#i really liked writing this one ngl

[kybelles]

in which babianos gets his heart broken

read on ao3 | check out this amazing art by @cxinis which i adore

~

A peal of laughter, quickly followed by the sound of running; distract Theomedes from the report he’s been reading for the past ten minutes. He blinks and casually leans off the balcony. The noise belongs to a sight he became accustomed to recently.

Next to him, Konstantin makes a tiny noise of disapproval. “I can warn them off if you wish, Exalted.”

Theomedes huffs a slight chuckle. “What is the point? They will behave for five minutes and then it’ll start over again.”

Konstantin looks a bit exasperated. “I assure you, I didn’t expect this kind of behavior when I brought my boy to the palace. He is usually much more serious.”

“Well, my boy has the ability to charm even the toughest people,” Theomedes says, pride coloring his voice. “So I can’t say I’m surprised.”

After a brief moment of Damen whispering something into the ear of Nikandros, they start running barefoot again; this time in the direction of trees.

Konstantin isn’t merely lying about his son’s character to excuse his recent adventures with Damen. The first time Nikandros arrived to be presented properly in front of Theomedes, he introduced himself with perfect manners and showed utter respect. Then Damen, who was almost vibrating with excitement, stepped forward and caught Nikandros’s hands.

“Greetings, Nikandros of Dice!” he exclaimed in front of the whole palace. “You and I are going to be best friends!”

Thus, they quickly became best friends indeed. Theomedes felt a bit of guilt when it became crystal clear just how much Damen needed someone closer to his age. They became so inseparable that it almost felt like they blurred into one child: Damen and Nik. Nik and Damen. Damenandnik.

It also brought warmth to his heart to see the affection Nikandros held for Damen was genuine and not borne out of some obligated loyalty. Theomedes knows his boy made a friend for life.

“Gods help me,” Konstantin is saying when Theomedes focuses on the present again. “Are they climbing on a tree?”

Indeed, they are climbing on one of the larger trees with the easy elegance of lions who survey the land for prey. Konstantin lets out a long sigh. “Should I put an end to this? If they fall–”

“No need.” Theomedes points at the muscular slaves who are standing nearby. “If they fall, they can be caught easily.” He raises his voice. “Damianos?”

Both children whip their head to look at the direction where the noise came from. Nikandros’s arms wobble considerably when he realizes it’s the king who spoke but he regains his balance easily. Damen is, unsurprisingly, unfazed. “Sire?” he calls back.

“May I ask what the two of you are doing?”

Damen gives him a look like he thinks his father is particularly dense. “Looking for Veretian soldiers, obviously.”

“Care to elaborate?”

It’s Nikandros who speaks this time. “We’re making a plan to take back Delpha, Exalted.”

“Oh?” Theomedes asks pleasantly. “Now that is something I must certainly listen to. Would you soldiers want to join me for supper?”

-

Nikandros has to leave, eventually.

Damen handles it with all the grace that can be expected from a five year old. He doesn’t cry when they bid Konstantin’s family farewell but his lower lip wobbles repeatedly. Once it’s time to say goodbye to Nikandros, he throws all the properties Theomedes knows Hypermenestra and his tutors taught him before aside and wraps his arms around Nikandros, clinging. Whatever he’s murmuring to the other boy has Nikandros patting his back gently, his own serious face creased with a frown. They stay like that until Kastor takes a step forward and touches Damen’s shoulder.

At supper that night, Damen barely touches his food. Even when they bring his favorite juicy apricots.

Hypermenestra takes a look at his full place, face concerned. “Your food will cry after you if you leave it untouched, Damen.”

Damen is slouched in his chair, looking absolutely miserable. “I know you’re lying to me, Nessa. I don’t believe you.”

Kastor takes a crunchy bite from a pear. “You’re right. What will happen is that this apricot’s soul will visit you tonight in your sleep and haunt you if you don’t eat it.”

“I don’t believe you either.” Damen says quickly but his hand sneakily snatches up a piece of apricot.

Theomedes rubs his temple briefly, wishing it would erase the headache he can feel building. “Kastor, stop frightening your brother. Damen, eat your food. Nikandros will come back in a few months.”

Apparently it was all it took to set Damen off because he swallows his fruit and looks at Theomedes with accusing eyes. “Six months! That’s half a year, baba! How am I supposed to endure it until then?” His lip quivers again and this time, a sob escapes from his mouth. He turns his teary eyes to Hypermenestra. “I feel like my heart is breaking into pieces! Can a person die because of a broken heart?”

Keep him safe, a woman’s raspy voice whispers. Love him. Love him so much.

A memory. Egeria, untangling herself from his embrace in the middle of the night and stepping into the balcony for some fresh air. Theomedes, following after her like a sailor follows a siren. Egeria’s belly swollen with their unborn baby, her thin silk nightgown clinging into her skin, her skin glowing with both sweat and health.

You never looked more beautiful, Theomdes said unthinkingly as he stared at her. Egeria smiled cheekily at him, her dimple showing, hazel eyes shining with mischief. Flattery will get you nowhere when I’m this big, Exalted.

And then. The baby came too early.

Promise me he’ll be okay, Egeria whimpered as she continued to bleed and bleed. One of her hands was clutched in Theoemedes’s hand and his tears were blurring his vision. He kissed her knuckles, over and over again, until her last breath. I promise.

Theoemedes doesn’t recall a worse heartbreak he’s experienced than Egeria’s death but in the end, he survived. For his country and his family. For his motherless infant son.

He rouses up from his memories and notices Hypermenestra’s pained eyes on him. He can’t help but wonder if she remembered the same thing just now.

It was her hand, after all, the one who held Egeria’s other hand.

“No, you won’t die from a broken heart, my prince.” Hypermenestra says softly yet firmly. “Feeling upset is a natural part of growing.” Her face softens. “However, you may go to sleep tonight earlier, if you don’t wish to dine anymore.”

He’s out of his seat the second she is done with her sentence. Theomedes sighs heavily as he makes a move to follow him, or at least send someone after him, when Kastor raises a hand and gets up as well. “I’ll deal with it. Curse of being an older brother.”

-

Every friday, Theomedes takes Kastor and Damen with him for a ride around the capital; to see how the cityfolk are doing, to listen to their issues and requests. He’s been doing it with Kastor since his oldest turned three and two years ago, he started to bring Damen along as well. Next year, Damen will finally have his own horse instead of sitting in front of Theomedes.

Today, only Kastor shows up for their planned outing and just like Theomedes, he looks puzzled by the lack of Damen around. He rolls his eyes a moment later. “That silly boy cried into my lap for hours last night. He’s probably still asleep.” A frustrated sigh. “I’ll go get him.”

“No.” Theomedes says, barely missing a beat. “After the tantrum of yesterday, it’s best if he gets some sleep. It’s not the end of the world if he misses one day.”

So they set off together; him, Kastor and a handful of soldiers. Theomedes doesn’t know if it’s vanity, but he never takes a lot of protection with him when he does these weekly outings. His people love him as a leader and he wants to believe he can take out a few assassins if it ever comes to that.

It’s going smoothly, as it always does, when a ruckus breaks out behind them, prompting the soldiers. Tensing, Theomedes extends a protective arm in front of Kastor. 

Everything happens so quickly. Out of nowhere, a small hand clings to Theomedes’s chiton. His horse startles so badly that it makes a move to rear up. Horrified, Theomedes realizes the hand belongs to Damen and his boy will get hurt badly in a–

A pair of strong arms snatch Damen from the ground in one rough movement and Theomedes hastily moves away his horse, petting his neck to calm him down.

“You idiot!” Kastor exclaims in pure fury, shaking Damen’s shoulders. “Why would you do–”

“Why did you leave me behind?!”

Damen’s entire riding outfit is messily worn, as if he’s dressed himself in the dark, with no help from his slaves. His face is as red as the royal Akielon color and his eyes are wide with anger and disappointment. Distantly, Theomedes realizes almost half of his household have followed him and are now panting as they try to catch their breath. The chaos is mostly settled.

Kastor sends him a deadly look. “What?”

“Is this what duty means to you?” Damen’s furious eyes are going between Kastor and Theomedes. “We’re supposed to do this together and you left me behind!”

For a moment, nobody speaks. Then, Theomedes runs a hand over his face. “Damianos. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

Immediately, Damen’s righteous anger disappears in a smoke and he makes an upset noise. “Baba, don’t say things like that.”

