I prefer non-con hypnosis scenario more, but it all being consensual is its own kind of fun stuff
Having so much trust in someone that you literally gives them power over your mind, augh
And Pearl would definitely trust gem enough, my gempearl ❤️
Sorry for giving you so many asks today lol, finding a blog that also likes hypnosis made me excited :3 -🐍
I also enjoy noncon, I’m just more a fan of consensual hypnosis, I find myself enjoying the inherent intimacy of it a lot. (Both are good 🙂↕️ I just enjoy this one more on the sweeter side)
Don’t worry about it! I’m just surprised I got any asks on this blog so quickly 😅
The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 8
Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, hysterical whumpee/nervous breakdown (seriously yall, it gets bad), disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, past captivity references
* * * * * * * *
Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters
[While following this guide, as well as generally while playing the wonderful game that is villainy, you will find that the advice can rarely be fitted to every specific scenario. But one piece of advice is universal: If you value your freedom, your loved ones, and your life, you must never reveal your secret identity to your captured hero. As soon as you do, there is no more facade. Villainy is no longer a game. It is your life. And heroes will not hesitate to destroy your life if it means they can win the game.
If a hero (or ANY untrusted party) ever happens upon your secret identity, it is your responsibility, as a villain and as a human being, to accept the end of your life as you know it…
Or to ensure that the hero can never tell another living soul.]
* * * * * * * *
“See you soon?” Deeby repeated Sweater-vest’s last words incredulously. “See you soon?! Christ, and you know he knows– god, he just needs to stop being such un pendejo and shut the hell up, stop making everything about his goddamn god complex and shoving it en las caras de todos–”
The sudden anger from the usually cool and smug Deeby did not help the apparent panic attack seeping ever so quickly into Stan’s consciousness, especially with said seething bounty hunter circling around the room like an angry shark as he muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly.
Stan cowered to hide his shirtlessness from said angry shark. His chest and limbs started to buzz from all the excess oxygen entering his system as he took in heavy breaths, his head spinning, dizzy, hurting, every muscle clenching.
“--y quién se cree ese cabrón para venir a joderme MI TRABAJO?”
He was so angry. So loud, talking so fast, and what the hell was he even saying?! It was too much, too much.
“Y la puta Lana no puede ni aparecer para decirme que me está jodiendo la vida OTRA VEZ porque es lo único que le encanta hacer, joderme TODO lo que–”
Stop it stop it stay calm stay calm please not now please please please not now you can’t show weakness like this in front of your kidnapper you can’t stop it STOP IT–
He took in an involuntary loud heaving breath. Then fell into a stuttering slew of smaller breaths as he tried to keep quiet, and Deeby finally took notice of the state of his captive.
Stan squeaked and pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He was small, he was silent, he was invisible.
Then he gasped in another desperate heaving breath with an involuntary cry of panic when he suddenly ran out of air. He’d stopped breathing entirely with all his efforts.
“Stan? Qué es–... Ah, you good?”
Stan nodded quickly, shaking. “F-fine, fine.”
Deeby raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. What is this, you having a panic attack?”
He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but he shook his head fervently. Then reeled as it made the dizziness and headache so much worse.
“Stan, talk to me, chiquito. If he actually did something to you, tell me. I need a good reason to kill him, you’d be helping me out a lot.”
He didn't actually even hurt me, did he?
“No–! I-I u-uh-uh yes-s-s, but– but–”
I don't WANT to ‘help you out’! I don't want to talk about it! ESPECIALLY not with you.
He let out a whine and failed to swallow the giant knot forming in his throat.
“Alright, is this about the shirt then? Or the uh, the chest thing? Is that why you went from colonizer white to ghost white when you thought I was gonna make you strip earlier?” He walked over to the tattered shirt and scooped it up. “Because if that's what got you, I can assure you I don’t give a single crap what you’ve–... got in your...”
Deeby trailed off as he held up the grey strips of fabric that used to be Stan's button-down.
And just stared.
