#and i think he knows that but is too stubborn and devoted to admit otherwise

[someweirdoreblogger]

Hades falls far in love with a simple mortal,

who watches them die over and over again only to reincarnate the same cycle immediately after because Hades is too selfish to allow them to properly cross over to Helheim.

Not yet. This can't be accepted just yet, not so early. Hades is fully aware of the consequences of holding off their end cycle. Some turned insane. And others just completely and utterly destroyed themselves. The mortal body can only handle so much before falling apart.

Hades is the godly ruler of the land of death, a king of his duty, proud of his conquest. Of course, Hades bewares the toll.

(What god of death isn't?)

But it won't matter in the long run. Hades orders is an absolution no one dares defy.

Not yet.

The growing weight on his heart's soul will only become more unbearable, heavier, and susceptible to interference. Awakening far earlier than natural reincarnation, no reincarnated human in Helheim history ever walked the mortal plane so many times in such short spams of life.

The world kills them faster and faster every time, further spiteful by the unfortunate second.

The Valkyires are pestering him, merciless in their ruthless onslaught of words that one of the Big 3 instead prefers to prolong the suffering of an unlucky mortal then allow them peace of mind in Asphodel. And Hades doesn't blame them for their anger, he deserves such scolding and expected their inevitable visit in hopes to understand what the hell Hades is pulling. Or in this case, ignoring to pull.

Death nutures at his hands, countless demons flee at the very glance of their god. The netherowlrd exists for a reason, and Hades knows the value and importance of the balance. The Valkyires are just doing their jobs, as heavy and demanding it is, and Hades of all people-outright refuses them guidance of your soul, the very task their were made for.

And Hades promises them, the very least he can do for now, even offers to write it in ichor-that once the time comes, you will know the long awaited threshold.

But not yet.

Not this time, Hades isn't ready, nothing is ready just yet.

Not this one, not yet.

Not yet.

[damianbugs]

You need to tell us what you think of your favorite Bruce ships. Pls

i should preface by saying i usually prefer bruce (in my own works and others, including comics) to not be in a relationship at all because i can't think of a time he's like ever emotionally stable enough for that. like ever. THAT BEING SAID isn't that all the more reason to throw him into a ship? doomed tragic romance you will always be famous to me

and because i am insane, here are some comic recs to go with my fav bruce ships!!

>batcat

a classic favourite, batcat!!! i will admit i am not the biggest fan of their rebirth stories, and the whole wedding fiasco and most of what tom king wrote about them (and in general) was. not enjoyable. but pre crisis/golden age batcat? MY PARENTS. just. silver and bronze age batcat too. what a refreshing and entertaining couple. the thing that really makes them compelling is at the end of the day they have the same goal; protect the people of gotham. the ways they go about it can be different, and selina especially faces some serious mischaracterisation in order to make bruce look like the "hero" in the relationship, but at their core and simplest expression of love, they share the same dream, and they both know that. it's this selflessness that connects them deeply.

> "The Autobiography of Bruce Wayne" (Batman the Brave and the Bold #197) is, in my opinion, essential batcat reading. a very bittersweet story!

> for a more modern read, "Only Takes a Night" (Catwoman #32) is a delightful read about how hopelessly in love they are. bruce is such a devoted loser.

> ghostbat

every character needs that one irreparably damaging young adult tragic romance that changed their life forever and that is what ghostbat is. khoa is the perfect foil to bruce, in that ultimately, they are two ends of the same spectrum. fiercely stubborn and confident in their own moral code but in the opposite way. this ship is particularly fascinating because even now, the respect and love they have for each other years later is so deeply consuming that it is prevalent in how they interact now. i don't think bruce would have been the person he is without his relationship with khoa pre-batman, in both a good and bad ways. i also really love the hc that khoa is bruce's first heartbreak (refer to: the Snow and Gun incident).

> "Batman The Knight" is like ghostbat religious text. this is all you need. let it destroy you.

> batlantern

no long paragraph about this one because its my silly guilty pleasure. sometimes u need a ship in which they just don't get along except for the times they do. hal brings out such an irritating (said fondly) side to bruce and its even funnier because it works mutually. i think another really wonderful thing about this pairing is that they are really not so different from each other (nothing says romance than being consumed by your guilt and stubbornness), but they both think otherwise, so they knock heads while also begrudgingly respecting about one another in a colleague-friend-crush way. they want to make out so bad it makes them look stupid.

> "Batman: Universe" is a great and short silly story that shows their dynamic really well. amused me greatly. not ship focused though hal is there for like. a single issue unfortunately. but fun!!

> i usually never recommend any new 52 books to get INTO a character, but if you're interested in this pairing and its most 'popular' fanon interation, then "Jutice League (2011)" is the best place to start. you can get to their better stuff afterwards! (there's also an animated movie about it!)

> brutalia

AND BEST TILL LAST. THE BRUCE SHIP OF ALL TIME. ruined my life. CHANGED my life. i wish i could explain how insanely important this relationship is in words. i love my pairings tragic and there is quite literally no other ship quiet as dramatic or poetic than brutalia. talia is often seen as bruce's "one true love" with great reason, and him hers, and despite that they will probably never actually get back together. in a wider lense, the al ghuls and bruce have an insanely complicated dynamic, and this inherent conflict about missions bigger than themselves makes brutalia's forbidden love drama all the more compelling. talia brings out the best in bruce, and bruce respects and loves talia in a way i don't think he does anyone else in his life.

to complain for a moment, it's no wonder that because their relationship (since it's very first introduction) was so irrevocably pure and consensual (they were both so ridiculously obsessed with each other), that Certain Writers had to pull out the most out of character and disgusting stories to make it clear the tone of batman was changing. talia is always a victim to racism, misogyny and just unbelievable ooc writing — most evidently in her stories with bruce, unfortunately.

AND YET. recent comics have realised how truly ridiculous it is to write her as anything but kind and strong, and bruce being anything but hopelessly infatuated. i think my favourite thing about brutalia is that bruce and talia is a relationship that has been separated for actual Decades and so both their characters have been developed to have their own tragic stories and growth. then when we get small moments that bring them back together and letting that past show through the cracks in their carefully constructed walls, it's all the more romantic.

beautiful heartbreaking ship. the kind of relationship historians would cry over. would have the romantic period publishing fifteen books over.

> "Batman: Son of the Demon" is ESSENTIAL brutalia reading. also, if you are insane and delusional enough, it can be the true origin of damian.

> the comic moment that inspired all romance the moment of forever the blueprint even is in the famous "Batman (1940) #244"

> for a more modern take, very recently in fact, is her appearances in Ram V's run of detective comics, starting from #1062. its not brutalia focused, but a great take on how natural and yearning their relationship is now.

[maria-taiwin]

We should debate more how Ouyang could be an unreliable narrator. His all life - and thoughts - are shaped by self-sabotage and self-hate, of course something trueful will be missing.

Ouyang is always ready to put the responsability of his destiny, a destiny he hates, on whatever culprit he finds within reach, he always thinks he has no other choices and he reflects his presumed lack of choices in whatever designs of the fate (the horse who finds itself lord Wang in the forest when Ouyang wanted to kill Esen's father, so it must be a sign! Or when he plays chess or something like this with General Shao and in the end he find himself in the corner and has no way out. It must be a sign too that he can't fight his destiny).

Ouyang is so fucked up, and all of his thoughts are so twisted, deliberately twisted! He deliberately wants to push his anger and hate, then he will be convinced he would have no guilt in pursuing his revenge, he wants so much adding fuel to the fire otherwise he has no idea how to going on, but in this way he doesn't acknowledge his truest and whole feelings and not even about the other people, because he's stubborn to just focus in hate and nothing else.

Also, we shouldn't forget that Ouyang is so prideful! Yeah he has also that trait but that sentiment is not the predominant one at the end of book 1, it stopped to be because Ouyang gave up and decided to be drowned in his own pain and hate. I also asked myself many times how such a prideful man could be SO attached (and Ouyang's devotion for Esen was not at all a lie, maybe it was the only good thing in his life) at the son of the man who destroyed his life. His pride should have of course stopped him, but it couldn’t. That because Ouyang's mind is really fucked up as I said, but we shouldn't forget what Ouyang admitted in the early chapters: "It was only ever Esen who thought Ouyang deserving of reward. Who refused to see what everyone else saw." And this could explain why ouyang, who was so used to be seen with disgust, grow affection for him. But in the end Ouyang twists again that feeling, he distorts that presumption because he hates himself, he doesn't feel deserving and he tells himself to put a forced distance between him and Esen otherwise he could go on his revenge, so he deliberately twists their initial relationship in something quite opposite, again to pursue his goal, but it's a goal he does even desire to fulfill to. (No mistake, the fucked up miscommunication is from both sides, both Esen and Ouyang do nothing but resist to their true feelings and to admit the truth, but I'm talking about my favorite meow meow here).

So where does this blabering take us? That we shouldn't trust 100% on Ouyang's pov because Ouyang himself is not honest to himself and he's always there to reflect his hate, misplaced or not.

Who knows, maybe he will admit *some* truth in the final book

[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

[serodev]

Hello there, I saw that your requests were open so I hope you don't mind answering mine.

Could you write(scenario please) modern Gyomei X fem reader fighting alot and reader just decides to end the whole relationship because of it. They have been together for some years and recently they have been in a lot of arguments because Gyomei doesn't spend enough time with reader and he is constantly around other women that reader thinks are better, prettier and more attractive than her. Gyomei doesn't notice that they are trying to flirt with him and discards her feelings which leads to the end of the relationship.

Some days later Gyomei goes to look for reader to apologize and work out their issues.

Can it be angst to fluff please? I don't know if you write angst and if you don't write for Gyomei you can change it to Kyo or Tengen.

Please could you tag me in this? If you don't want to that's fine.

Have a nice day🥰🥰

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, slight fluff!

Pairing: Gyomei x gn!reader

Note(s): Changed the reader from female to gn as we agreed to! I hope you enjoy this drabble~

You had tried your best to not let your emotions get the best of you when it came to Gyomei, his blindness, and partly to his obviousness, but you had to admit that your patience was starting to wear thin when it came to him.

That's why you started to act petty and angry towards him even though you knew that he didn't deserve it, but you couldn't help but feel unsure about your relationship with him. Deep down, you knew he was faithful to you, but at the same time, you couldn't help but feel angry with him for letting the other women flirt with him.

"Gyomei, this is literally it! I don't want you to come here anymore! You rarely even spend time with me because you're constantly around other people, especially women, who are far prettier, better, and more attractive than me!" You yelled out one night when he had, once again, come home late smelling strongly like a cheap perfume.

You couldn't stop yelling even though you knew that it hurt both of you, and you couldn't help but start sobbing at some point as you saw tears falling from his eyes. "Y/n, love-" He tried to make you change your mind in his own confused state, but you knew that it was too late by then, and instead, you ended up walking out of the door, leading you into the chilly night.

The next few days after the incident were hard for you because even though you felt angry towards Gyomei for what he had done, you still couldn't help but feel longing towards him. The fact that he had called you few times after the messy breakup didn't help your case at all, and it was close that you would've returned back to him. However, you were way too stubborn to do that, and instead, you hid under your bed covers where you had spent most of your time after getting home.

Things didn't stay like this for a long time, though, because you heard a quiet knock on the door while you were making food for yourself.

You had pretty much forgotten what had happened by then, so you didn't hesitate to open the door until you saw your ex-lover in front of you. The situation was certainly awkward, especially because Gyomei had started to cry at some point, so you couldn't do anything else than to let him in with a quiet sight.

"What do you want?" You didn't have any poison left in your tone as you handed Gyomei a piece of paper so that he could dry his tears up while you waited for his answer. "Y/n... I'm sorry about what happened back then." He started.

Just hearing what he said almost made your blood boil, but you kept yourself calm as you sat across him because you could tell that he had much more to say.

"I didn't know why you wanted to break up with me. I was confused, sad, and hurt about what you said, but it gave me a chance to think about what had happened." The taller man explained his stance, and you hummed quietly to let him know that you were still listening to him.

"Gyomei—" You started to speak, but he cut you off before you could continue.

"I hope you can believe me when I say this, y/n. I'm sorry, and I promise to work on my mistakes." — Gyomei was crying harder by the time he ended his sentence, and you couldn't help but smile sadly. "What about the other women who flirted with you?" You couldn't help but ask because they were a big part of the whole break-up in the first place. This made Gyomei fall silent before he shrugged his shoulders a bit.

"I didn't know they were flirting with me. I was fully devoted to you, y/n." He whispered, and you couldn't help but feel a bit bad for thinking otherwise.

"Okay."

This made Gyomei perk up a bit, and you wiped your eyes just in case because you didn't want to be the one crying. "I forgive you, but please try to keep your promise." You started to speak, and you leaned in to place your hand on top of his with a tiny smile on your lips.

"I think it should be me apologizing because I was the one who misunderstood the actual situation. So, Gyomei, I'm sorry." You asked for forgiveness, and all you heard was a tiny hum before you felt his warm lips on your cheek.

"Let's try to work our way up from here."

Author's note: Asdkfjhsd,,,, I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to reply to your requests. I have been having a busy day after another, so I kind of hit this long road where I didn't have any kind of inspiration! However, I still hope you got to enjoy this drabble!

[tails89]

Affirmation

Buddie - G - 1k

@sicktember day 2: persistent coughing/sniffing

Read on AO3

Buck glances up sharply, turning to watch Eddie across the room. He’s sitting with Chris, helping his son with his homework but every so often he makes this weird sound, like he’s trying not to cough but can’t quite hold it in.

Rolling his eyes, Buck turns back to his book. 

Chris had been the first one to crumble, taken out by a bug that had been doing the rounds at his school. Buck had followed shortly after and they had spent two miserable days curled up on the couch together watching movies. The only upside, as far as Buck was concerned, was that he’d got to hang with his two favourite people, even if he’d been feeling too sick to actually appreciate it at the time. 

Now Chris is back at school and Buck is back at work, but it looks like Eddie might have finally succumbed. Getting him to admit it is damn near impossible though. Buck’s got no idea why Eddie is so dead set against admitting he’s sick. 

Eddie’s voice cracks as he helps Chris work through one of his maths questions. The crack becomes a splutter, which becomes a cough and then Eddie is hacking into his elbow while Chris and Buck look on. 

Rising from the couch, Buck heads into the kitchen, filling a glass of water before returning to hand it to Eddie.

“Why don’t you take a break,” he suggests. “I can help Chris finish his homework.”

Chris and Eddie both shoot him twin looks of skepticism. 

“You’re going to help Chris with his math homework?” Eddie asks, taking a sip of the water. “Really?”

“It’s fifth grade math,” Buck counters, nudging Eddie up and away from the table. “How hard can it be?” He sits beside Chris. “Show me what you’ve got, bud.”

Chris takes him through his homework and Eddie disappears to the other end of the house. Buck suspects he’s trying to hide how awful he feels, but lets it drop, devoting all his attention to Chris. He’ll corner Eddie later about it.

“You can’t just use the calculator,” Chris tells him when Buck goes to plug the question into his phone. “Mr Willis said we’ve got to show our working.” 

“Okay, so you, uh —” Dropping his phone, Buck picks up the worksheet. “You start by— this is division right?”

Chris nods. “Yep, long division.” He takes the worksheet back. “Look.” He writes out the question and methodically moves through to it, explaining to Buck as he goes. “See! It’s seventeen!”

Buck looks down at the column of seemingly random numbers and then across at Chris’s grinning face. 

“I don’t suppose you have any English homework you need help with?” he asks hopefully. 

“No, I already did it,” Chris tells him, moving onto the next question.

“How about I just sit with you for moral support then?” Buck offers. “I’m not sure I’m going to be much help otherwise.”

“That’s okay,” Chris tells him, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Dad’s not much help either.”

Buck laughs, reaching out to ruffle Chris’s hair. “You’re just too smart for the both of us.”

They both look towards the hallway as a series of sneezes followed by a barking cough echoes down from Eddie’s bedroom. 

Buck sighs and turns back to Chris. “What do you think my chances are of convincing your dad to stay home tomorrow?” he asks, fidgeting with one of Chris’s coloured pencils.

“Uh,” Chris glances up at him, lips pursed as he thinks about it. “Zero.” He turns back to his homework with an overexaggerated sigh. “And Dad says I’m stubborn.”

~

Eddie reappears as Buck is finishing up dinner. He puts up a valiant effort while they’re eating, keeping up a steady chatter with Chris but Buck can see that he’s fading quickly— his voice is little more than a hoarse croak and he’s pushing his dinner around on his plate instead of eating it. 

Buck takes pity on him, distracting Chris by asking him to help clear the plates away. It works for all of two seconds before Chris is back, leaning against Eddie with his arm around his Dad’s shoulders.

“Hey Dad?”

“Yeah kiddo?”

“Can we watch a movie?” 

Eddie hesitates, sniffles, and says, “I don’t know, kiddo. It’s a school night.”

Chris’s face falls. “But it’s still early,” he points out. “And I finished all my homework.”

Buck can see the reluctance painted across Eddie’s pale face. “Hey Chris, I think there’s some ice cream in the freezer, you think you can grab it for me?” He waits until Chris has disappeared into the kitchen before turning to Eddie. “I don’t mind watching something with him if you want to crash early.”

“Is it that obvious?” Eddie asks, smothering a cough with his elbow. 

