#is it the grief of the gardener's absence?

[lizzieraindrops]

ooooh yes, I love the concept of them as inverses! especially when in overgrown Aperture you have all this greenery moving chaotically into a regular ordered space, whereas as you said, the Vex came to the Garden afterward! the angles of their architecture have literally grown into it as the Garden has grown into them organically, except this time it's the greenery that has the master plan. the end result is both of these spaces kind of meet in the middle in a fascinating hybrid of indomitable, sprawling overgrowth paired with crisp, shining technological futurism. there has to be a name for that particular vibe, but it don't know what it is. it's not the popular image of solarpunk, because the tone is Completely different. not hopeful and synergistic, but rather more uncaring or even hostile.

which is why i'm fascinated by the framing of both as a taunt - that's such a cool way of conceptualizing it that i never would have thought of. you get the very clear sense in both spaces that this is not a space that is For you - you're just interloping in someone/something else's world, and you will be harmed if you don't play by its rules. probably even if you do.

which is particularly interesting in aperture's case - i find the greened spaces much more comforting and familiar, but on its own an overgrowth of potato greens doesn't really make for much more of a human-sustaining environment than the rest of aperture, even if it looks friendlier. like you said, it really reinforces the image of a place that's been lost and run-down and decayed before glados cleans it up. which is equally fascinating when you get to old Aperture, because it echoes all those same themes of decay and loss and transformation in a totally different way!

huh. now that i think of it, i might even argue that the way Portal uses this kind of imagery as a metaphor for all the unresolved buried trauma that Aperture holds, and the way things have grown twisted and strange from it with so much time, could apply to the Garden as well. i've been working on a theory that the Black Garden is some sort of expression of the pain of the split between the Winnower and Gardener. it's almost like an image of a Light-ruled world created by the Darkness - especially taking into account that bit from Unveiling:

Your new rule will only make great false cysts of horror full of things that should not exist that cannot withstand existence that will suffer and scream as their rich blisters fill with effluent and rot around them, and when they pop they will blight the whole garden.

that's how the Garden behaves! it grows without bound, into your very flesh and mind, like Uldren and the strawberry legionary, creating horrible twisted things that shouldn't be and can't quite exist in the rest of reality anymore.

not to mention, there's a round, Traveler-shaped hole in the middle of the Garden where the Black Heart used to be. (what does that have to do with "your pale heart holds the key" a;sldkfja;ldskgd;f)

anyway, idk, portal is So destiny. somehow playing through portal for the first time recently was Integral to my connecting the dots to understanding destiny as a story about grief in ways i still can't fully explain but this is definitely some of them.

portal overgrown aperture [handshake] destiny black garden. thoughts?

ooooo interesting!!! i think theyre definitely linked but i think that theyre like. inverses in a way. the overgrowth at the beginning of portal 2 has 2 very very specific meanings: it's the absence of glados (as soon as she's brough back online, it starts receeding more and more. the difference of her main chamber when you first find her and shes deactivated vs. when you get back there to swap her with wheatly) and also as like. representative of freedom being unreachable (in the last cutscene in p1 you get out and it's still a parking lot, glados taunting you with the deer and the false nature, even the bit at the very beginning of p2 where you're supposed to stare at the nature painting, it's the sort of idea of 'the outside is so so close and youll never actually get there'). it's also the sort of generalized use of overgrown spaces of time passing, decay, abandonded environments, etc - but showing glados' absence and the fact youre still stuck here is imo it's main purpose

the garden is, notably, not a space that was abandonded and then overgrown - the garden is not replacing or subsuming the vex architecture there, but is symbiotic with the vex and their architecture (it's very important to me that the vex came to the garden later, they adapted to it and not the other way around). it's also a garden - a specifically cultivated and designed space! the overgrowth at aperture shows glados' lack of control of the facilty, but the garden, for all it's incomprehensibility, is a controlled space. if anything, in this aspect a lot of the other overgrown places in destiny (especially in d1, but the european dead zone especially comes to mind with the fragment of the traveler hanging over you...) are more in line with the overgrown parts of aperture

i think their similarity is the way that the overgrowth and plants are, in some way, a bit of a taunt! in aperture it's that you're sooooo close to freedom but can't make it - these plants have to come from somewhere, right? you have to be close to the surface, right? (even when you get waaaaaay down to the old facilities here are always little reminders - the bird that takes glados, the potato plant with it's massive roots...). in the garden, the taunt is that it's completely and utterly unlike you. the sort of core 'this is a place of life, you do not belong here' bit, the garden as antithetical to the traveler becuase it can be alive. but both are in fact meant to be a bit of a dig yk!!! its fun

[softieyuume]

"Without You."

✿ Sylus x fem!reader (non mc)

✿ He finally realized what it felt losing you forever.

✿ angst. no comfort.

✿ somewhat continuation of Never Yours.

✿ rambles: ran out of diamonds and can't pull for Sylus card so im coping thru angst rn :')

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Life without you felt like hell.

Each day felt like torture for Sylus, he struggled to get through the day, constantly reminded of your absence in every single thing he does.

He found himself avoiding places that are filled with memories of you, like his collection room where you shared equal interest and fondness of said collections with him. The indoor greenhouse he had set up for you where you used to tend to your small garden with him.

And mostly, your old personal bedroom that was left untouched ever since your departure from his life.

Instead, Sylus threw himself into more work, trying to use his job as a distraction from his crippling grief. But no matter how tired he feels physically after working himself to exhaustion, he still found himself having trouble sleeping completely.

The empty space beside him in his bed was another painful reminder of what he's lost—he'd toss and turn, trying to sleep but his mind will start replaying memories of you. He'd often find himself reaching out to the other side of his bed, his hand searching for your warmth—but it was always met with a cold dreadful space.

The crushing realisation would hit him again, causing another wave of grief that made it even harder to sleep. He'd clutch a pillow, burying his face into it as he sobbed silently into the night.

His body felt weak and he looked paler compared to before, the only thing that kept him going was his determination to push through, yet the sadness in his eyes was visible to everyone around him. His appetite decreased drastically, Luke and Kieran had to force him to eat just to keep him from starving, despite fearing the consequence of Sylus's wrath. The loyal twins even resorted to asking help from her because they hoped at least she could snap some senses in him.

And unfortunately, not even Miss Hunter could fill the void you had left behind.

One night, Sylus had a particularly hard time sleeping. He toss and turned in his bed, his mind filled with images of you —your laugh, your smile, your touch, the feel of your skin against his own.

Each memory felt like a stab to his heart, causing his breathing to catch in his throat as he clutched his pillow tightly, his knuckles turning white from squeezing it too hard.

The grief was so overwhelming that he ended up hallucinating that you were still by his side and resting beside him on the bed that cold dreadful night.

Sylus slowly opened his eyes when he felt fingers lightly running through his hair, causing him to shiver a little at the familiar touch.

He slowly turned his head to look at the figure resting beside him and his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

You laid there on the bed, your hand gently running through his hair with a soft smile on your lips.

Sylus's breath caught in his throat, his heart thumped in his chest as he stared at you in disbelief.

*No.. this.. this can't be real...*

His mind was racing, he tried to reach out cautiously, his hand trembled as he slowly extended it, trying to touch your cheek to see if you were real.

As soon as his fingers made contact with your cheek, he almost gasped at your realness. You felt so warm, so smooth, so real, just like he remembered.

His eyes widened, his hand trembled even more yet he didn't pull his hand away, as if afraid that you'll disappear like a mirage if he moves.

Your smile widened, your hand moved from his hair to his hand, wrapping your hand around his own that's still on your cheek, pressing it lightly against your skin. "Hello, my love."

Sylus's heart raced even harder at the gesture, the feeling of your warm skin against his palm was like a dream come true.

His eyes searched your face, taking in every detail of you — from your warm eyes to your gentle smile—hoping that this isn't just a cruel hal—

"It's okay, Sylus...I'm here.."

Your voice was like a soothing melody that echoed in his mind, cutting his train of thoughts short, as it was the same voice that used to bring him comfort and happiness, the same voice that'd call his name gently.

Hearing it now, after thinking he'd never hear it again, made his eyes prick with tears as he swallowed hard, tightening his grip on you as his chest grew heavy.

Sylus couldn't bring himself to speak, his throat felt constricted as his heart raced, his mind struggling to process what's happening.

He pulled his hand away from your cheek, but before you could say anything, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, as he buried his face into your neck, taking in your familiar scent and warmth.

You chuckled softly, your arms wrapping around him as you held him close, your hand gently rubbing his back in a soothing motion.

"You're clinging to me like a koala." You teased him gently.

Sylus felt like he could cry at your familiar teasing, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, holding you tighter.

"Don't... don't leave me..." Sylus mumbled against your neck, holding you as tightly as he could, scared that you'd disappear again. His voice was strained and filled with emotion, his fingers clutched at the back of your shirt in a desperate grip.

Your smile softened, you held him tighter and stroked his hair tenderly.

"Silly.. Why would I leave you.."

Sylus took a deep shuddering breath, your words brought him a certain comfort but he still didn't want to let go, he wanted to hold onto you until this dream ends —no, he desperately prayed it wasn't a dream at all.

This was real. You were real. You were back.

Back to him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Both just lay there in each other's embrace in silence, cherishing the feeling of being close like this again.

Sylus continued to hold you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your scent and warmth was intoxicating, it made him feel like he's finally home.

As your hand continued to stroke his hair, Sylus was filled with a sense of calm and comfort that he hadn't felt in a long time.

The weight of his grief and exhaustion started to lessen a little as he focused on the feeling of your fingers running through his hair and the sound of your steady heartbeat.

He relaxed a little in your arms, his grip on you loosened slightly as the exhaustion started to take over.

You continued to hold him, sensing his exhaustion and tiredness.

"You should sleep, it's late." You said softly, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead, your hand still moving through his hair.

Sylus nodded against your neck, his eyelids were starting to feel heavy. The sound of your heartbeat was like a lullaby to him, making him even more sleepy.

"I love you, Sylus.. Forever and always.."

Sylus's heart thumped against his chest, the declaration of love from you made him want to stay awake with you longer. Unfortunately, fatigue soon overwhelmed him as his eyes slowly closed, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your warmth and the beat of your heart were like a soothing lullaby that made it hard to stay awake.

He tried to fight it, to hold onto you for a little longer, but the exhaustion was too strong and he soon fell into a deep slumber, believing he was held in your embrace.

When the next morning came, everything changed.

Sylus's eyes slowly opened, his mind groggy and disoriented, for a moment he was confused as to why he didn't feel the familiar warmth of you next to him.

He bolted upright in bed, his eyes wide as he looked around the room with a sinking feeling in his chest.

There was no sign of you anywhere, and the realization that it was all a dream shattered his heart all over again.

The empty sheets beside him were like a cold reminder that none of it was real. It had all been a cruel, beautiful dream that felt so true that he thought it was real.

Sylus's chest ached, a lump formed in his throat as he clutched the sheets in a tight grip.

"No....no...no..."

His eyes blurred with tears, his heart clenching painfully as he realized that he was all alone again.

*It was all a dream... She's not really here...*

The realisation hit Sylus like a punch to the gut, he felt a wave of despair wash over him as his heart ached with a deep, bone-crushing sorrow.

The room felt cold and empty without your presence, he felt so lonely and lost.

Without your smile, your voice, your warmth... Without you, everything just felt so bleak and hopeless.

You were really gone.

And there's no one to blame but himself.

[tulipatheticee]

i've been waiting for you

violet bridgerton x youngest! daughter

bridgerton siblings x younger! sibling

synopsis; From the moment Edmund Bridgerton passed, leaving his wife widowed with eight children and one on the way, Violet found herself adrift until the arrival of Isadora, her youngest daughter. Isadora, quiet and calm, becomes Violet's constant companion in bustling Mayfair, offering solace and steadfast support at her mother's side.

word count; 1.3k

master list

a/n; i have arisen yet again, this is my first bridgerton fic so hello to the brigderton tag! i have archived all my old stuff because they are old and tbh the fandoms have died SO LET ME INTRODUCE MYSELF

my name is tulippa and im from sicily, im pretty confident in my english now but let me know if you see any errors! i mainly write fluffy family stuff like this, i love it idk. if you like this and want to see more like it let me know and ill provide for you! but its not like i wont write x reader romance cmon of course i will, but im best at parentxchild and siblings (PLATONIC ALWAYS DONT BE WEIRD) anyways i could go on and on but i wont, enjoy!!!

kinda proof read, kinda not, you've been warned

I'll carry you all the way

Violet Bridgerton had weathered many storms in her life, but none so devastating as the loss of her beloved husband, Edmund. His passing left her shattered, a widow with eight children to care for and another on the way. The pregnancy was fraught with complications, exacerbated by Violet's grief and the toll it took on her health.

Days turned into months as Violet withdrew into herself, mourning Edmund's absence even as life continued around her. Her family rallied, but Violet's sorrow was a heavy veil that separated her from them. It was during those long, solitary hours that she felt the weight of loneliness and the fear of losing both husband and child.

And you'll choose the day

The labour came unexpectedly, fierce and unforgiving. Violet's strength waned, her heart weary from loss and longing. The doctors and midwives worked tirelessly, their faces etched with concern. Hours passed like eternity until finally, a cry pierced the air—a fragile, yet determined cry that signalled new life.

Isadora was born amidst tears and relief, a tiny bundle of hope wrapped in Violet's trembling arms. The room, once fraught with fear, now glowed with a soft, golden light as mother and daughter gazed at each other for the first time. In that moment, everything seemed to still, and Violet knew she had been granted a miracle.

When you're prepared to greet me

She named her daughter Isadora, after the delicate Dahlia flower that Edmund had loved tending in their garden—a reminder of the beauty that bloomed even in the darkest of times.

As Isadora grew, she became Violet's constant companion, a beacon of joy and innocence in the Bridgerton household. Her older siblings doted on her, especially Anthony, Benedict, and Colin, who saw in her a reflection of their lost father's spirit. Isadora's laughter filled the halls of Bridgerton House and her curious mind sought solace in the quiet moments spent with her mother.

One afternoon, in the hushed serenity of the drawing room, Isadora sat at the pianoforte while Violet embroidered nearby. The soft melodies Isadora coaxed from the keys wove through the air, a testament to her growing talent and Violet's nurturing guidance.

"Does this sound right, Mama?" Isadora asked, her voice a melody in itself.

Violet looked up from her embroidery, a fond smile gracing her lips. "It sounds perfect, darling. You have a gift."

Isadora beamed with pride, her small hands continuing their dance over the keys. Despite her tender age, she played with a grace that belied her years, a testament to the bond she shared with her mother and the legacy of love that surrounded her.

I'll be a good mum, I swear

Anthony, Benedict, and Colin entered the room together, their voices low with shared memories and unspoken affection for their youngest sister. Anthony, ever the protective eldest brother, approached Isadora and knelt beside her.

"How are you today, Isa?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

"I am well, Anthony," Isadora replied, her gaze never leaving the keys. "Mama teaches me a new piece every day."

"Is that so?" Benedict chimed in, leaning over to peer at the sheet music. "You are quite talented, little one."

"Indeed," Colin added with a smile. "Father would have been proud."

Violet's heart swelled with bittersweet emotion at the mention of Edmund. She had feared she might forget the sound of his voice or the warmth of his touch, but in Isadora, she found echoes of him that kept his memory alive.

You'll see how much I care

"Mama, are you well?" Isadora asked suddenly, sensing the shift in her mother's mood.

Violet blinked back tears, her hand reaching out to clasp Isadora's. "I am well, my love. I am with you, and that is enough."

Isadora nodded solemnly, her understanding far beyond her years. Together, they continued their afternoon ritual, finding solace in music and shared moments that bridged the gap between past sorrows and future joys.

When you meet me

------------

In the sunlit gardens of Bridgerton House, where the scent of roses mingled with the laughter of children, Isadora found herself in the company of her older sister, Hyacinth, and brother, Gregory. Despite their lively spirits, they adapted to Isadora's quieter demeanour, creating a harmony that transcended their differences.

You thrill me, you delight me

"Isa, look what I found!" Hyacinth exclaimed, holding a caterpillar in her small hands with excitement.

Isadora approached cautiously, her eyes widening with curiosity. "Oh, wow! What is it?"

Gregory, always eager to share his knowledge, chimed in, "It's a caterpillar, Isa! Hyacinth and I were just talking about how it turns into a butterfly."

Hyacinth nodded eagerly. "Yes, Isa! It's like magic! One day, it will have beautiful wings and fly everywhere!"

Isadora's face lit up with wonder. "That's amazing! Can I hold it?"

Hyacinth carefully passed the caterpillar to Isadora, who watched it crawl across her palm with fascination. Gregory leaned in, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Let's play tag, Isa! You're it!"

You please me, you excite me

Isadora giggled as Gregory darted away, Hyacinth joining in the chase. "Catch us if you can, Isa!"

Isadora laughed, her heart light as she chased after her siblings through the garden paths, their laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees. Despite their differences in temperament, they found joy in each other's company, weaving memories that would last a lifetime.

You're all that

I've been yearning for

— —- —- —- —-

In the quiet of evening, as the Bridgerton family gathered for supper, Isadora remained close to Violet's side. Gregory and Hyacinth, full of youthful exuberance, regaled their siblings with tales of mischief and adventure, and how Isadora won tag earlier in the afternoon. The three eldest Brigderton men shared the lovely pianoforte they witnessed Isadora performing in the morning and spoke of how she is progressing very, while Eloise, Francesca, and Daphne shared knowing glances over the table.

