#i wanted to do calligraphy for the chapter titles too but i got too busy c':

[hua-fei-hua]

tadaaa!! contributing to @resbangmod this year as an artist for @chickycherrycola and her fic, What Happens in Vegas, for which i had the privilege of not only doing title art for, but also designing matching soma tattoos!!

read the fic hereeee~~ :D :D

and with more art by @warriorblood1 hereeee~~~

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 20

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

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 Index

Chapter 20 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story (Part 2)

Early the next morning, the members of the Chen family walked back from their relatives and saw that the orange tree in their courtyard had fallen down and the oranges were spread all over the ground. There weren't many other residents around here. They were only close with the Luo family. When they thought of how Luo Xianxian drooled over those oranges every day, the Chen family were sure——

The oranges must have been stolen by that bastard child, Luo Xianxian!

Not only did she steal them but she got jealous and chopped down their orange tree!

The Chen family immediately went to Luo Shusheng to complain. Luo Shusheng couldn't bear such humiliation. He immediately called his daughter over and asked her angrily if she stole the oranges.

Luo Xianxian cried and said no.

He asked if she had cut the tree down.

Again, Luo Xianxian said no.

He asked her if she had eaten the oranges.

Luo Xianxian couldn't lie so she had to admit that she did.

Before she could explain, her furious father ordered her to kneel down. She was beaten with a ruler in front of the Chen family. While he beat her, he said: "Raising a daughter is much worse than raising a sun! At such a young age, how could you do such a thing? Shame on you! You disgraced your father! As punishment, you won't have anything to eat today and you'll face the wall for three days. Think about your mistakes and repent--"

"Dad, it wasn't me! It really wasn't me!"

"How dare you talk back to me!"

No one believed her. Although the Lower Cultivation World was in chaos Caidie Town was an exception. The town had always been simple and honest, no one locked their door. What was she supposed to say; that a bloody lunatic ran in in the middle of the night? Who would believe it?

Luo Xianxian's small hands were split open from the beating.

The members of the Chen family looked at her coldly. Only the oldest boy among them, pulling at the corner of his mother's clothes, hesitated to speak.

His mother ignored him and there was nothing he could do about it. The boy's small face scrunched up. He couldn't bear it, and he stood off to the side, unwilling to look anymore.

At night, Luo Xianxian didn't dare go back to her room, squatting under the eaves of her house, standing pitifully.

Her father was a scholar and couldn't tolerate stealing. Moreover, he had a rotten and sour aura, and he was stubborn, unwilling to listen to explanations.

Luo Xianxian's head was dizzy after a day with no food. Suddenly someone whispered to her: "Miss Luo."

Luo Xianxian turned his head and saw a well-groomed head protruding from the edge of the dirt wall. It was Chen Bohuan, the eldest son of the Chen family who tried to help her plead her case earlier.

Chen Bohuan did a couple checks over the dirt wall to make sure no one was watching. He was carrying a hot steamed bun in his arms, and without saying a word, he shoved it into her hand.

"I know you've been standing by the wall all day and haven't eaten anything. Here's a steamed bun. Hurry up and eat it."

"I..." Luo Xianxian had always been shy. She had lived here for several months and had never spoken to her neighbour's son. Now, they were so close together that she inadvertently took a few steps back and banged her head against the wall. Still, she stammered out: "I couldn't. . . Dad won't let me. . . He said. . ."

She was incoherent and couldn't even form a complete sentence.

Chen Bohuan said: "Oh, your father's watching you at all times? What do you care what he's doing? If you're hungry, don't starve yourself. Eat it. If you don't, it'll get cold."

The steamed bun was soft and white, looking so enticing, steam rising from it.

Luo Xianxian looked down and stared for a while, taking a large gulp.

She was so hungry, too. Regardless of whether she was supposed to be a gentleman or not, she grabbed the steamed bun and inhaled it, gobbling it up in no time.

After eating it, she raised her round eyes and rushed to explain to Chen Bohuan: "I didn't cut down the orange tree, and I try to steal any."

Chen Bohuan was taken aback, and slowly smiled: "Okay."

"But they don't believe me. . ." With such an emotional gaze, Luo Xianxian's heart slowly opened, her anger melting away like snow. She wailed, her mouth wide open. She wiped her tears and wept loudly: "None of them believe me. . . I didn't steal. . . I didn't. . ."

Chen Bohuan patted her back: "I know you didn't steal it. Like come on, you stand under the tree and stare at it every day yet you never took an orange. You would've stolen some a long time ago. . ."

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" Her crying became more fierce, tears and snot rolling on her face.

Chen Bohuan consoled her: "You didn't do it, you didn't do it."

The two children got to know each other very well.

Later, there was a murder in a neighbouring village. A few nights ago, a bandit covered in blood entered a family's home and wanted to borrow the family's bedroom to sleep. When the man did not agree, the bandit stabbed the family to death. Then, in the room full of corpses, he slept peacefully and leisurely left the next day during the daylight. He left and even left a message written in blood on the wall. He wrote out a large message, detailing everything he had done to make sure the world knew that an evil individual like him existed.

This tragedy immediately spread like wildfire, and soon reached Caidie Town. That was the night Luo Xianxian admitted she had met "Mr. Madman".

Luo Shusheng and the Chen family were speechless.

After the misunderstanding was cleared up, the two families were in much closer contact. The Chen family saw that Luo Xianxian was cute hardworking little beauty. They thought that, based on their current situation, it would be difficult to find a daughter-in-law, so they quickly arranged the marriage of Chen Bohuan and Luo Xianxian. Once they reached adulthood, they would officially be wed.

When Luo Shusheng saw his daughter and Chen Bohuan were good childhood friends, so he readily agreed.

As the days passed, if it weren't for Luo Shusheng's love of elegance and fragrance, then the Chen and Luo families would live lives of poverty and tranquillity as they had originally expected.

Unfortunately, Luo Shusheng accidentally made the "Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder".

Although the scent of the powder was nothing special and it wasn't much different from the typical powders in town, it had a benefit that ordinary powders didn't——

It could last for a hundred days with a neverending afterglow.

Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder lasted for a long time and it didn't wear off easily. It was exactly what everyday people were looking for in terms of good quality and low price.

Luo Shusheng, Mr. "Everything is inferior; the only excellence is in academia." Even though he made the powder, he didn't want to sell it, thinking that he "would lose his identity."

If he didn't sell it, naturally others will worry about it.

Madam Chen repeatedly tried to get the recipe out of him and urged Luo Shusheng to open a shop, but she was always rejected. After going back and forth, Madam Chen got embarrassed, so she stopped bringing it up, but she silently always kept it in mind.

The year Luo Xianxian reached adulthood, the opportunity came. Luo Shusheng's sickly body had contracted tuberculosis. He suffered for a few days then died. As Luo Xianxian's in-laws, even though she wasn't officially their daughter-in-law yet, they were still close friends, so they got busy helping her arrange the funeral.

Luo Xianxian burst into tears of gratitude. What she didn't know was that Madam Chen had a plan to quietly walk away with the secret powder recipe while she packed up Luo Shusheng's things.

That night, Madam Chen, under the light of a soybean oil lamp, was full of excitement, ready to read the recipe. After only one glance, she was at a loss.

Luo Shusheng's words danced across the page, calligraphy that typically would be considered elegant and unrestrained. She stared at it for a long time, but she couldn't understand half of the words.

She had no choice but to return the recipe quietly.

A few months later, after Luo Xianxian had a chance to grieve, she invited the girl over to their house for dinner and "inadvertently" mentioned the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder in a passing conversation.

Luo Xianxian thought to herself there was no point in keeping the recipe at home. Her mother-in-law treated herself so well. If she wanted it, she'd give it to her.

So she found it her father's things and helped Madam Chen to distinguish the individual characters and sort out the precise recipe.

Madam Chen was ecstatic. When she got the recipe, she and her husband opened a perfume shop together.

Of course, she was still very fond of her gentle and sensible prospective daughter-in-law. The more Luo Xianxian grew, the more beautiful she became. Although her family was unfortunate, her looks were some of the best in town and many young people in the town began to pay attention to her.

A long night is filled with dreams*, Madam Chen thought to herself. They'd need to hurry and secure the marriage.

*(T/N: 夜长梦多 - means that the longer something is put off, the more likely something will happen before you're able to do it)

However, Luo Xianxian just lost his father. According to the custom of Caidie Town, she couldn't get married for three years after the death of her parent.

How could Madam Chen wait for three years? She deliberated and thought of a way--

One day, Luo Xianxian was braiding the hair of the Chen's family young daughter. She had a very good relationship with the youngest Chen daughter. Luo Xianxian pulled the hair over and under and the braid trailed down her back.

Madam Chen walked into the courtyard and called Luo Xianxian to the inner hall. She said to her: "Xianxian, you and Bohuan were childhood sweethearts and had a marriage arranged. Now that your father is gone, you must be lonely. It can't be easy living by yourself. You should be getting married this year. But we have the three-year mourning period, so you can't get married, so I got thinking: if you wait for three years, how old are you going to be?

Luo Xianxian lowered her head. She didn't say anything but she was clever and could guess what Madam Chen was insinuating. Her cheeks grew slightly red.

Sure enough, Madam Chen went on to say:

"Living alone must be so difficult and tiring. How about this - you two get married behind closed doors. No one needs to know. If anyone asks, just say that you're living with your auntie to help care for her and preparing to be her daughter-in-law. This will not only complete the wedding rituals without the worry of being criticized, but also give your father some peace in the underworld. After the three-year period is up, we'll have a beautiful proper wedding for you two, alright?"

Her remarks sounded like she cared about Luo Xianxian. Luo Xianxian was a person who always saw the best in others and would never think badly about someone else so she agreed.

Later, the Chen family made a fortune by selling the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder. They moved out of their old house, bought a large piece of land in the town, built a mansion on it, and became a powerful family.

Luo Xianxian had become a shadow among the many figures of the large household, an infrequent presence.

People in the town thought that Luo Xianxian had been taken in by Madam Chen, so she lived in the Chen house. They didn't know that she was actually married to Chen Bohuan.

Although it wasn't perfect, Luo Xianxian thought that her mother-in-law was doing this for her own good so that people didn't gossip, so she didn't complain. In addition, Chen Bohuan was dear to her, the couple living a sweet and fulfilling life. They only need to wait for the three-year period to pass then everything would return to normal.

But Luo Xianxian didn't wait for the day of the official wedding.

The Chen family business was growing larger and larger. In addition, Chen Bohuan was handsome. Not just in Caidie Town but even the daughters of the big families in the surrounding towns had begun to play with the idea of marrying Young Master Chen. With this development, Madam Chen's mind was racing.

Back then, she decided to secure Luo Xianxian because she thought she wouldn't be able to find a good daughter-in-law when they were nothing but a farming family.

Who would have thought that the heavens would bless the Chen family and allow them to soar into high society? Now, when she looked back at Luo Xianxian, she felt that the girl was not good-looking enough and she wasn't intelligent enough. Like her dead father, she was unpleasant to look at.

She regretted it a bit.

The appearance of Yao Qianjin turned her "a bit" into "a lot".

Yao Qianjin is the daughter of the county magistrate. She loved men in positions. One day she returned from hunting on a horse. She passed by an incense shop and picked out a few fragrance powders. It didn't matter what fragrances she picked out, but she caught a glimpse of the busy handsome young man in the hall.

The gentleman was no other than Luo Xianxian's husband, Chen Bohuan.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 14 - ao3 -

If Lan Qiren hadn’t had any idea on what to do with Cangse Sanren to begin with, he had even less of an idea of what to do when he received a letter from his sworn brother which, after some deciphering of the small talk and insincerely meant pleasantries that could just as easily be read as implicit threats, seemed to boil down to so I hear you have a lover now? and also come to the Nightless City at once.

