#grave fic talks

[thatoneleosagific]

sneak peek of the next chapter since ive been bogged down by schoolwork and other things and wont be able to write for a little while

[angelcake10023]

Hyperfixations are all fun and games until it’s 2:00 am and you can’t sleep because Loid is still stupidly fumbling over his own feelings (this is the 10th fic he’s done this in and I continue to eat it up)

[rock-in-robins]

so like reverse robins, if done right, i love em. anything reverse robins i ever write will never have Steph become Babs. it doesn't make sense to her character for her to become oracle, would she be great at it, absolutely, but it doesn't make sense.

there's always debate on whether it should be Steph or Tim to die and more or less become Jason. my answer is that Tim get's joker jr'd and kills himself (+ the joker if your so inclined (but joker would have to be revived somehow for plot reasons) (you can make it Bruce if you want more angst)) then Steph becomes robin because Tim always talked about how gotham needed a robin and she wanted to honor him in a way only she could. then the thing with black mask happens and she still fakes her death travels, heals, grieves, and comes back when she heard bruce picked up a new kid. (Jason wasn't robin yet, just living in the manor but Steph new it was only a matter of time)

so she comes back to gotham and decides she's gonna take care of crime alley her way, and revamps her old spoiler costume. (she may not have grown up there but she was a few streets away and she knew what a place like that did to kids) (she also has no ties to Bruce anymore so her no killing thing gets a whole lot more lax)(she kills her father - that's how bruce and the others found out shes back in town). and openly feuds with black mask over territory and brutally maims him but like just a bit.

Then Jason becomes robin and six months later Tim is back. he's different and definitely a bit more unhinged, but efficient as ever. he quickly takes over the drug trade and helps Steph get rid of the worst of the worst. But doesn't do the whole try to make Bruce kill the joker thing, instead he makes Bruce watch as Tim does and warns him that if he tries to revive the joker again (damian aka nightwing def killed the joker & Bruce brought him back) that they Will Have Problems. Tho he is going as Joker Jr. as a fuck you and a threat to pretty much everyone, after all they all knew what happened to the 2nd robin.

In summary Tim & Steph split up the Red Hood traits

Duffle bag of heads - tim, he's dramatic

Died (like burried in a grave and crawled out died) - tim

Guns - Steph

The joker - tim (but steph will shoot the fucker on sight so help her god)

Black mask war - steph (obvi)

Crime alley - steph mainly (but tim lurks around and every crime alley kid & sex worker knows that if they ever need something JJ will take care of it no questions asked)

Drug trade - both, they make dates night out of it (it does not matter they aren't together anymore)

Scaring/pissing B off - both, they make it a game

Murder - both as a treat

[specific-dreamer]

stay gold is for darry too (except this is what i meant to say the first time b4 i got distracted)

“when you’re young and the world is new / it’s easy to forget when you’re trying just to make it through”

darry is 20 years old and for the first time he’s having to learn about bills and when to pay them and how to pay them, he’s having to learn about debt works and how long he can take to pay them back. he’s having to learn how to budget because suddenly he can’t take whatever change he has left at the end of the day to take his brothers to the rodeo or the bookstore, instead that change has to go to something more sustainable.

and darry has a one track mind. to him, since he has to play guardian, since he has to play parent, he’s not allowed to have fun anymore. he has to work day in and day out to keep his brother yes, but he’s also working so his brothers don’t have to work this hard. he’s working this hard in hopes that one day, hopefully in a year or so, they’ll have enough saved up so he can stop playing parent. he’s hoping they’ll have enough saved up so this child can stop walking in his dad’s enormous shoes and can finally be a kid again.

he’s opening at the end of this he can finally just be a friend and a brother again. the thing is though darry forgets. he forgets about the now. he forgets how sensitive his brothers are; soda makes a point for darry to know he can lean on him if he needs to, but sometimes darry gets a little to comfortable and forgets to remind soda the same. darry and pony used to be a whole lot closer before their parents died. but after darry forgets how sensitive he is; pony likes playing big and bold (like every 14 year old) so he’s forgets that pony really is just a baby. he forgets that pony lost his parents too at a really young age and needs a bit more comfort; darry forgets to offer that comfort.

darry never neglects his brothers, god no he doesn’t. in his mind, he eats dinner… most nights with them, he’s usually not back til late, eating dinner with the dim light above the stove. he sees them to bed though! he makes sure they’re all ready for bed and can find him if they need him, though pony has taken to finding soda instead which… is new.

[thatoneleosagific]

chapter dropped🫡🫡

mild blood warning

this chapter is strangelt very gay guys the slow burn is finally burning

ill drop the chapter in a bit weeee

[gusu-emilu]

not yours not mine

Jiang Cheng & Song Lan (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic)

Rated: T | Wordcount: 6.2k

Post-Canon, POV JC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Holding Hands, Late Night Conversations, mostly follows novel timeline

“Song-daozhang…” Jiang Cheng stops himself, but in the end he can’t hold back his selfish curiosity. “Did you know what would happen when you went to Baoshan Sanren’s mountain?”

for Song Lan Rarepair Week 2025 -- thank you @yicityrarepair for running this event!

Every so often, Jiang Cheng goes on a night hunt alone.

He had originally picked up the habit to look for Wei Wuxian, hoping to find him while on a hunt. In the years after Wei Wuxian’s death, he’d had the foolish idea that maybe if he was by himself, Wei Wuxian was more likely to appear.

No surprise, he’d been wrong.

Since when did that imbecile care about an audience? Of course, the day he finally did come back, it had to be in front of a crowd—even in front of Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian always did have to create the maximum social and political destruction. No doubt he would turn up under exactly the right circumstances to give Jiang Cheng the biggest headache of his life.

Now there’s no need to go looking for his brother. He knows Wei Wuxian’s general whereabouts from Jin Ling, who might not tell Jiang Cheng directly about his uncle’s doings, but he can usually tell when there’s a Wei Wuxian-sized hole in the plot of one of Jin Ling’s stories.

No, there’s no need to search for Wei Wuxian anymore.