Stan gawked at the unrecognizable shredded fabric hanging in the bounty hunter's hands. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how utterly destroyed his beloved shirt was. What was he supposed to wear now?
“That… Motherfucker…” Deeby muttered, almost as as aghast as Stan. “Christ, I knew he'd pull some grade-A bullshit, but this–”
“Y-you KNEW?!” Stan gasped out, surprising himself with the volume of his outburst. “You– You knew he was gonna– gonna try to...”
Deeby didn't look up from the tatters in his hands. “Yeah. He's predictable, if nothing else.”
Stan's entire body felt like it was full of angry bees. “You–... You left me-e alone with ‘im. On pu-urpose.”
“And everything turned out fine, you're fine. Look runt, we need to have a little talk about what–”
“NO!” Stan cried, ignoring the drop in his stomach when Deeby's eyes took on a slight challenging glint at the interruption. “No, don’t change the subject! You left me alone with him! You knew he was gonna try to– to rape me and you left me alone with him! Handcuffed, chained to the floor, powerless, immobile, beat up to hell and– a-and unable to defend myself and you-you left me alone with him!”
The floodgates were opening. The stifling sense of justice suffocating Stan from the inside out wouldn’t let the injustices go unsaid any longer, crashing through his body and just about ready to make him burst. Ironic, given the everything.
Deeby’s jaw set. “Stan. I wouldn’t have left that shit-for-brains alone with anyone if I didn’t have to.”
“Oh, but you– you had to?” Stan taunted, hoping the sarcasm came through in his voice even with the stuttering and heaving breaths. “What, Dee-deeby the great bounty hunter actually answers to someone? Enough to put the uh, the bounty in danger? Or are you just scared of him, wanted to get away?!”
Deeby snorted.
“Hell yeah, I'll do whatever if the buyer asks it,” he proclaimed. "And I'm not scared of that human cringe-fail. The day I'm scared of him is the day I'm dragged away screaming and turned into… well, you, basically. But I mean, that's when he's actually dangerous…"
He seemed to think on it for a moment. Then crouched down in front of Stan, smug grin replaced with something like the look a friend gives when they think you're about to ruin your life with a single dumb decision.
“Honesty, bud… I wouldn't be so tough around a guy like that if I were a guy like you. Best to just fuel his ego.”
Stan physically recoiled. “Don't tell me what–! Who-wh–…”
That insult sounded way too genuine. Since when was the mercenary genuine?
“Wait, wait, you'd…” Stan shook his head, trying to untangle his thoughts from the spaghetti of his mind. This concussion was killing him. He could barely think. “If you were… Who even was th-that?”
Another chuckle. “What, Tweedy? That was Vaughn. He said that earlier, though I applaud your ability to block him out. Wish I could do that.”
Then again, the hunter was most likely just trying to psych him out. Get him to behave again. Stan wouldn't fall for something like that.
“No, idiot, I mean–... I meant who is he? Why is he going to-to see me soon?… And– and for that matter, are you working together? Because it seems like you hate each other.”
Deeby let out a huff of air. “Look, bud, we need to talk about that phone call I had to take, the boss–”
“You're avoiding the question.”
“Well frankly, there's more important things to talk about,” Deeby dismissed quickly. “So I was talking with the boss-lady on the phone while you were–”
“I don’t care about what that Lana person has to say!” Stan said, slamming his hands on the floor for effect, a breath-stealing pang running through his ribs at the jostling. “Jus– Just tell me who you guys are, tell me why I’m here, tell me why I should be scared of ‘a guy like that’! Who ARE you?!”
Deeby narrowed his eyes slightly. “We need to talk about what's going to happen to you next. And you're gonna listen to that. Not yell demands at me like some asshole 6-year-old, because you already know I don't deal with all that ‘who am I, secret identity’ crap, so you're not getting those answers.”
Well actually, judging by the horrible sticky weight that slammed Stan in the gut when Deeby said that, he didn't want to know what horrors awaited him next. So next best thing? Keep being an asshole 6-year-old.