I do not have a lover, Lan Qiren wrote back crossly. You should send whatever spies you have packing because they are clearly completely useless to you. Also, I have classes that I have no intention of missing. If you want company, recall that you have a wife.

That won him a few weeks of blissful silence, possibly due to Wen Ruohan’s shock but more likely due to Lan Qiren having spitefully chosen to send his reply by usual post rather than by special post, which was more expensive and also generally reserved for important sect matters and not for obvious fishing attempts for gossip about the personal lives of juniors.

Which Wen Ruohan should be above, anyway. What did it matter to him?

The response, not long after that, went something along the lines of so what you’re saying is that you haven’t won the immortal mountain’s disciple yet? if you come to Qishan, I can advise you and that irritated Lan Qiren most of all, because right up until that point he hadn’t known that Cangse Sanren was a disciple of the famous Baoshan Sanren, the best-known immortal still in contact with the mortal world.

Mostly because Cangse Sanren hadn’t ever bothered to introduce herself.

It bothered him, a little. More than a little. She knew how much he valued people acting according to the rules; even if she didn’t care for them, shouldn’t she respect his inclination?

(It turned out that she didn’t introduce herself because she didn’t have a proper name, just the title that everyone used for her. Baoshan Sanren let everyone keep the name they came to the mountain with, but Cangse Sanren had come too young for any name at all, and so she’d never gotten one in all the suspiciously unspecified years she had spent on the timeless mountain. It was a pretty good reason not to introduce yourself, as such things went, and it also belatedly explained why she took offense to people calling anyone old.)

I am not trying to win anyone, he wrote back to Wen Ruohan. And even if I was, which I am not, I would still have classes and am not currently at liberty to travel. Has there been some sort of terrible tragedy such that your Wen sect is so desperate for additional people in the Nightless City?

You are not just any person but my sworn brother, Wen Ruohan responded. Am I not entitled to see you? Maybe I want to see this beard you’re reputedly growing.

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and threw the letter into the box he was keeping all the others. He was trying to grow a beard, as it happened, though being a newly-turned eighteen it was a slow and frustrating process. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the itchy feeling of it growing, either, but stroking his chin as if in thought was nearly as cathartic as waving his hands, only more socially acceptable; he liked that part very much.

He’d always had a tendency towards strange motions – moving his hands or arms, tapping on things, or rocking back and forth when he was especially distressed – but his brother had always hated it especially, always quoting Do not move arbitrarily at him even though he knew that that wasn’t the fundamental meaning of that rule. That wouldn’t have been so much of an issue, except most other people seemed to agree with him, citing the importance of acting in a dignified and restrained manner, limiting unnecessary movement and remaining still and calm as a placid pool of water no matter what the circumstance.

The beard was an acceptable compromise. Given how common beards were in the sect, it would be hard to criticize Lan Qiren without accidentally insulting an elder – and it felt so good to be able to move freely, the action serving as an aid for emotional regulation that he desperately needed.

Of course, Cangse Sanren thought it was ugly.

Lan Qiren didn’t agree, but he also didn’t think it was any of her business what he did with his face. Even if it was ugly, so what? He wasn’t particularly egotistical.

Accordingly, he thanked her stiffly for her opinion and then proceeded to ignore it.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with her, a fact Lan Qiren only discovered when he woke up one day, groggy and unclear as to what had happened the night before, to find himself shaven clean and Cangse Sanren beaming at him from within his own room, to which he had never invited her.

He did not react well.

Stories of your shouting have reached even Qishan, Wen Ruohan’s next letter said. Was what your little lover did really so bad? I hadn’t known you were so sensitive. It’s not as if it won’t grow back.

This is your fault, Lan Qiren wrote back, irrational and upset, his calligraphy rough from the way his hand shook – though whether in rage or something else he couldn’t quite tell. I don’t want to hear from you.

Truly his reaction had been out of proportion with Cangse Sanren’s offense. Shaving a beard, especially a half-grown thing like that, was little more than a childish prank, even if it had taken him several months to get as far as he had; in the end, it was really only a blow to his vanity, and perhaps the loss of a convenient emotional crutch.

And yet, when he’d woken up and seen her there where she wasn’t welcome – when he’d realized that he couldn’t remember the evening before, just the way he couldn’t remember what had happened in the Nightless City that day, waking up to Wen Ruohan smiling at him and an oath he didn’t know nor want – when he’d tasted the sour taste of day-old liquor on his tongue –

He’d panicked.

She’d realized it, he thought in retrospect; the ever-present smile had slowly dripped off her mouth as he stared at her blankly for the first few moments, frozen, and had morphed into an expression of shock when he had broken through his paralysis to start screaming at her to go, get out, leave – he’d even picked up some of his own things to throw at her, just to make her leave faster.

He continued smashing his things after she’d gone, unthinking in his frenzy and unsure why he was so upset, and in the end when clarity had returned and he realized what he’d done he’d been so ashamed that he’d grabbed his guqin and slunk away, retreating to the rooms where the Lan sect entered into seclusion. He couldn’t go into real seclusion with so little preparation, of course, but he was practiced enough at inedia that he could skip meals for a few days and not need to see the world for at least a week.

Part of the feeling of shame was that he didn’t know why he had reacted so badly. Wasn’t it normal for peers his age to play that sort of trick on each other? It hadn’t been meant as a real insult.

He had no right to feel so betrayed.

And yet, he did.

Cangse Sanren had visited later that day, her hand tapping lightly on the door bound by wards and her normally brash voice murmuring explanations and not-quite apologies – saying that she hadn’t realized what it had meant to him, that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known, asking if he wouldn’t come out to talk to her about it and let her apologize properly.

He ignored her.

He ignored her the next day and the day after, too. His hands were unsteady when he tried to play calming songs for himself, his music tangled and knotted up like the feelings in his chest.

On the fourth day, she came and sat by his door in the evening, late and near to curfew.

“I didn’t know, you know,” she finally said after sitting there for nearly a shichen. “About what happened to you in the Nightless City.”

His hands froze over the guqin.

“Drinking liquor comes as easily to me as breathing,” she continued. “No one’s ever been able to play a trick on me because I got drunk – it’s everyone else who falls over in the end, not me. Maybe what why, when someone told me how badly your family handles its liquor, I thought only of how funny it would be…and not how it would feel, waking up and realizing that you didn’t know what happened. What someone could have done to you.” She was silent for a moment. “What I did do.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes tightly.

Yes, he thought to himself. She was right. That was why he was so upset.

It wasn’t about the beard at all.

“An oath made when you didn’t know it doesn’t count, you know.”

He laughed harshly, the sound catching in his throat like thick mud. “It does,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speech. “Of course it counts. It’s my honor, in the end…anyway, there’s no reason for me to lose my head over it. Sect Leader Wen’s powerful and influential; there are those who would cut off their right hands for a connection with him, much less an oath of brotherhood.”

He wasn’t even all that angry at Wen Ruohan for doing it, either, not really. There wasn’t much point – his few experiences with the other man so far showed that that was just what he was like, always taking instead of asking, and scheming was as innate to inter-sect politics as fighting. Might as well be angry at his grandfather for the ancestral weakness to liquor in the Lan lineage.

It had only been the shock of Cangse Sanren’s unexpected actions that had made it feel like a knife stabbed into his back, a scabbed-over wound suddenly ripped open again.

“You didn’t trust him,” Cangse Sanren pointed out. “You trusted me. And I scared you.”

Perhaps that was true.

“You’re still you, you know. Even while drunk.” She chuckled. “You talk more, care less what people think of you; you’re a little more willing to stand up for yourself, a little more bitter, a little less consciously kind. You told me all about music, something that went over my head, then went to sleep in just the right and proper way, albeit right on the floor. I had to wait until you were asleep to shave you.”

That was a relief to hear. Lan Qiren hated the idea of being so vulnerable.

Although – perhaps he wasn’t. According to Lao Nie, he’d apparently kneed Wen Ruohan in the balls that night for bothering him with nonsense or possibly for trying to leave before he finished explaining something, sometime either before or after their oath.

(After, he assumed. If it had been before, it seemed more likely that he would’ve ended up dead.)

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything serious,” she added. “You wouldn’t have woken up married or anything.”

“It’s not you,” he assured her hastily, alarmed by the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your character, which I know is good; I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that. It’s only – you don’t always know what people think is enough, coming from the immortal mountain as you do. If someone really wanted to push the issue, or if you didn’t have the background you did, just you being in my room unattended might’ve served as an excuse. And then where would we be?”

She was silent for a while.

“You really don’t want to be married to me,” she finally said. “You’re not playing games or anything; you really don’t.”

Lan Qiren felt something lurch in his chest.

“No,” he said, painfully honest. “Did – did you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, and Lan Qiren winced. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, not even when others had suggested it.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was warm. “Don’t worry about me, Qiren; I’ll get over it soon enough. There’s no pain I won’t forget a day later, never learning anything, it’s just the way I am.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “…can I ask why?”

“Why you, you mean?” He could hear her shrugging through the door, the fabric of her clothing rustling against the wall she was leaning against. “You care about things, deeply and truly. Rules, honor, the right path…I like the way you think, the way you care. You have a good heart and a good brain. Why not you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and felt rather a wretch over the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to…to…”

She laughed. “You didn’t lead me on, Qiren! You only ever treated me as a friend, and I was, I think. Maybe still am?”

“You are,” he said, and looked down as his guqin, then sighed, picking it up and going to the door. There was no point in pretending to be in seclusion now that the knot in his heart had loosened, and he was starting to get hungry. “Come on, let’s go. I feel a need to graze on the kitchen’s leftover vegetables, as if I were a wild rabbit.”

She beamed up at him, round face shining like the moon.

The next day, after he finished doing penance for missing classes without advance notice – two dozen strikes, but no more – Lan Qiren went down the mountain and purchased some tea said to have especially strong stimulant properties, and gave it to Cangse Sanren.

She blinked at it, then looked at him.

“If you brew this in the morning, you won’t be so tired all the time,” he told her, and shrugged. “Since we’re friends and all.”

He didn’t have that many friends – so few as to not even have recognized her as being one. He was determined to cherish them.

She smiled.

The next day after that, there was surprising news in the Cloud Recesses, the gossip reaching the classroom faster than the messenger sent there specifically for that purpose.

Wen Ruohan had come to pay a visit.

[bruhstories]

Vogel und Jäger

- PART THREE

Summary: You had your first show at Zeke's club, but things begin to complicate. Pairing: Zeke Jeager x Fem!Reader Warnings & Content: language, Floch is a creep Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: as always, make sure to read parts one and two to understand just what the hell is happening. the songs reader is singing in this chapter are flickers and easy by son lux, which i've linked down below if you wanna listen to it as you read

For five long days you switched between training with Mikasa and practising with the band. The deadly assassin made you work hard, teaching you various techniques of martial arts, as well as how to load and unload guns, how to aim, how to use knives and even how to use crossbows. You were no match to anyone else in the family, getting your ass kicked even by Armin, the bookkeeper, but you were not going to give up. Your will to survive fuelled you. What you weren’t expecting in those five days was to get to know Mikasa and Armin, and realise that they were just as normal as you were — with the added benefit of being properly trained in marksmanship and combat. And they were surprisingly nice to you, but there was a hint of reluctance in their actions and words.

Friday night you had your first show and you found yourself in the backstage, a knot in your throat as you did your makeup. The idea of Yelena blowing your brains out was a lot more pleasant than having to perform in front of so many people. Posters had been put up all over Paradis City announcing your first show at Wings Club, and you knew lots of undercover policemen would be there, perhaps even undercover Marleyans. But for some odd reason, you wanted to please Zeke, make him proud of sparing your pathetic life. Onyankopon told you to be ready in five minutes, and your heart sank, wiping your sweaty palms on the crimson dress.

"You'll do fine." He told you, but you had a bad feeling. There were guards everywhere, so you felt somewhat safe, but stage fright settled in your heart, and you couldn't even reply anything back. All you did was remain stuck in a trance.

