#even with the newfound friendship with snow white

[polarsirens]

oh man, that trailer

[sunnyie-eve]

1 | Reaping Day

Series: The Benefits��

Paring: Coriolanus Snow x OFC Plinth!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: none

| MASTERLIST |

~

Plinth's twins, Sejanus and Aurelia were immediately perceived as outsiders when they moved to the capital with their parents at the age of eight. With their family profiting greatly from the First Rebellion, providing most of the weaponry used in the fight against District 13. With their father deciding to side with the Capitol combined with their family's newfound wealth earned the Plinths their Capitol citizenship, instantly affording them privileges that the oldest and most powerful families had earned over generations.

During their younger years to even later in life, they had a campaign of vicious bullying by their classmates. Coriolanus Snow, a boy who came from a well-known and once-rich family, had considered participating in this, but decided against it, opting to ignore Sejanus instead. This initially inclined Sejanus to trust Snow more, believing that Snow was more likely to help him than any of his classmates. With Sejanus treating Snow as a friend right away, that meant Aurelia trusted her twin brothers' instinct to befriend Snow as well.

Honestly, Coriolanus Snow knew that anybody in their right mind would know that the Plinth family bought their way into the Capitol because he knew that you really have to have a lot, and I mean A LOT, of money to come and live from the District 2 in the Capitol and give your two children an opportunity to attend to the Capitol's Academy of all places. So Coriolanus must admit to himself, at first he was sceptic as hell. They were from District after all. They had no place here.

The moment he had met Sejanus he thought that he was annoying as hell. However, he soon realized that Sejanus kind of grew on him. He was a kid with a kind heart, there was no denying that. He was stubborn, too. But most of all, he was so against the government's decision to hold the Hunger Games and that would annoy the hell out of Coriolanus because Sejanus had a bad tendency to speak of it out loud, with no filter, and that would often get him in a bit trouble.

The trouble that Coriolanus would often have to help him get out of. Coriolanus didn't really mind it, Sejanus was like his brother after all, but he just wished that he would stop being so reckless. Coriolanus truly felt like he could have a heart attack, cold sweat consumed him, every single time Sejanus spoke. It honestly left him feeling anxious.

He just wished for that to stop, and once he met Aurelia it was anything but. The moment the two shook hands after Sejanus introduced Coriolanus to his twin sister, he felt like the last breath was knocked out of his lungs. His chest tightened as he looked at her.

Aurelia was radiant. He thought that her beauty was unmatched. The way she carried herself, her hair, her piercing eyes that were the exact copy of her brothers, her smile, her everything, it was just perfect for him. She was perfect for him.

For Aurelia, deep down she was still very cautious of Coriolanus growing up, just to be safe. She had her doubts about his friendship with her, but mainly with her brother. After all, the Plinth family had things that Snow no longer had and wanted. She didn't want to believe that he was just pretending for the benefit of their family's hospitality for the sake of Sejanus.

At the age of 14, Aurelia saw how Coriolanus lived with his cousin Tigris and his Grandma'am. Despite living in one of the wealthiest penthouses in the Capitol, she saw how he struggled to keep himself fed and bought most of his clothes from the black market due to lack of money.

"Ma, do I look okay?" Aurelia looks at herself in the mirror wearing a short black dress with white long sleeves. Her curly long hair was straightened for the event and she had on red lipstick.

She felt terrible as she stared at herself she didn't want to be go to the reaping for the 10th Hunger Games. She hated the idea of the games as a whole. They were a morbid and brutal competition.

"You look wonderful, my dear. You and your brother both." Her mother smiles, "Now you two must get going. Don't wanna be late." As they leave their place.

Arriving, of course no one really wanted to talk to the twins, so they spent most of their time chatting with their mother. Aurelia ends up wandering around listening in on classmates talking bad about her and her family.

"Pay no attention to them." The sound of Coriolanus's voice behind her causes her to turn around to face him.

"You know I never do." She gives him a smile, "You look dashing by the way." She adds before whispering, "I love what Tigris did to your father's shirt. I wish I had her talent."

Coriolanus at times hated how she knew his whole act with other classmates was fake. He at times feared she would tell everyone the truth, but at the same time, he knew she never would. That wasn't the type of person she was. Not even close to that.

"She is wonderful isn't she." He agrees with her, "She said you suggested the buttons be made from the tiles."

Aurelia couldn't help but let out a giggle, "I did, but in a joking matter but I see it turned out terrific." Her giggle caught the attention of their other classmates causing them to whisper about the two, "I'll leave you to do your act." She turns to leave him but he reaches for her wrist stopping her. Aurelia looks down at her wrist where he still kept his hand, "Just go tell them you tolerate me. After all, I'm District."

"You've been in the Capital long enough to make you not District in my eyes. You're not District at all anymore." He looks into her eyes.

"Time doesn't determine that. I was born as a District."

He lets go of her watching her join her brother once again as he joins his classmates who talk down on the Plinths.

"Nice for you to join us again, Lia." Sejanus smiled at his sister who looked back over at Snow with the others. "Is your crush on Snow finally back?" He gives her a look.

"What makes you say that? Because I looked over at him?" She laughs at him.

"Please, Aurelia. When we first moved here you had the biggest crush on him then suddenly do a 180 as time went on."

Aurelia stares at her brother completely annoyed with him since she explained why she changed her mind years ago. She of course still found him super attractive, how could she not with his blonde curls and beautiful blue eyes.

"Because as time goes on, I can see that if I wanted there to be something, it wouldn't work between us. He's Capital and I'm District. And I know for a fact that some of our views are very different." She explains a bit to him again.

"Shall we join the others?" He puts his arm out to her so she takes it and they walk over to their classmates.

"I'll put him in the arena mys-," Festus stops talking as the twins walk up to them, "Sejanus, Aurelia. You made it to the Reaping for once."

"And you made it to graduation, Festus. We're both shocked." Sejanus responds causing his sister and Coriolanus to chuckle.

"Spill it. Who won the prize?"

"Oh, no, I'm not gonna ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money." Sejanus tells her and the others.

"You know what that's like, don't you, Arachne?" Aurelia gives her a smile so Coriolanus looks down at her a bit.

"Funny." She responds as the music starts to play for them to get in their seats.

"Coryo, I know you have high hopes for this... But there's no prize today." Aurelia tells him as they walk to their seats, "Not anymore. I'm so sorry." She takes her seat between him and her brother.

Aurelia's mind filtered out most of Highbottom's speech. She could never take him seriously with all the little vials she'd seen him pound down before each class. Until he revealed that there was to be a rule change. They were to mentor a tribute, akin to fattening a pig for the slaughter.

She gulped thickly, feeling nauseous as he started assigning the other classmates to their tributes.

"Aurelia Plinth," Highbottom called her to attention and she looked up, "District eight, girl." He lazily spoke, pointing to the overhead screens, showcasing her tribute, Wovey.

Aurelia hated how young she looked. She didn't deserve to be put in the games. Hell, no one deserves to be put in the games.

"So far the runt. Good luck with that." Festus leaned forward muttering into Aurelia's ear.

Refusing to show him any reaction, she keeps forward looking at the rest of the tributes. When it came to the last District girl, Aurelia could tell Coriolanus was irritated with having her. But that soon changed when he discovered that he had been given an unexpected gift. At her reaping, Lucy Gray enchanted the audience with a musical performance.

"Well, she's mentally ill." Arachne says as they were finished, "I'm sure she'll still last longer than Aurelia's runt." She snickers walking off.

Sadly, Aurelia knew that Wovey was most likely not going to win the games. If she was it would have to come down to her hiding the whole time while the others take each other out.

"You okay?" Coriolanus takes Aurelia's hand into his so she takes it back.

"What do you think, Coryo? We've been tasked to mentor this year's tributes... I'm now going to feel responsible for her death. You saw her, she's so innocent." Aurelia tries to keep her cool, "I know I she can't win against the others, so I'm gonna make my job as her mentor to make her feel loved."

"You know, Auri, you're too sweet for this world. Wovey is lucky to have you out of all of us." He reaches for her hand again and this time she doesn't pull it back.

"I know this assignment means a lot for you and your future... I believe you might have gotten lucky with your Songbird, Lucy Gray."

"You truly believe that?" He didn't believe her. 

"I truly do, Coriolanus Snow. She's got the confidence and a seemingly effortless stage presence. Plus she's filled with sass with is a perfect match with you." Aurelia finally takes her hand back as she backs away from him.

"Are you calling me sassy Aurelia Plinth?" He follows her with a smile spread across his face.

"You have your moments, Coryo." She heads off going to find her brother.

Coriolanus never understood why he felt the way he did for her. She and her brother were District, people he didn't care for or particularly like. He thought the way she thought of the Capital and the Games would never draw him in. But she made him feel soft and it disgusted him to no end.

[tokito-dulya20]

BLEEDING EARS

Hiyori and Ilona (oc and oc story)

Characters: Hiyori Shizukesa and Ilona Dulina

[WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND VIOLENCE]

{The frost hashira and sky hashira interact well. They both encounter a demon and Hiyori gets minor injuries and Ilona’s ears bleed, giving her flashbacks from when she was 4. But Hiyori sees Ilona’s other side (demon side) during battle.}

The snow-capped mountains stretched endlessly, and the frost hashira, Ilona, gazed at them with a sense of calm. Beside her, the sky hashira, Hiyori, marveled at the vast blue expanse above.

Hiyori: The view from here is breathtaking!!

her voice filled with awe.

Ilona nodded, her brunette hair gleaming in the moonlight. 

Ilona: It's serene, but we must remain on the lookout since demons lurk in every shadow

As if on cue, a demon lunged out from the snowy terrain, its claws glinting dangerously. Hiyori leaped into action, twirling her polearm with precision. In the midst of battle, a painful moan escaped her lips as she stumbled, her arm grazed by the demon's claws. Ilona's eyes widened in concern, but during the chaos, Hiyori noticed that Ilona's ears began to bleed, a sight that sent shivers down her spine. 

Memories flooded back to when Ilona was just a child at the age of four, her ears bleeding uncontrollably until she lost her hearing completely. The sight of her friend in pain triggered something deep within Hiyori's heart. Driven by her concern, caught a glimpse of something unexpected. Ilona's eyes flickered, revealing a dark, almost demonic aura surrounding her. It was as if a dormant power had awakened within her. Her appearance was different… her hair was white and blue instead of her brunette hair. Her eyes were different, her nails went sharp.

The demon, sensing the change, intensified its attacks, targeting Ilona relentlessly. The pain in her ears grew unbearable, and suddenly, Ilona let out a blood-curdling scream. The sound pierced through the air, but as it did, Ilona's world went silent. She had gone deaf once again. In a mix of horror and curiosity, Hiyori whispered..

Hiyori:  Ilona.. H-hey… Are you okay?

Ilona: I'll be fine, Hiyori..

She still could understand what Hiyori was saying by seeing the movement of her lips.

The battle was fierce, each strike resonating with the clash of steel against ice.

Despite her deafness, Ilona continued to fight, relying on her instincts and the vibrations she could feel through the ground. Hiyori, witnessing her friend's struggle, fought even harder, determined to protect Ilona at all costs.

Ilona cut her arm and smeared her blood on the demon. 

Ilona: Blood Demon Art- Bloody Frostbite

Her blood instantly turned into ice on the demon’s neck, they managed to cut it off. The demon faded away, she went back to her human form. Hiyori sighed in relief.

Hiyori: Whew, I thought I was gonna lose you.

She noticed Ilona’s nose was bleeding.. a lot. Hiyori pointed it out..

Hiyori: Umm.. Ilona.. Your nose.. Is bleeding.. A lot.

Ilona: Oh, it’s okay Hiyori, it’s just a side effect I have from being half-demon.

She was surprised, Ilona was shaky and she fainted from some blood loss. Hiyori was shocked and concerned.

Days passed, and Ilona's hearing slowly returned. She woke up to find Hiyori sitting by her side, a concerned expression on her face. Hiyori had been taking care of her, ensuring she had everything she needed during her recovery.

As Ilona's hearing fully returned, she looked at Hiyori with gratitude and a newfound understanding. She realized that Hiyori had seen her other side, the demon within her, and yet, she had not faltered in her loyalty and friendship.

From that day forward, Ilona and Hiyori's bond grew stronger. They continued to fight demons together, their unique strengths complementing each other perfectly. The Frost Hashira and the Sky Hashira became an unstoppable force, their friendship transcending any boundaries.

In a world filled with darkness, their unwavering friendship and shared experiences brought a glimmer of hope, reminding everyone that even in the face of adversity, true friendship could conquer all.

tagging: @snowmist-hashira (THANKS FOR LETTING ME USE HIYORI FOR THE FANFIC!!)

[sciencestyled]

Snow White's Stellar Adventure

Once upon a time, in a land filled with fairy tales and wonders, I, Snow White, found myself immersed in an adventure as peculiar as it was enlightening. You see, my fascination with the stars began one unusual evening in the forest, a tale so intertwined with celestial wonders, it led me to write about the mysterious dwarf stars.

It all started on a clear night, as the seven dwarfs and I gathered around a crackling fire. Doc, always the inquisitive one, pointed towards the twinkling sky and pondered aloud about the stars. "What could they be?" he mused. The others offered amusing guesses - Dopey thought they were glittering fireflies, while Grumpy dismissed them as "nonsensical sparkles."

Intrigued, I suggested we seek answers. Thus began our whimsical escapade. With a borrowed telescope from a nearby wizard and a pinch of magical dust, we embarked on an unexpected celestial exploration.

Our first observation was a tiny, twinkling star, vastly different from the grand luminaries we were accustomed to. Bashful shyly whispered, "It looks modest, like me." I chuckled and decided to name these humble stars after my dear friends, calling them "dwarf stars."

The more we observed, the more fascinated we became. We encountered white dwarfs, compact and serene, reminding me of Doc's wisdom. Red dwarfs, abundant and steadfast, seemed just like Sleepy, often overlooked but full of depth. And brown dwarfs, peculiar and hard to categorize, were uncannily similar to Dopey's charming confusion.

One evening, as we gazed upon a particularly faint star, Sneezy sneezed so powerfully it jostled the telescope, revealing a new perspective on a distant galaxy. We laughed heartily, but it sparked a thought in me about the unexpected and often overlooked significance of these smaller stars.

As days passed, our nightly stargazing became a ritual. The dwarfs' curiosity turned into a shared passion, and their unique perspectives helped me see the universe in a new light. I began scribbling notes, drawing parallels between the dwarf stars and my beloved friends, finding humor and insight in their similarities.

The culmination of this starry sojourn was the night we witnessed a faint star flare brightly, a rare cosmic event that left us in

awe. The dwarfs danced around in excitement, while I stood mesmerized. This spectacle was the final nudge I needed to share our discoveries with the world. I decided to pen an article, combining our whimsical observations with the newfound knowledge of dwarf stars.

I wanted to convey the charm and significance of these celestial bodies in a way that mirrored the joy and wonder we experienced. Each type of dwarf star was personified with the characteristics of my dear friends - the dwarfs. The modest red dwarfs, the wise white dwarfs, and the quirky brown dwarfs each had a story to tell, much like each dwarf in our little cottage.

And so, "Snow White and the Stellar Dwarfs: Unraveling the Mysteries of Dwarf Stars" was born. In it, I endeavored to explain the fascinating world of these small yet mighty stars through the lens of our enchanting forest life. From comparing white dwarfs to Doc's sage-like demeanor to likening the elusive nature of brown dwarfs to Dopey's whimsical charm, the article was a blend of astronomy and fairy-tale lore.

This unexpected journey into the cosmos, sparked by a simple question around a fire, not only deepened our appreciation for the stars but also strengthened the bond I shared with my seven friends. Each night, as we gazed up at the starry sky, we were reminded of the vastness of the universe and the small yet significant place we held within it.

In the end, my article was more than just an exploration of dwarf stars. It was a tribute to curiosity, friendship, and the joy of discovering the unknown, sprinkled with a touch of magic and laughter, much like our lives in the enchanted forest. And thus, the quirky and comical tale of how Snow White became an amateur astronomer was written in the stars.

[a-shadowedvales]

one thing is for certain: this is not the story of janessa ives— she is no longer a person who has a story. so, she filled her lonesome days with people watching, observations keeping her occupied within desolate evenings. it was better than mindlessly staring at the cracks in the ceilings and walls. the yellow haired girl was her favourite to view, a comforting presence. reliability formed inside the oddest environments, but then, this setting wasn't exactly what she'd call normal. did she ever know normality? the maiden resembles what you would see in fairy tales. although not fashioned in a magnificent ball gown like cinderella or rapunzel, there was something indeed generous about her. if she continued singing, a bluebird might even fly through the window of their hellish room, and land delicately on her shoulder, join in her song. it was a nice thought.

❛❛ like this. ❜❜ she mirrored the provided instructions, sleeve held over chapping lips, proving she understood. she firmly nodded her head, momentarily contemplating her newfound knowledge, how to keep herself further from harm, from damage by the severity of those in higher places. ❛❛ i will remember. ❜❜ loneliness has always been a fickle companion at her side; a weaker descendant may have crumpled, but she'd grasped her pain before, burned it in her body and carried it. a patch-work animal, a creature given breath by frankenstein; she's yet to witness fear in the face of the monsters, and that frightens her beyond compare. but her own terror proved she was human, not a crafted necessity called upon for drastic tasks and repeated experiments. she survived in limbo, a bloody imprint of false parentage. alliance does not come effortlessly to a wounded dog; alas, here she is.

❛❛ someone is coming for you? ❜❜ her voice was hoarse, cracked in her throat due to its lack of use. now, however, a sense of excitement rose in her pale cheeks, eyes wide, genuinely elevated at the idea that her companion was to escape. perhaps she actually was a princess! like in snow white, (a film which quickly turned into a favoured vhs tape, after watching it alone in the cabin one early morning) where the prince discovers the beautiful woman simply by the sound of her melody. not once had jane assumed the prisoners here were insane, as the asylum’s reputation so clearly expressed; after finally beginning a conversation for the first time, her beliefs became all the more conclusive.

only the tiniest lick of hesitation swam throughout her; she'd not reached out for connection in so long, had not felt kind contact on heated skin for what seemed far longer. was the last time when she gripped jim's hand in his vehicle? reuniting with mike after an entire year? such irony uncovered, for she was surrounded with so much affection mere hours before becoming trapped in a whole new world. she persevered, especially when curls were tugged with a mightier force. janessa inched forward a few paces, gently clasping her hand around the strangers fretting fingers, securing her hold with a light strength, halting any strain pressed against her hair. ❛❛ it is okay. please do not hurt yourself. i believe you. i do believe you. ❜❜ she reassured, placing both hands over the elder's one. tiny embrace offering friendship in the touch. some part of her even wished to move in closer, to run nimble digits in the girl's tresses and provide support, offer tenderness. ❛❛ what is his name? i think he will find you, too. ❜❜

someone so small couldn't survive this place. brows raise at the sharpness of the younger girl. then again, johanna can remember being her age ( what is her age? --- twelve? thirteen? either way, she sincerely hopes she has already been educated on such topics pertaining to womanhood; how she would hate having to be the one to break the news to her. ). it's a serious business being that young. that was the age the judge slowly started to lock the doors on the front doors. when a governess sat her down after johanna let her fears of dying from some terrible disease slip and explained to her femininity and all the woes that come with it. other girls were kept inside for the duration of the week, but johanna noticed her afternoon walks disappearing completely. she was a woman now. by necessity, not by choice. perhaps with an attitude like that, it shall serve her well. or it will get her killed.

a breath in through her nose. she's adjusted to the foul smell --- johanna is luckier than some women. the nurses like to dunk her under water more often than the others. they like to scrub her skin until it cracks. ❝ i just don't want you to get in trouble for it. ❞ if she were a better person, she would provide some way to get rid of a cough. a single cough could invite fears of tuberculosis into their room. johanna hasn't exactly narrowed it out. she adjusts the sleeve of her uniform over her mouth. ❝ like this. when you cough. ❞

anthony has no idea where she is. he's looking for her, she knows that he is, but the judge wouldn't give a single detail away if it could be a clue as to her whereabouts. day and night, she sits at the barred windows just to sing. london is known for harsh winters. she sings when it snows. she sings when it rains. she sings throughout the night. mr. fogg stormed into the room one day and left her bloody and bruised, but johanna did not stop singing. if she stopped, anthony couldn't find her. and anthony is looking for her. when he finds her, he'll take her away from such a terrible place. johanna already has a plan: he'll bring a marriage certificate and she'll sign her name right by his ( the last time she'll ever have to call herself johanna barker ) and mr. fogg won't be able to say anything about a man taking his wife away.

❝ i'm waiting for someone. ❞ it is a dangerous secret to slip out. her voice hushes to just below a whisper. everyone else in the beds around them have busied themselves with praying or shrieking or calling for people who are no longer there. johanna sings. they won't report such a conversation to mr. fogg. they'd better not. ❝ he just needs to . . . find me. then, i'll be able to leave with him. ❞ if she still had her chain with the cross pendant, she would begin fiddling with it. instead, johanna begins to tug on a curl. ❝ i'm not . . . insane. he exists! he does. ❞ she pulls harder without realizing it. ❝ he'll find me. he's the best man on earth. i know he will. he just doesn't know where i am exactly. he knows the sound of my voice. if he hears me sing . . . he'll find me. ❞ / @janessaives

[fr0stedknight]

・❄: ❛  No rules. No responsibility. 

                                  It's as good as it sounds."❜  :❄゜

              » pinterest ┆musing tag ┆task ┆ playlist « 

inspired  by  : Jack Frost in Rise of the Guardians  added inspo ! , victor nikiforov (yuri on ice) , marshall lee (adventure time),chief (isle of dogs), connor (detroit become human), link (legend of zelda)

Jack Overland Frost  lee taeyong | dob. unknown  | zodiac. sagittarius ?  | occupation. spirit of fun and mischief  | birthplace. burgess | orientation. pansexual  |song. winter wonderland | film. home alone  | education. unknown |temperament. choleric |mbti. ISTP | alignment. chaotic natural | abilities. white magic | hogwarts house slytherin | emoji.  ( 🤪 ❄️ )

───── ❝ present❞ ─────

Jack has found his way to Elias. not that they’d ever been able to keep him out. he went where he wanted to thank you very much and very few people could stop him. the town had been too much fun to pass up!

he’d made friends here and has even cement himself as part of the Pendragon household against Howl’s will 

did i tell you about the baby? Well, jack found one, and did the responsible thing; drop him off with more responsible adults, Howl and Sophie. still his baby. even if he doesn’t think so 

the young spirit is still hiding from the guardians and Pitch. Doing his absolute best to be almost non-existent and avoid responsibility..So far. 

 ───── ❝ past❞ ─────

Jack couldn’t remember the before. there had to have been a before he existed in the way he knew himself. but no one had ever told him to be except for the moon. the man on the moon had told him he was Jack Frost and meant for snow, but that had been it. everything else was up to him and it had left him lost and filled with questions. Toeing the line of good and bad. he’d never learned what his purpose was and so he struggled to stay on the ‘right’ side of things. he wanted to laugh and have fun, but all the others had such strict rules and were so boring. jack wanted to be free and be himself and it’s not like anyone could see him anyways.       So who really cares? Wrapped up with the guardians against his will it’s how he ended up meeting Pitch. the man was a walking nightmare that made jack feel like a child. But he also made a lot of sense in his own strange way. seeing right through him. jack did feel lonely and forgotten despite the man on the moon being able to communicate with the guardians. why had he been left alone? hadn’t he been worthy of at least a hi from time to time? Nonetheless, he didn’t want to be caught up in anything and Pitch was scary, so jack did what was best.  Instead of getting caught up in anything, jack opted out, after all Pitch was terrifying.  So he left. 

───── ❝ future❞ ─────

After accepting his role as "guardian of fun," jack sets out to find an approach that works best for him. he's still not very good at following the rules, but he's making an effort to do so and working toward his true purpose. he has come to terms with his past and learns why the moon chose him that night. the discovery of his memories has given him newfound confidence in his ability to carry out the tasks at hand. he’s still a nuisance to those he cares about. he particularly flocks to the Pendragon household where he left Philemon to be raised, checking up on him from time to time.

───── ❝ taken connections❞ ─────

Howl - scary wizard Mael -  platonic soulmate Philemon - the baby  Sora - friend / hero envy  Luca - confidant  Elsa - friend / ice queen  Varian - friend 

───── ❝ wanted connections❞ ─────

friendship: someone they met a long while back; maybe they saw or interacted with jack at a young age.  bad influence; constantly encourage each other to do bad things (partying/pranks/etc). lingering feelings;  where either one or both have some kind of romantic feelings. exploring the idea of a crush, and the meaning behind it. 

[crownedrebel]

New Ever After High fanfic! check it out if y’all want

Title: Truth Behind the Crown

Chapter 1 - Reunited

Apple White is known as the princess with the marvelous fairytale of all Ever After. As the next Snow White, she was raised like how her Mother expected her to be when the time comes for her to take over the throne as Queen of the land. Kind, courageous, passionate, smart, Perfect.

As she grew older, Apple was taught that following her parents' footsteps will lead her to the right path, to her Happily ever after. marrying her pre-destined prince who will wake her up in her sleep when the Evil Queen poisoned her, run the kingdom together, build a family, and their family tradition shall continue. everything and anything her mother taught her were the things she carried on her shoulders, reassuring her that only in her fairytale, safety is promised. her safety will be guaranteed. as a girl who was almost killed at a younger age, Apple was terrified. by then she realized that going against the story would be terrible and dangerous.

The future Snow White carries a lot of expectations, but is she that determined to be the next Queen? the next ruler of all land? one bite from the poisoned apple and her fairytale will be perfect. perfect in everyone's eyes, perfect in her mother's eyes.

She knows in herself that she needs to be the fairest one of all, as her mother always says. picture-perfect princess adored by many, envied by the most on the female population, loved by the most male population. But is she really happy? is this the life she wanted? what would happen if her deep secret were revealed?

Will her friends stay? will her family disown her? is she still going to be the next Snow White? or a big disappointment and disgrace in all history of Ever After?

xxxxxxx

Moonlight shines through the halls of Ever After High, students are already suited in their dorm rooms after a long day of school. everything seems back to normal after the big battle against the Evil Queen. A week has passed after the dragon games incident where the whole school battled the Evil Queen who escaped from the mirror prison. the reimprisonment was successful with the help of no other than the daughters of the most rivaled individuals on the Snow White fairytale, Raven Queen and Apple White. peace has befallen on the land of Ever After once again.

inside the biggest dorm room among the whole school resides Raven and Apple who happens to be awake at the late hour of the night. the dark-haired princess is on her mirrorpad, tapping lightly on the screen to whatever activity she's doing because the sleep doesn't seem to visit her system yet. on the other side of the room, the blonde princess laying on her bed, eyes on the ceiling as she let out a sigh. it comes out as a frustrated sigh. she rolled on her side where she faces her roommate's side of the room.