“Why?”
“Anonymity is the most valuable tool you can have in this game.” Deeby recited it like a script, exaggerating a monotone boredom. “Also I'm not an idiot, it's protocol that's saved me before, it helps me do my job without getting invested… take your pick.”
“You're not even wearing your mask any more!” Stan cried. “So much for secret identity!”
“I think what you're meaning to say is ‘thank you for rushing to save my damsel-in-distress ass from some twink with scissors when you heard me screaming for help even though you were dealing with a really important phone call from the worst person ever’. And you're very welcome. Now we need to talk about what I found out in that dumbass phone call and what it means for you.”
He always had an answer for everything, huh? Always another quip.
Stan's blood started to boil, and he may have actually, genuinely growled a little.
“S-so-so so what, you are scared of her, then? You're scared of her and that's why you left me with that monster?!” He tried, spitting back as much smug asshole-ness as Deeby had been throwing at him. “Is that why you hate them, you’re just their damn lackey doing whatever they tell you to do?! Just a puppet for them to guide around, running around capturing supers and serving them up on a silver platter like a good little servant?!”
Deeby stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sudden venom in the captive's words. His fists clenched by his side.
Hm. Stan may have gone too far.
“Look, McKellen,” Deeby spat as he took an authoritative step forward, voice slow, low and dark. “There are things at play here that you can’t know about–”
“Why not?!” Stan felt like he was losing it, voice creaky and high and hoarse. “Obviously I’m gonna be trapped here with you assholes for the rest of my short life until you kill me with some new form of torture experiment bullshit! Why not tell me everything?! Why not do whatever you want with me?! Just tell me! Please!!”
Stan glared desperately at the bounty hunter. He knew he wasn’t even just crossing the line at this point; he was sprinting over the line and stomping on it repeatedly in a panic-fueled frenzy, kicking at it and letting out his full fury as if the line itself had done this to him, as if absolutely decimating the line would somehow fix everything.
Way deep down, almost too far down to admit to himself, he almost hoped the mercenary would see through the insults and the fighting to see the pleading, hurt, scared man underneath. And then take pity. Just let him have this one thing, before he broke entirely.
But the bounty hunter glared right back at him.
“No.” He stated venomously. “Right now, you're going to shut up. And listen.”
As if Stan would ever listen to the orders of his kidnapper. Of a villain.
A small laugh, just a little chuckle, took root his chest. A disbelieving smile cracked across his face.
The absence of the signature unbothered grin, the absence of the mask, the deathly seriousness? Not to mention the gun, the knives, the chains, the handcuffs, the power suppressing collar, no cane or crutch or any viable mobility aid in sight, and beaten so hard multiple times that he probably couldn't run properly anyway even if he did have a knee that actually worked…
This really was hopeless, wasn't it?
He could rage against the dying of the light all he wanted. Scream and shout and cry and fight and say witty things to hide the excruciating, never-ending pain.
But the light would still die all the same.
He clutched Deeby's very own stupid cowboy-ass jacket around his shoulders. He couldn't even defend himself from getting his shirt ripped to shreds right off his body!
And this bitch–
“You– you don't think…” he had to pause to let out a barrage of inappropriate giggles, then shoved up shakily to his feet, back braced against the wall. “You don't still think I'm gonna– that, that I'm gonna escape, do you?!”
Deeby gave pause, eyeing Stan up and down. Really thinking about it. He took a deep breath. A low grumble emanated from the base of his throat.
“No. I don't.”
Stan laughed out again, full force this time. Desperate. Tearful.
“Then just–... just TELL ME!! IT DOESN'T MATTER!! IT DOESN'T!! IT'LL DIE WITH ME!!”
The mercenary's mouth pressed into a thin line. Was that confusion etched into his features? Or worry? Maybe anger…
“It does matter,” He growled through gritted teeth. “It's probably the most important thing you could know, who I am. Who we are.”
