away and his essence drips out of Lan Wangji. Without Wei Wuxian covering him, without being connected to him, Lan Wangji shivers. One of his hands searches, even if his eyes are still closed, fingertips running across the ghost of Wei Wuxian’s warmth, where the vampire’s hands had been. He wants. Even now, he wants.

Wei Wuxian returns. At his touch, Lan Wangji forces his eyes open, to gaze at this ageless man as he cleans Lan Wangji up, as he pulls the covers from under Lan Wangji’s body and up over him. Now, with the seconds ticking by again, Lan Wangji’s head is empty in a way that is both blissful and concerning. Wei Wuxian is barely visible, covered in shadows. He touches the frown between Lan Wangi’s eyebrows, rubs against it until it’s gone.

“Why are you so cute, Lan Zhan?”

No one has called him “cute” in years. He leans into Wei Wuxian’s touch, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again, the sound imprinted in Lan Wangji’s mind now, to play in his dreams.

“Be careful, Lan Zhan. Don’t you know vampires are very possessive? I may never let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

He says it without thinking, his body weightless. Tomorrow he will ache in places he’s never ached before, and he’ll need to rebuild all of the energy that Wei Wuxian drank out of him. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, a new day begins, in this place he’s never seen, where Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying, The Patriarch, lives. He doesn’t know where it is. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring.

Tonight, he tucks his nose against Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he holds on to Wei Wuxian’s body, and he means every word he says. He breathes the perfume of the night flowers, and it’s like he’s been missing it all along. This darkness.

Lan Wangji sleeps, right where chaos lives.

***

The time Lan Wangji spends with Wei Wuxian stretches out. A single night spanning like days, the feeling of being scooped up in someone’s arms rewriting the nights when he slept alone, lonely, thinking of the lives he could be living. These nights, in turn, feel like years of a different life, lived in his uncle’s blindspot. In his uncle’s eyes, Lan Wangji never looks any different when morning comes, when the shadows let him travel back to the place he’s used to calling home.

Home is a broader term to Lan Wangji now. It’s not just the place he knows, the place where he’s comfortable in monotonous minutes, in the practice of his duty. Now, it’s also the dark alleys where he finds monsters that think they’re safe from being caught. He slashes through them with his glowing blade, while Wei Wuxian, perched atop a building, showers him with compliments.

Lan Wangji’s blood is hot under his skin, even on the colder nights. He shakes, as if consumed by a fever, in his place in the vampire’s lap, and Wei Wuxian holds Lan Wangji so tight that Lan Wangji thinks he can never fall again. Even if Wei Wuxian decided to fuck him out in the open, on the edge of a window, under the blue moon, like a ritual, like a pledge, long fingers would hold firm on Lan Wangji’s lower back, guiding the movements of his hips, and in the vampire’s supernatural embrace Lan Wangji would not fall.

Lan Wangji is immune, Wei Wuxian had said. And smart, and serious, and competent, and loyal, superlatives showered on him night after night. Wei Wuxian is mesmerized by him. Lan Wangji doesn’t want to stray a moment from his lover’s gaze, from the beast’s line of sight.

It’s Sandu Shengshou who tips over the hourglass of their time together, changing the course of Lan Wangji’s life back to what it was, or a semblance of it. Looking at his life now forces a painful comparison to the world where Lan Wangji didn’t know all the things he wanted, missed, and longed for. It hurts so much more now, to know and not have them.

You never get a warning for when things are about to change. One night, Lan Wangji had been walking back home from visiting his older brother; when he exited the subway train, a woman ran past him, up the stairs into the city, and he followed the echo of her sobs to find a vampire. Tonight, he’s fighting a painted-skin ghost with little success. Wei Wuxian intervenes, grabs the monster with claw-shaped hands, throws it to the ground, and from his shadow come the wisps of shadows from the beginning of time, from everywhere, to feed on the monster’s resentment. Wei Wuxian raises his head towards the moon, ecstasy on his lips, on his jaw, in his laugh, eating up the darkness. Lan Wangji grips his sword tighter, unable to look away — and it happens.