Now Jiang Cheng’s solo night hunts are simply for clearing his head. They’re so helpful that his second-in-command all but forces him to go if it’s been too long since his last night hunt alone. And he’s experienced quite a buildup of frustration before this one.

For tonight’s hunt, he doesn’t have a specific target in mind. He patrols Yunmeng territory for half a shichen, but he doesn’t find any monsters to fight or spirits to quell.

Too bad he can’t punish his disciples for keeping Yunmeng so safe and peaceful that there are no beasts for him to unleash his pent-up frustration on. If he doesn’t find something soon, he’ll have to wake his senior disciples for a midnight sparring session. Otherwise, he won’t be able to stop himself from hunting down Sect Leader Yao, whose incessant trade agreement demands have been the main source of his aggravation, and dueling him then and there.

A dark, fearsome presence slithers through the forest like smoke tendrils, snapping Jiang Cheng out of his thoughts.

He’s found a demon to track down.

He changes his path to follow the murky trail left by the demon’s spiritual presence like a chasm in the forest until he notices something strange—another creature of resentful energy seems to be tracking it, too.

A signature of resentful energy that always brings back bad memories.

If Jiang Cheng’s perception is accurate…this new creature’s energy seems an awful lot like that of a fierce corpse.

But why would a fierce corpse be tracking a demon?

His first thought is of Wen Ning. But the Ghost General only night hunts if he’s guarding Jin Ling or the Lan boy, and to the best of Jiang Cheng’s knowledge, all three of them are in Lanling right now for a discussion between the Lan and the Jin on regulations for the use of musical instruments as spiritual weapons. Although Jin Ling shouldn’t be in any danger, other than from boredom, Jiang Cheng is secretly grateful that Wen Ning is nearby to protect Jin Ling if anything does happen in Lanling.

But that means that this fierce corpse can’t be Wen Ning.

But an ordinary fierce corpse does not possess the intelligence to track another creature across such a large distance.

Just as Jiang Cheng is about to close in on the demon, he hears a piercing shriek and the sound of a sword colliding with a hard shell, of trees snapping and wood splintering. He slices through the undergrowth to enter a clearing, where a gigantic spider demon is locked in battle with a dark-robed figure wielding two swords, one dark and one light shade of gleaming silver.

Could it be…

Song Zichen?

Before he can begin to wonder why the Distant Snow and Cold Frost is here, Jiang Cheng leaps into the fray, joining him in battle. They quickly fall into a rhythm, providing opportunities for each other to strike at the spider’s massive black carapace.

The pivotal moment arises when they both have the chance to strike at the same time.

They simultaneously fly up from underneath the spider’s body and—

A dark veil shimmers down, surrounding them. Their swords collide with a black barrier and bounce off the dense woven surface with a hard metallic clang.

Confused, Jiang Cheng lands beside Song Zichen.

It’s nearly pitch-black, save for a few angry crackles from Zidian on his wrist. He lights a talisman, but it doesn’t do much good. He can’t see farther than a dozen paces in any direction, where the barrier allows the faintest hint of moonlight to enter through the many layers of strong threadlike material but obstructs his vision of anything outside its boundary. They are cut off from the rest of the forest, enclosed inside this webbed black bubble.

“What just happened?” Jiang Cheng says. “Are we trapped?!”

Song Zichen doesn’t reply.

Jiang Cheng strikes the dark barrier again with Sandu, but it bounces off just as before.

He tries with Zidian.

A loud crackle and a bright flash of violet light as it hits the barrier. The energy spreads through the web along a front of electrified purple threads, leaving a faint glow in the web that lights the area he and Song Zichen are trapped inside. That’s useful, at least, to have some light, but the barrier remains unbroken.

He whips at the web again—

Nothing.

“What is this?”

Another futile try with Sandu.

When he still doesn’t hear a word from Song Zichen, he looks over to see the rogue cultivator watching him impassively as he hacked at the web, and then he remembers.

Song Zichen can’t speak.

Song Zichen inclines his head toward the ground, where he has written words into the dirt. I had suspected that this demon could create a web to trap its prey. Hadn’t realized it could make one so fast.

“It didn’t seem powerful enough to produce a barrier this strong.”

Possibly my fault. It’s reinforced from the inside by my resentful energy.

“How do you know?”

I can feel it.

Jiang Cheng sighs. Just his luck that he’d get trapped inside a demon spider’s web that is impenetrable only because one of the two sentient fierce corpses in the world is trapped inside it with him.

Though, in a list of people Jiang Cheng would least like to be stuck here with, Song Zichen doesn't rank so high. Not exactly a stroke of luck, but it’s something.

“If it feeds off your resentful energy, then that rules out using our combined power to break out. Releasing your resentful energy would only increase the web’s strength.”

Song Zichen nods.

“Well, if we’re in here as prey, it must enter the web to eat eventually.”

Likely by morning, Song Zichen writes. We attack at that time.

“So you’re proposing we just wait in here and sit around doing nothing until then?”

Unless you have another idea.

“Hmph.”

They exchange several more ideas, and Jiang Cheng tries just about every talisman on him. Song Zichen’s ideas are quite crafty, drawing a hint of admiration out of Jiang Cheng, not that he would admit it. But despite their exhaustive attempts, nothing puts so much as a hole in the web.

Their options depleted, Jiang Cheng pokes at the spider’s web with Sandu a few times just for spite, then lets out a heavy sigh as he resigns himself to a night spent trapped here.

He doesn’t like the idea of waiting at the mercy of a spider demon’s appetite. What if it doesn’t open the web by morning? Jiang Cheng has things to do tomorrow, clan business to take care of—disciples to train, river tradespeople to meet, contracts to review.

He crosses his arms, shooting a sidelong glance at Song Zichen.

For the first time since tonight’s unexpected encounter, Jiang Cheng gets a good look at him.

He looks very different from when they last met, long ago. In those miserable early years after Wei Wuxian’s death, their paths had crossed several times. Jiang Cheng had seen Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen in action at the peak of their fame, slaying a great beast.

