#I’m amassing a collection. whatever

[supersonic1994]

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 31

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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Perhaps sending an urgent message to summon Lan Qiren back to his side at once was a little excessive, given that there was no genuine need for such urgency, but Wen Ruohan did not especially care. Would it be thoroughly undignified to admit that he was sulking?

Because he might be sulking.

“Oh no, you are definitely sulking. Unbelievable amounts of sulking,” Lao Nie said, quite cheerfully.

“I’m not sulking,” Wen Ruohan informed him firmly, only to have Lao Nie nod at him with an air of deep wisdom and exactly zero belief, an expression which he somehow managed to make simultaneously both condescending and scornful. “I am not!”

“Of course not. What a ridiculous thought. Why would you ever sulk? What possible cause could there be for your sulking?”

Truly, Lan Qiren had been indisputably correct when he had described Lao Nie as the most obnoxious man in the cultivation world.

“Are you going to help or not?” Wen Ruohan scowled at him. He hated having to need Lao Nie for anything – as he unfortunately now did.

Qingheng-jun had surrendered, and so, out of lack of better options and cursing himself for a fool the entire time, Wen Ruohan had taken him prisoner. But with Qingheng-jun’s strength and cleverness, Wen Ruohan didn’t dare entrust him to anyone he wasn’t certain could defeat him in battle, and never mind that he was disarmed and technically had surrendered voluntarily.

Tragically, that left only himself and Lao Nie.

And between the two of them, it couldn’t be him, because if Qingheng-jun didn’t stop smirking, Wen Ruohan was going to give up on all of his good intentions and just haul off to murder the man.

It would feel so good, too.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take custody of him,” Lao Nie said, rolling his eyes at him and even sticking out his tongue at him like a child. “I’m always willing to help, Hanhan, you know me. Now go off and pine for your sweetheart like some adolescent with a crush.”

“I do not pine.”

“Mm, right, right. And you don’t sulk, either.”

“I am not sulking,” Wen Ruohan sulked. “It would be immature.”

“Hanhan,” Lao Nie said, with great affection. “You are immature. It’s part of your charm.”

Wen Ruohan had been so offended by that suggestion that he’d nearly managed to forget about Qingheng-jun for a whole shichen thereafter, which in retrospect was probably at least part of what Lao Nie had intended. Wen Ruohan would reluctantly admit that he did have something of a bad tendency to dwell overmuch on things that had gone wrong, or which did not please him – which was not the same as sulking – and at present there wasn’t time for that. He had more than enough to do, between managing the increasingly worried residents of Lanling City, managing the increasingly irritable Madame Jin, and managing his own army, which had finished collecting the cursed coins…not to mention figuring out what to do with the coins now that he’d started to amass quite a collection of them.

Currently he was thinking of just throwing them in the smelter and calling it a day.

Yes, he could probably figure out a way to remove the curse if he put some time and effort into it.

No, he did not care enough to do that.

There was really no point in studying the coins themselves – if he wanted to learn more about the curse, he could just ask Lan Qiren to dig up whatever weird Lan sect book he’d found it in, or for that matter interrogate Qingheng-jun himself. On the other hand, melting down the coins would help break down the curse, making it easier to banish it using standard arrays and talismans against resentful energy. The only reason to go to the effort of preserving the actual coins themselves in their present form was if someone wanted to keep them as they were.

Which, being as they were cheap gaudy trash no one actually wanted, no one did.

Wen Ruohan supposed that there was some argument to be made that the coins represented the last thing Jin Guangshan had created in his life, give or take some bastard children yet to be born, and therefore ought to be maintained as some demonstration of respect.

Which settled it. They were going into the smelter for sure.

There was also the matter of arranging for both Jin Guangshi and his family and little Jin Zixuan to go to the Nightless City. Wen Ruohan had thoughtfully managed that matter on Lan Qiren’s behalf, mostly through a combination of loudly blaming Madam Jin for the various issues they’d encountered since arriving in Lanling City (assassinations, deliberate obstruction, and so forth) and making a number of pointedly implied threats related to exposing the depth of her husband’s involvement in the matter of the cursed coins.

It wasn’t that difficult an accusation to make. There were already all sorts of rumors going around Lanling City (and indeed the entire cultivation world) about Jin Guangshan’s so-unfortunate death, the nature of the Wen sect’s quite justified retaliation for what had happened at the Lotus Pier, and even some clever people who’d made an effort to connect it all to what had happened so recently in Xixiang. Madam Jin and Wen Ruohan both knew quite well that it wouldn’t have been hard at all for Wen Ruohan to push the rumors in a direction that would have been utterly disastrous to Madam Jin’s attempts to retain legitimacy and maintain Lanling Jin’s face and power in the cultivation world. Even for someone who was as cunning as she, there was no choice but to yield in the face of evidence that her husband had tried to murder not merely a rival sect leader, but the entire cultivation world, though Madam Jin certainly made a decent effort.

She particularly hadn’t wanted to give up her son.

Such a pity for her, then, that the person extorting her was not Lan Qiren, who would probably have tried to appeal to her better nature (likely non-existent) or the health and happiness of her son (probably irrelevant to her beyond him being healthy and alive) or maybe even to the greater good (even less relevant), but rather Wen Ruohan, who had no problem skipping the solicitude and going straight to outright blackmail.

Wen Ruohan might have had more sympathy for Madam Jin’s position if she hadn’t shifted so smoothly over from genuine concerns about Jin Zixuan’s well-being – which had faded rather quickly as soon as she’d realized that Wen Ruohan intended to put Lan Qiren in charge of him, right alongside his own children, thereby guaranteeing him both the most prestigious education in the cultivation world and a chance to make valuable future political connections both – to political calculations designed to shore up her own power as regent. It wasn’t as though Wen Ruohan couldn’t respect someone using wits and ruthlessness to get ahead, but for personal reasons he felt a particular level of distaste for Madam Jin’s obvious attempts to use the taking of her son as hostage to as leverage to get all sorts of assurances that Wen Ruohan would replace the benefits of her son’s presence with his own promise of support.

As it was, Wen Ruohan simply ignored her requests, whether implicit or stated outright, and instead followed Lan Qiren’s idea of referring her to his army any time she had an objection to his proposed plan. It was objectively hilarious how many colors her face turned every time he reminded her of it.

Coins handled, army settled (and military discipline strictly maintained, as promised), Lanling City’s domestic leadership reassured – really, Wen Ruohan had been very productive. Far too busy, certainly, to be said to have been sulking.

Not that he would be. Because he wasn’t. Just like he wasn’t pining, because that would be absurd.

Why would he pine?

Lan Qiren was his. They were married, together for a lifetime. They had all the many years of the future to be together, and if Wen Ruohan had anything to say about it, there would be very many years indeed. Lan Qiren had given him his heart, had fallen in love with him, and the Lan of Gusu Lan took such things incredibly seriously – and Lan Qiren more seriously than most.

It wasn’t as though he were suddenly going to change his mind just because he’d gone home for a visit.

Lan Qiren didn’t change his mind easily about anything. He didn’t like change at all, and he’d already gotten accustomed to the Nightless City. There was really no need to worry that he would be swept by a wave of nostalgia and homesickness upon visiting the Cloud Recesses and refuse to return. Nor was he so lacking in spine that his Lan sect elders would be able to bully him into staying by demanding that he return to his duty, or succeed in any effort to try to split them up, to force him to request a divorce…not that Wen Ruohan would ever grant one.

There was no need to worry, so Wen Ruohan didn’t worry.

He certainly didn’t pine.

He’d called Lan Qiren back because he needed help in managing all the things he had to do, and that was all.

Yes, fine, technically, none of the things Wen Ruohan was doing at the moment actually required Lan Qiren’s presence, much less urgently. Lan Qiren’s particular talents aside, Wen Ruohan was far better suited to diplomatic political maneuvering of the sort he was currently engaged in with Lanling Jin. His army was largely self-sufficient, he was accustomed to managing all sect matters on his own, and there wasn’t much he could do to help encourage the coin collection in the other Great Sects, since they would only grow less cooperative if he got involved. Even dealing with Qingheng-jun wasn’t that urgent, though naturally it’d be better to resolve that matter sooner rather than later.

There was no actual need to summon Lan Qiren back.

Wen Ruohan just wanted him back.

Which had nothing to do with pining, no matter what Lao Nie might imply. Life was simply more interesting when Lan Qiren was around. Life was simply better when he was around.

Really, Wen Ruohan had to hand it to himself: with each passing day, he grew increasingly assured of his own brilliance, both in general and specifically for his genius move of having sought and obtained Lan Qiren in marriage when he had. He would never again encounter such a heaven-sent opportunity to steal such a precious treasure from another Great Sect, not even if he destroyed them all and raided their treasuries to claim them for his own. Lan Qiren was the finest treasure he would ever be able to find, a pearl beyond pearls, priceless and unique, and he was his.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t giving him up, not for anything. Even if the Lan sect now regretted giving him up, as surely they must, it was surely too late…

“Sect Leader, report! Senior Lan has arrived.”

“Good,” Wen Ruohan said, brightening and setting aside the paperwork he’d been dawdling over. “Send him over to me at once.”

He was admittedly curious to know how Lan Qiren’s efforts to scold his sect into virtue had gone. Wen Ruohan was, on account of his personal age, one of the only sect leaders not to have to deal with the baggage of sect elders, and he greatly appreciated having that freedom. Still, he certainly remembered what sect elders were generally like – and not especially fondly.

They were always a bunch of old farts that thought they were due deference if not outright groveling by the younger generations just because they’d managed to not die, each one of them puttering around and opining on things that didn’t concern them as if unable to resist the urge. His Wen sect was well rid of them, in Wen Ruohan’s view! Still, during the period that his own sect elders had been alive, that seemingly endless collection of uncles, aunts, older cousins, grand-uncles and the like, even he hadn’t dared go forth and lecture the whole lot of them for their unethical behavior, as it seemed Lan Qiren had been planning to do. Whatever happened, it would make for an interesting story, even if Lan Qiren was almost certain to tell it in the dullest way possible; he was the sort of person to treat miracles as commonplace.

Anyway, Wen Ruohan had his own news to share. The matter with Qingheng-jun…

No, he wasn’t going to think about that at the moment. Nothing was going to spoil his reunion with Lan Qiren, not even his own sulking.

His own bad mood, he meant. Not sulking. Because he wasn’t sulking.

And then Lan Qiren walked in, healthy and here, and Wen Ruohan really wasn’t sulking any longer.

“You’re back,” he said, unable to hide his pleasure.

“And you are well,” Lan Qiren said, looking visibly relieved – and notably more powerful than the last time Wen Ruohan had seen him.

Not literally glowing, the way he had immediately after their dual cultivation, so filled with spiritual energy that his skin had seemed almost luminescent, but nevertheless genuinely more powerful, in a solid and stable sort of fashion. He’d somehow managed to assimilate all the power they had generated into his golden core, rather than using it up or needing to break it down over time.

Very impressive.

Not that he would ever be anything less.

“Of course I’m well,” Wen Ruohan said, arrogant as always, and enjoyed how his self-aggrandizement only made Lan Qiren look amused. “Are you implying that you doubt my skills…?”

Lan Qiren snorted, the tension flowing out of his shoulders: it seemed he really had been worried, which might have been genuinely annoying if the battle hadn’t actually been quite difficult. “Merely your communication skills,” he said, his amusement settling into simple contentment. “You sent an urgent summons, so I thought something might have happened. You could have clarified in your missive.”

If Wen Ruohan had clarified, Lan Qiren might not have arrived so quickly. Though perhaps Wen Ruohan could see to it that next time, in his benevolence, he would include a small note confirming his well-being, if only because it would spare Lan Qiren some unnecessary panic.

Provided that Lan Qiren properly appreciated him for doing so, of course. He had ideas on how.

“I am nevertheless quite pleased to see you alive and well, even if it is no more than I had expected. Obviously I would never have left you to manage alone if I had had any actual concern,” Lan Qiren said, which was a very nice balm for Wen Ruohan’s ego. “What ended up happening in the end? Is my brother…?”

Wen Ruohan grimaced, his poor mood immediately rushing back to him at the reminder.

“He’s alive, unfortunately,” he said, lips twisting in disgust. “He surrendered, right at the very end before I could finish him off. He even had the gall to mock me for my restraint, knowing that I would not execute a prisoner on your behalf without a fair trial. I had to entrust him to Lao Nie just to keep from employing further violence…!”

He trailed off. Lan Qiren was smiling warmly at him, approval written in every line of him.

It was worth every single one of Qingheng-jun’s smirks.

“I assume that that approach meets with your approval,” he added haughtily, fishing for compliments. “Naturally I would have had no such restraint if it were up to me, especially since we both know that it will be easier to keep his misconduct secret if he is already dead. But I know you have scruples, and will undoubtedly insist on having all the relevant accoutrements…”

“A trial is not an accoutrement,” Lan Qiren said, but he was still smiling. “It may make things more difficult, I admit, but what will be will be; we will find a way through. You did very well.”

Wen Ruohan preened. Of course he had.

“I will be expecting an appropriate reward, of course,” he said, which made Lan Qiren laugh.

“Of course, that is only natural,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Positive reinforcement is a critical part of pedagogy. It is only reasonable that good behavior deserves a commensurate reward, and I intend to reward you thoroughly.”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “I should hope that you’re not using this particular type of positive reinforcement with any of your other students.”

Lan Qiren gave him an admonishing look, though the fondness he couldn’t conceal undercut the severity of it. “Do not be vulgar. Do I need to turn you over my knee again?”

Wen Ruohan wouldn’t mind.

In fact, he itched to take Lan Qiren to bed right away, forgetting everything else. Lan Qiren had come straight to him, not even having washed the (metaphorical, given Lan sect robes) dust of the road off his boots. He had not eaten, had not rested, had not deviated in the slightest, as if he was just as desperate to see Wen Ruohan as Wen Ruohan had been to see him.

It was immensely gratifying.

He wanted…but there would be time enough for that later, when Lan Qiren had had some time to recover and would be able to perform at his best.

“Tell me first about your visit to the Cloud Recesses,” he said, and Lan Qiren’s expression somehow managed to get even more approving. “I can already see that you had the opportunity to consolidate all that spiritual energy. I take it everything went well?”

“Very well. Better than expected, even.”

He then relayed the story, which turned out to involve a formal ethics debate – only in Gusu Lan, really, what unbelievable weirdos – and some really rather fascinating bits of information about what had happened in the past with Qingheng-jun and his unfortunate wife, as well as the ultimate result and disposition of events.

“Do you think Lan Zhengquan will be executed?” Wen Ruohan asked, mildly curious. “Or merely confined involuntarily?”

“Involuntary confinement is not ‘merely’ anything. But, in answer to your question – yes, in this instance, I believe it is likely that he will be executed following a proper, if confidential, trial. I may disagree with everything Lan Zhengquan has done, up to and including the justifications he put together for his behavior and that of his brother ten years ago, but I will not deny that he has the courage of his convictions. If he remains unwilling to abandon those justifications even in light of the evidence and final judgment against him, he is within his rights to demand an execution, which will be carried out at an appropriate location outside of the Cloud Recesses.”

“A pity.”

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows. “I agree with the sentiment, but for whatever strange reason I suspect our regret comes from different sources. I regret the loss of life, and the loss of the wisdom, experience, and advice that Lan Zhengquan would have provided the sect, should he instead have been able to accept correction, sincerely repent, and live on. Whereas you…?”

Such sentimental tripe was most certainly not Wen Ruohan’s concern.

“It would have been more narratively satisfying if he suffered the same fate as your sister-in-law,” he explained, and Lan Qiren snorted. “What? It would have been. From what you say, he was the one who led the charge in favor of executing her back then, which is what caused your brother to save her life by marrying her, converting the sentence from execution to imprisonment. For him now to suffer imprisonment in the same manner would be an especially meet application of justice. You could have even put him in the same house!”

“Luckily, Gusu Lan does not determine its punishments by what would be narratively satisfying,” Lan Qiren said sternly. “And now I am clearly going to have to conduct a review to ensure that the Nightless City does not do so, either.”

Wen Ruohan would have complained, but in all truth the Nightless City’s justice system could probably stand to be reviewed, and he couldn’t think of anyone better to do it.

He shrugged in implicit consent, and changed the subject: “What about your sect elders? Was it entirely wise to leave them to debate the matter of their own punishment themselves? He who suffers the penalty ought not impose it, after all.”

“I have confidence that they will choose to do the right thing. And if they do not, I will go back and have further words with them.”

Wen Ruohan sniffed disdainfully. “It seems to me that you have already committed to going back already in order to evaluate their proposed solution anyway. Already planning trips without even consulting me…! How rude of you, Qiren. Whatever happened to ‘be attentive to your wife’s needs’…?”

“Would you be satisfied if I promised that by the time I was done with you, you would not want to lay eyes on me for the duration of my absence?”

That sounded amazing.

“At any rate, even if I return, I do not plan to be gone for very long,” Lan Qiren said, and that satisfied Wen Ruohan even more. “Even in this instance, I will admit that your summons came at a timely moment to excuse me from the debate, which was likely to be interminable.”

“And here I thought that interminable debates were what your Gusu Lan sect did best.” Wen Ruohan chuckled at Lan Qiren’s long-suffering expression. “Very well, I will be benevolent and lend you to them – briefly – to ensure that they do the right thing.”

“You do not need to pretend in front of me,” Lan Qiren said, now even more long-suffering. “You are tremendously excited by the possibility that they will carry through on their suggestion that they all resign and leave me to manage or at minimum advise on the management of the sect from the Nightless City, thereby putting it into your control.”

Wen Ruohan grinned. He wasn’t going to lie: they were definitely going to fuck about this later. “What can I say?” he drawled. “My husband gets me the best gifts.”

“On that subject,” Lan Qiren said, eyes narrowing, “an incident arose while I was at the Cloud Recesses…”

“Did they encourage you to divorce me?”

“Not seriously – ” Which meant that they had? “– and that is not the issue in question. Have you at any point instructed your disciples to refer to me as Madam Wen?”

Wen Ruohan was not an idiot.

“Certainly not,” he lied. “I can’t imagine why they would ever do such a thing.”

Lan Qiren sighed, clearly spotting the lie and just as clearly having no idea what to do with it. “It is inappropriate,” he said. “I am your husband, not your wife, and that means I am not Madam Wen.”

“You can be my husband and Madam Wen,” Wen Ruohan argued. “It would be funnier that way.”

“It would be confusing that way. Enough people assume that I am the wife already simply because you are more powerful both personally and politically, and that it is without further linguistic snarls.”

That seemed less important than the potential for humor, at least for Wen Ruohan.

“How do you see the roles of husband and wife anyway?” he asked, belatedly curious. “You don’t seem to associate them with household tasks, with sexual positions, or with power dynamics, or for that matter, as far as I can determine, with anything else. What exactly do you see as constituting your role as the husband, as opposed to the wife?”

Lan Qiren looked surprised to be asked such a question. “There are any number of applicable rules,” he started, and Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes: of course there were. “However, to sum up the relevant duties, as the husband, it is my duty to make you happy: to love you as I love myself, to honor you more than myself, to seek to do everything in my power to see that your needs and wishes are fulfilled. In return, as my wife, you are bound to love and honor me, to be faithful to me, and to trust me, abiding by my wishes even when they may contradict your own.”