Zidian is just as old as Bichen, a relic from ages past, just as powerful now as it was when it was first made. Perhaps it’s older than Wei Wuxian himself, and as such, capable of slicing the vampire’s head clean off in a single sweep. Lan Wangji, from the very first moment he laid eyes on Wei Wuxian, knew his hand would never be firm enough to wield Bichen to eliminate the vampire. But Sandu Shengshou has no appreciation for relics and his blood doesn’t sing Wei Wuxian’s name, so with a flick of the wrist that Lan Wangji fails to see, he attacks Wei Wuxian. The vampire narrowly manages to jump off the painted-skin ghost and land on the wall of the narrow alleyway.

Like Lan Wangji, Sandu Shengshou is not known to be a man of many words. But unlike Lan Wangji, he’s known for his powerful voice in battle, a roar as crackling as the sound of his spiritual whip, and he’s admired for having a hand that never holds back. Like every hunter, Sandu Shengshou’s story is one of loss, but his hate for monsters and ghosts is unrivaled.

With fluid steps and turns, he strikes against Wei Wuxian again. The vampire leaps, twirls in the air, and dives into Lan Wangji’s shadow, disappearing by Lan Wangji’s frozen feet.

“No, you don’t!” Sandu Shengshou barks, throws the tip of Zidian into the pit where Wei Wuxian disappeared to, but when it emerges, there’s only a strip of fabric attached to the whip. The portal disappears, becoming nothing but regular shadow, and with a growl and a snap of Zidian, Sandu Shengshou turns to Lan Wangji.

“I trust you’ll report this to the Lan Council.”

He storms away, lightning bolts in his steps. Lan Wangji stays there, one, two, three, ten seconds, before he falls to his knees like a puppet whose strings were cut by the world’s sharpest weapon.

With Sandu Shengshou as a witness, Lan Wangji can’t fail to report it, not this time.

All of the hunter families get in an uproar at the implications of such a powerful being wandering unrestrained for so long. How many lives has it taken? How many years of bloodshed has it caused? The Patriarch becomes the name on everybody’s tongue, becomes the top target of hunters who come to Lan Wangji’s bookshop. Are there any leads? Should they organize a nationwide hunt?

Lan Wangji is left cold. His steps go back to being controlled, few throughout the day. His breath has no reason to go off-rhythm, just like his heart. He searches the monochrome nights of new moons, asks the ghosts about the one who’s outlived them all, but finds no sign that Wei Wuxian has appeared in town since their last encounter.

The apothecary is run exclusively by the Wen siblings and their young cousin now; when Lan Wangji walks past their windows, their tea isn’t as fragrant as it once was. The smell of night jasmines fades into a memory. Some nights, he takes himself in hand, his own fingers pressing against his tongue, and pretends Wei Wuxian fills him, all the parts of him, even the cracks where his real self slips through. He comes and he’s still cold.

Does cold also run through Wei Wuxian’s veins, wherever he is? Does he long for Lan Wangji’s embrace like Lan Wangji longs for his kisses? Were those nights, countless and endless to Lan Wangji, nothing but a few drops in the vast ocean of the immortal's lifetime? Was any of it real, or had Lan Wangji been one of the vampire's thralls from that very first night?

Days pass. Nights, flavorless meals. The Patriarch becomes too bitter a name on hunters’ tongues after their failures. Some of the Jin hunters claim they find his victims, but Lan Wangji knows they can’t prove it. Wei Wuxian never leaves a mark. Not physical. Nothing like the ones Lan Wangji carries.

He ends his shift, bows to his uncle, makes his dinner. He reads, he meditates. He sits by his window, looks up at the full moon, and lets time slow to a halt. He holds on to a strip of red fabric and remembers all the times he held onto Wei Wuxian’s coat, all the times Wei Wuxian was within reach. Lan Wangji remembers being covered in darkness, traveling through it, and arriving at a place he’s come to call home.

