#and he’s only forfeited once regularly

[thehappiestgolucky]

thinking about dragonsplague

[scotianostra]

September 28th 1396 saw the Battle of the Clans between clans Chattan and Kay on the North Inch, Perth, in front of King Robert III.

Also called the Battle of the North Inch, this is one of my favourite stories, this was more of a “gladiatorial” contest than a battle. They even built some sort of makeshift grandstand for the King to witness it from!

The clans in the highlands of Scotland were an unruly lot. They were constantly feuding with their neighbours and regularly raiding into the low fertile lands of Moray, Perthshire, Angus,

Aberdeenshire, and Stirlingshire. The king’s laws meant very little to this warlike, tribal society. In 1396, things were so bad between Clan Chattan and Clan Kay, who were forever raiding each other’s lands, stealing livestock, and burning down houses, that King Robert III sent an army north to deal with the problem. The commander of this army knew it was likely that when he marched into the mountains, his forces were in danger of being ambushed by the men of Chattan or Kay – or perhaps both clans would unite. The outcome could be the massacre of the royal army.

So, he came up with a plan and sent messengers to speak to the two warring clans with a proposal. This was a chance to sort out the problem in one day, sparing countless lives. The commander of the king’s army suggested that the two clans each send thirty men to Perth for a fight to the death on the city’s North Inch. The clan chiefs agreed and when the king heard of this plan, he was so delighted, he decided he and his court would come to Perth to watch the spectacle.

A large brightly coloured pavilion was put up for the royal party and benches were laid out for the people of Perth to sit on. The crowd waited expectedly in the warm summer sun as the skirl of the bagpipes drew closer and closer. Then dozens of warriors took up position on the inch in front of the king’s pavilion.

As the two clans lined up, a referee counted the men on both sides, but a problem was found. Although Clan Kay had thirty men, Clan Chattan had only twenty-nine. They must have miscounted before they left or lost a man on the way to Perth. Royal heralds walked amongst the crowd holding up a gold coin for anyone who would take up arms and fight for Clan Chattan. The city population murmured amongst themselves and fidgeted as the king, looking on like a Roman Caesar in the Colosseum, waited patiently. Just as it seemed no one would take up the offer of gold and Clan Chattan would have to forfeit the contest, a voice boomed from the benches: “I Sir Herald will take that coin and fight for Clan Chattan!”

The voice belonged to the city blacksmith, a giant of a man, strong and powerful. His name was Henry, better known as Hal o’ the Wynd. Hal was given a sword and took up his place amongst the Chattan clansmen.

The king gave the signal to start and arrows were fired between the two sides. Then the men, screaming their clan slogans in Gaelic, charged into the affray. The sunlight danced on sword and axe blades as they cut through the air, slicing into flesh and bone. The green grass became crimson red and sticky from the flow of blood as the screams of the wounded echoed around the inch. The referee called a halt to the battle and the two sides parted. Sweating, panting men, soaked in blood, gulped at the water given to them and used it to wash blood from slippery hands. They likely used their few minutes of rest to glance around, looking for friends or kinsmen, counting how many were still alive compared to the enemy. Wounds were quickly patched up with strips of torn cloth before the signal to fight came again.

The Chattan’s and Kay’s got stuck into each other once more. As the two sides slogged it out, it became clear that Clan Chattan were gaining the upper hand and in the end, all but one of Clan Kay perished. The sole surviving Kay jumped into the River Tay and swam to safety. Hal o’ the Wynd was said to have fought bravely. He was permitted to keep the gold coin and earned his place in Scottish history.

Please note some accounts say the Battle of the Clans was fought between Clan Chattan and Clan Cameron, but most say Chattan and Clan Davidson the pics show the three clan crests respectively.

The most interesting, to me anyway, is Chattan, it is distinctive in highland clan history in that it was acknowledged to be a community or confederation,of twelve separate Scottish clans. who each had their own clan chief recognized under Scottish law, but who were united under and bound to a superior chief of the confederation for mutual solidarity, sustenance and protection in the Middle Ages and early modern period in the Scottish Highlands.

Prior to the 14th century, the Clan Chattan was a conventional Scottish clan. However it evolved into an alliance or confederation of clans which was made up of several clans including firstly of the descendants of the "blood" or the original clan (Clan Cattanach, Clan MacPherson, Clan MacPhail and Clan MacBean (or McBain), secondly of the Clan Mackintosh and their cadet branches (Clan Shaw, Clan Farquharson, the Ritchies, and Clan MacThomas) and thirdly of families who were not originally related by blood (Clan MacGillivray, Clan Davidson, the Macleans of Dochgarroch ('Clan Tearlach'), the MacQueens of Strathdearn, the MacIntyres of Badenoch ('Clan an t-Saoir') and the MacAndrews ('Clan Gillandrish').

18Susan Lever, Georgia Drummond and 16 others

[dweetwise]

[Yoichi x Trickster] VIP Treatment

For @naxamillion who won my @fandomtrumpshate fic auction! They requested something lighthearted & silly with this ship and I hope I delivered! ❤️ Rated T | 7.5k words | ao3 link

Yoichi didn’t exactly mean to befriend the Trickster.

When his paranormal investigation first led him to the strange realm of the Entity, interpersonal relationships weren’t at the top of Yoichi's priority list. He was equally fascinated and terrified by this dimension and its strange inhabitants, and every moment he wasn't running for his life or helping his fellow survivors was spent marveling at the mystery of it all.

Regardless of the raw fear Yoichi felt at the start of every trial, a part of him was excited to see what beings and places the Entity had pulled into its clutches. Experiencing the killers’ powers firsthand was also much more effective than relayed information from the other survivors.

But when one of the killers turned out to simply be “man with a baseball bat,” Yoichi almost wanted to laugh. Compared to the specters and witches and mutated monsters, a skinny twenty-something throwing tiny knives didn’t seem very remarkable.

Boy, was Yoichi wrong about that.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Yoichi’s very first trial against the Trickster had already stood out—in that the killer refused to leave a chase or the hook ever since he’d first spotted Yoichi. After Yoichi's sacrifice, the others had been sympathetic and claimed that some killers liked to pick on new arrivals because they made easier targets.

The second time Yoichi faced the killer, he already had a good two dozen other trials under his belt. The Trickster had indeed focused his efforts only on killing Yoichi, but this time, Yoichi put up a fight.

He ran around the rickety shack for what had to be minutes, just like Meg had taught him. The killer got visibly agitated and instead of throwing knives, he’d started throwing insults in what Yoichi would later find out were Korean.

When the gates opened, Yoichi died on his second hook while the killer glared at him, a lit totem crackling right beside him. At the campfire, he got a few high-fives from his teammates for his good chase, but most were confused as to why the Trickster had forfeited the entire match just for one kill.

The third time Yoichi heard the familiar humming at the start of a trial, he was tempted to throw himself up on a hook just to save them both the trouble.

As Yoichi was once again hoisted up onto a meat hook after a respectable chase and the killer proceeded to take two steps back and stand there glaring at him, Yoichi finally had enough.

He couldn’t tell what prompted him to strike up conversation. Yoichi had never been particularly sociable, nor was he very confident in his English skills despite regularly using it to communicate with international colleagues. Maybe his time spent in the realm—and being forced to speak the language if he wanted to coordinate with his team in trials and not be an outcast at the campfire—had made it easier.

Still hanging limply from the hook, Yoichi raised his gaze to meet the killer’s.

“What do you have against me?” Yoichi asked.

The Trickster’s scowl faltered as he recoiled in surprise. Were survivors not supposed to talk in trials? Did the killer even understand English? It wasn't as if Yoichi knew Korean.

Then, the Trickster raised his nose in the air and pivoted gracefully on his heel, pointedly turning away from Yoichi’s hook.

“The stupid commoner thinks he's allowed to address a celebrity like me!” the killer loudly stated in perfectly fluent English.

Yoichi tried to mask his surprise; he hadn’t really expected to receive a reply.

“Ah… my mistake,” Yoichi tried.

The Trickster scoffed. “If the idiot insists on talking, maybe he should apologize,” he sneered over his shoulder.

Yoichi frowned, looking down at the numerous lacerations covering his body and the meat hook brutally piercing his shoulder. Objectively, he was not the one who was owed an apology in this situation.

Yet he’d clearly offended the killer somehow, and good manners dictated he should at least express some remorse. Maybe that would stop the killer from targeting him in the future.

“I’m sorry,” Yoichi said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The Trickster still wasn’t looking at him, but at least he wasn’t insulting Yoichi more.

“I’m…not entirely sure what I did wrong,” Yoichi admitted. “But if you tell me, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Isn’t it obvious!?” the Trickster snapped, turning to point his baseball bat accusingly in Yoichi’s direction. “You are copying my style!” the killer yelled, clearly agitated.

Confused, Yoichi looked the killer up and down. The Trickster had pastel pink hair and even pinker striped pants, and his bare chest was framed by the dramatic yellow jacket. His outfit couldn’t be further from Yoichi's modest turtleneck and trousers. The thought that Yoichi had been mimicking the killer’s look was absolutely absurd, as the Trickster’s look was clearly tailored for showmanship while Yoichi’s outfit was meant for sea fare on the stormy coast of Scotland. He was even wearing his raincoat, for crying out loud—

Oh. His bright yellow raincoat.

“I'm really sorry about the jacket,” Yoichi said. “Unfortunately, this is the only outfit the Entity has given me. I didn’t mean to offend, Mister…ahm…”

The killer sniffed. “Hak Ji-Woon. The world's number one idol that only an idiot wouldn’t recognize.”

“Mr. Hak,” Yoichi said, then yelped as the Entity's claws descended on him from the hook. Through the struggle, he managed to grit out, “As you have probably noticed, fashion isn't exactly my strong suit.”

“No shit,” the killer snarked. “Your outfit is hideous and its mere existence is an insult to my brand.” His nose scrunched in disgust. “You look like…like some sort of deformed bumblebee!”

The insult caught Yoichi so off guard that his grip slipped on the Entity's spidery limb and he was subsequently impaled and sent back to the campfire.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

But apparently the Trickster had accepted his apology, because after that trial, he didn’t kill Yoichi again.

Oh, sure, he knifed Yoichi and smacked him around with his baseball bat—occasionally insulting his outfit or mistakes in the chase while he was at it—and most trials where he faced the killer, Yoichi still ended up on a hook.

But he was never hooked more than twice. And even if all of his teammates were killed, the hatch always remained open and waiting for Yoichi: sometimes with the killer standing near it and twirling a knife like he was bored, looking up at Yoichi only to snark, “Took you long enough.”

So when Yoichi some time later received a brand new outfit from the Entity, he immediately changed into it as a token of good faith. Even if Mr. Hak seemed to be making amends for their violent first encounters in his own way, Yoichi was keen to remove the point of contempt from the equation entirely.

Thus, the jacket had to go.

But when Yoichi next faced the Trickster in a trial, the killer took one look at him and then promptly pretended to gag.

“What?” Yoichi asked, looking down to make sure he was still wearing the blue jacket and cargo shorts. “What’s wrong?”

Mr. Hak looked him up and down, his face twisting in disgust. “Switch back to the other outfit. Immediately.”

Yoichi frowned. “But you said you didn't want my jacket to be associated with you—”

“Just put it on!” the killer yelled, his face suddenly reddening.

Yoichi raised his hands in surrender; Mr. Hak had to be really angry to flush like that.

“Okay,” Yoichi said. “I’ll do it right after this trial. I swear.”

The killer huffed and stomped off, and Yoichi didn’t see him for the remainder of the trial or even when he made his way to the hatch.

And at the campfire, switching from the itchy beanie and impractical shorts back to his favorite turtleneck and comfortable woolen trousers, Yoichi smiled to himself as he tugged on the controversial yellow jacket.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Trials came and went and each time Yoichi faced the Trickster, the killer seemed to tolerate his presence more and more. The insults started sounding more like banter, and sometimes, Yoichi stayed behind at the hatch or in an exit gate to talk to the killer about things that didn’t revolve around Yoichi getting mindgamed at that pallet or Meg getting an “undeserved” flashlight save.

And Yoichi found out that despite all of their differences, Mr. Hak was quite good company.

He was flamboyant and charming, with a sharp wit and even sharper tongue, but when it started being used less for insults and more for humor and random tidbits about himself, Yoichi was intrigued. The killer may not have supernatural powers, but the scenes he painted with his words about flashing lights and music and stadiums full of people were just as captivating.

He also did not appreciate being called Mr. Hak, and since Yoichi felt a little strange calling an acquaintance by their stage name, he’d hesitantly started calling the killer by his first name. Ji-Woon had yet to protest, but he also still addressed Yoichi mostly as “idiot” or “hey, you,” so Yoichi wasn’t entirely sure where they stood.

Until one of their hatch conversations, when Ji-Woon invited him to hang out in Shelter Woods after the trial.

Yoichi wasn't even nervous to accept; he’d seen a group of other survivors frequent Glenvale for poker night with the Deathslinger and some of their younger teammates visit the Legion at the ski lodge—in gatherings that Yoichi was pretty sure involved marijuana, but would never tell the others because that would not fly with Tapp or Jane—and all of them always came back unharmed.

Well. Except that one time Ace apparently cheated in poker and got harpooned for his efforts, but even Felix said he’d deserved it.

Regardless, survivors spending time with killers wasn’t completely unheard of, and since the Trickster hadn’t killed Yoichi in a trial in ages, why would he do so outside of them?

Yoichi was smiling as he walked through the fog to the campfire. He wasn’t entirely sure what his hang-out with the killer would entail, but since Ji-Woon had mentioned something about practicing singing, Yoichi guessed that they were going to be focusing on their own things and merely coexisting in the same space.

All too happy to get away from the endless chatter at the campfire, Yoichi grabbed a book loaned from Adam and strode into the woods in search of his new friend.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Ji-Woon was a very good singer.

His melodious voice made for a pleasant background noise as Yoichi leaned against the big tree in Shelter Woods and read his book. He’d heard the killer hum in trials, sure, but using his full vocal range and volume to sing entire songs was completely different. Ji-Woon was both talented and clearly devoted to his craft; he probably practiced like this regularly.

Yoichi had lost count of how many songs they’d gone through, but he was making good progress in his book and would soon be able to return it to Adam. He didn’t mind spending the time reading for as long as Ji-Woon wanted to practice; interrupting felt rude, and he enjoyed this casual way of spending time together.

It was a little strange how Ji-Woon’s singing seemed to get progressively louder the longer he kept going. He even started incorporating some dance moves to his routine, once sashaying right past Yoichi, his flowing jacket nearly smacking Yoichi in the face.

Yoichi promptly apologized and moved to the other side of the tree so he wouldn’t get in the way.

But that seemed to be the end of Ji-Woon’s practice, and after ending the chorus on a high note, he circled around to Yoichi’s spot, staring down at him expectantly.

It was the first bit of silence in what had to be hours.

Yoichi smiled up at his friend. “You’re very good at singing.”

Ji-Woon scoffed. “Naturally.” He crossed his arms, not breaking the eye contact.

He was probably expecting a more thorough appraisal than “good.” Sadly, Yoichi was practically tone deaf and his musical knowledge was sorely lacking. He wouldn’t be able to provide that kind of support for his friend.

