#if he survived it or the resentment just put whatever was left of his body together and forced him back to life for the first time

[ghcstchild-a]

No but if you think about it (and obviously this has nothing to do with the Chinese culture but indulge me for a sec), Halloween was originally believed to be the day when the borders between the worlds were thin and the dead could roam in the world of the living, right? And the mdzs world is already full of ghosts and ghouls and whatnot, and you just know the concept of immortal souls holds water in this one bc it's possible to bring one back which means they... go somewhere and it's just WWX who got lowkey stuck in limbo. Just saying that it's no wonder that a child born on this particular day was named 'a ghost baby' in essence, or that he grew so attuned to the voices and whisperings of the dead. His connection to the spirit world was predestined, in this essay I will–

[vleanne]

You could write one where reader is the daughter of some Saxon earl who ends up being given in marriage to Ubba (first season of tlk) and having a difficult relationship in the beginning with him but in the end falling in love and having children with him.

𝖢𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽

Summary: One particular evening ended up with Danes invading the city, killing and stealing whatever they laid eyes upon. Should you feel lucky Ubba's eyes laid upon you?

Warnings: description of violence,blood and death, fluffy at the end.

Author's Note: Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy this little piece.

⤹"My advice for you is: to never cross Ubba, and never, never fight him"

You have heard the tales many times before. About people that resented God and acted only against Him. Pagans without bits of humanity left in their hearts.

A few minutes ago you were having dinner with your father and a few important people from the village, discussing matters or rather gossiping about the new crowned king Alfred.

Then, all hell broke loose. They came as shadows in the night, destroying everything that those poor people had built, whipping their families from history.

Bodies laid everywhere, the strong smell of blood filling your nose and causing your stomach to turn.

"Move your ass forward, Saxon" A Dane spoke, pushing your father further into the enemy crowd.

Your whole body was trembling, fear crawling within your bones "Stop!" The yell caused everyone's head to turn, a few men smirking without shame.

Without warning you were taken by the arms and moved beside your father who now looked straight ahead, every hope for salvation dying from his eyes.

"Ubba, these two seem interesting"

Ubba?

God no!

A tall man stood in the middle, his sword stained with crimson red, courtesy of his dead victims.

A tattoo was printed on his face adding to his dangerous self "What about them?"

His voice was stern and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your father started to tremble uncontrollably, an idea coursing through his mind "Lord Ubba, let me live and I shall gift you my daughter"

Shit

As if the kidnapping wasn't enough, your father has just sentenced you to death. How could a noble man who claimed he loved God and all his subjects put his daughter's life on the line in order to guarantee his survival?

You felt sick, disgusted even, bits of sweat gathering on your forehead.

Ubba approached the two of you, sparing his men a glance "You Saxon people…I could never understand you even if I tried" He chuckled, his eyes scanning down your body.

The Dane found it amusing how easily the Saxon made the bargain. Ubba was intrigued to say the least and allowed your father to live.

You watched as the old man whipped a few tears and basically ran as fast as he could leaving you behind. Leaving his legacy behind.

___

He was a savage.

You repeated those words over and over again for the first few months.

Only, he was far from that.

Lord Ubba was nothing but gentle with you. Despite how much you expressed your resentment for him, he was still taking care of you, forbidding any of his people to even approach you.

After he had taken you as his wife, Ubba never touched you until you felt comfortable. It was a long time, you must admit but he couldn't really blame you.

Everything that you ever knew was now a faint memory, kinda like a dream.

As you were now living in hell.

"How is the babe?" Ubba asked, entering the tent and picking up a cup of ale.

Rubbing your growing stomach you motioned your son to help his father discard his weapons.

Ubba laughed, patting his head as he watched his son trying to settle down his heavy ax.

"The babe is restless my dear. With each passing day he gets more and more stubborn" You laughed, wrapping a hand around his neck.

He leaned in, giving you a short kiss when he heard your son making funny noises upon witnessing the two of you.

"My dear, you have no idea how much this means to me"

He revealed, caressing your cheeks with his rough fingers.

You gave him a smile and reached out an arm, motioning for your son to come.

He hugged the two of you and pressed his face on your growing bump, whispering a bunch of nonsense to the unborn child.

You and Ubba watched him with loving eyes, tanking the faith for bringing you together as one.

[justinewt]

Killing is For Grown-Ups - THE 100 REWRITE Chapter Twenty-Eight

[THE 100 MASTERLIST]

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Summary: Trapped in the throne room, at the very top of the tower in Polis, with all the grounders climbing the walls, the group had to find a plan, now that putting the flame in Ontari was out of the equation. They had to risk everything, if they wanted to save themselves, and their friends controlled by Alie. But this couldn't end without some bloodshed.

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: The 100 season 3 spoilers (episode 16 "Perverse Instantiation" Part 2, season 3 finale), title from a quote from the book Stormbreaker by Anthony Horowitz, blood, violence, cut someone open lol

Michelle was walking back and forth in the throne room, her arms crossed, her fingers tapping nervously on her arms. She glanced at Clarke. The latter had used the part given by Raven to build one last EMP device on Abby and fry her chip to free her from Alie’s control. She placed the device at the back of her head and neck and activate it. The electricity buzzed and shook Abby’s body. She then rolled her to her side carefully, calling out to her, nervously chuckling and frowing in worry, begging her to come back, hoping it had worked, because there was no way to be sure unless she woke up, and lucky for Clarke, she did open her eyes. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled softly and helped her to sit up. Abby was a little disorientated and looked around. She crossed Michelle’s gaze for a second but turned to Clarke, tears rolling down her cheeks. Abby began sobbing and apologizing and Clarke shook her head. She had no resentment whatsoever, none of whatever happened was her doing. Michelle lips quivered. She was happy Clarke saved her mom, but it just reminded her of the hole that the death of her mother left in her heart, and she realized, she wasn’t over it at all, and she wondered if she would ever be. She only kept on living because she had to survive, for herself, for her dad, and for her friends. But remembering the loss of her mother, and the possibility that she would lose her father as well, just made her want to give up.

Then Bellamy, followed by Murphy and Pike, came back in the room, the doors slaming against the wall. Bellamy pointed his gun at Abby, almost shooting her but Clarke told him what she did. It was really Abby in front of them, not Alie controlling her. Murphy glanced over at Ontari.

“W-well, what about Ontari? Thought you said we had one shot with that thing.”

“I told you,” She stood up. “Ontari’s no longer an option for the flame. She’s brain dead. Is the floor secure?”

“For now. Jaha and the guards are tied in a bedroom. We took out the elevator—”

“And the ladder as we climbed.” Bellamy pursed his lips inwards, turning his head to Pike as he cut him off. “The stairs are collapsed. No one’s following us.”

“Good. Then we have time.”

“What we don’t have is a way down.” Murphy’s intervention was overlooked, and Bellamy spoke again.

“Time for what?”

“An ascension ceremony.”

“Ascension? You just said Ontari wasn’t an option.” Murphy stared at her, having no idea at all what she had in mind. “Besides, she’s still chipped, and we no longer have an EMP.”

“We’re not putting the flame in Ontari’s head.”

“This is insane, Clarke.” Michelle had let her arms fall to the sides of her body, looking at her friend in bewilderment. She was the only one, it seemed, who had figured out what was going on in her head, and what she planned to do to it. She wanted to put the flame in her head, and Clarke confirmed what she thought. She wanted to do a blood transfusion to put Ontari’s blood in her so that she would be able to receive the flame. She didn’t say, at first, that she wanted her blood, and Bellamy didn’t understand how she could think of doing that.

“Clarke, that thing is gonna kill you in seconds, liquefy your brain.”

“She’s gonna use Ontari’s blood. Make herself a nightblood, right?” Clarke nodded and Michelle could see in her eyes as they looked at each other, that she was quite happy to see her friend understand exactly what she had in mind before she even said it. Michelle was quick-spirited and often figured things out before others did, but she had forgotten how well she actually knew Clarke, like the back of her hand really.

“Not exactly a transfusion.” She clarified.

“Connected like Mount Weather.” Abby added, reminding them of the horrific deeds of that place, using Grounder blood to heal themselves and do their little experiments to try and walk outside and survive the radiation, which ultimately failed.

“Yes. Everything we need is in your med kit.”

“No. It’s too dangerous, and there are too many variables.” Abby tried to shut it down.

“But no options.”

Octavia came running towards Clarke, “Whatever you’re doing, you better do it fast.”

“Why? What happened?” Bellamy enquired, glancing at Clarke and Michelle in collective confusion.

“They’re climbing.” They all ran to the windows and stepped onto the balcony, leaning over the railing and looking down at Polis. The streets underneath swarmed with chipped Grounders running towards the tower. They carried large ladders and set it at the bottom of the structure, and as Octavia said, began to climb the building. Clarke’s plan was risky but they had to do this. Abby agreed to help connect her to Ontari’s blood, to make it possible for her to take the flame. The two returned inside to proceed, while the rest of them watched the grounders below. Michelle asked for Bellamy’s gun and after a second of him looking at her, she had to precise she just wanted to use the scope to look at the crowd. She wanted to see if her father was there. At the mention of Kane, Pike opened his mouth, but she just rudely asked him to shut the fuck up as she put her eye in front of the scope and looked down, sweeping the area, and there she found him, he was looking up, climbing one of the ladders. She lowered the gun and let out a heavy and shaky breath and kept looking down, with a concerned frown on her face.

“Let’s go back inside. Come on.” Bellamy gently squeezed her shoulder, leading her inside with him while Pike and the others began to set up some traps, greasing the balcony with the lamps’ oil, to maybe slow down the grounders. They could cover every window on the floor, except the commander’s chambers, so naturally, that’s where the fight would start when they reached the top of the tower. Michelle glanced at Clarke, sat on the throne, the inside of her forearms turned towards the ceiling, the catheters stuck in the crooks of her elbows, connecting her to Ontari. They were ready to begin the transfusion. Octavia left with Pike and Bryan and went to the commander’s chambers. Bellamy wasn’t too reassured to see her go with them, not because she would be in danger, but rather because she could be a danger to Pike, and understandably so.

“We’re all set.” Abby said, before turning the closure plugs on the tubes and opening the blood flow. Clarke blood went up the tube and went all the way down to Ontari as Abby opened the plug on her end and the black blood made its way to Clarke quickly. She peeked at the flame in the palm of her hand and took a shaky breath.

“Hey, try to do that hanging upside down.” Bellamy said with a smile, trying to cheer her up.

“This will work.” Clarke nodded nervously, looking at her mother.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“If it doesn’t work, she dies.” Murphy walked towards them, grabbing Abby’s hand so she wouldn’t shy away from this. “If she doesn’t try, then she dies with the rest of us when the climbers get here.”

“Mom, please. He knows what he’s doing. You have to let me go.” Abby moved her arm and Murphy took the flame from Clarke’s hand. Bellamy and Michelle stepped aside to let him pass and they wrapped their hands around Clarke’s. Abby held Clarke’s forehead as she leaned forward, moving the hair from the back of her neck. She was ready to do this. Michelle watched the flame turn on, shining with a light blue but somewhat translucent color and long, thin strings dancing around like little insects’ legs. Everyone stared at it, holding their breath as Murphy brought it down slowly and it dug into her skin, taking roots inside of her neck. She screamed as it sunk under her skin and passed out. Abby grabbed her face, checking her pulse. Her heart was racing. She wanted the flame out of her daughter’s head and repeated herself, yelling at Murphy as he stayed quiet. But Clarke came back to her senses. She opened her eyes, staring into space.

“Are you in any pain?” Abby asked.

“No. I’m okay. I know how to stop Alie. I have to take the chip.”

“What?” Michelle and Bellamy frowned in confusion.

“I have to go into the city of light and find the killswitch.”

“Yeah. That sounds like a great idea.” Michelle gave Murphy a sidelong glance at his misplaced sarcasm and followed him with her eyes as he walked away, her arms now crossed over her chest.

“Clarke, listen to me.” Abby leaned forward. “Alie wants the flame. If you take the chip, you’re giving it to her. The second someone sees you, Alie is gonna know that you’re there. She’ll kill you. If your mind dies, you die.”

“The flame will protect me.” While she spoke to her mom, a soft smile on her face, Bellamy looked to the side, thinking and shared a glance with Michelle before walking towards a table and grabbing the chip from inside a small bowl. She nodded, backing him up, when he said he believed her words, that the flame would protect her from Alie’s mind control if she took the chip. She wasn’t just any grounder taking the key. And though she wasn’t sure what she was looking for, she was convinced she would know when she saw it. She would find whatever she needed to put an end to Alie and free everyone. As she always did, no matter what.

“May we meet again.”

“We will.”

“We’ll keep you safe.” Bellamy then brought the key to her mouth, and she took it, closing her eyes. He then left the room to go check on the others in the Commandres’ chambers. Michelle sat with Murphy on the steps to the throne’s platform and she anxiously rubbed the scar across her hand, the one she got months ago during their first face iff with the grounders. She had gotten her hand slashed and lost sensation and strength in it as a nerve was severed. She barely used it to hold things nowadays. When she carried her gun, she only held it with her right hand and used the back of her other hand for support but that didn’t really matter. She couldn’t feel anything, so she often fiddled with it.

“I was theren, you know.” Murphy looked up at her. As she spoke, she frowned and met his gaze. “I saw you when you left with Jaha. Why would you leave with him?”

“He wanted me to take him to Wes’ grave, at the dropship.”

“Right. And then what? He dragged you with him to find his stupid city of light in the desert? I get why you wouldn’t go back though. Everyone was always blaming you for everything…” She shrugged, her eyes setting on Ontari’s body on the table. She could feel Murphy still watching her. They both knew that back then; she was the only one who had his back while everyone was being unfair to him. She was ashamed to realize that she loved him more than he loved her, but she was kind of over it now and it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe he was going to say something in response, but their conversation was cut short when Michelle lept to her feet the second she saw Ontari have a seizure and she called out to Abby, in panic. Abby had her move to the side as she rushed towards the table.

“She’s crashing.” She began to do a cardiac massage to help the heart pump the blood. “Clarke’s not getting enough Nightblood. Her body is already rejecting the flame. You need to take over. Do exactly what I’m doing.”

“I’ll do it. Your hand—” Michelle didn’t let Murphy approach, and she took over as Abby stepped aside after showing her what to do. Her hair jumping with each thrust.

“I still have strength in the rest of my arm.” She dismissed his help, using the butt of her hand.

“If the blood stops flowing through this tube, Clarke’s brain will liquefy.” Michelle kept going, glancing at Clarke, worry washing over her face. She couldn’t possibly risk losing her best friend, her sister. Black blood was flowing from her nose and soon, she began convulsing as well. It wasn’t working. Abby instructed her to open Ontari’s shirt. They had to try something else to increase her heart rate and give enough blood to Clarke. Michelle took a step back, letting Abby pass after she grabbed a scalpel and she cut through Ontari’s torso in a straight line. Both Michelle and Murphy looked away.

“Abby, you need to move faster, okay?” Clarke was now foaming at the mouth as Murphy urged her to do whaterver it was she was doing. Michelle looked back at Ontari and almost instantly turned her back to her, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. Abby had not only cut through Ontari with the scalpel, but she also opened her chest with a rib spreader to get access to her heart and took it in her hand. Michelle crossed Murphy’s gaze after he saw what Abby was doing and he didn’t even need to say anything, she could tell he was wondering if she was okay, so she just nodded, and waved her hand, looking at the floor.

“Get over here. I need you to pump her heart.”

“What?” Murphy was flabbergasted and walked over to her, not about to do this. “Are- are you crazy? I’m not gonna pump her heart.”

“Now!” She put his hand in the chest cavity, and he reluctantly grabbed Ontari’s heart and began pumping, understandably grossed out but resigned. Michelle watched Abby go to Clarke, still having a seizure and her face was distorted with worry. She didn’t let herself break into tears, she had to believe in Clarke still. And she remembered that since the commanders’ spirit were in the flame, it meant Lexa’s was in there with her. She trusted Lexa to help her from within as well. Her lips were quivering as she took quiet but deep breath. She let out a sigh of relief, throwing her head back, when she saw Clarke stop moving. “She’s stabilizing. Don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Bellamy and the others quickly came back, running in the throne room, and immidietaly began to set up a barricade against the door, to block the chipped grounders from getting in, piling up tables and chairs and anything they could find. They had to keep Clarke safe and give her as much time as they could so she could find what she was looking for in the city of light in order to stop Alie, and the grounders on the other side of that door wouldn’t stop at anything to get in and kill them all. Michelle knew her father was on the other side and she would soon be face to face with him and she was afraid that she would freeze and let him kill her, because she wouldn’t be able to hurt him, even if he came after her. Bellamy, Octavia, Miller, Bryan and Pike formed a line across the room, with Michelle and Abby standing by the throne while Murphy kept pumping the heart. Hopefully the grounders wouldn’t get past the first line of defence, but already, the barricade began to crumble as they threw themselves against the door. When they flooded in the room, the fight began, and chaos ensued. Michelle’s eyes had trouble keeping up with everything that was going on, but she was set on one thing, finding her father.

And there he came, walking in the room calmly while the rest of them fought. He stared back at Michelle for a second, before Bellamy attacked him, getting punched in the face in return. When a crazed grounder ran towards them, Michelle stretched out her arm, a gun in her hand and shot him and glanced at Abby as he collapsed at their feet. She looked up, searching again for her father and Bellamy in the midst of battle and she slightly widened her eyes when she saw them on the ground, her father bent over Bellamy, choking him. Her hands began to shake. She would never be able to shoot him. But she couldn’t lose both him and Bellamy. Calling the latter’s name, she desperately looked around the room, feeling as if time slowed down and she rushed to them, trying to push Kane off of him but she was thrown against a pillar and her breath was cut for a moment. She quickly had to ignore the pain and crawled to the side of the room, grabbing a long metal bar lying on the ground.

Her eyes were already tearing up, as if she had already killed her dad. Turning around, she ran towards them and tightened her grip on the bar, lifting it up high in the air, closing her eyes shut and turning her head to the side, taking in shaky breaths. She felt the first tear run down her cheek. She was about to hit him when she heard the fighting subside and stop completely. She opened her eyes, her entire body shaking, and let go of the bar, clanking on the floor loudly, the metallic nois echoing throughout the room. She saw Jaha collapse, groaning in pain and upon hearing Bellamy wheeze, her gaze went right back to him, and she let herself fall hard on her knees, grabbing his shoulders and helping him sit up. Her father held his hands in front of him, his eyes wide with the realization of what he was doing just then, not daring to touch either of them. She wrapped her arms around Bellamy and he she felt him catching his breath with difficulty. When he went to stand up, she turned her gaze to her dad, who was holding his face with his hands. When he lowered them, he made eye contact with Michelle.