Theomedes reaches out and takes him from Kastor’s arms, putting him in front of the horse like he always does. “We won’t leave you behind again,” he says as Damen sinks into his arms. “But if you do something like this again, I’ll forbid you from eating an apricot for a week.”

“That’s fair.”

[courfee]

it's been exactly a year since the last chapter of Operation Walburga's Arbitrary No Kissing Ever Rule and I still miss it. This scene is probably one of my favourite things I've ever written and I've wanted to draw it for forever, so now seemed like an appropriate time

[ganondoodle]

carefully attempted to draw (still sick); wanted to give Shargon another redesign, this is an older version of him but the basics should also go for his younger self (idk yet about his lung replacement design; arms are posed weird to make anatomy clearer)

(wip, oc art, Shargon, he/they)

[spiderin-space]

Guess who found a smidgen of motivation to draw again??

[generalsdiary]

the spice will warm me from the inside

Jiaoqiu x Moze

warnings: description of injuries, mentions of the 2.5 events, Jiaoqiu’s history, Moze’s history, nightmares, anxiety, breakdowns, knives/weapons mentioned, one swear word, assassination attempt (dw)

word count: 5.5k

description: a hurt/comfort fic, angst & fluff, life after the events of 2.5, kinda found family trope as well. Jiaoqiu's life with his newfound trauma and disability, Jiaoqiu and Moze living life and communicating in healthy ways. As much as it goes over their "angsty" pasts and traumas it is very healing and focused on moving forward and learning to find a way to go on even when all has gone dark (pun not intended). Feixiao shows up a few times, Sushang comes to visit. As much as it is hurt/comfort, dw as soon as it hurts you, you will be comforted. One has to process through their past traumas and everything they have been through in order to start moving on. A realistic approach.

Jiaoqiu's fingers pressed against the smooth surface of the window. Cold, smooth, glossy. Traveling between the ships of the Luofu wasn't something new to him, but the experience felt different. The darkness, the shadow didn't move no matter how wide he opened his eyes, hoping for light to seep in, for a picture to form. It was hopeless, the poison took its toll.

“Moze.” his voice was gentle as ever, trying his best to hide the tremble in it. The fear as every space feels unfamiliar. The small tremor in his hands that hasn't left since he was... rescued.

“Yes?” a deep-toned voice beside him makes his ears perk up, trying to pinpoint the location, to naturally turn to the man as he usually would. With the way he could before. He turns, hopefully towards Moze. A small crinkle in his eyes as he recalls how March corrected him twice because he wasn't facing her nor the others. Jiaoqiu expected his hearing to be better, to be a better aid, especially as a foxian.

“Describe the room for me. Please.” there's a small pause. A silence. The shadow guard was incredibly quiet, not even a rustle of his clothes.

“It is the same as the last time. Small room, red velvet seats, three across three, sliding glass door, warm light from the headlight, grey floors. The regular transportation.”

Jiaoqiu nods, bringing his fan out, hiding half his face and gently moving it creating a small whiff of air. He remembers some of it... such a mundane thing, he never paid it too much attention. It hurts. Leaning his head back against the soft seat he closes his eyes. They are straining him. an unfamiliar feeling this early in the day.

“Mhm, thank you, Moze... and. General Feixiao, where is she?”

“Arranging a private port for us three to exit at. to avoid crowds.” Moze keeps his answer concise.

The trio is still greeted by guards and some of the general’s usual caretakers. They have received the news, and a man eagerly approaches the trio. His hand is quickly gripping Jiaoqiu’s forearm, making him lose his balance, making him stumble. He desperately uses his tail to balance and tug his arm back. The irritation barely hidden in his voice, “You do not take my arm- one does not simply drag a blind man with them.”

Commotion. Calming words of the general. And a voice that cuts through the multiple voices talking. A low tone, beside him. “I’m on your right, half a step in front of you.” being taller than Jiaoqiu, Moze’s soothing voice is heard easily, mouth so near the foxian’s fluffy ears.

Jiaoqiu takes a calming breath. Another one. This is fine. No. It is not fine. He just has to get home. Home. Yes. Everything will be fine when he gets home.

His hand reaches out into the unknown, the rough fabric meets his fingertips, he gently rests his arm tucked into Moze’s and then grips his forearm. “Thank you. Please. ..Slowly. I can’t.-“ Jiaoqiu’s voice breaks, why did it- no he is fine. He is not breaking down in public. It has been years since has was able to cry. Not after he served in the military. Those tears have long dried up.

You don’t need to cry to break down. To feel the pain engulfing you. The war took most of his ability to taste away. The once lover of subtle, bland flavors, now chased the spiciest, hottest meals- no matter how much it burned his tongue or hurt his throat. It made him feel alive. The spice burned inside him, warming him up when all he could feel was an icy cold throughout his bones.

The familiar crack of the wooden floor beneath his feet lets him know he is finally home. Jiaoqiu immediately took his shoes off and let go of Moze. Stretching out his arms, feeling the smooth texture of the walls in his home. Navigating to his bedroom. Through many dark nights, he could move around his house effortlessly- but this wasn’t a dark night. No moonlight. No lamp. No candle. No soft lights coming off the electronics. He bumps into the couch, and a cabinet, until he finally sits down on the soft bed. Opening his eyes. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Nothing? Jiaoqiu wants to rage, to throw furniture around. Hasn’t he done enough? Given enough? Deep breaths. He will not succumb to the anger that wants to drown him. Mindlessly caressing the cotton sheets beneath him.

“G-give me a scarf.”

Silence. Jiaoqiu cannot hear him. Moze was always someone he could see, even in his shadow form, he could always SEE him. he could not even smell him. the clean man. Not a single scent.

A fabric touches his hands, soft, strange patterns swirling on it. He drags his fingers across it. Deep breaths. Calm down. He folds it neatly and brings it over his eyes. Tying it up around his head.

“Why?” Moze asked quietly. The sound seems to be coming from below. He is… kneeling beside the bed?

“Every time I open my eyes I hope they will heal. That… that something maybe changed. And every single fucking time that hope is crushed. And I-“ his voice wavers, “I cannot deal with that. I cannot bear another time of my heart getting broken by my inability to see. … with this, I won’t be able to open them. Just. Just… until I get used to… things.”

“I can order a cane for you.”

“No,” Jiaoqiu says a bit too harshly. “I will not. I can’t. I… just. Please, I.” he stumbles over his words like he is falling down the stairs. Shaking his head. Hands trembling. Moze’s habit of not speaking is upsetting at this moment. The bed squeaks under the weight of the other man, strong arms encircle him. Firm chest pressed against the foxian’s back. Calm breathing on his shoulder and a strong steady heart beating against his own works wonders. Making him ground his own breathing in the pace he feels the other’s ribs expand and contract. Heartbeat soon enough coming into sync with Moze’s. A comfortable silence. Although to Jiaoqiu it isn’t a silence. The inhale, exhale, a reassuring sound in this abyss.

Jiaoqiu’s fingers gripped the peeled onion a bit too roughly. He worried it might roll away. Just have to tuck in his fingers, and it is okay. Chop, chop, chop.

Cooking is a big part of him. and his situation will not take it away from him. The last thing that makes him feel like himself. His hand hovers above the deep pan, warmth seeping in. It is hot enough. He chops more veggies and meat and puts it all on a low simmer. Doors open and close, and as per usual he turns towards the sound. It has to be Moze or Feixiao. A burglar wouldn’t enter that casually, right? These thoughts don’t ease his life. The constant worrying and anxiety-

“It’s me.” he doubts he is able to recognize everyone’s voice. Humanoid hearing is simply not suited for it. Expect that it is Moze. Jiaoqiu can recognize his voice. “I have brought you something” With a quick step he is beside him, warm hands holding his and handing him something… smooth. “You said no cane. This is a walking stick. Older people use it- I know, you maybe don’t want it, and it may cause more trouble. Simply put, at least it’s here to help you not fall. okay?”

That’s a lot of words for the shadow guard who prefers to stay silent. Jiaoqiu feels out the walking stick, tapping the ground with it a bit. “I appreciate the thought, I will. I will keep it near.” With that, he sets it against the kitchen counter and stirs the food. Sour and spicy notes hit his nose. Home. Breathing it in like smoke. Wishing it could take him back.

