#writing and despair

[laurachouettepoetry]

Weight of Ink

It is easier to write words that are not true, To imagine something worse than someone is, And to bleak the world with one’s own tainted hands.

Leaving marks all over imaginary people, Self-loathed places and cities that carry one’s own name, With nothing but a page to drown them in.

The weight of the world rests like a sheet of paper On a writer’s desk — filling up with ink that turns it dark, And still worth no more.

— Laura Chouette (The Willow Tree)

[suntails]

love will truly live

[letsplayeternity]

Honest question, I've been rethinking the whole "Colin has done the same with Penelope Featherington" speech Anthony gave to Daphne and his mother in season 1 and the fact that when Colin talked to his brothers in 3x05 both Ben and Anthony were like "I didn't have a clue" and like... do we think Anthony spent the evening rethinking every single interaction he has ever witnessed between Colin and Pen and every single instance where he let things slide because "oh that's just eloise's friend?" and just banging his head against a wall as Kate laughs her ass off??

[goodluckclove]

hi it's me. "telling" in writing is sometimes fine. if you think a scene is better served by summarizing a character's reaction in plain, direct language, that's a thing you're allowed to do. you could consider elaborating from that direct language and using that to "show".

but like "show, don't tell" is absolutely not always the case unless you really want to buff out your word count. i had a writer early on quote "show, don't tell" to me when i showed her a scene that included what was essentially a set-piece character i described as a "sleepy-eyed dancer". she wanted me to spend time describing this character's exhaustion instead of just directly saying it. This dancer - who is referenced once in the initial description of a setting and never, ever shows up again.

that was probably the day i learned that you can hear writing advice and respond politely but quietly think "mm no". you can also do this.

(feel free to fight me in the comments but know that i despise catchy and generalized writing advice like this and the way it can hinder new writers when stated with no room for exploration. and i will die on this hill. i am not normal about this)

[hotshotsxyz]

this town is only gonna eat you

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1.1k) already wrote some buck-gets-hit-by-a-car spec, so how about some buck-gets-shot? kept thinking about "take eddie [to the laker's game] and die" and uh... here we are. cw: mass shooting/ gun violence (described vaguely), somewhat graphic description of a bullet wound, blood edit: now featuring a companion piece

Buck is smiling when it happens. Grinning at Eddie like he hung the fucking moon as he points out what must be the hundredth interesting play he’s seen on the court tonight. Buck’s smiling.

Eddie registers the screams before the gunfire. He smells the metallic scent of spent shell casings before he sees the shooter. He tackles Buck to the ground before he realizes he’s already hurt.

Buck was smiling, but now his face is inches from Eddie’s and his eyes are wide with pain and panic.

“Eds,” he says, and it’s barely above a whisper but it’s still too loud.

Eddie shakes his head, a tiny, sharp movement. Buck takes a shaky breath and presses his lips together. He understands. Eddie hates that he understands. Thank God he understands.

There’s something warm and wet slowly spreading between them, and it takes Eddie several wasted seconds to realize it’s blood. He’s almost completely certain it isn’t his, which—

God, that’s so much worse than if it was.

One of Eddie’s hands is still cradling Buck’s head, an instinctive act of protection before they hit the ground. With the other, Eddie slowly begins feeling his way around Buck’s abdomen. His fingers brush against torn fabric and he feels nauseous.

I’m sorry, he mouths before pressing down hard.

Buck gasps in pain. A muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort it must take him to keep from screaming.

“You’re doing so good,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s ear. “I’ve got you; I promise.”

The bullet caught him somewhere along the fifth intercostal space on the right side of his chest. Eddie doesn’t have a way to feel for an exit wound, not without letting up pressure on what he knows is there.

At best, the bullet glanced off a rib and tore through nothing but skin and muscle. At worst…

At worst, Buck is dying beneath him and there’s not a damn thing Eddie can do, not until the shooter is dead or gone. All Eddie can do is pray. Pray and hope like hell that God has forgiven him for his incomplete confession.

Another spray of gunfire echoes through the arena. It’s nearly impossible to identify where it’s coming from, but Eddie’s got a vague idea based on the direction people seem to be running in.

Buck takes a ragged, watery breath.

For the first time in his life, Eddie hopes he’s crying. He draws back, just far enough to look Buck in his eyes. His eyes, which are clouded over in pain but free from tears.

Fuck, fucking goddamn it.

Eddie presses his cheek against Buck’s.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay?” he whispers. “You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Buck’s chest.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. “I just need you to hold on,” he begs.

A single shot rings out, and nearby, something falls to the ground with a dull thump.

“Suspect is down!” someone shouts. “We’re clear for EMS.”

Eddie carefully extricates his hand from behind Buck’s head. “Hear that? We’re so close, Buck.” He brushes a thumb across his cheekbone, then sits up and raises his hand in the air. “Over here!” he shouts. “I’ve got a penetrating chest wound that needs to be on the first ambo out of here!”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter as he fights to stay conscious.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says.

With his free hand and his teeth, he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt to wad up and press into Buck’s wound.  The skin there is ragged and torn, almost certainly an exit wound. Eddie curses.

“I need EMS now!” Eddie roars, not tearing his eyes away from Buck for even a second.

“I’m coming to you!” someone calls back.

Buck’s eyes slip shut.

“No!” Eddie commands, rubbing his knuckles across Buck’s sternum. “You’re staying right here with me, you got it?”

Buck groans weakly. His eyes flick back open.

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie babbles. “Just keep—c’mon, Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

Buck’s lips part. “Hurt,” he breathes.

“I know,” Eddie says desperately, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

A pained sound falls from Buck’s lips. He lifts one of his hands just high enough to ghost his fingers along the ruined hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Behind him, Eddie hears a gurney roll to a stop.

“Here!”