“Dad.” She spoke under her breath, her eyes watering again and she sobbed as she embraced him. He didn’t reciprocate the hug immidietaly, keeping his hands off her back as if he feared he would hurt her but after a few seconds, he carefully hugged back as she wouldn’t let go of him, until she saw Abby approach and she softly broke the embrace, sniffing as she wiped her tears. Abby kneeled beside them and before leaving the two of them, Michelle took off her father’s jacket and put it around his shoulders, briefly taking his hand in hers, looking at him for a second, before she stood up and walked to Bellamy helping Clarke get off the throne.

“Clarke, you’re not acting like someone who saved the world.”

“Because we didn’t… Not yet.” She turned her head, hearing Michelle’s footsteps and the three looked at each other. Bellamy and Michelle, concerned by her words, and unsure of what she meant, and what she learned while the city of light, that led them to this conclusion. They were alarted by a sharp noise in the room and Michelle turned around, only to see Octavia stabbing Pike with her weapon, pushing it deeper across his torso as it stuck out from his back, blood spurting from the wound. She pulled it out and watched as his body collapsed, before walking towards the lift without a word, everyone staring at her, a heavy silence had befallen the room where a moment ago, a battle was raging.

[To be continued…]  

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Published (07/16/2024) by Andrea

Taglist:  @mirellef2001

[steely-eyedmissileman]

The Vampire Diaries, Ep. 1x05

You're Undead to Me

this episode is titled in the same vein as friday night bites, but it is much less effective. this is also the last episode where i did not take notes. so things will get more interesting next time.

damon's in a cage, damon's in a cage, damon is in a cage. it's a nice song, and a nice sentiment. it also leads to the largest single piece of lore in the universe thus far: you can keep a vampire forever, on ice. if a vampire doesn't drink for long enough (according to stefan, about a week), they shrivel up into a mummy, where they can then be moved around like a statue and kept indefinitely. they aren't dead, but they aren't alive either. and you can feed them blood at any future time and they'll go back to being what they were—but the world will have changed.

stefan is unwilling to kill his brother (understandable) even though damon is a clear and present threat to everyone in the town, including elena. stefan instead plans to starve his brother until he turns to a living statue, then 'move [him] to the family crypt, and then in fifty years, we can reevaluate.' but is this actually any better than just killing him? in many ways, this seems way worse and totally inhumane.

well, there's an unanswered question that can really make or break the case on the ethics of turning your brother into a vampire mummy: will he be conscious? tvd neither asks nor answers this question. i'd argue that either answer is bad, but one is way worse than the other.

the better case scenario: damon loses consciousness as he enters vampire mummy state. this case is similar to sci-fi's cryosleep or suspended animation or a medically induced coma. damon is being put to sleep for his own safety as well as everyone else's. he's changing the landscape of mystic falls. people know he's out there. they will begin hunting him. it would be to his benefit to lie low for a while. however, after fifty years, when it's time to reevaluate or whatever, he will be a fish out of time, resentful and angry for the loss of those fifty years. i seriously doubt that losing time against his wishes will make damon any less murderous. even if he did magically become a better person, it will be an intensification of everything that's already happened to him. instead of watching everyone he knows slowly fade and die, he will wake up to them being dead. he doesn't really care about anyone in this time, but it would still be a shock to wake up to a brother who has grown and changed for five decades, an old caroline, a probably dead vicki. elena will either be a vampire or long gone. how can a person survive such a change? not only to the people, but to the world. i write this from twenty twenty four, and the technology in my house right now is leaps and bounds better than anything that existed in two thousand nine. in only fifteen years, the world has changed in ways that would be unfathomable if we hadn't all seen them happen gradually. in another thirty five years, the world will be unrecognizable. damon would be left behind. he would wake up in a world he cannot understand, let alone connect with. how is that supposed to make anything about his psychopathic tendencies better?

the worse case scenario: damon is conscious the entire time. in this case, in addition to all the problems above, damon is trapped in the nightmarish scenario of knowing that time is passing, feeling the world moving above him without the ability to do anything. trying desperately to move his muscles, but being unable to make his body respond to the commands of his brain. it would be the worst thing that one person could do to another.

in either scenario, i'd argue that simply killing damon is not only a smarter idea, but more ethical. leaving your brother in torture for decades is only a shade worse than stealing his experiences for those decades, which is worse than just killing him.

it's a moot point anyway because caroline is lucy westenra from dracula. damon summons her from across town, and she arrives to save him. in bejeweled wedge flip flops. luckily, she escapes before she gets bitten again, but the 'uncle' does not. damon snaps his neck, and he is dead.

caroline has come to damon from a sexy car wash. stefan is wearing jeans and leather shoes. he does not take his shirt off. this is deeply disappointing. an old man recognizes him from the fifties, which makes elena leave so she can investigate at the news station, helped by fucking news boy, who wants to go to the gilberts' house and rob them. we'll put a pin in that.

meanwhile, bonnie lights a car on fire! with her mind! this is so exciting. and a bit scary. she stands and stares at the blaze, in shock at her power. stefan breaks her out of her trance, and she begs him not to tell anyone. he assures her that he won't (because he has a more damaging secret). later in the episode, she arrives on her grandmother's doorstep sobbing. she will now become a witch, if there's any good in this world.

back to that pin. elena sees stefan, undeniably, in the fifties news footage (which is clearly modern footage that they've put a terrible filter over). she arrives at his door, indignant, enraged, demanding answers. he has just realized his 'uncle' is dead. she does not notice his grief. 'what are you?'

hard cut

(i could not figure out how to fit stefan's cooking into the episode, but i think it's amazing that he can make chicken parm. also funny. proves vampires can eat and must like it, otherwise why would he be so good at cooking?)

[ah0rmone]

dazai osamu x fem! reader

warnings: nsfw, minors, dni! dubcon if you squint because the reader finds dazai annoying but attractive, non-consensual touching (at first), enemies/rivals to fuck buddies I guess?, fingering, vaginal penetration.

there are literally two self-defence techniques from here and here

"Why it has to be you?" you grumbled looking at the person who stood in front of you.

"Oh, who else would you like to see as your teacher? Kunikida-kun who's doing everything according to instructions, even fighting? Ranpo-kun who won't lift a finger unless it's a murder case? Or Tanizaki-kun who's always followed by Naomi-chan?"

The obnoxious man in front of you was called Osamu Dazai and, to be fair, you'd actually prefer any other agency member over him. Sure, he definitely had combat experience and, probably, wasn't that bad at teaching, given that Atsushi was still following him. But something about him was off and you didn't like it. Nor that you had any choice, Dazai was there for a reason and that reason was Fukuzawa's order.

"Whatever," you sighed. "Can we get to it already?"

Today was the day when you were supposed to learn some self-defence techniques. Your ability wasn't really of a combat type, so you never participated in fights but it didn't mean that you had a zero possibility of running into problems. It was your own request to be taught how to protect yourself.

However, you didn't feel quite confident at all. You genuinely hated conflicts and tended to avoid people, so all of this was a somewhat essential but still itchy experience. Your sporty shorts and a skintight top wasn't helping the situation either. Especially, since a person with who you were going to get quite close physically was a rather attractive young man. You and Dazai weren't that close, just colleagues who barely communicated. For you he was just as attractive as he was annoying - you wouldn't mind having a fling with him but nothing more. Maybe it was the way he carried himself: overly cheerful, loud and noisy. Or maybe it was the things he was hiding: his true mischievous, manipulative personality.

Taking a deep breath you reminded yourself that it was your idea, something that your survival depended on and that you just had to get over it.

"Usually you're not the one who fights, y/n-chan. So what are we doing here?" Dazai asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

His eyes were gleaming with a vicious sparkle. Your power imbalance was uncomfortable to you. You shrugged, the feeling that he was a big cat and you were his meal strongly sat in your guts.

"I'm here to learn how to defend myself. Like some easy techniques. I'm not very strong, keep it in mind," you reminded with a well-controlled flat voice but some notes of irritation would have been apparent even to the densest person.

Osamu didn't answer, instead, he let his fake smile turn into a smirk. For a moment the room fell into silence and you could swear that your heart was beating too loud. Both of you just stared at each other for some seconds until the smile returned on Dazai's lips and the man joyfully clapped.

"Okay, gotcha! First of all," he took a step closer. "The most important thing in fighting is a stable stance. Stand like this," he put the left leg forward and motioned you to follow him.

Hesitantly you mirrored his stance, the feeling of embarrassment washing over you. It wasn't even the physical activity that you hated but the way Dazai was gazing at you. Predatory eyes were gliding over your skin like he was analysing your tiniest movements. Like he was about to pounce.

Just as you anticipated, once you've finished copying him, Osamu clicked his tongue and stood up.

"No, y/n-chan, you're doing it wrong."

You were about to argue but Dazai was already behind you. Suddenly painfully aware of the warmth of his body you tried to move from him but he was quick to put a hand on your hip.

"Let me help you," his hot breath ran over the shell of your ear making you flinch a little.

While you were contemplating whether you should allow him to be that close, Dazai had already brushed his palm down your leg. Now he was standing next to you, your bodies touching.

"There," he encouraged, moving your leg a little further by the back of your knee. His other hand was still placed on your hip and such a position was taking away any personal space you had before.

"Thanks," you muttered, feeling the light smell of his cologne.

"Now you're standing rather steady, aren't you?" he beamed with his hand still on your leg.

"Ah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing him by the wrist and pushing it off yourself then taking a step back. "Guess, we can move to the actual stuff now."

"Y/n-chan!" Dazai exclaimed. "The stance is very important, I didn't show it for fun!"

You saw the man's lips curl into a pout but either than that he didn't display any sign of irritation by you pushing him away. Keeping that in mind you decided that even though he might not have any ill intentions you should stay on guard.

Something dropped behind the door and as you inverted your gaze to the sound you felt your hair being grabbed.

"What," you didn't even have the chance to end the question instantly being pushed to the wall.

Your colleague's right hand was holding firmly your hair, the other one gripping your waist. You tried to push back, but to no avail - his whole body was pushing you to the wall.

"Dazai," you growled.

"Too bad, y/n-chan," he cooed. "How can you protect yourself when you have such a short attention span? Look at you - one move and you're helpless."

The sting of resentment piercing through your heart encouraged you to grumble through the teeth:

"I told you I'm weak."

"And stupid apparently," he gibbed.

"Listen," you tried to free yourself but instead just shook your hips clumsily. "If you came here just to insult me, let's end it, I'll ask Fukuzawa-san to send someone else," voice full with venom, you wanted to be as far from Dazai as possible but instead felt with dread as your hips bucked into his. You jolted forward fighting for the tiniest bit of space.

If Dazai noticed, he didn't show it as there was no reaction whatsoever. However, your little touch wasn't the only thing he ignored:

"Let me instead show you how to deflect it," he proposed, paying no heed to your words.

He backed up and you got a chance to glance at him with unhidden irritation. He met your gaze with a cheesy smile like he wasn't a person degrading you a couple of seconds ago. However, giving it a little bit more thought you exhaled and nodded. After all, you should've picked up something from this lesson, not just the revelation that Dazai was a total dick and you wouldn't want him to be near you ever again.

You moved from the wall and this time he gripped your hair slowly.

"What you want to do now is to grab my hand by both of yours, then stand back to the stance I showed you earlier, turn underneath the arm, so that you twist it and when the person lets go, just bolt. Got it?"

You hummed in acknowledgement. Perhaps it wasn't that difficult. Perhaps, at the end of the day, the lesson would be fruitful.

"Try it then," he prompted and then tugged at your hair lightly.

Following his instructions, you grabbed his hand and as you were about to go underneath his arm, he spun you. His arm was firmly holding your throat.

"No, y/n-chan, I've told you your stance was wrong," he whined. "Let me show you again."

"What just happened?" you asked confusedly but he already was spreading your legs.

Osamu didn't answer, too busy putting you in the right stance. And you tried your best to concentrate on how your legs were placed instead of his fingers brushing over your ass a couple of times, once getting a little bit too close to your clothed vagina.

"Just like this," he said and his hand slid up from your knee to your waist getting under the top a little.

From your point of view, the skinship was completely irrelevant but you decided to keep your sharky comments to yourself. For now, you were going to follow his instructions and maybe you could avoid the conflict.

Maybe not.

This time around when you were trying to deflect his arm, once again he outpowered you. You cursed as he said with disappointment in his voice (you were pretty sure it was the fake one, he was enjoying it, that bastard):

"You're too slow, y/n-chan. Do you think attackers would just stand there and watch as you crawl your way out of their grip as a turtle in slow-mo?"

"Dazai, I'd appreciate it if you-"

"Again," he cut you harshly, puppeting you around like you were nothing but a doll.

His attitude towards you was so demoralizing you were fighting the urge to end it here and there. Losing all the motivation and looking exhausted, you tried to go through the motion again but Dazai wasn't having it.

"Hm, y/n-chan, kinda feels like you're not trying hard enough. Should I give you a motivation boost?" he exclaimed cheerfully but before you could say that he should go fuck himself he had already pushed you to the wall. Again.

You were expecting harsh words pouring from his mouth, but instead, it was the kisses as he roughly pulled your hair baring your neck for him. The hot tongue travelled from your shoulder to the globe of your ear, prompting you to jolt. Once again you attempted to push him away but could barely move. His left hand was pinning your wrist and his right one was painfully tagging at your hair, cranking your head to the side.

"Dazai," you wanted to let him know that you understood his intentions but he needed to stop when a not so gentle bite quickly shut you up.

He was licking and nipping leaving hickeys at your poor neck. You were squirming and whirling under his touch not giving up yet, so he thrust his hips into yours. There was no way you could keep any sounds in, so a whiny moan escaped your lips. You felt Dazai stopping, a satisfied smirk on his lips, then without saying a word, he continued torturing your sensitive neck. Two things were clear to you: a strong lust was taking over your body which meant that you were slowly losing yourself and that Dazai had just started playing with you, there were more to come.

Dazai. Dazai! Realising who was the man behind you, you tried to gain back control. Osamu was just being a bully, whywere you letting him see you in such a state? He certainly didn't deserve nor your moans, nor your hips grinding his.

You were thinking this but it took everything in you to not just give in to his touch. While you were having an internal battle, Dazai pulled away with a loud pop.

"Five."

"Five what?" you mewled weakly.

"There are five hickeys on your neck," Dazai murmured. "You look so good, all red and moaning. When you can't even do anything. You've been definitely enjoying it, sure you still want to continue learning self-defence techniques?"

You widened your eyes at his words.

"Excuse me?!" you exploded. "What the hell are you implying?!"

With all force, you shoved him in the side with an elbow. Dazai hissed and even though the attack was fairly weak he let go.

"I mean, no kink-shaming," he put hands in the air surrendering.

"What's your problem?!"

It was hard for you to overcome your desire of slapping him but no way in hell you were staying in one room with him for another second. You bolted but Dazai was quicker, catching your hand.

"Where're you going? For a moment there I thought you didn't agree and wanted to continue," he quipped. "Come on, that was just one technique."

"Dazai, let me go," you growled yanking your hand free. "I've had enough of you today, I'm leaving."

You had already turned to leave when he pulled you to the ground. You snorted in frustration, your legs fiercely kicking but the lack of strategy played against you and there you were - trapped under him. Osamu was sitting between your legs with his arms pinning yours to the ground.

You felt unbearably hot and weak, your cunt throbbing against his groin. His face was hanging right above yours, so close you could feel his breath. Unintentionally your eyes focused on his lips then you looked up. Only now you noticed how lustful his gaze was. He clearly was a winner today and he was about to enjoy his prize. As you licked your lips, your recognised your mistake - now your eagerness was more than obvious.

"I'm just parched," you faltered but it sounded pathetic even to you.

"I'm sure you are," Osamu whispered, sitting back. "One more technique and I'll let you go." His fingers gripped your thighs.

Since his weight was off you now, you felt kind of cold. Not knowing where to place your arms, you were about to put them next to your sides when Dazai commanded you to keep them still.

That position was too sexy for your liking - arms are placed next to your head, legs spread. All of it without his control felt like you were offering yourself to him. Like you were submitting. The man was clearly savouring it because his gaze was so intense, in the end, you even had to avert yours.

Dazai clearly didn't like it, tapping your left thigh:

"Look at me, y/n-chan, how else are you supposed to learn?"

You slowly turned back, embarrassed as your eyes darted all over him until they abruptly stopped at his crotch. There was a visible boner in his pants. When Osamu followed your gaze and loudly chuckled you felt your cheeks grow hot and desire growing stronger.

"Concentrate, y/n-chan," Dazai said amusingly but the only thing you could concentrate on was the wetness between your legs. You feared it might start to be visible through your shorts.

"Look, if someone got you into this position," Osamu continued like both of you didn't want the same thing and that thing was to fuck. "You have to keep your arms straight and put them on your shoulders, like this," he gently took your hands and placed them as he instructed. "Then you should put your leg on my hip," he tried to do it for you once again but your leg was wobbly. All the strength you had was wasted on keeping your arms straight.

Dazai sighed theatrically but he couldn't keep a vicious sparkle in his eyes.

"Y/n-chan," he whinged. "You're such a bad student. Weak. Stupid," his fingers were slowly stroking your thigh. "Having a short attention span. Don't you think that you should have concentrated on learning some stuff instead of thinking about my cock?" With this question his arm groped your ass, pulling you closer.

He gripped your hips and you let out a moan. Now you weren't trying to hold back. You were already a loser, might as well enjoy it. Being a tease he was, Dazai wasn't ready to give you everything right then and there but you were having none of it. You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him closer by his collarbone. Osamu certainly wasn't ready for such a force so he confusingly complied.

"Call me stupid one more time and I'm leaving," you warned him, a confident smirk playing on your lips.

Dazai's face quickly changed from surprised to a perverse one. He dropped down on you, pinning you with his whole body and slammed his hips into yours. As you moaned he caressed your face, lovingly brushing your hair, and then whispered:

"I'm gonna break you, pretty doll."

With one swift motion, he put your wrists in one hand pinning it above your head, his tongue running over your lips then dragging you into a deep kiss. As you two were hungrily kissing each other you felt his fingers crawling under your waistband. You jolted, an instinct of placing your hand over his acting up but he was still holding you firmly. He ran one finger over your cunt but you were already shaking, silently begging for more.

"Dazai," you moaned desperately asking him to get down to business.

"You're so wet, y/n-chan," he licked your earlobe making you writhe. "I wish I teased you a little bit more," he started to kiss your jaw getting lower and lower. "I said that I'd break you but it seems you're already at your limit," he chortled, helping you to take your top and bra off.

"You look so beautiful," he murmured once you were almost fully naked in front of him.

Suddenly his gaze turned soft and you felt even more aroused than you before. Gladly the man wasn't planning on wasting any time as he started to lick, nip and bite one of your nipples, playing with his fingers with another. Moaning lewdly and rutting your hips you put your hand into his hair, curling soft strands in your fingers.

When he finished playing with your tits, he wanted to go further down, to place kisses on your lower stomach, but you decided to get back at him. Placing your straight hands on his shoulders, you put a leg on his thigh just as he instructed and squirmed out of his grip.