“Why are there green peppers in the trash? They appear fine.” Moze questions. Jiaoqiu exhales, his throat tightens. Opening his mouth to explain but the strain stops him from voicing anything. Why are they in the trash can? A perfectly good ingredient, still fresh, he is never wasteful. The everpresent tremble is his new companion, his imagination makes him feel the finger that pressed against his back causing immense pain so he may give away secrets about Feixiao. The claws that ripped his clothes apart and left rough textured scars- still wounds, they have yet to heal to become scars. The makeup that ran down his face. The tugged hair. Flashes of scent induced fear. The last thing he ever saw was that monster. Hoolay. Green peppers. No. It isn’t something he can see- … it isn’t something he can smell, eat, or feel again.

Moze quietly observes the way Jiaoqiu grips the counter, the way his breathing becomes shallow, the silence piercing his ears, worry coloring Moze’s face now that he doesn’t have to conceal his expressions anymore. “I will take the trash out.”

“Please, thank you.” Jiaoqiu answers in a shaky, broken voice. The voice one sounds like right before they will break down. With swift movements, Moze ties the bag and takes the trash out.

With a slow step and one hand on the walking stick, he carries the food to the table. Plate by plate. Chopsticks, spoons. Beverages. If it were any other normal day he’d carry the pan to the table. But it isn’t any other normal day. This is the new normal. And carrying a heavy, soup-filled pan is risky. Finally satisfied, he sits down and smiles gently. Like he used to. Small wins, little joys.

Moze returns and wishes to say how he could’ve helped. Those words die down in his throat. Would it be more condescending than helpful? Would he even care for his words? Moze lost his voice, his will to speak, from his “second family”. Where no one cared for what he said. He convinces himself that this time he isn’t speaking because it might be rude.

“Would you text the trailblazer for me?” Jiaoqiu inquires during the meal, once Moze returns from washing his hands.

“Now?”

“No, no. after we eat. And could you switch the settings to voice commands and audio-specific notifications?”

“Consider it done.”

Technology is another thing Moze has a great understanding of. Updating the phone and other digital items in their home poses no issue. “When I call you in the future, or anyone whose number you have saved this is how it will sound” Moze calls Jiaoqiu’s phone, and instead of making a pleasant melody, a robotic voice starts talking ‘Moze Moze Moze Moze…’ Jiaoqiu nods with a small smile. “That is helpful, I appreciate it.” “And you can text the trailblazer by giving voice commands to the phone. You don’t need my assistance.” Moze sounds proud, showing Jiaoqiu that he is perfectly capable of doing it alone, just a bit differently than what he is used to.

“I’m going to meet Suyi. You can take the time to clean, Moze” Jiaoqiu takes his cane and exits their home. Hopefully, by giving him obligations and keeping clear of the area, it will make Moze not follow him.

It has been a few weeks. He took an orientation and mobility class. Learning how to use an actual cane. It felt easier to exist. Jiaoqiu was once again mobile, he could go to the market, buy fresh produce, and go out to meet old friends. Tap tap taping his way to the café. Jiaoqiu had a preference for a nonfoldable cane. The subtle vibrations carried through much better. And concrete felt like hell so he tried to stick to the pavement the best he could. The Yaoqing, sadly, had no pathways adjusted to those with impaired vision. Tap tap tap. Jiaoqiu made do with what he had. Walking in public with his cane made him feel free again, akin to feeling in control again. There is a lingering hope in it. Reminiscent of a small candle’s light, not too strong, yet it may illuminate a whole room.

Another assassination attempt failed. Moze groans. The general suggested asking for advice from others, and the trailblazer, the first person he asked, had nothing useful to say in that regard. The silver shine of the knife glistened in the artificial sun. Like sharpening it will make the attempts successful. Feixiao killed his entire family. His family. His close ones, they healed him, gave him a roof over his head, they fed him… poisons under the claim he will live forever with it, his words ever only falling on deaf ears, mantras shoved down his throat like rose spikes. Intoxicating his insides even after he knew of the evil those same words caused. Not to mention the first family that abandoned him, the village that left him to die.

Is this what you call a family? Moze asks himself as the sharp blade lingers above Feixiao’s throat. There he stands. About to succeed. To win his freedom. Is he not already free tho? No, no, she killed his family. This was the agreement and the rightful vengeance. Moze outdid her. Snuck into her home, he won. Yet his hand is frozen. It stands still in the dead of the night. Unmoving. Static. Immobile. Eyes observing the resting face of the woman who saved him. Educated him, showed him kindness, and actual warmth. And in his adult years, she is the one who introduced him to his current partner. Be that as it may, what becomes of him if he let go of it all now? What is his worth? This was his goal, all this time. The driving force of his medically adjusted body. Is this what you call a family? Is this who has been his family all along? The general and the healer? The borisin and the foxian. The air is deathly still. His hand is calm, free from tremors. His brow furrows deeper, thinking through all of it. Until he comes to a decision.

“Feixiao.” Moze says in a normal tone. The knife was still against her neck. The general stirs awake, eyes widening at the surprise, however she makes no move to shove him away. Feixiao knows if he wanted to do something, it would have been done.

“I have won. … I shall remain your guard, General. Death will have to walk through me to get you.” in the blink of an eye he is gone. Feixiao exhales and returns to her sleep with a smile on his face. Moze finally, slowly, started to move on. Decades later, he managed to take small steps toward acceptance.

A few minutes later he is holding his partner in his arms. “Jiaoqiu” Moze whispers into the soft ear. The foxian stirs, “hm?” “I have succeeded in my revenge.” Small shuffle and a sharp inhale, Jiaoqiu turns towards him, “Hm?” sleep-driven hum. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. She is my family. I cannot. I would never bring harm upon the ones I care about. Never.” Moze speaks his vow aloud and nuzzles his head into Jiaoqiu’s neck. Nothing more had to be said, in his opinion, time to sleep. A gentle hand caresses his hair, “Good.” Jiaoqiu leaves a feathery kiss on the grey hair after which he continues sleeping.

Misty rain soaked his clothes and the small boat rocked along the smooth surface of the Rainsoar lake. Jiaoqiu used to come here often. Alone he’d collect herbs and fruit in the herbal basket on his back.

“You didn’t have to come with me, one of the locals could’ve taken me.”

“It is not a problem for me, Jiaoqiu. I’m glad to be in your company, we see each other less… and it brings me joy to be beside you.” Feixiao answers, slowly rowing the boat through the lake covered with heart-shaped foliage, blossoms, water chestnuts, and the occasional fish jumping out. A beautiful sight, a tranquil atmosphere surrounding the two.

Jiaoqiu reaches out beyond the small boat, dipping his fingers into the icy cold water to collect the lotus flowers and floating heart plants. An old tradition for him, one he did even before he joined the army as a doctor. The cold fingers pluck a wild rice stem and open it up. Bringing the fresh rice to his mouth.

Years before it had a wonderful sweet and refreshing taste. His taste changed after he came back from war. Jiaoqiu’s taste buds were the price he paid in the war. A renowned chef, and healer, lost his delicate sense of taste. The gaze of an Aeon who looked down upon the thousand-year war, and their choice to end it, burned everyone involved. Jiaoqiu’s tongue was the price he paid for running into the white light to save the young kid. Feixiao. The cold region was something he got accustomed to. Nonetheless, when the almighty power sliced down the battlefield, Jiaoqiu felt a cold unlike any other. Freezing him from the inside. With the leftover survivors, he decided to cook a stew. A warm flame. Some spice. More spice. Chili peppers. Not enough. All the spice he had in his pouch. Until he finally felt a taste on his tongue. A burning sensation. The last flavor he can actually taste. For it made him feel alive despite everything that happened, everything around him, the cold air, the cold insides, the tasteless tongue. And the heat… it sent a jitter down his body. So alive. … the sensation bordered on pain. As spice tolerance grows, surely his grew as well. And he might today very well be dancing with pain every bite. After he returned from the war the rice stems tasted too bland. No flavor to them. He reaped the consequences of his actions. Of choosing to save the girl. His scars from the war.

Years later, at the same lake, with the woman he saved during the war, the boat rocks with her movements. The second time he saved her he paid with his sight. Jiaoqiu never blamed her, why would he? It was his choice the whole way and his goal. The jump to save her from the Aeon. To drink… Tumbledust. To give everyone a fighting chance and to heal Feixiao’s moon rage. Jiaoqiu is an adult and he made his decisions to the best of his judgment in the circumstances that were given to him.