I love you, I adore you

"Isa, do you have to be better than us at everything?" Eloise teased playfully, nudging Isadora with her elbow.

Isadora looked up, a hint of confusing in her eyes, she went to speak before Violet interjected “ "Eloise is just being foolish, darling, she means well”

Isadora quickly understood and replied "I only wish to be like everyone else Eloise, you are so clever, and Francesca is so graceful, and Daphne—"

"—is the epitome of charm," Francesca finished with a smile, her gaze softening as she looked at her youngest sister.

I lay my life before you

Daphne reached across the table to tousle Isadora's hair gently. "You are quite the storyteller yourself, Isa. Perhaps one day you'll write tales that surpass even Eloise's wild adventures."

Isadora's face lit up with delight at the praise from her sisters. "Do you really think so, Daphne?"

"Absolutely," Daphne assured her. "You have a way with words and a heart as big as all of Mayfair."

I only want you more and more

Violet watched the exchange with a tender smile, her heart swelling with pride at the bond between her daughters. Despite the challenges they had faced as a family, moments like these reminded her of the joy that filled their lives.

And finally it seems

My lonely days are through

Later that night, as Isadora drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the love of her siblings, Violet tucked her in with a sense of peace. The Bridgertons, each unique in their strengths and passions, formed a tapestry of love and support that would guide Isadora through the years ahead.

I've been waiting for you

"You are so loved, Isadora," Violet whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Never doubt that."

Isadora stirred, a contented smile playing on her lips. 

I've been waiting…

And as Violet watched over her sleeping daughter, she knew that the bonds of siblinghood, and the enduring love of family would carry Isadora through any storm that life might bring.

…For you

pt2

a/n pt2; thats it guys :( i actually had so much fun writing this and if you want anymore of violet and isa or any of the siblings with isa let me know because i'd love for this to become a little oneshot series typa thing! your feedback is greatly appreciated <3

all my love!

~tulippa

[wangxianficfinder]

I'm in the mood for...

July 31st

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1. Hii I'm kinda new here but if you can help me it would be awesome!! So basically, I don't know if there really a fic like that exactly, but anything close is great. I'm looking for a fic where lan zhan locks wei ying (probably in the cloud recesses), and for some reason, wei ying can't see/has eye cover. The idea is based on the scene where lan zhan says he wants to take someone (wei ying) and hide this someone. Thanks a lot😁 @untamedlover

A Way Out by pinkquilts (E, 143k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Living Together, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, First Love, Locked In, Major Character Injury, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Drunken Shenanigans, WWX misinterprets literally everything, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Injury) Lan Zhan takes an unconscious Wei Ying back to Gusu and locks him in a warded cottage in A Way Out so it's close to the request but not quite what they ideally wanted.

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2. Hi! I would love recommendations for Wei Wuxian/Nie Mingjue if anyone has any! I loved “Better Things To Do With A Flute In Wartime” for the sexy times but mainly for the feeling like Nie Mingjue recognized that Wei Wuxian was more than just a troublemaker, he saw that Wei Wuxian was a strong, capable, smart man. Would love any recs people have for this duo! Thank you!

An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut) unfortunately I don't have any nmj/wwx, it's nmj/wwx/lwj but I found the fic very enjoyable!

I’ll grow you a garden (in my fortress of stone) by Lyna_Mei (M, 16k, WIP, MingXian, Canon Divergence, CQL-Verse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Cultivation Sect Politics, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, JYL is Not Angelic, No MY redemption, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Sporadic Updates)

When Night Falls by aspiratixxn (M, 28k, MingXian, canon-divergent, depictions of war, mild nudity, Slow Burn)

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3. hi there. this is an itmf request for baoshan sanren coming down from her mountain and claiming wwx as her grandson/disciple. in front of gentry would be great, but other instances are also welcome. thanks for all your hard work!

Become Tomorrow by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 39k, wangxian, BSSR/LY, Alternate Universe, a story full of tragic pining gays, and one chaotic gremlin, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s disciple)

Can't Tell Me Nothin by natacup82 (T, 35k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Family Feels, Communication, BAMF Women)

🧡 Ghosts Shouldn’t by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒Through the Storm by marhikit (T, 33k, WangXian, WX/OMC, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Not Jiang Family Friendly, WWX gets big siblings that love and adore him, JZX ends up with someone different, No Golden Core Transfer, Creepy JGS, JZX & WWX Friendship, WWX in a different sect)

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4. Hi!! 👋🥰

It's me! I'm on vacation finally, I missed you all so much, but I couldn't read fanfics during my exams (it's too distracting). But now I'm free again, so I'm here to ask a ITMF! Yey!

Lately I'd like to read fanfics in which:

A) LQ discover about the absence of WWX's core and decides to help WWX and the Wens. And bring all of them to Gusu.

B) LQ discover about the abuse of Madam Yu and decides that WWX will stay in Gusu. (I love when this happens during the Cloud Recesses Study Arc, but it's ok if this happens in other moment).

I like happy endings, and I prefer when the good people live (Wens, JY, JC...) and only bad people dies. Long fics if it's possible, but shorts are ok too. No modern fics.

Thank you for everything! 🤟🥰💕 @wangxiansgirl

4A)

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, no one dies, LQR finds out about WWX’s core, WWX and LQR are friends??, In My Fic?, its more likely than you think, LWJ in the bg like whats happening?, Fluff, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) Not quite the request, since it's LXC who ends up inviting WWX & the Wens to come to CR, but iirc LQR grudgingly agrees the Wens need help & can stay? So may be close enough to scratch that itch

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst) 4a similar. It's been a while since I read the fic so I don't remember if there's an eventually Golden Core reveal, but it's not the reason LQR has for inviting WWX and the Wen to the Cloud Recesses. But hopefully this is similar enough that the requester will enjoy it anyway.

No Strings Attached by stiltonbasket (G, 3k, WangXian, NieLan,Canon Divergence, Fix-It, LQR is a good uncle, Smitten LWJ, Golden Core Reveal)

Righteous and Devoted by thunderwear (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ's POV, Barely Any Pining, thanks lqr, Fluff, lots of fluff, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

4B)

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

🔒 Warming up (to him) by barisan (T, 9k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, Hypothermia, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Temporary Character Death, Medical Inaccuracies, YZY Abuses WWX, JFM Bashing, pre-wangxian, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

5. Hello everyone! I am on the search for case fics which are spooky and creepy! The kind of thing you would want to read to set the mood for Halloween, but it is actually July and thunderstorming and the wind is howling and you want to curl up with a scary story and a cat on your lap. Preferably everyone lives in the end, but I am down for angst or temporary character death in the in between. Thank you!!

You are what you eat by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 17k, WangXian, Graphic Depiction of Violence, Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Eldritch WWX, Horny LWJ, Body Horror, Possession, of a sort, Cannibalism, kind of, Mild Gore, Teeth, When the eldritch abomination possessing you is less of a pining idiot than you are, I did not expect there to be so much fluff when I started writing a fic about an eldrich horror, Fluff and Humor, Smut, LWJ is so fucking thirsty, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Monster sex, Switching, Light BDSM, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Seriousness treated Crackily, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dead WWX, Podfic Available) Eldritch horror!WWX

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy..., then sexual intimacy, playing fast and loose with mdzs lore, WWX learning to accept intimacy without deflection, occasional LWJ humor agenda, 🔒 [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Non-Consensual Body Modification, kinda??, Reflections over death and self-worth, mentions of canon suicide, Near Death Experiences, 🔒 [Podfic] in your skin by flamingwell)

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, WangXian, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror, [Podfic] 爱不释手; never let me go by argentumlupine)

lan wangji sees dead people by mountainrain898

~*~

6. Hi, I'm ITMF a fic where; (a) teenage wangxian meets adult wangxian maybe during cloud recess study arc and older wangxian time travel on purpose or accidentally and find themselves itn cloud recess (or something similar) (b) the other sects gather to plot against wei ying and they spy on burial mounds or find a way to view wei ying's memories (similar plot to seek and ye shall find) (c) do you know any au's where wangxian are professional gamers or play gaming competitions. @purplefuzzypickle

6A)

River Stones by littlesystems (M, 18k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study arc, Junior Quartet, Oblivious WWX, Suffering LWJ, Voyeurism)

How did I end up with this Frozen Heart? by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, YP!WWX, twin prides of yunmeng are horrified at the relationship between their future selves, YP!WWX has short hair, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, wangxian get together early, Songfic, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing)

Timely by apathyinreverie (T, 8k, WangXian, Time Travel, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, Fix-It, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Mutual Pining, wwx is sunshine personified, Smitten LWJ, Genius WWX, Romance) I'll also throw in Timely which just has Lan Wangji's spirit traveling from his teen years to when he's married to Wei Wuxian.

6B)

💖 The Path by Seastar98 (Not Rated, 279k, WangXian, CQL Verse, Golden core reveal, Fix-it of sorts, Angst with a happy ending)

6C)

simping for hanguang-jun by defractum (nyargles) (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, YouTubers WangXian, Fluff, Among us game, Streamer AU)

~*~

7. Hello, could you please recommend works where WY and LZ meet for the first time when they are older. For example over 30.

Thank you!

The Fault in Our Stars by Vamillepudding (T, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Misunderstandings, the title makes it sound like a cancer story, it's not a cancer story)

International Baby by AceBij (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pilot!LWJ, CFO!LWJ, Regional Manager!WWX, CEO!LXC, CEO!JC, CFO!JYL, Secretary!WQ, Meet-Cute, baby!A-Yuan, baby!JL Mpreg, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Carrier!WWX, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, WWX's canonical breeding kink, LWJ's Canonical Breed WWX Kink, Communication, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, It's only at the start and will not go into much detail, Love confessions)

Deep Dive by MimiSpearmint (E, 24k, WangXian, Modern AU, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Are Bad at Communicating, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Therapy, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, counsellor!lwj, give lwj friends agenda, background NieLan, Melbourne, Eventual Smut, Crack, Baby JL, domestic abuse is discussed but does not happen, Baby LSZ, Baby LJY, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Good Sex Practices, Implied Slight D/s, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Cameos by various minor characters)

Breathless by tiptoe39 (E, 69k, WangXian, Fashion & Models, Modeling, Getting Together, drunk lwj, Cranky LWJ, Model!LWJ, stylist!wwx, Happy Ending, WangXian Endgame, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst and then fluff again, Mustache-Twirling Villainy Just Off Camera, JYL Deals With So Much Brother Shit, LWJ Is Working Through His Own Shit, WWX is WWX, LWJ's Bunny Obsession, MianMian Is In Charge of Shoes, JC's Issues Have Issues)

不屈从于天 | not submitting to fate by starborst (E, 20k, WIP, WangXian, BAMF WWX, God!wwx, dream of red tower, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, but loosely based, there's a lot of oc characters & gods, Character Death, time skip, from when wwx was dead and also a god, lots of landscape description, it'll be really really slow paced) Technically it's god!WWX meeting reincarnated!LWJ bit if it's just about their relationship then this might fit! LWJ shows up at the end of chapter 3 and chapter 4 is basically just about their interactions in different situations. Might also fit for #10, seeing as LWJ is a reincarnation (I asked to make sure)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX's Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian's Baby Fever) I can't remember how old Wei Ying & Lan Zhan are in We Meet at the Thousandth Step but I'm quite certain they're at least in their mid- to late-20s when they meet.

~*~

8. itmf a wangxian fic where Jin Guangyao is forced to apologize to Lan Xichen for tricking into helping with Nie Mingjue's murder. Preferably a fic where wangxian comfort him afterwards. Any lxc ship is OK (xicheng, nielan, xiyao), I just want Lan Xichen to get a proper apology and for jgy to acknowledge how truly messed up it was and accept responsibility for being an asshole to poor lxc (and nmj tbh)

~*~

9. Hello! For your next ITMF, could you find me some baby trapping fics please? Whether LWJ traps WWX or WWX traps him 🤗

(and I'd love you forever if you manage to find a fic where Lan Qiren think Wwx is baby trapping his precious cabbage and either it's all Part of LWJ's Plan or the baby was a mutual decision from the both of them)

Thank you!!

truly a love story for the ages by sweetlolixo (E, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Dark!Wangxian, Power Couple, Happy Wangxian Ending, slight daddy kink, Humor, Crack, Pregnant WWX) Of course I gotta rec the mutual baby trapping fic

~*~

10. Do you have a comp fic of reincarnation? If not can you make this for next ITMF? (No comp as of yet though it is on the list! ~Mod L)

不屈从于天 | not submitting to fate by starborst (E, 20k, WIP, WangXian, BAMF WWX, God!wwx, dream of red tower, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, but loosely based, there's a lot of oc characters & gods, Character Death, time skip, from when wwx was dead and also a god, lots of landscape description, it'll be really really slow paced) (link in #7) Technically it's god!WWX meeting reincarnated!LWJ bit if it's just about their relationship then this might fit! LWJ shows up at the end of chapter 3 and chapter 4 is basically just about their interactions in different situations.

the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by beesinspades (T, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Post-Canon, Jack of All Trades Artist WWX, Immortal! LWJ, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Reunions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Asexual Character, good vibes, [Podfic] the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by b_ofdale by Beria1021)

🧡 We Were Never Strangers by NeverEnoughWangxian (M, 36k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Modern Cultivators, POV WWX, (mostly), College Student WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Immortal LWJ, Immortal LSZ, Dreams, Pining, Sharing a Bed, brief mentions of wwx's past death(s), WangXian.mp3, Getting Together, I guess getting back together technically, Happy Ending, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content)

🧡 All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 51k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, cultivators can recognize important people from previous lives, vaguely, this started out as a cute sugar fantasy and got just incredibly horny very fast, blame LWJ)

忘不了你的爱 (can't forget your love) by PorcupineGirl (G, 25k, WangXian, Time Travel, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivators AU, Canon Divergence, Time Traveler WWX, discussion of canonical character deaths, a whole lot of handwaving, conveniently localized fires, Discussion of Canonical Suicide Attempt, mostly happy but slightly bittersweet ending)

Closer Than Eternity by Netrixie (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, an unhealthy addiction to starbucks, Immortals, cultivation is -kinda- commonplace, Self-Doubt, POV Alternating, Minor Original Character(s), Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, not for jc fans, This is not a reconciliation fic)

Have We Met Before by thelastdboy (T, 7k, WangXian, POV WWX, Modern: No Powers, First Meetings, College/University, Reincarnation, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, First Kiss, CSSR and WCZ Live, WWX Has a Family, Older Sibling WWX, Queer Themes, Demisexual WWX, Parent-Child Relationship, Friendship, Heteronormativity, Pining WWX, Fluff, Madam Lan Lives)

living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool (T, 32k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Canon Divergence, College/University, Modern with Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Nightmares, Light Angst, Epistolary, (sort of), POV Alternating, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers)

~*~

11. hi everyone! I am looking for modern cultivation aus where, this may sound redundant but ya know, cultivation is used in tandem with modern living. For example, I really liked in “The Shade of Old Trees” by Kryal how WWX used his cultivation to do sick tricks on a skateboard. Or in "Truth Will Out" by KizuKatana how the night hunts were filmed and uploaded to an internet forum. So yeah! Cultivation working with modern things, cool magic in tandem with modern science and tech. thanks tlm!!

speeding up my heartbeat by plonk (Not Rated, 24k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Gyms) has cultivation specific gyms and sports, with WWX doing cultivator level parkour

🧡🔒Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting) has cultivation working (or not, as the case may be!) alongside modern tech

A Different Yarn by donutsweeper (T, 1k, WangXian, Urban Fantasy, Yarn store AU, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation) it's really short but in it knitting and crochet is used for talismans

Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (T, 87k, wangxian, modern cultivation, academia au, music, kid fic, action/adventure, canon-typical violence, canon-typical JGY behavior, slow burn, fluff & angst, happy ending) has modern cultivation history researcher LZ and municipal cultivation employee WWX working within (or not, on occasion!) modern day cultivation rules, laws, and customs

and so my heart beats wildly by lily_winterwood (E, 106k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Modern Cultivation, Rivalry, Competition, Competition-Set Fic, Athletes, Multimedia, Miscommunication, frenemies to lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Seemingly One-sided But Actually Mutual Pining, Oblivious WWX, Competitive Cultivation, Anal Sex, First Time, Angst with a Happy Ending, Olympics, Inappropriate use of an Olympic gold medal, Breathplay, Rough Sex, Food Porn, Tanabata, Lily's back on her Qixi bullshit, Switching, Bottom LWJ) has cultivation Olympics

~*~

12. Hi all! Im in the mood for Jiang yanli bashing! I want her to also be angry and entitled like Jiang Cheng and then get, well, bashed for it!