“You look like shit,” Buck tells him with a smirk and starts gathering up the last of the dishes. “I’ll make sure he’s in bed by eight at the latest.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, nodding. “We can have a best bud night, only cool kids allowed so you wouldn’t be invited anyway.” Eddie looks up at him in wonder and Buck feels himself flush, still not used to this kind of attention.  “I— if that’s okay,” he tacks on nervously.

“Of course it’s okay,” Eddie reassures him. “I know you’re worried about stepping on my toes when it comes to Chris, but you really don’t need to be.” 

Eddie has managed to put Buck's fears into words. He loves Eddie, and he loves Chris, but he knows he’s not Chris’s parent and he doesn’t want to cross any lines.

 “You’re a part of this family Buck. Chris—” Eddie breaks off to cough into his arm. “Chris loves you. We both do.”

"I just—" Buck's voice cracks but not from illness.

"You're worried because you're stepping into this new role moving in with me and Chris," Eddie guesses.

"I don't want you to think I'm trying to replace Shannon."

"We both know you'd never do that," Eddie reminds him. "But don't diminish your role in Chris's life— in mine— because you're still an important part of it."

"I won't."

"Good." Eddie stands, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple. "Go enjoy your movie with Chris," he says, waving Buck towards the kitchen. “Just remember— once you fill him full of sugar, he’s your problem.”

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

A Virus for the Vicar

Guess what... I inspired myself with this post to write my first drabble! Also, this had to be written because @gr0ss-enby asked so nicely, and @oh-no-my-hand-slipped had such awesome sickly Victorian prompts. So, here’s ~3000 words of a flu-ridden, regency-era clergyman. 

Feedback welcome! But please be a little gentle. This is my first short fic, as short isn’t usually my jam. But maybe it will be going forward, as I had a lot of fun with this one. 

*****

Lydia Lennox sat darning her husband’s stockings in the sitting room, humming idly as she stitched. She was startled out of her reverie by a commotion on the stairs. It seemed her husband, the vicar, was coming down in a rush. As this was usually the hour he usually closed himself away in his study to prepare his sermon, she was concerned. She rose to see what was the matter, but he appeared in the doorway just then, buttoning his coat with one hand as he held a handkerchief to his streaming nose.

“Mrs. Ames is being buried today. I must go perform the service,” he said with a sniffle. “I shut my eyes but a moment in my study and it seems I fell asleep, and now I am behind my time. I must dash.”

She bit her lip as she looked outside at the chillyA, drenching rain that had been falling for days. She knew he would not be dissuaded from going, despite the dreadful cold he had picked up, so she refrained from voicing her concern. He would only become frustrated if she tried to stop him. After all, burials were part of his duty as a clergyman. 

“Do take care, Mr. Lennox. Come back as quick as you can. I’ll have tea waiting for you.” She forced herself to leave it at that. 

His only reply was a sharp nod and a grunt as he strode to the door. He pulled it quickly open, then shut again, taking himself, hoarse voice and chapped nose and all, out into the downpour.

Lydia seated herself again with a sigh and resumed her mending, spending some time musing about her husband of 5 years. If one were to meet the vicar by chance, or only saw him on Sundays when he preached, that person would think him a stern man, or even a harsh one. It was true that he held himself to the strictest standards as a member of the clergy, and that carried into his interactions with everyone he met. He could be severe and intractable when he was in one of his moods, expecting perfection from himself and everyone else. There were times his eyes burned with such fire when he was preaching that she herself was a little fearful of him.

Yet she also saw the tenderness in every inch of his frame when he baptized an infant, or blessed a child, or took the hand of an elderly person to greet them. She got to witness firsthand his serenity as he tended his garden, his boyishness when he was spending time with his brother, and his gentleness and devotion during their own intimate interactions. 

He often seemed fierce, keeping most people, including herself at times, at arm’s length in deference to his duty as a man of the church, always mindful of how he might be perceived by his parishioners. Yet she knew there was more to him, and she loved him passionately, for all his own fiery passion for righteousness and zeal for his duty. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Some hours later, the door banged open, and the steady patter of water dripping off of a coat onto the floor of the foyer heralded the vicar’s return. That, and a thick, wet sneeze.

“HET’kiihh’shuuh! HET’chooff! “HEHHHT-CHOOO!”

She rang for the tea she had prepared for him, then hurried to his side, blessing him in earnest as she helped him remove his sodden coat. His hair and clothes hung limply on him, and he stood dejectedly, trying to wring himself out, his handkerchief again pressed to his nose. 

“Oh, my dear! Go quickly and put on some dry things. I’ll have your tea brought up to you there. You look half-frozen.”

“That I am,” he croaked wearily. “And half drowned at that. Never saw such a muddy burial. But the good woman is laid to rest as she should be, and that’s what matters.”

“Indeed,” she said, refraining from sighing. “But now go and tend to yourself, for that is what is called for here.”

“As you say,” he grunted. “I’ll be back down in time for supper, but for now I’ll go to my study. I need to catch up on my reading. The whole day is nearly gone as it is.”

“Couldn’t you take some rest? I’m sure the reading could wait another day.”

“There’s no need for it to wait when I can do it now just the same. As I said, I’ll be down for supper.”

He shuffled wearily to the stairs, coughing wetly as he went. 

Once again she bit her tongue and said nothing further. When his mind was made up, there was no arguing with him. So, she went about the usual dinner preparations, fretting the whole time, and all the more so every time she heard him cough or sneeze, which was not infrequently. 

Always true to his word, he reemerged 5 minutes before supper was to be laid out, looking drier but otherwise no better. He shivered faintly in the temperate air, wiping wetness away from his eyes and upper lip. She wished she could go hug him, and offer him any and every comfort she could, for he looked miserable, but she knew he would not allow it. She kept her eyes averted for the most part and tried not to fuss, for he would be quite embarrassed if she did. When the food was laid out, they seated themselves. They bowed their heads and he said grace as he usually did, though his voice was jarringly different. His usually rich, mellow tone was husky and strained, his consonants dulled with congestion and fatigue. Even before the final hoarse “ambend,” she wanted to reach for his hand and squeeze it, and tell him it was fine to not be fine. That he wasn’t any less even though he felt unwell. That she was here for him, no matter what. 

The meal was a quiet one, aside from his stifled sneezes and soft coughs. After one particularly harsh stifle, she timidly looked up at him.

“You sound unwell, my dear. Is there anything I could get for you?”

“No,” he shot back quickly, averting his eyes and stuffing his handkerchief out of sight. “No, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit under the weather is all.”

“Please do let me know if there’s any way I can be of help to you,” she bravely tried once more. He fidgeted with his fork, still turned away.

“You are always a help to me, dear. But I am in need of nothing just now.”

She quickly nodded, then let her own eyes drop to her plate. They ate in silence until they were finished, then retired to the sitting room, he with a book and she with her needlework. This is how they ended their evenings, in companionable silence or quiet conversation until they went to bed. Tonight though, she knew there would be no conversation. They had both perched on the settee, only a few feet apart, and she quenched the urge to close the distance between them and rub his shoulders and neck. He allowed minimal physical contact between them anywhere besides their bedroom. The servants were watching, after all. 

As she sewed, she watched him in her periphery. He looked to be absorbed in his book, but through the entire hour they sat, he did not turn a single page. She studied his profile fondly, if also worriedly: His long longs, stretched out, but limp with weariness, his fine brow, now clammy-looking, his deep eyes, hazy with illness, and his well-shaped nose, the tip of it red and glistening. Every line of him spoke of fatigue. As she watched, she saw his eyelids drooping even as he fought against it.

She knew he would not go to bed before she, no matter how tired and ill he felt. It was improper. So, she feigned fatigue herself, yawning softly and stretching, before announcing she wanted to retire, almost an hour earlier than usual. 

He looked startled, but grateful as he offered to accompany her, and of course she accepted. 

They made their way upstairs, and he seemed to be moving almost in a daze. As they prepared for bed, his fingers were clumsy, and he was hampered by having to tend to his constantly dripping nose. She hovered at his elbow as he went through the motions, silently imploring him to admit how he was feeling and allow her to assist. Of course, he did not.

Once they were both in their night clothes, she watched him as he lingered, sitting on the edge of the bed and blowing his nose. She perched at his side so their knees touched; he shifted his away. 

"You look quite ill, my dear. Pray tell, how can I help you?" She began to gently caress his back, a gesture she knew he loved when he was weary. 

Yet he twitched away from her touch, a flash of anger in his eyes.

"Leave me be! I'm alright. I’m only in need of a good night’s sleep." 

With a huff he yanked back the bed clothes and proceeded to cover himself with them, keeping his back to her whenever he could.

Now she was frustrated too. With a scowl she moved to her own side of the bed. 

"Your stubbornness will be the death of you, Nicholas Lennox. Just because you're miserable, you needn't make me so as well, when I'm only wanting to help. But have it your own way."

He did not reply, and continued to keep his back to her. She turned away from him as well when she lay down. They both held themselves stiffly still, as far apart on the bed as they could be, until they fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

This was not the case when they woke, however. Upon opening her eyes the next morning, Lydia found she had rolled onto her back as she slept. Looking around as she roused herself, she was startled to find her husband still fast asleep beside her. Usually it was his stirring that woke her each day, or the sound of the door shutting behind him as he left.

Nicholas too had shifted in his sleep, and was lying on his stomach, his face toward her, his arm stretched across the center of the bed and resting an inch from her shoulder, as if he was reaching for her.

Any hard feelings that lingered from the night before instantly melted as she watched him sleep. He looked so pitiful and pale, and she heard his breath wheezing in his chest. As she stared, deciding what to do, he suddenly twitched once, then again, then he sprang awake, pressing a hand to his nose, but too late:

"Hehhgg'CHOOOF!" A wet, spraying sneeze exploded out of him, down the front of his shirt. He scrabbled desperately for his handkerchief, his breath hitching for another sneeze as he turned away from her. He couldn't grasp it in time.

"Hih-KIHT-chuuhh! Heht'kih'SHOO!" He sneezed miserably into his elbow, rough sneezes that seemed to scrape his throat harshly as they were expelled. He grabbed his handkerchief at last in a defeated sort of way, and wiped and blew his nose. With a weary groan he fell back against his pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes.

She watched this whole performance with widened eyes. All the years they'd been married, she had never seen him ill like this. She observed him for another moment, then nodded to herself, her mind made up. Regardless of how he would fuss, she was making him rest today, no matter what it took. She opened her mouth to address him when he again jerked forward, breath hitching desperately, handkerchief over his mouth:

"Hiihh'shieww! Hnnxxt'CHUUF! AhKT-CHOOOO! Oh blast it all," he mumbled thickly, the closest he ever came to cursing. He gingerly wiped his poor, red nose, eyes scrunched closed in pain. Yet he would have no rest, for he immediately began to cough. 

 She crossed the distance between them on the bed to put a hand to his shoulder. He jumped in fright, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. Upon seeing it was her, he relaxed slightly, and didn't pull away, but acknowledged her with a little grunt. Encouraged by this, she pressed against his side and began to rub his back tenderly. He groaned softly in pleasure as she did, letting more of his weight rest against her. After a moment he had to hunch forward to stifle another hoarse coughing fit into his arm before leaning back into her touch, rubbing his chest with a grimace.

He was overwarm. She could feel the heat through his shirt. She pressed her palm to his forehead, then his cheek, clucking her tongue softly.

"I am most poorly today. Every inch of me aches or burns. My head pounds so, I can hardly think," he muttered, answering her question before she had to ask it.

"I shouldn't wonder, with how high your fever is. You're not to leave these rooms today and I'll not hear any argument."

"As you say," he mumbled with a cough. 

She wanted to be suspicious of his unexpected pliability, but looking at him, she only saw misery in every feature, so perhaps he was simply feeling badly enough not to complain.

She pressed a kiss to his hot temple. "Lay yourself back down and rest while I dress, then we'll see what we can do for you. We'll ring for tea, for starters." She rose, donning her dressing gown. "And I may have Dr. Barcliffe call 'round as well. I don't like the sound of that cough one bit," she said, as he erupted into another hoarse fit.

"There's no need to involve Dr. Barcliffe," he croaked, lying back down with a wince, rubbing his chest again. "I shouldn't want to be a bother."

"Hm," she murmured, moving to his side. She brushed the sweaty hair from his forehead, and he sighed in pleasure at her touch, his eyes drifting closed. "We'll see how it goes. But I shouldn't think tending to the vicar would be a bother to the doctor."

If he heard, he did not reply, and seemed to fall asleep again immediately. She dressed efficiently, and just as she finished, one of the servants arrived with a tray of tea and toast. The commotion roused the sick man, and he shook himself awake with another bout of hacking coughs as the servant departed. Lydia moved to his side and rubbed his back again. He leaned his head into her side wearily as he quieted.

"Poor man, I've never seen you so ill. It seems you've picked up something nasty--likely from your niece and nephew last week. I thought they were looking a bit peaky, and there you were, rolling around on the floor with them."

A muffled grunt was his only reply. She served his tea, and helped him sit up to drink it, though he tried to protest.

"I'd rather not take tea now. I only want to sleep some more hours yet."

"You must drink aplenty today. You'll only feel worse if you don't. We can't have you getting parched."

He mumbled a few more weak arguments, but when she pressed the streaming cup into his hands, he obediently drank. Of course, the hot beverage made his nose run in earnest, but he seemed too weary to care. She plied him with toast also, but he only managed a few bites, claiming his throat was too raw and painful to eat any more. With a sigh, she set it aside.

He was visibly trembling as he finished the tea, and the hectic red spots showed ever brighter on his cheeks. She assisted him in lying down once more, and covered him warmly, though they were slowed in the process by yet another coughing fit. She let her hand linger on his arm after he was settled.

"Is there anything else you want, my dear?"

He turned to look at her, his fever-hazed eyes imploring:

"Only to rest a while, with you by my side."

She tilted her head in confusion. "You-you're asking me to sit with you while you sleep?"

He nodded. "I'll sleep better if you're near. Would you come sit beside me, just here on the bed?"

"That I will," she complied willingly, flattered as well as flustered. She would never have expected such a request from her independent, private husband. She hopped up to sit beside him, arranging herself comfortably. She reached out to cover his hand with her own. 

"If I could trouble you for one more thing… could I lay my head just there?" He gestured to her lap. 

She reddened. "If you think it would help you sleep, I shan't say no. For you do look so miserable, after all," she managed.

"Nothing would help more." They carefully rearranged themselves to his desired configuration. Lydia was quite taken aback by these developments, though they were far from unpleasant. She studied her husband's still form for a bit, making up her mind as he continued to settle. Haltingly, she moved her hand to his head and began to stroke his hair with the lightest touch. His free hand found hers and gave it a grateful squeeze. Encouraged, she continued her ministrations with confidence.

"You're positively trembling with chills," she murmured, almost to herself. "After you rest a while, I'll have Hannah draw you a hot bath. Then a compress for your chest after a long soak I think. How does that suit you?"

A snore was the only reply she would receive, for the dear vicar was already sound asleep.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 2

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Brief description of suicide

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 2 - Problem-Solving by Elimination

Scholar-Tyrant Song sat in the examination room, his mind blank.

The types of questions at the Banquet of Beauties were more terrifying than Goldbach’s conjecture. At least he would not panic if being questioned by his professor on Goldbach's conjecture.

The Langgan Terrace of the Golden Pheonix Manor was extremely luxurious and beautiful. There are countless cultivators and beautiful women flying in the depths of the clouds. Every guest was more beautiful than the last, and carefree laughter and obscene words were thrown around.

Song Qingshi silently recited his lectures on the human body structure, physiological hygiene, mouse breeding and other courses twice in his heart, finally recovering the calmness of a high-ranking medical student. Thinking about the lab mice he had bred for three years dying off, the scene in front of him no longer meant much.

There are two kinds of divine fires in the original person's body. The first was the Red Lotus Fire used for refining his alchemy, and the other was the Underworld Ghost Fire used for killing people.

Song Qingshi's expression became one that could repel others from thousands of miles away. He released the Underworld Ghost Fire from the palms of his hands, causing the flames to continuously jump at his fingertips and change into different shapes.

Fen Shen and He Ti ancestors are the treasures of all the cultivation sects. They did not usually involve themselves with the mortal world. The Nascent Soul cultivators are all big shots walking carefree in the immortal world. Not to mention the danger of the cutivating path; no one could guarantee that they wouldn't need to ask a doctor for help. Neither righteous cultivators or demonic cultivators were not willing to offend the Medicine Master Xianzun easily, let alone mock his perverse character.

When the cultivators saw the Underworld Ghost Fire, they knew that he was in a bad mood and kept their distance.

Song Qingshi was able to keep a clear area around him. He cut off the cultivators who approached him to make friendships. Then he released the powerful spiritual thoughts of a Nascent Soul cultivator and quickly took in all the beauties at the banquet. He looked carefully and tried to find the protagonist in the crowd.

However, Yang Yuhuan was thicker, and Zhao Feiyan was slender. Everyone had different standards of beauty. Song Qingshi was of the kind of person that was not very reliable. His eyes were quickly dazzled, only able to think that all of them were beautiful during the dinner. Even the maid who poured the water was graceful and beautiful. She was more beautiful than the stars on TV. He couldn't tell who was better looking.

But this stubborn scholar will never admit defeat!

Song Qingshi tried to use the process of elimination to solve the problem. First, he determined that the protagonist was a man, excluded all the maidens during the banquet. Then he needed to make a list of key observations, verifying claims, making careful assumptions, and removing the beauties that did not meet the standards one by one.