The band was ready, the microphone was on, and you waited for the curtain to rise. Someone announced your performance, and the violinist began playing the notes of the first song as the spectators waited eagerly. There were no original songs, only jazz covers, and you felt every single pair of irises burning into your skin. You closed your eyes, imagining no one was there but you and the band, everyone else disappeared.

"And with my opened mouth I join the singing light..."

There was no turning back now. You'd done it. The spotlight was on you and you alone. Soon the pianist joined, and you felt a bit more confident.

"I can see the flickers, over me the lantern raised... Lift me up, lift me over it. Show me what you're hiding, take me out into the sea... Lift me up, lift me over it."

Somewhere upstairs, Zeke was watching over you, door wide open to hear your beautiful voice hypnotising every man and woman in the club. Indeed, he made the right choice.

"And with my opened mouth I join the singing light..."

You were in a trance. Nothing mattered anymore but the music, the vibrations, the thrill of the show. It was giving you a sense of importance and belonging, and in that moment, you knew it — you were thriving off of the attention, the way no one dared to move while you sang. You captivated the spectators with your voice, you captivated Zeke with your voice.

"I can see the flickers, over me the lantern raised... Lift me up, lift me over it. Show me what you're hiding, take me out into the sea... Lift me up, lift me over it."

You finally opened your eyes, drinking in the way everyone was silent, the only sound resonating being the final notes from the musical instruments. The next songs came so much easier to you, some were more upbeat and you stopped being stiff, your hands moving up and down the microphone pole, hips swaying, head tilting. You ended your performance with another emotional song, and even you had goosebumps on your skin as you began to sing.

"Easy... easy... pull out your heart to make the being alone easy. Easy... pull out your heart to make the being alone easy. Easy..."

You saw them, the two cops from the files. They were watching you like hawks, sending chills down your spine. But you were a distraction, so you looked them in the eye, a smile on your plump lips.

"Easy, easy... You break the bridle to make losing control easy, easy... Crushed what you're holding so you can say letting go is easy, easy..."

The song was coming to an end. You wrapped your arms around yourself to emphasise the emotions you were so gently transmitting, voice echoing in the club.

"Oh, easy, easy... Burn all your things to make the fight to forget easy, oh, easy... Burn all your things to make the fight to forget easy, easy..."

You weren't just transmitting an emotion, you were feeling it, too. The song resonated with your life, your struggles, your issues. You were alone most of your life, save for Historia and the children. But now... now you had someone, albeit being forced to work for the mafia. But you weren't alone anymore.

"Easy... easy... pull out your heart to make the being alone easy. Easy... pull out your heart to make the being alone easy. Easy..."

You bowed in front of the crowd as a round of applause replaced your voice and music. It was exhilarating, the adrenaline not wanting to leave your body. You mumbled a soft thank you in the microphone before leaving the stage, tripping on the last step. Onyankopon was waiting for you with a large bouquet of peonies and daffodils, your eyes widening at the beautiful flowers and sweet scent.

"This is for you, miss." He smiled, but his smile was hiding something and you couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to!"

"Oh, it's not from me." Onyankopon pursed his lips. There it was. You looked at the card attached to the bouquet — You are as radiating as the sun, but as cold as the moon. E.S. The message was written in perfectly neat calligraphy.

"E.S.? Any idea who that might be?" You tucked the card between the flowers as you walked with the mobster in the dressing room.

"I know exactly who that is." He sighed, eyes narrowing at the bouquet. "Inspector Erwin Smith, chief of police. He handed me the flowers personally."

"Isn't he working for you?" You removed the heavy earrings from your earlobes.

"He is. It appears he likes you." Onyankopon folded his arms across his chest and a man with strawberry-blond hair entered the room, earning disgusted looks from all the half-naked girls there.

"Boss wants to see you." He sneered at you, goosebumps dotting your arms.

"We'll be upstairs soon, Floch."

"No, not you. Just birdie. Chop chop." Floch left the room and you got up. Onyankopon grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks before giving you a concerned gaze.

"Be careful around him. He's... strange."

"I'll keep my guard up." You tried to smile. There were lots of things you didn't know about the men you were working with, so you made a mental note to ask Sasha and Connie about Floch.

"So, I hear you're a prostitute." He bluntly stated, and you flinched at his words. The audacity of this bitch!

"Was." You corrected him. "Besides, it's none of your business."

Your shoulder blades met with a wall and you let out a whimper at the impact. Floch eyed you up and down, his hands holding you in place.

"Everything you do is my business." He sneered, his face leaning closer inch by inch, closing the gap between you. "Ah, you even smell like a whore."

You feel disgusted by that creep, the way he sniffed you twisting your lips into a frown. Onyankopon was right to warn you, and so you slap his face, hard.

"Don't touch me again." You lifted your gown above your ankles and walked up the stairs, with Floch behind you. Fucking pervert.

"Ah, little bird, you've been fantastic!" Zeke greeted you, cigarette between his fingers. "I heard you even received flowers."

"Yes, from Erwin Smith." You nod, eyes on Floch's shit-eating grin.

"Good. I want you to meet with him after your show tomorrow." Your boss smiled and your eyes drifted to the healing wound in your left hand. You knew you caouldn't say no. "I suspect he'll want to recruit you as a double agent."

"Do I accept?"

"Of course, but you'll be telling him exactly what I tell you."

"Understood."

"You may go. Don't forget to take your pay from Armin."

"Yes, sir." You gently bowed your head in respect and left. Floch whispered whoreas you passed him and you gritted your teeth.

"Say, Connie, can I ask you something?" You watched your roommate unbox some bottles of fancy liquor.

"Sure! What's on your mind?" He asked, focused on his task.

"What can you tell me about Floch?"

Connie almost dropped the bottle, his eyes finding yours. "Just that you should stay away from him."

Sasha walked in with what you assumed to be a bag full of drugs and that's when it clicked — they were going to put the drugs in the boxes and ship them. Clever.

"Floch is insane." The brown-eyed girl scrunched her nose. "He's obsessed with Eren and thinks Zeke should step down and let his brother take his place. Why? Did he do anything to you?"

"Yes and no." You proceeded to explain what happened back at the club to your roommates and the look of disgust on their faces only confirmed what you assumed.

So far, you decided to only trust Sasha, Connie and Onyankopon, and hope that Zeke wouldn't give up his title. Otherwise, you'd end up dead in a ditch, and the one who’d put a bullet between your eyes was Floch himself.

tagging @mxhi

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Whole Truth - 2

(Full story available on AO3! If you want to be tagged as new chapters are posted, leave a comment “tag me” on this post!)

(Please note: Tumblr continues to make my Italics disappear. It’s very frustrating, so I apologize if the formatting makes anything confusing.)

Monday

1999

--

Aziraphale stared at the book on his desk. “What kind of curse?”

“Don’t know, not my department.” Gabriel smiled, excited, just a little distracted. It tugged at something in Aziraphale, made him want to prove he was worth the Archangel’s attention, too. “Michael’s soldiers seized it in a raid. Very dramatic stuff. Pity you weren’t able to make it.”

“Ah, yes, well…”

“Could have used another sword.” A nudge of the elbow, so hard Aziraphale staggered a little. “Those demons fought back hard.”

“Yes, terribly sorry. As I’d said there was this urgent business to attend to. Demonic possession. Entire family cursed. The house itself had become sentient. And. Carnivorous. I really had to deal with it all immediately.”

“Sounds frightening.”

“Oh, it was. Very frightening. And gory. And certainly not rated for general audiences.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat. The last thing he needed was for Gabriel to learn about movie night. Well. It was mid-ranked on the very long list of things Gabriel shouldn’t know. He hated lying to the Archangel, but no – things were better this way. “Regardless. You say these – these demons had this book in their possession?”

“Oh, yes. Not sure what they were planning to do with it, but it’s cursed. Very cursed.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale picked up a pen and used it to lift the cover, peering at the first page. He could just make out the writing. “It’s printed, not handwritten. Not Roman or Cyrillic alphabet.” He let the cover fall and started searching for a pair of gloves. “In fact, I don’t recognize the script at all. I’ll need a larger sample—”

Gabriel clapped his hands. “Good! Excellent, that’s just what I like to hear. Your obsession with material objects and human record keeping finally has a use. So glad we have an expert to consult on this.” Aziraphale hid a little smile at that. Expert. “See what you can find out by the end of the week.”

“End of the – you can’t be serious.” Aziraphale pulled his glasses off, waving them as politely as he could. “I mean, I’m sure you have your reasons, O holy Archangel, but deciphering an unknown text takes time. Not to mention identifying a curse—”

“We already have a team on that,” Gabriel interrupted, before Aziraphale could confess to knowing very little about demonic curses, apart from the sort Crowley shouted at other drivers.

“Oh. Jolly good.”

“Yes, they’ve told me the curse is so potent, any angel attempting to remove it would be immediately destroyed. Incinerated was the term they used.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a step away from the desk. “Well, I suppose that does change things.”

Gabriel shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to remove the curse yourself, you’re fine. Anyway, by Friday night, they’ll have worked out a proper disposal method. I proposed launching the book into the sun but apparently that would cause a, what did they call it, Superb Nova.”

“Oh dear.” Another step away. “You know, Gabriel, as…happy as I am that you wish to entrust this task to me, er, we are currently located in a major population center, and I don’t think—”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel gave him that warm look, the one he saw so rarely, the one that made him feel included. “This raid was a big deal. I don’t want to start any rumors, but…it’s possible the demons were planning something. I would consider it a huge favor if you could just, I don’t know, poke around a bit? Find out what they wanted?”

“Well…as…as a favor…” There was a shiver of happiness running up his spine at that. Gabriel never asked for favors. “Yes, I think I can…learn a few things that might help you out. As long as it’s safe?”

“It’s fine!” Gabriel picked up the book and waved it around. “Perfectly harmless to angels; obviously, don’t let any humans near it. They might set something off. Probably blow up half the city!” He laughed, tossing the book. It hit the table with a crack, falling open to a random page.

“Oh, dear.” That hardly sounded safe. “What…if a demon tried? Er, someone come looking for his lost property, perhaps?”

“It would be very bad. No one touches this but you. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling rather ill. He should say no, there were too many things that could go wrong.

His eyes drifted to the open book, the strange writing, a drawing of some horrifying creature. One word was a little larger than the rest and for a second, it looked familiar. He bent closer, almost instinctively. “This text…I almost think I’ve seen it before. No, it’s gone now, but perhaps…” He looked up in time to catch an eager gleam in Gabriel’s eyes. “Yes, I think…I can take a look. As…as a favor.”

“Excellent! That’s exactly the attitude I like to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, lots to do, places to be. I’ll follow up with you on Friday. Say, four o’clock?”

In a twinkling of light and a pop of air pressure, Aziraphale was alone with the book.

--

“He just – just left you with a cursed book?” Crowley paid the ice cream vendor and handed Aziraphale his cone.

“Yes. Is that so strange? I am an expert on Earth tomes, and languages, and treatises on magic.” He puffed his chest a little. “Why shouldn’t Heaven give me such a fascinating project?”

“Because they don’t care about any of that,” Crowley snapped flatly. “Besides, languages? I’ve heard you speak French.”

“I was having a bit of an off day,” Aziraphale pouted. “I shouldn’t be judged based on a single incident – what was it, two hundred and six years ago now? For all you know, I’ve been brushing up on my French ever since.” He licked the ice cream, smiling at the thick, creamy texture of it.

“Have you though?” Crowley sauntered alongside him, hands in his pockets, red hair slicked and gelled tight against his head.

“Well, no, but only because I’ve already read everything of interest in French.”

“Is that so?” Crowley smirked as if he was so clever. “Does this mean you finally got around to reading Proust?”

“Well. No. But neither have you.” Aziraphale took a quick bite of his ice cream before it could melt down his hand.