Apple and Raven's friendship was tainted during the week of dragon games. the blonde made terrible mistakes which caused chaos in all Ever After. she was the one who brought everyone in danger- the future Snow White no less. the blonde made a sincere public apology to the entire school, admitting her mistakes caused by her selfish desires. selfish enough to drove her dear friend Raven away by pushing her to follow their fairytale religiously which caused a big scar on their friendship. Apple knew from Legacy Day that Raven will be her biggest challenge. the said dark-haired girl who is supposed to be the next Evil Queen rebels against her destiny. their destiny. Apple tried to persuade her into evil, for the sake of her own happily ever after. if she's going to think this through, she was indeed selfish. she proved that she'll do whatever it takes even against her dear friend's will just to fulfill her destiny. and that was horrible. she was horrible. a rotten apple.

it's been a week but the guilt won't just leave Apple's system. her bond with her roommate changed after a week for obvious reasons. she did apologize to her for the way she acted before and how selfish she was, Raven accepted the apology, but it seems like the witch grew more distant away from her. though she should be glad since this is what she's been aiming for. she wanted Raven to hate her, curse her, fight her, poison her. but now? it doesn't feel right. the thought of Raven hating her and avoiding any contact with her pains her like a hundred knives stabbed in her chest. it feels heavy and foreign. she hates it and it makes her cry in her sleep every night.

She let out another shaky sigh, gripping on her pillow lightly, still facing Raven's side of the room. the dark-haired girl's spot is dark, only the light from the girl's mirrorpad is the only light that flickers. she can't read Raven's face right now, her blurry vision isn't helping either.

she wanted to stand up and walk towards her roommate's spot, talk to her, hug her, like the way they used to, but she's afraid Raven would distant herself more.

"It's my fault anyway", she mumbled. closing her lids to prevent her tears to fall. she wanted to talk to Raven so bad that it hurts her chest even more. even though she sees Raven every day, she misses her. she misses her laugh, her silly jokes, her smile, everything. she wished she could turn back time to right her wrongs but no. deep inside her, she knows that everything happens for a reason. and whatever the reason is, it sucks big time. if the outcome of it is her and Raven's relationship will go on like this forever, she's already suffering.

Apple took a deep breath, shaking her head lightly as she makes up her mind, "I don't want this to go on forever". she knew what she needed to do- talk to Raven. She doesn't have any idea right now if Raven will talk to her or completely ignore her, but nothing will happen if she's not going to try.

"Alright, it's now or never", she muttered under her breath. she stood up from her bed, slowly she approached Raven's side of the room, gulping as she reached near the dark-haired girl's bed. the witch seems to notice her presence, slightly startled Raven slowly put her mirrorpad away from her as she eyed the blonde. Apple cleared her throat, putting a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Oh, Uhm, Hey Apple" Raven started awkwardly with a light chuckle.

"Hey" the blonde princess responds, her words seem to melt away, her chest is hammering violently. 'I'm an idiot' she mentally facepalmed herself.

"Uhh, What's up? do you need anything?" the dark-haired princess asked in a light tone. she noticed that Apple is fidgeting, her lips are parting but no words are coming out. she wonders why Apple is approaching her right now in the middle of the night because she knows that it's unlikely for the blonde to stay up late.

"Can I sit with you? and maybe talk to you for a while?" finally Apple managed to say as she eyed the raven-haired girl for any signs of disapproval, but Raven smiled and nodded her head. Apple's insides feel oddly giddy for a moment but it quickly changed to anxiousness. she settled herself on Raven's side of the bed, her posture is still stiff as she fidgets her fingers.

"What's wrong? what do you want to talk about?" Raven started slowly, not wanting to rush the blonde.

The raven-haired princess is slightly concerned because of the way Apple is acting right now. 'is she sick? did something happened again?' she thought silently until the blonde took a deep breath and their eyes met. Raven didn't know how much she misses those pair of baby blue orbs and somehow, the twinkle in the blonde's eyes is dull.

"Raven? I...I know that you have already forgiven me for what I've done" Apple paused, there's a building lump in her throat as she gulped and speak again.

"But I know that something has changed between us. I know how terrible I was. For how I treated you ever since you refused to sign the Storybook of Legends, I pushed you to do something evil for the sake of my own happily ever after. I never listened to you. I was a horrible friend"

Her voice broke, her tears are forming on the corners of her eyes. Raven remained silent, she can't read the expression she's wearing right now. 'Hah, I knew it. she's still mad' she thought.

"Again, I'm so sorry, and-," Apple shook her head, squeezing her lids shut, avoiding her tears to fall. "-I really don't like how we are right now. everything has changed. I know I deserved it, But Raven-"

Apple can't hold it back any longer as she put both hands in her face. her voice is shaking as she spoke, tears are streaming down her pale cheeks. this hurts more than she can ever imagine. she tried to calm herself down as she wiped her tears away. she looked at Raven, locking her gaze in those deep lavender eyes that she adored the most.

"I miss you"

"I see you every day, we had some little talks, but you feel so far away. this newfound distance between us is killing me, Raven. I miss everything about us. I want this wedge between us to disappear. I miss you so much and it hurts"

Apple wiped her tears again, her voice is becoming hoarse as she swallowed the thick lump on her throat. she didn't know what to say anymore but her heart is still hammering violently in her chest. she looks pathetic, not so princess-y with all this ugly crying, but she doesn't care. she wants Raven back. she is also aware that Raven might not trust her again for what she did and that hurts like a brick, but she is more willing to win her dear friend back.

"I just can't hold this any longer, it feels heavy and it sucks. I know that you won't forgive me wholely, and I know you won't trust me anymore, but I want you to know that I'll do anything to win you back, Raven. You're-special to me. you're my friend and I...I can't lose you" Apple feels so small at this point, but she means everything she said.

the blonde princess was about to say something again when she feels something shifted in the bed, before she can even speak, she was already enveloped in a tight hug.

Raven is hugging her. and it seems like the raven-haired girl didn't want to let her go for any moment now.

"R-Raven?"

Raven has scooted closer to wrap Apple in a tight hug, hot tears are swelling on the corners of her eyes as she let out a sigh. she may be ignoring the blonde most of the time but she can't deny forever that she misses her too. seeing her roommate like this broke her heart, she had never seen Apple this vulnerable and small before.

"Apple, I'm sorry"

"Why are you apologizing? Raven, you did nothing wrong" Apple loosens herself from the hug to look straight at Raven's eyes, the gap between them is just inches away. she raised her right hand and placed it lightly on the witch's pale cheek. Raven stared back, blinking her tears away. she took a deep breath as she touched the blonde's hand.

"I'm sorry if I set this distance between us. I was hurt, Apple. I needed time to heal. But you know what? I can't just drive you away from me forever because...you're my friend. I know we had a rough relationship before, but that's all in the past now. Yes, I already forgave you, but I thought I still need a little time for me to refresh that's why I avoided you… most of the time"

Apple feels like crying again. her lips are quivering as she opens her mouth to say something, but no words coming out. she just wanted to cry right now. She can't believe that Raven is apologizing to her for the fact that she did nothing wrong. 'Raven is too good to be like her mother'. she thought silently.

She once stated before when they were trapped in Wonderland for the first time, where Raven fully inherited her mother's dark powers, she saw how powerful Raven can be if she'll follow her mother's evil path. and there she realized that the young witch's heart is too good to be evil.

"You don't deserve to be treated like this, Apple. I know you made mistakes, even though you were so selfish before, I was still hoping that one day you'll change and you'll finally understand me. and I saw that you already did. I'm happy about that"

the witch didn't break their eye contact, her lips curled into a small smile as she put a loose strand of blonde hair behind Apple's ear.

"I miss you too, Apple"

Raven pulled the blonde princess again for another hug, stroking the soft blonde tresses as she inhaled Apple's sweet cinnamon scent. Apple starts to sob in their hug, the witch rubbed her back soothingly, cooing sweet words to the sobbing blonde.

"Thank you, Raven. this means so much to me" Apple said between her sobs as she buried her face to the dark-haired girl's chest. Raven placed her chin on top of the blonde's head, smiling. they both missed each other's company. the warmth of each other's body, the affection they shared in their friendship. somehow Raven wondered before if there will be a day where she can wrap her arms around her favorite blonde again, and here they are now, finally in each other's arms.

"Do you still want me to be your friend, Raven?"

"Of course, silly. we will always be friends forever after"

the future Snow White faced the young witch again, now beaming a wide smile, happy tears are still present on her pale cheeks. She wants to stay like this forever, enveloped in her favorite witch's warm hugs and never let go.

"Thank you, Raven. I promised to change for the better and I won't let you down again"

xxxxx

[jaskicr]

jaskel but it’s with witcher jaskier

i’m setting out to write some variation of witcher jaskier for all non-geraskier ships because there’s simply not enough of that. i did yennskier last time, so this time, have some jaskel!

eskel meets julian, a witcher from the school of the manticore, when they’re both young and fresh on the path

they took the same contract accidentally and they raced to be the first to complete it

eskel completes it first

and it keeps happening - they keep taking the same contract and it gets a bit competitive as they try to outdo each other, so they become slight rivals 

as time passes, they run into each other more and more, and they definitely don't seek each other out on purpose, why would they do that?

they just happen to run into each other every few months and take the same contract, that's all

during the winters in kaer morhen, eskel complains about the manticore witcher that keeps stealing his contracts

geralt tells him, exasperatedly, that he’s rather obsessed with this random witcher, and eskel vehemently denies it

it’s nothing more than a bit of rivalry between witchers, and eskel definitely doesn’t stare at julian’s pretty golden eyes whenever they meet, no he doesn’t

eskel thinks that julian does the same when he returns to the manticore keep in winter

he doesn’t

most of the witchers from the school of the manticore are very skilled with alchemy, and they sell alchemical formulas to the highest bidder without regard for what the formulas are used for, so there have been many deaths at their hands

and julian hates it, so he distances himself from his fellow witchers - which isn’t hard, since they already ostracise him for his extra mutations

julian winters alone

and that distancing from his own school is why julian isn’t great with people. he doesn’t know how to interact with them, he doesn’t quite know how to make a friend

so when he’d met eskel and started this rivalry, julian wanted to be friends with him, wanted to keep him company, but he doesn’t know how, hence the rivalry

but julian has always seen eskel as his first and only ‘friend’, and the more they ‘run’ into each other, the more julian wants to get to know eskel properly, but every time they meet, julian just seems incapable of actually communicating

but then at some point eskel gets injured as they compete on a contract, and julian is frantic and very worried

he kills the monster and patches eskel up

when eskel wakes up, he’s baffled to see julian there and questions what he’s doing here

and julian panics, because he actually needs to interact with eskel properly, so he stutters and stammers his way through an explanation

and as he talks, eskel looks at him, really looks at him, looking past the rivalry, and he sees a sad lonely witcher who only wants company

suddenly, he understands julian’s behaviour, and with what he knows about the affairs of the manticore school, along with julian’s white hair marking him as having received extra mutations, it’s not hard to realise that julian has likely been alone his whole life

all he wants is for julian to be happy, and he wants to keep julian company, so he asks julian to travel with him for a while

at first, julian is prickly - he's not good with people, and he’s not quite sure why eskel has suddenly offered to travel together

but eskel is soft and patient and understanding, and slowly, they bond and get closer

they talk about their shitty childhoods in hushed tones over the campfire. they chat about everything and nothing when they’re on the road. they learn to fight together, learn the way the other moves. they stay in the same room, in the same bed. they bathe each other after a hunt.

(they’re very very soft)

gradually, eskel coaxes julian out of his shell, and julian learns to properly talk and communicate, and the longer they spend together, the more julian learns about feelings

and julian is so very fond of eskel, and one day, he sees eskel’s golden eyes sparkling warmly over a campfire, and he can’t help but pull him into a soft, sweet kiss

they learn to work their newfound romance into their friendship, which doesn’t change much - after all, they’ve been cuddling together at night for several years

after one winter, julian shows up with deep scars across his face, feeling insecure that eskel would find him ugly and mounstrous, but when eskel sees him, he mentally beats himself up for not being there

mutual facial scar appreciation!!

eskel brings julian to kaer morhen, and julian gains more friends in the wolf witchers (the kaer morons)

they all see how sad and lonely he is and collectively adopt him

one winter, geralt returns to kaer morhen with slumped shoulders and weary eyes, and the witchers learn about blaviken

and julian is furious at stregobor for hurting his friends - he has very few of those, and he can’t stand the thought of his friends being hurt

so once he departs from kaer morhen that spring, he goes after stregobor, and eskel figures out what he's doing and comes with him

but neither of them have ever fought a sorceror as powerful as stregobor, and they’re underprepared

stregobor sends a wave of fatal magic towards eskel, whose back is turned, but julian sees it coming

and julian knows that he can’t let eskel die. eskel means everything to him and - he just can’t let eskel die

so he leaps in front of eskel, the wave of magic hitting him straight in the chest, and eskel turns around just in time to see him dissolve into nothing

stregobor escapes, unwilling to face off against an angry witcher, and eskel falls to his knees, staring into the empty air where julian had disappeared

and eskel mourns, unable to believe that julian is dead

and it's horrible, because julian was so bright and warm, and even though he didn't quite know how to act around people, he was still so full of life and love, so much that he loved eskel enough to sacrifice his life for him 

that winter, eskel mourns with his brothers, mourns the bright warm light that had been julian, the walls of kaer morhen bleak and empty

unbeknownst to them, tissaia had been tracking stregobor and his misdeeds. she put a tracker on his power, so she arrived just in time to see stregobor try to kill a witcher for no reason 

so she saves julian, but pretends that stregobor's spell worked so as to not make stregobor suspicious

still, stregobor’s magic was powerful enough that julian is dying, and there’s only one way to save him - tissaia takes julian’s consciousness and puts it into a human body

little julian alfred pankratz grows up in lettenhove

he’s a bright and bubbly child, always joyful, always laughing

he’s good with people. he loves people, loves interacting with them, loves making friends (and there’s a sort of cruel irony in that)

he goes to oxenfurt and renames himself jaskier, surrounding himself with flocks of friends, and when he becomes a bard, he dreams of performing for adoring audiences

and then jaskier meets a witcher in posada, and he feels an inexplicable urge to travel with him

there’s been a hollow ache in him since he was born, and something tells him that following geralt might fill that hollowness

but when he travels with geralt, it feels right, but also wrong at the same time, and he loves travelling with geralt, but it - it just isn’t right

jaskier stays with geralt though, because it’s the closest he’s ever felt to being whole

over time, geralt opens up and talks about his brothers, about his mentor vesemir, his younger brother lambert, and his brother eskel

and jaskier has never met them, but he longs to go to kaer morhen for some reason, and he longs for more

when they meet yennefer, she senses traces of tissaia's magic on jaskier, so she goes to ask tissaia, who tells her the truth, but warns julian's body is still recovering from stregobor's strong magic

so yen knows the truth about jaskier, and she learns even more when she and geralt sleep together

geralt tells her about that one manticore witcher who meant so much to his family, but died at stregobor’s hands, and yen realises that oh. that’s jaskier

and she wants so badly to tell geralt, seeing how turn up he still is over julian’s death, but tissaia asked her to keep it a secret because there's no guarantee that julian's body will recover, and there’s no reason to give the witchers false hope

skipping over the mountain, geralt finds ciri and is travelling with jaskier and yen to kaer morhen

no one recognises jaskier as julian, even though something about him seems so familiar

but for the first time in decades, kaer morhen feels complete with this bright bard in the keep, bringing light to it that julian had taken with his death

jaskier and eskel bond over poetry, and eskel shyly tells jaskier that he really likes his songs

jaskier quickly becomes fond of this sweet, soft-spoken witcher, and he writes a song about eskel and his adventures - the adventures of the red dragon

and eskel warms up to jaskier quickly, something about his easy smiles and his kind words and his gentle touches draws eskel in

and the memories of julian are somehow more painful than ever, and everything that jaskier does is a painful reminder of julian, but eskel reminds himself that julian is dead, and jaskier is human

one day, when they’re talking quietly in eskel’s room, eskel tells jaskier about his old witcher companion

and jaskier hurts for eskel - to care for someone on the path is rare, and to fall in love with them even rarer

jaskier tries to comfort him, and eskel lets jaskier cuddle him, and eskel thinks that only one person has ever held him like this - like he’s worth something, like he’s loved

the next day, jaskier writes a song about eskel and julian’s relationship - the story of the red dragon and the snow leopard

he pours far more of himself and his emotions than he ever has in any song he’s written before, and something in him resonates with the song, and it almost feels like eskel and julian’s emotions in the song are his own

but then their luck runs out and nilfgaardians attack the keep

there’s too many of them, the witchers and yen trying to fend them off as jaskier and ciri huddle in the keep, watching them anxiously, and jaskier wants to help but he can’t

but they're getting overwhelmed even as tissaia portals in to help, and they just need something, someone to turn the tide

and tissaia sees the way they’re losing, and decides fuck it

she grabs yen and they portal off quickly to where julian’s body is, even though it’s not stable

yen has the brilliant idea to drain the energy from jaskier’s human body to fully heal julian’s body, and tissaia puts julian’s consciousness back in his body and brings them back to kaer morhen

and jaskier/julian is just very disoriented because he has two sets of memories in his head, but then he sees several soldiers bearing down on eskel and eskel is about to get overwhelmed

and he just forgets about his identity crisis as instinct kicks in and he leaps in to protect eskel

and eskel reels back in shock, almost getting stabbed as he stares at julian

because he must be hallucinating. there’s no way that julian is here

and as he stares at julian, who must be a hallucination, eskel has flashbacks to the last time julian leapt in front of him

but this time, julian doesn’t die

he slashes through the soldiers surrounding eskel, fierce and deadly, and eskel just drops his sword in shock, unable to believe the sight before him

and when julian has cleared the soldiers around him, he looks at eskel, who's blinking at him in utter disbelief

and he smiles softly at eskel. julian is covered in blood, but still the most beautiful sight eskel has ever seen 

'come on, my darling dragon. let's protect your home'

and eskel is stunned, because jaskier is the one who’d written the songs about the red dragon, but he’d never sung them to anyone outside of eskel

jaskier is the only one who knows that name, and julian is using it

eskel glances quickly at where jaskier at been, and jaskier is gone, his lute laying abandoned on the floor, but then the soldiers are advancing again and he doesn’t have time to think about that

then he leaps back into battle with julian and it's like no time has passed at all - they work together as well as they always have, and eskel is half convinced that he's actually dead and he's in heaven with julian

(because apparently heaven for witchers is just fighting)

with julian helping them, they manage to turn the tide of the battle, and the soldiers fall one by one until none are left

and then eskel and julian are left standing surrounded by dead bodies, but eskel pays them no heed as he reaches out to julian with a trembling hand, hope and disbelief in his eyes

‘are you... are you real?’

then his hand makes contact with julian's cheek, and familiar golden eyes smile at him gently

‘i’m real, my darling dragon. i’m here, and i’m real.’

and eskel pulls him into a desperate, frantic kiss, and gods, he never thought he’d get to have this again

and that missing piece finally slots back into place inside julian, the piece that had been missing all his life as jaskier

the other kaer morons are in shock, unable to believe that julian is back, and yen is just going, finally

she spent the whole winter watching jaskier and eskel pine while knowing that jaskier is julian, and she’s just so done

when they finally pull away, eskel chokes out, 'how?'

and julian smiles, humming the opening lines of the red dragon and the snow leopard, the song that jaskier had written for eskel’s ears alone

and finally, finally, something clicks in eskel - so that’s why jaskier had felt so familiar, so right; so that's why jaskier had held him like that, the way only julian had ever done

as they head back to the keep, eskel just keeps touching julian to convince himself that he's real, he's here, he's alive

and julian clings to eskel just as tightly, unable to believe that eskel had been in front of him and he just... didn't realise

but they’re here now

they’re here, together, and that’s what matters

once they’re back in the keep, tissaia explains the situation, and eskel is so grateful to her for saving julian’s life, but also pissed that yen knew and never told geralt, and yen explains that she didn’t want to get their hopes up in case julian never recovered

julian picks up his lute. the calluses on his hands are different now, callused from swords and not lute strings, and his fingers are less dexterous, but he practises, and eskel helps him

as julian reteaches himself how to play the lute, he teaches eskel along the way, and ciri as well

they decide the stregobastard has lived long enough, so this time all of them go after him because they refuse to have a repeat of what happened last time

stregobitch dies under eskel’s sword, his throat slit and he dies slowly, choking on his blood

‘that is for my julian,’ eskel hisses, sheathing his bloody sword and yanking julian into a fierce kiss

then eskel and julian set back out on the path together 

they sometimes do the competitive thing, for old times' sake

and everything is just soft, and for quite some time, they’re both a bit in awe that the other is actually here with them

but they’re together. they’re here and real and alive, and they’re together again

[projectshadovv]

10! Let’s hear about the first Zenka warriors oc

already answered but i’ll go in a bit more detail

10. describe your first warriors oc

Silentshadow is a huge, black smokie with extremely long shaggy fur, and has heterochromia eyes. She was once a rogue kit named Sable and raised in the wild by her father, Wander. She was given away by Wander’s former mate Dark, a kittypet who’d lost their other kits at birth and couldn’t risk having their survivor kit being taken away by the Twolegs. 

Wander raised Sable for a few moons but surviving in just one place was hard enough for one cat, especially in clan territories, let alone a parent and young child. Leaf bare was coming and Wander made the hard decision to give Sable to a clan known as Mistclan, to ensure her survival. 

Mistclan’s leader, Ragestar, having received a prophecy foretelling a cat who’d either save their clan or destroy it, took the kit in- hoping to raise her for the benefit of the clan. Ragestar banished Wander from their territory, knowing the rogue was known for stealing clan prey, and in return would raise his daughter to be a healthy clan cat. Wander accepted the terms but vowed to return for his kit in the future, when she could make decisions on her own.

Moons later in the future, Sable, now dubbed with a clan name: Silentpaw, anticipates the return of her father. Now she can hunt and fight, and hopefully live alongside him. She is bullied and ridiculed by her fellow clanmates for being a former rogue. Her only friends are Cometpaw and Foggypaw, but Cometpaw is moving to Pineclan temporarily, and Foggypaw is chasing after her crush, Mudpaw. 

One night she catches a whiff of a familiar scent. Wander! Silentpaw sneaks out of camp in search for him. Unfortunately, other clan cats catch his scent as well, and Ragestar orders for Wander to be chased off, sending a handful of warriors to deal with him. When Silentpaw thinks she’s finally found her father, she comes across his bloody form in the distance, a white warrior bent over him, blood smeared across the older cat’s face, and the dead body of another warrior. Wander had been ambushed, killing a warrior in self defense. The other warrior, quick to place blame, striked down the old rogue tom- leaving him to bleed out. Silentpaw rushes to her father’s side, sharing his last fleeting moments with him- Wander’s last wish for Silentpaw to simply live happily.

Returning to camp, Silentpaw is punished for her father’s crimes, and a newfound hatred for the young cat explodes within the clan. Mudpaw especially, as the warrior Wander had killed was the young apprentice’s own father. She is given a new mentor, a warrior with fur as white as snow, and painfully familiar, and harshly and violently trained to be a clan cat worth living in their society.

With the death of her father still a fresh wound, the treatment by her clanmates urges her more and more into darkness and hatred. She seeks out help and kindness from the outside and is met with an old warrior from another clan, who is secretly a traitor and wants to tear the clans apart from the inside out, and gives Silentpaw an opportunity to help her out. Silentpaw is reluctant but doesnt pass up the chance for better training.

The old warrior, along with a few others from other clans, reach out to young cats’ hoping to mold them and use them for their plan. Mudpaw and Foggypaw being two of them, causing tension between the three. Mudpaw aims for leadership, Foggypaw supporting him. Along the way, Silentpaw meets Pineclan’s Auburnpaw and her sister Russetpaw. Silentpaw and Auburnpaw hit it off, but usually find themselves unable to come together when they have their own clan issues to deal with.

Everyone grows up, Foggycloud and Mudnose are together, both hate Silentshadow, and the black warrior is distraught, as she had long been in love with Foggycloud since they were apprentices. Auburncloud and Russetstorm are back in Pineclan, a clan who’s determined to take over Mistclan and their territory, and slowly pick off the others one-by-one. Cometshine returns to Mistclan as a fully trained medicine cat, and is shocked by Silentshadow’s development. Their friendship is cracked up and has many holes, and the two find it hard to remember why they were even friends in the first place. 

Silentshadow’s training with the mysterious old warrior, and her lingering heartbreak over Foggycloud are all the she-cat has and both consume her life entirely. One day a fire breaks out, Mudnose uses this to his advantage, killing Ragestar and ultimately Foggycloud, who’d had been caught up in the fiasco while Mudnose escapes the scene, and meets back with the clan and places blame on Silentshadow- the rogue no one ever trusted and knew would be the clan’s downfall in the end. 

Silentshadow, who’d tried to save Foggycloud, chases Mudnose down swearing revenge. So blind in her feelings, she doesn’t feel the fire catch on her tail or paws, scorching her to the skin, and unknowingly spreads the fire all around Mistclan’s territory tracking Mudnose down. By the time she returns, the clan is furious with her, and Mudnose is once again quick to point out Silentshadow and how she has spread the fire and doomed them all. Though she defends herself, few cats are willing to listen to her and prepare to chase her out or even kill her. Only a few of her clanmates, along with Cometshine, fall in line to protect her.

It’s only when Ragestar appears, wheezing and burnt everywhere, that Silentshadow is shown to be innocent and that Mudnose lied, and caused the death of multiple cats, including his own mate Foggycloud. The clan is quick to turn on him, and Mudnose lashes out at Ragestar but is stopped by the deputy and a few others. Thanks to his extra training though, Mudnose is able to fight back and eventually run away into the forest fire.

Silentshadow gives chase, eventually followed by Ragestar who assures his deputy he’s on his last life anyway and he owes Silentshadow this.

Mudnose and Silentshadow have their final showdown in the eye of the storm, the two are equal but the battle is decided when a huge tree branch breaks into two and lands on both cats, trapping them and encased in flames. Ragestar comes and pulls Silentshadow free and urges Silentshadow to follow him out of the fire before they both die. Mudnose screams out to them but is ignored. They leave Mudnose and make their escape. Ragestar, still weak from both age and death and smoke inhalation, collapses. He accepts his death, declaring he’d done what he can to make up for what he’s did.

Silentshadow hides out and waits for rain to pass by. When it rains, she searches the now barren territory, with an injured leg she quickly finds out after her adrenaline had calmed down. She comes across where Mudnose is trapped, who somehow made it alive. He’d caught a taste of death and begs now for forgiveness. Silentshadow, disgusted by his cowardly behavior and lack of reflection, is quick to silence him. 

When she turns though to walk away, Cometshine is there and the two stare without speaking, knowing Cometshine had seen the whole thing. Silentshadow simply walks towards the clan’s hideout, Cometshine following and the two not speaking a word to each other. 