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) I wouldn't say she's angry, but she very much expects WWX to be a doormat for the sake of keeping things how she is used to them being

Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 260k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP) crossover with TGCF, Hualian raises WWX, plenty of Jiang bashing all around

~*~

13. for the in the mood for, may i have your most gutwrenching jiang cheng & wei wuxian sibling hurt/comfort please. preferably with reconciliation. 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

ransom by alessandriana (G, 3k, JC & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Dizziness, Fainting, Character is Injured while Protecting Another, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Yunmeng reconciliation, [PODFIC] ransom by Gwogobo) 

love lies beyond words by acrosticacrumpet (G, 4k, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, canon-typical dysfunctional relationships, Yunmeng Shuangjie Reconciliation, not a completed reconciliation but the beginning of one, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Self-Worth Issues, WWX's notoriously poor self-worth vs JC's legendary rejection sensitivity: FIGHT, painful conversations with a tasteful smidgeon of, Cuddling & Snuggling)

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club)

JC and WWX's Get Along Sweater series by newamsterdam (T, 29k, JC & WWX, Trapped In A Closet, Cultivation as Plot Device, Reconciliation, Miscommunication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Novel Spoilers, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Night Hunting, Ghosts, Action/Adventure, Brotherly Love, Complicated Relationships, Yunmeng Shuangjie)

In The Dark Right Now by phnelt (T, 10k, WangXian, graphic depictions of injuries, trapped in a cave, Near Death Experience, fatalistic thinking, established wangxian, Family Feels, mention of unnamed illness of an offscreen character, Nobody dies in this fic, Alternate Universe - Modern AU, jc and wwx are caved in and lan zhan talks to them through the radio, Hurt/Comfort) if modern AU is acceptable

~*~

14. For the next itmf, can you please recommend to me some fics where Jiang Cheng raises both Jin Ling and Wen Yuan . Preferably where both or at least A-yuan knows his father is Wei Wuxian

What Remains After the War by Swan_Song (T, 44k, JC & JL, JC & LSZ, JL & LSZ, WIP, Canon Divergence, LSZ is a Jiang, Good Uncle JC, Cousins JL & LSZ, JC Needs a Hug, JC Needs Therapy, The juniors solve a mystery, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Good Uncle LQR, he tries his best, LSZ Needs a Hug)

~*~

15. itmf fics where instead of lan xichen, lan wangji becomes sect leader/king/emperor/etc. With happy ending for wangxian! Any length and rating works and if there's smut, can I get top plan wangji please? And nothing where lan wangji is with someone else romantically/sexually even for a bit in the course of the fic I don't have any other triggers/squicks!

The Wrong Man by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, WIP, Sect Leader LWJ, Evil JGS, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal) Not exactly LWJ becoming sect leader *instead of* LXC, but does have LXC getting killed off in chapter 1, & LWJ becoming sect leader & instituting sweeping reforms. Still a WIP but the main story is over & is a happy ending (WWX is actually alive in this, so no having to wait for resurrection)

I Am Happy I Met You by Bhargavee00 (Not Rated, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Get a Happy Ending, Sect Leader LWJ, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Dragon LWJ, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Madam Lan Lives, Minor Madam Lan/Qingheng-jun, Qingheng-jun, Lives, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, Protective LXC, Protective LQR, Good Uncle LQR, WangXian Are Soulmates, WWX Goes to Gusu, Yunmeng Jiang Sect Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, LWJ is So Whipped, Older LWJ, Good Older Sibling LXC, Sunshot Campaign, No Golden Core Transfer, WWX is a Lan, WWX is So Whipped)

The Straightest Path by meyari (T, 30k, WangXian, NieLan, MingLi, ChengSang, war and death, Grief/Mourning, Politics, plotting for neuroatypicals, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Non-Canon Relationship, No Yīn Iron, Sect Leader LWJ) LXC and LQR die leaving Lan Zhan to becoming Sect Leader

🧡 Discarded by teawater (E, 260k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YL WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it's not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ)

golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

Temptation by Karmiya (E, 23k, WangXian, JYL & WWX, WIP, Sect Leader LWJ, domestic abuse) LXC dies after the Sunshot Campaign and LZ becomes Sect Leader

~*~

16. Hii!! does this count as an itmf? if anyone knows a fic where LZ gets married or bethroted during the thirteen years but then WY comes back anything like that ?? if it doesnt it definitely should ill take anything similar tho @yesibest

patching the road with vague intentions by loosingletters (T, 39k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Humor, Developing Friendships, WWX Resurrected By Others, Trans WWX, Case Fic, POV WWX, POV LQR, Family, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, MXY Lives) To be fair, LWJs wife is the one who summons WWX into her body so it might not fully fit

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX) For 16, if what you're looking for is wangxian struggle with their feelings for each other post ressurection while lwj is already commited to someone else, you might like Love Song in Reverse where WY comes back but without his memories so he believes he's MXY and he and LZ navigate their feelings while LZ is still commited to his feelings for WY.

~*~

17. for the next itmf what about a fic from when lwj and jc are searching for wwx when he was in the burial mounds

in our respective ways by Lise (T, 5k, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Missing Scene, Bonding, (sort of??), POV JC, Canon Compliant, that brief period of time when lwj and jc were solidly on the same page, JC's jealousy could be a third character, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Brothers, Canon Era, Not Friends to Still Not Friends, canon typical abuse of pows)

waiting, shivering by kornevable (T, 2k, JC & WWX, Introspection, Missing Scene, background wangxian)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[bestruction]

Flower's language

Summary: How you two stared to secretly date

Warnings: None

@enouche

Following his release from prison, Sasuke finally had the time to focus on the Uchiha district, a place abandoned and forgotten by time. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to face that place alone, so he called you for help. And how could you say "no" to him knowing everything that happened there ? Little by little, you found yourself drawn into the work, getting lost in the process of restoring what was left behind. After all, he had once been your friend— even more than that. Not that it mattered anymore.

Part of you was still hurt after everything that had happened, but another part understood what he went through. For all the good memories you shared, you promised to help him make the house more... livable. After that, you hoped to finally let go of the feelings you refused to admit you still had for him.

By morning, you were ready and made your way to the district, just as you had every weekend for the past few months. The main house—his house—still exuded a haunting stillness, as though frozen in time. The grandeur of the Uchiha clan lingered in its bones, but the absence of warmth and life was palpable. Each creaking floorboard and the faint rustle of wind through the broken windows echoed the loss and tragedy of the clan that had once lived there. It was a place both beautiful and melancholic, a physical embodiment of Sasuke’s memories and grief.

Today, you two had agreed on cleaning the garden and planting a few vegetable seeds that could be useful for him. 

It doesn't take long until you find him in the back of the house. You left your backpack on a bench and knelt beside Sasuke, your hands quickly brushing the earth as you worked to clear the area, pulling out invasive plants and cutting away dead branches.

You look around noticing how the once-meticulously groomed garden had succumbed to nature's reclaim. Stepping stones lead to a koi pond, now murky and overrun with algae. A stone lantern leans precariously to one side, and the bamboo fountain no longer flows. Wild wisteria and ivy climb over stone statues of Uchiha symbols, and the air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay.

Sasuke wasn't much to talk but he seemed particularly off, his broad shoulders stiffed while he focused on the task he was doing.

“Do you know what this is?” you asked trying to save him from whatever was happening in his head.

He looks at the small sprig of something you’d found struggling to grow amid the chaos “A flower?.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s lavender. In the language of flowers, it symbolizes calm and peace. Your mother might have planted it here for that reason.”

Sasuke paused in his work, his gaze flickering to the delicate sprig in your hand. “The language of flowers?”

You nodded, smiling faintly. “Every plant has a meaning. For example, the camellias over there—represent admiration and longing. And the wisteria near the gate is a symbol of endurance and devotion.”

He looked toward the garden as if seeing it for the first time, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t know you were an expert.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not. But I’ve always liked the idea that flowers can say things people can’t"

He looked at you wondering if his mother thought the same. He remembered seeing her in the garden many times but the reasons for it now were blurry and lost in his head. Sasuke didn’t respond, but you caught the way his shoulders seemed to relax slightly as he returned to clear the weeds.

"What does this one mean?" He asks pointing at a single tulip he had found in the middle of the invasive herbs. You got closer to see it better, thinking to yourself it was unusual to see such a delicate flower in a wild scenario.

"Love," You say looking at it. It wasn't grown and its petals were suffering from the lack of care, but it still had the charm only a tulip could have.

"I thought roses were the flowers for love," He said looking at what, in his eyes, was just a plant.

"Roses and tulips," You said caressing the dry petals "Roses represent love and its nuances, but tulips represent it as a whole"

His dark eyes were fixated on you and when you looked at him again, and in that short second that followed you gulped thinking he had grown into a handsome man. You coughed pushing away that thought and quickly said "Did you buy the vegetables seeds that we talked about?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna grab it"

You drummed your fingers on your legs, waiting for him to come back while telling your stupid heart to stop beating so fast.

He came back and the two of you set to work planting the seeds, side by side. The quiet companionship that had grown between you was something you cherished, but it was still fragile like stepping carefully over thin ice. As you dug into the soil, your hands brushed his. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. You froze, glancing up at him, only to find that he was already looking at you.

"You didn't have to help so much"

“I know,” you said with a small shrug. “But I wanted to.”

Neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a taut string. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Sasuke leaned closer, his dark eyes searching yours. His long fingers brushed the dust on your cheek but not just that, he was testing the waters, and once you didn't move away, he let his fingers hold your chin before putting his lips on yours. It was tentative, almost unsure.

His lips were unsteady as if he was uncertain of how to give or receive this kind of tenderness. He placed his lips on yours, feeling the texture and taste of your toothpaste. You closed your eyes and his hand found its way to the back of your neck while his tongue finally entered your mouth to quickly meet yours.

Fuck, did he have to taste so good?

You hold his shirt pulling him closer, making him smirk in the kiss while you wrap your tongues again and again until the world seems to slow down its rotation just to make it last longer. You felt the soft scrape of his teeth against your lower lip, a gentle bite that sent a shiver down your spine. A low sound escaped you, barely audible, but he heard it. And god, if you were gonna whimper like every time he kissed you, he would do it until your lips were swollen or both of you were naked.

You break the kiss reluctantly, needing to breathe. Sasuke gives you a few more pecks, loving the way your mouth is wet, before pressing his forehead to yours.

"This..." You whisper not opening your eyes but you can feel his gaze burning on you "Doesn't change anything, hm?"

"Doesn't it?" He asks pressing his lips on yours shortly once more

"Sasuke..." You lean back, trying to create space between you and him but grabs your waist, anchoring you closer "You are not being fair to me"

The Uchiha's house wasn't the only thing stuck in time after he left, you were stuck in time too. Lock in the feelings you had for him and unable to move on. Then why the part of you that hated him was so easily folded?

"I know" He whispers knowing he is being selfish by not letting you put an end to this cycle "We can take things slow, huh? See if it still works out between us and if it doesn't..."

You want to say "no" but your head shakes in a "yes" before your lips can open and you hate yourself for feeling so damn hot at the way he holds you close now, nearly pulling you on his lap "No one needs to know, okay?"

"Sure" He nods, eager to make you stay "Anything you want"

You stayed there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his touch, your heart warring between reason and desire. The garden seemed to hold its breath, as though the ghosts of the Uchiha district were watching, bearing witness to this fragile new beginning. Sasuke's grip on you loosened just enough to let you step back, but not enough to let you go. No matter how much you tried to tell yourself otherwise, you weren’t ready to walk away from him, and not from the chance that, just maybe, some things were worth saving.

[destinysbounty]

Three important facts that I promise are connected:

Although it seems that the ninja take turns cooking, Zane's food is apparently so good that they all eagerly await his turn. And his pies are apparently so good that just the smell of them brought a tear to Jay's eyes.

When someone passes away, grief makes menial tasks like cooking and cleaning very difficult. It's for this reason that a lot of bereavement support advice recommends giving gifts of pre-made food or service to those who are grieving. I can imagine the grief would be doubly worsened if you are grieving someone who typically did a lot of the cooking, or someone with whom you strongly associate such tasks.

In s4ep1 "The Invitation", Lloyd invites each of the ninja to dinner with him at Chen's Noodlehouse. However, he phrases it as "if you change your mind, you know where I'll be". Despite his vague wording, all of them unanimously know exactly where to go and when to be there. Furthermore, Cole even says "you're late" to Kai despite the fact that a meetup time was never discussed.

Anyway, my theory is that due to the grief of losing Zane making it difficult to cook, the ninja became regulars at Chen's Noodlehouse. They would go to the same location at roughly the same time almost every night, and that's how the ninja knew exactly where/when to meet up. Which means the place that helped them keep their heads above water post-s3, the place where they spent many nights grieving Zane's loss, is also the same place Lloyd chose to suggest adding a new teammate. And also the same place they found out Zane was alive.

This restaurant has become so strongly tied to their grief over Zane's loss, simply through the way it was there for his friends when he was not. Feeding them the food he himself was no longer present to cook for them. The statue in the garden represents the legacy of his heroism while the noodlehouse represents the legacy of the grief created by his absence, and in this essay I will -

[theaawalker]

Is Neil Perry a Manic Pixie Dream Boy? 🍁

What is the Manic Pixie Dream Trope?

The Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope, coined by film critic Nathan Rabin, refers to a quirky, whimsical character who exists to inspire the brooding male protagonist to embrace life’s joys. Think of characters like Sam in Garden State or Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. But what about boys? The Manic Pixie Dream Boy flips this script. These characters are equally eccentric and effervescent, shaking the lives of the protagonists with their charm and unbridled passion. Examples include Peter Pan, who literally whisks Wendy away from her mundane life; Augustus Waters (The Fault in Our Stars), whose metaphor-filled antics bring light to Hazel's world; and Theodore Finch (All the Bright Places), who pulls Violet out of her grief. The thing about Manic Pixie Dream Boys? They’re often destined to leave—sometimes by choice, sometimes tragically.

How Neil Perry Fits the Trope

Neil Perry (Dead Poets Society) is the epitome of the Manic Pixie Dream Boy, bringing color and life to everyone around him, particularly Todd Anderson. Neil isn't just a member of the Dead Poets Society; he’s its heart. While Mr. Keating inspires the boys with his philosophy, Neil is the one who revives the group, encouraging everyone to "seize the day" in practice, not just theory.

Neil’s Quirky Personality

Neil’s boundless energy manifests in his playful and creative antics, like grabbing Todd’s poem and dancing around the room with it, or turning Todd’s unwanted desk set into a "flying" object in a bid to cheer him up. His enthusiasm is infectious—where Todd sees an overwhelming world, Neil sees possibility and wonder. Even outside his interactions with Todd, Neil constantly uplifts his friends. He encourages Knox to pursue Chris, supports Charlie’s rebellious streak, and believes in the potential of his peers. Neil’s passion for acting is more than a personal dream; it’s a beacon for the other boys, showing them what it looks like to truly live.

Neil as the Catalyst

Neil rekindles the spirit of the Dead Poets Society, giving the group its purpose. While Keating plants the seed, Neil cultivates it, making the society more than just a secret club—it becomes a sanctuary where the boys can explore art, emotions, and their innermost selves. In this way, Neil isn’t just part of Todd’s story; he’s the catalyst for every boy’s personal transformation.

The Tragic End of Every Manic Pixie Dream Boy

If the hallmark of the Manic Pixie Dream trope is leaving, Neil tragically follows the script. His vibrancy, optimism, and dreams are extinguished not by choice but by the oppressive reality of his father’s expectations. Just as his energy inspires Todd and the others to live authentically, his death forces them to confront life’s stark realities. Neil’s demise parallels the fate of so many Manic Pixie Dream Boys. Peter Pan returns to Neverland, his absence forcing Wendy to grow up. Augustus Waters succumbs to his illness. Theodore Finch’s brightness fades, leaving Violet to carry the lessons he taught her. Neil, too, departs at the peak of his influence, leaving behind a legacy that galvanizes Todd and the other boys to seize their own lives... or die from the inside out.

In Conclusion

Neil Perry isn’t just a character in Dead Poets Society; he’s the embodiment of the Manic Pixie Dream Boy archetype. His quirkiness, passion, and unwavering support for his friends make him unforgettable. But like all Manic Pixie Dream Boys, Neil’s story ends too soon, leaving those he touched to carry his lessons forward. Neil may have left, but his spirit lives on in the Dead Poets, in Todd’s newfound confidence, and in every audience member who watches him seize the day.

#OhCaptainMyCaptain 🖤

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

5. 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓟𝓪𝓽𝓱

The estate gave off an aura of cold, darkness, and grandeur. Its many rooms and labyrinth-like pathways created an intricate and intimidating structure. The ground floor, beyond the imposing entry hall, boasted a dining room, a resplendent ballroom, lavish bathrooms, and the kitchen, which was connected to the quarters where the servants resided. On the second floor, there was a grand living room, and the master bedroom, along with an opulent bathroom and a study, was adjacent to (Y/n)'s room, which also had its own bathroom. Guest bedrooms adorned the opposite side of the second floor. The estate was equipped with a grand library, another ballroom that opened onto a balcony overlooking the entrance, more bathrooms, and a small reception room. An unassuming door on the ground floor led to a cellar.

The mansion was encircled by imposing fences and gates that remained perpetually closed, effectively isolating it from the outside world. By the same logic, it kept her in. The verdant gardens that stretched around the estate, bathed in the moonlight, held an eerie beauty. A nearby stable housed a few horses.

(Y/n) had to concede that the estate was undeniably magnificent, but her nocturnal existence within its gloomy halls only served to accentuate its gothic allure. It was a place of solitude and coldness, where even the servants, who were, like her, human, would cast fearful glances her way. Their wary gazes made her feel even more isolated. She often wondered what compelled them to stay in a household where they had at least some inkling of the master's unnatural nature. Yet, they remained, and they didn't seem to like it. They didn’t seem to like her either. Anyone capable of catching this monster’s attention must be as dang as him in their mind. She could not muster any form of bitterness towards them, since she understood their resonance.