The twin brothers brought by the Sect Master of the Blood Demon Sect were extremely beautiful. Jade-like skin, fragrant, and passionately devoted, just like two identical lotus flowers on one stalk.

There can't be two protagonists, cross it out.

The young man brought by the immortal master Longhu Sect is also super cute. He is so childish and adorable, holding his immortal master in his arms and acting like a baby. The immortal master loved him very much, doted on him, and he even hand-fed this junior immortal his food during the banquet. He kept calling him "baby".

The protagonist is supposed to suffer a miserable fate. Cross it out.

The foreign monk from Beizhou used a mysterious iron chain to lead along a handsome man covered in wounds. He stumbled and followed the foreign monk obediently. But underneath, his body revealed a rebellious aura, like being an eagle with his wings tied but still wanting to break free and fly away.

The protagonist is a beauty, so he wouldn't be so heartless, cross him out.

. . .

Into the depth of the night, the whistful music of the Banquet of Beauties had long been replaced by debauchery. Many people took the beauties away from the tables, and the scene became more and more unbearable.

Song Qingshi did not want to peep into other people's private affairs, for fear of seeing something provocative and getting an eye stye. He kept his thoughts away from extra events and kept it focused during the dinner. Then he heard the foreign monk show off the man he had brought with him to the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect: "He was even a famous general in the human world. After he was defeated and captured, he was sold to me. He's an arrogant person, who resists even under the threat of death. He is very exciting to play with."

The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect introduced a soft and coquettish young man, and smiled: "A proud person has the taste of being proud, but there is also the taste of being well-behaved. Let's switch and try it out?"

The foreign monk hesitated. The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect cast a wink at the slave.

The charming young man immediately snuggled up on the monk’s chest and begged coquettishly: "I truly like majestic bodies of strong masters, please love this slave well."

Fan Seng was ignited by the tender words of this young man, and he readily threw the chain in his hand to the Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect, and took the young man to the side hall. The Young Master dragged the chain fiercely, and forced the gray-faced man toward the secluded part of the garden.

There were many scenes like this during the dinner, and no one had pity for these tragic beauties.

. . .

Song Qingshi had already learned from the memory of the original body that the spiritual energy of the human world was thin. The lifespan of mortals was short, and the spiritual roots were occasionally weak. Just having a base foundation was like reaching the heavens. Some kind-hearted cultivators will accept mortals as disciples and give them the opportunity to ascend to immortals. Ten thousand years ago, there was a mortal named Mo Yuan who was extremely talented. He just relied on swordsmanship to become a Nascent Soul cultivator. His techniques rivaled the Fen Shen ancestors, and was thus called the Sword Sovereign.

However, the road to immortality was to fight for one's life with the heavens. It had difficult steps and repeated failure was common. Killing someone for their treasures occured from time to time. It was difficult to restrain their behavior with morality.

Weakness is the original sin. Mortals were like ants.

Even if it was the Sword Master Mo Yuan who took care of him, he could only lay down the rules among the elites of the immortal world. He ensured that the mortals who successfully built a foundation base were treated as cultivators and no longer playthings and slaves. But demonic sects and cultivators never cared about the rules. Not even just the mortal cultivators, the immortal monks also suffered in their hands. Their evil deeds were too numerous to count.

Golden Phoenix Manor was regarded as a famous sect in the immortal world, and all the cultivation furnaces in the Manor are of made and purchased in the mortal world.

So even if Song Qingshi couldn't tolerate what happened here, he couldn't interfere. He was slightly grateful that the identity that the system arranged for him was not a mortal, otherwise he would never survive two chapters, let alone save the protagonist.

Fortunately, it was just a virtual world. . .

Novels were all evil works; textbooks were the righteous materials in the world! The professor was correct in confiscating the novels of all the girls in class! If he had the opportunity to become a professor, he will not allow students to read novels! Help them to avoid their Three Views being poisoned!

Song Qingshi sighed silently.

Suddenly, a curse came from the garden. It was the Young Master of Hidden Moon Sect who dragged the stubborn man's corpse and returned with a disappointed face. The man's shirt was torn open, revealing his bruised body. His body was riddled with scars. He had taken a stolen silver chopstick, pierced his throat deeply and killed himself.

The silver chopsticks were very blunt, and it would be extremely difficult to kill yourself with one of them. You couldn't stab yourself with one without exhausting all your energy, which shows his determination.

Seeing this, everyone in the banquet joked. They laughed that the Young Master couldn't even take care of a mortal.

Hearing the disturbance, the monk left the charming young man and hurried back out of the side hall. He saw that the person he had brought was dead. His brows furrowed and his face was full of anger. The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect was even more angry than him. He turned the dead man over, revealing his back covered with lashes, and questioned the monk: "Why didn't you mark this little slave of yours with an Acacia Seal? How could you let him die?"

The foreign monk was stunned by his question: "What is the Acacia Seal? Some new thing from the Central continent?"

Seeing his ignorance, the cultivators couldn't help but mumble that Beizhou must really be a barren land considering that they didn't even know that an Acacia Seal is a well-known thing in the world. The monk was lost during this whole conversation and the Young Master was discouraged. He pulled the monk, hating iron for not making seal, explained the beauty of the Acacia Seal: "The Acacia Seal is a method created by Huanxi Xianzun. The owner can print it on the back of the furnace, and the body and soul of the furnace transfer into the hands of the owner. No orders are needed and it cannot die without permission."

Song Qingshi had found important information. He swiftly concentrated on this discussion and listened carefully.

Hidden Moon Sect's Young Master took out a red bead from his space bag. An idea sparked in his mind. He turned the bead in his hand. The charming young man who was standing next to the monk immediately knelt down and started to bark.

The monk waved his hand, disgusted and said: "It's so obedient, even if you try something new once in a while. If I raise them like this, I would get tired after playing with it for a few days."

"There are a lot of usages in it. You would know if you had used them yourself. This Young Master isn't going to list them all for you." The Young Master withdrew from spiritual mind he had put into the bead, and the young man crouching on the ground stood up. He was used to being humiliated in front of a crowd and blushed. After a while, he faded from his shame and stood behind his master with his head down.

Seeing that the monk still didn’t understand, the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect still educates patiently: “The most important thing is that unless you let the cultivation furnace die, the cultivation furnace will never die against your will. If you brand this little slave with the Acacia Seal, wouldn't it be more fun to make him unable to kill himself and then slowly break down his pride?"

The foreign monk had an epiphany. He nodded and agreed.

The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect erased the spiritual mind of the cultivation furnace's bead in his hand. He threw it to the monk, and said graciously: "Since the young master killed your beauty, I will will compensate you for it. You can take it and study the beauty of the Acacia Seal. Once you start, you won't be able to start."

The monk was overjoyed, and even boasted: "The Central continent people are really bold, this Black Vulture has made you a friend!"

The charming young man's face instantly turned pale. He looked at the original master desperately, looking like he had something to say, as if he wanted to beg, but in the end he didn't say anything, and went with the monk in tears.

The jewels were corrupted and it was like broken jade.

This extravagant feast had finally reached its climax.

The disciples of Golden Phoenix Manor concealed the radiance of the luminous beads above the temple, and let the darkness envelop the entire Langgan Terrace.

The guests raised their heads in amazement. They saw fireworks from several spells across the darkness, blooming in the air into a radiant golden phoenix, dancing lightly, announcing that the performances of the feast were about to begin. Jin FeiRen raised his wine glass and invited guests to share in the festivities again.

Song Qingshi marveled at the beauty of the Phoenix Dance, and admired it for a long while. Then he discovered that a young man in white clothes appeared next to Jin FeiRen. The young man had very clean and beautiful features, like green bamboo in the mountains, a bright moon in the sky. A layer of cold frost covered in his low eyebrows, his hair falling like a waterfall around his face. It was tied back with a ribbon. There were no other notable features on his whole body, but he still easily retained everyone's lingering gazes.

The tall and handsome owner was smiling and gently scratching the young man's palm with his fingers, praising his treasure in a gentle and soft voice, trying to get him to smile.

The young man turned his head away, despite the teasing. He didn't even want to spare him a glance.

Jin FeiRen twisted his head forcefully, and forced his hands behind his back with only one hand. He held him close in an embrace and kissed his forehead and the bridge of his nose carefully. Then he bit his lips hard, as if to he wanted to swallow him whole. The teenager struggled with pain, Jin FeiRen smiled and released him, leaning close to the youth's ear, and asked softly: "Do you want to learn the rules again?"

The young man froze for a moment. He stopped struggling, and sat obediently into Jin FeiRen's arms.

Was this the protagonist?

Song Qingshi secretly watched for a long time. He finally suppressed his social anxiety, ready to speak, and then LingBao Xianzun who had a good relationship with Jin FeiRen walked over and asked with a smile: "This is the new treasure of the Manor Lord? Is he pure? Does he have a good Yin constitution, a single spirit root of the water system? How about giving him to me to taste tonight?

Jin FeiRen glanced at the embarrassed and angry expression of the youth in his arms, gave him a squeeze, and refused with a smile: "Although he is just a toy, he suits my heart and it would be inconvenient to give him to you. Later, I will give my friends some top-quality products, all of them newly branded with excellent physiques and very clean."

LingBao Xianzun carefully looked at him. "Is your furnace still a virgin?"

Jin FeiRen said: "I don't want to treat him like an ordinary furnace."

Song Qingshi had already heard more obscene words tonight than he had in his lifetime. He understood everything that should be understood or even things that shouldn't be understood. He also understood clearly what a furnace was.

He watched as Jin FeiRen was pouring wine for the young man during the banquet, and he was a little unsure whether this was the protagonist. Although the white-clothed boy seemed to be more attractive than the other beauties present, the system had explained that the protagonist needs to be rescued from his miserable fate. Now Jin FeiRen was quite fond of the boy, and every beauty in the Banquet of Beauties was many times worse off than him. . .

Song Qingshi was anxious pondering these questions. . .

At this time, the phoenix finished its dance in the air, and fell into the crowd with a stream of light.

The light faded away, and a huge golden, carved bird appeared on the Langgan Terrace. On this bird frame was a beauty beautiful enough to destroy a city.

The gold fetters inlaid with jewels encircled his pure white ankles, and were tied to both sides of the bird frame with long thin golden chains. His upper body was caged with almost transparent thin fabric, and he could vaguely see the magnificent scenery decorated with gold jewels and jade underneath. On his lower body was a long dress in the shape of phoenix tail feathers made of gold and red feathers. His hair was adorned with pearls resembling mermaid's tears, the enchanting Acacia Seal on his back hidden by his long hair, flowing in the breeze. It was as beautiful as a phoenix with rich colors, the human peony in the world.

He held a jade flute in his hand, his thin lips slightly open, his beauty almost unnatural. The dark golden phoenix eyes seemed to be smiling but held no emotion, and he greeted the audience. Song Qingshi sat up straight. He recognized that this was the beauty in red that he had seen by the river bank.

When the red beauty glanced over at Song Qingshi, his eyes stayed for a while, then slid over as if he didn't recognize him.

Song Qingshi looked at the young man in white clothes on the left, who looked like a bright moon, and the beauty in red clothes on the right, who looked like peony in his prime. He was panicking; he couldn't tell who was more beautiful and more like the main character!

The exam questions of the system teacher were too difficult. . .　

Is Scholar-Tyrant Song going to fail his course?

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6

- Chapter 7 -

Meng Yao ended up not writing back to Lan Xichen at all, which turned out to be for the best – Madame Lan died of her illness a little later in the year, destroying Lan Xichen’s tentative proposals for a visit that they would have had to find a way to tactfully refuse anyway, and Meng Yao was able to write that letter with a great deal more sincerity and shared pain than he might have otherwise.

Lao Nie did not last the full year that Nie Mingjue had predicted they’d need – the initial qi deviation only led to more deviations down the road, as his unchecked rage twisted his mind further and further away from reality and he tried to cultivate with a saber that no longer existed; within four months he was no longer recognizable as the man he had once been, and within six he was dead.

It was not a good death.

Meng Yao had started hoping for Lao Nie to die by midway the second month, when it was clear that his condition was getting worse, not better, and that his madness was just a hair short of what it needed to be to remove him as unsuited for his position – he could stand, walk, talk, and make decisions (bad ones), and Meng Yao sometimes cursed whichever ancestor had schemed unsuccessfully to steal the sect leader’s seat through trickery because they’d made it so much harder for everyone else – but he hadn’t wanted it to happen the way it had.

For all that he was glad that Lao Nie was finally gone, six months after he’d actually died alongside his beloved Jiwei, Meng Yao would never have wanted Nie Mingjue to have to…no, better to say that he wouldn’t have wanted for Lao Nie to use his son as an instrument of his own destruction.

Nie Mingjue had been bearing up as well as could be imagined – better, even, through sheer will and the grit and stubbornness that the Nie clan had in spades – but that had been a step too far; he withdrew somewhere deep inside of himself, his eyes vacant and dead, and slept for three days straight. For a little while, Meng Yao had thought that he had also succumbed to a qi deviation, panic roiling under his skin as he had to try to keep it quiet, with Nie Huaisang helping as much as a small child like him could, but in the end Nie Mingjue woke up in time for the investiture ceremony making him sect leader.

They probably should have found some time to talk about it – talk about everything, to lance the boil of their suffering so that it didn’t fester in their hearts – except before Meng Yao could figure out what needed to be said, they were both pulled away by sudden spate of the skirmishes on the border because of course Wen Ruohan would use the opportunity of the sect leader’s death to try to steal away some of their territory.

They didn’t let him.

Nie Mingjue’s rage was something worth seeing, and Meng Yao’s own was very nearly as great, even if he expressed it through coldness rather than heat – even if he was considered too young to be sent out to the front lines, since unlike Nie Mingjue he was not pretending to be three years older than he really was, even if he could only help govern the sect at home in Nie Mingjue’s absence.

It was that coldness that let him cut through the politics that always followed the initiation of a new sect leader, especially a new one that foolish people from the outside might think would be susceptible to influence, might be naïve enough to allow himself to be used as a method for climbing into power.

It was that coldness that his mother saw, when she came to him with her own suggestions – the would-be influencers soon found that Nie Mingjue was born to be a righteous general, unyielding and stubborn, and that Meng Yao was coldblooded as a serpent, unmoved by their appeals, and so had come to Meng Shi with flattery and the promise of all sorts of things if only she would pass along a simple harmless message for them – and which made her words freeze in her throat long enough for Sisi to catch up with her and take her away, scolding her all the while for being too easily swayed.

It was that coldness that allowed him to continue to exchange secret letters with Wen Ruohan, stupid ones that claimed that his elder brother had gone mad to accuse another sect leader the way he had – treasonous letters, of the sort that Wen Ruohan would be able to use as blackmail if only Meng Yao wasn’t quite so sure that Nie Mingjue would listen when he explained why he was doing what he did.

If he explained. It didn’t seem necessary to burden Nie Mingjue with the knowledge of what Meng Yao was doing, not yet – not when he was already bearing so many other burdens.

Nie Huaisang had previously been uninterested in all things military, thinking of it as nothing more than more of the saber work that he hated, but Meng Yao knew that couldn’t be permitted to last, now that he was the proper heir, and so he took him in hand.

He took him to the meeting room, with all the maps and plans, and told it to him the way it needed to be told: “This stone represents twenty Wen retainers, and they’re all dead now,” he said, pointing to one of the silver pieces. “And that one’s ten Wen disciples, and they’re dead too – your brother killed them all by himself, taking them by surprise. They were all cut up into pieces, and he didn’t get a mark on him.”

“Why are you talking about the dead?” Nie Mingjue – who had in fact gotten several nasty cuts as a result of that fight, but facts weren’t relevant when weaving legends were for small children to learn viciousness from – asked, back from the frontline to gather supplies and set to go out again the next morning, rolling his eyes at them both. “It’s the living that matter.”

“I agree,” Meng Yao said placidly. “It’s the living we have to deal with. Mark da-ge’s words well, Huaisang. You always have to deal with the living, they’re far more troublesome.”

But oh, how nice it was to see your enemies dead!

(Nie Mingjue didn’t understand – but Nie Huaisang did.)

It took three solid months to finally chase out the last would-be incursion, and right around that time Lan Xichen finally got his way about coming for a visit the way he’d been insisted he be allowed to do for the entire time since Lao Nie’s death and Nie Mingjue’s confirmation as sect leader was announced.

“I don’t have time for guests,” Nie Mingjue said shortly when he found out that Meng Yao had approved Lan Xichen’s request behind his back. “Meng Yao, you deal with him; he’s here to see you, anyway.”

“Da-ge says that he needs to be kidnapped away from work,” Nie Huaisang solemnly told Lan Xichen, his beloved pretty gege, later that day, walking hand-in-hand with him through the gardens. “Or else he’ll never get a break.”

“Oh, your da-ge said that, did he,” Lan Xichen said, his eyes dancing. “Not your er-ge?”

“Well…”

“Huaisang, we’ve discussed this,” Meng Yao told him. “A good liar doesn’t back down at the first challenge. Don’t admit anything until you’re really cornered – or have a good excuse for why you lied.”

Lan Xichen laughed, but Nie Huaisang nodded seriously.

Meng Yao was pleased to see Lan Xichen, of course, but he had had ulterior motives: he had thought of a handful of schemes to use Lan Xichen to lure Nie Mingjue out of the sect leader’s office. It wasn’t a good place for him to be after everything that happened there – there were still bloodstains on the floor, ones that Meng Yao had caught Nie Mingjue staring dully at more often than he’d really like – and even though Meng Yao had already set up an alternative to use while they finished cleaning and redecorating, Nie Mingjue continuously claimed to be too busy to relocate even temporarily.