He did, however, know who could.

"Have you heard Kate sing?" Yoichi asked, already thinking of how the two could bond over their shared hobby; maybe Ji-Woon would want to invite her along next time. "She's really good."

Ji-Woon’s expression suddenly darkened before he huffed and whipped around, nose in the air as he walked away.

Yoichi shrugged; the killer had probably been called into a trial, as they’d been out here for quite some time. Yoichi stayed to read a few more pages before making his way back to the survivor campsite.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

The following trial, Yoichi took the initiative to approach Ji-Woon.

The opportunity presented itself at the beginning of the match, when the killer caught one of his teammates and Kindred told Yoichi that he was standing resolutely in front of the hook smacking said teammate with his bat.

During the last few months Yoichi had learned that—save for those first few trials with the jacket fiasco—Ji-Woon rarely stayed around hooked survivors, especially with five generators still up. But based on the distinctly Ace Visconti -like screams echoing from the direction of the hook, Yoichi could make an educated guess that perhaps this instance of camping was partly self-inflicted.

Figuring Ji-Woon had some time to chat while he watched Ace progress to his death, Yoichi made his way over.

"Ji-Woon," Yoichi spoke up.

The killer’s weapon froze mid-air and he visibly perked up, turning to look at Yoichi.

"Yes?" Ji-Woon asked.

"Ooh, on a first-name basis already?" Ace asked with a grin, showing bloodied teeth.

That earned him another brutal thwack from the Trickster's baseball bat, and the ensuing scream stopped the gambler's remarks at least momentarily. Yoichi winced in sympathy; he’d never understand what some of the more experienced survivors got out of taunting the killers.

“Anyway,” Yoichi said, trying to ignore the grotesque display. “I just wanted to ask you…”

Ji-Woon eagerly turned back to face him, and…was he smiling?

Wow, he must have really enjoyed hitting Ace.

“Do you have any information about the killer that came with me?” Yoichi asked.

Ji-Woon’s smile faltered. “What?”

“I was investigating Sadako's case before I was taken by the Entity,” Yoichi explained. “I don’t know if you’ve met her, but if you’ve seen or heard anything about her, or her powers, I’d greatly appreciate it if you told me.”

Ji-Woon stared at Yoichi with a perplexed expression. Yoichi almost repeated himself, but for whatever reason, Ace chose that moment to start laughing—at least until he screamed again, this time from a hit from the bladed side of the killer’s weapon.

“I don't,” Ji-Woon practically snarled, his teeth clenched.

“Oh,” Yoichi said, deflating a little from disappointment. “That's okay. But if you come across something in the future, feel free to tell me.”

“Mm-hmm,” the killer said.

An awkward silence settled over them.

"Hey kid, you gonna pull me down, or…?" Ace asked, now struggling against the Entity’s claws.

Yoichi looked between Ace and the now clearly agitated Ji-Woon.

"Maybe next time," Yoichi decided.

Ji-Woon smiled, but this time there was nothing friendly about it. “Good choice.”

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After that incident, the killer seemed angry with Yoichi for the next few trials.

He no longer stayed to chat with Yoichi after the match was done and he barely said anything during their chases. He also kept wearing all sorts of ridiculous outfits—from streetwear to some kind of cupid cosplay—that Yoichi didn’t even know he owned. Why had Ji-Woon worn the yellow coat for so long if he hated how much it resembled Yoichi’s?

Yoichi’s suspicions were confirmed during one particular trial, when his teammates let him progress to his second hook and Ji-Woon pointedly avoided him for the remainder of the match.

After hearing the sound of the hatch opening and thus notifying him that he was the last one alive, Yoichi was a little hesitant to look for his once-guaranteed escape, not knowing how the killer’s foul mood would reflect on the mercy Yoichi had started taking for granted.

Yoichi saw no sign of Ji-Woon as he made his way through the trial grounds, but eventually, he did find the hatch.

And promptly froze in pure terror.

Laying in a neat triangle around the open hatch were the corpses of his three teammates. All of their bodies were full of countless lacerations and had the Trickster’s autographed photo pinned to their lifeless chests with a throwing knife.

Yoichi could count on one hand the times he’d seen Ji-Woon use his mori. He didn’t know exactly what had prompted this, but the message was clear: Yoichi had wronged him, and now the other survivors would pay.

Yoichi carefully stepped over Kate’s corpse, but then paused once he got a closer look at the photograph stuck to her body.

That wasn’t Ji-Woon’s autograph.

Confused, Yoichi crouched to look closer at the other photos. All of them were written in Hangul, yet every message was different and noticeably longer than the three characters of Hak Ji-Woon.

Yoichi whispered gentle apologies to his dead friends as he pried the blood-stained photos from their remains for further investigation. He still wasn’t sure what he had done to upset the killer, but he knew he needed to apologize.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After racking his brain for a suitable apology, Yoichi decided to push his luck and invite Ji-Woon to the carnival in Father Campbell’s Chapel. He had fond memories of their previous hangout and hoped that Ji-Woon could be enticed to come along with the promise of stale popcorn, a target practice board for his throwing knives, and the lack of smelling clowns (Yoichi definitely owed the Deathslinger a favor for agreeing to invite the killer to that week’s poker night).

Yoichi practically had a whole apology speech ready for Ji-Woon, but in the end, he only got out the words, “Would you like to go to the carnival in the chapel with me after this tr—”, before the killer butted in with a surprisingly enthusiastic yet exasperated, “God, yes, finally!”

This time, it was Yoichi who got to the location first. He hadn’t brought a book or anything, since there were plenty of games and activities for them to try together.

He ended up waiting for quite some time, and just as he was starting to think that maybe the killer had only been messing with him and wasn’t about to show up, a knife whizzed by his ear and hit the target practice board several meters behind him.

Smiling, Yoichi turned in the direction that the knife had come from. Ji-Woon was strolling up to him with a cocky swagger, twirling another knife around his finger.

Strangely enough, the killer had chosen to dress in his regular outfit again. He’d probably gotten tired of the feathery abominations he’d worn for the last couple of trials.

“Nice throw,” Yoichi said in lieu of a greeting.

Ji-Woon smirked. “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

And that was how Yoichi found himself spectating as the killer threw dagger after dagger at the target board, nailing the bullseye nearly every time. Yoichi was both surprised and impressed: Ji-Woon’s accuracy in an actual trial was far from this good. Hitting moving targets was obviously much more difficult.

Hopefully he wouldn’t want to practice on Yoichi.

Yoichi waited patiently for Ji-Woon to finish his practice so they could move on to the other carnival activities, or if he'd at least ask if Yoichi wanted a turn with the knives. But after what had to be nearly an hour passed and the killer showed no signs of stopping, Yoichi realized that Ji-Woon probably came along just to actually practice instead of spending time with him.

Swallowing his disappointment, Yoichi quietly backed away and tried to find something else to do. He should have brought another book.

Yoichi traversed the small carnival and curiously observed his surroundings. Since this wasn’t a trial, there were no generators or hooks in sight and the area was probably some of the most welcoming looking realms Yoichi had visited. If it wasn’t inhabited by one of the most sadistic killers in the Entity’s roster, Yoichi imagined it would be one of the go-to hangout spots for survivors.

After failing to get the popcorn cart working and getting a strange reading from the fortune telling machine—“Love is right around the corner,” what a nonsensical thing to even consider in this realm of violence and death—Yoichi stumbled across the three-eyed horse the other survivors sometimes talked about.

“Oh!” Yoichi exclaimed, caught off guard by the animal that he’d started to assume was just a campfire story. “You must be Maurice.”

Maurice’s third eye blinked and it tilted its head curiously. The horse looked injured as it laid in the grass next to the Clown’s wagon and seemed to be partially blind in its other two eyes.

His biologist’s heart not able to resist researching such an interesting specimen, Yoichi pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and sat down next to the horse to study it.

He lost track of time as he observed and jotted down things about the horse’s docile behavior and physical differences to its counterparts outside of the Entity’s realm. When Yoichi heard a loud clearing of a throat from behind him, he was in the middle of petting the horse’s coarse mane.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ji-Woon’s voice demanded.

Yoichi slowly turned around so as not to spook the animal. “Oh, Ji-Woon! I kind of lost track of time. Did you finish your target practice?”

“Prac—!? I don’t need practice!” Ji-Woon raised his voice, his face twisting in anger.

Maurice neighed unhappily and Yoichi hurried to soothe the animal. “Shhh. Everything’s alright.”

“Why are you touching it?” Ji-Woon said.

“Because Maurice is very friendly,” Yoichi said. “Do you want to pet him?”

“Ugh, no!” Ji-Woon shouted, physically recoiling. “It’s rotten and disgusting!”

Yoichi frowned. “No, he’s not.”

It was obvious Ji-Woon didn’t like animals—Yoichi had come across the sentiment many times, especially when it came to marine fauna that was deemed ugly by the general population.

“You don’t have to be near him,” Yoichi said. “I’ll just finish my notes and find you later.”

Ji-Woon didn’t reply, and when Yoichi turned back to look at him, he was already gone.

Something in Yoichi’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Ji-Woon had probably been called to a trial again, but he could have at least said goodbye.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

When they met the following day in a trial, Ji-Woon still seemed a little…off.

He was missing his knives and seemed to tank every pallet stun with his face, all the while Nea and Steve easily got off blinds on him with their flashlights.

After the generators were done in record time and all of his teammates escaped without having given a single hook, Yoichi approached his friend.

“Are you feeling alright?” Yoichi asked. “You must be tired from all that target practice yesterday.”

“It's not that!” the killer snapped, then paused and visibly cringed.

“Is it the reason why you left so suddenly last night?” Yoichi prodded.

Ji-Woon huffed a small laugh. “Probably. Say, would you meet me after the trial in Haddonfield?"

“Oh! Sure,” Yoichi agreed easily.

It seemed like Ji-Woon wasn’t upset with him after all. Yoichi’s chest felt warm with newfound hope as he jogged into the open exit gate and set to navigate the fog to Lampkin Lane.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

“Watch your step,” Ji-Woon said, his hands on Yoichi’s shoulders pulling lightly. 

“Is this really necessary?” Yoichi asked as he hesitantly stepped up on the small ledge. He’d been blindfolded with a feather boa as soon as he arrived in Haddonfield—Ji-Woon claiming it would ruin the surprise otherwise—and had to resort to the killer leading him by his shoulders.

“Well, I could not warn you about the stairs and watch you faceplant like that time in Ormond…” Ji-Woon said.

“I've never heard you laugh as much as then.”

“I've never seen anyone trip over their own feet like that.”

“There was ice,” Yoichi mumbled, spitting some feathers from his mouth.

Ji-Woon chuckled, before squeezing Yoichi’s shoulder. “Door,” he warned.

Yoichi reached out in front of himself to feel for the doorframe and walk through without bumping into the wall.

And that was when Ji-Woon pulled them to a stop.

“We're here!” Ji-Woon declared. “You can look now.”

Yoichi pushed up his makeshift blindfold and looked around. They were on the bottom floor of one of the residential houses lining Lampkin Lane in what must have once been a living room. 

The usual, annoyingly flickering light was gone, and when Yoichi looked up he could see a small kitchen knife embedded into the ceiling where the faulty light bulb should be. To avoid the room being pitch black, a fire barrel had been placed in one of the corners—a terrible fire hazard, really, as the wallpaper could easily ignite. Still, the fire crackled pleasantly and cast a warm orange glow over the room.

The worn loveseat in the middle of the room Yoichi could vaguely recognize from trials. But rather than simply make an obstacle in front of one of the window vaults, it had been turned and was now facing…

“Sadako's TV!” Yoichi exclaimed, hurrying closer to inspect the item.

This was the first time he’d been able to look at one of these things outside of a trial, as they seemed impossible to find no matter how many realms Yoichi looked in. Now he could finally learn more about the onryō who killed his parents!

“I can't believe you remembered!” Yoichi looked over his shoulder to smile at Ji-Woon. “This is great!”

Ji-Woon was standing perfectly still, watching Yoichi with one hand frozen mid-air.

“You…like it?” Ji-Woon asked.

“Yes!” Yoichi said, turning back to the TV. “I can't wait to show this to Haddie and Élodie! They know so much about the occult, and if we combine our knowledge…I should go get them right now!”

As Yoichi got to his feet, he heard a loud crunching sound from behind him. Confused, he glanced at Ji-Woon, only to find him still standing rigid in the doorway. The killer was clenching his jaw and his hand trembled where it had been shoved into his jacket pocket. Tension radiated from him even across the room, and Yoichi couldn’t understand why—oh.

Ji-Woon was obviously scared of ghosts.

That was why he’d been so reluctant to talk about Sadako and acted secretive about finding this TV. Yoichi didn’t blame him in the slightest; an onryō could make even the most hardened skeptics terrified beyond belief.

Yoichi felt awful. Ji-Woon had been so brave for him, yet Yoichi had ignored his friend’s discomfort and immediately poked the hornet’s nest, risking an angry Sadako showing up.

“It's okay,” Yoichi said gently. “You don't have to stay.”

“Yes, you've made that extremely clear,” Ji-Woon grit out between clenched teeth.

With that, the killer turned on his heel and hurried away, ignoring Yoichi's hasty, "Thank you, again!"

With Ji-Woon now out of harm’s way, Yoichi returned to inspect the TV set some more. It was identical to those found in trials, a CRT tube on a small stand and a VCR player on top, though it looked a little bulkier than usual...hold on.

Yoichi frowned and leaned closer to the VCR player, noticing that there were two of them stacked on top of each other. The bottom one was smaller, however, and only had a thin slot in the middle, along with a power and eject button.

"A DVD player?" Yoichi wondered out loud.

This was strange. Sadako was known for her VHS tapes, and if she was starting to upgrade to more modern technology…Who knew how long before the curse was spread virally on the internet, endangering millions?

Yoichi hurried to his feet and set off to retrieve Haddie and Élodie so they could get to the bottom of this. He walked out of the house and into the driveway, stepping around a parked car—

And heard that same crunch from before coming from underneath his shoe.

Lifting his foot revealed a DVD disk shattered into pieces on the ground. Beside it layed a single red rose, trampled and half-dead.

Yoichi mentally shook himself and kept walking. He could ponder the items later—now, he was on a mission.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After Haddonfield, Ji-Woon avoided him like the plague.

It took Yoichi a few trials to catch onto that fact, but when the killer didn’t show up for their usual hatch bantering for the tenth time in a row, Yoichi knew something was wrong.

But this time, Ji-Woon didn’t even want to hear his apologies. Yoichi’s questions fell on deaf ears, and that was if he even saw the killer in the first place. Some of the other survivors claimed he’d started using a perk that got rid of the usual pounding heartbeats whenever a killer approached a survivor.

It was obvious that Ji-Woon went to great lengths to avoid Yoichi. And maybe if things were different, Yoichi would have given him the space he so desperately craved. 

But somewhere along the line Ji-Woon had become Yoichi’s closest friend. And despite the cold shoulder, he was still letting Yoichi escape through the hatch every time, proving that on some level, he still cared. Yoichi just didn’t know how to get through to him.

Maybe it was time to ask for outside help.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

At the campfire, Yoichi made a beeline to his target.