Stan let out a loud cry of anguish, screeching out every single frustration at the unfairness of the world, at this situation, at Deeby and Vaughn and whoever Lana was, at the collar and the chains and the cut and bruises and broken bones and his broken, useless knee into a single, guttural sound.
“WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTIN-GAH-AH!!”
Very, very suddenly, the lapels of Deeby's loosely draped jacket tightened around his body and slammed him back into the wall, the fleece-lined collar of the jacket twisting and pulling on the power-suppressing strap clamped around his neck, contracting it, choking him just as the slam forced all the breath out of his lungs.
Stan clawed back against the force, only managing to grasp at Deeby’s forearms uselessly as they twisted the jacket ever tighter around him. Pinning his arms. Trapping him. He had to heave in and out gasping breaths just to get enough air to breath through his half obstructed airways.
“Look at me, chiquito,” the bounty hunter snarled. “Look me in the eye!”
Stan's panicked eyes paused their sporadic dance around the room. They locked dead onto the mercenary's fiery gaze.
“Did you break your damn brain in the 3 minutes I was gone?” Deeby hissed into his ear. Stan almost screeched in terror. “I don't know what sort of fuckery your mind has been conjuring up that you can't get this very simple concept without going insane,” he jolted Stan and dragged out an involuntary whimper from his throat.
“But whatever it is, shut it down. Now. I'm gonna tell you the bare minimum of what you need to know, and you're gonna sit there and listen or else I won't tell you jack shit and knock you unconscious so I don't have to deal with your bullshit. Agreed?!”
“I– Ah, a-ah, I– No, I- I, no-no no No-o–”
He couldn't get his thoughts to line up properly. They swarmed around his head like locusts in a dust bowl, bouncing into each other, frenzied, an indecipherable cloud of fear and frustration that his horrible attempt at defiance, futile as it may have been, always just made everything worse.
He could never stop himself.
Angry tears rimmed at Stan's eyes. His body hurt. His brain pounded in his skull. His ribs cried out in protest as they pressed into the wall. The various bruises and their dull, throbbing aches, the cuts and bleeding wounds and their sharp, searing screeches, the sticky and caked on dried blood, so familiar now it was almost a second skin, Deeby's weight pinning him to the wall, so similar and yet so different to the way Vaughn had done the same.
No. No, no, no, no.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally falling in hot, fat drops down his cheeks. The bounty hunter was so close, too close. Stan tried to pull away, and he just leaned on him harder, their faces barely inches apart.
“Agreed, chiquito?” The voice rumbled through his entire body, sending shivers up and down his spine.
No no no no no no no he needed to get away, get away now, please please that's all he needed he couldn't get away he couldn't even move his arms he could barely breathe–
“WHY DON'T YOU JUST RAPE ME ALREADY?!” Stan screamed into the endless cacophonous void.
And silence.
And the entire world went still.
Deeby’s mouth fell literally agape.
His grip on Stan loosened considerably. Not out of pity or any other considerate emotion. Just shock.
At least Stan could finally breathe again. Not that he took a single breath in the silence.
“I–...” Deeby finally choked out. “I-I beg you finest fucking what?!”
“Just fucking do it,” Stan hissed, gasping. “We both know you could. I couldn't even stop Vaughn, you think I could stop you?!”
The words spewed out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, like a volcano that had finally exploded its top off in a fiery glory. And the way Deeby looked at him, as if his features were having an all out war over shock, horror, or honestly very justified anger? Oh, that did nothing but fan the flames of Stan's sorrow-filed hysteria.
“Tall ass muscle-bound freak with an actual gun that captured me and beat me up again and again then left me to die?! I don't even know who you are! You can do whatever you want and I can't do jack shit to stop you! Just do it, hurt me, rape me, it doesn't matter! Vaughn knew that, you can too!” Stan attempted to shove the bounty hunter off, but he still didn't move.
“Please, please, I'm begging you, is that what you want?! I'll get on my knees!”
Stan collapsed against Deeby's hold, and to his surprise, Deeby finally let him. Well, not ‘let him,’ more like ‘recoiled and jumped back when he felt Stan collapsing in his grasp'.