In the end, all his schemes turned out to be unnecessary because by the time they got back Nie Mingjue was out in the training yard for the first time in weeks, showing a solemn Lan Wangji how to jump over a saber sweep to the legs in what was mostly just an elaborate game of bunny-hops.

Lan Xichen abruptly sat down.

Right in the middle of the walkway, with dust getting all over his otherwise pristine robes, no less. Meng Yao sent Nie Huaisang back inside before squatting down next to him. “First time in a while?”

“Wangji wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat; he’s barely moved since our mother died,” Lan Xichen said, staring at the training field. His eyes were wet. “He’d obey if we told him to do something, but he kept sneaking out of the house to go wait by our mother’s door, no matter how many times we told him…I only brought him with me because I thought it might do him good to be somewhere new, rather than somewhere where he couldn’t help but think of her.”

Meng Yao thought about the sect leader’s office, which if Nie Huaisang was doing his job was at that very moment being moved to its new temporary home and the old one locked to all who might try to come and insist on being let in. Even if they were the new sect leader.

“I know what you mean,” he said, and smiled wryly. “But da-ge has a way about him, doesn’t he?”

By this Meng Yao meant that Nie Mingjue had charisma in spades – he was a natural leader, causing men to instinctively listen to him despite his age, though anyway that ridiculous height of his meant that he was already as tall as a grown man and was often perceived as one even by those who knew better. No matter how soft he was inside, how torn or broken, Nie Mingjue could inspire devotion, even fascination, from others in a way few others could.

Even Meng Yao with his silver tongue couldn’t compare: he knew how to cater to people, to calm and misdirect them, to lull them into a false sense of security so that he could sneak his objectives out of them, but Nie Mingjue could ask a man to fly to the moon and they’d seriously consider giving it a try.

He was something very precious.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, and he sounded almost as if he were realizing that fact for the first time. “He really does.”

A month later, Nie Mingjue had to attend his first Discussion Conference as sect leader.

At least it was situated at the nice neutral Jiang sect, Meng Yao thought, but he worried the entire time Nie Mingjue was gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed to go, if he wanted, but Meng Yao knew that having him back home – safe, keeping an eye on the Unclean Realm and Nie Huaisang both – would be infinitely more helpful in keeping Nie Mingjue from stabbing someone than his advice would be.

It still killed him to do it.

To think of Nie Mingjue alone, just him and his father’s murderer and three men that didn’t care to trouble themselves enough to help him get vengeance, for hours and hours and hours –

But Meng Yao knew what he had to do.

So he waited and paced and worked himself hard enough that Nie Huaisang started using some of their well-established tricks to lure Nie Mingjue from his office on him, which was really a sign of doing too much, and in the end the Nie sect delegation came home safe and unharmed and even successful: Nie Mingjue hadn’t stabbed anyone (the low, low bar they’d set for a success), hadn’t started any fights either physical or verbal (an even higher bar), and had even managed to get the reasonable concessions they’d been hoping to push through in the negotiations regarding sect matters after all the speeches and festivities were done (a stunning achievement).

Nie Mingjue didn’t seem as happy about it as Meng Yao would have expected.

“Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue said when Nie Huaisang was safely tucked away into bed; he must have been waiting. “A word.”

“Of course,” Meng Yao said, but still led him back to his bedroom to prepare to sleep. They could talk business as well there as they could in Nie Mingjue’s office, and this way he wouldn’t be tempted to do just a little bit more, A-Yao, just the urgent things as if there weren’t enough urgent things to drown a man in. “What happened, da-ge?”

“I received an unusual offer,” Nie Mingjue said, and the way he said it meant that Meng Yao wasn’t going to like it. “From Wen Ruohan.”

Meng Yao already didn’t like it.

“He – expressed sympathy,” oh, no, Meng Yao hated it, “and suggested that he might be willing to withdraw his claim from the western river so that we could rely on its tolls in our time of need –”

“He’s willing to withdraw his soldiers?” Meng Yao asked, honestly surprised. “His made-up claim to the river is the only thing allowing him to claim that he’s entitled to put Wen sect retainers in the sects there; if he withdraws them, they’ll all come rushing back to us to swear allegiance, and our western border would be much more secure, even if he reneges on his word later and tries to come back.”

And that, of course, meant –

“For him to put that on the trading table, he must have had an extremely offensive request,” Meng Yao said. “What was it? Half our men put down their sabers and Nie Huaisang’s head on a pike for having defeated Wen Chao in the junior calligraphy competition last year?”

That should have gotten a laugh out of Nie Mingjue, but instead he just sat down on the bed, his shoulders hunched up by his ears. “No,” he said. “He didn’t want anything from – from the sect.”

Meng Yao wasn’t stupid, and for a moment there his vision tinted red, Chiwen whispering sweet words of death in his ear: death to evil, death to those that threatened his loved ones, death to those that stood in his way.

Death to Wen Ruohan in specific.

“Da-ge,” he said, and for a moment his teeth gritted together before instinct took over and his face smoothed into a neutral expression, a faint gentle smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You must be joking.”

Nie Mingjue’s shoulders somehow, impossibly, hunched even further up, as if he was the one who should be embarrassed by Wen Ruohan’s suggestion. “He propositioned me,” he confirmed, entirely unnecessarily.

“He tried to buy you, you mean,” Meng Yao said, and Nie Mingjue shrugged. Meng Yao’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not considering it, are you?”

“You said yourself it was a good deal,” Nie Mingjue said with a hint of stubbornness. “A shichen of discomfort and we could protect the western border for a generation, and if we can do that, we’ll have time to bulk up the rest of our defenses –”

“You cannot be serious. He killed your father!”

Nie Mingjue flinched.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But that’s my personal pain, not the sect’s, and I’m sect leader now, aren’t I? I need to do what’s good for the sect.”

“Okay,” Meng Yao said. “Fine. Then I’ll assassinate Jiang Fengmian’s son at the next Discussion Conference.”

“What?”

“I’ll use a sword,” Meng Yao said. “You know how good I am at memorizing techniques; I’ve already gotten some moves from the Wen and Jin sects down pat, and no one will suspect a Nie if I’m not using a saber. In the chaos as they try to figure out who did it and what to do about it, we’ll be able to steal all sorts of benefits from the three of them. It’d be very good for the sect.”

“Meng Yao, don’t even joke about that.”

“Who said I’m joking?” Meng Yao said with a shrug. “You said it yourself – you’re a sect leader now. Why should your personal principles stand in the way of the sect’s advantage?”

“Without principles, there is no sect,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “Without principles, we may as well not be men; we would be beasts on two legs, a desecration of flesh, a waste of spirit…”

Meng Yao crossed his arms and waited.

“…and selling anybody, even myself, in order to take advantage Wen Ruohan’s offer would be a violation of my principles, too,” Nie Mingjue concluded. “I take your point.”

“Good.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“Still,” Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully, and Meng Yao turned to stare at him incredulously, “it’s kind of nice to know that I’d be really well paid for it, right? Your mother would be proud of me.”

“I’m going to strangle you,” Meng Yao said, but he was already starting to smile. Only Nie Mingjue would dare to be that tactless just to amuse – only Nie Mingjue would dream of making a joke about himself like that, with the same black humor Meng Yao and Meng Shi enjoyed most. “And you’re going to deserve it.”

“Probably,” Nie Mingjue agreed, and he was smiling back, and for a moment it felt like they weren’t sect leader and advisor any longer – just brothers, just friends.

“Yeah? I’m also going to tickle you.”

“Don’t you dare, I have a reputation to maintain –”

[franniebanana]

CQL Rewatch - Episode 7

Their first vow together. So nice! I actually do like the parallels here between Lan Yi and Wei Wuxian, and Baoshan Sanren and Lan Wangji: you have one set being reckless and untamed (I said it) and the other set trying to restore order. It’s kind of funny that the ancestors are switched, though. So here we have Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji vowing to bring all the Yin Iron pieces back to the cold spring pond to neutralize them, and of course Lan Wangji’s first reaction is, “None of your business.” It’s cute how Lan Yi takes Wei Wuxian’s side and has a sense of pride for her close friend’s disciple. I think he’s an honorary Lan in her eyes.

And then Lan Yi gives them a warning to not make the same mistakes she made. Wei Wuxian’s like, “Yep, got it, I promise.” But we all know from the beginning that this obviously doesn’t go well for him, since he dies in the first five minutes of the series. He will go on to make some questionable decisions, most of which are driven by his emotions, which are often not in check. Side note: I love this series, but I don’t like how they took a great grey character like Wei Wuxian and turned him into a character where many of the things that went wrong were caused by other people.

Another side note. That fucking Yin Iron fell on the guqin so many times, and it didn’t dent it at all. Is the guqin made out of iron too? I thought it was wood. If I did that to my violin, I guarantee you the violin would not fare very well.

Forever a favorite moment. It was great enough that they were tied together by Lan Wangji’s headband, but even better that Wei Wuxian fell on him. So great—such a tease to the audience. And this is as close as we get to the scene in the book when Lan Wangji uses the body binding spell to keep Wei Wuxian on top of him all night (ooh, my heart skipped a beat when I read that).

Also, taking the screenshot, I noticed you can see the impression of the little metal piece from Lan Wangji’s headband. Little things like that interest me for some reason. I wonder if it bothered Wang Yibo—did it press too hard on his forehead? I remember him saying he’d get tan lines from the headband.

I love this little smirk he does. A moment when Wei Wuxian’s gift to gab really pays off. Instead of letting Lan Wangji talk and explain the situation, Wei Wuxian keeps speaking, lying about what they were doing. I’d like to think he does it in part to protect Lan Wangji and to stop him from breaking any of his clan rules, but likely it’s another chance for him to prove himself as someone Lan Wangji can trust. And I take Lan Wangji’s little acknowledgement of him there as his silent “thank you.” It says a lot, I think, that Wei Wuxian is willing to lie to Jiang Cheng in order to protect the Lan Clan’s secrets.

I’m sorry, but every time I hear Nie Huaisang say, “You were gone a whole day and night,” my mind immediately goes to the gutter—like the implication is that they were doing something inappropriate during that time. I keep expecting a sex joke, only to remind myself that this was on Chinese television and that would, of course, not happen. Jiang Cheng says a similar thing (and my mind goes the same way that time too), but in that case, canon book Jiang Cheng does later accuse them of having a more-than-friendly relationship, and he does not say it in a nice way.

Also, throughout the scene that precedes this, where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are discussing what to do next with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, it really feels like wangxian just want to go on a buddy road trip together, and they are so disappointed when they are turned down. Oh, I didn’t screencap it, but Lan Wangji has the saddest sad face at the end.

I think Lan Wangji is a little impressed here but he doesn’t want to admit it. Wei Wuxian has a great gift to come up with ridiculous stories and lies at the drop of a hat. I love that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to come up with a scary snake story when he could have just told Nie Huaisang what he’d already told Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing, but he does anyway. Mad respect.

This also kind of amuses me because Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji can never really have a moment alone. They keep getting interrupted by other people when I think they just want to talk about what they experienced. Instead we just have all these shared glances. Nothing like a big fat secret to get close to each other, right?

Omfg Jiang Cheng is so jealous! I thought maybe I was imagining it or just projecting my own ideas onto him, but NO—he is jealous! He’s all like, “If you like Lan Wangji so much, why don’t you marry him?” I mean, that basically happened. I’ve gone on about this before, but I love the tension between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, and the fact that it continues even after Wei Wuxian dies makes it even better. Jiang Cheng is so stubborn and continues to hold a grudge against Lan Wangji, and it bothers the fuck out of him that there’s someone out there devoted to Wei Wuxian, by whom Jiang Cheng feels so betrayed.

And, I mean, by this point, it’s already started. As soon as they get to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian starts paying more attention to Lan Wangji than he does to either Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli. And Jiang Cheng likes to say, “You’re worrying my sister, you’re hurting my sister” when he really means, “You’re worrying me.” His stupid pride gets in the way of having a good relationship with Wei Wuxian. And I don’t think Wei Wuxian would ever put Lan Wangji above Jiang Cheng, who he considers his family—at least not at this point. It’s not until the second half that things switch, and really, even then, in the CQL-verse, the two are probably equal in Wei Wuxian’s mind. He backs off from Jiang Cheng due to Jiang Cheng’s attitude toward him.

Okay, Jiang Cheng’s jealousy aside, I love how steadfast and supportive Wei Wuxian is of him. As soon as he catches on that Jiang Cheng is jealous, he immediately starts trash-talking the Cloud Recesses and talking up Lotus Pier. It’s very cute, very sweet. He’s a good brother to him, really.

Now who’s jealous? Just kidding. I love his wistful expression here, as he watches them go off. Anyone who’s read the book knows that Lan Wangji does get jealous at times and certainly frustrated with Wei Wuxian’s coquettish behavior. I would say he is more longing at this moment, maybe even wanting to get closer to Wei Wuxian, without really understanding why himself. There’s such an isolation to his world: even though he’s surrounded by other disciples, he doesn’t have any friends. He’s maybe regretting how quickly he refused to the invitation to Lotus Pier. I think, on the one hand, Lan Wangji has found one person in this world who not only shares a secret with him, but who has similar goals—on the other hand, his code of ethics are all over the place. His heart and mind are conflicted: he wants to get closer, but he doesn’t want to make the wrong decision. To his Gusu Lan Clan mind, Wei Wuxian is all wrong, but his heart says otherwise. And I’m not saying he loves him already—but he is already seeing a kindred spirit in Wei Wuxian, someone who he can rely on, someone he can trust, someone who has his back, even if it means bending a few rules. And in a relationship, you have nothing if you don’t have trust.

I never noticed that they were communicating telepathically here. Or something. I dunno. I guess it’s not that clear.

Also if it feels like I’m ignoring all these parts with the Wen Clan, it’s because I am. I mean, not really, but this is all the Yin Iron stuff that I don’t really care about. And I’m not in the Xue Yang fan club either, so I’m not going to spend time on him until he’s actually in it in Yueyang (possibly) and Yi City. Actually, confession: I’ve never watched the Yi City flashback episodes. I read it, so I know it, but I never watched it hahaha. I will this time around. I made that pact with myself.

AWWW, HE SMILED!!!

Ahem, excuse me. This is too fucking cute, though. The rabbit lantern that Wei Wuxian drew just for him, his cute baby smile, and the Wei Wuxian pointing it out with a grin. Cuteness overload—my heart can’t take it.

But I also had a sad thought that if Wei Wuxian hadn’t come over, Lan Wangji would be sitting here alone. He’d make his lantern all on his own, send it off into the sky, say his own prayer to himself, and never hear Wei Wuxian’s, which likely sends Lan Wangji over the edge with his feelings. Everything he thought about Wei Wuxian was true, and maybe it’s okay to like him, maybe it’s okay to consider him a friend, maybe it’s okay to trust him that way.

Just a shot that I liked. Enjoy.

I feel so bad for Jiang Yanli here. I also feel bad for Jin Zixuan, even though he’s a complete dick. I understand how they both feel here—to be tied to someone you don’t know, from the time you were small children is incredibly unfair in my eyes. That being said, I know this still happens in other parts of the world, and it’s implied that it’s common in our CQL/MDZS world (which would make sense, of course). I like the feeling of siding with Wei Wuxian, wanting to come to Jiang Yanli’s defense and protect her honor, while also still having an understanding of how Jin Zixuan must feel about the whole thing. His choice has been completely taken away. And he’s, what, 17 here? What 17-year-old boy wants to be reminded constantly about how he’s already engaged? It’s not typically a young man’s dream to settle down and get married—not that it can’t be! But the implication here, with all the girls tittering about it, is that they’re all excited about marriage, and he wants nothing to do with it. Of course, Jiang Yanli isn’t either. I think she really just wants to get to know him and spend time with him, before even thinking about marrying him.

Ah, a momentous occasion: the first time Lan Wangji tries to stop Wei Wuxian from getting himself into trouble (not counting the first time they met, when he was literally trying to police him while breaking Cloud Recesses rules). I like this shot, because you have Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji on either side of Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Yanli in the front, literally putting her body between him and Jin Zixuan (actually this parallels her final scene). It kind of shows the depths of their relationships (or at least what the director wants to show us). You have Lan Wangji, who grabs onto Wei Wuxian to try to stop him from further brawling; Jiang Cheng, who stands beside him, but isn’t really involved otherwise—standoffish, in a way; and then Jiang Yanli, who physically gets in the way. She’s the quintessential big sister. And I’m not saying Jiang Cheng doesn’t care—he does, but I think his first thought always has to do with the honor of the Jiang Clan and, while he’s standing beside Wei Wuxian, it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to show any involvement with this brawl, because that would look bad.

Ah, the old dudes meeting, while Jiang Cheng stands off to the side awkwardly, wondering if he should be there or not. At the outset, this meeting to decide their children’s future seemed kind of bad, but it actually turned out nice, with them agreeing to call off the engagement. Very progressive, I thought.

Two things I learned in this scene: Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to marry a woman and he doesn’t want to leave the Cloud Recesses yet (TL: he doesn’t want to leave Lan Wangji). He seriously looks so disappointed when she says they’re going home soon.