When they come across the clan, they find out the deputy had been killed by Mudnose in the previous fight and now they were leaderless. The clan turns to Cometshine for guidance, and Cometshine instinctively looks to Silentshadow. The clan signals this as Silentshadow being dubbed as new leader. After all, Ragestar had said Silentshadow saved him? Surely he’d want this? Before anyone can object, a large amount of pawsteps can be heard and the clan is suddenly surrounded by a clans’ worth of cats. A huge burly old- looking cat with a mangled face, unshielded fangs glinting, torn ears and bob tail comes forward, declaring, in garbled words, that they are Pineclan and they’ve come to “aid” Mistclan in their dire state.

AND THATS ALL YOU GET, thats just HALF, maybe 1/3 of the story

[adamfoolcry]

of coffees and holidays (d.sc)

pairings: Ballerina!Sicheng x CafeOwner!FemReader

rating: 13+

warnings: swearing

genre: angst and fluff

synopsis: Your and Sicheng's love story in five coffees with varying degrees of sweetness spanning five Christmases.

word count: 3k+

a/n: for @127-mile, I hope I did justice for your prompt. Hope you enjoy reading it. Happy Holidays! 🎅 Thank you to @neoculturechristmas for organizing such fun event. It can be read in chronological order if y'all wanted to. I promise it's a happy ending. Not proofread so please excuse the mistakes, I am so dumb. Please reach out to me if you would like to do so. - xo aria

Christmas 2019 - Espresso

Outside as flakes of snow fell from the sky, like a light shower of glitter from the heavens, the elusive holiday spirit seemingly present in the air; you watched a young couple huddled together to share warmth, fingers intertwined, cheeks glowing red partnered with coy smiles on their faces, and a family of three in admiration of their son as he showed off his Christmas gift. The streetlights emitting an orange glow providing an aura of softness, making everything come together to form a picturesque scene.

Heartwarming as these scenes were, they failed to evoke any emotion out of you; if anything you feel excluded from it entirely. To you the world behind the cafe's glass windows is just a film you're screening in the cinemas, and you were nothing but a mere spectator. You continue to stare listlessly at the throngs of people passing by until they all mesh into a blur of colors your eyes couldn't catch fast enough. That's better.

Inside the cafe although decorated with trinkets for the holidays there was an air of sadness permeating every corner and seated itself onto the furnishings. Lately it seems like sadness is following you around everywhere - like a shadow - and instead of trailing behind you it looms over you shrouding your every thought until it completely consumes you.

No one stepped foot inside the cafe and with no one to entertain your mind drifts to him. Sicheng.

How many days has it been? Since you last saw him. You've lost count, a lie you tell yourself to make the dull ache in your chest bearable. 

It's a torture how you could recall that day - the day you lost him - so vividly as if you are forced to relive it every time the silence eats away at your resolve; to tuck the moment into the deep recesses of your mind, where it can't hurt you. When every little thing reminds you of him, his favorite spot at the cafe, black turtlenecks and that undeleted grainy picture of his sitting in your gallery. 

You could never forget the look on his face, resignation etched into every crevice of his features, a forlorn smile on his lips. 

"I see," he said in a bittersweet tone before he turned his back at you. 

The slam of the door is the nail that hits the coffin. Sicheng is gone. He has already walked out of your life. That was the last you saw of him for he never visited the cafe again.

A month passed by when Sicheng called you. Your heart leaped as his name flashed on your screen and your thumb shakily pressed the answer button; afterwards lifting it near your ear.

There was no greeting as he uttered in his low voice that you have missed so much, "My flight to Russia is this Saturday." 

Your heart sank.

"I want you to see me off, ______." 

Don't go please stay with me but there are certain thoughts that weren't meant to be put into words so instead, "I'll be there." You reassured him.

But you never showed up at the airport that Saturday. Instead, you were at the cafe staring at the screen of your phone blinking on and off as a wave of notifications with his name flooded your phone. Why make things harder? As if him leaving wasn't hard enough. You pressed the power button long enough to shut down your phone.

The following days passed away into months that's a haze in your mind. You can't recall anything worth remembering. You quickly filled up your schedule with mundane tasks just to have something to do filling every gap of your vacant time. 

At night you fell straight to bed, your body collapsing from the physical strain you have subjected it with. Establishing a packed routine without idle time so you don't have time to linger on the dull ache in your chest - always there like a festering wound. This works until you find your list of chores unexpectedly accomplished earlier than you planned, the cafe shrouded in still quietness. 

Alone with nothing else to do the dull ache amplified to a crippling one and it bites you right back in your face, forcing you to acknowledge the hollow feeling that seems to reside in your chest permanently. Your eyes would be heavier, your vision blurry, trying to blink away the tears but ultimately failing as it trails down your cheeks; you clutch at your chest because it hurts and you regret that the last you'll see of Sicheng is that face of hurt he wore.

Christmas 2016 - Vanilla Latte

You placed the cup of vanilla latte sitting on a saucer on the table daintily, pushing the saucer across the wooden table towards the customer, avoiding to make any noise. The customer seemed so engrossed with the novel he is reading - nose almost touching the pages - that you don't want to disturb him. 

The said customer is a regular, there was not a month that he hasn't visited the cafe. Showing up five minutes after you flip the signage to open, with no fail not even a minute late. 

Wearing all black from head to toe, a tall lithe figure, and an androgynous facial structure, your guess is that he works as a model. Even now without trying he is captivating; he makes the cafe look like a set for a magazine spread just by lounging in the matching cherry wood table and chair, and you can't help but stand there and shamelessly stare at him. god really has his favorites.

His work must require him to travel to different countries and have photoshoots in scenic spots, oh how you wish you could also jetset to other countries. Packed schedule for the day that he doesn't have time to think about what he is going to do next. That is a luxury you don't have especially in the ber months for there is a decline in customers and with no one to entertain, your mind goes on an overdrive pondering on uncharted waters of how you have nothing else going for you but run this cafe.

Aside from his penchant to wear all black, read a novel while drinking his choice of beverage - choice of beverage you ask? - you see the other peculiar thing about this man is that he doesn't have a 'regular drink'. Most if not all people who go to a cafe know what they are going to order before they have set foot inside. This man doesn't, his eyes would flit on the menu, scanning from left to right and back again. It is almost ritual like, this would go on for a good minute or two as you drum your fingers on the counter waiting for his order. 

The snow is falling outside covering the otherwise grey pavement white, decorations for the festivities hung around the four corners of your quaint cafe. Yet here he is, nursing a cup of coffee instead of being somewhere else. Doesn't he have a family? to celebrate Christmas with?

"Can I help you?" The man said, turning his face slightly in your direction not quite yet abandoning the book in his hand.

"Ohh uhmm-" you were jolted out of your trance, startled you took a sidestep only to collide with the chair where a large unzipped duffel bag was placed. The contents of the bag spilled over. 

"Shit! I am sorry." You quickly knelt to the ground to pick up the scattered items on the floor, the man joined you. Charger, earphones, epsom salt, bandage, and tiger balm ointment as you picked up the items you also increasingly grew baffled. What a weird assortment of things. You reached for the item that somehow managed to get under the table and as your fingers came in contact with the rough material of the cloth you learned that your assumption of his job was wrong. A man's canvas ballet shoes.

I thought he was a model.

"What?" The man questioned. You wince to yourself you just didn't say that out loud. You emerge from under the table to find that the man was looking at you too intently for your liking. His eyes sought out yours waiting for an explanation and as if you owe him one you started explaining yourself. 

"Well, you are tall and extremely handsome so .." Cringing as the words flew out of your mouth. The man chuckled at your confession, a tell tale sign of a smile on the corner of his lips.

"I am flattered really but as you can deduct by now I actually do ballet." He rose to his feet and offered you his hand to help you stand up. 

Unlike other days where he will leave the cafe after an hour or two, this time he stayed and unlike other days where you find yourself alone in the cafe; you find yourself enjoying the company of this mysterious man. 

Where you quickly learned that all your presumptions about him have little truth in it. You learned that his name is Sicheng, and he is a principal dancer for the Korean National Ballet company not a model although with his looks he might as well be one. Yes, he travels but mostly for tours and performances. He practices an average of eight hours a day. 

Your fascination for his life spurred the conversation as if you were friends catching up with each other. With the book set aside and the contents of the cup long empty you two didn't notice how much time had passed. He bid you goodbye with a promise to visit you again tomorrow. As you watch his retreating figure getting smaller, the snow piling on top of each other over the glass windows of the cafe there was a smile on your lips - the warmth of a newfound friendship is akin to a good cup of coffee - making you warm from the inside out.

Christmas 2017 - Cappuccino

"Surprise me," Sicheng said leaning on his hip at the counter, arms crossed on his chest, when you asked him what he would like to drink. Standing there he looked like the culmination of your dreams.

Maybe it's the iridescent lights from the numerous christmas lights that flickered on his face making him look more exquisite or the grin he gave you after. You did surprise him but not in the way he was expecting and to be honest you are also shocked by your sudden brazenness as you lean in to kiss his plush lips. The kiss didn't last long, a little more than a peck but long enough for you to regret it.

"I .. I am sorry," you stammered burying your heating up face in your hands, embarrassed. You didn't even see Sicheng's reaction, was he appalled? You peeked through your fingers to find out, when Sicheng started laughing, tipping his head back a little, eyes crinkled in mirth, his right hand covering the half of his handsome face. 

You want nothing more than to shrivel up in one corner. He started tugging at your wrists, pulling your hands away from your burning face.

"Mind giving me more of that surprise?" The corner of his lips curved upwards, nose slightly crinkled, and you wished to etch his face to memory.

Christmas 2018 - Americano

He was late, you glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, it is now 11 P.M. and soon Christmas will be over. 

The americano you have prepared already cold, his untouched while yours halfway finished. It's fine though because you know that this will be the first of the many Christmases you have to spend without Sicheng. You must get used to spending it alone again. 

Musing to yourself your mind quickly took a trip down the memory lane of his last visit to the cafe before he got on tour with the company for one of the holiday stage productions. 

--------

You have only heard the thud of the door as it closed on its hinges. You are currently cleaning the countertop back bowed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you meticulously scrubbed at the stubborn grease that won’t budge, lifting your head to do the customary greeting, when something or rather someone barreled straight to where you are, engulfing you in a tight hug that shoved you headfirst into that someone’s chest your nose burrowed deeply into the black cloth. 

Recognizing the intoxicating scent of light musk and citrus, relief flooded you as you hugged Sicheng back. You don't know how long the two of you stayed in that position basking yourself with his warmth just a little longer.

He's real, he's here a safe and solid presence by your side. You can count by one hand the things that have endured with you throughout the years, other than the cafe which you have run since your mother got sick, dropping out of college to keep it going. And one of those is Sicheng you've found in him stability and comfort your past partners can't give you.

Sicheng pulled away putting some distance between the two of you, his arms naturally falling at his sides. He was wearing one of his brightest smiles, the apple of his cheeks high and pronounced on his face.

"_______, I've been offered the position of principal dancer at Bolshoi Ballet in Russia," He can't help but smile again clearly enthusiastic with the prospect of joining one of the most prestigious ballet companies.

It took you a moment to answer settling with an unconvincing, "Wow." You don't know how to react with his news, but you feel dread in the pit of your stomach. You don't like the idea of him leaving. You try not to let it show in your face.

"I know. I was also surprised." As if sensing the change in your demeanor he asked concerned, "Is something wrong, ______?" 

"Nothing let me whip you a drink I found from the net," you brushed him off with a wave of your hand. 

----------

"Hey _______, I am sorry there was some minor traffic that held us back," Sicheng announced his entrance that broke your reverie. Setting his duffel bag on the floor to sit on the opposite chair facing you.

His hair tousled, cheeks rosy and nose red but despite his healthy complexion you can also see the pronounced bags under his eyes with a tinge of violet. He looks tired and in dire need of rest. Yet he headed straight to the cafe instead of his apartment. 

"Sicheng I've wanted to tell you something," perching your arms on the table to fiddle with the ear of the cup.

"Yeah?" Sicheng asked, staring right at you.

"I think," you cast your eyes down on the table, and with a small voice continued, "we should break up." 

"You think?" 

"I mean we should"

"Why?"

"I ... it's just that it will be easier for you." Your hands started gesticulating in the air.

"Don't give me that bull shit. You are not the judge of that," Sicheng replied in a cold manner.

"It's just you have this life before me and you'll also have a life after me." Your voice cracked, and you gathered your strength to look at him. "I am grateful that you have been a part of my life. You are crazy talented and right now the world opens up in front you and you deserve better. I can't give you that I ..-," clutching at your chest, "I am just me."

"It's nice to know that you think of me as some temporary phase in your life and here I am fool enough to think that maybe you'll want to come with me to Russia," a cruel laugh slipped from his lips, "christ, I can't even choose what coffee I'll be having and finally for once in my life I've never been so sure of anything," voice trailing, "but us.

"So I'll still ask because I know I will regret it, if I don't. Do you want to come with me?" Sicheng pierced you with his eyes, wearing his heart out on a sleeve. Leaving himself unguarded and hoping you'll come through.

But you have never been brave. "I'll stay and you go."

"I see," he said in a bittersweet tone before he turned his back at you. 

Christmas 2020 - White Chocolate Mocha

"I told you Renjun you don't have to do your shift at Christmas." You look up to reprimand Renjun, and instead are met with familiar feline eyes that seem to see right through you. There stood Sicheng looking like an intricate piece of art displayed in the museums. It is more painful to look at him than anybody warned it would be. It hurts how familiar you are with him still dressed in black - turtleneck and slacks, his trusty duffel bag hanging on one shoulder, he's still the same but now you are nothing more than a past fling to him.

"Hey," Sicheng walked towards the counter greeting you.

"Hey," you shake your head from the trance that took over you, "Oh I'll make you something."

"I'll have a white chocolate mocha." Slightly surprised by his request it took you a second to start preparing it.

"When did you come back?" You inquired as you moved about to prepare his drink.

"Yesterday night" 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have fetched me?" He asked nonchalantly.

You momentarily stiffen evading to answer the question you throw another at him, "How are you? Is Russia treating you well?"

"Can we cut the crap out? As much as I love dancing, I don't like dancing around in circles. I've come back for one reason only." 

"Will you come with me to London?"

Looking at Sicheng standing there - after how much you have hurt him - you thought you will never see him again and you have long accepted that punishment. You are not brave and you will never be but

"Yes, I'd love to go with you."

what you have with him is worth it.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist

[milliethekitty27-writing]

Friendly Rivalry

The first time Lovino met Ludwig Beilschmidt, they were twelve years old. Slytherin and Gryffindor had history of magic and potions together, and Ludwig Beilschmidt sat in the row ahead of Lovino. He was tall, and blond, and Lovino hated him. Why? He wasn’t sure. He just… hated him. 

Over the years, though, through the Yule Ball and awkward dates (with other people, mind you) Lovino and Ludwig became friends. That fact was blamed on Lovino’s Ravenclaw brother, Feliciano, because he and Ludwig were friends. (Lovino still wasn’t sure how that had happened.) Both Lovino and Ludwig griped about Feliciano’s longtime crush on his fellow Ravenclaw, Kiku Honda, who was in their year and top of his class and apparently oblivious to Feliciano’s fawning. They watched as Feliciano tried (and failed) to flirt with him, a bit like a very sad sitcom that started out funny but now was just a bit depressing. Lovino and Ludwig still kept up their bickering from second year, but it never had quite the same bite.

Ludwig and Lovino were in their fifth year. They’d been supposed to go with Feliciano to Honeydukes, but he’d unfortunately seen Kiku in the windows of one of the other shops of Hogsmeade. Now they were sitting outside on a stone wall, watching Feliciano trail Kiku like a lost puppy. It was starting to snow and cold. Lovino had shoved his hands into his pockets and was wondering if they could just leave his brother here to bemoan his fate. Instead, he let out a long disgruntled sigh while Ludwig kept awkwardly looking down the street. 

“He just wants senpai to notice him.” Lovino muttered. Ludwig snorted, then burst out laughing. “It’s not that funny you moron!”

“But it’s true.” Ludwig wheezed. He was still grinning when a dejected Feliciano came out, complaining that Kiku had barely spoken to him. 

“He’ll notice you next time.” Lovino pat his shoulder, though he didn’t necessarily believe it. Ludwig muffled a snort behind his hands but Feliciano did brighten.

When they passed one of the glass windows, Lovino pretended the red on his face was from the wind and not from watching his normally stoic classmate loss his chocolate frogs over something really pretty unfunny. 

Lovino realized he liked Ludwig in his seventh year. Ludwig, Lovino, Kiku, Feliciano, and a friend of Lovino’s named Natalia were going to the Yule ball as a big group since none of them wanted to go with a date (rather, Feliciano had been too terrified of rejection from Kiku since last year’s catastrophe) They met up outside of the hall. Lovino and Natalia got there first. She was dressed in a chic white dress that went to her knees and was covered in holly that shimmered in the candlelight, plus short white gloves with her hair swept into a ponytail. Lovino had decided to go in a white suit covered in shimmering frost that his grandfather had sent from Italy. He’d promised the absolute best fashion and to not making him and Feliciano match. (last year really had been a disaster) 

To no one’s surprise, Ludwig was right on time. Lovino was too busy peering down the hall to search for his brother and Kiku, but Natalia made a noise of appreciation. 

“Now that’s a tall class of butterbeer.” She elbowed Lovino and he looked up. Ludwig’s hair was slicked back (like it always was) and he was dressed in a sharp black tailcoat, along with a black vest. Underneath was a deep red dress shirt. He was wearing black shoes and dress pants and he looked highly uncomfortable as he kept tugging on the sleeves. Lovino got another elbow to the side. “Stop staring and close your mouth.” His jaw snapped shut as Ludwig approached, looking rather relieved.

“I’m not the last one?”

“You’re right on time.” Natalia said. She kicked Lovino when he didn’t say anything. “This one’s brother hasn’t arrived yet, but no one’s surprised.”

“Probably busy ogling Kiku.” Ludwig said. 

“You’re not very winter-y.” Lovino muttered finally. 

“Red’s a Christmas color.” Ludwig frowned. 

“Well, it’s not-”

“He means that you look nice.” Natalia linked arms with Ludwig. Lovino scowled at her and she smiled very sweetly, clearly squeezing Ludwig’s arm. The Gryffindor looked between them in confusion. 

Kiku and Feliciano had shown up a bit later, maybe five minutes after Ludwig. Kiku was wearing a nearly-black suit with red lining and a white shirt, while Feliciano was wearing dark green with a grey shirt. They eventually melded with the mass heading into the hall. Natalia was still hanging off Ludwig’s arm and Lovino really didn’t like that. She kept smirking at him, which Lovino hated even more. 

They looked really good together. It irritated him and he didn’t understand why. He flipped her off when Ludwig wasn’t looking and she laughed. 

The ball itself was fun, even if Natalia hung on Ludwig for too long, and he bid the rest of them goodnight as they parted ways. He power walked in front of Natalia and she laughed at him but didn’t pursue. 

Lovino barely slept that night. He kept tossing and turning because how could anyone look that good in a suit (besides him) and just… ugh. This was Ludwig, he wasn’t supposed to be pretty. His heart had beat too fast every time he’d looked at him and it felt all weird and-

oh.

oooooooh fuck.

oh fuckity fuck spaghetti on a stick. 

He liked Ludwig.

Lovino drew his silencing curtains very tight, buried his face in a pillow, and screamed. 

Despite his newfound… emotions, Lovino didn’t make any move on the Gryffindor head boy. It was the end of seven years of school and too much to deal with. Instead he bitched to his grandfather over holiday breaks (Nonno laughed so hard it seemed like he was about to cry. Lovino may have flipped him off) and did his homework. He pressed in for the final tests, his NEWTs, and he regularly met with his head of house. He’d decided, some time ago, that he wanted to be a professor, and he wanted to work in astronomy. The current Professor, Akila Hassan (her Ravenclaw son Gupta had graduated in seventh year and Feliciano had adored him, which had been a mark in Lovino’s favor because everyone loved Feliciano and Akila had looked at his gruff attitude and thought it was charming) had long been Lovino’s favorite professor and he had always enjoyed her class, but she was nearing retirement age. He’d asked if he could apply for her spot and if she could wait until he could take her place. 

He passed his NEWTs with decent enough grades that she agreed - he had to take a two year course at a magically university for teaching and astronomy, and then she’d take him on if she liked his style. He bid his friends goodbye (Feliciano was also aiming to be a professor, hopefully for charms, which meant working with his brother but also working with his brother) at the graduation podium. He really did consider kissing Ludwig goodbye, because Ludwig looked so good in his robes and his red tie with the proud flush on his pale face, but both Ludwig’s older brother (Gilbert, a Hufflepuff who’d annoyed the entire group until he graduated their third year) and father were there and Lovino just wasn’t going to do anything in front of them. So he settled with a handshake that ended up being a hug, and he figured that was the last of that. (did he dream about his cheek being pressed to that magnificently hard chest, inhaling the smell that he could never place but was definitely Ludwig and might have been what he smelled when they brewed amortentia? Perhaps, but he’d deny it if you asked) 

Except, two years after he started teaching for good, five years after he graduated from Hogwarts, Professor Binns finally kicked the bucket. Three days later, it was announced who the new professor would be. Ludwig Beilschmidt stepped back into Lovino’s life and he was going to scream because somehow Ludwig was prettier and he just wanted to touch the muscles.

Kiku and Feliciano weren’t very sympathetic. One night at Madame Rosmerta’s with almost all of the teaching staff (as a bonding experience, Headmaster Wang had said, but everyone used it as a chance to drink and have fun. This was two years before Ludwig had come back into Lovino’s life) had resulted in several confessions. Feliciano had told the entire staff that he’d had a huge crush on Kiku in their school years but oh yeah I’m definitely over it now! Nothing more than good buddies! That had resulted in an equally drunk Kiku confessing that he had also had a crush, which then resulted in them snogging in the corner while Gilbert, Alfred, and Erzebet hooted and hollered. Lovino had confessed that he’d had a bit of a crush on Ludwig, which only his brother had heard somehow around the kissing noises. 

“You could tell him.” he’d suggested, Kiku’s lips at his neck. 

“Who knows what he’s doing now?” Lovino had waved a hand. “It’s fine. It was just a crush. Besides, he’s not even here.”

Well, now he was here and Lovino had a very big problem; every time History of Magic Professor Ludwig Beilschmidt walked past him, dressed in black and red or blue or whatever, Lovino’s heart went doki doki. 

He wrote his friend Antonio who played quidditch with the Spanish team, he wrote his Nonno, he complained to his friend Manon, the healer, or Natalia who was now the defense against the dark arts professor. He went out and saw Ludwig doing his morning workouts at the buttcrack of dawn because the man looked good in a tank top and athletic shorts. They talked about business and students, about what they’d been up to, and Lovino had never wanted to kiss him more than watching Ludwig complain about students who couldn’t tell the difference between the goblin wars. 

It was driving him mad and no one was helpful. They just told him to confess already or laughed at him. 

When they got the positions of the heads of house, after some deliberation by headmaster Yao, their friendship threw itself back into the rivalry of their second year. They exchanged quips over breakfast about the points, they threw themselves into the Quidditch Cup (the first year, Gryffindor won and Lovino was still bitter) and into the House Cup. (Ravenclaw won that year, under the Arithmancy professor Francis Bonnefoy. Both Feliciano and Kiku were smug about that. Lovino and Ludwig bonded over complaining about the snide comments) 

Lovino pined away for Ludwig Beilschmidt, who was somehow still none the wiser and he had no idea how this idiot was still oblivious to it. He hated how much his heart sang when he saw Ludwig in his Gryffindor sweaters over winter break, hated how much seeing the idiot smile made his heart do the thing, he just- ugh. It was fine. He’d get over it, eventually. Ludwig had never shown any interest in him anyway. 

Almost two years after they’d gotten the heads of houses position, Ludwig informed the rest of the staff that he was going on a trip to Brazil with a few other historians to explore one of the regions rumored to be rich with information and relics from the ancient peoples. He would be gone for at least a month, perhaps two, but he’d return for the school year. Lovino waved as he left with a promise to get dinner at the Three Broomsticks. 

When Lovino arrived with Feliciano after visiting their Nonno for most of the summer, he went to Ludwig’s room. The professor wasn’t there. Gilbert, the flying instructor, told him that Ludwig hadn’t been heard from since the beginning of the summer, and that Ludwig’s family was starting to get worried. 

Gupta, who’d been speaking with Ludwig a lot before he left, shook his head at dinner when the topic came up. 

“Mother had a few places she didn’t visit for any trips.” he said when Erzebet pressed. “Brazil had lots of interesting things for her, she’d always liked history, but there were so many unknowns in the forests and so many curses that she feared she’d never return. I tried to tell Ludwig not to go, but… he said it was too good of an opportunity.” The entire table stared at him. 

“You mean he might be dead?” Gilbert asked. Gupta sighed.

“Perhaps. Perhaps he’s just trapped. Brazil is a beautiful but unpredictable place. The area he was going to is… not supposed to be very friendly.” 

The rest of the summer was melancholic. They prepared for students but were very aware of the empty seat between Gilbert and Lovino, of the empty classroom at the end of the hall. Lovino hated it. They got a substitute, Vasilica Popescu, for history of magic, and Professor Erzebet Hédévary took over as the Gryffindor head of house until they heard from Ludwig again. 

Two weeks into the school year, late at night, there was a great commotion in the hall. Lovino was woken up by his brother’s silvery wolf patronus. 

“Ludwig’s here.” Feliciano’s voice sounded frantic. Lovino didn’t listen to the rest of the message, instead pulling on his black robe and running down the hall swearing under his breath. 

Ludwig was in the hospital wing, which had taken Lovino a minute to realize. All of the staff was already there and he was speaking with Gilbert, who looked ready to cry or strangle him. Ludwig was still dressed in a brown coat and his arm was being tended to by Manon, who didn’t look happy either. There was a wicked looking cut bleeding through his right arm, like he’d been splinched, and he had a bandage on his cheek. His knee looked odd and his right elbow was clearly broken. Lovino slammed the door open and the staff parted like the sea. 

“Where the fuck have you been?!” he snarled it. Ludwig looked up at him with rather wide eyes.

“If you upset him I’m kicking you out.” Manon warned. Lovino waved an acknowledging hand, but he did lower his voice. 

“You were gone for months longer than you said! And then it turns out that Gupta was telling you not to go and you went anyways! We got nothing from you, at all, and now you just show up in the middle of the night?! What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Lovino kept going for almost five minutes. Ludwig kept blinking at him rather dopily and it eventually led to Lovino trailing off, because dopy Ludwig was a very innocent and sweet looking Ludwig, and it meant Ludwig was gazing at him like he was the night sky.

Lovino stepped back when the headmaster arrived. Ludwig would be resuming his position as head of house, but he’d be taking some time to recover before retaking his position of teacher. 

Ludwig was back on his feet the next morning. His knee had been completely fixed but his arm was still bandaged (Manon had done what she could, but splinchings were nasty things and on top of the elbow she wasn’t taking any chances) and he still had a bandage on his cheek. He was too busy catching up and checking in with the students in his house (all of whom were glad to see him back) to really chat but Lovino caught up with him in the library behind one of the bookshelves, looking at something. He turned when Lovino stepped behind the otherwise empty shelves. They looked at each other, then Lovino huffed. 