“Yeah, but I don’t live in a bookshop,” Crowley took a few steps ahead and started walking backwards, smirk evolving into a rather large grin. “So that makes me wonder who else you haven’t read. Dickens? Twain? Dostoyevsky? Is the Principality Aziraphale, in fact, a giant sham?”

The angel pursed his lips. “Any luck getting your car to play other music?”

Crowley’s face fell. “No,” he muttered, circling back to walk beside Aziraphale again. “At this point I’m really starting to get sick of Queen. Hope it doesn’t go on too much longer.”

--

Aziraphale stood before his desk, book lying innocuously on the blotter. He wore the thickest gloves he could find and – just to be safe – had rolled his sleeves up past the elbow. He still approached it with extreme caution.

One finger carefully tapped the spine, pulling away instantly.

No sparks. No chills. No cloud of demonic energy.

Just a perfectly ordinary book, really.

With feather-light touch, he brushed his fingers down the cover. Leather-bound, deep red-brown. Hopefully normal leather, but you never knew with demonic books, or for that matter certain obscure human texts. Sturdy and thick, the binding worn through in a few places just enough to indicate irregular use. No title, but gold pressed into the leather formed some sort of broad-leafed plant. Nothing he recognized.

Lifting the cover, he inspected the pages inside. Thick, rough paper – the edges a bit uneven and ragged in places. When he leaned close to inspect them, he detected the distinct dusty scent of old book, with just a hint of spice.

It seemed that Gabriel was correct. Nothing suggested the book was dangerous to touch.

Aziraphale set his armchair beside the desk and settled in for some proper investigation.

The first step of his process: Aziraphale turned to a page at random. He liked to think providence was guiding him to the first clues.

It looked much as that page he’d glimpsed during Gabriel’s visit, yet also entirely different. Small, curving letters – a bit like calligraphy, half unical, he thought, perhaps English or Irish – arrayed around complex illustrations of green plants on one side, and something that might have been an insect on the other. The artwork was immensely detailed, with subtle color variations, but resembled nothing he had ever seen.

The text was also strange, the longer he looked at it. He skimmed the page looking for patterns, groups of letters that appeared together more than once. Nothing. There were distinct words, all between four and seven characters, but each was unique. And the characters each looked sharp and clear and perfectly uniform in size, but there was variation, each uniquely formed, as if handwritten.

He turned the pages, sheet after sheet, looking for anything he recognized, leaning closer as he read. Sometimes a word would look almost familiar and then – no, it was gone.--

--

(The horror movie Aziraphale mentions is supposed to be “The Haunting” but I got it a bit confused with other movies from the late 90s. The mysterious writing and diagrams are loosely based on several mysterious texts, most notably the Voynich Manuscript.)

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

chapter three. mdzs scum villain au. read on ao3 + end notes.  credit to @lee-luca, esp as another bit of the comic is mentioned here.  previous | first | next 

One hour, thirty minutes and two hundred rules into his punishment, Jingyi is as bored as he’s ever been in this life. To top it all off, the System isn’t responding to any of his pleas for company, only responding with oops ): something went wrong when he tries to ping it. Back home, this is about when he would have given up on homework and started scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, but there’s not much he can do without his phone.

Ugh, he’d kill for one of these crappy McDonalds games. Even a Kinder toy would make him happy right now. Instead, he doodles on his torn-up first drafts, on which the ink made blots from his clumsy first attempts to imitate the original text’s elegant calligraphy.

He silently adds bic pens to the ever-increasing list of modern appliances he misses.

When badly-drawn stickmen get boring as well, he starts to think about the original Lan Jingyi in his life. Maybe that’s how it works, after all. Mom sure would love someone who’d actually go to bed early when she tells him to. On the other hand, once he got over the initial shock of modern Jingyi’s life, he’d probably find it pretty dull. High school isn’t about to compare to flying swords and cultivation, that’s for sure.  

Opposite him, Sizhui is bent over his own stack of scrolls, poring over rows and rows of tiny characters and absent-mindedly running his fingers along the lines. From the way he hums to himself when he thinks Jingyi is too busy copying to care, he guesses they’re music sheets of some kind. Unlike Jingyi, he looks like he’s actually engrossed in what he’s doing.

Too bad. Jingyi’s reached that point of boredom at which he needs to talk to someone or else he’ll implode. ( Still, he promises himself he’ll stop if Sizhui shows even a hint of genuine annoyance. )

“Hey, Lan Sizhui ⎯ can I call you just Sizhui? Um, sorry I got you stuck here.”

To his relief, the other doesn’t look irritated, just surprised. “Sizhui is fine,” he ventures after a few seconds. A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good. I was afraid you were still mad me, you’ve been so awkward all day...”

Wait, what? Who’s angry at you? Someone who kicks kittens for fun, probably.

Oh right, me. Maybe he’s the one whose brain needs a reboot. How does he explain that it’s not him who’s mad? Hell, he doesn’t even know what the original is supposed to be mad about. For some reason, it feels weird to ask, just because it seems important enough that admitting he forgot would be insulting.

“Anyway,” Sizhui continues after coughing into his sleeve, “it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve got to go over these before tomorrow’s lesson anyway, I might as well do it here.”

“Inquiry?” Jingyi ventures, maybe-maybe-not because it’s the only title he clearly remembers from the ones canon mentioned.

“Oh, no. Asking very specific questions is still a bit out of my reach, but Fa...Hanguang-jun wrote down a list of phrases for me, so we’re going to try them tomorrow.” His face softens at the mention of Lan Wangji. If this was a fic, this would be when Jingyi keels over and presses his face into a pillow for a little while.   

The chat devolves into musical cultivation. Jingyi muddles his way through it the best he can, feeling like he’s bullshitting an essay out loud, but Sizhui doesn’t seem to find his vague answers all that off-putting. He still pointedly glances down at the stack of unfinished notes on the table from time to time, but since Jingyi’s calligraphy has been getting worse and worse the less attention he pays to it, maybe it’s for the better.   

When dinner time rolls around, they eat their bowls sitting on the steps leading up to the Library Pavilion, after Sizhui rightfully points out Lan Qiren would have their skins if they spilled even a drop of sauce on the sect’s precious texts. Gradually, Jingyi feels himself relax.

“So, are we chill?” he asks between two mouthfuls of rice.

Sizhui just stares at him.

Right. No slang. “...I mean, we’re doing good, right? We’re friends?”

Something complicated passes over Sizhui’s expression. It’s too fleeting for him to catch more than a glimpse of it, especially as it’s overridden by his usual calm smile before Jingyi can shove another rice ball into his mouth, but he could swear the other winced.

Well, ouch. It must show on his face, because Sizhui suddenly looks alarmed and adds : “Yes, yes, we are!” Another smile. This time, Jingyi can definitely see the strain. “We’re friends. You don’t have to doubt that.”

“Oh. Great!” Jingyi resists the urge to reach out and gently punch his shoulder. Who knows how it’d be perceived. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, if I’ve got to keep copying rules, so...I wanted to make sure.”

【OOC behavior detected : contradiction of backstory despite hints : -20 points. Current balance : 65 points. 】

Shut up! I want him to like me!

“We’re friends,” Sizhui repeats one last time, like he’s trying to convince himself. Then he reaches for Jingyi’s shoulder and gives his robes a tug. “We should get back in there. Two more hours before curfew, you can still get a few lines in. I won’t distract you.”

“Ugh.”

Jingyi makes a face. Sizhui laughs, and the tension from earlier dissolves. “Come on. The more you get done, the faster it’ll be over.”

-

It turns out they’re both severely underestimating the number of rules Jingyi can break without realizing, and therefore the amount of time they’ll be spending here.

Despite these setbacks, over the course of the next handful of weeks, Jingyi adapts to his new life the best he can. He finds out, with much relief, that even though he can’t access the original’s knowledge and memories, training since childhood pays off even after a body swap. He doesn’t have to think too hard about sparring, just keep a firm grip on his sword, and his muscles can apparently do the rest with minimal effort on his part.

It only works with the actual fighting, though. After going to bed feeling sore all over for a week straight, Jingyi gives up and gives the cold springs a shot. It freezes his limbs off, but the ache gets better after that. It even gets him about a dozen points, which he adds to the rest, gained through menial tasks across the Cloud Recesses and some well-timed mischief.

He also likes to think he gets some progress done with step one of his grand plan to survive this novel. There’s no undoing years of being a pain in everyone’s ass in a matter of weeks, but Jingyi still gives it his best shot - peppered with tasteful cursing at the System when it deducts points for actually following the rules or, you know, not being a dick to everyone he talks to. As a result, he goes from mostly being avoided by the other disciples to tolerated, even if no one but Sizhui goes out of their way to talk to him or invite him to join in on...whatever fun they have.

Jingyi doubts he’s missing out on much, at least where the Lans are concerned. But rumor has it some of the guest disciples snuck out into Caiyi to try some of the local wine, and he’s jealous of that, which is kind of irrational. He doesn’t even like the taste of wine that much, and besides, that may be too much of an infraction for a raised Lan, however prone to rule-breaking said Lan is supposed to be.

( He really can’t afford to slip up again. When he dared chop a solid forty centimeters off his hair after struggling to run a comb through it for the fifth time that week, the System’s alarm blared so loud he almost had an out of body experience. He’d felt the hundred points shaved off his score, though, even if he’d managed to negotiate half of them back. That was the spiritual equivalent of having a car zoom past right as you were about to cross the street, and Jingyi’s in no hurry to do it again...but with that said, it feels great not to have to deal with a bird’s nest every time he wakes up. )

-

Of course, he can’t just get comfortable with his new daily routine. Something has to happen. This time, said something takes the shape of a summon from Teacher Lan. Jingyi drags his feet over from the Library Pavilion and away from his sixth copy of Gusu Lan rules. His wrist is still complaining every time he bends it a little too far. Fuck corpse powder, it’s carpal tunnel that’s going to do him in.

Speaking of copies, maybe he shouldn’t slump this much. He’s fairly sure there’s a rule for that somewhere in the two thousand and nineties.

Given the circumstances, Jingyi fully expects another lecture from Lan Qiren the moment he sets foot in the communal hall, but quickly readjusts his expectations when he spots the small crowd of disciples gathered around their teacher. Most of them are familiar faces by now, except for the girls, who for some reason live in a completely different part of the Cloud Recesses. Still, he recognizes Lan Fan, the shimei who looks like she could bite your head off but actually gave him some pretty helpful tips on sword stances the other day, Tao Ming, the boy who’d seemed vaguely suspicious of him that first day, and of course, Sizhui in the forefront.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him as he hastily joins the rest of the group. “Late again, Lan Jingyi.”

“Sorry, Teacher. This disciple was busy copying rules when he heard.”

A few of his companions snort, the noise quickly disguised as a sudden and collective bout of coughing. Jingyi can’t blame them ; if he’d heard the same words everyday for weeks on end, he’d be laughing too. Lan Qiren gives a long-suffering sigh, but whatever he’s about to tell them must take precedence, because Jingyi gets away with what might otherwise have been considered cheek.

“Madam Mo of Mo Village has sent us a request for assistance.” Given their teacher’s expression, he might as well said that she’d beaten down their door in the middle of the night and let a donkey loose in the courtyard. “From the servants’ description, it shouldn’t be anything more than a few walking corpses. Nothing a group of juniors cannot handle.”

Yeah, right. Despite knowing he’s supposed to let canon run its course, Jingyi still feels a twinge of apprehension. Why, you ask? He can answer that in two points.

Things Jingyi knows : mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Things Jingyi doesn’t know : how to kill zombies with swords.

In theory, he did spend the last few weeks training, and he didn’t slack off either, thank you very much. Doesn’t mean he’s ever gone up against a corpse before. He’s a coward, okay? Horror movie night was hell, back in his own world. He’s in no hurry to experience it in real (?) life.