All the same.
“Chiquito,” Deeby rasped. “I'm– not exactly sure what or why you're demanding, but I'm not going to–”
“Why not?! It doesn't matter!” Stan assured, holding his arms out to fully present himself now, shedding the jacket onto the floor behind him and taking a daring scoot forward. “I bet you just kicked Vaughn out because you wanted me all to yourself! I bet you just love seeing me scared and helpless and half naked in your stupid fucking yee-yee jacket–”
“Alright, Stan, enough!”
“AT LEAST VAUGHN had the decency to not pretend like he was a decent fucking person like you!” Stan yelled. “We both know you're not above it, fucking professional kidnapper and torturer! So just do it! Like Vaughn wanted to, like he tried to! Finish what he started, you have me all to yourself now! DO IT! DO IT I DARE–”
“The name's Declan.”
The statement was a whisper in the storm. Stan almost missed it. But the resolute certainty of the southern twang stopped him dead in his tracks.
“What–… What did you just–?”
It was astounding how quickly his voice had turned meek from the cacophony of chaos mere seconds before. Dark freckles stood out against an even starker white face than usual.
“It's Declan,” the mercenary stated once more. “My name. My name’s Declan. You wanted t’know who we are, who I am? Fine then, I'm Declan. Want the last name too?”
“I– wait–!”
“It's Cansano. Declan Cansano.”
Stan was shaking, a million thoughts crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. If he weren't already on his knees, surely he would have collapsed.
He hadn't actually… meant any of that. No. Had he? No. He couldn't have. He didn't want to know who the mercenary was. No, he didn't. He didn't, not really! He would never want that! Never!
“That’s not… Wh-why would you…?”
The bounty hunter shrugged. “You wanted to know who I am. You asked, you screamed, you insulted me and you went fuckin’ nuts over it.” His thunder-filled eyes betrayed his completely relaxed demeanor. “Declan Cansano. Don't forget‘t.”
“I just– That's not what– Wait, Deeby, you– Where are you going?!”
Deeby was already halfway to the door when he swiftly spun around, fists clenched and any trace of the easy demeanor vanished in those bright blood-stained eyes.
“I can't fuckin’ deal with you right now!”
Stan nearly launched himself back in fear, right back onto Deeby's stupid, soft jacket. He grasped it up as a barrier between him and the mercenary without even thinking. The mercenary's demeanor relaxed from absolutely terrifying to merely extremely angry at the sorry sight.
“I'm leaving for a bit.” He whipped around and grasped for the lapels of his jacket to yank it on, only for his grasp to come up empty. He whipped around a third time. “And I'll be expectin’ my coat back when I get back! You better've calmed the hell down by then, if you know what’s good for you.”
Wait, wait, he was leaving? No!
Stan tried to scramble after Deeby, but immediately fell to the agony of his knee and the length of his leash.
“Don't go, please!” he pleaded.
Deeby didn’t stop. “Why?”
What if you come back with more torture tools?
What if you don't come back at all?
I still have more questions for you.
You can't just leave me here, I'm hurt!
I shouldn't be alone right now. I can't. I'm scared of what will happen, I'm going insane.
Even you are better than no one at all.
“What– what if Vaughn comes back?!”
Deeby scoffed. “I'm not going that far, damn. Eat some protein bars while I'm gone so you don't die, should help with the insanity. Back soon.”
And the door to the room closed shut behind him, the click echoing off the walls in the sudden unbearable silence.
Stan collapsed to the floor, defeated.
He clutched the jacket closer.
Pulled it tight around his shoulders, fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indents on the well-worn hide. The cotton lining was so surprisingly soft against his skin. Hell, he could smell the dirt and musk that permeated the jacket from years of use, the smal signs that this jacket had seen the capture of dozens of supers.
Declan.
Declan Cansano.
Professional Superhero-Hunter.
Stan screamed into the endless abyss around him.
And this time, Declan didn’t come back to save him.