The so-called Old Man Group—which Yoichi always found an unfitting name, since Felix wasn't that old and the group also consisted of Jane and Yun-Jin—were gathered in their usual spot playing cards. Jane was talking to the group and making Ash howl with laughter, but Yoichi forced himself to interrupt the conversation.

“Ace,” Yoichi said, causing the gambler to perk up and several skeptical glances to be shot Yoichi's way. “Do you know why Mr. Hak is avoiding me?”

“Oh, it's back to Mr. Hak, huh?” Ace raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know you guys were having a lovers'—ow!"

Ace frowned at Felix sitting beside him and rubbed at his arm where he’d apparently been pinched by the architect. Felix simply stared at Ace with his mouth pressed into a thin line, obviously not pleased with what his partner had been about to say.

“Are you talking about the Trickster?” Yun-Jin butted in from the other side of the group.

“Ah…yes,” Yoichi said, turning to face her. He cleared his throat; he knew the two had an unpleasant history and wasn’t quite sure what the woman thought about his friendship with the man who ruined her life. “We…usually spend time together at the end of a trial or meet up after one, but he hasn't showed up in a long time,” Yoichi explained. “I was wondering if someone knew why he might be upset with me.”

Yun-Jin's collected expression of cutthroat producer didn’t falter even as she stared at Yoichi long enough to make him fidget nervously.

Then, she looked around the group, and several small things happened in quick succession.

Ace grinned and winked at Yin-Jin before Felix sighed and nodded. Bill lit a cigarette, grumbling that he "needs a fucking smoke" while Ash merely looked around in confusion.

And finally, Jane placed a hand on Yin-Jin's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Yun-Jin’s eyes widened and she proceeded to look Yoichi up and down, as if only now seeing him for the first time.

“Really?” Yun-Jin said. ”Him?”

Yoichi should probably have been offended, but her comment didn’t sound mean-spirited—just genuinely surprised.

“Ahm…” Yoichi faltered. “Can someone tell me what is going on?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bill muttered somewhere behind him, not helping in the slightest.

Jane looked at Yun-Jin. “Did you want me to…?”

"No, this should come from me," Yun-Jin said.

"Ms. Lee?" Yoichi asked. “Is something wrong?”

Yun-Jin took a pointed breath. "Hak Ji-Woon is a narcissistic psychopath who lacks any empathy whatsoever," she stated matter-of-factly. "If he voluntarily spends time with you without trying to murder you, it means he's practically in love with you."

Yoichi blinked. "What?"

Her gaze sharpened. "He's been peacocking for you, hasn't he?"

"Peacocking?" Yoichi repeated with a frown. "I wouldn't say that."

"Really?" Yun-Jin prodded. "No singing until your ears bleed? Prettying himself up? Bragging about his fame and showing off twenty different knife tricks?"

Sure, there had been the singing and target practice, and Ji-Woon did go through that strange phase where he wore all sorts of ridiculous outfits. He also regularly talked about his success, but it wasn’t like he was doing any of it to impress Yoichi.

"Sometimes he wanted to practice his skills and invited me along for company,” Yoichi explained.

“Mierda, you're so oblivious you'd think he used Hex: Plaything,” Ace commented.

“No, I just think you've got it all wrong,” Yoichi said. “We are just friends—if even that anymore.” Suddenly, he remembered he actually had tangible evidence of the killer’s anger. “He even left me these to threaten me after an argument!”

Yoichi fished out the three worn photographs from his back pocket and handed them to Yun-Jin. He’d completely forgotten about them until now, as he'd very quickly made up with Ji-Woon after finding them.

Yun-Jin’s eyes flitted over the writing on the photos, before she looked up at Yoichi with an unimpressed stare.

“And this was when he was angry at you?” she asked.

“Yes!” Yoichi nodded. “What, ah…What do they say?”

Yun-Jin held up the first picture. "For my bumblebee," she read completely deadpan before picking up the next one. "They wronged you, so I killed them." Then, "With love, Hak Ji-Woon."

The rest of the group had gone deadly silent and Yoichi felt their stares boring into his back.

“…Oh,” he simply said, finally understanding what had happened.

Ji-Woon had moried Yoichi’s three teammates because they didn't rescue him from the hook on time. What Yoichi had assumed to be a threat was simply the killer looking out for Yoichi in his own, strange way. 

But why leave the photos and not just talk to him? It was as confusing as their last get-together in Haddonfield, when Ji-Woon had left behind a broken DVD after leading Yoichi to the house with the TV and cozy fire like it was…

Like it was a date.

Realization washed over Yoichi like a cold wave: their meeting in Haddonfield was supposed to be a movie date. Ji-Woon was the one who had set up the TV and mood lighting and brought a movie, and Yoichi had completely ruined the evening with his paranormal obsession.

Just like he had at the carnival by abandoning Ji-Woon to pet the horse. And in the woods where Ji-Woon practically serenaded him and Yoichi just buried his nose in a book. Crap, how many signals had Yoichi missed in the last few months?

“Oh,” Yoichi said, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Sheesh, no wonder he's been avoiding you," Ash said, apparently having reached the same conclusion. "Dude probably thinks he got hyper-friendzoned."

"I didn't know," Yoichi half-heartedly protested.

“Then it seems you have an angry idol to appease," Yun-Jin said. She was smiling, a tiny quirk of her lips that was barely noticeable.

“You, ah…You don't mind?” Yoichi asked.

Yun-Jin shrugged. “You're the only one he's ever let this close. Who knows, maybe you'll be a good influence on him."

“I'll try my best,” Yoichi promised, carefully folding the pictures back into his pocket. “Thank you.”

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

The next time he met Ji-Woon, the killer was unsurprisingly still avoiding him, even at the cost of his own success in the trial. He practically ran away every time he spotted Yoichi, instead searching for his teammates on the other side of the map. Yoichi almost missed those very first trials when he had the killer’s undivided attention—even if said attention had been nothing but negative.

Ji-Woon was being very stubborn about ignoring him. Fortunately, Yoichi could be just as bull-headed when he set his mind on something.

He eventually managed to corner Ji-Woon in the shack. While the killer was grabbing more daggers from a locker, Yoichi sneaked closer. And when Ji-Woon turned around and Yoichi stood right in front of him, he actually jumped a little and hissed a surprised curse in his native tongue.

“Ji-Woon…” Yoichi started.

“What the fuck!?” Ji-Woon snarled. “Move!”

The killer tried to sidestep, but Yoichi followed the movement, effectively blocking him.

“Ji-Woon, listen—”

“What the hell are you even doing here!?” Ji-Woon demanded, but he still wasn’t raising his weapon. “Take a fucking hint and go play with your little friends!”

“Please, just listen to me,” Yoichi tried.

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you!” Ji-Woon yelled. “You made it really fucking clear that you don’t give a single shit—”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get a word in anytime soon, Yoichi did something that was either a stroke of genius or colossally stupid depending on the outcome:

He shoved Ji-Woon back against the locker and kissed him.

Ji-Woon froze completely. His mouth was still half-open from whatever insult he’d been in the middle of spewing and Yoichi took full advantage of his surprise, gently kissing him to convey all the words he didn’t get a chance to say.

Then, for a moment, Ji-Woon started kissing back, and Yoichi felt so happy—

Until Ji-Woon seemed to remember himself and pushed Yoichi away with his Entity-granted strength, sending Yoichi tumbling gracelessly onto the shack’s floor.

“You dare to touch me!?” Ji-Woon bristled, glaring down at him.

“I’m sorry—” Yoichi started.

Ji-Woon didn’t even seem to be listening. “I'll have you know my fans would have paid thousands just for a handshake—”

“I'm sorry I ignored you on our dates!” Yoichi interrupted, loud enough to echo in the small space.

Ji-Woon instantly went quiet: either at the apology or just the fact that Yoichi had actually raised his voice.

Yoichi scrambled to push himself up on his elbows. “I didn't realize you were…that you wanted…” he fumbled through the words while he still had the opportunity to speak. “In my defense, I didn’t realize that they were dates. I never thought you'd go for a commoner like me.”

“Not in a million years,” Ji-Woon huffed. “But…there's nothing common about you, so…”

Ji-Woon turned his head to stare firmly into a wall and, wow, that was definitely a blush on his cheeks. Had he been this flustered every time he looked away from Yoichi?

The thought made Yoichi smile and his heart beat faster in his chest.

"I feel the same way about you," Yoichi said. "I know I can be a little…dense—"

"A little!?" Ji-Woon exclaimed, head whipping back to half-glare down at him. "Even the stupid gambler knew for months!"

Yoichi cleared his throat. "Yes, well, they don't exactly teach you flirting in the biology curriculum," he said.

"No shit,'' Ji woon said, rolling his eyes. "But…they also don't teach it in the idol programs."

Yoichi guessed that was the closest they would get to admitting they both kind of sucked at this.

"I think it would be easiest if you just say what you want in the future," Yoichi said. “Since I think we’ve established that I suck at reading hints.”

"Fine," Ji-Woon said, then shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with voicing whatever was on his mind. "...You may kiss me more."

Yoichi chuckled and finally got back up on his feet, eagerly leaning into Ji-Woon’s space for another kiss.

This time, Ji-Woon reciprocated readily, and Yoichi’s knees felt a little weak again when the killer cupped his cheek. Ji-Woon’s lips were unbelievably soft as they moved languidly against Yoichi’s own, and when a teasing tongue flicked over his top lip, Yoichi felt goosebumps rising on his skin.

Yoichi wanted to get closer, to hold him and kiss him for as long as he could, but he didn’t know if he was allowed to. 

He pulled away just enough to murmur, "Can I touch you?" against Ji-Woon's lips, hands hovering awkwardly over his hips.

Ji-Woon huffed something that sounded suspiciously like "idiot" before the strong arms that just pushed Yoichi away now pulled him closer, making him nearly trip over his feet.

Yoichi grabbed fistfuls of Ji-Woon’s yellow jacket to steady himself, accidentally deepening the kiss and earning a soft moan from his friend.

Well. Probably more than just a friend, at this point.

They didn’t separate until the exit gates screeched open and the gong signaling the end game collapse rang out over the trial grounds.

When Yoichi pulled away, Ji-Woon was beautifully flushed and panting softly, still leaning against the locker for support. Yoichi imagined he looked much the same.

Yoichi bit his lip, already missing the warmth of Ji-Woon’s kisses. “So…where do you want to go from here?” he managed to ask.

Ji-Woon rolled his eyes. “Well first, we need to find you some chapstick. Do you know how dry your lips are?”

Yoichi huffed a surprised laugh and Ji-Woon smiled too.

Ji-Woon led Yoichi to an exit gate and complained about improper skin care the entire time there. But he kept smiling and his hand rubbed soothing patterns over Yoichi’s back while they walked, and in the exit gate he still leaned in for one last kiss despite Yoichi’s tragically chapped lips.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

“Oh, Yoichi! Hello!” Claudette greeted him when he got back to the campfire. She was sitting on a log at the edge of the camp huddled with Jake, a half-stocked toolbox open between them. “Did you have a good trial?” she asked.

Yoichi only then realized that he was still smiling.

“Yes!” Yoichi said, surprising even himself with how happy he sounded. “I…really did.”

Claudette smiled warmly and even Jake's perpetual scowl seemed to soften for a moment. 

“I'm so glad to hear that,” Claudette said.

It was no secret that some of the veteran survivors often worried about the new arrivals. Most of them had since moved on to Haddie—since she was their newest addition after Yoichi—but people like Claudette often still check in on him, and he truly appreciated their concern.

Yoichi’s smile softened and he nodded politely. “Thank you.”

He turned back in the direction of the fire, aiming to leave the two to their task and join the larger group. But as he did so, Yoichi heard a loud snort followed by Claudette's gasp.

Yoichi quickly pivoted back around. “What happened?”

Gone was Claudette’s friendly smile as she stared at Yoichi’s chest in horror. Meanwhile, Jake was…smirking?

"Nea!" Claudette suddenly got up on her feet with a shout, stomping off toward the campfire. "Did you tag Yoichi's jacket!?"

"What!? No way!" Nea's voice could be heard from further away. "Just Feng's a few days ago!"

"You bitch, I knew that was you!" Feng Min's high-pitched squeal answered.

As a small commotion broke out among the three women, Yoichi slowly removed his raincoat to check for signs of vandalism. Looking over the garment did, indeed, reveal large writing done on the back of the jacket with a thick black marker.

In Hangul.

Jake snorted again, then pretended to cough into his hand.

“Do you know what it says?” Yoichi asked.

Jake seemed to be trying very hard to keep his face neutral as he said, “Property of Hak Ji-Woon.”

Yoichi's face flamed hot as he stared at the jacket. Now that Jake had said it, he could vaguely recognize the sloppily written symbols of Ji-Woon’s name. But this hadn’t been there before the trial, and who would even have put it there? Nea and the others didn't know Korean, and Ji-Woon definitely didn't ask Yoichi to turn around to sign his jacket. He wouldn't even have had the chance to, with the way they were busy kissing like teenagers for the entire trial.

…Except when they walked to the exit and Yoichi could feel Ji-Woon’s dexterous hand running in nonsensical patterns over his back. Apparently with the marker he always kept on him for autographs.

“Yoichi, I am so sorry,” Claudette said, coming up beside him. “I'll help you wash it off. And if it's permanent marker, I have some solvent—”

“No,” Yoichi found himself saying. He pulled the jacket tighter to himself and smiled. “I like it.”

Claudette looked confused as Yoichi put the jacket back on and walked away to join the group. He gathered a few curious glances, but everyone was mostly still preoccupied with Nea and Feng Min's argument to pay him much mind. 

Yun-Jin later joined the group and only reacted with a small huff and an eye roll after getting a look at the writing. But since neither her nor Jake made any further comments, the incident was quickly forgotten.

…Well, until a few days later when Yui stomped into camp and started demanding why the hell the back of the Trickster's jacket said “Boyfriend of Asakawa Yoichi“ in Japanese, and Yoichi still couldn't stop smiling.

[wcrriorhearts]

MAERYS CLEARWATER / HotD OC

Age: depending on the verse Occupation: midwife Family: Husband Aedion, son Trystan & daughter Maeve Residence: King's Landing Status: Smallfolk

Maerys was born in Oldtown as the daughter of young Lord Adam Kidwell, who was a novice at the citadel, and his young and secret love Emmeline Clearwater, a girl he had met in the city as a boy and whom he had not been able to forget into his teenage years. They were both young and foolish when Emmeline became pregnant, undoubtedly irresponsible with the carefreeness of youth still attached to them. Emmeline came from a simple family, with a father who worked as a blacksmith and an older sister who had married a few years prior and worked as a midwife in town. Unlike her younger sister, she struggled to conceive with her husband, which was why the decision was made that the babe would be hers to raise. Emmeline was too young and unwedded, Adam supposed to become a Maester, which would make him unable to claim the child as well. It was not an easy decision for her parents to make, but the more responsible one. Adam’s family never knew of their son’s exploits and given he had three older brothers, it had been his fate to become a Maester for many years before he even met his young love, because though he bore a noble title, his house was poor and the titles all that was left of former glory. 