“Lan Sizhui will lead the group,” Lan Qiren continues. “I expect all of you to keep your behaviors appropriate and not bring shame onto our sect.” To no one’s surprise, Jingyi thinks, and throws the interested party a small smile. To his surprise, Sizhui blushes and looks down at his boots, looking both embarrassed and pleased. It’s an unfairly cute look on him, but again, most of his looks are.  

Right on cue, the System wheezes to life like it just crawled out of a computer from the nineties.【Beginning stage checkpoint mission assigned. Destination : Mo Village. Mission : ensure the protagonist, Wei Wuxian, makes it to Mount Dafan to meet love interest Lan Wangji. Please click to accept.】

Jingyi mentally slams the Accept button.

Ding!  【Mission successfully accepted. Please read the file carefully for mission details and make appropriate preparations. We wish you success. 】

OOC function, here he comes!

[k-renne]

CHAPTER THREE - LOVE REIGNS

SUMMARY: Ben Solo loved you, well maybe he still was in love with you but he tried to shove that aside, that was in the past. Now he had to worry about finding a wife, a princess that he’d marry to rule by his side on Alderaan. His days of Jedi training were over, and it was time to play the part of a prince.

TAGS: @kyloholic, @daisysridrey, @cryxlowrites, @little-miss-ren

MASTERLIST

Ben’s eyes fluttered open as he felt the warm sun on his face, looking up to see you smiling down at him. His head was resting in your lap as you combed through his hair, placing little flowers you found in the field amongst his locks. Ben smiled back at you, reaching his hand up to touch you face. Just as soft as he remembered, wherever he was he didn’t want to leave.

“My sweet princess,” Ben hummed, sitting up to capture your lips. They were even softer, Ben smiled into the kiss as he felt the flowers you placed fall from his hair. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, afraid that if he didn’t you’d just drift away. The kiss grew more intense as you opened your mouth to him, your moans music to his ears. As his heart raced he felt everything fade away, his mind waking from his dream. He tried holding on to tighter, trying to go back to sleep and to the land of dreams. “No!” He woke with a shout, alone in his bed all hot and bothered.

His chest ached as reality set in, you were long gone and most likely hated him. He cursed his body for betraying him, still aroused even when all he wanted to do was wallow in his misery. It wasn’t even light out yet, but he didn’t want to go back to sleep. As always he’d dream of you, and though in the past he’d welcome it now it’d only bring him heartache, reminding him of something he could no longer have.

Maybe if he just stayed in bed today nothing bad would happen, Ben felt too depressed to get up. Of course, that was his plan until he heard a knock on his door.

“Oh, hello Master Ben. Your mother requests that you meet her in the dining room for breakfast,” C3PO addressed Ben.

“I think I’m going to pass on breakfast today C3PO,” Ben moves to close the door.

“Please Master Ben, your mother has important business to discuss with you regarding a mission. I urge you to go,” C3PO presses.

At the opportunity of a mission Ben perked up, that’s just what he needed. To get away from this whole marriage business and practice his skills as a Jedi once more was everything he wanted right now. It was just the thing to cheer him up. Ben got dressed in his Jedi robes in a hurry, rushing past people to meet with his mother.

“Hey Mom,” He waved, before stuffing a piece of bacon into his mouth. Leia shook her head, just like his father she thought.

“About the mission, you won’t be going alone,” She began, bracing herself for Ben’s reaction.

“Is it with Poe?” Ben asked. He hadn’t been on a mission with his friend in a while, busy training Padawans at the Jedi Temple.

“No, it’s with Y/N.”

Ben put down the toast he was about to eat, shoulders slumping. “Mom I can’t go with her, she hates me. It’ll never work,” Ben shakes his head.

“She doesn’t hate you, she’s just stubborn,” Leia counters.

“No kidding,” Ben scoffs.

“Look, you two used to work great together and if you can put aside your differences you’d be perfect for this mission.” Leia explained.

“I don’t know...like you said, she’s stubborn. And what even is this mission?” Ben asked.

“The Resistance is making a move to hit the First Order where it hurts, the Dreadnaught. It needs to be taken out before it does any more damage.”

“And how will we do that?” Ben questions.

“You’ll see, I have a plan for you but I just need to wait for Y/N.”

“She’s agreed to this,” Ben said incredulously, now that he couldn’t believe.

“Y/N is one of my most committed officers, of course she agreed.” Ben sighed, he knew his mother was right. It only reminded him of last night, how you only came because of his mother. You were loyal, but not to him.

“Of course…” He sighed. Every ounce of hope he ever had with you always was diminished by your loyalty to his mother and the Resistance. “Let’s hope we can work as a team and not enemies.”

“You two are not enemies, Ben. You both are on the same side.” Leia shook her head.

“Yes, but with the way things have been going lately, she clearly hates me.” He crosses his arms as he leaned back, the food no longer interesting him.

“If she hates you so much, why would she buy you that calligraphy set?” Leia asked as Ben blinked, sitting up straight and unfolding his arms.

“How do you know that?” He questioned as Leia shook her head with a small smile.

“She asked me where it was that your room was. Well, where you had been staying. She wanted to deliver it there rather than amongst everyone else.”

“Now that I think about it, she probably did that so no one knows she got me something.” He rolled his eyes but Leia sighed.

“No. She did it because she knew that that would be your favorite gift out of anyone else’s.” She leaned forward. “In my opinion, I think she wanted to make it more intimate and personal.”

Looking up at his mother and taking in a deep breath, he blushed. “Intimate…” Thinking about the dream he head, he lowered his head. “Yeah.”

Finishing up breakfast with his mother before the to retracted to the command room, Leia stood at the center as Ben stood to a side. Waiting. He knew you’d be coming in in any given second and he honestly didn’t know what to expect. After what happened last night, he was sure you were going to keep your distance after the revelation.

But a part of him, the one that always hoped and never gave up on it, prayed that you’d feel the least bit of sorry and want to stay close to him. He didn’t care for an apology, he knew deep down you must’ve felt something still. Whether as friends or lovers. It had to be there.

“Welcome, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Leia.” You bowed your head, only to see Ben. “Ben.”

Sucking in a small breath, he simply bowed his head towards you as he watched you stand across from Leia, furthest from him. He couldn’t help but frown.

“I send my two best to do this. I know you two can. It’s a simple mission, but you two have to work as a team and not get caught.” Leia said, eyeing either of you. “The Dreadnaught is one of the most powerful First Order ships. I need you two to get inside and take down the power or shields of the canons temporarily so we can lead our attack. Make it quick and do not linger for too long. There are plenty of powerful First Order officers in that ship and will be willing to capture and kill both of you. You two are well known, from royal families and carry high titles. I trust you two will keep eachother safe.”

“Yes, general.” You nodded, Ben looking at you. If anything, he wanted to keep you safe. He was the one with the Force.

“And, Ben.”

“Yes, mother?” He quickly turned his head.

“Be limited on the Force, only use it when you know you have no other options. I don’t need Snoke sensing you out.” Leia commanded as he nodded.

“What about my lightsaber?” He questioned.

“I rather you stick to a blaster just in case. I don’t need anyone knowing they have a Jedi aboard their ship.” She breathed. She more worried about Snoke than anyone else. She knew how easily her son could defend himself from lousy First Order officers and troops… but Snoke? She knew he was strong but she didn’t know how strong, and she didn’t want to risk Ben just to find out.

“Will do.”

“Wonderful. I know you two can do this. I have hope.” Leia eyed either of you. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you.” You and Ben echoed, only to look at each other before walking away, aiming for the hangar.

You watch as Ben flips a few switches of the stolen aircraft, preparing the ship for its jump to hyperspace. Getting inside the Dreadnaught would prove to be a difficult task but you had a way to slip through their shield undetected. Ben watched in admiration as you worked, you always had a knack with coding.

“Missing your lightsaber already?” You teased, seeing Ben staring sadly at his blaster.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben narrowed his eyes. He knew that him choosing to train as a Jedi had some part in making you break up with him, and he was still resentful.

“Nothing, why are you being so moody?” You rolled your eyes. This was not the time or place, Ben was acting so unprofessional.

“I’m moody? That’s rich coming from you,” Ben shot back.

You knew you shouldn’t be fighting with him, not now as you were sneaking through the Dreadnaught. You hold your tongue until you get into the system which controls the canons, as you work to dismantle it you can’t help but reply to Ben. “Why must you always make me angry?” You shook your head.

“What did I do to anger Y/N, the perfect spoiled princess?” Ben’s voice is laced with sarcasm.

“Oh, do you want to go there? Do you forget why we even broke up?” Emotion was high as you raised your voice.

“I remember exactly why you left me,” Ben said bitterly.

“Really? Cause I don’t think you do.”

“You left me when you should’ve tried fighting for this!” Ben lays his grievances on the table. There was so much more you could have done, you could have given him a chance but he didn’t even get that.

You remembered when you broke up all too well, as much as you tried to forget it. The memory was as clear as day. You were giving Ben a surprise visit to the Jedi temple, you had missed him and hadn’t heard from him in months. But when you got there you weren’t greeted by the excitement that you’d come to expect, Ben seemed much more interested in working on his new lightsaber than talking with you.

“Ben, can we please do something together?” You asked your boyfriend.

“Princess please, I’m kind of busy with this,” Ben was growing impatient with you, he was almost done with his new lightsaber and you had come at the worst time. Normally he’d be beyond elated to see you, but he was just about to have a major breakthrough with his crossguard design.

You huffed, not liking the way he said princess. You came all the way out here in the middle of the outer rim to see him and he was completely ungrateful. “But you already have a lightsaber,” You pointed out. You didn’t understand his fixation, and his distance from you was beginning to feed into your worst fears. He doesn’t love you anymore. He cares more about being a Jedi, he finds you boring. Your thoughts tormented you.

“Not like this one, you wouldn’t understand but I can’t talk right now.” Ben responded

You hated that, he never wanted to talk to you about anything with his new Jedi life and it made you feel closed off to him. Worse he never answered your calls, cancelled holo dates, and when you did talk he was distant--not truly listening.

“I can’t do this anymore,” You got up. You needed to leave before Ben broke your heart any more. Ben missed the tears in your eyes, simply thinking that you just were impatient and going back to work on his lightsaber.

“How can I fight for it when you were never there to listen!” You reply.

Ben remembers when you left him, he thinks about it often. It’s the stuff that makes up his nightmares, your voice taunting his dreams. He still didn’t understand it, his only justification being that you hated him.

“Ben, I think it’s time that we end this.” You say, as you pack your stuff.

He was just about to tell you the good news, that he completed his new lightsaber and he was excited to show you. He stiffened, what did you mean? Why were you packing, were you leaving him? A thousand thoughts raced through his mind in a panic.

“What? Why? Everything was going perfectly,” He shook his head.

“You truly are oblivious if you think that,” You slammed your suitcase shut.

“Oblivious, what’s this about? Is this about me leaving to train as a Jedi? You said you were okay with that…”

“It doesn’t matter Ben, nothing I say to you matters anymore.”

Ben grabbed your wrist, preventing you from leaving his room. “That’s not true,” He shook his head.

“As long as you’re a Jedi, it will never work between us.” You blamed his training, it changed him. He didn’t seem to care about you anymore, before he called you almost everyday and now he didn’t even send letters to you anymore. You knew it was over and you wouldn’t let him drag it on any longer.

“You really are mad about me training, I thought you were the reasonable one,” Ben scoffed. He was frustrated with you, that you didn’t understand his one passion in life. He felt like he was losing you.

“That’s not-you know what forget it, I’m leaving,” You pushed past Ben, storming out of his hut.

“Hey! Come back here, this isn’t over Princess-” Ben called out to you.

Ben is brought back to the present by your voice, “You hurt me Ben, I thought you would’ve known that. You’re the one who can read minds.” And it still hurt, it hurt that he didn’t even know what he did wrong.