Royal AU: What if WWX didn’t want it? LWJ had always treated him coldly to the point that whatever feelings WWX had for him fizzled out. That night that LWJ got drunk was a mistake. WWX did not want it. The morning after, WWX told LWJ of what happened that night and demanded a divorce. (I’m pretty sure that in ancient China, there were certain circumstances in which it was possible for there to be a divorce. But in any case, I just want WWX to leave regardless and never return to Gusu.)
Ohhh that's awful but I like it. I'm picturing WWX being so desperate for a divorce that he hides the pregnancy at first but once he cant hide it anymore he starts horrible rumors so the Lan clan want to end the marriage as quickly as possible to save themselves some face even though LWJ is fighting them every step of the way.
16. What are your true, honest feelings about each other? Is there some part of you that cares for the other at all?
17. What is your favourite thing about the other? A personality trait, a physical feature, anything
For Cyrus :)
Hiii hi hi :D yep, still doing, thank you for the ask <3
Still doing this ask game, too link ;))))
(Ask game) - (Curse of Withering masterpost)
16. What are your true, honest feelings about each other? Is there some part of you that cares for the other at all?
Wilson: This is fucking ridiculous. Who is asking those questions? It is not going to keep answering this bullshit-
[Ten minutes of argument redacted from the transcription. Handler Wilson and Doctor Mayfield left the room for the Wither to answer the questions alone.]
Wither: ...
Wither: ... Can I speak?
Wither: ... ahm... A-About Mr. Wilson and Mx. Mayfield?
Wither: ...
Wither: ... I hope they have good lives outside of work. I know Mr. Wilson has family, so I hope they're happy and healthy and he gets to spend time with them. I've seen Mx. Mayfield with a marriage ring a few rare times... at least I think it was one. So... ahm... I hope that is going well, too.
Wither: ...
Wither: I suppose I do care for them. I don't want them to be sad.
Wither: ... Will I get in trouble for saying these things?
17. What is your favourite thing about the other? A personality trait, a physical feature, anything
Wither: ...
Wither: Oh, right... ahm... I can speak?
Wither: ... Mx. Mayfield takes good care of me, and... ahm... advocates for me as my doctor. I know it's just their job, but... I don't know... [Goes silent]
Wither, under its breath: They dont yell...
Wither: ... Mr. Wilson... he's not... ahm... like- like some... he doesn't... he doesn't hurt his charges for fun. Nor... touch us. Some handlers do. He doesn't. And I heard he... ahm... make the ones that do it get in trouble.
Wither: Mx. Mayfield also doesn't. They fired some residents and attendings for doing it.
What if LXC wasn't actually QHJ's son? What if Madam Lan was r*ped by the man she ended up killing and LXC was actually his son instead.
No-one knew because QHJ married Madam Lan before anyone knew she was pregnant, and when she starts showing everyone, including QHJ himself, assumes it's QHJ's baby. Only Madam Lan knows the truth.
Now imagine LXC post-canon, in seclusion, idly going through some of his mother's things to try and bring himself some sort of comfort. Only, he accidentally discovers the truth of his parentage when he finds half-finished letters Madam Lan tried to write to confess the truth to QHJ before she died.
LXC: I think I'm ready to rejoin society again.
Letter from his dead mom: Dear husband, LXC is probably the son of my rapist and not yours
Is anyone going to write anything about JYL being within groping range of JGS? And JGS going after a conveniently in range woman? Something to the tune of JZX being a bit of a oblivious naive dumbass, JC being himself and WWX being a good brother.
I don’t know about everyone else, but I just tell myself Jin Zixuan and Madam Jin guarded her like the absolute treasure that she is. Maybe Jin Zixuan trained one or two dogs to never leave her side and no hesitate to maul anyone (JGS) who tried to harm her. Or maybe Madam Jin made it very clear to her husband that if he tried anything with their daughter in law she would make sure his sword could never be used again. Or maybe Jiang Yanli was just very cautious and made sure to never ever be alone with her father in law.
