#decades worth of resentment and bad energy

[canisalbus]

About that one ask where Machete murders everyone. I'm in my fire phase at the moment and thought blue would look good in contrast to Machete's usual red :)

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[open-hearth-rpg]

Violence Begets: Great RPG Mechanics #RPGMechanics: Week Eight

Several games/systems in the last couple of decades have included currencies for the gamemaster, often in combination with a parallel currency for the GM. Fate Points from Fate, Darkness from Coriolis, Threat (by various names) in the 2d20 systems. They’re often used to trigger events, activate foe abilities, and increase the danger of adversaries. It’s an interesting and dynamic approach– though it's often one I forget as a GM. 

Sometimes that’s because we’re moving quickly and stopping off to track that or to interrupt the flow of a moment doesn’t feel right. In other cases, spending that currency to make things more challenging for the players feels a little arbitrary. I forget that this is something that’s built into the mechanics. But the abstraction of it can make me reluctant to do those kinds of spends. 

So it’s a little but significant thing when the game ties those elements into player actions. For example in Coriolis, the GM’s currency generates when the players spend their own currency. In the various 2d20 games, if a PC lacks Momentum to boost themselves, they can give the GM Threat instead– short term reward for long term risk. 

But there’s a particular variation in one 2d20 game worth examining. In Star Trek Adventures the mechanics offer another way to generate Threat. When the players ask for heavier weaponry for a mission, like a Phaser Rifle, the GM gains it. When players opt to set phasers to kill in a combat, the likewise give a point to the GM. It’s built into several published adventurers. For example in "Hard Rock Catastrophe," the PCs in orbit have to deal with colossal monsters on the surface. If they choose more aggressive methods (firing phasers to blind them or tractor beaming them to redirect them), these generate additional threat whether they succeed or not. 

In the case of STA this idea supports the genre and I love it. Starfleet’s about creative problem solving and exhausting options before moving to violence. Going in fully armed raises the stakes of a situation and increases the tension. I love that cost/benefit reinforcement. Additionally it feels right for me as a GM: I know what generated the Threat, rather than it just being an abstract energy of bad luck I have. 

You could adapt this to other games where the players’ goal is to defuse tension, keep the peace, or avoid getting themselves into trouble. The most obvious non-currency approach would be a clock. I can imagine this in a Blades in the Dark campaign– you already often have relationship clocks with different factions. In some ways this parallels the mechanic of Chaos from Dishonored, a strong influence on the Blades setting. 

I can also imagine it as a campaign tracker– with break points for effects. There’s some of that kind of thing in Girl by Moonlight. Each setting has tracks showing how things are progressing. I especially like it as a campaign-wide clock. It could be the spine of a Mountain Home game, perhaps with a looming threat for an arc of the campaign. I could imagine a Masks campaign where you’re tracking the time until a resentful adult superteam decides to intervene. 

Ideally a track like this should be visible to the players, though maybe exactly what happens at the break points might not be. The track should go up when the players make active choices and do things. It’s a little less interesting if it rises when they don’t do things. You can have some of that passive rise, but imho it’s better to go active. If you do have it rising passively, there should be some mechanic for the PCs to reduce the clock.

[prydainroyals]

CONTENT WARNING: Adult language, emotional/verbal abuse and gaslighting, implications of substance abuse, and mentions of death.

The Prince, the Heir, the--

--Spare, actually, prior to the untimely and tragic death of the King’s firstborn son, Crown Prince William.

The two stood facing one another, cloaked in decades of tense silences and bitter resentment.

The Prince discreetly clenched a fist at his side, not wanting to give his father the emotional reaction he knew the King craved.

The silence lingered between the two men, palpable, thick, and nearly unbearable. It made Arthur want to scream, to lash out; instead, he focused his energy on the nails digging into his palm, on the toes curling in his polished oxfords, in keeping his posture straight, shoulders squared, and his feet firmly planted.

It was like the two of them were just waiting to see who might cave first, and after what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity, it was the King who broke the silence:

“You should have sought my permission to go on this little holiday of yours.”

Arthur set his jaw and said nothing. He detected the faint whiff of his father’s breath and resisted the urge to grimace.

It isn’t a holiday you absolute prick, he thought bitterly, but maintained his stoic silence. Not that you’d get that through your thick skull, you fucking drunk--

Annoyed, the King turned his cold and dismissive gaze away from his son and shifted to focus on the magnificent mural, a point of pride for the country and its history.

“Everyone seems to be very proud of you for it, but I know you better. You’re running away from your duties--”

“--just like you’ve run away from things today, leaving your sister to clean up after you. Should’ve done the family a favor and said you came out first.”

Bait. It’s bait. Don’t take it. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Arthur clenched his teeth in silence.

“You owe Alice and I an apology.”

As if you give a shit about her feelings, Arthur wanted to say, but did not.

Rather condescendingly, the King made a show of sighing, as if his son was being all too unreasonable in his refusal to speak.

“I should have refused permission--”

“--but Mother insisted I allow you to go,” the King explained airily, albeit with a note of bitterness that Arthur believed was partially true. The Queen Mother was a known political schemer, a shrewd woman, and an absolutely two-faced snake. She would likely say Arthur owed her for this, but he wouldn’t take her bait either. If she had given the King a hard time, it was worth it in Arthur’s book.

He couldn’t hide a small smirk at the thought.

“--Oh don’t you start,” the King snapped, having noticed. “You’re as bad as your mother. At least Alice has the sense to stay focused and remain diplomatic with the rest of the family.”

No one remains sincerely diplomatic with Gwyn the Gargoyle, Arthur thought, now resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he recalled the rather apt nickname for his formiddable grandmother.

Arthur’s decision to remain mute seemed to be getting to the King as the silence continued to stretch, and he shifted from one foot to the other, clearly more and more annoyed at each passing second. 

Arthur knew how much his father liked control--but today was his day, not his father’s, and he would not let the King break him of his dignity and his self-respect. 

Not. Today.

“Wintering over in the Arctic is a dangerous proposition. You’re lucky I’ve even decided to allow this. If something happened to you...”

“. . .”

If something happened to me? Arthur thought, incredulous. A tight, burning anger rose in his chest, those flames fanned by the bellows of a deeply-rooted ache.

“If something happened to me,” Arthur spoke at last, eyes remaining absolutely fixed on the mural ahead of him, “you and Gran would pop the corks and dig the bloody grave yourselves. If you haven’t already.”

- - -

PREV | BEGINNING | NEXT

- - -

[cosmichighpriestess]

Narcissists are never done with you. They may have discarded you, you may have left them behind. But I can guarantee you they are not done with you, and they still think about you even if it's been 20 years or longer.

Take your power back. Choose YOU. Choose your Energy. Choose yourself every mother f****** time. If you are being tested by the universe, just make sure that you choose yourself this time, change your mind right now and choose yourself, take your energy back, tell them no, no is a full mother f****** sentence. They underestimate you. They don't know what you've survived in the darkness for years and decades.

They want you down and out, they want your energy drained instead of theirs. Why should it be you? You are not a people pleaser anymore. They don't know the new version of you because they don't deserve the new version of you. The narcissist is not done with you and will never be done with you because they are not done hurting you.

They fear loving you because they never received unconditional love as a child, they fear abandonment and they avoid shame at all costs. They bury their shame in all kinds of horrendous ways instead of just taking accountability. They are emotionally immature. They will wait years to get back at you for bruising their ego. They don't care they will wait years for you. They will act uninterested in you until they see you are vulnerable, then they will love bomb you. They wait years to get back at you.

That is not love. That is resentment which is abusive. And these individuals are extremely delusional and insane, to do the same things over and over expecting different results. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.

They will continue hurting you until you choose yourself. They will label you as the bad person, they will call you the villain, they will actually believe that you were trying to overpower them just because you have resistance to their manipulation. But remember sometimes they don't even realize they're manipulating you because that's just the way they live.

So anyone in resistance to the way that they actually live everyday,( and they use people every single day,) they will actually believe you are somehow the problem because of your resistance to manipulation. You're not naive and you actually have self-worth, and you actually have your own mind. Don't fall for it, choose yourself. Let them use their new supply. That person is more than willing to let them because they haven't learned their self worth yet. You have and you will. Remember you're in a video game, you have to choose yourself every single time.

If you don't choose yourself you will fail the test and you will always continue repeating the same cycles. You have permission by God to piss everyone off for choosing yourself and being authentically yourself. Nothing outside of you has control over you until you give them control over you. Be very cut and dry with these people. Grey rock them. Don't respond when they trigger you. Just move in silence, then cry or scream when you're alone. You are supported and loved by your angels. Hug yourself. Talk to your inner child, help heal them, don't talk to the abuser. Their old, limiting, fear-based, negative beliefs and tactics don't work on you, they should go find someone that is actually naive enough to buy in to their b*******. If you ever feel angry, or you're not sure where the anger came from, just let yourself feel it, you don't need to know it's origin, just feel it, release it and transmute it. Your anger is valid. Lift your sacred anger into a frequency of freedom and empowerment.

Your energy is too precious to be taken advantage of. God needs you rested, cups overflowing with love and cherishing yourself. You have all the power within you. God's power flows within you. You are stepping into a new breath of power. You have a tremendous amount of self worth and you have a very advanced mind and soul. Your true essence is perfect, we are Divine Royalty. Act like it. If you are too much for them they need to go find less. Quality>>Quantity. The amount of people supporting you doesn't matter, only the value they offer matters. You are extremely valuable, only allow those who deserve you and resonate with you into your life. Pass the test and you will be rewarded for choosing yourself and choosing your own energy. Faith>> Fear. You have nothing to worry about anymore. Level up, and remember I am so proud of you, and God is so proud of you.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

If you’re still taking prompts:

“Keeping a secret from your best friend is difficult... but when that secret is that you're madly in love with her, it's downright impossible. At least that's what Cassian thought, until he was a little tipsy and sharing a sleeping bag with said best friend. (College, modern AU)”

With smut please?🧎🏾‍♀️🙏🏽👀🥺

Oh hey bestie! So I think maybe you had like after a college party in mind for this but I went a… different way. Also it’s only smut-adjacent because I think good smut requires a Drabble of its own I think I’m sorry. Hope you enjoy!!!

Camping.

Nesta had two weeks between the end of her internship and the beginning of her last year of college, and somehow, she let herself get dragged along on her sister’s annual camping trip.

Their whole friend group was weird and twisted around like Ivy vines with who was closest to who, who was related to who, who was dating who, who had slept with who’s father (looking at you MOR!), and Nesta tended to avoid the big group things.

But this was only Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and the real reason she was there… Cassian. Fucking Cassian dragging her off into the woods.

Nesta loved her sisters. She did. She wouldn’t spend time with them and pretend she didn’t hate their boyfriends if she didn’t love them. (Pretending not to hate Rhys and Lucien, for Nesta, pretty much required the energy of a full time job.)

She loved her sisters. But she was there for Cassian. Because she liked Cassian. Genuinely and entirely liked him. Nesta Archeron liked another human being. They’d been best friends since eighth grade when he tried to ask her out on the swing set and she elbowed him in the jaw.

Saying yes to that middle school date would’ve been the worst mistake of her life. Because then she’d have had this short drama filled relationship with Cassian and she wouldn’t have gotten to keep him. And she really loved that she got to keep him. Even if sometimes she wished he’d been her first kiss instead of Tomas.

Anyway, when he said he was going on this camping trip Nesta realized she had to go too. Because there was no way she was spending her free time somewhere that he wasn’t. He was her person. The person she wanted to spend her free time with.

“Pathetic,” Cassian grinned, plucking the pack right off of her back as if it weighed no more than a purse. As if she hadn’t been struggling under its weight for the past 4 kilometres.

“I agreed to camping. I didn’t realize a 7 hour hike was involved to get to the damn place.”

“Two hours at most, sweetheart.” Nesta scowled, pretending, as she always did, to hate his little endearments. “And all of the best spots require a hike. Otherwise they’re overcrowded.”

“Maybe overcrowded is a good thing. Maybe overcrowded means loud and safe instead of offering ourselves up to be a bear buffet.”

“I’ll protect you from any bears, I promise, Nes.”

Nesta glared. “You’re going to fight off a bear if it tries to eat me?”

“Of course I am,” Cassian nodded. “These muscles aren’t just for show.”

Nesta laughed. “How sad I’m going to lose my best friend on this trip. Don’t worry I’ll come up with something nice for the tombstone. “Here lies Cassian. Tried to fight a bear so his muscles would have a purpose.”

“I take it back, you can get eaten by the bear.”

“I’m going to shove you in front of the bear.”

Their water break had landed then both a few hundred feet behind Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel, so Cassian kept hold of her backpack as they moved, teasing her that he was still faster with two packs than she was with none.

When they arrived at the little clearing Nesta had to admit it was beautiful. Serene. A big patch of grass surrounded by trees with a stunning view over the mountains from a clearing just a few feet away.

“Worth the hike?” Cassian asked as he set up their tent. That was the deal. If Nesta was going to camp then he had to do all of the work. Because she didn’t know how to do it. Also he had to share his tent with her because seriously? Why would she own a tent? She wasn’t a damn mountain man.

“It is really pretty.”

“I told you you’d like camping, Nesta!” Feyre called out from over fifty feet away where Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta all banded together to force her and Rhys to put their tent. Far away from the other two. Nesta was so not sleeping on the ground AND listening to her little sister have sex all night.

“Cassian?” Consciousness pulled lightly through Cassian’s sleepy mind. “Cass? CASS!” He shot bolt upright, body instinctively turning to Nesta, looking her over, checking her for injuries or any other thing that might have her yelling his name into the pitch black tent.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Cassian laughed. It was probably 3am and she’d just woken him up, and still he was laughing. Man he had it bad.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He made a show of flipping around to face her even though he couldn’t really see her.

“I’m freezing.”

As his eyes adjusted, Cassian looked her over with a frown. She was bundled up in her sleeping bag, wearing his sweater… which he hadn’t given her, but he had discarded in between them before he went to sleep so that was fair game he guessed. It was far from the first time in over a decade of friendship that she’d stolen his sweater, but man… it still did something to him.

“Your sleeping bag isn’t made for below freezing temperatures, is it?”

Nesta stared at him. Blinked. “No. Why would it have to be? It’s August!”

“It’s colder up in the mountains,” Cassian explained. “Especially over night.”

“Great. I’ve been brought into the mountains to freeze to death and now Eris is going to win the gold medal for our year.”

Cassian laughed, “Well I can’t allow that. The horror.” This was probably a bad idea. No it was definitely a bad idea, but the words couldn’t be stopped from leaving his mouth once they popped into his mind. “Come share mine.”

Cassian half unzipped his sleeping bag and made a show of shuffling himself over.

“You’re too big.” She said.

“Thanks I work out,” Nesta glared at his cocky smirk. “Come on Nes, it’s this or letting Eris win the gold medal.”

Nesta huffed, but unzipped her sleeping bag and crawled over to his, her legs were cool as they tangled with his in the tight sleeping bag. Cassian pulled her in, one arm wrapping instinctively around her shoulders to pull her against his chest, before he zipped the sleeping bag up again after her.

This had been such a bad idea. But what could he do? Let her freeze?

Cassian told Nesta everything, so it was already difficult enough to be keeping a secret from his best friend... but when that secret was that he had been madly in love with her since middle school, the situation became impossible. And pulling her perfect body tight up against his and wrapping her in his arms, hands moving up and down her shoulders quickly to try and warm her up, was not helping the situation.

“Thanks,” Nesta murmured sleepily. “I’m already a lot more comfortable.”

Me too, Cassian thought but would never say.

“Hey Cass?” Nesta’s voice was teasing. “What do we do if you wake up with morning wood?”

Cassian chuckled into her hair, a little bit drunk on the familiar scent of rosehips and iron will.

“Then I guess we’ll finally have sex.” He deadpanned.

Nesta’s jaw dropped. Ok. Bad joke. “I’m not having sex with you for the first time in a tent Cassian!”

Now Cassian’s jaw dropped. That was her issue with his suggestion? “I… Nesta I was joking. But… the tent is the problem? The only problem?”

“Grow a pair!” Nesta batted at him with her hand, an impressive feat considering she was all but pinned between him and the sleeping bag. “I thought this was you finally making a move.”

Cassian stared down at her. It was pitch black, but even with just the shadowy outlines of her features, he could see her exact expression in his mind.

“I wouldn’t use you freezing as a ploy to make a move, Nesta.”

“And why not?” She humphed, “it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“It’s… coercive.”

“Do I look coerced to you, Cassian?” Nesta ran her foot up his bare calf and Cassian shuddered.

“I can’t have sex with you if you’re looking for a friends with benefits, Nes.” Nesta paused her movements. “I… fuck, our friendship means so much to me and I’m so afraid to fuck it up. And if we start having sex I won’t be able to handle it being just sex and you’ll start to resent me so we just… shouldn’t go there.”

Nesta’s arms wrapped around him now, struggling to span the full width of his chest. “And if it wasn’t just sex?”

“Please don’t fuck with me about this,” he whispered. Low and Ernest in a way he almost never was.

“What?”

“Dont joke about this if you’re playing around or I don’t… you have to know, Nes. You have to know how completely in love with you I am.”

“Yeah,” Nesta tucked her head under his chin. “I know. I’ve just been waiting for you to make a move.”

It was dark. Cassian could barely see her. But there, with his arms around his best friend in the world, sharing a sleeping bag to keep her warm, Cassian nudged her out of his chest and found her lips in the pitch black.

Why had he kept this secret for so long? Everything in the world was better when he was kissing his best friend.

[ailingwriter]

FOSSIL FIGHTERS HEADCANONS PART 5 I NEED TO GO TO SLEEP WHY

Lotta spoilers for the first game. You have been warned!

Archaeo are just. Brats. They aren’t nearly as bad as some vivosaurs but they are some of the most high-energy vivosaurs and they seem determined to make this everyone's problem. Not a good pet.

Terata, along with the other Trilobites, are able to function in and out of the water. They do prefer having the option to be in the water, though. Terata are good with kids and rather calm.

Dikelo are... less so. They're rather timid guys and will burrow into the ground if something startles them. They don't like being inside because they can't really burrow. Be sure to give them sheets that they can hide under, or they'll stress themselves out.

Note on a previous hc: Duna is apparently canonically 14, not 16.

That works. I can work with this.

(This makes the idea of Duna being Just That Tall all the more hilarious.)

There are enough dinaurians to repopulate the species and then some. They were thorough. Their ship is lorge.

Only a small fraction of Dinaurians tried to become agents. Even fewer succeeded. Duna was the youngest.

Dynal still has nightmares of seeing his planet die.

He was only a prince of 14 years of age when they got the news.

A galactic lifeform was headed toward the planet of Dinauria.

One that they had picked up recordings of from an alien race half a decade prior.

A single holo device showing the last moments of that planet shown from afar as it got devoured

And a strange creature speaking strange pleading words that nobody could ever decipher.

They had seven years to prepare, if that.

There was chaos.

Eventually one kingdom's scientists managed to make one single ship able to hold a stable population's worth of dinaurians in stone sleep.

Along with this came the technology to direct evolution, and ai to monitor it.

Project: Mother Earth had begun.