“If you ever do that again, I’ll beat you with my telescope.” The idea of losing this stupid man had been killing Lovino for literal months, and then Ludwig just showed up with his arm falling off and grinned at him like he was… something? It made his head spin. Ludwig stared at him for a moment, then smiled a little.

“You were worried about me?” Lovino was fairly certain he wasn’t imagining the pink flush spreading across those beautiful cheekbones, but he was livid enough to ignore it. 

“You almost died!” Lovino spat. “You just disappeared over the summer and then show up two weeks into the school year with-”

“You were worried about me.” Ludwig was still smiling and it made Lovino’s heart do the thing again. He hated it. 

“Yes I was!” Lovino threw his hands in the air. “Are you listening to me threaten you!? Or did the potions Manon gave you addle your brain even more?!” Ludwig just smiled at him dopely again and Lovino had to look away. “Just- don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.” After a moment, Ludwig leaned forwards and kissed his forehead. Lovino’s heart went from fifty to a hundred and he felt his cheeks burn. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I won’t do it again.” Ludwig stepped back, pink cheeked again. “A-after all, I wouldn’t want to get hit with the telescope.”

“Damn right you wouldn’t.” Lovino managed after a moment. His eyes were focused on Ludwig’s lips because wow they were right there and they’d touched his forehead holy fuck. “I… uh… I’m gonna… go. Back to my classroom. I’ll see you at dinner..” Ludwig looked disappointed and Lovino’s heart protested violently. 

“You don’t have to.” Ludwig said tentatively. “I could use a bit of catch up on what’s been happening.” 

“I… I think I have to.” If I don’t I’m going to kiss you until you’re seeing stars. “You already got the catch ups from everyone else.”

“I’d rather get it from you.” Lovino took a step back and Ludwig reached for him. “Is something wrong?” 

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Lovino shook his head. “I… I don’t know. I’m… God…” Ludwig still resembled a confused dog and Lovino finally cracked. He stepped forwards and pulled Ludwig down to proper height, pressing his lips tightly to his. They were warm, a little chapped, and tasted like maple syrup from breakfast. Ludwig froze, Lovino let go, then he bolted out from the shelves. When he risked a glance over his shoulder, Ludwig was staring after him with a completely red face. Lovino turned the corner and left the library. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He didn’t go down to breakfast the next few days and he avoided the halls like the plague. Feliciano thought he might be sick but Lovino told him to fuck off when he asked if he needed to see Manon, so Feliciano was less worried. 

About a week after, there was a knock on his door. He was expecting one of his fifth years. “Come in.”

Ludwig pushed open the door and Lovino really considered diving under his desk and hiding for the next four years, but he froze instead. Ludwig’s arm was still wrapped up but the cut on his face had healed up. They both stared at each other for a minutes. 

“I’ve got a fifth year any time now.” he muttered. “So make this quick.” Ludwig swallowed. 

“So… that.” He flailed a little, then pointed at his lips like an idiot. “Was… was that… romantic? I know you and Feli do the kissing thing for greetings, it’s an It-”

“Italians kiss cheeks to say hello, not lips.” Lovino snapped. “And so what, if it was? I’ve liked you since seventh year, and-”

“Hogsmeade.” Ludwig blurted. His face was even more red than his robes. 

“...what about it?”

“Uh. I’ve liked you since Hogsmeade. Fifth year.” He buried his face in his hands. “I- Do you want to go at some point, with me? As a… a date?” 

Lovino’s Ravenclaw fifth year, Michelle Payet, didn’t end up having her meeting. She peeked inside the open door and found Professor Vargas pinning Professor Beilschmidt to the desk. (This was despite the fact that Professor Vargas was several inches shorter than Professor Beilschmidt.) She very slowly closed the door, then power walked down the hall.

When the pair of professors arrived at dinner that night, all the teachers were grinning. Headmaster Wang glanced up at them as they sat next to each other like they always did. 

“I hope that you don’t make a habit of making out during class hours.” he said rather brightly. Ludwig went red, burying his face in his hands, and Lovino just grinned. 

“I make no promises.” He loosely took Ludwig’s hand. Ludwig squeezed, and he squeezed back, his heart still making those goddamn doki dokis but at least he knew that Ludwig’s was doing the same thing. 

----

Thanks for reading!

This fic is also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823528

This is all Frukmerunning’s fault. They posted about a Harry Potter AU and it lived in my head rent free for a few days. It’s also their fault that I ship Germano as much as I do now. (and Itapan. Damn you. I’m not sure if I’ve got their characterization quiiiiiiite right but I’m happy with it) 

Natalia was included in the Yule Ball group because she was the only person in their year I had (for some reason? I kind of just… estimated the ages as I thought they worked) and I like her. Plus if anyone is going to make fun of Lovino about this, it’s her and Manon and I already had a plan for Manon.

I do have a list of sortings and positions that I made for my own amusement (this took a day of my life I will never get back) I’ll post it under the cut. There’s sort of a rhyme and reason for it but I can’t explain it, so… 

House sortings

Gryffindor: 

Ludwig (Germany) 1st year

Feliks (Poland) 2nd year

Erzebet (Hungary) 4th year 

Govert (Netherlands) 4th year

Alistair (Scotland) 4th year

Matthias (Denmark) 5th year

Ivan (Russia) 6th year

Yao (China, much older than everyone else) 

Slytherin:

Lovino (Romano) 1st year

Natalia (Belarus) 1st year

Antonio (Spain) 2nd year

Arthur (England) 3rd year

Carlos (Cuba) 3rd year

Brigid (Ireland) 5th year

Tino (Finland) 6th year

Sadiq (Turkey) 7th year

Basch (Switzerland) 7th year

Ravenclaw:

Kiku (Japan) 1st year

Feliciano (N. Italy) 1st year

Soren (Norway) 2nd year

Dylan (Wales) 3rd year

Francis (France) 4th year

Roderich (Austria) 4th year

Vasilica (Romania) 6th year

Gupta (Egypt) 7th year

Hufflepuff:

Alfred (America) 2nd year

Matthew (Canada) 2nd year

Heracles (Greece) 2nd year

Manon (Belgium) 3rd year

Gilbert (Prussia) 4th year

Lin Yi Ling (Taiwan) 5th year

Berwald (Sweden) 7th year

Irunya (Ukraine) 7th year

Staff members:

Ancient Runes - Sadiq Adnan

Arithmancy - Francis Bonnefoy

Astronomy - Lovino Vargas

Care of magical creatures - Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo

Charms - Feliciano Vargas

Defense against the dark arts - Natalia Braginskya

Divination - Arthur Kirkland

Flying - Gilbert Beilschmidt

Headmaster - Yao Wan

Healer - Manon Abelsson

Herbology - Matthew Williams

History of magic - Ludwig Beidschmidt

Librarian - Gupta Hassan

Muggle studies - Alfred Jones

Potions - Kiku Honda

Transfiguration - Erzebet Hédévary

Former Astronomy professor - Akila Hassan (Ancient Egypt)

Heads of houses:

Slytherin - Lovino Vargas

Gryffindor - Ludwig Beilschmidt

Hufflepuff - Matthew Williams

Ravenclaw - Francis Bonnefoy

Students:

Peter (Sealand) - Hufflepuff 2nd year

Wendy (Wy) - Gryffindor 2nd year

Erland (Ladonia) - Hufflepuff 2nd year

Leopold (Kugelmugel) - Ravenclaw 2nd year

Maximus (Molossia) - Gryffindor 3rd year

Dmitri (Moldova) - Slytherin 3rd year

Michael (Hutt River) - Hufflepuff 3rd year

Im Yong Soo (S. Korea) - Hufflepuff 4th year

Michelle (Seychelles) - Ravenclaw 5th year

Louise (Monaco) - Slytherin 5th year

Elise (Liechtenstein) - Hufflepuff 5th year

Emil (Iceland) - Hufflepuff 6th year

Wang Jia Long/Leon (Hong Kong) - Ravenclaw 6th year

Jett (Australia) - Gryffindor 7th year

Lux (Luxembourg) - Slytherin 7th year

Neeraja (India) - Slytherin 7th year

[askdrizella]

* FAILED CURSE AU ;

alternate universe from August 22nd to September 19th.

Drizella Lourent adelaide kane

thirty one years old

Duchess from the Enchanted Forest

widowed; single

important connections; Ella Tremaine; step sister. Snow White; niece. Regina Mills; childhood best friend/sister figure. 

things will be tagged * fc au ;

trigger warnings; abuse and murder

character mentions: Victoria Tremaine, Regina Mills, Cora Mills, King Leopold, Snow White, Ella Tremaine and OC’s.

SHORT BIOGRAPHY

Drizella Lourent is the widow to Earl Charles, brother to King Leopold. She grew up with a strict guidelines an a harsh hand before being forced into an arranged marriage at the age of 18. When the Evil Queen prevailed over King Leopold, the Earl allowed his niece to stay with them for a short time as the hunt for the princess began. Drizella could not understand why her former best friend, sister truly, turned against this child but it was none of her concern anymore as Regina had cut ties the moment she married the king. Drizella lost her once lively spirit and grew dark over the years leading to hidden magic causing the death of her husband. 

FULL BIOGRAPHY 

Drizella Tremaine was born to Albert and Victoria Broussard during a time that was inconvenient at best. The couple had done nothing but fight for over a year eventually leading to Albert disappearing into the night when Drizella was just 4 days old. Victoria was not surprised which is why she had a plan. A plan devised with her best friend; Cora Mills. News of Alberts indiscretions spread wide and fast making it impossible for the man to show his face again without facing the shame of leaving his family behind. Victoria and Cora would both stop at nothing to ensure their dreams came true, even at their daughters expense. 

Childhood wasn’t completely terrible for the only child. Due to the close friendship between mother and Cora, Drizella had one of her own; Regina Mills. The two quickly became inseparable and, thankfully, the mothers approved of the friendship. Drizella was raised with a strict rules and a firm hand. Fall in line or find yourself locked away for days. Drizella often found herself locked away. Teenage rebellion hit hard. Any chance possible the woman was off riding horses through the estate just to escape the watchful eye of mother, her lady’s maid or the servants keeping an eye on her every move. When Drizella was just barely a teen Victoria met and fell in love with another man which resulted in marriage. The Broussard’s became the Tremaine’s. The harsh words and quick hands moved behind closed doors as not to ruin the new marriage. At least Drizella now had a step-sister, Ella Tremaine, to spend time with whenever locked away.

At the turning of age life completely changed. Suddenly her best friend, Regina, was engaged to the King! It was exciting to most but confusing to Drizella. When they spoke of their futures it certainly didn’t involve a man thrice their age with a child already. Voicing her concerns had not been the best decision as it soon led to her own arranged marriage to a man twice her age on the other side of the kingdom. Before Drizella’s wedding, Regina had cut off all ties and refused to speak with her again. It was heartbreaking as the two had done practically everything together since before they could crawl. Arguing seemed moot without the support of the now Queen so Drizella gave in. From Tremaine to Lourent.

Marriage was nothing like the once naive girl imagined. Yes, she married an Earl who provided more than Drizella could ever imagine, but it came with punishments which put mothers to shame. The news of the King’s murder sent Princess Snow White running to their door with a tale of the Evil Queen rising. It was confusing to Drizella as Regina was once a young woman who didn’t wish harm on anyone, but it was no longer the duchess’ concern. Eventually, the once vivid girl became dull to it all. Until one night, the Earl had demanded an heir in a manner never asked for before - with several other woman in the room. This was not what she signed up for and she made it known. It was the first time she spoke out against the Earl. The women were dismissed by the man which came with a sigh of relief only replaced with pain as the back of his hand made contact with her mouth. Rage boiled within. With narrowed eyes and shaky hands, a hidden sensation began to bubble underneath skin. For the first time, Drizella did not dare to stop it. A plant stretched enough to plunge through the mans chest, killing him. Drizella turned and left the deceased brother to King Leopold bleeding on the stone floor for his valet to find.

The new darkness within did not phase her. The Earl was buried, estate passed on to Drizella and a newfound freedom now at her fingertips. Only now, the Duchess had no idea what to do with it. 

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Amaratha Othonos AGE & BIRTH DATE. Currently 27, reincarnated on December 1st, 1993 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Kobalos OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Poppy Drayton

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, cannibalism, torture, suicide, slavery mention ) Amaratha was the older sibling of two, born in a small village outside of Thebes. But the village was different from the rest of the Greek world, where the taboo was celebrated, and none so revered as Dionysus. The cultists worshiped the god of madness above all others, spreading his religion to anyone who crossed their paths, despite the open scorn and derision they received. Amaratha was no exception to this, a mischievous young girl who was devout in her faith, using her innocent appearance to lure in unexpecting travelers. Those who were not converted were offered as sacrifice to their god, the flesh turned into a feast as the people partook in depravity. The opinions of the small minded mattered little to her, for they had the favor of Dionysus, and lived only to please him and themselves. 

And so the god blessed their village, the cult they created in his worship. Though both Amaratha’s parents had passed on by that point, she and her brother received the blessing, becoming kobaloi along with the rest of their people. Grown into a young woman by that point, there was seldom she took more enjoyment out of than her newfound powers, spinning tales of horror and madness inside the minds of those that caught her ire. Men from Thebes who pursued her hand were quick to fall victim to her machinations, and her brother protected her from those inside the village that wished to claim her as well. Amaratha’s spirit was fierce and independent, and detested the thought of being tied down to anyone she felt undeserving — which was all of them. She remained unmarried her entire first lifetime, until the woman found her end in a wolf’s jaws. It was a messy, bloody thing, and in the end as she laid in the dirt struggling for her last breaths, it was done with the satisfaction of knowing the wolf had gone first. 

She came back in their village once again, only a few years later. A different family, this time, but her brother was still there as well, and once her memories came back it was as if nothing had ever changed. But nothing can last forever, particularly something built on the bones of madness and depravity. The end for life as they knew it came with the arrival of Philip ll of Macedon. The king had overtaken the city of Thebes, chaffing the freedom the cultists had grown accustomed to. It was through Amaratha’s meddling that the thought was put into the head of his bodyguard, a manipulation that led to Pausanias of Orestis striking back against the wrongs he had endured from his once-lover king. If only she could have known what the fallout of such actions would lead to. 

With Philip II dead, Thebes began to rebel against the rule of outside forces, denying Alexander the Great’s authority. The new king responded violently, and the city found itself no match to the strength of his army. Their entire village was razed, and those who had not died in the assault were to be sold into slavery. But Amaratha had no intentions of being taken quietly. She was always clever, and quick, and all it took was just one moment of distraction for her to jump to her feet and rush the closest soldier — but instead of attacking, the kobalos threw herself at him and impaled herself on his spear. Even if she had still been a human woman, without the knowledge of her reincarnation, there was no thought worse than to be at the mercy of the Macedonian soldiers, and so she took fate into her own hands. With such a mortal wound inflicted upon herself, she held no value as a slave anymore, and was left to choke on her own blood as the village that was her home burned to ashes around her. 

Her next cycle, she came back as the daughter of a powerful Athenian politician, who used Amaratha as little more than a bargaining chip to strike an alliance against his rival. But she was quick to leave such a life and her husband behind, the moment her memories returned to her. The kobalos went back to what was once her home, hoping to find some trace of where her people had been taken. Instead, all she found was ruins, and the truth of the matter was that she would not meet any of her kin again for nearly a hundred years. Perhaps it was fate, or simply coincidence that she and her brother would eventually end up in the same city, but the overwhelming relief of finding him again forged their bond even strong than it had been before; they remained together for the rest of that incarnation, and began devising methods to seek each other out in the ones that followed. 

But Amaratha never had any choice in where she would end up next, frustratingly. Nor the fact that the majority of her memories remained locked away until she reached adulthood. The more that time passed by, the more her reincarnations began to spread further across the world. And all the while, the woman still served Dionysus faithfully, even though he never offered anything in return again, not even a word. She spread chaos and discord wherever she went, creating problems where none existed simply for her own entertainment. From commoners to kings, no one was safe from Amaratha’s influence if she had the means to influence them. 

One of her favorite lifetimes happened to be in Russia. Her name had been Tomila Fedotovna at the time, and her typically dark tresses had turned nearly as white as the snow that covered the ground. The year was 1,560, and Ivan IV Vasilyevich had already settled into his reign. Though he had not yet earned the moniker that would follow him through history, Amaratha could see the tsar’s instability simmering beneath the surface, just needing the right push to come out. What a terrible thing it was, when his tsaritsa came down with a sickness in the summer, taken from the world before the turn of the next season. Poison, they whispered, and most importantly, the tsar believed so as well. His second and third wives followed in similar fashion, only stroking the paranoia inside Ivan the Terrible, which Amaratha all too happily provoked. While the tsar looked for enemies all around him, he never suspected the doe-eyed daughter of one of his boyars. 

She never did give him a moment’s peace, watching him descent further into madness with each atrocity, even the accidental murder of his own son. And when he finally died, all that was left of the Rurik dynasty was his feeble and ineffectual son Feodor. Though Amaratha had already died and reincarnated by the time of the last Rurik’s death, it was satisfactory enough to know that she had been the cause when her memories returned years later, as well as directly led to the Time of Troubles that wracked the country. 

And yet, perhaps one of the most important of her lives took place in the early 1800s England. She was Elizabeth, the daughter of a simple servant, and it was a life far less glamorous than those of times past, but the young girl was oblivious to such knowledge. All she knew was that she loved her father, and that they were going to live in a grand house with a kind man. It was nice, and happy for a time, until one evening she was awoken from her bed and taken away from the estate by the kind man. She was too young to know the details at the time, but her father had died, he had said, and so he was going to take care of her now. She never thought to question the fact that throughout the entirety of her youth, he never changed, or ask for the truth of what happened that night. It was only when she turned eighteen that he sat her down and told her the truth; that he was a vampire, and indirectly led to the death of her father — of that life, as Amaratha was starting to get her memories back of who she used to be.

The two things coupled together were difficult to handle, and so the kobalos packed up what little things she could call her own and left. Off to think, to readjust, to slip into the skin of Amaratha again rather than Elizabeth. But it had been a long time since she had felt such familial affection, having not crossed paths with her brother in her two recent lifetimes, and she found herself missing the company of the vampire she had come to think of like a father. It took a few years of stubbornness, an attempt to return to her old life of detachment, before she gave in and sought him out again. There was comfort to be found in the fact that, despite her continued reincarnations, his immortality meant he could never truly be lost to her, once her memory returned each time. In each of her lifetimes that followed, she would always end up seeking him out again, even if they did not stay together the entire time. 

Because, as much as she loved her surrogate father, Amaratha still craved the belonging of her own people. Whenever rumors gained traction of someone with mythical abilities, she was quick to follow, in an attempt to locate her brother or the rest of their kin. It’s what sent her back to Russia, to track down a man known as Rasputin, where she found a witch that had captivated the people of Russia, including the empress. While not a kobaloi like she hoped, she still found great amusement in the mystic man, and the two formed a friendship that lasted until his premature death. 

It also led her to the door of a genasi in the 1980s, though that matter ended much worse for Mara. She forgot her own cardinal rule, the thing that kept her species protected — anonymity. For anyone who knew their tricks could no longer be deceived by them, and once she revealed the truth of herself to the person she thought a friend, a different side of them emerged. There had been a string of murders across the country, but she had not put two and two together until she found herself strapped down in his basement. What followed was excruciating, hours spent in torment, drawing out her pain for their enjoyment. It was in her last moments when, with a final bit of strength from her anger, Mara swore that she would come back for them and repay tenfold — the genasi smiled, and bid her good luck, before finally slicing her throat. 

Her most recent reincarnation happened in Spain, a child abandoned outside of a police station by parents that either couldn’t or didn’t want to keep her. Though she was quickly taken in by a local family, in the end it was not to be, and the girl ended up going into the foster system, where she would never be adopted out of. The name they gave her had been Daniela Marin, but it never felt quite right rolling off the tongue, even if she couldn’t figure out why. She was quick to return to her original name when the memories returned, and the first thing she did upon her reawakening was pay the genasi a visit, fulfilling the promise she made before her death; without the element of surprise, Mara proved a much greater adversary, capable of reversing any curse they attempted to throw at her, inflicting a much greater suffering than what she had endured. 

From that day on, she spent the next decade traveling around Europe, rebuilding her wealth and causing torment to those around her. She had plans to seek out both her brother and adoptive father, eventually, but they were fast-tracked with the sudden loss of her magic one day. Though her brother’s location had yet to be discovered, the vampire was much easier to track down, and it was concern for him that ultimately led Mara to Corinth Bay, unaware that what she’s sought after throughout all her lives also awaits inside.

PERSONALITY

+ fearless, resourceful, playful - impulsive, self-indulgent, devious

PLAYED BY Abby. CST. She/Her.

[phoenixtakaramono]

SUMMARY: Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! A middle-aged author in his hubris, he’d unknowingly triggered his fate and had his consciousness whisked away into an unfathomable mystical world that he would later learn to be based on Proud Immortal Demon Way and his very own work-in-progress. When given the opportunity to customize his character’s stats and to design his one remaining Customizable Skill Slot, as a veteran reader of transmigration stories and their tropes, Shen Yuan demanded, “Grant me the protagonist’s halo of course!”The SYSTEM was silent all but for a minute. 

【Understood. Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" activated. Esteemed Host, you share the Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" with one other.】

“Who?”

【This world’s Luo Binghe. From the original novel series.】

“...Hold on, I need some time to process this.”

(Little did Shen Yuan know that this world’s Luo Binghe is the same sadistic “Bing gē” from the released Extra short story. It was also too bad that Shen Yuan, in his mortal form, resembled Shen Qingqiu by a good thirty-to-forty percent.)

There was an important takeaway to be had from tonight’s interaction: Shen Yuan had asserted his place as the lord of this residence and as Luo Binghe’s future ally.

Several thoughts had, however, been plaguing him ever since Shen Yuan gifted Luo Binghe the handscrolls, leaving like the composed gentleman he was while the half-demon pondered over the newfound revelations for the night. Those thoughts filled Shen Yuan’s brain with a renewed vigor that his exhausted body did not feel, roiling through him as he changed into his night clothes. Even now, lying down with his hands folded over his stomach, they consumed his mind as he stared up at the azure, gauzy canopy that looked eerily similar to the one in the guest bedchamber that Luo Binghe now slept in.

Wisps of hazy white rose from the lotus-shaped censer he’d brought to his bed. The coals within were still fresh in the copper, keeping him warm in the night, with the fragrance of sandalwood circulating within the room.

His unyielding companion, the blue text box, hovered above. Shen Yuan kept his gaze averted from it; he had read and reread the Chinese characters countless times that if he closed his eyes, he could still see the most recent notification engraved in his mind’s eye.

【Prediction! Future Event <<A NIGHT OF PASSION>> has been changed into <<LOADING CHEKHOV'S GUN>>. You have reached the conditions to clear the scenario. Countdown commencing. Reward: B-Points +50.】

The planes of his face were bathed in a soft blue glow as he ruminated. Shen Yuan couldn’t find it within him to feel any guilt or to throw blame at anyone other than himself. He’d unlocked the <<TRUE END>> main scenario and, judging by how the <<SYSTEM>> was not giving him a choice, he had to build that rapport between themselves and see that friendship through.

These are the seeds you’ve sown, he reminded himself. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. He could only dig his hands into the soil and watch the seeds slowly bear fruit.

Bing gē—or, rather, Luo Binghe—was not a 2D character on paper; he was now a real person who breathed and talked and had a will of his own. Even so, Shen Yuan didn’t know the extent of the ramifications if an extraordinary “prodigy” gained self-awareness that he was the male protagonist of a fictional erotica series.

It’d be interesting. If someone found out one day that they were a precious existence in a world which catered to them because of “narrative convenience,” they’d naturally become audacious. All the attractive people belonged to them, hearts were won over for no real reason, and enemies would be seen as less of a threat and more as an annoyance in the eyes of a protagonist with infinite power levels. Shen Yuan could envision it; Luo Binghe would probably behave more recklessly, bolstered by the certainty that he was protected by plot armor. He’d be a spoilt menace in a male power fantasy world—riding the power trip until the novelty wore off inevitably.

The corners of Shen Yuan’s mouth curved. He didn’t know how likeminded Luo Binghe was, but if he thought like he did, he’d exploit his advantages. A protagonist’s existence was akin to a cockroach, dragged from door’s death each time without fail.

This was not merely a case of schadenfreude—another difficult foreign term he’d learned during his pursuit as a novelist—where he reveled in another person’s misfortunes. It was a well-established trope in all forms of literature that when a person was casually dropped into a life-or-death situation, they would resurface as calamities. Since Luo Binghe was an important main character, he would naturally benefit.

...Sorry, youngster. Shen Yuan raised a white flag in commiseration for him in his heart. I didn’t mean to conscript you, but you must continue to work hard. Nationalistic pride exists among many Chinese writers.

Even pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had not been exempt from that.

In most narratives, a protagonist’s role was to rise above the rest and “smash the system.” They were akin to power kegs just waiting to be ignited.

Shen Yuan squinted up at the UI, his eyes beginning to water from its bright glow. He blinked rapidly, but the strain in his eyes refused to ease. This better not be the sort of tale where he and Luo Binghe had to compete to establish who was the one true protagonist, having to assert narrative dominance. Shen Yuan had no intention of pulling aggro to himself.

Raising a forearm up to shadow his vision, he groaned. He declared to no one, “Airplane brother, you’ve done your first son a great disservice.”

(He couldn’t help thinking the author had done a disservice to the original Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan among many others.)

The events that had played out tonight strengthened Shen Yuan’s conviction. He could now see how people easily fell for Luo Binghe’s act; the charisma of a stallion protagonist was potent. Even so, he had capitalized on his goodwill—and Luo Binghe’s strange fixation—hoping continuous acts of kindness being demonstrated toward him would soften him toward Shen Yuan and prove his intentions were sincere. His goal to leave a favorable impression was already well underway, with the endgame of establishing how it would be in Luo Binghe’s best interests to remember Shen Yuan’s acts of compassion and to return them tenfold in the future.

Should Shen Yuan prove himself to be of use, surely even a cutthroat person like Bing gē would not discard a loyal comrade—no, a valuable asset—during his rise to power?

Under no circumstances must Luo Binghe see the strange celestial fortuneteller as a threat or as a jealous rat. In the stories where the main character was an antihero, the few ways to survive their malice was by entering their harem, becoming the sole lover, being exiled—like Luo Binghe’s rival, the “second male lead” Gongyi Xiao—or becoming an indispensable friend or ally. Even though Shen Yuan was protected by plot armor, he should not assume its protection was absolute. His own transmigration here was proof that life was full of unknown variables.

But with Luo Binghe’s appearance here, his days of treating the other protagonist’s existence like colorless air were over.