But my god can you imagine the pain if he actually did do something to her? She doesn’t want to talk about it because what would everyone think? She would be a ruined woman. Rumors spread so easily and that anyone finding out would turn disastrous. Her husband would set her aside and Madam Jin would think of her as another of her husbands whores and her brothers would charge in and start another war when they hadn’t ever recovered from the last one. Her silence keeps the peace and thats all she’s ever wanted- a peaceful, happy life.
I was rereading the creepy JFM au--specifically the WWX is pregnant before the marriage and isn't sure about the father post--and it says that the only thing Lan Yuan shares with his father is the regal arch of the Lan eyebrows. The thing is, JFM is a Sect Leader, so it's entirely possible that one of JFM's close ancestors (I was thinking his mother) was a high-ranking Lan with all of the Lan features. Features that were then + 1/2
+ Features that were then partially passed onto JFM including the Lan eyebrows. The Lan eyebrows, proving to the world that Lan Yuan is Lan Zhan's son, all the while proving nothing to those aware of the situation and causing even more tension for years to come. 2/2
-
He was able to keep Jiang Fengmian away the first month after Lan Yuan's birth. Lan Wangji took a not insufficient amount of petty joy when he told the Jiang sect leader that Wei Wuxian had requested only female visitors be allowed to see her. Of course he had done so while allowing himself, Jiang Wanyin, his brother, and his uncle into the Jingshi without a word. (He had sent Madam Yu a fine set of calligraphy brushes as a thank you for how she scolded her husband for 'pouting like a child over a young new mothers’ completely reasonable request'.)
However even he knew that he could not deny the man an invitation to his sons one month celebration. Not inviting one of the great sects would be seen as a great insult and it would become a political incident. It would also deny Wei Wuxian's siblings from coming to celebrate and break his wife's heart.
She was anxious and fearful in the days leading up to the celebration. He found her tracing her fingers over their sons’ tiny eyebrows every hour of the day. Each time he took her hand and kissed her fingers and promised that he would not leave her alone with that man ever again.
The celebration started off well. The receiving hall was decorated elegantly and Jiang Yanli had been happy to share some of Wei Wuxian's favorite Yunmeng recipes for the cooks to recreate. A'Yuan was delighted by the gold bracelets on his wrists and all the new faces around him. Wei Wuxian was in high spirits and laughing at the small mountain of gifts and red envelopes they received. Lan Wangji normally hated events like this with too many people who wanted to talk to him about pointless things, but now he proudly walked around and showed his son and wife off to everyone present. He stayed by his wife's side and Jiang Fengmian kept his distance.
It wasn't long after they had finished shaving A'Yuan's newborn hair away that an outer disciple named Su She approached and told him his grand uncle needed to speak with him alone.
"Don't worry, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said with a smile. "My feet are getting sore now so me and A'Yuan are going to sit down for a small rest. I'll be right here until you come back."
The thought of leaving his wife and child alone while Jiang Fengmian roamed around was unacceptable. "I will ask xiongzhang to stay with you until I return."
Wei Wuxian laughed at how silly he was, but he saw how her shoulders relaxed at his insistence.
Lan Xichen was delighted to stay by his sister in laws side until Lan Wangji returned. He’s told Lan Wangji that watching his little nephew has now become his favorite way to spend time.
It took far too long to find his grand uncle among the sizable crowd. The place Su She told him his grand uncle would be proved to be false. The longer it took the more his stomach tensed until it felt more like a stone. He reassured himself that he was just uneasy being away from his family.
His anxiety proved to be right when he found his grand uncle- who had not requested to speak to Lan Wangji alone at all. Lan Wangji could hardly get out an apology for the misunderstanding before he was rushing back to Wei Wuxian.
To his growing horror he finds his brother first - alone. Lan Xichen sees how upset he is and immediately starts to apologize and explain that an argument had started and he needed to mediate it. Lan Wangji didn’t care. He would have words with his brother later but Wei Wuxian being alone was more important.