Then the successes the two rogue cultivators had achieved started to collapse. Xue Yang went on a murdering spree, exterminating the Chang Clan and, later, Baixue Temple. Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen were caught right in the middle, unable to bring an end to Xue Yang’s atrocities with the Jin Clan protecting him, unable to escape Xue Yang’s eventual revenge for trying to.

During that time, Song Zichen came to Lotus Pier twice for Jiang Cheng’s help: once to hunt down and apprehend Xue Yang for murdering the Chang Clan before harm befell Xiao Xingchen, and once to find Xiao Xingchen after he had gone missing following the Baixue Temple massacre.

In neither case had Jiang Cheng been able to help.

He is reminded of the guilt that gnaws at him for his failure to be of use to Song Zichen, another tickmark in a long list of his shortcomings.

Now Song Zichen, once a promising young cultivator with an air of invincibility, bears the marks of his anguish, his skin now pale and threaded with dark lines coursing with resentful energy. He had always had a certain melancholy to him, but now he possesses a weariness that only death can bring.

But what Jiang Cheng notices most are Song Zichen’s eyes.

Now that he knows, it only takes a bit of imagination to see Xiao Xingchen staring back at him…

An owl hoots, breaking the uncomfortable silence, its sound muffled by the web surrounding them.

“Song-daozhang, may I ask what you’re doing in Yunmeng?”

On the way back to Yi City.

Back to Yi City? When Jin Ling had told him that Song Zichen left to wander the jianghu, Jiang Cheng had assumed that he would want to get away from the place that had caused him and Xiao Xingchen so much pain. Why walk right back into it?

“Why are you going back?” asks Jiang Cheng, never one for dancing around a delicate subject. 

I feel that there is…something left for me to understand there.

“Understand about what?”

Song Zichen hovers Fuxue over the ground, looking hesitant.

“About the spirit pouch you’re carrying?” Jiang Cheng offers, too impatient to beat around the bush.

Song Zichen looks up at him in surprise. Xiao Xingchen’s spirit pouch is presumably hidden in his robes somewhere, but Jiang Cheng knows the whole story, knows what he carries. The man wields two swords, for heaven’s sake, one of which is incredibly recognizable.

Jiang Cheng can’t help but be reminded of the three months he spent carrying Wei Wuxian’s sword during the Sunshot Campaign…

It seems that you are aware of more than I thought. As a fierce corpse, Song Zichen’s movements are stiff, preventing Jiang Cheng from deciphering if this fact relaxes him or tensens him. Yes, I am returning for Xingchen’s sake. Perhaps I missed something in Yi City that will help restore Xingchen and A-Qing’s souls.

“...I see.”

Jiang Cheng suddenly feels uncomfortable. Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen have a complicated history. He isn’t sure how to discuss something this personal with him, or if it should be discussed at all.

He looks away, but his gaze is drawn back to Song Zichen’s eyes. Xiao Xingchen’s eyes.

Song Zichen must have known the truth as soon as he saw his reflection.

Why hadn’t Jiang Cheng noticed that his golden core belonged to someone else? How had he not recognized the cultivation essence of his own brother?

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” he finds himself saying. “Back then.”

After the Yueyang Chang massacre, Song Zichen had come to Lotus Pier, confiding in Jiang Cheng about his worries for Xiao Xingchen and requesting help in bringing Xue Yang to justice. Song Zichen sought help not solely out of a desire to apprehend Xue Yang for his crimes. Instead, he was driven by concern for what might happen to Xiao Xingchen if he became too embedded in the clan politics that surrounded Xue Yang and his crimes like a Spirit-Trapping Net.

Xiao Xingchen hadn’t understood the extent of the Jin Clan’s power and corruption. Hell, Jiang Cheng had firsthand experience and he hadn’t fully understood the extent of it until the revelations of Guanyin Temple. The Jin Clan’s authority had been especially formidable back then, the rest of the Great Clans still struggling to recover from the Sunshot Campaign. Jiang Cheng was drowning in the fight to restore his clan. The Lan were still rebuilding the Cloud Recesses after it was burned to the ground. The Nie had retained some influence, but Nie Mingjue was unstable, poisoned by the malice of his own saber, ready to snap any day.

At the time Song Zichen came to Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng was still under the Jin Clan’s oily thumb. He couldn’t afford to directly oppose the Jin Clan with the control they had over Jin Ling.

Given his pitiful position back then, he doesn’t understand why Song Zichen had sought him for help in the first place. Maybe Song Zichen had been just as clueless as Xiao Xingchen.

There was no chance Jiang Cheng would’ve been able to help. He had no power to. Not when it came to two rogue cultivators whose entire goal was to spurn the clan system. Who forged a path directly against the headwind of politics and tradition. Who pursued justice until they backed themselves into a corner.

Jiang Cheng knew how that story ended.

He feels a fresh pang of sorrow on Song Zichen’s behalf, sharp and resonant. He understands what it’s like to lose his clan and home.

“If you had come to me today, I would be able to advocate for you,” Jiang Cheng continues. “But not back then.”

Song Zichen bows his head. Your clan has become strong enough to exert its own influence.

The subtle praise catches Jiang Cheng off guard. “The Jin Clan is still a pit of vipers, even for me. They’ve lost some foothold because of Jin Guangyao’s scandal, but many are scrabbling to claim unofficial power.”

Such dangers must be watched for in every sect. In the Jin Clan, it has just been allowed to grow unobstructed. There are years of corruption to be undone.

Even years ago when Song Zichen visited Lotus Pier to ask Jiang Cheng for his help, the man was full of ‘worldly’ advice like this. The only reason it doesn’t annoy Jiang Cheng that much is because, on the few brief occasions they had met, Xiao Xingchen did it much more often, and because Song Zichen was usually right.

“Are you…still planning to found your own sect?”

As soon as Jiang Cheng asks, he regrets it. Who would join a sect led by a fierce corpse? Moreover, the jianghu has all but forgotten the once renowned Distant Snow and Cold Frost.

Song Zichen makes a noise that sounds something like a sigh. First I must heal Xingchen’s soul. Then…I don’t know.

Discomfited by how freely Song Zichen reveals his sadness, by how directionless he seems, Jiang Cheng probes at the faintly glowing web with Sandu again, desperate for something to do. In a normal situation, he wouldn’t press Song Zichen about something personal, but since they’re stuck here…

“But you still want to?” he asks. 