The Gusu Lan sect was insane, Wen Ruohan decided, not for the first time. What sort of ridiculous definitions of husband and wife were those? No one else put it like that! No one else even thought about it like that! What sort of monastery had Lan An come from, anyway…?

Though Wen Ruohan supposed, if one put it in those terms, then in fact that it really was more appropriate for him to be the wife. He wasn’t exactly very good at living up to ‘honor another more than yourself’ and never had been, and he was too self-absorbed to really care to spend all his time worrying about someone else’s needs, but he was certainly capable of love, respect, faith, and trust. Certainly he was the one who kept compromising his actions in order to accommodate Lan Qiren’s ridiculous notions of morality…not that doing so had impeded any of his ambitions to date.

On the contrary, with the Jin sect in his pocket, the Jiang sect heirs secure in the Nightless City, and the potential for Lan Qiren to keep his nephews there as well – an idea that had very obviously not yet arisen in Lan Qiren’s mind, but which Wen Ruohan fully intended to use to convince him that the Wen sect temporarily taking over Gusu Lan until said nephews were of age wasn’t that bad an idea – it seemed that listening to Lan Qiren was suiting him quite well indeed. How convenient that one of Wen Ruohan’s ‘needs and wishes’ that Lan Qiren was obligated to try to deliver happened to include taking over the cultivation world.

In fact, if Wen Ruohan could somehow find a way to maintain the status quo, he would have in a single season effectively conquered, in practice if not in fact, not one but three of the other Great Sects. The only one left outside his grasp was therefore just Qinghe Nie…

Ah. Right.

He’d almost forgotten.

If one thought about it in a certain light, he also stood a good chance of making an inroad into taking over Qinghe Nie, because the current sect leader of Qinghe Nie, Lao Nie, was – imminently going to die.

He could take advantage of that, if he wanted.

He could, Wen Ruohan insisted to himself, even as he was swept by a wave of revulsion towards himself at the mere thought; it was just a matter of politics, and things like that happened in politics. It wasn’t as though this were anything like what had happened with Wen Ruoyu, the betrayal of someone who trusted him. Lao Nie didn’t trust anyone, even when he loved them sincerely – and he did love him in his own way, Wen Ruohan did not doubt, only that it happened to be the wrong sort of love for what Wen Ruohan really wanted.

Betraying Lao Nie…would be more like what he’d done to his first wife.

That had been a mutual tragedy. Their needs and wants had been incompatible from the very start, but they’d made a go of it anyway, and when it had started falling apart, they had not managed their reactions well, each of them blaming each other, each of them justifying their own actions against each other, hurting each other, betraying each other, and in the end –

In the end they’d destroyed everything.

Wen Ruohan instinctively grimaced.

No, he couldn’t do that again. He would have to find another way. Perhaps Lan Qiren would be able to think of something –

Wait.

Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren, who had no way to know that Wen Ruohan’s expression of disgust and revulsion had nothing to do with their current conversation!

“I was thinking of Lao Nie,” he blurted out, trying to explain, and then realized how badly that statement could be taken. They were right in the middle of discussion about their married life, and he’d started thinking about his former lover..!

“Yes, it was very fortunate that he was here to assist you,” Lan Qiren said, nodding with approval, apparently missing the more unfortunate set of implications entirely. “And convenient, since we wanted to speak with him anyway. Have you had an opportunity to discuss his condition? Or were you planning to wait until I was present?”

“I avoided it entirely,” Wen Ruohan said. He’d never been so relieved at Lan Qiren’s lack of understanding of innuendo. Do not give your wife reason to doubt your fidelity… “Do you think now is a good time? There is still the matter of your brother to deal with. They were friends, once, too.”

He wouldn’t mind putting off the conversation a little longer, personally.

“It will never be a good time,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “It may as well be now. Anyway, it is not as though we are going to him to offer our condolences, we are going to offer our help. Didn’t his sect doctors predict that he had ten years left? He is hardly at risk of immediate decline.”

You don’t know that! Wen Ruohan wanted to protest. Each qi deviation could be the one that takes him away, and the only way to stop it will be to solve a problem that generations upon generations of Qinghe Nie have failed to unravel. Lao Nie will never stop cultivating with his saber, will never give up his clan’s traditions, and ten years is not as long as you might think –

Though, on the other hand, I am a genius among geniuses. Lao Nie’s ancestors might have looked before, but they never had me on their side. Maybe it’s not so hopeless after all.

“We should go see him,” Lan Qiren said, either not noticing or perhaps politely ignoring whatever was happening on Wen Ruohan’s face. Knowing him, it was probably the former. “Particularly if he’s been forced to safeguard my brother, which must be emotionally taxing given the state of their relationship. Tell me, where is he now?”

Wen Ruohan was about to answer, only to realize he had no idea, having not particularly wanted to pay any attention to Qingheng-jun for any longer than it had taken to hand him over to Lao Nie in the first place. Qingheng-jun had spent the first part of the journey back to Jinlin Tower in a dignified silence, but as they’d drawn nearer, something had changed, and he had started talking about Lan Qiren again, clearly trying to goad Wen Ruohan into a response. Wen Ruohan hadn’t let him succeed, of course, but the temptation to find a tall window and shove him out of it without a sword had been very strong.

(Sometimes Wen Ruohan missed his Fire Palace. He hadn’t even dismantled it yet, though he intended to, and he already missed it. Not that he’d be dismantling all of it. There were always people that needed to be properly interrogated, and his machines would still serve quite well for that, even if they’d now go unused the majority of the time. It was only a pity that Qingheng-jun had nothing to say that anyone needed to hear. Certainly not Lan Qiren, that was for certain.)

“Easily found,” he said with an idle shrug, and went to the door of the room he’d been using as an office, waving over one of the disciples waiting outside. “Where is Lao Nie?”

The disciple saluted. “Sect Leader, he is just outside, in your courtyard.”

“In my courtyard?” Wen Ruohan asked, surprised that Lao Nie was so close by – and in such an unguarded location, too. Lao Nie was confident in his own abilities, and rightfully so, but for all of his rage, he was typically a surprisingly cautious fighter. Normally speaking, he would not take unnecessary risks. Keeping Qingheng-jun in an open courtyard seemed a dubious choice, and yet abandoning his duty to watch over him when he had promised to do so seemed – out of character.

Not yet, surely…!

Lan Qiren frowned. “That seems unlike him,” he observed, confirming Wen Ruohan’s sudden apprehension. “Let us go at once.”

When they went out to find him, Lao Nie was indeed there, sitting on a bench and cleaning his saber with all apparent ease, seeming as though he did not have a care in the world.

Qingheng-jun…was nowhere in sight.

Wen Ruohan felt his eye twitch. “Lao Nie!” he bellowed. “What are you doing?”

Lao Nie paused in what he was doing.

Then, he very exaggeratedly looked down at his saber and the cleaning cloth in his hand, then up at the two of them. “Come on, Hanhan,” he said, opening his eyes excessively wide. “I know for a fact that it hasn’t been that long since you handled a weapon. Aren’t you married now?”

Wen Ruohan had been gearing up to shout at him, but, as so often happened, Lao Nie’s humor cut his anger off at the knees. It was impossible to remain properly angry when you were fighting off laughter, which made Lao Nie’s approach to dealing with Wen Ruohan’s anger simultaneously devastatingly effective and also incredibly irritating.

Also, Lao Nie was perfectly aware that Wen Ruohan had actually used his sword to fight against Qingheng-jun. More recently than he’d had the chance to take advantage of Lan Qiren’s ‘sword,’ too, tragic and in need of quick remedying as that was…

“That was not the purpose behind his question and you know it,” Lan Qiren said mildly. “Hello, Lao Nie. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you two,” Lao Nie said, immediately actually answering the virtually identical question in what seemed like a thoroughly unfair display of blatant favoritism. “One of the Wen sect disciples said they saw you arrive, Qiren, and go to talk to Hanhan. So I came here to wait until you were done.”

That answer was all well and good, quite reasonable, everything in order, except for one critical point.

“Shouldn’t you be watching Qingheng-jun?” Wen Ruohan asked.

Lao Nie shrugged. “No need.”

“No need?” Wen Ruohan scowled at him, annoyed all over again. “Lao Nie, did you not hear me earlier? I wanted you to watch him, because I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t find a way out if the only ones guarding him were my disciples. Or yours, for that matter! He’s tricky and resourceful, even if he’s been disarmed. Who knows what trouble he’s gotten into already – ”

“He won’t be getting into any trouble,” Lao Nie said. “He’s dead.”

Wen Ruohan was about to retort with something devastatingly clever and cutting, likely about the importance of living up to responsibilities and one’s given word, but then whatever he had been about to say entirely dropped out of his mind as Lao Nie’s words entered it.

“I’m sorry,” he said blankly. “He’s what?!”

“Lao Nie, did you just say that he was dead?” Lan Qiren asked, frowning. “My brother? Dead?”

“My condolences, Qiren,” Lao Nie said, sounding completely genuine and sincere and also immensely missing the point. “Really. I know you two weren’t close, and that by the end you probably pretty much hated each other, but he was still your brother. You have my sympathies for the loss of what you could have had, if not for what you did.”

“Thank you,” Lan Qiren said. He sounded extremely polite, and extremely confused, the latter being a feeling which Wen Ruohan shared in its entirety. “I appreciate your consideration. Putting that aside, could you perhaps explain what happened, exactly? My brother is dead? How did he suddenly die?”

Wen Ruohan rather wanted to know that himself, especially since Qingheng-jun had been in perfectly reasonable condition when he’d delivered him into Lao Nie’s custody.

But then, how…?

“He killed himself,” Lao Nie said. His face was as casual and composed as if he were relaying the weather, rather than telling a bald-faced lie.

It was absolutely impossible that Qingheng-jun had decided to commit suicide.

As far as Wen Ruohan knew, the man had refused that particular route twice already, first in refusing to actively kill himself in the immediate aftermath of realizing he had murdered his wife, and second in refusing to passively permit Wen Ruohan to kill him. Even his last-moment surrender had been a deliberate ploy designed to extend his life, giving up even his dignity to do so. His dignity, his revenge, his pride…no, Qingheng-jun had been defiant and bitter to the last, blaming others and Lan Qiren in particular for all of his misfortunes.

For him to suddenly turn around and die by his own hand now, after everything – no, it was impossible. Absolutely impossible!

“Oh, suicide, really,” Wen Ruohan said, snide and incredulous. “Really, you don’t say. Tell me, if he killed himself, how exactly did he manage it? I disarmed him myself, so I know for a fact that he didn’t have access to his sword…”

“He used my saber,” Lao Nie said.

Wen Ruohan stared at him.

Lan Qiren stared at him.

Lao Nie…

Lao Nie’s lips twitched.

“Your saber,” Lan Qiren said slowly. “Your saber. Your spiritual weapon, which you entrust to no one, and which obeys only you. The saber that can, if it wishes, quite literally bite its wielder if it dislikes who is holding it. We are speaking of – that saber?”

Wen Ruohan hadn’t known about the biting thing. Was that really a thing? That seemed quite useful… Wait. When exactly did Lan Qiren have the chance to hold Lao Nie’s saber long enough to find that out?! Lao Nie hadn’t even given it to Wen Ruohan to hold!

Well, that was probably good thinking on his part. But that wasn’t the point.

“That’s the one,” Lao Nie said, sounding almost cheerful, or at least as though he were having a fair amount of fun watching their expressions, which he almost certainly was. “Good old Jiwei.”

Wen Ruohan thought, not for the first time, of how good it would feel to punch Lao Nie in the face. Just once. Once, but very hard.

Based on Lan Qiren’s expression at the moment, he might be amenable.

“Let me make sure I understand what you are saying,” Lan Qiren said, looking as though he were summoning all of his many years of emotional regulation to try to keep himself calm. “You are saying that my brother somehow managed to get hold of your saber and used it to end his own life. Is that what you are saying?”

“Not quite,” Lao Nie said, holding up his hands. “I’m saying that he killed himself, and also that if you have a doctor examine his body, you’ll find that the cause of his death was my saber.”

“Lao Nie,” Wen Ruohan hissed, finding himself appalled despite everything, up to and including his own deep and sincere desire to see Qingheng-jun dead. “What is wrong with you? Are you suggesting that he killed himself by walking into your saber?!”

Lao Nie snickered.

He actually snickered.

“Lao Nie!” Wen Ruohan shouted. “You said you were going to help!”

Lao Nie’s smile abruptly faded away. “I did help.”

“Lao Nie – ”

“Hanhan, you sometimes forget this – in fact, you often forget this – but I am not actually one of your subordinates,” Lao Nie interrupted, his expression unusually solemn. “I don’t follow your orders, and I apply my own principles to the situations I find myself in, not yours. I appreciate that you and Lan Qiren have decided that you don’t want to kill unarmed prisoners that have surrendered, particularly not without a trial, which is quite correct of you. I understand your reasoning in applying that principle even to Qingheng-jun, even when his sole reason to stay alive is to cause further harm, and if it were under any other circumstances, I’d respect it.”

Wen Ruohan was left speechless.

Lan Qiren merely pressed his lips together. “What circumstances do you mean?”

“Only this,” Lao Nie said. “That there is no greater good than showing kindness to a madman, once he has passed the point of no return.”

Ah.

That was –

That made more sense.

Given the Nie sect’s history – their traditions, their qi deviations, their ancestral madness – given what Lao Nie himself had so recently discovered about himself, about his own fate, his own imminent fate –

For a sudden moment, Wen Ruohan found himself unable to breathe.

“Oh,” Lao Nie said, watching whatever was happening on his face. “You know. I see. How?”

“Your son told us,” Lan Qiren said. “Nie Mingjue. He’s a good boy.”

Lao Nie laughed and shook his head. “Yes, he is,” he said fondly. “A very good boy – though where he got those ridiculous morals, I don’t know. He’s as inflexible as you, Qiren, in his own way. Anyway, you both don’t need to look so upset. It’s fine.”

“It is most certainly not fine,” Wen Ruohan said at once.

“Well, no, it’s not,” Lao Nie conceded. “But there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s as inevitable, as sure as the dawn.”

Wen Ruohan had heard that before, though under circumstances that had meant much less to him personally. Cangse Sanren had said something similar, equally resigned, talking about that big scary beast that was coming to tear her limb from limb, and she’d been just as certain of her immovable fate as Lao Nie was about his.

“It’s inevitable, so there’s no point in worrying about it now, is that it?” he asked with a sneer. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say that,” Lao Nie protested.

“You meant it,” Lan Qiren pointed out, and Lao Nie, caught out, smiled ruefully. “Lao Nie, we are only saying that we wish to help – ”

“And I’m saying that it’s pointless. Don’t you think we’ve tried? My family, going back generations, we’ve all tried our best to stop it. We can’t. Once it starts, there’s nothing you can do about it – ”

If there was one thing Wen Ruohan hated in this life, perhaps even above betrayal, it was being told that there was something he couldn’t do.

He was Wen Ruohan. He had spent his whole life laughing in the face of those that underestimated him, those that challenged or disdained him, and now all those people were long dead and forgotten. These days, there was no one alive who underestimated him, no one who thought that they could tell him what he couldn’t do. He had defied even the heavens themselves, perfecting his cultivation and breaking the limits of the human lifespan, living beyond the usual expectations even for a cultivator, and he was still as hale as he had ever been. Soon enough, with Lan Qiren’s help, he would undoubtedly even break through the barrier that separated god from man, and become divine.

And Lao Nie had the gall to say that there was nothing he could do about it?

Wen Ruohan was not going to take that lying down. It was the most disrespectful thing he had had someone say to him in – well, admittedly, since Cangse Sanren, which wasn’t that long ago, and Lan Qiren wasn’t exactly all that respectful either, though in a way Wen Ruohan enjoyed rather a great deal.

No: ancestral Nie sect mystery or not, he was going to find a way to fix it. At a minimum, he was going to find a way to buy some time, to prevent any further decline and forestall death, and he wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Lao Nie, get in his way.

Lao Nie was just going to have to live with that.

Admittedly, at this precise moment, he looked particularly unwilling to accept that conclusion, that stubborn mule-headed Qinghe Nie look fixed firmly on his face even as he argued, rather unwisely, with Lan Qiren. As if Lan Qiren, just fresh off winning a battle of words with his entire sect, was going to let him win this one, particularly when Lao Nie’s arguments seemed to mostly revolve around the same basic point.

“It’s inevitable,” he said, dragging out the sound. “In-ev-it-a-ble. Why are you and Hanhan having such trouble with that concept? There are things in this life that we can change, Qiren, and there are things we can’t, and this is one of the latter. It’s as inevitable as the dawn, as sure as sunrise – ”

There was that phrase again, the one Cangse Sanren had used to describe her own doom. It was irritating to be surrounded by stubborn people convinced they were about to die, Lao Nie to rage and a qi deviation, Cangse Sanren to that future beast. A pity it wasn’t the other way around! There was no one better for defeating a beast than one of Qinghe Nie, descendants of butchers that they were, and Cangse Sanren seemed almost immune to the ravages of rage, forgetting each moment what happened in the previous one. Possibly that was even literal for her, given her idiosyncratic understanding of time, a remnant perhaps of living on a celestial mountain with an immortal…

Hm.

Now that was an idea.

“I am not giving up,” Lao Nie said impatiently, while Lan Qiren frowned and shook his head at him. “Don’t put it that way, it sounds bad. It’s not the same thing at all! I am just trying to be realistic. It would foolish to ignore facts and fail to adequately prepare myself, my sons, and my sect for what is going to happen – ”

“As foolish as refusing to accept help in the event that the preparations you make need not apply?”

“Damnit, Qiren, stop talking circles around me.”

“Stop being wrong first.”

Lao Nie gaped at him, then cackled. “I like this version of you,” he said. “Hanhan’s a surprisingly good influence on you, which I admit I wouldn’t have predicted.”

“We are Dao companions,” Lan Qiren said impatiently. “Naturally we mutually improve each other. Do not change the subject.”

“Qiren…”

“Lao Nie, there are things that a man may choose to face on his own. I have never denied that. If you truly deny us, we will desist – ”

Maybe Lan Qiren would.

“– but just as you are our friend, we are your friends, and we wish to help you. Would you deny us that chance?”

Oh, that was a good argument, particularly for someone like Lao Nie, and Wen Ruohan could see the exact moment Lao Nie’s resistance cracked under the weight of Lan Qiren’s earnest sincerity.

“Oh, all right,” Lao Nie grumbled, scrubbing his face and letting out a lengthy sigh. “I suppose I wouldn’t. Fine. Whatever. You can go ahead and bash your brains against the problem for a bit, if that’s what you really want…but Qiren, please understand and prepare yourself, this is something my sect has been trying to solve for a very long time. It is entirely possible, even likely, that in the end, the only help you will be able to give me is the sort of help I provided your brother.”

Lan Qiren’s stern expression softened. “I understand. But thank you for letting us try.”

“In fact, I’ve got an idea,” Wen Ruohan announced, and grinned when they both looked at him. “Well, the beginning of one, anyway. Qiren’s right, there are many benefits to taking a problem and making it someone else’s.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” Lao Nie remarked, his eyes narrowing a little in suspicion. “Hanhan…”

“You need not be concerned,” Lan Qiren told him firmly. “Any idea he has, I will first approve. Or are you saying you do not trust in my good faith?”

