#I’m amassing a collection. whatever

[thoughtsforsoob]

Surprising him with speaking Japanese - nishimura riki 力西村

note: I think someone has a similar title but I haven’t had a chance to read it :) I promise I’m not plagiarizing or copying. If this is concerning to that author, please let me know and I’ll take this down 😌 please enjoy other wise (I speak a little Japanese to please, let me know if I’m wrong or right)

finally, you were in Japan with riki, visiting his hometown and the bigger cities. He’d been wanting to show you the wonders of Tokyo for a long time so he was very happy to have you here.

All day, you two were in and out of different stores, shopping to your hearts content. Despite your protests, he still picked out all kinds of things for you. Even if you so much as took a glance at something, he was asking a store associate to pack it up for you.

The day was drawing to a close and your last task of the day was an appointment at chrome hearts, Riki’s favorite store. The beans had been on his radar for quite some time and he started to amass a collection when he became an idol. Now, he had to deck you out in his favorite brand so you two could match.

You walk into the store with him, hand in hand, and we’re greeted warmly by a staff member. Quickly, you were measured and your size was given to you for all articles of clothing. Riki’s priority was a chrome hearts ring just for you. He tried to pull you towards the display cases with rings but you were distracted by some hoodies on a different display.

He had a grip on your hand and quickly pulled you a bit but you turned your head to look at him at said, “ちょっとまって！” (wait a minute).

His eyes went wide. You’d never spoken Japanese pasta few words he’d shown you during your time together. They were mostly food words or short phrases to make communication a little easier. This was a whole different domain.

He quickly turned on his heel and walked with you to the hoodie display with not another word. He was just so shocked that you spoke more Japanese than he’d taught you. He didn’t mention anything else while in the store. He made it his priority to get you whatever you wanted, no matter your protests when you saw the prices.

After leaving the store, he finally mentions the incident. “Babe? When did you learn to say that?” He seemed excited to find out.

“Well I figured since I’d be here it would be helpful to know a little. I just watched some YouTube videos.” His heart soared at how considerate you were. Even if he felt soft, he had to keep his nonchalant image.

“That’s cool. I like it. Practice more with me if you want.”

[archonofthestars]

Red, the Color of You

Phainon learns the meaning of the red lines Mydei wears.

Characters: Phainon, Mydei, Algaea (mentioned) Tags: N/A

AN: A gift for the wonderful keroroppi; they requested a Mydei/Phainon moment. I was inspired after reading some Garrus Vakarian/Shepherd fan fiction from Mass Effect. It’s like 99% likely that Mydei’s red designs are tattoos, but I’m playing fast and loose with canon here (aka I do what I want, jazz hands).

Want to see me write something? Submit an ask!

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Phainon noticed that Mydei had a specific ritual after combat.

It was a simple one, very unassuming. If Phainon didn’t pay such close attention to Mydei, he would’ve probably missed it entirely.

But after some random battle, the details of which Phainon no longer remembered, he saw that the red lines on Mydei’s shoulders were smeared. Normally, the red lines streaking across his body didn’t change in any way; Phainon could’ve almost sworn they were tattoos. 

Hell, they didn’t even fade or wash off when the two of them entered the Hero’s Bath to wipe off the grime of combat. Whatever Mydei used to paint those on, it was stubborn and very good at its job (just like its owner).

But the next time Phainon saw him, the red lines were back in their full glory, nothing smeared or out of place on the Kremnoan prince.

It intrigued Phainon, and what intrigued him, he pursued relentlessly.

He didn’t get another chance to find out more until weeks later. Another series of attacks on Okhema resulted in him and Mydei going to the battlefield, where waves of titankin attempted to beat down the gates of the holy city. The fight was ultimately nothing too difficult, other than that the titankin never seemed to run out of reinforcements.

The two of them managed to amass a sizable collection of cuts and bruises, including one that ran straight from Mydei’s shoulder and across his chest. It bisected a few of the red lines on him, and where the skin had healed, the red coloring was gone, leaving only pale skin. 

Algaea had needed Phainon elsewhere after the battle, and it wasn’t until a few hours later that Phainon was able to find his way to Mydei’s room. It was almost second nature to find his way there from the amount of times he had gone to visit Mydei (the latter insisted it was less ‘visiting’ and more ‘bothering’, but Phainon politely ignored him).

He knocked quickly on the door, more out of courtesy than anything, and opened it before he got permission. Even if Mydei had told him no, he still would’ve entered. 

Mydei glanced up at him from the floor, looking faintly annoyed but saying nothing as Phainon entered. In one bare hand was a small clay pot, filled with a deep red liquid, while he held a dark brush in the other hand.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what your marks were made of,” Phainon commented, eyeing the pot with curiosity as he joined Mydei on the floor. “You wanna spill the beans on what that paint is?”

Mydei scowled at him, dipping the brush into the liquid and carefully setting the pot down. “Do you truly have nothing better to do right now?” was all he said as he focused his attention on redrawing the line on his shoulder.

“What, I’m not allowed to find out more about my dearest lover?” Phainon asked cheekily, coming to sit down next to him. “Usually, lovers tell each other everything.”

“You’re not my dearest lover,” Mydei said, almost reflexively. The words lacked any real venom. “And because I know you’ll bother me until I answer you, it’s Kremnoan war paint. It’s designed to withstand even the fiercest battles.”

“Is it just meant to look scary?” Phainon grabbed the clay pot, watching the liquid move around. The viscosity reminded him of honey, slow moving and thick. 

“No,” the prince retorted, (carefully) snagging the clay pot from his hands. “It’s meant to symbolize your heritage and family lineage. Only those from the royal family can use this red color.”

The Deliverer stared in surprise; to be honest, he wasn’t expecting that answer. He really had thought it was meant to be a scare tactic against their enemies, but now that Mydei mentioned it, he hadn’t seen any other Kremnoans wearing this vivid red color. And every Kremnoan’s design had been different.

Dipping the tip of his pinky in the paint while Mydei was distracted, he asked, “Why would you need to paint your family lineage on yourself?”

Mydei sighed, clearly tired of all the questions. “If you fall in combat, your symbols will tell others who you were and who to return your body to for burial. No one knows every soldier in an army.”

“That’s kind of morbid, but I guess it makes sense.” Kremnoans tended to do things very differently than the people of Okhema.

For a moment, silence descended on the room and Phainon watched as Mydei continued to fill in the lines on him with even, smooth strokes. It was clear the prince had done this many times in the past. It felt a little like watching an artist painting a masterpiece.

He wondered…

“Can you paint some on me?” The words tumbled out of his mouth without him really thinking about it. The image of him wearing the same red marks at Mydei on his body thrilled him. Something about it felt surprisingly intimate.

The other man looked startled at the request, and it took a moment for Phainon’s brain to catch up. The symbols of the royal family, the red color only they could wear. Phainon had basically asked to write that he was officially part of Mydei’s family all over his body. They may have an arrangement that was something like lovers (if lovers meant avoiding talking about what exactly they were and any feelings they might have) but this was definitely beyond the scope of their current relationship.

Phainon might as well have asked if he could marry Mydei right there before all of Okhema. 

He could feel the heat pool on his cheeks, but decided to wait for Mydei’s response. If the prince got angry, Phainon would apologize and try to calm him down. If he played it off like Phainon had made a bad joke, Phainon could throw out jabs and jokes until the atmosphere went back to normal.

After what felt like the longest moment in Phainon’s life, Mydei slowly nodded. The movement looked uncertain, but the prince began moving closer to him.

“Take your coat and shirt off,” he ordered, dipping the brush into the liquid.

That…was not the response Phainon was expecting. The implications of Mydei going along with this were…he couldn’t even begin to grasp all of it. A little stunned, he awkwardly quipped, “If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked.”

Mydei rolled his eyes so hard, they looked like they could’ve come out of his head. “Unless you want me to paint all over your clothes…” He moved the brush closer, emphasizing his threat. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! No need to ruin my clothes,” Phainon conceded, quickly pulling the articles off and tossing them somewhere in the room. “Algaea would kill me if I ruined another outfit.”

The Kremnoan merely huffed at that. Carefully, he leaned in and Phainon felt the cool touch of liquid trailing on his collarbone. 

The sensation was kind of relaxing, he had to admit. And something about Mydei’s steady hand working across his skin had Phainon closing his eyes to enjoy it. The prince rarely had quiet moments with him. Usually, their time together consisted of sparring, throwing playful jabs at each other, or tangling up in the sheets. Sometimes all three at once, depending on the day.