Most other kingdoms considered this a sham.

Dynal thought it was a sham. His parents weren't the most honest folk.

(He only realized too late that when things came down to it, they acted in defense of their people - as true rulers.)

(His greatest regret is being unable to say how much he loved them)

They accepted any dinaurian who wished for this one desperate hope, regardless of nation. The king and queen were hoping to get enough volunteers to fill up the ship.

They never got the chance.

A maid had found them in their chambers, dead.

The queen, Theria, bloody and torn, died like the warrior she'd been.

The king, Dynal XV, soaked with blood, his throat slit.

The assassin was caught and executed but the damage was done.

19 years old and barely an adult, King Dynal XVI was crowned.

It was only weeks after that the news came.

Guhnash was upon them two years early.

Dynal knew what to do.

Even if it was a sham, it would give his people hope, if only for a moment.

It wasn't full to the brim but it still held a stable population.

Once everyone who had volunteered along with a few others had boarded, Dynal gave the order to blast off, not expecting for it to work.

It did.

It was only when the ship was many hundreds of miles away that Dynal realized

It wasn't a sham.

And he broke down crying, as Dinauria was consumed.

(They had loved their people just as he did.)

They searched the stars for eleven years. Most of the populous, including a nine-year-old Raptin, were in the newly developed stone sleep.

Raptin still remembers Dinauria. He resents the humans for what he sees as taking away his only chance of getting back his home.

Duna, on the other hand, was born during the voyage, the daughter of a scientist and a security guard. She only knows of Dinauria through stories and holotapes.

She was all of four years of age when Earth was discovered.

It took only a year for the next few phases of Project: Mother Earth to go underway.

The seeds were planted and the remaining populus went into stone sleep.

They expected to be woken by news that the Dinaurian People had been revived.

(On Earth, a young scientist and his sponsor are exploring an ancient craft when one of them presses a button.)

(A distress beacon calls out, and ancient failsafes spring to life.)

The Dinaurians wake up to very different news.

[robininthelabyrinth]

My fav MDZS stories are ones where Mo Xuanyu lives and WWX takes him under his wing when the Sacrifice Summons goes slightly wrong. I would love to see your version of this au bc your writing is very very good and I've fallen in love. However you want to character MXY is fine, but I know you'll make him compelling.

also on ao3 because long

“It’s not wrong if you write it down,” Mo Xuanyu muttered to himself like a mantra as he scribbled down a rough explanation of what he was going to do. “If you write it down, it’s just an experiment, and that makes it okay.”

That’s what they used to say back at Koi Tower. Not all of them, no – most people didn’t talk to him, stupid shy useless stuttering bastard that he was.

But Jin Guangyao had smiled at him, smiled the way he smiled at everyone no matter how lowly, and Mo Xuanyu, flattered at the unfamiliar feeling of positive familial attention, had tentatively smiled back. That had been a mistake, of course, but he hadn’t realized it at the time – he was still young, then.

He hadn’t been crazy, then.

(Had he? He didn’t remember. The screaming nightmares weren’t until later, after he’d swallowed down that medicine that Jin Guangyao gave to him, that he’d forced down his throat with Xue Yang holding his shoulders down – they’d been regretful about it, he remembered that. That’d been nice. No one’d ever been sorry about what they’d done to him before. Or after, for that matter.)

That came later, though. Towards the end. The experiments – that was earlier, wasn’t it?

Yes. Back when Jin Guangyao still thought he might be useful, and he let him follow him around; back before Xue Yang had disappeared – wait, if Xue Yang had disappeared, who’d held him down? – back when he still called him Xue-gege because Xue Yang thought it was funny, and if he did that he could sit around in a place where no one would find him and watch while Xue Yang did…stuff.

Usually bad stuff.

Still, it was better than being anywhere else in Koi Tower. With Madame Jin, who hated him and threw things at him, just like Auntie Mo did, and his father who wanted him to talk about girls (Mo Xuanyu didn’t know anything about girls), and all the people who giggled at him and talked about him behind their sleeves as if he couldn’t still hear them.

If you write it down, it’s just an experiment, Jin Guangyao told him, smiling, because he always smiled. That’s why what Xue Yang does is okay.

Xue Yang taught him the basics of drawing arrays, how to hold the brush in your hand and push spiritual energy into it. Mo Xuanyu didn’t have very much, so it made him very tired and then he dropped the brush; that made Xue Yang laugh at him, push him down until his face was on the ground so he could get a better look at what he was drawing, and then he got bored and pulled him back up to try again.

It was still better than being taught by the Jin sect cultivators who sneered at him and ordered him to get hit with boards any time he made a mistake, and Mo Xuanyu made a lot of mistakes.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t like to talk to people much, wasn’t very good at it. Wasn’t much good for anything, really.

Except this, he supposed. This was something he could do.

Xue Yang taught him the basics of drawing arrays, but it was only ever the basics – as soon as he figured out how to do it, Jin Guangyao took over the teaching, and he only ever wanted Mo Xuanyu to learn one array in specific.

It didn’t have a name. It was an ancient, forbidden technique; those didn’t get names. Jin Guangyao’d found it in a book, hidden on an abandoned old mountain – a place where lots of people died in a battle a long time ago, and then again not so long ago – and he’d thought it was just right for Mo Xuanyu.

The array required blood, blood of the caster, incisions all over – painful ones – and the point of it was to offer up your body to some extremely villainous ghoul so that it could take revenge for you.

“But I don’t want revenge,” he’d told Jin Guangyao, plaintive and naïve. “And I don’t know any villainous ghouls.”

“You don’t have to ask for revenge,” Jin Guangyao had told him, patient. He was always patient when he wanted something. “You can ask for something else, if you want. Revenge is just the usual reason.”

“Not many things besides revenge are worth sacrificing your soul for,” Xue Yang had opined, and Jin Guangyao had glared at him like he’d said something stupid. “What? It’s true.”

“We’ll discuss the Chang clan later, Chengmei. I was talking to Xuanyu.”

Mo Xuanyu had been poking at the manuscripts, feeling doubtful, and Xue Yang’d huffed and grabbed them. “Don’t touch the papers! Wei Wuxian didn’t leave much behind; I’m not losing the bit we got.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Mo Xuanyu had said, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. He didn’t know much, but even he’d heard about the Yiling Patriarch. “Is he the villainous ghoul you want me to summon?”

“No,” Xue Yang’d giggled. “He wants you to bring back Nie Mingjue.”

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t known that name – he really didn’t know anything – but the weeks that Jin Guangyao thought that he could one day become him were probably the best in his life. He’d never been petted or coaxed before, never been treated so well; he ate nice food every day, wore nice clothing, slept as late as he liked, took lots of baths…Jin Guangyao wanted his body to be in good condition before he did the ritual. He gave him lotions to make his skin feel soft, used medicine to nourish his organs, spent hours and hours teaching him to braid his hair the way the Nies did, all complicated and pretty yet practical.

(“He’ll hate it so much,” Jin Guangyao whispered in his ear on the nights he let Mo Xuanyu share his pillow. “Soft and decadent and weak – you’ve got the weakest golden core I’ve ever seen, Xuanyu, weaker even than me, and you’re too useless to even have any ambition to make it stronger. I could push you down with one hand, overpower you, make you crawl…no one will ever be scared of you. Let’s see how much you like being the weak one, da-ge.”)

It’d only been when the ritual failed – not just once, but many times, no matter how many cuts Mo Xuanyu made on his arms or how well he painted the array – that Jin Guangyao had given up on Mo Xuanyu.

They hadn’t been able to figure out why it wasn’t working, back then, but now Mo Xuanyu thought that maybe he just hadn’t wanted it enough back then. He’d wanted to make Jin Guangyao happy, yes, and he hadn’t really cared what it cost to do it – Jin Guangyao’s arguments that he was useless and pointless, his life worthless, and so he might as well do something useful with his death were pretty convincing – but he hadn’t wanted it.

He wanted it now, though.

Something worth sacrificing your soul – it really could only be revenge, couldn’t it? Xue-gege knew what he was talking about. Revenge was something you needed, something that ate away at your soul until sacrificing it was the only thing left to be done with it, and that, that, was what was going to make the ritual work this time.

Mo Xuanyu was going to get revenge. Revenge on Auntie Mo, on Master Mo, on Mo Ziyuan, on A-Tong…they deserved it. He hated them. He hated what they did to him and how often they did it, he hated that this was his life and that nothing would ever get better, he hated hated hated…!

(“You don’t have to do this,” the young sect leader surnamed Nie had told him when they’d had tea for the last time. He’d bought Mo Xuanyu the cosmetics he liked – he’d offered to buy him something nicer, but Mo Xuanyu had his preferences; the expensive stuff didn’t feel heavy and greasy on his face, didn’t make him feel like he’d painted himself into being somebody else, someone braver. “Just so you know.”

“I know,” Mo Xuanyu’d said. Sect Leader Nie had come to ask him for any information he had about Jin Guangyao. He didn’t say why, but – Nie, Mo Xuanyu’d thought to himself, Nie like Nie Mingjue – he hadn’t been at all expecting to hear the story Mo Xuanyu’d had to tell him. He hadn’t been the one to suggest the ritual, that’d been Mo Xuanyu – he hated, hated, hated – but Mo Xuanyu never did learn the name of any of those extremely villainous ghouls so he’d asked him for a suggestion.

He’d suggested Wei Wuxian, and that’d made Mo Xuanyu giggle to the point of hysterics. Don’t touch the papers, Wei Wuxian didn’t leave much behind – oh, Xue-gege, you’d think this was so funny!)

“Gotta write it down,” he said to himself as he made the cuts and drew the array: it was already starting to glow in a way it hadn’t any of the other times he’d done it, and it wasn’t that he’d gotten any stronger. “Writing it down makes it okay…”

He went to get some paper, and that’s when the cat came in. A big old fisher cat, vicious and mean.

And, well, Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang were always talking about how you’re supposed to try stuff out before you do the real thing – practice makes perfect, that’s what they always said, until the day Jin Guangyao got tired of Xue Yang’s practice and made him disappear, and after that it wasn’t all that long until the day that he got tired of Mo Xuanyu, too, and made the sect kick him out.

(They said he was a cutsleeve, which was true, and they said he’d attacked Jin Guangyao, which was laughable – wasn’t Jin Guangyao the one who was always commenting on how weak Mo Xuanyu was? But that was after he drank the medicine that came with the nightmares and the weird spasms and the rest of it, and it wasn’t as if anyone in Koi Tower had ever listened to anything he said even before that.)

He wasn’t actually going to do anything bad to the cat. He just wanted to use it to make sure he got the markings all done right; it wasn’t as if the array would actually work, not without him in the middle – this array ran on resentment, on revenge, and how much resentment could a cat have?

Apparently Mo Xuanyu’d underestimated cats, or possibly his array-drawing skills, or maybe even it was only that he’d poured so much hatred into the array that when he put the cat down in the middle to see if the positioning was right the whole thing exploded right in Mo Xuanyu’s face.

He woke up to Mo Ziyuan kicking him and yelling about how dare he report him to his parents (he hadn’t reported anything, just asked for his stuff back, he hadn’t even meant to do that because he knew it was pointless but they’d asked what he was thinking about and it had just slipped out) while A-Tong broke all his stuff, but that was pretty normal so he didn’t think too much about it.

The cat leaping for Mo Ziyuan’s face, howling something that sounded an awful lot like the words fuck you except sort of halfway into being a cat’s meow, was new.

Kind of funny, too.

Mo Xuanyu giggled and lay back down on the floor while Mo Ziyuan ran out, crying for his mother, with A-Tong right on his heels as always.

The cat made its way back over to him and jumped up on his chest, looking down at him. It was a pretty handsome cat, now that Mo Xuanyu was looking at it: long and black, with white on its chest and like little socks on its forepaws, a noble appearance that had been concealed by the messy state of its fur.

“I’m sorry I accidentally nearly sacrificed you to a villainous ghoul,” Mo Xuanyu said to it.

“Who told you that I’m a villainous ghoul?” the cat said back. “You couldn’t find another wandering ghost as harmless as me!”

Mo Xuanyu was crazy, yes, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t that type of crazy. He had fits that sent him down to the floor, limbs thrashing crazily; he had days in which he wanted to do nothing but die; screaming nightmares at night and sometimes during the day, hearing and seeing things that weren’t there…

This was still new.

“Did you just talk?” he checked.

“You bet I talked,” the cat said. “Now tell me, how in the world did you manage to offer up the body of a cat? That’s not how that ritual’s supposed to work!”

“It was supposed to be my body, Master Cat,” Mo Xuanyu explained. “But they said that you should always try something out first –”

“First off, you shouldn’t be sacrificing yourself either,” the cat said. “That’s your soul you’re talking about – the ritual just says the soul goes back to the earth, but what if it destroys it entirely? You could’ve been doomed never to reincarnate!”

“That sounds restful,” Mo Xuanyu said wistfully.

“…you have serious issues. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Master Cat.”

“Stop calling me ‘Master Cat’. You know my name, you can use it.”

Mo Xuanyu blinked, long and slow. “But I don’t know your name? You were just the stray that lived out back behind the grocer…”

“I’m Wei Wuxian! You summoned me here and offered me a body!”

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t realized it’d worked. “Does that mean you won’t help me get revenge?” he asked, disappointed.

“I don’t exactly have much of a choice, do I?” The cat – Wei Wuxian – huffed. “That stupid ritual…how many cuts do you have?”

“Four,” Mo Xuanyu said automatically, except when he checked they were about half-there, half-gone, and after a little bit of investigating it looked like the other half of them were echoed in appropriately parallel locations on Wei Wuxian’s fuzzy feline body. “Oops.”

“Oops, he says,” Wei Wuxian said, but he already sounded cheerful again. “Seems like you bound our souls together when you brought me back – probably because there were too many souls in the center of the array, once you added in the cat. Anyway, don’t count me out – two legs or four, I can still help you get revenge. Who on, by the way?”

Mo Xuanyu tried to explain. He wasn’t very good at it, tongue tripping over his words as he tried to put into words why he hated them so much that the idea of killing them had possessed him in every one of his three souls and seven spirits, and it all sounded really stupid when he said it so he went off on a tangent and explained how his father had wanted to use him but he was too useless for that, and his half-brother wanted to kill him but he was too useless for that, and his family just wanted him to die, but –

“Too useless for that,” Wei Wuxian said, and his ears were pinned back against his head with his hackles raised and fur all puffed up all over. “Yeah, I got the gist. Okay. I’m sold. Let’s kill ‘em.”

“Really?”

“…I’m actually pretty bad at cold-blooded murder, even if the people you want me to kill do sound like scum. Hmm. Maybe we could just cause them a lot of trouble? A lot of trouble?”

“That seems like a bad idea,” Mo Xuanyu said doubtfully.

It was, if only because Mo Xuanyu was about as terrible at causing a disaster as he was at anything else.

Wei Wuxian ran off into the main greeting hall and started knocking things around, bellowing unconvincing meows as if he’d never met a cat in his life, and Mo Xuanyu wanted to die of embarrassment, stuttering apologies at the visiting Lan sect disciples that looked about as awkward about the whole thing as he was.

(They’d tried to get him to deal with the fierce corpses first, sending him out to the hills and yelling at him to do something, but he’d never been invited to night-hunts back at the Jin sect so he just stood around uselessly until they’d given up and invited some real cultivators.)

Auntie Mo was furious – even more so when Mo Ziyuan showed up and started trying to hit Mo Xuanyu for being a liar, except he wasn’t lying (Wei Wuxian had shouted something about theft and robbery, about cutting off someone’s hand if they stole from him again, and everyone thought it was Mo Xuanyu doing the yelling and then he’d had to explain, hadn’t he?) and eventually the entire thing got to be so stressful that it brought on one of his fits.

He woke up not long afterward, with his head in a Lan sect disciple’s lap – he was transferring spiritual energy, which was nice of him but unnecessary – and Wei Wuxian on his chest, frantically licking his cheek and trying to whisper questions of “Are you okay? Mo Xuanyu? Can you hear me?” into his ear.

“I’m okay,” he said, blinking away the daze. There were broken teacups and wine jars tossed all around – it must have been one of the screaming fits, where he threw himself down on the floor and tossed and turned and screamed and sometimes frothed at the mouth. He broke a lot of things during those fits, almost always his own. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

“I told you he was a lunatic,” Auntie Mo said, her voice shrill as always. “Always breaking our things, and then he still complains when A-Yuan borrows a little, as if he wouldn’t just break it himself anyway…! Wretched thing! Useless thing! Honored cultivators, please pardon us this embarrassment, forgive me. We’ll take him away at once –”

Mo Xuanyu flinched, and the Lan sect cultivator who still had his fingers on his pulse frowned. He was very young, and Lan sect; he’d probably never encountered a lunatic before. “No need,” he said. “We need to go and get started with setting up the array in the Western Courtyard. Senior Mo here can show us where it is…can’t you?”

“I can,” Mo Xuanyu said, eager to avoid being locked away again. He scrambled to his feet, not forgetting to scoop up Wei Wuxian the troublemaker. “Follow me.”

They said a few more words, reminders not to go outside once the array was set up, and then they followed him, talking quietly behind him –

“Why’d you call him Senior, Sizhui?” one of the Lan sect disciples was asking the other in an undertone. “He’s a lunatic!”

“He’s a cultivator,” the one that had helped him earlier said. “He has a golden core, and he’s older than we are; that means he’s a senior.”

“He’s got a golden core? No way! He paints his face like he’s a hanged ghost!”

“Jingyi! What does it matter what he does with his face? It’s true, I felt it when I transferred him spiritual energy. Anyway, I didn’t want him to get punished just for having a fit…hey!”

That last exclamation had been because Wei Wuxian had twisted out of Mo Xuanyu’s arms and leaped towards the flags they were carrying, snatching one to the ground and rolling around with it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mo Xuanyu said, wanting to cry. He didn’t have any grudge against these Lan sect disciples; why was Wei Wuxian making trouble for them? “I didn’t mean to mess up your flag formation, or the…”

“Spirit Summon Flag,” Wei Wuxian muttered from his feet and Mo Xuanyu quickly used a foot to slide him back behind him and pretended he’d been the one to speak, smiling earnestly at them. “Weak, with a range of no more than five li, but serviceable enough; they can go ahead and use it.”

“You know about Spirit Summon Flags?” the taller Lan sect disciple – the one who’d been called Jingyi – asked, looking surprised, and Lan Sizhui elbowed him in the ribs.

Mo Xuanyu shrugged helplessly. “They used them sometimes at the Jin sect,” he said, which was true, even though he’d never gotten involved in that sort of thing. Saying that just made them all look even more surprised, though; probably at the idea that a lunatic like him had been part of the Jin sect in any way shape or form. “That was back before I went crazy. And you don’t have to call me senior – I got kicked out before I learned anything useful.”

“You’re still a fellow cultivator,” Lan Sizhui said, and smiled at him. Mo Xuanyu felt his face go red and he looked away, regretting how easily he showed his emotions; it would probably embarrass Lan Sizhui later on, when he heard the rumors about Mo Xuanyu’s sexual preference. That wasn’t the reason he’d blushed, he’d never had any interest in children – it was only that he liked it when people smiled at him.