The wild rice lands on his tongue. For a sacred moment, he feels a tinge of sweetness, however, it is only for one moment. And gone with the wind. Even so, for one moment it was there. Is it because he lost his vision that his other senses have enhanced the tiniest bit giving him a single second, less than a second of something that used to bring him joy? The foxian could cry at that moment if his eyes had not dried from any tears while he was still in the army. A moment is still a moment. It is enough. Enough to give him more hope. To keep him moving forward. To have faith in the future. To even dare to look into the future.

For a man to willingly drink poison, deadly poison, he had to give up all hope. Any faith toward the future, any life he thought he had left. Jiaoqiu had to make peace with the fact that no one was coming to recuse him- that he would not be saved. So what was the last thing he could do? After Hoolay drained him of any secrets about the general, humiliated him, treated him less than the ground they walk on, and broke his ego and pride by allowing him to walk around knowing he will “always return to his master”. The only thing he could do was give the others a fighting chance, somehow use the knowledge he acquired; to save Feixiao and sacrifice himself.

The sweet flavor of rice on his tongue. A small flame of a candle, a hope. Hope for the future, he gets to live in. as he slowly finds his self-worth again, his self-respect, and his hopefulness for the oncoming days.

“We may return. I got what I came for.”

“Hm- I’m still-“ Feixiao speaks with her mouth full and Jiaoqiu angles his head a bit analyzing the sound, and a chuckle is ready to part his lips. “You are eating?”

“-mh, hey the water chestnuts are really good!” Feixiao probably has her mouth full of food. The general likely got bored and hungry. Jiaoqiu’s warm laugh cuts the silence of the lake. He hasn’t laughed in a long time. It makes his tummy hurt and he has to stop to not make the boat flip over. Feixiao laughs with him… after she chews down the food in her mouth.

How does one make noise when one walks? A question Moze never thought he’d ask himself. Hence, doing his best, it sounds like a child purposefully stomping the heel of their feet onto the floor. Heavy steps. It is ridiculous. Moze finds himself hilarious, ironic even. His stoic front breaks down when he hears his partner laughing from the couch. The sole reason why he is doing this. To fill the void Jiaoqiu sees. Moze will not move like a shadow in their home. He shall make noise. Even if it sounds like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum.

“I’m trying!” Moze voices between bursts of laughter.

“Ooh, I can hear that indeed~” Jiaoqiu nods and giggles.

A knock on the door interrupts their conversation. Jiaoqiu stands up, slowly making his way to the door, while Moze opens it.

A girl with a cloud knight uniform on and long dark brown hair with a big bright smile stands in the doorway. “Hello!” she says cheerfully, “It has been so long, I thought I’d come to visit, how are you, Uncle J?”

Jiaoqiu angles his head a bit, the voice not ringing any bells. “I’m sorry, you-“ Moze quickly buts in, “It is Sushang.” “Yeah, and I brought a gift!” Sushang happily stretches out her hands, handing Jiaoqiu a small box. There’s a few seconds of silence. Moze once again says, “She is handing you a small box, approximately the size of a human head, and by the looks of it not too heavy.”

“Ah, thank you, Sushang. Your presence is unexpected but I’m glad you came over, are you hungry?” Jiaoqiu carefully takes the gift in his hands and smiles. “I mean, I could never say no to your cooking Uncle J! Also... I’m sorry, you are..?” Moze sighs. This is the third time he has seen her and she fails to remember him. The shadow guard, proficient in remaining hidden, wonders why she never remembers him. Jiaoqiu speaks in his stead as he slowly walks to the kitchen, “This is Moze, my partner.” “oh! Hi there, Uncle Moze!” Sushang flashes him a bright smile and moves past him to sit at the kitchen island, ready to yap a whole storm about her life and catch her uncle up with it all. Starting with her best friend, Guinaifen. Once she finishes her stories, Sushang is more than happy to sit in a slump position, stuff her face full of dumplings while Jiaoqiu shares some new stories of his life (the happy ones). In her eyes, he tells them better than the storyteller at Sleepless Earl.

“You know I care about your thoughts, opinions, even random comments with not a single thought behind them, right?” Jiaoqiu’s hand effortlessly treaded through Moze’s silver hair, facing him on the couch. “I will try. I have learned differently and… despite it being a bad habit, those are even harder to let go of.” Moze’s eyes are closed, melting under his lover’s touch. Jiaoqiu’s voice is smooth like butter, continuing, “I know, Moze. When it gets hard, just remember that I care about you and what you have to say. I always have. I love you.” Moze leans forward, pressing his forehead against Jiaoqiu’s, “I love you too. I will do my best.” Moze softly kisses the bridge of his nose, where the cotton scarf lays across his eyes.

Jiaoqiu reached behind his head, untangling the scarf. Weeks, months have passed since he started wearing it. Taking it off only when he bathes or sleeps. He opens his eyes. “I missed seeing them. Such beautiful golden glow, Jiaoqiu.” Moze muses, enjoying the view of bright orange eyes. “Thank you. I feel finally… strong enough mentally to exist and move without it. I have gathered… hope and mental strength.” Jiaoqiu nods, the darkness beyond his eyes unchanged. “They still look beautiful to you, Tumbledust didn’t affect them?” “Even if it did, the fact would not change. To answer your question your eyes are unchanged. They cannot meet mine, but I was never big on eye contact.” The simplicity and honesty in his answer made Jiaoqiu feel secure and loved. The foxian smiles, and their home feels warm. So warm with them together, kind, loving, patient. Healing through their traumas and pain. One thoughtful word at a time.

In the peaceful moment, Jiaoqiu caresses Moze’s cheek and leans in to kiss him. One of the moments where darkness is welcomed… because of the way Moze makes him feel during the kiss, it makes Jiaoqiu feel like he can taste colors.

 “The divine traces of Abundance shall heal your body... quick. Drink this...” Moze’s body was covered with sweat, his breathing was shallow. Hooded figures surrounded him.

“I don’t… don’t make drink… no…no” he mumbles helplessly, the thick liquid forced down his throat again. Goosebumps rose on his skin, “Drink child. You will… immortal… save… others…” Moze’s throat closed up, drowning on dry land and his mind disconnected from his body in an all too familiar way. Dying and fighting in the same breath. Half a second away from a silent scream or spitting the medicine back out. “Please… please… I…” his voice trembled, powerless against any of them. Once more his voice is ignored. His yelps and pleading for help, his begging for mercy shushed, ignored… put aside. Nothing more than a good test subject, convinced this is what family does. This is how it must be. Others live like this too, right? This is completely normal, right? He is cared for and nourished here, right? He will survive this, right? I will survive this…right?

A hushed voice hummed in the distance. The worn down building, cold and exposed cement his everyday environment, and the sound he didn’t recognize. “shh, shh, shh.” Rhythmical, paced… soothing? No one ever soothed him. Then he feels it. A delicate tender touch. Fingers brushing his hair. Moze’s breathing sped up as his surroundings changed, he inhaled sharply, his vision going black, all sound stopping into a painful echo of silence, a deafening sound, his lungs moving up and down with irregular breathing until there was none of him left. Abyss. Darkness. Black dots of midnight oil. A window. A window? Moonlight vaguely illuminated the space. A bed. And… “shh, shh, shh. There you go… back with me.”

Moze’s face felt wet, his vision blurry and his eyelashes stuck together, a salty taste on his lips. The sight of his partner holding him so carefully, gingerly, and taking care of him… Moze had no words. The nightmare swallowed him up again. He hated the feeling. Immediately he turns to press himself fully into his partner, to hide his face away from the shadows in the room, “Jiaoqiu” he whispers. “Yes, my precious. I’m here. You’re here. In our home. In our bed. Safe. With me.” For the next few minutes, Jiaoqiu keeps murmuring comforting words and hushed hums until Moze grounds himself in the present moment.

“I hate them. I hate my nightmares.”

“May I offer my healing abilities? A nine-squared grid hotpot will surely have a pleasurable effect on this, and help out.”

“I… that sounds good. If you say it will help, then I’ll take it.”

Jiaoqiu starts sitting up, “Very well.”

“Wait,” Moze utters, squinting his eyes to look at the clock, “it is 3 am, you don’t have to cook now.”