"You talk about me but look at yourself," you shoved a knee between his thighs, pushing it at his boner. "You were hard even before I started to feel something else besides irritation."

Now it was Osamu whose breath hitched. You were savouring your little win when he looked back at you with a dangerous grin. That was when you realised you fucked up. He quickly grabbed your leg and turned you over on the stomach. Laying down on you, he harshly seized your hair and hissed:

"A+ for learning the technique, but your attitude towards you teacher," he took off your shorts with pants nearly ripping them. "Needs some correction."

That was when the sound of a loud slap broke the silence of the room. You jolted, a gasp leaving your lips. You tried to crawl from him but his grip on your hair was strong.

"Come on, y/n-chan, it was just one slap. Don't you think you deserve it?" The hand that hit you was stroking your bruised ass cheek.

"It fucking hurt," you spit.

"Was it?" Dazai chuckled. "Say that you're sorry."

"For what?" you raged but another hit was your answer.

"Dazai, stop," you sobbed.

"Wrong," he retorted slapping your ass again. "Plus, if you don't like it why are you leaking so much?"

You embarrassingly bit a lip at his remark.

"A little bit of masochistic, are you?" Dazai noted. "Well, if you insist, I can keep on going."

You knew that both of you were barely holding it, so you decided to submit. Just this once.

"I'm sorry!" You squealed after another hit.

"Good girl," Osamu placed a soft kiss on your back still not letting go of your hair. "Now it's time for a treat."

And with that, he finally pushed the first finger into you. Since you were so wet there was a little pool under you, Dazai successfully pushed another finger shortly after. You quivered and jerked your hips begging him to move. This time around your colleague decided not to tease you.

As his fingers were pumping in and out of you, you were trying to push your head down to steady yourself but Dazai didn't let go. You were completely at his will.

"'m close," you mewled, your eyes rolling back.

Dazai hummed in acknowledgement and withdrew his hand. You groaned offendedly but heard the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped and then felt something else rubbing at your entrance.

Finally, Osamu positioned himself behind you and pushed inside, your pussy stretching obediently. The fullness made you gasp pervertedly. As he started moving your mind went completely blank. The only thing that existed for you at that moment was Dazai and his cock inside of you. He let go of your hair, one hand now was holding your hips and another one was giving attention to your clit.

You had no idea how he was still holding on but once your sensitive bud got stimulated you quickly come undone.

"Once more," Dazai panted while moving and playing with your clit simultaneously.

Even though you were tired, you had actually felt desire growing again. Osamu was just way too good for you to resist. You thought that the only thing he was chasing was his high, but he didn't cum until you orgasmed again denying himself every time he got too close. That's why when you cummed for the second time you did it toghether.

He rolled off you, but you couldn't move even a finger, for a moment you've gone completely numb. Your chest was going up and down with heavy breaths, your heart was racing. None of you spoke because you didn't know what to talk about. Especially, since you, personally, felt way too embarrassed to admit that you had just cummed two times because of an annoying Dazai Osamu.

"Looks like we ended in time!" Dazai chirped after some time and you looked at the clock realising that you spent here one hour. Just like it was promised.

"Wish I had actually learned something though," you remarked lazily, trying to pull on your shorts back. You just had to make it to the shower room and then wear your casual clothes. However, your pants were completely ruined.

"Well, if you think that you need another one, just let me know," you looked back at Dazai and his smirk told you that he wasn't meaning the self-defence lessons. You felt your cheeks grow hot again.

"Yeah, sure," you muttered, awkwardly leaving the training room.

From now on you intended on avoiding Dazai whenever it's possible.

Little did you know he had other plans.

[vrishchikawrites]

You know what would be interesting?

JC never lost his golden Core.

And Wei Wuxian did not lose his.

But he still gets dropped into the Burial Mounds. And like I dunno how, but he comes out of there having mastered the new form of cultivation.

Jiang Cheng acts like a dick that's par for cannon. And this Wei Wuxian who has survived the burial Mounds with his golden core intact has no time for his drama.

He definitely confesses to Lan Wangji o ce he is out of the burial mounds.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in the Sunshot campain would be brilliant. Cultivating and * *wink wink nudge nudge* * dual cultivating.

JC is seething with jelousy. He has everything. The gentry name, the money and sect leadership but the whole world is only speaking about Wei Wuxian and his like awesome cultivation. Both the sword style and with his flute.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning- Wen Ning convinces his sister to join the war. Wen Ning wants to be on Wei Wuxian's side.

What would JC throw a tantrum over if he doesn't have anything to throw a tantrum over??

Like for example he blames Wei Wuxian for Lotus Pier burning. Obviously it's not his mistake. But one day he is yelling at Wei Wuxian about it and sect leader someone maybe XiChen, maybe Sect leader Nie. Whoever. Comes and like defends Wei Wuxian.

What would he do then faced with the facts? Cling all the more to his warped world view? Or apologize?

It will be interesting to see.

You don't have to take this prompt if it's too messy or whatever. I love you and your writing.

Also, thank you for choosing to write my previous prompt.

XOXO.

(this is a little similar to trapped and patient but also quite different. Hope you like it! The format is a bit different because this is a lot of time to cover in a short prompt)

When he stumbles out of the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian is stunned. He can't believe he made it, that he was able to survive it, without his sword.

Wei Wuxian walks forward shakily, one unsteady step at a time, putting distance between him and that wretched place.

He feels weak, drained, devastated in small ways.

But he is free.

---

Yiling offers shelter in unexpected ways. He's able to hide in a temple to recover. His condition is wretched enough that he's mistaken for a beggar. A few people take pity on him and offer fruits and buns.

It takes him a week.

That's all it takes for him to recover.

Wei Wuxian washes all traces of Burial Mounds off him, soaks in icy river water for hours on end until he feels purified and reforged.

Now, he's ready for revenge.

---

Wei Wuxian has only tried his cultivation method on the dead. He has used it to repel the fierce corpses, fierce ghosts, and spirits soaked in resentment.

When he tests the method on the Wens, it proves to be even more effective. They scramble like mindless beasts, driven by fear and confusion. The sounds of his Dizi pierce the air and induce madness.

He watches from a distance, indifferent as the Wens turn on each other, swinging their swords, shouting at phantoms, all sense and intellect gone.

He turns away.

---

Jiang Cheng's arms wrap around him and the fog around his mind starts to slowly recede. He stands stiffly, blinking a little before looking beyond his martial brother.

Lan Zhan is there, staring at him with wide eyes. There's so much open concern on his usually stoic face that Wei Wuxian wants to turn away.

"Wei Ying,"

It is only then, under the power of that golden gaze, that his fugue state dissipates. He sees Lan Zhan step forward, almost reaching out only to pull back at the last moment.

Jiang Cheng pushes him away and punches his shoulder, "Where have you been? How dare you abandon us and just frolic off somewhere?"

Wei Wuxian swalllows with difficulty and answers their questions with his habitual dismissive charm.

But that honest expression of open concern on Lan Zhan's beautiful face doesn't leave.

He meets those golden eyes and feels something shift within him.

Shaking his head, he dismisses the feeling. There's no time for sentimental reunions. He turns his attention towards Wen Chao, unsheathes his sword, and kills him in one clean strike.

There. Done.

---

The war is already in full swing by the time he joins it. His martial brother and Lan Zhan are quick to take him to Qinghe, not even letting him ride his own sword.

"Wei-gongzi, I'm happy to see you safe," Lan Xichen greets, running a discreet eye over him. The older Lan brother's concern is well hidden but Wei Wuxian senses it nevertheless.

The man looks like he's just about ready to banish him to the healing halls.

He opens his mouth to reassure Lan Xichen but Nie Mingjue intervenes, slapping his back solidly, "I hear you're responsible for the devastation at Yiling. Good work!"

Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, hoping to banish that increasingly familiar look from Lan Zhan's face. "Thank you, Nie-zongzhu." He smiles up at the man, "I can give you a full report of what happened if you wish it."

The Chifeng-zun's expression shifts into one of approval and he nods, "I do wish it."

"I would like to know as well, if you don't mind," Lan Xichen says and Nie Mingjue nods before he glances at Lan Zhan.

He chuckles, "Lan er-gonzi can join us as well."

---

Wei Wuxian doesn't realize he's been spending more time with the Lan brothers and Nie Mingjue until Jiang Cheng angrily points it out.

"You're too good for us, are you?" He demands, "Abandoning us in favor of your new friends! Even in the battlefield, you and Lan Wangji are inseparable! Have some shame! How dare you abandon your responsibilities and mess around with that man?"

"a-Cheng," Shijie reprimands gently but her voice is weak.

"Aiya, Jiang Cheng, who keeps track of such things amidst a war? They're all our allies. It's not like I have abandoned everyone." He still trains with the Jiang disciples and leads them in battle after all.

"Wei Wuxian!"

"Jiang Cheng," His voice makes his irritation clear, "Is this really the right time to worry about such trivial matters? Who cares about appearances during war? Are were not all one when on the battlefield?" He asks, narrowing his eyes on the furious Jiang, "We don't know whether we'll live or die when we ride out and you're concerned about who fights alongside me? Just who are you speaking of?"

"Who I am speaking of?" Jiang Cheng snaps in return, "Your obsession with that man is unseemly and reflects poorly on the sect! You know it and yet you carry on shamelessly-"

"My obsession?" He demands, "Just what are you trying to imply, Jiang Cheng? You're going to be a brat just because Lan Zhan happens to be the only one able to keep up with me?" It is no secret that his three month stint sharpened his cultivation in ways people find hard to fathom. He didn’t just develop a new cultivation method, he grew. Surviving the Burial Mounds is a feet beyond the skill and endurance of most cultivators. 

Wei Wuxian has earned his already formidable reputation.

Jiang Cheng reels back at the reminder, his face twisting with rage.

Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian takes things lying down. He has spent a lifetime appeasing Jiang Cheng and dealing with his insecurities.

He no longer has the patience.

---

He reaches out instinctively, pulling Lan Zhan out of a blade's path, spinning around to block the strike with his bare arm.

His thick leather brace manages to minimize the damage and he doesn't lose his arm but it is a near thing.

With a hiss, he crowds against Lan Zhan and brings Suibian down in a sharp slash, cutting the Wen before him from left shoulder to right hip.

"Reckless." Lan Zhan says later as he carefully stitches the cut.

"I couldn't let you get hurt." Wei Wuxian says softly, peering down at the kneeling figure before him. He has seen Lan Zhan in various states of indignity, covered in blood, robes soaked in the disgusting sludge of a war-torn field.

Nothing diminishes his beauty.

Wei Wuxian's heart races, his head spinning as he smells the scent of sandalwood. He swallows as Lan Zhan shifts closer, carefully snipping the excess thread and studying his neat stitches.

This close, he feels overwhelmed and realization dawns.

"I love you," He breathes, stunned.

He loves Lan Zhan. The knowledge strikes him now, suddenly, without warning. "How did I not know?" Wei Wuxian feels strangely dazed. How could he not know? It is so obvious to him, his constant need for Lan Zhan's attention, "I hate it when you ignore me." The feeling of those snapping golden eyes on him when he finally manages to gain Lan Zhan's attention, "It's thrilling when you don't."

He has never met anyone more beautiful, "I find you better looking than any maiden." Lan Zhan's proximity now makes him feel-, "Breathless," He says, "When I'm close to you I feel- how did I miss-"

Lan Zhan grip is like vice around his wrist.

Wei Wuxian stops, going pale as he realizes how brazenly he had just confessed love to a man. If Jiang Cheng were here, he'd definitely gut him with Sandu, "Lan Zhan, I-"

Lan Zhan surges forward, eyes blazing and expression dark.

Warm lips slide over his and his mind goes silent.

He doesn't think a single thought that night.

---

War doesn't wait for anyone and Wei Wuxian doesn't say anything in protest when Lan Zhan pulls away from him. He watches with heavy eyes as Lan Zhan shrugs on his discarded outer robes and glances at him.

"Is your body alright?" He asks and Wei Wuxian feels a blush crawl up his neck.

“No! Of course it isn’t,“ He complains even though his body is buzzing with lingering pleasure. He pouts up at Lan Zhan, who studies him with careful golden eyes, “Really, going on and on, taking your pleasure without any care for my virgin body.“ Lan Zhan’s ears are delightfully red, “Who knew er-gege could be so bold?“

“Wei Ying,“ Lan Zhan’s expression is flat but his voice carries a hint of a waver. Wei Wuxian just grins in response, “Be serious.“

In all honesty, his body is already back to its regular state of being. His Golden Core is still spinning furiously and the lingering energy from Dual Cultivation has healed any aches and pains he might have. 

“Fine,“ He says in a petulant tune, inwardly delighted that Lan Zhan is now his, “But er-gege must kiss me to make me feel better.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate, leaning over him and gently tipping his chin up for the demanded kiss. 

Wei Wuxian sighs, sinking into it as a curtain of silken black hair forms a private cocoon around him. 

---

The war ends but Wei Wuxian’s problems don’t end with it. Three issues stand before him; helping the Wen remnants, helping rebuild YunmengJiang, and figuring out how to marry Lan Zhan. 

One obstacle stands in the way of two of these three goals. Jiang Cheng absolutely refuses to lift a finger to help the Wen remnants, even though Wen Qing’s assistance helped them win the war. Jin Guangyao may have killed Wen Ruohan but Wen Qing prevented thousands of casualties.

Wen Ning was also responsible for rescuing Jiang Cheng from the Wen capture before he lost his Golden Core. It was fortunate that Wen Zhuliu had been called to visit Wen Ruohan and Wen Chao had to wait to enact that punishment. 

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian managed to steal Jiang Cheng away just hours before Wen Zhuliu returned.

And yet, Jiang Cheng chooses to side with the Jins on the matter instead of listening to Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian knows it is partly because their sister is marrying into the Jin clan and they can’t afford to make things difficult for her, but still.

Jin Zixuan will obviously protect shijie. There’s no need to be so cautious, especially if three out of four sects oppose imposing any sort of punishment on innocent people. 

On a personal front, Jiang Cheng’s disapproval of his relationship with Lan Zhan is blatant.

Jiang Cheng can’t really stop Wei Wuxian from marrying whoever he wishes. He doens’t need the sect leader’s permission as he’s not really the member of the family. But his shidi is making things difficult with his sneering disapproval and contemptuous comments in public.  

He has already alienated Lan Xichen completely by calling Lan Zhan’s honor in question (boy did he earn the punch Wei Wuxian had leveled at him - sect leader or no). Nie Mingjue will never side with some upstart over Lan Xichen. 

Lan Zhan himself doesn’t care. He has never liked Jiang Cheng and he never will. He only retaliates when Jiang Cheng tries to attack Wei Wuxian. 

His protective er-gege as no tolerance for anyone trying to harm him.

Which is what, ultimately, breaks Wei Wuxian’s ties with YunmengJiang. 

The confrontation is embarrassingly public. He doesn’t mind Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue being present but feels upset about Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao being there as well. 

“Twin Prides of Yungmeng, isn’t that what you promised me?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “Where will your pride be if you break all of your promises and get into...” He waves his hand at Lan Zhan in disgust, “Is this how you intend to repay us? My father raised you to be the Head Disciple of the Jiang Sect and you would rather be some sort of deviant?“

“Jiang Cheng-“

“And you would side with the Wen dogs too! Was this always your intention? Did you always want to bring down my sect and support its enemies?” 

“The Wen remnants have helped us. They’re not our enemies.“

“They’re not our enemies now,“ Jin Guanyao interjects calmly, his voice soothing and patient, “But surely you see that it may not remain so? We cannot risk another war.”

“They’re barely a few hundred people and we have already taken most of their resources. They’ll live as poor peasants. How can they be a threat to us?“ Wei Wuxian asks. 

“You’re indeed naïve, Wei-gongzi,“ Jin Guangshan says in a gentle, placating tone, “Perhaps your fondness for Wen-guniang is making you turn a blind eye. Beautiful women have a tendency to do that.“ He chuckles indulgently.

The sly implication in his tone isn’t lost on anyone. Lan Zhan’s expression turns frosty and Wei Wuxian feels a surge of fury strong enough to make his blood boil. There are so many things wrong with that statement that Wei Wuxian, for once, is rendered speechless.

“You question the honor of Wei Wuxian of all people?“ Nie Mingjue demands, taking a step forward, “I have stayed silent because Jiang Sect business isn’t my business but I will not have you slander and belittle a proven warrior in my presence!“

“Indeed,“ Lan Xichen says calmly but there’s no mistaking the sharp look in his eyes. Lan Xichen rarely reacts to provocations or interferes in sect matters that don’t concern him. But he’s not going to let anyone upset his younger brother carelessly, “The matter of the Wens is easy to resolve. Let us give them a small piece of land, let them set up a village, and forbid cultivation among them.“

“Er-ge,“ Jin Guangyao begins but Lan Zhan is out of patience. 

He steps back and bows to all assembled before placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s back, “Wei Ying will choose his own path. Wens will remain free. Wei Ying and I will marry.“ He meets Jiang Cheng’s furious gaze, “Jiang-zongzhu must decide whether his brother’s happiness matters to him.“

Wei Wuxian winces. 

“My brother’s happiness?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “All everyone has ever cared about is his happiness! What about me? What about our Sect? A sect he nearly destroyed because of his loyalty towards you.“ Jiang Cheng looks at him, “Did you forget my mother? My father? How do you intend to repay the enormous debt you carry, Wei Wuxian?“

Wei Wuxian stares back at him, “What is my repayment, Jiang Cheng?” He asks softly, “What will it take for you to consider that debt repaid?” It has been over five years since the fall of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian has bled and slogged through war to restore that place to its former glory. He has kept Jiang Cheng safe, helped renegotiate shijie’s marriage, and used his name to draw skilled cultivators to YungmengJiang. 

What more can he give? 

“Loyalty.“ He stills, “You devote your life to YungmengJiang and nothing else.“

Lan Xichen makes a faint, alarmed noise while Nie Mingjue huffs in disapproval. 

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, feeling Lan Zhan’s fingers flex on his back. He levels a flat look at Jiang Cheng and thinks on the matter of debts. He thinks about Madam Yu’s refusal to bend, of Jiang-zongzhu’s passivity and lack of planning. He thinks about the Wen’s unprovoked attack on Cloud Recesses and the inevitability of war. 

He thinks of his Lan Zhan and shijie’s Jin Zixuan, without swords and facing an armed group of Wens under Wen Chao’s orders. 

He thinks of love. Of what it means to be truly, unconditionally loved. 

No sorrys and no thank yous. No debt owed for simply being a part of someone’s life. 

He thinks of acceptance that comes with an older brother’s amused smile. He thinks of an uncle’s gruff admonishment to behave followed by a stiff reminder to eat, you’re skin and bones already. 

He takes a deep breath and decides. 