“I’ll be going,” he said, and grabbed at Wei Wuxian again, only to miss and nearly trip before finally managing to pick him up. “Good luck with your hunt. I hope it goes well.”

It did not go well. Mo Ziyuan got himself killed by stealing a Spirit Summon Flag – Mo Xuanyu and Wei Wuxian both checked their left arm or forepaw at the same time, seeing the cut there heal up before their eyes; apparently the curse considered it to be close enough, maybe because Wei Wuxian had invented the thing – and somehow Mo Xuanyu ended up being accused of his murderer.

And that was before things got really bad.

“Set up a blocking array at the corner,” Wei Wuxian hissed in his ear.

“I can’t!” Mo Xuanyu said, hiding behind a tree. “I don’t know any arrays!”

“What?! Impossible. You did the body offering array – that’s extremely difficult, especially for someone of your cultivation level.”

“It’s the only one I was ever taught,” Mo Xuanyu explained, and Wei Wuxian’s fur suddenly puffed up all over again.

“Someone is going to die, and not necessarily the Mo family,” he said darkly; it might have been more intimidating if Mo Xuanyu hadn’t tied a red ribbon around his throat earlier to try to make the idea of him being someone’s pet a little more believable. “Whoever did that really only wanted you for one thing, didn’t they? I wonder why they wanted me back so badly.”

Mo Xuanyu was about to explain that actually Wei Wuxian hadn’t been the original target, but then there was more yelling – the Lan sect juniors were very competent but the ghost hand was terrifying – and Wei Wuxian got distracted, hissing at Mo Xuanyu to kick Lan Jingyi.

He obeyed on instinct, which saved Lan Sizhui’s life, and then Wei Wuxian was out of his hands again, streaking towards the corpses like a bolt of feline lightning, and suddenly there were three more corpses standing up and fighting against the possessed remains of Auntie Mo.

“Looks like I can still cultivate,” Wei Wuxian said happily, strolling back over and using the tree to leap back up to Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder. “I thought I should be able to use your golden core, given the way the curse bound us together…how are we doing on the curse, anyway?”

Mo Xuanyu checked. “I think that’s everyone, actually? I should thank whoever sent the ghost hand.”

Wei Wuxian was silent for a moment. “Huh, you’re right,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about it at first, but those Spirit Summon Flags definitely didn’t have enough of a range to summon a ghost hand like that from far away – and we would have heard of a lot more deaths if it’d been that close. Someone must have released it near here.”

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. It was only that no matter where he lived, Mo Manor or Koi Tower, there was almost always someone causing bad things to happen.

“Should we do something to help?” he asked hesitantly, watching the battle unfold and then flinching when there was an unexpected sound – two strums on a guqin, full of spiritual power.

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian said. “In fact, we should leave. Right now.”

“Leave…?”

“You can’t be planning on staying at Mo Manor now that everyone’s dead? Come on! Let’s go! Hanguang-jun’s here; he’ll take care of the ghost hand.”

“I wasn’t planning anything,” Mo Xuanyu argued even as he headed towards the exit obediently. “I was going to be dead, and the body would be yours, and you could do whatever you liked with it when you were done.”

“Well, we’re done,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you’re not dead. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

“Live with…not being dead?”

“Just accept the glorious wisdom of your elders already,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “Either way: we go. As quickly as possible. Before anyone notices. Is there anything you need to pack? We should take the donkey in that courtyard.”

“And money,” Mo Xuanyu said practically, heading for Auntie Mo’s room first. After all, she was dead and wouldn’t need it, and he was the last living heir of the Mo family – it was only reasonable that he take the first pick before everyone else got it. “You can always use money, even if you’re dead. Or a cat.”

Travelling was a bizarre experience.

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t been allowed to go outside of Mo Manor in a few years – Wei Wuxian hissed and spat some very impressive curses on the Mo family name, present company excluded – and even at his time in the Jin sect, he’d always been taken places by other people. Now, for the first time, he was alone…well, alone but for Wei Wuxian, who insisted that they had to stay together, curse or no curse, because of how they’d been bound. Mo Xuanyu suspected the real reason was because he didn’t think Mo Xuanyu could make it by himself, and he was probably right.

At any rate, he didn’t have anywhere to go, so instead he followed Wei Wuxian’s instructions to head towards Dafan Mountain to see if they could find some tombs that Wei Wuxian would be able to use. He still had fits, still wanted to die rather a lot, but he ended up spending so much of his time trying to coax the donkey (dubbed Little Apple by Wei Wuxian after they figured out that apples were the best and possibly only incentive to get it moving) that he didn’t have time to think about it too much.

Not being around either Auntie Mo or anyone from the Jin sect helped. Wei Wuxian wasn’t too bad – he may have been a villainous ghoul once, but now he was a cat.

“Didn’t you used to cultivate with a flute?” he asked as they walked along the mountain paths late at night. Well, the donkey walked, Mo Xuanyu rode the donkey, and Wei Wuxian rode in Mo Xuanyu’s arms. “What are you going to do about that? You can’t play a flute anymore; you’re a cat.”

“Cats are innately musical creatures,” Wei Wuxian said. His voice had become a lot more human in the past few days, rich and compelling and increasingly lacking the rough meows that had initially interrupted his speech. It was no surprise that someone as talented as him could pick up being a cat faster than Mo Xuanyu had ever learned to pick up being human.

Mo Xuanyu narrowed his eyes. “That’s a lie, right?” Wei Wuxian had been trying to teach him how to distinguish those, but they weren’t having very much success with it. “I don’t think I’ve heard a single decent sound out of –”

“Why don’t we see who’s making that noise?” Wei Wuxian said loudly, so they dismounted and went to go look.

There were people yelling, caught in a golden net.

“Can you get them down?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who reached out with his claws to grab a leaf, muttering something that was probably uncomplimentary.

And then –

Oh, no.

“Why are you hiding behind a tree again?” Wei Wuxian asked him, not keeping especially quiet. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from that little Jin sect boy who clearly didn’t have a mother to teach him?”

Mo Xuanyu dropped him like he was a boiling hot skillet.

Like everything he’d ever done on instinct, the move immediately backfired: Wei Wuxian landed on Little Apple’s foreleg claws first and suddenly Little Apple was braying loud enough to wake the dead, which set Wei Wuxian off yowling and hissing right back at him.

“Who is that?!” Jin Ling demanded, striding over with an extremely cross expression that suggested he’d heard the bit about mothers. “Who is – oh. It’s you.”

Mo Xuanyu weakly lifted up a hand. “Uh…it’s nice to see you, Jin Ling.”

Wei Wuxian’s yowls cut off as if he’d been suddenly smothered.

Jin Ling glared at him. “Stupid cutsleeve, you think I didn’t hear what you said earlier?”

“I didn’t!” Mo Xuanyu said immediately, starting to shake at once. He couldn’t bear it when people in bright yellow were angry at him, not since those last few days at the Jin sect; it was a sure-fire way to bring on a fit. “I swear I didn’t! I – I –”

Jin Ling lifted his sword and Mo Xuanyu squatted down to cover his head at once, feeling his eyes overflow with blubbering tears as he began to panic. “I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t,” he wailed. “Don’t hit me! I don’t want to drink any medicine! I don’t want to get hit! I didn’t do it!”

“You…!” Jin Ling didn’t seem to know what to do now. “You’re such a coward! You – damnit!”

Mo Xuanyu had his face hidden away, so he didn’t see what Jin Ling did next, braced as he was for a blow. He could vaguely hear the sword being put away, but that didn’t diminish his fear in the slightest: the majority of the Jin sect had never been willing to use swords on each other, thinking it disgraceful. Even Jin Guangyao didn’t use his sword very much – he preferred other methods.

Mo Xuanyu was most afraid of those other methods.

He flinched violently when someone lightly touched his shoulder.

“Stop crying, you’re making a fool of yourself!” Jin Ling said, his harsh voice at odds with the gentle touch of his fingers. “Have some thought to your face, okay?! You can’t embarrass yourself like this! Aren’t you my uncle, after all?”

“He’s your what?!” Wei Wuxian’s muffled voice came from under a bush.

“It’s true no matter how you look at it, even if I don’t want it to be,” Jin Ling said with a sniff, clearly assuming the exclamation had come from Mo Xuanyu. “Listen here, what are you doing on Dafan Mountain anyway?”

Mo Xuanyu snuffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Well, my cat –”

“Night hunting!” Wei Wuxian hissed.

“I mean, I was night hunting,” Mo Xuanyu repeated obediently, then frowned. “That’s not really believable, is it?”

Jin Ling looked pityingly at him. “Not really. Do you need – is there something…?”

“Those words from earlier were really rude,” Wei Wuxian said from the bushes, and Mo Xuanyu covered his face with his hands. “They shouldn’t have been said.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before –”

“Jin Ling, get away from him,” a low, cold voice said from behind him.

Mo Xuanyu’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t relief so much as it was resignation: if there was one thing he knew, that everyone knew, it was that you didn’t cross Jiang Cheng. They said he could smell the stink of demonic cultivation on you, and once he did, that was that, and Mo Xuanyu was pretty sure, though no one had ever said for sure, that the body offering array was some form of demonic cultivation.

They said Jiang Cheng would take demonic cultivators back to the Lotus Pier to be tortured to death.

Mo Xuanyu was almost looking forward to it. Other than the horrible sword flights back and forth to Koi Tower in Lanling, Dafan Mountain was the furthest from home he’d been, and Wei Wuxian had been waxing poetic about the beauties of the Lotus Pier for days now; it would be nice to see it, however briefly, before he died.

He’d probably get to see lots of Jiang Cheng, too – he’d only ever caught glimpses of him before, when he was visiting Koi Tower, so he’d never had a chance to look his fill. And whatever could be said about the man’s temper, it couldn’t be denied that he had a first-rate face.

“Why?” Jin Ling asked, not moving. “It’s only Mo Xuanyu. Did you ever meet him? He’s –”

“Not him,” Jiang Cheng said, and he looked – bemused? That wasn’t the expression Mo Xuanyu would have been expecting. “It was – Wei Wuxian…wait, the cat?!”

Mo Xuanyu’s mouth dropped open in shock. How did he know?

“Definitely not!” Wei Wuxian blurted out, which didn’t seem smart, and suddenly Jiang Cheng looked extremely confused and abruptly sat down.

“Uncle, what are you talking about?” Jin Ling said. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, a hand to his temple as if he had a headache, or possibly questioning his sanity. “It’s – it’s the cat. I heard – that voice – Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be sniveling on the ground like a newborn infant, and the only other thing around is – so it must be –”

“Is lunacy contagious or something?” Jin Ling demanded. “Uncle, I know you’ve been looking for him for years, but you can’t seriously think Wei Wuxian resurrected himself as a cat!”

“Meow!” Wei Wuxian said desperately, except it was as awful a meow as it’d ever been – entirely human. “Meow, meow –”

“That voice –!”

“Uncle!”

“Shut up!” Mo Xuanyu abruptly yelled, pushed entirely beyond his limits. “All of you! Just shut up! Stop yelling and stop harassing my cat!”

With that, he grabbed Wei Wuxian and ran blindly into the woods.

He kept running until the air wouldn’t enter his lungs anymore, and then he fell down under a tree and burst into tears again, the fear and panic and exercise all escalating uncontrollably until he fell into another fit, no matter how much Wei Wuxian tried to talk him down.

When Mo Xuanyu woke up, he felt as though he really had gotten beaten up by Jin Ling, even though he knew he hadn’t been. He groaned.

“You’re awake again, good,” Wei Wuxian said. He was standing on his two hind legs, forepaws behind his back as he slowly paced a circle. “Those fits of yours – they only started after you went crazy, you said?”

Mo Xuanyu nodded and sat up, rubbing his face – he didn’t have a mirror to check, but all those tears must have messed up his make-up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the case of cosmetics he’d insisted on taking the time to remove from Mo Manor, no matter how much Wei Wuxian had urged him to leave quickly before they were found.

“Based on the things you’ve said, it seems like there was a particular point in time where you went crazy – enough that you can accurately pin-point things as being before and after.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded again, using his fingers to apply more red paint around his eyes, which were still a little swollen and tender from all the crying.

“And you said something when Jin Ling was holding his sword – damnit, that was Suihua, I should have recognized it at once – anyway, you said something about…about not wanting to drink medicine?”

Wei Wuxian certainly fixated on the strangest things, Mo Xuanyu reflected. Maybe lunacy really was contagious.

“Someone poisoned you,” Wei Wuxian concluded. He still had the red ribbon around his neck – in combination with the way he was just barely maintaining his upright balance and the way his tail was lashing around, it was rather cute. “If it took place in the Jin sect, it was probably something with quicksilver, since they use it to make vermillion. It damages the brain and liver if consumed in high quantities, and it’s associated with epilepsy, hallucinations, and terrible nightmares; it’s been used since ancient times to make men into fools.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded politely, mostly disinterested. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know who was behind it, and it didn’t really matter what exactly was involved – if anything, the medicine could almost be seen as Jin Guangyao’s way of being nice. He could have had Mo Xuanyu disappeared the way he did for Xue Yang, or he could have fed him to Xue Yang’s fierce corpses, or even just slit his throat...at least by going mad, Mo Xuanyu would still be useful to Jin Guangyao, a vivid demonstration that any madness in their bloodline must have come from their shared father’s side, not the mother.

He wasn’t sure why Jin Guangyao cared about that, but at least he wasn’t dead. No, wait, didn’t he want to be dead? His half-brother was so confusing sometimes.

Maybe sending Mo Xuanyu back to Mo Manor, back to Auntie Mo and all the others that Jin Guangyao knew Mo Xuanyu feared, maybe it was supposed to teach him how to hate enough, so that he could make the ritual work – if so, Mo Xuanyu’d probably disappointed Jin Guangyao all over again.

“…some ways to at least ease the symptoms, maybe more if we can find a good enough doctor.” Wei Wuxian was still talking, for some reason. “At least you have your golden core; if you were a regular person, there wouldn’t be any hope at all.”

“Hope is overrated,” Mo Xuanyu said. “It just makes it worse when you’re inevitably disappointed, and then you die, if you’re lucky.”

Xue-gege had taught him that one, and he was even pretty sure he’d quoted it correctly, but Wei Wuxian didn’t look particularly impressed.

“I’ve heard that quicksilver poisoning can cause qi deviation, which is associated with suicidal urges,” Wei Wuxian said, dropping to all four legs and then hopping onto his shoulder. “Let me try to stabilize your qi – maybe it’ll keep you from saying things like that all the time. Go on, get up and stretch your legs a bit; they’re probably sore from all the running and thrashing you were doing.”

Mo Xuanyu walked all right, walked right into a confrontation with a stone goddess, which was honestly just how this day was going. Wei Wuxian really needed to stop being so surprised when bad things happened.

“Can you play the flute?” Wei Wuxian hissed into his ear, all thoughts of qi stabilization forgotten. “I need to summon something powerful, and yowling, while surprisingly effective, isn’t going to cut it.”

“I can play the dizi,” Mo Xuanyu offered. “But I’m not good at it, and anyway we don’t have –”

“Good enough! Grab that piece of bamboo and give it to me, I can use my claws to make the holes, and you can follow the tune that I show you –”

Wei Wuxian meowed, Mo Xuanyu played, and Wei Wuxian’s ears went flat backwards in apparent agony.

“Whoever taught you should be tortured to death,” he said briefly before resuming his guidance, focusing in on whatever demonic cultivation technique he was doing – it made the Ghost General appear, so Mo Xuanyu assumed it was successful, although Wei Wuxian’s shocked muttering suggested something had gone wrong regardless. Again, not much of a surprise.

One thing led to another, and then a tall man in Lan sect white showed up along with the juniors from Mo Manor, along with Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, and at that point Mo Xuanyu decided that some of this bad luck had to be Wei Wuxian’s, because even the worst of his bad days weren’t usually this bad.

Wei Wuxian panicked when they bumped into the tall man – Hanguang-jun, apparently? Mo Xuanyu vaguely recalled hearing about him, but he’d never come to Koi Tower while Mo Xuanyu had been there – and it was very uncomfortable to have a panicking cat on his shoulder, especially when he was still trying to remember enough flute-playing to follow along with the tune Wei Wuxian was meowing, something more relaxing to try to calm down the Ghost General.

“…Wei Ying?” Hanguang-jun said, staring at the cat.

Mo Xuanyu stopped playing and turned his head to stare at Wei Wuxian. “How are you this obvious?” he asked.

“This is not my fault,” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, aggravated. “I’m a cat! Nobody should be blaming me!”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Jiang Cheng, located somewhere further away on the field, said, his voice sounding strangled. “I really do swear I just heard….”

“That was me!” Mo Xuanyu said quickly. “Totally me! I picked up ventriloquism to better process the auditory hallucinations! I’m very sick, and also a lunatic – you can just ignore me!”

Nobody seemed especially convinced.

“…Sect Leader Jiang,” Hanguang-jun said after a while. “There are very good healers dedicated to the calming of the mind at the Cloud Recesses. I can take Young Master Mo – and his cat – with me to see them, which I think will be beneficial to everyone involved.”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I’m coming too. I think I need it.”

Hanguang-jun frowned for a moment and the two of them stared at each other for a long time, unspoken emotions crackling in the air between them. Finally, he nodded. “Very well.”

“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to go to -” Wei Wuxian started to say, but Mo Xuanyu stuffed his fingers over his little snout. Hanguang-jun was the second master of the Lan sect, which meant Zewu-jun was his brother, and Zewu-jun was Jin Guangyao’s friend – and you didn’t go against what Jin Guangyao wanted, not if you knew what was good for you.

Mo Xuanyu might be stupid, but even he could figure something out after it hurt enough.

“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll go with you for a little, but you have to promise to let us go afterwards. You have to promise, you hear me? I don’t want to be locked away again!”

Hanguang-jun had a strange expression on his face, which was about the same as the expression on Jiang Cheng’s face, and Jin Ling’s, and all the Lan juniors – had Mo Xuanyu said something wrong?

“Your freedom and safety will be assured,” Hanguang-jun said.

“And my cat’s!”

Jiang Cheng put his hand on his head, looking pained.

“And your cat,” Hanguang-jun agreed peaceably, and turned and started to lead the way.

Mo Xuanyu and all the others followed behind.

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian muttered in Mo Xuanyu’s ear once the others were far enough ahead to not immediately overhear. “We can go with Lan Zhan back to Gusu one time. They really do have good healers there, anyway – but I want to talk to him about that ghost hand. Someone released it right next to Mo Manor, probably the same person who wanted me back so badly that he taught you how to do the body offering array, and I want to have words with that person.”

Mo Xuanyu was a little confused: was it Sect Leader Nie he wanted to talk to or Jin Guangyao? And why was Wei Wuxian so angry at them? They were both so nice, at least some of the time…better not to ask.

“You should get some Emperor’s Smile when you get to Gusu,” Wei Wuxian added.

“I don’t drink,” Mo Xuanyu objected.

“For me.”

“Cats don’t drink.”

“I’m not planning on being a cat forever,” Wei Wuxian said. “And won’t that be a surprise to everyone?”

Mo Xuanyu thought about it. “No,” he said after a moment. “I really don’t think it will be, actually.”