“Then when am I supposed to cook, Moze?” Jiaoqiu replies with a smile, “It isn’t hard. It doesn’t bother me.” He stands up and faces somewhat in the direction of the bed. “I’m happy to take care of you, Moze.” Jiaoqiu sits back on the bed and finds his partner’s face, cupping it in his hands. The texture of Moze’s unshaven face against his fingers feels rough but familiar, and in that familiarity, he feels safe. His home. He presses his lips against the younger man’s forehead and stands back up, already on his way to the kitchen.

Approximately half an hour later, a freshly bathed Moze sits across Jiaoqiu for a late night or an early morning meal. The warm liquid filled with various vegetables and spices feels good as it goes down his throat. It isn’t poison. It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t a threat.

“Thank you, Jiaoqiu. It tastes amazing.”

“Always a pleasure.” He answers with an all-knowing smile. “I could add a little more chili oil next time…”

“eh- I… it is spicy enough, darling.” Moze voices his thoughts hesitantly, which makes Jiaoqiu softly laugh and add a few drops of chili pepper flakes to his own bowl.

On the other hand, Jiaoqiu’s nightmares didn’t stop. Many nights he wakes up in fear of where he is. Is he still captive? Still kidnapped? Still surrounded by borisin and under the effect of lupitoxin? Jiaoqiu wakes up with heavy breathing every time, sitting up quickly, feeling the space around him- more often than not, waking Moze in his desperate attempt to gather where he is whether he is home or there. There’s a phantom pain where Hoolay pressed his finger onto his back to drain information from him. An itch on his chest where the wounds will form into dark pink scar tissue. In the beginning, it was every night. Every night for weeks, months. Jiaoqiu started relying on afternoon naps. Time has passed but his nightmares are still often. On the rare nights when Moze isn’t in bed, he has a good sleep schedule- most likely went to drink some water, Jiaoqiu is quick to spiral and clumsily get out of bed. Moze usually finds him kneeling on the floor, hanging onto the wall, mumbling, “No, no, no, no, no, no. I am not. This is home. This is home. It is. My walls. M-moze…Moze”

The curse of a doctor, a healer, they cannot heal themselves. The trauma he has been through, the scars from it that he carries still with him, most of them not even visible, it isn’t something that passes overnight. Healing is a long and slow process. It will take time. Sometimes he has no nightmares for weeks, only for them to torment his peaceful night’s rest for days on end. Some days, Jiaoqiu will have a bit more anxiety while walking around. What if everyone and anyone he talks to once again is under a guarantee of a death filled with fangs and claws?

Hence, he takes it slowly. When the world feels like it is crushing him, he takes a deep breath and eats spicy food. He grounds himself in his environment. Reminds himself that he is safe, Hoolay is dead, the borisin are under control, he isn’t being targeted, and everything is fine. Everything is fine. He will be fine. With time. One deep breath at a time.

The tremor in his hands never left him.

A breeze rustled various branches and leaves, providing a lovely melody of an artificial autumn on the Yaoqing. The scent of cooked apples dipped in caramel and baked cinnamon rolls filled the air.

“I see no threat in my retainers. The man you cannot see is my guard, and the foxian is my personal doctor. Surely, we don’t pose a problem?” Feixiao questioned the men in front of her, attempting to enter a highly secure space, on a very important and very secret mission.

Moze appears by her side, “I shall leave all my weapons with you.” he takes his time to slowly strip himself of his hidden knives and make a full scene out of it.

Jiaoqiu stands still with a small smile and his cane in his hands. “I do not carry weapons. I am a healer, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” If at all possible, his smile widens subtly with the honey-dripped words that coat the actual truth. “Moreover, I am retired. I’m here on the general’s command to accompany her to this… wonderful occasion.”

Rustling, murmuring, quiet chats, “…what could a blind man do…” “…the guard left all of his weapons…” “….yeah, we can let them through..” “You may come.”

Feixiao slowly walks towards the entrance with a confident stride, Jiaoqiu steadily taps his cane following her with the same smirk on his face, Moze soundlessly steps last, with at least, still 32 weapons on him.

[skitskatdacat63]

Happy One Year Anniversary to Boy King AU!!!! 🎉

Okay wait before I start talking, look at these close ups and the process!! Aren't they so beautiful aaaahhhh

Wow, can you believe it’s really been a whole entire year since my very first post about this AU? Well technically I first started talking about the statuette a day earlier, but the very first sketch was exactly a year ago!! Let us not forget the incredibly prophetic tag on that post: “also in the sense of this au i think the only ship that would work(historically accurate wise) is Vettonso.” Who knew that after that my entire life would devolve into vettonso, this specific period of history, and the lovely combo which is Boy King AU. Also wow this means it’s taken me almost a whole entire year to actually draw a joint portrait of them hahaha. I drew this sketch around the beginning of the AU, but never finished it. It’s fine though because this one is a lot better, and I’m in love with it. Took me a year to draw a couple portrait, and took me almost a whole entire month to finish said piece. 

Okay let me explain this piece, which I am very obsessed with!!! I dragged the process out more than I usually would, but I’m glad, because it was so enjoyable. But also look at that fucking crown, no wonder this took almost a month. Usually I’d write like 50 paragraphs detailing the characterization. HOWEVER! I’ve spent over a month writing little bits of characterization, mostly for fun, but also in preparation for this very post. A lot of the earlier ones, I had this drawing in mind, thinking on how I could expand on the ideas I was drawing. Though there’s definitely some things I could still write about. I’ll probably continue to write more Lore a Days, but yeah, they basically amounted to this drawing where you can actually see the characterization I was talking about displayed. Anyways, here are the explanations of bits in the drawing:

First of all, this is some part of the long process of their wedding. Look at the married couple!! Look at their rings!!!

Okay, but why are there two, almost identical looking pieces?? Because look at their hands!! I talked a lot about how Fernando is the one to give out affection more easily, especially in public, where he knows he can easily fluster Seb. He’s acting all grumpy and out of it, I mean to be fair, it’s probably been such a long ceremony across weeks. But he notices Seb is out of it too, just better at keeping his smile (let’s be honest, even if he’s distracted, he’s super smug.) So Fernando catches him off guard by squeezing his hand. Before that, as you can see, Fernando is just resting his hand on Seb’s outstretched palm, like that one scene from Succession. Very: yes I’m getting married, but I’m not happy about it. The combination of Fernando refusing to even touch him more than lightly beforehand but now going full force, them being in public, and Seb already being distracted catches Seb so off guard he has to try to cover his blush with his fan. He thought Fernando was being super impolite, but now he’s the impolite one!! Getting all blushy and giggly over a simple display of affection, perhaps even ha-

So. Their crowns. Seb’s wearing the crown of Austria, because he is in fact only a king still! Also, because I really wanted to try drawing it after I wimped out of it before in this drawing. Fernando’s a king as well by the point, but the fact he’s wearing only a tiara-like hairpiece is to represent how much of an outsider he still is. At this moment, he’s just Seb’s wi- ,I mean husband, to all these guests. Of course this bitch wears a black veil instead of a white one, to signal that he’s mourning the loss of his autonomy and personhood. Don’t worry too much about his mental state though, considering he’s not depressed enough to be able to resist teasing Seb. 

The fan, oh my god. Back in this era, people would gift/make fans for basically any occasion. To symbolize an event, to celebrate something, to show a story, etc etc. I wish I could have drawn something more narrative, but I think the bull vs. horse is good enough. Also you can see those same symbols on the pendants they’re wearing!! I’m so happy when I can fit irl, modern stuff like that into these drawings, it feels so clever!!

It’s so funny, I wrote a lore a day from a prompt about what they’d be like when doing a joint portrait, while I was already almost through painting a dual portrait of my own! So I got to explain some stuff like their clothing colors and poses before I even posted this. I feel very coy about that still honestly. 

Hmmm what else? It feels so weird to not expand on the characterization, considering I already did it for myself weeks in advance. I can’t imagine what it’s like opening this read more, and seeing more than 10 in-text citations. Happy reading!!!