“No.“

[greenflamedwriter]

Transmigration gone wrong- Congrats! "You're a Sword Harry! And a thumpin good in!"

When Shen Yuan died and transmigrated he figured that he would take the role of a human form...or human-ish?

So what pray tell was this!?

[Dear Host, Welcome to the world of Proud Immortal demon way! Shen Yuans Role bound to the legendary Heart Demon Sword Xin Mo, a success!]

Who in the what now!?

With a limited view range he realised he was in an abandoned ruins of a castle losley held in the grasp. Being Xin Mo wasn't what he thought it would be...why was it quiet?

[To Answer host! previous Xin Mo spirit has been put to rest, a restless warrior finally achieving peace! user awarded 100+ Points!]

Okay he was the new sword...so what he just waited for Luo Binghe?

Was there anything he could do as a sword before then? He didn't plan on being used as a aphrodiasic for Luo Binghe papa time. he did NOT want to see that, how awakward.

After looking at his abilities...which were mostly LOCKED without Luo Binghe there was too things he could use, his own demonic energy and astral projection...

Shen yuan transmigrated as xin Mo. 

He can astral project from his body, he is to assist Luo bonghe and guide him to his real form.

But, whatever his user feels to determine what type of sword he’s be. Shen yuans transmigration was a clean slate. If he could pursue Luo bonghe not to persue the endless need for revenge. Something akin to a black hole never ending never satisfied the desire for lust- what would happen to him?

A drink never to quench that first a bottomless hole never filling.

Or justice to date his revenge, bonghe was a hero he saved people and he was good.

System pipes up [Good evening host! Mission: Reform and save protagonist Luo Binghe from further blackening!”

Affection points, sates xin mo’s lust!

Meaning?

Meaning protagonist has no need to duel cultivate! [it’s Binghe’s affection to Shen yuan, so in the beginning his resentment is too high, going to have to bring that down,]

Resentful points- [His need for revenge, distrust in others, heart demons, Luo Binghe plans to ditch Shen Yuan or kill him if he doesn’t prove useful. He calls Shen yuan Shizun mockingly until it starts to change, distrusts that Shen is wasting his time made to trap him in the abyss. After Binghe takes Xin Mo, he doesn’t see the Shen Yuan apparition disappear so without turning he slices open a rift and leaves.

Shen Yuan was too stunned, Luo Bonghe would’ve left him. Luo Binghe left Shen Yuan he took Xin Mo and left.

Shen Yuan felt his own resentment and scowled trying to rationalise but still felt adrift. He felt Luo Binghe collapse against a tree panting and slid down the bark he gazed at Xin Mo, his face a reflection in the cool obsidian blade.

Shen Yuan wished he could close his eyes, or look away. He was aware of the ticking timer raising resentment points and tried to calm himself down. There was no point wasting all of his effort grinding those Coolness points for nothing.] 

I need them!?

To be compatible with protagonists demonic cultivation and to use perks of xin mo’s abilities.

 Coolness points.

Just standard missions. [finding items, saving protagonist, helping him navigate the abyss and other missions after]

Revenge points. Reduce the revenge points before Luo binghe makes contact with xin Mo! 

What but it is way over 50,000 the abyss may be huge but Luo Binghe’s soul reason for escaping his his revenge!

Reduce points to 10,000.

[Just giving the main protag therapy. Shen Yuan knew he couldn’t stop his emotions for revenge it was his main drive! He could divert it. Try to cut the collateral damage]

Also coolness and resentful points need to be balanced for Luo binghe to use spiritual and demonic to work in harmony.

…and if they weren’t?

Xin Mo will result in a backlash killing host and user in the process.

Shit! No pressure!

Once Shen Yuan decides he needs to find Luo Binghe and calm his raging bloodlust before he masters Xin Mo or Shen Yuan might cease to exist. That overwhelming hate- Shen Yuan wouldn't survive it.

So he finds Luo Binghe and decides to help him. After nursing him to health Shen Yuan gives himself a pat on the back. Job well done, healed the protagonist! He'd sure he'd earn his favour now!

After Binghe awakens he bows "Thanking Gege for saving this lowly one." Aw what a filial disciple! How can anyone be cruel to this cute kid, luckily for Shen Yuan he can help Binghe survive the abyss and once he figures out Luo Binghe was ready he'll guide him to Xin Mo.

Unaware that Luo Binghe had been betrayed by his Shizun, his contempt and resentment already boiling over.

He didn't trust this stranger, he assumed he wanted something. Already Luo Binghe decided to use this person then leave them to die once they're purpose has been fulfilled.

Once they go through the abyss, they stumble across a clan the others ignore Shen Yuan and he even lets Luo Binghe go to get new clothes and food from the demon sisters.

Luo Binghe didn't know why he thought Shen Yuan would leave him, or wondered why he looked uncomfortable once the girls took Binghe in. Once they left did Shen Yuan relax unaware of Luo Binghe watching his every move under scrutiny.

Luo Binghe realised immeditelty he needed this strange demon, when one moment they were walking across a strip of deserted terrain and the other suddenly stopped then began to run grabbing Binghe's arm.

Using his Qi he created a aclove in the ground and tossed Luo Binghe in it then dived in after as they peeked out from hole in the ground their heads covered and protected. Yet it was cramped.

Before Luo Binghe could even ask what was going on it began to rain.

He stared surprised, he outstretched his hand and a small dewdrop pierced the tip of his finger. Binghe yelped as his skin burned and bled.

Shen Yuan watched cooley. "I would suggest moving away from the edge." Stepping back in this cramped makeshift cave Luo Binghe stared as his finger healed with his heavenly demon blood.

He couldn't ditch this strange demon, he needed him to survive. And the Demon needed him for something. This alliance will have to last longer until he escapes the abyss.

...

Shen Yuan had finally done it, he watched as Luo Binghe ascended the broken steps his hands outreaching and grabbing the sword. Oh that was weird. It broke his concertration and his astral form snapped out of existence.

But as a sword he could feel and see Luo Binghe. He didn't turn around, he had no clue Shen Yuan was no longer there. Luo Binghe didn't turn around once, he slashed the sword and stepped through.

Leaving a hypothetical Shen Yuan behind.

Xin Mo, was flabbergasted.

Luo Binghe ditched him. Or would've luckily he was his freakin almighty powerful sword! Everything they went through in the abyss meant nothing!? Shen Yuan bemoaned his luck- of course he was a MAN, if he was a beautiful flower Luo Binghe would've brought him with him but NO~ This was sexist. He called Shen yuan Shizun mockingly in the abyss when Shen Yuan taught him everything he knew [which was just what Luo Binghe learned himself from plot but who cares about the details! Luo Binghe LEFT HIM]

Unless Luo Binghe decided their partnership was no longer beneficial to him, distrusts that Shen is wasting his time made to trap him in the abyss. After Binghe takes Xin Mo, he doesn’t see the Shen Yuan apparition disappear so without turning he slices open a rift and left.

Shen Yuan was too stunned, Luo Bonghe would’ve left him. Luo Binghe left Shen Yuan he took Xin Mo and left.

Shen Yuan felt his own resentment and scowled trying to rationalise but still felt adrift. He felt Luo Binghe collapse against a tree panting and slid down the bark he gazed at Xin Mo, his face a reflection in the cool obsidian blade.

Shen Yuan wished he could close his eyes, or look away. He was aware of the ticking timer raising resentment points and tried to calm himself down. There was no reason wasting all of his effort grinding those Coolness points for nothing.

But he was so mad, he understood now why Xin Mo hated it's wielders why it tormented their masters. He felt Luo Binghe stroke the swords hilt and Shen Yuan reframed from shivering.

He was furious and hated the soft look Luo Binghe was giving him, he remembered catching those looks before Luo Binghe looked away. Was Xin Mo the goal the whole time, was this face actually his evil face? No wonder so many women fell to his charms if he had such a pretty diabolical face.

While Shen Yuan was ranting Luo Binghe could only hum, he could feel the emotions of his sword and it was amusing, Rage fondness then rage again how could he not smile?

He raised Xin Mo in the abyss, and the dark blade reflected him, Luo Binghe. In an empty room.

He leaned back against the tree with a sigh. "The Abyss is truly a detestable place."

Hmm? What was he on about now?

"To Think I could hallucinate and create a kind Shizun..."

Wait- wait he thought Shen Yuan wasn't real!?

How did he-

Oh, Shen Yuan never interacted with the demon clans, and most demons never attacked him they attacked Binghe first...with that perspective Shen Yuan may seem like an apparation-

Of course he WAS an astral projection it made sense for Luo Binghe to question it. Damn that Iq of a protagonist

[Congragulations host! Darkening asencian diverted! Keep working up and up to change the cold blackened protagonists goal from Revenge to Justice 20% complete! Awarded 300+ Points! Continue your hard work.]

...choke on an emoticon and die.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Instead of shattering Dad Nie's saber to kill his pride, he shatters Baxia - and thus Nie Mingjue. What better way to punish a man who dared to think anything of his could rival Wen Ruohan? Only, Nie Mingjue survives... and Baxia does too. Of course, sharing Nie Mingjue's body, neither of them is quite the same...

Curse-breaker (Chapter 1/4)

- ao3 -

"I see," Wen Ruohan said, his teeth slightly gritted, his irritation plain and obvious for all to see. "Indeed, I must concede that Sect Leader Nie's saber is finer than the one I own; it is undeniable. Lao Nie, your saber."

He offered it back, plainclothes-wrapped hilt first.

"You do my sect honor," Sect Leader Nie said with a wide grin, accepting the saber. "Our sabers are indeed the finest – and more than that, they get better with each generation. To tell you the truth, my friend: this one isn't mine, but my son's!"

He revealed the hilt, not anything like his own, and laughed, delighted by the joke he had played.

Wen Ruohan’s face contorted, growing pale in what everyone assumed was rage.

It was only later that Lao Nie, at least, recognized that it had been horror.

-

Nie Mingjue was screaming, and had not stopped screaming.

His throat was rent all to pieces, his fingers bloody from clawing at his own flesh, his eyes rolling around in his head as if by some inescapable fit -

"It's a qi deviation," one of the elders said. "Induced by the breaking of his saber. We should take him to the tombs."

"Fuck off," Lao Nie told them, as if saying the words would deny the truth. "He's too young!"

He put himself between them and his son.

"You shouldn't have let him take up the saber so young," the elder persisted, as if it had been Nie Mingjue’s fault that his son’s saber had been shattered by a man a century older than him, and all because of a dispute that had nothing to do with him. "You shouldn't have shown it to others, left it unguarded -"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Lao Nie roared, abruptly pushed beyond his limits. "Do you think that I don't already regret...!"

He regretted. Oh, how he regretted!

He had not regretted a single thing in his life since the day his father had told him that he would one day die, and how. Even back then, he had swallowed down the regret without choking on it: he had accepted it, understood it, and resolved to live the life he had left to him to the utmost. What good, he had reasoned, would regret do? Would it win him a single additional day of life? Would it wring out a single ounce of additional joy from the days he did have?

There was no point in regret.

Whether that was the right decision or not, he didn’t know, but it was the one he made, and he stuck with it.

His whole life, Lao Nie had been reckless and carefree even by the already low standards of his family. He was always indulging in familiar pleasures and searching for new experiences, doing whatever he could to excite a palate already starting to grow jaded. He broke hearts as easily as he won them, and had what even he admitted was the worst taste in partners imaginable, attracted as he was to danger and death as if to an old and much-beloved friend. He laughed at the idea of risk or consequences, taking care only for his sect, which he loved; everything else was negotiable, or so he'd thought. He'd scared the wits out of most of his family time and time again, and - perhaps as recompense - had grown his first grey hair dozens of years too early. To this day, he still didn't know whether the reason everyone called him Lao Nie so often that even he thought of himself that way was because they were genuinely fond of him, because of the premature black-and-white mix of his hair, or perhaps just as some unspoken prayer that he finally get over himself and grow up.

If it was the last, it hadn’t worked. Even as he’d gotten older, he hadn’t changed one bit.

The only thing that had changed was that he’d finally found something he loved more than his sect.

He loved his children.

He loved his children, whether the righteous and too-serious Mingjue with his secret penchant for tears or the flippant and carefree Huaisang who was lazier than a slug in the sun. He loved them and he, unlike his father before him, did not burden them over-early with knowledge that would only be an itch under their skin that slowly drove them mad.

He loved them.

And now one of them was dying – because of him.

"You should take him to the tombs," the elder said, and ignored the crash of the chair Lao Nie threw at their head. "You let him become a man of our sect, Lao Nie. Do him the honor of letting him die as one.”

“You…!”

“Or do you think you are being kind, leaving him like this?"

Lao Nie looked down at his son, his Mingjue, the baby he’d held in his arms and the toddler he’d taught to walk and the child he’d chased and the teenager he’d taught the saber. His boy, who was thrashing wildly on the bed, spitting up foam along with blood and weeping uncontrollably.

"A-die," Nie Mingjue whimpered, just as he had when he'd been younger and caught in the throes of fever or breaking a bone through his own misadventures. Tears streamed endlessly down his eyes, his brave little boy who was not-so-secretly a bit of a crybaby. "A-die, a-die, it hurts..."

Lao Nie closed his eyes in pain.

He regretted.

But it was too late now to regret.

"We'll take him to the tombs," he finally conceded, and for the first time in his life he truly felt old. "Just let me say goodbye."

-

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out.

Nie Mingjue might only be a child, thirteen or fourteen years old – he couldn’t remember clearly any longer which it was – but he had been a good student before that, reading faithfully through his sect’s histories and listening to his teachers. He knew enough to read between the lines, to reckon the subtle indications and the not-so-subtle hints: he knew, even before he’d been officially told, what it was that he faced down at the end of the road that his ancestors had built for him to walk.

The early death – the painful death – the silent tombs –

There had been so many whispers when he’d taken up his Baxia too early. How could he not know?

His father hadn’t wanted him to know, though. So he hadn’t said anything, and pretended he didn’t.

(Huaisang could be ignorant for real, he’d thought to himself. It’d be okay if he didn’t know.)

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out. You cannot go to the tombs!

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He no longer screamed, even though the spiritual energy that had once felt rich and nourishing and strong now felt like corrosive acid scouring his veins, burning him from the inside out – it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, wasn’t still compelled too; it was only that he had screamed too much, wearing out his voice down to nothingness from overuse.

If I go to the tombs, I will not come out, he thought, dimly aware that something wasn’t right. Thinking was hard, and grew ever harder: the qi deviation, for that was what it was, was worsening, not getting better.

Would not ever get better.

His Baxia, his loyal saber filled to the brim with resentful energy, had shattered. Shattered, and now all that resentful energy that she had collected for herself had flooded back into him, drowning his brain in rage and madness.

Flooding him with – Baxia.

I cannot go to the tombs.

You cannot go to the tombs, Baxia agreed – at least, he thought it was Baxia. It might be himself: he could no longer tell the difference.

She’d shattered, and he’d shattered, too. His mind and his body and his meridians and his golden core: everything was in pieces. His spiritual energy was running the wrong way, twisting him up inside, hurting instead of helping – the rage and resentful energy wasn’t going into Baxia but coming back into him, and it was poison.

There was no fixing it. His ancestors had tried everything they could: brought in the finest physicians with their needles and their clever ideas, sought out mysterious techniques and strange geniuses that played games even with their golden cores, even tried out demonic cultivation to see if it would help – with their lives and their children’s lives at stake, was there anything they wouldn’t do?

As if it would be that easy.

As if the road to death taken time and time again over the generations could be so easily evaded.

Nie Mingjue was a Nie. He had had a qi deviation. He was going to die.

But he was young, too.

Too young.

They all said that’d he formed his core at an extraordinary young age, and he had, too, verifiable evidence of his unusual genius for cultivating – only a golden core formed too early wasn’t quite the same as one done in the usual way at the usual time. It’d formed all right, all the spiritual liquid flowing through his meridians condensing into a shining solid sphere in his dantian, but it was still a little gummy in comparison to the normal ones. It had to be. He’d formed the core before he’d reached adolescence, without any of the necessary hormones running through his body; if his golden core was as fully solid as most adults, he’d be stuck at the age and size he was at when the core was first formed.

Normally, all this meant was that his foundation would be a little unstable for the first few years, just until he got old enough, and only when he was finally at his proper age would it truly settle into place along with his body, growing firm and solid and far more powerful than all the rest.

But he’d never gotten the chance to grow that old.

Nie Mingjue’s core had cracked when his saber that had been fundamentally tied to it had shattered, but unlike the steel of the saber it was still more fluid than solid. Even as the corrosive resentful energy burned him, even as the spiritual energy rioted within him, his old instincts were still there, that subconscious genius for cultivating already at work, trying to force the spiritual energy to run through him, trying to put those broken pieces back together. For any normal Nie, the greater his talent, the faster he’d be driven mad, but for Nie Mingjue, those gummy pieces of his core, sticky and still fluid, were instead being soldered together using spiritual energy and resentful energy both, and unlike the stiff and brittle solidity of the golden core of adulthood, they were still flexible enough to stick together – to coalesce into a whole once more.

Only –

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He’d already opened them once, and now he opened them again. The world as he had always recognized it, he saw through his left eye – but through his right, there was a whole new world.

It was a world of black and white, of good and evil, a world of kinetic movement, of steel and rage incarnate…the world through the perception of a saber spirit. A saber spirit who had shattered when her steel was shattered, shattered when her master’s core was shattered, and whose pieces were even now integrating interchangeably with her master’s pieces into a single indissoluble whole.

If we go to the tombs, they thought, and now that was it, that was right, we will not come out.

Well, that was simple enough to fix.

They just wouldn’t go to the tombs.

-

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang’s father hissed. “He can’t be – he wasn’t in any state – he couldn’t have just gotten up and run away – no, stop, let’s go. I don’t want Huaisang hearing.”

Nie Huaisang hated it when his father remembered to be discreet around him.

His da-ge was never discreet, he thought, pouting. If anything, that was something his father often complained about, even if he would be chuckling all the while: that Nie Mingjue had all the tact of a lady boar in full charge, riled up in defense of her children, and with about as much care for anything that did not meet his stringent expectations of justice and fairness – which was rather a lot.

Where was his da-ge, anyway? Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen him in days, not since he went out on that night hunt with their father. He’d asked his nurse about it, because it was unusual for his brother not to come play with him once he’d returned, and she’d said that he’d gotten sick and couldn’t come to see him just yet. But surely it was long enough that he’d be better already!

Nothing could keep his big brother down for long.

Decided, Nie Huaisang hopped up and headed outside, planning to go find his brother. His brother would explain what was going on, simplifying things down until even a little kid like him could get it, and he wouldn’t make Nie Huaisang feel stupid for needing that simplification.

His brother thought Nie Huaisang was smart.

Nie Huaisang walked along the railing next to his window, teetering back and forth with his hands outstretched for balance – his brother had showed him this pathway long ago, telling him that he could use it when he wanted to sneak out go play or look at birds, or even just come to find him whenever he had nightmares.