[gingersnapwolves]

The Untamed, a brief summary [Part 4/6]

Part One: Sword Wizard School

Part Two:  The Search for the Yin Iron and the World’s Worst Summer Camp

Part Three: The Fall of Lotus Pier and the Sunshot Campaign

Part Four: The Downward Spiral

Ext, Nightless City [Qishan]

The war is over. Everything should be great now, right? Wrong.

Wei Wuxian has slept for three days. Jiang Yanli tells him that Lan Wangji was playing music to cleanse him of all the evil energy for most of those three days and that’s the only reason he’s awake so soon. Lan Wangji comes in to play more for him, even though Wei Wuxian is in the ancient Chinese version of his underoos. It’s cute.

Everyone else is having a serious meeting. Meng Yao has been legitimized by his father after killing Wen Ruohan, and this is a Very Big Deal. His name is now Jin Guangyao.

ENTER BAD TOUCH MAN

This is Jin Guangshan. He’s Jin Zixuan and Meng Yao/Jin Guangyao’s father. He sucks, big time. Everything about this guy is terrible. He’s a misogynist, a bully, and a patronizing piece of shit.

Jin Guangshan is having all the remaining Wens hunted down and killed, including the civilians. Nie Mingjue is cool with this. Lan Xichen says ‘hey, maybe murder isn’t the answer?’ but everyone tells him that murder absolutely is the answer and he shouldn’t worry about it.

ENTER THE HUMAN VERSION OF A CAR ALARM THAT HAS BEEN GOING OFF FOR AN HOUR IN YOUR WORK PARKING LOT

This is Jin Zixun, not to be confused with Jin Zixuan. Jin Zixuan is the former fiancée of Jiang Yanli and a spoiled brat but earning some brownie points as the story goes on. Jin Zixun is his cousin, and he has zero redeeming qualities.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have gone out for a romantic stroll. They find a batch of Wen civilians who are in chains, being hunted down and shot for sport by Jin Zixun. Somehow Wei Wuxian manages not to murder him, but it’s close. They play a requiem for the dead people to help their spirits find rest. ~just couple things~

Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Guangyao swear brotherhood to each other in a cool ceremony that was definitely Lan Xichen’s idea.

Int, Nightless City [Qishan]

Jin Guangshan is throwing a big party since they won a war. Wei Wuxian doesn’t really want to go and spends most of it getting drunk outside. Relatable to be honest.

Jin Guangshan says to Jiang Cheng ‘hey remember when your sister was engaged to my son? That was cool, let’s put that back on’. Jiang Cheng looks like he’s been staked out on an anthill. Wei Wuxian comes in and is borderline rude to Jin Guangshan, saying he should ask Jiang Yanli herself. Jiang Yanli, with a retail smile that rivals Jin Guangyao’s, politely says that hey, her parents just died, her home is in ruins, why don’t they leave her alone for a decade and then she’ll think about it. Wei Wuxian bounces because he’s not a party person.

Jin Guangyao announces that in six months, they’re going to be holding a group hunt in Lanling and everyone’s invited.

After the banquet, Jin Guangshan asks Jin Guangyao how much he knows about Wei Wuxian, especially that cool amulet he used during the battle. Jin Guangyao says he’ll find out and then find a way to get it. I cry about the fact that I liked him a lot more before he started sucking up to his shitty dad, even though I understand why he’s doing it.

Ext, Lotus Pier [Yunmeng]

Our trio goes home and starts to clean things up. Wei Wuxian is drinking a lot, not setting a good example for the new disciples, and still won’t carry his sword. Jiang Cheng – remember, he doesn’t know that Wei Wuxian gave him his golden core, and thinks he can still cultivate – tells him to get his shit together. Jiang Yanli, as always, mediates.

Int, Cloud Recesses [Gusu]

Lan Wangji is also home. He’s studying manuscripts to find music that will help heal Wei Wuxian from the resentful energy. What he has isn’t good enough and he wants to go to the restricted section of the library. Lan Qiren refuses to allow him in, confines him to Cloud Recesses, and basically says ‘forget about Wei Wuxian, he’s evil now’. For obvious reasons, Lan Wangji does not like this advice.

Ext, some city [Yunmeng]

Lan Xichen arrives for a visit, finds Wei Wuxian, and gently reminds him that people are worried about him and he should remember his actions impact other people. Wei Wuxian interprets this as ‘you’re evil and it’s hurting people, specifically my brother’ instead of ‘we want to help you’, and shuts him out. It hurts. He came so close. *sobs*

Ext, Lotus Pier [Yunmeng]

Jin Zixuan turns up to formally invite the Yunmeng sibs to the crowd hunt. He acts like an awkward turtle. It seems like he might have realized he was being a dick this whole time. You know what that is? Growth. However he still says that it’s his mother who wants Jiang Yanli to come, because he sucks at this.

Ext, Phoenix Mountain [Lanling]

It’s the crowd hunt! Everyone’s there. They’re having an archery tournament to determine who will get to go in first.

Wei Wuxian flirts with Lan Wangji and taunts Jin Zixun, who asked for it. But then a bunch of Wen civilians are paraded out in chains to serve as ‘obstacles’ to make things more ‘interesting’. Somehow this does not end with Wei Wuxian murdering all the Jin sect members present. He definitely wants to, but then he looks at Jiang Cheng and remembers that their sect is still weak after the war and they probably shouldn’t piss off the strongest sect remaining.

Jin Zixuan does a fancy shot, so Wei Wuxian blindfolds himself and shoots five arrows at once, partly to show off, but partly because he knows nobody can top that so nobody will be able to shoot at the Wen sect prisoners. Jin Guangyao, who apparently arranged this (presumably because his father likes a little bloodshed as an appetizer), pouts unattractively. I wonder why I ever liked him.

Up on the mountain, Wei Wuxian does a bunch of demonic cultivation with his flute to drive the demons into Jiang sect nets so they can win. Then he decides to chill out for a bit.

Lan Wangji shows up. He tells Wei Wuxian that he has learned new music that should help with the whole ‘full of evil energy’ thing. Wei Wuxian asks who Lan Wangji is to tell him what to do. Lan Wangji responds by asking ‘what do you see me as’, Wei Wuxian replies ‘I used to think of you as my soulmate in this life’, Lan Wangji says, ‘I still am’ and the sound you just heard is my heart exploding.

Unfortunately before they can kiss, they hear other people on the path. It’s Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli. Jin Zixuan makes a pitiful attempt to impress her while she is clearly very uncomfortable.

Even though Jin Zixuan isn’t doing anything worse than inserting his own foot into his mouth, Wei Wuxian jumps in to tell him to fuck off. They argue. Jin Zixuan’s mother turns up and hilariously roasts him for always upsetting Jiang Yanli. You start to like her until she says that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli shouldn’t spend time together because then people will think they’re having an affair. Jiang Yanli reminds her that Wei Wuxian is her younger brother, but Madam Jin sticks to her obnoxious guns. Jin Zixuan tries to say something nice and actually runs away which is the first time he’s felt relatable in the whole show.

Jin Zixun turns up, hauling his enormous bad attitude with him, and gets pissy with Wei Wuxian for using demonic cultivation to lure the demons into their nets. He’s super rude about it. Jiang Yanli politely eviscerates Jin Zixun in response and it’s super satisfying.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

They’re having a big party after the hunt. The Yunmeng Jiang did well and Jiang Cheng is happy for two seconds before he overhears some people saying that it’s only because of Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation and they don’t like that. Wei Wuxian has decided not to go to the banquet because these people suck.

Jin Guangyao, even though he’s now an errand boy for his power-hungry dick of a father, still has a big crush on Lan Xichen, and they have a few tender moments. Other people, like Madam Jin and Jin Zixun, are being absolute assholes to Jin Guangyao, and he’s wearing his best retail smile. I remember why I liked him. But uh oh! Jin Guangyao has made friends with and invited Su She, who you might remember from him betraying all the Gusu Lan who were hiding in the cave. Jin Guangyao doesn’t seem to know these two have history. Lan Xichen tells him not to worry about it but it’s awkward.

Ext, the city [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian is wandering around. He bumps into Wen Qing, who is there looking for Wen Ning.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jin Zixun has decided he hasn’t been a big enough of a dick for the day, so he asks Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji to have a drink with him. Lan Xichen tells him that they aren’t allowed to drink alcohol because of their sect rules. Jin Zixun takes this as a personal insult, or at least pretends to because it gives him an excuse to act like a jerk.

Jin Guangyao asks what’s going on and who upset his cousin, then looks at Lan Xichen like they’re a biracial couple at a barbecue and he’s trying to apologize telepathically for what his racist uncle just said.

After a few moments of ‘no really, I just don’t drink alcohol’ Lan Xichen decides this fool ain’t worth it and takes a drink. Jin Guangyao looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. ‘U ok babe?’ his eyes say. ‘No I want to go home, this barbecue sucks’ Lan Xichen’s eyes reply. Jin Zixun then offers a cup to Lan Wangji, who stares into the middle distance and forcefully projects the information that he will literally die before accepting a drink from this asshole.

Wei Wuxian interrupts, snatches the cup, and says ‘I’ll drink for him. That’s okay, right?’ even though there’s absolutely no reason it would be since they’re not actually married. He drinks anyway. Then he asks Jin Zixun where Wen Ning is. Turns out Jin Zixun and his lackeys kidnapped Wen Ning and his whole village.

Jin Zixun pretends he doesn’t remember. Wei Wuxian threatens him a lot. It’s super hot if terribly inadvisable. Jiang Cheng is clearly upset that he’s out of line. Lan Wangji is clearly worried that he’s losing his marbles. Jin Guangshan tries to bully Wei Wuxian and fails on every level. After a few minutes, Jin Zixun caves and tells him that Wen Ning and the others are at Qiongqi Way. Wei Wuxian says ‘why couldn’t you just tell me that?’ and leaves. Jin Guangshan flips over the table. It’s awesome.

Everyone begins talking shit about Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng is more upset. Lan Wangji says ‘I mean, he wasn’t wrong’ and Jin Guangyao replies with the ‘he’s right but you shouldn’t say it’ meme. Lan Xichen reflects on the fact that Wei Wuxian’s ‘temperament has changed a lot’ as if this is something mystical and strange instead of the inevitable result of severe, untreated PTSD and the fact that he’s discovered massive systemic injustice.

Lan Wangji asks Lan Xichen if it’s okay if he kidnaps Wei Wuxian and brings him back to Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen tells him to go for it.

Ext, Qiongqi Way [Lanling]

All the Wen civilians have been forced into a labor camp. It’s really awful.

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing arrive to find out they’re too late. Wen Ning has been killed. (Technically they say later he had ‘one breath left’ but that’s only because Chinese censorship doesn’t allow necromancy to be portrayed on TV. This explanation doesn’t actually make sense, and by and large fandom ignores it. In the book, he’s all dead, and that’s much simpler.)

Wei Wuxian has a complete breakdown and brings Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse (which is similar to a zombie but not exactly the same for xianxia reasons). Wen Ning murders all the guards at the prison (with a little help from Wei Wuxian) and then collapses. Wei Wuxian realizes they are Totally Fucked Now, lets everyone out of prison, and gets out of dodge.

Except Lan Wangji has followed him and is standing in the rain in his way. They have a really haunting exchange where Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to confront the aforementioned systemic injustice, and Lan Wangji tells him if he continues on this path, it’ll be considered a rebellion and he’ll be hunted down and killed. Wei Wuxian says, basically, ‘If I’m so wrong, then you kill me. If it’s you, I’ll accept it.’ Lan Wangji stands aside to let them go. I cry for seventeen hours.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian has brought the refugees here. They ask if it’s really possible to live in such a place. He says he lived there for three months.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

You know, I don’t even remember if we see this, but I assume everyone there is super upset about everything.

ETA: Thanks to the people who reminded me! Everyone’s trashing Wei Wuxian. Mianmian (you may remember her from Turtle Cave, where Wei Wuxian saved her from being burned by Jiaojiao) sticks up for him, saying he doesn’t kill indiscriminately. Everyone pats her on the head and mansplains things to her, so she gives them all a big middle finger and leaves the Jin sect over it. Good for her.

Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Jiang Cheng shows up to ask Wei Wuxian what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Wei Wuxian, who is living in a cave and spent their entire refugee budget on candles, has Wen Ning’s unconscious body covered in talismans. He says he’s trying to restore Wen Ning’s consciousness. Jiang Cheng is pretty horrified and basically accuses Wei Wuxian of desecrating a corpse, and threatens to kill Wen Ning (more/again). Wei Wuxian brushes him off. Jiang Cheng says, heartwrenchingly, ‘If you keep protecting them, I can’t protect you’. Wei Wuxian replies, more heartwrenchingly, ‘Then abandon me.’ I cry for another seventeen hours.

ENTER A RAY OF SUNSHINE

There’s a little boy here about two or three years old named Wen Yuan. He’s adorable and likes to cling to people’s legs.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like any of this so he bounces. Wen Qing walks him to the end of the trail and then gives him back the comb he gave her (she did pick it up!) earlier. He looks like she kicked him in the balls but doesn’t change his mind.

Ext, somewhere [Yiling]

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian stage a massive public fight. There’s some light stabbing. Jiang Cheng publicly disavows Wei Wuxian and says he’s no longer part of the Yunmeng Jiang. (You don’t actually know it’s staged at the time this happens but you find out pretty soon so whatever.)

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jin Zixuan has now realized that Jiang Yanli is bae. He builds her a lotus pond and looks super awkward about it. It’s sweet. He’s doing much better now that he realizes he just shouldn’t talk.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian is a massive ball of PTSD and angst. It sucks. Wen Qing tries to persuade him to leave them there and go home, but he refuses.

Ext, some city [Yiling]

Lan Wangji is in Yiling because he was in the neighborhood on completely unrelated business. No he’s not there to see Wei Wuxian. Stop asking him questions. Suddenly a small child is clinging to his leg and crying. He is discomfited.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian is buying refugee supplies and realizes Wen Yuan has wandered off. He finds him clinging to Lan Wangji’s leg and insists on buying him lunch. Wen Yuan asks Wei Wuxian to buy him a toy and when Wei Wuxian won’t, Lan Wangji buys him like 15 toys. It’s super adorable.

They have lunch together. Wen Yuan sits in Lan Wangji’s lap. The reason Lan Wangji definitely was not in the area was to tell Wei Wuxian that his sister is getting married to Jin Zixuan. Lunch is interrupted when Wei Wuxian’s talisman signals that Wen Ning is causing trouble back at the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji has to pay for lunch.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wen Ning is on a rampage. This happens with fierce corpses. Wei Wuxian starts trying to use his magic to calm him down. With Lan Wangji’s help, he’s able to restore his consciousness. Everyone’s really happy.

Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to stay for dinner but he says he has to go. They exchange the world’s most longing look. I resist the urge to climb into my screen, physically manifest in ancient China, and tie Lan Wangji to a tree so he can’t leave.

Wen Yuan asks if he’ll ever come back. Wei Wuxian says probably not. I rehydrate so I can cry more.

Back at the Burial Mounds, the villagers have come together to throw Wei Wuxian a thank you party. It’s super sweet.

Ext, the city [Yiling]

Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli come to show Wei Wuxian her wedding outfit. She’s brought him soup. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian roast each other a little bit, just like old times. However Jiang Cheng is also a bit of a dick to Wen Ning, because he’s still skeeved out by what Wei Wuxian did, and won’t let him sit with them. Jiang Yanli gives him a bowl of soup anyway. He can’t eat it, so he carries it back to the Burial Mounds and gives it to Wen Yuan.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian has planted lotus seeds. He’s still having mood swings and other PTSD symptoms but overall is improving somewhat. He finds out at some point that Jiang Yanli is pregnant and gets really excited about it.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jiang Yanli has given birth to a boy they have named Jin Ling. They’re planning his one-month ceremony. She wants to invite Wei Wuxian. The Jin sect is skeptical. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji back her up, saying that Wei Wuxian hasn’t caused any trouble since going into exile, and this is a good opportunity to try to re-introduce him into polite society. Jin Guangshan agrees. He’s also a dick to Jin Guangyao, who asks to hold the baby, and Jin Guangshan won’t let him. Jin Zixuan points out to his father that Jin Guangyao has been loyal and helpful since joining the sect, and maybe his father shouldn’t be such a jerk. Jin Guangshan reminds him that Jin Guangyao is the son of a whore and says someone with his background can never be in a position of power in their sect.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian receives a letter from Lan Wangji stating he’s invited to the one-month ceremony and is really excited.

Int, my apartment [America]

I’m gonna be real honest with you guys. I skimmed through the next couple episodes while sobbing on my phone and unlike most of the show, have only watched them once. It’s very possible that I’m going to get stuff slightly incorrect or in the wrong order. I’ll do my best but holy crap, I absolutely never want to watch these episodes again. This accounts for any mistakes I’ve made in fic, too, LOL.

Ext, Qiongqi Way [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian is on his way to Koi Tower with Wen Ning. Jin Zixun shows up and accuses Wei Wuxian of having cursed him with a curse called Hundred Holes. Wei Wuxian hilariously says ‘I don’t even know who you are’ because his memory is terrible and also Jin Zixun sucks. Jin Zixun has brought like a hundred guys with them and they start shooting arrows. Wen Ning starts to kick their asses.

Jin Zixuan shows up and tries to de-escalate the situation. He promised Jiang Yanli that Wei Wuxian would be able to visit Jin Ling.

Out of fucking nowhere, Wen Ning murders the shit out of Jin Zixuan. I screamed. Wei Wuxian clearly has no idea what the fuck just happened. Then Wen Ning murders Jin Zixun which is less of a problem. Once all the Jin guys are dead, Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning run the hell away and head back to Yiling.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Everyone wants to know what the fuck just happened. They conclude that Wei Wuxian lost control of Wen Ning and his violent nature (now that he’s a fierce corpse) caused him to murder a bunch of people. They demand that Wen Ning and Wen Qing surrender themselves to Koi Tower.

Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian has an absolute meltdown, for which we can’t blame him. He, too, has come to the conclusion that he lost control of Wen Ning and that’s why a ton of people are dead.

Wen Qing sticks a bunch of needles in him and tells him that they’re going to surrender themselves to Koi Tower. He hates everything about this but can’t stop them because of the needles. She says they’ll release him in three days, tells him ‘I’m sorry, and thank you’. I can’t see the screen through my tears.

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

The Wen remnants surrender themselves. Jiang Cheng tells Jin Guangshan ‘whoever Wei Wuxian broke, I’ll pay for it, okay?’ but we’re a little beyond that now.

Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian breaks out of his needle-induced coma and hurries to Koi Tower. I clutch my stuffed animal and think, naively, that he’ll make it in time.

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

The bodies of the Wen remnants are on display. Wei Wuxian has another meltdown. He tries to find Jiang Yanli, sees her in widow’s white, and runs away.

Ext, Nightless City [Qishan]

For some reason everyone’s decided to go to Qishan to toss Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s ashes in a volcano, I guess. Mostly they’re just throwing a party for themselves because they killed a bunch of farmers. I hate them.