It took her a while to get accustomed to her new sleep schedule. Sleeping in the day and living throughout the night was certainly not something she was used to. She had not glimpsed the light of day in weeks, as the heavy curtains remained perpetually drawn. She spent her nights trying to stave off the loneliness that haunted her. The absence of anyone her age to converse with was not entirely novel, but during her life with her parents, there had been opportunities to socialize when they ventured into town to sell their harvested produce.

She clenched her jaw and fought back tears, resolute in her decision not to cry. Mourning her parents would serve no purpose, and their murderer would respond to her grief with cold indifference. In this foreboding place, no one would offer her solace. No one would care.

The vampire continued to spend a significant amount of time with her. Their interactions were not always filled with conversation; sometimes, they simply coexisted in silence, as he engrossed himself in reading while she sought to fill the empty hours with activities. Her loathing for him remained unwavering, and resentment festered within her, burning brightly. Yet, her loneliness drove her to accept the limited interaction he offered. The girl took whatever she could get.

Tonight was one such instance. They sat in the study, where the vampire occupied a red velvet armchair, engrossed in a book. (Y/n) reclined on a plush sofa of the same pattern, her fingers idly fidgeting with a porcelain doll, arranging and rearranging its dress. It didn't really interest her much, but it helped to keep her occupied.

As she gazed upon the doll’s neck, the sudden recollection of that fateful night prompted (Y/n) to place her hand on her own neck, as if searching for a mark that should have been there but never was. She couldn't fathom how she had managed to forget that detail. The memory returned vividly now – the bite, the paralyzing sensation, the drowsiness that followed. She knew she wasn't a vampire; her pulse still throbbed, and her canines were just as they had always been.

"You bit me," she voiced her realization, her hand still lingering on her neck, even though she knew the wound was no longer there.

The vampire, his attention momentarily diverted from his book, nonchalantly acknowledged, "I did."

A surge of curiosity and confusion led (Y/n) to question further. "I'm not a vampire," she stated, running her tongue over her normal-sized canines. Her heart continued to beat steadily, and there was no insatiable thirst for blood. "How?"

He put the book down, seemingly willing to indulge her curiosity. "Becoming a vampire isn't a random occurrence, doll," he explained patiently. "The process begins with the vampire drinking the blood of a human, allowing the venom from the bite to spread through the mortal's body. The human must then die shortly after from the poison from the bite. They will eventually return to life, but to complete the transformation, they must drink the blood of their sire. And all of this must occur during a Blood Moon."

She tensed upon hearing about the Blood Moon. "What's a Blood Moon?" (Y/n) inquired, a hint of fear in her voice. She needed to understand the vampire's plans for her and how to avoid them.

"It's a phenomenon that occurs only once every three months," he explained. "During a Blood Moon, the moon takes on a red hue, which not only strengthens a vampire's powers but also turns their bite venomous, capable of transforming others. The paralysis and drowsiness you felt on the night I brought you home were the effects of a typical vampire's bite when its powers aren’t strengthened by the moon."

Her face displayed her discomfort as she recalled the night she had felt powerless and vulnerable, completely at the mercy of a killer. She couldn't hide her unease any longer and sought further clarification. "And is the ice power something common among vampires?" She remembered the eerie sight of ice forming on the vampire's hands.

"Each vampire possesses a unique gift," he replied cryptically. To illustrate, he picked up a glass of water from the table beside her. As he touched it, the water gradually transformed into ice, right before her eyes. Her expression shifted from unease to genuine astonishment. "You will have one too."

Her smile dropped, fear settling in once again. She had allowed herself to forget about that part for a fraction of a second. She chastised herself mentally for that mistake. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down here.

[minnaci]

CALM AFTER THE STORM

contents: nanami kento x gn!reader, jjk s2 spoilers (shibuya incident), hurt/comfort, reader is implied to have died years before the shibuya incident, cooking together as a love language, kissing, reunions, death

what is death if not a new beginning?

or, nanami makes his journey to the afterlife. it's not so bad.

it's strange, nanami thinks. he had forgotten what it meant to move without pain, and yet here he is, dancing without a care in the world. his joints don't crack, his knees don't ache. he could have sworn he had injured his eye, and yet, here he is, witnessing the ocean in its full, unfettered glory.

pantai cenang is beautiful. idyllic. not a curse in sight. nanami takes a moment to soak it all in. fine white sand. crystal blue water. coconut trees. there's a distinct lack of people— surprising, given how popular the beach is with tourists— but nanami knows better than to question such a blessing.

there's a little cottage in the distance, one that doesn't exist on any map. in his heart, nanami knows you're inside, humming as you wash the vegetables you'd picked from the garden. it's been too long since he's seen you, held you in his arms. months. years. his heart squeezes. ah, that familiar ache— yearning. he quickens his pace.

absence makes the heart grow fonder. in his mind's eye, you twirl in the sand with him, feet nimble. he spins, more graceful than he’s ever been. he soars. he falls. fighting is dancing in the same way that the waves batter against the shore— beauty and violence, art and destruction.

nanamin! a shout echoes across the water, and nanami lowers his arms, turning on instinct to the familiar voice. even in his retirement, it seems that he can still hear the voice of his loudest student.

ah, he's exhausted— this is what he gets for indulging in the sun. he can sense your frown already. you'd always fretted over him, all soft hands and gentle touches.

the scent of blood rises on the wind, but there is no fear. even sharks need to eat. such is the way life and death dance together.

nanamin! the voice shouts again, or maybe it’s an echo of the first call, bounding across the surf. his fatigue overwhelms him like falling in love— slow, then all at once.

he is so, so tired of fighting.

faster than he can comprehend, there’s a firm pressure against his stomach. a mosquito buzzes around his face. he swats it away idly. there’s something he’s forgetting. something important.

nanamin!

ah. that’s right. he doesn’t have to worry anymore.

“itadori,” he says, voice carrying over the waves. “you’ve got it from here.”

there’s a gut-wrenching snap in his core. it severs something vital, and yet… he’s never felt more alive. he is a hollow-boned creature, like the birds. finally, the weight of the world is no longer his to bear.

your presence calls to him, draws him in from across the beach, and he turns towards your siren’s song. his lips form the shape of your name. in the blink of an eye, his hand is on the doorknob to your cottage.

"i'm home."

you whip around so fast that nanami almost fears your neck will snap clean in two. “kento?”

“it’s me.”

there’s a split second where the world freezes. the light from the late early evening sun dances amongst dust motes. your lips part, and nanami trembles with the force of his want for you.

then, like the tide to the moon, like planets to a star, you crash together. you fly across the room into nanami’s waiting arms, two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. when he kisses you, you taste like salt, like grief, like joy. it makes him want to kiss you more, kiss you harder, so he does.

you pull away, and nanami only just resists the urge to chase your lips.

"you're... so early. i didn't expect to see you here for a few more decades." you cup his face, fingers tracing over the familiar curves of his cheeks, his jaw. nanami turns his face into the affectionate touches.

"and leave you to eat dinner alone?" nanami leans in again, kissing the tears from your cheeks in a few quick, fluttering brushes of lips against skin. “i’m officially retired. where else would i want to be, if not with you?”

“you’re so romantic today.” there’s a choked quality to your voice.

oh, nanami thinks. it’s really been too long. “i’m romantic all the time for you.”

“i missed you.” apropos of nothing, the words tear from your chest, like you can’t hold them back anymore. your face crumples. heat pricks behind nanami’s eyes as you bury your face against his chest, frame trembling with the effort of holding back your tears. “i missed you so much.”

comfort has never been nanami’s forte, but with you, it’s as easy as breathing to hug you closer, to make soft, soothing sounds, to rub gentle circles over your back.

“i missed you, too,” he says, a confession. the world swims in his vision. he blinks rapidly. “more than you could ever know.”

he rocks you back and forth, back and forth, holding you as you shake apart in his arms. there’s no pressure to perform, no shareholders to impress, no curses to exorcise. only you, and your love, and your touch.

and he gets to have this forever.

nanami’s not sure how long you stay there, only that his skin still hungers for yours when you press a teary kiss to his cheek and maneuver out of his hold. you sniffle, wipe your eyes, and offer him a familiar apron with a watery smile. “here. you still remember how to cook, right, mr. salaryman sorcerer?”

“what are we making?” nanami takes the proffered apron. i’m the cook, it reads. he glances down at your apron, already knowing what it says. kiss the cook. the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“hainan chicken rice,” you say. “when in malaysia…”

“of course,” he says. “pass me the knife.”

it’s been a while since he’s handled a sharp blade. the handle sits in the palm of his hand— rough, worn smooth by years of use. a tool of the home. he finds that he likes the weight of it.

the rhythm of cooking is an intimate waltz. one, two, three. he crushes the garlic under the flat of his knife, then minces it. bits of garlic cling to his fingers, and he picks it off, shapes it into a pile. the papery peel is swept aside, to be returned to the earth.

the edge of his blade is used to peel ginger. short, quick strokes— not a motion wasted. when he’s done, the ginger’s aroma tickles his nose, as sharp as his knife. he slices it thinly and places it next to the garlic.

you heat oil in a pan as he works, humming a low melody. he hasn’t heard it in years, but it’s as warm and familiar as the bed you share. when the oil starts to sizzle, you add in his minced garlic, his sliced ginger. the scent spreads through the room, savory and safe.

you produce rice from a small rice cooker. it’s not ideal to use freshly cooked rice in fried rice dishes, but nanami has every confidence you’ll manage. while you stir in the chicken fat and bullion, he looks around for something else to set his blade to.

cucumbers, fresh from your garden outside. nanami taps one gently, a faint smile pulling at the edges of his lips at the hollow, satisfying thock. it’s quick work to peel them, revealing pale green flesh. it’s even quicker work to slice them. he loses himself in the task, in the comfort of your presence, and lets his muscle memory take over.

“are you using your technique on those poor cucumbers?” there’s a smile in your voice. nanami glances down at the cucumbers, and sure enough, they’re sliced in uneven fractions of 7/10.

the motions of violence are not so easily forgotten, but true peace lasts only in the memory of war. nanami gives you a small smile, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and resumes cutting his cucumbers— evenly, this time. even the sharpest of blades can be repurposed.

dinner is a quiet affair. two plates, two cups of tea, two settings at the table. conversation flows as easily as wine. your foot nudges against his calf— once, twice. he nudges back, delighting in the radiant smile that you can’t seem to hold back.

both of your plates sit empty upon the table. the last dregs of tea cool in your cups. cleaning up is quick, made quicker by long-established routine: he washes, you dry. on the last of the dishes, he leans into you— a silent request. you lean back— acquiescence.

he will never tire of touching you. instinct is a trembling little creature in his heart, and you are the soft hands that soothe him, letting him pull you flush against his chest. minutes drip into hours, and the sun begins its slow descent as he cradles you in his arms. somehow, you migrate to bed, and then everything is warmth and love and perfection.

these quiet delights, this tender intimacy— nanami revels in it, revels in this little life, this future you share.

“the sun is setting,” you murmur, a tender look in your eyes. you’re a vision painted in gold light, an angel in soft sheets. he could soak in you forever. “it’s almost time to go home.”

“is home as good as this?” he takes your hand, presses a kiss to the back of it.

“it’s better.” you slip out of bed, and he follows you outside. a gentle breeze ruffles his hair, brings him the scent of salt and the sea. the sun dips lower on the horizon, and yet, the light only brightens. it’s not harsh, but a gentle, beckoning warmth.

“are you ready, kento?”

“you’ll be with me?” it wouldn’t be a home without you.

“i will. i promise.” you take his hand, lean in, press a kiss to his cheek. tension drains from his shoulders like the low tide. a home with you is more than he could have ever dreamed of. “let’s go home.”

together, you walk into the light. neither of you look back.

tags: @angelshub @enchantedforest-network

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

It took Callum a minute to pinpoint what woke him. The ache in his chest, while acute, was no stronger than it had been when he’d slipped into sleep. The wind rustled the trees outside, but in a way that was gentle and static. A way that made the sharp, shuddering sounds coming from beside him all the more obvious in comparison.

“Rayla? Are you crying?”

He fully expected to push him away, to deny it. 

“Yeah,” she said instead. 

He sat up, and she did too, allowing him to wrap his arms around her from behind and hold her while the sobs wracked her body until her breathing evened and she leaned limply against him.

There was no point in asking why she was crying. But in Callum’s long experience with grief, he’d come to realize that waves were often brought on by different triggers, came to surface in different ways. It wasn’t always a bludgeon that knocked you flat with the overwhelming reality of absence. Too often, it was a million knives, each uniquely sharpened by a different memory or missed experience, all of them ready to cut you in a different way than the last. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“My mom’s moonberry surprise. You can get it at any café in the Silvergrove, and Ethari always made it for my birthday, but no one made it quite like her.” A wet, mirthless laugh tore from her throat. “Isn’t that stupid? She and my dad are gone forever, and I’m thinking about food. I mean— I had years to get over all this after they were banished. I’ve been getting along without them all this time. I don’t know why it’s all hitting me all over again.”

Callum bit his lip, trying to call on the part of him that had been born from a poet, trying to call on the words that would make her feel not only understood but heard. 

“My first memory of my dad is also my last one,” he said softly.

Rayla stiffened in his arms, turning around to look at him.

“It’s actually my first memory ever. Mom told me Dad was holding me, and she was holding him, so we were all together in a knot. It’s really hazy, but I can feel… arms around me, this sense of warmth. This wet breathing— my dad, probably, or maybe my mom crying. And then… stillness.” Callum sighed. “My only memory of my dad was of him dying. I shouldn’t miss him, right? I’ve lived my whole life without him, practically, and I had Harrow to fill in the gaps he left. But there are… times when I want to be held, but no one does it quite right. Foods that my mom says I’ve loved all my life, things he made, that just don’t taste as good as they should. Conversations I have with him when I can’t sleep, even though I have no idea how he’d reply.”

He paused, waiting for Rayla to step on the bridge he’d built between them, to offer her own feelings on the difference between her birth parents and her adoptive ones, the ways grief had crept into her own life. Instead, her response came from an entirely different quarter. 

“Your very first memory,” she rasped, “is of being left.” She closed her eyes tightly. “I told myself I was being so noble, so sacrificing, and I left you. Just like our parents did to us.”

Callum cupped her face and gently brought it to his, pressing a quick, soft kiss against her lips. “No, you didn’t,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re right here.”

Feeling her brow wrinkle in confusion, he pulled back and took her hand, tugging her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

They slipped out of the Nexus’s guest bedroom and into the garden, wrapping their arms around each other as a defense against the chill in the wind. Rayla followed him silently down a stone stairwell, coming to a stop with him when they reached the metal bench at its base. 

“Do you remember this place?” Callum asked.

She nodded. “It’s where we really talked for the first time about what happened to the king.”

“That’s right.” Callum drew her down to sit on the bench, facing him, in the exact position they’d been in two years before. “That day… it was the worst day I’ve ever had, aside from when I found out about my mom. Even worse than the day I read your letter. Because being left by someone is awful, but there’s nothing worse than knowing for certain they’re never coming back. Of course you’re grieving your parents, Rayla. It’s a different kind of loss.

“I was so angry with you when you first came back, because as the years had gone by, I’d begun to believe you were the second kind of gone, and it was almost too much to bear. I thought, if I pushed you away, I wouldn’t have to deal with that kind of pain again. But the day I got the news about Harrow, when I felt like the emptiness inside me was going to eat me alive, do you know the only thing that made me feel better? It was your arms around me. It was knowing that no matter how much pain I was in, I would still have a champion to fall back on, someone brave and kind and devoted who would always be there to help me carry the weight if it got to be too much.” He leaned forwards and kissed her forehead. “And I was right.”

Rayla had started to cry again, and he gently wiped the tears away. “You were always intending to come back, and you did. I never should have pushed you away, and I’m so glad you never let me. I’m so glad you’re still here. And Rayla, I’m going to be here too. Dealing with this, knowing your parents are really gone for good, it’s not going to be easy. It’s always going to hurt. But I’m going to do everything I can to help you bear it, and I’m going to build a life with you around it. As long as we’re together, we’ll find a way through.”

“And we will be together.”

Rayla’s tears had dried, and her voice was fierce. She took his hand tightly in both of hers and pressed a firm kiss against it. 

“No more losses,” she vowed. 

“Been there, done that,” he agreed, and she actually managed a tiny smile.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “I don’t know what comes next. But no matter what it is, I’m going to be right by your side. I promise.”

The corners of Callum’s lips turned up too. “It’s a deal.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and he held her tightly, catching her as she’d caught him, as he knew with a glowing certainty they would do for each other as long as they were able. And they stayed there, fortified against the cold, against the ache of lost souls and the terror of distant smoke, until the first rays of a sunrise blanketed them with their warmth.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.9k words]

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. "Evenin'." "Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?" His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you. "Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

An incident occurs when Sebastian Sallow is having a drink.

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, grief, swearing, non-explicit sexual assault (this is not committed between Sebastian and the bar girl; I've marked the beginning and end of the passage with /////, if you wish to skip. Please take care!)