His brother wasn’t in his rooms, though.

Nie Huaisang sighed. Maybe he was in the study, or the training field, or something like that, but if Nie Huaisang tried to go there, he’d be dragged into lessons or training as well, and he didn’t want that.

He decided to go look at birds instead.

His brother had come up with a secret path to the outside that only they knew, the two of them, one that led them all the way out into the forest where the really interesting birds were. It was close enough to home that it was still safe, still within the bounds of the Unclean Realm’s protective arrays, but far enough to feel unburdened by the presence of their elders.

Nie Huaisang went to look at birds, but it wasn’t birds he found.

“…who’s there?” he asked, seeing movement in the bushes – something too large to be a bird, too small to be a bear, too two-legged to be a boar or a dog. Whoever it was, they were breathing hard, as if they’d run too far, interspersed with little whines of pain, like they were hurt. “Who are…”

The figure in the bush moved forward.

“…da-ge?”

Nie Huaisang’s big brother didn’t look right. He was crouched down, carrying his body low as if he were trying to support himself and protect his middle at the same time, his fingers digging into the ground for balance – his lips were peeled back from his teeth in something caught between a grimace and a growl. His left eye was normal, but his right was horribly red, shot through with pulsing veins that seemed to bleed into the iris, the color of which had faded from warm golden brown to something more like a slate or steel grey.

He sounded like he was in pain.

His brother was in pain.

Nie Huaisang took a step towards him, deeply concerned, and Nie Mingjue backed away.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispered, terrified. “Da-ge, it’s me, it’s Huaisang – I won’t hurt you!”

Nie Mingjue whined, a sound deep in the back of his throat, but this time, when Nie Huaisang stepped forward, he didn’t run. He waited until Nie Huaisang was close before darting forward and nuzzling Nie Huaisang’s hand with his cheek, ducking his head down and letting him touch his hair as if he were a dog.

His brother wasn’t just sick, Nie Huaisang realized. He was reallysick.

“What happened?” he asked, and his brother just looked sad. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

His brother nodded. A short jerking motion, barely recognizable, and yet – a nod.

“…do you have to?”

Another nod.

Nie Huaisang’s lip quivered. “Will you be all right?”

His brother nuzzled his palm again. It wasn’t an answer.

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath. “I won’t tell anyone.”

His brother seemed almost to smile.

And then he was gone.

Walking all the way back inside before bursting into tears was the hardest thing Nie Huaisang had ever done in his life, but the worst part was knowing that this was only the beginning.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

I Need You

A/N: This was found on Pinterest, so if you're the owner, let me know so I can give you the credits.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Word count: 2 K

Requested by anons: 1- I'm like super in love with a certain Daryl Dixon and I was wondering if you could write about them getting into a big argument and they like avoid eachother for a while (super angsty if you care lol) and then Carol and Rick just kinda make yall talk and it ends fluffy? 2 - Can i request a daryl x reader where the reader’s been with the group since atlanta, maybe set during when they’re at the prison?? daryl realizes he has a crush on the reader and just p a n i c s ? and just really sweet fluff????

Summary: After you almost get bit, Daryl loses his mind and lashes out on you. Tired of the constant arguments, the group finds a way to out you two together to try and fix things up.

{The Walking Dead Masterlist}

×

“Yer almost got bit!” Daryl shouts, voice echoing through the prison. “Yer too damn stubborn, yer not goin’ on runs anymore.” He has his back at you as you follow him, struggling to keep his pace.

“I had everything under control.” You complain, ignoring Carol's questioning stare.

You, Daryl, and Maggie went on a run earlier today. Not too far, just to get some more formula for Judith. A walker fell from the roof, and it happened to be on a specific place Daryl told you not to go. The thing's teeth got a little too close to your arm, and Daryl shot an arrow through its head.

“Ya sure did!” He stops, turning around and pointing a finger at you. “If I weren't near ya, I'd be carryin’ ya back here with a freakin’ bite.” His voice gets louder, and you never saw Daryl so... Angry. So pissed. He's scaring you. “Or would ya have me cut her damn arm off? How does that sound?”

“Stop yelling at me!” You burst out, giving his chest a push.

“I'll stop yellin’ when ya understand how stupid and dangerous that was!” He steps forward, towering over you and you never felt so small.

“We needed those antibiotics!”

“Well, I freakin’ need ya. I need ya alive! Alive and well and breathin’.” Daryl shouts, right at your face. But the moment the words come out, he stops, stepping back. He seems confused, taken aback by something. “Screw that, I need a break from savin’ yer ass.” And then, he leaves, walking fast.

Huffing, you turn around, going to your cell.

You take the longest shower you can, washing the sweat and all the disgusting things the dead left on your skin. But most of the time, you were already done, dressed, and dried. You just wanted to be away from everyone. But eventually, you have to walk out. And of course, Carol finds you on your way back to your cell.

“(Y/N), I–”

“Daryl is such an asshole.” You say cutting her off and dropping on bed. “Did you see that? Did you see how he yelled at me? As if he has the right to do so.” Getting back up you pace around.

“I just think–”

“You know what? He can go to hell.” Throwing both hands in the air, you complain. “He and his crossbow, and-and his super hot stare and the stupid angel wings vest. And the bike too. All it. Straight to hell!”

“Aren't you just–”

“Uhg! Damn it.” Crossing your arms, you sigh. “Did you hear him forbidding me to go on runs?” With your hands now on your hips, you stare at Carol. “As if! Who the hell does he think he is? My boyfriend? To hell with him.”

“Will you let me talk?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Shrugging your shoulders, you nod.

But she doesn't say anything, she just takes a deep breath and shakes her head lightly. “Look, why don't you calm down first, and then we talk.” Carol gestured at the bed and you sit down, sighing. “Good... Try to relax and deal with it after a good night's sleep.”

“I could sleep a thousand years and I'd still be mad at Daryl.” You mutter as she leaves, lying on your back with your eyes closed.

You don't know where all this anger comes from, but it's always there, waiting to flow out. You do care about him, maybe too much, but it doesn't mean he gets to yell and boss you around like that. “Asshole!” You shout one last time, arms crossing as you drown in anger.

“I saw it,” Daryl exclaims, pacing around the guard tower, breathing and talking fast. “I saw her dyin’. I saw that thing bitin’ her, tearin’ her flesh.”

“She's fine, Daryl. You don't have to keep thinking about it.” Rick tries to calm him down, both hands raised at the archer.

“No, ya don't understand.” It's useless though. Daryl is a mess. He got into the shower as soon as (Y/N) got out, rubbing the walker's blood out of his skin. But after that, he went straight to Rick because he needs to vent. He needs to yell and understand why he feels so damn scared.

Why he feels like a switch was turned on, lighting up something that was there all along, but only now was brought to light.

Losing anyone from his group, from his family would hurt bad.

But he just found out that losing her would be far worse.

“I her dyin’, man.” He slows down, both hands on his head. “I saw her dyin’ and–”

“You love her.”

“What the hell, Rick?” He snaps, a hand violently gesturing at his friend.

“You might not want to admit it, but it's true. You know it.” Rick nods, a hand casually resenting on his holster. “We all know it since Atlanta. She loves you too.”

Daryl grunts, turning his back at Rick. “Yer crazy. And so is she.”

“You should sit and talk like civilized people.”

“I ain't gonna talk to her. Crazy chick.” He mutters, grabbing his crossbow a bit tighter. “She ain't goin’ on runs anymore. At least not without me.”

“Daryl–”

“Gotta go.” The archer cuts him off, leaving the guard tower at a fast pace.

He didn't like the ideas Rick put in his head.

“Rick wants to make a room for Carl and Judith on the second floor,” Carol says as you climb the stairs next to her. “So we're cleaning up the cells.”

“Alright.” You don't really want to help. Not today at least. The nap you took didn't help much with the last issue, and you're considering going out tomorrow, just to clear your head a bit. “What do you need me to do?”

“We're just setting things up.”

“Mmm.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you follow her pace. Carol takes you to the very back of the corridor, to a pretty isolated cell. “You gonna put the kids here? This cell sucks. It's too–” You stop talking when you see Daryl inside, eyes-rolling. “Look, I won't help if he helps.” It sounds childish, but you don't care. You're far too pissed at the man to be near him.

“Look, I don't care if you guys argued.” Rick walks over you, friendly touching your arm. “You two just have to get your shkt together.” And you're suddenly pushed, almost stumbling inside the cell.

“What the hell?” You shout, but the moment you move, Rick pulls the bars close locking you inside. “Rick, drop it. I'm not joking.” Holding the bars, you shoot him and Carol an angry stare. “Open up.”

“There are blankets and dinner will be brought to you,” Carol says, arms crossed. “We did that because it's the only way to force you guys to talk.”

“Yeah. You'll have the whole night to figure out whatever has you both always at each other's throat.” Rick adds, sliding the key into his pocket. “Have a nice time.”

And like that, both jerks leave, talking something you can't hear. Sighing, you lay your forehead on the cold metal bars, not wanting to look at your company for the night.

“Yer can take the bed.” He says after a while.

“Obviously.” You're quick to snap. “It's your fault we're here in the first place.”

“How's that?”

“If you didn't come back from the run making a hell of a show about something that didn't even happen, we wouldn't be locked up in here.” Turning around, with both hands on your hips, you stare at him.

“If ya had listened to me, ya wouldn't have–”

“And why in the hell do I have to listen to you, Dixon? I know my way out there as well as you do.”

“ ‘Cause I jus’ wanna keep ya safe.” He's yelling again, stepping forward.

“Stop acting like I mean anything to you!” With a finger on his face, you move closer to him. You wish you could look intimidating, but being so small, that's very difficult.

“Maybe ya do mean somethin’ ta’ me! How could ya know that if ya never ask!”

“Well, I–” The answer is cut short when your furious brain processes what he just said. Furrowing your eyebrows together, you shrug your shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“Nothin’.”

“Daryl, what do you mean?” Raising your voice again, you follow him as he moves further into the cell. “What would you answer if I ask?”

“I ain't gonna answer.”

“Daryl–”

“I ain't gonna answer!” He shouts again, turning around to look at you.

Taking a deep breath, you sit on the edge of the bed, folding a leg under you. “Do you hate me?”

“What?”

“Do you hate me, Daryl?” Your voice is lower now because you do want to know.

He remains silent for a while, those blue eyes locked on yours. “No.”

“Then why–”

“I can't lose ya.” He bursts out, eyes now looking at the floor. “At that moment back there, I... I saw it happenin’. I saw ya dyin’, and I... I can't lose ya. I can't see ya gettin’ hurt.”

His voice is so low you can barely hear it. You've never seen Daryl so... Scared. Vulnerable. “You can't protect me all the time, Daryl. Accidents happen.”

“I can. I can keep ya safe if ya listen to me.” You're about to protest when Daryl comes to sit next to you, eyes on the wall across the cell. “I know ya can survive out there. But my mind works in a thousand different ways ta’ get stuff done without anyone gettin’ hurt. I need ya ta’ trust me. Ta’ believe I can keep ya safe.”

“But I need you to believe me too. To believe I can do this.” Turning your body towards him, you friendly touches his arm. “Daryl, I... I like you... A lot. And I admire you, I trust you. You taught me so much and I need you to trust me. I promise I'll be more careful, but I need you to–”

“Don't go out there without me.” He suddenly says, voice heavy. “I trust ya. Yer brave and strong. But if ya go out there and I can't keep my eyes on ya... I'll lose my damn mind.”

“Alright.” Nodding, you sigh, smiling a little. “Just don't yell at me again, Daryl Dixon.”

“Yer almost died and I... Damn it, (Y/N), –”

“I like you too, Dixon.” Standing up to your feet, you smile, looking down at him. “You don't have to say if you don't want to, just... Let's get this over with. The world is a freaking mess and if you like me and I like you we should be together.” You can't believe you're saying this, after so long. But it feels good. You feel good, secure. “Just let me know what you want.”

“Ya.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blue eyes locked on yours.

“Alright.” Mirroring his head movement, you clear your throat, cheeks burning. After a few seconds of silence, you walk to the bars. “RICK! CAROL! Daryl and I are dating now, can we go?” You yell, and the low chattering downstairs goes silent.

“Would it be so bad ta' stay locked in here with me for a night?” Daryl asks, and you turn around, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

“Absolutely not.” Shrugging your shoulders, you slowly move to the bed, climbing on and lying down. “I'm actually sleepy and it's cold so it'll be nice to have someone to warm me up at night.”

“Don't push it.”

“I'm not.” Giggling, you feel as he lies down, close enough so his shoulder is touching your back. “Night, D. It was good to sort things out with you.”

“Good night, pretty girl.” He mutters and you smile, eyes closing and sleep easily overcoming you, thanks to the amazing feeling of having Daryl lying next to you.

[imhereformr]

It had been years since he’d had to sneak in somewhere. Riven’s position as captain in the Magix Elite Force granted him easy access to just about anywhere he needed or wanted so long as he could justify his reason for being there. But this, he had no valid reason. It would result in his suspension, if not complete dismissal, from the force. He didn’t think he’d get caught – you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, but that doesn’t mean they forgot old ones – but even if he did, he knew he had to take the risk.

Nabu had been the one to tell him. About the relationship; the engagement; and the – in Riven’s opinion – far too rushed wedding. He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. He did. He also knew he should just let her go, let her marry whatever the fuck his name was, but he couldn’t not try. She needed to know how he felt even if he was years too late.  

Musa had been the one to break it off. It had nearly broken him; he’d refused to leave his room in his and Timmy’s apartment for weeks afterwards. Ultimately, she’d been right, though. They were becoming different people – growing apart – and it was better to break up now than wait until their different paths became too much and they grew to resent each other.  

Musa had released her first album a year before they’d broken up. Her tour had been hard, with him having to stay in Magix for work and her being everywhere, but he’d thought they could survive it. Their relationship had already survived so much. Musa’s star, though, had only begun to shine. Over the years after the breakup, she only became more and more successful. Every bit of which she deserved, and every bit of which Riven had followed from afar.

She’d offered for them to stay friends once the wounds had healed but Riven had declined. All the news he got of her was from the guys or magazines. His therapist – he'd gone to see a therapist; Musa would have been so proud – agreed that it was best to cut her off entirely. Beyond the whole listening to her music thing, Riven thought he’d done pretty well at that. It had only taken him a year to stop looking her up borderline obsessively, he’d dated other people, he’d even had a serious relationship or two. His only problem was that none of the others were Musa. No matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to come back to her.

So here he was, the day of her wedding, climbing a tree on the side of the hotel she was getting married at, praying that he’d be able to find the room she was getting ready in before the ceremony started. And that she’d be willing to hear him out. 

Riven managed to find an open window that led into the end of a hallway. He made his way through the navy halls, stopping to listen for her voice behind every single oversized door. Nabu, after some bribery and threats, had told him that Musa and the girls would be getting ready on the fourth floor. He’d begged Riven to think through his actions and not do anything stupid, but Riven was also certain that Nabu was on board with whatever his plan was. From his description of Musa’s fiancé, he hadn’t sounded too fond of the guy.  

The sound of footsteps put Riven on high alert. He managed to duck into a broom closet just in time to see Stella turn the corner. Jackpot. The blonde swung her long, gently curled hair over her shoulder and punched in a code on the door pad opposite his hiding spot. From the door, he heard a sound he would recognise anywhere: Musa’s voice. Double jackpot. Now he just had to pray that the girls would leave Musa alone for at least a minute at some point before the ceremony started.  

He stood in that closet, watching her door for close to half an hour when his saving grace arrived in the form of an older woman with greying brown hair piled high on her head and a clipboard in her hand. She punched in the code to the door – which Riven paid much closer attention to this time – and exited three minutes later with the five bridesmaids in tow.  

And no bride. This was turning out to be much easier than he’d anticipated.

Riven seized his opportunity the minute the woman he assumed was the wedding planner and Musa’s friends were out of sight. The light on the lock turned green on the first try and he slunk into the room as quietly as possible. Musa was turned away from him, staring at herself in mirror. Lucky too because it wouldn’t have made for a very good winning-her-back moment for her to see his jaw drop and his mind go entirely blank.  

Musa wore a minimalistic, figure-flattering white dress with spaghetti straps, a deep V and a low back. She wore very little jewelry: a pair of diamond earrings, her engagement ring and her mother’s necklace – the one she never took off that he’d recovered in Black Mud Swamp the year they first met. Her long, dark hair was curled softly, like she was a movie star right out of the 1950s. He missed her hair; missed running his hands through it; missed the way he could bury his face in it when they hugged so that the smell of her shampoo could envelop him entirely; missed the way she would play with her pigtails when she was nervous; missed the way her hair would fall into his face when she leaned over to kiss him before they went to bed every night. More than anything, he missed her.  

“Riven?” He stumbled out of his memories and into present day at the sound of her voice. She’d turned to face him, the train of her dress bunching at her feet as she spun. It had been so long since he’d heard her say his name. He’d forgotten how nice it sounded. “What are you doing here?”

“You look beautiful” he whispered thoughtlessly. Musa lowered her eyes, her face flushing like it had whenever he’d looked at her in the early days of their relationship. She ran her hands along the sides of her wedding dress – the dress she should be wearing for him – smoothing out non-existent creases in the fabric. It made him smile to know he could still make her blush like that.  

“What are you doing here?” she asked again, bringing her hands together to fiddle with her engagement ring.  

“I...” Fuck. How did he do this?  “...Should have written something down.” Yes, that would’ve been a good idea. He wasn’t Helia; words didn’t come naturally to him. The old Riven would have turned around and walked away, wouldn’t have even given it a shot. He wasn’t the old Riven anymore, and he wasn’t leaving this room without Musa knowing how he felt. He’d have to wing it. “Don’t marry him.”

“Riven, I-”

“Please. Just hear me out.” Her objections ceased, and she lowered the hand she’d put out in a stop motion. “I love you. I have never stopped loving you. I have thought about you every single day for the last seven years, four months and twenty-one days. Since the day you left. And every single one of those days, I have kicked myself for letting you go; for not fighting harder for you. For us.”

Riven approached her. With every step, he felt his heart beat harder, coming to a brutal halt when he stepped in front of her. Her eyes, for the first time since he’d complimented her, met his. She was inches from him; so close that the smallest movement would bring them together. The heels she was wearing made her taller – brought the top of her head to his lip instead of his shoulder. Had his mind been anywhere other than desperately wanting her to come back to him, he would have commented that she hated heels with a passion, and he’d always thought she’d wear sneakers with her wedding dress even if Stella gave her a headache about it.  

He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, not missing the way she leaned into his touch. Her heart longed for his just as much as his did for hers. “You belong with me, Muse. You know you do. We belong together.” His hand cupped her chin, pulling her into a kiss. Never had anything felt more right than his lips on hers. The second they connected; he knew everything would work out. He could beat the worst monsters, defeat his darkest demons, save the most helpless and conquer the universe as long as he had Musa by his side.  