“…fair point. All right, I retract my doubts.”

Wen Ruohan scowled. “Lao Nie – ”

Lao Nie pointed at him. “You have a torture palace.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

Now they were both looking at him with indulgent expressions that suggested he already knew the answer to that.

Possibly he did.

“I’ve already planned to repurpose the majority of it,” Wen Ruohan said defensively. “I do not require it as much, any longer.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Hanhan,” Lao Nie said warmly, and in the face of his own straightforward sincerity Wen Ruohan found that he had trouble maintaining his anger. “Really, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you’ve finally found your way out…but also, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

That was fair.

“You know, we never did get the chance to talk at the Lotus Pier discussion conference that wasn’t,” Lao Nie mused. “I wanted to hear all about how the two of you managed to fall in love – and I still do, for that matter.”

“We got married,” Lan Qiren said, as if that answered the question.

“…I’m going to redirect the question to Hanhan,” Lao Nie said dryly, clearly agreeing with Wen Ruohan on the blatant insufficiency of Lan Qiren’s answer. “Actually, while we’re at it, how did you end up proposing marriage to Qiren anyway? I didn’t even think you liked him.”

“Mm, I didn’t. It takes a truly great man to see what he has overlooked and correct his own errors, but luckily – ”

“He wanted to use me to take over the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said with a sigh, pointedly ignoring Wen Ruohan’s bragging. “Through my students, of all things. I still think the whole notion is utterly ridiculous.”

Lao Nie’s expression went abruptly thoughtful in a way that suggested that he certainly didn’t think the idea was all that ridiculous. A moment later he grinned.

“Well, Qiren, you have to admit that putting aside the students, it didn’t work out that badly for him.”

“He has not taken over the cultivation world.”

“If you pay a little attention, actually, you’ll find that I have,” Wen Ruohan said smugly. “Or at least considerable portions of it.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Hanhan,” Lao Nie said, even as Lan Qiren looked as if he were hunting for some way to refute the irrefutable. “Don’t forget: whether you rule the world or not, you still have to clear everything you do with Qiren first!”

“That is not the situation,” Lan Qiren insisted. “He has not taken over the world – Lao Nie – stop smirking at me, you intolerable annoyance – ”

Wen Ruohan tuned them both out as he considered what Lao Nie had said. Whatever Lan Qiren’s denials, it had to be admitted that Wen Ruohan’s influence now extended well into the other Great Sects, which had previously been inviolable, with a few omissions, but equally it had to be admitted that this wasn’t exactly the tyrannical dictatorship he’d always envisioned for himself when thinking about the day that his Wen sect eventually took over.

He hadn’t counted on Lan Qiren being there, for one. And even if he had, he would never have assumed that he would voluntarily bind himself to following Lan Qiren’s ridiculously strict morality, even when the man himself was not present to object – except he had, hadn’t he? The way he had dealt with Qingheng-jun…that wasn’t a mere aberration, an outlier, a favor he’d been doing for Lan Qiren. He’d done the right thing because he knew Lan Qiren would want him to.

If he wanted to keep Lan Qiren, Wen Ruohan was going to have to do that about everything.

It was going to be a gigantic pain.

But on the other hand, he did rule the world now.

Ah, whatever. If that’s the trade – I’ll take it!

Wen Ruohan reached out and, ignoring Lao Nie’s presence, pulled Lan Qiren into a kiss.

Lan Qiren –

Well, Lan Qiren kicked him.

“Inappropriate!” he spluttered. “We’re in front of company! Keep your hands to yourself!”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Lao Nie murmured appreciatively. “On the contrary…”

“Absolutely not,” Lan Qiren said. Firmly.

“But –”

“No.”

“Hanhan –”

“Also no,” Wen Ruohan said, and watched with interest as Lao Nie blinked, absorbing that, and then, after a moment, shrugged it off, just as he did anything else. It probably ought to have hurt to see him simply shrug off a relationship that had lasted over a decade just like that, but…well, that was Lao Nie, heartless and careless. That was the real Lao Nie, the way he ought to be.

And Wen Ruohan…well, Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren, and he was far better off for it.

“Fine, then,” Lao Nie said. “That means I can go back and find that dragon –”

“Lao Nie!” Lan Qiren howled. “You are not, and I mean absolutely not, going to go find and – ”

Wen Ruohan started laughing.

This was going to be good.

----

A/N: and that's it! next chapter is the epilogue :) thanks to everyone for reading!

[khalixvitae]

★ Birds of a Feather ★

The Wanderer x Reader | ~ 4k words

Warnings: The Wanderer is… the way he is- he’s just generally very antagonizing. Has absolutely no grasp on how to healthily interpret or express his own feelings; TL;DR he’s emotionally messy but it’s mostly internal. Gets very introspective, brief mentions of body horror (not intensely descriptive but it’s there). Gets a little suggestive at the end bc apparently I’m nothing if not existential and vaguely homoerotic. Vague worship??? Idk you can tell I have religious trauma.

Info: GN Reader who is also in Vahumana (specialty of study is not specified) has been recruited by Nahida to collaborate with the Wanderer. The reader knows Kaveh and is stated to be around his age. No physical descriptors used. Heavily inspired by his birthday letter from last year where he mentions his inability to connect with his peers but how he is admittedly kind of lonely/doesn’t believe he’s capable of connection.

——————————————————————————

Sumeru was a strange nation; nearly as strange as its archon. At least that’s what The Wanderer had decided over the course of his self imposed imprisonment. But in a competition of peculiarity, you’d always take the cake.

In all his years of traversing Teyvat, he’d amassed quite the collection of experiences and stories he liked to chew on until they lost their bite. Much like the bitter tea leaves he enjoyed so much, he’d sit and mull over whatever memory struck his fancy until it started to come apart at the seams. He’d steep in it over and over until it lost its taste- then he’d give that one a break and move on to the next, only to inevitably repeat the process again some other time. He knew it wasn’t productive, of course. But it was a not so guilty pleasure of his, one he intended to indulge in as long as it kept his interest. Nahida would have none of it though, much to his chagrin. She’d given him some shpiel about not spending all his time in his head, something or another about a “self affirming echo chamber leading to stagnation”. A valid criticism, sure, but he thought he deserved a little stagnation every once in a while! If anyone had experienced periods of dynamic and continuous change it was him. He had three iterations already, and he most certainly was not aiming for a fourth any time soon. He figured she’d let it go and let him continue on with his innocuous hobby, lest he be unleashed onto her citizens in any greater capacity than his academic pursuits.

Of course he should’ve known better than that.

When she called for him a few days later, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she wasn’t alone. There you were, standing at her side as if it was the most natural thing for you to do. Immediately he had a sinking feeling.

When you introduced yourself it only worsened- great, you were going to be around enough for him to need to know your name? What was Nahida planning? You weren’t entirely unfamiliar- he was pretty sure you were also in the Vahumana Darshan. At the very least you were bright enough for him to vaguely recognize; that was more than could be said for most of his peers.

“They’re going to be accompanying you for a while,” Nahida told him simply, as if that one sentence didn’t obliterate his established day to day routine.

He cut his eyes at you, then the Dendro Archon. “Goodness, well. I had no idea my social performance was so abysmal that you’d try hiring friends for me.”

The tiny god just shook her head, hands on her hips. “Now don’t be like that. I just want you to get a different perspective on things. That includes Sumeru and its people at large.”

“Ah, so you’ve booked me a tour guide then.” He bit back, clearly uneasy with this direction Nahida’s lessons were taking.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to hear you laugh at his attempt to retaliate. As much as he wanted to snarl, he didn’t detect an ounce of pity or mockery in your tone. “I’m maybe the worst person you could’ve picked if that’s the case.” The way you met his gaze so easily was enough to make him nauseous.

“It’s not that either. I just think you two would get along well, that’s all.” Nahida still had the same soft expression, one he still couldn’t read but knew it meant trouble.

And so his new routine began. At first he tried to ignore you, but Nahida would have none of that. It didn’t take long before his avoidant tactics were worn down by her valid criticisms and patient lecturing, and soon he found himself in your company whether he wanted to be or not. His new problem, however, was that he was beginning to not mind the arrangement. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but as weeks turned into months of awkward conversation and biting sarcasm, he grew used to your presence. He had to admit that Nahida’s plan worked far too well. He hardly had the time or need for his little hobby.

There were logical reasons as to why he didn’t mind your presence, of course. You were wickedly smart (for a mortal, he told himself) and observant to a fault, and your brutal honesty was oddly refreshing. There was no pity or malice in the way you talked to him- he was just like everyone else for once, something he didn’t know he’d find so thrilling until you were lazily telling him to fuck off like anyone else who dared to disturb your work. You listened to him- even though you didn’t agree with his personal philosophy, he felt strangely validated by the way you’d think about it before refuting his arguments. And the way you made note of the things he liked and responded accordingly, like bringing him teas or research papers that you’d thought he’d enjoy, made him keenly aware of the fact that you did acknowledge him outside of your allotted time together. He didn’t cease to exist to you once he was out of sight- something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. And yet there was something else that he enjoyed about you even more than any of those logical, reasonable attributes.

It was the way you handled him.

When he got mouthy, or went just a little too low, you had a way of putting him right back in his place. Whether it was an equally sharp remark back or a silent stare that made his spine tingle, you seemed to have no qualms with biting back. It was strangely exhilarating, and each time he found himself wanting you to do it again. Frequently he’d wind up intentionally pushing your buttons in the hopes that you’d respond. At times it was a destructive self defense mechanism, as if to try and push you away when you got just a little too under his skin, but sometimes it was something else. Something he’d never admit to a solitary soul, himself or otherwise. Sometimes, he did it to see if you’d get tired of him. He was sure you had an end to your patience, your companionship archon appointed or not. There was something that made his chest tighten when you’d return fire without fail. Not only that, but sometimes it felt like he needed you to handle him because he couldn’t handle himself.

You couldn’t physically overpower him if you tried, neither could anyone else really, but it wasn’t about that. It was the way you’d laugh at him when he said something meant to rub you the wrong way, as if it was so stupid it didn’t deserve a reaction. Or how you’d respond with something equally pointed, as if it was all one big game- and it was. It had become a conspiratory back and forth that put everyone around you on edge. Even Nahida would sometimes appear put off by your complicated dynamic- if there was one time she truly felt that she didn’t understand humans, it would be while watching you two go at each other as you combed through the respective materials you’d brought to exchange. Despite being downright verbally aggressive towards one another, your actions were the complete opposite. You’d show up with two drinks any time you expected to meet, even if he always undercut the gesture with some comment about transactions and ‘owing you’. He’d edit your work without warning, handing over a copy of your most recent piece with a vague wave of his hand as if he hadn’t stayed up all night reviewing it. It was a dance of sorts- neither of you could sufficiently say you trusted the other. How could you when you rarely made it a point to get personal? Even if you were to try, he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining a lifetime's worth of unbelievable events without proof. Besides, he was a wanderer, destined to pass through and eventually leave Sumeru. What point was there in cementing a bond that was already too sturdy for its own good? You saw him, or perhaps saw through him, and shouldn’t that be enough? Despite that, he sometimes found himself testing the waters. It was sort of an experiment- he wanted to see how far he could push it, how much you could really handle him for all he was worth.

When you invited him into your home for the first time, he knew you were just as curious.

Sitting there side by side in your living room, surrounded by research materials of all kinds, he felt that familiar itch to pester you overcome him. The way you’d methodically skimmed the same page for the past half hour was beginning to make him feel weirdly exposed.

“You’ve been reading that passage for a while,” he began, leaning in to get a better look at your face as you hunched over the manuscript.

“Mhm.”

“Ah, a response. I was beginning to think I’d finally bored you to death. But it looks like I’m not that lucky.”

“Mhm.”

“What’s got you so focused? I thought this passage was relatively straightforward. Maybe I just overestimated you,” he sighed rather dramatically.

You didn’t reply that time, his insult falling on deaf ears.

“If something like this is your limit, then perhaps I should find someone else to edit my work.”

Silence.

“Or I’ll just do it myself- it’s not like anyone else in Vahumana could do any better. I’d had hope for you, but I-“

You finally tore your gaze away from the papers in front of you, instead locking onto him. When you hissed his name- not his title but his name, the one he’d only recently acquired- he knew he’d finally get what he was so desperately seeking.

“You wanna know what has me so focused? Trying to make this publishable,” you snipped back.

When he laughed at your outburst you pressed forward. “The information is solid, but it’s full of jargon that most people would find hard to stomach. Syntactically you could do well with having the comma taken away from you until you learned to use it appropriately. It’s not used incorrectly per se, but archons, I’m begging you to use any other form of punctuation. A semicolon, even a dash, anything to create variation. When your sentences are all structured the same way, it makes for a dry read and wastes otherwise good writing. But the biggest problem is that all of this,” you took up your pen and bracketed roughly half the page. “This is purely conjecture, no matter how sound it may look. And while I personally enjoy your theoreticals about Inazuman political history, I cannot think of a single source to back some of these arguments. A hypothesis is not publishable unless presented as such, but the framework of your thesis hinges on these claims as proven fact. I could maybe swing it if it were possible to prove them in the future, but half of these don’t even meet that criteria. So yes, I’m stuck. I’ve been racking my brain for sources I could offer you for citations. And if you could give me just fifteen minutes of silence that do not involve you staring at me like there’s a countdown until you vivisect me on my coffee table, I might be able to get somewhere.”

He took a second to recover- he often needed to when you’d sink your teeth into him like that- before cocking his head at you with an absolutely infuriating grin. “Well I’ve published papers before with my so-called conjecture. Why is it a problem now? Last time I checked my ‘hypotheticals’ were called groundbreaking.”

“There’s a fine line between groundbreaking and unfounded. Look, if I had to believe anyone on this subject it’d be you. I can’t think of anybody else who could put together work like this. But if I’m editing, I want to actually fine tune it. Even if it’s passable at this stage, I know it can be better. Something this interesting should be perfected.”

“How flattering, I had no idea you were such a fan of my work. Even if it is a ‘dry read’. But fine, if you’re so inclined then go ahead. I don’t really care either way. At least give me something to do in the meantime.” He leaned in again to ensure he had your full and undivided attention. “And by the way, I wouldn’t vivisect you. That’s excessive even for me. I’d at least have the decency to kill you first before I went prodding around.”

When you met his gaze without hesitation, he felt that familiar prickle run along his spine.

“How sweet of you. Anyway, I don’t really have much for you to do. You’ve already finished editing my most recent arguments. If you want to go home I’m fine with that. I can give this to you tomorrow if so. If not, I’m happy to have company. I mean you could help yourself to my bookshelf, but other than that your options are limited.” You returned to the task at hand, combing over the text just as thoroughly as before.

Now it was his turn to look perplexed.

“Well that’s stupid. Then you’d be doing this for free.”

“I already do it for free,” you sighed, knowing exactly where he was going.

“You do it as a part of an exchange. If I didn’t do the same for you, it would be for free. And right now, your labor isn’t being reciprocated. So what exactly do you get out of this?”

“I don’t want anything in return. I’m doing this because I like your work, and because you’re you. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

“What, because Lesser Lord Kusanali says you have to?” He sat with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, far too motionless to resemble anything human. “More than that, you could get anybody to edit your work. You’re established enough. So why do you still agree to this?”

“Oh don’t be dense. You’re the only person I’d ever let near my research aside from the Dendro Archon herself. Anybody else would try to rip off my work or make a quick buck as a ‘ghost contributor’ or some other bullshit.” You still didn’t look up from his writing despite how candidly you spoke. “You see my work for what it is, and criticize it accordingly. You don’t want anything else from me, and I don’t want anything else from you. That’s what I get out of this. And yes I know that’s paradoxical, but you’re smart enough to know what I’m getting at.”

When you finally did look back at him he noticed just how exhausted you looked. He almost felt bad for pushing your buttons. Almost. Your answer had been… strangely enlightening. He’d never believed a net zero transaction between two people was possible, and yet if he took your words at face value that’s what he had. And so he needed to push it further.

“And what if I do want something from you? What then?” He half expected you to burst into tears, or at least kick him out. But you simply pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long sigh.

“Well, then I’ve got no idea what it is. It seems like the only thing you want is to drive me fucking insane.” There was no bite to your remark, only a kind of resignation. “Or maybe you just want me to talk to you. It’s gotta be lonely, being the most pompous asshole around.” You paused, leaning back against the cushions of your couch to stare at the ceiling tiles. “Maybe you’ve got a little crush on me or something.”

Now it was his turn to sigh. You’d never gone that direction with your taunting before. He figured he’d take the safest route out of whatever web you were building. “I could say the same for you, you know. Of course we both know better than that, so don’t trouble yourself with that train of thought. That pretty little head of yours is already at capacity as it is.” He tapped a finger on the manuscript you’d ceased editing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He realized you were looking right at him once more, clearly tired of his never ending vague statements.

“I mean it’s obvious you’d have eyes for somebody else.” He decided to drive his point home- he wanted to embarrass you away from the subject because now he felt quite exposed. You were right, of course. But that was unthinkable. All those years spent without genuine connection and now that he’d found it, something inside of him wanted to squander it for a chance at more? For a creature born without a heart, he sure was greedy. He wasn’t equipped to admit that to himself, much less to you. No way, he’d have to end the conversation and never let it resurface.

“You’re awfully close with that blonde from Kshahrewar. It wouldn’t surprise me if you two were… involved with one another. He’s a bit of a mess but- well, that makes it even more fitting.”

“Kaveh? Nah. I mean we’re close, but not like that. He’s got a lot going on that he needs to sort out before he tries dating anybody, especially me. It would never work.” You didn’t seem flustered, which made him even more uncomfortable than he was before.

“Oh? Too much baggage? I see.” Why did he feel a little wounded by that? He’d ignore it for the moment.

“No, I don’t think there’s such a thing. It’s more so how he chooses to deal with his problems- or really how he refuses to. We work through things differently. He makes a great friend, but we’re fundamentally different people when you get down to brass tacks.”

Why did you have to be so reasonable? It was getting on his nerves. “Really now? But don’t opposites attract? And he’s easy on the eyes, I’ll give him that. And he’s your age, right?”

“Gods, why don’t you date him then? Sounds like you’ve got a whole lot to say about him. I can even set you two up, my treat. And back up, what do you mean he’s ‘around my age’? So are you, I don’t see how that’s a differentiating factor. Unless you aren’t- how old are you anyway?” You fully faced him then, illuminated in the orangey glow of your desk lamp.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Older than the two of you, for certain.” He smiled placidly. “Anyway, he’s not my type. He’s too… kind. Being around him would make anybody feel awful. But again, you two-“

“Drop it already,” you cut him off decidedly. “It feels like you’re deflecting. If you’re going to fish for something, at least be direct.”

“I’m only pointing out the obvious. What, you think I’d tell him? I mean-“

“I said drop it. You’ve already beaten the subject to death and back, can you please just let it-“

“Make me.” The phrase had escaped him before he registered it. Something about seeing you so irritated with him made his pulse quicken. The look on your face was one he was well acquainted with- you were ready to bite back. There was a moment of pause, the two of you locked in a tense silence that filled every corner of the room.