Eddie turns and find a young woman, no more than twenty years old, wearing a polo that declares her part of a private ambulance service. He doubts she’d weigh even a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

Buck’s eyes widen. He makes a strangled sound. “Hurt,” he coughs out again, fingers scrambling uselessly against the concrete floor of the arena.

“They’re gonna give you the good stuff at the hospital,” Eddie reassures. He lets go of Buck’s wound and pulls him into a seated position, then rolls him awkwardly onto his back. “I got you,” he says as he stands.

Eddie staggers beneath Buck’s weight but manages to get him down three rows worth of steps and onto the gurney without the young EMT’s help.

“We’re staged just outside the north entrance,” she says as she begins to push Buck toward a set of doors.

Eddie nods sharply. “He’s got a perforating chest wound, probable pulmonary laceration, and a history of pulmonary embolism. Allergic to naproxen,” he rattles off as he pushes the gurney alongside her.

“Um, okay, that’s—are you a doctor or something?” she asks.

“Firefighter,” Eddie corrects. “We both are.”

The closer they get to the exit, the harder Eddie has to work to keep pace with the EMT. He must be coming down hard as the adrenaline fades. A few spots cloud the corners of his visions. He blinks them away.

The doors to the outside fling open, revealing two paramedics from the 136.

“Diaz, is that you?” one of them asks.

The best Eddie can do is nod.

“Shit, and that’s—”

Eddie’s ears start to ring.

“Diaz, were you shot?”

No, he tries to say. One of the paramedics grabs him under the shoulders, and the other pushes his t-shirt up until—

Oh.

Huh.

He has been shot.

The paramedic in front of him is saying something, but Eddie can’t quite understand it. Over his shoulder, the EMT looks blurry and horrified.

The spots in his vision return with a vengeance, and in his last few moments of lucidity, it occurs to Eddie that the bullet in his abdomen is probably the same one that ripped through Buck’s chest.

Then, the world fades to black, and Eddie thinks nothing at all.  

[drdtfuitgumies]

PLEASE do a Hiroaki-Arturo interaction it would be so fucking funny

get his ass. thank you for the request! and happy birthday to BOTH J and yanagi!!

[wheels-of-despair]

C'mon Pairing: @oneforthemunny's Dom!Eddie x Brat!Reader Summary: Someone is taking too long to get ready for a night out, so Eddie hurries things along. Contains kink and smut, youths get lost. Words: 1.2k

Happy Birthday, Evie! I expanded on this Horny Hours post forever ago and forgot about it but I dusted it off again just for youuu! 😘

"You ready yet?"

"Almost," you answer, trying not to stab yourself with the eyeliner.

"You said that ten minutes ago," Eddie sighs, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

"I lied."

"Oh yeah?"

Shit.

"It was an optimistic estimate."

Eddie snorts, rolls his eyes, and walks away.

Safe.

Dammit, your mascara is uneven.

"Jesus Christ, would you hurry up?" he demands two minutes later.

"I just wanna look pretty for you," you whine.

"You look fine."

"Fine?" you pout.

"Everybody's already there!"

"It's called being fashionably late, ever heard of it?" you challenge, pulling on your dress to display your cleavage a little better.

"It's called a spanked ass, ever felt it?"

"I didn't even do anything," you scoff.

"You're being difficult."

"You think this is difficult?" you laugh.

"You planning on being more difficult?"

"Of course not, sweetie," you smile sweetly.

Eddie narrows his eyes. You stare at each other for a moment. And then he strikes like a cobra, bending you over the bathroom counter and flipping your dress up before you can fight back.

"Eddie, what--!"

SMACK!

"OW!"

Eddie holds you down with a palm to the small of your back, smacking your cheeks with the other until you're surely pink. You kick in protest, and he smacks harder.

And then, he decides he's done, and pulls you into a standing position.

"Good, you're not crying yet. Makeup's fine. Let's go."

"The fuck was that for?" you demand.

"Oh, that was in case you get any ideas. You're already warmed up. Don't think I won't throw you across my knee tonight."

"There are gonna be like, a hundred people there," you complain.

"Do I look like I care?"

"Eddieee," you whine.

"C'mon."

And that was that.

You weren't happy about sitting on that cracked van seat in your short skirt on the way to The Hideaway, but the sting had faded by the time you got there. You milled around, drank a little, chatted with a few people. When you started getting bored, you started getting horny.

And when you get horny, you need Eddie.

You look around the bar for him, seeing the band take the stage. You look at the clock and fume. He said the band he was interested in would start at 8. Which is why you had to leave early. It's 9. This is the opening act. He is such a liar.

But you approach him anyway, under the guise of wanting to listen together.

The closeness of the crowd really works in your favor.

Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into him. You lean your head back against him and sway for a bit to the shitty opening act. And then you alter your movements a little bit. You grind your ass into his cock as subtly as you can, being in the middle of a crowd and all.

"Stop," he whispers in your ear.

"Stop what?" you ask, feeling him harden through a few layers of fabric.

"That."

"Not doing anything," you smile innocently, glancing back at him.

He's not amused. He leans close to whisper in your ear.

"Remember what I told you before we left?" his voice rumbles.

"That I looked fine?" you pout, flexing your cheeks against his cock. "That hurt."

"Know what else is gonna hurt?"

He squeezes your ass cheek, reigniting the warmth.

"What do you think these people would do if I bent you over that table and gave you what you needed right here?"

Eddie's grip tightens, pulling you closer to him.

"That what you want? For everyone to see what happens to brats who don't know how to behave? Show off those slutty little panties you've got on? Want me to pull 'em down and let the crowd watch your cheeks change colors?"

You bite your lip, and he bites your earlobe.

"Good thing I don't wanna upstage the band."

His grip loosens. The fuck does that mean? You look back at him, feeling your stomach flip at the darkness in his eyes.