Song Zichen looks at him with a hint of incredulousness that could only mean, Of course I do, why would you think otherwise?

“Even after all of the harm the clans have caused you and Xiao Xingchen?”

All the more reason to. That didn’t stop you from building your sect, did it?

“I didn’t have a choice.”

I have less choice than you think I do.

Jiang Cheng sits back on a rock. “What do you mean?”

I have no choice but to spend my life walking the righteous path. Especially now, to atone for my sins. As you can see, I have already failed in following the righteous way.

Jiang Cheng frowns, unnerved by this statement. Song Zichen looks up for a moment, sharply holding Jiang Cheng’s gaze, then swipes over the writing in the dirt with his foot and continues.

Now that my ‘life’ has no end in sight…what can I do but try again?

Jiang Cheng finds himself speechless. It is rare that a cultivator as powerful as Song Zichen admits that he has failed.

Song Zichen stares at him. Xiao Xingchen’s eyes, boring into him. A knot forms in Jiang Cheng’s stomach. He looks away and adjusts his vambraces, suddenly self-conscious.

“I wouldn’t say it was you that failed,” he says carefully. “The cultivation world failed you.”

I was the one who turned away Xingchen. The one who blamed him. The one who failed to find him in time to save him. Yes, his actions led Xue Yang to take revenge by targeting me and my former clansmen. And that still hurts me.

Song Zichen’s hand trembles.

But was it really his fault? In the aftermath, I was the one who let him down. I let down my clan, too, as I failed to protect them from Xue Yang.

The words in the dirt at his feet seem to burn, searing into the earth. Searing into Jiang Cheng, stinging him.

Xiao Xingchen had been foolish, but he had also been innocent.

Wei Wuxian, on the other hand…

It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

You have asked me many questions, Song Zichen writes. May I ask you…

Song Zichen trails off.

“Ask me what?”

…Did you believe the report that Xiao Xingchen killed Chang Ping?

The sudden question catches Jiang Cheng by surprise. “No. I even had my disciples look into it. Unfortunately we found nothing conclusive.”

So there had been a true investigation? Song Zichen writes.

“Well. I kept it small, and hidden from the other clans. But…we did look—for evidence that could point to the murderer’s identity, or at least prove Xiao Xingchen’s innocence.”

Song Zichen seems both satisfied and disappointed. Thank you.

“What are you thanking me for? We didn’t find anything. And don’t forget that not long before Chang Ping’s murder, you had asked me for help finding Xiao Xingchen, a request I was unable to fulfill.”

The second time Song Zichen came to Lotus Pier had been during his search for Xiao Xingchen, a year after the massacre at Baixue Temple. Although Jiang Cheng had tried to help, providing a few tenuous and questionable leads, the most he’d known for certain about Xiao Xingchen’s whereabouts was that he’d been missing for a year.

“When soon after your visit,” Jiang Cheng continues, “Xiao Xingchen’s name was thrown around as the identity of Chang Ping’s murderer, was I supposed to ignore the case after you had practically begged me for help finding him?”

Despite the trouble it might have caused him, Jiang Cheng had felt obligated to clear up Xiao Xingchen’s supposed crime, clear the clouds darkening the name of Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze. He hadn’t been able to turn a blind eye. He couldn’t.

Not that his effort resulted in much.

You did what you could, Song Zichen writes. Perhaps if Jiang-zongzhu hadn’t been the only one to investigate, it wouldn’t have taken so many years to find the true murderer.

“You were raised in the cultivation world,” Jiang Cheng says. “You must know that the lack of investigation wasn’t because everyone believed that Xiao Xingchen murdered Chang Ping. Xiao Xingchen was a rogue cultivator who had already stirred up political trouble and then vanished for over a year. Publicly clearing his name wasn’t exactly at the top of the Great Clans’ list of priorities. And then there was the Jin Clan’s protection of Xue Yang…”

Song Zichen grips Fuxue tighter. I know.

Jiang Cheng feels compelled to keep talking, even though he isn’t sure if this is what Song Zichen wants to hear.

“Like I said. If you had come to me today with the same request…to apprehend Xue Yang, before everything else happened…”

Fuxue’s tip falters. Perhaps we were beyond saving, anyway.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to reply to that. He looks away, toying with Zidian’s ring.

An agonizing eternity of silence falls between them, filled only by the weight of Song Zichen’s words and the knowledge that there is nothing to do but wait.

Then the gentle rustle of sleeves gets Jiang Cheng’s attention. Song Zichen is writing again.

You should sleep.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. At his cultivation level, he can go at least a week without sleeping. Song Zichen’s own cultivation level would have been similar during his lifetime. The gesture of solicitude should offend Jiang Cheng, but instead it makes him feel…strange.

He could sleep. But he doesn’t want to actively rub in that he is alive and able to sleep, unlike Song Zichen. If Song Zichen cannot rest, why should Jiang Cheng shirk his duty to sleep while they are technically on an active mission?

And does he want to sleep with a fierce corpse hovering over him?

Yet…the idea of being near a fierce corpse doesn’t bother him the way it does when that fierce corpse is Wen Ning. Doesn’t anger him the same way. Doesn’t instill the same deep, visceral discomfort in him.

But if there is something to examine in that line of thought, Jiang Cheng does not want to do it now.

“I don’t need to sleep,” he replies.

Slaying the spider will not be easy. It will benefit both of us if you don’t expend unnecessary spiritual energy to stay awake.

Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw. Irritatingly, Song Zichen is right, again. “Will you keep insisting if I refuse?”

Perhaps a few more times.

That gives Jiang Cheng a small chuckle. Throughout the cultivation world, Song Zichen was said to have no sense of humor. Turns out his humor is just so dry that the cultivation world must have never noticed it.

In Jiang Cheng’s opinion, the cultivation world missed the full picture with regard to Song Zichen. Although Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen’s names were always spoken together, they weren’t truly treated as an equal pair. Xiao Xingchen’s reputation as Baoshan Sanren’s disciple always preceded Song Zichen’s less remarkable origins.