Much to everyone’s sorrow, Emmeline did not survive Maerys’ birth. Even though her sister did everything she could to save her sister, the poor young girl would not stop bleeding and was buried the same night she had delivered the little one. Maerys had been born early and her maternal family worried about her well being, but she thrived and was graciously nursed by a neighbor, for her aunt Caelan naturally could not. Since there was talk in town, however, Caelan and her husband Jon decided to leave Oldtown, once Maerys was a year old, and move somewhere no one knew them, so their parentage would no longer be questioned. Much to Adam’s dismay, who had regularly visited his daughter and liked to keep her close, but since he had forfeited his right to raise her, he had no say in where she would be brought up.

Caelan and Jon moved to King’s Landing with their daughter, where she was raised well in a small house in the better parts of town. Her adoptive father had learned the trade of being a blacksmith from his father in law, but had refined his skills to make jewelry, while her adoptive mother offered her help as midwife and healer for minor ailments. Maerys was always taken care of as she grew and wanted for nothing. She had friends among the neighbors, sometimes got to travel with her father when he sold his jewelry at markets outside King’s Landing and was often taken along by her mother to learn the trade of midwifery. She was still quite young when her true father came to visit for the first time, but old enough to remember that her mother had been displeased by it. He was still an acolyte but since the Maester who taught him had traveled to the capital to serve a noble family, he had taken the chance to come with him. That way he could finish his studies and take his vows, but also be closer to Maerys. He never had intentions to take the girl from her aunt and uncle, but he also wanted to know she was well and had everything she needed.

So since she did not get a proper education in his eyes, he began teaching her whenever he had time to visit. It was sporadic and not as intensive as he would have liked, but he ensured that Maerys learned how to read and write, so that she could read books and teach herself the rest. When she was ten years of age, he took his vows as a Maester and her parents told her who he truly was. Nothing changed for her, because she had never known her mother and only knew her aunt and uncle as parents, but at least she understood why Adam came to visit them. At the same time, her aunt began properly teaching her, because she knew how important it was for her to be able to make her own living one day, so that she would be able to provide for herself, in case she chose not to marry. At two and ten she knew all important herbs and how to use them, had assisted in many deliveries alongside her aunt and was well versed in all the complications that could happen. As time went by, she learned to love the trade, but also came to know the downsides of it, because not every babe was wanted. When she was four and ten, her aunt taught her how to brew a tea that would rid the woman of an unwanted child. When she was five and ten, she was sent out to assist women in their labor all by herself. Even though she was young, everyone knew her aunt and trusted that Maerys was well trained and since her aunt could not be everywhere at once, sending the girl was often the best option. If there were complications, someone was sent to fetch the more experienced midwife, but that rarely happened. When Maerys was nine and ten, her aunt’s reputation was so good that she was ordered to the Keep to assist the royal family. Maerys, naturally, went with her every time they were required to help someone at the Keep. It was exciting and so different in the castle for the girl and being there meant she got to see her true father, who was a Maester in the service of House Strong there. The same year, Maerys herself wedded her childhood friend Aedion Hunt and their first child was born the year after, a precious boy they named Trystan. By the time she was pregnant with her second child, her aunt fell ill and Maerys took up her work at the Keep alone. She was offered to stay there permanently with her family, given that princess Rhaenyra and other noble Ladies who resided there were often in need of her talents and so she relocated there. Her aunt died only a few weeks later and her uncle decided to leave King’s Landing in her absence to return to Oldtown. Maerys stayed behind with Aedion and they welcomed their second child, a daughter named Maeve, the year she turned twenty and one. 

[judesmoonbeauty]

This was supposed to be a quick fluffy drabble inspired by a recent beach trip, but it quickly spiraled into an angsty fic instead so.....here you go. Sorry it's not shorter. WC: 3,028 Discord Writing Prompt: First Kiss CW: No happy ending ┃Being in the water Pairing: Jude Jazza x Reader Pronouns: You/They Tags: SWF ┃Angst ┃Revenge ┃Pining ┃First Kiss vs. Last Kiss Summary: ... and soon you’re pinned against a barnacle encrusted support beam, with Jude wrapping your legs around his waist, and twining your fingers with his as he holds them over your head. The waters churn around you both from the wake of sea vessels going to-and-fro in the port, salt stings your eyes, and your bodies.... Dividers: @.natimiles [Master List]

A pile of spent cigarettes lay at the feet of a couple well-polished black shoes whose owner stood on a dock at the port of London. Aimlessly staring into the horizon, Jude lingered there all morning chain smoking, until he finally pulled the last of his cigarettes from the silver case with his initials engraved on it.

“Why not get this one, Jude? The filigree is lovely, and you can have your initials engraved at the top?”

A distant memory surfaced of a shopping trip you accompanied him at a haberdashery when he need to replace his damaged cigarette case. It was just before he had tricked you into leaving Crown on a pseudo-mission by his design, and essentially barring your return to England..

He was convinced that although it was cruel, it was a necessary act because Jude had almost forfeited his resolve to push you away, and that surely would’ve led to your demise. That outcome was frightening to him. He wasn’t going to fail to protect another in his life*.* Fortunately, his scheme went off with out a hitch and he was able to avoid the worst possible outcome that had awaited you.

Affairs were arranged for you to kept from the country for a few years in comfort, until your face was forgotten by his enemies, and hopefully once it was time for you to return, you would’ve found a new life elsewhere and not bothered to comeback to England at all. He even had Ellis slip a blank check into your luggage with a brief note, hoping it would jump start your new life. It was money, but it was a small price to pay if it kept you safe.

“For the troubles Crown put you through. Write any amount.- Jude Jazza”

However, even though he regularly reviewed his account, you never cashed the check and he scorned the thought of how pathetic and sick it made him feel. Money was the only true form of sincerity after all, and it was like you were throwing his sincerity back in his face. That was seven months ago, and now it seemed like the only thing left to do, if you decided not to cash the check, was to let go of you completely. Jude pulls a letter from his breast pocket, it was still neatly kept as all his important documents are.

“Hah, buncha rubbish.”

Recalling the day you left on your faux-mission, Jude watched you say your goodbyes with Crown, hidden in the shadows at a distance. Despite what his heart told him to do, he trampled those feelings dead that day, and let you leave with out incident. Listening to the gentle wake of the waves thrash into the dock’s support beams, the hollow reverberations echoed like they were mimicking the hollowness inside his soul.

“Jude, are you expecting a delivery? I didn’t see one scheduled on the manifest? Oh, isn’t that the letter they had me deliver to you the day they left?”

With out answering Ellis back, Jude tossed your letter of well wishes into the sea.

“Jude, I won’t say don’t get injured, that’s an impossible to ask of you, but could you please try to not get injured as much as you usually do? I’m worried about you. I’ll see you again when I return from Crown mission. ”

Ellis lowered his head in sadness as he witnessed Jude coldly eradicate you completely from his life, but neither Ellis nor any other person ever know that Jude had been chain smoking that day to stay with what remnants he had of you for just a little longer. Feeding the ever starving, yearning heart that Jude cemented away with this final morsel. The letter floated on top the water and the overcast skies dimmed even further, just as Jude’s once vibrant eyes now lacked luster.

His brooding mood became worse when one of the squawking seagulls overhead promptly defecated a white chalky splotch on the shoulder of Jude’s jacket..

“Bloody hell. Ellis…..”

He ripped off his ruined jacket and shoved it into Ellis’ chest, who skillfully caught it with out tainting his own clothes.

“Burn it.”

“Sure, Jude.”

Salty sea air slipped into Jude’s mouth as he dropped his final cigarette like his was dropping a heavy curtain on his time with you, dividing him into the shadows and you into the world of the light. However, this was for the best and there was no room for miscalculation when it came to your life. He would not allow it to blow out unnecessarily quickly like a candle’s flame.

Ellis tapped Jude’s shoulder, “Um, Jude…..”

“What?”

“They’re back.”

“Hah? The hell are ya sayin’ nut job?”

Hard clacking heels hit the aged wooden planks of the dock from behind Jude, whomsoever footsteps they belonged to, they were aggressive. Please let it not be you.

“Jude Jazza!”

He closed his eyes when his silent wish was dashed to pieces. Listening to your seething call hit his ears feeling both like a soothing balm to his soul and a troublesome irritant. Jude turned around and with an arrogant smile, only to be met with a crumpled wad of paper being thrown into face.

“You bastard! A blank check? Sorry for your troubles? Really? Were you seriously trying to buy me off?”

Blitzing him with a series of rapid questions, he chuckled at your perturbed face, he loved that expression, so much so, that he wanted to do nothing but piss you off even more now. Picking up the wad of paper, he could tell that it was the blank check he’d given you as compensation.

“Ha, looks like you’re were smart to fig-“

“You can keep your damned money you arrogant prick!”

Thud! Splash!

Jude couldn’t even finish his sentence before you tackled him into the bay. The water was so cold it stung your body, and no sooner after you both broke through the surface and caught your breaths, Jude had grabbed your shoulders and shook you.

“Have ya lost your damned mind? Do ya know how dangerous the stunt you just pulled was?”

His hands grabbed your chin as he started to inspect you for injuries, lifting your arms, checking your hands, and moving your hair out of the way to check your neck. Determined to remained focus on the reason for your visit, you swat his hand out of the way.

“Why? That would be a good thing for you, wouldn’t it? If I died, I wouldn’t be a nuisance to you anymore, and you’d not have to worry about keeping me under house arrest. I’d be a huge financial savings for you!”

You didn’t mean to cause a scene, but it couldn’t be helped either, months of anguish that had been simmering finally gushed out like a geyser. Jude pushed you under the dock to avoid the stare of onlookers. That’s when you saw the a crumpled letter float by you, and when you picked it up out of curiosity, your eyes widened that it was your note you’d left him before you departed England.

Jude watched you expectantly, waiting for a barrage of questions as to why your crumpled letter was in the ocean, but was surprised when you simply dropped it back into the water like it didn’t matter to you anymore. There was a certain finality of your movements that he didn’t like, but he didn’t have long to ponder that thought before it was answered.

“I just came to return the check. I don’t want nor need your money. Don’t insult me like that ever again. I’m leaving. Ellis, are you there?”

Ellis’ head popped over the side of the dock, “I’m here.”

“Will you help pull me up please?”

“Sure thing.”

Swimming towards Ellis you stretch out your dripping wet hand to grab a hold of his, when a scowling visage grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards himself instead.

“Let go,” you hissed.

“Shuddup. Ellis, I gave you task now do it.”

“Oh….right. Um, I’m sorry, but…..” Ellis apologized to you with large twilight eyes filled with regret.

“It’s fine, please do as he says.”

Ellis pauses for a moment before he leaves you both under the dock to continue your conversation, and soon you’re pinned against a barnacle encrusted support beam, with Jude wrapping your legs around his waist, and twining your fingers with his as he holds them over your head.

The waters churn around you both from the wake of sea vessels going to and fro in the port, salt stings your eyes, and your bodies are chilled to the bone, but in the face of him staring at you and inching closer and closer to you in silence, none of that mattered.

Jude’s grip tightens and the silence poured between you both is broken when his cold lips that had been grazing yours finally pecked you softly as soon as he sensed what he thought was your quivering anticipation of his touch.

Chu……..chu…chu.

His lips carefully met yours teasing them sweetly, it was so different from the hard forceful kiss he gave you the time he pulled you from the river. Every emotion he felt about you deep from inside was being charged into these kisses, and when his tongue gently nudged your lips for permission to enter, and you granted it - not out of weakness, but from something else. This is what you’d always craved from him, his true feelings, his love, his heart, his vulnerability, and now you held it in the palm of your hands.

His tongue tangled with yours and the heat from inside your mouths overwhelmed the salty bitterness from the wet kisses. Gaining a sense of security, he relaxed his grip from your hand and grabbed your thighs, and you both tilted your chins to angle your mouths for deeper, more lewd kisses. Sounds of both your moans echoed under the dock and finally breaking a part, you both rest your foreheads against each other.

“Let’s go, or we’ll get sick,” he said and you nodded in compliance.

After making it back a top the port’s walk way, you both rang out your dripping wet clothes, “I’ll escort you home.”

“What?”

“I’ll take ya home to change ‘n then we’ll have Roger check ya out to make sure everything’s alright.”

Hesitating to respond to him, you finish ringing out your clothes, and then politely decline his assistance.

“Thank you, but you needn’t escort me home, it’s quite far from here actually.”

“Whaddya mean? It’s just across town. That shack ya live in above that bakery or whatever.”

“Shack?” You mumble at his slight towards your previous living quarters.

“Oh, did ya get a new place when ya came back? Tell me where ‘n I’ll take ya,” Jude said he was examining the damage done to the book in his holster.

“I think you’ve misunderstood something, Jude. I’m not staying in England, my ship sails late this afternoon.”

His attention locks onto you in disbelief. That must be a lie. Jude closes the distance between you both so that the tips of your toes touch the other, and he stares at you in silence waiting for further explanation.

“I told you, I was here only to return your blank check.”

“Ha! That’s rich. You’re crazy if ya think I’m lettin’ ya escape my grasp a second time. No way in hell,” Jude grabs your forearms tightly, and you stare at him in disdain for his conceited presumptuousness. He often tells you not to be conceited or to think that he’d ever be willing to put his body on the line for you, but he fails to recognize when he becomes full of himself, and it was this fault that drove you not to return to him.

“Escape a second time? I never ran from you in the first place. Did you forget that you coerced me into a farce mission to drive me away from you and Crown?”

He started to refute, but silenced himself when he had no ground to stand on. You’re right, it was my doin’ but…

“I did what I did to protect ya….because - because I…..I love ya. Dontcha understand that?”

He was finally being honest and genuine with his feelings. Watching him fight his natural inclination to bury those feelings deep in his core, and expose them to you was truly satisfying and beautiful, so beautiful because…..

“And? Do you honestly think I’m so thick in the head that I don’t grasp that much? I know why you did it, but what does that matter?”

His sorrowful face quickly soured since it seemed unthinkable that your love for him had washed out so quickly, that his feelings you tried to pry from his calloused and scarred heart meant nothing to you anymore.

“Listen closely Jude. This is a concept you should understand very well, since you were the one who taught this to me after all.”

Straightening your spine, you grab him by the chin bringing yourself nose to nose with him. The thought of kissing him, being touched by him, or being loved by him - they were all figments of hope that you decided to leave drowning in the watery grave beneath you. What happened under the dock, was what you allowed to happen and now everything was almost complete, now you just needed to give him something to mull over for the rest of his life in regret…..

“Why should I have to put my heart on the line for you? Why should I have to risk my happiness and well-being for you? Why should I have to forgive what you’ve done?”

He was stunned in silence, his face skewed stupidly as he didn’t expect you to ever utter those words, but he was further floored by what you said next.

“Is it because you’re a villain? Is it because you’re cursed to suffer a terrible fate? Because of your wealth and power? Should I have to forgive the months of pain and yearning, or of being confined in a foreign country, in house where I was alone, simply because you now want to be honest with how you’ve felt about me all this time?”

You grip his jaw tighter and stepping forward an unexpectedly strong opponent against him, and for the first time in a very very long time, Jude took a step back. You gritted your teeth an fought back tears that wanted to spill from your eyes, because you would never ever let yourself cry in front of Jude Jazza again.