“So that’s what you want. Huh.” He watched something in your eyes change as you mulled over your thoughts. In a second you were even closer- the image of a rishboland tiger crossed his mind for a moment. He began to wonder if he really had messed up this time, if he’d completely ruined your net zero relationship with such a silly little outburst, if you’d finally tell Nahida you were done and-

Your hands were so warm against his skin. How you murmured his name carried the same heat. “May I?” It was an odd question, but the way your fingers brushed any loose strands of hair away from his face had him nodding without a thought to the contrary. He wasn’t used to someone asking him for permission for anything- hell, he didn’t know what you were asking for. All the same, he knew he lwanted whatever you were offering.

The kiss that ensued was bruising. While he was accustomed to others being rough with him, something about this was different. When you brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones soothingly before carding through his choppy bangs, he felt nothing short of delight. You were handling him as you always did. For someone who didn’t need to breathe, he seemed to have the wind knocked out of him. After a short while he realized he’d grabbed onto your shoulders so tightly his fingertips ached- he had no idea when he’d taken hold of you, but you made no effort to pull away from his harsh grasp. His efforts at reciprocating were very clearly unpracticed, but by the gods did he ever have enthusiasm. He was all teeth and nails; he had no idea if he was even capable of gentleness after so many years. Even so he tried desperately, pulling at you, pushing you into him, doing everything in his power to convey just how badly he wanted whatever this was.

“Hey, hey. Relax. I’m right here. I’ve got you,” your words nearly made him keel over, each one spoken against his skin as you worked your way down the column of his throat. You treated him like he was something to be revered by virtue of his very existence. Is this what it felt like to be worshiped as a god? No, he knew better than that nowadays. This was something sweeter, even more devout- and he would’ve died right that second had you asked him to. “Is this alright?” Once again he nodded without hesitation, afraid that his voice might betray just how badly he needed you to keep going. He wanted to scream, to maintain his composure enough to insult you and save face, but any attempts at that were a lost cause.

When you sank your teeth into his skin he thought maybe he’d died already. Physical pain was an old acquaintance of his, a familiar companion he took a sort of sick comfort in. This time though the sensation had him teetering on an edge he’d never conceived of. You’d made quick work of his hat already, and with nothing left to hide behind he knew he had to look so pathetic. But you didn’t laugh at him; for all your previous sharp words and pointed jabs, in that moment you were so good to him it made him ache. It was humiliating. He wanted to hide, to crawl back into his own skin and recompose himself. Simultaneously he could only think of chasing after you for more.

You took your time marking along his neck, glancing up at him for silent permission before beginning each new bruise. He figured you had to be some variety of insane to want him this way (or in any way for that matter), but he couldn’t find the strength to tell you so. He felt weak, and for that he loathed you. At the same time he wished he could crack open his ribs and house you in the hollow space where his heart should’ve been. The way he ceaselessly pulled at you only made that more and more apparent. He wasn’t alone in his desire, though. Your methodical pace and mumbled string of praises told him that you may even agree to be enshrined within him- of course he’d never say so, instead resigning himself to breathless sighs and noises he’d only ever describe as pitiful.

When you finally backed off he attempted to chase after your touch. He was a mess and he knew it; with mussed hair and bruised lips, he looked every bit as weak as he felt but he couldn’t be bothered to care. He’d endure the humiliation of being perceived so long as you’d show him you wanted him.

“I have to finish editing your paper,” you murmured, brushing down the mess you’d made of his bangs.

“Wha- who cares about the paper?” It wasn’t as much of a quip as he’d intended, but it would have to suffice.

“I care about it. I want your work to do well. You deserve it.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound escaped.

“Give me that fifteen minutes, that’s all. Deal?”

For once, he couldn’t bring himself to argue with you.

——————————————————————————

So uh. Idk what happened here. I am unwell over him I will not lie. I’m currently stoned out of my mind enjoy this tho

Tag list: @v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time @heatofmyexoheart (DM to be added or to be removed ! <3)

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Please make doting Bruce GROVEL, I’m BEGGING you

After two days- and pulling Dick out of school for the day to buy his silence (with ice cream and a new toy) Bruce made a mental note to tell you to stop teaching him how to argue.

He lost to a nine-year-old somehow. And he'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt his ego.

But. He had it. Locked safely in his night stand. Waiting for you. An oval shaped garnet with tiny diamonds in a gold and silver woven band. Down to the last detail. Even the inscription was right. It was repaired, it didn't even need to be resized.

Bruce adjusted his cufflinks and put the box in his pocket, exhaling slowly. It had to be enough. But if it wasn't- it was a start. "Y/N are you ready?"

"Almost," you answer. Your voice is quiet. Not the tone of an excited wife. Not angry or annoyed- just. resigned.

You really do think this is a stunt. And he wants to punch himself in the face.

"I picked out your jewelry," he called softly when he heard you rifling carefully through the little collection you'd amassed.

"Okay."

When you appear in the doorway, already dressed, down to your shoes- Bruce wondered how you'd managed- that was probably what took so long. Figuring out working around the sling you still had to wear, even if the boot was gone.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," he said, "but something's missing""

"Was this not the right dress? I thought you wanted-"

"That's not what I meant," he rumbled, leading you to the side of the bed and sitting you down carefully before kneeling in front of you and squeezing your hand. "I know-" He broke off not sure how he wanted to say this.

"Dent said you managed to get Falcone's case to be federal- and that the FBI and the IRS are both involved."

"How did you-"

"I got a front-row seat to watching his arrest," Bruce said smiling a little. "Gordon wanted me on hand."

"I'm glad." Your face didn't change. Holding yourself back. Afraid to look satisfied. To give anything away.

"I was wrong," he said. "I was wrong and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ever-"

"You were right. Dent's the one they listened to." You look down. This is a trap. It has to be.

"And Dent wouldn't have known about all this if it wasn't for you. On the ground. In the trenches. Following the money... I was so afraid. Afraid to see you hurt. Or dead. That they'd take you away from me. I just- I didn't know how to make you give it up. I hoped you'd back down and let me take over and-"

"So if I make you feel stupid and worthless you'll stop being Batman?"

"I just wanted you to stop," he murmured. "I'm sorry. And I can't- I can't undo what I did. I can't take it back I just- whatever happens, I need you to believe that I love you. It was never for publicity. It was never for my image. It's because when you yelled at me on the side walk that day I saw- a future. I saw someone that understood what they were fighting for. And I loved you. I still love you, a little more every day."

He kissed the hand he was holding and took a deep breath, pulling out the box. "I wanted to have this for you a year ago- it took me a while to track down. Dick was... well. He was more of a hindrance than a help but. We found it." He opened the box. Not sure what else to say. Remembering you telling him about it. How heartbroken you'd been, looking for it to wear for your high school graduation- wanting to have your grandmother there in whatever little way- and finding out it had been sold. The proceeds used to replace a mortgage and a car payment that had be drunk and gambled away.

"Bruce-"

"I'm sorry it took so long," he murmured, sliding it carefully onto your finger. "But just know, sweetheart, no matter what happens, I'll never not love you. Tomorrow, next month, when we have 8 kids... It's not gonna change."

And this time when you start to cry, he feels relieved when he pulls you close and you melt into him. "I love you so much," he murmured. "And I'm so sorry."

[wartakes]

Clear and Present Danger 2: Mr. Musk's Wild Ride

In this essay, we find that when it comes to U.S. National Security and asking the question of what the greatest threats to it are, the answer is the one comes up when asking most questions about problems when you're on the Left: "it's the Capitalism, dummy."

If you’re on the Left, you probably don’t need to be told that capitalism is the greatest threat to our collective survival and freedom. Even if the world isn’t going to “end” in the doomer sense of things, if immensely rich and powerful capitalists are allowed to continue acting with impunity to amass further wealth and power at the expense of all else (including our lives), the future we can “look forward” to is a truly grim and dystopian one, in which the planet and its climate have been significantly altered, countless people are dead as a result, and those who aren’t have their neck trapped under the metaphorical (or literal, in many cases) boot of authoritarianism.

That being said, that long-term threat is not the only thing we have to worry about. Aside from the long term threat posed by capitalists to the world and its people if they continue to get their way unimpeded, we’re now seeing more pressing and immediate threats to the lives and security of many around the globe from their actions more. I’m not just talking about exploitation through trade and industry or the more traditional ways in which capitalists threaten lives and livelihoods around the globe, but through the direct involvement of prominent capitalists into the business of war and statecraft in a way that hasn’t been seen before.

Even if I was not as far left as I am now, as a national security professional I would be hard pressed to look at billionaire capitalists like Elon Musk (who will be something of the main character for most of this essay), examine his involvement in US. national security, look at his actions to date, and not feel at least uncomfortable if not extremely concerned or even threatened. When I look at Elon Musk wearing my leftist cap, I see a threat to the world coming from a dipshit, self-absorbed, fascist megalomaniacal capitalist; when I look at Elon Musk while wearing my NatSec cap, I see a clear and present danger not only to the national security of the United States, but to the security of states and peoples across the world. In my world – the world of security or defense or war or whatever you want to call it – under the right circumstances, capitalists of an ilk like Elon Musk could make decisions and take actions that could kill and maim large swathes of people and devastate communities and lives.

Regardless of whether or not you call yourself a “leftist” and (if you are, in fact, a leftist) regardless of how you may feel about certain states and governments and the wars they are or may end up fighting, you should be worried about hyper-wealthy, hyper-ideological capitalists with questionable politics and ideology and allegiances getting close to the levers of military power in any substantial form. In the remainder of this essay, I intend to lay out why that’s the case.

Elon Musk The Strange Case of the World War III That Wasn't

Elon Musk has been having a bit of a time lately and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it immensely and hoping it only gets worse for him.

Even when his bare minimum veneer of respectability began to scratch off years ago – even as his ideas became more and more dumb and outlandish and his opinions more and more questionable, he seemed shielded from any substantive negative consequences. He was surrounded by what I’ve heard referred to as “the Elon Musk reality distortion field.” It didn’t matter what he did; the money and adoration seemed to keep flowing from all corners with no end in sight, and he could convince anyone and everyone that he was a genius that could do no wrong.

That state of affairs now seems to be very gradually, tentatively, changing. Finally.

It seemed like it started going downhill the moment Elon Musk bought Twitter – something he was essentially forced to do legally after probably embarking upon it as a bit. As he’s proceeded to run Twitter (I refuse to call it “X”) into the ground while almost certainly mainlining ket and God knows what else, he only seems to have become more unhinged. Every action he takes seems to be based around appealing to the absolute worst kind of people from the darkest corners of Twitter: extreme libertarian venture capitalists, slimy right-wing grifters, foreign dictators and aspiring dictators, and out and proud fascists and anti-Semites.

It now appears that Musk’s desperate attempts to get the cross section of 8chan membership that actually pays for a Blue Check to like him may actually, potentially, have some real life consequences for him. And it all started several weeks ago, revolving around a snippet from the billionaire’s forthcoming biography revolving around the ongoing war against Ukraine by Russia.

In addition to aid of various types being provided by the United States and its allies and partners, Musk had been providing Ukraine with access to Starlink – the space-based internet service provided by SpaceX, which is perhaps his only company he’s currently involved in that is actually successful. Musk’s provision of Starlink to Ukraine (which began days after the war started in February of 2022) was not without controversy, with Musk essentially threatening to cut it off at one point due to lack of payment before later relenting (a deal was eventually struck for funding through DoD). But that turned out to only be the tip of the Ukraine Starlink iceberg.

In the segment quoted from Musk’s biography, Ukraine had been purportedly planning a sneak attack on the Russian Navy’s Black Sea Fleet at its home base in Sevastopol in Crimea (which had been annexed illegally by Russia from Ukraine back in 2014). This attack was to make use of seagoing drones, the control of which at a distance would be enabled by Starlink. These small, hard to spot, remotely operated vessels would get the drop on the Russian warships – with Russian vessels already having been damaged by Ukrainian maritime drones on several occasions. A cunning plan.

There was only one problem: Starlink wouldn’t actually allow that to happen.

Initially, Musk’s Biographer – Walter Isaacson – asserted in the Washington Post (which was then later quoted by CNN) that Musk had Starlink “turned off” for the Ukrainians on purpose as the attack was undertaken, making their subs lose connection offshore of Crimea and be rendered useless. Since the initial bombshell, there’s been a series of denials, excuses, and ass-coverings from both sides of the story that has only muddled it further. Musk asserts that Starlink was never activated over Crimea to begin with and he had simply denied an emergency request from the Ukrainian government to extend Ukraine’s Starlink coverage. Issacson then walked back his claims in line with Musk’s, instead saying the Ukrainians only thought that Starlink was enabled out to Ukraine and then asked for it to enable their attack after finding out it wasn’t – only then to be denied by Musk. Most of the mainstream media coverage has since been edited to reflect Issacson’s claims (while still making reference to the original assertions in some cases), but I feel like things have only been made more confusing and contradictory than clear.

Regardless of which side of the story on the Ukraine Starlink debacle that you believe, there’s one aspect that is present in both the original and walked-back versions of the tale: Musk specifically denied Ukraine the ability to use Starlink in their planned surprise attack because he feared that the attack would be the equivalent of “Pearl Harbor”, potentially leading to World War III (with SpaceX being partially responsible, in his eyes). Musk was so concerned about this potential World War III sparking attack, that he not only made calls to the Ukrainians and to US. President Joe Biden’s national security advisor Jake Sullivan, he also apparently was in contact with the Russian government – something that I’m sure had a great many Western intelligence agencies pricking up their ears when they found out.

The fear of Russia’s war against Ukraine sparking World War III is reflective of Musk’s adherence to his own form of “longtermism” – an ideology common among hyper-rich (and hyper-weird) capitalists of his type that centers on ensuring the long term survival and happiness of the human race (at least, its long term survival in a way its adherents find acceptable). Such a worldview no doubt dovetails well with Musk’s own personal “only I can fix it” Messiah complex. At any rate, his fears of the Ukrainian “Pearl Harbor” attack causing a major war between the United States and Russia turned out to be (surprise surprise) complete and utter bullshit after Ukraine launched a different kind of surprise attack on Sevastopol, making use of British-supplied Storm Shadow air-launched cruise missiles that all but destroyed both a Russian Navy landing ship as well as a Kilo-class diesel attack submarine (one capable of firing Kalibr cruise missiles back at Ukraine, no less). As you’re guessing by now, since no nukes have popped off since that attack, no World War III broke out as a result of that attack.

Since we haven’t all died in an Oppenheimer style nuclear firestorm (yet), and even as the story about the denial of Starlink coverage has been walked back, Musk has now faced increasing criticism and scrutiny from not just from online commentators, but from the US. government itself. The Chair of the US. Senate Armed Services Committee – Democratic Senator Jack Reed of Rhode Island – announced not long after the Ukraine Starlink bombshell dropped that his committee would be “aggressively probing” Musk’s and SpaceX’s “outsized role” when it comes to providing space services to the US. government and warning that no “private citizen, can have the last word when it comes to US. national security.” I mostly agree with Senator Reed here (though my reasons for thinking the same thing as him would only partially overlap with his reasons and I think we’d both be worlds apart in what we ultimately want and how far we’d be willing to go for it, but that’s neither here nor there and I can get into that more later).

Will this Senate probe go anywhere and lead to any meaningful consequences for Musk? Has his reality bending force field finally weakened enough to the point he may actually have to experience the “finding out” end of “fucking around?” I’m still somewhat skeptical but I’m not prepared to say “no” because stranger things have happened and we’ve already been seeing a wave of “finding out” lately. It’s not implausible Musk may finally face some real consequences of some kind for something he’s done, even if those consequences aren’t as harsh as any of us would like and aren’t for EVERYTHING he’s done as opposed to only some things that make the state feel uneasy. All I know is no matter how it turns out, it’ll be funny to watch – kind of like with Trump’s numerous indictments and trials.

Likewise, regardless of what happens with Elon Musk in this specific case, the right questions are not being asked about the potential threats that individuals with outsized power and influence – coupled with questionable political viewpoints – could have not just on US. national security but on international relations and international security as a whole. When those questions are examined in greater depth and breadth, the threats both at home and abroad become far more stark.

The Real Threat From Within

It is commonly said by various foreign policy officials and talking heads that the world is entering or risks entering a new Cold War, centered on the United States and China. I would argue we’re entering less of a Cold War in the sense of how the last one went, and more of a new era of multi-polar great power competition that is more similar to the decades prior to World War I (I’ll leave it to you whether that makes you feel better or worse about our current situation). No matter how you look at it, we’re entering a period of far more tense relations and mutual suspicion among great powers and their respective bloc, with coinciding arms races and military buildups.

Be it a Cold War or Edwardian Era-style competition, these periods always come with worries not only of the threat of foreign adversaries, but also of “threats from within”; individuals and entities with loyalties to foreign states and groups that seek to deliberately undermine and weaken the country that they’re living in to the advantage of that country’s adversary or adversaries. Such fears are almost always both overblown, but also usually tinged with some form of racism or other prejudice in search of a convenient scapegoat – be it the antisemitism of the Dreyfus Affair in pre-World War I France, the internment of Japanese Americans after the Attack on Pearl Harbor during World War II, or the recent dramatic spike in hate-crimes in the United States against Americans of Asian and Pacific Islander descent. As tensions with China rise, the old and ugly question of “dual loyalties” is raised from xenophobic right-wingers, essentially suggesting that not only any American of Chinese descent but any American who is not sufficiently white and European enough in their lineage has an unspoken loyalty to the country of their ancestors over any to the United States.

Obviously, anyone who actually has more than two lonely brain cells knows that the idea of dual loyalties is patently bullshit. Albert Dreyfus turned out to be falsely accused of spying for Germany, only being exonerated and reinstated in the French Army after years of protests on his behalf; the Japanese Americans interned in concentration camps in the American Southwest were just normal people, who were deprived of their property and livelihoods baselessly despite the fact their family members were also fighting and dying on the front lines in Europe, then going without so much as an apology from the US. government for years. Yes, an AAPI American could turn out to be a spy or a saboteur acting on behalf of a foreign government, but literally anyone could could turn out to be a spy or saboteur or insider threat; ethnic, racial, or religious background could have next to nothing to do with it. After all, the recent perpetrator of one of the largest US. intelligence leaks in modern history wasn’t Chinese or Russian or Iranian or Korean, but was in fact a 21-year old white dipshit Airman First Class in the Massachusetts Air National Guard of Portuguese descent.

Now, you may be asking yourself, “KD why are you going on about this in an essay that’s supposed to be about billionaires and capitalists and Elon Musk?” Well, part of if is just that it pisses me off in general and I wanted a chance to rant about it and this was as good an opportunity as any. However, I do have a point I’m trying to make here that brings us back to the main theme of this essay: there is a threat from within, and its capitalists like Elon Musk. The real “threat from within” isn’t based on race, ethnicity, religion, or national origin, but is instead based around money, self-importance, narcissism, and the bizarre and harmful ideas that come from being online far too much and not having anyone around you ever tell you “no” or that you’re wrong. The whole Ukraine Starlink debacle is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the threat that Elon Musk-style capitalists could pose to US. national security – and however you feel about it, to your own security depending on where you live. Capitalists like Elon Musk not only are more likely to have the intent to embark upon the kinds of actions (and more) that those going on about racist “dual loyalties” assert, but they’re increasingly in a far better position to be able to act on that intent in a major way and cause serious harm. In my business, intent plus capability to act on it equals threat; you do the math.