"C'mon."

Eddie takes your hand and leads you away from the crowd. You stumble, feeling the heat pool between your legs at the thought of what's coming.

You're pulled into a storage room with a flickering fluorescent light. Kegs and boxes line the walls. It'll do.

"Hands on the keg," he orders, unbuckling his belt.

You bend at the waist, putting your hands on top of the cold metal. Eddie stands behind you, nudging your feet apart with his boot. You widen your stance, wiggling your ass at him. He flips your dress up, taking a moment to knead the flesh he's about to batter. You moan.

"Don't think you'll be needing these," he rumbles, close to your ear, before hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties and sliding them down your legs. He taps your ankle, and you lift each foot so he can get them off.

You hear a rustle of fabric. They're in his pocket. The thwip of his belt being pulled from its loops. The clink of the buckle as he doubles it. You tremble. He steps closer. A hand in the small of your back.

WHACK

You rock forward on your toes, always shocked by that first strike. You don't get much time to process before the second, and the third, and the fourth land. How does he make this feel so good?

Eddie's belt snaps against your backside until you start to reconsider how good it feels. He can always tell, just by the sound of your breathing. You start to pant, and squirm, and the lashes stop.

And then you hear the sound of a zipper being unzipped.

You arch toward him, begging him to enter you.

You let out a quiet moan when he sinks into you.

He gives you a minute to adjust before pulling back slowly. You fight the urge to chase him, to beg him not to leave you. And then he slams into your red-hot ass, rocking you forward on the keg. Your hands lose their place, moving from warm metal to cool. It feels nice. Maybe you should sit on this when he's done. Eddie slams into you again, and you try to stay in position, but he's just so strong.

On the next thrust, you lose your balance, and Eddie tries to catch you. Your stomach lands on top of the untapped keg. It's not as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. Or maybe you're too fucking desperate to worry about anything other than getting fucked into next Tuesday. Eddie's hands grip your waist, as if to pull you back up.

"Don't," you beg. "Don't stop."

Eddie pounds into you again, and again, and you slide a little more with each thrust. By the time your walls clench around him, you've got your elbows on the floor. Eddie's fingers dig into your hips on top of the keg, making sure he's buried as deep as he can be when he finally explodes.

"Fuuuck," he whispers when he pulls out.

You're not quite sure how to get up, but he helps. You fall into his chest, resting your head against him. His heart is pounding.

"You good?" he asks, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face.

"Mhm," you hum.

"You get what you needed?"

"Mhm."

"Good. The band's on in five."

You look up at him with a pout. Does he really expect you go to out there and stand in that crowd with belt stripes across your thighs and cum dripping down your legs?

"C'mon."

[the-sol-eater]

Man. I really thought I'd be able to form the rest of my thoughts on this episode before yapping away to tumblr, but my fucking god this scene. THIS SCENE. This scene just perfectly exemplifies the key difference between Teruko and David so so well. They are both bitter, broken pessimists to their very core and being, but the difference between the two of them is that David is still trying to cling onto hope. He believes wholeheartedly that the world cannot change, but he wants to believe it can so badly. He wants to believe he can change so badly, that he is willing to dig his claws as deep as he can muster into into anything that can provide him with that hope. That is why he clings so fucking hard and obsesses over the idealized version of Xander in his head to an almost possessive degree. Xander, to him, is proof that he can become a good person, that he can change. Teruko gave up on being a good person the moment the killing game confirmed to her that she is fated to suffer. She gave up on having hope the moment the ones she considered her friends nearly sent her to the grave. And because of this, she cannot under any circumstances understand why David clings so hard to the idea that Xander was a good person. She will never understand him, just like he will never understand her.

[princescar]

matsushima married au from the vault bc i am sickk anyway let me know if ya wanna see more of this au ETA: HES THE #1 FAN OF HER MANGA just fucking realized that fan is missing and the fact the font turned my hashtag to "No." does not help me here

[accirax]

💙❤️Blind Date or Die Episode 2, Starring Eden, Kai, David, Ingrid, Hu, Wenona, Arei, and Desmond!💙❤️

[frostedpuffs]

[grapecherry]

“The Choice To Be Kind” - A Thematic Analysis

(ft. Eden, David, Teruko, & Arei)

For me, Eden is the heart of this chapter that the cast is revolving around, all serving to contrast her uniquely genuine sentiment.

“I chose to be this way.”

“I’ll still make the choice to be kind.”

Her intentions are very blatantly stated. This is a decision she actively makes everyday. It’s not a naïve default, it’s a continuous effort.

This is a very important distinction to establish going forward in examining other characters’ perspectives of kindness. Kindness was not something she was born with; it doesn’t run in her blood or her genes. It is not intrinsic to her existence.

Kindness is autonomous.

This alone is in conflict with how Arei, David, and Teruko, all address “goodness” as a trait instead of an acquired skill.

So there’s this constant reiteration of “you are good or you are bad”

This is countered by Eden saying “you can be good or you can be bad”

But then, most poignantly, it is Arei who concludes with the most self-realized perspective of “you are not good, nor are you capable of becoming good, just as you are not bad, nor capable of becoming bad, because there is no Good or Bad to become”

And this is by far the healthiest way to conceptualize self-improvement.

All we can do is hold ourselves accountable for bad actions and acknowledge that they will never render future acts of kindness futile.

None of this is to disparage the idea of change itself — it is to say that David, Teruko, and Eden have a much different understanding of what “change” implies here. For them, change is a means to be made from Bad to Good. We see this sentiment reflected in Teruko’s exchange with Whit.

And there in lies the issue: these concepts of concrete morality are unattainable! They’re not real.

But what can be changed is your behavior.