Ben opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted as the door opened, revealing stormtroopers and General Hux himself.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the traitorous prince and princess. It’s like you were just asking to be caught, the whole ship could hear your arguing,” Hux chuckled. Before he could do anything, you quickly finished the code-successfully shutting down the exterior canons.

“Seize her,” Hux commanded, pointing to you.

Taking a defensive step forward, as if to prevent them from taking you, one of the stormtroopers slammed their blaster against his jaw, sending him down as you shouted, “Ben!” Feeling their hands wrap around your arms, you tried to thrash around, to get them to let go so you could reach for Ben, but they pulled you away. “Ben!” You called out again.

Rubbing his jaw and standing back up, Ben was just about ready to rush to you, that is until a pair of troopers blocked his path. “Y/N!” He yelled, watching in fear. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be a simple mission, for either of you not to get caught. But your emotions got the best of both of you… And here you were, being dragged away as Ben watched, unable to do anything. “Y/N!”

“Oh…” Seeing the look on Ben’s face and the tears forming in his eyes, Hux faked a gasp. “Oh, I see…”

“What?” Ben spoke through a clenched jaw, eyes bouncing between you and Hux. “WHAT?!”

“You two… Is she your… girlfriend?” Hux asked with a small tilt in his head, a fake look of worry spreading across his face. “Oh, no… you love her, don’t you?”

“What do you want?!” Ben snapped. “What are you going to do?! Take me instead!” He begged, teeth tight as he thrashed.

“No, no… I have a far better idea.” Hux grinned, “An idea you will very much enjoy, I promise you that.” Waving his hand for the stormtroopers to fall, Ben shifted his eyes between the troops and Hux, confused.

“W-what, what are you doing?” He asked, looking back ahead and seeing you being forced into a room. “Where are you taking her?!”

“You will see.” Hux grinned, aiming for the same room, approaching it as Ben’s face scrunched up, knowing very well he couldn’t use the Force but he had to sense out Hux’s intentions… And just by the grin on his face, and the look in his eyes, Ben knew nothing good was ahead.

“Let go of me, let go of me, filthy bucket brain!” You exclaimed, “I said let go!”

Shoving you back onto a metal chair, clamping your wrists and ankles with tight restraints, your heart skipped a beat. “As you wish, princess.” One of the troopers spoke, standing on either side of you as Hux entered, Ben following.

Looking into the room and seeing you being restrained, Ben thrashed again, trying to free himself to release you from being held captive. “Y/N! Get her out of there!” Trying to snatch his arms away, Hux grew impatient and knocked the wind right out of Ben as his fist came into contact with Ben’s stomach.

“BEN!” You cried out, hating the situation you were in. As much as you claimed to have disliked Ben, you never wanted to see him in harm's way. You didn’t want him getting hurt, but the deeper you were falling into the situation, the more you blamed yourself for it all.

“Putting a death sentence on either of your heads is far two easy. With a swift shot of a blaster is too… kind. Especially for the princess and prince who help guide the Resistance. Let alone, a lousy Jedi.” Hux spoke as Ben’s fists balled up, jaw tighter than before, almost as if his teeth would shatter with the anger that was burning within her veins. “I’ve decided something more… cruel.” Turning to look at Ben, Hux grinned, “I think you may like it.”

“What are you going to do to her?!” He lunged, but the stormtroopers held him back.

Turning away, Hux moved over to where a small, metal table had sat. “Torture, of course.”

Watching Hux reach for a taser like weapon, Ben flinched in his spot, lunging forward and nearly bringing the troopers with him. “Stop! No! Hurt me instead! Not her! Please!” Ben begged, but Hux ignored and powered the small weapon as your body began to shake in fear.

You were terrified, you felt yourself breaking out into a sweat as Hux’s hand grew closer and closer to your neck. “This will only hurt a lot.” Hux grinned, your body being sent into a jolt as the shock ran throughout your body from the contact, leaving you whimpering in pain.

“Stop! Stop, please!” Ben wailed, the sight of you being tortured while he couldn’t do anything, breaking his heart. “STOP!”

“Aw, do you hear him begging for me to stop?” Hux asked you as your body vibrated, your tears becoming more and more prominent as you panted. “He really must…” Shocking you again, you yelled, “Love you to…” Shocking you a third time, you cried even louder, “Want to switch places.”

“STOP IT!” Ben yelled, throat aching. “PLEASE!” Feeling his chest heave as he watched Hux shock you more and more, Ben couldn’t take it. The sounds of your yells, the feeling of your pain surging through him and the sight of you crying was sending him over the edge. He was reaching his breaking point… His tipping point. “ENOUGH!”

Falling still as the weapon fell from his grip, Hux choked out. Without realizing it, Ben had reached into the Force and stopped Hux’s breathing. Choking him. Choking him until the man couldn’t breathe any longer.

Yes, choke him. Feel the rage run through you. Turn that anger into hate! Let it control you! Finish him off! The power of the dark side is strong with you, young Solo.

Instantly snapping out of it, Ben panted, afraid of what he had done. Using the dark side of the Force, something he had been warned to never use… But you were suffering, you were in pain and it angered him that he couldn’t do anything… And his anger got the best of him.

You are weak. Foolish. You can not protect her. You never can and you never will. You thought you lost her forever then? You are about to lose her forever, now.

Opening up his palm before forcefully closing them, the four troopers in the room were sent against the walls with a harsh bang!, leaving Hux to be the only one conscious. Hearing the sounds of his heavy breathing fill his ears, Ben used the Force to open up your restraints, you falling limp in his arms as he instantly picked you up. Exiting the room quickly, he used the Force to lock the door so neither of the five could chase after the two of you. “I’m going to get you home safe, I promise you.” Ben said, holding you close to his chest as you had tears still slipping down your cheeks, your body too weak to move. “We’re going to get out of here.”

[the-call-from-the-light]

Putting the Damage On, Chapter 1 Notes

Putting the Damage On on An Archive of Our Own

I began writing this Star Wars sequel trilogy fan fic as an exercise to get me back on track after finishing a graphic novel script and floundering while I decided what “serious” project I wanted to work on next.

Nearly 100,000 words later, I’ve honed my fiction writing skills -- including pacing, rising tension, plotting, mystery reveals, character development arcs, action, and just plain old getting the fucking words on the fucking paper (or screen).

This has been a great benefit for me. I have an MFA in Creative Writing, but because I’ve always considered myself (and was considered by my teachers and professors) a “natural writer,” I never worked on those fundamental building blocks. As I write now, I find that complications that enhance the conflict in the story and even twists that I hadn’t planned beforehand come to me in wei wu wei fashion. Wei wu wei is a Taoist concept that means, loosely, “doing by not doing.” (Taoism informs my conception of the Force greatly, btw.) What was once effort becomes “effortless” as your skills are strengthened.

I’ve also had great pleasure in creating, as it’s known in the fic world, an Original Character. OCs are notorious for being self-inserts in fanfic, and Miranda Galan, former Jedi and classmate of Ben Solo (who calls her Mira), is something of that, I admit. She’s conspicuously literary, often quoting from Shakespeare and other poets (she lives on Gaia, an Outer Rim planet that is Earth, if it were in the Star Wars galaxy); she is Filipino and looks like a Platonic Ideal version of me; she always wears black; her worst trait is the same as mine -- vanity; and her favorite band is the same as mine -- The Smiths. But she’s also a lot that I am not -- unabashedly sexual, athletic and graceful, a pretty serious recreational drug user, and far more morally flexible.

My mental image of her is the Filipina supermodel Charo Ronquillo. Because why not?

As for the two other main characters of the fic, Ben and Hux -- it’s tempting to forget that they are villains, since in this story Ben is Mira’s romantic partner and Hux, as in the films, is often played for comedy. But that has been another skill to hone, though one I think I have done less successfully -- making sure villains stay villainous even as they’re humanized. I try to keep in mind that were Ben and Hux real people, I would be repulsed by their acts and disgusted at any bit of sympathy toward them because of their childhoods, while also knowing that in storytelling that is, on one level, mythic, being able to sympathize with a villain is a psychological benefit of fiction. It is a place where we can understand everyone, without being put in the same moral danger that we would be if we were to do so in the real world.

Chapter Title Song Notes - “The Kids Have Run Away”

The chapter title is from “Regret” by New Order, which came out in my sophomore year of high school. So it always carries an air of nostalgia for me, one appropriate for a chapter when a friend from your youth contacts you after many years. But there’s a strange, simultaneous feeling of longing after an adult life that comes along with it, which is how I felt when I listened to it when I was fifteen. No other song makes me feel both a teenager longing for adulthood and an adult longing for youth the way this one does.

Here is the summary and the beginning of the first chapter after the cut. I hope you’ll read it if it piques your interest!

Eight years ago, Miranda Galan survived the Jedi Killer. Having escaped the fate of the other students, she has been hiding on the Outer Rim planet Gaia. But now Kylo Ren has found her, but his intentions are not what she fears: The Supreme Leader, still tormented by Rey’s rejection during what should be his moment of greatest triumph, seeks the counsel of someone who once knew him. But his return to her life places them both in danger — Kylo Ren of seeking the light, and Mira of falling into darkness.

Putting the Damage On

CHAPTER ONE

The Kids Have Run Away

Gaia, Late Spring, 36 ABY

I’m making breakfast when the comlink beeps. His comlink, the private, secure one I set up according to his precise instructions on the same day as when he found me again. I’m slicing fruit, and my fingers are stained red with dragonfruit juice.

“Good morning, Supreme Leader,” I say, not looking up.

He doesn’t answer immediately. I lick some of the juice from my thumb and finally raise my eyes, and there he is on the little holoprojector in my kitchen, ten inches tall, the black of his clothes throwing off  the contrast of the hologram. His image fritzes and wavers for a couple of seconds, and then comes into focus. He is seated, uncomfortably it looks to me — but then the Ben Solo I knew was always uncomfortable in some way — his elbows on his knees, the fingers of his gloved hands interlaced under his chin.

With a flick of my fingers, I direct the holoprojector to zoom in on him, so I see just his shoulders and face. That face. Scarred and exhausted, now. Beautiful Ben, we called him in the girls’ dormitory of the Temple, giggling under our rough coverlets at night. We got away with more than the boys, since there wasn’t a matron at the Temple until well after it opened to students. The dark-haired nephew of Master Luke was a favorite subject then — we took bets on who was going to spar with him next.

I didn’t ask what happened to him that first time, when I saw his face again after so many years. I had heard — the girl, the battle, the death of Snoke. Of Luke.

“Mira,” he says. And then nothing. My name. The one I hadn’t heard anyone speak in eight years, until that first call from him came through.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Supreme Leader? Or are you calling on Armitage’s behalf? Is he too shy to call me himself? Tell him of course I’ll go to prom with him, he just has to ask.”

His lip curls so slightly that I felt the change of expression more than see it. “What is your obsession with General Hux?” he asks. “The man is an ass.”

I shrug. “What can I say, I love a tall ginger. Tell him that, would you?” I plop the cut dragonfruit into the food blender. “Hold on, this is going to be loud.”

“What is?”

In way of answer, I turn on the blender, talking to him all the while it runs because I know it will frustrate him. “You probably have somebody or a droid or something to do this for you, right? When was the last time the Supreme Leader made himself breakfast?”

“Stop — I can’t hear —”

“You probably are one of those guys who drinks those horrible blue milk protein shakes, aren’t you? Too busy to eat, what with a galaxy to command and all.” I turn off the blender.

“I sense that you’re somewhat hostile to me, Mira.”

I frown. The way he says my name is the same as when we were younglings in the Temple, talking as we sparred with staffs or practiced our calligraphy. As if he hadn’t brought the Temple down into a pile of rubble and fire. As if he never were a Knight of Ren. As if he weren’t the fucking Supreme Leader of the First Order.

As if he weren’t talking to me because he can’t talk to someone else.

I pour the juice into a glass. It overflows. Again, I lick red dragonfruit juice from my skin. “Ben, what do you want?”