2: universal constants

The freckled stranger, Sebastian Sallow, breaks his four-month streak the day after you learn the truth.

"Has he come in yet?" you ask Bonny, one of the newer serving girls with a big heart – and even bigger bosom. It makes her popular with the older men, though she lavishes the attention. "Is he sitting in the garden?"

"Ain't seen a wink of him, miss," she says blithely. "Trust me, I won't be missing that muscled chest of his anytime soon, woooooo wee."

"Control yourself, Bonny."

"Don't know how you do. If it was me he was ogling I'd be all over him like Jesus on a Christmas turkey after his fortieth day in the desert."

You furrow your brow. "What? Ogling?"

She lets out a squalling giggle. "You ain't noticed the way he looks at you? I tell you what! You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know."

You flush deeply, and when she heads away to wipe a table, you glance down at yourself. You don't have a lot to boast about, frankly – you don't have enough money for fine clothes and your hair is raggedy on a good day, often thrown into a haphazard bun. What Sebastian Sallow has to look at, you'll never know.

Not that it matters. You wouldn't care – don't care – either way. You're glad Sebastian is getting help for his drinking problem and not squandering his time, money and potential. Still you glance to the barstool, his barstool, and recognise a pang of sadness at his absence. He's good company when he tries. You don't miss his attitude and poor life choices, but you do miss those kernels of goodness, like when he tries to make you laugh, or when he's happily entertaining conversation to pass the night.

He just needs to embrace them.

Don't give him too much credit. So he had one day of realisation? Ultimately it means nothing without the work. And it's not too late for today – he might come in later.

You sweep yourself down, retie your hair, and use the brass tap as a mirror to thumb away the dirt on your cheeks. For prosperity.

He doesn't come.

The next day, the door opens at precisely eight o'clock. Your head swings up from cleaning a nearby table. The man who strolls inside isn't Sebastian, however, but someone else – a new stranger. His fine garb, lacquered cane and pristine gold band on his ring finger are so at odds to the humble surroundings that you think he must've got lost on his way to the bank, the courthouse, or hell, bloody Buckingham Palace itself.

"Welcome to Ye Olde Hen House," you call. "Want a drink?"

His head cants, and then he's weaving between tables and chairs and Squiffy Joe. The stranger is tall and commands presence, but not in the way Sebastian does – this man is slender and lean, with coiffed dark blonde hair and a scattering of moles on his face. It's his eyes that draw you in the most, though, like waxy opals. They never quite focus on you.

"Good evening. I'm looking to thank you, actually. My name is Ominis Gaunt."

That rings a bell. Sebastian mentioned him once. Best friend, he called him, along with some other chap named Garreth.

"Oh yeah, one of Sebastian's?"

His lips press into a line. "I'd rather not be referred to as one of Sebastian's, but yes, we are reluctantly acquainted."

"What's this about thanks, then? Haven't seen him in a coupla' days."

"Precisely." His smile is genuine, but practiced. "He's trying to turn over a new leaf with his drinking habits, and I'm lead to believe you were the catalyst."

You snort. "I told him to sod off, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, I do like you. Yes, I'm afraid his sister's death hit him hard, and despite encouragement, I've never been able to help him overcome the grief. But you... you did. Without trying, no less."

You shrug. "Just told him to pull himself together or take his shit elsewhere."

"And I believe those words, coming from a near stranger, were exactly what he needed to hear, so I am grateful."

It's good to hear that you helped pull him from the pits – though that pang rolls through you again. You try squash it, but it resolutely shrinks until it's in a corner of your heart you can't reach.

"Sure you can't be grateful by putting money in my till?" you say to distract yourself.

Ominis lets out an amused sniff. "Very well, you've earnt it. A pot of breakfast tea will do."

"... Breakfast tea."

"Yes."

"In a pub."

"Yes."

"At eight o'clock at night."

"Do you always question your patrons' beverage of choice?"

"Only the bizarre ones. Sit at the bar, tea coming up."

You pour it for him. He uses his fingers to discern the coin value of his payment, and when he puts his cane aside, feels for the teacup's handle too.

"Thank you." He takes a sip, and the steam glistens on his skin. "Very nice."

"Just a Twinings blend."

He purses his lips, but does not comment – a move so unlike Sebastian you struggle to see how they're friends at all. Sebastian is beer, muscle and opinions; Ominis Gaunt is tea with his pinkie out, slender hands that have never seen labour, and quaint contemplation in near-silence. His accent is clipped and precise, each syllable like a dagger strike.

"You've been friends a long time?" you ask, too curious about this undrawn curtain of Sebastian's life.

"He works with me in law enforcement," Ominis says. "We're detectives."

Your eyes go wide. Sebastian is a bloody policeman?

"I take it by your silence that you're surprised."

It would explain why he's so... distractingly muscular. "A drunk officer?"

"He's been on extended leave since Anne was— since her passing."

"I see." Extended leave this long? Is that where your taxes are going? To keep Sebastian watered? "I'm glad he's got work, but can't see him enforcing the law for toffee. If anything it seems like he'd break it."

Ominis smiles with dark amusement. "I can understand the sentiment, but he is excellent at his job, though I'll never admit it to his face."

"Been doing it a long time?"

"Since I finished school. Sebastian is a more recent acquisition and works under me. I helped him secure the job."

"Really? What was he doing before?"

"Now that," he says, bringing the cup to his lip, "is something you'll have to ask him yourself."

You leave Ominis to his tea, though steal the occasional glance to check up on him. He doesn't need it, never speaks, never acknowledges anything around him. Halfway through his pot Bonny asks whether he's lost his way to Mayfair and needs a carriage called, but Ominis politely, amusedly, declines, and thanks her for her kindness.

"Another?" you ask, when all that's left of his teabag is mushy dregs.

He stands to replace his coat and tugs his hands into leather gloves. "Thank you, but I must be going. If you would," he says, before you wish him farewell, "I'd like to ask for a favour."

Suspicion erodes your curiosity. "With?"

"Sebastian is haunted by many demons." His voice is monotone, but ironically it's those unusual eyes that give him away, tightening ever so slightly. "I have no doubt he's trying to give up his addiction—"

"Stop there, Mr Gaunt," you say quickly. "I ain't no doctor. I run a pub. I sell drink. I can't get Sebastian to quit."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I only ask that you monitor his habits in my stead." He takes something out of his pocket and slides it across the counter. "His welfare is important to me, and I would like to be kept informed if he ever... relapses."

It's not a business card, but a scrawl of a landline number on... parchment?

"Please telephone if there are any issues."

Ominis couldn't be any more different from Sebastian, looks, mannerisms, attitude, yet this one request speaks of how much he cares. You smile, endeared at their brotherly relationship, and idly wish there was someone in your life that would care about you as much.

You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know.

Shooing the thought away, you stuff the note down your apron. If Sebastian collapses on your turf, at least the responsibility is on Ominis' shoulders. You can be a messenger. It seems a fair deal.

"I'll keep an eye out."

Ominis bows his head slightly. "I appreciate it, madam. Thank you for your time." He half-turns, then adds wryly, "I would say I hope to hear from you... but I sincerely hope I don't."

Sebastian Sallow appears three days later.

You're bone-tired, fighting the yawns that sprawl across your face. Owing to your parents, you went to sleep late – but his arrival wakes you like a slap. He looks different: fresh and clean, colour to his skin, and groomed, with a beard that no longer threatens to overrun his face. He catches your eye and heads straight for you, and you can't help but feel like he sees you, and nothing, no one, else.

"Miss me?" he says with that velvet tone as he takes his usual spot.

"Eh," you say, shrugging. "I only missed your money."

"And I only missed your beer. Stout back?"

"New shipment came this yesterday. Pint?"

But he raises one of his hands.

"No. Half-pint... please."

You make a face and switch to a smaller glass. Despite the reduced size it near-vanishes down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing frantically, and relief collapses his brow like he's broken the surface after too long underwater. His knuckles are white, clenched so hard, and two protruding blue veins converge at his wrist.

"Can I—" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "Another half-pint, please?"

You think about Ominis, and the note in your apron.

"How about a break first?"

After a beat, he nods.

"Beer garden's open." You tilt your head to the back door, where Bonny is slaloming through a rowdy group of patrons. "Might be nice to distract yourself with fresh air."

"Nah. Then I can't bother you."

"What makes you think you're bothering me?"

"Two things are universal constants, bar girl." He rolls his shoulder, and the muscles in his forearm strain. "How much I like to win is one of them."

"Uh huh. What's the other?"

"A man doesn't kiss and tell."

"Shame. Might actually be relevant to your so-called 'winning'."

"On the contrary, the more I bother you, the less you'll be able to stop thinking about me." He tilts his head. "And I'd take that as a very big win."

You snort and flick a wet cloth at him as you go to leave – but his breathy laughter echoes.

His schedule becomes erratic, unpredictable. One week you see him daily, nursing his beer and doing his utmost to bother you (his words)... then the next week he won't appear at all, space taken by another annoying, but less charming, alcoholic. You're loath to admit you miss him on those days.

"Heard Ominis paid you a visit?"

Today he's trying – with emphasis – to nurse his half-pint slowly. His fingers circle around the rim.

"Yeah." You snort, squeezing a cloth into a glass. "Oddball, sorry to say."

Sebastian barks a laugh. "Don't be sorry, it's true. Posh git."

"Is he blind?" Shit, that sounded rude. "Er, hard of... sight?"

"Yeah, but he can still see bullshit a mile away. Never fell for any of my pranks at school."

It did make you wonder how Ominis could be so competent in his field. A drunk detective, fine, plenty of those on the force, but a blind detective? That was unheard of.

"Maybe you're just bad at pranks," you tease.

"I'll have you know, in first year I got him stuck in a tree when he was fast asleep. No one found him until next morning after he yelled his voice hoarse. Don't give me that look. He dunked me into the lake next day."

The lake. What sort of school did he go to?

"He told me you're a detective."

"Sort of."

"You're his assistant."

"That's what he said? Prick."

You cross your arms. "So it's not true?"

"He's above me in rank, but I sure as hell wasn't his assistant." His eyes trace you up and down, warming your cheeks. "What else did he tell you?"

The note weighs heavy in your apron. Should you say something? Ominis made no request of keeping it secret, but you don't want Sebastian to feel undermined, or worse, babied. He may be a drunk but he's still an adult man and capable of making his own decisions, no matter how stupid.

You wet your lips and decide, against your better judgement, to share. "He asked to give him a bell if something ever happened to you."

You wait for a twitch of his expression, betraying indignation or hurt, but Sebastian merely shrugs.

"Typical bore. He's been trying to get me to quit since I started. Surprised he deigned to come here himself and didn't send Garreth instead."

"I think," you say, feigning shock, "he might care about you."

"Can't have that. You say he gave you his telephone number?"

You roll your eyes. "I said you were bad at pranks, didn't know you were unoriginal too."

"He can't retaliate if I'm not there."

"'Ello, Mr Sallow!"

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly.

"Evenin'."

"Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?"

His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you.

"Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

You blush. "I— you look— pale."

"Pale?" Bonny leans closer, then tuts. "Oh, your face is a bit peaky! You under the weather? Poor lamb. Get that drink down yous." She skips off with her next round. "You'll be right as rain in a jiffy!"

You clear your throat when she goes. "I'm sorry. She's new—"

"It's all right, she means well." He stares at his drink like he means to down it, but instead says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Looking out for me."

"I ain't done a thing, Sebastian."

His lips press to the rim of the glass, and it mists with his breath.

"Not yet."

/////

You're saved from answering by a high-pitched giggle. Bonny flutters a hand at a rowdy customer, a man in his fifties, belly so swollen with drink it flops out his shirt. He stands with his arms raised.

"Cor, you are a beaut, aren't you, Miss Bonny?"

She swipes the used glasses from his table. "You should drink more, ain't never been kinder!"

They laugh together. You shake your head, turn back to Sebastian. "Just don't fall asleep—"

The giggle turns into a shriek. Glass shatters. You spin back – Bonny has dropped the tray, shards glimmering all over the floor like granulated sugar. The patron raises his arms again, but this time she backs away, and this time there is fear in her eyes.

"N-No— don't touch—!"

"What're you on?" the patron bellows over her, all trace of comradery gone. "Clumsy girl, dropped your tray!"

You snatch a broom on the way over. "What's going on?"

But the man is angry now, pointing accusingly at her. "She dropped her tray! I tried to catch her! I did!"

You stand between them. "Happens all the time, no bother. Sit down, sir. Next drink on the house."

He backs down, satisfied.

You aren't.

Bonny's hands tremble when you turn to her, noting the way her face is drawn. It's like she sees the world in grey for the first time.

"You all right?"

"Y-Yes, Miss."

A piece of you breaks. "Sure?"

"R-Really, Miss, right as rain, I am." Her smile wobbles. "Just— I was silly, dropping them glasses—"

"Take a break." You don't touch her, but gesture to the stock room behind the bar. "Sit out back for a bit. I'll get Helene to stay with you, keep you company."

Tears fill her eyes. "A-Am I fired, Miss?"

"God above, no. Just... take deep breaths." You make sure you look her in the eye when you add, "It's not your fault."

But she moves sluggishly past you, eyes vacant.

"Isn't it?"

/////

Helene goes to her aid without complaint. You sweep the shards away and procure more drinks for the rowdy patrons, but your blood boils. You've been here eight years, you've seen the best of humanity... and you've seen the worst. Him, that pig – he's the product of a society that thinks their entitlement extends to taking what they want without ever accepting a no.

You bin the shards and almost collapse on the counter with exhaustion. Dealing with horrible customers is part of the job, but there's something especially vile about dealing with this sort.

The Pig laughs loudly with his friends – at the same time, only a wall away, Bonny is sobbing.

"I saw him."

You jolt at Sebastian's voice. God, you forgot he was there. His hands are shaking, but not from withdrawal – from anger.

"I saw him touch her." His voice is low and dark. "I should break his hand."

You wish he would. It would be but tiny retribution for what's owed, for how badly the Pig has irreparably altered Bonny's life. She's young, innocent – she doesn't deserve to fear the world because of it.

"It's our word against his," you murmur. "He won't face no justice."

Sebastian doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the man with hatred. Those kernals of goodness you know exist are now enveloped by black vines, poisoned by the desire for revenge, as dark and deeply-rooted as the stairs paved to hell.

"Don't do anything stupid," you warn.

"I wouldn't."

"You got that look in your eye."

"I always have this look in my eye."

Well, that's true at least. You lean towards him, voice crisp. "If you do anything in retaliation you will put Bonny in danger. And me too."

The loathing cracks. "You?"

"He's got a big group of friends! You think either of us will get off scot-free if their mate winds up in some alleyway with a black eye? Bonny won't talk, but they know I might – they'll know he got beat up because of me. You look like you can throw a punch, Sebastian, but you must not."

He hesitates. The black claw with its vice grip holds tighter. Then:

"I look like I can throw a punch?" He smirks, killing the moment. "Because I have muscled arms?"

Relief trickles through you. He understands. He's placated. He won't do anything – for Bonny... and for you.

"Don't get cocky about it," you sniff.

"You've been looking at my arms?"

They're hard to miss, especially with the sleeves rolled up, veins like cords, glistening with sweat and freckles and tattoos and good God you are blushing. It must be nice to be enveloped in those arms, in his protection. You turn away, clamping your jaw and feeling guilty about having such sordid thoughts after everything that's happened.

He takes the opportunity to flex them, and your traitorous eyes dip to them again, to the muscle contorting, straining against his skin.

"Don't do anything stupid," you snap again.

You put the conversation out of your head when you go into the back room.

When Sebastian comes that Saturday night, the pub heaving with customers, he brings a friend.

"This is Xander," he introduces, looking mightily pleased with himself. "Or should I say, Police Inspector Xander, Scotland Yard."

Panic bolts through you, and your gaze flickers to the stock room.

Xander ruffles, pretending to look put-out. "Off-duty, but yes. Hello, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Off-duty or not, Sebastian has no idea what he's done bringing him here, no idea what he's risking. Play it cool. You shoot daggers his way, but they might as well be made of foam.

"Nice to meet you," you say through your teeth. "You know each other through work?"

Xander chortles. "Actually, Mr Sallow—"

"Please, you know I said to call me Sebastian."

"Quite! Sebastian and I met entirely by chance at the local farmer's market a few days ago. Turns out we both have a love of southern French cheeses! Say, did you try the Roquefort I suggested? Scoffed mine with my wife, I did."

Instantly you can tell this is all balderdash, because there's no way Sebastian Sallow, the drunken, tattooed stranger with more skeletons in his closet than freckles on his face, has any interest in cheese.

"I did," he panders. "I had some with those sourdough crackers from Harvey Nichols. Delicious."

Xander blusters. "Why, and I the exact same! How bizarre! Almost like you read my mind!"

"I've also," he brings out a round package made of... leaves? "brought some Banon cheese to try."

"Banon! Another favourite of mine!" He waggles a finger at Sebastian. "You know I never believed in fate and destiny, but I dare say some higher power has intervened to bring you into my life. God perhaps, or magic!"

"Magic?" Sebastian laughs. "As if."

There's certainly something rotten in the air, and it's not the Roquefort on Xander's breath.

Sebastian pledges to buy everything after Xander makes his order and finds a table. When he sidles to the counter, armed with a handful of coins, your faux smile drops into barely-restrained outrage.