Just as Eden established, kindness is an effort, and you can make it continuously. But unlike Eden’s implied sentiment, Arei has realized that there’s no threshold of Good to be met through these efforts. The effort to be kind is simply that: an effort. No one is barred from making it, nor is anyone required to. The effort means something, just as a lack of it does, but there’s no permanence to it all. It’s simply a consistency of effort that credits you reliable or kind in the eyes of others.

But everyone wakes up a blank slate, capable of starting or losing that consistency just as easily as the next person. And because of that-

-no one is too far gone.

No one is too far behind, because there’s no finish line to be reached.

Everyone can wake up and try to be a little less shitty.

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader

cw/tags: Your usual mentions of slavery and sexual themes, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. Also allusions to depression and mentions of death.

notes: Aahahaha this took forever..... allow me top explain: first of all my new job is killing me and second of all I'm going through a hard period where I don't really like anything I write anymore. This work in particularly I kept struggling with the pacing, the dialogues, the way I wanted feelings to come across or scenes to flow it's just hhhnnnggg. I told a couple of friends that I set the bar so high with the first part I feel like nothing else I write will be that good. Then the second part was "ok" but cut off in a cliffhanger and has been there for SO LONG that now I feel this will be underwhelming after all the buildup//hit

I hope it's not. I hope it's good.

Anyway this part is in Zhongli's pov and contains flashbacks which will be fully in italics! Enjoy! and thanks for caring so much about this story ;w; ILU all <3

<- Part 2.

Your instincts mess up with your head.

Your crying and anxiety have simmered to a cold numbness.

Hours blur together, time loses meaning.

The doctor comes by sometimes. The maids bring you food. But everything feels… off, distant.

This doesn’t feel… like your usual heats.

You curl up and sob, a choked soft noise.

You don’t feel hot, but rather cold. Limbs weak. Dizzy.

Your heart aches.

You’re so tired.

And so sleepy…

Zhongli puts down the seal stamp and deflates back into his chair with a sigh, he must have read the same line at least five times already. He cannot concentrate at all. It’s not even been three days and each hour, each minute, feels eternal.

He’s already gotten so used to your presence, so smitten with you and your little quirks, your rare smiles, the way your ears and tail flicker, your pretty eyes…

And he remembers those same eyes begging for him, teary. Your pitiful cry. Your distressed scent.

Guilt eats at him. As well as something else…

He’s been restless, barely slept. Your scent is a siren’s song on the blankets, tart and fresh and tantalizing, but you are not with him. Anxious energy flows in his veins. This emotion, this thing that is like regret and sorrow and fear all tangled together, cleaves him through. His instincts are screaming at him, rattling inside a cage of his own making. His mate, his precious Omega is in heat, you’re scared and lonely and need him. Zhongli has to suppress a growl and feel the shudder of his scales at the fact that he’s not with you. In your nest. Taking care of you.

It’s agonizing.

"How is she?"

The same question, over and over, at any chance he gets.

"She refuses to eat, your majesty." Xiao tells him, and he can feel the concern in the younger Alpha’s voice. “According to the maids she only took a few bites of the ajilenak nuts, the rest of the food was left untouched.”

…

"She's um... she's always sleeping when I go check up on her." Ganyu explains a little crestfallen. She too is worried. “A-at least I think she’s in no pain… she was clinging to one of your hanfus.”

…

"You should go see her, Zhongli." Ping states, a rare serious expression on her usual gentle factions. “Baizhu says she’s going through the worst case of separation sickness he’s ever seen. Is that really what you want your poor Yin to go through?”

He lets out a frustrated rumble.

“Of course not. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to… take advantage of her, or force her to anything.” Zhongli frowns, trying to focus on the papers in front of him again, in an attempt to ignore her piercing gaze.

“Is it really any of that if she wants her mate?” Ping retorts. “She was begging you.”

I know.

He growls this time, and shakes his head at his memory of you. It haunts him.

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“So, you’re deciding for her then? Is that it? Honestly, are you listening to yourse-”

“She’s been conditioned to serve.” He cuts her off, voice grave and somber. “Trained to be submissive and please. She likes me simply because I’m kind to her, she wants me because she thinks it’s her obligation as my mate. I feel the pull of the bond too, the need, the yearning. But I also know she is afraid of Alphas and she thinks… she thinks she has to obey me. That she owes me something or that own her.” His eyes narrow. “I didn’t need to bond her. I shouldn’t have bonded her. I just… wanted her to be free and instead I chained her to me. And now she’s in heat…”

And it drives him insane.

“Listen to me, we’ve both spent time with her, enough to know she’s opening up and learning to voice her feelings…” Ping reasons gently. “It’s a slow process, don’t hurt her this way. At the very least… go see her.”

“I lost control once with just one kiss from her. I will not do it again. I will not harm her any further.”

The elderly woman keeps silent for a few moments. Zhongli sighs and rests his forehead in his palm in defeat.

And then Ganyu approaches, a little tense, a stack of papers in her hands.

“Your majesty, the Qixing are starting to arrive, council meeting will begin soon.”

“Very well. Thank you Ganyu.” He stands up and nods at her, then turns to Ping and his demeanor softens a little. “You know I just want to correct my mistakes, and give her the life she deserves. At least a fraction of it, of happiness.”

It wasn’t supposed to go this way… Zhongli sighed as he walked up to the room where the “reunion” with the sumerian would take place. It was long overdue seeing as he had spent the night by your side, refusing to leave after you had cried and begged so desperately…

After he had bonded you.

He had initially taken the eremite’s claims with a grain of salt, but naturally he had to make sure. The last dragonblood had supposedly died decades ago, so how…?

And yet when he saw you for the first time in that room, he knew.