[nitewrighter]

May I request for some fluffy Gency in a Witch Mercy AU please?

Me, @ me: Please, Sarah, we can’t keep doing this

Also Me, chanting: WITCH! MERCY! NOW!

Edit: Wow, I’m amazed the story has been going on as long as it has, Here’s a table of contents!

Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

Read it on AO3 here.

—-

Many years ago, a witch in Eichenwalde was out gathering mushrooms when she crossed paths with a monk from a far-off land. The monk was terribly hunched over from a great weight on his back and the witch, being a woman of a charitable heart, approached to help him. As she drew closer, she saw the sack the monk had slung over his shoulder wasn’t very large at all. Curious, she addressed him.

“Monk,” she said, “What have you got in that sack there?”

“A terrible burden that I shall be glad to be rid of,” said the monk, continuing to walk.

The witch matched his pace easily. “May I see it?” she asked.

The monk looked her up and down. The witch didn’t exactly look like a witch, she was tall and fair, with white-gold hair and gray-blue eyes, so, supposing he might as well stop for a breath, he opened the sack to her. Inside the sack was a fine porcelain tea leaf pot, painted with chrysanthemums and blooming tree branches, and the pot itself was veined with gold. The top of the pot was corked, and the cork itself sealed around the rim of the porcelain with paper with fine calligraphy on it, though the witch could not exactly make out what it said.

“How lovely!” said the witch, “Why should anyone want to be rid of such a treasure?”

The monk gave a huff. “I’ve trapped an evil spirit in this pot,” he said, “And I go to throw it in the icy seas north of here.”

“An evil spirit?” said the witch. It is worth noting at this point that the witch did not believe him, simply because of the fact that whenever she had to travel with an object of high value, she would tell anyone who asked about it that it was terribly cursed and she was going to destroy it, and usually they believed her and she was able to avoid many a bandit by that means. She was a witch, this much was true, but hers was not a magic of demons trapped in jars sealed off with cork and paper, hers was a magic of healing, of green and growing things, and of ancient texts. For her, demons were minor nuisances who made milk soil and put blood in goose eggs and were easily warded off with a word or a good sweep of the besom. If the demon were any serious matter, she would feel it.

The monk nodded gravely. “I was very lucky, you see, this spirit is drawn to beautiful things, so this pot made a good trap. The first time I trapped it in the pot, it screamed and railed and shook so that the pot shattered. Undeterred, I repaired the pot and filled the cracks with gold so that it was even more beautiful. The demon could not resist, and thus I trapped it for good this time.”

“How did you get it to fall for the same trick twice?” asked the witch with a smile.

“I was also lucky in the fact that this demon is also a fool, and a vain one at that. But now I really must be going. I am not moving nearly as swiftly with a burden like this, and I must reach the northern sea.”

“I could take it to the northern sea for you,” the witch offered politely.

“Would you?” said the monk, and before the witch could sell her suggestion further with talk of how well she knew these lands and how hale and swift she was, the monk shoved the tea leaf pot into her arms and was already walking back whence he came. The witch was stunned for a few seconds, then glanced down at her pot, smiled, and shrugged. It wasn’t nearly as heavy in her hands as it had looked on the monk’s back.

 She felt a bit guilty about taking the treasure off his hands. Holy men were so quick to overreact over boggarts. She herself was not really one for riches, though. It was lovely to look at and would probably be worth a pretty penny to sell for food if her crops blighted or goat sickened. When the witch got home, she set the new gold-veined pot among her apothecary jars. Not in too obvious a spot, for the village would surely be suspicious as to how she got such a treasure, but in the open enough so that she could look up at it fondly as she worked at her cauldron.

The witch lived where the village ended and the wood began, though “witch,” as a title and address, was conditional. She was “witch” until bones needed setting, until boils needed lancing, until fevers needed breaking and until the miller’s wife was with child (again) and needed goose-grease ointment. In such circumstances, the witch was no longer “witch” and called “Miss Gramercy.” The witch herself preferred “Mercy.”

 Save for curing ails, Mercy kept to herself, and the village left her well enough alone. On some days when the children were feeling particularly bold, they would throw rotten vegetables at her when she walked through the village, but aside from that she was a necessary presence in their village that for the most part, the villagers liked to pretend didn’t exist. She didn’t mind this. She liked the privacy—more time for her books, more time for her experiments, more time for her tinctures and extracts, and, while she would never admit this to any of the villagers, more time for magic. Her books were her dearest treasures; texts on chemistry and mathematics and astronomy from Arabia and Greece and China, and several secret texts she kept in a locked box behind a panel in her wall that the village would surely burn her for possessing if they were ever found. To feed herself she kept a garden, and she had a goat and a goose, given to her in exchange for her services several years ago, but her only true companion was an ugly, one-eyed, foul-tempered-with-all-but-her black cat she called “Old Scratch.” 

For the next few weeks Mercy returned to her work and all but forgot about her exchange with the foreign monk, and the gold-veined tea leaf pot on her shelf was little more than a decoration. That is, until one day while Mercy was busying herself with a mortar and pestle, a sparrow flew into the house with Old Scratch in pursuit, and the cat, in leaping after the bird, knocked the tea leaf pot from its shelf. Mercy sat up with a start with the sound of porcelain shattering behind her and she whirled around. “Scratch, you old devil! What have you done…now…” she trailed off as black and red smoke with green lightning sparking through it billowed up from the broken remains of the pot. She covered her mouth with her hands and slowly stepped back as the smoke and lightning formed itself into a human figure wearing a terrifying mask. 

“So you have freed me,” the figure spoke, drawing itself to its full height, “So you have my servi—”

He was immediately met with a face full of broom bristles.

“Back!” she smacked him with the broom, “Back!” she smacked him again, “Back from whence thou came! With this besom, I banish thee hence!”

He caught the broom handle. “What are you doing?” he said flatly.

“Banishing…you…?” said Mercy.

“You expect to banish me with a cleaning utensil?” said the demon, “I, whose sword can stir up great whirlwinds with one swipe? I, whose steps can be as loud as thunder or silent as death? I, who–Gah!” Mercy had shoved forward with the broom handle and he caught a face full of broom bristles again, “Will you stop that?!” he snapped.

“It usually works with other demons,” Mercy said a bit sheepishly, drawing back but still holding the broom in front of herself, ready to strike him again.

“The other demons?” said evil spirit tilted his head. 

“Boggarts, you know,” said Mercy, “Usually no bigger than your hand. Mostly they just turn butter rancid and hide things from you.”

“I–do I look like I have any interest in your butter?!” said the demon, clearly insulted by this comparison.

“I–um…” Mercy fidgeted with her hair a bit, “I don’t know. You’re the first demon of your kind that I’ve seen,” said Mercy, walking around him, broom still at the ready, but moving to get a better look at him. She glanced down. “No cloven hooves or anything…”

“Ah yes, I heard those in these lands had interesting ideas of demons,” he said, “I can give myself cloven hooves if you wish. I can take all kinds of forms, but I like this one,” he removed the mask, “It is the most handsome, is it not?”

Mercy drew back a little, her grip tightening on her broom. He was handsome. with fine cheekbones and a strong jaw, though his eyes were bright red, between blood and fire. She leaned in a little.

“Try not to be too distracted by my good looks,” said the demon with a grin.

“…Do you make your eyebrows look like that on purpose or do they just look like that with whatever form you take?” said Mercy, squinting at his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” he said, some hurt in his voice.

“Nothing!” Mercy drew back again, “Nothing at all!”

The demon put his mask back on sullenly.

Mercy exhaled. “What do you want of me?” she said, gripping her broom.

“It’s not what I want of you, it’s what you want of me,” said the demon, “As I was saying before you so rudely assaulted me with that broom, you freed me and thus, you have my service,” he gave a bow, “At the very least you have no ill-will from me, and are free to send me on my way with no repercussions.”

“Your service…” Mercy said skeptically, “Do you have a name?”

 “You may call me Genji,” said the demon.

“Genji,” Mercy repeated the name, “Very well, Genji.” 

“It sounds lovely on your tongue,” said Genji. Mercy wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her voice or praising the beauty of his own name, “What are you called?”

“I am called Mercy,” said Mercy, “Well… not really. They call me ‘Witch’ or ‘Miss Gramercy’ but I call myself Mercy.” 

“A witch!” Genji seemed pleased by this, “Finally someone interesting!”

“Interesting?”

“Usually most ask just me for fame, or riches, or slaying their enemies and send me on my way. Witches tend to be more… mutually beneficial partnerships,” Mercy could hear the smile in his voice beneath the mask. 

Mercy frowned. “And what is the price?”

“What do you mean, ‘What is the price?’” said Genji, “I said you have my service.”

“Your only true reward to me for freeing you from that pot is the fact that you haven’t possessed me or killed me or done something terrible yet,” said Mercy, “You’re a demon. If you’re offering a service, there is always a price.”

“Several moments ago you were beating me with a broom like I was some second-rate imp and now you speak as if you’re an expert on the nature of demons,” muttered Genji.

“That was practice, this is extending a bit more into theory,” said Mercy with a slight smile, “But there is a price, isn’t there?”  

“You witches are irritatingly clever about these things,” said Genji, “Yes. Fine. There’s a price, but nothing you need to pay now.”

Mercy folded her arms and gave him a sharp look, indicating to him that she would not tolerate being vague and threatening.

“Your first-born,” said Genji.

“Oh,” Mercy seemed to relax considerably at this, “All right then,” she said with the same cavalierness as if she was buying bread at the market. 

“What–Really?” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Mercy, who had no intention of even having a first-born to begin with.

“This is why I like you witches,” said Genji, “Not nearly as much dramatics as most humans. Very well then!” He clapped his hands together, “I am at your disposal, Witch Mercy. What do you desire? Secrets of the lands of the dead? Grant you a silver tongue with which to charm all men?”

“Hmm…no,” said Mercy.

“I’d offer you youth and beauty but I cannot offer what you already possess,” said Genji.

Mercy scoffed and smiled. 

“What can I offer you…hm…” Genji seemed thoughtful, “I could… turn into a dragon and you could ride me stark naked across the moonlit skies?”

Mercy’s nose wrinkled, “What…Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s fun?” Genji shrugged. “I saw a woodcut of witches from this land and from what I could gather, they seemed to have a fondness for flying naked,” 

Mercy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to fly naked,” she said, exasperated, she was quiet for a while before saying at last, “Protection.”

“Is that your desire?” said Genji.

“I have seen witches and innocent women alike burnt at the stake for little more than healing sicknesses or rebuffing a man’s advances. I consider my work important and would not like to die before I am satisfied. You say your sword is swift and mighty?”

“The swiftest and mightiest,” said Genji with no small amount of pride.

“And you can take the forms of many things?” said Mercy.

“All sorts of things,” said Genji.

“Then I would like your protection, against man and demon alike,” said Mercy.

“I could simply devour your enemies,” Genji offered. 

“I don’t have enemies–if I do, then they haven’t really done anything yet,” said Mercy, “Gods willing, I won’t ever need your protection, but it would be nice to have.”

“And so you have it,” said Genji with a bow, “I could also give you the means to escape your enemies–you could ride the wind as I do…”

“You do not have to give me what I intend to gain for myself,” said Mercy with a grin.

Genji chuckled. “Witches always were more interesting,” he said, lifting his mask.

—

Part 2 is here

[the-salty-digest]

Review: "The Ghost Bride", or: A Heterosexual Classic™ with a Peranakan twist

title: The Ghost Bride author:  Yangsze Choo review by: Captain Clo verdict: great premises, poor narration. The interesting bits of Chinese-Malay folklore aren't enough to sustain a narration in which the protagonist is constantly locked outside of events. 3 stars

This review will have spoilers.

I really wanted to like this book more, and it's a pity it didn't deliver for me. It's a Heterosexual Classic™ in the sense that the protagonist, Li Lan, in the end must choose between two suitors and two lives: a human, ordinary life with Tian Bai, or an adventurous, mysterious life with Er Lang, a supernatural creature (not going to spoil which kind... just know it's awesome).