To avoid future headaches, the only method Shen Yuan could foresee showing his fellow protagonist that his services were indispensable was by lending him his intelligence—and his predictions of the future. As the ancient proverb went, a friend who brings coal in the snow is most precious. If he availed to continue fostering goodwill and his undying support, those efforts would be rewarded handsomely. As a protagonist of the xianxia genre, Luo Binge followed a code of honor—even more so as a cultivator taught in the martial and mystical arts.

He recalled the last question Luo Binghe had asked of him before Shen Yuan left, regarding the compatibility of his fated person.

What he’d told Luo Binghe during the palm-reading was admittedly due to Shen Yuan’s own internal bias. It’d made Shen Yuan want to laugh at his own past naivety. He had to reevaluate everything he’d erroneously taken to be true and canon.

As a novelist, Peerless Cucumber wasn’t as generous as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky who’d spoiled his stallion protagonist with far-too-easy conquests as a result of pandering to his audience with fanservice. While Shen Yuan’s unique stamp was focusing less on romance and more on worldbuilding, he developed his romances gradually; like reality, his characters had to learn to work with each other’s strengths and flaws, overcome challenges, mutually pine for each other, and to be able to see a future together.

Only then did the payoff seem all the more impactful in his storylines.

A conflicted expression descended upon Shen Yuan’s face.

While there was entertainment to be had following the adventures of a “blackened” antihero crushing his opponents under his foot, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but count his blessings again that he wasn’t a young woman who had been reincarnated in the body of the villainess or a side character. That archetype always seemed to hope to enjoy her new lavish life in the sidelines watching the romance unfold between the male and female leads, but was swept into the mechanisms of palace intrigue—secret schemes and political power struggles—when the male lead inevitably turned his attention towards her.

Shen Yuan also took solace in his good fortune of not having been transmigrated into the body of an antagonist or a cannon fodder—which meant it wasn’t necessary for him to embrace the plot device of hugging the protagonist’s golden thighs and painstakingly preserving the pretense of being another person.

There were two less flags to be concerned over.

His purpose here was to surpass his rival in the danmei genre. That meant there must be two male leads. But Luo Binghe didn’t come from his own intellectual properties; his creation had been birthed from Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s imagination.

In this case, since it was a crossover, didn’t that mean Shen Yuan had essentially adopted Luo Binghe as his male lead? So as his responsibility, wouldn’t that mean he’d have to find the xiǎo láng gǒu—little wolfdog—a love interest? Give him an OTP? Help him tie the knot?

...Would it truly be okay if this tired uncle wrote a predestined romance for once? As much as Shen Yuan favored defying expectations, there was a formulaic structure that made their literature different from those in the Western market whose shocking narratives could not only arouse pity in their audience, but also a sense of awe, excitement, fear, and suffering.

Chinese protagonists were not always someone of high society; they often hailed from humble origins as a device for the writer to underscore the merits of working hard and to criticize the system—a fictional one though, to avoid absolute censorship by the Chinese government. Their heroes began as nothing more than a windblown leaf in the social structure and years of ethical traditions set in place. They started on the bottom rungs of society to draw people’s attention to their lives, to the injustice and unfairness, which made their struggles and triumphs all the more impactful to the reader.

The fates of the leading characters were tied to the juxtaposition of the harmonious ideal of society and the reality of a flawed system. Chinese tales were inherently romantic oftentimes, with tragic conflicts written to emphasize the beauty of a bond and rousing sympathy and pity for their plight. The archetype of a tragic hero was meant to be presented so profoundly that great reverence would well up spontaneously in one’s heart.

In his opinion, Luo Binghe had suffered plenty in his role as the avenging, wronged hero.

Under normal circumstances, as Peerless Cucumber, Shen Yuan was the sort of novelist known for deconstructing unoriginal, formulaic conventions. He’d satirized enough classic and tired tropes in whichever genre he was writing for, it almost became expected of him to subvert expectations in all of his publications. It was just his contrarian nature to write something out of spite. It would therefore not be considered strange for him to challenge the established romantic convention of soulmates by emphasizing different degrees of compatibility, by making his leading characters come together as platonic comrades or as destined adversaries instead of the cliché as predestined lovers.

But this Luo Binghe is now a real person, Shen Yuan had to remind himself yet again, and is no longer an imaginary concept on paper.  

Peh, I never knew you were such a romantic, Protagonist A. To think I have to break the discipline I’ve kept for these past few decades of my life…. Who knew a little wolfdog like you would still yearn for a tacky “match made in heaven” even though you’ve been “dual cultivating” with so many beauties….

For the first time in a long while, guilt weighed heavily on Shen Yuan’s mind. He swallowed hard. While he understood the implicit reality of his situation, he still felt like he was, in some way, disappointing his audience by not living up to his reputation. The shame he felt was bizarre.

He cast his plea into the void, my cherished readers, please understand. Forgive this writer if I don’t subvert your expectations in this aspect just this once.

The harem was the closest Luo Binghe had to a family. After the parental kindness of the washerwoman was torn away from him early in his life, after having endured the unhealthy environment that followed, the only love and tenderness he received in his life came in the arms of beautiful women. Tokens of affection were given in the form of intimate acts. It was no wonder Bing gē ’s character had ended up twisted. With his inferiority complex, he collected beauties with a greed not unlike a hedonistic minister who expected tributes and bribes.

The shortcomings of a younger, less experienced Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky made Shen Yuan’s heart ache for all of the original cast of characters. Airplane brother couldn’t have known his own writing would give birth to fully-actualized, breathing persons. As a webnovel writer, there was pressure to meet the self-imposed deadlines set on the online platform of choice to earn virtual coins per chapter, oftentimes leading one to forsake their own creative integrity.

The appeal of an underdog overcoming the odds had been a timeless theme for many reasons. The young, pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky must have felt obligated to make his protagonist suffer through every cliché in the book for angst points just so that when the love interests took care of him, the juxtaposition seemed “fluffier” and served their function as “healing element” in the story. But the setup was written clumsily, formulaically, like he’d written the angst first and rushed the payoffs.

There were so many women in the harem whose narrative potential stayed underdeveloped. Like cardboard cutouts, most didn’t have much of a personality other than looking beautiful. The heroines were trophies meant to stroke the male protagonist’s ego—who made him feel masculine, manly, and powerful—and to enable him to act in an unrestrained capacity. They were the author’s story device to show his cruel and brutal antihero still had a heart. In the presence of Luo Binghe, each one was gentle, kind, respectful, and submissive. To the other harem members, the once innocent maidens had to learn how to be shameless, who only knew to fight for a man’s favor.

But on a fundamental level, it was because his lovers were blinded by Luo Binghe’s bright, limitless future that nobody truly understood him beyond being a “main capture target.” They saw his worth as a strong, undefeatable husband material. And, in return, beneath the author’s veneer of romance, they were essentially relegated into the role not unlike that of “human cauldrons,” living furnaces that were drained of their vital energies to boost the protagonist’s longevity or cultivation powers through dual cultivation.

When Shen Yuan had read the original series, he came to recognize that the novelist must have wanted to create a dark, tragic antihero who obliterated obstacles to show how far he had come. Writing was supposed to be therapeutic, and Airplane brother must have wanted his story to stand out. The original Luo Binghe was a person motivated by his own grudges, by envy, and by pride—a hungry, ravenous young man fueled by the rage he’d been carrying for far too long. With his “origin story,” as somebody who had undergone the traumas that he had, after all the injustices he had suffered, after all the people and the society he’d been let down by, it was only natural that he carried a lot of emotional baggage.

What this Luo Binghe needed was somebody who was a foil to his temperament, patient, charismatic, and well-educated. Since he would be uniting the Three Realms, they also needed to be proactive keeping him in check from becoming a self-indulgent, fatuous ruler. A sensible head was needed on their shoulders to guide their merciless husband in understanding right from wrong, from succumbing to madness, and from any sycophants looking to lead him astray. It was integral to help Protagonist A maintain a harmonious empire so that, together, they could lead a golden age of reform.

When Cao Zijian first saw the Luò River Goddess, Shen Yuan abruptly recalled, he wrote a verse about her unrivaled beauty and charm.

Whether or not it was Liu Mingyan, a man, or somebody else, it would be poetic if Luo Binghe found his own Luo Shen in the form of somebody who understood him, a person who was well-versed in the language of his cues and subtleties. If Bing gē was truly interested in a man, then Shen Yuan will make sure to find him someone compatible. To draw a protagonist’s eye and maintain it, the candidate must be witty and gutsy, empathetic to a degree and with appropriate ambitions. To stand out from the beauties in the harem, one must not be passive or pretentious.

Their existence would be like a fairytale dream come true. A breath of fresh air. Were Luo Binghe to have intentions on somebody whose standards were significantly much more difficult to meet, he might realize he’d actually have to put in the extra effort to increase his favorability rating with them.

It was a common saying that a man’s personality will undergo change once he falls in love, arousing his desire to protect and provide.

If it was a level of deep love that was truly matchless in this age, a romance that transcended heaven and earth, ordained by fate, even an old man like himself would shed tears of emotion and wish the young newlyweds happy nuptials and an everlasting love in every lifetime.

Shen Yuan wondered if there even existed such an extraordinary person in this setting.

A fated match was bound by string even though a thousand miles. If such a person did not hail from Airplane brother’s imagination, then they must originate from Shen Yuan’s.

And if such a “child” did hail from himself, then Luo Binghe had more to prove to him, demonstrating that an emotionally-stunted half-demon as himself was capable of being sensitive and having a healthy relationship—lest Shen Yuan be forced to skewer him with Yue Ying if this “black-bellied” junior turned out to be overbearing, pursuing and pressuring this novelist’s precious “child” despite being refused. There must exist a chemistry between them, or a mutual romantic interest.

Luo Binghe’s reputation was already in tatters in the Mortal Realm on the account of having a demonic heritage and having razed down the great righteous sects. The current settings of the world defined anyone of demon blood as abominations to be exorcised or slayed without impunity. Whatever goodwill he’d originally cultivated with his deceptive “nice guy” act had to be regained. The elites of the upper class, staunch proponents of maintaining the status quo, would curse anyone of lowly background to be despicable persons who sought connections far above their status. Winning the war against the son of heaven and finding a match of great affinity would be integral in swaying public opinion to his favor.

In public, the lovers must persevere to present a united front, ruthless and fearless against their opposition but dependable and benevolent towards their subjects. They must accumulate enough reverence. It was only over time that the Sacred Rulers would prove themselves worthy of being beloved, idolized by the common people and giving the traditionalists found in high society—who held standards above the ceiling—no choice but to accept their reign lest they risk annihilation from their new rulers.

Until such a person was found, he supposed he could step into the role as his counsel if Luo Binghe ever sought him out.

There’s no medicine for regret, he thought with resolve. Although the <<SYSTEM>> made unsubtle prompts for him to make peace with Luo Binghe, as a direct result of his own decision-making, it had set Shen Yuan down the path of cooperation. He would try his hand at the impossible task of becoming Bing gē’s friend.

It would be an uphill battle, but he must broaden his view early on and engrave these words into his head: the once two-dimensional novel characters were now three-dimensional, multifaceted people.

Their upbringings were nothing alike, but destiny had come as a spring rain and brought them under the same roof.

Luo Binghe came from a destitute background. He’d witnessed firsthand, for himself, the injustices in life being born in abject poverty and with no background. After his stepmother, no one watered the mind of the tender sprout that was a young Luo Binghe, forcing the child to learn how to fend for himself. With his upbringing, it made sense why he had misanthropic tendencies. He’d seen for himself the wretchedness of people’s hearts, that those in high positions—whether it be the sons of noblemen, a Peak lord, or the emperor—had the power to push people around. Now in a similar position, he wouldn’t forget the harsh lessons. Grown up, he was a fearsome existence that very few—if any—could topple. He swore to make his enemies pay in blood.

On the other side of the spectrum, Shen Yuan was a son of entrepreneurs, born with a golden spoon in his mouth. He had the basic business acumen, brought up on Chinese pragmatism and the merit of achieving prosperity. Life might have led him down a different path as a profession, but he was educated in the principles of economics and had graduated from a reputable university focused on self-discipline and social commitment. A writer’s pastime was observing human behavior and implementing real world examples into the imaginary worlds they’ve constructed. From all the books he’d read and the programs he’d watched, he’d accumulated a wealth of random knowledge here and there, with a personal interest in reading up on tactical wartime strategies of the past.

As the older party, he could set the bare minimum standard Luo Binghe could emulate as the type of leader he could be, and to help him grow from his insecurities. The innovations and potential comforts of a technologically-advanced civilization were ingrained into a transmigrator’s brain. His handsome junior could be inspired by some of Shen Yuan’s “wisdom” and put them into practice for any of his policymaking.

Like the spring breeze that thawed the frozen soil, he would be someone who reached into the abyss and grabbed that bloodstained hand. Under his guise as a higher order of being, Shen Yuan would ensure the arrogant, domineering playboy matured into his full potential as a capable and virtuous ruler of the future.

In this world, his modern knowledge and his knowledge of both novel series were his cheats.

He’ll give him pointers so that he wouldn’t continue on the path of self-destruction. He’ll scathingly denounce and safeguard him from conniving shrews and from scheming aristocrats of unscrupulous greed, and from trope pitfalls and foolish mistakes, and to happily hand that duty off when Luo Binghe’s star-crossed lover—a nuanced person of honesty and integrity—inevitably turned up. And maybe, just maybe, even if Bing gē still curated a reputation as a fair but ruthless viper, the new reign might be salvageable and worthy of pride for generations to come.

Let us work together for the unification of the world, okay, Luo Binghe? I know you can do it. This old man will try to advise you during your prime.

It would be like tossing a peach and getting a plum back. It was a smart investment, in hopes of a great return.

“I’d redeemed you once,” Shen Yuan murmured, white lashes fanning against his cheeks. He closed his eyes in reminiscence of his own fanfiction, inhaling the light, woody scent of the censer nearby. “I can do it again.”

In the meantime, preparedness was quintessential. He reflected, I must collect more merits. I cannot be lazy and lag behind in accomplishments.

While Luo Binghe fought his battles, Shen Yuan should avail himself to avoid the fate of the Second Lead Syndrome. A bland comparison metric to be used against the protagonist, that archetype of the second male lead had everything stolen from him—from his time in the spotlight, even to his favorite woman—all to be handed over to the main character. It was a tragic fate. Shen Yuan did not wish to see his own successes being overshadowed by the radiant presence of a hardworking young man.

If his efforts bore fruit, he and Luo Binghe might even be comrades who respected each other, who trusted each other and would never dare to raise a blade at each other’s throat. They would unlock the epilogue together and find their star-crossed lovers. And once everything was set in stone, once the adults ground themselves to dust and were ready to step down to make way for the new generation, they could all live the rest of their lives in peaceful retirement.

And should fate permit them each to father their own child, should harmony blossom between the lovers they doted on and should such a good supportive relationship be maintained, as “uncles” they might even consider arranging an engagement for their descendants—a symbol of uniting the celestial, mortal, and demon bloodlines through marriage.

He could just weep from that beautiful imagery. May their lives be full of warmth and sweetness.

“...System?” he inquired drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. Turning on his side, he stared at a faraway wall. The glazed white surface of the porcelain pillow felt cold against his cheek, its smoothness reminiscent of jade. “Can you hear me?”

Ping.

【This <<SYSTEM>> provides the Esteemed Host a 24-hour service.】

“I don’t remember Airplane brother going into detail about what the education system is like in this setting. Is it supposed to be historically accurate to the ancient feudal model or…?”

Ping.

As he listened to the long encyclopedic explanation, what he’d heard seemed to reconfirm his worst fears. Education was the privilege of the elites. With a cultivator’s narrow-minded focus on self-enlightenment, it made sense that the basic education curriculum of the twenty-first century could be seen as innovative in the pre-established setting of this strange world.

Wait a moment, wouldn’t this mean even a secondary school student would be seen as a prodigy in this world? ...Then what would a middle-aged uncle of university-level education be considered as?

...A wise sage?

Shen Yuan formed a complicated expression. Immortal cultivators prioritized studying matters of the “spiritual heart” and Qi refinement, in the martial and mystical arts, breaking through the bottleneck of each cultivation stage until their dedication allowed them to reach the pinnacle that was the Ninth Stage.

In the early webnovels, Bing gē had stagnated as a late-stage Core Formation expert. The constant sabotage in his early life had ensured that his education in the esoteric art of cultivation remained incomplete, ensuring that Luo Binghe’s cultivation remained rough around the edges and unpolished, with the end result being the gaps in his knowledge that had to be overcompensated by creativity and sheer determination.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, in his laziness to research the many intricate nuances of the Cultivation World, had waved the illogicalness of the protagonist’s OPness away by attributing it to his ancient, heaven-fallen demonic heritage and to the deus ex machina that was his legendary sword. (Yet, even then, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky still occasionally confused the Foundation Establishment with the Nascent Soul stages.)

It wouldn’t be until the end of the series—after the outcry of the netizens—that the unsatisfied Luo Binghe made the breakthrough into the proper Nascent Soul stage with the help of his wives and their many gratuitous papapa scenes.

Then in the epilogue, the author had infuriatingly time-skipped all the way to the penultimate Ninth Stage, describing how Luo Binghe somehow became a legend among legends who had finally attained eternal youth and aged back into his late twenties in his new immortal body after having miraculously passed the Heavenly Tribulations—disasters from heaven which were akin to nuclear radiation for those of demon blood. After an unspecified many years of rule, he’d left his legacy behind—with the uncountable size of his harem and a boundless number of his descendants “mourning the loss of a great and oftentimes misunderstood man.”

Just remembering it made Shen Yuan’s blood pressure spike dangerously. Taking deep, calming breaths, he rolled onto his back again as he forced himself to attain catharsis from listening to the mind-numbing exposition the <<SYSTEM>> was extolling to him like a history program. His fingers clenched the bed sheet.

Eventually he found himself feeling adrift, the words beginning to lose their coherency to him as he phased in and out of consciousness, his mind becoming wrapped in a haze of scented smoke. Tense muscles soon relaxed.

The countdown had reached 00:00:00 when sleep finally claimed him.

XXXXXXXXXX

He’d read and heard several accounts of people who have claimed to have had lucid dreams before, but this was the first time Shen Yuan was aware that he was having an “out-of-body” experience.

It’d felt like his “soul” was being lifted into the air. His head was spinning, a ringing in his ears. When he finally “opened his eyes,” he was floating upright in a world devoid of color. Iridescent grids pulsed in and out of existence in the fog below, running like gossamer lines of circuits which resembled the pre-rendered level of a video game.

In the desolate void of white mist, a single incomplete, dark brushstroke circled overhead in an endless rotation of a wheel. He stared up at it. “...Is...it buffering?” Clouds escaped his mouth as he spoke, tasting pure, winter frost with each breath.

Color was beginning to spread, like somebody had dipped a daub of green watercolor beneath his feet.

Ping.

【Answer! Welcome, lăoshī! This <<System>> begs the Esteemed Host’s patience. We have encountered a bug and are thusly limiting the open world configurations. Please be patient while we load the rest of the map assets.】

Alarm bells were blaring inside his head, and he swore he could hear the clanging manifested—but muffled. He began to think that there must have been something suppressive in the air, something that muted all normal sounds. Covering his ears to deafen the noise still, he demanded, “What bug?”

In his muffled hearing, the answering ping pierced through the quiet .

The <<SYSTEM>> spoke clearly and unobstructedly.【This is the world within a dream realm. To adhere to lăoshī’s traditional xianxia expectations, please be aware that celestials are considered the antithesis to every demon in the world. We have thusly isolated your divine presence in a barrier separate from the dream realm influence of Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> and Supporting Character <<MENG MO>>, sealing away the demonic Qi bordering lăoshī’s dream realm. You are expected to clear the important plot scenario before you are allowed to return to your waking state.】

That was as official of a “reality check” as he could perform.

Shen Yuan had to sit down.

From faraway, his countenance was of a man with legs dangling over the leafy green rim of a giant water lily. The paleness to his complexion lent him a deceptive image of fragility. His long white hair was down, and the loose white sleeves of his night garment billowed even though there was no wind. A garden pavilion was forming behind him, similar in design to the thirteen bordering the lotus pond he’d rescued Luo Binghe from.

Time stretched on. And on. In the accustomization period, it was as if the fog had stolen his senses, leaving him in a vacuum—with him staring at emptiness. Finally, after an interminable wait, the buffering wheel vanished.

Things were slowly beginning to take shape before his very eyes. He felt like he was watching a time lapse video of a painting master having finally taken their brush to paper.

Dark brushstrokes were painting the rest of the world unknown. He saw something resembling the jagged peaks of a mountainous landscape. The strong black lines, ink wash, and the dotted clusters eventually faded into softer, rubbed brushwork suggesting rolling hills and a river. Thin, delicate flicks took the shape of bamboo leaves. The once-empty world before him bled into a scenic vista not unlike that of the Wuyi Mountains he’d toured once in the Fujian province. Mist passed through the scenery like silkscreen, secreting whatever was beneath from his eyes.

The frigid air bit at his exposed neck. He glanced down and balked immediately at the eyeful of his chest. With a curse, he gripped the thin fabric and wrapped them tightly around himself. He breathed in deeply to reorient himself.

This setting was indeed a place that hid tigers and dragons, each one better than the other. Shen Yuan’s mind was still a half-awake jumbled mess as he tried to process that, whether unconsciously or on purpose, an attempt had been made to drag him into a dream world.

Him, Protagonist B—an uninvolved third-party. An innocent outsider. A stranger.

Ah, but dreams are a narrative convenience, is it not?

Memory was stirred of his halcyon days of youth. His time spent as an undergraduate was a fargone blip in his life, a bubble of time separate from everything that had happened before and after. Long ago, a younger Shen Yuan had the privilege of enrolling in throwaway lectures—one of them memorably being a class where he remembered writing detailed study guides about the phenomenology of dreams and imagination. (He faintly recalled his thought process, at the time, must have been: if he’d needed to fulfill his GE credits anyway, he might as well sign up for a few interesting courses pertaining to his hobbies.)

While he never once experienced a lucid dream, he was surprised by the amount of free thinking he seemed to be able to exercise at this present moment. While the lucid-dreamer could deliberately affect the nature of their hallucinatory experience, Shen Yuan dimly recalled the supposed restrictions on the hyperkinetic dream state—the loss of the capability to doubt, for one. Going with the nonsensical flow and the loss of impulse control, as another.

This was entirely uncharted territory.

He wanted to be angry but reaching for it, he found it slipping through the cracks of his fingers like water. The longer he stared down at the clouds of mist, the more that a sense of serenity seeped into him.

The chaos in his mind calming into a tranquil lake, Shen Yuan gazed up at the pair of moons sharing the same sky. A thin sliver of space existed between the two as though an invisible force was prying the two gravitational forces apart, preventing their collision.

In his daze, he could faintly hear the familiar traditional notes of the two-stringed fiddle of the erhu and the gentle plucking of the seven-stringed guqin ; it was as if there were an invisible troupe of musicians playing the essence of Chinese aestheticism and philosophy in the background for him, setting the mood.

In the context of the imaginary, he wasn’t necessarily at a disadvantage.

It was fortunate that the <<SYSTEM>> had preserved control of his consciousness for him, instead of him having to wrest it back.

Allowing his mind to wander, he studied the composition of the painterly world. While Shen Yuan wasn’t an artist himself, he could discern that the expressionistic brushwork and precise details were what art collectors might consider authentic. Enraptured by the flow of the brushwork, he asked, “System, please correct me if I’m wrong, but is the aesthetic of the Heavenly Realm meant to resemble traditional landscape paintings?”

Ping.

【Answer! Much of the open world has been configured to match the existing prerequisites of being ethereal and otherworldly. Would the Esteemed Host like to expend 1,000 B-Points to change the map skin?】

“No!” A dulled pain dug into his palms. The miser in him thought viciously, 1,000 B-Points! Just to change a skin? What a waste!

This abstract setting of celestials and the Heavenly Realm—and whatever else that followed—must have somehow originated from his own imagination. They couldn't have come from his competitor's unpublished drafts; none of this was Airplane brother's style.

Taking another deep breath, he spoke, “System, you said the scenario was called ‘Loading Chekhov’s Gun.’”

Setting aside his omniscient reader viewpoint and writer’s perspective, he supposed it made sense. Being a fortuneteller, his class skill was to divine the future. He didn’t have the whole picture quite just yet, but the <<SYSTEM>> seemed to have faith that he could begin to collect the threads.

“I’m guessing the criteria is discovering most—if not all—the big foreshadowing elements of my unwritten danmei for me to clear it.” Recalling the contents of both webnovels, he spoke carefully, “I was dragged here without my volition by demonic interference. So if I wish to escape, I will need to destroy the core of the illusion—but in a pacifist way?”

Ping.

【Both are correct. Completing the mission objective with an S-Rank will reward the Esteemed Host with 500 B-Points. Lăoshī, jiāyóu!】

There was no mercy in its vocabulary.

“...Yes. Jiāyóu." He repeated the encouragement wryly, dropping his gaze back at his surroundings. He could only thank lǎo tiān yé—god in heaven—that he’d maxed out his charisma.

Shen Yuan definitely needed all the good luck he could get.

Through the mist, the long, snaking river was a black serpent threading through the ashy grayscale of the valleys as far as the eye could see. And then he remembered. Seeing it, he felt a pang of emotion so strong, it exerted a physical pressure on his chest.

“What about Luo Binghe?” His knuckles were as white as his robe. “What has that little demon been up to now, System?”

...Ping!

【Begging the Esteemed Host’s pardon! This <<SYSTEM>> is keyed to Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>>. If the Esteemed Host is willing to cross the boundary, there is an option to uncover the story with Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>>. Providing him assistance will ensure Protagonist A’s Satisfaction points.】

The time has finally come.  

The water lily trembled under him as he straightened to his feet. From his high altitude, Shen Yuan can see where the mist hugged along the so-called boundary line that separated his dreamworld from Luo Binghe’s.

Since Luo Binghe evidently desired his company, Shen Yuan might as well take initiative and go to him on his own terms. If the mountain cannot come to him, then he will go to the mountain. Overall unity was important to maintain harmony between the protagonists.  

“I will store the past and compile a beautiful dream for you,” he promised. He was going to craft a story that was romantic and tangled, replete with heroes, villains, and a well-deserved conquest.

With one foot off the plant, the world spun and he suddenly found himself enclosed in thick walls. He glanced around. Everything had a rough, unfinished painterly quality resembling dried ink wash on paper. Bathed in the shadows, he marched forward in the fog, looking for the nearest exit. His head passed by a circular window, the ricepaper resembling the glow of the moon.

His gaze traveled past the miniature bonsai tree underneath the window’s wooden lattice. Frown lines formed on his face at how thin and small it was.

The visual of it abruptly reminded him of how Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had described Bing gē to be as small and skinny as a carrot at fourteen years of age. In the earlier chapters that took place in his dreamscape, his diantian was a gnarled, black tree overlooking a meadow, with the scantest of flower buds blooming in a barren wasteland—very much indicative of the protagonist’s mindset at the time.