Lan Wangji doesn’t see the hand come out of his shadow. Doesn’t feel a presence emerge, little by little – a head, a toned torso, lean legs. It’s only when Wei Wuxian drapes himself over Lan Wangji’s back, wraps his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and nuzzles him that Lan Wangji jerks in place, shivers, turns his head. Wei Wuxian is too close, Lan Wangji can’t see him properly, but when Lan Wangji closes his hands around the vampire’s arms, he’s solid, real. Lan Wangji exhales, a shaky thing, and his heart beats the song of reunited lovers, an ancient, timeless tune.

“Did you think I’d let you go, my little blue bird?”

Wei Wuxian’s words tickle Lan Wangji’s ear, make him shiver with a name that belongs only to the two of them.

“Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji is wearing blue tonight. There hasn’t been a single day where he hasn’t worn it, like a signal flare in the sky. Come back. Come back to me.

“Do you want me to surrender?” Wei Wuxian asks, his mouth moving against the skin below Lan Wangji’s ear. It’s a delicious sensation. Lan Wangji can’t keep his eyes open, thirsty for every word and touch and second. “Do you want me to give in to your clan, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji opens his eyes. Thinks of all the years he’s lived for his clan, for his duty, for righteousness. Every hunter has a story of loss, every family was almost wiped out from existence at least once. There’s blood on every single one of their backs, and the blood of countless monsters on their hands. Wei Wuxian feeds on humans and monsters alike. He’s as old as time, and he commands Lan Wangji with his fingertips, with his very eyes. He’s dangerous.

The Wens suffered his loss for months. There’s a story there, too. Lan Wangji wants to know. He wants everything.

He stands from his chair next to the window, stands in front of Wei Wuxian. The vampire looks pale. Probably hasn’t fed in a while. But his eyes are still shining golden under the moonlight, and he’s smiling. It’s a soft thing, that smile, weak in a way Lan Wangji has never seen on Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji touches Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip with his thumb, tracing the chapped skin from one side to the other before caressing Wei Wuxian’s cheek.

His other hand moves behind Wei Wuxian’s head and pulls gently. He tilts his own head to the side and guides Wei Wuxian to his neck.

“Wei Ying,” he says, before kissing Wei Wuxian’s temple. He says nothing else. His voice is firm; his breath, calm. For a moment, Wei Wuxian does nothing, doesn’t even hold him, but Lan Wangji isn’t afraid. Are there even words to verbalize everything between them?

All at once, Wei Wuxian circles his arms around Lan Wangji, tight, just short of crushing. He sinks his teeth into the neck so willingly offered and sucks, drawing a pleased gasp from Lan Wangji. The vampire takes a step back and Lan Wangji follows. Another step and they’re falling through the shadows, through the dimensions. Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The smell of the jasmines is like coming home, in an ugly shack in Yiling.

When Wei Wuxian’s teeth leave Lan Wangji this time, he doesn’t lick the wound, doesn’t close it. He lets it bleed, lets it scar, and kisses Lan Wangji. He’s warm now, healthier. There’s blood on his tongue and Lan Wangji savours it. Like Wei Wuxian’s words have become a part of Lan Wangji, of his life, of how he sees the world, Lan Wangji’s blood becomes part of Wei Wuxian — it becomes his lifeforce.

Wei Wuxian once said somebody must have loved Lan Wangji very much, or that different blood ran in Lan Wangji’s veins. Something darker, something from the other side. His parents had their story or tragedy; Lan Wangji might never know his own truth for sure. He feels all that he needs in Wei Wuxian’s embrace: sheltered, appreciated, cared for. And tonight, more than any other night, he dares to say he feels loved.

The vampire kisses the breath out of him, tears his clothes open, and devours him. Lan Wangji clings back, just as fiercely, just as bruising, and bites the vampire’s neck.

Under the gaze of the full moon, Lan Wangji dares.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #alternate universe: supernatural elements #Alternate Universe: Vampires

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