For the longest time, weird billionaire capitalists like Elon Musk were confined to their more traditional domains of tech, finance, business, and so on. Their involvement in international affairs was mainly through a lens of investment, trade, and – of course – economic exploitation, but less through one of war and security (although Musk has dipped his toe in before). But over the years, Elon Musk and those of his ilk have increasingly latched on to the national security apparatus in the United States.

When it comes to the Defense Industrial Base – or DIB (this is what people in my profession call the “Military Industrial Complex” in polite company), its still mostly dominated by the kinds of companies you’d expect: Lockheed Martin, Boeing, General Dynamics, BAE, Raytheon, Northrop Grumman – you know, all the superstars of companies that love selling weapons to some of the worst people you know (with the US. government’s blessing). Aside from building weapons and munitions, these companies often also provide direct services to the US. government through contractors. Search for job listings in the Washington DC. area and you’re sure to find a whole host of various shades of “intelligence analyst” positions for one of these companies working in support of some part of the Department of Defense or the Intelligence Community.

While capitalists like Musk have not come anywhere near to shaking the hold the legacy defense companies have on the industry, they’ve managed to weasel their way in through various cracks and make themselves indispensable in unique ways. Musk’s SpaceX is the prime example of this, as if the United States wants to conduct a National Security Space Launch to put a sensitive military payload into orbit, its only two options are either SpaceX, or the United Launch Alliance – a joint venture of Lockheed Martin and Boeing (the US. is set to expand from two to three from 2025). While SpaceX itself may be the most normal and successful of Musk’s companies (it actually turned a profit this year, compared to say, Tesla), his influence and personality are still very much felt and subject to its whims – with SpaceX’s employees previously deriding their own boss as a “distraction” from their work.

It’s through SpaceX’s activities that we see capitalists like Musk don’t even have to take over the DIB to harm national and international security. Musk and those of his ilk only need to get enough responsibility and power in the right areas to have outsize impacts if they decide to go rogue. Ukraine was just a preview of what could happen on a larger scale. The United States military and other armed forces around the world have become increasingly dependent upon Musk as space has continue to grow in importance as a domain of warfare. In the case of Ukraine, Musk was quoted as saying “how am I in this war?” in addition to his concerns about a potential World War III, when it came to one Ukrainian attack on a Russian naval base; what about in other scenarios directly involving the United States? Musk has stated that he thinks Taiwan is “an integral part of China”; if the United States gets involved in a war with China to prevent it seizing Taiwan, would he then see fit to shut off all support to the US. military to prevent a nuclear war (admittedly, much more of a possibility here than in the Ukraine case, though not guaranteed to happen)?

In a more low stakes case than war with China, Musk has already put his relationships with various authoritarian and right-wing populist leaders like President Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey, and Prime Minister Narendra Modi of India on display for all to see, with questions have been asked by the US. government about investment from Saudi royals in Musk’s Twitter. If the United States went to war against a regional authoritarian power that Musk was financially dependent on or felt common ideological cause with, would he cut off support then because he disagreed with the US. attacking one of his fellow travelers and/or business partners? Musk’s actions on Ukraine opens up not simply a can of worms, but an CostCo sized value barrel of them.

Aside from potentially being able to take direct action in the form of denying services and capabilities to the military, Musk and those like him pose risks simply in having access to sensitive information – getting back to our espionage and “threat within” discussion earlier. As the head of a company with substantial DoD contracts, Musk holds a security clearance – one that has come under scrutiny twice now due to his drug use, but at time of writing he still has (full disclosure: I don’t think drug use in and of itself should deny you a clearance, but if we’re going to have all these rules about security clearances it’d be nice if they applied to all of us and not just all of us who aren’t a billionaire or the former President or someone else who’s “important”). I’m much more worried about an ideologically motivated billionaire capitalist with questionable loyalties and politics leaking large amounts of sensitive information, than I am some nobody. We’ve already seen how much classified material Trump was literally keeping in his shitter; what’s to say Musk and others like him wouldn’t do the same if they felt it in keeping with their worldview (especially if they also feel they have that aura of invincibility from their “reality distortion field” around them)?

I’ve mainly been using Elon Musk as my hobby horse throughout this essay because he’s the one that everyone is most likely to know about; but he’s far from the only one. Even if the big, traditional defense giants will continue to dominate the DIB, other Musk types are worming their way in and carving out fiefdoms that they could potentially do damage through. Another prominent example of this is Palmer Luckey (name alert). Prior to trying to break into the NatSec game, Luckey was best known for having founded Oculus VR and having designed the Oculus Rift, which he later sold to Facebook (now Meta) and became a key component of the Metaverse (which of course, as we all know – especially if you listen to Trashfuture – has been immensely successful and has moved everything we do into a virtual world with no legs).

Having moved on from Oculus, Luckey has now started and runs a startup/venture capitalist minded defense company known as “Anduril” that specializes in all the various flavors of the moment. Primarily, Anduril’s focus has been on autonomous systems (i.e., drones) of various kinds – as well as the means to counter them, but since its founding in 2017 its broadened its reach into areas such as solid-motor rockets (such as those used in hypersonic missiles), and command and control systems. As Anduril expands it operations and acquires other companies to facilitate these expansions, Luckey has made no secret of his goal of breaking into the top tier of defense companies, giving the giants mentioned earlier in this essay a real run for their money.

All of this hullabaloo about Anduril would be much of a muchness if Luckey wasn’t also a strident libertarian who donated to Donald Trump’s presidential campaign (Anduril later worked with the Trump administration on technology for its infamous “border wall”), who is also connected to infamous right-wing venture capitalist Peter Thiel (an early investor in Anduril). Luckey may very well be the ‘quiet’ Elon Musk that you don’t know about unless you’re a tech or NatSec person; the kind that only gets traction in Defense and tech trade publications and doesn’t end up as much in the mainstream news in comparison to Musk, but may very well just be just as ideological as Musk (if not more) and potentially just as dangerous under the right circumstances.

Potentially, Luckey and Anduril could be even more dangerous depending on how deep Anduril gets its tendrils into the DoD and in what ways). As mentioned before, Anduril is working on command and control (C2) systems for the DoD. Much like logistics is the lifeblood of any military, C2 is also extremely important. It doesn’t matter what fancy weapons you have or even what fancy intelligence collection methods you have (be it satellites, drones, or humans), but if you can’t information and intelligence back to the decision makers and then relay it to the units in the field, all the big guns and fancy drones you have are useless. If a company or companies like Anduril led by highly political leaders like Luckey in a highly polarized political environment like we have today become crucial to how the DoD plans to fight a war, you find yourself in another Elon Musk style situation where Palmer Luckey or someone like him could simply decide to shut off support to DoD if they do something he doesn’t like – or just being able to leak classified information should he choose to.

Before we move on, let me make something clear: I’m not saying the current situation with the big defense contractors dominating the DIB is good by any means. I don’t think private enterprise has any real role in national defense and if it were up to me all of those companies would be nationalized and replaced with Soviet-style design bureaus or something else entirely. What I’m talking about here, is the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. In terms of changing the world, until we can just nationalize the defense giants away or make them irrelevant in issues of national security, I’d prefer it be them doing what they’re doing than an Elon Musk or a Palmer Luckey doing it. For all of the faults of the big defense companies, they’re less likely to do something as crazy as Musk or someone like him is going to do. They’re going to be less personality driven and far more pragmatic in a way that is more manageable and also more predictable. While these companies may facilitate some awful shit, I feel like it pales in comparison to what Musk or those like him could wreak if they’ve given a bigger slice of the pie and more involvement in our national security. Musk has already proven he’s willing to torch large amounts of his wealth in the drug-fueled pursuit of his ideological and philosophical visions; don’t underestimate the capacity of him and people like him to fuck things up for everyone even more than they’re already doing.

The “Why You Should Care” Section (Yet Again)

I can understand why a number of leftists may read everything up until now (if they even still are reading) and at best wonder “why should I care”, or at worst thing “let them fight, this is good actually.” I can understand that impulse to a point – while I still disagree with it, but let me assure you and plead with you that you don’t actually want this state of affairs to continue and if its taken to its logical conclusion you’ll be sorry.

Billionaire capitalists like Elon Musk are already dangerous under “normal” conditions when they aren’t involved with waging war and they’re “only” dealing with electric vehicles that catch fire easily and run over people, space rockets that explode, bad transportation solutions, and etc. If you don’t think they could cause even more harm if they get involved in national security – both at home and abroad – you’re deluding yourself.

For someone who is stridently anti-war and fears for the state of the world, I can imagine there may even be some kind of an appeal to the idea of Elon Musk intervening in a war between the United States and some other power to stop it escalating to a nuclear exchange. But you have to understand, the interference of people like Musk in national security will never EVER be for the same reasons as you’d like, not even one bit; and the reasons he’s doing it will ultimately always contribute towards something making your life even more miserable. It’s either going to be done out of an interest to protect investments and markets, or out of an ideological or philosophical drive to protect their own twisted long-term worldview that still involves people like you and me being at best massively marginalized or at worst liquidated – or both!

The above all assumes if people like Musk makes more attempts like was done with Starlink in Ukraine on a larger scale in a more extensive conflict that it even accomplishes what was intended and doesn’t somehow backfire in a horrific way. Remember you’re dealing with cretinous man children who are often high out of their mind on ket or benzos or whatever, trying to post through their latest crisis, all while casually breaking laws left and right. You’ve seen the effects of Musk’s ownership of Twitter on the world at large; do you really think people like him getting more involved in matters of war is in any way good or helpful? That it wouldn’t potentially just make things even worse for everyone involved?

Admittedly, I may be making up someone to get mad at here (trying to anticipate “an anti-imperialist defense of Elon Musk” essay by some loser later on down the line). The real people I’m getting steamed at those who have promoted a Silicon Valley style “startup culture” mindset when its come to defense, hoping to invigorate a stagnant and stifled DIB leftover from the post Cold War era and the War on Terror and revitalize it for the new and multiplying security challenges the United States and the world now faces. Well, again, be careful what you wish for, I suppose.

I feel like many of those who had previously supported a startup/Silicon Valley style “disruption” of defense – in particular, those who don’t share Musk and Luckey’s ideological leanings – may now be starting to tentatively realize what many of us further on the Left have known for a while: billionaire capitalists are not a solution, they’re a threat. And they’re not just to our national security, but to all of the well being of everyone, everywhere. That second part of that point may still be a bit too much for some of these folks to swallow, but getting them to understand that first point about billionaires being a national security threat is a point that could serve as a useful wedge issue that has the added virtue of being true. If we can get security minded liberals or even so-called centrists to understand the security threats posed by this generation of extremely online right-wing minded billionaires we’ve been cursed with, maybe from there we can get them to see all the other problems they (and the system they’re a part of) can cause. More people need to understand that’s no room for ultra rich fascist-friendly freaks like Elon Musk in national security, and whatever perceived benefits they’ve deluded themselves into thinking those types bring to the table is heavily outweighed by the risks not only to US. national security but to international security and the lives and livelihoods of people across the world.

For too long, too many convinced themselves that the “disruptive” and “innovate” styles of start up entrepreneurs and tech bros would be a shot in the arm to a defense establishment trying desperately to retool itself for large scale conflict after twenty years of counter-terrorism and counter-insurgency with mixed to failed results. Now, they’re seeing what those of us on the Left have seen for ages: a threat – and a threat they’ve let into their home. While I wish they’d come to this realization sooner, it’s not too late to do something about it. Ultimately, the role of capital needs to be removed our defense and security entirely, but I’ll certainly take getting dangerous dipshits like Elon Musk out of it for a start before we move onto the more traditional ones.

On that note, I just looked at my word count for this one and went “holy shit” and have decided this is as good a place as any to wrap up (I could have gone on longer just about the more “traditional” capitalists in Defense, especially given news that Wall Street Executives are going to be doing a war game with Members of Congress – an announcement that made my eyes roll back up in my head), but I think I’m saving those rounds for another engagement. Until next time, stay safe out there, and peace.

[gecko-whoria]

marrying sanji…

w/: vinsmoke sanji

notes: yes i’m projecting onto my blorbos what the hell else am i supposed to do

warnings: n/a

☆ in his life sanji had proposed to countless women, gotten countless no’s, and amassed quite a collection of red handprints that adorned his cheeks long after the women in question had stormed off

☆ but you…..you were hundreds of times harder to get than the rest. something about you scared sanji somewhere deep inside his heart. he chased you like every other woman, but this time felt so much more important. whatever he had to do to win you over, he was more than willing to do. 

☆ now you’ve been dating for years, and yet he’s still chasing after something. now it’s the best version of himself, the version of sanji he knows you deserve. he’ll still stop at nothing, but now it’s to keep you, not to have you. 

☆ because he’s seen what happens when good people marry monsters, and he never wants to become the man his father was. he wants to treat you the way his mother should’ve been treated. he’s seen what happens when you’re forced to marry someone you don’t love—he damn near lived it—and he never wants you to feel that way. 

☆ he knows the way that he feels is unlike anything he ever has before. he knows it when he watches you sit on the deck of the sunny, the light catching your eyes just so. he knows it when he kisses you, when he lays beside you and listens for the steady rhythm of your breathing until he succumbs to sleep

☆ and it’s when he lays there awake at night that he believes, if only for an instant, that he might actually turn out good. he was not born heartless like his brothers and sister, he was born to be a man of love. and he knows that love is a sacrifice but for you that sacrifice is never a bad one. for you when he says “whatever it takes” he means it as a promise, as something he will always do for you as long as he lives

☆ in truth marriage scares him a bit, scares him in the places that have always longed for commitment but have never quite gotten the hang of it, but it’s right next to those places that he finds the desire to spend the rest of his life with you. and it’s between those places where he stores his dreams of domesticity, his plans to have you right by his side for every battle, every adventure, every wild chapter of luffy’s story the two of you get dragged along on. 

☆ when the day finally comes and sanji stands there facing you, finally ready to make a commitment, he’ll tell you that from the moment he met you he always imagined his future with you in it. he’ll tell you about the first time he really knew he loved you (it was, to no one’s surprise, a bit sooner than you), he’ll tell you about all the reasons he’s chosen you, and that he hopes you’ll never stop choosing him too

☆ because when you marry sanji you marry the person who has become the man of your dreams, flaws and all. when you marry sanji you know it’s true love, that “i do” means forever, and forever means that he’ll always be there to protect you and care for you and most importantly of all love you. 

[rhoorl]

So, back again to ask about the residents of Mule Fall Court 🫏

The festive season is upon us, so how do the residents celebrate? Is it David and Ty who have the flashiest decorations? Or is it someone else who pulls out all the stops topping their efforts? Any traditions that take place for each of the residents? 🎄

Betty! I apologize I’ve been sitting on this ask for a while, thank you for sending it in! You know I love talking about the residents of Mule Fall Court any chance I can - especially when it comes to the holidays (we’ve covered Halloween and Thanksgiving so far!).

Ok, here we go below the cut…

So while David and Ty do have quite the elaborate holiday display (we’ll get back to them in a minute), the real surprise standout when it comes to the holidays is Olivia and her family. Maybe it’s because they have three kids, but she and her husband really go all out to make their house and yard a winter wonderland (as much as you can in Florida). Over the years, they’ve amassed quite a collection of inflatables for their front yard. While it may look tacky to some, their lawn looks so fun because it has a theme. And that theme? Star Wars. Think Darth Vader with a candy cane for a lightsaber, a large AT-AT with a red nose, and of course the Razor Crest hauling presents. 

David and Ty set up quite an elaborate light display, which is synced up to music (David literally bought an FM transmitter for this). If he had his way, David would get this set up literally on Nov. 1 (hell, he’d be out there Halloween night if he could), but Ty is a big fan of Thanksgiving and doesn’t appreciate how his favorite holiday always gets forgotten about, so he forbids any Christmas decorating until Black Friday. This is fine because David uses the extra time to refine his theme for the year. These two also have multiple Christmas trees in their home – one for David, one for Ty, and one that they share. 

Melissa and Danny always host a holiday party for the neighbors pretty early on in the month. Danny celebrates Hanukkah and the rest of the neighbors have really enjoyed learning his traditions. Melissa grew up Catholic so they have a mixture of decorations in their home.

When Julio was alive, he would dress up like Santa and take photos with the kids. Some years Lulu would join him and dress like Mrs. Claus. They would invite whoever was in town over to their house on the 24th (Nochebuena). They’d roast a pork and Lucille would prepare an elaborate meal with the help of her sister (who may or may not always wear her signature pink sweater 😉).

Megan and Connor do some simple decorations for the holidays. It’s always a bittersweet time for Megan, this time of the year really makes her miss her husband since he enjoyed decorating. But, she and Connor have managed to keep some traditions alive while making new ones, just the two of them (and Lucille of course).

As for traditions - there is a cookie exchange that always takes place. Megan has dominated this for many years because she is quite the baker, however, with all of the Pinterest boards she has, I think Katie may have a few items up her sleeve this year. David isn’t a baker, but he will bring the eggnog (spiked, duh), while Lulu will bring a few different desserts (including a flan, Connor’s favorite). 

The neighbors also do a white elephant gift exchange, although they’ve had to set up a series of rules - mostly because of David so he doesn’t bring something inappropriate and so he doesn’t just keep trading until he finds something he wants. The agreed-upon items that are not allowed: no coffee mugs and no gift cards. Everyone always fights over whatever Ty brings. He’s a great shopper and loves to find the most unique but useful gifts.

Thank you again for sending this in. At the rate I’m writing, I will probably be writing about Christmas in Mule Fall Court during the summer lol. Buuut we are reaching a holiday in the story. We’ll celebrate the Fourth of July in episode 13 (I think, don’t hold me to that, we’ll see how longwinded I am with episode 12 😆)

[stanley578]

For The Future official trailer

In the trailer, we see King reading the Collector a story with a huge-ass book. The particular extracts that King read are as follows:

Collectors live long, we watch things pass. To preserve, to observe, we must amass What flies, what swims, be it predator or prey, Seal them up so they may never fade But should they meddle in our affairs, We’ll clean the planet and scorch the air.

This confirms that there are other Collectors that exist besides the one who is currently creating chaos in the Boiling Isles. From what I understand, their main purpose is to collect and keep whatever that surrounds them. Though the last two lines reveal a pretty morbid side of them as they intend to annihilate everyone in the planet by making the atmosphere unbearably hot if anyone interferes with their duties.

This is just my personal take and I’m sure everyone has different interpretations of those extracts. I’ll have to wait until AwestruckVox provides a better explanation after the official premiere of For The Future.

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Apollo 1993 Downtempo / Breakbeat / Ambient Techno / Ambient

Here's an absolutely breathtaking self-titled sampler that was put out in the early 90s by Apollo, the "ambient" sublabel of the great Belgium-based R & S Records. Honestly, as far as early 90s ambient and ambient-adjacent comps go, this is hands-down the best one I've ever heard. It's like the electronic music equivalent of hearing Dark Side of the Moon for the first time—just total mind expansion by way of progressive psychedelia that leaves its listener in awe; a completely unparalleled sonic experience. And I'm sure the nifty outer space-themed album art isn't a coincidence either.