* * *

The first time Jiang Cheng met the two rogue cultivators, he had found them vanquishing a four-headed watersnake demon just outside Yunmeng territory. He had brought his own disciples to subdue the beast, but Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen had beaten him to it.

At first, he had viewed the two rogue cultivators as a set.

Their fighting skills were astounding to watch. And Jiang Cheng isn’t easily impressed, given that he had grown up watching Wei Wuxian easily accomplish the impossible.

Fighting the demon in the shallows of the river, Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen had used spirit thread to restrain the gigantic snake-like demon, with four heads each the size of a fisherman’s hut. They seamlessly dodged its four sets of jaws while landing another hit for every one of its attempts to bite, coordinating their movements to be most confusing to the demon. At the same time, they rescued villagers’ boats from the fray.

Despite the chaos, they appeared tranquil, every action seemingly effortless.

Maybe it was effortless for them.

Before witnessing them himself, Jiang Cheng had known that they were powerful, but what he had not understood was how perfectly they worked together, to the point of becoming a single entity in battle.

There was no substitute for a close connection between two powerful cultivators—a connection that bordered on spiritual and became instinctive.

This is what Wei Wuxian and I were supposed to be, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking. The Twin Prides of Yunmeng.

A flare of many different emotions burned in the hole that had been gauged into Jiang Cheng on the day his parents died. In the end it all just felt like anger.

Those two rogue cultivators are nothing like you, he reminded himself.

Xiao Xingchen was from Baoshan Sanren’s mountain. He and Jiang Cheng were not even of the same world.

Although Song Zichen was trained in a sect, it was not one of the Great Clans, nor was he an heir. He’d never had to shoulder the responsibility that Jiang Cheng did. Wasn’t bound to duty to the scale that Jiang Cheng was. Had the freedom to slip into the jianghu and roam with Xiao Xingchen without leaving a power void in his clan the way Jiang Cheng would if he disappeared.

Song Zichen too, was of a different world. A world where tradition and convention didn’t shackle him.

Jiang Cheng could have never turned out as idealistic and righteous as them.

“Jiang-zongzhu, should we…should we help them?” one of his disciples had asked as they stood at the river’s bank watching Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen subduing the water demon at what must have been a record speed.

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Do you have eyes?”

“They’re truly incredible…” the youngest disciple murmured.

Even Jiang Cheng felt his amazement grow at the scene, as he shifted from feeling begrudgingly impressed by the two rogue cultivators to genuinely respecting them.

Although at first his gaze was naturally drawn toward Xiao Xingchen, with his bright white robes and unparalleled grace, by the end of the battle, he found himself fixated on Song Zichen.

Song Zichen shared Xiao Xingchen’s agility, but he was distinguished by his steadiness, diligence, and cleverness. While Xiao Xingchen faced the challenge head-on, Song Zichen’s movements were crafty and calculated, miniscule strategic actions that created opportunities for either of them to attack that weren’t obvious even to an experienced cultivator like Jiang Cheng.

As he watched them battle the water demon, he thought to himself that if these two had been working miracles around the jianghu when he was a boy, he would have admired them above all other legends, done everything he could to witness them in action. It was hard to believe that instead they were a few years younger than him, making their skill and cultivation level all the more impressive.

After the two cultivators defeated the demon, and the huge watersnake fell into the water with a giant splash sending waves rippling to the shore, Jiang Cheng and his retinue joined them in purifying resentment from the river.

Now that Jiang Cheng could see them up close, he noticed that there were more differences between the two cultivators than the colors of their robes and their fighting styles. Xiao Xingchen had a delicate and gentle appearance, exactly what came to mind when imagining an immortal. However, Song Zichen’s appearance would have been unassuming if not for his obvious power and the quiet confidence in his bearing.

Strangely, Jiang Cheng found himself more intrigued by Song Zichen’s humble strength than by Xiao Xingchen’s attention-grabbing otherworldliness.

Throughout the process of cleansing the resentment in the river, Song Zichen kept everyone focused, while Xiao Xingchen lifted everyone’s spirits. Xiao Xingchen kept up a steady chatter, befriending the Jiang disciples and laughing at every one of their jokes. Jiang Cheng wondered how he didn’t drive Song Zichen crazy.

And yet, although he couldn’t explain it, Jiang Cheng quickly determined that he could trust Xiao Xingchen. The man was as transparent as rice paper, his thoughts and emotions easy to read.

However, this guileless sincerity made him vulnerable.

Xiao Xingchen was the type who just couldn’t help himself from getting mixed up in affairs he shouldn’t have been involved in. A trait which, thanks to Wei Wuxian, is all too familiar to Jiang Cheng.

After this encounter, he recognized that, in the tales told about them throughout the jianghu, Song Zichen’s skill was unfairly overshadowed by Xiao Xingchen’s reputation and near-legendary status.

He then understood how Song Zichen completed Xiao Xingchen not just in battle. If left to his own devices, Xiao Xingchen would dig his own grave without guidance from someone more seasoned in the complexities and cruelties of the jianghu.

So it was no surprise that just a year later, when the Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze separated from the Distant Snow and Cold Frost, both disappeared from the world.

* * *

Now, Jiang Cheng is trapped in a spider’s web with the Distant Snow and Cold Frost urging him to go to sleep.

“I suppose there’s nothing else to do anyway.” Although Jiang Cheng feels a bit resentful of being told to nap like a child, he gives in and lies on the ground.

To his surprise, Song Zichen joins him, lying on his back beside him.

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “Are you able to sleep?”

If Song Zichen is just putting on an act to make him more comfortable, his attempt is just increasing Jiang Cheng’s discomfort.

Song Zichen traces words above them with his finger, which Jiang Cheng follows the outline of with some difficulty. I can’t sleep, but I can rest, similar to meditation.

“How…different is everything? Not being able to sleep, and all?”

Song Zichen’s hand is still. Jiang Cheng immediately realizes he’s overstepped. Why would he ask a question like that? What does he care about Song Zichen’s personal life, anyway…?

Song Zichen holds his hand out to Jiang Cheng.