The twist, for a Western reader like me, comes from the folklore and setting used: the Peranakan culture, the culture of Chinese people living in the Malaysia area (the book is set in Malacca). It's certainly an interesting context, with lot of superstitions, ghosts and demons floating in the background – enough to keep the reader entertained for the first half of the book. The premises are creepy enough: the protagonist is haunted by the ghost of a recently deceased man, whose family wants her to be his ghost bride. To appease this unruly spirit, she's supposed to marry him even though he's dead, and so be a widow in his household. Needless to say, Li Lan isn't enthusiastic about this idea, but the ghost not only torments her, but steals her life force every time he visits her in a dream, making her more and more weak. Contact with this ghost also makes Li Lan aware that his family hides a great deal of secrets and internal strife – an information that is vital to her, since she's betrothed to the ghost's cousin, Tian Bai... and since the ghost claims Tian Bai murdered him.

The writing style is good, although sometimes there are too many, not very inspired similes, but the real problem lies with the narration.

I'll start from the ending, which I think is the biggest problem of the entire novel, because it's completely underwhelming. The entire story is narrated in first person/past simple; then, when Li Lan must make her decision between Er Lang and Tian Bai, it changes to present tense, and the only thing she says is what she intends to do. We never actually see the scene in which Li Lan tells Er Lang her decision; or when she announces her fiancé or her family her decision to not marry after all. We don't know anything of Er Lang's family, even though he warned her it was going to be worse than the drama of Tian Bai's family. We don't even know if Er Lang accepts her answer! Or what Tian Bai's reaction might be!

We don't know what happens to her father, slipping farther and farther into his opium addiction, once she decides to leave; we don't even know if she uses the excuse to study abroad, as is her intention, or if she just disappears one day into thin air. Actually, Li Lan doesn't seem worried about her father's addiction at all, although she notes a lot of times it seems to be getting worse. She doesn't worry about how her going away might impact him either, which doesn't make any sense, since in the previous 250 pages, she worried a lot about how he couldn't get over her mother's death and about how he had no friends left because he was a recluse. Then again, Li Lan is pretty self-absorbed, and gives off the impression of worrying about how her father doesn't have any friends or business associates only because that means she has no chance of finding a husband. Another example would be when she makes up her mind and decides not to marry Tian Bai: suddenly she says that marrying him would mean robbing him of the possibility of being truly loved, because she loves someone else, and he's still in love with a woman he left behind in Hong Kong. Which: completely out of the blue. Li Lan definitely didn't care about Tian Bai's happiness and chances at love before! She was even jealous of this woman!

Overall her character seems pretty ambivalent; the author tries to depict her as unconventional for her times – a literate girl who loves calligraphy more than sewing, who braids her hair in plaits and doesn't care about fancy clothes – but she's also very conventional, never questioning the fact that she HAS to marry. Even after she meets more than one woman who was mistreated or abused in her role as wife or concubine, she doesn't ever think twice about it – because she knows she's going to be Tian Bai's first wife. She does show some sympathy for them – even when they're mean to her – but she never once questions the system that oppresses them, or even the men who did. Before she knows she's betrothed to Tian Bai it seems like she never thought much about marrying, but only because she takes for granted that someone else – her father – will decide and provide for her; but then she goes to the Land of the Dead and discovers how nice it is to be free to go around as much as she wants, without the necessity of a servant following her and without the restrictions imposed on her gender; but then she comes back, and although she notes the difference and misses the freedom, she never thinks "Hey, maybe this isn't right?" Overall, I'm sorry to say, but she comes across as pretty stupid. Which doesn't make sense, because she's also resourceful, and since she's an educated woman, her lack of critical thinking skills are quite strange. And the moment when Li Lan decides to abandon convention and marry Er Lang should be a big moment – she's leaving mortal life behind, after all - and it's not even described!

The ending is the most egregious example, but there are several moments in which Li Lan is locked outside of her own story unfolding, which makes for a pretty boring storytelling, with other people relying to her what happened in her absence. This is even true for the fate of her antagonists. The suitor who tormented her and his uncle are tried in the Land of the Dead for their misdeeds, and Li Lan isn't present for it (we don't even know exactly what happens to them, or who was pulling their strings and why, since it's only hinted that a ruler of Hell was involved); the girl who stole her body is taken away by a demon and we don't even know WHY, let alone what happens to her. Another big blank plot point is everything Er Lang does. At least at the end, I expected to see him directly involved in the trial or the investigation, especially with Li Lan as witness, and to see the kings of hell or more of the ox-headed demons... but nothing of the sort happens.

It’s too bad, because I really liked Li Lan’s and Er Lang’s dynamic and I was happy they got together in the end. But the ending is so incomplete, I’m left completely dissatisfied. They don't even see each other in the last chapter, it's literally just Li Lan thinking about her decision.

[turningintomalfoy]

Draco Malfoy and the Obnoxious Stone

Rating: All Audiences

Tags: Time Travel, AU/Canon Divergence

Chapter: 2/8

AO3: Click here

Summary: Nothing is ever as easy as Draco would want it to be. At least after visiting Diagon Alley he’ll finally have a wand again. Why don’t his time travel problems just resolve themselves?

The excitement he felt truly rivalled that of his younger self at the time, only for completely different reasons. Once his mother got herself involved in his preliminary schoolwork, he had little daytime left for research on more pressing issues. After all, Draco couldn’t say whether he was here on borrowed time. Perhaps the situation would resolve itself if left alone, but he couldn’t sit around assuming it would.

Their shoes dug into smaller gravel lining the path from the Manor, cracking and scraping in time with their rhythmic steps. Today marked the first real opportunity both to find out information, and begin introducing small changes to actions he regretted and their dire consequences.

Nevertheless, old habits do tend to stick, and as such Draco hoped to avoid meeting Potter until he couldn’t put it off any more. Ideally, after he has fixed his time travelling situation and returned home. Best to leave that issue to his younger self, in fact. The Malfoy family made their way to Diagon Alley as swiftly and easily as ever. Before long, Draco was surrounded with excitable shoppers and colourful window displays. A considerable difference to the peaceful isolation of the Manor and its grounds.

“Now, Draco. Your mother and I understand you’ve been keen to not only learn the syllabus this year, but also expand on it a rather great deal. If your current reading habits persist we’ll run out of suitable material before the school year starts.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice barely resembled anything beyond neutrality, but Draco could see the subtle hint of amusement and satisfaction on his father’s face.

“There are a few titles I have in mind, mentioned in tomes from the library. I could go pick them out while you and mother go visit the vaults?” He suggested, his tone skimming past demand yet stopping before it could reach authority.

“Perhaps you should join your mother at the wand maker’s, Gringott’s shouldn’t be long.”

It seemed like his father found the requests somewhat unusual. Draco couldn’t remember what caused his parents to leave him at the tailor shop unsupervised last time, but it clearly would take more than this. Perhaps he hadn’t been a believable replacement, or his occlumency was not as strong as he hoped. Either way, the only thing he could do was follow along.

“That old crook better find me a great wand.” He drawled with growing frustration, following close behind Narcissa.

The store was unremarkable, not maintained enough to read as luxurious despite excellent calligraphy on the sign. He remembered when death eaters carried out the hit on Ollivander, filling the halls with their hysterical laughter, drunk on power from destroying half the shops on Diagon alley for fun. The shop owner couldn’t prevent the violence and damage back then, and he shouldn’t have to in this reality. If only... That was none of his business, Draco rationalised. He wasn’t going to be here long, and had plenty to do without being weighed down with reignited guilt over every single victim of war singeing his conscience. The air inside the narrow shop felt heavy with dust, and he couldn’t resist the reactive cough.

“Good morning, another young wizard off to Hogwarts come autumn I presume?” The man peered from behind a stack of boxes piled on the counter. He turned towards Narcissa, speaking with a level of familiarity too high considering the last time he saw her was when she purchased her own wand. “Unless this one has finally decided to give you some grief?”

She did not indicate an answer in either way, but Ollivander undoubtedly took it for encouragement to continue voicing his obsession with his creations.

“Unicorn hair, black walnut, surprisingly inflexible... I might even say it’s quite impressive to avoid a fight with that combination. It tends to cultivate a preference for finesse in spell casting. But enough about that.” Ollivander cut himself off. A flick of the wrist and Draco found measuring tape extending from the tip of his nose to the floor. Part of him hoped to avoid all the fuss, and just ask for his old wand, but it was a treat to experience the excitement of getting his first wand again. The shop owner narrated the process with a passion reserved only for artists and fanatics. One by one, the suggested wands refused to react, as if they felt he was already bound, leaving Ollivander somewhat puzzled, but undeterred. Eventually Draco felt the familiar hilt and weight in his fingers, magic swelling from within in joy of being chosen by a wand. Snowflake-like sparks surged around for a brief moment before fading out. His wand finally where it belongs, he thought, blocking out Ollivander listing the properties and preferences he already knew.

Feeling a surge of self assurance, Draco left his mother to pay, claiming he wanted to take a good look at the Nimbus 2000 before his father tired of waiting. There was a considerable crowd of children growing by the window display, it would be too much effort to push past them all. A few boys at least a foot taller blocked the view of anything past the smooth tail. Draco turned away in frustration, fully prepared to storm off towards Flourish and Blotts, or back to his mother, but was instead met by another body. Their heads crashed together hard enough to send him to the floor, hands scraping on the cobblestone. Draco couldn’t hold in his indignant response. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Followed by a whispered curse as pain finally registered.

“Sorry! Though you should look around too or you’ll the one called an idiot” a hesitant voice joined the outstretched hand before Draco reacted.

“Yeh aight ‘Arry? I jus saw yeh knockin heads, seems yeh came out better off, at least.” Draco recognised the booming voice and accent immediately, after all he spent years mocking the half giant during and between Care of magical creatures lessons. If Hagrid was here, that would imply... he grasped the offered hand. Of course he had to literally run into Harry Potter almost as soon as he decided to avoid running into him figuratively. The scruffy boy rubbing the back of his head with an unoccupied hand looked entirely too small, too young to be the future hope of the magical world. There were not enough words to describe the feelings surging inside Draco. As far as he was concerned no one else had experienced bringing a war back in time within himself, only to meet ghosts and victims he didn’t protect, and see the key to victory before constant fight to survive shaped the boy into a battle ready man. It seemed that despite everything that would oppose such sentiments, Draco was doomed to idolise Potter from childhood.

“I’m okay, Hagrid,” Potter smiled at the man, then turned to Draco. “Are you? I’m Harry, by the way.”

Draco cleared his throat as he rubbed the grit and blood out of his hands on his robe, before introducing himself. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, that is.” His voice was too stiff, mind unprepared for such a casual encounter with someone he disliked for most of his life. “Accident aside, it’s uh... nicetomeetyou.”

Thankfully the half giant processed his name and quickly dragged the boy off with a reasonable excuse of a tight schedule. It would have been even worse if his parents witnessed the exchange and fall. Once she caught up to him and ensured he wasn’t attacked or seriously hurt, Narcissa scolded Draco for running off, before she soothed the scratches and cleaned the slight stains on his robe with precise and quick spells on their way to Flourish and Blott’s.

Lucius was engrossed in a boring conversation with another ministry employee, unaware of all the customers they were inconveniencing by standing there. Narcissa offered to find the assigned booklist, letting him explore freely. He was drawn to arguably (and objectively) the best section: alchemy. He remembered the surprise his grandfather got when Draco asked to join the class after fifth year. Of course he wanted to reach for greater achievement than a ministry position or mastery of potions. Well, technically professional alchemy required a near mastery of potions and built on it... He got distracted. What was he looking for in the first place?

How to fix his time travel issue. Running into Harry Potter must have rattled him more than he thought if he could put being stuck as an eleven year old out of mind.