Shen Yuan’s hand drifted absently to his abdomen as he gracefully passed by the pedestal. The source of one’s ability to cultivate was located in the lower stomach, a natural center of the body’s spiritual energy. He could only wonder how his own diantian would appear. Would it reflect his inexperience as a sapling—frail and waning? Or would it have the appearance and bearing of an old, ancient tree—befitting an immortal celestial being?

Funny how it means “elixir field,” he mused to himself, but us authors somehow always depict it as a tree… .

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

As he peered up at the origin of the noise, words suddenly materialized around him. They’d peeled off the building like black strips of paper, suspended midair around him as though they were a sea of constellations surrounding the moon. The small, densely-packed lines of Chinese characters blurred in his vision but he instantly understood.

They were a manifestation of all the predictions he was capable of.

A gust of wind blew. As bountiful as the leaves of a forest canopy, the bamboo scrolls strung overhead swayed with the wind, knocking into each other with crisp clunks.  

The long, narrow strips reminded him of the scrolls he had shelved in the Archives room. His servants had shown him how they’d cut and roasted the white bamboo stalks until they became dark, later binding the dried strips with durable thread. All were prepared for their master, to transcribe his manuscripts if not his oracles.

He heard the sloshing of water. Ripples formed beneath his stride as a pale hand reached up. The wide sleeve slipped down his forearm as his fingertips grazed the bottom of a random brown scroll that somehow called to him.

An opulent array of gold flooded his vision.  

The imperial palace was a splendor of the Mortal Realm that could not be described, a piece of history that inspired great awe and reverence. In the starry skies, Shen Yuan saw a resplendent celestial being, wearing a monocle of a pearlescent sheen, descend from the full moon. Upon their feet touching the secular world, white faded to black. His hair was tied back and as black as sable, his original facial features—although pale—presented to the world as he approached the solitary figure seated at his rightful place atop the dragon throne.

Like the sun in the skies, Luo Binghe shined with a bright light in one’s eyes. With eyes filled with a thousand words, he was a young emperor in formal black, his austere and distinguished presence instilling a sense of respect into others. An armored cloak decorated his shoulders; the thick white fur sewn into the collar of the embroidered brocade appeared familiar to Shen Yuan for an inexplicable reason.

There was a strange intensity to his expression. With a half-formed smile of indulgence, the newly crowned sovereign was watching how the visiting fortuneteller gazed upon him with immense pride. He genuflected to Luo Binghe in a proper bow.

Time had not left any residue on their faces; they were arguably as handsome as they had been when they’d first met at the beginning. Both held the innate ability to hold one’s eyes on their presence.

Earnest congratulations swelled in the air, stirring the hearts of those in the coronation ceremony when the wise-looking, austere guest gifted the Heavenly Demon official amnesty from the Heavens.

Suddenly Shen Yuan found himself outside.

A fragrance of flowers filled the imperial gardens during the eighth lunar month, a fresh scent that was quiet and distant but able to inspire heartfelt emotions. The courtyard bloomed with lush red and purple chrysanthemums.

He saw himself stopping in place below an osmanthus tree, with the oil-paper umbrella he’d carried shading him. Dancers ahead were moving with dainty steps to a stunning choreography, performing the tale of yearly weather from spring to summer, fall and winter.

Behind his reading monocle, his celestial gaze did not carry evil intent; it was pure and admiring of the beauties capable of overthrowing cities and kingdoms. Respectfully keeping his distance, he maintained a thick atmosphere of an educated appearance, dignified and decently conducted. Next to him were the pots of white blossoms—the sight of them naturally not being a joyous thing for one to gaze at without being reminded of funerals.

From the crowd of spectators appreciating the flowers, the dance, and poems being composed, four sets of eyes flitted over to him—one scarlet and one an overcast sky, and two that were pitch-black.

A Demon Saint, dressed in her infamous gauzy red silks and tiny bells, as coquettish as a temptress. Her complexion was naturally fair, with a type of rare grandeur and dignity in her brows.

A human cultivator who wore a veil over the lower half of her face, hiding the dazzling beauty that was like lilies blooming out of fresh water; a calm and composed beauty that snatched people’s souls.

A young mistress of wealthy bearing, willful and adorable with her childlike-face, wearing her long hair up in a flying fairy style, decorated with pink pearls to match her long, extravagant palace dress. A whip had been strapped to her willow waist.

And another young lady, as fair as a magnolia—and whose lovely mature face had turned ghastly. Became ashen. “It can’t be....” As though she were seeing a ghost from her past, she took an involuntary, compulsive step to him. “Shen Jiu…?”

Various emotions flashed over their fair countenances. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. Confusion. Then a reignited deep hostility formed between their brows, their unsettled eyes as dead as stagnant water—unable to tear like a dry well but filled with bottomless loathing.

A flurry of fabrics blurred in his sight. An arc of red sprayed widely over the flowers of the courtyard, the droplets scattering like crimson petals against the walls. The umbrella clattered to the ground.

A headless body collapsed heavily to its knees. Fell sideways like a log.

A round object soon tumbled over the hot, sticky blood seeping into the cracks of the paved limestone. Red began to stain the long, black roots that were fading back into the color of moonlight.

Through the music and shrill cries, one deep shout shook the Heavens. A howl of rage, there existed the unexpected raw sound of anguish that could chill the blood. There had been too many complicated emotions condensed into that single vocalization, it made everyone who heard this sound feel a stone in their throat.

The swift winds of calamity approached.

A faltering scream, or something like a scream was heard with the sound of numerous lives being extinguished. It was a demented, gut-wrenching retribution that didn’t end, a subjugation forever to be carved into the annals of history.

Shen Yuan broke free from the premonition, gasping like a dying man. His hand scrambled to his neck. Fear tasted like iron in his mouth, the muscles at the base of his throat working convulsively.

Cold sweat beaded down his face as he staggered forward. He felt as though he’d resurfaced from the deep depths of the sea he’d been drowning from. The water sloshed beneath his movements, his inner robe loosening from his abrupt movements.

Ping!

【Prediction! A Death Flag has been discovered. +44 Points. Future Events unlocked. Objectives <<INVITATION TO THE CHRYSANTHEMUM BANQUET>> and <<DEFEATING THE MECHANISMS OF THE PALACE COURT!>> will be available.】

System, why are you giving me so many inauspicious fours! He wanted to tear his hair out! He screamed in his head, The future me was helping your husband for the sake of securing your peace and prosperity! How did you not realize cutting the neck of a celestial immortal from the exalted Heavens would be considered an evil action? Did you think your actions were just and thus exempted from karmic, divine retribution?

Have they lost their minds? How can anyone mistake him for Shen Qingqiu? He was not Shen Jiu!

What a messy affair!

What a disaster!

To say he felt vexed was an understatement. Just now, everything had happened too suddenly. The tangled, chaotic mess of information was too shocking, too absurd. Just what happened to his invincible golden halo? Did inhabiting the mortal coil temporarily dispel it? Was this the stupid【Hidden Penalty】applied to his character creation?

Don’t tell him it was because he was the sort of cutthroat writer who’d kill off his own protagonists for shock value!

He smiled with a trace of bitterness. It was precisely in line with what he’d write. This was just the sort of first-draft content a writer like him might throw in just to be evil but would later put on the chopping block upon revision, when he was no longer fueled by spite.

If he had his laptop, in true keyboard warrior fashion, he’d finger-smash his frustrations in an unintelligible burst of Chinese characters. He’d signed up for a heartwarming, “feel good” pseudo-historical fantasy redemption story with blood-pumping battles and sworn brotherhoods. He did not sign up for angst and heavy subject matters like genocide.

Regaining his equilibrium, he shuddered. Abruptly he recalled a novel passage describing how those who die from a beheading were never to reincarnate. His hand clenched into a fist, his fighting spirit ignited. Shen Yuan resolved himself to trample that death flag. As a transmigrator, he would improve their attitudes toward him and rewrite fate!

He will survive in this world without fail and use whatever means necessary!

However much he didn’t wish to dwell on the vision, he knew he’d seen that monocle somewhere before. The Store inventory?

His heart racing, he threw his memory a little further back until he saw it—vivid and picture-clear in his mind’s eye. It was as if a scene from the distant past had superposed with the present.

<<MONOCLE OF DIVINE CLARITY>>

Wondrous item, legendary

A rare artifact once belonging to Xīwángmǔ, the enchanted crystal lens is rimmed with silver and has a fine chain attached to a jade earclip. Magical properties include Resist Mental Compulsion, True Sight, and enhancement of the wearer’s divination. Effects shall remain active as long as the owner wears it.

Cost: 500,000 B-Points

He’d remembered thinking, Just whose imagination did this goddess’ treasure originate from? So expensive! Monocles were a fashion statement used to highlight certain shrewd men in Chinese novels, but the eyewear was ultimately a Western 18th-century invention overseas and not of ancient China. Such historical inaccuracy! He’d wished to file a complaint! Shen Yuan remembered the grievances he’d lamented to the <<SYSTEM>>, only to be coolly rebuffed with the encouragement to continue to work hard.

But despite its exorbitant price-tag, he’d now received visual confirmation that he would eventually acquire ownership—whether the relic would be purchased by his own merit or it would enter his hands as a byproduct of the halo’s extraordinary luck. Although there was a sense of accomplishment in knowing, it paled in comparison against his newfound conviction.

Only the shallow groove between his brows betrayed his profound distress. There was no point dwelling on an omen that hadn’t happened yet. His counterattack would have to wait.

With a hand still shielding his throat, his breathing slowly, eventually, returning to a semblance of normalcy, Shen Yuan warily glanced around the painterly surroundings.

Somehow he’d found his way to the border. No words could capture the feeling he felt standing in the midst of a bamboo grove painted into existence from ground charcoal and ink wash. A retinue of monumental statues flanked him, weathered with time—and unrecognizable with their faceless features.

Walking by, he craned his neck to stare momentarily up at the features of two of them. A man and a woman. The man was of taller stature, with the suggestion of a goatee. The woman wore a headdress; an ominous hairline crack bisected her torso. Their placement indicated they were husband and wife, the intricate details carved on the white jade making them appear regal and imposing.

A sense of dejavú filled his thoughts. He couldn’t tell who they were meant to represent, but they felt familiar. Like he should know who they all were, but recognition of gods and the divine slipped through his fingers.

The misty ground had given way back to a transient void of white. He could see clearly where his dream realm ended and Luo Binghe’s dream realm started. It was as though a curtain had been drawn, an aurora of northern lights protecting a blank white canvas from being blotted. Across the boundary, he could see something up ahead in the eternal darkness. In the desolation that engulfed the night, an ominous shroud of miasma roiled overhead.

Like a soldier preparing for the battlefield, he steeled his resolve. With one firm slap to his cheeks, he bridged the gap.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a fierce demonic Qi surged toward him like a violent gale of desert wind which threatened to strip the skin from his bones. His knees nearly buckled under him as irony, sorrow, and bitterness besieged him. He had to resist all compulsion to turn back as the darkness caged him at once. He floated aimlessly in the darkened landscape, inexplicable feelings of loneliness arising within.

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes, calming his inner turmoil.

He had to tell himself dreams did not reflect reality; they were merely a projection of someone’s subconscious. Even so, it painted a bleak picture of his xiōng dì's mental state.

Descending from the night skies, Shen Yuan was an ethereal figure dressed in white, the thin garment fluttering behind him as he took the invisible steps down into the foreign dream realm. In the infinite cosmos, he saw nothing but stars. He cast a cursory look over the bioluminescent glow rippling under him with each tread, like an otherworldly procession, until his feet finally touched the earth.

The sound of wings flapping caught his attention. Shen Yuan twisted his head, seeing a majestic fènghuáng burst free from his own heavenly realm. The immortal phoenix soared high overhead, the five sacred colors—red, blue, yellow, white, and black—of its serrated tail feathers trailing behind it. A beautiful cry escaped its throat like a song.

A mighty roar shattered the night. The air pressure shifted. As though answering the phoenix’s call, a fierce and powerful lóng ascended from the dark depths of the realm, brackish water trembling off its black scales as it shot up to give chase after the fènghuáng ’s vibrant plumage.

He watched their aerial dance in flight. Like yin and yang coming together, seeing their bodies twist and weave with one another in a harmonious sight made an intensity arise from the bottom of his heart.

The relief he felt was all-consuming. Every Chineseman knew of the dragon-and-phoenix metaphor of olden times. And if the mythical phoenix dared to take flight in this dream realm, in a demon’s home turf, surely it was an auspicious sign that Bing gē was not too far gone in darkness and corruption.

Feeling a renewed lightness on his feet, Shen Yuan went to follow.

The moment that the dragon surfaced, he had registered a faraway presence. It was a feeling of awareness, a slight prickling sensation of the scalp, making him feel self-conscious. He was hyper-aware that he was not alone. Even if Luo Binghe had been preoccupied, there was no way Protagonist A would not have sensed Protagonist B’s presence—and vice versa.

If Shen Yuan’s world had been representative of the heavenly air and water, much like the man himself Luo Binghe’s spirit root was aligned with the earth. His hand drifted back to his throat. The air was as arid as a desert. If memory served Shen Yuan correctly, Luo Binghe also had an innate affinity with the fire attribute. It’d been discovered during his time in the Endless Abyss arc once the demon seal had been broken, indicative of his high sensibility to the fire type of Qi.

Hearing noises behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. Leaves had sprung from the blackened branches, rustling in the wind. Moonlight dripped through the gaps in the canopy, reflecting mottled shadows. He had been following along a ravine which’d shimmered gold, curious where the running water led to. Presumably it would take him to wherever Luo Binghe—and Meng Mo?—wanted him to see.

Tucking the long strands of his hair behind an ear, he halted midstride when he heard, “...a...re...f...ul….”

He’d heard that quiet murmur before—that time at the pond, didn’t he? A woman’s cadence. Like the babbling of a brook, as faint as the wind, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown. He glanced at the waters, keeping his expression impassive.

Ping.

【Do exercise caution, Esteemed Host! One should not turn their back on an opponent.】

Shen Yuan was silent. He cast his gaze sidelong to the trees for a fleeting moment. As though addressing someone in the prevailing shadows, he purposely stated aloud, “I don’t make mistakes in recognizing talent. I have no intention of making Luo Binghe my opponent.”  

Without another word, he resumed his stroll. His sight was fixed on the miasma ahead.

On the account of the premonition, it was at no fault of Luo Binghe’s that Shen Yuan would lose his head to the man’s wives. If anything, it’d sounded as though Protagonist A would seek to avenge him—even if the way he reacted was extreme and heartless.

Don’t you know, he wanted to tell his junior, if you do too many bad things, you will get retribution?

Truly, the future Shen Yuan must have maxed out his affection meter. Luo Binghe must have deeply treasured their friendship—or his counsel—to the point where he was capable of callously dismissing his former lovey-dovey attachments to help the dead deliver justice. However much pity Shen Yuan felt for the young women for how easily their husband detestably threw them aside, it was still an immensely heartfelt gesture he showed for the deceased. Even a rock would feel moved.

It made him remember the con-crit he’d left on the online forum, where he detailed how cool he felt the portrayal of a hateful and sinister Bing gē was—a refreshingly blackened hero who repaid debts of kindness and grudges. As expected of the “black-bellied” male lead, once the favorability meter was full, his inner protectiveness to the ones he held in high esteem would appear.

...Shen Yuan, you are putting the cart before the horse, he scolded himself. Stop thinking about something useless. Don’t meddle in his personal affairs too much.

Petals scattered, rolling along with no control whatsoever over their destiny, adrift and aimless. Strands of moonlit hair billowed with the breeze, leading his attention from his feet to across the distance. He focused on the sparse meadow that had wrapped itself in the embrace of the autumn equinox.

In the inky darkness, he saw a field of red spider lilies blooming in the hellish wasteland along a golden stream, leading to the gnarled tree—dark and twisted and silhouetted with demonic Qi.  

So this was Luo Binghe’s diantian.... It was as depressing of a sight as Shen Yuan had envisioned. The scent of death lingered in the air, an earthy perfume of graveyard soil and decay intermingling into the overwhelmingly floral fragrance, suffusing into the senses.

Under the swathe of demonic miasma drifting down from the sky like ash, the drooping red petals seemed ready to fall, swaying dreamily, but holding fast to their slim, strong stalks. The movement added something alive to the manjusaka’s fragility, to their ethereal quality, almost human in the way a flower could demonstrate both frailty and endurance at the same time.

He felt a faint sense of dread as he began to wander deeper into the crimson field, feeling a pressure over his head that was overbearing and suffocating. The flowers parted before him, the petals brushing his sleeves and hair like covetous fingers. He’d half-expected to see the heavenly flowers descending from the realm of the Gods, according to Buddhist scriptures. There was an old Chinese legend of two fairies who had been punished by the gods to be seperated for all eternity. As gods’ design, the petals could only blossom when the leaves were all withered away.

A flower of separation, and with its poisonous bulb, the red spider lily held a dark connotation that appealed to writers. They were well-known metaphors in eastern literature.

Memories poured in like the tide. Grown in Diyu—the realm of the dead or “hell” where souls were sent to repent and be purified—they were symbolic of guiding the dead into their next reincarnation. If anyone had asked him about what it meant in the language of flowers, Shen Yuan would say he associated the red spider lily with feelings of abandonment, longing, lost memories, and final parting. He’d referenced the symbolism before in a past work, underscoring its morbid resemblance to splashes of blood.

Shen Yuan stared with narrowed eyes. There was a certainty in him that he could not describe. But with how the dream realm had been described in the webnovels, there was absolutely no way Luo Binghe, or the elder Meng Mo, had a hand in this.

For any onlookers looking in from the outskirts, this scene must have presented a baffling sight. He remembered the pride displayed by both versions of the elder dream demon when it came to showing off their control over illusions to a young and impressionable disciple of mixed-blood. Shen Yuan wouldn’t be surprised if Meng Mo was presently frothing at the mouth, seeing a celestial being mess with his precious host’s control.

There was an indescribable eeriness permeating everywhere ever since he’d walked into the flower field.

System, he accused, this must be your doing. Just what are you trying to prove to this old man?  

There was no story without coincidences. When countless coincidences crashed altogether, the truth came to light.

Ping.

【Answering the Esteemed Host, the thousand year white resurrection lily is a gateway to the world of the deceased. It receives the memories of a departing soul before one crosses the Nai Ha bridge to pass into their next life, and can therefore be harvested to bring back the souls of the dead. Should Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>> accept the quest, there is a resurrection subplot to bring back wronged supporting characters from the Earth Realm.】

Hearing the explanation, Shen Yuan’s mind leapt to the original Shen Qingqiu.

Even Shen Yuan, who’d originally called for the “scumbag’s” castration like many other fans, after having read the rebooted series, felt that the original Shen Qingqiu was deserving of sympathy points. At the mercy of his own duplicitous personality, the emotionally stunted character had adhered to the mensao archetype through and through—flopping between the two states of “hot and cold.” It had been revealed that many of the crimes Shen Qingqiu had been accused of had been the result of various egregious misunderstandings and miscommunications.

An ache wormed its way into his heart. There had been so many casualties, so many people who had their lives cut short. The Qing Jing Peak Lord, Shen Qingqiu; the Sect Master of the Qiong Ding Peak, Yue Qingyuan; the Bai Zhan Peak Lord and Liu Mingyan’s elder brother, Liu Qingge; Luo Binghe’s blood-related parents Su Xiyan and Tianlang jun….

They were good people. They weren’t his creations, but their roles as the small “mobs”—side characters—led to their potential being shorn woefully short.

It was perhaps pretentious and presumptuous of him to decide those to be allowed to come back from the dead—defying the natural order of things—but for someone to be essentially granted a second chance at life, to right regrets and live their rebirth to the fullest, who would refuse? Celestial beings were meant to have magnanimous hearts, moving the sky and earth for once-in-a-lifetime noble souls.

So wasn’t it just and righteous if such extreme action was taken?

Ping.

【Optional objective <<JOURNEY TO THE NETHERWORLD>> is available. Does the Esteemed Host wish to accept? Y/N?】

He glanced at the UI. Within that brief moment, Shen Yuan had already made many deliberations and judgements. Just as he was about to cement his decision, he heard the faintest trickle of music—and with it, murmurs.

“...P...le...ase….”  

His body instinctively tensed. A thick stench of blood pervaded the air, suffocating the floral fragrance with a metallic odor of iron.

...Why do I hear <<BOSS>> music?

Shen Yuan swatted the interface away from him, hissing beneath his breath, “Some other time.”

Whispers, male and female, crept through the silence. They drifted into his hearing, mournful and piteous, like wounded animals in close pursuit of their prey. Growing louder and louder.

“May...the Heavens...have mercy....”

“Save us.”

“Anyone….”

Under the night sky, he appeared calm, but his mind was already as turbulent as the storming seas.

At the sound of rustling, an archaic flight instinct had him spinning on his feet. A crack had formed in his expression. Skeletal arms were outstretched toward him from the crimson field.

Infinitely long, they dripped with blood, the droplets scattering onto the lilies like rain.

His hand instinctively reached for his sword as he watched the illusion crawl toward his ankles and the hem of his robe. His brows tightly-knitted, there was a chill to his face that was very different than during the daytime—as if he were a different person.

Some battles had to be fought another day. To avoid damaging his or Luo Binghe’s psyche, he’d have to beat a tactical retreat.

Just as he was about to soar away like a sparrow, he heard a distinct, metallic shnnk. He jerked in surprise when an arm abruptly materialized around his waist, embracing Shen Yuan from behind like an iron snare.

A black demonic blade swung in a wide arc.

The skeletal arms were obliterated in a torrent of midnight wildfire, limbs bursting open in wet splatters of blood.

The heat pressed against his back was as solid and grounding as a tree trunk, the strong and rapid heartbeat incomparably clear in his ears as the roaring flames extinguished themselves. All petals had been scattered from the mighty gust, strands of black and white hair flowing together in the wind.

In the blanket of darkness came the hysterical thought of a wild Bing gē having appeared. The culprit has, at last, deigned to show his guilty face.

“Shizun….”

The mere sound of him strummed the bowstring in his own heart with a loud tremor.

In a tone as soft as peach blossoms, silky and gentle, Luo Binghe whispered to Shen Yuan, “I’ve finally found you.”

The hoarseness of the man’s voice was albeit strange. Thrown off-kilter, Shen Yuan thought that there might have been something wrong, but he didn’t trust himself to say anything yet without it being misconstrued.

Hot puffs of air brushed against his cheek. That, with the scent of rice water and rose petals and something else masculine and unfamiliar, was distracting. Luo Binghe was quietly repeating the phrase, "I found you."

Mustering his courage, Shen Yuan peered over his shoulder. Both brows soared to his hairline when he saw a hallucination of a hundred flowers blooming at once.

A circle of red peeked out from the charcoal of Luo Binghe’s eyes. His attractive features were akin to the warmth of the early spring sunshine on flower petals that, for a moment, Shen Yuan could not differentiate between north and south.

Shen Yuan blinked once—twice, to clear the hallucination. It was only when he realized what he was seeing that Shen Yuan felt dumbstruck. He could feel his own facial muscles beginning to contort.

Unbelievable. The corners of his mouth launched upwards out of his control, but the ludicrous smile was suppressed by him before it could take flight completely. How utterly audacious.

Luo Binghe’s long, dark hair was let loose like a waterfall. And he was shamelessly wearing nothing but a thick, white pelt over his bare torso.

Having been the one to strike down the mythical beast, Shen Yuan instantly recognized the fur draped over broad shoulders. It was the divine báihǔ pelt the servants had laid out over the bed to help their guest conserve heat for the winter. Draped over bare skin, it’d lent the younger man a distinctly wild impression.

Luo Binghe’s breathing was a little unstable. Wrapping his other arm around Shen Yuan, he closed his eyes. Nosing the soft white hair, he remarked, "Shizun has a pleasant scent...."

Shen Yuan’s expression remained a frozen lake. What was with this ambience?

Faced with an unprecedented scenario, Shen Yuan didn’t know how to make it less awkward and help them both save face. The extent of his adult experience with hugging strangers had been starting conversations or meetings with a handshake, and ending it with a brisk hug whenever the whim hit. Even his own father, himself and his two brothers had communicated mostly with manly pats to the shoulder or the back. Perhaps such discomfort could be attributed to a cultural custom which persisted long after the death of Chairman Mao back in 1976. Initiating physical contact still remained somewhat of a learning curve among friends and family members, with some notable exceptions like the comforting touches given to a cute child or the hugs given by an overbearing grandparent.

Despite his current appearance, Shen Yuan was still a man; even though it was not the soft figure of a woman being pressed up against him, it was embarrassing being held by another man so fiercely.

Even knowing everything there was to know about Luo Binghe, he was essentially a stranger to Shen Yuan. The whole experience was surreal, like being hugged by a movie star who could just as easily change his mind and decide to crush his windpipe.

Shen Yuan didn’t dare to look down to confirm the extent of Luo Binghe’s undressed state. What if he accidentally bore witness to a wardrobe mishap and caught a glimpse of that legendary, heavenly sky pillar—or see a blinding tower of light? He wouldn’t be able to recover from such humiliation! To avoid that blow to his ego, he would be better off pretending everything was normal. I am a morally upright citizen with the heart of an angel, he chanted to himself like a sutra. I must remain patient and benevolent with today’s hot-blooded youth.  

With the two of them locked in a stalemate, Shen Yuan slowly felt his sanity returning to him. Standing as still as a statue, he ruminated on the best method to address this situation with an appropriateness that wouldn’t trigger a landmine.

He patted Luo Binghe’s forearm in a consoling manner, but it was also an unsubtle cue for him to release him.

The arms only tightened in persistence.

Shen Yuan frowned at his “stickiness.” He felt as though they were unintentionally stealing this particular romantic encounter from a youth’s passionate spring dreams. Since this was ancient China, it was truly lucky that he wasn’t being hugged by a young woman, or else he’d be worried about impacting her reputation—even if nothing had happened.

Traces of resignation formed between unpigmented brows. “...Xiōng dì, I am appreciative to you for having found your way to me.” Now that the arrow had been drawn, it had to be released. As exasperated as he felt, he asked with no small amount of concern, “Are you suffering from any mental backlash? I am aware of what happens when one retaliates at an illusion.”

A shaky exhalation of breath was heard. Instead of answering his question, Luo Binghe replied with much sorrow, “This lord deserves to die. However much this lord hastened to reunite with you the moment I saw your resplendent presence descending from the sky, it is unfortunate we met just as harm was about to befall upon Shizun.”

His voice had been mellow, with a hint of the liveliness to it that only young people had. It made it all the more easy for people to develop goodwill towards a valiant, dazzlingly handsome lord.

...I know of your tricks, little demon. Are you testing the sincerity of my well intentions? Furthermore, how do you manage to sound like a pitiful puppy...while your body...looks so erotic...? Bing gē, you truly have a duplicitous, villainous heart.

Shen Yuan refused to fall into the scheme of this little wolfdog. To avoid a perilous situation, he must go on the counterattack.