He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until Mydei uttered a quiet, “Done,” and the feeling of the brush and ink on his skin disappeared. 

Opening his eyes and glancing down, Phainon took a long moment to admire the curving red lines along his arms and abdomen. The color stood out strongly on his pale skin, really drawing an eye to their designs all along his body.

Phainon made his way over to the mirror in the corner of the room to admire the full picture. And wow, what a picture it made. He hadn’t anticipated how he would feel, seeing Mydei’s familiar symbols painted on him. It made him feel…

It made him feel like he really did belong to Mydei, their undefined relationship be damned. And something in his traitorous little heart just melted at the idea of that.

If any Kremnoan saw him right now, Phainon could only imagine their reaction to the Deliverer of Okhema basically wearing, “I am officially part of Crown Prince Mydeimos’ family,” all over himself.

The man himself was quietly watching Phainon, the line of his shoulders slightly tense as he waited for Phainon’s response to his work. 

Turning around, a grin crept onto Phainon’s face. “I think it suits me, wearing your colors. Don’t you?” And, ever the one to be obnoxious, he held his arms out and gave a quick spin, like he was a young girl showing off a beautiful new dress.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, Deliverer,” Mydei retorted, but he sounded more amused than anything. He stashed his tools in a cabinet near his bed before reaching to put his gauntlets and armor back on.

“Besides,” he continued, smirking over at Phainon. “You’ll be stuck with that for weeks now. Good luck explaining that to the others because I won’t.”

[jadeofblades]

Tadaaa!

First one is a 10th anniversary suit edit cause i hated the ugly one they made for him (also note the ladybug cufflinks) and second would be an outfit he would wear in V3 cause i felt like his school uniform tells you nothing about his interests/personality. I was thinking about how he could be a science educator and come to schools to teach kids about bugs (and he would amass a lot of the rainbow loom bracelets as gifts from the kids). Other details of note is that I made his pants looser so he can be flexible and climb trees to catch bugs, a back brace, a backpack that he has everything he needs for the day in, and a cicada necklace that he likes fidgeting with.

I love the fact that he doesnt wear shoes in the base design cause hello fellow sensory autistic, and i know they were doing the tarzan thing but i dont careeee. Sensory issues gonta >:)))

I love gonta so much and i relate so hard to his struggles with self hatred due to the perception of him being stupid and how everyone brushes him off because he has a disability. I was always treated like the dumb one up until recently because people could sense that I’m autistic, but now I’ve surrounded myself with people who treat me like an equal and aren’t friends with me to use me for whatever thing they want out of me. It makes me wonder how things could be different in V3 if people acknowledged his intellect and if he had genuine friends so he wouldn’t have to latch onto Kokichi who was only there to use Gonta as an emotional punching bag and self defense. Also with all the free time events with Shuichi, the writers still make it so Shuichi perceives gonta as the toddler in a teenagers body that everyone else does, which is sad in my opinion but thats to be expected.

I could rant about him for so long, i have so many headcanons for him :DDDD

AUGHHHHH THESE ARE SO GOOD!!!!!!! dark green is So his color especially for his prom suit ouuu,,, the back brace is such a good detail you know his slouch has got to be crazy (me honestly i cant even lie LMAO) yesss let him collect friendship bracelets!!!!!!

goddd dont even get me started..... Yeah, yeah, he deserves (and needed) some more genuine friends. So wish he and Shuichi interacted more outside of bonus content stuff, or just show him hanging out with the others more too, that couldve really made like chapter 3 and 4 and what not rly hit more with the student council and, you know, more. Like getting a better grabble and his thoughts and feelings with himself and the others before Tragedy struck.

and I totally feel you...... im not officially diagnosed but i do suspect autism a lot (or Something wrong with me) and i always struggled making and keeping friends. thankfully i wasnt really bullied but i definitely felt, Different from everyone else which made it hard to make and keep friends, so i was alone for most of my childhood. Hell even now i still struggle,, thank god for online friends thats all im saying LOL. I'm glad that you managed to find a group of genuine friends!!

[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.

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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)

[fearhims3lf]

TIMING: A few weeks ago

PARTIES: @zombiebabysitter @fearhims3lf

SUMMARY: The shop has had a pest problem that Mateo has mostly ignored, but Charlie is greatly entertained and the two make the best of it over their love of music.

WARNINGS: None

It had been some time since Charlie had been to a record store. And after everything that had happened to him since coming to this down, he figured he could go for something that felt normal. Felt right. Music was the way he connected with his emotions, it’s how he felt alive. So with his own sanity in mind, he was keen on finding some new records for his ever-growing collection that he’d amassed. Upon walking in, Charlie smiled. There was something about a record store, you know? He took in a breath before stepping further into the store, smiling at the person manning the register. “Hey, man!” He greeted with a smile. “You the one that told me about some vintage records?” He asked, taking a step in his direction. 

“I’m Charlie, I definitely have a thing for rock music. Love the artists you mentioned online, maybe you could recommend something that I don’t know? Expand my horizons so to speak. Or find some old records to add to my collection, I’m not picky.” It was out of the corner of his eye that a record flew out of one of the bins, and Charlie turned to look to see nothing out of the ordinary, save for the record that was now on the floor. It was Van Halen’s Best Of collection. Interesting…

“You got records literally flying off the shelves here, huh?” Charlie commented with a grin. “I should have our records sold here, maybe they’d do the same thing.” He frowned as the record on the ground moved again, sliding across the floor as if it were alive. “That’s… fucking weird, man. What’s that about?” Charlie spoke up, and then the fucking record giggled. “Oh hell nah, what kind of prank is this?”

Mateo balanced his chair on its back two legs, arms resting behind his head while he whistled along to the song playing on the speaker. Leticia wasn’t around anymore, but he couldn’t help but be sentimental with the playlist. Much to his dismay, she enjoyed the more poppy songs that came on the radio. The likes of which he detested, but as a shop that sold all records, Mateo rationalized that his punk card wouldn’t be revoked for playing a few radio hits. 

There were bills to pay, what could he do?

“Welcome to Vinyl Countdown,” He announced, a little dryly. “Where we still stand…huh?” Trailing off, the mare knocked himself forward and hopped out of his chair, and all but skipped over to meet the rocker he met online. “Charlie? Thank god I don’t gotta say the rest of that shit. Old owner really loved fucking with me, and I like to keep her spirit alive her by ways of subtle masochism.” Mateo chuckled, “Anyway, I can definitely get you some new music. We actually got some new releases this week.” 

A few records flew off the shelf, but he didn’t really pay them any mind. All he did was put them back in their place, still managing to ignore the giggles Charlie tried to draw Mateo’s attention to. “Look, I don’t know why these are…doing whatever they’re doing. I find it best to just ignore this shit considering this town always has something going on.” With a shrug, Mateo swiveled on his heel and began to make his way to the box of new records until a few others collided into him. He groaned and rolled his eyes, putting the records back, once again. 

“So…new music?”

Cracking a grin as Mateo recognized him, Charlie laughed at the man’s attempt at a greeting. “Glad I could save you from finishing the rest of that.” The rocker commented with an amused glint in his eyes, watching as the other simply put the records back like this happened a lot. “So we ignore the weird that we can’t explain in hopes to live another day?” Charlie quipped, lofting a brow in amusement before following after the other in hopes of an acquisition of new music.

“Fuck yeah, new music!” Charlie replied with a grin. “Just got back from performing in LA.” He explained as he watched the giggling records fly out again. “Music around here is just begging to be played,” he murmured to himself as he went over and picked up the records and put them back a third time. It wouldn’t last, but at least he helped out. 

“So what do you think I’d be into? I’ve been in a real metal kick lately, I can’t lie. But show me anything, something from a band I’ve never heard of or whatever you really like. I’ll love anything.” Charlie began, flipping through records idly as Mateo rifled through the new music box for some picks. 

Charlie watched as the records flew out again, pinching his brows together in confusion. Instead of walking over to them this time, he watched out of the corner of his eyes. It was a Metallica record, a Ghost album, and a Deftones. “Interesting choices,” he grumbled to himself as he watched them begin to spin in little circles. “Listen sentient records, I love Ghost and Metallica. Love them. But enticing me with a little dance just skeeves me out, it doesn’t make me want to buy you.” 

__

“Exactly. Ignore the weird shit, especially when it’s bad for business.” The mare shrugged, “It’d be a completely different story if it was the kind of weird I could vibe with, but you know, I digress.” 