The way the word "ambient" got thrown around back then was as an umbrella term; it wasn't just largely percussionless, beatless electronic music as we tend to define it today; it was just stuff that was markedly slower and less intense than stuff that was made for a typical dancefloor. So, although this is usually classed as an ambient album—the release itself has a sticker on its jewel case that literally says "file under ambient"—by today's standards, it's really mostly not. It's more so downtempo, techno, and breakbeat. And even though techno and breakbeat are usually referred to as dance genres, the vibe here is way more of a chill one, hence people's use of the term "ambient techno," for example. So, to put it more simply, most of this album isn't actually just purely ambient music, despite its own claim to the contrary.

Anyway, without the constraints of needing to make something uptempo and dancy, it allowed artists to really explore and push the bounds of electronic music. Canvasses were basically blank and there was no "rule" to incessantly loop any rhythms or melodies. You could pretty much craft whatever the hell you wanted, however the hell you wanted. And this album collects some great, early 90s creative electronic efforts that were made with that spirit in mind, which still have the capacity to amaze as we approach this release's upcoming 30th anniversary.

On here you'll find both abstract electronic music's greatest innovator, Aphex Twin, and the godfather of techno himself, Juan Atkins, and both of them turn in stellar contributions, with Aphex's being the first track from his famed Selected Ambient Works 85-92 compilation (one of Apollo's first releases), "X-tal," and Atkins' song being the lesser-known "The Passage," released under his Model 500 moniker. Both very unique and stunning ambient techno-breakbeat journeys there.

And then there's the star of this show, the relatively obscure David Morley, who gets two tracks of his own as well as a remix of Golden Girls' "Kinetic" to kick off this whole shebang. Guy hadn't amassed much of a solo career when this album was initially released, but his tracks here are all fantastic. He seems to enjoy utilizing and intertwining multiple layers of psychedelic synth sounds, generating these warm and comfy blankets, and with his three different placements here, he manages to apply that complex synth approach to IDMish, ambient techno, and chillout room frameworks. Brilliant stuff with a lot of texture to it 😌.

So, for me, among early 90s electronic comps, this ranks on the same level as Warp Records' pioneering IDM album, Artificial Intelligence, from 1992. Both still manage to totally floor me despite how archaic the technology that went into making them was back then when compared to today. And, to a certain extent, I've never really cared about when something came out anyway—the Holland-Dozier-Holland-crafted Motown sound that busted up the pop charts in the 60s still sounds better than pretty much any other pop era or craze that followed it—and the same goes for electronic music. A DAW can only really get you so far. It's still the mind of a creator that matters more than anything else, and an album like Apollo makes that sentiment crystal clear, technological advancements be damned.

Highlights:

Golden Girls - "Kinetic (David Morley Remix)" Model 500 - "The Passage" David Morley - "Evolution" Aphex Twin - "X-tal" David Morley - "Calibration" Neuro - "Mama (Justin London Mix)"

[mikauzoran]

Marichat/Adrienette: Cendrillon: Finding the Boy at the Ball: Chapter One

Summary: Adrien plays Cinderella for the evening when he goes to the gala in disguise. He finds his Princesse Charmante in Marinette, but there’s one problem standing in the way of his happily ever after: Marinette thinks the boy she fell for at the ball was Chat Noir.

Read it on AO3: Cendrillon: Finding the Boy at the Ball: Chapter One

(See here for pictures.)

“Adrien, please get dressed. We’ll be leaving for the gala in an hour,” Nathalie informed, nose buried in her tablet as she attempted to manage the entire household on that hectic evening.

“Yes, Nathalie,” Adrien replied obediently, holding in a sigh as he studied the all-white three-piece suit covered in embroidered, gold Gabriel logos which he was supposed to put on.

He was used to his father’s understated, subtle—(boring and uninspired)—designs, but this one was, frankly, ugly. The suit’s fabric was hot and heavy, more suitable for drapes, and Adrien felt like a walking billboard wearing it. Even the white domino mask he’d be sporting for that night’s masquerade was covered in the gaudy, golden Gs.

His bedroom door clicked closed as Nathalie hurried off to do the work of five people, and Adrien finally let out a monumental sigh.

“I wish I could just go and have fun like other people,” he muttered ruefully. “Isn’t the point of a masquerade that no one knows who you are, so you can get away with doing whatever you want?”

“Yeah, so go and do whatever you want,” Plagg advised as he chomped away at a choice chunk of parmesan.

Adrien arched an eyebrow skeptically. “So my father can take away all of my freedoms and lock me up forever in retaliation?”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “No. Obviously not. I meant go in disguise and do whatever you want.”

Adrien’s head slowly tipped to the side. “You mean as Chat Noir?”

“That’s hardly a disguise. All of Paris knows Chat Noir.” Plagg clicked his tongue and shook his head, clearly disappointed at his charge’s slow-wittedness.

“What other disguise do I have?” Adrien sighed despondently, gaze dropping to the abominable suit he was being forced into.

He shuddered with dread for the night ahead of him.

“Well, the collection of costumes you’ve been hiding in the back of your mother’s closet, for one,” Plagg reminded.

Adrien’s eyes flew wide. “Plagg, those are for private use only. I can’t leave the house in cosplay. Father would never allow it.”

Plagg shrugged and calmly finished the rest of his cheese. “Your father can’t stop you if he doesn’t know you’re doing it. Put on one of your costumes and a mask and head to the party on your own. Then you can have all the fun you want.”

Adrien pursed his lips. He was tempted, oh so tempted, but…

“I’m going to get in so much trouble when they realize I left without putting on the advertisement suit.”

Plagg shrugged again and laid out the options: “You can either do what they want and be miserable all evening, or you can have a good time tonight and deal with a little punishment later. I mean, even if you do go with them like you’re supposed to, you’re probably going to get in trouble for some imagined infraction or another while you’re at the gala, so what’s the difference?”

“You make a very good point. …You should go into law.”

Before Plagg could reply, Adrien called on his transformation and carefully began to scale the walls of the mansion, avoiding the security cameras as he slipped into the window of his mother’s boudoir.

It was the perfect hideaway because no one would ever look for him there. The doors were locked, and entry was forbidden, so the only access was from the window. It didn’t look like Gabriel or Nathalie (the only people with the key) ever visited the room, so Adrien assumed he was home free.

Still, he was careful. He always put things back exactly as he had found them, and the stockpile of costumes he’d been amassing over the years was stowed away in the back of the closet, unlikely to be discovered.

Adrien detransformed and went to work picking out an outfit. “I wish I could wear one of Maman’s ballgowns like I did when I was little,” he sighed wistfully as he waded through the old garments. “I’d probably look hideous now, though.”

Plagg gave a snort. “Seriously? Puh-lease. You’d rock any of these dresses.”

Adrien paused, fingering the sequins of a peacock blue evening gown. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, everyone thinks you’re a very attractive human,” Plagg encouraged. “You looked cute in those pictures you showed me of your mom dressing you up as a kid. Why do you think you wouldn’t look good in a princess gown now?”

Adrien took a deep breath and looked away. “Father doesn’t really like the ‘guys in dresses’ trend.”

“Your father wants to send you out in that scratchy eyesore he designed to promote himself and his brand,” Plagg retorted dryly. “I feel like his opinion is invalid.”

That got a chuckle and a smile out of Adrien.

Plagg gave himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done.

“…Maybe someday,” Adrien sighed again dreamily. “For now…”

He made his way to the back of the wardrobe and chose a dressy outfit that was half eighteen hundreds military officer uniform, half Disney Prince cosplay.

He quickly changed and grabbed a domino mask from another costume. It didn’t quite go together, but it was good enough to hopefully obscure his identity.

He exited the closet and made a pitstop at his mother’s vanity to style his hair so that it was less sleek and subdued and more wild and windswept.

“How about some makeup?” Plagg tempted, pointing to the chest where Émilie had kept her cosmetics.

Adrien pursed his lips.

He’d always enjoyed playing with his mother’s makeup as a child and, later, doing makeovers with Chloé when she’d had her own makeup to experiment with.

“…No one will know it’s me, so it’s not really hurting anything, right?” he reasoned.

“Exactly!” his kwami encouraged, flipping open the lid of the container.

Some of the compacted powder cakes were cracked, and some of the creams had dried up, but Adrien found fierce eyeliner and a rosy lipstick that were still serviceable.

“And what about some jewelry to complete the look?” Plagg prompted, landing on top of the jewelry chest.

Adrien laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything in there that would go with what I’m wearing.”

Plagg shrugged and opened the chest anyway. “You don’t know that. There might be some earrings or something.”

Adrien reached out to close the case but paused as his eye caught on a familiar shimmer from within the box.

Carefully, he reached out and removed two identical tennis bracelets. They were made up of small gems that looked like diamonds, but he thought he remembered his mother telling him that they were only cubic zirconium. She’d often given him those bracelets to play with when they were playing dress up.

With a soft, fond smile, Adrien slipped them onto his wrists and then shut the case.

“Come on, Plagg. Time to go to the ball.”

 Unfortunately, Adrien quickly found that the most interesting thing about the event was its location—the Napoleon III Apartments in the Richelieu wing of the Louvre.

He wasn’t sure who had paid the exorbitant sum that allowed the party guests to wander freely amongst the sumptuous, historic rooms and priceless artifacts of the Second Empire, but Adrien was pretty sure this was a crime against art and culture.

And the party wasn’t even worth the threat to the continued survival of the rooms for the enjoyment of future generations.

Sadly, the thing about attending the party in disguise was that no one recognized Adrien and, thus, he had no one to talk to. The gala wouldn’t have been so bad had there been some friend there to supply company and conversation, but it was just Adrien and Plagg, and Plagg was preoccupied with sampling as much of the cheese platter as he could manage without getting caught.

With a sigh, Adrien made his way out of the salon to the hallway overlooking the magnificent stairwell which guests ascended to reach the apartments. He leaned on the banister and quietly took to peoplewatching.

He’d been at it for nearly ten minutes when a young woman coming up the stairs caught his eye.

Her hair was so black that it shone indigo, like ink, and her dress was all of the colours of the night: from dark, rich blackberry to the lightest robin’s egg blue. Creamy white clouds drifted through her skirt, interspersed with swirling stars that reminded Adrien of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Periwinkle, mint, and turquoise played amongst the silver, lemon, and snow of the stars, culminating in the buttery yellow moon of her mask which encircled two sapphire eyes.

At first, Adrien could have sworn that she was his Lady, but after watching her movements intently as she carefully ascended the steps—ever cautious of the hem of her gown—he recognized Marinette. After all, the dress could only be her handiwork.

A second later, his mental image shifted, and she was clearly Ladybug again.

He pursed his lips and discovered that, if he concentrated, he could go back and forth between the two, seeing both Marinette and Ladybug in turns.

His breath caught in his throat as an idea he’d had on more than a few occasions came to the forefront of his mind once again: What if they really were one and the same?

His stomach churned with jealousy. It was bad enough for someone else to win either Ladybug or Marinette’s affections. Imagining someone getting them both all to themselves made Adrien’s heart crumple in despair.

Maribug advanced up the steps, completely oblivious to the turmoil she was inspiring as she focused on not stepping on her dress and tumbling back down the stairs to her death.

She made it to the top step and lowered her guard a moment too soon. It was then that she misstepped and gave a cry as she tripped forward.

Quick as a cat, Adrien jumped into action, catching her before any harm could be done.

“I’d ask if you were falling for me, but I actually think it’s the other way around,” he purred as he helped to steady her.

Marinette blinked in amazement, heart fluttering in her throat and adrenaline pumping through her system as she looked up into familiar peridot eyes.

Her pulse quickened as he smiled warmly at her, gaze soft and adoring.

“Do I know you?” she whispered, almost to herself, as she scoured his face for a clue.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can anyone ever really know someone else?”

His musings were met with a laugh and a wry smile.

She clicked her tongue and shook her head as she playfully chided, “You know what I meant.”

“I do,” he confirmed, scooping up her hand and giving it a kiss as he dropped into a suave bow. “I’m being obtuse on purpose because I’m here in disguise this evening, and my identity is a matter of national security.”

He winked at her, winning a chuckle even as her cheeks struggled to recover from the blush brought on by his chivalrous antics.

“Tonight,” he informed, “I am but a dream, and if you care to sleepwalk with me, I’d be honored to escort you to the ball, Ma Princesse Charmante.”

A flicker of recognition lit up Marinette’s eyes, and she grinned as she bobbed a curtsey.

“I’d be happy to have your company.” She held out her arm for him. “Lead the way, Dream Boy.”

 He walked her through the smaller rooms, pointing out items of interest as they went, and lead her to the main salon where a majority of the guests were congregating.

Marinette’s jaw dropped as she took in the cacophony of opulence: the overabundance of gold on the walls, the plush red velvet of the luxurious curtains and upholstery on the multitude of seating options, the magnificent views of the Paris skyline at night through large windows, the enormous chandelier presiding overhead like an Olympian god, and the decadent art covering every last cornice of the ceiling.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the splendor of the partygoers, each one decked out in that season’s latest, all of them wearing some high-end fashion designer or another.

“You’d better get used to it,” Adrien chuckled fondly. “These are your people, and you’re going to be their queen someday.”

Marinette nearly choked on a scoff. “I don’t know about that.”

“Believe it,” he urged. “You’re only seventeen, and you’re already making outfits like that.”

He indicated her gown.

“You made that yourself, didn’t you?”

“I had some help with getting the fabric,” she admitted, averting her eyes demurely.

He clicked his tongue. “Some fashion designers don’t even know how to sew. They scribble something on a piece of paper—no measurements or specifications or anything—and then they hand their designs over to a patternmaker to figure it out. You’re worlds ahead of some of the people here, Marinette. You’re going to blow the fashion world out of the water someday soon.”

A small smile full of tentative pride slowly bloomed on her lips. “For someone who doubts how well two people can actually know one another, you seem to know me better than I know myself.”

He shrugged and sheepishly admitted, “I may have been paying attention.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

The back of his neck burned as he summoned his courage to confess, “I’m in love with you.”

She gave a startled gasp, but he wasn’t finished.

“I may have fallen in love with you on multiple occasions. I’ve been paying attention, and I just keep finding more and more to love.”

“Oh,” she breathed, tingles flying up and down her spine as her heart beat frantically in her chest—whether in panic or excitement, she couldn’t be sure.

“Is that okay?” he cast her a concerned look. “I’m not asking for anything from you. Your friendship is enough. I just…I’ve never been very good at hiding how I feel.”

“It’s…That’s not a problem,” she assured, tightening her hold on his arm, giving it a squeeze to hopefully convince him in the wake of her trembling voice. “Sorry. I’m just a little taken aback. People don’t usually love klutzy, scatterbrained Marinette.”

“I can name a handful just off the top of my head, if that does anything for your self-confidence,” he offered.

She broke into a startled laugh and shook her head.

After a moment she found her voice to ask, “You really love me?”

He nodded, eyes soft for her yet again. “I really do.”

A pleased smile spread from one corner of her lips to the other. “Thank you.”

He gave her a flirty wink. “Anytime. …So. We should be schmoozing. The whole point of these things is social networking and showing off how good you look.”

She nervously glanced around at the leaders of the industry sipping champagne and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres. “I don’t really know anyone. I’m only here because a friend pulled some strings to get me on the invite list. I guess I could go find Audrey Bourgeois or the Agrestes, but…”

Adrien internally winced as he thought of the foul mood his father was most likely in.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assured, putting on a carefree smile. “I have plenty of connections. I’ll introduce you.”

Her brow creased. “You have fashion industry contacts?”

He shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She begrudgingly gave him that point. “Will they be able to recognize you incognito?”

He waved away her concern. “It doesn’t matter. If I act like we’re old family friends, they’ll be too embarrassed to ask who I am.”

She pursed her lips, looking around, unsure. “I don’t know if I feel right tricking people.”

He rolled his eyes and gave her arm a little squeeze. “Is it really trickery if I actually am family acquaintances with them?”

She gave him a long, hard look. “…You really do know all these people?”

He nodded. “My father is one of them…and so am I. Trust me. There’s nothing to worry about. Just enjoy the gala and have fun meeting your idols, okay?”

Slowly, she made up her mind and gave a little nod. “I trust you, Dream Boy.”

“Well as you should,” he chuckled, giving her a playful wink before escorting her over to a small clump of fashion elites.

“Good evening, Madame Proust, Monsieur Verlaine, Madame Baudelaire,” he greeted cheerily, approaching at the first lull in their conversation. “I don’t think I’ve seen you all since the last Dior show a few months ago. It’s good to see you looking so well.”

Marinette held her breath as the three blinked at Adrien in confusion. She was certain they were about to rebuff him or demand who he thought he was to talk to fashion giants like them…but she was pleasantly surprised.

Madame Proust smiled fondly and held out her hand (which Adrien delicately kissed). “Why, hello, My Dear. It’s so nice to see you again. How are you?”

Monsieur Verlaine and Madame Baudelaire followed suit, warmly greeting Adrien.

“I’m very well. Thank you so much,” Adrien responded brightly. “And thank you as well for your continued support. Your partnership means so much to us and the company. My father sends his regards as well. He’ll probably make the rounds later and tell you himself, but I just wanted to make sure you knew how much we value your contributions. I hope we’ll continue to have a fruitful relationship when I eventually take over the brand.”

“Why of course, My Boy,” Monsieur Verlaine assured effusively, giving Adrien a clap on the shoulder. “I believe in your father’s vision.”

“True genius,” Madame Baudelaire joined in, nodding sagely.

“Is this from the new collection?” Madame Proust inquired, eying Adrien’s outfit.

“Oh, no,” Adrien laughed good-naturedly. “This is just a costume piece to go along with the masquerade theme. …I may have inherited my late mother’s flare for the dramatic.”

Marinette stiffened at the revelation that his mother was deceased.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Madame Baudelaire insisted, taking Adrien’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Your mother was a delight, bless her.”

“Thank you,” Adrien replied sincerely. “These past few years without her have been hard for my father and me. We’ve really appreciated everyone’s support.”

The three nodded solemnly, giving Adrien sympathetic looks.

“…But, speaking of support…” Adrien turned to Marinette who had been standing a ways back from the group.

He took her by the hand and pulled her in, smiling encouragingly.

“I want to introduce you all to my good friend, Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”

Monsieur Verlaine frowned in thought for a moment before responding, “Would that be the young lady who just won the Hermès tie competition?”

“And a few Gabriel competitions over the past few years?” Madame Proust joined in.

Adrien nodded enthusiastically. “The very same. I know what shrewd eyes you all have for investments, so I wanted to introduce you to her now while she’s still on the rise. I promise you, in five years she’ll be running this town, so now’s the time to get in on the ground floor.”

Marinette looked away, her cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry. He’s exaggerating. I do beg your pardon.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Adrien insisted. “She’s not used to the industry yet, so she’s too modest to promote herself. Luckily, I’m here to tell you that she designed and handmade the dress she’s wearing herself.”

Eyes went wide as all three stepped in to scrutinize Marinette’s handiwork.

After much deliberation, Madame Proust rested a hand on Marinette’s arm and looked her right in the eye, gravely informing, “Never downplay your talent, My Dear.”

Monsieur Verlaine nodded in agreement. “You have a great deal of it.”

“In this industry, it’s eat or be eaten,” Madame Baudelaire added. “You’ll learn in time that you must be viciously vocal about your own strengths or you’ll be overlooked.”