Instead, he turned in his arms. Luo Binghe’s eyes snapped open when Shen Yuan framed his face in his gloveless palms.

Shen Yuan inspected his features closely, putting on a stern look. He wiped away the big drops of sweat that flowed down the Heavenly Demon’s forehead, chastising, “You move me to tears, Luo Binghe. Did I not warn you to work on your bad habit of bearing everything silently?” Every word and sentence was leaden with camaraderie. His fingers drifted down to clasp him by the elbows. “You’ve forgotten this one is clairvoyant. Instead of concealing your intentions from me, this master shall willingly lend you his ear if you come bearing any troubling thoughts or concerns.”

What was the use of having a glib tongue if it couldn’t be put to good use? Time to wield his +20 CHARISMA to its full devastating potential!

“Although we are strangers, I hope, with time, you can be the truest version of yourself with me. I will not think any less of you at a sign of weakness.” The nature of heroic warriors emphasised on cultivating relationships and respect. Shen Yuan knew to repay a kind act with gratitude. Concentrating on his channels, he sent a pulse of his spirit energy to his yin -depleted companion through their point of contact.

Luo Binghe’s eyelids fluttered half-mast as gentle and clean spiritual power circulated throughout his meridians. The sensation was reminiscent of a cold spring drizzle watering the arid soil, the strain in his body receding for the time being.

Under a more impertinent tone, Shen Yuan told him, “Even if you willfully choose to disregard my reading, I cannot help but be concerned seeing how gallantly and recklessly you continue down this path of self-destruction. Just look at the state of your own diantian. Even the peerless ‘Luo Demon’ of the battlefield who is said to be able ‘to withstand the skies and earth’ should not be uncompromising regarding one’s own health.”

Shen Yuan knew from personal experience. However much the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak.

A hand slowly left his waist, moving to close over the back of Shen Yuan’s palm. Carefully sizing him up, his scarlet gaze, as he looked at Shen Yuan, held a few degrees more affection.

Ping.

【Protagonist A Satisfaction points +25.】

Twenty-five points instead of five or ten? You must have felt so good, you’d reached the heavens. Shen Yuan granted a lukewarm smile towards the future tyrant, patting the white fur over his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Many thanks to Shizun.” His line of sight drifted downward, and suddenly his attention was the ravenous gaze of a tiger.

Heat rushed in Shen Yuan’s body like the torrential flood. You’re a married husband who’s bedded countless beauties throughout the years , he’d nearly rebuked. What was so interesting about seeing an old man’s chest anyway? He averted his face. Forcing a calm and unwavering tone, he invited, “Since we’re here, walk with me, Luo Binghe.”

Perhaps it was due to the strange air of two men bonding that grinded down Luo Binghe’s stubborn temperament, but his iron hold had loosened, giving Shen Yuan ample opportunity to break free. Righting the night garment back into its proper place, he turned his feet in the direction toward his own dream realm.

“Luo Binghe…. My son….”

Shen Yuan glanced over his shoulder, his stride slowing. Somehow,  even as a figment of his imagination, he instantly knew whom this voice was supposed to belong to—maternal and lonely and sorrowful, full of regrets.

“I beg of you…. Help him….”

“Shizun?”

He gazed at the field of spider lilies with a considering look. With each step they’d taken, the blood-red color had faded into white. “...You do not hear anything?” he asked slowly.

Luo Binghe granted him an unfathomable look, before shaking his head. The fur of the báihǔ rustled with the small movements.

“So it’s like that.... May the elder dream demon who has taken this younger demon under his wing forgive my divine interference.” Sensing he’d captured Luo Binghe’s rapt attention from that frivolous declaration, Shen Yuan scrutinized the person who had been walking shoulder to shoulder with him.

To anyone looking in, they perhaps presented an incompatible image. Visually, as protagonists, they were as different as day and night—indicative of the two different writing styles of the two novelists.

As the celestial representative, there was a kind of romantic, quiet and unrestrained air of a distinguished literary person. Even with such mature looks, like the dark side of the moon, they paled in comparison to the blinding brilliance that was Luo Binghe whose presence was as bright as the sun in the sky. He personified those who walked with a dragon’s gait and firm tiger’s steps, with a vigour and prestige that unknowingly overflowed out; and with a cultivator’s valor, such presentation could make his opponent easily frightened. Shen Yuan could still recall his rough touch and that vise-like strength. Although Luo Binghe appeared innocent, he was actually enigmatic and difficult-to-predict. It made Shen Yuan want to test him.

Affecting an air of indifference, Shen Yuan mentioned as casually as he could, “That aside, I have a question for you. I was hoping you could satisfy my curiosity.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze was a dozen stones piled on the side of his face. He bade, “May Shizun speak candidly.”

“You must have given thought to my predictions. Knowing what xiōng dì knows now, what else does Luo Binghe intend to ask this one?” Seeing Luo Binghe was about to respond, Shen Yuan shook his head. “Don’t give me the answer you think I will want to hear. Be frank. For you to chase me in my dreams, you must be burdened with a thirst for knowledge.”

“...This lord wishes to learn more,” Luo Binghe confessed, looking unapologetic. “The strong prey on the weak; that is how the world works. As one who can get a glimpse of fate, Shizun is an indispensable source of guidance. Before this lord arrived here, I had been in a daze and felt helpless. Then elder Shen Yuan helped clear the fog in my head. The future has never been clearer.”

Shen Yuan hid the cynical smile in his heart.

Now we get to the crux of the matter…. Very well; he will fulfill the desperate wish of the imaginary Su Xiyan. He would help her son.

First, he had to establish a common enemy or obstacle.

“You are fortunate. Although it’s unorthodox, seeing as we are in a dream realm, seeing once is preferable to hearing a hundred times. You can do with the knowledge of your future later however you want.” He glanced forward, seeing the boundary line just across the barren wasteland. “Should you see intervening forces or hindrances to your survival or success, even if both parties once harbored goodwill, what will Luo Binghe do?”

There were countless variables on the chessboard. How he chose to answer him would decide where Shen Yuan will point the spear to.

Sensing the weight of his tone, Luo Binghe mulled over his words for a moment. A dark storm swirled in his eyes. Gazing at him as though he intended to test him, he spoke with severity, unfalteringly, “If one were to offend me, this lord will definitely exterminate the entire family.”

Shen Yuan somehow managed a serene expression despite hearing such a bloodthirsty declaration. A ferocious answer that has exceeded expectations, of course. Bing gē, your inferiority complex is showing.  

He knew just the perfect scapegoats.

One was the son of heaven—the current emperor of the Mortal Realm himself. His fate was sealed the moment he’d declared the exceptional demon lord to be a threat and that the middle kingdom would not be content with nothing short of his destruction.

Second was the Old Palace Master—the sect leader of the still-surviving Huan Hua Palace. That pervert was the poisonous snake that was entrenched in the grass, waiting for an opportunity to strike and bite his son-in-law to death.

And lastly, the most crucial, would be the symbol of everything that had gone wrong in Luo Binghe’s life. He was the ideal sacrificial pawn, for that person was an existence Luo Binghe would definitely not be able to touch even if he harbored resentment.

Ping!

【Warning! Allowing Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> knowledge of the powers that be is prohibited. A penalty will be imposed on the Esteemed Host should you continue!】

System, Shen Yuan roared in his head, must you undermine everything I do? Even as his fingers curled into fists, he resolutely maintained his mild forbearance as they approached the boundary. He thought viciously, If you’re so worried, then why don’t you activate a filter to edit what I’m saying into something that suits this world?

Ping.

【The Esteemed Host voluntarily wishes for censorship?】

Not censorship! Just filter any forbidden words into something of similar equivalence. I give you permission! Just don’t meddle! This is a critical stage toward jumpstarting Bing gē’s character development!

Now that he thought about it, naturally the main reason why many of the modern characters never admitted to being a transmigrator was out of fear of being seen as crazy. Shen Yuan could count on one hand the number of stories where the protagonist admitted to actually being one.

Wasn’t he in an optimal position where he could be believed? The intimate act of exchanging secrets brought people even closer. Shen Yuan was not above using the same emotional tricks to lure Luo Binghe to his side.

A sudden warmth jostled him out of his thoughts. Just as he heard the notification that the filter had been activated, he noticed Luo Binghe had stepped closer to him. Body heat transferred to Shen Yuan from their proximity. He could smell the scent of fur.

His smile was ferocious, as if he were a vicious wolf. “The ways of the heavens are merciless.” A hand lifted to play with the loose white strands. Luo Binghe seemed to have found his albinism curious. “While this lord is appreciative to elder Shen Yuan, I am aware that immense hatred and bad blood has existed between the moral sects and demonkind for generations. Yet you’ve magnanimously harbored me at your residence and shared with me my bright future. Aren’t you worried your celestial brethren will accuse you of collusion with this lord for your own benefit?”

Brows that were as pale as the snow rose at the provocative words. Although I haven’t met such “celestial brethren,” to think you would see the bigger picture of classism and discrimination.... Sighing in his heart, Shen Yuan realized he must have misjudged him. He hadn’t thought a formidable, blackhearted stallion protagonist like himself could be broad-sighted. Luo Binghe, I never thought you’d grow up overnight.

“...I don’t think you’re rotten.”

“Hm?”

“On account of you being half-demon,” he clarified. “Judging a person by their birth and social status is proof that a person is narrow-minded. I have seen with my own eyes how hard you work and I sincerely admire your potential.”

As the old saying went, one should never look down on youngsters. If they worked hard, the future of young people was boundless, and they will inevitably turn the situation around.

On the surface level, Luo Binghe spoke with a refreshing candor and treated others warmly and sincerely. He was not unreasonable, and he was as filial as they come—showing favoritism and loyalty toward those he held in high esteem. It was only when he faced adversity or found himself on the battlefield that he would be merciless—so no matter how much goodwill others showed him, it was useless if he held secret grievances toward them in his heart.

“Moreover, you’ve surely heard for all your life that an alliance between a human and a demon would truly be a laughingstock of this world.” He held Luo Binghe’s riveted stare. “...But I’m looking at that impossible unity right now.”

A brittle expression melted into existence. “...And what of the celestial gods and fairies of the Heavenly Realm?”

“What of them?”

“Do they hold the same broadmindedness as Shizun?”

Shen Yuan eyed him. When he remained silent, Luo Binghe understood he had gotten his answer.

“...Shizun is a precious existence,” Luo Binghe remarked. “The world has its own rules. And everything within it follows them.”

While it was true that good wordbuilding was kept within its sandbox, Shen Yuan didn’t think upholding such a limitation applied to individuals equipped with the protagonist’s halo. Protagonists were meant to break convention.

Shen Yuan corrected, “Just because a celestial is an immortal body of divinity does not mean I am beholden to share the same outdated values.【My way of thinking is modern and doesn’t suit the current times.】Knowing what I know, naturally there would be some deviation.”

He paused, realizing what had emerged from his mouth.

What he’d meant to say was that he was a transmigrator and that was why his way of thinking deviated from canon NPCs! This was supposed to be the moment he revealed to him his shocking identity!

Shen Yuan tried again, “It would be the height of folly to dismiss your capabilities just because of your birthright.【You are meant to stand at the peak of the dynasty overlooking all living beings.】Regardless, I will support you whether you choose to be the Sacred Ruler or if you decide to live a simpler life.”

His expression immediately sunk. It happened again! He’d meant to say, because Luo Binghe was the stallion protagonist, his meteoric rise was inevitable.

Luo Binghe had been keenly watching the byplay of emotions on Shen Yuan’s face as he spoke. As he saw the neutrality melt into heated frustration, Luo Binghe naturally formed his own assumptions from it. Under a softened tone, he repeated, “A simpler life?”

A stone had lodged itself in his throat. Shen Yuan had wanted to express to the young man that he didn’t want to pressure him into taking on the burden and responsibilities of a duty he wasn’t ready for, but he hadn’t expected to be hit with a burst of memories.

It made him remember his own family life. Before this madness.

“Being alive is actually a wonderful thing.” Nostalgia swept across his features. “...You are a grown man, Luo Binghe. Just because you have the potential to be great doesn’t mean you should be forced into something if it isn’t what you want to do.”

Wracking his brain for how to address the concept of Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky without having Shen Yuan’s original intention changed drastically, he confided, “I’m not like your creator. I don’t want to erase your agency; I wish to see if you can transcend your original settings.”

The mood changed in a flash. “My creator?” Luo Binghe’s tone was sharp. The white hair was released as he impulsively reached for Shen Yuan’s arms. “What does Shizun mean?”

He could see the vibrancy of the demon crest on Luo Binghe’s forehead, being this close to him. As though commenting on the weather, Shen Yuan remarked cavalierly, “Have you not found it strange that, despite not committing any wrongdoings, you’d perhaps suffered more misfortunes than anyone else—as though they’d been preordained? A storm tests the strength of a blade of grass. You were orphaned, twice, as a child. People picked on you when you were defenseless. A reputably famous immortal selected you as a disciple, but upon seeing your potential, swiftly went to undercut it. At just a young age, you’ve seen the duplicity of human hearts, fought countless tough opponents, and endured numerous betrayals and hardships.”

Luo Binghe’s expression had hardened.

“Your destiny has been【manipulated by a higher power】to hasten your growth.” Undergoing tribulations was not a foreign concept. In the Cultivation World, cultivators were expected to undergo tests from the Heavens to determine if they were worthy of ascension. “Most would be crushed under such trials, but your will to live is strong. Thus your rate of progress has been accelerated because of such painstaking efforts.”

You are indeed a far mightier man than I could ever be. With your head-start, even if I challenge you countless times, I will never be able to claim victory currently with how unfairly OP you are.

“You are claiming there has been a higher power who has caused this lord much grief and misery, all in accordance to a predestined plan he has prophesied for me?” Luo Binghe’s voice was deceptively gentle.

Shen Yuan hesitated.

“Shen Yuan.”

Seeing that all pretenses were already thrown to the wind, Shen Yuan had no inhibitions anymore. He could only apologize to Airplane brother in his heart, for turning his creation against him and making him an unfilial son.

Shen Yuan opened his mouth. “You aren’t【my creation.】It is frowned upon for【gods and immortals】to poach【extraordinary heroes】from their【patronage】without permission.”

Maintaining a genial facade, Luo Binghe expressed with a sincerity that rang a little false, “This lord simply wishes to know which deity to pay humble respects to for their gracious sponsorship.”

An enigmatic smile stole across Shen Yuan’s face. “One could say every living thing such as yourself and everything beautiful and evil in this world sprung from his imagination. His【name has been lost with time.】But I know him as elder Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī."

Those dark brows drew downward. “Xiàng Tiān Dà...Fēijī?”

Ah, of course you wouldn’t know what an airplane is. Shen Yuan ruminated for a moment before reaching up for Luo Binghe’s wrists. As though he were an older brother admonishing one’s insensible younger brother, he said graciously, “Fēijī gēis a controversial but well-respected figure within our circles. His writings are not without merit.”

His words were mostly self-serving, but had Airplane brother been in his shoes, Shen Yuan would have wanted him to elevate his standing in front of his “children.” Even if it was just by a little.

Under the same earnest tone, Shen Yuan insisted, “He might have lost his integrity in the past but he has always held well intentions and wants to see his【creations】flourish. You, especially, were his original written masterpiece.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze fell on the pale fingers encircled around his wrists. “And where does Shen Yuan fall into all this?”

In life, it was not possible to bloom bright flowers from lies. Try as he might to hide it, his smile became strained from the memories of his painful past—of how much time he’d wasted, how much rénmínbì he’d spent out of his own wallet. Shen Yuan confessed, “I was once an admirer of his before I grew disillusioned. Your life is full of tragic misunderstandings. That’s why I want to see if I can rewrite the travesty of the future you’ve been shoehorned into. Your journey has been of interest to me the moment he【birthed】you and this world.”

Luo Binghe’s hands refused to budge from him no matter how much force was exerted. Shen Yuan frowned.

“Is your remark real?” Seeing Shen Yuan’s confusion, he clarified, “That you would be willing to overstep boundaries and break from celestial tradition to offer your support to this lord?”

“I’m not being facetious.” Shen Yuan scrutinized his handsome features. “We know what you are meant to do. Fēijī gē had set you up for greatness. With your power, you will surely achieve justice and bring the evils of the Three Realms to judgement, and unify the realms as the Sacred Ruler. And once you’ve served your purpose, your story is at its end. I’ve seen your ending. Your great legacy will ultimately be remembered as nothing more than a tragic, bitter wastrel who, even with your accomplishments, had wasted away and perished under suspicious circumstances.”

Dark storm clouds gathered in Luo Binghe’s expression.

“But knowing all that, what does Luo Binghe want to do?” Shen Yuan spoke brusquely. “Don’t care what I think. You have free will, do you not? It’s one thing for me to advise you against the misfortunes you’ll encounter. But do you even want to be a Sacred Ruler? I would like to hear the input of his own creation.”

“...In the eyes of the virtuous, this lord will always be a wicked and unspeakable evil that must be slayed. In the eyes of aristocrats, I will never get ahead. To them, I will always be the son of a penniless washerwoman.” His voice had been calm and waveless, but there was a trace of heavy tension—and a fatalism that’d felt suffocating. With the air of a galvanized, hot-blooded warlord in battle, Luo Binghe declared, “This lord will not find peace until none would dare oppose me, and I attain everything that has been denied to me.”

How selfish, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but think. But he supposed it made sense. In the past, Luo Binghe had always been the one trampled underfoot, but now that the shoe was on the other foot, it was to be expected he’d want to take everything he thought to belong to him.

He asked Luo Binghe again, “Do you still want to honor Fēijī’s wishes for you and become his Sacred Ruler? Or do you want to travel a different path? The present is different from the past or future. I will respect whichever decision you make.”

Luo Binghe repeated the words “the present is different from the past or future” softly. Those charcoal eyes scrutinized him back.

Shen Yuan had a sudden realisation in his heart when Luo Binghe raised his palm reverently to the back of Shen Yuan’s hand. He kept his expression wooden when a beatific smile bloomed across Luo Binghe’s features, chasing away the prior shadows.

“This lord,” Luo Binghe announced with the finality of a man making a solemn vow, “will never accept Fēijī ’s patronage. Such a thoughtless, presumptuous, good-for-nothing creator is unfit to lick my boots.”

...I express my deepest apologies, Airplane brother. Please do not transmigrate into this world like your Self-Insert in the rebooted novels—or you will be made into mincemeat.

Ping.

【Protagonist A Satisfaction points +99.】

Shen Yuan nearly swallowed his tongue upon hearing it. It took everything in he not to reveal his astonishment. Although he had expected to have made a dent in Luo Binghe’s heart, it was staggering by how much impact his words had! In his incredulity, he’d almost missed what was declared next.

“Instead, this lord shall only truly accept Shen Yuan.” His dark lashes fluttered shut as he lifted their entwined fingers just below his jaw, his breath fanning across Shen Yuan’s knuckles. “My Shizun is honorable, honest, and foreseeing. None can compare. In return for guiding this lord with his oracles, I will ensure they come to pass, and swear to protect him from his back. You will achieve the results desired.”

Oh, my mother. A feeling arose in him that he had somehow enmeshed himself in a trap of his own devising.

“This lord understands. Your heart had suffered so long enduring the injustices this one had to suffer while I was weak and oppressed. Shen Yuan must have felt helpless being unable to directly interfere with matters of the secular world, retained at the residence of the Heavenly Realm and not being allowed to see me. It is because this lord has only now managed to find a way to Shizun that you have seized the opportunity.”

He’d just dealt him a fatal blow. You understand nothing , Shen Yuan wanted to bellow! If this were a tabletop game, then he had just rolled a Nat20 with his Charisma check. It was too good of a roll! Aren’t you just projecting your ideal Shizun onto me?

“Thanking Shizun for the lesson. Your insightfulness continues to impress this lord.”

Shen Yuan’s eyes shook when Luo Binghe lifted his head. And then he realized how close they’d gotten again. Close, too close! He could practically see the jut of his collarbones peeking above the soft fur.

His heart wavered for a moment. Pulling his hand away, he feigned a cough into his fist. Taking the time to regain his composure, he said, “You know, we might not be kinsmen, but helping each other should be just enough to be good friends.”

“An offer of friendship?” His tone was deceptively intimate and unpredictable. To Shen Yuan’s wide eyes, Luo Binghe went to cup his hand over a fist in a formal gesture. Bending the steel sword that was his spine, he proclaimed to him, “Then this lord shall avail to raise his reputation and prowess. To be regarded as worthy in Shen Yuan’s eyes and in the eyes of the Heavens, this one will surpass expectations.”

The soft waves of his dark hair fell over the white fur as Shen Yuan exasperatedly tugged at Luo Binghe’s arms, encouraging the demon lord to stand back up from his unnecessary display of supplication. He had the feeling they’d cleared some sort of checkpoint or hurdle.

How dangerous. The allure of Luo Binghe’s every word and smile were like spring waters trickling gently past Shen Yuan’s ironclad defenses. His own charisma made Shen Yuan, who had resolved to remain highly vigilant, want to believe his words just like that.

He noticed that Luo Binghe had stopped directly at the boundary. The demon lord was looking at the fog as though it had wronged him in some way.

Ping.

【Notifying the Esteemed Host! Skinship is required for Protagonist A to gain entry. Would Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>> like to add Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> to his party? Y/N?】

Since it was like that, he could only comply. Secreting the weary sigh in his heart, Shen Yuan took the initiative. With one step into the swirling white mist, he twisted his body sideways and extended his palm. He gazed at him expectantly.

Without hesitation, Luo Binghe took his hand. And Shen Yuan pulled him into his world.

Ping.

【Congratulations! Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> has been successfully added to the party!】

Ping.

【Reloading the map! Loading...loading...success! The simulation has been reconfigured! Jiāyóu, lăoshī!】

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Dead-ication || Morgan & Grace

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @silveraccent & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Grace and Morgan just want to bake pie and be okay, but you can’t always get what you want.

CONTAINS: discussion of a car accident

Grace sat in her car, the buzz of the steering wheel still sending electricity through her fingertips. The sound of the engine settling into silence was barely recognizable. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared at the house. Morgan had invited her over, and while Grace had appreciated the concern and newfound… friendship, she still felt awkward imposing on somebody else’s time. Still, she had been invited, and it would be rude to decline such a thing as baking together. She finally got out of her car, the bitter cold burrowing into her bones as soon as she stepped out. Grace looked up to the house, her nerves suddenly growing. She had been absent lately, taking more time for herself-- but after Kaden had explained that Morgan helped with a lot of the pies that he passed around, she felt slightly more inclined to trust her. Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket, texting Morgan that she had arrived. There was doubt and embarrassment pooling in the pit of her stomach now. She looked down at the dead grass beneath her shoes, stubbing her toe against it.

Morgan ambled out of the studio in her puffer jacket, nudging the fresh snow on the grass with her boots as she crossed the garden to meet Grace. She didn’t know if she was playing human-in-the-cold right, but the faint prickle of snow on her hands was the closest thing she had to feeling anything, and she wouldn’t give it up even for appearances in single-digit temperatures. “Hey!” She called, waving to Grace as she came out of the side gate. She beamed, relieved to have some new company. “Come back through the garden with me, I’ve got a new workspace set up, and there’s just barely enough room for trying out something I found online: cherry and pecan pie, with a chocolate glaze. It’s either going to be the most amazing thing I’ve attempted or the worst.” She draped an arm around Grace and started ushering her toward the blue cottage studio, having just enough sense to keep from loitering in the cold.

Morgan’s voice was loud enough for Grace to be pulled from her thoughts. She looked up from the grass and let a smile pull at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t sure where she and Morgan landed in the grand scheme of things-- pies or not, Grace had cried and unfolded in front of her while she was a stranger, and even Grace knew it was hard to break that kind of bond. “Oh, okay!” She followed Morgan’s directions, leading after her closely, leaning into the woman’s touch when she draped an arm over her shoulder. “That sounds…” Grace wanted to be optimistic so instead of saying what she thought, she simply nodded, “good, if you do it the right way.” She looked towards the cottage, “that’s really cute-- but--” She looked towards the larger house, deciding not to ask questions. “How have you been?” She asked instead, ducking in through the doorway, taking off her shoes.

Morgan caught the dip in Grace’s voice. Her smile tightened as she led her across the garden and into the small building where she now devoted a few hours of each day, and sometimes more, to rebuilding a world of her own. “Okay, yes, there is a perfectly good, roomy kitchen in the house, but I am really desperate to break in the oven in here. I have a lot of pie-themed aspirations, and the sooner I get started the better, right?” She opened the door and hopped inside, holding it open for Grace as she welcomed her into the space. “I’ve been good!” She said, a little too brightly, even to her own ears. “Busy, kind of? But mostly good! It really does feel like a whole new time. How about you, Grace?”

“That’s… true.” Grace offered Morgan another smile, this time a bit more heartfelt. Despite not being able to feel anything off of the woman, she could tell there was something genuine in her, if not a bit sad. Though, she had suspected that was likely for all of White Crest’s residents. “It’s very cute,” she admitted as she looked around. The cabinets were low for either of them to reach-- more than she could say for her own apartment. It looked like something out of a story book. “Busy isn’t a bad thing,” she said. She kept busy mostly to keep her mind off of other things. “Better.” Better than the last time we met. Grace tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she ventured further towards the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if she should address the elephant in the room, that the last time they had talked, or even met, Grace had been full of tears and self-depreciation. Now, there were no tears. “Excited about um, the pie?” She smiled faintly.

“You know, I guess that’s true!” Morgan conceded, her voice a little off key. Grace was right, in general, but Morgan had been busy saying goodbye to her closest friends, botching opportunities to make new ones, pulling her sense of self back together again, and grieving the destruction her midlife angst had wrought on the town. It wasn’t a kind of busy she relished in, but making a pie was supposed to change that. “Better is good,” she said, a reminder to them both. “I was a little worried for you there, for a second.” She knelt down and fetched  the bowls and tins they would need, then picked through the small fridge. There was only space for them both with Grace on the other side of the counter and one of the bar stools used to rest the items they weren’t using. It reminded Morgan of the studio apartments she used to live in full time back in Houston and the desperate contortions she’d put herself through to get her books out of their cabinets and squeeze something that was almost a life together.

Morgan pushed the thought out of her head. “Anyway, I am actually excited. If you want, you can get going on the crust and catch me up? I wouldn’t mind hearing some good news out of this place for a change.”

Grace let her gaze remain on Morgan a beat of a second too long, still unsure of why she couldn’t feel anything. As for others, it was faint, but from Morgan, she received nothing. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as Morgan began to work at collecting their supplies. She felt awkward, not knowing what to do. “There really wasn’t a reason to be, I was just…” Devastated? Angry? Scared? “I mean, you know how it is.” Grace dropped her arms to her side, a nervous laugh escaping her. It’d be her luck that Morgan would know she was full of shit. She glanced down at the ring. Anxiety. But something yellow-- or maybe orange, began to peek through. She couldn’t be sure what it was, so she pulled her gaze back to look at the contents of Morgan’s cabinets and fridge beginning to make an appearance on her counter.