There was always a thrill that came with watching a musician in their element. It was all too easy to get lost in it, fall into the melody left behind as a trail for anyone to follow. Mateo couldn’t help but take a step and pave everything so that he could riddle it with his footprints over and over again. He felt a grin trickling to his face as he gathered all the vinyls Charlie needed to listen to, growing more motivated by the man’s enthusiasm. 

“I gotchu, man. Let’s ignore those slutty vinyls for now. I’ll pick ‘em up after you listen to this.” 

With a few flicks of his wrist and a slide of a needle, the music began. First, a crackle broke the silence, then a voice counted down, until finally, the moment of truth. Drums slammed along with a crunchy bass and rusty guitar. Mateo bobbed his head along, bouncing his brows at Charlie. “What do ya think? These guys are called Bad Nerves. Really dig what they’re doing with the bass. It fucking kills, man.”  

As soon as the first vinyl started to play, the first thing Charlie noticed was how fast-paced it was. He began to nod his head along to the beat, then turned to Mateo with a grin on his face. “This is pretty fuckin’ good, yeah.” He replied, ignoring as the haunted vinyls started to roll around on the floor. It was kinda hard to ignore, but he was doing his best to do so anyway. Charlie picked up the vinyl cover and looked over the names of the tracks, nodding his head. “Not bad, man. Not fuckin’ bad at all.” He grinned, continuing to bob his head along to the fast-paced rhythm. 

“You’ve got really good taste,” Charlie remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re definitely the man to run a record shop.” He ran a hand through his short hair, something he was still getting used to. “I know we talked about it before, but remind me. You play anything? Or are you just an enthusiast?” 

The possessed vinyls started ramming themselves into the pair’s ankles, causing Charlie to stare down at them. “What the fuck, you want my attention or some shit? I own you already.” Charlie pointed down to the Metallica vinyl, wagging a finger. “I’m not taking you home, try someone else.” 

__

“Yeah, I know.” Mateo’s smile turned into a cheeky grin, and he turned the volume down slightly to carry on the conversation. “I try to keep an ear out and find new music, and they’re one of the few smaller bands that have recently released on vinyl. CD’s are great, but they don’t typically beat vinyl for me. Just wish labels would use different materials for them.”

Vinyls were no longer as good as they used to be. Mass production had really tanked what companies were willing to spend on materials. Although they still sounded mostly great, there was a certain tone they lacked to Mateo. He had countless old vinyls he’d never sell, the weight of them proving their value. Only those had the kind of quality that resonated everything perfectly, the grooves deeper to gather all the details musicians lovingly put together. They were a little more fragile, but that was the price you paid, and as long as you took care of them, that was fine.

It was the current ones that had a little more durability. The plastic used made them a little more flexible and just a tiny bit resistant to dropping. Which was what made it hurt so bad when one of the sentient vinyls slammed into Mateo’s face as he attempted to answer Charlie. “I—” He hissed, rubbing at his temples to keep himself from blowing up. “Well, I play drums, and I have half a mind to plop these on my set and beat them to death.”

“Okay,” Charlie spoke, turning to the sentient fucking vinyl with ire. “What the fuck do you things want?” There was so much wrong in this town that it became commonplace to experience such absolute insanity as sentient fucking vinyl. The vinyl seemed to go still as if acting like they hadn’t just been called out for their ridiculous behavior. “Maybe if I keep staring at it like a dog that pissed on the carpet, it’ll stay still,” Charlie murmured with narrowed eyes, not taking his eyes off of the record. 

Keeping his eyes on the record that still had yet to move, Charlie smiled. “That’s cool that you play drums! I could never, I’m not strong enough in the arms, and I remember Gareth was always overheating because of all the movement.” Charlie waved a hand. “Good on you, that’s really fucking cool.” Charlie finally took his eyes off of the records, blinking as it jumped into the air to attempt to hit Mateo in the face again, but Charlie swung his hand at the last second to smack it away. 

“What do we do about these things?” He asked with a furrowed brow, deciding he was ready to go to war with the stupid things. “I mean, they’re clearly a nuisance. Are they always like this, or is this a recent development?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest with a curious gaze.

__

“If we were back where I'm from, my mom would be screaming something about demons.” Which wasn't too far fetched of an explanation given the town they were in, but that wasn't really what Mateo wanted for an answer. It was as the Rolling Stones said, you can't always get what you want. Bummer. 

At least Charlie had good enough reflexes to prevent any injury. “Appreciate that.” The mare patted the man's shoulder and pondered on what to do next, really contemplating his original idea. 

“I mean, it started when you showed up, so maybe you brought a curse with you or something.” Mateo laughed and reached behind the counter, rummaging around until he found what he needed. Hehanded a drumstick to Charlie, spinning the other between his fingers with a grin. “I'm kidding, of course. The fuckers have been at it all day.” Continuing to spin the drumstick, Mateo narrowed his eyes at the dancing vinyls before coming to a decision. Because there was no way in hell he was going to smash vintage items, and it was just his luck that none of them really had any value. 

“Can always beat the shit out of them, like I said before? Ugh…” He scrubbed at his face, just barely dodging the next flying disc. “Would prefer to sell the merchandise, but I don't know if an exorcism will work. Do they do those here? Actually, I don't wanna know. Maybe we can just beat Paramore's record for the most records broken in one minute.”

Charlie raised his brows, remembering the demon that stabbed him. Demons weren’t something he could simply brush off anymore, no matter how badly he wanted to. So when Mateo said his mother would be screaming about demons, he wasn’t so sure that she would be wrong. “Well, your mom might be on to something,” he murmured as he stared down at the records. 

“God, I’ve already been cursed with rhymes once, I may be cursed in other ways too, fuck.” Charlie ran a hand down his face, remembering the whole Felix orange debacle. “I really hope it’s not a fucking curse.” Then, Mateo told him he was kidding, and Charlie relaxed. Thank fuck it wasn’t a goddamn curse. Charlie took the drumstick and grinned back at the other. “Ah, threatening them, I like your style.” 

Charlie stared down at the records, that had suddenly gone stock still at Mateo’s threats of exorcism. “I don’t think they like that idea,” Charlie mentioned as he noticed the stillness of the records. “Hey, demon record things!” Charlie called out, feeling a bit crazy as he called out to inanimate objects. “If you behave yourselves, we won’t destroy you and call an exorcist, capiche?” Charlie pointed a drumstick at the albums, and they spun in a circle once, as if agreeing. “Oh hell yeah, appreciate you.”

Charlie turned his attention back to Mateo, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe they can work for you instead of against you, they could dance out front to get customers!” Charlie waggled his brows at the other as if this was the best idea he’d had all day.

__

Mateo barked out a laugh as the records spun in place while Charlie spoke to them. He'd never seen a record agree so easily to something. Well, he'd never seen sentient records at all, but Mateo figured that was besides the point. The records would behave, and that's all that mattered to him. 

“Good job, homie. Looks like we got a little compromise.” The records spun a few more times before waddling their way back to the shelves, and Mateo laughed once again. He continued even more so when Charlie gave him a brilliant idea. The tourists were going to have a field day with magic dancing vinyls. 

“You know what? That's actually pretty smart. The records will be flying off the shelves–not on their own free will too.” He took the drum stick back from Charlie and flipped them both, putting them away. Scanning the store, it looked pretty much dead, with no customers in sight and the vinyls finally settled down. “Hmm…” Mateo shuffled a few things around behind the counter before presenting a bottle of tequila. “Might as well close shop now. Wanna have some drinks and jam in the back? Got a drum set and a guitar just itching to be played.”

“If nothing else, I’m great at finding a middle ground for people. I’d be a great mediator,” Charlie decided with a proud smile. Certainly this would be great for Mateo and his business. “I’ll have to come check on them again sometime to see how they’re performing, see if they like their gig.” Charlie peered over to where the vinyls had put themselves away, and had a moment of pure ‘what the fuck is my life?’ 

As he threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling in pure confusion at the situation he’d just mediated, Mateo grabbed the tequila, causing Charlie to turn his head toward the sound. “Oh, hell yeah, now we’re talking. Music and booze? That’s a good combo right there, let’s fuckin’ go!” Charlie clapped and rubbed his hands together to follow Mateo into the back. He may play music for a living, but it never got any less tiring for him. He truly loved what he did, and there wasn’t a moment in his life where he didn’t thoroughly enjoy himself and lose himself in his craft. Still, he’d gone from the guitarist in a band to a solo artist in center stage. The guitar was still his first love, and he itched to play it like nothing else in the world. 