This feels like a mixture of “I’m worried about you” and “I don’t want to be left out.” We already know at this point that Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to leave the Cloud Recesses (more that he doesn’t want to leave Lan Wangji, because he doesn’t like all of the rules, obviously). He also is very interested in what’s happening with the Yin Iron, as he has also vowed to protect it with Lan Wangji. He is very perceptive—he knows something is happening, that Lan Wangji is going to go off on his own, and he wants to go with. It’s kind of hard to say if this is more out of duty or his adventurous spirit, but either way, he wants to help Lan Wangji.

“After his leave, things will be as quiet here as before.”

Look at how sad he is! The only person he considers a friend has just left, and at this point, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see him again. It’s possible, sure, but then only at clan gatherings, and that’s if Wei Wuxian and Lang Wangji even happen to attend the same one. I believe we know from the book that Lan Wangji doesn’t typically attend gatherings (when he’s older), he often skips them. And Wei Wuxian isn’t necessarily important enough to even be invited, so he would have to be a guest of Jiang Cheng. Obviously we all know that they do go to gatherings and see each other again, but this is what I’d be thinking if I were Lan Wangji, okay? Like, when am I going to see him again? Will I ever see him again?

I leave you with a wholesome picture of Wei Wuxian and a rabbit. Also adorable that he contemplates bringing the bunnies back to Lotus Pier, but doesn’t because Lan Wangji might get lonely. MY HEART!

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

[sillyandquiteawkward]

little father and bayley fic under the cut bc i forgot my ao3 password and im lazy. hope you enjoy

Food supplements and leafy greens sat on Doctor Bayley's plate, which he picked at distastefully. The Director of the Institute, Father, sat across from him, making decent headway with his own meal.

"I don't think I can ever learn to enjoy the food supplements. This flavor isn’t palatable either," Bayley curtly complained with a heavy sigh. He felt Father's lingering judgement upon him for refusing most of his meal again, without even having to look up. He poked at the slab of supplement with the tines of his fork. Even the various flavors the Institute boasted of supplements couldn't save Bayley from the pastes, powders, and bars turning his stomach. He was trying his best to find a flavor he could stand, but to Bayley, even mirelurk was easier to eat. At least the fresh vegetables were decent, if not simply boiled or baked if cooked at all. "I'd kill for some real meat on your menu."

"Come now, Doctor, we have little need to slaughter irradiated animals for food in this day and age. BioScience has developed the perfect meal dozens of times over, consisting of the exact amount of daily nutrients a man like yourself needs," Father replies coolly. Bayley glared at the older man. Of course he'd like them -- he grew up on the damn things. Well, Bayley grew up on real food!

"Designed a food that doesn't even fill your stomach," he mumbled behind his mug as he took a sip. Now to their credit, this was something Bayley actually liked. The coffee wasn't stale 200 year old beans and grounds. My god, they perfected the damn synthetic coffee and Bayley couldn't imagine going back.

Father confidently smirked, passing smoothly over Bayley's remark with a gentle shake of his head. "You poor surface dwellers, eating any and all the food you can scrounge to stave off hunger. I'm glad we were able to save you from that life. Give it time, Doctor. Your stomach will re-adjust to your new diet."

Bayley scoffed dismissively and set his fork down to keep nursing his coffee. Father took his own sip of tea. The pair fell into a dip of silence, accompanied by the gentle clink of silverware against plate as Father continued to finish off his lunch. Behind them a few tables over, there was a slight chatter from another pair of scientists in the cafeteria. Licking a crumb of food supplement left on the edge of his mug with a grimace, Bayley listened to their distant hushed conversation. Sounded like gossip about another scientist’s love affair... Hard to believe that even the “perfect” Institute could be filled with, what was ultimately, humans.

Father spoke up after a minute of Bayley straining to eavesdrop, "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Doctor?"

"...Why?" Bayley eyed Father suspiciously. "Don't you already know all about me? Isn't that why I'm here?"

Father took a warm sip of his mug before continuing. "I know about your reputation, or lack thereof." Bayley all but growled at the dig. "And I know you care deeply for the progress of humanity, as do I, albeit a tad misguided. You’re a highly intelligent man, Doctor, but I'm afraid I don't know about you, personally. I'd like to remedy that."

What could Bayley tell Father about? Why should he? Oh, but he loved to talk about himself... Bayley leaned back in his chair with folded hands in his lap, food left forgotten on his plate. "What is there to say? I'm a man married to his work, who likes breathing fresh air. On the surface."

“What got you into studying radiation?” Bayley noticed Father missed his complaint, or at least was ignoring it. “Surely you didn’t set out from the start on such a dangerous fascination.” Father had a look of curiosity on his face that seemed genuine to Bayley, although he still had suspicions this had ulterior motives.

“It was almost from the beginning actually. As I studied medicine in my youth, traveling along the Wasteland, I have to admit,” Bayley paused to consider his wording. “I had a distinct admiration of the ghoul’s ability to utilize radiation to build themself anew. The destructive power of radiation makes using it dangerous and even deadly, true, but I imagined a world where we could manipulate the human body to replicate how a ghoul’s body uses the gamma particles destructive properties to heal themselves, sans the ghoulification process of course.” Okay, so maybe he planned to be cagey, but Father just had to ask him about the thing he’s devoted his entire life to. Sorry, he’s gonna get excited. “I’d seen first hand ghouls reattach long lost limbs to themselves and remain functional, ferals even being brought back to life by glowing ones’ radiation bursts, and the stories of people growing functional limbs from radiation exposure caught my particular attention at a young age.”

“Fascinating things ghouls are, although their rotten brains and appearance are less than desirable. If anything their longevity is what catches my attention. Living over hundreds of years...” Father drifts off, looking past Bayley. “Imagine what one could achieve with that extra time.”

“Living forever doesn’t matter if you aren’t healthy,” Bayley corrected. “What’s the point of living if you are just suffering every day. I’m focusing myself to helping people in this day and age, instead of chasing functional immortality.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between us,” Father sighs. “Everything I do is for tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow. Humanity's future lies in our successor’s hands. It’s a shame we cannot directly work with our future generations to combine our knowledge. All we can do is help prepare them for when we are gone.”

“Eventually people in charge need to step down and let the fresh ideas in, otherwise we’ll collectively stagnate. We are stubborn creatures who hate change, snuffing out ideas that contradict our own. If someone like you lived forever, he’d never give up the reins.”

“I suppose you’d do the same,” Father states blandly, eyes half-lidded. “As you said, we are stubborn creatures.”

Bayley sputters, sitting back up in his chair. “No, I am the innovator in this scenario! I’ve been ostracized for my ideas, kicked out and shunned. No one sees my potential to change the world!”

“And in your age, have you begun to prepare an heir to your scientific knowledge, Doctor? Or do you think you can finish this chronicle yourself, with the few years left in your life?”

“I-I have to prove myself first! No one trusts my work because they don’t see the proof -- which I was working on when you so kindly stole me away from my clinic and subjects!” Bayley hissed, gripping the edge of the table.

Unphased, Father folded his hands on the table. “I trust your work, Doctor Bayley. I’ve seen your studies, seen what you can do when you are truly devoted to a cause. This is why I wanted you with us at the Institute. I want you to share your knowledge to us, so that we may pass it to the future with us. Let us help you ensure your legacy. We have the same goals, and we even have similar methods if you can believe it. Imagine what we can do together when we combine our knowledge, for humanity’s sake.”

Bayley raised an eyebrow at that. “Similar goals perhaps, but I wont be a part of the kidnapping and killing of Commonwealth citizens. You Institute folk are outrageously barbaric for all your self-righteousness.”

“We simply know how to weigh the importance of breaking a few eggs for the omelette. You too understand this principle closely, don’t you?”

Bayley grimaced flatly. “You truly know how to charm a man to your side.” This conversation was over if Bayley had anything to say about it, which he did. He gulped from his mug, keeping it up to his mouth as he turned physically away from Father. He’ll finish this and go back to his room. Trapped in the Institute with these madmen, forced to go along with things else suffer the same fate as the hundreds of others taken to the Institute. And Father had the gall to act like they were the same, that Bayley could excuse innocents murdered for “science.” He slammed the mug back onto the table.

“I hope you’ll understand one day soon, Doctor. I really do.” Father sighed, closing his eyes in defeat as Bayley stood up.

“I don’t want to understand,” Bayley said as he stormed past Father back to the concourse.

It was too much to think about, if Bayley was being honest with himself. He grit his teeth climbing the stairs, tense. A scientist descending the stairs stood to the side as Bayley passed, clearly wanting to give the angry man some space and avoid any conflict. Good. If he was to stay here, people should give way for him. Now if only Father was like that. He passed a pair of expressionless generation two synth guards eyeing their laser weapons as he ascended the next flight.

God, he was annoyed. Of course Father had to go ruin another meal together talking nonsense of Bayley hurting others. He tried his best not to hurt his subjects -- everyone was willing and importantly, no one had died under his care! Sick perhaps in the early days... but it wasn’t death! Bayley couldn’t stand the idea his great idea could possibly kill others when it was supposed to be helping them. If he was ever responsible for someone’s death...

Bayley slid open the automatic door to his small, barren room. It was just a simple bed and desk, which was plenty for Bayley, but he wished he had his trinkets and such if he was going to be living here until the day he dies. He collapsed onto the stiff bed, face pressing against the cool pillow. He missed his couch. He missed his clinic. Bayley even considered he missed being annoyed by Jonathan and Jay’s antics. Jay would try his best to cheer him out of this spiraling train of thought, and Jon would know plenty of things to distract him with.

If he was ever responsible for their deaths, Bayley considered he’d quit on the spot. He’d probably become deeply depressed until he really did just curl up and die, however fast it came after. All his life’s work to save humanity, and he’d killed the only people who trusted him most to do so.

But the truly terrible part of him hidden away deep in his heart wondered that if someone was to die as a result of his work, perhaps even if he wasn’t working willingly with the Institute, that he'd simply wouldn’t care.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part IX

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 2,883

Note: Sorry for the delay :(

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8

“I’m glad nothing serious happened to you or your friend.” Tyrion poured himself some wine and you accepted to drink with him.

“Me too.”

“I know you are a hero but I sense something else here... why you keep taking those risks for her?” He curiously asked.

“She has no one...” That was true, still, you were trying to keep your feelings buried.

“You love her.” You hid your blush behind the silver cup. He chuckled. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. She seems to be a good Lady. With all that your brother has done to her having you is a blessing.”

“You... you’re okay with it?” Loving her in secret was one thing but saying it out loud to someone was a different one.

“Of course! I could never judge you. You don’t dictate your heart, you have all my support, Y/N.” He warmly smiled, you bent down to hug him. This is one of the many reasons you love your uncle so much.

“Thank you, uncle.”

“Now I fully understand why you did that yesterday. Does she know?” He walked to the balcony gesturing you to follow him.

“No. And maybe it’s all in my head.” You brushed it off. “She sees me as her very good chum who saves her from my horrendous family.”

“Or perhaps she’s just afraid to admit it. After all, you are the princess. It’s not that easy. You’ll figure it out.” He tapped your shoulder. Could Sansa really feel the same? Nothing’s impossible, you just have to give it time and be patient. But with the way she looks at you... how you find comfort in her embraces... how she gently touches your hand...

You made your way to the Stark girl’s room to check on her just to find the door wide open and a scared Sansa with the bed stained of blood, her nightgown had red stains too.

The Hound was there, you scowled. You knew he was going to tell Cersei, and that was the last thing the redhead wanted. Shae arrived shortly.

“Good morning.” You said.

“Princess.” Sandor and Shae greeted. Your gaze landed on Sansa, the tears were threatening to come out. She didn’t say anything.

“I will inform the Queen.” He stated and left. Sansa threw herself into your arms. You could feel her tensing and quivering.

“Hey hey, it’s gonna be fine. He’s not gonna touch you.” You promise her, you would do anything to keep him away from her, even if that meant being punished.

“You should take a bath before you meet her grace.” The young handmaid said.

“I’m going to wait outside until you are finished, then I’ll escort you to my mother’s chambers. Don’t worry, my lady. I got you.” You assured. Her features relaxed and you gave her a small nod.

You tried to come with excuses for your mother to not force her to carry Joffrey’s babies immediately but nothing with a valid point seemed to be compelling enough.

After she was done you headed to her big room. “How is your wound?” You added to soothe the hike.

“Better. You are a very good healer.” She shyly answered.

“One of my many gifts.” You winked to ease her nerves. The Queen Regent was already expecting her, yet she was not very surprised when you showed up behind Sansa, you let her entered first.

“My love, what are you doing here?” Cersei asked you, raising her eyebrow.

“I... thought I’d give Lady Sansa some advice, I flowered almost two years ago. I know it is grubby at first.”

“It certainly is. But her mother prepared her, didn’t she?”

“She told me. I thought... it would be different.” Sansa confessed.

“In what way?” You both took a seat.

“I thought it would be less... less messy.”

“Wait until you birth a child. You’re a woman now, do you know what that means?”

“I’m fit to bear children for the King.” Yes, your heart was breaking again.

“Is there any rush?” You intervened and Cersei faked a sympathetic smile.

“The sooner the better.” She made a flick for you to keep your mouth shut. Your jaw tensed. “A prospect that once delighted you. The greatest honor for a queen. Joffrey has always been difficult. Even his birth, I labored one day and a half to bring him into this world. You cannon imagine the pain. I screamed so loud I was sure Robert would hear me in the Kingswood.”

“His grace was not with you?”

“Robert was hunting. Whenever my time was near, he would flee to the trees with his huntsmen and his hounds. The only time he was with me was when Y/N was born. I’ll always remember how she wrapped her little hand around his finger, she smiled at him and that was the only time in my life I saw a tear fell from his cheek. It was too emotional.”

You missed him so badly, the stories he used to tell you about Westeros, the adventures he had when he was a young Lord, the thrill in his eyes when he saw you swing the sword for the first time, he taught you all about archery, about bravery. When you were feeling low because of Joffrey and your mother he would carry you in his arms and then ride far from the city in your horses. You missed those days cause in the dark moments he was your hero.

“You never told me that before.”

“You were your father’s favorite.” Then she referred to Sansa. “Joffrey will show you no such devotion. You may never love the King but you will love his children.” She told her calmly.

“I love his grace with all my heart.” Sansa lied in her usual innocent voice.

“That’s very touching to hear. Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you on this special day. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front, a mother has no choice.” Was it so hard for Cersei to love you as much as she loved your siblings? To support you and be there for you?

“But shouldn’t I love Joffrey, your grace?”

“You can try, little dove. My sweet daughter here, she will be marrying some Lord very soon. I think it’s time for you to start your own family.” The blonde abruptly added. Sansa felt her stomach twist itself into an uncomfortable knot.

“That means I will have to leave you, mother.” You complained. Cersei doesn’t want to end up alone, Jaime is a prisoner, you don’t know if you’re going to see him again. But she doesn’t want you to abandon her, deep down does she care? A question you often ask yourself.

“You grew too fast. You are my oldest daughter, any man who has your heart will be very lucky. Many of them are interested in you.” Your eyes were set only on Sansa Stark, even if you couldn’t be together.

“But I’m not interested in them.” You pointed out. Was she trying to send you away just because you were willing to keep protecting Sansa at all costs, or did she really wanted to get rid of you?

You and the northerner walked out. You let go of those thoughts. Focusing on her again you broke the silence. “There’ll be a battle soon. My uncle’s army will arrive anytime. Joffrey is going to be busy. I’m always here for you, Sansa.” You reassured once more, for her to know she’s not alone.

“I feel trapped. But when you’re around... you make everything better.” Hearing that made you feel a wave of joy. She blushed and gods, your face was the color of her hair too.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” You said smiling sincerely at her. She smiled back at you.

The following days passed so very fast, now you were helping uncle Tyrion do some researching on books to find information to use for the incoming battle. The King himself apparently is occupied torturing people and animals to care for his Kingdoms. Bronn was there too, your uncle thought he’d come with some ideas for the defense of the city.

You were distracted, to say the least, your mind wandering in the redhead beauty, in how she seemed to be troubled almost all the time.

“Dear niece, I need your cleverness.” You came out of your trance.

“We are very lucky to have you as Hand of the King, uncle, otherwise we’d be doomed. And I mean it, no sarcasm. I want to join you in the field.” Tyrion wasn’t expecting to hear that statement. You knew you could be effective.

“What? Absolutely not. The last time in the riot the gods were good and you were unharmed. This is way different. I know you are brave, just like Robert was, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Let alone the fact your mother won’t allow it.”

“I can take care of myself. Joffrey won’t last a moment there. Maybe I can coax him to fight along his men.”

“I wish you could. He won’t listen.”

“I’ll do it anyway.”

“So stubborn. My brain might explode before I find something helpful. ‘A History of the Great Sieges of Westeros.’ By Archmaester Shevelathin. Shevelatesh.”

“Ch’Vyalythan.” You corrected him.

“Are you sure?” You shrugged.

“My Princess. Lord Hand. Commander. I must compliment you on the Gold Cloak’s performance last few weeks. Did you know there has been a marked drop in thievery?” Lord Varys said entering the room.

“How did you accomplish this?”

“Me and the lads rounded up all the known thieves.” Bronn nonchalant replied.

“For questioning?”

“No. It’s just the unknown thieves we need to worry about now.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“Have you ever been on a city under siege? Maybe this part is not in your books. See, it’s not the fighting that kills most people. It’s the starving. Food’s worth more than gold. The thieves love a siege. Soon as the gates are sealed they steal all of it. By the time it’s all over, they’re the richest men in town.”