"What the hell are you playing at, Sallow? Because I swear to God—"

"Sallow now? You remind me of one of my school teachers."

"Don't joke! The police cannot be here."

"Why not? You hiding something?"

"They just can't," you say quickly. "I know you've brought him because of that incident – he won't be able to do anything."

"He's off-duty." Sebastian is a lazy cat on a balmy summer's day. "Just here for a drink with me."

"He may have fallen for your French cheese nonsense—"

"I like rocky fort, thank you."

"— but I know you've got something up your sleeve."

"Staring at my arms again? You've got to stop that, bar girl. It's very perverse."

You grind your teeth together as you make the drinks. Sebastian is infuriating— no, infuriation, the very thing itself, rather than its pompous vessel.

"This isn't about your male ego," you snarl, when you hand both glasses to him. "It's about keeping Bonny safe."

His face changes instantly. "Is she all right? Is she here today?"

"No. I'm paying her some time off."

And good thing too, because the Pig has come every day since. He's over on the same table, laughing with the same group of friends, slurping at the same drink.

"If you get her hurt—"

"I won't." It's stony, hard truth. "On my word."

"Your word doesn't mean much to me."

He grins.

"It will."

After locking the stock room, you keep a close eye. He's left his barstool free to sit with Xander at the corner table, the two exchanging animated conversation over slices of Banon and sourdough crackers. All the hairs raise on your neck. Sebastian drinks and drinks, but it's easy to tell he's taking his time, doesn't indulge as much as he usually does. He's not trying to forget.

He trying to stay alert.

Whilst you're serving the local darts club, Sebastian stands, a swift movement you catch in your periphery. He mumbles something to Xander and heads towards the bar – but not to you, to Edith, one of the other barkeeps. You might've been hurt if not for the troublesome glint in his eye.

With too many customers you can't stop to chat, though you scrutinise Edith to see what he wants: five measures of straight vodka. A man trying to give up drinking does not order that many small glasses of pure alcohol... especially not when he and Xander, and the Pig and his friends, make five.

But you're too slow to stop him when he swiftly takes the tray from Edith's hands.

"You're busy, I'll carry it."

Sebastian turns his back to you – it's only for a second, but it's a second too long. Your trust whittles, you leave the darts club with half their orders and storm after him, catching his arm inches away from the table.

Muscle. You shouldn't notice, you're angry with him and he's about to do something reckless for God's sake, but his forearm is so hard and sturdy that a wild thrill runs up your spine. Imagine if he pulled you close, wrapped those sturdy arms around you, carding his fingers through your hair—

"Any excuse to touch my arms, bar girl."

You snatch away, blushing, irate. "Whatever you're about to do—"

"It's all in hand. On my word, remember?"

You trust Sebastian Sallow about as far as you can throw him.

... Yet you find yourself stepping away.

The Pig and his friends falter at first, but Sebastian is ignorant and cheery, almost like he's honoured to hand out the drinks.

"On me tonight, gentlemen," he announces. "Life is great, I got a promotion at work and I've finally scrounged up enough to finally propose to the bonny lass I've been seeing in secret. Achilles, you too, my friend!"

You end up hugging the wall close by as Xander and the men cheers to him. The Pig's friends are too drunk to notice Sebastian is a regular, too drunk to notice he was there last week. The Pig snorts as he raises his glass.

"Might do you better to leave it, boy. Women – ain't nothing good from them."

With a sinister smile, Sebastian downs his glass, and claps Xander on the back when he does the same.

"Well, gentlemen," Sebastian bows his head with a flourish, "my friend and I will leave you be. Do have a pleasant night!"

"I never have a pleasant night." The Pig hiccoughs. "Every time I go home, I wank myself off and cry because I can't get any woman to love me."

You go utterly still.

One of the Pig's friends chimes in with, "Me too."

"I use a sock," says the other.

"I just want a good fuck," the Pig mutters, though he turns red, like he's fully aware of what he's saying. "And not one I had to buy off the street. Bobbies are cracking down on my favourite spots, the bloody meaters."

Your gaze slides to Xander, whose face has turned iridescent with anger. You think the Pig and his friends will stop now – surely they can't embarrass himself anymore, surely they won't. But the truth spills out of them; they loudly confess their darkest, most humiliating secrets, crimes you never want to hear repeated, desires that make your stomach turn. The Pig declares to assaulting Bonny like it's nothing.

"And even she turned me down!" He sweats but doesn't stop. "The fucking audacity, after she flirted with me for so long!"

Xander marches forwards, brows cutting into his eyes, and produces his ID from his jacket pocket. "Police Inspector Achilles Xander of Scotland Yard. I think I've heard enough. All three of you will follow me to the station."

"What?" the Pig roars. "But I— we've done everything wrong!"

"I understand that perfectly well, sir!"

The Pig goes redder. "N-No, I— I buy prostitutes almost three times a week and avoid my taxes— fuck—"

"Really, sir! This is extremely inappropriate!" When the Pig flails, saying nothing, Xander harrumphs. "You'll all follow me outside as I call for backup! Sebastian, I apologise, we shall have to catch up another time."

The Pig and his friends hang their heads as they're escorted out the pub. Sebastian is more than contrite about cutting short the chat with his cheese companion – all an act – and when the door clatters shut, he reclaims his normal stool and finishes his beer in three long, languid gulps. His tongue flickers out, catching the froth at the corner of his mouth; it reminds you of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

"What— how—" You swallow thickly, trying to keep your voice down. "How'd you get him to talk?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

His smile is like an omen.

"Remember when I said I wasn't going to heaven? I meant it." He's quiet now, but exuding aggression in the way a lion's presence alone can subdue its pride. "Hell won't just welcome me with open arms — it will roll out the red fucking carpet."

But then his gaze softens, and you can almost believe all that anger, that power, those black vines steeped in vengeance... are a lie.

"You were right. Much as I wanted to drag him into an alleyway and beat him until his own mother wouldn't recognise his face, sometimes you have to work smarter, not harder. And I will never take kindly to sick bastards abusing innocent people." He takes a deep breath. "It's not much, but I hope Bonny finds some peace of mind now."

You're nearly speechless. "You did all that for Bonny?"

He seems to ponder the question.

"And someone else."

When he meets your eye, you're paralysed.

"If one universal constant is how much I like to win, then the other is how hard I'll fight for the people I care about." He says it gently, with a half-smile that makes your stomach flip. "I'll let you guess which one I live by more."

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT]

thank you to my tag list: @okay-j-hannah @morelikeravenbore @vylaris. please let me know if you'd like to join/ be removed ❤️

[Divider credits]

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Codex Entry: A letter stained with tears, carefully preserved

Alternate title: To Emmrich, in Case of Death

-------

Vhenan-

This is a horribly depressing letter to have to think about.

Right now you're in your room, we've just fought, and the only thing I can think of is how broken it would feel if I died after this.

If we never get the chance to reconcile.

So right here, right now-

I love you. Ar lath ma, ma vhenan.

I'd write it down in all the languages I know, all those words I learned to speak to every kind of dead that graces the Necropolis’s halls, but it would take far too much room.

Fourteen years ago, I was a newly minted Watcher, crying in the memorial gardens over the anniversary of the Fifth Blight, when so many of my people died in the alienage.

And you were the kind person who sat down beside me, held my hand, and didn't tell me everything would be alright.

Instead, you confessed your fear of death. A well-respected professor who I'd never met, admitting weakness.

Reminding me that I wasn't alone in my grief, in my terror. That anyone could be afraid and still live despite it.

Of course, the crush I formed on you then was entirely inappropriate - you're my senior by a wealth of years. Don't scoff, my love, you'll add more wrinkles to your face, and I won't be there to kiss them.

Entirely cruel of you.

However, years went by, my attachment remained, and after everything, it was Bellara who brought you back to my side. She is the brightest and best of us, as I'm sure you know.

Make sure to remind her every day.

Our journey together has made that silly little crush bloom into a roaring love, burning so brightly and intensely that I cannot help but feel it consume my breath every time you look my way.

I know you were terrified, you know. “Reviewing your assets” dearest Vhenan of mine, I know you've already triple-checked to make sure everything is in place when you go, and that Myrna and Vorgoth already have a copy.

I may be a meathead, but I'm not quite that oblivious.

It's heartbreaking, this knowledge that you might outlive me. I am always in the front lines. I am a warrior, and at the end of the day, I'm who must go down first before you.

But I would do it gladly, and please do not hate me for it. It is an honor.

In my absence, please have Davrin lead. I know he'll be good at it. He's a phenomenal Warden, and his head is more firmly attached to his shoulders than mine ever was. Guide him, please. I trust your wisdom.

Tell Manfred I love him every day, long past when he learns to say the words himself. I'm so proud of him.

I'm so proud of you.

And - should my remains be recovered, or whatever is left of me, bury me next to my sister. I spent years picking that plot as per her request, might as well enjoy it with her.

I love you, Emmrich Volkarin. With every breath, with every beat of my heart, with every contraction of my lungs. You've rooted yourself firmly into my flesh, and I would be loath to continue breathing without you.

Cast our argument aside. I do not hate you for it.

Eternally yours, our spirits walking hand in hand,

Ghil'danan Ingellvar.

P.S. -

Hezenkoss hates Scotch Broom. It made her break out in hives. Please place some near her skull when she's being a shit, just for me.

[prettyboykatsuki]

ari i came sprinting over when i saw u mention dad zhongli pls spare some thoughts <3

the girl at the altar (the man she prays to) | zhongli (morax)

✭ tags ; extremely dark content ahead, father/daughter blood incest, dead dove: do not eat, noncon -> dubcon, mild injury / blood (zhonglis claws cut readers thigh), the word r*pe is used in the text, also he tucks some hair behind readers ear but no mention of actual hair-type, manipulation, grief / loneliness, regret and mourning, oral (f!recieving), reader is so poor little meow-meow, 18+

✭ wc ; 3.4k (an astonishing number)

✭ a/n ; idk if i got my point across in this one </3 but i tried so i hope someone likes it at least fdjsdk. also sorry if zhongli is ooc he is techincally in his godhood here

also this is like. genshin adjacent. it's not canon but it takes after canon.

✭ synopsis ; you are indifferent to your father. he thinks you have the most beautiful eyes, even when they gaze at him impassively.

You've never met your father.

Haven't. The word would be hadn't, now. You hadn't met your father until you turned 18. And since he's calling you to his chambers, now, you figure that never isn't the right word anymore.

You hadn't met your father until you turned 18. And that's what you would expect from an Archon. They're fickle like that

That's what you've always believed. Perhaps you lack piety.

You're not his only heir. Not his only girl. You're his 7th daughter, but you're the only girl left alive. You live in the Western Hall and do all your own chores. Your mother died when you were 9. And you had never met your father.

All your food was brought to you by an old soldier you lovingly called papa.

Papa was the man you latched onto when you were young. He was mortal and kind - so much older than you. He died before you turned 18, and the only time you have so much as called for your father was asking for money to give him a burial.

Your papa was a mortal man. He had a bald head and all sorts of wrinkles and scars from fighting. His wife died in childbirth. And you loved him terribly, enough to expose yourself as living to a god who seems to have forgotten about you your whole life. He was a public official, but he brought you food and blankets during winter. Brought you sandals when you outgrew your old ones.

Neglect is not the worst fate of a daughter. There is always death so violent metal lingers in your mouth for weeks. There is always assault, always rape. Always worse fates for a daughter than neglect. And even though Papa couldn't raise you, he loved you enough to look after you when he could.

So, after he passed - for the first time in your 18 years of life, you requested the audience of your father.

He was unreadable. Divine. You didn't feel anger nor sadness in your heart. There had been an absence of anguish. To you, at that time, he was just a man and he just happened to sleep with your mother.

Looking back, you wish you would've cried. Would've wept blearily into the sleeves of silks, just so he would look at you with disinterest instead of intrigue.

Men are the same in that way. Perhaps it is ingrained in the God of Contracts to conqueror.

Your father had an aspect of impossibility to him. Something about him felt hungry. Often bitter, but never so much so to be displeasing.

Cold, despite the warm color of amber in his eyes.

("You've requested me for the first time," He says, pouring something into a long pipe "After living like a mouse for nearly 18 years. I'm curious. What brings you here?"

An undeniable intensity fills the room, but you do not waver. You lift your head and open your mouth.

"I want enough money to bury someone,"

He raises his brows.

"Who?"

Your expression changes. You can't contain yourself in this matter. You weep this time, wiping your eyes delicately.

"...My papa,")

After that came the rennovations.

Suddenly, the West Hall was full of life. There were maids and cooks and clothes. And the garden was green, and the fish pond was clean enough to be clear.

At that point, he did not visit. He sent one of his men, a Yaksha named Xiao, to look after you. Small but strong, and fierce but kind.

The whole palace buzzed with the noise of your name for weeks. You had visitors and guests - and suddenly found yourself brushing off etiquette you learned over 10 years ago. When the initial attention died down - there were gifts. Jewels. Silks. Tailors.

Of your siblings, only one of your brothers visited. The one who had visited you all the time even before catching your fathers eye. He merely bid you warning.

Do not be fooled. Do not be swayed.

So you weren't. You tried not to be. Your father was however persistent. The lack of correspondence brought him to you - and in spending time with you, it became so hard to ignore his leering eyes.

He looked at you like many men had before. But there was more to it than just desire, something to great for your comprehension

He didn't know how to act fatherly. Having a daughter is nothing like having a son after all. He could not spar with you, nor could he anger you to challenge.

("What an impassive face you make upon seeing me." He muses, tucking hair behind your ear. You don't feel disgust. You aren't sure what that is, lingering inside you.

"What face should I make?"

"Desperation. Longing for my affection. Sadness, or resentment."

You look at him honestly, a disinterest in your gaze that makes amusement swim in his eyes. He isn't cold, nor is he kind. He isn't disciplinary nor is he unreasonable.

Maybe it has something to do with being an Archon. Why your mortal heart cannot figure out the intricacies of his feelings. Though stories of war and bloodshed ring so loudly in your ear, you don't believe he will hurt you. He isn't that sort of man.

He is not mad, nor belligerent. You glance at him.

"To me, you are an Archon and nothing more."

He reaches for you, fingers outstretched as he runs his knuckle against your temple, thumb brushing your ear and pulling on your lobe. Only stopping to admire the jewels that he's given you. He hums.

"It's that part of you," He says, reaching for your hand - bringing your wrists to his mouth and placing a kiss on the vain "I find so endearing, my child." )

Your father wants to feel like your father. He wants you to long for him like a daughter does. You think that part of him is rather transparent.

His names became more affectionate. My child to my darling girl. Instead of you, it is your name - carefully wrapped up in linen. Instead of passive disinterest, it is amusement. It is flower, or dear, or princess with a lilt of affection.

Your father wants you to regard him as an Archon. As a man. This part of him is rather transparent. Because you know many men and how they look at you. You know he looks at you in such a ravenous way. But those eyes, and the ones that seem to regard you with fatherly fondness, are not so different.

You don't think he is a belligerent. A war-hero? Certainly. Able to spill blood and be forceful? Of course. Yet what you fear is not his tyranny.

He is ruthless. Ruthless in every pursuit. Ruthless in longing for you. Of all the things that make your stomach churn with unease, there is nothing quite like the look in your fathers eyes. Something so predatory and possessive that it crawls into your skin.

(The first time a letter came, from a son of a government official, to ask your hand in marriage - you only heard of it days after.

Not from him, but from the Yaksha who watches over you. He burned the thing in the fireplace and did not so much as blink. No one will have you but him. The message was already so clear, then)

Your father has summoned you, now to his chamber. The man you hadn't met until you turned 18, in the dead of night.

You do not run away, even when some part of you deep down screams. Your father is your father. Your blood. An archon. A vessel. Your father desires his daughter. You think there is no such thing so true.

That means both too much and too little to you. It means too much and too little to him, too.

You are cut from the same cloth.

The doors slide open for you once you've arrived at his chambers. He's sat directly on the floor, a robe with gold thread over his shoulders. There's a bandage over his stomach, over the side and under his arm and a look you can't decipher on his face.

He sounds more lax than you usual. And it leaves you with a sense of foreboding. You bow your head and offer the usual formalities. He chuckle's and lowers his voice.

"Come, child."

You furrow your brow, but you listen as you walk to him.

"Sit."

So you do. Too unsure to be anything other than obedient. You sit on your knees and your father stares at you. He leans forward and takes a deep breath, nose bumping against your shoulder. Heat rolls off of him in waves and he's never felt so much like a man to you. Your heartbeat quickens.

"You smell of flowers. Qingxin."

"The servants put them in the bath tonight."

"It suits you.'

You frown as he pulls away so slightly.

"Why have you called for me?"

"I wished to spend time with my only daughter," He says, not so much as stuttering in his words "Is that so wrong?"

Your frown deepens.

"What do you see in me that makes you so insistent?" You say, unsure if you are strong enough to keep the tremble out of your voice. It occurs to you now, and only now - how all these months have felt.

After papa died, it has been so much lonelier than ever. An aching left inside of you that you never tended too. You wonder if your father knew of it. If that's the reason he showered you in so much attention. A ruthless man like that, who wishes to have you.

You're sure that's something he's capable of. It makes you feel sick

Alone in this room with him, you can feel it more than ever. You are his daughter, so you are his.