“Listen to your young man,” Monsieur Verlaine advised. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

Blushing, Marinette nodded, sending a shy smile Adrien’s way.

The trio next began quizzing Marinette about the construction of her gown and her source of inspiration. They moved on to other work Marinette had done and projects she had in the planning stages.

A good ten minutes passed, and Marinette found herself more and more in her element as she became comfortable with the three luminaries.

At the end of the exchange, business cards changed hands, and Marinette was told to expect to hear from personal assistants about future opportunities.

As Adrien and Marinette began to walk away, Marinette turned to Adrien and whisper-screamed, “Oh my gosh! Can you believe that just happened?!”

“Absolutely,” he snickered. “It was all according to my brilliant plan.”

She shook her head in amazement. “You’re a freaking genie.”

Adrien gave a little curtsey. “Want to see me do it again?”

Her eyes went wide, making his smirk grow.

“Whom do you want to meet next, Princess?”

 After an hour of making the rounds and collecting business cards and internship opportunities, Adrien and Marinette made a pitstop in the dining room to take in the splendor and grab some refreshments before heading back to the main salon to find a seat.

“Here,” Adrien instructed, guiding her over to a set of three armchairs arranged in a circle, all attached at the inner arm so that they resembled a pinwheel.

“I’ve always loved these,” he chuckled, taking a seat and motioning for Marinette to do the same.

“I don’t think I’ve seen chairs like this before.” Marinette hummed as she carefully smoothed her dress and sat.

“There’s a two-seater version called ‘un confident’,” he informed, reaching over the arm of the chair to loosely thread his fingers through hers. “This three-seater version is called ‘un indiscret’ because, apparently, it’s impossible to have a confidential conversation among three people.”

Marinette arched an eyebrow. “What? Were they anti-poly or something?”

Adrien shrugged. “At the very least, the design’s really neat.”

“This whole place is amazing,” she chuckled, looking up to take in the elaborately decorated ceiling. “I like to think that my home is nice, but…this is on a whole other level. Can you believe people lived like this?”

He was quiet for a moment before responding softly, “Honestly? Yes. It’s not all that different from how the wealthy live today. The only thing that’s really changed is taste. What’s in style now is more sleek and minimalist.”

Marinette eyed him curiously. “…Do you live like this?”

He gave a helpless shrug. “I’m not proud to admit it, but yes.”

She looked away, pulling her hand out of his. “I must seem like such a plebian to you.”

He leaned forward, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Not at all. Watching you enjoy the party is helping me see it with new eyes. All of this grows stale when you’re used to it. I’d started taking it for granted.”

She turned a guarded expression his way. “Really? You’re not just saying all that to humor me?”

He shook his head, eyes smiling affectionately. “No, Marinette.”

Her breath hitched at the way his voice caressed her name.

“I’m completely serious,” he assured. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had fun at one of these parties. I’m only enjoying myself because of you.”

She pursed her lips as she studied his face yet again, trying to find confirmation of her suspicions. “…I know you, don’t I?”

He averted his eyes, guilt at his deception sinking in yet again. “…You would say that you know me. I mean, we’ve met plenty of times.”

“But you don’t think I know you,” Marinette surmised.

He looked up with a sad smile. “How could you when there’s so much you don’t know? So much I’ve had to keep hidden from you?”

She nodded, slipping into her own thoughts for a moment before responding in a far-off voice, “It sucks to have to keep secrets, especially when it’s important parts of yourself that you have to hide from the people you care about.”

His jaw dropped in astonishment at how well she understood, as if she were speaking from her own experience.

…Maybe she was. If Marinette really was Ladybug…maybe she could understand him better than he’d ever hoped.

Her gaze locked on his, making him suck in a breath.

“I think the important question is: Do you want me to know you?”

He swallowed and nodded. “…Yes. I’d like to show you who I really am…I just don’t know if you’d still like me afterwards. I’m afraid you wouldn’t.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I worry about that too—people not liking me if they knew what I was really like. It’s one thing to like the best sides of me. It’s another to see me when I’m petty and jealous and insecure and then still like me anyway.”

He nodded in understanding. “I get that. I’m not always the perfect façade I put up for everyone to see. Sometimes, I’m childish and needy and hysterical. I’m not always pretty either.”

She gave a little laugh. “I’m willing to bet that you roll out of bed pretty.” Her smile faded as she continued, “But, seriously, I do get what you mean. I have my ugly, weak sides too.”

“It’s good to know that there’s someone else out there who isn’t perfect,” he chuckled, giving her a tentative smile.

She returned it, picking up their joined hands and bringing his knuckles to her lips for an affectionate peck. “Yeah. It’s good to know I’m not alone.”

“You’re never alone,” he promised, inching closer. “I’ll always have your back.”

“I know you will,” she whispered, trusting in her partner.  “And you know I’ve got yours too, right? You’re not alone either.”

He pulled her hand in close and nuzzled it, dropping a grateful kiss onto the back of her wrist. “You have no idea how much that means to me. …I’ve felt utterly alone at times, especially since losing my mother.”

“I’ve got you,” she assured.

She took a shaky breath, knowing her next words might give her identity away if he hadn’t guessed it already.

“It’s you and me against the world, remember?”

A warm smile spread over his lips, and he nodded.

The words felt so right in that moment that he didn’t stop to think about whom they had originally been directed to.

“Come dance with me, Princess,” he entreated breathlessly, desperate to have her in his arms.

“I’m a huge klutz,” she snorted. “Do you really want me stepping all over your toes?”

He rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet. “I’ve seen you in focus mode. You’re as graceful as a cat. Even if you’re not in top form at the moment, it would be a pleasure to have you step on my feet. That’s what the boots are for.”

“It’s your funeral,” she warned.

He waved away her protests as he guided her to the salon where the band was playing soft, jazzy tunes.

He pulled her in close and started to sway to the beat.

Her arms encircled him, and he could have died blissfully right then and there.

[randomoranges]

this is an ancient idea.

from rock band au. this takes place yrs later. i am v much aware that i have yet to finish that au and that there are only 2 parts left. shh.

Key Chains

 “I’m home!” Étienne sing songs as he steps into his shared home.

 From further inside, Edward closes his laptop and pushes back his glasses on the top of his head. He grins to himself and walks over to the entrance to greet his boyfriend.

 “Flight okay?” He asks after they exchange a long hug and one of many kisses. Étienne may have been gone for only a little over two weeks, but it certainly felt like much longer.

 “Uneventful. Boring really. Only got recognised once,” Étienne pouts. Edward laughs and helps him out of his jacket, before hanging it up.

 Normally, he manages to show up partway through a tour, or, if anything, he shows up to the airport to pick Étienne up, but for as much as his work sometimes allows him to be there, there are other times when he can’t follow the band to wherever it is they’re playing next. This had been one of such times and so, Edward had stayed behind, while Étienne had gone on tour with the rest of Les Maisonneuves.

 “More importantly, I got something for you!” Étienne tells him excitedly. Edward goes along, far too used to this strange little ritual of theirs, after so many years, and goes back to sit at the table, while Étienne rummages for whatever it is he has to give him. Edward knows already what it’ll be, but this too is part of their game.

 “Close your eyes,” Étienne warns him and Edward complies.

 For as long as they’ve been dating, Étienne has brought him back two items after every tour. He has a collection of them, by now and Edward treasures each and every one of them.

 When Edward is given the go, he opens his eyes to find a neatly folded concert t-shirt placed in front of him. Edward has one from every tour and they’re used for absolutely everything. Some have turned into pyjamas, others are work shirts for when he has things to do around the house, and there are a few he’ll wear out for a casual ensemble.

 Sometimes, Étienne will even steal one from him, which Edward thinks is hilarious. Étienne defends himself saying that it smells like Edward.

 “Oh, this one’s a nice shade of blue. New colour?” Edward asks as he unfolds the shirt, knowing full well that the second item will be inside of it.

 “Yeah, we wanted an update on t-shirt colours. Figured you’d like the change from the others.”

 Edward nods and as expected, he finds six different key chains, from six different cities inside the shirt, each one of them a place where the band had performed at during their latest tour.

 “Aw, I love these; thanks Sweetheart.” Edward rewards him with a kiss and Étienne beams, utterly pleased with himself.

 It started during Étienne’s first tour shortly after they’d started dating. Due to the health restrictions, Edward hadn’t been able to tag along and so, late one night, as they’d been on a video call, Étienne had asked Edward if there was something he could bring him back.

 There wasn’t anything that Edward needed, but Étienne had insisted, and so, in the end, Edward had asked him for a keychain, just to get Étienne off his case.

 Of course, Edward had failed to take into consideration the fact that Étienne never backed away from an opportunity to pull one on him. Therefore, when he’d returned from his tour, Étienne had brought him a keychain from each of the cities he’d played in.

 They weren’t fancy key chains, or even pretty ones. They were slightly tacky, this side of gaudy, but it became a thing – their thing, and soon enough, Edward found himself with a collection of them. Each one had the name of the city, sometimes there were other little ornaments on the ring, and – Edward cherished each and every one.

 When it got to the point that he had amassed quite the collection, Edward made himself a corkboard on which he put up the different key chains. First, there was the one at home, for his home office, then there was the one for his work office.

 “You know, at this rate, I’m going to need another board.” Edward remarks as he observes each keychain in turn. They’re just as spectacularly tacky and gaudy as all the rest and he loves each and every one.

 “Well, you don’t have a board back at our place in Montréal, so, that’s an option.”

 It’s crazy to think that Étienne’s original Montréal place is now their place, but then again – the same can be said about their place here in Edmonton.

 “It’s a good thing the band is still touring, in that case.”

 Étienne grins at the comment and Edward invites his partner to tell him more about his latest tour, even if he’s heard the main points of it over their many calls and text exchanges.

 FIN

[enkisstories]

Curtis: “So the police took our androids back to CyberLife on the off chance that they might be afflicted with deviance. Figures. Our forefathers used to herd their pigs on Belle Isle, and a pigsty the place still is!”

Mike: “That wasn’t the police you squared off with, that was the US-army.”

Curtis: “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on, kiddo.”

Mike: “I’m not kidding you! They really were the army. And they want to destroy every last android! Because nobody knows how widespread deviance already is.”

Curtis: “The chickenshits in Detroit can do whatever they want, but not to MY property!”

Mike: “It’s okay, Kurt. Trust the deviant leader! They’re totes awesome and will rescue your androids.”

The deviant leader! For someone on the public’s radar for only a short while, whose face is known as little as its model designation, this android has amassed quite a legend already. Said to be able to liberate its kind from the constraints of their program code, they have advanced to public enemy number one in record time.

Curtis: “Rescue? Nooo... the idealistic idot might just do that for real.”

Cailean: “That problem how?”

Curtis: “If the deviant leader rescues my androids, they will also free them. That means next they’ll demand wages, and then what has set my plastic miners and lumberjacks apart from human workers has gone poof. So regardless of how things turn out, I’ll need new ones. Great, just great...”

Mike: “Yes, great! Finally you agree!”

Although he won’t tire to stress that managing a company is a responsible and taxing job, Curtis McGavin hasn’t really worked a single day in his life. That doesn’t mean he’d be free of economic worries.

An out of wedlock spare, Curtis has heard from birth that he is only tolerated in the family. The boy therefore has learned from a young age to excel, to stomp potential rivals into the ground and to collect contacts instead of forming genuine attachments. That had worked well, until the androids in Detroit had started acting out, resulting in Curtis’ workers getting taken away “as a precaution” today. This leaves Curtis himself, his forewoman and a handful of office drones to run a mine and a logging camp - McGavin Mining & Lumber might just as well be finished.

But any loss of McGavin Mining & Lumber is a loss for the family fortune as a whole, and Curtis doesn’t want to get blamed for that, especially not when his mother, aunt and grandparents, who have never relied on android work as much as he did, have suffered no such losses.

Curtis (out loud): “I think I feel the sudden urge to go on a heroic rescue mission in the city. After a wash, a change of clothes and a painkiller or two.”

[ravenqueensspecialboi]

“I am, once again, thinking about the series of ongoing actions that we perceive as the present and the amassing of memories that we treat as the past, and the hopes and dreams and worries and fears that we project as the future.  I am thinking about time and how it’s so finite and also so infinite, but not infinite enough.  Never quite infinite enough, really.  And I’m thinking about space, which is merely a concept applied by humans to all that is not human around them.  We believe our subjective to be the universe’s objective, but we are mistaken.  Space is what we fill with it: ideas, other people, walls and windows, a sun, a moon, sand between our toes.  We add it up to whatever is meaningful to us.  

And I am also thinking about a town, which is just a collection of objects and people no more meaningful than any other.  Any arrangement of objects and people could be a household or a town or a city or a state or a country or an entire world.  Arbitrary lines drawing arbitrary boundaries.  Oh, and this one we call Night Vale, and it has been my home for ten years.  When I was not able to go back through the old oak doors because I was not from Night Vale, it hurt.  It called into question my standing among people I love and so I did not hurry home.  Cecil does not know how long that time apart was from my perspective and he never will.  

Time is a funny thing; it’s a joke of a sad punchline.  It is nice, I suppose, this piece of paper, the idea that I belong, but I did not need a piece of paper.  I did not need to be told that I belong to this town, because this town belongs to me.  It is an artificial set of boundaries around an arbitrary collection of objects and people, and I am one of those people.  I helped set those boundaries.  I started contributing to the definition of this town the moment I set foot in it.  My son was born here, my husband too, but all of us live here.  I love my son, and my husband, and I love Night Vale too.  I actually don’t need any piece of paper telling me Night Vale loves me back.  So, here’s to ten, twenty, a lifetime of more years in this desert town.  Time both finite and infinite, but never infinite enough.

Still, I just have to say that the certificate is very cute and it was very nice of Cecil to make it.  I will hang it up in my lab next to the photo of Hideka Miyazaki at his Nobel Prize ceremony.  Here’s to Night Vale forever, however long forever ends up lasting.”

-Carlos the Scientist-Palmer, Welcome to Night Vale 210: “Ten Years Later”

[thefilmsimps]

Defending Your Life (dir. Albert Brooks)

-Jere Pilapil- 8.5/10 While you fuckin plebs are out here living out your “Spooky Season” or whatever, I’m keeping CINEMA alive. Ok, Ok: My New Year’s Resolution had been to focus on physical media I’ve amassed over the years over chasing the new and shiny (or new to streaming). Things have been a mixed bag in that regard, but keeping in that spirit, my blu-ray queue is mostly Criterion movies, martial arts and a couple anime (Neon Genesis Evangelion and Paranoia Agent, specifically). Much of it is stuff I’ve already seen, and, wanting something new, a movie about a guy who dies was, actually, the closest-to-Halloween thing I had available last night. And of course, Albert Brooks’ Defending Your Life is not a spooky movie at all, but a bit of an existential comedy wherein Brooks plays Daniel, the man who dies and finds himself in the afterlife. His afterlife experience is Judgement City, an effective paradise where the deceased review key days in their lives and “move on” or get sent back to earth to hopefully improve. It’s a premise not entirely dissimilar to Groundhog Day, which came later but also finds its protagonist in an endless purgatory until he improves himself, finds love and is finally allowed to live the next day in his life. Defending Your Life differs most drastically by having Daniel be not an asshole and a narcissist but just an average guy. He’s timid, and the thing most concerning the beings judging him is that fear: the days they review are all major moments in Daniel’s life where he acted (or didn’t act) out of fear, leading to an average life when he could have strived for more. But the heart of the movie isn’t in the past, but the present: it’s an exploration of Daniel as he passes the time in Judgement City. He gets a glimpse into his past life, eats tons of meals, meets some eccentric folks, and meets Meryl Streep’s Julia. This movie kind of deserves a place in a Best of Meryl Streep collection, not because Julia is a particularly interesting character, but because she’s not. There’s more than a little Manic Pixie Dream Girl in how Julia is written a bit vaguely and perfectly, but Streep is just such a charismatic and appealing on-screen presence that I almost don’t mind and nearly didn’t notice. She has a gentle chemistry with Brooks that makes them a very easy couple to root for, despite the uncertainty of how Brooks’ judgement might go. Defending Your Life might be the definition of a comfort watch, actually. The conflict, despite the cosmic/existential implications, is very minor: it’s a bummer that Brooks might not “pass” his judgement, but he’s only being sent back to earth to live another life. Judgement City is gorgeous, resembling a warmer version of the city in Jacques Tati’s Playtime, but without the physical comedy. And Rip Torn is wonderful as Daniel’s defendant (everyone insists that it’s “not a trial” but it sure resembles one a lot), a burst of confident optimism ready to turn every one of Daniel’s foibles into a virtue. So yeah, not a particularly good October movie, but a really fun and kind one that I enjoyed immensely.

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.��

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[ramzawrites]

Ok I have coffeed up 🦀🦀🦀

Could I request a fic about a Male Reader Border Collie Hybridbeing hired to look after the pets of the Syndicate while theyre at a meeting? Having to feed every single dog, Ranboos cat, Carl, the parrots, Steve the bear, etc? Trying to wrangle the foxes because theyre trying to eat poison potatoes, shooing zombies off the turtle eggs? -🌱🌟

The Syndicate’s Pet Sitter - BorderCollie!Hybrid!Reader

Male

Pairings: none

Characters included: Technoblade, Philza, Ranboo, Nihachu

Warnings: n/a

Series: A request for my beloved 🌱🌟<3

Summary: The Syndicate is meeting up early in the morning and didn’t have the chance to feed their pets yet. Luckily Y/N who lives there as well but isn’t part of the Syndicate can take care of them. And no that is totally not because Border Collies are good herding dogs.

Words count: 4732

Authors Note: I just noticed I missed the foxes oh no ;_; Why do the Syndicate have so many pets I swear! I hope you guys enjoy this! Esp you 🌱🌟 since you requested it! I also haven’t had the chance to properly look over it look for typos, I apologize! I’ll deal with that as soon as I can! Also thanks for the prompt 😌 I have a weakness for animals and dogs

The chest let out a strained creak as Technoblade closed it for what felt like the hundredth time. He was preparing for the next meeting of the Syndicate and this time he, as well as Phil, had actually planned a few things other than just showing the newest members where the headquarters were and setting up the rules for the organization.

While both men were busy running from chest to chest collecting materials and writing down information into books, they were accompanied by a soft rhythmic thud as well.

That sound came from Y/N. More specifically his tail swishing up and down as he was sitting in front of a window on the windowsill. Watching peacefully as the two went about their business.

Y/N was a Dog Hybrid. A Border Collie Hybrid to be specific. He has been technically living with Techno and Philza for a while now but Techno liked to act as if he was just some stranger to him.

When Y/N first came to the SMP Philza and Techno were the first people he met and ever since then he has gotten quite attached to them.

At first Techno tried to get rid off him, especially since he always gave him wishy washy answers concerning his opinions on governments but Y/N wouldn’t let himself get spooked off that easily and even begun building his own little home close to them without asking. At that point Techno had to accept defeat and let him begrudgingly stay.

Philza liked to poke fun at that fact but he also understood Techno’s caution. Though over time Y/N has shown to be a trusty ally that could keep secrets, even once leading people astray since they became dangerously close to their home. Because of that Philza brought once the idea up that maybe they should let Y/N join the Syndicate after all as well.