“Three months. I cried every day for three months, I could barely stomach food. In the fourth month, when my tears finally dried up, I thought of how I should execute my revenge, and started to look for a way to make it back to England. A month ago, I was able to board a ship in secret and sailed here to meet you. I’ve done nothing, but think of how I wanted to cast you aside the way you did me.”

The hand that gripped his chin slid down to his neck, and tightened on it like he did to you so many times in the past. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he stared you in disbelief, your audacity seemed to be stoked even more since he last saw you.

“You took away my right of choice to stay at Crown. And whether you returned my feelings or not, I was happy to stay there, and I never once asked you to protect me! It’s as simple as that.”

Every moment you spent with him was a blessing and whether he loved you or not, you just wanted him to be healthy and happy, you never wanted this world to turn with out him on it. All you needed was to know he was alive and living his life with out apology as he always done. However, for ripping you away from all you held dear, for taking away choices that weren’t his to take, to be lied to and tricked and avoided - there was a limit even for the one you loved so dearly.

Grabbing him by his collar and yanking his ear up to your mouth and whisper to him, your voice laced with apathetic resignation.

“Be pleased, Jude. You’re getting what you wanted since the time we met, my disappearing from your world, to live in the light……or maybe I shall go dwell in an even darker place than you do now? Who knows, maybe I’ll even become an enemy to Crown one day, and you’ll get to kill me yourself?”

Shoving Jude with as much power as you could muster, he fell backward on his bottom and watching you walk out of his life like a figment of his imagination, and like the flicker of a flame from a candle going out, you disappeared.

True to your word, every day for the rest of his life he relived the death of your love on the dock that day, your words echoing inside him from the moment he woke up and into the depths of the very fabric of his dreams, driving him mad. Go to a darker place? Become an enemy to Crown? What did any of it mean? Who were you with and where were you?

Thinking back to the day he saved you from the river, your first kiss with him, he should’ve kissed you more sweetly, and held you more closely. He should’ve never let you go that day. As Jude was tormented by such thoughts day in and day out, the poison of your vengeful last kiss sank so deeply into the marrow of his bones, that if he ever lay eyes on you again, surely you’d both fall asleep in death together.

@ichigostellaglynn @atelierquinn @mrslelouch

[wooahaes]

hiraeth

pairing: non-idol!seungcheol x fem!reader

prompt: the great comet au

word count: 1.3k~

warning: mentions of attempted suicide/ensuing physical illness as a result of being near death. mentions of infidelity and a broken engagement. depressed reader dealing with the aftermath of being taken advantage of. seungcheol outright being stated to have a wife who cheats on him regularly. but there’s hope and comfort, i promise <3

daisy’s notes: i am a simple gal i listen to pierre & natasha and i start sobbing.

Seungcheol held your letters to Joshua, bound in black ribbon and stacked neatly, as he stood outside your home. Snowflakes danced in the air around him as he stared down at the stack, knowing that this was the last piece of news you needed to hear now. He knew what had happened to you. He knew of how ill you grew from your attempt, the antidotes in your system enough to save you. He knew that you... had to know that this was coming. You broke off your engagement, yes, but this? The returned letters? Perhaps it was an act of mercy toward you. Joshua knew what your letters meant in terms of being evidence of your infidelity (something that Seungcheol still felt bitter about: you had fallen for Jeonghan so easily, forfeiting a love with Joshua? How foolish could you be?).

Seungcheol had seen the cruel smile on Joshua’s face, hardened by the war that Seungcheol always thought he’d be fighting. Joshua Hong was a changed man. Returning your letters was truly an act of mercy from a man who was visibly hurt when Seungcheol saw him. Seungcheol couldn’t blame him for that: you were sought after by another man and broke off the engagement. You had loved him, once. How else was he to respond? Seungcheol thought of his own marriage as he thought back to Joshua.

Perhaps there was mercy in letting go while in pain. His own wife was cruel to him, after all. Would he scorn her? Or would he erase the ugly parts and move on to treat the wounds of betrayal himself, like Joshua? That was a question for another time. All Seungcheol could do was hope that Joshua would forgive you one day, as hard as that may be.

Seungcheol finally knocked at your door after he tucked the letters into his coat. A servant let him in, and Seungcheol was directed to the drawing room. In the middle, he found you, standing lifelessly. He could see the way being near-death had affected you, your eyes so much sadder than he’d ever seen them. He’d seen you full of life before, and now you looked like you’d break. You extended your hands to greet him, only to shrink back a moment. More... subservient. Meek and afraid. No longer the bright woman he knew you to be.

“Choi Seungcheol,” you said quietly, watching him.

You hadn’t called him that name in so long. He detested the use of his full name. Seungcheol made his way to you, taking your hands in his own. “Cheol,” he corrected you gently. Always Cheol.

“Prince Hong was your friend,” you said quietly, and then stopped. “He is your friend. He told me that I could turn to you in times like this.” You drew your hands back, taking another step away. “I know he came home. Please,” you reached for his face, only to draw your hand back at the last moment. “Tell him to forgive me.”

Seungcheol already tried. He knew that Joshua wouldn’t--not now. “I will,” he lied, reaching into his coat. “But I’m here to return your letters from Joshua--”

“I know.” Your voice wavered. “I know everything is over.” You turned away, the thin fabric of your nightgown doing little to warm you in the cold drawing room. The fireplace was no longer lit, but Seungcheol could see the dying ashed. Your dressing gown was set aside.

Were you punishing yourself? It was too cold. Seungcheol walked past you, cautious of crossing you in any way.

“I know that we cannot resume our relationship,” you continued on, looking off in a dazed state. “I wish... I wish for him to forgive me, even though I do not deserve it--”

He picked up your dressing gown, returning to drape it over you. “It’s too cold, my dear,” he said softly. “You’re still weak.”

“Please,” you reached up, cupping his cheek, “Please tell him I beg him to forgive me for everything.”

He reached up, curling his fingers around your hand. “I will,” he promised. “But I wish to know... Did you love that bad man?”

Immediately, your tone was colder, “Don’t call him bad.”

And Seungcheol knew. You had truly loved Yoon Jeonghan.

Yet he watched your tears well up as you realized how cold and quick your response was. “I don’t know,” you said a moment, voice breaking. “I don’t know.”

Seungcheol knew that this was a game for Jeonghan. That you had chased something you were too naive to understand, too young and innocent to realize was happening. The same way his own wife would toy with younger men, or men who had little cares for fucking a married woman. The marriage Jeonghan had proposed to you was just a way to toy with your heart. Either it was illegitimate or he was stealing you away, and what then? Would he move on?

Would you end up right as you were now, barely alive in soul and body? Seungcheol could fear his own tears well up, running down his cheeks as he prayed you didn’t notice.

“We won’t speak of it anymore,” he promised you. “Please,” he said quietly, “I beg of you to consider me your friend. If you need help, or to open your heart to someone when your mind is clear, think of me.”

Seungcheol realized the way the words had flown from him, a need to support you stronger than anything else. He furrowed his brow, realizing the feeling in his chest. He’d read about it between the strategy books and those telling history: love. He loved you in a way he hadn’t felt in so long.

“Don’t speak to me like that,” you drew away from him, still crying. “I am not worth it. Not anymore--”

“Stop!” He said, quickly returning to you. “You have your whole life before you. You’re young,” he spoke softer this time. “You have time.”

He watched the way you hiccuped, breaking down even further. “I am destroyed. All is over for me, Seungcheol.”

“All over...?” Seungcheol watched you as you sank down onto one of the seats, and he drew closer to you. “If I were not myself, but the brightest, handsomest, best man on earth...” He knelt before you, taking your hands in his own. “And if I were free... I would ask you for your hand this minute,” he reached up, “and for your love. You have a life to live,” he wiped away your tears, “and one day you will have a love to love, too.”

He watched the way you looked up, your sobs stopped for a moment as his words sank in. He almost felt as though he’d woken up in front of you, the love in his chest so pure and warm that he wished he could share it with you. Not yet. Not now. One day, perhaps, but not today. Neither of you were ready for it.

And then you started crying again, this time a little lighter than before. You reached up, cupping his face. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ll remember you, Cheol.”

He watched you slowly pull on your dressing gown, retying it to be secure around your shivering figure. He pressed the letters into your hands at long last, and watched you study them for a moment before standing up. You’d take care of them soon. You thanked him again for coming to see you, apologizing for retiring so soon.

Yet you turned to see him one last time on your way out of the room, smiling at him for the first time in so long. Seungcheol almost cried at the sight as he watched you leave, a newfound hope planted for the two of you. He made his way out of your home, breathing in the cold air.

Seungcheol looked up at the stars overhead, a newfound peace within his chest. And as the comet crossed overhead, tracing its parabola, Seungcheol knew that he was reborn into a life he would dedicate to joy as your companion.

general taglist: @wonuziex​ @twancingyunhao​ @synthetickitsune​

[genshinboys]

Going out on a date with Genshin boys - Zhongli

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Zhongli x gn reader

Taking you out on a date is not a negligible matter for the God of Contracts. He would plan each one of them, never forgetting about even the smallest of details. He is painstakingly scrupulous about everything and whole-heartedly devoted to the arrangements. He revels in this whole undertaking, using his expertise and aeons of accumulated experience to pick the most fragrant of flowers, the tastiest bottles of gourmet red wine and the most exceptional of landscapes for you to enjoy. 

No matter how much you try to convince him that you don't need all of that courting and splendour, Zhongli only shakes his head in disagreement.

„You, my Love, are like the jewel which has been made to adorn luxurious and the prettiest of crowns, not some simple, primitive headpieces.”

And so, the Geo Lord will not relent.

Your dates are not occasional, Zhongli is guaranteed to spoil you regularly. He is bent on making your romance bloom, the reminiscence of years spent in solitude still fresh and haunting his consciousness. 

Once Rex Lapis, now having forfeited his deity status, the wanderer of the world.

Vago Mundo

For the Archon's heart is certainly not made up of stone, he no longer wants to roam the world all alone. 

Having pledged his eternal love to you, Zhongli is now sitting at the beautifully set table and awaiting your arrival. The storyteller at Third-Round-Knockout - Iron Tongue Tian, charms the visitors with yet another tale of the Geo Archon`s olden days. It's long past the sunset and Liyue's sky is slowly changing its pink and orange hues to the indigo of the impending evening.

„I'm sorry I'm late!” You cry out exasperated, almost tripping over the table's legs barely carrying the weight of all the dishes and beverages that Zhongli fancied ordering to pamper you. With a loud shriek, you land on the soft padding of the chair catching Zhongli's extended hands mid-fall.

„Are you ok, Dear?” The Archon looks at you with concerned eyes while his geo arms surround your physique in a protective gesture. 

„Fine, just fine!” You pant out breathless and lean in to greet Zhongli with a smooch on his cheek. 

„Will I be forgiven?”

Zhongli chuckles in a melodic laugh enamoured by the innocence of your features. He captures your hand in his, bends it over in a courtly manner and gently brushes his lips over the back of your hand.

He murmurs sweetly, „I've endured what felt like an eternity waiting for your love, I can wait a little while longer if you happen to be held back by some unforeseen circumstances.”

He pours you a glass of Osmanthus wine and places it in your hand. Your throat is parched so you happily indulge in the bitter-sweet drink. 

The Geo Archon straightens in his chair and proceeds to select miscellaneous bits and pieces of food gathered on the table. Gracefully, he reaches for the china laid on the side and puts whatever he's selected on it. He appears indifferent about the whole situation and yet inquires politely, „Were you by any chance delayed by the sparring session with the Harbinger?”

Having almost fully covered the plate with food, Zhongli places it in front of you and forks a small serving of meat. He glances in your direction awaiting your answer and lifts the utensil to feed you with his own hands.

Grateful for his offering, you take a bite and let out a delighted groan. 

„I totally kicked his ass today, Zhongli. I'm so starved!” you admit truthfully and the Archon smiles affectionately as you start hurriedly digging in the food he's picked for you. 

„Please, make sure to eat well. You must be exhausted.” His long fingers seize the unruly strand of hair dancing on the wind and neatly tuck it behind your ear. The Archon suddenly starts having some second thoughts about not agreeing to practice fighting with you. His doubts only deepen when you enthusiastically tell him all about that feverish training with Childe.

„I'm proud of you, my Love.” Zhongli praises and kisses your forehead.

The evening continues and owing to how taxing the meeting with Childe was, your body is invaded with waves of extreme fatigue. Your eyelids feel heavy and a wide yawn escapes your face while you make every effort to listen to Zhongli's silver-toned voice. The Geo Archon has been caught up in the conversation with the storyteller for quite some time and despite your best attempts, you can't bring yourself to focus on the subject of their disagreement.

It's only when your head limply lolls in the direction of Zhongli's shoulder does he realise that you're barely awake.

„Uh--, My Love?”

Zhongli can't believe his own eyes and cannot hide his bewilderment when he carefully shakes you by your shoulder.

„Oh, I'm so sorry.” You flash him an apologetic smile and sit up straight to avoid falling asleep again, „I must have dozed off for a sec.”

Zhongli blinks twice, still in a state of denial.

Have I been... boring? Rex Lapis panics internally and audibly clears his throat once he's set his mind regarding what to do with the current predicament at hand.

He smiles, but somehow it does not match the intense shimmer in his gold eyes. 

„Let's just wait for the climax of the Iron Tongue Tian's tale and I'll take you home to bed, hmm?” Zhongli but whispers in your ear making you shiver in response. You nod, loving the thought of being comfortably surrounded by the warmth of Zhongli's arms and the silky sheets. 

He shifts, moving just mere inches away. Eyes looking back at the storyteller but his leather-clad hand sneakily finds its way under the table, straight up to your bare thigh. That is a most unforeseeable display of affection. One that Zhongli would not take pleasure in when in public. You look at him quizzically.

„You're bound to enjoy this part of the story, my Love.”

He gives your thigh a hard squeeze and unceremoniously hikes up your kimono.

„Waai--, Zhongli?!”

„It's rude to interrupt a performance, I'll need to ask you to stay quiet, my Love. Do you understand?” The Archon aids himself with his other hand and discreetly takes off one of his gloves. Your eyes widen when he palms your sex with the entirety of his hand. The moment you glance down you can see that the previously black carvings on Zhongli's geo arm light up in a beautiful gold glimmer. 

„You make a sound and the show will be ruined. I'm sure you can keep it down for a bit longer, hmm?” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a malicious smirk that creeps over his godly face. You open your mouth to respond but suddenly Zhongli's fingers start vibrating right against your still clothed entrance. Your hands instinctively grip on both sides of the chair as you shoot him a glance of disbelief. 

Right here? Right now? These are exactly the questions that Zhongli can easily deduce from the way your eyes pierce through his whole persona. He feels delighted that you do not seem to be that sleepy anymore. Or perhaps, at all.

Determined to entertain you properly, the Archon leisurely rubs all over your core. The lacy material covering your flesh does not bother him in the slightest as he continues stroking you with his pulsating fingers. His movements are very precise, interchanging between fully cupping your intimate parts with an open hand or just gently sinking one of his digits into your opening. The underwear blocking him from fully entering your hole but the friction it creates is still wonderfully stimulating. Heat rises to your cheeks and your hips jolt when Zhongli grasps the material between his fingers and uses it to scrape it all over your arousal. His hand moves up and down, dragging the piece of fabric through the sensitive bundles of nerves. It's unbearable, teasingly slow and not nearly enough to satisfy you. The way you want to moan out his name and dig your nails into his back as he continues pleasuring you is all your brain can think of at this point. 