“Yes, I believe extreme measures are warranted. Ah ‘The Great Sieges of Westeros.’ Thrilling subject, shame archmaester Ch’Vyalthan wasn’t a better writer.” Varys referred to the big book on the table.

“Uncle Stannis knows King’s Landing, he knows where we are the strongest and where we are the weakest. We need to be cautious. Take him down before he arrives at the gates.” Now you were focusing, strategy was essential.

“That’s it! The Mud Gate. A good ram will batter it down in minutes, and it’s only fifty yards from the water. That’s where he’ll land.” Tyrion affirmed certainly.

“If he does attack at the Mud Gate, what is our plan?” Varys curiously inquired. Tyrion looked at you, and then back at him.

“Wildfire.” He said.

After discussing the tactics you went to share some time with Sansa, she is one of the few people who gives you peace. Little Tommen was on his reading lessons. She was embroidering a red scarf with two lions on the top. Your heart warmed at the sight of it.

“Shae is not here?”

“I dismissed her an hour ago.” Then she stood up. “A present for you.”

“Why do I owe the pleasure?” You admired her flawless needlework.

“Because you always save me. You are always there for me. I don’t know how can I ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to, you know I do it cause I love you I’m your friend. But I appreciate the gift though. It is a very fine design.” She flushed, seeing her like this is very cute.

“You think... your brother is going to defeat Lord Stannis?”

“Brave men will fight. I have faith in them and in my uncle’s plan. I-I might... get involved.”

“Is this a bad joke?” She looked at you perplexed.

“I’m afraid is not.”

“Y/N, you could die! You are strong but still too young to go to war. And you are a princess.” Sansa winced. You squeezed gently her arm.

“I won’t die. I heard uncle Renly had in his Kingsguard a female warrior. And what about Visenya Targaryen? She was a fantastic skilled warrior as well. She fought alongside Aegon in his conquest, and in the First Dornish War. Also, she was a dragon rider, she bonded with the one called Vhagar. And had a Valyrian steel longsword named Dark Sister. I wish I had one.” You commented, utterly excited. Sansa didn’t really like the topic but her eyes lighted up every time you talked about something you were passionate about.

“You never cease to amaze me, you know so much about these things. I understand now why Arya and you got along so well.” And it’s true, you wished she was here, you missed the youngest Stark girl running around the castle. “But still, I don’t like the idea of you being out there. It’s too dangerous. You said you weren’t going anywhere.” She mumbled the last sentence.

“Trust me.” You held her hands on your own.

“Just be careful, please. Don’t leave me alone.”

“I will be. And I’ll never leave you.”

You were walking side by side with the King, Varys, and Tyrion on the eastern walls.

“If my uncle Stannis lands on the shores of King’s Landing, I’ll ride out to greet him.” Joffrey smugly spoke.

“A brave choice, your grace. I’m sure your men will line up behind you.” Tyrion subtly jeered.

“They say he never smiles. I’ll give him a red smile from ear to ear.” You rolled your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance against him on his own. Lord Varys and your uncle began to converse with each other.

“Hey, Y/N. I heard you want to join us in the fight.” He said in a mocking way.

“You think I’m not capable?”

“Exactly. You are a woman. Not that I really care about what happens to you. You’ll die out there.”

“You have little faith in me, big brother. But still, I’m way better than you in almost everything.” You squinted your lips. “No! In absolutely everything. Don’t worry, I’ll pray for our victory.”

“I already know your whore friend has flowered. I’ll come to visit her right after I kill our uncle.” He hissed and you didn’t punch him right away right there cause you held back your fury. He was provoking you, you would get your knuckles bloody for Sansa if he goes too far.

“...They say he burns his enemies alive to honor the Lord of Light.” You joined the conversation between the two men.

“The Lord of Light wants his enemies burnt. The Drowned God wants them drowned. Why are all the gods such vicious cunts? Where is the god of tits and wine?” Tyrion wittily questioned.

“In the Summer Isles, they worship a fertility goddess with sixteen teats.” Varys responded.

“We should sail there immediately.” You smirked.

“Lord Varys, do you know anything new about the Targaryen girl?" Some nights you wonder, if your father hadn't won the Rebellion she would be here, this would be her home, she was exiled so she could survive, she was forced to marry a savage, her family is dead, the world is such a cruel place... and when you are a helpless girl it gets worse, what if things had turned out differently? And you were the one on the other side of the world, maybe that's one of the main reasons why you sympathized with her.

“This morning, I heard a song all the way from Qarth beyond the Red Waste. Daenerys Targaryen lives.”

“That’s a relief.” You said.

“A relief? She has three dragons. But even if what they say is true, it’ll be years before they are fully grown. And then there will be nowhere to hide.” Varys argued.

“She’s on the edge of the world, the least of our problems.” Uncle Tyrion tried to sound unconcerned.

“Three baby dragons? How is that possible?” They were extinct for almost three hundred years. How she managed to bring them back?

“Princess, do you consider it was wise to let her live? If you knew then what you do now... would you persuade his grace to give the order? She might be a threat soon enough, she will claim the throne-“

“Maybe she’s not interested in it. Not everyone is. Especially the rightful heirs. She did nothing wrong.”

“Yet.”

“I don’t regret my choice. I wouldn’t change it if I could.” You were confident, she’s innocent, one game at the time, you thought. Just because her ancestors were evil doesn’t mean she is evil too.

“You are so selfless, and good. Westeros might need a Queen like you.” Varys remarked.

“I’m no Queen, my Lord.” The throne belongs to you more than to Joffrey that was for sure, but how can you overthrow snakes that know your weaknesses and can use them to sting and hurt you the most?

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 16

And so the angst continues...for those who enjoyed Chapter 6/the engagement chapter, here is the angsty counterpart! But in all seriousness, I promise it’s not all doom and gloom by the end 😭 Plus the next one will be much more ~spicy~ for those who like those chapters. As always, please let me know what you think as I simply adore your asks, comments, etc.! Do feel free to check this out on AO3 too ❤️

Something shifts in Kuvira after she meets with Suyin in Zaofu. When she returns to the train, almost everything about her looks the same but you instantly notice the added hardness in her eyes. When you look closer, you see that her jaw is clenched tighter than usual.

It doesn’t help that more chaos ensues when Varrick, Zhu Li, and Bolin unsuccessfully attempt to defect from the army. Baatar and two other privates manage to haul them back. Kuvira decides to keep Zhu Li around after an admittedly impressive display of her devotion to the Empire and more importantly, Kuvira.

You try to ignore the twinge in your chest when Bolin is carried away. He had committed a grave mistake, this was true, but you know he is a good man at heart. You only hope he will see the error of his ways and return. However, the more realistic part of your brain knows his departure doesn’t signal a positive outcome.

Varrick is shipped off shortly thereafter and then Kuvira decides to call you, Zhu Li, and Baatar for an impromptu meeting in her office.

You all follow closely behind and you notice the stride in her step is slightly faster now, almost heavier. She won’t express it, much less admit it, but you know the treason is affecting her deeply. Not only had she been shunned yet again by the woman who so carelessly thought of herself as Kuvira’s mother figure but now faced the uncertainty of whether those closest to her actually had the Empire’s best interests at heart.

For a fleeting moment, your stomach feels like it sinks to your feet when you wonder whether Kuvira is questioning your own motives as well.

You step into the train car and hope the conversation starts immediately. It’s wishful thinking.

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence so thick it feels like it’s plunging your feet into the metal flooring. In reality it probably only lasts five seconds, maybe ten, but they drag on like hours, emphasizing just how grim everything really is.

“Zhu Li,” Kuvira starts. The young woman looks up with a convincingly neutral face. As you stand by Baatar’s side across the room, you see the faint quiver in her neck when she swallows.

“Yes, Great Uniter?” she responds. Kuvira takes two steps forward until her chest nearly touches Zhu Li’s. She looks down at her, cold and menacing, before lifting her hand to rest it on the smaller woman’s shoulder. Beside you, Baatar shuffles around on his feet.

“You have proclaimed your allegiance to the Empire and myself admirably. Keep in mind that I haven’t kept you around because you’re indispensable — you aren’t. You do however have one final opportunity to demonstrate the depth of your commitment,” Kuvira explains.

She turns to face you and Baatar. “Suyin is planning to attack me tonight,” she says. You feel the sensation of ice cold water crash down your spine. Obviously, it’s a purely emotional response but a violent tremor rushes through you nonetheless.

You’re about to speak when Baatar jumps in. “There’s no way Mother would do such a thing,” he gasps. “She is stubborn and ignorant, yes, but I can’t believe she would resort to something so...barbaric.”

Anger flashes in Kuvira’s eyes or perhaps it’s distrust. It’s likely both.

“If you know what’s best for you Baatar you will cease to let your emotional attachments cloud your judgement,” she snaps. The man instantly falls back at your side, pressing his back against the metal wall.

“I never once doubted Suyin would turn to violence,” Kuvira continues. “Zaofu is no longer about innovation, about progress. It’s about an outdated system of government that clings to a single woman’s vision of what should be and what shouldn’t. I told Suyin we would take the city by force if she did not relent and she will use that to justify her plans.”

You want to speak so badly, you want to interrupt her and somehow convince everyone that it can’t possibly be true even when the weight in your stomach tells you otherwise. Instead, you try to swallow around the lump in your throat and fail. It feels like it’s expanding, growing wider and denser upon realizing Kuvira’s life is in much more immediate danger than before.

It’s not like you ever acted like she was never in danger — her position invited threats from all angles. But now it’s closer, it’s far too real and when you think about waking up in the morning and realizing Kuvira is no longer there, it makes you sick to your stomach.

So you stay silent. There’s nothing else you can do that wouldn’t exacerbate the already growing tension.

“What are we going to do then?” Baatar asks. His voice wavers, much like you imagine his mind does between his devotion to Kuvira and his deep-seated attachment to his family.

“That’s where Zhu Li comes in,” Kuvira says. At this Zhu Li’s eyes widen, the first indication of any emotion you’ve seen from her during this entire conversation.

“Suyin’s strategy is simple: cut off the head of the snake and all else will fall into place. My tent is easily identifiable — she’ll aim there. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to take this on by herself and there are only two others who have the necessary metalbending abilities to assist her. Wing and Wei.

Therefore, Zhu Li will serve as the pawn. The tent itself is rather dark so there won’t be a great deal of making up to do. You’ll give her the necessary items she’ll need to vaguely resemble my appearance,” she explains, turning to you.

She waits for a response, unmoving but somehow still looking expectant. You can’t find your voice so you simply nod.

“Zhu Li, you won’t be in any legitimate danger,” Kuvira reassures, turning back and marginally softening her expression. “My guards will be outside ready to intervene and I will have additional reinforcements sent to arrest the intruders. All you have to do is stay calm and play your role. Do I make myself clear?”

Zhu Li schools her face back into something indiscernible and she clears her throat. “Affirmative, Great Uniter. I’m grateful for the opportunity to prove myself to you again. I promise I will not lose your trust a second time.”

“I’m sure you won’t, as a second time won’t bode well,” Kuvira responds. She finally removes herself from Zhu Li’s space and walks out of the room, leaving the three of you stunned and disoriented.

You’re the one who finally breaks the stillness by yanking the door open and running towards Kuvira. You shout her name once, twice but she doesn’t turn back. The guards watch with piqued interest which annoys you but not enough to actually care.

Eventually Kuvira stops and you nearly ram into her back. Your hand starts to reach towards her elbow but she tugs it away just enough for it to be out of reach. When you speak again, your words come out shakingly.

“Kuvira I...we can’t do this. We can’t risk it, please. Please, I-I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you, not when we’ve gotten this far. Your plan is sound, I know it is, but—”

“But what?” Kuvira interrupts. She doesn’t turn around but her shoulders roll backwards and her voice is barely above a growl. “There’s still some fault in it? Are you going to take Baatar’s side now too?”

“This isn’t about sides, Kuvira,” you nearly sob. “I don’t care what Baatar thinks. I care about you and I care about what Suyin could do to you. I swear if she so much as brushes a hand over your head and takes you away from me I won’t...I won’t be able to cope with that. I’ve lost too much already and I don’t regret it. Not for a moment. But you’re the one person I can’t...I just can’t lose. Please. Please, let’s just go and...and we can figure it out later. We don’t need Zaofu.”

Kuvira is still. All you can hear is the roaring of blood in your ears, pounding in your skull with relentless force. Your vision starts to blur around the edges.

“I understand your concern...but this isn’t about Zaofu. This is much bigger than that and I should hope you understand,” Kuvira says quietly. She turns around and she looks at you, aimless, distant.

She makes a move as if to close the gap between you but you see the way she holds herself back. She clasps her hand behind her back and presses her lips into a firm line. “You will stay in Bolin’s former tent. Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

Kuvira doesn’t wait for a response. She walks away and you fear your chest is caving deep into your body, collapsing and splintering until it feels like you’ll be engulfed by your own self.

Beneath the layers of twisted, broken emotion, you wish you actually could be.

---

The buildup to the actual event is intolerably slow. So much so that your body grows sore with the force of holding your limbs tight. Bolin’s tent had been cleared of his meager belongings and though there was nothing there to remind you of him, there was still a faint presence that could be felt.

Even so, it did nothing to assuage the terror swelling in your bones.

The metal walls are thick so it’s nearly impossible to hear anything outside unless it’s especially loud. You don’t expect Suyin to come barging into the encampment with blaring sirens and a horde of soldiers but you aren’t prepared for how the silence will affect you either.

Your mind shifts between believing nothing will actually happen and wondering whether they’ve already taken Kuvira away, or worse…

When it happens though, it feels like every sound and movement is condensed into the span of five seconds.

There’s a faint commotion before the alarm starts blaring and you hear the sound of Kuvira’s tent coming down. Despite her orders to stay inside, you fling yourself off the bed and run. The guards outside shout and follow behind but you can’t stop. You need to get close. Not close enough where you can be seen by Kuvira but enough to see everything unfolding and know she’s alive.

The guards in the mecha suits don’t try to subdue you — clearly they’re just there to make sure no one gets to you either. However, you’d rather anyone take you first before ever considering getting close to Kuvira.

There’s too much distance for you to discern what’s being said but you can see everything in vivid detail. Kuvira was right.

Suyin stands at the center of the tent with her twin sons at her sides, surrounded by what seems to be a dozen mechas and an equal number of privates who bring the tent down. Zhu Li sits upright and you release a bated breath when you see they hadn’t actually harmed her.

The exchange passes quickly. Kuvira walks away, you see the neon glow of electricity that folds over the three Beifongs like sheets of paper, and Kuvira’s shadow becomes solid flesh as she approaches you.

She pauses before her eyes narrow. “I told you to stay inside,” she hisses. The rancor in her voice is unexpected and you don’t know how to react, how to feel. You’re still trying to process what just happened, trying to convince the part of your brain that refuses to believe she’s here that she’s really okay. Your hands hang limply at your sides.

“Go back to the tent. You had nothing to worry about but it seems you couldn’t even believe that,” Kuvira says before walking away. You can’t tell exactly where she goes, you just see her silhouette fade into the shadows.

The guards call your name and inch you towards the tent so you finally make your way back. Your body collapses onto the bed and when you rest your head on the pillow, you feel moisture pooling onto the cool fabric.

To no one’s surprise, you don’t sleep that night.

---

The next day Kuvira fights the Avatar. She never came back to the tent and you didn’t see her all morning.

You feel that same fear grip your heart when Korra goes into the Avatar State and nearly kills Kuvira. Your body goes numb before it thrums with panic and it’s all you can do to not throw yourself past the throngs of soldiers and beg her to stop.

But Korra fails. Kuvira is safe. Opal and Tenzin’s eldest daughter blast Kuvira with a powerful gust of wind that sends her flying onto her back. She’s lifted up by two privates and within moments the army charges forward.

Zaofu falls not long after. Kuvira stakes her claim to the city and then it’s over. Opal manages to flee but the rest of the Beifongs are now locked away. Zaofu has been annexed and all that’s left is Republic City.

Zhu Li is tasked with assisting Baatar in building a spirit cannon that will force President Raiko to yield if he chooses not to do so voluntarily. The army makes it way to the spirit vines and you watch as information is gathered and the plants are harvested.

Everything should feel normal. The army just won. Kuvira certainly seems satisfied.

But something still isn’t right.

Ever since Zaofu, you’ve only caught glimpses of Kuvira in your time alone: when she slides into bed beside you but makes it a point to avoid your touch. Or when you awake in the morning and she’s already dressed, slipping out of the tent without a word or glance in your direction.

These days you find yourself looking down at the metal band around your finger more often, tracing the detailed curves and engravings, and remember the night you accepted Kuvira’s proposal. It doesn’t feel like any period of time has passed...it feels like another world entirely.

Kuvira doesn’t wear a band — it’s not really her style plus it’s inconvenient given the gloves she wears everyday. Nevertheless, she had made it an unspoken ritual to touch your ring at least once during the day, gliding her finger over the design her hands crafted or holding it up to the sun to watch it glint in the light.

It’s not lost on you that she hasn’t done this for a while now.

But that’s not what stops you. It’s the distance hovering inside Kuvira’s eyes.

She carries herself proudly, almost arrogantly, now that they are so close to the end. She nearly preens under the exaltations and praises of her following.

And yet, she’s not entirely there.

You can’t tell if she’s looking for something far away from here or if she’s somewhere else completely in her mind. You try to broach the subject one night but to little avail.