“Huh?”

He repeats the gesture, motioning for Jiang Cheng to give him his hand.

Uncertain, Jiang Cheng slips his hand into Song Zichen’s. Gently, Song Zichen turns Jiang Cheng’s hand over, exposing his palm.

Easier to talk this way, Song Zichen writes into his palm. Is this alright?

The soft touch sends shivers down Jiang Cheng’s spine. The feeling of Song Zichen’s cold hand cradling his, and his finger carefully tracing words on the sensitive skin of his palm.

He gives a hesitant hum of acceptance.

Everything is different, Song Zichen writes. You can think of my existence as an absence. An absence of feeling, of sensing, of experiencing.

Jiang Cheng feels frozen, fixated on processing the words etched into his hand.

For example, I used to abhor physical touch. Now I can tolerate it because I can barely feel it. In fact, not only do I no longer mind physical touch, I find myself…not exactly wanting it, but…it reminds me that I can experience any sensation at all.

Somehow, Jiang Cheng has unintentionally opened the floodgates of conversation from Song Zichen.

It does not escape him that Song Zichen has probably had no one to properly speak to in years.

I was once blind , Song Zichen continues. For a short time. Being a fierce corpse is the opposite of losing one’s sight. I am blind to every sensation but what I can see. Even my hearing is distorted.

To think that, in the end, the only part of me still alive is my eyes…

Song Zichen’s fingers curl, and the writing stops.

Jiang Cheng swallows. “I…I imagine it’s…difficult.”

Living is also difficult.

“That is true.”

Having finished his explanation, Song Zichen rests his hand atop Jiang Cheng’s. The silence spreads over them like a mountain stream, flowing around them, drawing them together in its current. Neither pulls their hands away.

“Song-daozhang…”

Jiang Cheng stops himself, but in the end he can’t hold back his selfish curiosity.

“Did you know what would happen when you went to Baoshan Sanren’s mountain?”

Song Zichen’s hand tenses. I knew that I was taken there for my vision to be healed. I did not know…how that was to occur. Baoshan Sanren does not share her secrets with outsiders.

A complicated tangle of emotions constricts Jiang Cheng’s throat.

So if Jiang Cheng truly had climbed to Baoshan Sanren’s lair, rather than an unnamed mountain with Wen Qing waiting for him, perhaps he still would’ve been given Wei Wuxian’s core. Still would’ve been deceived. Still would feel Wei Wuxian’s core humming inside him, never allowing him peace.

Even if the outcome wouldn’t have changed, at least Wen Qing and Wen Ning wouldn’t have been involved. One less scar from the Wen Clan on his body. One less debt he can’t pay.

“I once thought I was also healed by Baoshan Sanren,” Jiang Cheng finds himself saying.

His breath quickens, becoming shallower. He hadn’t planned on confiding in anyone about this. Especially not here, not to Song Zichen, of all people.

The darkness, the solitude, the connection to Song Zichen through touch alone, somehow it frees him to speak.

Song Zichen’s hand twitches slightly, as if the change in Jiang Cheng’s breathing has caught his attention. But you were not healed?

“I never arrived at her mountain. But I was healed. If you could call it that.”

What happened?

“You could say that…I also have a part of me that feels like…like it’s the only part of me that’s still alive. And it is not mine.”

He expects Song Zichen to ask him to explain further, to define what does not belong to him, to speak that horrible truth aloud. 

But there is nothing written on Jiang Cheng’s palm.

Instead, Song Zichen gently closes his fingers around Jiang Cheng’s hand, pressing palm to palm, as if this touch alone says everything he wants to.

Perhaps it’s all Jiang Cheng wanted to hear.

“Did you forgive him?” Jiang Cheng asks. Is his voice shaking? He grits his teeth at the show of weakness.

For hurting me? Song Zichen writes. Or for saving me?

Jiang Cheng gives a single bitter laugh. “Both.”

I’m not sure that I have.

Yet Song Zichen’s self-proclaimed sole purpose in his second life is to heal Xiao Xingchen’s soul. At this very moment, his spirit pouch probably sits tucked against Song Zichen’s chest. And yet he maintains that he hasn’t fully forgiven Xiao Xingchen?

These rogue cultivator daoist types…

I think the more important question is whether he will forgive me.

Jiang Cheng’s chest tightens. “I…I wish you the best in healing his soul.”

It will be a long journey.

“You know, you shouldn’t give up on founding a sect,” Jiang Cheng says, eager to change the topic.

Given what I am, I can scarcely see willing disciples in my future.

Jiang Cheng can’t believe what comes out of his mouth next. “You should talk to the Ghost General. Somehow he’s managed to become a mentor for the next generation of Lan cultivators.”

Song Zichen’s fingers twitch, his eyes brightening. …We shall see. At this stage, taking on disciples would only be a disservice to them. I need time before I am ready to become anyone’s master.

Jiang Cheng sighs, shifting his body against the earth beneath him. “I can understand what it’s like to not feel ready for that.”

You did well, given your circumstances. From what I’ve heard, these days the Yunmeng Jiang are more guided by principle than by blood. Why do you think I sought you for help back then, out of all the sect leaders? It is not easy to reshape a sect as you have.

“I…” His fingers tighten around Song Zichen’s hand.

When was the last time he heard words like this from a peer?

From anyone?

Jiang Cheng tries to put together a fitting response, but in the end all he can think to say is a quiet, “Thank you.”

Song Zichen squeezes his hand.

At last, Jiang Cheng sleeps, Song Zichen’s voice in his palm.

* * *

When it is time for the spider demon to open its web, Jiang Cheng senses the vibrations in the ground as it approaches, waking mere minutes before it enters the web. Song Zichen is already standing, two swords brandished, preparing to attack the beast.

The web opens, sticky black threads tearing apart to reveal monstrous bulging eyes and grasping pincers.

They easily defeat the spider demon, with a new level of teamwork. Once the spider demon is dead and its resentful energy is suppressed by Jiang Cheng’s talismans, he uses a final strike from Zidian to disintegrate the corpse. As the ashy dust settles to the ground and slowly fades away, Song Zichen gives a curt nod of approval.