Wei Wuxian shows up and tells them they all suck. Some rando shoots Wei Wuxian with an arrow. He laughs at the dude, pulls it out, and throws it back, killing him. It’s hot. Lan Wangji tries to talk him down but can’t. They get in a fight. Wei Wuxian raises an absolute fuckton of resentful energy and angry spirits and starts trying to kill everyone there, which honestly seems fair to me at this point. For only the second time, he takes out the amulet made of yin iron that he used during the battle with Wen Ruohan.

Except something weird is going on. There’s a second flute playing and it’s unclear who’s playing it. I’m screaming at my monitor.

Jiang Yanli, who is there because this show doesn’t know what to do with women besides fridge them, gets attacked by a fierce corpse. Wei Wuxian tries to control it but can’t. He starts freaking out again. He and Jiang Cheng manage to save Jiang Yanli from the fierce corpse but Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what’s going on and he’s clearly about to break down completely. Jiang Yanli is still really sweet and gentle with him, even though (she thinks) he kind of killed her husband. Then some other rando tries to kill Wei Wuxian and ends up stabbing Jiang Yanli instead. She dies.

Wei Wuxian – I hate to overuse the term ‘freaks the fuck out’ but when the shoe fits – freaks the fuck out. He breaks the amulet into fragments and then throws himself off a cliff.

Lan Wangji catches him before he can fall, even though he’s been wounded in the battle. Wei Wuxian stares at him for a moment before he tells Lan Wangji to let him go. Lan Wangji doesn’t let him go. Jiang Cheng comes over and for a brief second Wei Wuxian sort of looks hopeful, but then Jiang Cheng tells him to go to hell and stabs downward with his sword. It’s not going to hit him – Jiang Cheng’s eyes aren’t even open – but it hits the rock and causes part of it to crumble. Wei Wuxian shakes Lan Wangji’s hand off and falls, smiling with relief, because this show absolutely wants to fucking kill me.

Yes, our protagonist is dead. Don’t worry, he gets better.

~end of part 4~

[weil-weil-lautre]

By Jonathan Franzen September 8, 2019

“There is infinite hope,” Kafka tells us, “only not for us.” This is a fittingly mystical epigram from a writer whose characters strive for ostensibly reachable goals and, tragically or amusingly, never manage to get any closer to them. But it seems to me, in our rapidly darkening world, that the converse of Kafka’s quip is equally true: There is no hope, except for us.

I’m talking, of course, about climate change. The struggle to rein in global carbon emissions and keep the planet from melting down has the feel of Kafka’s fiction. The goal has been clear for thirty years, and despite earnest efforts we’ve made essentially no progress toward reaching it. Today, the scientific evidence verges on irrefutable. If you’re younger than sixty, you have a good chance of witnessing the radical destabilization of life on earth—massive crop failures, apocalyptic fires, imploding economies, epic flooding, hundreds of millions of refugees fleeing regions made uninhabitable by extreme heat or permanent drought. If you’re under thirty, you’re all but guaranteed to witness it.

If you care about the planet, and about the people and animals who live on it, there are two ways to think about this. You can keep on hoping that catastrophe is preventable, and feel ever more frustrated or enraged by the world’s inaction. Or you can accept that disaster is coming, and begin to rethink what it means to have hope.

Even at this late date, expressions of unrealistic hope continue to abound. Hardly a day seems to pass without my reading that it’s time to “roll up our sleeves” and “save the planet”; that the problem of climate change can be “solved” if we summon the collective will. Although this message was probably still true in 1988, when the science became fully clear, we’ve emitted as much atmospheric carbon in the past thirty years as we did in the previous two centuries of industrialization. The facts have changed, but somehow the message stays the same.

Psychologically, this denial makes sense. Despite the outrageous fact that I’ll soon be dead forever, I live in the present, not the future. Given a choice between an alarming abstraction (death) and the reassuring evidence of my senses (breakfast!), my mind prefers to focus on the latter. The planet, too, is still marvelously intact, still basically normal—seasons changing, another election year coming, new comedies on Netflix—and its impending collapse is even harder to wrap my mind around than death. Other kinds of apocalypse, whether religious or thermonuclear or asteroidal, at least have the binary neatness of dying: one moment the world is there, the next moment it’s gone forever. Climate apocalypse, by contrast, is messy. It will take the form of increasingly severe crises compounding chaotically until civilization begins to fray. Things will get very bad, but maybe not too soon, and maybe not for everyone. Maybe not for me.

Some of the denial, however, is more willful. The evil of the Republican Party’s position on climate science is well known, but denial is entrenched in progressive politics, too, or at least in its rhetoric. The Green New Deal, the blueprint for some of the most substantial proposals put forth on the issue, is still framed as our last chance to avert catastrophe and save the planet, by way of gargantuan renewable-energy projects. Many of the groups that support those proposals deploy the language of “stopping” climate change, or imply that there’s still time to prevent it. Unlike the political right, the left prides itself on listening to climate scientists, who do indeed allow that catastrophe is theoretically avertable. But not everyone seems to be listening carefully. The stress falls on the word theoretically.

Our atmosphere and oceans can absorb only so much heat before climate change, intensified by various feedback loops, spins completely out of control. Some scientists and policymakers fear that we’re in danger of passing this point of no return if the global mean temperature rises by more than two degrees Celsius (maybe more, but also maybe less). The I.P.C.C.—the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change—tells us that, to limit the rise to less than two degrees, we not only need to reverse the trend of the past three decades. We need to approach zero net emissions, globally, in the next three decades.

This is, to say the least, a tall order. It also assumes that you trust the I.P.C.C.’s calculations. New research, described last month in Scientific American, demonstrates that climate scientists, far from exaggerating the threat of climate change, have underestimated its pace and severity. To project the rise in the global mean temperature, scientists rely on complicated atmospheric modelling. They take a host of variables and run them through supercomputers to generate, say, ten thousand different simulations for the coming century, in order to make a “best” prediction of the rise in temperature. When a scientist predicts a rise of two degrees Celsius, she’s merely naming a number about which she’s very confident: the rise will be at least two degrees. The rise might, in fact, be far higher.

As a non-scientist, I do my own kind of modelling. I run various future scenarios through my brain, apply the constraints of human psychology and political reality, take note of the relentless rise in global energy consumption (thus far, the carbon savings provided by renewable energy have been more than offset by consumer demand), and count the scenarios in which collective action averts catastrophe. The scenarios, which I draw from the prescriptions of policymakers and activists, share certain necessary conditions.

The first condition is that every one of the world’s major polluting countries institute draconian conservation measures, shut down much of its energy and transportation infrastructure, and completely retool its economy. According to a recent paper in Nature, the carbon emissions from existing global infrastructure, if operated through its normal lifetime, will exceed our entire emissions “allowance”—the further gigatons of carbon that can be released without crossing the threshold of catastrophe. (This estimate does not include the thousands of new energy and transportation projects already planned or under construction.) To stay within that allowance, a top-down intervention needs to happen not only in every country but throughout every country. Making New York City a green utopia will not avail if Texans keep pumping oil and driving pickup trucks.

The actions taken by these countries must also be the right ones. Vast sums of government money must be spent without wasting it and without lining the wrong pockets. Here it’s useful to recall the Kafkaesque joke of the European Union’s biofuel mandate, which served to accelerate the deforestation of Indonesia for palm-oil plantations, and the American subsidy of ethanol fuel, which turned out to benefit no one but corn farmers.

Finally, overwhelming numbers of human beings, including millions of government-hating Americans, need to accept high taxes and severe curtailment of their familiar life styles without revolting. They must accept the reality of climate change and have faith in the extreme measures taken to combat it. They can’t dismiss news they dislike as fake. They have to set aside nationalism and class and racial resentments. They have to make sacrifices for distant threatened nations and distant future generations. They have to be permanently terrified by hotter summers and more frequent natural disasters, rather than just getting used to them. Every day, instead of thinking about breakfast, they have to think about death.

Call me a pessimist or call me a humanist, but I don’t see human nature fundamentally changing anytime soon. I can run ten thousand scenarios through my model, and in not one of them do I see the two-degree target being met.

To judge from recent opinion polls, which show that a majority of Americans (many of them Republican) are pessimistic about the planet’s future, and from the success of a book like David Wallace-Wells’s harrowing “The Uninhabitable Earth,” which was released this year, I’m not alone in having reached this conclusion. But there continues to be a reluctance to broadcast it. Some climate activists argue that if we publicly admit that the problem can’t be solved, it will discourage people from taking any ameliorative action at all. This seems to me not only a patronizing calculation but an ineffectual one, given how little progress we have to show for it to date. The activists who make it remind me of the religious leaders who fear that, without the promise of eternal salvation, people won’t bother to behave well. In my experience, nonbelievers are no less loving of their neighbors than believers. And so I wonder what might happen if, instead of denying reality, we told ourselves the truth.

First of all, even if we can no longer hope to be saved from two degrees of warming, there’s still a strong practical and ethical case for reducing carbon emissions. In the long run, it probably makes no difference how badly we overshoot two degrees; once the point of no return is passed, the world will become self-transforming. In the shorter term, however, half measures are better than no measures. Halfway cutting our emissions would make the immediate effects of warming somewhat less severe, and it would somewhat postpone the point of no return. The most terrifying thing about climate change is the speed at which it’s advancing, the almost monthly shattering of temperature records. If collective action resulted in just one fewer devastating hurricane, just a few extra years of relative stability, it would be a goal worth pursuing.

[aloysiavirgata]

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title:  The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary:  Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes:  Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

[grahammasurian]

Dumping Your Responsibility.

The dumpster outside my apartment building was completely overflowed. The truck missed a couple weeks for some reason and people just kept piling their shit on top regardless.

“My sin will be forgiven, the next sinner will go to hell!”

This came into my head whenever I thought of the garbage situation. I considered myself 99% innocent since I didn’t use the dumpster during these couple weeks. Unfortunately when disaster happens it doesn’t care how much you were involved, all it sees is your darkness.

What I could have done was call up our landlord. Maybe I didn’t add directly to the trash pile but I still could have brought attention to it. Unfortunately my mind gave me a great reason for not calling him, a wonderful why even bother type of belief. These curses will kill you but they provide immense relief.

He lives someplace nicer and keeps his back turned on this building, so if I don’t tell him anything he’ll keep believing whatever fantasy he’s living. Whenever I bring up something for him to look at he puts it off or conveniently forgets about it, can’t say I blame him. I'd love to do the same sometimes and then feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. It’s hard to convince myself that a life of eternal guilt is worse than a life of hard work. Maybe the simple solution is to just disregard the guilt and make everyone despise me, though I can’t say that seems like a good long term strategy.

I guess everyone likes to avoid responsibility too, don’t get me wrong I get it, because man it sure feels good to not take anything seriously, just sit back and relax through life, I’ll lay down in my bed and fold into a quarter circle. Pull my knees up to my chest and gently hold myself, like swinging in the breeze floating along to somewhere better.

Eventually some birds had a war over the trash that was at this point spilling everywhere, old food, old clothes, plastic shit, maybe real shit. It was a disaster but seemed to be an appropriate punishment for us. I watched a seagull pull apart a bag for 30 minutes, something about the completely boring and ordinary scene held a power over me. I imagined this feeling of our civilizations being consumed again by nature, it’s easy to forget that nature is constantly trying to integrate us more effectively. Integration with an ocean with a mysterious intention.

We could have salvaged things there, rescued some of our dignity and just accepted responsibility for what we did by not doing. I sat some nights debating whether or not I should just go out there and clean up everything alone. I didn’t mind the day, but at night I just loved how things seemed to come to life inside me. There was a power that I didn’t have access to during the day.

I decided it wasn’t worth cleaning up, after all I don’t really care what these people think of me, unless they express it to me. Plus I felt like I fit in better with my environment as a lazy drifter. When I run into the people that live here occasionally there is enough willpower on all our parts to say “Hi” and then move on our way. The two people that live under me, man and wife, maybe around late 50’s early 60’s always give me a glimpse into a possible future. The guy looks like his soul has been sucked out and not in a good way. It scares me for a moment and I tell myself I’ll keep it in mind but my actions don’t change.

The next week after the missed pickup and our experiment with apathy, something happened.

It was 12:33 AM, I was laying down in my bed with the window open, listening to the wind and feeling the slight breeze on my skin. Sometimes I’d lay there for hours listening to music or in silence, using drugs of course. The sounds of the night combined with distant sounds of the city created the backdrop for the worlds I explored in my mind. I break away from the atmosphere and write some ideas down in some form then go back to my mind.

I heard a familiar sound, the mother of this girl screaming in that resentful kind of way. Whenever someone talks that way to me my stomach gets sick, I see this person is using me to escape from something. You know instantly that this isn’t about you anymore, it's about them.

I hated the way this mother yelled at her daughter, I didn’t have kids of my own but I didn’t mind them, I generally see children as innocent beings until they gain awareness. When they become aware they turn into wood, hopefully they make it through and become real but many don’t. Some play as the twisted craftsmen, shaping the world with design. Night after night I’d hear this poor girl being molded into something that will make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

Even though it’s hard to feel connected with darkness, you still elicit feelings for things of the night. You react more on principle and not bigger picture at night, this mother was injecting venom deep into the mind of her daughter. Like a jackass I sat there each night it happened and listened to it like music.

 Being man enough to walk down there one day and call her out on her shitty behavior was always in the back of my mind, but then I would think some more and figure what difference would it make? Sometimes I snap out of my delusions and wake up, I see who I am from up here.

Just look for the right words.

It didn’t happen every time but sometimes this warped girl would dash outside, slamming doors and shouting behind her. Most times I’d hear her small steps pace around or walk down out of earshot then eventually I’d hear her again coming from the other side of the building, maybe doing two or three laps like that before cooling off and gaining enough strength to go back. She feels like she just wants to give up but chooses to continue to face that fate which shows just how much courage she had.

This night the young girl made her usual escape, something about the scene caught my attention. Normally I just ignored it for the most part, but tonight I felt worried for her and listened to see if she was okay.

The shriek of her screaming scared me sober. That kind of pitch that you can only get when you feel real terror.

Confusion at night amplifies fear to a level that can go beyond anything you’ve ever felt. Sometimes hearing a loud noise randomly in the middle of the night only to realize it was something conspicuous is an interesting moment of tension and release of tension. When you listen to death it creates tension that doesn’t go away unless you force it to release.

I couldn’t see much but the sounds made up for the rest, I looked on in horror as this poor unfortunate girl came running towards the front door to come back inside. She must have forgotten to prop it open a little this time like she usually did. The door was shut, she couldn’t escape through there and it was the only chance she had time to try.

This whole thing happened so fast it was as if my mind refused to think about what I was seeing, this bear that must have smelled some food nearby came across her instead.

Hearing someone produce screams that come from a dangerous place, sends a painful shock through you. It would have been nice if I was one of those people that got off on that kind of thing but unfortunately I had to deal with the feelings of misery, dread, sadness, fear, anger, all at once.  

A little bit slower than what should have been immediate there was incredible energy from all around, people coming out and making noise, not too many but enough for me to be impressed.

The general sentiment at the time was:

“Oh My God!” A big fat lady wearing a shaggy blue sweater screeched out. There were many other intense shouts, deflated yelps, sobbing murmurs, all mixing together slowly creating the atmosphere for a tremendously horrific scene.

All these half awake people, semi-disconnected souls felt something deep down within them for once. For the first time in decades some of these hopeless people felt alive, they acted without thought calling back to our primate ancestors. They witnessed a driving force, without realizing the lesson unfortunately.

Some of the people approached the girl to try and attempt some kind of help and others stayed away, accepting the situation or too afraid to know how bad it really was.

Some sobs were heard throughout the night as people came and went, voices that sounded defeated, voices that sounded ready to give up and heavy with guilt.

“Emily! No!” The mother cried. Obviously still drunk. Obviously deluded into thinking her daughter is anywhere close to alive.

“Please baby I’m so sorry! Please wake up baby!”

I had great disdain for this mother, but at that moment I felt bad for her. This woman made mistakes and in the end all it causes is suffering.

They came for her daughter, whisked her away into the abyss forever. Black cloaks riding into the stars on their skeletal horses. I wasn’t sure whether or not the constant beating I was hearing was a drum or my heart. We summoned these demons with our ritual, the choices we made were acts of incantation that brought forth monsters with the power to possess mortals, the possession was the final step in ensuring resurrection lest one of us snap out of the hypnosis and rescue the rest from the gaze of Medusa.

Then some downcast EMT workers took away her body, from the low looks and words after immediately coming upon the scene it was clear that hope didn’t exist anymore. I never saw the aftermath personally, where the actual attack happened was obscured to me by the awning over the door. Sometimes imagination makes things worse.

The mother followed her daughter into the darkness 3 weeks later.

[maaji-maji-majima]

some kissing hcs for Majima?(if u can make it nsfw)

So I'm in a weird place with this. I don't want to leave you unanswered but I know you won't like the answer that I give. It has been a long time since I was active on tumblr and I'm not sure when along the timeline headcanon became synonymous with fanfiction. I appreciate fanfiction authors for their creativity, but I am not one myself. I use headcanon in the older definition of "this isn't in the source material, but it is true in my brain". They are either random things my half asleep mind thought of while walking home from work or a character analysis. At the same token your ask had crawled into my brainmeats and won't leave. So again, I apologize that this most definitely is not what you're looking for, but I hope someone out there finds this to be an interesting read.

Without further introduction, here is a character analysis of our favorite pansexual, gender fluid, emotionally stunted goblin in regards to relationships and why the he desperately needs therapy as brought to you by a different pansexual, gender fluid, emotionally stunted goblin who got therapy but probably needs more.

Trigger warnings: Abuse, self harm, mental disorders, poor coping strategies, unhealthy relationships, random tense changes, not fanfiction

Spoilers for the whole franchise, but very specifically for 0, K1, and 5.

Abuse does weird things to people's brains. In Yakuza 0 Majima has barely been out of the hole for a year. He might no longer be suffering the actual physical torture he had been subjected to the year prior, but he is still directly in the hands of his abusers and being watched every moment. He is still in a cage even if it doesn't look like one. He is depressed and likely suicidal, but doesn't follow through with those thoughts because he is determined to make sure Saejima has a home to come back to. He is willing to endure just about anything to allow Saejima a chance to exact that final moment of retribution because Saejima is the one who deserves it and Majima doesn't feel that there is any possibility for forgiveness. In all likelihood he hasn't sought out anyone for a hookup or paid company for an evening due to a combination of not feeling like he deserves anything that feels good and the fact that he's constantly being watched. The year in hole means he no longer really has a concept of privacy, but he's worried that getting close to someone, even for a few moments, could put them in danger if Sagawa or Shimano feels like holding something else over his head. It isn't worth accidentally dragging someone into his own personal hell. He no longer lives for the present, he is only living for that far-off future that he hopes isn't just a pipe dream.