“Kuvira...I...I’m worried about you,” you say, keeping your arms folded over your blanket, resisting the urge to reach over and touch her. It’s been over a week.

Kuvira’s back faces you and she doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound.

“What happened with Suyin —”

“Nothing happened with Suyin,” she snaps. It startles you and you bite your lip to refrain from speaking again. She continues in your place. “We are closer to uniting the Empire than we’ve ever been. Zaofu is under my control — that’s that. There is nothing to dwell on.”

You want to believe she falls asleep soon after but the uneven breathing at your side indicates you both lie awake for the rest of the night.

--

Things don’t get any better with time. When you’re alone in your tent, or caught up in the neverending stream of paperwork that still needs reviewing and filing, you find yourself chuckling. It’s humorless. Pained.

What was that whole thing about time healing all wounds?

You’ve argued with Kuvira before, both minor altercations and ones that fundamentally influenced how you approached each other. Regardless, you grew from that. Each conflict allowed you to learn more about Kuvira and what she needed from you and she learned the same for you. Even in disputes that felt insurmountable.

Nothing gets better now. At one point, Commander Zhen looks at you questioningly during a morning assembly. People are starting to notice but it’s not like there’s anything you can do.

Time proceeds, paying no mind to these hiccups of little people’s lives that mean nothing in the grand scheme of all that’s to come. Baatar and Zhu Li make great strides in the spirit beam cannon and it seems to be the only thing that brings Kuvira any sense of contentment these days. When she’s not preoccupied with observing the cannon’s construction, she’s quiet. Closed off.

Then the day comes when Kuvira realizes Zhu Li has been plotting to sabotage her plans for the cannon all along. Whatever inkling of hope remained in Kuvira’s eyes up until that point is consumed by something else that’s ruthless and sour.

Then the Beifongs come in and take everyone away. You see Bolin. You make eye contact for a second and you look at each other like strangers.

Everyone manages to scuttle onto Opal’s flying bison and just before they leave, you see Toph Beifong. It’s the first time in weeks you’ve felt anything other than despair and your eyes widen upon seeing the inventor of metalbending standing right before your eyes.

“You give metalbenders a bad name!”

Toph’s voice rings fierce and indignant as she throws the words in Kuvira’s face. No one else says a word. You stand behind Baatar so you can’t see Kuvira’s face but you do see the way her fingers tighten around the metal bars on the deck.

She looks...sad from here. You aren’t sure if she feels sad but for the first time since you joined her army, it’s the first time you’ve seen Kuvira shrink in on herself. It’s not something you see in her body language — she manages to stand upright, seemingly unaffected by the accusation.

It’s the way she stays still when Toph flies away. The way that Toph, the creator of the discipline, diminishes the one thing Kuvira has always known to be her strongest point, the characteristic that people admire her for the most.

This seems to be the breaking point.

That night, Kuvira doesn’t come back to your tent at all. You sit up in bed, staring into the empty room, wondering how on earth this can be salvageable when too much time has passed. The wedge digs deeper, grows wider, and there’s no sign that it will ever leave.

Eventually, you break your gaze to look back down at your finger.

You twist the metal band around, feeling the material slide and tug on your skin. Even since Zaofu, you haven’t thought of removing it.

But now, it feels heavy. Too tight. You slowly slide it off and set it on the bedside table, wondering if you’ll ever put it on again.

The possibility is agonizing so you pull your uniform on, step into your boots, and make your way outside. There are no guards milling about too close-by so you’re able to slip away quickly towards the shadowy mountains.

In a few days time, the army will be in Republic City. You wonder when the president will start evacuating, if at all. You wonder what will come after, when the city inevitably concedes to the Empire and everything is complete.

It’s all that Kuvira’s dreamed of for years now, to see her people reunited and moving into a new era of progress and modernity. She ushered you into this dream, allowed you to see how much was actually possible under her guidance and your knowledge, and you believed it too. You still do.

Everything had once seemed so clearly laid out. The Empire would be one at long last and you would marry Kuvira soon after. You would rule at her side, endeavoring to make life better and more meaningful for your citizens.

How true is that now?

Without the ring on your hand, you feel different. Or rather, you feel like nothing at all. You had expected to feel so many other things but instead you simply exist, feeling totally disconnected from your body, your thoughts, and everything else that breathes and moves around you.

When Kuvira finds you, it’s not surprising. You didn’t leave because you knew she’d follow. Frankly, you almost wish she hadn’t. Her being here now means you have to face reality, to determine exactly where you stand with her.

You’re not ready for that answer.

You turn to face Kuvira because she doesn’t step towards you and before you see the look on her face, you see her hand extended. She isn’t wearing gloves. Cradled in her palm is a familiar silver band. It twinkles in the hazy moonlight before her fingers close over it.

“I didn’t mean…” You start to say but then Kuvira’s face tightens, immediately making you stop.

She seals her eyes shut, swallows hard, and walks towards you.

“You were right,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse, similar to when she first wakes up in the morning except right now it’s troubled. Hurt.

She sits to your side, never once unfolding the hand that holds your ring and sits upright. “Suyin tried to kill me,” Kuvira whispers and it sounds like disbelief. You wonder how long she has repeated those words, trying to convince herself that they’re true.

What can you say to that? Yes? The woman who took you in when your parents left you for dead, who dared to call you her daughter, had decisively elected to end your life? What good would it do for Kuvira to hear that from your mouth? She already knew this anyway, so what exactly were you right about?

So you stay quiet. You look at the mountains towering over you, feeling the smallest you’ve ever felt.

“She wants me dead,” Kuvira continues. “She forced Korra into the Avatar state. When she escaped, I knew she would stop at nothing to end my Empire even if it meant seeing me lifeless at her feet.”

“Kuvira...” Your voice doesn’t sound like you at all.

She doesn’t move, only stays silent. When you finally decide to look at her, the darkness isn’t enough to obscure the myriad of emotions cascading over her face. You see disbelief, anger, disgust.

The one that lingers: sadness.

“I think I always knew it would come to this, after I left Zaofu,” Kuvira says. “When we came face to face in Republic City after three years, things were just as we had left them when I set off for Ba Sing Se. I think worse even. There was nothing between us anymore and I accepted it.”

“But you couldn’t...you couldn’t have known she would take it this far,” you insist. Kuvira’s jaw tightens and she inhales sharply through her nose.

“But I did,” she says coldly. “You and Baatar were too invested in who you thought Suyin was. You didn’t see her the way I did, the way she discarded me without a second thought when I first left. The moment I returned, I knew what she had planned for me.”

For a moment there’s a pause where you think Kuvira’s going to continue speaking but she doesn’t. Those last few words echo in your ears.

I knew what she had planned for me.

You ignore the conflicting thoughts in your head and listen to your body, reaching towards her instead. You let your hand hover in the air just above her leg and wait for her to respond. She looks at it for a second before she slides her fingers against yours.

Her hand stiffens and you realize this is the first time she’s touched you in weeks.

You sit in silence for a while, letting the angry streams of tears roll down Kuvira’s face. Her breathing grows hard and shallow but it doesn’t break. She looks straight ahead, never once turning to face you, but her hand stays clasped over yours. The other stays clenched around your ring.

“You have the choice, you know,” Kuvira eventually says. You look at her, confused, and her face is stony again, the only hint of any emotion in the wet lines stretched over her cheeks.

“When this is all over, you have a choice. I never want you to think you don’t and I’m sorry if I made you believe that,” she murmurs, finally opening her hand to look at the ring.

There is so much you can say. You know there is so much you have to say but you fear it will come out wrong and you’ll shatter this precarious offering Kuvira makes. So you reach out with your free hand, letting it rest over Kuvira’s fingers entwined with yours, and wait.

She stops breathing for a second before tentatively, almost fearfully breaking your hands apart just enough to press the ring over your finger and slide it down.

You don’t look up at Kuvira but you feel when she leans forward and rests her forehead against yours. Hot tears fall against your wrists and you breathe in. You can’t tell if they’re yours or hers. It doesn’t feel right to break this moment with words that hold little meaning when compared to the weight of Kuvira’s hand in yours.

Instead, you sit with her for most of the night outside, waiting, always waiting for Kuvira for as long as she needs.

[life-0r-death]

(so this is technically two different templates, but I couldn’t resist the part two. shoutout to @the-kings-of-games and @asix-oud for inspiring me to do this)

Character Profiles:

Jack Atlas - 20, blonde, 6' (anime height I think) “No one loves like Jack Atlas!”

Yusei Fudō - 18, raven with gold highlights, 5'7″ - “Jack it’s alright--”

How it happened:

Growing up together in the same orphanage under Martha’s care, both Jack and Yusei developed a bond of brotherly affection toward one another that they also shared with their third brother, Crow. However, as they got older, Yusei started to realize his feelings for Jack were anything but brotherly. With his growing adoration, he slowly tried to feel out how Jack felt, slowly implying that he had more love to give. It took Jack well after the Fortune Cup, and deep in the WRPG to realize that Yusei had affections for him. And that he returned them. Unintentionally, the two kissed and the rest was history.

Showing affection:

Both Jack and Yusei take initiative when it comes to affection. However, Jack is more of a wild card on whether or not he wants to provide verbal affection or a physical one. Often, Jack will either smirk at Yusei and tell him he’s a dream or he’s his knight in shining armor (This tends to turn Yusei quite red). Or, Jack will pull Yusei into a hug no matter where they are, just to hold him in his arms.

Yusei is all about non-verbal affection. He holds Jack, kisses him, gets him things, or just takes care of him as he needs to. Yusei finds that he never has the right words to tell Jack of how he feels, so a kiss and a hug are his better applications.

Handling Conflict:

More often than not, many of their conflicts revolve around Jack. Whether that be to duel, go out and visit Martha, or the strain of Jack’s worries on Yusei’s health and his own flighty nature, Jack is usually the most vocal on his distastes. He’s one to yell sharply and angrily before taking time away to cool down. He has a fight or flight response and his motions are to verbally fight and then flee. Yusei understands Jack’s needs to just be alone. He is not one to give chase (unless he absolutely needs to).

Yusei is the most neutral. Depending on the fight, he can range from just listening and helping to resolve it, or he can be just as stubborn as Jack, silently seething and also removing himself from the source. 

They usually come back to one another eventually, though, and kiss and make up.

Dealing with jealousy:

Both Yusei and Jack are prone to jealousy as both are quite popular in their inner circles. Jack is often seen by his fans who love to latch onto him and ask for his hand in marriage. Yusei’s jealousy certainly spikes, but he doesn’t let it overtake him. He usually just requires a bit more attention after the source departs, whether that be cuddling or Jack just being in the same space while he works on a duel runner.

When Jack becomes jealous, he’s just as eccentric as he normally is. He’s loud and in faces, grabbing Yusei and practically dragging him away or making sure that Yusei knows he’s there. There are no if, ands, or buts about it. Yusei will give him the affection he deserves and whatever the source may be, alive or inanimate, they will feel his wrath. 

Relationship Attitude:

When it comes to their relationship, Yusei holds it near and dear, performing all sorts of PDA and making sure Jack knows just how much he loves him. To Yusei, he spent too much time hiding his feelings, playing it safe, and watching Jack run off to become King all alone (when Yusei wanted nothing more than to be his Knight). He had to watch as Jack never understood his advances, watched as Jack would be harmed from the forces that came after them. Yusei had even gotten to the point that he would always appreciate Jack from afar, but know he’d never have him in his grasp. But once Jack admitted feelings for him too, Yusei made an oath to never hide his feelings again. So he devotes everything to Jack, understands Jack’s own fears and anxieties, and puts their relationship above all other projects. A duel runner can be fixed another day. Jack’s tears? Those need to be attended to now.

Jack is just as devoted to their relationship. Hell, he thinks about marriage at times. But he doesn’t perform as much PDA nor does he express how important it is to him as much as Yusei does. He does this for two reasons; one, Yusei obviously initiates it all. Jack doesn’t need to start any PDA since Yusei will begin it on his own. And Jack doesn’t need to overthrow Yusei with adoration since Yusei seems happy enough to give it mostly to him. The second reason Jack is a bit more reserved is because he has a hint of anxiety for their relationship. He’s always been a flighty man, ducking out when something was getting too much. He fears if something should go wrong, then he’d need that escape path to make sure Yusei doesn’t crash and burn. 

But both of them are rather happy in their relationship, usually talking about their fears and loyalties in the dead of night.

Attachment:

Each person toes the line depending on their emotions. But they are quite heavily attached to one another. Jack is not overly-protective nor is he hyper lax, and he does value his independence a bit more. This goes back to his flighty nature that should he need to run, he needs that space to get going. But this doesn’t mean he doesn’t adore Yusei.

Yusei doesn’t mind indepence or clinging. He’s just happy to be in Jack’s bubble or to just be in his thoughts. Yusei is, however, quite protective of Jack. Watching his man be flung from his duel runner too often has boosted this feral need to just keep him safe, as well as make sure Jack is never taken advantage of again. So Yusei is pretty quick to do research on events, offer up to go with, and generally make sure Jack is going to be okay.

Things to elaborate upon...

First to confess - both sort of did it at the same time. Yusei never really outwardly confessed until Jack sort of gave him this notion and feeling that they felt something similar. So they both openly told one another than they loved each other.

More popular/charismatic - both are held in high regard, Jack with his fanbase and Yusei with their inner circle as with the City for being the King (since he de-throned Jack).

Sick caregiver - both are pretty on even ground to take care of one another. Jack makes Yusei soups and foods, making sure he stays away from the duel runners to actually rest. Yusei pets Jack, gets him water, and is a constant by his side.

Does the cooking - Jack does it all. He’s a baker, having honed the skill while under Godwin’s foot and locked within his penthouse. When he wasn’t dueling, he was committing his time to something that distracted him long enough to feel alive. So he’s known as the chef in their household, and everyone loves his food.

Does the cleaning - since Jack does all the cooking, Yusei takes it upon himself to do the cleaning. He’s pretty good at making sure all of his tools are set and ready in the garage, so he makes sure those habits follow him into the house (and Jack isn’t too messy to begin with, he’s actually quite organized and proper).

Does most of the speaking - Not that Yusei doesn’t talk, he just lets Jack speak for him. Especially when he’s hands deep in a duel runner. Jack knows what’s on his mind, or knows what he likes to eat or drink, so he lets his man take care of him in his own ways. Plus, Yusei is pretty lax on requested subjects, like what they’d wear to some party. Jack cares about that stuff, so Yusei lets him talk for both of them.

Designated driver - Now, Yusei is deemed this because he is also overprotective. He doesn’t want Jack crashing, so if they have to go somewhere and both don’t have to have their runners, Yusei will be the one to drive and make sure his King makes it in one piece.

Has good penmanship - Jack knows cursive from his time with Godwin. Martha taught both him and Yusei a lot in the orphanage, but cursive and clean writing weren’t the top priorities. Just know how to read and write were. So, Jack honed this skill not only because he wanted to, but because he had to. In order to appear like he was actually from the Tops, he had to be able to write signatures elegantly.

Has more experience in a relationship - neither do. They’ve only ever pined for one another, or never thought about romantic interests or advancements. So this is their one and only relationship.

Sensitive to subtle changes in partner - both are excellent at this. Yusei is already hyper aware of Jack constantly. He knows when he’s feeling a bit more agitated or when he’s on edge. Jack isn’t as honed as Yusei, but he knows what each facial expression and silent grunt means. He’s studied them for a long time, and honestly, Jack and Yusei never have to use words to communicate how they are feeling.

The one who proposes - Yusei will want to, will plan for it and will be sure its a fanfare (as by Jack’s request). But the world will decide that he’s now allowed to, either making him too busy or stealing his attention away constantly at the perfect moments (or more enemies appearing out of the woodwork to ruin his plans). So, in the end, it will be Jack who sets up some sort of extravagant world around them, getting down on his knee and holding Yusei’s hand with a simple yet beautiful wedding band ready to slip on his finger.