 Happy anniversary to  this wonderful, crazy AU that makes me download 500pg German papers about 18th century etiquette. I drew a couple pieces of fanart before this AU, but I definitely think it jumpstarted my insanity about drawing/making AUs, and literally is what made me insane about Vettonso in the first place. Remember, if I hadn’t learned about Joseph I/Charles VI, most of my blog probably wouldn’t exist in it's current form. Thank you if you’ve stuck around since the beginning, or if you’re even just learning about it now!! It’s so incredibly niche but I’ve had so much fun researching and building this world and these characterizations, and I hope you’ve enjoyed what I’ve made in the process. I hope I can draw/write many more things in the future. I think next, I’m gonna maybe open up requests. I’d like to try to either write ficlets or draw chibi comics about specific Lore a Day posts on request. I think that’d be a lot of fun, but also will probably kill me. We’ll see!! Anyways. PPlease enjoy this absolute labor of love, which is a result of a year’s worth of work.

[unordinary-diary]

Seraphina and Arlo: The Brainwashing of High Tiers

Exposition:

— Remi, Episode 50.

There is a heavy implication that Seraphina and Arlo were raised in much the same way. The pressure on Seraphina comes from her parents, so I’ll extrapolate that the same goes for Arlo. This raises the question: how do the authorities create such a strong societal pressure on such a small percentage of the population? Most high tiers will probably not know any other high tiers besides their parents. Take Wellston Private High School for example: it’s the most prestigious private school around, and canonically has the “highest concentration of high tiers in the region”. There are six high tiers in Wellston. Apply this to god tiers specifically, and there are only three. Not to mention that this current group of students is uniquely strong, even for Wellston. In Rei’s senior year, he was the strongest at 5.8 max.

So much of this brainwashing relies on the parents to do all of the work, and it only takes one or two people to break the cycle. So how are the authorities creating this immense pressure? One tactic could be by isolating high tiers. There is a very widespread concept that one shouldn’t associate with those outside their level range. A caste system like this that affects everyone is much easier to create and maintain than an expectation for a small group, and it also means that high tiers are only being influenced by those who are also high level. This creates an echo chamber. I’ve researched cults and how they brainwash victims, and the first step in the process is isolating them in exactly this way.

But, if there are so few high tiers, how the hell are they supposed be isolated from other groups? The answer is that high tiers are just isolated in general. Take a look at Arlo: his only friend is Remi, and even her, he keeps at an arm’s length. Arlo is only close with Remi in the first place because he was close with Rei, who, at the time of meeting Arlo, was presumably close in level with him. [EDIT: I forgot about Holden, which I think says a lot about his relevance. He is kept at more than an arm’s length and doesn’t seem to have any actual influence on Arlo, let alone a deep relationship. He is also not presented as an equal.] Take a look at Seraphina: before meeting John, she didn’t seem to have any friends other than possibly Arlo. Seraphina and Arlo pre-John seemed to have had more of a professional relationship, and while they were not close in level, Arlo did fit the bill of being a fellow god tier, and strong enough to also be brainwashed.

Now let’s look at Remi. In episode 60, Cecile says to Remi: “And yet here you are... Always hanging around those two monkeys, Blyke and Isen. Letting them treat you as an equal even though you’re in a completely different league.” This struck me as odd because, aside from Cecile herself, the Wellston students closest in level to Remi were Arlo, Blyke, and Isen. And who is she friends with? She actually was doing a pretty good job at following that social convention, unless Cecile wanted to be friends with Remi, which she clearly didn’t. But... her friends were still not close enough to her level. Was she supposed to just not have friends at all? The answer seems to be a resounding yes. Can you think of any genuine friends that Cecile has either?

Friendship simply isn’t considered a necessity for high tiers.

But... why is it that Arlo and Seraphina were brainwashed differently? Creating a societal norm for an isolated group of people is one thing, because those people’s mindsets feed into each other. Putting pressure on individual families to keep them in line, but doing it all in different ways? That would be near impossible. My theory is that Seraphina recieved the typical high tier brainwashing, and that Arlo was raised differently because he was being groomed to work for the authorities. Seraphina didn’t have a set career path planned out for her, but if she’s trying to be “perfect” by the standards of those controlling her, she’s bound to end up going in a direction that pleases them. Arlo on the other hand was specifically planned to become an authority figure. That’s why his brainwashing is so centered on leadership. Also, growing up with direct contact to the authorities makes it more possible for them to customize his brainwashing in this way.

But does all of this apply to high tiers in general, or is it specific to god tiers? Let’s take a look at the high tiers in Wellston. We have Seraphina, John, Arlo, Terrence, Remi, Cecile, and Blyke. John is a unique circumstance because he wasn’t raised by high tiers, so we’ll cross him off the list. Terrence was also unique, so we can cross him off as well. Remi was different from the norm as well. Why is that? Well, Remi actually wasn’t raised by high tiers either. Rei said on screen that both of his parents were elites. We can cross Remi off. Blyke doesn’t fit the bill either, but that’s easy to explain. He was an elite for a large part of the story, and he shot up rather quickly. We don’t know much of his family, but he probably wasn’t expected to be a high tier at all, and was raised as an elite. (All of this also serves to emphasize how much of this brainwashing comes from a person’s parents.) That leaves only Seraphina, Arlo, and Cecile to look at.

Cecile does seem to have high tier brainwashing, but it’s not nearly as intense as with Seraphina and Arlo. She doesn’t seem “obsessive”, and she wasn’t one of the examples Remi mentioned in chapter 50. It’s clear that high tiers are brainwashed in general, but god tiers are kept on a much shorter leash. This makes sense, obviously, because keeping a population in control like that is less necessary the lower the level. However, it’s also a chicken an egg situation: god tiers are both more important to keep in control, and also easier to keep in control. It’s important to note just how many exceptions we had to cross off. People like Remi and Blyke aren’t actually that unusual— a lower leveled high tier is much more likely to have non-high tier parents, or to have not always been a high tier themselves, or just in general, to have way more day-to-day interaction with non-high tiers. The brainwashing gets more and more diffused the lower down the ladder you go.

[dustykneed]

Hello! Random whipper snipper! Share a WIP of your work!

ooh, with pleasure. six the musical araleyn fanart? in the year 2k24? more likely than you think xDD

i realize this looks finished, but technically i'm still deciding whether to add a background or not lol. still, for the sake of sharing a proper WIP, here's a line or two from an araleyn brainworm WIP that i started reworking yesterday (mild tw for religious guilt and period-typical internalized homophobia from aragon's pov):

She remembers sharing her bed with Anne at Henry's behest, remembers the nights of tossing and turning and trying not to think about Anne asleep next to her-- remembers waking up to dark hair spilling across her pillow and the press of blood-warm bosoms against her own, softer than sin, as hot as the Devil, remembers lying still as death, mouthing prayers into the heat of Anne's neck like an act of penance.

[begrudging-fudanshi]

Do you think Sakura will go back to the old town in certain arc ?

Assuming you mean wherever his guardians live(d), I hope not tbh. Wind Breaker is a very local story for its genre—as far as I can tell, everything important happens within walking distance of Furin—so I kinda prefer it to stay in Makochi as much as possible. (I have a thing I'm writing about this that I'll post at some point.) Based on what we know, I also don't really see what Sakura has to gain from going back.

If anything happens in this vein, I would actually prefer for Sakura's past to catch up with him in Makochi. Having some old enemy appear and threaten him would be a great way to show how far he's come, as well as to catalyze his progress towards seeing worth in himself.

I started sketching an example of how I might like that kind of arc to go and it kinda turned out a lot longer than I expected, so here's... uh... actually, I don't entirely know what this is. It's like a short fanfic mashed up with the meta I'd write about these moments if they were canon. Speculative meta? Metafic? Just a weird fanfic? idk 🤷‍♂️

Anyway, not saying this will/should be canon or anything, but it feels like it gets the gist of what I'd look for in this kind of arc.

(CW: abusive parents. Sakura's dad is the villain here.)

---

When Sakura was young, his dad was a petty criminal, street thug, and an all-around horrible father. When Sakura was 7 or 8, the man was arrested and sentenced to prison. Sakura's mom wasn't in the picture, so Sakura had to go live with relatives (leading to the scenario I've described previously), and afterward he hardly ever saw his dad—their only contact was when the man came to demand money from his relatives for this or that. As far as Sakura was concerned, once he moved to Makochi, his father was out of his life for good.

One day, however, Sakura's dad appears in Makochi, searching for him. He's somehow learned that Sakura has become a strong fighter in a town full of violent gangs, so he's decided that he's going to take advantage of Sakura to build a nice life for himself on the back of his son's hard work. Thus, he comes to Makochi expecting to walk all over Sakura and get whatever he wants.