Enter Makoto. At first she is a stand-in for Saejima's sister Yasuko, but it morphs rapidly from there. She is the light and kindness and hope that he hasn't seen in years and she's being dragged into his bullshit. He knows in his heart of hearts that she doesn't deserve what she is being forced into, so his mind snaps into the immediate and does everything he possibly can to save her. This is is the hill he wants to die on. Maybe, just maybe, he can end his miserable existence with a final act of good and he feels that Saejima might just be able to understand. But because he no longer has any relationships in his life that are not strictly professional or the abusers he cannot escape, he has little recollection of what a nuanced relationship or even friendship is any longer. Due to circumstance she is also the only person that he cannot keep at arm's length, no matter how desperately he tries. So he falls for her and falls hard. But in the end, after everything they go through he does the impossible. He lets her go. She has a life and a future, whereas he has neither of those. What would she do? Become his ane-san? Have some temporary happiness before she realizes she has a target on her back for the rest of her life? No. Majima believes she deserves so much more than that even though it hurts him deeply. What is one more hurt on top of everything else? He's gotten extremely good at burying his pain.

Getting to Tokyo flips a switch in Majima's brain. Like many people with mental trauma who don't have access to therapy he falls into excess as a way of self medicating. He fits virtually everything on the hedonism checklist. Drinking? Yeah. Violence? Hell yeah! Promiscuity? Yeah, but I ain't judging. Drugs? Probably, even though it isn't explicitly stated in game. Everything from his shift in personality to his wardrobe has become, intentionally or not, a defense mechanism. He has escaped from all of his abusers except for Shimano and he refuses to allow anyone to gain that kind of power over him again.

It is a double edged sword, however. His depression and PTSD are running unchecked. In all likelihood he hasn't fallen hard on vices as a way to reclaim ownership off his own body. Instead it seems more probable that he is dissociating. After everything he has been through he doesn't care what happens to his body in the long run because it isn't actually his anymore. Risky behavior, which is practically Majima's middle name, is also frequently used as a passive form of self harm because the end result is either temporarily feeling better thanks to endorphins and adrenaline or permanently feeling better after embracing death. He could achieve a similar feeling by taking up jogging and chasing a runners high, but that takes more time and energy than chugging a handle of whiskey or goading some chump into throwing hands. Sadly even now admitting to mental problems by seeking help is fairly stigmatized in Japan and it was only worse in the early 90s. Can't have a problem if no one tells you it's there, right?

Then he meets Mirei. She's intense but not wild like Majima. At that moment in time she is everything he needs. Head strong, domineering, and very, very determined. She knows exactly what buttons to press to wrap him right around her finger. And he lets her take the reigns, lets her run his life because he realizes he was doing a terrible job on his own. Better her than Shimano, right? Doing something wrong results in the cold shoulder instead of a vicious beating, and doing something right leads to more than simply the relief of avoiding a beating. He decides that making her happy is enough to make him happy. Until suddenly it isn't. He never wanted to be a father, but even the idea that he could have been was enough to cause a fundamental shift in his entire outlook on life. He could have had someone to live for, instead of just survive for. But he had no say in the matter and didn't know until the decision had been made for him. When Mirei told him she had an abortion he snapped. He hit her. The one and only time he raised his hands against her. Disgusted with himself, and wounded by her decision, he left. If he was capable of that, he knew couldn't be the person she had been trying to mold him into. He realized he was nothing but a weight around her neck dragging her down. And so that day signals the end of their short marriage. He spends the next several decades drowning in guilt for his actions while still resenting her for her choice.

That leaves us with Kiryu. Poor, oblivious Kiryu. Majima's fixation is multifaceted but in no small part due to the fact that Kiryu is one of the few people strong enough to hurt him, but is the only one that doesn't want to. And Majima just doesn't understand. After everything, he only deserves to hurt, right? Saejima, Yasuko, Makoto, Mirei. Everyone who gets too close to him ends up worse for it, so why won't Kiryu and his sense of honor seek justice on their behalf? So he does everything he possibly can to wind up Kiryu enough to Pay Attention Damnit, Fight Me. But Kiryu's response is always just flustered awkwardness because he doesn't want like fighting, it's just a part of his job, like wearing a suit or answering a phone. To Kiryu fighting isn't a thing done because it's enjoyable, it's done because it has to be. But he's still the only one who doesn't flinch when Majima brandishes a knife inches from his face.

And then Kiryu is arrested and in jail for ten years. And ten years is a long time to build someone up onto a pedestal. Like only wanting to talk about the best of a person after they've died. The same thing happened with Saejima. Build them in his mind to what he wants or needs them to be since they are not there to actively correct it. The decade is pretty miserable, going through the motions and trying to not make waves with the bigwigs while terrifying the minions into obedience. When he hears Kiryu is being released it is like waking up again. He all but waits at the taxi stand at the entrance of Kamurocho on the day of Kiryu's release, all but vibrating with excitement. It's a fight he has been waiting on for a decade, too bad it was little more than a disappointment.

So Majima decides to bring him back up to spec in that very Majima flavored way. Small fights, big fights, surprise fights. Kiryu is still reluctant because he doesn't have a reason beyond Majima's dreamed up training program he doesn't actually want to be a part of. Of course this only leads Majima to do everything possible to get under Kiryu's skin, including sharing his personal vulnerabilities while disguising them as jokes just to cause fights, but Kiryu just kind of rolls with it which leads to confusion and frustration on both sides. After a while Majima starts to get into Kiryu's hobbies, like pocket circuit, ostensibly as another form of picking a fight. And he discovers he actually enjoys a lot of it. And they are both too dense and emotionally stunted to realize they're basically dating at this point. At multiple points Majima takes potentially lethal blows meant for Kiryu and the excuse that he is the only one allowed to kill Kiryu is very, very thin. He just can't quite admit out loud that he doesn't want to see Kiryu truly hurt because that's weakness and he is Not Weak (tm).

Shimano's death and Kiryu's departure from the clan come as a whirlwind that destroys him all over again. He's left directionless. So he leaves the Tojo in an attempt to find his own way in the world, for the first time in over twenty years.

I think I need to call it here for now. I know I've left out Saejima and Daigo, among others, but I've been working on this for days and my progress has been eaten twice and I just don't have the energy to keep going right at this time. Maybe some day in the future I'll find the time and energy to write out the rest for all the other games.

tl;dr What Majima wants and what he needs are two different things. He wants to fightfuck, but he needs to be bear hugged into submission so that he can have that mental breakdown he's been carefully bottling up for over thirty years. He needs a good, ugly cry. And therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.

[anexplanationofunfortunateevents]

A Tale of Red States and Blue States

Once upon a time, there was a state.

It was a large state, with vast stretches of country between its world-class cities. It had communities rich in diversity and activism and ideas – and it had a lot of resentful white people who were just plain old rich.

The richest and most resentful white people created a terrible blight they called “modern conservatism.” They set their wicked curse on the state, and then unleashed it on the nation with two Republican presidents – one lamentable, the next even worse.

There were many along the way who sounded the alarm, but there were more who ignored the danger far too long. The spell had summoned a beast. The beast was hideous and stupid. It was no good at anything except being a hateful beast. But the dark spell had done so much damage that being a hateful beast was enough for the beast to win, at least for a time.

In one version of the story, the state is called “California.”

In another, it is called “Texas.”

It’s strange to think of now, with a decade of sneering about the “left coast” and “San Francisco liberals” and blah blah blah baked into political conventional wisdom, but it’s true. The reactionary modern conservatism which held the whip hand on the backlash to the great civil rights advances of the 1960s was born in California. California voted for Richard Nixon six times: once as their senator, twice as Eisenhower’s vice president, and then three times as the Republican presidential nominee. In between those elections, Nixon of course had to win primaries. In 1968, when he was the Republican front-runner, he faced an upstart challenger who wanted to make sure he’d be racist enough to keep conservative southerners in the tent. That person was not a southerner, but the then-governor of California, Ronald Reagan, who would go on to be the next Republican elected after Nixon.

So what the fuck happened? Well, a lot of things, and I don’t want to pretend to do justice to the generations of righteous activism that pushed back against this disastrous regime. Democrats did occasionally win state-wide – notably, California elected two Democratic women to the Senate in 1992 – even though Orange County was practically a metonym for American conservatism right up until the 2018 midterms. But the turning point that seems to have gotten your average voter to turn on the Republican party for good was in 1994. Governor Pete Wilson, a kind of hard-right proto-Trump, threw his weight behind a hateful anti-immigrant ballot initiative. It passed, even though it was so deranged that it never went into effect because a federal court ruled it unconstitutional within days of the vote, because the California electorate really was that conservative. The electorate changed, almost on a dime. Mexican-American voters organized. Their friends and neighbors and fellow citizens realized that sitting back wasn’t an option. And now the Republican Party of California is a fucking joke.

This isn’t, like, the eternal winds of history blowing microscopic chips off the statue of Ozymandias. If you remember the Clinton presidency, this happened in your lifetime. If you’re a little bit younger than that, it happened in your big cousins’ lifetimes.

Part of what makes it hard to see changes like this is that the dim bulbs in our political media see everything through a horse race lens, where who gets one particular W is the only piece of information worth retaining. You win and you’re clever; you lose and you’re a dumb sucker who tried. Who gets power is really important! But if you only care about that, then you miss the really important trends.

Take the Georgia 6th, the district once represented by Newt fucking Gingrich. Its representative joined Trump’s cabinet in early 2017, at least in part because it was such a supposedly safe Republican seat, so there was a special election for his replacement. Traumatized Democrats and Women’s Marchers threw themselves into the steeply uphill campaign of former John Lewis intern Jon Ossoff. When he came up a few points short, our blue-check media betters tried to turn Ossoff into a punch line stand-in for silly #Resistance liberal losers coping with Trump by losing some more, SUCK IT, MOM! but the other, correct, interpretation is that Ossoff only came up a few points short in a district that was supposed to protect the kookiest of right-wing cranks. His campaign had functioned as kind of an ad hoc boot camp for novice organizers, canvassers, and future school board candidates who had previously been too discouraged and disorganized to take this kind of swing, and it showed Democratic party donors that the district was winnable. So when gun safety advocate and Mother of the Movement Lucy McBath stepped up to the plate in the 2018 midterms, her campaign had the infrastructure it needed, and now she’s well-positioned to be reelected because she’s doing a great job. Meanwhile, Ossoff’s organizing chops and the enthusiastic work his supporters did for Rep. McBath are a big part of why he’s in a dead heat against incumbent Republican Senator David Purdue.

That’s why I’m keeping an eye on the South this year. The presidential campaign there is interesting, but the real story is in those network effects. There’s a rising tide that threatens to make the blue wave of 2018 look like a light spring shower if things break the right way. Just look at the Democratic senate candidates. They’re a diverse group: men and women, Black and white, preacher and fighter pilot. Most are relative newcomers to national audiences, but only some of them are young. Jon Ossoff is just 33; when he was in grade school, Mike Espy of Mississippi was Secretary of Agriculture. What they do seem to have in common is that they are having the time of their fucking lives.

Here’s Espy:

Moving and grooving in McComb. pic.twitter.com/RANCRGGpX7

— Mike Espy (@MikeEspyMS)

October 31, 2020

Ossoff:

The people of Georgia are tired of having a spineless, disgraced politician serve as their Senator. pic.twitter.com/OdaYwFKzmz

— Jon Ossoff (@ossoff)

October 30, 2020

Senator Doug Jones of Alabama:

I know you’ve heard us say it before, but when you see this clip, it bears reappearing: This guy really is clueless. https://t.co/w9YOUHegCW

— Doug Jones (@DougJones)

October 22, 2020

Jamie Harrison of South Carolina:

It's debate night and y'all know I'm going to walk it like I talk it. Let's see if @LindseyGrahamSC can do the same. pic.twitter.com/TNABxsaTEO

— Jaime Harrison (@harrisonjaime)

October 30, 2020

And the bad bitch with her eye on the big prize, MJ Hegar of Texas:

It's about time Texans had a senator as tough as we are. https://t.co/8MQ8Tykmyt pic.twitter.com/bgPr5vtgdh

— MJ Hegar (@mjhegar)

October 16, 2020

Clutch those pearls, John! https://t.co/iWej8MrhtV

— MJ Hegar (@mjhegar)

October 22, 2020

The spineless bootlicker Hegar is challenging, Senate Majority Whip John Cornyn, is currently resting his dainty patoot in the seat once held by none other than Lyndon Baines Johnson. As president, LBJ would aggressively push for some of the greatest human rights legislation in American history in pursuit of what he called the Great Society. That meant Medicare and Medicaid. It meant a revolution in environmental protections. It meant PBS. And it meant telling the one-party authoritarian regime in the Jim Crow south that America was done with their bullshit, they were going to have real democracy, they were going to do it now, and if they didn’t like it they could eat his ass.

Johnson was a complicated guy and left a complicated legacy. His project required an unusual leader of courage, conviction, and unmitigated savvy, cut with streaks of megalomania and dubious mental health. No architect but Lyndon Johnson would have built the Great Society, and no place but Texas could have built Lyndon Johnson.

Then again, Texas also gave us the Bushes in the late twentieth century. It gave us a terrorist attack on a Biden campaign bus just this weekend.

That darkness is real. So is the long, grinding slog to turn on the light. Like the GA-06 silliness, Democratic efforts in Texas get laughed at as some quixotic waste of resources by arrogant flops. In fact, the past few years of high-profile statewide elections in Texas have been on a pretty clear trajectory. In 2014, Wendy Davis, a state senator from Fort Worth who captured widespread progressive attention with her heroic filibuster of a 2013 state abortion ban, ran for governor. She lost by the ~20-point margin you’d expect in a year where Republicans everywhere did really well, but it was a vitamin B-12 shot to a perpetually overwhelmed state Democratic party. The 2016 Clinton campaign, when it was (correctly!) on the offensive before FBI Director Comey decided he would really prefer a Trump presidency, invested heavily in its Texas ground game. It was always a long shot, but even after the Comey letter and the Texas-specific sabotage by the Russian Internet Research Agency, Texas Democrats cut Trump’s margin there down to single digits. That is to say, they recruited the volunteers and taught the skills and raised the cash and registered the voters to carry the ball way down the field. And in the 2018 midterms, El Paso representative Beto O’Rourke built on all that energy to fight Senator Ted Cruz to a near draw. O’Rourke didn’t quite make it, but he did help a lot of downballot Democrats over the finish line and forced Republicans to light a few oil drums of cash on fire to save a seat that they had always assumed would be safe.

That growth has been possible because of a ton of hard work and persuasion, but it’s also been possible because there was so much untapped potential. As progressives have argued for years, Texas was less of a “red state” than a non-voting state. I’m not a person that usually has a lot of patience for people not bothering to vote, because the people who get to be loud about that are whiny, privileged assholes who can afford to be flip about the right to vote. But there are a lot of people who find it hard because they absolutely do know the weight and importance of voting, because they or their mothers or their grandfathers were beaten and terrorized to keep them away from the polls. They might make the same mouth-noises as the selfish dilettantes about how it doesn’t matter and they’re all corrupt and blah blah blah. But a vote is a tiny little leap of faith. It’s at least a skip of hope. And it hurts to know the weight and importance of that and to keep feeling that disappointment over and over again.

A key thing that Republicans in the South managed to do for a while, but California Republicans didn’t, was to let their misrule seem almost tolerable day to day. As outrageous as the overall trends were, as catastrophic the results were for a lot of people’s lives, it didn’t necessarily feel entirely irrational for lots of people to avoid the inconvenience and disappointment of trying to stop them. But if you’re just going to be a constant, unwavering shit show of incompetence and evil, infuriating people every waking minute of every fucking day for years on end, they’re not going to be deterred by inconvenience and disappointment. They're not going to be deterred by fucking tear gas. They’re going to understand that it’s worth trying to get rid of you, even if it’s a long shot. They’re going to line up to kick you in the shin just for the hell of it. And that’s exactly what millions of them have already done.

These dumbass motherfuckers radicalized Taylor goddamn Swift!

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE HER DO!

So yeah. People who had given up are fucking voting. Texas has already had hundreds of thousands more people vote than voted in all of 2016. BEFORE ELECTION DAY!

Vice President Biden likes to recite a poem by the great Irish bard Seamus Heaney. It’s about how you have to have faith that a better world is possible, even when you don’t have any rational reason to expect it any time soon, because it’s the only way you’ll be able to seize the most precious of opportunities, when “justice can rise up/ And hope and history rhyme.”

Sometimes hope and history walk into a bar to tell dirty jokes for a bachelorette party in downtown Austin. And they rhyme.

For a hundred and fifty years, unreconstructed revanchist terrorist sympathizers have threatened that “the South will rise again.” They mean the treasonous mobsters who called themselves the Confederacy.

Why do those losers get to define the South? Like, literally, they’re losers. They lost.

There’s another South. The terrorists cut it off at the knees, so it never quite rose the first time. But it’s always been there. The South the heroes of Reconstruction tried to build. The South of the Kennedy Space Station and the Center for Disease Control. The South of the French Quarter of New Orleans and the gay neighborhoods of Atlanta. The South of Barbara Jordan, Ann and Cecile Richards, Stacey Abrams, and the young women of the Virginia state legislature. The South of Maya Angelou, Molly Ivins, and Mark Twain. The South of the exiles of Miami and the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma. The South of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Representative John Lewis. The South of James Earl Carter, William Jefferson Clinton, and Lyndon Baines Johnson.

Once upon a time, there was a colossus. The richest and most resentful white people feared it, for it was both great and good. So they hunted it mercilessly. They tortured and killed its most vulnerable people. They bound it and silenced it and told the rest of the world it didn’t even exist. But they knew that wicked lie was the best they could do, for something so mighty could never be slain by the likes of them.

The giant grows stronger every day as it struggles against its chains, and those chains are turning to rust. One day soon  - maybe in this decade; maybe this week – it will break free. It will rise. And it will shake the earth. Just you watch.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for humanformdragon

For @humanformdragon. I loved writing this for you, I hope you enjoy this little slice of hurt/comfort as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 Happy Solstice!!

Read on AO3

*****

On the Edge of the Cold Winter

Wei Wuxian is in Qinghe when he hears the news: the great Hanguang-Jun, has fallen! The words are whispered in horror through the people with all the subtlety of a blade through the throat. Hanguang-Jun has fallen, he fell defending his son.. He whirls on the spot, dropping the food between his chopsticks and the meat falls into the broth splattering the tablecloth, stains spreading outwards like blood on snow. The cultivators that he turns on are surprised to see him, and though his name has been cleared - through the same kind of rumours that had contributed to smearing it in the first place - it's never something that anyone's prepared for: the Yiling Patriarch in a small tea house in Qinghe, looking wild-eyed and worried at the news that Hanguang-Jun has fallen.

They don't tell him much of use, or in fact anything at all. But he rushes away anyway, out into the biting winter outside and it's only after he's left and running towards the stable to grab Apple that he realises that the reason he's here is the blizzard that's blowing along the border and stopping anyone from travelling that isn't able to fly above the worst of the weather, or with a strong core to prevent them from freezing to death. His own core is hardly strong enough, and he presses his lips together, recklessness warring with the promise he'd made to Lan Wangji that he would be safe.

***

"I'll be back, Lan Zhan," he says softly, brushing his fingers over Lan Wangji's cheek. The other man looks crestfallen in so much as he ever looks anything. The lines of his face are unhappy and still but his eyes are sad. Wei Wuxian knows that leaving is the only option available to him, in a world that moved on without him and spent nearly two decades cursing his name he can't do anything else until he's reconciled with his past.