[atiredsalmon]

Verdant Ruby

The Inquisition's Artificer has to be busy after Tresspasser, right? Connecting the timeline for my final OC, Savill, to Veilguard alongside my headcanon that Merrill established the Veiljumpers

___

“This is what we came here for?” Savill wheezed between pants. The years spent on the run from Venatori and slighted Magisters had done little to build his stamina, and he lifted one hand to show the small artifact while the other clutched at his knee as he doubled over to recover his breath. A cool wash of a rejuvenation spell cleaned the heat from his skin and he straightened, scratching under his eyepatch in thanks. “I’m certain my grandmother had one of these.”

The elven woman that leaned over to peer at the device with round eyes had tattoos scrawled across the entirety of her face. It marked her as Dalish, but she was unlike another Dalish elf he knew and Savill had little qualms about voicing his disappointment at their findings. The search had taken them a week for what ended up being, as knew it, a puzzle box.

“Then she must have stolen it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” He brought the artifact back to him and lifted the eyepatch up. Lyrium blue flowed around the pupil, his eye tracing the lines of magic that flowed around the toy. “You said this was filled with treasure, and you aren’t entire wrong.” One such box had been given to him as a child to play with - and to test his magic. Sweet’s ability to show him the precise twist and turns made him feel like he was cheating now, and he popped it open with a few, quick, twists and handed it over. “Here you are, Merrill. A treasure box. Although it seems whatever it held is gone, if it had anything to begin with.”

Merrill passed the artifact between her hands, a frown on her face. “Maybe it was inside that was important.”

“For who,” he chuckled as he flipped the eyepatch back down. “An elderly ‘vint obsessed with finishing a collection?”

“Fen’harel, of course.”

The way she answered made Savill’s stomach twist and even the warmth of Sweet’s power under his skin wavered for a moment. He hadn’t been on the fighting roster when the Inquisitor claus see after Solas but he had been in the front lines for support. No one on the return trip had looked comfortable or settled with the decisions that had been made. The Inquisitor hadn’t looked anything at all - unconscious and bleeding and thrown into his arms to sort out the magic still pulsing under what was left of Fahleon’s arm while Varric and Dorian discussed next steps.

In hindsight, Savill could understand why the decision had been passed off to him. Over the course of the years he’d had answers and advice for nearly all the Inquisition’s questions and mysteries about Corypheus and the Fade, but he’d been resentful at the time. Fahleon was dying in his arms, the Inquisition was falling apart, and a plot to unravel the world - as much as he understood it - was unfolding and he was to…study a mirror? And while the Inquaition and the others tracked Solas and Fahleon disappeared after recovery, Savill had been left alone with it.

The Eluvian. Learning it was an ancient artifact from far before his time had made the hurt a little less. Receiving the letter from Varric that someone was coming to help had made it even better. And when the elven woman had come out of the mirror several weeks later, loneliness and desperation had turned into motivation and interest.

Nearly a decade had passed since then and Savill had learned more of the Fade from Merrill in that time than he had in his life, he was sure. He had learned to trace patterns in magic and read history in the Fade with her and deepened his bond with Sweets and their magic, but not once had they learned of Solas’ whereabouts. They had found their way into the Eluvians and mapped half of Arlathan and amassed a pile of artifacts both ancient and strange and useless and mundane but had found not one clue of the Dreadwolf’s plan.

It made him sigh, long and loud, as he rubbed at a shoulder. “Do you really believe Solas is still out there?”

Merrill glanced up with a smile. “Of course. Why else haven’t we heard anything from Varric after he asked for our help?”

Savill snorted. There were several reasons for the dwarf’s silence and none of them were good. Though, finding Solas wouldn’t entirely be a good thing either, but he had a difficult time ruining her mood. Blood mages. Always so manipulative.

“I believe he asked for your help,” he said, instead. “I just happened to be around first.”

Merrill’s attention had turned back to the box but she was still listening even as her downturned gaze turned intense. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because Sweets likes you,” he said with an easy shrug.

The elf laughed. “I like her, too. Do you think she would do me a favor?” Savill’s hand was already outstretched before she could finish asking. He understood what that look meant, and Merrill dropped the artifact back into his palms. “There was definitely something inside.” She pointed to an impression on the fabric within the box. He was impressed she caught it. “Something someone wanted.”

He chuckled, catching her meaning, and shook out his hands. “Something someone desired, is it? With this, I can certainly help.” He traced the edge of the impression, his other eye, unobstructed by a patch and glinting gold, narrowed in concentration. His demon’s hold on Desire had waned with their merging and changing, but Merrill’s teachings on tracing magical patterns filled in the gap. Possession helped, too, as Sweets reached from him and towards the Veil where history was kept amongst the spirits.

He hummed as memories, whispered in soft and gentle voices, flooded behind his eyes. “It came from Tevinter and was tossed here some time ago. Empty. She doesn’t know much else.” But Savill understood Merrill’s look, too. “I guess I should send some letters to let them know we’re coming.” Merrill clapped her hands together, and Savill thought it truly was difficult to be pessimistic around her. True, they had run into another dead end but they had found scraps of another lead nonetheless. Even if it meant returning to Tevinter. “I suppose we’ll use the Eluvian to Arlanthan Forest? We know where that one is.”

“It makes the most sense,” she said, and clapped her hands again. “Oh, another adventure! We should give ourselves a group name!”

“I’m not sure two of us - three,” he amended, quickly at the sudden twitch of his brow, “constitutes a group.”

Merrill’s eyes brightened. “We could find others! More people who want to research the Fade. We could have more help looking for Fen’harel!” It wasn’t a terrible idea - it was a good one, in fact, but Savill had been hoping for a quiet retreat in the forest outside of Tevinter to gather his courage after this adventure’s conclusion. Not more work.

Merrill had the energy for all of them.

[heylittleriotact]

It’s Wednesday. Have part of a WIP. It is fluffy and sweet.

It was immediately comforting, being inside the tent with him. She had taken to spreading out a spare bedroll over the ground since they started sharing a tent, and the admirable collection of pillow that she had amassed over the course of their travels thus far lined the perimeter of the sleeping area which covered the span of the tent nearly wall to wall on all sides.

They spent some nights in Astarion’s tent, but hers more often: it was decidedly better suited for cuddling, what with the ample amount of blankets and soft surfaces. If she had for some reason failed to learn anything else of Astarion, she certainly managed to pick up that he loved to cuddle. If it wasn’t because he personally enjoyed draping himself over her like an overgrown housecat, it was almost certainly for the heat she provided.

Perhaps he simply enjoyed having a warm body to hold that thought the world of him.

Regardless, Echo found she was happy to oblige his penchant for snuggling in every circumstance - though his ice cold feet on her calves were a shock to the system at times…

“I’m not sure what it is, but I find you to be irresistibly attractive when you’re antagonizing our friends…” She said to her lover with a coy smile as she finished lighting a few candles and moved over to the bedrolls, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands.

“Our friends?”

“Yes dear.”

“I’ve never had a friend before,” He said, and though the admittance was casual, it caused a bolt of pain to sear through Echo’s heart. “Let alone many.”

“Well I’m your friend too.”

He was silent for a time as he looked at her with a strange expression on his face. “I suppose you are at that, aren’t you?” He seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he fell under and said, “Apparently none of the other ones know how to take a hint.”

“I know. And I had to sit there watching you practically wasting away of hunger…” She shook her head pityingly and tutted.

“But now we are here…” He remarked, and ravenous need filled his ruby eyes again as he began to crawl towards her over the sea of pillows. “All alone with the entire night ahead of us…” He slid one knee between her legs and leaned forward, nuzzling her neck lovingly as he basked in her scent.

“Indeed we are.” She agreed. “And what remarkable self-control you possess… waiting must have been an onerous task…”

“You have no idea…” He half growled directly into the shell of her ear, and gooseflesh erupted on her skin. “That little taste in the cave more than whet my appetite… it’s all I’ve been able to think about since…”

“Oh good, I’m glad I’m not the only one.” She smiled at him, and he shoved her back lightly so that she was reclining now. “Mmmm… not wasting any time I see.” She said as he crawled atop her and wrapped an arm under her, pulling her flush with him.