“I guess this is where we part ways,” Jiang Cheng says. “So you’re off to Yi City?”

I’d rather not, Song Zichen writes with Fuxue. But I have no choice. Something is calling me there. Maybe I will finally be one step closer to healing Xingchen and A-Qing’s souls.

Jiang Cheng nods. “If you wish to visit Lotus Pier after…you would find yourself well-received.”

Song Zichen bows in thanks.

When Jiang Cheng turns to leave, Song Zichen suddenly holds out his hand. Jiang Cheng hesitates, then rests his hand atop Song Zichen’s. Song Zichen gently grasps his hand, steadying it, taking his time with their parting touch.

May your journey home be safe, Song Zichen writes.

The words of farewell are simple, an unnecessary sentiment.

But somehow Jiang Cheng finds that they comfort him all the way back to Lotus Pier.

* * *

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, i would love it if you head to AO3 and leave kudos!

[oh-no-its-bird]

Hatake Ichigo being forced into the academy would be honestly hilarious. “no NO LET GO OFME FUCK OFF IM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL FUCK YOU FUCK YOUR FAMILY FUCK YOUR ANCESTORS FUCK YOUR COW” and all that. getting dragged by her feet into the classroom because she bit the first person that tried to carry her.

I'm in fucking tears actually, SO accurate.

She is going to set the entire classroom on fire to try to prove a point. She's going to frame several students for theft of other students belongings to try to start a war. She's going to go to the younger, impressionable classes and "inspire" them to "rebel against their homework" via ganging up on and tying up their teacher and locking them in a closet as they trash the classroom. She doesn't wanna be here let her out let her out leT HER OUT LET HER OUT LET HER OUT LET HER OUT (the school doesn't fucking want her either holy shit)

Shes on the floor throwing an actual tantrum like the 11 year old brat she is, high pitched shrieks and all. If you try to touch her she bites to draw blood

In her original timeline she probably never went, the academy being established around when she was entering the field as a shinobi herself (at like 14ish maybe) and it's first class being a very select group of clan kids (aka the only kids they could manage to convince the parents of to join, bc even then the clans were dead set on home schooling their kids, and itd take a while more to convince everyone to make the school the norm)

It's for the best shed never go originally tho, she did/does NOT get along with almost any kids her age. Any classroom with her in it would go to SHIT, she's the trouble maker and the teacher is this 👌 close to actually attempting to harm her

(it's only bc she and the hyuuga heir are so young that they haven't started an actual blood feud w all their fighting, but they are not allowed to be around eachother without supervision for a reason. Them being in the same class would be,,, bad. Very, very bad.)

[arthursfuckinghat]

The Miles We Walked (And Will Walk)

[short fic based on this, also on my ao3]

It had been a long time since John had stepped foot in Valentine.

And honestly? He never planned to again, not after that business with Cornwall and those damn sheep.

But after meeting with Sadie, as per her request, Rachel was getting fussy. The mare knew she could swindle a treat or two from her rider, but this time, she was out of luck.

So, with a huff, they headed down the familiar dirt street toward the stables.

Valentine hadn’t changed much - Same weathered wooden signs creaking in the breeze, the smell of manure and pine, the churned-up mud still thick underfoot. It was like the years hadn’t touched this place. Not much had changed, except him.

"Morning," the stable hand chirped, "That's a fine horse you got there."

Honestly, she was. It wasn't often that John saw Thoroughbreds around, her seal brown coat was especially gorgeous in the sunlight. Quite the horse indeed.

"Thanks, just need some hay and a few carrots for her."

With a nod, the man disappeared out back to fetch the goods, leaving John to let his eyes wander. There weren't many horses here, all things considered. A Half-bred, a Standardbred and a Morgan nickered softly in their stalls to the right.

But on the left, almost hidden away in a shadowed stall, was a horse that caught John’s eye. A dark head lifted, ears perked at his attention, and something about the animal stirred a long buried memory.

His brow furrowed. Wasn't that one of Arthur's horses?

"I'll be damned.." John muttered under his breath.

Carefully, he approached the stallion, hand outstretched. The horse didn’t hesitate, nuzzling into his palm like an old friend. John let out a weak laugh, gently patting it's neck. The big bastard remembered him.

"Long time no see, eh boy?"

The ardennes snorted, leaning into John’s hand, relishing the attention. A heaviness settled in John’s chest for a moment. Arthur had loved this horse, he remembered when the man proudly trotted into camp with it, and to see it here, tucked away and forgotten? Arthur would have been devastated.

The stable hand returned, arms loaded with hay and carrots. “I’d mind your hands with that one, partner,” he warned. “The thing don’t like anybody.”

John gave the horse one last scratch behind the ears, glancing over at the man. “That so?”

The stable hand shrugged, dropping the supplies on a nearby crate. “Guess it likes you. Ain’t nobody wanted it since it was left here. That fella didn’t seem right to me at the time, left a lot of money for us to look after it, but that was ’bout eight years ago now.”

Eight years. John could recall the last time he saw Arthur as if it happened yesterday. The way he fought, the way he pushed on with his horse until neither of them could go any further. He remembered, he was there. Hosea had given Arthur that horse, he remembered that too. How Arthur cradled the animal’s head, giving it one last goodbye, only to join it not long after.

The fact that Arthur wanted his other horse to be taken care of, even after he passed, struck John harder than he would have liked.

"How much for it?"

The stable hand huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You sure you want it? There's other horses 'round here."

John didn’t answer right away. He looked back at the ardennes, at the weight of the years resting on its shoulders, and felt that familiar prickle of old grief rising again. The horse was more than just a memory of Arthur, it was a piece of him. Something alive in the world that still remembered.

"How much?"

With a sigh, the man's eyes met John's. "Four dollars for the feed. The horse.. you can just take. You'd be doin' me a favour, but don't go tellin' folk I sold you that bastard of a horse."

John fished out a few dollars and gave the man what was due, shoving the goods into his satchel before turning back to the horse. The stable hand dusted off the saddle that he recognised as Arthur's, setting it down near the stall as he untangled the rest of the tack that came with it. John unlocked the gate and slowly geared up the horse, murmuring soft reassurances as he did.