Musa’s hands came to rest on his chest, balling her manicured fingers into his thin white t-shirt and dragging him into her as they lost themselves in the kiss. The longer it went, the more certain he was that she would leave with him right then if he asked her to. He would have too, if the planner hadn’t punched in the door code and announced her presence through the heavy door.

“Gimme a second” Musa managed to shout, mere inches from Riven’s face, before the woman had entered the room. The planner shut the door, informing Musa that she would be right outside and that the ceremony was ready to begin.  

Musa stepped back and Riven had to wrap his arms around her to keep her near him. “I have to go” she whispered.  

“Please, please don’t marry him.” Teenage Riven would be mortified to hear his voice crack as he begged Musa not to choose someone else, but adult Riven couldn’t care less. He would beg and plead and grovel if it meant that she’d stay with him.  

“It’s too late. I’m sorry.” She laid her hands on his chest and pushed their bodies apart. He watched, heart shattering, as she stepped away from him. Her voice broke, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and her lower lip quivered, but ever his fierce Musa, she stayed strong. He wished, just this once, that she would break. Musa stepped away from him and turned towards the door, gathering the train of her dress in her hand as she walked away. She wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing the door handle.  

“Musa,” he heard himself say before she had the chance to turn the knob. A deep sigh and she turned to him. He’d never been good at reading people, but Musa he knew. She wanted him to fight for her, she always had, and, for the most part, he always had. He always would. He’d just fucked up that one time when it mattered most. “I’ll be out front. If you change your mind.”

She didn’t answer, merely shook her head and then she was gone, whisked away through the door and down the hall by the planner. Riven sat himself onto the nearest piece of furniture – a fancy-looking emerald green couch in the corner of the hotel suite sitting room – and dropped his head in the palms of his hands trying to stop himself from crying and shaking.  

He hadn’t felt pain like this in years, hadn’t felt anything like this in years. He hadn’t been numb – he’d known numb before and that wasn’t what the last few years had been – but life had been significantly less vivid. Everything always felt so much more with her. The lows could be soul-crushing agony, but the highs were pure ecstasy and worth every second of pain. He would willingly suffer through millennia of agony for just one hour of ecstasy with her again.  

***

Musa’s mind buzzed as she followed Christina, the planner, through the hall and into the elevator, down to the main floor. The woman – an absolute godsend in the madness that was planning a wedding and a tour in the same four months – babbled on about how adorably nervous Liam – her fiancé – was.  

She’d met Liam three years ago on a talk show. He was an actor – had started off as a child on a sitcom and managed to make the incredibly difficult transition from child star to serious adult actor. He’d been sweet and charming during the pre-interview and through the whole taping. They’d run into each other again a year later at a movie premiere – she'd sung the main theme and he was close friends with the star. He’d asked her out at the end of the night. He was cute – tall with broad shoulders and sharp features, just her type – so she’d said yes. It turned out that he was also funny and incredibly witty.  

She loved him.  

Christina led her out of the elevator and into one of the back hallways. At the end of the hall, Musa knew she’d find her friends and father waiting patiently for the ceremony to start. Musa knew what would happen: Christina would put them in order, then cue her assistant to tell the violinist to start playing – Riven had always loved hearing her play the violin, they’d talked about having one if ever they got married. Musa couldn’t let that detail go. Once the music started, the double doors would open onto the ceremony room. Hundreds of guests would be seated in the room, surrounded by thousands of dollars' worth of flowers and floating candles.  

Much sooner than she’d anticipated, it was Tecna’s turn. The purple-haired fairy – her maid of honour – turned out of the waiting area and moved up to the double doors at exactly the speed Christina had indicated; not too fast like Flora had or too slow like Stella – who, realistically, had been enjoying the moment of spotlight – had. Musa’s father turned to her, a genuine smile on his face, to ask if she was ready. Musa smiled and nodded.  

Her arm looped through her father’s and Christina handed her the bouquet of exquisite flowers – arranged by Flora, of course. The woman moved behind her to spread out her train. As she neared the door, the guests stood for her. Her father nodded to a few at the back that he recognised, but Musa’s focus was at the front.  

Liam stood with his arms folded behind him. Riven would always stand with his hands in his pockets or his arms crossed. Liam’s smile widened when he saw her. Riven only smiled when he saw her. Liam mouthed the words I love you and Musa felt a pang. She’d just heard those words in a different voice, and they’d had so much more impact. Musa smiled at him, repeating the mantra in her head.

She loved him.

She loved him.

She loved him.

She was at the altar. Her father was hugging her and whispering that he loved her and wished her nothing but happiness. Musa was stepping up to the altar. Liam was shaking her father’s hand. The photographer’s assistant was adjusting her train for the photos. Liam was smiling at her. Tecna was taking the bouquet out of her hands. Liam was reaching out for her hands.  

Musa snapped out of her haze. Her hands were in Liam’s and the officiant was welcoming the guests. Please turn your phones off. Don’t take any pictures. It’s not every day you meet someone that touches your soul. All the cheesy shit people said at weddings. Musa ignored the man they’d hired as she played the scene with Riven over in her mind.

He still loves her.  

And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t compared every boyfriend to him. Including Liam. She’d also be lying if she said that she didn’t think about him when she was alone. When she was lonely. When she wanted someone to hold her. When she touched herself. When she cried. When she laughed. When she had news to share. When she wrote a song she really loved.  

It was always him.  

Pressure on her hand brought her back to present day. Liam was saying his I do. He was giving her that smile that, up until fifteen minutes ago, she thought she’d be happy enough to see every day.  

Happy enough.

Was that really enough?  

“...Take Liam Lukas Caffrey, here present, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

“I...” Hundreds of eyes stared at her expectantly. She had two words to say. I do. It wasn’t that fucking hard. Musa looked up at Liam. At those pretty dark green eyes of his watching her with all the love in the world. “I...”

It wasn’t enough.

No one would ever be enough if they weren’t Riven. She’d tried to deny it, but it was true. And he was right. She belonged with him.  

“No” she sighed. The love in Liam’s eyes turned to confusion. Behind her, Stella mumbled out a what. “I can’t... I’m sorry.”

Musa picked up the skirt of her dress as much as she could and walked away. She picked up speed with every step, desperate to get away from the prying eyes. Desperate to get to Riven. I’ll be out front. If you change your mind. Had he meant it? She rushed through the double doors, past Christina and through the lobby. In the corner of her vision, she saw the doorman standing to open the front doors for her, but she got there before him.  

Lights flashed in her eyes as she pushed through the doors and onto the front steps. Her name was being shouted and paparazzi cameras popped at every angle, but she registered none of it. Musa searched the sidewalk for that telltale flash of magenta, trying to control her already heavy breathing and not appear as panicked as she felt.  

He wasn’t sure why he’d even waited. It’s too late. That should be an obvious clue that she didn’t want to be with him. Still, he waited. He’d sat in her suite for two minutes trying to compose himself before sneaking out of the room and down to the lobby. He’d gotten there just in time to hear the music start. Part of him contemplated waiting, running into the ceremony when the officiant did the speak now or forever hold your peace thing (did they even do that in real life? It hadn’t been done at Flora and Helia or Stella and Brandon’s wedding). Ultimately, he decided not to. He’d told Musa what he had to say. All he could do now was wait.

Riven took a seat on a bench in the park across the street. He absentmindedly watched park-goers walk by, blissfully unaware that he was falling to pieces as the seconds ticked by. It took all his self-control not to think about Musa marrying someone else; to stop himself from physically and mentally falling apart. Old demons tried to claw their way to the forefront of his mind, to tell him that she wouldn’t want him, that his efforts were futile, but Riven refused to listen to them. He wasn’t that sixteen-year-old kid anymore, and he knew, he knew that he and Musa were meant to be.  

Finally, after searching for what felt like an eternity, she spotted the telltale magenta hair forcing its way through the crowd. The joy that swelled in her was unlike any happiness she’d ever felt. He’d waited. Musa kicked off her heels and took off running towards him. He made it to the front of the crowd just in time for her to throw herself into his arms and pull him into a kiss.  

It was heaven to feel his lips on hers, to feel his arms wrapped around her. Musa never wanted to lose this feeling. He laughed into the kiss and Musa swore it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. Riven shuffled forward, lowering her onto one of the hotel steps as they finally pulled apart. The smile on his face could put the suns of Solaria to shame, but, as much as she loved his smile, Musa was only focused on his eyes. She loved his eyes; loved the way they shone every time he looked at her.  

Riven rested his forehead against Musa’s. Those magnificent blue eyes looked up at him so lovingly, just the way he’d longed for her to look at him for all those years. Riven swore then and there, he would move mountains to never lose that look. He was so happy he didn’t even care that all the paparazzi were watching them. Let them watch.  

“I’m so sorry. I was so stupid... I-” Musa started.  

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“Now and forever. I love you, Riven.” Musa pulled him into another kiss. Camera flashes went off around them but Riven only saw the stars that shone in his head every time she kissed him. He pulled away from her just enough to whisper I love you too, Musa before kissing her with all the love he could muster.  

[uvobreakmylegs]

Floor 200

I’m still working on part two of vampire!Hisoka but here’s a different, shorter piece with him

Warnings: threats of noncon, implied death, implications of smut

You yelped a bit as you moved out of the way of the two young boys who burst out from the elevator, barely managing to avoid them plowing you down as they sprinted past you.

The boy wearing green at least had the decency to call back a “sorry!” to you as they ran, and the rather messy-looking man with glasses that followed behind them also offered you a quick apology before going on his way. Just as quickly as those three had come, they were gone, leaving through a side entrance of Heaven's Arena while your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest at how sudden and unexpected all of that had been.

The encounter was more confusing than anything. With the amount of dangerous characters that lived in the tower, it certainly wasn't a place for children to be running around like that. Some of the people here really didn't give a shit, and if those two ran into someone who was actually dangerous and bloodthirsty, you feared what the end result of that would be.

The elevator doors sliding shut brought you back to reality, and you pushed your arm against one door to hold it open as you slipped inside, pushing the button for the 200th floor.

Thinking about those boys again brought back memories of your own childhood, of running around and playing with your friends and getting into trouble. You sighed a little bit, thinking of the things you used to do and wondering where all that energy had gone now that you'd grown up.

….. Dear God, had you really gotten to the point in your life where you'd be reminiscing about your childhood and the fact that you'd grown up to be as miserable as everybody else? It wasn't like you were that old.

You didn't want to focus on that slightly depressing thought, so you turned your attention to the bags of groceries you held and the meal you planned to make. Tonight was special. After finishing up a few jobs and going through his Hunter exam, Hisoka was actually back and planned to stick around for a while. So to celebrate both his success and return you were planning on cooking dinner for the two of you. You couldn't help feeling a little bit of excitement at the thought of it. It was such a small thing to eat dinner together, but it had been a while since you had seen him last, and you wanted to make the most of it.

The downside of living on the 200th floor of the arena meant that the elevator rides were terribly long, so you usually let your mind wander as the car made its way up the numerous floors. At least the long ride helped you to calm down from that little bit of shock earlier.

The ding of the elevator and the sound of the doors sliding open alerted you when you reached your destination. You left the elevator car and veered to the right towards the hallway that lead to Hisoka's room.

“Hey you- Oh.”

A voice sounded from behind, and you turned around to see who had spoken, finding three men that you knew better than you wanted to. Though for the life of you, you could never remember their names. You only knew them as the one in the wheelchair, the freaky-looking one missing an arm, and the other freaky-looking one in red. Gido.... That one was named Gido. You were about 90% sure that was correct.

“Can I help you?” you asked them.

They all avoided your gaze.

“We were waiting for someone else,” the one without an arm said, “thought you were these two kids that made it to the floor.”

“Do I look like two kids?”

None of them responded to your question. It was clear that they wanted you to leave, but after the last time you had been confronted in these hallways, they knew better than to even say anything out of line.

Hisoka had been pushing you to move in with him, and while you weren't really sure you wanted to live at the tower full-time, you couldn't deny that the room he had on the 200th floor was nice. A lot nicer than anything you could afford in that city. And since there weren't any rent or utilities that needed to be paid, it would be a good opportunity to save up some cash. So you agreed, much to Hisoka's delight.

The incident occurred when you had been moving in; Hisoka had gone on ahead of you, carrying a few boxes while you were bringing up a few bags full of clothes. On the way to Hisoka's room, those three had stopped you, along with a fourth man, one who was covered in burn scars and missing an eye. It was obvious you weren't a nen user, so they'd demanded to know what you were doing up there.

“My boyfriend lives here; I'm moving in with him,” you told them.

“Boyfriend, huh?” the one with the scars asked, “what, you cozied up to one of the fighters here so you could live in luxury without working for it?”

“I don't have to explain myself to you,” you answered.

“No, but you'll do it anyway.”

“Fuck off.”

At that he grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall, the other three laughing behind him as he held you in place.

“It just isn't good for the arena's image if any random slut off the street can be living up on this level alongside the quality fighters,” he said, “so beat it, you stupid bitch. You don't belong here.”

“And a bunch of losers who barely survived their initiations do?”

Your words seemed to hit a nerve for all four of them, and the air around you grew deadly as the grip on your throat became that much tighter. But as he did so, the one with the scars smirked as a thought came to his mind.

“I've got an idea,” he said, “why doesn't your boyfriend make a wager with me? If he fights me and wins, you can stay. But if I win, my buddies and I get to have you for the night, and then you get the fuck outta here.”

“You want to fuck me? I thought I was a slut,” you spat, “is this about humiliating me or are you four just that desperate because no one is stupid enough to willingly get in bed with you?”

He reached with his other hand to grab your jaw and force your mouth closed. Egging him on really was so stupid, but the familiar figure you had noticed from the corner of your eye made you feel a bit more bold.

“You've got a mouth on you. But I've got a few ideas on how to shut you up and put that little smartass mouth to better use.”

The other three had grown quiet, but the one holding you didn't notice.

“So how 'bout it? Will you ask your boyfriend about that wager, or should I?”

It was hard to speak with how he was holding you, but you responded as you pointed to your right.

“I think.... He already heard.”

The scarred man's eyes followed where you were pointing, and when he saw Hisoka standing within earshot, you swore that man's soul just about left his body.

The other three had already noticed him, and were actively trying to distance themselves from their fourth.

Hisoka was smiling, but the second the man laid eyes on him bloodlust he had been holding back oozed from him, filling up the hallway and consuming all four.

The man who had been on your case backed away from you, holding up his hands in surrender.

“I-I-I d-didn't know,” he sputtered.

Hisoka didn't answer at first. He casually walked up to you two and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. With how Hisoka's nails dug into your hip, you could tell that Hisoka was well and truly pissed off. The man had stayed where he was, the murderous aura keeping him in place.

Hisoka looked to him.

“I accept your wager.”

The fight between them was one of the most gruesome things you had ever witnessed, and it went down as one of the bloodiest matches in the tower's history. The remaining trio didn't go anywhere near Hisoka after that, and they did everything they could to avoid you as well.

Whatever they were waiting for must have been important to them, seeing as they weren't turning around and leaving at the sight of you. They had mentioned kids, and you wondered if they were referring to the two boys who had come from the elevator.

But ultimately, it wasn't any of your business, and you motioned to the hallway you had been headed for as you asked “do you need me for something? I've got stuff I need to do.”

They shook their heads, their eyes still averted, and you continued on your way. The petty side of you wanted to throw back a quip of some kind, but you decided against it. They already didn't like you; there was no point in making things worse and have them resent you further.

Though it was probably hard for them to start shit when they remembered the way their old buddy was cut to pieces.

When you entered that hallway, to your surprise, you found Hisoka sitting on the floor at the other end. His eyes widened and he grinned when he saw you, flicking the card he was holding and throwing it into the wall. Reaching the end of the hallway, you found several playing cards that had been sliced into the wall at various angles. What the hell was he doing?

“.... What'd the wall do to you?” you finally asked.

Hisoka paused, a new card he was about to throw still between his fingers as he looked over to you.

“After we've been apart for so long, that's the first thing you say to me?” he responded, his eyebrow raised. Though he still had that teasing grin.

“You're making a nuisance of yourself,” you answered, “who exactly is going to clean this up once you're done here?”

“Who knows. It's not my problem.”

“I used to work in jobs like these, Hisoka. Trust me, cleaning up something like this won’t be fun.”

“The people who will clean this up aren't you, so I don't care,” he responded.

You sighed. You wouldn't be getting anywhere with this argument; better to just let it go.

“Is there a reason you're sitting on the floor out here?” you tried instead.

“I'm waiting for someone.”

“Hm. I'm guessing it's not me.”

“Afraid not.”

“Who then?”

“Two promising little fighters who've caught my eye,” Hisoka mused, “but they aren't quite ready to be up on this level just yet. And unless they can get past me, they won't be advancing any further.”

“So this is some kind of initiation thing?” you asked.

“In a way.”

“And how long is this going to take?”

“They need to be back before midnight, so possibly until then.”

Your eyes narrowed at that bit of information.

“Oh? Is something wrong?” Hisoka asked, tilting his head as he looked at you.

“Haven't you forgotten something, Hisoka?”

Seconds passed by as he looked up at you, and you couldn't tell if he was just bullshitting you or if he had genuinely forgotten your plans for the evening.

“Oh!” he exclaimed after a moment, “we were planning on dinner, weren't we?”

“It seriously took you that long to remember?” you asked dryly.

“You'll have to forgive me, pet. I simply got caught up in the moment. You know how I get sometimes.”

“Unfortunately, yeah, I do,” you sighed, “so you're just going to blow me off tonight?”

“It isn't anything personal. This is just something I need to see through,” he explained.

“Oh, of course. At least I know how high I am on your list of priorities,” you responded sarcastically.

Hisoka frowned at that, and as he threw the card he had been holding into the wall, he said “you know I don't like it when you say things like that, even as a joke.”

'Just like you know I don't like it when you cancel last-minute,' was what you wanted to say to him. But as disappointed as you were, you didn't want to get into an argument immediately after seeing him again. And it was easy enough to reschedule a dinner.

“Whatever. We can move dinner to tomorrow,” you shrugging as you conceded.

“I appreciate it,” he said, smiling.

“I guess if I'm not awake by the time you get back, I'll see you in the morning.”

Hisoka nodded, and you began to walk forward, passing him and heading to your room.

A thought occurred to you then, and you turned back.

“When was the last time you ate, Hisoka?”

He seemed caught slightly off-guard by the question, and he looked to the side as his brain tried to recall the last time he had done something as basic as making sure he ate.

“You can't even remember, can you?” you asked him.

“I'll have something when I get back,” he said, shrugging.

You sighed again. Adjusting the bags so you held both on one arm, you rummaged through as you walked back to him. Hisoka looked at you curiously as you held out an apple for him.

“Eat something, idiot.”

Hisoka chuckled.

“If you insist,” he replied, taking the apple.