“My chatty little minx…” He murmured before capturing her lips in a heated kiss. His other hands worked at her pants, unlacing them effortlessly with his wickedly dexterous fingers. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were nervous.” He was pushing her pants down, dragging her underwear down with them. “And I do know better…” he whispered. “Which is why I know you are…” He slackened his grip around her, lowering her gently back to the plush ground beneath them and meeting her golden eyes with his red ones.

“This is… uhm… this is the first time we’ve done anything like… like this since we started being honest with each other.” Echo explained, grateful for the dim candlelight that would obscure the flush of colour on her cheeks. “I’m not sure why I feel nervous, but it all feels a bit different now… doesn’t it?”

“It does.” He conceded, bringing a hand up to stroke her cheek softly, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone. “But don’t fret, my love. Just relax. Let me do this for you… let me take care of you…”

[mr-honee]

Just wanted to say I love that you danced Nightwalker by Ten! He’s such an incredible dancer, one of the best imo, and that song is so good, his solo album is on my list for aoty this year! I’m also a persistent WayV enthusiast, I feel like they get so overlooked because they’re c-pop. I just need more people to appreciate On My Youth and see that it is one of the best songs on this planet earth 😅 But I digress.

Your list of groups you’re into is great too, I’m pretty sure you listed all my favs 🤣🤣 I’m just babbling at this point but yay k-pop lol I hope you don’t collect albums and photo cards like I do because it is dangerous and a slippery slope that I wish upon no one 😬🤣

hard agree—ten's one of my favorites, and nightwalker met my expectations and more. also hard agree re: wayv! all their title tracks (and of course bsides and nct album features) are incredible and just as incredibly underrated, somehow. the members even shine when they're split up in different nct u tracks. (since we're here, some of their dances that I've covered: moonwalk, action figure, come back, miracle, she a wolf, turn back time...) I'm very glad to hear that you're also a fan.

listen, I love rambling about kpop, so you're totally good. I have definitely considered collecting kpop paraphernalia, but thankfully for my wallet, my collector's itch is largely fulfilled by my pokemon obsession (they're launching pokemon pocket in october... I'm very, very excited) and whatever collection aspects are in the video games I play. the closest I've gotten to collecting photocards was probably playing superstar bts and making it my mission to upgrade all the cards from every album to prism s cards... until they axed the game (rest in peace, superstar bts).

big kudos to whatever collection you've amassed, though! a bunch of my friends collect, and I swear their collections grow exponentially every time they show them off

[stories-i-guess]

Buddy my parents are ADHD and Autism respectively, one being STEM and the both of them loved ELA. I learned that worms could do that at six years old.

I learned that they actually could not do it within a month, because my parents told me.

But also.

I got all of the aforementioned attributes of my parents.

So although I never cut them for an army, I did in fact, raise an army. Story time!

Basically, it was at the playground during fourth grade. I was with my friend whom we’ll call Cece. I’m like 90% sure that’s not her real name but you never know. I had discovered a centipede on the ground! She was terrified, whilst I was fascinated! I then stared looking through small grass patches in between the pavement and the playground! I kept discovering more and more -not centipedes but- worms!

Cece was actually terrified of worms though, and said they looked too much like snakes. I, of course, believed such fears to be preposterous, but didn’t outwardly judge her.

Every day, me and a large group of friends would search the playgrounds and amass a large collection of worms! Cece, for whatever reason, decided to join me every time, knowing that I was going to be doing just that.

By the end of the school year, (yes, this lasted that long) she told me that she was no longer afraid of worms!

Unrelatedly, I also continually tried to get a work pet when I was six and made them “houses” out of sand. I was always confused as to why they’d die every time. oof. Poor worms.

my grandpa was a good man. and it really wasnt his fault - recreationally lying to kids is a proud family tradition - but he told me, once, that cutting a worm in half resulted in two worms.

i think he said it so i'd be more morally okay with fishing? i actually dont remember the context.

point was, he told me this, and he understimated (by a very large margin) how much i liked worms. i was a worm boy. very wormy. and after hearing that, i went home, and i dug through the garden, flipped over every rock, did everything i could to gather as many worms as i could, and then i uh.

i cut them all in half. every worm i could find. all of them. with scissors.

i then took this pile of split worms, and i put them in a box with a bit of lettuce and some water and stuff and went to bed expecting to double my worms overnight. i have math autism, so i had a vague understanding that if i did this just a few times in a row, i would eventually have a completely unreasonable amount of worms.

i was very excited to become this plane's worm emperor.

(i think i was...six?)

anyway, i did not become the inheritor of the worm crown. i instead woke up to a box of dead worms and cried. a lot. i got diagnosed with panic attacks as a teenager, but i think i had them as a kid, i just had no idea what they were. i was kind of processing that a.) i had killed what i had assumed was every single worm in my yard, and thus would have no more worms, and b). i was going to like, worm hell.

(six year babylon spent a lot of time worrying about god.)

so i kind of freaked out, and i climbed a tree, because god can only smite you if you're touching the ground (?) and i sat up there mostly inconsolable until my mom came out and asked, hey, what's up? what happened?

so i explained to her that i had killed all of the worms, forever, and was also Damned, and she took me to the compost pile, and we dug for all of five seconds and found like twenty more worms.

the compost pile was full of worms.

and she told me that a). there were more worms, and we could put them back under rocks and stuff and recolonize our yard and b). that one day, i would die, and i would go to heaven, and i would be able to talk to the worms, and i would be able to tell them all that i was very sorry, and that i killed them on accident out of excessive Love, and that they would forgive me, because worms have six hearts and no malice.

at that point, i think i was sixty percent tear-snot by weight, and i had no choice but to gather enough worms that i could hug them. which my mom helped with. and then after that she helped me put some worms back under each rock.

and for my epilogue: i spent a significant portion of my childhood in trees. and for many years after, even when my mom didnt know i was watching, i would catch her giving the space under the rocks a light spritz with the hose. not because she loved worms.

but because she loved me.

[ivankahasbeentreatedsounfairly]

If you watched any of Donald Trump’s recent rally in Butler, Pa., you probably noticed Elon Musk beside him — jumping, jiving, arms raised, belly bared — and wondered what in the name of Tesla the chronically overstimulated gazillionaire was doing. Impromptu aerobics? A cheerleading audition? Charades?

If only. Musk, I fear, was previewing a second Trump administration — in which Trump would embrace and embolden a crew of self-impressed eccentrics and ideological outliers who are happy, even eager, to make confounding and fawning spectacles of themselves. Consider Musk their spirit animal. Multiply him by about two dozen and you have the Trump cabinet of tomorrow — or an only slightly exaggerated cartoon of it.

Much of the fallout of a Trump victory is unknowable. But this much is certain: Returned to the White House, Trump would get input from — and award key positions to — a bestiary of nihilists, destructionists and even criminals unlike any collection of advisers that any other president assembled. They’d be unscrupulous in all fashions but one: unswerving loyalty to Trump. He fumed about what he saw as a lack of that among his previous cadre of helpmates. The coming coterie would affirm Trump’s worst impulses, nurture his nuttiest ideas and gleefully carry out his orders.

The first time around, Trump cared about impressing the Washington crowd and was fixated on what he believed to be the high I.Q.’s of his department and agency heads. He made them sound like the Incredibles.

I’m not saying that Trump would fail to fill crucial government jobs. If Republicans get very lucky, prevail in most of the closest Senate races and wind up with a three- or four-seat majority in that chamber, he might be able to get its sign-off on a cockapoo as Treasury secretary. Or, worse yet, Jared Kushner. And even without such a majority, Trump could find ways to circumvent Senate involvement and oversight. That would be utterly in character for a president who’d have zero regard for precedent and even less for propriety.

But whatever the legislative arithmetic, I have a hard time seeing some cast members of “Trump: The Sequel” passing an F.B.I. background check, let alone winning Senate approval or getting high-level security clearances. And while a right-wing provocateur like Laura Loomer wouldn’t find herself as an assistant secretary of the interior, she and the rest of the Unconfirmables would quite possibly find themselves in the Oval Office when they sought Trump’s ear, and he sought their adulation.

Trump’s staffing process would be messy, ugly and scary in part because he would hardly have his pick of shining political stars: His quickness to torment, fire and then publicly vilify the people who worked for him between 2017 and 2021 — when he burned through chiefs of staff and reportedly shrugged at a gathering mob’s pledge to execute his vice president — would leave him an unusually limited group of applicants.