You were real, you were beautiful. Suddenly he felt a million things at once: He wanted to get to know you, stay close to you, protect you. Old draconic instinct vibrating excitedly on his soul. You smelled vaguely familiar, your tail was gorgeous, your ears adorable. What if you didn’t like him though? What if he harmed you? Scared you? Suddenly he was nervous, nervous of ruining this, nervous in a way he hadn’t been in so long, like when he’d been young and Liyue had been at war and he had lost everything to fire and smoke and dust and he had to make difficult decisions and-

He had always calculated his moves. No room for risks. Too much at stake.

But you, you disarmed him. Completely.

You, with your polite gentleness despite the obvious cracks beneath the surface.

You, with your beautiful looks and enormous potential, even if you didn’t see it yourself.

You, with that look of yearning and hope, with your soft lips and sweet moans, with your warm body fitting perfectly against his.

For once, he allowed himself to make a decision with his heart, not logic, not politics. Just instincts.

And he claimed you…

…

He enters the room. A couple Millelith soldiers stationed by the door, Xiao standing by his side loyally as he sits at his place of honor as the emperor. Your ‘master’, an Alpha eremite named Zaheer, kneels respectfully a little below.

“I see you liked her, your majesty” He offers a sly smirk. “Did she satisfy you properly? She’s been trained on her gag reflexes to-”

Zhongli -Morax- resists the urge to growl. “We are not here to discuss that.”

“Ah, of course, business!”

Business.

“Since she’s such an exotic and well-trained slave I suppose we could agree on…”

“Do you think of me an idiot, Zaheer?” Morax’s eyes narrow.

“P-Pardon me?”

“She is a pureblood xiānshòu. I want to know exactly how she ended up being enslaved by you and your people.”

Cold and calculating golden eyes stare down at the eremite.

“W-What… she’s desert-born!” Zaheer retorts back angrily “She was born at a heat house. Maybe she has traits from your people because one of them decided to get a cheap fuck while traveling.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Morax asks unfazed “Liyue has records of the last of her kind disappearing and presumably being murdered when a village near Sumeru borders was razed to the ground. Do you have a disclosure?”

Zaheer stands up and growls, clearly an Alpha not used to having to bow his head and accept things not going his way.

Clearly an Alpha used to intimidating and attacking others.

Xiao wields his spear and changes his stance to an offensive one. The Millelith guards also tense.

Zaheer gets even more irritated, feeling like a caged animal. Backed into a corner. “Emperor or not” He starts through gritted teeth. “If you’re not going to pay me then I’ll take my merchandise back and do business elsewhere where I’m not being accused of ridiculous claims.”

“You’re right that I won’t be doing any business with you, but we’ll see how ridiculous those claims truly are. Zaheer, by my word as the emperor you will now remain detained in Liyue.” Morax sentences.

The eremite’s red eyes widen in shock and rage and the desert-dweller shoots up to attack Morax, getting easily overpowered and neutralized by Xiao’s quick moves. In seconds his weapon drops to the floor as the Yaksha general points his spear at the unconscious man. The Millelith quickly retrieve him and the blade before Morax simply nods at them.

Months. It had been months since then and he had to begrudgingly release the man as no accusation connected him to anything. They were essentially out of leads. There did appear to be documentation of your birth at a desert village but Zhongli would be hard pressed to believe the half-assed story you’ve been told…

And since you are pureblood, then both of your parents, and most importantly your dam, was also a dragonblood. That’s at the very least one Liyue citizen enslaved in a foreign nation.

He would get to the bottom of this.

For now, however, he had to cast those worries aside.

The Seven members of the council sit around the large table, the Liyue Qixing, leaders of all the commerce and trade sectors of the nation.

Zhongli takes his place at the head of the table. Ganyu does so as well by the sideline.

“Very well, what’s our first topic today?”

“Did Master just… leave?”

There was silence at the table, Zhongli and Ping sit frozen and you get just a bit nervous.

It’d been a few days since you started your new life, and though Zhongli was sure you were warming up to it he knew you still had a long way to go. It was probably still a little surreal for you… such a big change from everything you knew.

The tension on his shoulders quickly drops again. He continues eating. “Yes.” He says simply. Ping follows his lead, saying nothing.

The faster you forget about that eremite, the better.

“Hm…” You continue eating as well. Your expression is a little conflicted…

You inhale.

“Was he… happy… that I finally found a mate?”

Zhongli turns to you sharply and tenses again like a cat bristling. He holds back his tongue so as to not say something he’d regret. Why do you still care about that despicable man’s opinion? Why do you still seek his approval? Did you really think he cared about you? Zhongli desperately wants to make you understand how that slave-owner only saw you as an object, how he fed you lies, how his mistreatment is inexcusable…

But he can only imagine how deep your scars run, and how that toxic mindset has settled and accompanied you for years. He cannot judge you for caring about someone who doesn’t deserve it.

“Why do you ask, dear?” Ping asks instead.

“I don’t know…” You mumble, poking at the congee with your spoon. “I always wanted to make him proud.”

Proud.

Him?

“I think what matters most is how you feel.” Zhongli says, his hand reaching out for yours invitingly and you place your fingers on his palm, getting a soft reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need to rely on how others view you or think about you.”

You seem thoughtful for a second, your ears flickering back insecure but then standing up alert again. “I am happy” You admit. “Very happy. I have the best mate in the world.” You smile brightly.

Zhongli’s heart does a flip.

“With the excessive rains in the northern villages, there have been many floods and a lot of crops have been severely damaged or lost. Our previous contingency plan is in action already and donations are being sent to help the affected families. However, we must prepare for a decline in the harvest of certain grains and vegetables this season, as well as an increase in prices for a few months due to the shift in demand and supply.” Keqing explains expertly, the young alpha’s expression is serious and solemn.

“It’s an opportunity to strengthen commerce with Mondstadt and Sumeru.” Ningguang chimes in, leaning back on her chair, arms crossed. “The value of jade and other crystals is on the rise as well.”