“I always appreciate the way you take care of me, pet.”

“Yeah, but maybe one of these days you could start to take care of yourself. Kinda sad you need me to remind you to eat, of all things.”

“I can't help it. I like it when you dote on me.”

“Idiot.”

A slight blur of movement from the end of the hallway caught your attention. Someone was listening in, it seemed. Based off the slight bit of red you had seen, it was safe to assume it was Gido. Why he was listening to you and Hisoka you weren't sure. And it didn't seem that Hisoka had seemed to care; if you had noticed him, than Hisoka definitely knew he was there.

“Something wrong? I wouldn't want to keep you out here as well,” Hisoka said.

“... No, everything's fine. I just need to do one last thing.”

“Oh?”

“Since you're blowing me off for dinner, I want something from you.”

You knelt down on your knees and set the bags to the side before you moved in to place a kiss on Hisoka's lips, resting your hands on his chest. He had seemed rather surprised at first and didn't move. But when you began to pull away he reacted, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pressing you harder against his lips. When you felt his tongue trying to force its way in you relented, opening your mouth and allowing him access. You weren't able to stop the groan that came out of you at the sensation of his tongue moving against your own, and to you it sounded like the noise echoed slightly in the empty hallway. Hisoka always made his kisses intense, and you were always left with flushed cheeks by the end of it.

When you pulled away again, he allowed it. His finger twirled a strand of your hair as he breathed “if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were using me to keep certain pests off your back.”

“Well, you have to be good for something, right?”

“Cheeky thing.”

You hummed as you stood back up, Hisoka trailing his hand down your arm as you did so, the sensation of his nails running along your skin giving you goosebumps. One glance back down that hallway and you could sense that there wasn't anyone there. Probably too awkward for even Gido to keep watching you two. Hisoka had already pulled out another playing card as you picked up the rest of the groceries.

“See you later, Hisoka.”

You began to walk away again, but when Hisoka called out your name, you paused and turned your head. There was a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Don't think you can rile me up and then get away with no consequences,” he told you.

“I don't know what you mean,” you said, feigning ignorance.

“Then I'll have to show you what I mean when I come back tonight.”

“It might have to wait until tomorrow; if you're coming back after midnight I'm going to be asleep. I'm not waiting up for you.”

“Trust me, pet,” he purred as he flung another card at the wall, “you won't be getting much sleep tonight.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the way he said it. It was hardly even that dirty, and he had certainly said much dirtier things to you before. But in a way that only he was able, Hisoka managed to leave you flustered and incapable of keeping eye contact with him. Turning your head away from him just made it worse, as he chuckled at your embarrassment.

“We'll see,” was all you could say.

It was a pretty weak response, and you were quick to head back to the room, trying not to walk away too quickly and show him how much of a hurry you were in to get out of that situation.

Despite all that, you couldn't help the slight feeling of anticipation from what he promised.

You'd probably end up waiting up for him after all.

[i-cant-sing]

Omg part 2 for yan light please? Your writing is so on charater for him and yan L was also really good as well

Yandere Light Yagami Pt 2:

Pt 1 can be found here!

Thanks to everyone for requesting pt 1! Enjoy! :)

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Light Yagami:

You didn't know you could be this compliant. You didn't. But Light did.

As you both layed in bed, naked, Light holding you to his chest, rubbing soothing circles on your belly, you both had different train of thoughts that were ultimately going to reach the same station. You were thinking about how you had become so... docile? Had you been in confinement for too long? Was Stockholm syndrome kicking in? Was it because of the guilt of not being able to stop him? Or was it because Light killed everyone you cared about?

You had tried to play his psychological games. But you lost. You had managed to get a hold of the Deathnote, and you were going to write his name in but he caught you and broke your fingers. You then tried to play along; you came up with a good system for who to kill. You would do extensive research on each person, serving both purposes: to see if the person truly deserved death and to slow Light down. But you later found out that your efforts didn't matter. He was killing people on a whim and he was having someone else do it for him. Misa Amane. She was quite famous. And pretty too. You didn't know why Light would use you for intimacy, both in and out of bed, when he already had a willing participant.

For every mistake you made, no matter how little, Light would punish you by killing people you were even remotely associated with. Your family, friends, everyone was dead. And judging by the content look on his face, L was going to die soon too. Hopelessness. Maybe that's why you have become like this.

"I love you." Light said, pressing a kiss to your temple as he snuggled you more. "You're so beautiful like this." You really were, in his eyes. Now that you don't fight him anymore, now that you understood that you belong to him, you're beautiful. Light liked you being so... submissive. But more than that, he loved the look of complete defeat in your eyes, the realisation that you only have him in this world now. No ones going to come for you. No one could; only he and Misa knew about you.

"What's next?"you managed to ask him. Whats next on his list of impending doom? He hummed, before replying, "Well, soon all obstacles in my way are going to be removed. Once that happens, I'll become the ruler of the world. And then, I'll get rid of all the filth in this world." You closed your eyes, asking "how? Do you have a new system of justice in mind?" Light gripped your chin, turning your head towards him. "I am the system, (Y/n). I am justice." You saw that crazy look in his eyes. You sighed, turning away from him, but Light suddenly flipped you over, straddling your waist as he leaned down. His hair tickling your face as he looked at you with possessiveness. "Dont look so gloomy, darling. I know you feel lonely when I'm not here, but soon you'll have a baby to keep you company." He said before kissing you passionately, biting your lips hard before getting off of you. "For now, Misa will keep you entertained." He chuckled before putting the cuff back on your ankle, and left the room.

Misa. When you first met her, you knew she didn't like you. She thought that you were trying to steal Light from him, that you were actually in love with him. She tried to attack you at first, but Light had pulled her out of the room and told her that he actually loved her and that you were just a part of the plan, a temporary plaything. And so Misa put up with you. Light would usually put her in charge of you; he had caught you trying to stab yourself with a nail filer after he had slept with you the first time. And now that you were carrying his child, he had to make sure you wouldn't do anything like that again.

Misa came in a few hours later, locking the door behind her like usual. "Hey, (Y/n)!"she chirped, as she skipped towards you. "I brought some stuff for you!"she told you as she dangled big shopping bag. "Hi, Misa. Whats in that?"you asked her, your voice monotonous. She put the bag down and started to uncuff your ankle. "You'll see! But first, let's take a bath." She helped you clean up yourself and the room. Once she was done, she sat you down on the bed and gave you the bag. You opened the bag to find clothes in it. Maternity clothes. You had barely started to show. You were a bit glad that you hadn’t started showing, because anything associated with the baby would make you remember the events that caused it. When you first realised that you were pregnant, you tried everything you could to get rid of it. You didn't want to give him another thing to hold over your head. But once Light found out, he became even worse somehow. He was glad he was having a child; and now he had to do everything to make the world fit for his offspring. He started handing out harsher deaths, killing off people who rubbed him off the wrong way. To you, he stopped being physically violent. But he did become more possessive of you. He wanted to know what you were doing, why you were doing it. He wanted to know if you had fallen in love with him; if you had finally decided to become his lapdog.

When Misa came to know about your pregnancy, she was angry. Not at Light, but at you. But Light manipulated her again. He told her that he didn't want her to have a kid because her body would get messed up. And he needed her as his right hand, and being pregnant would get in the way of that. Once the baby was here, they would raise it together, as if you were a surrogate. Misa bought it.

You knew Misa wasn't stupid. She was actually quite intelligent. You actually enjoyed her company. After Light would do his number on you, it would be Misa who would come to pick up the pieces. She would be the one to wipe your tears away and bandage you up.

You had tried to convince her to let you go, tried to even fight her. But she was too observant. She predicted your moves. She always knew when you were planning something. She saw right through you.

You thanked Misa for the maternity clothes. She had ordered you guys some food, your favourite. As you began eating, Misa looked at your belly, with adoration and envy? "Penny for your thoughts?"your voice brought her of her trance. "Oh! It's nothing. Just thinking about how much Light would love the baby. I cant wait for it to come!" She smiled. You looked at her, shaking your head. "He won't." "What?" "He won't love the baby, Misa. He isn't capable of that."you told her. She smiled, "You're wrong. He does love. He loves me! He loves you too, I know. But he loves me more! And he'll love the baby as well!"

You finished up your food, "Light doesn't love us Misa. Not you, me or this baby. If he did, why would he beat you? I've seen the bruises on your arms, don't try denying. You know that he's just using you to achieve his goals. And I'm just a rag doll for him. You deserve better than him. You don’t deserve the resentment Light gives you when all you do is love him. Once he's tired of us, he'll get rid of us too. He’s hurt both of us. He's hurting both of us." You held her hand, looking her dead in the eyes. "And love isn't supposed to hurt Misa." She looked at you with an indescribable emotion in her eyes, whatever fantasy of Light she had, was cracking. "Whatever. Its not like I've got through to you before anyways-" you were cut off by Misa, her soft lips crashing with yours.

You tried to push her off, but she wouldn't budge. You heard the door open and suddenly she was ripped off of you. It was Light. He dragged Misa to the corner of the room and started thrashing her. "WHAT THE FUCK MISA?! I TOLD YOU TO LOOK AFTER HER! NOT FUCK HER!" Misa starts stammering, "Light, baby. Its not what you think-" She was cut off by Light slapping her. "Oh its not?! You were fucking sticking your tongue down her throat!" "No, it was just an accide-" He slapped her again, causing her to cry. "SHUT UP! I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE TRUSTED YOU! SHE'S MINE! MINE!" Light started choking her, not realising in his screaming fit that he'd left the door wide open for you.

This was it. The perfect distraction. Your moment to escape has finally come. But you couldn't move. Not when your eyes were fixed on Misa.

You were almost a carbon copy of Light when it came to intelligence. But you still weren't able to escape him all these months. Because Light was able to control you because of a single flaw of yours. You cared. You cared about people you didn't even know, but you still cared.

If I leave now, she will die. And with that thought, you lunged towards Light, pulling at his arms trying to get him off. "Light! Stop it! Its not her fault!" Suddenly, you were pushed to the ground. Light started punching you. "Oh I know its not her fault! ITS YOURS! YOU DECIDED TO WHORE YOURSELF TO HER SO YOU COULD GET OUT OF HERE, RIGHT?! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT. YOU. BELONG. TO. ME!?!"He yelled between punches.

Misa looked at you from behind Light's shoulder. She quickly got up and tried to stop him. Pulling at his arm, she yelled again "Light! Stop! You'll kill her and the baby!" But he didn't stop, only replying "She's gone through worse! And if the baby's that weak, then it doesn't deserve to survive!" And just like that, Misa realised you were right. Whatever dream she had of Light and her was gone. She slowly backed away from Light.

Light was still punching you, even though you had lost consciousness long ago. Suddenly, Light started choking up. He got off you, not understanding what was happening to him. He turned to look for Misa, asking her to help him. But as she stood there, with the Deathnote in her hands, he realised what had happened. Misa had written his name. "M-Misa!?" She just stood there, her eyes glazed. Or had she finally woken up? "Love isn't supposed to hurt, Light And you've hurt us. A lot. Now perish."

Once Light had stopped breathing, she rushed towards you. She checked for your pulse. You were still alive. Misa pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "It'll be okay, (Y/n). We'll be okay. I'll fix everything."

You all got part 2, I got the ending I wanted. Everybody wins.

Now if someone here knows how to study biochem or do witchcraft, hmu cause I dont wanna fail exams. Speaking of which, Ill be less active here, so if you do send in requests, keep them short. Or better yet, send in questions. I’ll be happy to answer them. :)

[adarlingwrites]

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working. 

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

[i-ship-therefore-i-am]

my kingdom come undone

I wrote a thing. Inspired by this post by @lanzhanshands about an AU where Lan Zhan is forced to kill Wei Wuxian. (Ugh, how DARE) 2500 words, wangxian

Warnings: self-harm, suicide, violence, death, blood

my kingdom come undone

if I am doomed to death, then at least I could be killed by you

Wei Ying has lost control.

The buildings themselves are starting to crumble, the very earth beneath their feet screaming with rage, as if to shake them all off, to free itself completely of the living. Cultivator or servant, old or young.

Even the Jiang clan is no longer being protected, just swarms and swarms of puppets lashing and tearing them all to pieces.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji barks, voice booming above the fray. There is no way he has not heard it, and yet there is no reaction, no pause in his playing, not the tiniest flicker.

There’s nothing in his eyes anymore, nothing left but the resentment, leaving them dull and flat and lifeless. His skin pale and deathly, the telltale black lines crawling up over his neck. It’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, that he’s not Wei Ying anymore. That his control is gone.

Lan Wangji’s greatest fear unfurling right in front of him.

Wei Ying is the eye of the storm, the relentless, rotting resentful energy is thicker and more violent the closer Lan Wangji comes, pressing through and grunting slightly at the impact against his chest, his thigh—the burning, mournful screech of it. He does not stop.

Does not dare stop.

Once close enough, he pulls Bichen free and attacks. “Wei Ying! Stop this now!”

They fight, Wei Ying with just his flute to counter and parry, slipping under and away from Lan Wangji’s strikes, and for a while it seems their same endless draw, but Lan Wangji knows himself to be the superior swordsman. Especially now.

He has been holding back.

“Wei Ying,” he tries one more time, ignoring the curl and burn of resentful energy whipping against his body. “Stop this.”

Please.

The spread of Wei Ying’s lips reveals blood-stained teeth, and when next his flute lifts to his lips, the shrill, shrieking note is for Lan Wangji.

Meant to kill.

He barely dodges and deflects the resentful energy made solid and lifts his sword with deadly intention. There is no more time to hold back.

Lan Wangji’s strike hits home, Bichen sliding relentlessly into Wei Ying’s chest, going all the way through, and Lan Wangji’s wrist is twisting on instinct, muscle memory of endless practice brutally finishing the move. Blood immediately gushes from Wei Ying’s mouth, his entire body jerking.

The dark energy pulses and screams with rage, the wind and dust picking up, stinging Lan Wangji’s eyes and cheeks.

They have seen Wei Ying pull an arrow straight from his chest and continue on as if nothing, but this time he will not. Wei Ying’s limbs are already twitching, muscles spasming erratically.

Yet his empty hand lifts, striking out, latching onto Lan Wangji’s wrist, the skin so cold and cracked against his own. It isn’t an attack though, but something much worse.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, soft and garbled, and for that tiny moment, his eyes are once again his own. So warm and full even as they are red-rimmed and pained.

Everything seems to freeze, everything else dropping away. For Lan Wangji there is nothing but Wei Ying.

He thinks there must be tears on his face, but he doesn’t care, hasn’t let it make him hesitate.

There is the slightest smile curving Wei Ying’s lips as he looks back at Lan Wangji, his face impossibly pale, blood gushing down to the ground. He nods once, as if to accept his fate, Lan Wangji’s judgment, and then his eyes drift shut, leaving him looking almost peaceful.

“Lan Zhan,” he mumbles one more time, a faint echo like a distant ghost.

He slumps, his fingers falling away from the back of Lan Wangji’s hand, but before Lan Wangji can even think to reach for him or pull back his sword, or save him, save him, save him—the world explodes, the Stygian Tiger Amulet shattering into countless pieces, a single name a piercing shriek in the wind.

Wei Wuxian! Wei WUXIAN!

Resentful energy bursts outwards, a solid, punishing wind, knocking people to the ground. Lan Wangji stumbles back, leaning hard into it, arm lifting.

Behind and around him, the puppets fall quickly, docile now without anyone to command them, cut down quickly by survivors or merely melting back into the ground with a mournful wail that shudders the earth.

Moorless. Uncontrolled. Their master dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

The blast knocked Lan Wangji back, far enough for Bichen to slide free of Wei Ying’s chest. When Lan Wangji recovers enough to look, Wei Ying is crumpled to the ground, boneless and ungainly.

His eyes are open again, now unfocused, inert.

Empty.

There is cheering, somewhere in the distance, which makes no sense, rattles irritatingly against Lan Wangji’s skin, but he can’t really focus on that, instead staring at the body at his feet, the slow drip of blood off the end of Bichen where he still holds it.

He’s waiting, maybe. To feel something?

Waiting for Wei Ying to rise and smile and do one more impossible thing?

But the stillness and the silence only grow and grow and grow and the waiting is now a writhing, furious thing, something cracking in half inside of him, withering and decaying.

No. No. No. No.

It slowly grows, the wail that wants to rip out of his throat. The furious rage at the world that led them to this. Every misstep, every wasted moment, every missed opportunity.

He wonders what his own eyes look like, if there is anything but emptiness to see. If he can possibly survive one more moment of the inescapable, sheering pain.

Lan Wangji does the only thing he can think to do to make it stop and lifts Bichen, the blood and metal catching the light.

“Wangji, no!”

But his brother’s voice is soft and distant where the blade is blessedly sharp and close to his neck. One quick motion is all it takes.

He falls to his knees, sword tumbling from numb fingers as he reaches for Wei Ying and death.  

Refusing to let Wei Ying again go where he cannot follow.

***

Xichen must flood his body with every fleck of spiritual power he has to keep his gaping neck together, to keep blood flowing in Lan Wangji’s body and not out. There are others too, maybe. Outnumbering him.

He does not want to be saved. Fights against it. Rages with what little strength he has.

“Wangji, stop it!”

He doesn’t want to.

But it is the one time Lan Wangji’s strength fails him. He has done, as always, what is necessary. Denying himself all else. He has always been strong. But not in this.

Even in this one final wish is he denied.

But there will be moments. Opportunities. No one can be watched at all times.

The first time he truly wakes, now in a bed in Cloud Recesses, there are small arms wrapped tight around his thigh, a child’s body curled trustingly against his.

A-Yuan.

Lan Wangji lifts his eyes to his brother, sitting calming nearby, but eyes sharp. He has played a dirty trick and knows it, watches to see what will come of it.

Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut, feeling tears streaming down his face, soaking into his hair and the bandage still wrapped around his neck.

He puts his hand down on the small child’s head and nods.

Perhaps living will be the true punishment deserved.

***

The scar is a rippled, monstrous thing. Bichen’s blade is sharp and efficient, but Lan Wangji’s fight against being saved has warped and stretched the wound, his refusal ripping it open time and again. It takes most of his voice with it.

He can speak, but his words are rough and incomplete, each syllable a painful struggle. He’s always had little use for words, now he will have even less. He saves whatever words he has all for A-Yuan, who never flinches at the bruising sound. Who never stares at the scar, who touches him freely without fear.

A constant reminder of the only other person ever to do so.

“Body?” is one of the first words Lan Wangji manages to force out to his brother.

He braces himself to hear of a callus punishment, Wei Ying’s body burned and cremains spread recklessly, giving his soul no place to find peace, no place to tether it.

“There was no body,” Xichen says.

Lan Wangji gives him a sharp look.

“The resentful energy…it seemed to rebound back. It devoured him.”

When he is able, Lan Wangji drags himself upright behind his guqin and sends his questions out into the ethos.