Zhongli peers at your face attentively. Your eyes meet and for a brief moment, he gets lost in the ferocity of your stare. Your cheeks are flushed and brows knotted in an act of helplessness. 

Zhongli does not intend to stop, though. He lets go of the underwear which has become thoroughly soaked with your slick. Carefully, he pushes it to the side and your thighs tremble a little when your sex is exposed to the chilly air of the evening. You look at him with begging eyes and Zhongli rests his free hand on top of yours as if wanting to reassure you. 

Your whole body goes still when the Archon constructs a small oblong object which immediately starts resonating in accordance with Zhongli's geo powers. You're absolutely terrified and start shaking your head in protest but the Archon only squeezes your hand more tightly and begins sliding the small item into your entrance. You arch your back and bite your lip in an attempt to stifle the moan of pain that threatens to escape your throat. Your whole body quivers and you clasp your thighs together to ease the discomfort. Zhongli will have none of it, though, and he relentlessly presses the geo construct deeper and deeper into your swollen hole. 

„I can`t--, ahh,” you try to protest as the Archon works you open for himself. 

„Shhh.” Zhongli immediately shushes you and with a final push of his fingers, the geo construct is fully swallowed by your tightness. 

Your heart is racing as if you have just finished your sparring session with the Harbinger and your whole skin burns in the mix of shame and excitement. Heat starts pooling down your thighs and your muscles spasm violently when you feel the object vibrating inside of you. It's overwhelming and tears start welling up your eyes. As if wanting to wreck you even more, the Archon once again palms your sex, sending pulsating shocks of pleasure both on the outside and inside at the same time. All of your nerves are on fire and there is a coiling tension in your lower abdomen. Absent-mindedly, your hips start thrusting forward, you are shamelessly fucking yourself on Zhongli's vibrating hand while being drilled by the geo construct.

„Stop squirming around, Love.” The Archon reprimands you in a tender voice, absolutely no one would guess that he's making you cum right under the table.

Zhongli is mesmerised by the way you respond to his touch and would like to prolong the moment for as long as it is only possible but he can see that you are about to release very soon. Your body shudders for the last time and you suck in a sharp breath when the Archon forcefully presses his open hand to your abused flesh. He never lets go and moments later he recognizes the familiar twitches of your sweet spot. He keeps massaging you through the whole duration of your climax. You end up spilling yourself all over the chair and his hand. Everything goes still and your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Zhongli's soft baritone brings you back to reality.

„So, how was the performance, Dear? Don't be afraid to speak up.”

Vaguely, you notice that most of the quests have left their tables. The staff is slowly preparing to close the business and call it a day.

„It--, It wasn't half bad, I admit.”

Zhongli's eyes scan your fucked-out face and he starts softly caressing the top of your hand with his fingers. He smiles entranced by the view in front of him.

„I'm satisfied myself. Now, let's get you home, shall we? I want to pamper you a little bit more.” 

He decides and makes a move to get up from the chair but you grab his shoulder before he can do so.

„Aren't you forgetting about something, Zhongli?” Your gaze suggestively wandering in the direction of your lower region.

„Oh, that,” he responds nonchalantly inching his face to your ear, „I want you to keep it there for me. It may still come in handy tonight.”

Overall, you do love your dates with the Geo Archon.

Other boys:

Albedo

Kaeya

Diluc

Xiao

Childe

Kazuha

Other series:

Thigh job with Genshin boys

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

We talk about how vampy would be soft when y/ns sleepy but omg imagine how she’d be when he’s sleepy every once in while 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 so soft and cuddley and warm w him 😔

“Are you sleepy?”

Harry’s voice pipes up stubbornly from where he’s snuggled against Y/N’s chest, his arms clinging around her torso as he lays between her parted legs, head cushioned by her plush chest. “No.”

Despite the bluntness in his response, Y/N can read through his dry tone as easily as she’d look through glass. His accent is sloppier and more sluggish than usual, and the pitch of his voice has tuned down to a drowsy drawl, which he can’t hide no matter how hard he tries. His eyes are cracked open, but his lashes droop closed every few seconds for longer than acceptable, only to snap back open with defiance when his brain realizes his impulses are failing him.

It’s evident that he’s struggling to keep his eyelids from melting shut completely, and the way the lean muscles of his bare back rise and fall rhythmically is a dead giveaway that he’s slowly succumbing to exhaustion, alongside the fact that the weight of his body has become heavier and heavier as he sinks deeper into the sofa below.

Y/N delights herself with threading her fingers through his tousled curls, twirling them around each digit and tugging lightly, listening in carefully as her boyfriend hums in drunken agreement as a result of her mellow doting. She scratches at his scalp delicately, gluing her lips between his slightly furrowed brows, feeling the creases between them dissolve below her skin. Her other hand perches across the back of his shoulder blades, massaging the area tenderly, gradually unknotting any tension that is keeping him from giving into sleep.

Harry may be the most hardheaded person she has ever met, but even he can’t resist the surrender that comes with being babied by someone you have an attachment to.

Y/N’s voice swims through the air like a lullaby, dainty and fragile, as if not to disturb the hazy membrane forming across the surface of his muted eyes. “Just get some rest, H. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“I’m fine.” He insists, adamant against forfeiting any time he has with her by allowing himself to fall unconscious.

If he goes to sleep, she’ll likely follow soon after, and by the time they wake up, who knows how many hours will have listed by without his knowledge. He just wants to soak up every ounce of her company he can, and if he relents under her warm touch and pillowy chest, he relents that quality time he’s become so dependent on.

“And stop rocking me. That’s not gonna work, I’m not five.”

“You certainly behave like you are.” Y/N huffs, shaking her head at his rebellious antics. “You’re gonna get all cranky and bitter if you don’t get some sleep.”

“I’m already cranky and bitter. It’s my default.”

“Exactly. And frankly, I’m not too keen on seeing what happens when you reach the danger zone.”

The immortal squeezes her hips playfully with his large palms, a weak smile stringing across his lips. “You’ve already seen it. You see it pretty regularly during sex, considering you love being an annoying brat.”

“Even half-asleep, you’re still unbearable.”

“Mm.” Harry hugs her tighter, a light shiver coiling down his spine as she traces her name onto the naked skin of his back. “Keeps me young.”

“Just go to bed, baby.” Y/N tucks a few curls back from his forehead, kissing the newly-exposed area with a type of care only she can ever provide. She thumbs over the slopes of his sharp cheekbones, following the curves up to his eyelids and rubbing over them in soothing circles, holding out hope that the pacifying motions will sway him in her favor. “Please.”

The sincerity and concern behind her tone makes Harry’s insides liquify into lovesick goo. He finally caves, his answer begrudging and relieved all at once. “Fine. Only for a bit.”

“Thank you.” His girlfriend kisses the tip of his cold nose sweetly, which results in a comforting heat erupting along every fiber of his being. “Just wanna make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

Harry bumps his nose against her chin in return, his forehead plopping against her jaw as he begins fading away almost immediately. Now that he’s let his guard down, he’s coming to the realization of just how much he needs this. “Promise me you’ll wake me up if you need anything.”

“Promise.”

“And don’t go drawing any dicks on my face or next time you ask me to choke you, I won’t stop.”

“Fair enough.”

[coffee-in-veins]

Day 5: Ritual

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022

previous days: 1, 2, 3, 4

now available on ao3 too

Contains modified barks for Hopeless crusader and crusader’s skills from Darkest Dungeon 1 and the author’s dedication to a particular fan theory.

Ritual NOUN - a religious or solemn ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order; a series of actions or type of behaviour regularly and invariably followed by someone.

* * *

If there was something Dismas both adored and loathed in his husband in approximately equal measure, it was predictability. 

Reynauld had always moved in any given battle only after accessing all tactics of both allies and enemies. He had always forgotten to buy his personal pipe, and they had to share during smokes. He had always read verses during his pastime, despite knowing the book by heart for decades. He had always possessed a mysterious aura that made anything shiny and the rogue's trusty old flask disappear when he was nearby. He had always dragged Dismas out of death's hungry clutches. He had always nurtured the battered highwayman back to health. He had always believed they would prevail against the antediluvian horror.

And that was the word which suited the knight the most.

'Always'. 

It was an easy word, near Rey. For better or for worse, it constantly appeared in his vicinity, and soon enough, Dismas wasn't the only one noticing how it spread from the crusader, like roots from a tree. It became so prominent that people started referring to him as one of the few constants in their shitty lives, so much so that it became a proverb of sorts. The sun rose on the east, the Warrens smelled of shite, and you could find Reynauld in the transept. Three cornerstones of Hamlet's society - permanent and perpetual, therefore, familiar and soothing. 

When the sun disappeared altogether, consumed by the blackened disk in the blood-red skies and the seawater boiled and overflown what little remained of the ancient aqueducts that hid Swine barbaric society, was it really that surprising that it was only a matter of time before the god-fearing zealot forfeit his place in his usual sanctuary?

As close to an ill omen as it was, the highwayman knew there was nothing poetic in the matter, frankly. The former nobleman simply remained the only literate man amidst the barebone crew of remaining adventurers. And while Dis could read, too, it took him considerably more time and effort than the knight, and there was always too much shite to do to waste time like that. 

Not that there was much use left of the highwayman anyway. 

The rogue found his husband in the library, buried in books per his late custom. He sat near him and leaned on him openly, showing affection, receiving one just as blazingly and fearing no judgement. The world was ending after they ventured into the cursed Estate proper, so who the fuck cared?

"How are them preparations?" the rogue inquired, squinting at the chained tome. Whoever was chaning books, he thought not for the first time, was an even bigger madman than they were.

"It is futile," Rey sighed back and hugged him, pulling the smaller man close. His hand still jerked away when it found a mere empty sleeve in the place of Dismas' gun hand. "I'm no Alhazred, Light shine on his soul. I don't understand this-this heresy."

Piles of crossed and scribbled-over paper begged to differ. The rogue knew better than point that out. 

"We just need a bit of help," Dismas argued back just as habitually. "Some supplies t' bounce back. We crawled from worse befo'."

"I am but a man..."

"Rey," sky above, he didn't want to bring that up but there seemed to be painfully few options left. "Barristan lost his legs."

This startled the knight, almost making him jump up to his feet:

"What? When?!"

" 'bout an hour ago."

"Why didn't you-- I was-- I could...!"

For once, Dismas' voice was harsh:

"In yer condition, all ye could was t' die!" yet when the crusader flinched, he sighed and pulled him back to nuzzle his love's robe-covered shoulder. "We need ya here. We need you t' make it work."

"But the price. We risk so much and I'm not even sure those blaggards will let me pass even after all this witchcraft!"

It was easy to decide, near Reynauld. Always had been.

"Then make us yer guards."

"How can you say this," the zealot's voice was brittle. "I can't do this to you. Not to you of all people. No."

With a pained grumble, Dismas let torn leather of Uncatchable slip from the puss-covered bandages on his shoulder. Reynauld had always been sturdy. They'll manage, together. They have no other choice. 

"I'm on borrowed time anyway. Sepsis, they called it."

"But I called the Light..."

"n' ye got me out," the rogue insisted, turning Rey's face from the wound to himself. "But love, a defender without legs, a vestal without tongue n' a feverish thug with only one arm make one shitty likeness of a proper party. n' those other tenderfeet, they don't have 'em guts t' do what needs t' be done t' save this town."

Reynauld's eyes had always been those of steel blue yet now they became whitish, bleached. But his nod was certain for once and his lips were hot and dry when he kissed the highwayman's bruised forehead.

"You grant me the strength to overcome whatever appears on our path."

And Dismas smiled, triumphant against all odds.

He had spent the last seven years of his life risking - and losing! - life and limb to protect this hellhole he tentatively started calling home. He had spilt more blood than remained flowing in his veins. He had suffered, and lost, and endured, and bounced back. Surely, he thought, mouth filled with a familiar metallic salt, surely, the townspeople would give them the benefit of a doubt. Surely, they'd understand that their desperate bidding on this insane plan was to get them out of the noose.

It was only when the doors fell under the unending onslaught of a makeshift ram, when the boots stomped the runes, when the candlelight went out, when Reynauld was grabbed, when Dismas suddenly could only see the dirty insides of an old sack, he understood a simple thing. 

He thought wrong.

And as he returned to his teal being, weightless, and numb, and angry, it was easy to slash through the cloth and flesh alike. Just as easy as it was to return to his rightful place by his beloved's side, mourning the head cage he was put into, or the unjust heretic brand on his brow, or the scold's bridle they couldn't remove. Because through damnation, and the teal, and the blood, there was one seemingly minuscule thing that remained blessedly the same. 

They still had their 'always'.

[system-of-a-feather]

Okay I’m too tired to go on the full Ted Talk rant, but I really really hate how much being able to drive is a near requirement in most of America because there are a number of medical / mental conditions that do not allow driving / make it so driving isn’t a good idea. Like most places do not have accessible bike areas (or at least safe ones) and some places don’t even have proper side walks and public transit in those areas also tend to suck equally.

So not only is it 1) forcing people to get their own car and add to the total carbon that we release 2) fucking over people who can’t afford a car / gas / car maintenance because that shit is expensive but also 3) making some people who a lot more of an inability to function than their disability would otherwise make it occur 

Which is bad enough, but if you also consider that (at least to my knowledge) not being able to drive is not enough reason alone to get any form of disability benefits, America just looks at someone’s inability to drive and says “Eh you are fine and totally on equal footing in day to day, life to life function as someone who can. You just choose not to”

And so that puts people like me - who struggles to drive due to a combination of dissociation and anxiety - in the place of having to choose to 1) force ourselves to figure out ways to make sure we can drive safely - regularly relying on 1000 management techniques to provide a decent security driving, 2) limit ourselves to the rare locations in America where the city is optimized or at least accessible / inclusive to bike and being a pedestrian in general 3) forfeit most of your ability to function as an adult with little support to make up for it

Like, I’ve worked with my therapist to be able to cope / manage symptoms when I DO HAVE to drive which pretty much consists of having 1) everything in the car be perfect and having the car at a perfect temperature 2) listening to a VERY specific playlist and making sure my music is perfect 3) Having a proper drink on me at all times 4) regularly stopping ever 25~ minutes or just having to sit for like an hour or so before to make sure someone who DOESN’T struggle with driving is FIRMLY out.

And so I *can* drive if I have to. Aderis and Ray have no issue driving and between being able to positively trigger them out and the stuff above, we *can* drive. 

With that being said, even with all those skills we REALLY would prefer if we didn’t have to. In our usual city, we just bike everywhere because its relatively bike friendly. When we aren’t there, we are usually with our fiance who actually offers to usually drive us anywhere when he has the time because no matter how much we can drive, we are always at a higher risk for something to happen because like half of us are not comfortable and there is always a chance we might just get stranded or have to pull over for an hour plus to be safe in which we might as just walked.