“Not to mention, we’ll be employing several architects from the Akademiya to help with the rebuilding.” Keqing adds, turning to Ganyu, who nods.

“Greater lord Rukkhadevata and lesser Lord Kusanali have agreed on a certain exchange program with Liyue. I started drafting up some proposals already if you’d like to see.” The blue-haired secretary passes along some documents.

Ningguang’s eyes skim along the page. “It’s almost like our new Sumeru-born empress was a sign.” She smirks. “By the way, where is she?” She turns to Zhongli, curious about her fellow Omega.

“She’s rather indisposed at the moment.” The emperor replies dryly, not wanting to delve much onto the touchy subject. “Ganyu this looks good, however we need to think about-”

There is a knock that quickly surprises everyone. Who could interrupt a council meeting and why?

Baizhu peeks in with Changsheng curled around his neck, a frown on his usually gentle features. “Your majesty, a word. It’s an emergency.”

All the members at the table stare silently as Zhongli stands and follows the doctor.

Ganyu has a bad feeling…

“We have no time, follow me.” The green-haired doctor walks briskly along the wooden corridors, he looks… frustrated, dejected.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t want to panic. He never panics. But something inside him does. It’s obvious that this has to do with you. 

“I apologize, your majesty. I thought it was just a case of separation sickness but… the empress is showing signs of widow’s wasting.”

Zhongli stops.

His heart skips a beat. His skin prickles with dread.

“She’s… dying?”

Baizhu shakes his head. “It hasn’t reached that point yet, but… she’s deteriorating.”

The guilt is back. The fear.

“Given what happened, I’m pretty certain the shock of your rejection was the trigger. Still, it is highly unusual for a Yin to suffer from widow’s wasting without their partner actually dying, even more so for it to settle so quickly. Her reaction is akin to someone who had never left their mate’s side for years.” Baizhu explains.

You trusted him.

And he turned his back on you.

What have I done?

“In any casssse, it’ssss not too late.” Changsheng’s little voice pipes in. Baizhu keeps leading the way and Zhongli follows, though he obviously knows the entire palace like the palm of his hand, at the moment his thoughts are scattered and far far away.

“She needs her mate’s reassurance. I have done what I can with medicine but this is a bonded pair matter.” Finally, he stops at a juncture and turns to Zhongli. “Please, your majesty, only you can save her. I will tell Ganyu, Xiao and Ping of the situation, and if you need anything, just ask.”

Zhongli nods, mute.

The snake narrows her eyes. “Don’t leave her sssside.”

“Changsheng.” Baizhu shushes.

She is right to chastise him. He deserves that and more.

“I won’t.” Zhongli nods and heads down the hall.

Widow’s wasting.

The words echo in his head. He’s seen the damage it can do. How a broken bond, the loss of the most important person, can destroy someone inside. Did you really care that much about him? Did he really hurt you that badly?

“Please…”

He didn’t mean to.

“I have the best mate in the world.”

He feels like a monster.

“I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.”

He needs to see you. He needs to make sure you’re ok…

He stands in front of the nest room. The same one where he first met you.

Opening the doors only slightly to slip inside, Zhongli's eyes widen and a hand flies to cover his nose and mouth when a strong smell shakes him to his very core.

The room he expected to be completely saturated with intense heat pheromones… instead bears the acrid scent of despair.

This isn’t the lustful call to breed and have children that made an omega vulnerable and pliant. No. It is a desperate cry from a heartbroken omega for their mate to come back, to stay with them, to love and protect them. It is grief.

You are suffering because of him.

To think all this time… he was afraid he'd make you uncomfortable. That he’d scare you, hurt you, ruin the bond you’ve carefully built. Instead, he is overcome by an all-consuming terror. Every part of him screaming at his mate's weak essence.

And there you are, his precious treasure, his sweet dragoness.

You lay curling in on yourself letting out small muffled sobs.

“Y/n…” 

No reaction.

“Darling, my dear dragoness…” He rushes up to you immediately, grabs your hand and pets your hair. You look so weak, your skin is feverish, how has it only been three days? It feels like a lifetime…

You shift a little and your eyes blink open, staring at him dazed, red and puffy and your expression defeated. You let out a pitiful whine and more of that bitter sad scent is released. 

“No my dear, don’t cry, I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Zhongli coos as he curls up to you, frantically starting to scent and nip at your neck and shoulders affectionately. His horns manifest and his tail follows through, lashing about a little restless. The bond… feels wrong, broken. He should be able to intimately feel you this close and yet…

He tries to reposition you a little so you can lie on top of him, rest on his chest. It’s concerning how easily he can do so, you’re like a ragdoll in his arms, unresponsive and unmoving. His hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing at the traces of tears in your cheeks. You let out a frustrated whimper. “Shhhh shh it’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

Even if he says it a million times, it won’t feel enough.

Zhongli nuzzles at your neck and proceeds to do something he hasn’t done since he was practically a teen. He purrs. It’s a little rusty, comes off more as a grumbling but it seems to work as he feels you relax just slightly in his arms.

“I’m right here” Zhongli’s deep voice assures you, tugging you closer, mouthing at the soft skin along your collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m all yours, I promise, I promise. I won’t leave you alone, not ever.” He soothes.

He lowers a bit of your clothes at the shoulder and grazes his fangs along your faded mark, you tense and let out a long shaky breath.

“Everything will be ok.” He kisses the spot. “I’m sorry.”

And then he sinks his fangs in to reestablish the claim.

You cry out in pain and squirm, clawing at his clothes, but he holds you, his hand rubbing circles at your back, his tail intertwining with yours.

...

.....

...

At first nothing changes, but after a few moments… a low strained purr bubbles up from within you again.