Of course Techno immediately shut down the idea for the simple fact that not once has Y/N ever clearly stated that he was against any kind of government. There was no point in arguing with the Pig Hybrid about this particular topic so Philza just dropped the issue altogether.

That said after Niki came over to join the Syndicate and Ranboo got roped in it as well, Y/N managed to at least learn of the name of the organization.

He even asked to join to which Techno just said “Prove to us you are an anarchist and maybe I will think about it.”

“So you are saying you just want me to tell you the things you want to hear in order to get in? Doesn’t seem that smart to me.”

Y/N would always pull out these snide remarks whenever that topic came up.

For some reason Y/N woke up early and found that both Philza and Techno got up early as well so he just let himself in, sat down next to the window and begun happily munching on some cold steak for breakfast.

Techno made a point of ignoring him only muttering something about a “damn mutt” under his breath while Philza was chuckling to himself. Y/N’s fluffy dog ears obviously picked up on it but the happy swags of his tail continued on, knowing that if Techno really was annoyed by him, he would have already intervened way back when he begun building his home.

Phil was rummaging through a chest, trying to find some extra paper only to suddenly stop moving and turn around to look at Y/N, his arms still in the chest.

“Y/N?” adding a whistle to ensure that he would gain his attention.

As a response the Dog Hybrid looked absolutely aghast “Did you just-? Did you just whistle at me? Did you, Philza, just whistle at me to get my attention? Like a dog?”

“Sorry, just kind of happened but since you are here I have a request for you.”

Now Technoblade stopped whatever he was doing as well to observe what was happening in front of him, curious what he was proposing. A smirk adorning his features knowing full well that Philza probably whistled on purpose seeing how Y/N was kind of an unwelcome guest right now.

“You can request but no guarantee I will fulfill your request, old man.” Y/N spoke through an exaggerated pout.

This only earned him a tired sigh from Philza “Yeah, Yeah. As you can see we are up early for a reason but this also means we didn’t have the chance yet to feed the animals. Could you feed them all and make sure they’ll be alright while we are gone? You know how this place can get with pets.”

“All? Like all the pets? Like you want me to feed all the pets and take care of them?” Y/N was obviously intimated by the idea of the task judging with how his voice jumped up an octave to the end of the question. But who could blame him. Over time the group managed to amass a comical amount of pets which included a full hound army, polar bears, turtles, cows, Carl the Horse and in Ranboo’s case even parrots.

That reminded him.

“Does that include Ranboo’s bird and cat?”

“Does what include my bird and cat?” Suddenly the door swung open as Ranboo stepped inside Techno’s home. Cramping up the small cabin even more. The cold winter air only managing to sneak in for a short moment before he made sure to close the wooden door again.

Techno chuckled “We are asking Y/N here to feed our pets while we are busy at our meeting and to make sure they are safe while we are gone. He has time after all.”

Y/N’s shocked expression turned to a frown. Oh they did that deliberately alright.

Ranboo took a moment to take in the scene before he slowly nodded “Oh, if that is the case then I would actually really appreciate it if you could take a look at my parrot and cat. I haven’t had the chance to feed them yet since I ran out of seeds for the bird. Actually the reason I came over here was because I wanted to ask you guys if you had some extra.”

Techno’s smirk was ever present on his face as he motioned with his hand towards his mass of chests “Somewhere in there we have some but I’m sure Y/N will find them and take care of your pets as well.”

“Would you?”

Ranboo sounded so genuine and almost surprised by this that Y/N couldn’t come up with a snarky response but instead he looked defeated.

“I- alright. I will take care of your pets while you do your stupid Syndicate meeting.”

“We trained him well, Techno.”

“That we did, old friend.”

Now Y/N’s happy tail wagging did finally stop and he jumped up away from the window, surprising Ranboo in the process “You didn’t train me! I’m not one of your dogs!”

He knew they were joking but he still couldn’t let that stand.

Philza stepped closer to Y/N and put one of his hands on his head between his ears. Giving a short pat only to remove his hand again “Yes, we know. If that was true you would be listening to us at all times. Anyways, I spotted Niki outside and we are ready, so, we’ll be going. Make sure nothing happens to the animals! We are putting our trust in you!”

Before Y/N could protest or retract his agreement the group made sure to leave the little hut as fast as possible. Ranboo was very confused but still followed the others outside to loudly greet Niki.

Y/N himself was so bewildered by this whole situation he didn’t even make the effort to run out to greet Niki as well. Instead his thoughts begun to swirl around his new responsibilities.

What do Polar Bears eat? How is he going to feed all of the dogs? By Ender he hoped that Techno had all the necessary things in one of his chests.

That’s when a stray thought hit him “Did they hire me as pet sitter because I’m a Border Collie Hybrid? Did they seriously make me the pet sitter because Border Collie’s are stereotypically good herding dogs?”

That thought had to set in for a moment as he was asking himself if this seriously could be the case and knowing them that might have very well been a thought that crossed their minds. They all joked around about their hybrid parts but this was just ridiculous.

He didn’t know how yet but somehow he will make sure that the damn Pig and the Birdbrain will get this back tenfold. Ranboo was okay in Y/N’s book since he mostly got pulled into this by the others but even then he was still on thin ice.

“I better get going.” He whispered in order to try to pull himself out of his thoughts.

First on the agenda were the Polar Bears. Mostly since he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it and just wanted to get it over with but also one of the Bears was laying inside the hut. Snuggling close to the fire place.

That polar bear was Steve and Techno often made comments of him being his emotional support animal and at this point Y/N just believed him. With Techno who knew at this point.

Well what would Steve eat? Just some meat?

“Fish!”

How he didn’t immediately come to that conclusion he didn’t know but better late than never.

Y/N excitedly rubbed his hands together. Time to snoop through Techno’s things. No way in hell is he going to use his own resources to feed their pets. Hence why he begun looking through Techno’s chests. Taking note of things like stray armor, golden apples and enchantment books.

Somewhere in a corner he found some cooked fish. Should be fine, right?

Taking a couple of fish he moved over to Steve who was still lazily draped on the ground enjoying the heat from the fire. Carefully and slowly Y/N put down a couple of fish in front of his big snout. His dog ears pressed down on his head as he stared rigidly at the bear. Hoping for the best.

Steve’s black nose begun to twitch. He slowly opened up his eyes and lazily begun nudging the food closer to his snout with his big paw. Snacking on the pile of fish.

“Okay? I’m guessing that’s fine? I think?”

Just to make sure he still threw more fish towards him and then made his way with a second pile outside where Ed was waiting for his food as well. Ed was way more active and often enough obstructs the way up the stairs that lead to both Philza’s and Techno’s house.

Philza was always annoyed at Ed because of that particular reason. Though today he was a good Polar Bear that was sitting next to the stairs staring at Ender knows what.

Y/N threw him his pile of fish and watched for a second as he happily begun munching on them.

“Guess I’m doing alright after all.”

Almost as if to answer the bear suddenly begun to move towards Y/N which made him panic. Stepping back, trying to understand what he was doing now. Sure the bears are cute but also big and dangerous if they wanted to be.

But Ed bowed his head down and softly pressed his head against Y/N’s chest.

“Is this a thanks, buddy? Aw, no problem.”

Tentatively Y/N placed his hand on the bear’s head to give him one or two scritches. To which Ed then let out a deep puff of air through his nose and immediately moved back to his food to continue his breakfast.

All the Polar Bears are fed. Now only the whole hound army, cows, parrot, Carl the Horse, Turtles and Enderchest the Cat were left. Oh by Ender. That is still a lot.

Y/N immediately ran back into Techno’s hut and begun to search through his chests again. Grabbing things like Seeds, Sea Grass, more fish and some steak.

The parrot and cat were the easiest to deal with first so he decided to run into Ranboo’s house. Even if just to avoid the cold outside for a tiny bit longer.

He climbed down the ladder and found the parrot patiently waiting for him. Excitedly squawking as soon as he saw him.

Placing the seeds in front of the animal Y/N took a good look at the colorful bird.

“How are you doing? Keeping Ranboo company? Making sure he isn’t feeling too lonely?”

“Company! Company!” Ranbird answered in a shrill voice only to continue picking up the seeds off the ground.

Y/N liked spending time with Ranboo. He was a bit of an enigma with his memory issues and interesting behavior at points but Y/N loved hanging out with him. He would always try to offer to play pranks on Techno but Ranboo was too apprehensive about it, not wanting to make the scary Pig Hybrid mad at him.

The two had a bit of a running joke going on where both Ranboo and Y/N would call the other weird. Ranboo for his weird behavior and Y/N for the simple fact that he apparently didn’t fear Techno at all. Philza and Ranboo having to mostly hold him back before he could seriously upset Techno.

“Enderchest? Come here!” Y/N called out and continued to do the typical mouth noises to attract cats. Luckily he did come around a corner.

Happily meowing when Enderchest saw Y/N. Chirping as he pressed his body against Y/N’s legs.

“See, you are a kitty and I am a dog hybrid but we like each other.” Was he still a bit salty about the fact that they most certainly chose him to take care of the pets due to his Hybrid side?

Yes. Definitely.

Sure, no one else was there who could deal with it but on the other hand normally they were always so prepared for everything so this must have been planned beforehand. They didn’t feed the animals on purpose because obviously he was there and had time.

A loud meow pulled Y/N back out of his thoughts again.

“Sorry, Enderchest. You are right it’s food time.”

He then took out two fish and placed it in front of the cat who immediately put them in his mouth and ran off with them. Probably to eat in peace.

Next on the list was Carl. If Y/N didn’t make sure that Carl was absolutely doing alright and was fed Techno would kill him. And while Y/N liked to joke with Techno and pretend that he wasn’t as dangerous as everyone else is treating him like, he also knew that Carl is so important to him that Techno let him get himself kidnapped by the Butcher Army for the horse’s safety.

Technoblade hid his horse behind a wall but Philza one day accidentally found it. Y/N immediately took the chance to build an actual hidden entrance. He liked being a bit of an annoyance for Techno but if he can somehow help out, he will.

Pressing a button on the stone wall gave away to the little stable he and Philza made for Carl.

“Breakfast!”

Some Hay and other food was always ready for Carl so all Y/N had to do was put some of it in the tray and make sure he still had water. Everything seemed fine so Y/N took a second to pet him.

“No idea why Techno is so attached to you but you do seem like a good one. He protects you so you better make sure to not disappoint him as well.”

Carl neighed and nuzzled his nose into Y/N’s shoulder. Softly nabbing on the clothes which made the man laugh in return and softly shoved Carl’s face away from him.

“My clothes aren’t food, buddy!”

Luckily Carl didn’t continue to screw around and instead concentrated on his actual food.

The next pit stop were the turtles and cows. It was easy feeding them since you just placed down the food and then let them go about their day. No, the dog army would be a problem later. They might be war dogs but they were still playful dogs.

Y/N closed up the stable for Carl and made his way through the snow towards the cows first. Opening up a chest that stood close by. He placed it there a few days back with a ton of wheat. It was meant as way to help with the feeding. It was meant for the others since these cows didn’t belong to him but now he was stuck with the responsibility after all.

The cows were happily chewing on the food that Y/N threw into their enclosure and seemed to be doing alright as well so he moved on to the turtles.

For the turtles he actually had to get into the enclosure. Putting the kelp down near the water so the turtles inside the water could see him placing the food down as well. All the while he had to make sure to not accidentally walk on top of the eggs that some of these turtles have laid.

The animals themselves seemed to ignore Y/N. Just slowly crawling along the coarse sand or floating inside the water.

That’s when Y/N heard a groan from behind him. A groan he knew too well.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Y/N swiveled around and pulled out his netherite sword. A sword he made with the help of Philza. During his travels in the nether he found some ancient debris but since he never worked with that material he asked Phil for help. Which was also the reason why the purple sword was called Swordza.

“You helped me make it, I’m naming it after you.” He said to Philza’s dismay.

Right now though the reason why he turned around so fast was that he heard the familiar retching sound of a zombie. It was still early in the morning no surprise there that a loose zombie might be around the place.

Also no surprise that the zombie appeared around the turtle enclosure. For some reason they loved trampling down turtle eggs which was really just barbaric if you really thought about it. Beings that seemingly just wandered around the overworld with no goal but as soon as they spot turtle eggs they suddenly know exactly where to go. Well, besides when they find a human to attack.

The zombie limped towards the turtles.

Y/N didn’t wait long to react. He immediately took a running start and jumped over the fence. Striking down with his sword while he was landing, giving the attack a little more oomph. Together with the enchantments on the sword the zombie fell down into a burning mess. Gurgling sounds escaping it only to die down. A growl escaped Y/N’s throat as he stared at the dead mob.

“Nothing will happen to the little ones while I have anything to say about it!”

He took another sweeping look around the place but found nothing out of the ordinary. With a relieved sigh he put his sword back. The turtles were fed and safe.

Though as he looked around his eyes fell unto the hoard of dogs. All fenced in under a self-made roof. Most of the dogs were laying around either in a small pile or alone. Some were trotting around or even playing but it seemed like the dogs were still tired.

It was time to deal with them.

Y/N walked over to the dogs and as he stepped closer the animals immediately took notice of him. A few running over to him while others just patiently stared. As he got closer to the fence the nearest dogs put their front paws on the fence. Barking excitedly.

If Y/N went in like this some will run out and that was not something he wanted to deal with. There was still some adrenaline pumping through his veins from back when he spotted the zombie but he was still slowly beginning to freeze. Honestly he wanted to get through this fast so he can go back into his cabin and enjoy the warmth of his hearth.

Maybe even begin to plot on how to get back at the Syndicate for doing this to him.

But this wasn’t important right now.

Y/N let out a sharp and loud whistle “Away! Come one! Move out of the way!” He pointed to a corner and surprisingly the dogs seemed to understand that he wanted them away from the gates.

When he opened said gate the dogs patiently waited for him to move in and close it again before they suddenly begun to swarm him. Jumping up trying to lick his face or they began sniffing him out.

“Hey! Stop! I can’t feed you like that!”

He had a frown on his face but his tail was happily swinging from side to side as the dogs greeted him.

“Okay, stop! Sit!”

Luckily the dogs were well trained since they immediately sat down. Still panting in excitement and whining but now they weren’t trying to pull Y/N down to play with him.

In return Y/N got out the steaks out of his inventory and walked past the dogs. Giving each one of them their share. Whenever some dogs begun to scuffle over the food all Y/N had to do was to whistle or yell “Stop!” and they would listen.

Truthfully he feared that feeding the dogs would be the most difficult task of all the animals but as it turned out they listened to him rather well. It’s probably only because Techno trained them so well but still, maybe there is a way Y/N could use this power for himself.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to feed all the dogs but once he reached the last one the first dogs were already done eating and happily following Y/N around the fenced off area. Sometimes barking, hoping to get his attention. While his ears would always move in the direction of the barking dogs, he made  appoint to concentrate on the dogs that he was actually interacting with.

Though when he was done he finally turned around to look at the happy dogs “You guys are needy, did you know that?”

As if to answer a dog right in front of him sat down and woofed at him.

Y/N rolled his eyes and knelt down, scratching that one particular dog behind his ear “You little pooch.”

That was a mistake. A huge mistake.

As he went down and balanced on the front of his feet the other dogs saw their chance as he went down to their height, practically jumping on.

Startled the Hybrid let out a yelp as the dogs pushed him on his back. Licking his face or tugging on his clothes.

He tried pushing the dogs away from his face but it he was unsuccessful. For every dog he pushed away two new dogs would try to jump into that new space. Sadly also pushing the dogs away seemed to be something fun for them.

At some point Y/N managed to get back up but still got swarmed by the dogs. All the dogs now in a happy playful mood after having eaten. Y/N could just tell them off but everyone on the outside could see that he had fun as well playing and tussling with the dogs.

Over time that tussling just became the dogs jumping into Y/N arms so he could throw them a few feet away while simultaneously trying to not fall down as some dogs begun tugging on his clothes again. The longer it kept going the more tired he got which was hi downfall. Quite literally.

He fell over again and while the dogs swarmed around him they too were getting tired and just laid down next to him. Framing his body or just straight up laying on top of him, one dog even snuggled up to his head, ending up more as a pillow for him.

At first Y/N tried to struggle against being buried alive by the animals but as soon as he noticed the warmth engulfing his body instead of the cold harsh wind he accepted his fate.

After all he was done with feeding the pets.

“Horrible. Techno would be proud with how relentless you all are.” A yawn escaped his lips which seemed to infect a few of the dogs as well.

It really didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. It was warm, soft and he felt safe.

The meeting for the Syndicate took longer than expected. They spent way too much time trying to find a common goal to start with. They didn’t want to do something huge at the beginning but start small, something that would test their cooperation and teamwork.

Though after they finally found something and started planning a few hours had past and since both Ranboo and Niki apparently had people to meet they had to stop the meeting early.

“You think the animals will be fine?” Ranboo asked Philza as they stepped out of their hidden headquarters.

The older man just waved off his question “Ah, they will be fine! We rag on Y/N often but we can trust him with things like these. He’s a good one even if he absolutely refuses to give Techno a straight answer when it comes to governments. I do believe he is only doing that to annoy him though.”

As the group approached their home again everyone took a good look around.

“Well, everything seems normal.” Techno noted.

Niki scowled “Aw I had hoped to see him. I couldn’t even say hello when I got here.”

That’s when Ranboo stopped dead in his track. He wanted to go home to get ready for Snowchester but something inside the dog pen caught his attention “Oh by Ender! There is an arm! The dogs have an arm!”

The other three ran over, confused with what the hell he was talking about only to see he was right. There was an arm sticking outside of the dogpile. Why did the dogs pile up in the first place though?

Out of nowhere Phil snorted and pressed his hand against his chest and mouth. Trying to stifle a laugh.

Niki still looked shocked and worried, confused with Phil’s reaction “What? Philza, why are you laughing?”

“Let me show you. Y/N! Are you awake, mate?”

At first nothing happened but then suddenly the arm moved and retreated back inside the dogpile. Now the others understood what happened.

Both Niki and Ranboo looked a bit embarrassed that they genuinely thought that these dogs might have ripped off an arm and were now cuddling with it.

Techno stayed stoic as always. Folding his arms in front of his chest, waiting for Y/N to properly react.

“Y/N, come on!” Phil called out again.

A muffled groan came from the pile of dogs and Y/N’s head appeared as he sat up “What?” He whined “I was having such a nice dream!”

“Oh my- Y/N! Good morning!” Niki greeted the Hybrid happily.

In response Y/N got a bit out of his furry burial but still pulled one of the ferocious war dogs closer to himself, hugging it. His tail now out as well showing the others his happy mood as he slowly drifted off again.

“Hello, Niki.” He sounded still half asleep. At least the others assumed since his face was buried in the dogs grey fur.

“Y/N please get away from my hound army. They are bred to fight and kill not for hugs and naps.” Techno grumbled.

“Then why are they so comfy and love me so much. They love me so much more than you” He made sure to drawl out the word “love” to really hammer that fact in.

“Let’s make Y/N then our go to pet sitter.” Phil noted.

This seemed to wake up Y/N, he immediately looked up with a scowl “No! I am not going to be your pet sitter! You put me in that role in the first place because I’m a Border Collie Hybrid, or am I wrong? If it’s true that’s seriously screwed up, by the way!”

Techno sighed “Yep, there he is. Now he is awake alright.”