(if you want specifics on part 2, send asks! Otherwise, thanks for reading! You can find a lot of these dynamics in my fics on AO3 <3)

[evostrashbin]

Any backstory or headcanons for your Kiran? It’s fun to hear the backstories of other summoners! Or if that’s too broad uh...why did she pick Grima? What do they have in common how did they learn to get along etc

Oho buckle up now this is about to get LONG since I had a few months to think about these kind of things 👀 (These are purely headcanons for my personal version of Kiran of course! Some of this might be a little dark so TW for abuse mention , please skip parts that make you feel uncomfortable! Also keep in mind I'm no native english speaker and haven't written anything long in ages )

Her backstory is nothing out of the ordinary, she's been summoned to Askr from our dimension & current time and was just a normal person before she became the summoner. She's pretty thrilled by her new role and takes her duty very serious (even if some of my art might suggest otherwise haha) and is absolutely fascinated by now being surrounded by magic, dragons and literal gods, things she normally only knew & loved from fairytales! Coming from an abusive family she not once looked back and never had the desire to return to her old realm and is happily living in Askr now. Her and Grima originally started out on a weird kind of fascination coming from both sides, with Kiran being completely unafraid of Grima the second she summoned him, he found that very odd since the usual reaction of people seeing him is fear, but Kiran was just... happy he showed up and not in a way of „Wow a powerful god I can use for his power“ but just genuine, foolish excitement. Considering he was the first evil dragon god she ever summoned she was just very intrigued by him, wanted to know more about him and why so many of other heroes were so afraid of him. So she made it her mission to get to know him a little better and make him feel welcome in his new home (But making sure to give him space if needed!). Grima was a little annoyed by that at first, asking her why she keeps pestering him but also just perplexed by her actively seeking out his company with seemingly no goal (at least none that made sense to him, why would anyone seek him out on their own if not to appease to him for his power to use it for their own selfish gain). Considering his distrust and straight up hatred towards humankind he's not exactly kind to her in the beginning since he suspects ulterior motives, but Kiran doesn't let that discourage her and she's not taking any of it. If anything it just makes her wonder why he despises humans so much (and yet has chosen a human vessel...) , why he's so full of hatred and since she's stubborn, she just keeps „pestering“ him. Though he would never admit it, he finds himself enjoying her company, this odd little human who doesn't fear him at all from a realm unlike anything he's ever known before and ends up slowly warming up to her (in his own way, means he's getting less insulting and starts having actual conversations with her, he finds himself very intrigued by the fact that neither dragons nor gods exist in her realm and so does magic and yet she's the one Breidablik has chosen to get that kind of power? Also Kiran has the patience of a saint even when Grima is testing that alot at times ) After a while they both start sharing bits of their pasts with each other (Imagine Grima still being kinda snarky, but in a less mean way haha. Also Grima being very much suprised at Kiran not abandoning him after learning about his past), and learn that they're not so different from each other in some ways, touching common ground in the experience of having had the ugliness of humanity having turned them repulsive and disappointed (Due to Kiran's almost life-long experience with physically and mentally abusive parents that were only interested in her as a resource, and not as a person and once she had no use or didn't obey their wishes, they just straight up told her everyone would be better off without her and that she should've never been born and essentially making her believe that everything wrong in the world is her fault & blaming her for it because she's just „ such a terrible child“ (just to keep it very short, we're not going to dive into the really ugly details) . They bond over having parental figures who treat their whole existance as a mistake as soon as they lost total control over it and people just constantly using them as a resource for their own gain. Basically trauma-bonding at its finest, both have seen and experienced some of the ugliest sides of humanity. This leads to Kiran now understanding where Grima's hatred comes from. (Though Grima genuinely asks himself how Kiran doesn't t hate all of humanity after her experiences...) With her newfound understanding she decides to show Grima that not all of humanity is ugly and selfish and cruel ( a lesson she had to learn herself for years and still sometimes struggles with, but she's determined to show Grima that there's people he can trust, even if it might just be her) and wants to give him a chance to start new in Askr and leave his past behind so even he might be able to find happiness. She's not striving to drastically change him though, she wants to help him cope with his experiences and give him a chance to live a somewhat normal life (as much as that's possible for someone as Grima) , following his longing to just be human. Grima in return might not openly show it, but he really appreciates her efforts in treating him with kindness and (mostly) like a normal person and not a lost cause beyond any redemption that's just 100% pure evil and never deserves anything good happening to them. So they slowly build a relationship on mutual trust, Kiran just likes him the way he is despite him not exactly being a good person (she's well aware he's flawed but so is she in the end and all the ‘ugly’ parts of him and his past are just a part of him)  .It's... new and not unpleasant to him, having someone who wants him around who isn't just blindly worshipping him or staying out of fear. It's just a whole new experience for him that comes with having to deal with a whole lot of unknown emotions over time ;) That's what it boils down to to keep it short! Do not let yourself get deceived though, the only person Grima is kinda soft with is Kiran and pretty much exclusively when it's just the two of them since Grima does not want to have other people see him kinda vulnerable or think of him as weak, He'll still threaten to kill other people while calling Kiran his worm (in a loving way haha). Kiran herself also isn't just endless patience and kindness, she also likes to mess around at times with Grima and has her own struggles and flaws, if she'd ever get a fallen alt it would probably be a duo unit of her and Grima where she gives up believing into there being some good in the world and turns her back to it with Grima, giving in to despair and seeking to just destroy everything with him when all the bad things get too overwhelming. oh also some random headcanons for Kiran! -She's prone to overworking herself since she takes her work very serious, fell asleep in the library and the castle gardens more than once due to exhaustion, got to a point where even Grima scolded her for it to take more care of her health. -She's nocturnal so you'll find her wandering around the castle at weird times, often makes for nice and silent meetings with Grima just to talk when nobody else is around since he doesn't sleep alot. -She enjoys drawing as a hobby in Askr and keeps a sketchbook which she uses to make sketches and sometimes even studies of all kinds of heroes she finds interesting! She once made a detailled study of Grima's dragon form and gifted it to him on the day of devotion c:

[katcadecascade]

Reader Study (Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint Oneshot)

*spoilers up to chapter 79

Summary: 

“Your face is getting red, Kim Dokja.”

“No it’s not.”

She didn’t need to use lie detection.

Han Sooyoung clapped her hands, peering down at him with a wide grin. “What kind of fanfics did you read?”

Kim Dokja is both impressed and exhausted by the fact that he’s surviving in the apocalypse.

Most of that credit is due to him being the sole reader to know about the webnovel that just happens to become is new reality. There’s still a lot of confusion on how that came to be. Kim Dokja has encountered character from the novel, the deadly scenarios, and even people who were never a part of this once fictional world.

“Are you finally taking a break from your airbending training?”

There were other readers. They didn’t stay with the novel like he did so his title as sole reader remains.

Techniqually…

“Stop ignoring me.” Despite that, Kim Dokja tried his best to ignore his current companion. She continues, “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why can’t I learn the Way of the Winds skill?’ Its because you’re not the protagonist Kim Dokja.”

Han Sooyoung. The first Apostol, she read the most of the original Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse aside from his truly. Except she does know a lot more about the novel than others.

Because she plagiarized it.

Or not as she claims every time he calls her out.

Either way she knows about the world. That means she’s dangerous if left alone. Hell, she’ll gather up another cult like what she did with the Apostles and Prophets.

So since Kim Dokja has been separated from his companions, living in the consequences of a kingless world, he struck a temporary contract with Han Sooyoung until the next main scenario.

He’s really regretting his decision.

“Maybe I’ll ask Lycaon to teach me to be an airbender since it’s so important to you. I probably have the SSS grade talent you lack.”

“No.”

Someone needs to learn the Way of the Wind skill to go against the Disaster of Questions. Kim Dokja doesn’t trust Han Sooyoung with that power and the original protagonist is nowhere nearby to get this skill in time.

Logically, he thought he should get the skill but apparently, Lycaon has deemed him void. Despite that, Kim Dokja tried to train with the wolf monster. So after a good few hours of nothing, he finally took a break and is lying flat on his back in the remains of the business district.

“You’re a real rat bastard, Kim Dokja.”

“And you’re a real rat plagiarist.”

“I didn’t plagiarize!” She’s sitting away from him but close enough to kick his foot. “Everything I wrote I saw in a dream and from that point on my novel became popular due to my own writing skills. It became so popular I even got fanfics!”

“I can’t believe you’re bragging about that. They’re probably not even good.”

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as false.]

“Oh?”

Why did he open his mouth? It’s been a long day of (futile) training under Lyacon. The world is in more ruin because of his choice at the Absolute Throne scenario. He’s away from his friends. The Disaster scenarios are arrive in a few days. Kim Dokja is with the one other person who has read his favorite novel in depth.

Ways of Survival didn’t get popular, it lost a lot of readers. In other words, it never got any fanfics.

But Han Sooyoung’s SSSSS-Grade Infinite Regressor did get a plethora of fanart and fanfics.

So maybe one night curiosity got the better of Kim Dokja and searched for some fanfics of a protagonist very similar to Yoo Jonghyuk.

“Your face is getting red, Kim Dokja.”

“No it’s not.”

She didn’t need to use lie detection.

Han Sooyoung clapped her hands, peering down at him with a wide grin.

“What kind of fanfics did you read?”

Kim Dokja has been lying back, slowing regaining his breath from training. He only has enough stamina to simply roll over and face the opposite direction.

Han Sooyoung merely scooted over to his other side, still grinning.

He turns again.

“You read the steamy fics,” she accused.

“I did not.”

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as truth.]

“Boo.”

“Did you read your novel’s fanfics?”

“Of course not! That goes against an author’s ethics of copyright.”

He just stares at her.

She glares, “I’m not a plagiarist.”

Kim Dokja would love to have the lie detection skill right now.

Han Sooyoung rolls her eyes and offers up, “Occasionally I’ll check the number of fics and see what the most popular tags is. That’s about it.”

A dangerous expression washes over her face as she remembers what exactly the most popular type of fic is. He can see her calculating the probability of Kim Dokja ever reading those type of fics.

Han Sooyoung stares at him with an open mouth smile.

“You, Kim Dokja, may be one of the strongest incarnations, a pain in the ass to me, the dokkaebi, and the constellations, but in reality,” she snorts at that word, “you are weak.”

She didn’t even need to ask. And yet Kim Dokja already feels defeated.

At least he did not admit it aloud.

No way will Kim Dokja verbally admit that he read self-insert fics as the protagonist’s lover.

It gets a little more worse when he remembers he read female self-inserts before finally scavenging the he or they pronoun fics.

But look at him now.

He’s in his favorite novel and met its protagonist.

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call their first introduction a ‘meet cute.’

No way does any of their encounters qualify as romantic. They fought and disagreed and their last encounter ended with Kim Dokja punching Yoo Jonghyuk into unconsciousness. If anything, Kim Dokja’s aim to be Yoo Jonghyuk’s companion is a fantasy.  

Han Yoosong apparently thinks otherwise.

She mockingly pats his shoulder with comfort, “You must be living your fics. Charming your way into Yoo Jonghyuk’s cold barriers.”

“He wants to kill me.”

“Yeah but has he yet?”

Despite the fact that Kim Dokja could come up with many reasons, he says nothing.

Yoo Jonghyuk could’ve killed him at the bridge, at the stations, and, well maybe not at the Throne because of Kim Dokja’s strategy. Every time Kim Dokja said something or did something to convince Yoo Jonghyuk that they are equals and needed each other for upcoming scenarios.

They have yet to ever be on the same page without annoying the other.

And yet Kim Dokja expected this.

It’s the one thing many self-insert fics lack.

As much as Kim Dokja secretly enjoyed the gooey romance orientated stories, none ever measured up with the real stubbornness of Yoo Jonghyuk.

He’s a protagonist who has suffered and thrived and flourished and dealt with impossible odds and despaired and will eventually reach the ending of this story.

Kim Dokja stayed with him for three thousand chapters. Now he wants to stay with Yoo Jonghyuk to… to…

Ah… he got too caught up with the self-inserts fics. A lot of those ended with marriage or something equally domestic.

That’s not an ending deserving of Kim Dokja.

All he wants is for Yoo Jonghyuk and the tohers to make it to the end of this story.

“Hey, you lost in thought about kissing Yoo Jonghyuk?”

“No!”

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as false.]

She raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Only because you just said it.”

“Sure,” she smiled like a liar.

Somehow it is the opposite smile of Yoo Jonghyuk’s smile when he threw Kim Dokja off the bridge and into the sea serpent’s mouth.

It’s frustratingly easy to remember how the last sunrays of the normal world is casted behind the protagonist. Seeing that damning smirk finalized the reality Kim Dokja is in.

This wouldn’t be Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse without Yoo Jonghyuk.  

This wouldn’t be Kim Dokja’s favorite novel without Yoo Jonghyuk.

This wouldn’t be Kim Dokja’s life without Yoo Jonghyuk.

So if Kim Dokja indulged into a few reader-insert fics where Yoo Jonghyuk fought by his side, survived by his side, was happy by his side, then call Kim Dokja a hopeless romantic.

“You are a hopeless romantic.”

“Why?” He demanded, less embarrassed and more worried if Han Sooyoung read his thoughts.

“I was there when Yoo Jonghyuk came bursting through the room before the Throne scenario. His eyes were only on you and you just exploded with sunshine.” She sticks her tongue out in disgust.

“I did not,” he shuttered, finally sitting up to defend himself with the little dignity he has left. “Sunshine?”

Han Sooyoung nods as if her words are obvious. She crossed her arms and scowled, “You read too many self-inserts.”

Kim Dokja shuts his jaw. If he says nothing she would not use lie detection.

The results are the same though.

Han Sooyoung laughs meanly, “I don’t blame your taste. Well he’s not for me but I guess he could be a real heartthrob.”

Kim Dokja sighs instead of agreeing.

Technically, all those fics were derived from Han Sooyoung’s protagonist.

As for Kim Dokja’s protagonist, he never got the creative drive (or sacrifice his dignity) to ever write his own self-insert with Yoo Jonghyuk.

Kim Dokja is a reader first and foremost.

And yet he still ends up inserted into Ways of Survival trying to overcome the scenarios, to outsmart the dokkaebi, and to eventually face off against the constellations.

All the while being Yoo Jonghyuk’s companion.

That last one is a work in progress.

“How many fanfics I’ve read doesn’t matter,” Kim Dokja says to Han Sooyoung, but it’s mostly to remind himself too.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” she smirks. “I think we’re in a classic canon divergence story.”

He scratches his chin, “That could be true.” As Han Sooyoung grins triumphantly, he says, “Maybe you didn’t plagiarize. You just wrote a big fanfiction.”

“Hey!”

He slow claps, “What a devoted fan.”

“At least I’m not in love with the protagonist.”

Kim Dokja nearly chokes, “I’m no-“

He shuts up before the display message appears.

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

She bats her eyelashes. “I’m waiting.”

“I hate you.”

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as truth.]

“Because I’m not Yoo Jonghyuk,” she said, undefeated.

“Would you drop it?”

“No because it’s kind of flattering. You read fanfics of my novel and it has prepared you for the real deal! So what have you’ve done so far to capture his heart?”

“I’m not going to capture his heart.”

“Why not? He’s already obsessed with you.”

“Why would you think that?”

Han Sooyoung shrugged, “I’m a writer. I see things.”

Kim Dokja just blinks and lies back down.

“Don’t you want to know what I see?”

“Absolutely not, Han Sooyoung.”

“Imma tell you anyway.” His cry in protest is ignored. “In a crowded room where nearly everyone is killing each other, the time limit for the qualifying kings is ticking away-“

“You don’t have to describe it. I was there.”

“…and there! Fashionably late and very dramatic, the last king arrives but he pays no mind to anyone except one-“

“That was the one and only time you’ve seen us together and it was very short.”

“Nah uh,” she shakes her head, “My beheaded avatar. Yoo Jonghyuk practically presented it to you like a cat presenting their kill.”

Kim Dokja opens his mouth and closes it, having nothing to counter that simile.

“If you think I know little then what does that say about you?” She counters as if this is a riddle. “Kim Dokja believes he hasn’t made an impact on Yoo Jonghyuk? The only one who dares to upstand him, shouldering on herculean challenges, and hindering the plans of a great author?”

He frowns, “Are you insulting me or complimenting me?”

“Insulting because you’re too stupid realize that not only are you in a fictional genre, you will easily fall into a romance genre.” She angrily clicks her tongue, “How did an ugly guy like you get a hot harem?”

“My friends are not a harem.”

“Sort seems like it.”

Kim Dokja rubs his eyes, too tired of all this nonsensical conversations.

“My point is,” Han Sooyoung pokes his forehead to make sure he’s paying attention, “that you’re really becoming a reader-insert story. That usually leads to getting dicked down by the protagonist.”

Kim Dokja buries his red face in his hands.

“I’m just saying!”

“Then stop talking!”

“No way,” she pauses for a moment and taps her forehead, “where was I going with this again?”

“You decided to stop talking,” Kim Dokja said in hopes that this conversation will end.

“Nah,” Han Sooyoung waves her hand flippantly and then suddenly snaps her fingers with a grin, “Oh yeah, I was going on about the fact that Yoo Jonghyuk is in love with you like how you are in love with him.”

He just stares at this awful woman and quietly says, “He wouldn’t.”

“Must I repeat all the things I’ve told you?” Fortunately, she doesn’t but instead says, “You’re becoming way too important to a lot of people, including your protagonist.” Han Sooyoung grins, “I’ve read enough fanfiction to know where that goes.”

Kim Dokja unfortunately has read enough fanfiction too.

“Well Han Sooyoung, you’re wrong because the next time I see Yoo Jonghyuk he will likely kill me.”

His confidence does not change Han Sooyoung’s mind. “I think he’s trying to find you at this very moment.”

“To kill me,” he reinstates.

“But,” she flashes a smile, “if he doesn’t kill you immediately, it could be a sign.”

Again, Kim Dokja says nothing to argue against that because… well…

Han Sooyoung interrupts his thoughts with a singsong voice, “Sign of love!”

He stands up and goes back over to Lycaon to try training again, thoroughly ignoring the woman’s complaints.

Everything Han Sooyoung said has some misguided truths. This is the apocalypse. Everyone is depending on someone stronger to survive.

But this isn’t just any other apocalypse, this is the a story Kim Dokja knows from beginning to end. In spite of whatever future awaits them, he will do everything he can to use his knowledge to save everyone.

It’s almost expected that there will be moments where he did not see things coming.

For example, Yoo Jonghyuk showing up and not killing him.

It’s mostly because he’s poisoned.

Oh and the fact that the Disaster of Questions is waking up.

After buying their Midday Tryst and agreeing to the Oath of Existence, Yoo Jonghyuk agreed to not harm and instead cooperate with Kim Dokja for the time being.

All at the price of that Yoo Jonghyuk can hit Kim Dokja once.

Kim Dokja has no idea if this is a sign of love or not.

Maybe he’ll find out once that hit comes.