"I know," Lan Wangji says, his hand lifting to curl around Wei Wuxian's wrist. He holds it gently, keeping Wei Wuxian's hand against his face. It looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't.

Wei Wuxian says it for him. "I'll miss you," he says. Lan Wangji's face softens and he nods his head.

"I will miss you, too," he replies.

"You could come with me?" He's asked it a number of times over the last few days, trying to convince Lan Wangji to come with him, to leave and travel the world, they could fight evil together and protect the weak, the way they'd always promised.

Lan Wangji lets out a breath and his lips quirk up sadly in the corner. "Wei Ying," he starts, "you know I can't."

"Well," Wei Wuxian pats Lan Wangji's cheek and it's enough to make the other man let go of him. He offers a smile that's not as bright as normal and he knows but there's not much else he can do in the face of the truth, "it was worth a final try."

He hauls his pack over his shoulder. "I'll be back before the snows fall," he promises. It's spring now, the harshness of the previous winter having faded away and melted into the blossomming of new life and he wants to see the world and experience how it's changed for himself, to settle his mind before he starts anew.

They walk to the bottom of the steps, where Apple's waiting for him. He places his pack on her back and she brays at him, contrarily, lifting her head for a fuss from Lan Wangji who, as an enormously indulgent pushover, rubs his fingers through her rough mane twice and then pats her neck.

"Be safe," Lan Wangji says. He's looking deep into Wei Wuxian's eyes as he speaks, "be safe. Come home."

Wei Wuxian just nods and lifts three fingers. "I promise," he grins and takes Apple's reigns. "I'll write."

"I'll be waiting," Lan Wangji tells him and Wei Wuxian thinks he imagines the heartbreak on Lan Wangji's face as he turns and heads away from Cloud Recesses.

***

Promises aside, there's no way he can be away from Cloud Recesses - away from Lan Wangji - at a time like this. If Lan Wangji had fallen-

He can't think about it. It makes his chest hurt. The idea that something has happened to Lan Wangji throws him into a turmoil he hasn't felt for a long time, as though the ground beneath his feet is unsteady. The air rings in his ears, a loud bell that tells him he hasn't travelled back fast enough, and that if he had only been quicker perhaps this would not have happened. He might have been there, together there's no evil they can't face.

He thinks about their lunches in the back hill before he left, the way they'd sat together and he'd talked about nothing and everything and Lan Wangji had been indulgent and smiled at him and looked at him like he made the very plants grow, or the sun rise. He thinks about the way that Lan Wangji had stood beside him at Koi Tower and said to the leaders of the Cultivation world that the single log bridge was not too bad to walk.

And Sizhui- Hanguang-Jun fell protecting his son, they said. What had happened to Sizhui? He'd gone travelling with Wen Ning: what had happened to them?

Wei Wuxian can't breathe and the daughter of the tea house's owner finds him in the stables on his hands and knees, sucking in great gasps of air, vision black and spotting at the edges and it's only when her hands settle around him and he nearly lashes out at her with coiled energy that he's pulled out of his panic into the present.

"I have to go to Gusu," he says.

"You can't. The storm- it's impossible."

Wei Wuxian's lips quirk up into a little smile, then, the panic ebbing and giving way to the same sense that has carried him his entire life. He may no longer be part of the Yunmeng Jiangs, but he has always lived by their motto. Do nothing until you can achieve something. Do the impossible.

He looks her in the eye and puts a large silver nugget into her hand. "Will you send someone to Gusu with my donkey when the weather clears?"

She takes the money and frowns as she watches him rub behind Apple's ears and kiss her head, tells her to be good.

"But, young master, the storm."

Wei Wuxian squares his shoulders.

"I'm the Yiling Patriarch," he tells her, ignorign the sharp inward breath she takes at the realisation. "The Burial Mounds couldn't stop me. Compared to them, a storm is nothing."

***

A storm is not nothing. Wei Wuxian's new body is still wake, the golden core still too weak to do a whole lot to protect him from the cold but the cloak that had 'appeared' in his room a few weeks ago - a gift from Nie Huaisang, he was sure, to apologise for everything that had happened - was warm and fur-lined and did its job at keeping the worst at bay. Still, his fingers were numb more often than not and he trudges through shin-deep snow for two days, resting wherever he can find shelter until he realised this is untenable.

He has to try something else.

He lifts his head and scowls at the blizzard outside that’s thrown the world into whiteness, as though it’s gravely offended him. It has, it’s keeping him from Lan Wangji - who might be already dead if not dying and Wei Wuxian feels like a wild thing.

The great Hanguang-Jun has fallen!

It haunts him, the echo of those words bounce around the emptiness of his mind, void of evertything but the worry that he might not be fast enough, that he might not get back in time. He'd promised to be back before the snows fell but here he was, snow falling around him and the world having made him a liar.

He thinks that perhaps if he'd been less distracted he would have had a better grasp of how much time had passed. He wouldn't have missed the chance to travel before the worst of the weather hit. He would have been able to make it back to Cloud Recesses - to his home - before it was too difficult to travel. He's been writing steadily, a stream of letters that haven't been responded but he's never expected an answer. After all, Lan Wangji is a busy man and Wei Wuxian has been travelling between towns and villages, never in one place long enough for a letter to make its way back.

But he'd always intended on going back, always intended on making sure that he kept to his promise.

The blizzard whites out the world in front of him and he feels a low fury at the injustice of the early snow fall. He's not a liar, not about the things that mattered and though he's not got a great track record of keeping his promises - just ask his brother, he thinks ruefully with a stabbing ache in his chest - he's always tried and he's never broken a promise to Lan Wangji.

What if he's too late and the last thing Lan Wangji thought was that he's an oathbreaker?

He can't keep going like this, but he can't stop. Gusu is two weeks away on foot, and he still can't fly, he's not strong enough. Suibian, resting beside him, hums to him in an attempt to reassure him that she's there and she'd try. He knows she would, he would try too but the core inside of him might cause them to collapse and fall out of the sky. He's had more than his fair share of falling and there's no amount of resentment that would reach out and catch him now, not without the seal.

As the sun goes down and throws the cave into even more darkness, shadows dancing on the wall in sharp relief, Wei Wuxian decides he needs to travel faster, and decides in the morning that he'll take a detour. He throws up a hundred silent apologies to his ancestors, to Lan Wangji and the Lan elders who would likely just know what he's going to have to do, and then lays down to sleep.

He has a plan.

***

His plan is terrible. It takes him the better part of the morning, feeling out tendrils of resentment to find a battlefield from the Sunshot Campaign and when he finds it, the energy crawls over his skin like a particularly odious lover, running along his meridians and over the small core inside of him like it knows that something is sitting in the place it belongs. He greets it like a viper, Chenqing in his hand as he shrills and whistles, piercing and commanding.

There aren't many bodies, many were taken back to their home lands but the anger they died with has soaked into the land. Qinghe is soaked in resentment, not as strongly as Qishan, or even Lanling which has generations of backstabbing and nearly twenty years under the thumb of someone who had a habit of letting his murder puppet loose whenever he didn't like that someone had called him the son of a whore.

Still, he finds what he needs.

Wei Wuxian digs until he unearths the large bones of a horse. It's long since dead and decayed and for that he's thankful, but it animates at his command, shaking itself whole and giving a huge shudder as though it still has a mane to shake. With dirt under his fingernails, he wraps it in resentment and slaps a talisman on along its neck to give it a shadowy form that he can ride and one to generate warmth to stop him from freezing, and when it drops to one knee so he can climb on and starts to move faster than any steed known to man, it's easy for Wei Wuxian to forget why he stopped doing this.

***

Though the steed doesn't tire, he does, and he feels the bite of the cold against his fingers and face where he's not touching the horse. When he rides through a town, he hears shrieks and screams and for a moment is confused until he remembers he's riding an undead steed, cloaked in black smoke and darkness, the snows melting even as they touch its mane, fizzling with a steam that has been doing a good job of keeping him at least a little warm.

He wants to stop, but he's made good time, and so pushes on through the night, rides until he physically can't anymore and they break through the blizzard, and he slumps off the horse, collapsing onto a damp grassy bank, eyes rolling back in his head as exhaustion claims him.

He sees his horse rear up on its hind legs, and then the world goes blank.

***

"This is really him?"

"Yes. I think I'd know Senior Wei when I saw him."

"I mean no disrespect, Jingyi but-"

"But? You know following something with ‘but’ immediately makes everything before it totally irrelevant, right? You know how you can say ‘not to be rude but you’re an idiot’?”

“That’s not-“

“This is Senior Wei. Come on, if we let him freeze to death out here, Zewu-Jun will have our hides.”

***

When he blinks awake there are three things he realises: one, he is indoors; two, he's surrounded by young men wearing white; three, his horse is nowhere to be found. Of these three things, only one of them really bothers him and he sits up, rubbing at his head (which aches) and looks around to find a familiar face largely to check that he hasn't just been randomly kidnapped by people dressed in the white outfits of the Gusu Lans.

He was in luck as his eyes fell on a familiar profile.

"Ah, Lan Jingyi," he says, which makes the young Lan jump and turn around. He looks like an annoyed tiger cub, it's not hard to imagin a tail flicking around his legs. "What are you frowning at me for? You're the one that kidnapped me."

"We haven't kidnapped you," Jingyi retorts hotly, "don't be so dramatic, Senior Wei."

"So you do remember your manners!" Wei Wuxiasn teases, "remember, little Lan, you should respect your elders."

Jingyi just rolls his eyes and throws Wei Wuxian's heavy cloak at him as though it weighs nothing.

"I would if you deserved it," he fires back and Wei Wuxian's heart grows three sizes in his chest. He sees the flush of Jingyi's ears and the way he struggles to hide his smile. "Put this on, we'll eat and leave."

It's then that awareness properly filters into Wei Wuxian's mind and he straightens, bolting out of the bed quickly enough to make him feel dizzy.

"Lan Jingyi," he says urgently, "what happened to Hanguang-Jun? And Sizhui? I heard- I heard-"

Jingyi presses his lips together and reaches out, touching Wei Wuxian's arm. Wei Wuxian does not like it when people don't tell him things, he's so used to keeping secrets of his own but that doesn't mean he likes being on the other side of it.

Secrets are, objectively, the worst.

"It'll be easier for you to just come with us, Senior Wei. We've been looking for you for a week."

"You could say thank you," one of the other Lan discples says and Wei Wuxian turns to look at her with an arched eyebrow. She flushes and mumbles an apology, but Wei Wuxian chuckles. He likes this generation of little Lans, they have a fire to them that makes his chest feel warm.

"Thank you," he drawls and winks at her, which makes her flush all over again and she heads outside. "Jingyi, tell me what happened. And how you intend on us travelling back as I cannot fly and-"

"And?"

"What happened to my horse?"

***

Jingyi tells him as they're flying through the air, skating over the trees, his arms firmly around Wei Wuxian, that there had been no sign of his horse when they'd found him which, in Jingyi's mind was a very good thing, at least he said that after he found out that the horse had been a spiritual one.

"Ghost horses," he says, shouting to be heard above the wind, "honestly, Senior Wei would a normal horse not be good enough for you?"

"You try riding a living horse through a blizzard," Wei Wuxian retorts, fingers clutching tightly at Jingyi's waist. He's only flown once since he came back, and that was in Lan Wangji's arms as they fled Koi Tower after Jin Ling had stabbed him. He hasn't been in the air since then, and before that had been when he'd been dropped into the Burial Mounds. "You might be cruel enough to make an animal ride through that but I-"

"I am not cruel," Jingyi barks, offence rippling through the lines of his body, "I'll drop you if you keep saying such things."

He's only joking, and they both know it, but Wei Wuxian's grip tightens nevertheless. Jingyi, who doesn't understand the source of his fear, just frowns.

"Senior Wei," he says reproachfully, a few hours later when they land so everyone can take a break and replenish their spiritual energy, "I wouldn't really have dropped you."

He looks so wounded that Wei Wuxian just reaches out and pats his head.

"I know, little Lan, but you'll have to forgive this senior for his fear of heights. Heights and I, historically, do not get along very well."

Jingyi doesn't say anything else, but Wei Wuxian knows he's thinking about all the stories he's heard and wonders which one he's deciding is the reason for Wei Wuxian's fear of heights.

***

They arrive at the stairs that lead up to Cloud Recesses very late that same night. Jingyi is staggering a little in exhaustion at having demanded that he be the only one to carry Senior Wei - I promised, Lan Hua, you know that, besides he's my friend - all the way back. Wei Wuxian hooks an arm underneath his shoulders and secure his own around Jingyi's waist as he supports the young disciple up the thousand stairs as quickly as they're able to as a group of exhausted and cold travellers.

Halfway up they reach the main entrance and are greeted by a couple of very enthusiastic young disciples who hesitate a little to collapse the wards.

"It's after curfew," one of them says, shifting from foot to foot and from the ripple of breath behind him, Wei Wuxian realises just how late it is.

"No wonder you little Lans are so tired."

"Stop calling us that," Jingyi protests, but he does sound sleepy and every bit in his young twenties.

"But you are," Wei Wuxian coos, tightening his arm around Jingyi's waist. This body is so weak, his old one wouldn't have had any problem supporting the cultivator.

"I'm older than you were when you first died," Jingyi presents as a trump card. "You and Hanguang-Jun had already fought in the Sunshot Campaign and had gone through so much by the time you were our age. Well," he yawns, "when Hanguang-Jun was our age. You didn't actually end up this old."

"Don't let your Hanguang-Jun hear you say that," Wei Wuxian teases, "he'd be most upset to be reminded of my untimely demise."

It's meant to be a joke, but Jingyi just nods and says, quite seriously, "He would."

"We can't let you in."

"You can," Wei Wuxian says, and the other guard on duty sets his jaw.

"They know the rules too," he says, "you can't come in past curfew. We won't take the barrier down."

"Don't worry about being punished," Wei Wuxian says, lifting his hand and and drawing a talisman in the air, pushing it into the barrier that makes the archway portion dissolve. Everyone except Jingyi looks on in horror at the blatant dissolution of their security barrier. "Oh stop your gawking. I'll put it back. Anyone of this group who wants to sleep in their own bed tonight come with me. You won't get punished for coming back in after curfew, it'll all be on me. That includes you two for letting us in."

"We didn't!"

Wei Wuxian winks and saunters in with Jingyi, and the other Lans who have been flying in the snow for three days and definitely want their beds. "I know," he shoots over his shoulder and when he clicks his fingers, the barrier repairs itself, shimmering blue as though it hadn't been broken at all.

They're halfway up the last of the stairs when Jingyi says, confused, "You could have just used your token, Senior Wei."

Wei Wuxian almost stops walking in his surprise and then hums, as though he'd completely forgotten he had a jade token of his own. "Oh," he says, "I suppose I could have done."

When they reach the main part of Cloud Recesses, he hands Jingyi off to a disciple who had introduced herself as Lan Hua, trusting her to get him into bed and somewhere safe so that he could sleep off his tiredness.

He has somewhere else to be.

***

He doesn't immediately run to the Healer's Pavilion, instead he heads to the Jingshi. He's been there a few times: he stayed there each time he's been in Cloud Recesses since his resurrection. and he knows the path there as well as he knows his own heart (that is, not very well: he gets lost twice along the winding paths and ends up outside the Hanshi once, then realises what he'd done wrong and back tracks to get to the correct place).

The Jingshi is quiet when he gets there. The light isn't on above the porch and there's no soft candle light inside. He can't hear the sounds of a qin echoing through the air and he can't feel the warm welcome presence of Lan Wangji that's always permeated the air around this place.

He hadn't forgotten the words that spurred his movements -

the great Hanguang-Jun has fallen! He fell protecting his son

-but suddenly they feel so much more real and terrifying. Suddenly it feels like this might be truth that Lan Wangji fell. The Jingshi looks snow-dusted and empty, like a place in mourning. Wei Wuxian walks up the small path like a man heading to the gallows. His mouth is drier than the desert, sand and gravedirt in his throat as his feet move without his permission taking him closer to the doors.

The building is just a building, a house is not a home without a person inside to love and Wei Wuxian suddenly is struck with the inexorable knowledge that he is too late. The Jingshi - Lan Wangji's home with only one bed that he had always thought would be his home too when he returned - is in front of him silent as the grave and just as full of memories, good and bad, but not nearly enough great. He wants to stand in the porch in the snow listening to Lan Wangji playing their song again with a jar of Emperor's Smile in his hand.

How long has the building been empty for, he wonders, how long has it stood empty, missing Lan Wangji? How much longer will it stand without its heart? He reaches the sliding door and pushes it open and realises his hands are trembling.

Inside is immaculate, too. It always has been, but for the few times Wei Wuxian himself had been staying there and had thrown half of the Jingshi into an organised kind of chaos, the likes of which he had been consistently chastised for in the most affectionate of ways. Lan Wangji had just smiled and said pick up after yourself, Wei Ying but never actually done anything about the chaos he left behind.

His breath catches and he looks around, trying to find something, some evidence that Lan Wangji has been here that day and is just out but Wangji is on the low table, her strings sitting still and unplayed and Wei Wuxian knows that Lan Wangji takes his qin wiht him everywhere. The bed is empty, the sheets unrumpled and unslept in and it's after curfew so there's no reason for Lan Wangji to be anywhere than here. Even injured, this is his home and he would not rest anywhere else.

Grief clutches at him, wild and desperate and for a moment Wei Wuxian wants to call out for whatever resentment he could pull from the very earth and use it to find Lan Wangji, to bring him back. Chenqing is in his hand, being lifted to his lips, heart hammering crazed and terrified, when the lamps in the Jingshi flare on and he feels a hand clamp around his wrist.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji says, voice soft and concerned as he uses the touch to lower Chenqing from Wei Wuxian's lips. Wei Wuxian thinks he might be hallucinating, in all honesty, he just swallows and turns his head. He hasn't played anything, so how is Lan Wangji here?

Lan Wangji looks tired, there are dark bruises smudged underneath his eyes and his cheeks are a little hollow, like he's lost some weight and hasn't been eating. He doesn't have dark spiderweb veins running up his neck of the hollowness in his eyes of a corpse without its spiritual cognition and his fingers are warm against Wei Wuxian's wrist. Wei Wuxian knows he's staring but he can't help it.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji repeats softly, patiently, "what are you doing?"

Wei Wuxian obediently lowers Chenqing and swallows. A second later, the first class spiritual flute falls to the floor (he'll apologise to her later) and spins on his heel.

"What am I doing? What are you doing? You're supposed to be dead!"

Lan Wangji just blinks at him, like he's waiting for Wei Wuxian to make sense. Honestly, Wei Wuxian would like for Wei Wuxian to make sense, too. It's been a long few days and he has no idea how much of that he's spent sleeping versus travelling like a lunatic to get back to someone who was dead or dying only to find them on their feet, perfectly capable of snarking at them.

"Am I?" Lan Wangji asks, looking down at himself, as though checking that he isn't a ghost. Wei Wuxian pokes his chest, firmly, and it makes him hiss in a breath, slapping at the offending finger. "My apologies," he says, in a perfect deadpan, "I was not made aware of this."