And perhaps - a lifetimes worth of burden has befallen you all at once. Perhaps reality has settled on you now as the line gets more blurred. Your indifference towards him cannot outweigh your grief.

But from him especially. In a lapse of judgement, you ask "Why me?"

And your Father responds with laugh. With a troublesome self-assurance.

"You're unlike girls your age. Resilient. Not delicate at all. You grew up to be a fine young woman without any interference from me. The first I'd ever seen you make so much as an expression, it was over your beloved Papa," He says, thinking it over. He places a hand on your neck - thumb against your throat like he's searching for your pulse "So I'm curious, yet angered. What man has taken your affection from me? What can I do to receive it again."

His anger is so residual it sticks to your limbs. If your papa hadn't died before, he would've been dead by now. Uncertainty feels like swallowing a sword.

"Why didn't you tell me someone asked for my hand?"

"A young, royal girl like you cannot just marry any suitor. He wasn't worthy of your time."

The words leave your mouth before you are able to swallow them "And you are?"

This time he smiles at you. And he closes in and you feel disgust and anxiety - but that's not it. Not all. Because there is some vague anticipation for affection. It's all so wrong. A life time of such misfortune. You do not think he's a man with good will, but your mind seems to wander often. About the affection he's shown you when you were so swallowed in darkness. It makes it frightening. Makes your desire indistinguishable from your resentment.

He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand. You can feel how strong he is and your breath hitches. Your eyes grow watery, and you find yourself crying.

"What a pleasant face you make when you cry, my dear," He says, so softly it aches as his thumb rubs underneath your eyes "You grew to be so beautiful."

"I am your daughter, am I not?"

"Of course you are," He replies easily, eyes lidded and low "That is precisely why you are mine."

You swallow a sob into the back of your throat as he moves towards you. Just a little closer, a little more. His hair is untied, and it flows down his back in rolling waves. You look so much like your mother. There's nothing of him in you, not really.

Except that you are his, somehow. Even you know that.

"Look at how you weep," He says, tenderly. A hint of condescension "Do you wish for my pragmatism or my adoration? Don't be fickle."

"Why have you called me here?"

"I missed you," He says simply, pressing a kiss to your cheek so gently it almost feels like you're nothing more than this "I thought to call on you. That's all. Should I comfort you?"

You know what's coming when he asks you this. Your whole body does, a flood of heat in your skin as the Archon of Liyue leans in to press his lips to yours. He kisses like a married man, you think. His lips taste faintly of alcohol. There is a steadiness to all of it, an assuredness to his actions prevents you from wavering. He is your father and he is kissing you like a married man. But you are no mistress. You are just his, and his alone.

And every feeling and emotion twisted up so terribly inside you is burst. You push him but the gestures is weak. A longing for his comfort, and a hatred for his absence. The difference between this two things is minimal and unclear.

Your hands eventually fall to your sides and when you no longer protest - he pulls away from you with a smile. You think he's enjoying himself, nose nudged against your temple as he presses a kiss to you.

"Come."

He pulls you into his lap and your silks slip off your body. He undoes the belt arond your middle and everything comes loose. The sheer of your undergarments leaves you exposed more than you've ever been, bare shoulders in soft light overhead. You turn away from him but you cannot go far. His arm is underneath you in a second. He parts your legs where you have them, feet flat on the floor underneath you.

You are so bare. You've never let anyone see you like this, not even the boys who you used to sneak around and kiss when you were younger. Only your Father, the Archon above his people, has ever laid his eyes upon your bare skin.

You rest in the crook of his elbow, tuck against his chest. You can feel the strength of his leg behind you as you lay into him - face close to his chin and neck. Like a baby being rocked.

He's careful as he pulls the material off further. Your nipples are hard from the exposed air, and visible. He uses a free hand to squeeze the fat of your breasts in his palms.

The gesture leaves you gasping in shame, to which he only laughs.

"Boys must be falling at your feet."

"Aah, hn - there's n-no boys like that."

He twists your nipple lightly between his fingers, a faint scratch from his claws that makes you hiss.

"A father should be there for his daughters firsts, then."

He ducks his head to take them into his mouth and the stimulation is too much. A shame washes over you, melancholy that makes your heart feel like it's at risk of ripping. It feels good. And he is delicate, so kind that you hate it. It doesn't feel as if he is forcing you.

At least it is lacking in violence. Lacking in the sort of bloodshed a man like him knows well. It is tender.

It is an act of love. In some sick, twisted, vile way. It feels like an act of love and you have been so deprived of such a thing. You cannot outrun your grief. Your need is not absent from you.

So when he licks at you so gently, you let yourself be comforted by the gesture. He puts a free hand on your stomach as he does so, reaching lower and lower until his fingers are at the seam of your panties.

"If a boy tries to take you to bed, he should do this much," He tells you, middle fingers pressing into the slick soaked silk against your cunt. He touches your clit carefully "Women are delicate. They break easily if you don't prepare them thorough."

He shifts then. Moves away from you and grabs a pillow - handing it to you. You blink at him blearily.

"Lay and make yourself comfortable. I will hurt you otherwise."

You listen and your father follows suit. It's too much, too suddenly. To see him between your legs like that - your calf resting over his broad shoulders. It makes you let out a miserable gasp. Shame so overwhelming it almost swallows you whole.

There is something so wrong. Something abominable - a bone-deep knowing of how warped love has become. No matter how many times you try to deny it to yourself - the man between your legs feels as if you belong to him. In knowing you are his blood he is able to touch you this way.

It is so divine, in a way. An archon and their heir. A father and his daughter. What are you if not the manifestation of his whims? Of course he's angry you've grown out of his sight - to be something else.

He spreads your legs and peers at you with a sense of satisfication.

"Are you untouched?"

You want to cry. You want to shove him away. You whisper, below your breath "Of course I am,"

"Good," He leans, kisses your clit so tenderly you almost forget. But you can't. Not quite "No man should ever enter here but me."

He takes his time to look. Pushes back the trimmed hairs on your mound with a fond glow. A possession in his gaze as he peers at you. The words tick in your head over and over. You belong to him. Like it couldn't be clearer. Again and again, you think this.

"How gorgeous you are," He says, leaning his head. He kisses the hood of your clit and you cry.

"It's dirty." You say, unable to say much more. And he laughs at you, like a father might. That sense of knowing, the distance of life between you. He sticks his tongue out and the act shoots a bolt of heat through your spine. It's long. Not like yours, not at all.

"Nothing about you is dirty to me," He says easily, letting his tongue and teeth feel around your thighs as you gaps "How could anything about you be dirty?"

You don't think you're meant to find comfort in that but you do. And you watch as he settles him, his nose nudge against the hood of your clit. You can feel the wetness pool underneath you and you are so ashamed. His hands grip your legs tight - claws leaving red indentations. The faintest pricks of blood drip down and stain everything red.

But your father pays it no mind. He's only really focused on you. There's intensity in his eyes, the soft wet heat of his mouth against your sex. His tongue slides against your aching clit, building a steady pace until you can feel something strange in your stomach. Like everything inside of you is coiling slowly. It's a strange, heady sort of feeling.

It makes you feel out of control. And you're not in control of your body or yourself. Only him. Only your father there to soothe his little girl. You open your mouth in a warning - softly pleading for something you don't understand.

"S-something. Hngh, something weird. Feels like I'm gonna pee."

Upon hearing your words, he doesn't still. He keeps pace and hums. It feels like you're rushing headfirst into something - at a speed so intense you can't get your hands on the railing. You grab at his hair because it's the first thing you can think of.

A breathy laugh leaves his lips as you garble something so unintelligible. You feel like nothing makes sense anymore. If someone asked you to distinguish night from day - it'd be pointless. All you can do is hold. Is listen to your fathers words obediently and diligently. Like how daughters so often do.

"That's it. Just like that." He whispers as you convulse, continuing to touch you until you practically have to pry him. A feeling of dread follows the sensation of pleasure so overwhelming.

When you look down, your father is busy licking his lips. He looks bemused by you. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you lie there.

He reaches for your face once more, leaning forward to kiss you a little more forcefully than last time.

"I'll teach you slowly. Our own special father-daughter time. That will be nice, won't it? So don't fret. And don't run," He draws his thumb along the light lesions on your upper thigh and hips, blood covered digit touching his tongue "We certainly have much to catch up on."

You hadn't met your father until you turned 18.

You wish you never had.

[chateau-dilf]

LCDMC Script: The Count, Fernand and Opium

Out of all the cut material from the script there were only two subplots: Maximilien's involvement and the Count introducing Fernand to opium as a cure for his headaches. The latter is by far the largest cut, and the most devastating for myself as Fernand is my favourite. His absence or lack of involvement in the films middle section is noticeable, and I'd also wondered why he's so silent during many of the scenes he's in, lo and behond he had many of his lines cut. But I'll focus on the opium for now as it's an entire character arc we didn't get to see, and really could have benefitted a character who is supposed to hold significance, especially as the final showdown is between him and Edmond.

The opium plot begins, as we see in the film, with Fernand experiencing a headache as he leaves the Count's house, attributed to a 'metal souvenir'. He leaves in a hurry, which the Count later brings up in our first cut scene, which was connected to the poker game:

Fernand experiences another headache at the table, leaves, and the Count follows, helping him with his ether in a move described as having a "strange intimacy." I would have loved to have seen this, the power dynamics at play are excellent - Fernand is vulnerable and insecure (so unlike his arrogant younger self,) the Count's gesture is non-judgemental and kind as he offers him a "miraculous cure." Of course this is all part of his plan, yet there's something to be said about the image of a man smothering the mouth and nose of his vulnerable enemy with cloth and not hurting him, rather helping him. The intimacy is fascinating - here are two men who grew up together, the betrayer and the betrayed, yet when you spend the first 22 years of your life together some part of that intimacy must live on, as much as you might wish it didn't, even if you don't realise it. I would have loved to see Fernand vulnerable like this, too. It adds a layer to his post timeskip character that he could have really benefitted from.

Fernand takes the count up on this offer, arriving at his house in a scene which took place after Haydée talks to Edmond about her trip to the gardens with Albert.

The cure, it turns out, is opium, and the Count leads Fernand to an opium den within the house. We have a vague idea of what this scene would have looked like from this image shared by Pierre Niney on Instagram:

The scene in its entirety:

Ross and I have analysed at length the few lines Fernand has prior to Edmond's arrest and how he absolutely felt superior to Edmond and that he (as part of the Morcerf family) is responsible for Edmond's success and therefore Edmond is forever in debt to him in his eyes. It's either impressive that they still got that feeling across with what they kept, or we think way too hard about these men, or both, but our suspicions were absolutely confirmed by Fernand's dream-memories and the way he speaks to dream-Edmond. I don't believe he ever thought Edmond was even a potential threat to his (at that point entirely nonexistent) romance with Mercédès because he did not even consider Edmond could be on the same playing field.

What's most interesting to me is this dream sequence is in Fernand's mind - it's likely he's had these dreams or thoughts so many times and this is what he tells himself: that Edmond had no right, Edmond betrayed him, it's Edmond's fault, he should have stayed in his place, he wouldn't have made Mercédès happy. Alongside this, he imagines Edmond asking him why he did it and saying he would have given his life for Fernand. It's regret and grief for a friend mixed with extreme entitlement, which ultimately wins.

The scene is quite exposition heavy in a way the film generally isn't, but the majority of the script is the same. They cut back exposition everywhere, so I believe they could have made this scene work and I wish they had. If nothing else, it would have been very fun to see the Count throttle the guy - again, there's an intense intimacy between them, with Fernand once again entirely vulnerable and this time the Count does take advantage of that. We see Edmond wasn't as ready as he thought he was to hear Fernand say such things, and the pure rush of emotion takes over. Equally, I can see why this might have had the potential to feel awkward within the narrative with the Count displaying violence towards an enemy during the middle section as opposed to the climax, however I think we do miss something by not allowing Fernand a scene with such a significance, and the dream exchange between the men is fascinating.

Furthering the intimacy, the opium plot steers us towards a world wherein the two men harbour an old (if imbalanced) care for each other which can neither be completely destroyed nor returned to. Their dialogue leading up to the final duel was intended to follow along these lines:

In the film, we have Edmond tell Fernand "You should have killed me," with Fernand replying "It's never too late." But here the thread of friendship is continued with dialogue of a very different sentiment, immediately juxtaposed by brutal fighting. Edmond's statement that he could have died for Fernand entirely backs up what Fernand imagined dream-Edmond to have felt ("I would have given my life for you.") Fernand rushing towards Edmond would have also mirrored dream-Edmond rushing at him.

The description of Fernand running up the stairs "four at a time" was also used earlier when Fernand was running to Villefort's office to save Edmond.

I am glad the wolves were removed from this scene however, it strips him back to just Edmond, who is now threatening enough on his own without the mask and character of the Count. It's a much more powerful image to see him descend the stairs alone and it's a real testament to how much he's changed.

Finally, after the duel, rather than cutting straight to Mercédès at the church, we were going to be shown the fate of the three villains:

Villefort and Danglars are entirely expected (the former can't exactly go anywhere else...) but Fernand's fate is interesting - rather than having him kill himself as he does in the book, he seems to be reliant on opium, presumably living in his memories now he is alone and disgraced.

The mention of him not wearing his eyepatch could be interpreted in a few ways, but I think this was intended to show his lack of care for his own honour and dignity, why should he care when everything's already lost? It's the cruellest fate of all for a man with such entitlement and complexes of superiority and heroism, and it's entirely deserved.

However, it should be said that a depiction of a disabled, drug addicted villain would have carried ableist connotations and overall I'm glad we didn't see what happened to him or Danglars (though there does exist a photo of the latter.)

It's impossible to estimate how much of this was even filmed, and it's unfortunately unlikely we'll ever know. We know Fernand did not leave the poker table, but we also have an image of Edmond attacking him in the opium den. My best guess would be that the decision was made some time during filming to allow either last minute changes to the script or reshoots of necessary scenes, rather than a whole cut during editing.

I'll save the rest of Fernand's cut content for another post, but the opium plot was the most significant loss and I think it's felt in how unfortunately action-less and hollow Fernand can feel at times in ways other characters don't.

[scythesms]

Despite his best efforts to hide it, Edmund's discomfort grew with every step Imogene took beyond the gates.

He couldn't stop apologizing for the neglected state of his property. It’d been his first time ever feeling ashamed of the overgrown grass and cracked pavement. He’d even caught himself in a lie when assuring her the inside of his home was better off.

“Please, Edmund, there's no need. Grass always grows in grief. It seems nature understands the burden of sorrow.” Imogene interjected, ending his apologies. He only nodded, grateful for her understanding, but unable to find words to match her sentiment. Proceeding cautiously, she said, “I only recently learned of the tragedies that befell your family. I am so sorry for your losses.”

He forced a look of little gratitude, reluctant to delve into the past. The mention of his late wife, sister, mother, and father made him tense. While he acknowledged Imogene's sincere apology, it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to spit it out.

She sensed his disdain all too quickly, expected it even. “I, too, lost someone to the lung. My youngest brother. It’s been… difficult.”

Edmund remained silent, unable to express his sympathy without betraying his desire to keep the past buried.

She pressed on, “Grief has a way of consuming us, doesn't it?” His eyes reflected the weight of her words, although his silence and avoidance of her gaze revealed much. “We don't have to speak of it if you'd rather not. Sometimes, just knowing someone understands can be enough.”

The air grew dense with the burden of unspoken words as they wandered deeper into the garden and the grounds of his estate.

Edmund led her along the path to the weathered fountain, where she broke the silence. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, after all this time,” she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty as her lips formed a nervous smile. “I thought you had left, disappeared into the world beyond our little town. I never saw you on the streets again… I must also admit that there was a time your absence brought me relief - knowing I wouldn’t have to face you after-”

Edmund frowned when she stopped herself. He wondered if her motive for coming was to find closure with him and release years of harbored resentment.

“I suppose... I suppose I came here hoping to find solace. But now that I'm here, I'm not sure what I want you to say.”

Since her arrival, he had grappled with finding the right words, torn between the desire to make amends and the fear of rejection. Her face fell as she observed his inner conflict. Without a word, she moved to settle beside the fountain, leaving the onus of conversation to him.

At length, he found his voice. “I... I don't know what you want to hear from me, but I want you to know that I am sorry - deeply sorry for what happened between us and what I did to you… I realize this apology comes late in life, and for that, I apologize as well."

“Thank you…”

Edmund awaited her further response, hoping for more, yet was met with silence. Although his admission released some of the obvious tension between the two, it was evident that there remained unresolved matters. Drawing closer, he sat beside her.

“You didn’t come solely for an apology,” he deduced.

She looked at him, hesitant before asking, “Can I ask about her? Rosalyn?”

His reluctance was apparent as his gaze drifted, wrestling with memories long buried beneath layers of grief and the mere mention of her name. “It’s… it’s not an easy subject for me.”

“I understand,” she responded, her voice gentle. “But I must know… Did you truly love her?”

Without hesitation, Edmund confidently nodded. “Yes. I loved Rosalyn... with all of my heart. And I always will.” He didn’t feel ashamed saying so. If there was one thing he knew, that was it. “I don’t regret it – my decision. But I do regret how I went about it… We’ve carried this burden for far too long.”

Her smile took him by surprise. “I'm glad your decision brought you happiness in the end. There’s no intent to change the past,” she affirmed, her voice soft yet resolute, “but perhaps we could move forward as friends?”