[violetheart77]

You know, I’m something of a Lost Media Hunter myself 😏💙💚

[macabre-crab]

ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS ART I COMMISSIONED FROM @hajihiko !!

I commissioned this piece- and received it fully finished- back in September of last year (2023)!! I know it's been a long time since, I've just been waiting to post it since it's for my post-game Mikan fanfic and the chapter this specific scene is of hadn't been written yet. But!! It's written and posted now, so now I can share this lovely art to everyone!! Please please please, go check out @hajihiko and support their future works!! Their DR au is one of my absolute favorites too 🥰 And if you're interested in my fic: Here's the link !! As well as art I made for it myself!

[wheels-of-despair]

Ride the Lightning Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: In September of 1984, a girl who would one day be known as Evil Woman stepped into the halls of Hawkins High School for the very first time. A few minutes later, she met the love of her life. Contains: First day jitters, first encounter with O'Donnell, love at first sight, and the first day of the rest of Eddie and Evil Woman's lives. Words: 2.3k

This is it, gang. The day Evil Woman met her Eddie. 😍

You woke up this morning ready to kick ass, take names, and make Hawkins High your bitch.

You put on your favorite outfit, scarfed down a good breakfast, and stepped out the door with a new backpack and a head held high.

It took approximately three seconds inside Hawkins High, the new school that would be your prison for the foreseeable future, to make you change your mind.

The thing about small towns is, even on the first day, almost everyone already knows each other. With such a small student body, newcomers are incredibly obvious.

Which is why every eye in that bright white hallway is on you and your baby brother, and you wish you were invisible.

Gareth feels it too. He's been tense since he stumbled into the kitchen this morning. You'll die before you admit he was right to be.

"Where's your locker?" you ask, tugging on his flannel to drag him to the side and out of the flow of traffic.

He pulls out a paper teeming with valuable information, such as class schedule and assigned counselor and locker number, and hands it to you. You glance at it, and then at the numbered metal plates lining the hallway.

"These are going up," you note. "You're probably that way." You gesture vaguely to a turn in the distance. "Want me to go with you?"

"No."

"Okay," you shrug, handing him his schedule back.

His hands shake when he takes it. He looks like he wants to bolt.

"You'll be fine," you say under your breath, hoping no one else hears. People are still watching you. "See you in a few hours."

Gareth heaves a sigh and trudges down the hallway.

You wander around, trying your best to ignore the extremely obvious stares, until you find your own locker. You open it, gaze into the empty space for a few seconds, and close it again. You have no idea what you'll need today, so you might as well keep it all with you.

A chirp of the bell sends your audience to scattering. Probably a warning bell; it wasn't nearly jarring enough to be official. But still, you should probably find homeroom. You look at your own very important paper to get a room number and start hunting. At least everyone's in too much of a hurry now to focus on you.

When you arrive outside the classroom that will be your homeroom for the next year, you hesitate. Would it be unreasonable to turn around and walk away? Just go sit in the woods for a few hours, rather then be trapped inside with all these strangers?

Gareth would kill you if you bailed without him.

"Move it, loser," a tiny girl in a big letterman jacket orders, knocking into you from behind as she passes.

Well, at least everyone's friendly.

You take a deep breath and step inside, seeing Little Miss Letterman Jacket in line behind a few others. The teacher is directing them to assigned seats. Assigned seats, at your age? This place is ridiculous. But still, you stand in line and wait like everyone else.

"Name?" an old lady with a gray perm and big glasses asks, checking off something on her clipboard when you approach. You tell her, and she looks up at you briefly.

"I haven't seen you before."

"I must be new," you deadpan.

She fixes you with a withering glare before looking back down to her clipboard. She scribbles something, then points toward the back of the room without looking up.

"Back table, left side."

"Check."

She looks back up with raised eyebrows, and you scurry toward your assigned seat. Way to make a great first impression. You are killing it.

At your old school, this was where the burnouts went. The kids who would probably spend the whole time sleeping. Even if they didn't gravitate there on their own, the teachers would send them there eventually. Put them as far away from the teaching as possible, so they wouldn't bother the good little children who came to learn.

Good, you think as you drop into the plastic chair. Something tells you that you'll be spending most of your time at Hawkins High trying to fly under the radar anyway. You're off to a great start.

More students filter in, and you observe them from your place in the back. Isn't it amazing how you can tell what clique a person belongs to just by their clothes? The jocks are easy to spot. The princesses. The nerds. The rich kids. The losers. The--

Holy shit.

A blur of untamed hair and faded denim bounds into the room just as the bell rings.

"O'Donnell!" he greets, clapping the surly teacher on the shoulder. She flinches, like he'd just smacked her with a dead rat instead of a ringed hand. "Bet you thought you finally got rid of me, huh?"

"Take your usual seat, Mr. Munson," she glowers.

He grins, showing off his white teeth and deep dimples, and it lights up the entire room. Until his eyes land on you, and you feel your stomach drop, along with his smile. You've been staring, fuck, you've been staring so intensely he's probably creeped out already.

He saunters toward you, unblinking.

He's not sitting here, is he?

Please sit here.

Before you can argue with yourself any more, he dramatically plops into the chair next to you. You pretend to focus on the teacher at the front of the room, but watch out of the corner of your eye as he leans his chair back on two legs and rests his back against the wall. He smells like cigarette smoke and warmth and comfort and some kind of cologne or maybe just a strong deodorant. And he's staring at you.

"What'd you do?"

Is he talking to you? You tilt your head and meet his eye. He is.

"What?" you ask, surprised that you were able to get the word out.

"She usually throws me in the back corner by myself," he explains. "Either we're full-up, or she hates you too."

Your face is on fire.

"Uh…" you rack your brain for an explanation. "There may have been a tiny bit of sarcasm when I first walked in."