When Sakura first sees his dad on Tonpu Market Street, he freezes, caught off guard by painful memories that he's desperately tried to forget. Even though he's come a long way, it's difficult to fully let go of the past.

Suo and Nirei are with him and can tell that he's terrified. Sakura mutters to them that this is his father, but he doesn't sound remotely happy to see him. The man tells them to go away, but they stand their ground, refusing to leave Sakura alone. This pisses the man off, so he attacks, intending to teach them a lesson.

Sakura's dad is caught off guard by Suo and even Nirei's strength, but the same goes in reverse as he decides to go all out. As Sakura sees his friends struggling, he jumps into the fight, punching his dad in the face (big symbolic moment!). The trio just barely manage to hold their ground until other Bofurin members start to show up. As their backup arrives, the man finally retreats, but before he goes, he declares that he's going to get revenge. He says that Sakura has forgotten his place and he's going to remind him what his life is really supposed to be like—he'll take away everything Sakura has and show him just what he really deserves.

What follows is a campaign of revenge, carefully calculated to destroy Sakura's life and take everything he has. (A campaign that I'm not going to detail right now, because my ideas for it are depressing and beside the point.)

Let's skip ahead a bit...

Somehow all of the threats are resolved, leaving only the matter of fighting Sakura's dad and kicking his ass hard enough that he'll give up.

Just before the big, climactic fight, Sakura gets ready to face his father one-on-one, trying to stay calm and steady himself. He's caught off guard when his friends jump in front of him and tell him to let them handle the fight.

"Get out of the way!" Sakura yells at them, his voice breaking. "He's... he's my dad. This is my fight. I have to deal with this." The most important word is the one he doesn't even think to say out loud: he has to deal with this alone.

Even with so many people around him showing him that he's loved, Sakura still ultimately believes that he's all by himself. Even though he's tried to rely on his friends to prove that he trusts them, in moments like this when he feels most vulnerable, his default instinct is still to shoulder the burden alone.

His friends can all see this clearly. More importantly, they can see that this is a battle that Sakura shouldn't have to fight on his own—or at all. He deserves to have someone stick up for him, just like he's stuck up for so many others. But they know he doesn't want to hear that, so they tell him off, instead.

"Your fight? To hell with that. We all owe this guy some payback for what he's done."

"C'mon, Sakura, let us have some glory for once. It makes us feel bad when you keep hogging all the action."

"We already know how strong you are—let us show you how much stronger we've gotten, too!"

"Plus, the way this guy treats you makes us really want to kick his ass. Don't tell us you're gonna rob us of that satisfaction."

Sakura sputters in confusion, not sure how to respond. His deepest reflexes are telling him to stop them before it's too late, because this is how he's always believed he would finally lose everything. If he can't fight, if he can't prove his worth through his strength, then what is he worth at all?

This leads to a cool symbolic moment: Sakura is standing there, watching all his friends walk away from him while making it clear they expect him to stay behind. In other words, he's seeing the scene that's haunted him for so long finally playing out in real life. How many times has he pictured this and felt sick with terror and dread?

In his heart, he always knew this day would come. The day when his friends finally saw through him—finally realized who he really was and what he was really worth—and unanimously turned their backs. That would be the day he finally woke up from this dream and found himself back in his old, real life. The life he was always meant to live. Hated by all others, worth nothing but his fists, and totally, utterly alone.

Except, in reality, this scene isn't anything like he imagined it at all. His friends aren't turning their backs on him because they're abandoning him. Instead, they've turned to fight for him, to protect him, just as he's fought and protected them. Not only that, they're doing it willingly—eagerly, even—with smiles on their faces. There's no hint of condemnation, no suggestion that they're doing this because they think he's weak. They just want to help him, in spite of his belief this is his battle to fight alone.

In chapter 138, Sakura says something very telling to himself: "If I lose now, then they—then I'll lose the place where they belong, the one place that they cherish and love. I don't want that. [...] I need to win and protect them. That's all that matters." He draws these lines so clearly between himself and his friends, placing himself on the outside looking in. Now, however, that moment comes full circle with the roles reversed, making the truth so clear that he can't deny it.

As his friends stride forward, Sakura suddenly realizes, in a way that he can't yet put to words, where he really is: He's not on the outside looking in at his friends in the place that they love. Instead, as they spread out before him to form a defensive line, he is standing firmly in that very place that they all want to protect. If they're defending him like this, then they're saying that he belongs in this place, too—and if that's the case, then he, too, is someone they cherish and love.

This realization cuts deep—even deeper than words, cutting into feelings that he's held for so long that he's never even thought to try to name them. It cuts deep enough to finally undermine and start to shake his most fundamental belief. He can no longer deny that his friends accept him and love him for more than just his ability to fight. Why else would they be lining up to fight for him like this?

More than that, he can no longer deny that what they see in him must somehow be real. Until now, he's always unconsciously dismissed his friends' most meaningful praise and kindness as simply wrong. Even if they thought they meant it, he just didn't see how it could be true. When Umemiya smiled at him and called him amazing (chapter 162), Sakura had felt like Umemiya was looking at a completely different person, like he'd made some mistake and confused him with somebody else. He could believe that Umemiya meant it, but not that it truly applied to him. In the same way, he viewed all their kindness and love with that deep distrust. But here, he can't bring himself to doubt all his friends at once. They're all too determined for this to be some kind of mistake or mass delusion.

In the end, Sakura's friends work together to stop his dad, thoroughly kick his ass, and send him packing. As usual for this series, that's enough to stop the threat for good.

Afterward, Sakura probably cries and undergoes a fundamental change in how he sees himself and his place in the world. It's not like all his past trauma is magically fixed or his low self-esteem instantly gets better overnight, but he's made a big step towards seeing worth in himself.

[hero-of-the-wolf]

Someone was running their fingers through his hair in comforting motions. Twilight couldn’t help but relax at the touch. For a few minutes it was all that he knew. Then an uncomfortable ache started to build in his chest, growing with every passing second until the white hot agony made it hard to breath. His breath stuttered in surprised pain.

“Shh, shh, it's alright pup.”

Twilight forced his eyes open to squint up at the figure looming over him. The Hero’s Shade was staring serenely down at him, haloed by the light of the setting sun. Twilight blinked, and suddenly the shade was his ancestor, his face drawn up tight in worry.

When he saw Twilight looking at him he forced a smile. “Hey. Don't worry, I've got you.”

Trying to speak made his vision go dark. Twilight shuttered a breath, curling more into himself. Something had happened, but the more he tried to grasp onto his thoughts the more distant they became.

“Don't move,” Time's firm voice echoed in his ears. “Just hold on. Help is on the way.”

Time. He’d taken that hit for Time. Twilight didn’t know if it would have been the finishing blow or not, but he couldn't have very well just stood by and watched. Not when he could do something about it. Not when he—

“Link.”

Twilight’s breath stuttered again. Something about the old man’s voice gave him pause. He opened his eyes— when had they closed?— to look up at Time. He almost startled when he realized that his ancestor was crying. Was he hurt? Had Twilight not succeeded in protecting him after all?

He shouted for someone, but all Twilight could focus on was the way Time’s fingers resumed carding gently through his hair. His eyes started to close again against his own will. It took more effort than it should have to keep them open, his eyes crossing at the strain. He needed to make sure Time was alright first. Then he could rest.

He jerked in surprise at a new touch at his side. It only made the pain worse, quickly swallowing up prodding hands and panicked voices and those gentle fingers until all he knew was agony. He must have passed out, because the next thing that he knew he was on his back, staring up at the darkening sky. Time was still above him looking off to the side. His fingers continued to run through his hair, and for a moment Twilight contemplated going back to sleep.

Then Time glanced down at him, and his eye widened in surprise. He managed a faint smile down at his descendant. “Hey, pup.”

“Hey….” He moved to sit up, and was pleased when he felt only sore. He felt his chest to confirm that the fatal wound from before was only a faint scar now. “Are you okay?”

Time gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not the one who nearly died here.”

“But you… you were crying?”

“Twilight, you nearly bled out in my arms. I….” Time’s face hardened. “I don’t know what you were thinking out there. That was careless, and it nearly cost you your life.”

Twilight couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. After all, taking the hit to save Time had been his intention when he’d jumped in front of the man from the start. He’d known then that Time would be angry, and he knew that without explaining why his actions most certainly came across as reckless. But he couldn’t tell Time about the Hero’s Shade, he couldn’t, so instead he said nothing.