Are you there?

Are you at peace?

Do you hate me?

Inquiry has no answer for him, year after year, and he begins to understand that Wei Ying is not just gone from this world, but gone from existence.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.

***

Lan Wangji walks the world, first to share it with A-Yuan, to let him see things for himself and not as described in books and lectures through others’ agendas. To let him learn his own judgment and beliefs. And later to bring whatever justice and order he can to the forgotten, the people the sects either do not see or do not wish to see.

He wears the scar unflinchingly. Refusing to hide it from sight. Not proud, not embarrassed. Just another part of him.  

People learn not to call him a hero if they don’t wish a sword drawn against them.

They fear him now too.

As they should. He is a ghost. Just one more corpse at Wei Ying’s disposal. And perhaps this transformation is the Yiling Patriarch’s one last great feat.

***

When Wei Ying is born back into the world, Lan Wangji is there to stand by his side, to keep this world from destroying him yet again.

Lan Wangji had never known what to say to him before, how to speak to him, and now even less, so his silence seems right. Wei Ying never asks about the injury that took his voice, just gives him long looks, his eyes lingering on the scar. It is hard to know what he remembers and what he doesn’t.

Lan Wangji keeps him safe, helps him unravel the mystery of a sword ghost that becomes a blade that becomes a murder and spilled secrets of using the Yiling Patriarch as a scapegoat for power grabs and petty revenge. Of each manipulated step that dragged Lan Wangji’s blade into Wei Ying’s heart.

He stays by his side and keeps him safe, always knowing it is not his space to occupy. That he does not have the right to it. He is a shield and nothing more.

Meaning he does not deserve to feel anything like pain when Jin Guanyao holds Wei Ying by the throat, Bichen gleaming a mere inch from the throb of Wei Ying’s pulse in a failed attempt to free him. When Jin Guanyao laughs and strikes out mercilessly.

“I always knew it would end here again, Lan Wangji, with your sword buried deep in Master Wei’s chest. How I look forward to seeing that again.”

“Never,” Lan Wangji whispers and seals his spiritual power without daring to look at Wei Ying.

When it is done, each bitter truth dragged out and unfurled and Wei Ying finally free, Lan Wangji follows him out onto the road.

He stops at the first curve.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, looking back to see why he hasn’t followed.

He unsheathes Bichen, closing the distance between them, watching for alarm in Wei Ying’s eyes, but there is only curiosity and trust.

It cuts worse than anything else.

Reaching out, Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hands and carefully wraps them around Bichen’s hilt.

“Lan Zhan, what are you—”

Lifting the blade towards himself, Lan Wangji falls to his knees in front of him. Sizhui is grown and safe. Wei Ying is free. He has paid as much debt as he can without this.

Wei Ying looks between him and the blade, his face paling. “Lan Zhan, you can’t be serious.”

“Wei Ying,” he rasps, leaning towards the blade. Yearning for it. “Please.”

“No!” Wei Ying says, not dropping Bichen in the dirt, but swinging the blade away, tucked safely behind him. “Why would I—Do you really want to die this badly?”

He feels himself sway. “It is what I deserve.”

It’s what I did to you.

“No, it’s not,” he says hotly. “How could you ever deserve that!”

Lan Wangji lowers his face, staring down at the ground.  

“Lan Zhan. You think I—? I don’t blame you, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying drops to the dirt in front of him, his hands taking his. “Deep down, I always knew I could count on you to stop me if I went too far. I don’t remember much, I really don’t. But I don’t doubt that I needed to be stopped. That you did the right thing.”

Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut, throat burning from too many words, stretching him to his very limit. “I failed you.”

“No, Lan Zhan, no.”

There’s a long, protracted silence and Lan Wangji forces himself to just wait. He feels like he’s been waiting forever. Like this is all he has ever done.

Wei Ying’s fingers on his throat make him flinch, but if he wishes to strangle him instead, he will take that as well. But the fingers are gentle instead of rough. Far too gentle.

“Tell me how this happened, Lan Zhan,” he says, voice so soft.

Lan Wangji presses his lips together, shaking his head.

“If you will give me something, give me that.”

Everything inside him revolts against it. But what right does he have to deny Wei Ying anything? “I tried to follow you,” he says, each word a struggle, like he might soon feel blood on his tongue, his vocal chords screaming in agony. “But you are always going where I cannot follow.”

On his wrist, Wei Ying’s hand trembles. “Lan Zhan,” he says, voice nearly broken as his own. “Lan Zhan.”

He forces his eyes up, and Wei Ying is crying.

“It wasn’t fair to ask it of you. I see that now. I never thought…”

That killing him would be as good as killing himself?

“I didn’t know what I was asking of you.”

And then Wei Ying’s arms are wrapping around him, pulling him in close, relentlessly drawing him into the eye of his storm.

Lan Wangji grabs him back immediately, burying his face in his shoulder, so weak, so unable to resist. “Wei Ying,” he says in his garbled, bruised voice.

He is alive, he is alive, he is alive.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

Something inside Lan Wangji is cracking wide open, when he thought there was nothing solid left to begin with. Just ruins and shards.

Wei Ying does not stop, words endlessly tumbling. “You must know, you must know, that I cannot live in a world without you in it, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji’s body trembles, the soft roundness of longing he has denied himself for so long struggling to be free, to pour over the sharp edges.

“Stay. Stay. Stay,” he begs.

Slowly, Lan Wangji lifts his hand to the back of Wei Ying’s head, fingers burying in his hair.

He nods.

***

He dreams of it always. Waking sweating and crying, Wei Ying’s name ripping from his ruined throat. The phantom feel of dust in his eyes and blood slick on his hands.

Wei Ying is always there, gathering him close, lips pressing to his cheeks, his forehead, his throat. Arms and legs wrapped around him as he murmurs quietly to him in the dark, his bright heat burning everything else away.

“I love you, Lan Zhan. I love you. I’m here and I will never go where you cannot follow.”  

Each time Lan Zhan lets out a shuddering breath, and digs his fingers into Wei Ying’s back, pulling him impossibly close. Focuses on the steady thud of Wei Ying’s heart against his chest.

And chooses life all over again.

.fin.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Day 15: 🐍 Eclipsed 🐍

A letter arrives in the mail. It is plain, unassuming—just as any letter would be. Normal paper, normal handwriting. Normal, normal, normal... Save for the flourish in the final few paragraphs and the signature. You doubt you would be able to distinguish it in a pile of papers if you just went by most of the body of the lettet. Perhaps that was the intention of the sender, though: to be unassuming, and to strike when one least expects it.

A small bottle has come with the letter. There appears to be a mixture of powders and dried herbs inside of it. It smells wonderful—vaguely like your favorite food, though when you show off the contents to Grim, he tells you it smells like tuna instead. The label on the bottle reads “Special Seasoning by Jamil V”.

***Spoilers for chapters 4 and 5!***

Ramshackle Prefect,

Kalim insisted that I join him in sending you a letter of gratitude. He hovered over my shoulder for quite some time, begging me to proofread his own letter for him or asking me what I planned to write in mine. Honestly... that boy causes me so much trouble. In the end, I was able to wave him off and properly gather my thoughts.

Regarding the “winter break incident”... I do not regret my actions one bit. Condemn me if you wish, call me evil—but never say that I was not chasing my aspirations.

You have no idea what it is like to be me. Do you realize the disparity between myself and Kalim? He is the golden boy—the sun. And I—the moon, perpetually eclipsed and drowning in darkness.

I am forever fated to operate as a servant from the shadows, for the sake of a boy that barely understands how ignorant he really is. He can only smile so carefreely because he is unaware of how the other half lives. How we fight and claw and struggle to survive, to cater to those at the top.

It would be a different matter entirely if I had willingly signed up for this lifestyle. But I did not. From the moment I was born, my destiny had already been decided. It is one that will forever be tied to Kalim’s. I am bound by my bloodline, and its history.

I desire so much more than that.

Would you tell a broken winged bird he is not meant to return to the skies? A finless fish he should perish on land because the water will not welcome him? A venomous snake he should not bite because the world tells him it is wrong? No. They will do as any animal would—when backed into a corner, they will strike back.

I was tired of playing second fiddle to Kalim, tired of seeing him be praised for doing the absolute bare minimum, while I worked to the bone doing his duties. Holding myself back from excelling so that he, by comparison, would look better. I was always limiting myself. Stopping short of shining too brightly. Reaching for the stars that I could not see, right as they slipped out of my grasp.

I began to resent him—Kalim, and everything that he represented. I wanted to seize all that he had for myself. It was only fair. I had put in all the effort for him, so it only made sense for me to claim the titles and the credit as well. Because I want to shine, too. I want to be acknowledged, recognized, praised.

Selfish? Perhaps. I have never claimed to be a good person. It is only fools like Kalim that will continously insist that I am, or that I have the potential to be. Even worse are the people like Azul, who only approach me with shady intentions in mind. The sparkle I seek is not tied to teaming up with others. It is only within myself that I can grow and improve the strength of my skills.

This is who I am: Jamil Viper, unabashedly so.

In a way, I suppose I am almost thankful for the “winter break incident”. Though I was not successful with my plot, I was finally able to show my “true self”, the “me” I was repressing for Kalim’s sake. I can be myself, at long last, and excel at whatever endeavors I please. The cruel, conniving “me”... Of course it scared everyone.

... Kalim, that idiot. Even after all of that, he believed in me and talked the rest of Scarabia into giving me another chance. He had always been good at smoothing things over—perhaps a trait inherited from his father. “Why?” I asked him. “Why did you do it? For someone like me?” And Kalim’s only reply was... “Because I like you, Jamil!”

It is a simple answer, as to be expected of him. No matter how many times I told him I didn’t want his pity, he continued to brush it off. He said if I didn’t want to be friends, we could be rivals instead. “You don’t need to hold back anymore. Take me on with everything you’ve got!”, so he said.

Being “myself”. Having “more”. The sun finally left, and the moon’s light was no longer overshadowed. At last, my wish has come true—although not in the way I expected it to. So, for that... I thank you.

At VDC, I could dance and sing my heart out—I could shine the brightest I ever could. I surpassed Kalim, just as I had always wanted, garnered the praise I had long sought out. Me, Jamil Viper. They were cheering for me.

Ramshackle Prefect, consider my help at VDC as payback for your “help” during winter break. I had the foresight to clear out the audience and staff members before Vil-senpai’s Overblot, and I even came to rescue you on the magic carpet. With that, my debt is repaid—and I am free to act as I please.

Well... Perhaps that is not entirely true. It is not so easy to cast off the shackles of servitude the Viper family wears. I will continue to serve at Kalim’s side. It is not because I enjoy his mediocrity or his idiocy. This is simply a decision I have made of my own will, as I have deemed it to be the least troublesome for myself.

I will see where things go from here, and alter my plans accordingly. One day, I hope to break free entirely, so that I may finally grasp those diamonds awaiting in the sky. For now... I am content being “me” and coexisting with Kalim, just as the sun and moon do.

Best regards,

🐍 Jamil Viper 🐍

Scarabia Vice-Dorm Leader

Basketball Club Member

Second Year NRC Student

[wolf-and-bard]

Jotastic?! Who suggested Eskel got the spikes on his shoulder? Was it a monster inspiring him? Or did someone suggest? Or did he see this really canon-age-punk kid and got inspired?

Pandawesome! 💕 Because the last one turned out soft, this had to turn out sad, I'm sorry!!! I hope you like it anyway...

cw: angst, mentions of trial-related trauma, (possibly) unrequited feelings

---

Nights You Don't Remember (M, ~1.6k)

Eskel sits alone at breakfast, the other trainees around him merry and joyous as they chat about the upcoming day. He doesn’t have much to add, doesn’t want to do anything else than quietly eat his porridge. He knows the masters worry about him, think he’s behind in his development, but Eskel still needs time to process all this.

Kaer Morhen.

The witchers.

His newfound future.

At six, those concepts seem rather insurmountable.

Eskel sits alone at breakfast until someone slides into the seat opposite him and catches his attention with a wave so that Eskel looks up from his spoon, wary.

"You like crafts, don't you?" the boy says, cocking his head. His hair falls in long strands of orange-red so bright Eskel has a hard time looking at him for long. He doesn’t know the boy’s name even though they are so similar everyone in the keep remarked on it the day Eskel arrived.

"How," Eskel asks, then breaks off and shakes his head. The boy exposes a gap-toothed smile, and presses a lump of rock into Eskel's free hand. It's cool and smooth and Eskel is almost certain there is some metallic component to it. That much he remembers from his father's workshop, how to distinguish ore from plain rock. "How did you figure?" he finally manages.

"I saw you whittle a toy knight from wood and give it to one of the younger pups," the boy says, a little sheepish.

Eskel must know his name. They are in the same cohort, they have been attending the same classes. He's only been at Kaer Morhen for a month or so, but his memory is usually so sharp. Why can’t he remember?

"... I also overheard Master Vesemir ask you about the quality of your practice sword and you seemed to know a lot about that, so I thought... well it might be stupid anyway." Red creeps into the boy's impossibly freckle-speckled cheeks as he looks away, and Eskel's lip twitches.

"What's your name again?"

"Geralt."

"Thank you for this, Geralt, I know just the thing to make with it."

Geralt's head whips back around and his grin bursts anew. He gives the rock in Eskel's hand a pat, then skips away to where Master Rennes is collecting their class for their early history lessons. Eskel lets Geralt's unexpected gift slip into his pocket and gets up to follow him.

---

That night, Geralt and Eskel sneak out of the dormitories to search the sky for shooting stars. They find none, but in the way only young children can form attachments, they have become the best of friends by the next morning. Nothing will ever come between them, Eskel thinks once he's back in bed, the rock cradled close to his chest.

---

Eskel is afraid. He is so fucking afraid of the Trials, for his own life, for Geralt's, for everyone in their cohort. He is also afraid of what will come after, what life will be like. He knows the theory of it, he will make a good witcher his masters say, but reality looms greater than any beast or monster could and Eskel is afraid.

"I have something for you," Geralt says when he approaches Eskel out on the training grounds where he's been sparring with the dummy. It's the evening before.

"Hm?" Eskel puts down his sword and wipes the sweat from his brow. His stomach gapes with hunger, his body burns from all the effort he's been putting it through, just to get his mind off things, his heart is beating way too fast. Something the Trials will remedy, no doubt.

"Here." Geralt holds out his cupped hands which hold a great, grey ball of... rock. The very same rock Eskel still has on his nightstand. Eskel blinks, then bursts into laughter. "Hey, don't laugh at me. It's to help..."

"How is this going to help me survive the Grasses?" Eskel asks, but he takes the rock and he also takes Geralt's hand because he can.

"Well, I just thought... you might need some more. For whenever you decide what to do with it. It could be your activity while you... recover."

"Oh," is all Eskel says and Geralt squeezes his hand.

"Wanna spar?"

"Sure." The rock disappears into Eskel's pocket and they fight until day's first light.

----

Eskel holds the rock clutched tightly to his chest all throughout the Grasses and none of the masters have the heart to take it away from him, not when he starts screaming for Geralt the second they do.

He holds it throughout his recovery and throughout Geralt’s second set of Trials. He holds it until he muscles in his fingers give out and all he can do is lay there and wait.

---

"We made it," Geralt says as he slips into Eskel's bed. His hair is starkly white now, and his eyes burn a fierce yellow. His freckles have faded to invisibility. Eskel can't stand to look at him, can't stand to look at reflective surfaces either. They took away his Geralt, he is sure of it, burned him out of his body and left a bleached shell.

"You made it twice," Eskel murmurs and jumps when something cool is pressed into his palm. He glances down to find that Geralt has placed yet another rock there. The collection is growing. "Why?"

"Because they make you happy."

"Where do you get these anyway?"

They're not like anything Eskel has found in and around Kaer Morhen, nor even near it. He would recognize a proper ore, he is sure of it, even after all this time.

"A secret," Geralt says on a smile and snuggles into Eskel's side. He needs the comfort, the warmth, the affection. Geralt puts on a strong front, but Eskel can see right through it. Two Grasses should have reduced anyone to a lifeless husk and here Geralt is, still bringing Eskel those stones.

Maybe they didn't kill his Geralt after all. Maybe Eskel is the one that got lost.

---

The fourth rock appears magically in Eskel's backpack after his first successful hunt. Not immediately after, but within the week. Eskel treasures that one the most, but he also resents it. If Geralt could drop by to give him the gift, couldn't he have also said hello? Given Eskel a hug?

Eskel's been aware of his budding feelings for his brother-in-arms for a while now. He feels every day spent apart as keenly as a Nekker bite, though these dull with time.

Geralt... doesn't seem to mind so much.

---

Their thirtieth birthday is the last one they celebrate. It's an arbitrary date they picked, way back when, and they always do it together. Always did, anyway. They promise each other - drunk on ale and swaying arm in arm to whatever shanty Lambert and his friends are hollering through the keep's main hall - that they won't need such a stupid thing as birthdays to be grateful for each other's existence. That they'll stop counting the years behind them.

Eskel doesn't want to disregard the past, but he nods along.

"To the next thirty years and whatever lies beyond," Geralt says and slips his hand into Eskel's pocket. When he withdraws, the fabric of his breeches pull down, heavy with whatever Geralt placed in there. "Happy birthday, Eskel." Geralt briefly bumps their foreheads together, then withdraws to chase Lambert away from the ale barrel.

Eskel squeezes his eyes shut and his hands clench into fists, one as it is, one around the object in his pocket.

It's not just the last birthday they celebrate, it is also the last bit of ore Geralt will ever give him.

---

"What are those," Geralt laughs when they part after their mandatory welcome-hug, and points at the spikes that adorn Eskel's jacket. They weren't there last winter, and Eskel wasted an entire month on crafting them, perfecting them. Each one shaped out of the dozen or so rocks Geralt gave him over the years, that last one now half a century past, and Eskel finally decided what to make with them.

Eskel opens his mouth to speak, but Geralt cuts him off before he can.

"These look like something Dandelion would put on his doublet and call it fashion."

Eskel's heart plummets. There are a million things he could say, he could explain, could confess, could... well. It would only make Geralt feel bad, wouldn't it?

"I, uh," he starts, then swallows hard, and Geralt's brow rises. "I did a job for a blacksmith who fancied himself a designer. He... insisted."

"They seem pretty useless to me," Geralt replies, then runs his fingers across them. "But I suppose that is beside the point."

I hate you, Eskel thinks then. I hate you for ever bringing me this damned material, I hate you.

I love you, Eskel thinks also. I love you for the way you used to think of me, I love you.

"At least not as useless as whatever Lambert's got going on," he says and that makes Geralt chuckle. He draws an arm around Eskel's shoulder, carefully avoiding the spikes, and together they make for the keep.

---

Eskel doesn't have the heart to pluck them off again. Not when he spent so much effort making them. He wears them as a reminder, and sheds them only on the day he leaves Kaer Morhen behind for the last time.