He snorts, then drops his chair back onto all fours with a clank.

"Eddie Munson," he says, holding out his hand. His many silver rings catch your eye, and you tilt your head to stare at them in fascination. You've seen a guy wear one or two rings, maybe, but how does he even lift his hands with that much metal on them? "It's okay, I washed them this week... or maybe it was last week?"

You chuckle and take his hand, giving him a brief shake and introducing yourself. A moment of silence follows. You can't stop looking at him. You want to memorize every detail of Eddie Munson, because he's the most beautiful person you've ever seen. You want to stare into his eyes until you learn all his secrets. You want to hold his hand and inspect his rings. You want to touch every patch and pin on his jacket, and let him tell you how he acquired each one. You want to know which bands are his favorites, and which of their albums, and which song from each album. You want to know everything.

"Nice shirt," you finally get out.

Eddie Munson looks down and pulls his battle vest aside - an actual battle vest with metal patches and pins in Nowhere, Indiana - to reveal more of the Ride the Lightning album cover you'd spotted.

"Thanks," he beams. "You like Metallica?"

Of course you like Metallica. You were waiting at your hometown record store's front door when they opened on RTL Release Day. The assistant manager told you they didn't have it yet, and only after you'd threatened to sue did he pull the cassette out of his pocket with a grin. You miss that place.

"No, I just thought the logo was cool," you smirk.

His face falls.

Fuck.

Fuck!

FUCK!

"Oh," he says, deflated. "Well, they're a badass band. If you like metal, I mean... do you?"

"Everyone quiet down for the announcements!" O'Donnell barks. Seconds later, the loudspeaker crackles to life, and a voice starts rambling on it. You should probably pay attention to this. Don't want to fuck up your high school career more than you have already. You smile apologetically at Eddie, knowing you've blown whatever this could have been, and attempt to focus on the announcements.

You give up after a few minutes of sports and club-related news, and instead berate yourself for being too you, too soon. You have to ease people in, a little at a time. You are an acquired taste. You know this.

When the announcements end, O'Donnell goes to the chalkboard and writes a numbered list of forms everyone was supposed to get signed and bring in. Paper shuffles as everyone starts digging into backpacks and trying to put them in the requested order.

A few minutes later, your neat pile rests next to Eddie's crumpled mess, and the sight makes you smile. You glance at him with an eyebrow raised in amusement, and his face becomes the shade of a tomato. He's so adorable.

"Papers to the front!"

You reach for your pile of paper at the same time Eddie does. Your hands brush, and a small shock of static electricity makes you both jump and pull your hands away. He smiles apologetically and picks up the papers, combining them and putting the stack into the meaty hands of the striped polo shirt in front of you.

You suddenly feel the need to shed your denim jacket, and twist away from Eddie to hang it on the back of your chair. And then you remember what shirt you're wearing, and feel a surge of hope shoot through your veins. Perhaps all is not lost. You try your best to keep a straight face when you face the front again.

"I'm passing out additional forms that need to be signed by a parent or guardian and returned to me by the end of the week. Do not lose them. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves until the next bell."

Now's your chance. Maybe your last one.

"So," you begin, slightly angling yourself toward him. "Are all the teachers here as fun as this one?"

Eddie grins and turns to you to answer, but his face falls when he sees your shirt. He stares at the fabric for a moment, then meets your eye. His brow is furrowed. He reminds you of a confused puppy. Slowly, you see the realization spread across his face.

"You were fucking with me."

You look down pointedly at your own Ride the Lightning shirt, which matches his, and then lift your head to meet those big brown eyes again. You scrunch your nose and nod. Eddie laughs, and the sound makes your stomach flip. You join in when you remember how.

"The new girl likes metal," he grins, shaking his head in disbelief. Hell, you'd like anything he wanted you to. "Alright, very serious question." He leans closer, his face suddenly somber and his eyes intense. You can smell his cologne clearer now. You fear you're going to pass out. "Do you know what D&D is?"

You're torn. Do you keep fucking with him, or tell the truth and make his dreams come true?

"Dickheads & Doorknobs?" you whisper.

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, a loud and wicked cackle that makes your whole body vibrate. You fight the urge to steady yourself by combing your fingers through his long shaggy mane.

"You ever played?" he asks, snapping you out of it.

"A couple of times," you grin. "My brother's a big fan, though."

"Your brother plays?" He sits back, his eyes wide. "Is he here? Like, in the building?"

"Yeah," you answer. "He's around here somewhere."

"Older or younger?"

"Younger."

"He like good music?"

"Taught him everything I know," you tease.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, eyes blazing. "You uh…" He licks his lips. "You wanna meet the rest of the Hawkins High Metal Lovers?"

"If that's your gang name, I hate to break it to you, but it's kinda lame," you snicker.

"It's a club, thank you very much," he says, putting a hand over his heart like you've offended him to the core. "We play D&D as The Hellfire Club."

"Okay," you nod, "that sounds pretty badass."

Eddie grins.

"Can I see your schedule?" he asks. And then he tenses. So do you. What just happened? "If you want, y'know, I could take you to your next class. Or show you around or whatever. If you wanted me to."

Is he backpedaling because he thinks he overstepped, or because he doesn't like the way you're looking at him, or because he just remembered he has a girlfriend who's going to murder you both?

Screw it.

You pull out your schedule and slide it across the table to him. He looks it over, his eyes darting from line to line.

"We don't have much together," he says regretfully. "But I uh… I could still…" He bites his lip, like he's afraid to finish his sentence.

"Would you?" you ask, voice quiet and heart pounding. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble?"

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile. It's a battle he quickly loses. You can't help but smile back. You're still grinning at each other like idiots when the bell rings.

"Trouble's my middle name," he grins, his perfect dimples making another appearance as he rises from his chair. "Shall we?"