“There are two categories, right?” former Gov. Chris Christie, the New Jersey Republican who led Trump’s 2016 transition for a while, said to me. “The first category is people who just want to have a title no matter what and aren’t really up to the job. And I think that’ll be a large part of who he gets.” The second category, Christie said, are “people who believe: Well, if I get in there, I can help to make it a little better.” That contingent, he added, would be much smaller than in 2017.

On top of which, Trump’s campaign has been a steady amassing of debts: to the oil and gas industry, which he effectively encouraged to buy the election for him; to Musk, who turned X into a digital Trump pep rally and is essentially cartwheeling across Pennsylvania with fistfuls of money for anyone with any inkling to vote for the madman of Mar-a-Lago; to Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who took a break from playing with animal carcasses — I mean, terminated his own presidential campaign — to endorse and stump for Trump. Trump has already said that he’ll repay Musk by putting him in charge of some new government efficiency commission, and he gave Kennedy a place on his transition team, presumably the bullpen from which Kennedy would emerge into a prime administration slot. A public health conspiracy theorist would be reborn as a steward of public health.

The plutocrats and opportunists are circling: A recent article by Rachael Bade and Jasper Goodman in Politico detailed concernsamong some Republicans that Howard Lutnick, the chief executive of the Cantor Fitzgerald investment firm who’s a co-chair of Trump’s transition operation, might be serving his business interests with his transition work.

I doubt Trump minds. It’s the kind of commingling he personified as president. Besides, he’s less interested than ever in rules, more intent than before on rebellion. He’s not going to worry about the sketchy semiotics of communicating with, or getting counsel from, the likes of Steve Bannon, Paul Manafort and Peter Navarro, all of whom have done time in the clink. Each will wear his incarceration as a badge of honor. Trump will accept it as such.

To Bannon, Manafort and Navarro, add Roger Stone, who was convicted of seven felonies but had his sentence commuted by Trump just days before he was supposed to report to a federal prison for a 40-month term. Add Corey Lewandowski, who has faced battery charges, which were dropped in one instance and resolved through a deal with prosecutors in another. Trump’s own felony convictions in Manhattan in May didn’t differentiate him from his posse. He just blends in all the better now.

“If Trump is elected,” said the Democratic strategist Doug Sosnik, who worked in the White House under Bill Clinton, “you’re going to see personnel much more, um, exotic than before.”

Sosnik was referring not only to the criminals around Trump but also to the zealots and cranks whose feeding of Trump’s ego during his campaign has surely been an audition for a similar fattening of it during another Trump presidency. I bring you Stephen Miller, a senior adviser during the Trump administration whose own obsessions — detention camps, mass deportations — have become Trump’s. It’s probably no coincidence that the day before Trump claimed during his debate with Vice President Kamala Harris that Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio, were eating people’s pets, Miller wrote a post on X with that precise allegation. That’s how hallucinations bloom in Trump’s brain. That’s the caliber of company Trump keeps.

How about Loomer? Her social media posts also chart her racism: Two days before the Trump-Harris debate, she warned that a victory in the election by Harris, whose mother was Indian American, would mean that the White House would “smell like curry.” The vileness of that comment didn’t prevent Trump from letting Loomer tag along with him to the debate. Nor did her past trafficking in Sept. 11 conspiracy theories discourage him, a day later, from bringing her to a memorial service for victims of those 2001 terrorist attacks. So there’s no reason to believe it would bar her from his White House — which, I suppose, would smell like McDonald’s.

“It feels like all bets are off if he wins,” Will Howell, a professor of political science and the director of the Center for Effective Government at the University of Chicago, told me. “The way to think about this is not that there are a handful of Steve Bannons who will be elevated and will do all kinds of damage. We’re at a point where the center of gravity of the party itself has shifted dramatically, and it now sits squarely underneath Trump’s feet. He and his impulses and his convictions are where the party stands. And that was not true in 2016, when he had to manage coalitions and bring in people who were not strict loyalists.”

Knowledgeable Republicans with whom I spoke said that even so, they can’t imagine Trump trying to put someone like Bannon or Stone in his cabinet per se or in any position that typically demands Senate confirmation. His own vanity would dissuade him from taking that gargantuan a risk of being denied and demeaned. But they can imagine Trump taking a chance on, say, Ric Grenell, a gratuitously combative foreign policy maven who in 2020 led a sham effort to discredit and overturn Joe Biden’s victory in Nevada. Grenell is now being touted as a possible secretary of state or national security adviser.

Trump could similarly promote Kash Patel, a populist pugilist who, in an appearance on Bannon’s podcast last year, served notice that he and other Trump allies were prepared to “go out and find the conspirators not just in government, but in the media,” including journalists “who helped Joe Biden rig presidential elections.” Trump, during his presidency, reportedly thought about deputizing Patel to conduct purges of inadequately obsequious staffers, but cooler heads in the administration quashed that idea. There’d be no such sentries and no such resistance in the future; Trump’s sons Don Jr. and Eric have pledged a thorough vetting of would-be aides that identifies and repels possible dissidents. Not so coincidentally, Patel “has been mentioned alongside many others as a potential C.I.A. director, attorney general or, if he fails Senate confirmation, a top job on the National Security Council,” Elizabeth Williamson wrote in The Times last week.

Patel might indeed fail Senate confirmation, as might Grenell, Kennedy (if nominated to a post of that nature) and other Trump darlings if Republicans remain in the Senate minority or regain the majority by only one or two seats. Republicans wouldn’t be able to survive defections, and a few of the senators in their caucus — most notably, Susan Collins of Maine and Lisa Murkowski of Alaska — aren’t reliable rubber stamps for Trump.

“I think it will be hugely problematic for him to try to find a team that can be confirmed,” former Senator Heidi Heitkamp, a North Dakota Democrat, told me.

But, she added, that doesn’t necessarily augur epic confirmation battles that raise the temperature on Capitol Hill even higher: “My question is: Does he simply bypass the Senate confirmation altogether and just put people in positions and dare people to challenge them?”

She and other Washington insiders explained that Trump could do that, at least temporarily, by presenting his appointees as provisional choices and affixing the word “acting” to their titles, as he did when he made Grenell the acting director of national intelligence in February 2020. They’d be time-limited but would in some cases have many months, not weeks, to wreak havoc. “I like ‘acting’,” Trump said in 2019, when his revolving-door administration left him with a bevy of vacancies to fill. “It gives me more flexibility. Do you understand that? I like ‘acting.’ So we have a few that are ‘acting.’” Expect many if he gets another go at this gig.

Expect more unilateral decisions and highhanded commands like the orders he once issued to John F. Kelly, his White House chief of staff at the time, to grant Kushner a top-secret security clearance. Such executive action has become increasingly common among presidents, and the Supreme Court, with its ruling on presidential immunity, has given Trump every reason to believe that he can ask forgiveness, not permission, and it will be readily granted.

So has Trump’s own political history: After two impeachments, several damning judgments in civil suits, federal indictments and a guilty verdict on all 34 counts in a Manhattan criminal case, he seems to have a 50-50 shot at an inauguration in January. Why wouldn’t he junk any nettlesome procedures? What’s to stop him from putting a neutered figurehead in a job that senators monitor and giving more power to far-right flatterers in the shadows?

What’s to stop those flatterers from plundering and degrading the richest and most powerful country on earth? Certainly not Trump. He’d be too busy admiring their initiative and accepting their compliments.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/10/24/opinion/trump-elon-musk-robert-kennedy.html

[chibelial]

I’ve spent an awful lot of money on collectibles. Yugioh cards and merch, as it was sort of my gateway drug into occult stuff lol, and also got my young 4-5 year old brain hooked on collecting stuff.

I collected rocks next. Geodes, crystals, fossils, just plain old unusual looking stones, whatever.

Kirby merch, as funny as it sounds, is the other big one, arguably as big as Yugioh. When I was very little I had heart surgery and on the way home my parents bought my a GBA and any game of my choice. I didn’t know fuckall about Nintendo, and I just wound up choosing Kirby, Nightmare in Dreamland. And the series has been a core pillar of my special interests ever since.

Nowadays, I still love those things, among others I didn’t list, and I love to grow some collections. But what I really wanna collect, what I would have beke going after from a much earlier age if I was more aware of their existence (in my mind lol I don’t have $) is historical religious/ritualistic/migical items. Whenever I have both the free time and the mental energy, that’s generally what I read about, and ideally I’d love just a cozy little library in my home with books on various religions and magical beliefs across history, with some relics here and there on the shelves. I’m not very well versed in the occult or the more mainstream religious histories presently but I sure aim to be with time.