Time sighed. “This conversation isn't over. But I think it’d be best if you got some more rest.”

His tone invited no argument. Twilight relented, laying his head back in Time’s lap and closing his eyes. He didn’t regret it. No matter how mad Time got, he couldn't regret it.

In his dreams the battle had gone very differently. He was frozen in place, forced to watch in horror as Time crumbled to the ground before his very eyes. He still couldn't move, couldn't look away, as Time’s skin rotted away, leaving nothing but the all too familiar skeleton underneath. He gagged at the sight, horrified tears running down his face.

Then the Hero’s Shade calmly stood up, leveling Twilight with a severe glare. “I trained you better than this, pup.”

“I'm sorry, I—”

“Your current power would disgrace the proud green you wear,” he continued. “We may be blood, but you're no descendant of mine.”

When he woke up again Time was gone. Twilight sat up with a frantic gasp and surveyed the area. Most of the others were gathered around the fire, talking in low voices. Hyrule was still sound asleep in his bed roll. But Time was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, look who’s up.” Warriors was the first to notice that Twilight was awake. “Enjoy your beauty rest, rancher?”

“Where’s Time?”

He shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “He went out to collect more firewood awhile ago.”

Twilight moved to get up but Warriors’ voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Leave him be, he looked like he needed some space.” Warriors patted the spot next to him. “C’mon, come sit with us.”

Twilight hesitated, glancing out towards the woods. He didn’t know where exactly Time had gone, but if he could get far enough away he knew that Wolfie would be able to track him down in no time. If he could just—

“Twilight.”

Reluctantly, he got up and sat down next to Wars with a huff. There was no reason to think that Time wasn't okay. The still aching wound in his chest was proof that Twilight had taken that hit, not the old man, so he was fine. It’d only been a dream.

… was Time really so disappointed in his successor? When he looked at him could he only see his failings? Was Twilight himself the reason he was so full of regret?

Warriors nudged his arm, bringing his spiraling thoughts to a sudden stop. “You okay?”

Twilight blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?” He repeated, brows drawing together in worry. “You look… ill at ease.”

“I'm fine,” Twilight insisted. Then he realized that everyone else was looking at him, too. It was too much. He stood up abruptly, making Wars lean back in surprise, and stumbled away. “I just… I think I need some air.”

Nobody stopped him as he quickly fled into the woods. He leaned against a tree, trying to get his breathing back under control.

Get a hold of yourself, Link.

He had taken the hit, right? He pressed a hand against the scar, but it did nothing to abate his increasing anxiety. He wished that Time was here. He knew that he was mad at him, but if he could only see that the old man was still okay, it would be worth the disappointment he was sure to see in his eye.

He slid down the tree until he was sitting on the ground and hugged his knees tightly. No one else was concerned. But they didn’t know what he did. How could they? It was Twilight’s burden alone to carry. No matter how heavy it was, he couldn’t share it with anyone else. Especially not Time.

A twig snapped. Twilight’s head jerked up, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword before remembering he’d left it back at camp.

Oh.

As if summoned from his thoughts, Time himself stood in front of him, a bundle of firewood under one arm and an axe in the other. He set both down, taking in Twilight’s surely pathetic appearance, and without a word came and sat down next to him. Twilight stiffened in shock as the old man wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side.

They sat there in silence for a long moment, Time’s steady heartbeat grounding, until Twilight finally found that he didn’t have to fight so hard to breathe.

“You okay?” Time finally whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

But Time only sighed at that.

“We need to talk.”

Twilight inhaled sharply. He knew that this was coming. He also knew that there was no getting out of it now.

“I know.”

“Listen….” Time sighed again. Twilight’s heart started to beat faster. “What you did back there… I don’t understand what gets into you sometimes, pup.”

Twilight opened his mouth to reply, but he found that he had no words and quickly closed it again.

“Twilight.” Time pulled him even closer, wrapping his arm more protectively around him. “I need you to be more careful. I can’t… I can’t lose you. Earlier, I really….”

He trailed off, and they were left in an uncomfortable silence.

Time couldn't lose him? But Twilight couldn't lose Time. Even if he was fated to, he couldn’t just let it happen. Maybe this whole adventure was his chance to spare his ancestor some of his suffering. Maybe if he could ease his burdens enough, if he could just be good enough, he could save him. He had to try.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t just— just let—....”

“It’s not your job to protect me, Twilight,” Time said gruffly. “I’m a fully capable hero in my own right, y’know.”

Twilight bit his lip hard. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Twilight fell silent again. He didn’t say anything for a long while. He didn’t know what to say. Time started idly rubbing his arm, the soothing motions more than he felt he deserved.

“Something’s been weighing down your mind.”

Twilight felt his heart freeze in his chest. He held his breath, waiting for Time to continue.

“We all have our secrets, but this one… I fear it’s tearing you apart.”

“I can’t talk about it,” Twilight managed to whisper.

A beat passed.

“Okay.”

Time pulled away, giving Twilight one last pat on the shoulder before picking up the stack of wood and the axe and started to head back towards the camp.

“You can always talk to me. I hope you know that, pup.”

Then he was gone.

Twilight wrapped his arms around his knees again, that familiar heavy sorrow weighing down on his chest. Maybe it was tearing him apart. But he still couldn’t tell him, or anybody else for that matter. He couldn't.

It was his burden alone to carry.

[theribbajack]

Dinok ahrk Vahdin - 'Death and the Maiden'

Posted this already in answer to an ask but I like how it turned out so I decided to make a standalone post for it :) The sequel to this picture featuring Konahrik and the Falmer in an alternate ending for my fic Death and the Maiden.

Progress GIF below the cut!

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Princess Lily

[essektheylyss]

had a very lovely conversation with my mom but I did laugh that she was like "I'm really glad you called 🥺" and I then hung up and saw my sister's texts, which were like, "LMAO HAPPY 8 YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO THE MOST CHAOTIC COMING OUT POST" and I was like, ah yes, my mother is probably mostly relieved that this time around she didn't find out her eldest child came out as bi on Facebook in a rage via the family grapevine instead of like. calling home.

[cluescorner]

Arlecchino's whole deal is unbelievable

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder what's causing my weird powers? I can't really worry about that right now tho, I've gotta become King and then kill my "Mother".

*Kills Clervie and "Mother"*

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder why I was able to defeat a Fatui Harbinger when I'm like 17 or so? I can't really worry about that right now tho, I've gotta be in jail and become a Harbinger.

*Is in jail for a while and becomes a Harbinger*

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder why I am-

Pierro: Hey what's up hello, anyways you're descended from the Crimson Moon Dynasty of Khaenri'ah. I'm sure that this is a lot for you to take in so-

Arlecchino: Ok.

Pierro: ...You're just cool with that?

Arlecchino: IDK maybe? I can't really worry about that at the moment, I'm a father now. This orphanage full of children I love (who also are child soldiers and are not allowed to leave or else I'll execute them except maybe now I'm just gonna wipe their memories IDK I'm morally complex) isn't gonna run itself.

*Runs the orphanage/spy recruitment initiative*

Me, the fucking player: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE KHAENRI'AN? WHY WASN'T THIS BROUGHT UP IN YOUR FUCKING QUEST?? OR ANYTHING ELSE????

Arlecchino, talking to me through my phone: I honestly don't know why you care, I'm too busy to give a shit. Anyways, I'm gonna go fight fate itself I guess. I'm sure that I don't share any thematic parallels with any other Khaenri'an characters (particularly as it relates to acting and family angst) and that I haven't made the idea of 'curses' on Khaenri'ans and what they entail even more complicated than they already were. See ya.

[beanghostprincess]

I'm turning that Sanuso Modern AU (In which they meet because Zoro forgets to pay at the Baratie and Usopp and Waiter!Sanji end up flirting all night while they wait for him to come back with the money) into a whole fic called "The very first night" that will approximately have 9 chapters and it's actually about Sanji going on a quest trying to find Usopp again and failing miserably. Congratulations, y'all have convinced me to write a long fic when I usually write one-shots. Let's see how this turns out!

[daz4i]

wait so chuuya has angel imagery about him in stormbringer. and dazai is referred to as a demon on more than one occasion. and. hold on. wait. I'm going insane. hold on.