She finally took a step forward and stood just next to Morgan. “Um, yeah--” She looked down at the ingredients. She had made pie once or twice, but the crusts typically came in plastic, already made. “Sure.” She forced confidence in the word before she started incorporating the proper ingredients. Morgan wanted good news. Grace wasn’t sure if she had any-- at least, not exceptionally good news. “Work is better,” she said after a moment, glancing over at Morgan as she worked. Except for the fact that Cece was now gone and Regan was still not speaking to her. “Uh… I’m thinking of getting a rat?” She offered with a laugh, “Kaden and I watched Ratatouille, he mentioned that they have some up for adoption.”

Morgan took in Grace’s words silently. “I--think I do. Though I’m not sure what that means. I am sorry, you know. About Cece. I was there when she, um, had to go. I can tell you she really didn’t want to.” Although thats really wasn’t much in the way of comfort. To Morgan, that just made the situation that much more painful and unfair. “But I’m glad work is better.”

She managed a small laugh at the mention of Ratatouille, imagining Kaden making faces at the screen and silently critiquing the depictions of French people. “A pet rat, huh? Well, they’ll definitely have plenty of space around wherever you live. I hear some of them can be pretty friendly. But they have a short lifespan, I think. But then again, nothing on this world is truly stagnant. I’m sure you’d give one a really nice life.” She fell into blending her wet ingredients as she spoke this, eyes glazing as she watched the stand mixer do its work. It was the little things that you kept going for, she reminded herself. Especially if one of those little things was yourself.

Morgan’s mention of Cece made Grace freeze momentarily. her fingers twitched around the egg that she held in her hand. “Yeah, I--” She reached up with her free hand and pressed her fingers into her temple. “I’m sorry, but is it okay if we don’t… talk about that?” She offered Morgan an apologetic smile, “I just-- it was a lot.” It should’ve been easy to say goodbye to a co-worker, but at the morgue, Cece had been the only thing keeping Grace from falling apart. Now, it seemed like every turn she made, shivers ran down her spine and there was always anxiety in her gut.

Grace forced herself to relax and began working on the crust again. “Oh, yeah-- he was… perplexed about the whole uh, cooking thing.” She remembered Kaden’s face after his realization that the rat had been the chef all along and it brought a smile to her face. “I have a fish, but it’d be nice to have something I can sort of hangout with.” The right answer would be either a dog or a cat, but she felt her building was filled with so many of those already. Plus, a rat wouldn’t require as much attention as a dog. “I’ve been looking up these really big enclosures for them…” Grace’s lips twitched slightly into a frown at Morgan’s words. She couldn’t get a read on her, or why the conversation had turned slightly to the dark side. After a moment, she paused, “is everything okay?” She didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to get involved in something that didn’t concern her, but something told Grace she needed to ask the question.

Morgan winced at Grace’s aversion to discussing Cece. “Of course. I’m sorry.” As much as she intuited some commonalities in their pain, the way they coped with it was different, and she wasn’t much of anyone to the girl, just someone who had accidentally happened upon her during an emotional crisis. They should talk about other things. Better things. Literally-anything-but-that things. “Hanging out, yeah! Quality time is really special with an animal. I love it when the cats wander over just to watch or sit on me while I try to work around them. Moira’s getting kind of big for riding on my shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to understand that.” She added the egg to her bowl and when that was done, the cherries. Just in time for Grace to ask her what was wrong.

“Oh, yeah! I’m good. I’m sorry I’m being so--nosy, I guess. Maybe there’s something to be said about starting with small talk and pseudo-interview questions when you first meet someone. But really, there’s been a lot of changes, but most of it’s been really good!”

“No, it’s okay.” Grace offered her a reassuring smile. “It’s just… I’m trying to not really think about it.” She should and she knew it. Ignoring the pain Cece’s departure had brought wasn’t the right thing to do and she knew it, but being alone with Morgan made it impossible not to focus on her own feelings, especially because Morgan’s were absent. She fidgeted with the startings of the dough, not wanting to overwork it. “How long should we chill this?” She asked as she looked over at the brunette, her smile still intact.

“And no, it’s okay-- it’s normal to ask questions, right?” Their first meeting had been… different than any other meeting that Grace had had in White Crest. In fact, all of the people she had met had been different. At first, she was embarrassed by Morgan’s first impression of her, but there hadn’t been any point in allowing it to entirely encroach what could be a solid friendship. It had taken some time to get used to the idea, but she was there now, standing beside her, attempting to bake a pie. “Good changes,” Grace nodded along, “that’s good-- I’m glad things are good.” Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Morgan continued to work the blender, allowing herself to fall into the hypnotic accomplishment of seeing raw ingredients turn into something meaningful, even beautiful after a little mundane alchemy. She switched out the attachments and started adding in the fillings. It wouldn’t take long for everything to get folded in properly. “I’ll set a timer for thirty minutes,” she murmured distractedly, tapping the numbers into her phone. With nothing much else to do, Morgan watched the batter fold. Something was wrong, off. Not with the recipe but with them. Not the strangest thing in the world, given both of their tendency toward worry and overthinking, but it was too much for Morgan to bear silently. The last thing she wanted was to keep Grace hostage in her bad company. “Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it,” she said. “This is weird. I don’t know if it’s because things aren’t actually that fine, or if I’m being weird, or the place is making you claustrophobic, but there’s something, right? I’m not just imagining it?”

Grace stopped kneading the dough and nodded at Morgan’s instruction of 30 minutes. She grabbed the clean towel from the side and draped it over the bowl. She knew to put it in the fridge, or at least that’s what she hoped needed to be done. Would the cold butter turn chunky? No, she had worked that through, right? Distracted, Grace doesn’t quite hear Morgan’s question. Eyebrows furrowed, Grace stops in her tracks, the bowl of dough still in her hands. “Wait, what?” Could Morgan read her? Was that why Grace couldn’t get a read? If two empaths-- No, that didn’t make sense. She and her grandmother could read each other. She fiddled with the towel, her thumbs tugging it down, closer to her palms. “I don’t--” Grace took a deep breath, “it’s not you-- it’s just--” She recalled their online conversation, about how they were both something, and Grace wondered if it was time to come out and say it, to explain that no, there was nothing wrong with them, it was just confusion and anxiety on Grace’s part. After she put the dough into the fridge, she turned around and wrung her hands together, nails digging into her palms to create crescent moons. “Do you remember the conversation we had? Online? It was a while ago.” She paused, “about us being something? Both of us?”

Morgan resisted the impulse to double over with relief. “Yes! I do! Oh, stars, come here, Grace. Let’s sit, okay?” She led the girl over to the main area where there were floor pillows, a day bed, and a desk chair to choose from. Morgan chose the pillowy corner of the bed, if only because it meant scooping up Anya, who had snuck in with her usual silence, and squeezing in a moment or two of time with her. The black cat squinted at her, quietly affronted, but as Morgan settled, Anya marched along her legs and scraped the side of her face along the zombie’s hand and arm. “This seems like more of a sit down kind of talk, and before you say whatever, I want to assure you that you have my total confidence. Nothing you say will leave this room if you don’t want it to, okay?”

Though Grace couldn’t feel it, she could see the relief flood to Morgan’s face. Or, at least, that's what she thought it was. At Morgan’s insistence that she take a seat, she followed her to the seating area, opting for the desk chair. She took it out from its nook carefully, sitting down. Her hands in her lap, Grace pressed her nails into her palms and looked up as Morgan spoke. She regarded the cat lightly, watching the way it ran its head into Morgan’s arm. “Oh.” She blinked, “I mean, if it does--” She wasn’t sure if anything would happen if more people knew about it. Before White Crest, she kept it to herself mostly because she was afraid she’d be seen as a freak. In White Crest, she kept it as a secret because she was worried she’d be regarded as some kind of spy-- as if she were invasive. “Sure.” She smiled instead. She watched the black cat’s tail flick back and forth before looking back up to meet Morgan’s eyes. “It’s not really anything big.” Not like Nell, not like Regan. It’s not important, Grace wants to say. “But it has me…” She chewed the inside of her cheek, “wondering.” She admitted, feeling heat come to her cheeks. “What you are.” It sounded harsh and she winced, “I--” She might as well come out with it, “I can feel… people, their emotions.” She shifted in the chair, “but I can’t feel you.”

Morgan’s first reaction was, is that all? Wasn’t carrying a sense of other people’s feelings a good thing? Something the world needed more of? But Grace’s distress was as real as her embarrassment, so maybe Morgan didn’t understand how that all worked well enough. It probably made crowds overstimulating, at least. But then Grace finished and Morgan tensed, enough that Anya sensed it, glowered, and leapt to the floor to find something better to do.

“Oh.” Was all Morgan could think to say. It was the limits of human magic all over again. She was never allowed to forget about them for long, no matter how much she tried to build up her own limited connections to the world. “That must be...I can see how that might be distressing.” She searched for more words. Tepid silence soured the space between them. “You know it’s not you, right? The reason your power doesn’t work on me. You’re not sick or anything. It’s me.”

Grace watched as the cat skittered across the floor, its paws closing around a toy that resembled a mouse, but was blue in color. She looked back up to meet Morgan’s gaze as she began to speak. Even though she couldn’t feel her, she could see on her face that there was something there-- was it unease? Grace had been good at reading facial expressions, but she also noticed that Morgan had excelled at not giving much away. She ran her fingers through her hair, her hand coming to a stop at her ear where she began to fiddle with her earring. When Morgan finally explained that it wasn’t Grace, but whatever it was that she was, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t sure how that could be the case. “What do you mean?” Grace asked as she dropped her hand into her lap, the flower dusting her black skirt. She wiped it away idly, dropping her gaze. “Do you have some kind of protection from it?” She wondered if that was even possible, but there had been a lot to surprise her about the world she was now in.

Morgan couldn’t stop herself from snorting bitterly. “Never thought of it that way. I mean, I am immune to pretty much all kinds of human magic, including yours, I guess. But considering I used to be a witch, that doesn’t usually feel like a form of protection.” Morgan stilled and exhaled slowly. The root of that hurt was still in her, no matter how she pulled and cut at the stem in her mediations. She was starting to wonder if it would stay in her chest for the rest of her long days. “But this fact about my body, my energy, has saved me a couple of times.” Briefly, she considered simply telling grace what had happened. Just the truth, almost nine months ago on April 20th, she was standing on the sidewalk on Main Street getting ice cream with her best friend, and then she wasn’t. She was on the ground, and she bled out there and died there and on April 21st she woke up for the last time. Because her best friend was a zombie, and they didn’t want to watch another person they loved die for good. Morgan swallowed thickly, “This might be a terrible idea...” she muttered. It had certainly backfired with Dakota. “But would you please take my wrist, Grace? You know how to check for a pulse, right? You know the difference between a slow one or a faint one, right? And at the morgue, you know what a corpse with no pulse at all feels like, right?”

Used to be. Grace focused on those words. Was it possible for somebody to lose their powers? Morgan kept saying human, so did that mean…? Grace thought for a moment, attempting to understand what Morgan was trying to imply. She had a look of thought on her face, as if she were reliving something-- maybe the reasoning? Grace hadn’t realized that all of her life, she had checked to ensure that the emotions she felt from others matched their body language. Grace fiddled with the hem of her skirt, bunching the pleats together. Morgan’s question caught her off guard, and she looked up to meet the brunette’s eyes. Her gaze fell down to her wrist, outstretched. Grace felt something in the pit of her stomach, and her throat suddenly grew dry. Whatever it was Morgan was implying, Grace wasn’t sure she liked it. Still, she had to give Morgan the benefit of the doubt-- allow her to explain herself. Grace slid out of the chair, closing the distance between herself and Morgan and tentatively reached out to touch her fingers to the woman’s wrist. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and pressed her fingers down. The absence of a pulse was noticeable, and though Grace didn’t often worry about people being brought into the morgue who weren’t actually alive, she knew to look for one all the same. Fear and confusion coiled in the pit of Grace’s stomach and she snapped her hand back, holding it to the center of her chest. “You don’t…” She swallowed thickly, “you don’t have one.” She looked up to meet Morgan’s gaze, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because almost nine months ago, I was getting ice cream with a friend and found myself in a fatal accident a few seconds later. But my friend saved me, with magic of their own.” Morgan spoke softly and evenly. No alarm, and, as far as she could help it, no emotion. She didn’t want to go to pieces like she had after Dakota ran away from the museum. These things simply were; they didn’t need her to cut through them and feel that fresh darkness all over again. She unsnapped the leather cuff she wore to cover Remmy’s bite mark and showed it to Grace. “My body is, in most ways, dead. And the way I was taught it, human magic needs the current of life in order to connect with the universe. I’m outside of that now, so your magic can’t reach me. I’m held together and talking to you because of the magic of the undead. And really strong zombie antidepressants.” She gave a wet laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension, but her faith in the gesture was minimal and she did not bring her eyes up to read Grace’s expression. “I understand if you want to go. It’s a lot. Please don’t feel like you have to come up with an excuse,” she added.

Grace stood still in front of Morgan, the sound of her own heart that much louder in her ears. The lack of Morgan’s pulse was evidence enough that she was telling the truth. Why would she lie? Because Grace wouldn’t be able to tell? She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the uneasiness growing in her stomach. It made her skin crawl. The way Morgan shifted made Grace jump slightly and she watched as the brunette pulled away a piece of fabric. A bite mark stared up at her, and though she could hear Morgan’s explanation, she wasn’t sure if she could make sense of it. Grace was silent for longer than she would have liked to have been. Morgan had proven to be nothing but kind to her, even on their first meeting when Grace had been a mess. She stared down at the bite, and she felt that the longer she looked at it, the more it felt unreal. Grace didn’t look up until she spoke again. “I don’t...” She took a step back. The bite was real and her inability to feel Morgan was real-- the lack of pulse, too. She ran a hand over her face and backed up against the wall, leveling her gaze with Morgan. “I’m sorry, I don’t--” She wasn’t sure she could comprehend what was happening. Accepting that Regan had been a banshee had been easy, and so had accepting Nell as a witch, but this? Morgan was saying she was undead, a lifeless individual, but she was so full of life, so how could that be? Grace swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and she glanced towards the kitchen, the ingredients for the pie that wouldn’t be made scattered across the countertop. “I’m sorry, I just.. I think-- I think I need a moment.” Morgan didn’t deserve silence or ignorance. She deserved kindness, but Grace was afraid that she’d show more fear than anything else in this moment. “I should go, I’m-- I’m so sorry.” She headed towards the door, her heart pounding in her ears as she collected her shoes. She wanted to stay, wanted to tell Morgan that she didn’t think any differently, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Grace was afraid. For the first time, she was rightfully afraid, and why? Morgan had done nothing but express kindness to her, but even for Grace, there was only so much she could handle.

Morgan nodded mutely and kept her gaze fixed out one of the many windows at her prickly bushel of witch hazel growing out of the frost as Grace stumbled away in fear. It was said that the herb had the power to heal almost anything, even a broken heart; that you could take the branches and use them to douse for water, or the way home with the right enchantment. But Morgan had taken enough herbs apart and put them back together to know better. Some pains couldn’t be escaped and some detours needed to be traveled and endured. “It’s okay,” she said softly, trying to soothe herself even more than Grace. “You can go. I’ll finish up here.” She held herself, shivering even though she was beyond alive concepts like ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ She kept her eyes on that bushel of witch hazel for a long time, until the timer on her phone went off and she marched herself back into the kitchenette to finish the pie. There were no such things in this world as magical cure-alls or salves for fear, or grief. But stars above, sometimes Morgan wished there were.

[softsketching]

That Spring Noon

For Ashlyn. 

Word Count: 2505 words

By the time that white blankets of snow melted to unearth the vibrant, green blades of grass underneath, your own heart had thawed. You sighed happily. Thanks to Suga's unrelenting kindness, the wounds from your first love's rejection slowly healed over. A seemingly humiliating experience had only deepened your friendship with Suga; you were beyond thankful for his camaraderie. But at some point, the feelings of gratitude he'd sowed in your heart sprouted into something that transcended the boundaries of friendship. With the amount of time you two spent together during that winter, you'd be a fool to deny the familiar yet paradoxically foreign feeling bubbling to the surface.

Stop it. He's just a friend. You shook your head, dispelling your thoughts. And he likes someone else anyway.

It'd taken you almost ten minutes to decide where to spread your yellow picnic blanket. You wanted to find the perfect spot to lay it down–somewhere underneath a tree with a significant radius of shade and surrounded by small spots of bright, white flowers. Luckily, the only people at the park today were a few little children and their parents, so finding an ideal location proved little challenge. After laying down both the blanket and your picnic basket, you checked the watch on your wrist. 11:40. Suga would probably arrive in five or so minutes, knowing him and his tendency to overdo everything. You smoothed down your white dress, then moved to pat your frizzy hair down with your fingers. A soft breeze picked up and ruffled at your skirts. Checking your watch again, you tugged at the hem of your clothing, waiting on Suga to arrive.

"Sorry I'm late," came the voice you most wanted to hear. "I think I went a little too far with prepping the side dishes." Bingo!

You tore your eyes away from the fabric of your dress and turned to face Suga. Today, he wore a light pink, long cardigan. You could see the outline of his sculpted body through his white undershirt, a fact that brought spots of heat to your face. When your eyes moved further down, you realized he was wearing the black jeans that you gave him as a Christmas present.

"How much did you prepare?" Your eyes quickly snapped back to his face as you feigned a laugh.

Suga gave a sheepish smile before plopping down across from you. "Just...this and that."

That day, the two of you joked around until both your sides split from laughter.

"You look like a hair stylist!" You cackled, watching Suga's mouth drop open in fake hurt. It was easier for you to make fun of his appearance than it was to admit that his outfit fit him perfectly, accentuating his toned body and contrasting perfectly with his fair skin.

"Are you kidding? This cardigan is great!" He retorted. "At least I don't look like-" Suga scanned your outfit with lovestruck eyes. What was he going to say to you, anyway? You looked beautiful today. The white dress you wore highlighted every dip and curve in your body, and he had to resist every urge to run his hands through your soft, silky hair.

"Like what, huh?" You laughed harder.

"Shut up," He blushed, tears of laughter brimming in your eyes. "let's just eat already!"

While jesting at each other, you both pulled out the insulated lunchboxes and thermoses stored in your picnic baskets, revealing the contents inside. The smokiness of charbroiled meat, the dance of steamed vegetables, and the earthy aroma of sesame seeds filled your nose as you and Suga uncapped the food. You two dove in.

"Try the meat with perilla leaves and this sauce, Y/N." Suga brought his lunchbox closer to yours, trapping bits of sauce-coated beef and vibrant, green perilla leaves between his chopsticks and bringing it to your own.

"Mah pwate ish fuh." You said.

The laugh that came out of Suga's mouth made your heart skip a beat. "Stop talking with your mouth full, dummy." He waited patiently for you to swallow your food before talking again.

"I'll just feed it to you then."

What? You must've heard that wrong.

"Say ah!" Suga's chopsticks approaching your mouth confirmed that what he said was definitely not a figment of your imagination. And for just that moment, you allowed yourself to succumb to the romantic feelings begging to burst open inside of you. Suga gently place the food onto your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut to imagine how lovely it'd be to have Suga by your side like this everyday–what it'd be like to be someone special to him.

Suga's heart pounded against his chest. So beautiful. At the first taste of the smoky combination of flavors, your eyes shot open. "Mmmm!!!"

Suga smiled and returned to eating his own food. It hadn't even been more than five minutes when...

"Wipe your mouth. There's sauce on it." He poked your forehead. You scrunched up your face in embarrassment. Taking a napkin from the picnic basket, you aggressively rubbed it against your lips.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. I told you to wipe your mouth—not maul it."

You giggled, sticking your tongue out at the amused, gray-haired boy. "Alright, mom. Wipe it for me then."

"Okay."

The next turn of events passed by too quickly for you to properly recall them. All you could feel was the ghost of Suga's fingers swiping at your bottom lip. He'd closed in on you by then, the beauty mark below his brown eye fading into view as his hands cradled your face. Faint hints of strawberry wafted off of his skin as his thumb delicately wiped at the corner of your mouth. When Suga retreated back to his food, no words left your lips. Your chest tightened; your mind was spinning.

You knew that Suga's presence served as a catalyst that allowed your heartbroken wounds to heal faster. He helped you regain the confidence you'd lost post-confession, and with that confidence came newfound feelings of intimacy for him. But the fact of the matter was that speeding up the process of healing doesn't mean that you've fully recovered.

And when you open up a wound that hasn't healed over...

You gasped, freezing in your spot in Karasuno High's courtyard. In that moment, you could no longer feel Suga's warmth by your side. The world around you crumbled. You were face to face with your first love, eye contact unavoidable, longing eyes square against cold indifference. You were shaking. The thought of glancing over at the smaller figure next to him terrified you, but you did it anyway.

It was like a punch to the stomach, seeing your first love with his arms wrapped around another girl. All the confidence you'd built up over the course of the winter drained out of you at the sight of him and her, and in its place was the same freezing emptiness that choked the life out of your trembling body.

How long had it been since school started? A few months, maybe some months and a half? How long ago was your picnic with Suga? Two weeks, maybe two weeks and some change? Your grasp on time was shaky at best. All you knew right now was that you had to get away. So with a quick turn of your heel, you did.

Your pace was slow at first. You didn't bother turning around to see the look on anyone's face. But as soon as you were out of your first love's sight, you took off sprinting. You quickly pushed past groups of students chatting idly after school, asphalt and cleanly trimmed lawn blurring together to form streaks of grayish, green ground. You sniffled. Tears flooded the corners of your eyes, drowning your vision. Before you knew it, you'd tripped over your own feet, crashing onto the pavement with a hard thud. The impact had scraped both your elbows and your knees, but you couldn't feel the pain. You just needed to get away. Run. You hoisted yourself up off of the ground, tiny pebbles jamming into your palms, and made your way across the school, stopping only when you'd turned a corner that was devoid of students. Soft cries escaped you, rattling your entire body. You felt like the air in your lungs had been ripped out of you. Anger and disappointment churned in the depths of your stomach; you'd been swallowed whole by the plethora of negative emotions swirling dangerously inside.

"Y/N!" You looked to the side to see an out of breath Suga approaching you. The expression on his face told it all: you'd worried him so much that he chased after you.

"Suga?" You whispered. "why'd you follow me? You're gonna be late for prac-"

"It doesn't matter." He replied quickly.

"B-But it does. I was supposed to walk with you to the gym."

"It's okay." Suga said.

You wiped at your eyes aggressively. Seeing this, Suga sighed and inched closer to you. With the same kindness he'd shown you the day you were rejected, Suga ran his thumb across your closed eyes to wipe away stray tears, delicately, as if you were bound to break apart at any second.

"I'm here now..." He whispered. But unlike before, the bitterness in your heavy heart had all but consumed you.

"Don't be sad.." You heard him say.

"He's just one guy. You can do better..." Ha. How would you know? Frustration licked at your insides, and you flinched away from his tender touches. Suga scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

"You're lucky, Suga." You hiccuped.

"You're lucky that you're so perfect. Nobody would ever pass up on being with you."

Suga retracted his hands, taking a perplexed step back. Despite your own brain telling you to stop, you pushed forward with your distateful thoughts.

"Of course you think he's just another guy. You don't even know how painful it is to be in my position."

Stop. It isn't his fault.

Suga shook his head in an attempt to block your words. "That's not true. I understand."

"How could you get it?" The pointedness of your question left him speechless. "You have no idea what it's like to be rejected!" For some reason, the more you talked, the louder your voice grew. Suga hadn't done anything wrong. Matter of fact, he was the only reason you hadn't broken down from sadness that winter. But why? Why were you so frustrated at the gray haired boy who was oozing care for you? Why?

"You don't know that at all," came his uncharacteristically curt response. The air hung heavy around your skin.

"Really?" You said back. "Because the last time I checked, you haven't even had the guts to confess to the girl you like. You really think that you can understand how I'm feeling right now?"

Suga's jaw tensed, but his eyes remained on you. You couldn't breathe.

"Am I ugly?" You asked. Dull pains littered your body.

"No."

"Am I boring?"

"No."

"Am I stupid?"

He broke eye contact with you. "No."

"Then why, you cried, "don't I deserve to be loved?"

"You do."

"The person I wanted already rejected me, Suga!" A formidable distance had grown between you and Suga, both in physicality and in mentality. "Who could ever like someone like me?!" Tears streamed down your cheeks in huge bursts, obscuring your vision. Perhaps it was because of your tears that you couldn't see his own expression.

Suga was gnawing at his lip, his eyebrows furrowed as he burned holes into the ground. His brown eyes were telling their own story of hurt, confusion, and love, but you were blind, so blind. He looked up.

"Me. I would."

It was like the world stopped moving the moment he uttered those three words. You blinked your tears away, eyes widened in unadulterated shock.

"You say I don't know what rejection is like? I watched you, listened to you spill your feelings about him for two years." A thin layer of ice was beginning to coat Suga's voice. "I listened to you every night when you'd tell me why he was perfect for you. All those times you and I climbed onto the roof of my house to talk–I had to hear you tell me he's the one even when he treated you like crap. All I could do was comfort you when you cried and I-"

"I would like you—no, I do like you. I like you so much, Y/N! Why can't you...look at me like that?"

His voice shaking with desperation. "It's always been you."

Suga's eyes stung. He couldn't believe that he'd exposed his feelings for you this way. With just a few words, he'd ruined everything. Gone were the days where he could admire your laugh, your smile, your sparkling eyes. Your hugs, your voice, your platonic love. Your support, your jokes, your care. You were fading, fading because he couldn't hold his selfish feelings in. Fading because he overstepped his bounds. Fading because he could no longer deny his heart.

You couldn't think of any words to say. For years, you assumed that Suga was head over heels in love with some enigma. You never bothered invading his privacy, thinking he'd tell you when he was ready. But to think that the girl he'd been longing for, the girl he used to cry over during his lowest nights, the girl who dulled the twinkle in his eyes at just a mere mention of her...

was you?

Despite every feathery touch he'd leave on your hands, the overextended bear hugs he'd give you when you two were alone, the slight blush on his cheeks that only appeared when you were around, you were oblivious.

How could you not have figured it out?

"I might not know what it's like to get turned down after finding the courage to admit my feelings." Suga's breaths were uneven, wavering. "But to say that I haven't experienced what it's like to be rejected isn't right." The sound of his breaking voice made you want to rip out your ears.

"You rejected my love before I even had the chance to give it to you."

He shook his head then. You watched in agony as a single tear cascaded down your friend's loving face, your friend's loving face which was now twisted from the hurt. Your heart was in absolute shambles.

"I'll see you later" was the last thing Suga said to you before his back faded out of sight. The sound of his retreating footsteps rung in your ears. Regardless, no matter how much you wanted to move your feet and chase after him, you stayed glued to your spot.

Warm spring air slapped you in the face as you stared out into the open fields. The sun was supposed to be beating down on your wet face today, rays of light supposed to be tanning your uncovered skin. But you were stone cold, alone.

...you get a deeper scar.