Imagine the cost of amassing even a modest little collection though, and here I am praying to be approved for disability. Capitalism truly smothers the intellectual potential of the people

[hello-god-its-me-sara]

Posting because this will be contextual to the massive spiral I’m going to post on Raymond’s deleted scenes specifically

[mildly edited]

Most people hate the wrist clocks and call them stupid but I actually like the wrist clocks, they’re just poorly executed

Bc capitalism the rich ppl have amassed so much time they’re basically immortal while poor ppl are living day to day, sometimes hour to hour

I think it’s a great visualization

Watching ppl literally live micromanaging their time, worried how they’re going to survive into the next week

At the beginning they show a person timed out dead on the factory floor being drug away to be disposed of

Unlike money which is fake, boiling down the currency to actually tangible physical time is again a great visualization and not too ham fisted at all, again bad execution not bad idea

I think you shouldn’t be able to just yoink time off of ppl, I think it’s more poignant and realistic that you have to chose to give your time up, then everything is technically a conscious choice

(There are time gangs, they come around and “wrestle” you for your time, I don’t get how it works, it’s not explained, it looks like you’re having an arm wrestling match, again I think it would be more powerful that they coerce you into giving up your time)

When they started using time as literal money the metaphors became messy and lost and then it was like the monopoly game where they gave you credit cards and the “currency” lost all meaning like how money is actually made up

Kids also can’t give their time away until their clocks start at 25 so unless you’re killed by an outside force you’re lowkey guaranteed to make it to 25 [of course you’re bot “guaranteed” to make it to 25 obviously, but I’m trying to make a point so ignore my bad semantics]

I think kids should be able to give time, again the idea that some ppl would immediately time out once their clock started bc they were forced to give it all away to live

Also it does make “going into debt” a little hard to represent bc only rich ppl have so much time that they keep their time in banks, everyone else keeps all the time they have on their wrist like a wallet

I think it’s implied that you borrow time debt against your name, this idea that you’re stuck in a literally eternity working to pay off a debt you can pay off until you die, but again it’s poorly executed, they don’t talk about ppl who’ve been working for 80-90+ years and are still in debt (also everyone is young and hot which really takes away from the messaging 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫)

They also have this payday place but unlike actual payday places which are predatory this one is a charity and the person running it gives out time for free, I got the vibe it plays out more like welfare but later they implied the person running it was collecting time from somewhere and the whole thing fell apart again (like the entire movie)

There’s also a brief implication that there are time stocks which I assume work like regular stocks which I guess work if you don’t think about them but again once the time started getting used like literal money it got muddled

Furthermore the police system is predominantly set up to make sure that the poors are separated from the rich

There’s “time zones” where they’ve quarantined everyone off and you have to pay (time) to make it into a wealthier zone so it’s like caste system meets hunger games (there’s 12 times zones, like a clock but I don’t think the writer is smart enough for that a literally copied the hunger games) 12 is the poorest (again like the hunger games) but they don’t really explain how they’re divided up past that, also the movie so “lovingly” keeps calling zone 12 (Dayton) “the ghetto”, they could’ve just said time slums but whatever

Anyway so everyone’s literally quarantined off from each other by walls and the police (“time keepers”) are in charge of making sure each zone keeps the appropriate amount of time within the zone and they go investigate when too much time makes it into a poor zone

Don’t ask how the keep track of how much time is in a zone, I inferred they keep track of how much time is being spent and held in bank accts across the zones on a per second basis

They also only pay the cops 24 hrs at a time (I think the writer wanted to be clever, called it a per diem) except they don’t explain why anyone would willingly work for that pay, I’ve decided cops either get a pension or they get everything provided for them for free (time is money, if you want to buy something you have to spend your time, literally cannot live on 24 hrs a day bc you have nothing in extra, also also they don’t allow cops to have more than like 36 hrs on them to keep the poors from robbing them, another thing I think is stupid and doesn’t actually logic)

Also the police work for the ambiguous government, the government is the one tasking the police with keeping the zones “on the correct time” but presumably the gov like in real life is made of rich ppl being paid off by even more rich ppl

However when time billionaire Philippe tries to bribe time cop Cillian into not arresting his daughter, Cillian who at most is like the equivalent of a police sergeant or something, says no like he has any authority and Philippe doesn’t call his boss to get him fired

I think the timekeepers are supposed to function more like the feds but again ITS NOT CLARIFIED OR EXPLAINED AT ALL

JT and Amanda Seyfried go on a Bonnie and Clyde-esque Robin Hood spree where they rob banks owned by Amanda Seyfried’s dad and distribute the money back to the poors but as anyone with basic economic knowledge could tell you without systematic change they just hike up all the prices bc inflation, also there’s only like one single precinct of time cops, Cillian has a boss he talks to on the phone but we don’t know who they are or what their job is

The movie ends with JT and Karen stealing a million years from her dad and distributing it and it’s implied that they distribute so much time at once that it disrupts the system, ppl start moving freely between time zones and all the police quit but also it ends ends and they’re still robbing banks presumably to continue to redistribute time

Also it’s implied earlier that this time clock shit is international and there’s no mention on what’s going on in the rest of the world

What started as a beautiful introspective look at capitalism, reframing it as the literal stealing of our physical time rich ppl take from us is washed down the drain

While yes I generally promote the idea of “take money from billionaires and redistribute it” that doesn’t really address the systemic problem of capitalism

It annoys me that they ended with that

[henrybly]

As soon as Ivy creased into laughter at his stance, Henry couldn’t help but grimace. Not because he was annoyed by her reaction. No, he knew he had warranted that, standing there like a stick man a little kid had drawn. He just hoped she’d come to her senses and realise that he was not the guy she wanted to center the photo shoot around.

“I warned you this wouldn’t be great,” he told her, huffing his words out around a laugh himself. As much as people liked to label him as the brooding, mysterious one of the band, Henry knew when to take a joke. Almost especially when it was at his own expense.

He never really had to think about any of this onstage. They were let loose as a band, their image never really being called into question because one thing about their manager is that she had given them freedom to cultivate a brand of their own. Sure, a lot of people had always said Poppy was very excitable, talking a mile a minute, and there had been plenty of other musicians who complained that Diego flirted far too much. Hell, their support act, Maggie, seemed to have something negative to say about every one of them, but overall, Shattered Diamonds had only ever stayed in their lane, singing good music and, for the most part, being completely inoffensive. There had been no great scandal to come from them and so why should they have to be kept on a tight leash? Whatever they wanted to do onstage was entirely up to them.

Which had been good news for Henry seeing as he was keen on just playing his piano and occasionally singing back-up. There were a few video clips online here and there that had been compiled together of him throwing supposed heart-eyes Poppy’s way whenever she had a solo, and he knew that their fans had amassed into a specific collective who were convinced he was dating the bassist, but it had never been anything that made him uncomfortable. The best part of being in the band sometimes was just being left alone to play his instrument in front of a crowd.

Now that he actually had to think about how to present himself, none of it was coming naturally to him.

Thankfully, Ivy seemed to know what she was doing and he allowed himself to be nudged and directed every which way, lifting his chin as instructed. As she pushed his head up slightly, he looked down at Ivy through his lashes, catching her gaze and giving her a small smile. Maybe a bit of a flirtatious move on his part, but it was more to make the both of them feel at ease.

He was now standing in a way that felt sort of foreign to him, but at the same time, he didn’t feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t posed in a way that was sure to make him cringe when he saw the final product, so he was happy to lean into it for the time being.

“ I guess… hands in my pocket?” he said, stuffing them into the pouch of his hoodie.

He gave Ivy an expectant look, waiting for her to pass judgment. However, Marmalade got their first, pressing himself against Henry’s shins and slipping through the gap between his legs. He rolled his eyes, amused.

“Although, if they’re in my pockets, I don’t know how I’m going to keep him out of trouble,” he pointed out.

At the age of 30, Ivy liked to think of herself as having grown up a lot since her college days. She’d had a whirlwind upbringing that meant she’d experienced things no child should have ever experienced, as well as having seen and done things that she wasn’t particularly proud of. While there was definitely a whole load of trauma she’d yet to unpack, as well as a gaping hole in her memory and an ache in her chest where her long-forgotten biological family lived rent free – hypothetical and dream-like as they were – she genuinely believed that she’d turned her life around a little over the past few years. She was a freelance photographer, working for herself in the field and dodging taxes where she saw fit, and had another job working with Raff. She had her own apartment which in itself was something she never assumed she’d achieve, and she truly believed she’d established a pretty good reputation for herself within the industry of her choosing, carrying a sense of professionalism neither she nor Wardo thought she had in her. 