And so this hasn’t been an issue. This body has probably driven for a total of like 1 or 2 hours in the past year and a half, but the idea that eventually I might move to a place that isn’t bike accessible and my fiance will have a full time job just stresses me the fuck out because once you remove both of those, you restrict my ability to actually get anywhere and its just so fucking frustrating.

Being a car dominated society is just so pointless and unnecessary and just straight up bad for the environment and I fucking hate it.

And if anyone wants to bitch about my takes here, fuck you and fuck off. Fix the issue first, then you can talk to me.

-Riku (Host)

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 3

Follow up to this and this. Trigger warning: Cult abuse.

Draco is vulnerable to being recruited simply because he’s Draco - his father is a Death Eater, and he's eager to prove himself to the master he grew up believing in. I’m not usually sympathetic to Draco, but this line makes me feel for him:

“everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

This makes it clear that he’s been indoctrinated from a young age into a fringe belief (his belief in the Dark Lord, not in blood supremacy - that’s mainstream), and into hiding it, even after the cult disbanded. This contributed to a sense of isolation from mainstream society, and for someone like Draco, exacerbated his existing condescension and entitlement. The same must be true for Crabbe and Goyle, who on top of being children, are stupid and lacking in critical thinking skills, which means an escape was nearly impossible for them, and indeed, Crabbe died, and who knows if Goyle was clever enough to stay out of Azkaban.

Throughout HBP, Draco goes from boastful to scared for his life.

From DLA:

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

Once on top, now the Malfoys are too scared to make eye contact with anyone and protest at their humiliation. Draco is looking to his parents for protection, but they know they can’t provide it, even though Narcissa is trying.

Regulus was in a similar situation to Draco - I think he felt pressured to prove himself after the bitter disappointment Sirius had been. He and Draco were marked before they were of age, whatever being of age means in the wizarding world - meaning Voldemort was not above using minors. He also used children: the Daily Prophet writes that the Ministry has captured a nine year old child who had been Imperiused into murdering his family.

Snape’s vulnerability is glaring. In a nutshell, his extreme poverty and the neglect and abuse played a part in his decision to join the Death Eaters, and there’s a reason why Lucius is seen patting him on the back as soon as he is sorted. Perhaps the policy was to groom all newcomers. Like Barty, he might have looked for a father figure. Harry notices the many similarities between Snape and Voldemort (and himself), and these are all things Voldemort must have used on young Snape as well.

Snape is an example of how disposable Voldemort’s followers were, to him - he sent him to Hogwarts to get the cursed DADA job, meaning he was willing to let a potentially horrible fate befall Snape within the year. Even after Snape ascended to #2 by killing Dumbledore (on Voldemort’s order, no less), Voldemort killed him to gain mastery of the wand Snape became master of by doing Voldemort’s bidding.

Snape also explains the Dark Mark

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side.”

A famous cult in my country did this: The leader made his followers tattoo pictures of him and his name on their body. It’s this association that originally made me think of the Death Eaters as a cult. Voldemort branded his followers like cattle, and he expected them to drop everything they’re doing to run to him whenever he wants.

Snape was constantly tested, too. He was assigned a servant he despised, for one, and tasked with killing Dumbledore. Even after he had accomplished that, Voldemort did not fully trust him:

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

This is a threat, since they’re not actually late; I think it’s meant as a “hey, remember when I tortured you once for being late?” It is followed by:

“Saturday... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

Voldemort is using Legilimency - he still does not trust Snape, he still needs to interrogate him so carefully that the others are afraid to look.

Next, there is this:

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.

That the Death Eaters all knew not to look up at the gruesome sight without permission, goes to show, again, how fun it must have been to be a Death Eater. In general, I think the best way to read “Dark Lord Ascending” is to pay attention to where people are looking, and how - it’s important in general, but especially in this chapter.

Lucius is an anomaly. It’s very hard to picture him kneeling, and there is no obvious reason why he should forfeit his dignity. Cults don’t typically target the elite, and in this, the Death Eaters are a bit strange, unless Lucius was also recruited at a young, impressionable age. This can be resolved if you consider that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, and unlike cult leaders, he really is super-powerful, and the person with the most potential to achieve political goals the Malfoy family is interested in.

Privileged as he was, even Lucius had vulnerabilities, and Voldemort was a Legilimens, meaning it was very easy for him to tell what they were.

This is how he treats Lucius in DLA:

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

How… emasculating.

Lucius Malfoy looked up [so he was looking down until then]. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

Lucius looks like he’s been through a lot. Also, since this scene takes place in the middle of July, why is there a fire? I’m theorizing that it’s for Nagini, or perhaps Voldemort is cold-blooded now, but in any case, he doesn’t care about the others’ comfort level. Maybe he even wants them to sweat.

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I...”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, [...] At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort.

Voldemort is making Lucius give him the wand himself, to reinforce his submission - he could have used magic.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?”

Indeed, Voldemort has given Lucius his (questionable) liberty, but again, he is expecting gratitude for something Lucius would have had in the first place, were it not for him: Lucius was imprisoned because he was caught at the Department of Mysteries fighting for Voldemort.

“But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late.... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius...”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

[...]

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Remember the fire? Do you notice Lucius sweating? His hand shaking? See how terrified he is, and how awful it must be to be forced to state how much he loves being treated like that?

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

This is what has become of the once mighty Malfoy family.

Legilimency is important - because it means Voldemort typically could spot the mere thought of defection, and manipulate it out of the offender or outright kill them. The DEs know he can read minds, and so averting your eyes could be seen as admitting to a lie, unless you avert your eyes regularly. Breaking eye contact is a gesture of submission, and if one’s body is forced into it enough, it becomes ingrained. Every mention of eye contact in Dark Lord Ascending reinforces that. Their body language in that chapter also shows how controlled they are. I believe Death Eaters are learning to occlude involuntarily, to deceive themselves into only having permissible thoughts and feelings, to ensure their own survival. This makes it impossible to escape.

Finally, there’s JKR’s statement that Snape was the only DE who could produce a Patronus. This can't be because he's not evil (Umbridge can produce a Patronus), and it can't be because he's the only DE who is more powerful than 13 year old Harry. I think it’s because they were not allowed to - I think a spell that requires you to think genuinely happy thoughts would have reminded Death Eaters that their happiness does not come from Voldemort. The rigid mind control screams "cult" to me, and I think it's a much more interesting take on them than "bunch of plot-stupid people who had somehow managed to terrorize the wizarding world despite being incompetent".

Hope you now feel the same and thanks for reading this thesis <3

[gayseyjones]

I DO WANNA HEAR ABT A DELTARUNE SOUL EATER AU

what is it abt? does it follow the anime or the game story? or is it a more original story?

OMG HIIII putting this under a readmore because damn I did not expect to ramble that much

So like groundwork stuff susie, kris, and ralsei r a trio w kris as the meister. susie is an axe ofc and ralsei is. Okay I've gotta be honest the only idea I have for him is like a crazy strong scarf like armor but that sounds stupid so???? Yeah. He's there. Kris is also a weapon themself (knife) but after a previous bad experience w a shitty meister (the vessel) they decided to become a meister. they cannot stand being wielded at all

berdly and noelle are also partners! noelle is the meister and berdly is her weapon (a halberd)

gaster is lord death and jevil is asura. it kind of works scarily well. and imagining gaster acting like lord death is fucking hilarious

card king is a witch and lancer is his son, rouxls is their body guard. I think lancer and rouxls would be in a sort of "mifune and angela" type situation :) and also they have to save lancer from card king similar to crona & medusa. I think he'd be a big recurring villain in general also similar to medusa

asriel and dess WERE partners, but after a mission gone wrong dess was killed and it gave asriel crippling guilt because he's her weapon, and he should've saved her. he uses that guilt to push himself to become stronger and becomes a self wielding weapon, similar to justin. he becomes a death scythe and gets shipped off to another country in true childhood prodigy fashion and it stresses kris out because they feel like they have to live up with that, but they cant.

in general I think the main trio starts off very very rocky. their wavelengths are compatible, but they can't get along to save their lives. susie wants to go solo but she can't, kris is five seconds away from dropping out, and ralsei is desperately trying to hold them all together. similar to deltarune they need a couple missions and moments to bond to really strengthen their bond and become an actual functioning team. once they do they work together scarily well. since I'm so picky about aus I really try to keep their original characters & struggles and just apply it in a new light & context because I cannot stand aus that are just "acts exactly like this character But Trust Me it's really this character!"

noelle pushes herself hard. way too hard. which isn't good because they are kind of risking their lives every day already. she over exerts herself to the limit regularly but it brings results so she sees no reason to stop. She's able to perform soul resonance well, she has a highly compatible soul, she's killed loads of kishin eggs etc so she keeps working herself into an early grave. similarly berdly does the same and they do worry for eachother. despite this, neither of them will stop.

I think a lot of kris' main struggle is learning how to trust again. the incident with the vessel was... bad. I have no concrete say to what it is but the main idea I have right now is them being used to kill a human against their will. and up until that it's a lot of little things- being bossed around more, having less agency and control, etc basically textbook unhealthy relationship but even worse because it's meister and weapon. kris felt kinda obligated to stay in it because their wavelengths matched up and they wanted to live up to everyone's expectations but... it didn't end well. Because of the incident they had all their previous kishin eggs forfeited and basically start off at 0 when they join susie and ralsei, but they dont care because they aren't letting anyone wield them ever again. (And then they get really close with all their friends and feel loved and then susie also becomes a meister and wields kris regularly and they're besties <3)

On a lighter note asgore is a death scythe and his relationship with kris is very reminiscent of maka and spirit because I think it's hilarious. other death scythes include noelles mom and... idk who else actually. queen is a teacher who is secretly a witch similar to medusa but she's not evil or anything she's just there for the vibes. She's also a terrible teacher but gaster can't fire her because they have a labor shortage

ummm these are all very very VERY messy thoughts I just threw down I'm probably forgetting stuff but <3 I am cringe and I am free

[scotianostra]

September 28th 1396 saw the "Battle of the Clans" between clans Chattan and Kay on the North Inch, Perth, in front of King Robert III.

Also called the Battle of the North Inch, this is one of my favourite stories, this was more of a "gladiatorial" contest than a battle. They even built some sort of makeshift grandstand for the King to witness it from!

The clans in the highlands of Scotland were an unruly lot. They were constantly feuding with their neighbours and regularly raiding into the low fertile lands of Moray, Perthshire, Angus, Aberdeenshire, and Stirlingshire. The king’s laws meant very little to this warlike, tribal society. In 1396, things were so bad between Clan Chattan and Clan Kay, who were forever raiding each other’s lands, stealing livestock, and burning down houses, that King Robert III sent an army north to deal with the problem. The commander of this army knew it was likely that when he marched into the mountains, his forces were in danger of being ambushed by the men of Chattan or Kay – or perhaps both clans would unite. The outcome could be the massacre of the royal army.

So, he came up with a plan and sent messengers to speak to the two warring clans with a proposal. This was a chance to sort out the problem in one day, sparing countless lives. The commander of the king’s army suggested that the two clans each send thirty men to Perth for a fight to the death on the city’s North Inch. The clan chiefs agreed and when the king heard of this plan, he was so delighted, he decided he and his court would come to Perth to watch the spectacle.

A large brightly coloured pavilion was put up for the royal party and benches were laid out for the people of Perth to sit on. The crowd waited expectedly in the warm summer sun as the skirl of the bagpipes drew closer and closer. Then dozens of warriors took up position on the inch in front of the king’s pavilion.

As the two clans lined up, a referee counted the men on both sides, but a problem was found. Although Clan Kay had thirty men, Clan Chattan had only twenty-nine. They must have miscounted before they left or lost a man on the way to Perth. Royal heralds walked amongst the crowd holding up a gold coin for anyone who would take up arms and fight for Clan Chattan. The city population murmured amongst themselves and fidgeted as the king, looking on like a Roman Caesar in the Colosseum, waited patiently. Just as it seemed no one would take up the offer of gold and Clan Chattan would have to forfeit the contest, a voice boomed from the benches: “I Sir Herald will take that coin and fight for Clan Chattan!”

The voice belonged to the city blacksmith, a giant of a man, strong and powerful. His name was Henry, better known as Hal o’ the Wynd. Hal was given a sword and took up his place amongst the Chattan clansmen.

The king gave the signal to start and arrows were fired between the two sides. Then the men, screaming their clan slogans in Gaelic, charged into the affray. The sunlight danced on sword and axe blades as they cut through the air, slicing into flesh and bone. The green grass became crimson red and sticky from the flow of blood as the screams of the wounded echoed around the inch. The referee called a halt to the battle and the two sides parted. Sweating, panting men, soaked in blood, gulped at the water given to them and used it to wash blood from slippery hands. They likely used their few minutes of rest to glance around, looking for friends or kinsmen, counting how many were still alive compared to the enemy. Wounds were quickly patched up with strips of torn cloth before the signal to fight came again.

The Chattan’s and Kay’s got stuck into each other once more. As the two sides slogged it out, it became clear that Clan Chattan were gaining the upper hand and in the end, all but one of Clan Kay perished. The sole surviving Kay jumped into the River Tay and swam to safety. Hal o’ the Wynd was said to have fought bravely. He was permitted to keep the gold coin and earned his place in Scottish history.

Please note some accounts say the Battle of the Clans was fought between Clan Chattan and Clan Cameron, but most say Chattan and Cameron.

[mxpseudonym]

Just Good Business III

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, “wife”

Summary: Reminding Tommy that he didn’t marry a fool was the greatest thing to happen to your bedroom.

Length: 1650 words (allegedly)

Warnings: 18+, sex, hints of rough sex, cursing, and as usual, underlying tones of forced/arranged marriage

A/N: There’s a forehead kiss and a sprinkling of Dom!Tommy in here for your patience! I am pretty sure I’m going to have this be a total of five parts. Part IV may not come right away because I’m in the middle of a WIP though.

Part I | Part II | Part IV

Reminding Tommy that he hadn't married a fool set several things in motion. First and foremost, you and Polly managed to successfully persuade your husband into conducting family business, not that it was hard. You knew London quite well, and one glance at the Eden Club's books had you asking Arthur if he could count to ten. Much of the above-board dealings in London were now your responsibility- properties, charities, and a social life that allowed you to see your friends more often.

Unfortunately, this meant regularly making the trip to Birmingham for the family meetings you'd been avoiding. It wasn't so much the meetings as it was Birmingham itself. One has no great hopes of Birmingham, as they say. However, there was a significant consolation that made it all worth it. 

Tommy Shelby, in action, turned you on. 

Actually, it was one of many things about Tommy that turned you on. With Tommy's guilt out of the way, you saw him around the house more. He came to bed, albeit late, nearly every night, and you got at least two breakfasts out of him a week. Along with finding that Tommy was much funnier than he let on when he wasn't talking about work, you also noticed that you had much in common. Tommy was as stubborn and prideful as you were. After six months, you still credited happenings between you with a desire to conduct good business- and business was excellent. Stubbornness, pride, your appetite for adventure, and Tommy's addiction to risk resulted in one shameless, exciting sex life.

You'd had partners before. Why deny yourself the world's physical pleasures? But while none could keep up with your desire to find and push boundaries, Tommy had mastered it. You thought you'd have to ease him into it, but it really just took you asking, "What are you going to do, Thomas? Spank me?" while bickering to get you on the same page. 