“I’ll stable your other horse if you’re takin’ this one out,” the stable hand offered.

John muttered a quick thanks as he finished securing the saddle. The horse was a little jumpy, but John took it slow, carefully leading the stallion outside. He stepped back for a moment, glancing at the ardennes standing in the sunlight. It's grey coat glistened, the dark hues blending once more as the dust shifted. It didn’t look like the animal had aged a day.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” John murmured, giving the horse a pat. “Roca, was it? Arthur was always odd with names, wasn’t he?”

The stallion let out a deep huff, taking in the fresh air, softly nudging John's arm in agreement.

Satisfied, he put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle, giving Roca a nudge as they headed out of town. The ardennes moved steadily beneath him, falling into a rhythm as if it had been waiting for this for years.

“Sorry I ain’t Arthur,” John mumbled, patting the horse’s neck. “But you and me will get along fine, right boy?”

The stallion gave a content huff in response, the tension in the horse’s body easing with each step. John looked out ahead, the road stretching far into the distance.

“Maybe I’ll take you to see him, one of these days.”

The words hung in the air, a quiet promise. John straightened in the saddle, giving the horse another nudge. There were miles yet to ride, but for the first time in years, he didn’t mind the journey.

[nicollekidman]

literally three paragraphs into the new @vertigo-vertere fic and i’m like IS EVERYONE SEEING THIS….. go read

[ghost-bxrd]

Calmly sitting and dreaming about grave pretender getting attention<3

I lied I'm actually dancing in joy that it's still on the roster:)

Happy 😊

It’s definitely going to be posted sometime in the future and is currently sitting at 2k words! 💚 I estimate it to have anywhere between 3-5k words when it’s done ✨

Here’s a lil sneak peek to tide you over until then~ 🦋

“Jason doesn’t stop until he‘s standing by the bedside, blinking down at the curled up form of Bruce Wayne at the foot of his old bed.

There are dark bruises under his eyes, his face pulled into a distressed little scowl, muscles twitching every couple seconds. A nightmare, then.

Unlike Jason, Bruce’s nightmares are always silent. Soundless. Jason wakes up screaming where Bruce simply opens his eyes to blink at the ceiling. Jason flails until the blankets twist around him like restraints and Bruce doesn’t move an inch the entire night. It’s kind of funny, actually. One of them has actual experience being a corpse, yet Bruce knows how to act the part better than Jason ever has.”

[thatoneleosagific]

to make up for lack of updates ill sporadically post random bits of writing that may or may not be put into the fic (most likely not) Or bits from oneshots i might post !

heres an old bit from a while ago but it still makes me :]

[petitincendie]

also i really appreciate the fandom has kind of absorbed the idea that pre-reanimation, the creature can hear and maybe feel but not see, like he’s in some sort of limbo

[thatoneleosagific]

new chapter my beloveds eat up

posting a new update to graves in a moment💪💪

[nessbunnie]

i am actually crashing oit rn my old fics are so terrible and sickly dDONT LOOK ATMEEEEE

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Charon Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Tom Riddle is Hades, POV Harry Potter, Tired Harry Potter, Suicidal Thoughts, Death Summary:

Weary from battle and loss, Harry Potter pays the ferry’s fare, seeking a quiet death in the Underworld.

[rahabs]

for the fic writer ask: 4 (either edward or thomas for any of your terror stuff but especially scrimshaw or beggar's knowledge of want because i love them sm), 5, and 7 if you don't mind?

4. Share a headcanon about (character name) in (story title)!

In Scrimshaw, Edward spends a great deal of time worrying about Thomas' mental state, more than he lets on. Thomas, more than Edward himself, has undergone some pretty substantial physical changes in some ways, and is not aware of it (or is peripherally aware, as some of his language suggests, but hasn't really grasped it/cannot grasp it due to the nature of what he is and how he became that way). Edward conversely, is aware, and has been in some ways since Thomas found him in that camp, and so he keeps a very close eye, but it's a large reason why he's not as willing to believe Thomas about seeing things in the woods, and why he's so protective.

5. Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

There is! In Scrimshaw, in fact. Several, including a big one, which has to do with Thomas' nature and the strange woman he keeps seeing at every turn, and why he's so different from Edward. There's some knowledge that Thomas and Edward do not have about their own natures and what makes them what they are (and so what makes them different from one another--Edward is more aware than Thomas, because, as stated in #4, he sees what Thomas cannot, but he doesn't understand why because he still lacks much of the cultural knowledge surrounding the creatures they have become), and so it is never explicitly explained in the fic, but there are hints scattered throughout. In the sequel (the very contentious sequel), if I ever finish it, it becomes a lot more explicit, largely because it's the crux of the events of the sequel.

That said, I also very much did it on purpose, so it's been really interesting to see the theories other people have had about it! I know what I have in mind, but I've truly loved seeing how others explain it.

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

This was from a joplittle prompt someone gave me once ("I broke my rules for you"). I got about 2k in and stalled. Maybe I'll resurrect it one of these days... it'd be nice to finish it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, more of a wheeze this time, to the dead weight of his Tam in his arms. “I’m sorry for everything.” Sorry they were here. Sorry for dragging Thomas down with him. Sorry for the things he’d said and done, and the things he hadn’t. Especially for the things he hadn’t. Sorry for not noticing Thomas’ condition until the Captain had already been stolen from them and Edward had burst into the tent to find Thomas unmoving and delirious on the bed. He wondered if Le Vesconte’s face still bore upon it the blood from Edward’s fist, as Edward’s skin itself still did, a rusty smear that mixed in with the blood of Hickey’s mates, dead and gone, consumed, though by what Edward still did not know. His mind flicked back to the sights and sounds of England, of the stage shows he’d had the pleasure of watching—stories of times long ago, echoing with an ancient message. None of those memories helped him now, save that he could feed them gently to Thomas in a whisper as they walked, his own voice thin and ragged. He’d never had a particularly nice one to begin with, but he pitied Thomas for having to hear it now all the more. He prayed Thomas could hear it at all.

fanfic writer asks