With all of that in mind, professionalism be damned, Ivy could not control the howl of laughter that escaped her body when she turned to face Henry. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, not by any standard, but she was definitely amused by the picture he’d presented her with. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. But... Dude, oh my God,” she cackled, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle the horrendous sound that escaped her. “No, man, that’s not quite what I had in mind...” 

She snickered, all too entertained. She’d seen videos of Henry performing, had inhaled them in preparation for their shoot; she knew he had charisma, buckets full of it. In fact, just his general demeanor and sense of homeliness when chatting mere moments before had far more charming than whatever he was doing now. Arms stiff at his side, disgruntled cat clawing at the vinyl flooring by his feet, Henry currently looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but Ivy’s – albeit temporary – studio. 

“Right, we’re gonna mix things up today, okay?” She told him, the question hanging on the end of her sentence merely rhetoric. Whether he liked it or not, Ivy was going to make it her mission for the day to get Henry to relax for her. She knew he was a handsome guy, and she’d already seen enough of him to know he had the personality to match his appearance, she just needed the rest of the world to see it too. 

Taking a few, slow steps towards him, head tilted in concentration, she arched a brow as she took him in. Her eyes scanned the room, absently searching for props that she might be able to use in her favour. She took in his appearance, noting that he hadn’t had quite the same styling the rest of the band had seen. While the others waited on the other side of the door, it was impossible to observe that the rest of the band looked the image of Rock Stars; they told you what they were selling with one simple glance at them. Henry, in his cozy hoody, looked more like a Little League Baseball Coach than the pianist for one of the biggest bands on the scene right now. And yet, wasn’t this exactly who Henry was? Was there ever a specific rule in place that said you had to dress or behave a particular way to be a Rock Star? Surely the only credential required to qualify was, quite simply, to be one. 

And a Rock Star, Henry was. 

“Okay, you mind if I just take over here a little?” she mused, dropping her voice a little. Ivy was under no delusions that she’d ever be considered soft or gentle, but she liked to think she had it in her to not be a total asshole all of the time. And if she could do anything to make Henry comfortable under her direction, she’d like to give it a try. She raised a careful hand, reaching out for him, pausing momentarily in search of his approval. Ivy was forward, absolutely, but she wasn’t about to start grabbing people unprompted and without consent. 

“Right, let’s take a good look at you, handsome,” she breathed, offering him a warm smile. With as tender a touch as she could muster, Ivy grazed his jaw with her finger, tilting his chin upward slightly, turning his face from the camera. With the same attention, she placed a hand to his forearm and shifted his shoulders, carefully angling them towards her instead. 

With a step back, she surveyed him, his posture already so different. His chin raised, shoulders to the side, she smirked. She was already liking what she saw. 

“Okay, now... What’s more comfortable for you? Hands in the pocket, or arms crossed?”  

[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."

[atiredsalmon]

“This is what we came here for?” Savill wheezed between pants. The years spent on the run from Venatori and slighted Magisters had done little to build his stamina, and he lifted one hand to show the small artifact while the other clutched at his knee as he doubled over to recover his breath. A cool wash of a rejuvenation spell cleaned the heat from his skin and he straightened, scratching under his eyepatch in thanks. “I’m certain my grandmother had one of these.”

The elven woman that leaned over to peer at the device with round eyes had tattoos scrawled across the entirety of her face. It marked her as Dalish, but she was unlike another Dalish elf he knew and Savill had little qualms about voicing his disappointment at their findings. The search had taken them a week for what ended up being, as knew it, a puzzle box.

“Then she must have stolen it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” He brought the artifact back to him and lifted the eyepatch up. Lyrium blue flowed around the pupil, his eye tracing the lines of magic that flowed around the toy. “You said this was filled with treasure, and you aren’t entire wrong.” One such box had been given to him as a child to play with - and to test his magic. Sweet’s ability to show him the precise twist and turns made him feel like he was cheating now, and he popped it open with a few, quick, twists and handed it over. “Here you are, Merrill. A treasure box. Although it seems whatever it held is gone, if it had anything to begin with.”

Merrill passed the artifact between her hands, a frown on her face. “Maybe it was inside that was important.”

“For who,” he chuckled as he flipped the eyepatch back down. “An elderly ‘vint obsessed with finishing a collection?”

“Fen’harel, of course.”

The way she answered made Savill’s stomach twist and even the warmth of Sweet’s power under his skin wavered for a moment. He hadn’t been on the fighting roster when the Inquisitor claus see after Solas but he had been in the front lines for support. No one on the return trip had looked comfortable or settled with the decisions that had been made. The Inquisitor hadn’t looked anything at all - unconscious and bleeding and thrown into his arms to sort out the magic still pulsing under what was left of Fahleon’s arm while Varric and Dorian discussed next steps.

In hindsight, Savill could understand why the decision had been passed off to him. Over the course of the years he’d had answers and advice for nearly all the Inquisition’s questions and mysteries about Corypheus and the Fade, but he’d been resentful at the time. Fahleon was dying in his arms, the Inquisition was falling apart, and a plot to unravel the world - as much as he understood it - was unfolding and he was to…study a mirror? And while the Inquaition and the others tracked Solas and Fahleon disappeared after recovery, Savill had been left alone with it.

The Eluvian. Learning it was an ancient artifact from far before his time had made the hurt a little less. Receiving the letter from Varric that someone was coming to help had made it even better. And when the elven woman had come out of the mirror several weeks later, loneliness and desperation had turned into motivation and interest.

Nearly a decade had passed since then and Savill had learned more of the Fade from Merrill in that time than he had in his life, he was sure. He had learned to trace patterns in magic and read history in the Fade with her and deepened his bond with Sweets and their magic, but not once had they learned of Solas’ whereabouts. They had found their way into the Eluvians and mapped half of Arlathan and amassed a pile of artifacts both ancient and strange and useless and mundane but had found not one clue of the Dreadwolf’s plan.

It made him sigh, long and loud, as he rubbed at a shoulder. “Do you really believe Solas is still out there?”

Merrill glanced up with a smile. “Of course. Why else haven’t we heard anything from Varric after he asked for our help?”

Savill snorted. There were several reasons for the dwarf’s silence and none of them were good. Though, finding Solas wouldn’t entirely be a good thing either, but he had a difficult time ruining her mood. Blood mages. Always so manipulative.

“I believe he asked for your help,” he said, instead. “I just happened to be around first.”

Merrill’s attention had turned back to the box but she was still listening even as her downturned gaze turned intense. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because Sweets likes you,” he said with an easy shrug.

The elf laughed. “I like her, too. Do you think she would do me a favor?” Savill’s hand was already outstretched before she could finish asking. He understood what that look meant, and Merrill dropped the artifact back into his palms. “There was definitely something inside.” She pointed to an impression on the fabric within the box. He was impressed she caught it. “Something someone wanted.”

He chuckled, catching her meaning, and shook out his hands. “Something someone desired, is it? With this, I can certainly help.” He traced the edge of the impression, his other eye, unobstructed by a patch and glinting gold, narrowed in concentration. His demon’s hold on Desire had waned with their merging and changing, but Merrill’s teachings on tracing magical patterns filled in the gap. Possession helped, too, as Sweets reached from him and towards the Veil where history was kept amongst the spirits.

He hummed as memories, whispered in soft and gentle voices, flooded behind his eyes. “It came from Tevinter and was tossed here some time ago. Empty. She doesn’t know much else.” But Savill understood Merrill’s look, too. “I guess I should send some letters to let them know we’re coming.” Merrill clapped her hands together, and Savill thought it truly was difficult to be pessimistic around her. True, they had run into another dead end but they had found scraps of another lead nonetheless. Even if it meant returning to Tevinter. “I suppose we’ll use the Eluvian to Arlanthan Forest? We know where that one is.”

“It makes the most sense,” she said, and clapped her hands again. “Oh, another adventure! We should give ourselves a group name!”

“I’m not sure two of us - three,” he amended, quickly at the sudden twitch of his brow, “constitutes a group.”

Merrill’s eyes brightened. “We could find others! More people who want to research the Fade. We could have more help looking for Fen’harel!” It wasn’t a terrible idea - it was a good one, in fact, but Savill had been hoping for a quiet retreat in the forest outside of Tevinter to gather his courage after this adventure’s conclusion. Not more work.

Merrill had the energy for all of them, at least.