Not that Tommy wasn't enjoying himself as well. He'd met his match in his back talking, neck biting, hair pulling new wife he could hardly bring himself to say no to. What was coming to work late more often or your hands down his trousers while driving the Bentley in the grand scheme of things? 

So at the Birmingham family meetings, there was something about the way he was no-nonsense when he firmly told you where to sit and give updates when asked. If you were both being honest, while you loved taking orders from Tommy in the bedroom sometimes, you were on the fast track to giving them too. For now, you watched with thighs pressed together, and bottom lip pulled between teeth as he commanded the room. 

After Arthur wrapped up the meeting, you'd meant to mingle with your sister in law, but were quickly distracted. Ada didn't need to follow your gaze to know what was stopping you from listening to a word she said. 

"Good god, stop staring at my brother like that," Ada pleaded. You looked at her only long enough to say, 

"I almost wish I could say I was sorry." You had just caught Tommy's eye and smiled. "He can be quite good looking." 

"Ugh, okay, he's coming over here. I'm going to find Finn," Ada scoffed, then all but ran away only to have Tommy replace her.  

"Can I help you?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice. You chuckled and looked up at him.  

"You're already spoiling me, Mr. Shelby. What more could I ask for?" 

"I'm sure you have a list," Tommy said. You plucked his cigarette from between his fingers and took a pull.  

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Should I make you beg for it?" 

"I don't beg," you said, defiant as ever. Tommy rolled his eyes but moved closer. You could feel the warmth of his wool suit, and it matched the heat that was rising to your cheeks. 

"Then what do you call what you were doing the other day in my office?" Tommy asked. You thought for a moment then smirked. 

"Minding my manners. Please and thank you, Sir," you said, making him laugh. 

"Oi, stop flirting on come on," John yelled in partial disgust from where the family was gathering near the door. 

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming," you shooed him. You gave Tommy a knowing look as you grabbed your bag to join the group at the Garrison. 

"Gonna tell me not to get any ideas?" He asked. 

"Of course not. Get as many ideas as you can from here to that pub." You pointed a stern finger at him. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Tommy had long given up trying to get a grasp on what to expect from you. 

"God only knows what's going on up there," he'd say while tapping your temple. 

But nothing surprised him more than your absolute willingness to have him any time, anywhere. 

"Skirts hike up for a reason, Thomas," You once told him in the stables. Tommy had yet to find a good enough argument against that, so here you were, shushing him through breathy laughs as he almost tumbled into you. 

It was a busy night at the Garrison, and it wasn't hard to leave your group to find the back room. Now you were pressed up against a shelf that wasn't nearly sturdy enough. Tommy's pants were unbuckled in a hasty moment, and your knickers were pulled aside, and you were both stifling your moans. 

"Oh god, fuck, Tommy, how do you always feel so good?" You asked, your grip already in his hair. He groaned at the question and thrust deeper.  

"You're the one always warm and wet for me, aren't you?" He squeezed the flesh of your bottom, making you moan. He quickly relocated you further into the dark and onto a crate. "Such a naughty little thing I've got on my hands."  

"Just the way you like it." You bit his ear as you played with fire. His thrusts got hard and deep, earning more high pitched moans from you until he pressed a hand over your mouth. He kept his grip firm, just how you liked and spoke in your ear. 

"I'm giving you what you asked for with all of these people just out there. Do you want them to hear you?" He leaned back to see you nod. Of course, you did. Tommy shook his head as he chuckled. By the sound of your yearning moan, he just knew you were pouting beneath his palm.

"I know love, but when we get home, you can be as loud as you want. You can let the maids hear you, what was it? Minding your manners for me. How's that sound?" You accepted his counteroffer with a nod and was rewarded with Tommy moving his hand. He relished in the smeared lipstick that was now on your chin before adjusting his grip on you. 

"Now, be good, and stay quiet for me." 

Tommy had to give you credit for carrying out your version of quiet. You forfeited your usual words of encouragement and panted hotly in his ears, a whimper or moan periodically coming forth.  

"Tom," You pleaded his name under your breath. His grip tightened around your waist, and you knew it would bruise, which only shoved you that much closer to the edge.  

"That's a good girl," he praised you, knowing what it did to you. In this case, it made your thighs tighten around him. "So good, you can tell me where you want it. Should I make you walk around with me all over your face?" 

He felt you shiver and swallow a moan that came out like a sob. His thumb reached between them, and it only took a few circles of your clit to send you over. 

"Oh fuck," You bucked against him as you came. Tommy's eyes squeezed close while you kissed his neck. It was truly incredible, you had to admit. You knew he was close and you had to decide. "In me."

"In you?" He repeated, not fully registering anything as he got closer. 

"I want you in me, Tom. Please," you said again. You kissed him, then pulled back to look in his eyes. "I'm begging you." 

You loved watching him come undone. Even in the low light, you took in his parted lips, creased brow, and flushed cheeks. He rested his forehead against yours for a moment before you pulled away and began putting yourselves back together.  

"I'm excited to go home if you keep your word," you said, leaning against the crate while Tommy pulled out a cigarette. 

You quietly smoked and thought about how strange this was. Before it was sprung on you, being married was something you hadn't expected anytime soon. Being married to someone you actually enjoyed was a fate every woman you knew hoped for but knew not to anticipate. And here you were with both a marriage and an enjoyable husband. 

"What's wrong?" Tommy asked, tossing away his cigarette. He brought his hand up to stroke your cheek, but you caught it and observed the silver band around his finger instead, running your thumb over the metal. 

"Do you like this?" Your eyes lifted to meet his. "The ring?" 

The ring, the marriage, what was the difference? He smirked then turned his hand, interlacing your fingers. 

"So much that I think there must have been a mix up of fortune. A better man should have it, maybe." He said, then kissed your forehead and started towards the door. "Come now, I think I'll let you walk around with me dripping out of you for at least a half-hour."

"I may just have to give you a proper thank you on the ride home then, Sir." 

Tommy expertly ignored questions about his whereabouts from his brothers and knowing looks from his sister, all while holding your hand. You smiled to yourself and thought, 

I have a crush on you, Tommy Shelby. 

--

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor; @amysteryspot​

JGB Series Tag List: @biba3434

[maleaser]

Monopoly Headcanons:

Misaki gets Park Lane and Mayfair while Isaka cries in the corner.

Shinobu flips the entire board directly at Miyagi (even if Miyagi had nothing to do with him loosing)

Akihiko spends all his money on properties and insists on giving them all to Misaki

Takafumi and Hiyori team up and beat Kirishima's ass

If Kirishima does end up winning, he rubs their face in it for the next week

Takano and Takafumi once played a 6 hour game of Monopoly together and both forfeited by eventually passing out from tiredness at 4am

Mino plays monopoly by himself regularly and looses

Yukina refuses to play with Kisa because he always wins

Hatori once had to break up a fight between Yuu and Chiaki because Chiaki won three games straight

That three games straight was the only time Chiaki has ever won

Isaka has Asahina on standby anytime he plays so he can get pro tips

Hiroki challenged Tsumori to play and ended up loosing and has been holding that grude ever since

Nowaki plays with the children at the hospital and always let's them win

Miyagi is too scared to play monopoly with Shinobu anymore

Fuyuhiko played with Haruhiko when he was younger so he could teach him about economics

Misaki uses Suzuki and the rest of the bears as support companions when he's loosing

Aikawa always wins. ALWAYS. No matter who she plays against, she always wins.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 39

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Fuck the Canon: Happy Endings For Everyone

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38

The meeting concludes in a way that is more than satisfactory to the Emperor, if not so satisfactory to the rest of the Council.

Jiang FengMian is to retain his title of High Councilor, but only to soften the blow of the abrupt transition of power. A period of five years has been determined as sufficient for this task. Uncle Jiang will use those years to guide his replacement in the court intricacies and details of his responsibilities, which will ensure full transparency in this particular shift of power.  

The choice of the next High Councilor had been the bloodiest battle of the day, one that had drawn the meeting to a standstill for hours. Wei Ying would not budge from his choice however, and once fully aware of his intentions, uncle Jiang had given his firm and unquestionable support. With uncle XingChen’s help, they had wrangled the Council into submission, skillfully enough where Wei Ying had felt guilty, all over again, for nearly causing uncle Jiang to qi deviate that very morning.

Shijie will make an excellent High Councilor. Behind her gentle voice and agreeable manner, there is strength of conviction that the Sect Leaders will find as unyielding as a rocky mountain side. Wei Ying cannot wait to see her turn all that sweet charm and strength of will against Sect Leader Yao, or any of the other men long accustomed to Jiang FengMian’s flexibility. Wei Ying may actually start attending Sect Leader meetings regularly, just for entertainment’s sake.

With the High Councilor being forced into retirement within five years, and the Council itself on the verge of dissolving, the question of the Emperor’s marriage to a Second Young Master of a disgraced Sect is no longer as grave as it would have appeared under less serious circumstances. It was immediately apparent which Sect Leaders had spent their morning in close talks with the Royal Companion. These men, fidgeting and nervous, had voiced their support for the marriage before Wei Ying could even fully voice his intentions.

He had never felt the need to ask A-Sang what particular leverage he has over certain sect leaders, or how he had come to obtain it. A-Sang has always been eerily skilled at ferreting out their secrets and honing in on their weaknesses. The information A-Sang has on them must be significant, because they would not be influenced to withdraw their support, regardless of the pressure from the other Council members.

Wei Ying is allowed to marry anyone he chooses, Lan Zhan included.

It is a good day, and he feels immeasurably happy leaving the council hall, watching the Sect Leaders drift away in a daze, as if physically beaten into submission. He had promised Lan Zhan that he would give him time to speak with his uncle, to speak with his brother, to consult with the Lan Sect Elders. He had promised as much time as Lan Zhan wants or needs. Still, it is a struggle not to immediately seek him out and make the proposal again, properly this time, with all the pomp and ceremony.

He will not. He will be patient. But.

Someone should inform Lan Zhan that the Council has reached a favorable decision. This is not information that Lan Zhan should obtain second-hand, through gossip and idle chatter. Wei Ying will not pressure him, but informing him that the Council had given its unanimous approval would be the proper, respectful thing to do. It is nowhere near the thing Wei Ying actually wants to do, which is to fall to his knees and latch on to Lan Zhan’s ankles and beg him to agree to the marriage now.

Perhaps if he only strolled by the Imperial guest chambers. Casually. And happened to catch the sight of Lan Zhan, perhaps he could--

“Wei WuXian!”

The shout echoes against the high ceiling, rebounding down the hallway with force.

There is only one person who would dare shout his name in the Jade Sword Palace, and that person is currently waiting for him at the South Lakes Pavilion. Also, A-Cheng rarely disrespects him in public, unless Wei Ying has done something truly obnoxious.

He turns to find Jin ZiXuan striding down the hallway, his sword drawn, his face red and furious.

Uh-oh Wei Ying thinks.

He had forgotten all about him.

“Wei WuXian!! How dare you!?”

His voice is nearly obliterated by the sound of blades being drawn all around them, both Imperial Guards and the Jiang Sect forming a wall in front of Wei Ying. Jin GuangShan, who is not the member of the Council, and yet, is always somehow found hovering in the vicinity of every Council meeting, throws himself in front of Jin ZiXuan.

Wei Ying has never before seen Jin GuangShan look visibly terrified; it is not nearly as amusing as he had expected it to be.  

“What are you standing there for?” he snaps at the four disciples following behind Jin ZiXuan, all four clearly distraught, “Grab him.”

Jin ZiXuan wheels on the four disciples, sword at the ready, as if daring them to try.

“Please forgive my son, Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan exclaims, “He has been ill lately, and speaking nonsense. We have had him confined for his own safety. I will take him back immediately. ZiXuan, your mother must be worried to death! Let us go back.”

Jin ZiXuan is practically vibrating. Wei Ying has never seen the Young Master of the Jin Sect this overwrought; he would not have thought it possible.

The dignified, puffed-up peacock is acting like an absolute madman. It is fascinating to watch. Wei Ying wishes A-Sang was here to see it for himself.

“I demand an account of the Emperor!” the youth shouts, “I demand to know why my betrothal was dissolved! I have the right to know!”

“You have a right to nothing!” Jin GuangShan shouts in his face, his beard quivering in agitation, “It is not on you to question the Emperor! Your Majesty,” he turns to Wei Ying, his smile sickly, “As you can see, he is not well. Please do not listen to anything he says. This illness is a personal matter, one that will be resolved quickly.”

“I am not ill!” Jin ZiXuan shakes off his father’s insistent grip to point his sword at Wei Ying, as if unaware of the three dozen swords that point at him in turn, “I demand an answer!”

Wei Ying does not have an answer, at least not an answer that would satisfy Jin ZiXuan. The dissolution of the engagement was nothing more than a power move in a game he had intended to win at any cost.

Shijie knows that Wei Ying will eventually allow the marriage to take place. He would never deny her happiness for his own gain, even if he cannot possibly comprehend what happiness can be gained from marrying into the Jin Sect.

But Jin ZiXuan does not know that the dissolution of his betrothal is not a permanent measure. And apparently, he feels quite strongly about this, a revelation that is somehow both satisfactory and annoying.

“Your Majesty,” Jiang FengMian says, “I do believe that Jin ZiXuan must be seriously ill. Otherwise, he would never act like this. Please allow Sect Leader Jin to take his son back. We will summon the Head Healer immediately.”

Jin ZiXuan looks as if he may stab the next person who suggests that he is ill.

“Nonsense,” Sect Leader Yao exclaims, just when his opinion is least wanted or needed, “No illness excuses such disrespect. Any man who speaks to the Emperor in this way should be accused of inciting rebellion, and his life be made forfeit.”

Jin GuangShan looks horrified. Jiang FengMain grimaces into his beard.

Wei Ying does not want to laugh, but it is incredibly difficult to keep a straight face. Sect Leader Yao, who would slander his own mother if it gained him favor, accusing someone else of disrespect. A-Sang will be furious he has missed this performance.

“Put him in the dungeons for now,” Wei Ying says, “Let us see if his head cools. Do not hurt him!” he adds quickly, as the Imperial guard advances to seize Jin ZiXuan’s sword.  

Predictably, Jin ZiXuan fights them, and predictably, he loses, although Wei Ying has to admit that the boy’s skills are fairly decent.

“Your Majesty,” uncle Jiang begins, his voice concerned, “the Young Master’s illness--“

“He is not ill,” Wei Ying snorts quietly, so his voice would not carry to Sect Leader Yao, “He is young, stupid, and angry. I identify, but cannot condone such behavior in public.”

“Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan is kneeling, his face as gray as the stone arch behind him, “I beg leniency for my son. He is truly not well--“

“Sect Leader,” Wei Ying interrupts coldly, “Do not invite me to speak words we may both regret in the future. Your son had drawn his sword with the intent to cause harm to the Emperor. What possible leniency can you seek that I have not already shown?”

Jin GuangShan says nothing else, and his silence is somehow more unsettling than all the falsehoods that so frequently spill out of his mouth. He remains kneeling even as Wei Ying gathers his escort, and continues down the hallway as if nothing of significance had occurred.

“This will cause problems, Your Majesty,” uncle Jiang says softly.

“Then do your job, and ensure that it does not.”