Wei Wuxian wails, somewhere between a laugh and a cry something else too big to name. He reaches out with both hands and grasps Lan Wangji's face, which makes startled hands come to settle at his waist and he shakes his head.

"Now is not the time to be funny, Lan Zhan," he chastises, relief surging through him so powerfully he thinks he knees might give out. He's so glad that he's got hands at his sides, holding onto his hips and making sure he doesn't actually swoon or faint and crack his head on the floor and end up being the dead one. "Now is- I heard you'd died. Jingyi didn't tell me you were alive, he just-"

"Jingji left to get you on Sizuhi's request," Lan Wangji says, clicking his tongue. "I found out after he had left. It's after curfew. Really, you should have stayed in town tonight."

"Ah, yes, well, about that- it- I sort of let us in."

"I felt you break the ward, though since you were working under an incorrect assumption and surrounded by exhausted disciples, I'll overlook your infraction this time," Lan Wangji says, his lips lifted into something like a lopsided smile. Wei Wuxian wants to punch him.

Wei Wuxian doesn't punch him.

Wei Wuxian instead looks at Lan Wangji for a long moment, his perfect - funny - Lan Wangji who is smiling softly at him, thumbs rubbing circles into his hips over the fabric of his robes, who is right there and beautiful and alive - if not tired and possibly injured if the hissed breath is any indication.

He's taken by another irrational feeling this time, and it involves him standing on his toes, fingers sinking into the silky strands of Lan Wangji's hair and pulling him down until their lips pressed together in a kiss. Lan Wangji doesn't respond immediately, and when Wei Wuxian realises he may have made a very impulsive, terrible mistake, he goes to lean back and apologise when Lan Wangji growls against his lips and spins them around, pushes Wei Wuxian against the wall of the Jingshi and kisses him again.

"Ah," Wei Wuxian says when the kiss breaks, the sting of Lan Wangji's teeth still against his skin, "ai, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan I missed you."

Lan Wangji's lips slide along his jaw, sucking a mark underneath his ear which makes him keen, those hands firm at his hips, so firm they'll leave a mark.

"You're late, Wei Ying," Lan Wangji says with another bite. Wei Wuxian rewards him for his bitey curiosity with cry. "You said you would be back before the snow fell."

"The snows fell early," Wei Wuxian tries, around a moan, "ah- ah! Lan Zhan please, have mercy on this poor man."

"Mercy," Lan Wangji purrs, licking over the first of many bite marks, "belongs to those that are on time."

Wei Wuxian lets out a sound that's borderline hysterical, fingers catching the back of Lan Wangji's neck and whining, breath hitching. "Please- ah- ah Lan Zhan, look at me."

Lan Wangji does, and Wei Wuxian immediately regrets drawing those lips away from his throat.

"I missed you," he repeats, trying to tell Lan Wangji that he had been so afraid he was too late, that he was glad to be home, that he wanted to stay, that he loved. His hands cradle Lan Wangji's face again, thumbs smoothing over Lan Wangji's cheeks gently.

Lan Wangji just looks at him and for a moment, Wei Wuxian sees the entire world in those eyes. He sees it all, the floodgate of emotion in the most minute of movements from Lan Wangji's expression and he realises that not only does Lan Wangji know, but when Lan Wangji says, "You were also missed, Wei Ying," he means I'm glad you're here and Don't leave again and You are loved, too.

This time when their lips meet, the heat is still there in each touch, in the broad sweep of Lan Wangji's tongue but there is a sweetness underneath it, a tenderness that makes a shudder run the length of his spine.

When their chests are heaving from kisses and Wei Wuxian realises that there's blood blossoming underneath Lan Wangji's robes from a torn wound, Wei Wuxian tenderly changes his bandages and brushes his fingers over the lines of Lan Wangji's chest, over the scar that mirrored one that he once had brandished on his own chest.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Lan Zhan," he whispers, kissing the clean bandages and climbing into the bed beside his beloved companion and accepting the offer to lie on his chest. "I'll never be late again."

"Does that mean you're planning on leaving?" Lan Wangji asks, a tentative resignation in his voice, but Wei Wuxian can hear the underlying request, the request to stay.

"Not unless you're coming with me," he says, whispering the promise of forever into another kiss.

[real-jaune-isms]

White Rose Week Day 2: Role Reversal/Body Swap

The Rose Dust Company held the monopoly on energy propellant and combat use elemental Dust. A fact that it’s CEO Taiyang Rose took very seriously. He married Summer Rose for this very reason afterall, he wanted nothing more than to make a name for himself... though he would be lying if he said he didn’t also love his wife. But their marriage came with baggage, as Taiyang Xiao Long was already a divorcée with a young daughter at the time.

Summer loved her new step daughter, she really did. But she wanted a child of her own, and little Yang would never fit the bill to be the heiress to the company. So Ruby Rose was born of their rocky marriage, and raised with the firm intention of being a proper lady who could inherit the massive company her father was doing his best to run smoothly. And he did so rather well.

Whereas some might have resorted to cheap cruel employment of the marginalized Faunus population, he offered anyone and everyone a fair and safe employment. It was still a dangerous job working the mines, that came with the territory. But working smarter was the best way to get where the company ultimately should be, he thought. The Faunus were still the majority of those who took the jobs, there was such a great need for employment that they couldn’t be picky. But Taiyang made sure to spare very little expense in housing them in relative comfort and making the work safe. And so the empire grew, its reputation mild but formidable for how quickly it took over the industry.

The company’s was not the only reputation that grew, as the daughters of its CEO made names for themselves as time went by. Yang understood that her parentage prevented her from taking up the family business, so she threw herself headlong into the second biggest industry in Remnant, being a Huntress and enrolling at Beacon Academy. Many wondered why she chose Beacon over Atlas, though her fiery personality and flashy manner of dressing discouraged all but the brave from approaching her to ask. Her name and status was able to afford her some luxuries however, such as entry to any nightclub she wished and the money to develop her own huntress weapons. She went with something a bit barbaric for what people would have expected however, guns built into a pair of gauntlets. Still, it got the job done just fine and she became quite the brawler.

Meanwhile the Rose heiress grew into a fine young lady in her own right. Her singing voice wasn’t selling out concert halls, but what did was her years of training with the violin. It was a great activity to keep her hands busy and her mind focused on a single action. And if it could entertain the masses, then why not put on shows? She had had pretty bad stage fright at first, but soon overcame it. But in the back of her mind, there had always been a passion to do more. Her mother would tell her bedtime stories about her own younger days as a huntress, before she had needed to settle down and run the company alongside her husband. But what adventures she had been on made for the best tales of danger and thrills, and Ruby very much wanted to see such sights and do more for the public than she could locked up in private studies or practicing her instrument. She wanted to spend her few young years of freedom from responsibility doing something to help everyone. She wanted to be a Huntress too. And it might have helped that she was so inspired by her half sister’s own exploits and their close bond. Ruby looked up to her sister just as much as her own mom, and she wanted to be just like them.

So she began enthusiastically and rigorously training on the side to wield a weapon and kill the creatures of Grimm. And she wanted to do it using her family’s Dust, so she used her natural technical know how and the mechanical training she had been given to help make sure she knew how the factory machines worked to make her own weapon, a giant mechanical scythe that shot Dust infused sniper bullets. Her training was a great success and her parents were very supportive of her pursuit. She made such great strides in fact that she was able to pass the admissions test to all 4 huntsman academies at the age of 15. She had her pick of schools... but she chose Beacon so she could fight alongside her sister and show the world what the Rose family was made of. Of course... growing up in this kind of family, with such privilege and expectation to be the best would make anyone a bit full of themself...

Meanwhile, the Schnee family lived in the small island of Patch off the coast of Vale. Their patriarch was only barely so, a bitter jaded man who lost his wife to alcoholism a decade ago and took his frustrations out on his two daughters and his son. They had been a happy family once, yes. But after young Whitley was born, the postpartum depression hit Willow Schnee rather hard and she drowned herself in the bottle, so to speak. Jacques Schnee resented that his children were by no fault of their own responsible for the loss of their mother, so he avoided them far more than he should in favor of his job as a teacher and when they were all in the same place he very rarely spoke kindly of them. If they were going to keep existing in this world, they had better make something useful of their lives. Winter, the eldest, had a decade of fond memories of her mother and tried her best to act as a parental figure in her stead. She was kind and strict in equal measures when the situation called for it. Weiss had a few good memories to hold onto, mostly bedtime stories of fairy tale princesses who found handsome princes and fell in love and went of to live in fancy castles instead of little houses in the middle of nowhere. She quite liked the idea of that, but sometimes she wondered why it had to be a prince. Why not two princesses?

The youngest, poor little Whitley, knew very little about his mom but learned all that she had imparted on his big sisters. The three were all perfectly fine and happy children, but they were all certainly realists about how harsh the world could be. Winter enlisted in the Atlesian army as soon as she was able, claiming she wanted to make the world that much safer for her family and the population at large. Weiss likewise wanted to get out of the house and away from her father asap, but didn’t want to go too far for the sake of keeping an eye on Whitely should he need anything. So Beacon Academy was the best choice. Willow had apparently been something of a craftsman in her younger days, and had made two lovely swords that she left to her daughters. Myrtenaster was a rapier with the capability to use Dust in the blade, though there were certainly limited funds to buy enough different types at a consistent rate. But the three pooled their money, earned through hard work at various community odd jobs, to send Weiss off with enough Dust to fill the weapon for the time being. So off she went, to make a name for herself and give some measure of honor to the Schnee name. If only she had been watching where she was going as she arrived at the impressive castle-like structure of Beacon...

*CRASH* went the cart full of suitcases as Weiss tumbled into it and fell to the ground. “Ouch...” she muttered, before hearing a shrill yell. “Careful with that, you dolt! There’s enough dust in there to be worth triple what you’ll make in a lifetime!” Weiss looked up to see a girl in a rather formal looking red combat outfit, complete with a combat skirt much like her own. “I’m sorry, I was just taking in the view...” “Sorry wouldn’t mean anything if you blew up and cost my family thousands! Just trying to warn you, okay?” Ruby responded, being aware enough to see this girl was truly sorry and had no ill will, but still wanting to keep her property safe. “Well you could be a bit nicer about it, Princess...” Weiss grumbled as she wiped the dirt off her clothes and stood up, trying to help load the bags back on the cart. “This really is a lot of Dust though.. where did you get all of it?” “From the family mines of course. I AM Ruby Rose of the Rose Dust company of course~”

That got Weiss’ attention very quickly, and she spun back around to look at the quasi-celebrity. “Wow, I’ve heard a lot about your company! How you’ve revolutionized the market and all manner of technology for mining and using Dust! It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Weiss Schnee!” She stuck out a hand, and Ruby smiled at the praise she was getting and shook it. “Good to meet you too, Weiss. Sorry for the snappiness, just really don’t want any accidents with this stuff...” “I understand, I researched this stuff a lot in preparation for coming here. Why are you here though? I mean, a prodigy huntress and heiress to the largest company in the world, why go to school in Vale?” “Mostly? My mom.” Ruby replied with a shrug, neither girl realizing they were still holding hands. They soon did though, and let go with a blush. “Well... same here.” Weiss said with a bit of melancholy to her voice. “She’s... no longer with us and her dream was to make weapons that professional huntresses would use to protect the world. So my sister and I enlisted at academies and use our mom’s swords to do just that.”

Ruby smiled at that. “A noble ambition. My mom was a huntress before she got married, and my big sister wants to be one too. So I figured why not spend some time in the family business before I have to settle into... the other family business?” Weiss nodded. “Makes sense to me. So, should we go to the main hall for orientation?” “I think we should. I also think this is the start of a great friendship...” And indeed it was, though it would end up being so much more.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Forty-Seven: Punch Line ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

People say Uchiha Sasuke can’t take a joke. Well...in most cases, they’d probably be right. It’s a little difficult to maintain a sense of humor after witnessing genocide, training under a killer and defiler of human corpses, and murdering his brother...only to find out he’d been innocent all along. And that doesn’t even get into waging war at seventeen, being granted long-lost powers from the beginning of the shinobi era, and helping to defeat a woman known as a goddess.

But a lot can change in a handful of years. After his loss to Naruto, and a rather shortened trek to see the world...Sasuke returned to Konoha, his revived brother, and his hidden-away cousin. The Uchiha would never again be the mighty clan they once were...but he had more than he’d ever hoped to have come the end of the fourth shinobi war. And after ousting the council, getting his brother pardoned, and ending up an ally of the Hyūga...Sasuke finally started to feel - slowly, at first - like he had a handle on his life. That things...might end up okay.

He still had work to do: regarding himself, regarding his bonds, and regarding his family. The last needed protection, and the first needed some introspection. The middle, well...he wasn’t in any rush to attend to. Naruto and Sakura were still on his bad side after all they did. Ignoring his wishes, invading his time and energy despite his refusals...and then the little incident where - despite knowing of Konoha’s hand in his clan’s slaughter - they continued on their merry little quest to drag him back kicking and screaming. Without any plans or inklings to work on justice for the Uchiha.

...yeah. That was going to take some time to get over.

In fact, for a good long while, Sasuke kept himself almost wholly to his family. Shisui, having been in hiding for over a decade to keep his body out of the wrong hands, had his own share of trauma to take care of. Itachi...well, he had a lot of thinking to do regarding his choices. And Itachi’s little twins were pretty much the center of Sasuke’s world. The first new Uchiha born in over ten years. Half-blood, of course...there was no avoiding that. But to him, that no longer mattered. The odds of growing the Uchiha back into a clan of any great numbers was...pretty much impossible, given the remaining gene pool. But all Sasuke wanted was...his family. Their health, their safety, and their happiness. Even if the blood diluted, and the name faded into obscurity...he had these few pieces to cherish.

And that was enough.

But, eventually...Sasuke was encouraged to ‘branch out’. To attempt to make new bonds, or salvage the ones he’d had. At that point, most of his previous classmates were still walking on eggshells around him at best, and hating him at worst. Naruto and Sakura were...somewhere in the middle.

Oddly enough, the first friend Sasuke ‘made’ after his return to Konoha...was Hyūga Hinata. It was a bit unavoidable, all things considered. No longer heiress, she was instead the middleman between her clan and his. That meant seeing plenty of her...along with their outings with the rest of team seven. Hinata’s friendship with the pair meant she also would get dragged along. Which, honestly...Sasuke appreciated. Given her quiet nature, unobtrusive air, and most importantly her clean slate from before his leaving...he could tolerate her the best out of anyone close to their age. And given her help in arranging Itachi’s pardon and the subsequent challenging of the council, she knew better than most everything his family had suffered...and didn’t judge him the same way the others did.

Which meant that the pair ended up bonding...rather quickly. Their similar base natures meshed well...and the awkwardness they both felt around the other pair was a go-to talking point. Hinata’s jilted feelings and Sasuke’s slowly-easing resentment meant they could commiserate. And not just on that. Their parallels - discovered far too late - meant a great deal of understanding.

It felt so nice to just...talk with someone. Share similarities. Not feel judged or...preyed upon. Everyone else either skirted around him so nervously, or seemed to want something from him. But Hinata did neither. She just...treated him like a person.

And that was so unbelievably refreshing. So much so, he started subconsciously seeking her out. They were fast friends, and when he rebirthed the police force with the Hyūga, she was first in line to sign up, her own path feeling lost and purposeless as his did. As partners, they worked together flawlessly.

So, eventually...it evolved into something a little more.

Something...dangerous.

By then, it was obvious someone - or perhaps an entire organization of someones - was working against the Uchiha. Hinata’s association with them put her life at risk, and he didn’t want to lose her.

But Hinata, as he’d already come to know, was vivaciously stubborn. Better, in her mind, to chase happiness while they could...than regret letting fear deprive them.

So, after some coaxing...he agreed, and they were official.

It took many by surprise. And not everyone was a good sport about it.

Her teammates were immediately defensive: Kiba more so than Shino. Even Naruto - however briefly - had to question it. But in the end, Hinata convinced them all that this was what they both wanted. No one was forced, or coerced...or taking second pickings. They’d really grown to love one another, despite the strange paths their lives had taken up to that point.

...of course...some aren’t quite so nice when it comes to their...disapproval.

“What do you think of this one?”

Eyeing the top Hinata’s agonizing over from a rack in front of her favorite shop, Sasuke replies, “...it suits you.”

“You think?”

“Mm. I like the color. Brings out your eyes.”

In spite of herself, she goes a bit pink, looking back to the shirt before sheepishly looping it over her arm to keep looking.

“Heh...look who it is…”

Knowing that tone despite not facing its host, Sasuke doesn’t react, keeping his back turned as Hinata stiffens just a hair. “Don’t,” he murmurs just for her to hear. “They’ll get bored.”

“The village traitor and his little harlot,” the random naysayers behind them go on. “Can you believe it? This guy commits treason, tries to kill the village hero...and now he’s tainted the princess of the Hyūga. Can’t believe they let him back in here...shoulda let him stay out when he left back then…!”

Hinata glances harshly at them, but Sasuke stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Leave it. Words are just words. And what’s the opinion of roaches to lions?”

...this time, he doesn’t lower his volume.

Behind him, the pair of men brave enough to badmouth a wielder of the Rinnegan scowl. “Roaches…? Is that what you think?”

Sasuke turns to look at them, expression aloof. “Well, let’s see...you’re small, weak, disgusting, and I could easily crush you under the heel of my boot. An apt enough description, I’d say.”

“Why you -!”

“What happened to leaving it alone?” Hinata mumbles, clearly displeased at the confrontation. “You’re right, Sasuke-kun. They’re not worth it.”

“Ha! Says the woman warming a traitor’s bed!” one calls, pointing accusingly as she glares. “You’re nothing but a joke, Hyūga! You -!”

Flickering in front of the man in question, Sasuke pauses for a moment, watching him recoil in surprise. “...you want to know my favorite part about jokes…?” he murmurs, expression lax and tone utterly calm.

The pair of them, bravado suddenly lost, quail as his Sharingan spins menacingly. And then, to everyone’s surprise...he smiles.

But it’s a wicked, ‘gotcha’ sort of smile.

With a swing of his right arm, he nails one man in the gut before crossing over with his left and knocking the other square in the jaw. Both crash into the wall behind them, dazed and crumpling.

Sasuke nonchalantly shakes out his fists...but neither really feel a thing. “The punch line,” he then spits, giving them one last glower before turning back to his girlfriend.

Hinata blinks. “...did...did you just make a joke…?”

“...did I?”

“...you did. And it was a pun.”

That earns a sigh. “...don’t tell Shisui. He’d never let it go.”

“I d-don’t think he’d even believe me.”

                                                            .oOo.

     ...welp, after a long day including a several-hour stomach ache...this isn't my best work xD The beginning is a little snarky, which is a bit odd for me. But I won't lie...I really like the ending, bahaha - it was what I thought as soon as I saw the prompt. It just...took some time to get there.      Witnessing Sasuke making a pun is like seeing Bigfoot. You can tell everyone you saw it, but...no one will believe you. Because, like Bigfoot, Sasuke's sense of humor is only a myth.      ...can you tell I'm tired? xD      Anyway, I am...exhausted, so best to end it there before /I/ make any more bad jokes lol - thanks for reading!