Wei Wuxian is right where she said she would be. Sitting down, holding their son, pale as a ghost and not looking at Jiang Fengmian who was far, far too close for Lan Wangji’s liking. It looked like Wei Wuxian was trying to hide Yuan from the older man by holding him close and curling her body around him. Jiang Fengmian had his hand on her shoulder, leaning in to try seeing the baby better. Not having any luck, Jiang Fengmian lifted his hand to move the silk blanket Lan Yuan was wrapped in.
Lan Wangji was honestly shocked that he didn’t immediately drive his sword through Jiang Fengmian’s chest.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji wished that his voice had come out calm and composed, but it didn’t. His emotions were too wild to manage that.
Wei Wuxian stood and ran to his side without hesitation. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying choked out. Lan Wangji could now see just how close to tears she was. Lan Wangji could not hold back the vicious glare he threw Jiang Fengmian’s way. His anger only grew at the undeniably smug curl of the sect leaders lips.
“It seems that A’Xian has become tired from all of todays excitement,” Jiang Fengmian said pleasantly. As if he was a concerned father. As if he hadn’t spent years planning to ensnare Wei Ying. As if he hadn’t raped her for over a month!
Lan Wangji was very suddenly rethinking the value and merit of his clans rule against taking life.
“Sect leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen greeted. He very rudely cut in between them and began talking to the other man using social etiquette as his weapon. Lan Wangji loved his brother very much in that moment. There would still be words between them later for leaving Wei Wuxian’s side, but Lan Wangji knows deep down that he himself deserves a thousand times more blame for all of this.
He had promised not to leave her side. He told her he would protect her and she would never have to interact with Jiang Fengmian again. He had failed her so completely that he may never forgive himself.
Lan Wangji didn’t bother announcing the end of the celebration or addressing any of their guests to thank them like he should have. His brother would handle it. His only priority was getting Wei Wuxian and Lan Yuan to safety, far away from smug smiles and dark eyes.
The trip to the Jingshi seemed to both take an eternity and a few seconds at the same time. Wei Wuxian had began to quietly cry halfway there. He hadn’t seen her cry since their wedding night when she confessed that the baby may not be his.
Once inside the Jingshi, Lan Wangji held Wei Wuxian close. He waited until she was ready to tell him what had happened.
"He said..." she began before her voice broke. "He thanked me. For- For giving h-him a healthy son. Said he was proud...”
Lan Wangji felt rage fill his stomach like fire crawling up his spine and spreading through his body. That sick, twisted man dared to try laying a claim of his son and wife!
"He said- He-" Wei Wuxian let out a whimper that broke Lan Wangji's heart. "He said that Yuan h-has his mothers’ brows."
With that, Wei Wuxian's knees gave out and she would have collapsed to the floor if Lan Wangji hadn't been holding her. Their son, stressed from seeing his parents so upset, began to cry alongside his mother. Lan Wangji held the two of them in his arms as if that would be enough to keep them safe from the world.
It was a lie. It had to be a lie. Jiang Fengmian was a sick minded monster who saw what he wanted to see. He wanted to see Cangse Sanren when he looked at Wei Wuxian and he wanted to see his families features when he looked at Yuan. That's all it was. Just an unhinged man grasping at thin air to find a way to put a claim on their child. Lan Yuan is not that mans child.
Later he will tell Wei Wuxian this. He will tell her as many times as she needs to hear it. He will love her and their son and any child they have in the future with all his heart and never let anyone deny that they are his.
But for now he will hold them close while they cry and hate himself for failing to protect them.
So, I read this one fanfiction like 6 months ago where WWX is SA'ed by JZX, and WWX gets pregnant. And ever since then, I can't help but think what if MXY was their child (in the fanfiction, they don't mention the name of the baby, just mention that he was a boy and was adopted into a good family). MXY has the jin features, but he also has a lot of features from WWX. so I couldn't overlook this idea.
Ouch. This hurts worse if MXY still does the ritual and WWX is forced into the body of the child he gave up.