He was unreadable as he considered the offer. Eventually, a subtle smile graced his lips. “Friends... yes,” he murmured with quiet resolve.

She extended her hand first, a testament to her sincerity - a handshake. He found the gesture slightly amusing, and despite his initial impulse to resist, he allowed his hand to meet hers in a tentative grasp. With a single shake, they sealed their unspoken pact - an almost senseless act but necessary.

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[glimmervoi]

A SEALED FATE: EMERALDS AND BLOOD - IX You Are Mine

masterlist

e&b masterlist

Notes: Hope this chapter is alright, idk what was wrong with me but every time i tried to revise it i just didnt have the patience.

Two weeks passed since the tragic demise of Lady Rosalyn Pyke. Her identity was revealed to you after her brother, Lord Pyke, openly confronted the King, holding him accountable for his sister's untimely death within the castle walls.

Refusing to tolerate Lord Pyke's grief-fueled behavior, the King swiftly condemned him to hang the following day. The execution unfolded in front of a crowd, conducted in the dead gardens adjacent to the south wing. Attendance was mandatory, even for the servants.

Fortunately, you found yourself positioned at the rear of the crowd alongside the other maids, shielding you from a full view of the grim spectacle. Despite this, the haunting sound of Lord Pyke's neck snapping upon the kick of the stool resonated in your memory, lingering for the past two weeks.

Life within the castle now carried an air of unease. The elusive murderer remained at large, casting a shadow of fear over everyone. Guards loomed at every turn, their presence unbearable, while the departure of most of the castle's guests left behind an eerie quiet. Even the yule celebration had been canceled.

Although Namjoon had cleared you and Rae of any suspicion, the lingering gaze of the castle's guards continued to prick at your nerves. The constant scrutiny left you on edge, acutely aware that any misstep would not go unnoticed.

Sanria had yet to resume her duties as head maid, leaving Isabella to assume the position in her absence. Despite the recent problems in the castle, her gentle demeanor remained unchanged, her cheerful spirit a constant and welcoming presence. She evaded questions regarding Sanria and after the first week, the topic was forgotten.

Rae, noticeably withdrawn, seemed haunted by the events she had witnessed. You couldn't help but speculate if her quiet attitude also stemmed from the uncertainty surrounding her superior's fate and the lack of communication regarding it, given her direct role as Sanria's subordinate. 

Observing Alice's persistent efforts to uplift Rae's spirits, it became increasingly evident to you that their bond was more than a mere friendship. It was evident in the tender gestures they shared, from intertwined hands to soft kisses planted on each other's cheeks. It made you glad that the solemn redhead had a person who she was close with during such a stressful time.

Winter raged beyond the castle's sturdy walls, only growing colder in the  aftermath of Lady Pyke's tragic demise. A mere week following the murder, the first heavy snow fell, blanketing the landscape in pristine white. It was during one of your routine walks down the hall, burdened with a weighty bucket of water, that you stole a fleeting glance out the window. You had caught sight of Jimin and Taehyung frolicking in the snow-covered fields.

Their carefree actions amidst the grim investigation of Pyke’s murder left you wondering. How could they remain so seemingly unaffected by the brutality that had unfolded? Yet, they were not the sole members of royalty to exhibit such nonchalance. One chilly morning, you stumbled upon Prince Seokjin engaging in precisely the behavior Isabella had cautioned you about.

The strikingly handsome prince leaned casually against the wall, his trousers undone and hanging loosely. His hands were entwined in the brown locks of a woman kneeling before him, mercifully obscuring the most inappropriate aspects of his exposed lower half.

It wasn't Lady Woong. You found yourself frozen in shock, cheeks flushed and mouth agape as Seokjin's gaze locked with yours, a sly smirk playing on his lips. Summoning what composure you could muster, you offered a hasty and apologetic bow, scrambling to excuse yourself from the unexpected and scandalous scene.

He had the audacity to request a towel while his fingers remained entangled in the woman's hair. Despite the shock and discomfort, you complied, unwilling to burden Rae with such a task as she grappled with the aftermath of the murder.

As you handed him the towel, your fingers brushed against his, sparking an unfamiliar sensation within you. It was like an unquenchable thirst. After being excused by Seokjin, you hurried away and hid in the servants' kitchen. There, you hastily downed four tall cups of water. Yet the dryness in your mouth persisted for hours afterwards. You were certain that on that day you had drank enough water to create a new river, as thick and deep as the one that surrounded the castle.

You had pondered whether the feeling stemmed from the effects of the stress that you had felt since Lady Pyke's death, along with the uncertainty of where you stood with Hoseok. You had pushed the thought aside, preoccupied with the myriad of tasks that consumed your days, as you were now confined to the southern wing.

Shortly thereafter, a clumsy mishap with cleaning supplies in front of Namjoon resulted in your prompt dismissal to your chambers with directions to "practice holding things properly." As he strode away, a melody unfamiliar to your ears escaped his lips, echoing down the hallway.

Encountering Namjoon had evoked a strange sense of reassurance, despite the unyielding firmness of his features when he looked down at you. It was then that you finally attributed the odd sensations to the tumultuous events since your arrival at the castle, recognizing that your mind was not quite settled amidst the chaos.

Fortunately, encounters with other princes had been limited to Namjoon and Seokjin. The mere thought of crossing paths with Hoseok again ignited a deep uneasiness that caused a cold sweat to form on your skin. The persistent uncertainty surrounding his intentions was tiring, sapping your energy with each passing moment.

While Isabella had hinted at Hoseok's kindness among the princes, you remained cautious. His perceived kindness did not render him safe; the potential to provoke his anger lingered ominously, something you were determined to avoid at all costs.

What did he seek from you, anyway? A night in his bed? A plaything for his amusement? His interest in you left you confused and uncomfortable. What quality or trait could possibly compel him to bother you? There were plenty of other Ladies of the court who constantly sought his attention.

At the ball, Hoseok's order to accompany him elsewhere was interrupted by Jimin, a moment that reminded you of Kassie's tragic fate—deceived, impregnated, and ultimately abandoned in the dungeons. Would you too be ensnared in a similar web of deceit, or would your fate unfold in a more unpleasant manner, given Hoseok's princely status?

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, you shook off the disturbing thoughts, pulling yourself from the comfort of your warm blanket. The subtle movements of the other maids signaled the beginning of another day. It was time to get up and get to work. There was no point in attempting to stay in bed for any longer.

As you stretched, the satisfying release of a few joints echoed in the quiet room, accompanied by a soft groan of relief. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, a shiver coursed through you as the chilly floor met your bare feet. Glancing toward Rae's bed, you spotted a tuft of her red hair peeking out from underneath her blanket.

Rae typically took the lead in rousing the other maids, ensuring punctuality to avoid any repercussions for tardiness. However, thanks to her change in behavior, you had begun to take on the responsibility of waking her first, a gesture you knew she would appreciate.

"Time to rise and shine," you murmured softly, nudging her gently beneath the covers. As she reluctantly emerged from her slumber, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, you couldn't help but chuckle at her sleepy protest. With a swift motion, you pulled the blanket away, revealing her disheveled appearance as she groaned and sought refuge under the covers once more.

Rolling your eyes at her antics, you decided to tease her a bit. "You know," you began, feigning nonchalance as you stepped back, "I heard a rumor that Sanria will be making her grand return today. Could that be her?" A mischievous grin tugged at your lips as you watched Rae's reaction unfold.

Suddenly alert, Rae looked around the room with bleary, confused eyes. "What?" she exclaimed, her voice still rough with sleep. "Where? When? What's happening?" Her rapid-fire questions echoed through the room as she searched frantically for any signs of Sanria's impending arrival.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you retrieved your uniform from its place on the wall. "Seems like you're finally joining the land of the living," you teased gently, sliding out of your nightgown. "Time to shake off the sleepiness and get ready for the day."

Rae shot you a playful glare once she realized your ruse, pushing the thin blanket away before unsteadily rising to her feet. "That was uncalled for," she grumbled half-heartedly, her irritation tempered by a hint of amusement.

"Better to be safe than sorry, right?" you countered with a grin, slipping into your uniform as Rae began to dress herself. With practiced efficiency, you both set about the task of rousing the remaining maids who had yet to stir from their slumber.

This routine was becoming a familiar one, save for the playful jokes about Sanria's return. You would awaken early to think about life, then ensure Rae was up before attending to your own morning routine. Occasionally, there would be time for a quick breakfast before commencing your daily duties.

The next phase of your routine involved meeting Isabella in the supply room. There, you'd receive your daily tasks, complete about half of them before breaking for a modest lunch, then finish the remainder before returning to your chambers to change into your leisure uniform so that you could enjoy dinner.

It was a straightforward regimen, admittedly dull. But in the castle, dullness was preferable to danger, and you found solace in its simplicity.

Today would be like any other day, no doubt. Skipping breakfast, you headed straight to Isabella, greeted by her customary friendly smile. She handed you a large list of tasks. Cleaning half of the south wing would make up the first portion of your day.

Loading up your cart, you set off silently toward the south wing. Conversation with Rae seemed futile; any attempt would likely draw unwanted attention from the arrogant guards, a hassle you preferred to avoid.

The sun seemed to ascend with unusual haste as you trudged down the hushed hallway. Its gentle warmth permeated the cold hall. Bathed in its golden glow, you found a fleeting sense of calm. It was as though the sun was chasing away any lingering nightmares that wandered the halls.

Silent maids darted about, engrossed in their own tasks yet casting furtive glances over their shoulders, their demeanor reminiscent of the day you first arrived at the castle. Such fearful silence had become a familiar backdrop, one you had grown accustomed to over time.

Upon entering the south wing, Rae consulted the list. “We should begin in the library.” She said quietly, her near-whisper almost sounding too loud. Nodding in agreement, you gestured toward a pair of large double doors at the end of the first-floor corridor.

"I'll handle the doors," you murmured quietly, approaching them. You pushed against them, wanting to groan at the weight that protested against you. They had to be the heaviest of all the doors in the entire castle.

With a determined effort, the heavy doors yielded, revealing a breathtaking sight within. The spacious room was bathed in hues of blue and gold, the high bookshelves adorning the walls and forming intricate rows on the floor, inviting exploration. 

A sweet aroma of aged parchment lingered in the air, enticing you to breathe deeply, momentarily lost in the comforting scent. Your gaze was drawn upward to the grandeur of the glass dome ceiling, through which the soft light of day streamed in, casting enchanting patterns of birds and clouds drifting lazily overhead.

Despite the room's magnificence, a pang of sorrow gripped you as you realized that your time here would be limited to cleaning duties. Shaking off the wistful thoughts, you stepped aside, allowing Rae to maneuver the cart into the room.

Silently, you both set to work, the only sounds punctuating the tranquil atmosphere being the gentle swish of your feather duster against the wooden bookshelves, the soft sighs of Rae as she tended to the shiny hardwood floor, and the rhythmic clicking of your footsteps as you moved about.

The tranquility of the room enveloped you, offering moments of respite amidst the tasks at hand. Whenever you dared, you allowed yourself to pause and simply drink in your surroundings, feeling a sense of awe wash over you. 

Midway through your cleaning duties, the peaceful ambiance shattered as the doors opened loudly once more. You watched as Rae scurried out from behind the towering shelves and into the center of the room, where she bowed deeply. It was no doubt someone of high importance. Not wanting to create more trouble for yourself, you quickly joined Rae in the center of the room. You mirrored her bow, your eyes fixed to the ground.

An odd feeling filled your stomach, as if you had consumed a vial of poison. Nervously, you waited for permission to return to your duties. 

"It appears we've interrupted your morning cleaning," a soft voice remarked, its tone gentle and inviting. It carried a warmth that instilled an immediate sense of trust, despite that leaden feeling at the bottom of your stomach. "I hope you won't mind if we sit and chat while you finish up?"

"No, not at all, ma'am," you murmured, your fingers nervously toying with the hem of your apron. "We will leave you if you wish for us to do so." Please, let us leave. Please.

"Ma'am?" a deeper voice interjected, laced with disdain. "Don't you mean, 'Your Highness'? You should know better." The heat of embarrassment flushed your cheeks as you bowed again, preparing to apologize, but the soft voice intervened once more.

"It's quite alright, Jinnie," the gentle voice reassured. There was a rustling of fabric, the sound of someone drawing nearer. Then, the bottom of a deep red gown came into view, halting before you. "You may look at me."

Hesitantly, you complied. Your gaze slowly ascended, tracing the elegant lines of the crimson gown and the glittering jewels adorning its bodice. Your eyes paused at the pale, slender neck, and the sizable emerald necklace that hung from it, too afraid to venture further. Even without seeing her face, you knew precisely who you were speaking with.

With a delicate touch, she extended her slender hand and gently guided your chin upward, prompting you to meet her gaze. The Queen herself wished for direct eye contact. The notion was both daunting and terrifying.

"What is your name, dear?" she inquired, her voice soft yet commanding, as your eyes finally met hers.

You responded with a trembling voice, your gaze wide with astonishment. The Queen, touching you and speaking to you directly— it was surreal. Her eyes, deep and dark, seemed to harbor something ominous, sending a shiver down your spine.

She hummed softly, releasing your chin as a small smile found its way to her lips. "Well, my dear," she continued, her tone measured. "Would it be too much trouble if my sons and I had some morning tea here while you attended to your cleaning duties?" Her question left you dumbfounded, your mouth agape in disbelief.

She was the Queen. She didn't require permission to occupy her own library. This was her domain, and you were merely a servant. Why, then, did she seek your consent? With a raised brow, she awaited your response, her expectant gaze fixed upon you.

"Of course not, Your Highness!" you exclaimed, your voice quivering as you bowed once more. "Please, tell us if there is anything we can do for you."

Your gaze finally shifted past the Queen to identify her companion. Clad in a relaxed cream-colored suit stood Seokjin, his sneer aimed down at you with unmistakable disdain. It was evident that he had been the one to correct you  just moments ago.

However, as a flicker of recognition crossed his features, his smirk widened, and your cheeks flushed deeper with embarrassment. You couldn't shake the memory of your last encounter with the eldest Prince, and you wondered if his mother was aware of the scandalous behavior he had engaged in within the castle walls.

"What a delightful surprise," drawled another voice from the opposite side of the Queen. Instantly recognizable, it sent a jolt of alarm through you, betraying your unease despite your attempts to maintain composure.

You slowly turned your gaze towards Hoseok, who greeted you with a broad smile. Unlike his mother and brother, he opted for more casual attire. Although undoubtedly expensive, his clothes lacked the grandeur of his breakfast companions.

He wore a loose, billowing white blouse, haphazardly tucked into faded brown trousers. The untied string at the neckline exposed a glimpse of his collarbone and chest. His well-worn boots, though of high quality, bore the marks of use, reminiscent of the stableboy uniform he had worn on the day of your first encounter. Yet, today’s attire was of a higher quality, as if he sought comfort without the need to masquerade as something he wasn't.

The Queen's gentle clearing of her throat interrupted your brief staring contest with the tall prince. Returning your attention to her, you were met with another small smile. "We'll be taking a seat, then," she announced gracefully, before proceeding further into the room.

Seokjin followed his mother, casting you a peculiar glance as he passed by. Meanwhile, Hoseok remained rooted in place, his presence sending a wave of unease coursing through your gut. Your past interactions with him hadn't yielded anything positive, and you desperately did not want to be alone with him again.

"Would you mind fetching a pot of tea for us?" Hoseok's request pierced the air, his gaze fixed on you. "The morning tea should be laid out and ready to pour in the kitchen, as usual."

An uncertain glance over your shoulder revealed that Seokjin and his mother were engaged in conversation, while Rae watched you with apprehensive eyes. She seemed to consider something mentally, before she approached.

"Sir, would you like me to retrieve your tea?" Rae interjected, her shoulders tense. "I have more experience, so I will be able to select the correct item.”

Hoseok's gaze sharpened, his smile taking on a predatory edge. "No, I specifically asked for her to retrieve the tea," he replied curtly, dismissing Rae with a wave of his hand. "You may return to your duties."

Your heart sank, however you exchanged a thankful glance with Rae. At least she had attempted to intervene. With a respectful nod, you bowed to Hoseok. "Of course, Sir," you replied, before briskly making your exit without looking back.

As you swiftly made your way down the now-deserted hallway, the sound of the door opening and closing behind you caught your attention. Moments later, a familiar warmth enveloped your shoulder as a hand gently guided you to a stop.

"I wanted to speak with you," Hoseok began softly, his touch urging you to face him. "But I preferred to do so away from my mother and the other maid."

Your stomach churned as you stared up at him. You couldn't decide whether it would be better if he intended to flirt with you again or to reprimand you. Frankly, you simply wished to avoid any further interaction with him altogether.

"How are you feeling?" Hoseok inquired after a brief, awkward silence. His large hand cupped your cheek, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. Startled by his sudden gesture, you instinctively recoiled, backing away from him in alarm.

"I'm quite alright, Sir. Why do you ask?" you murmured, deliberately averting your gaze to his chest. Despite your initial reluctance, the notion of a night spent in his bed was beginning to seem appealing, as long as it meant he would leave you alone afterwards.

Hoseok's frown deepened, and he withdrew his hand, allowing it to fall to his side. "At the ball not long ago, you were punished by the head maid for conversing with me," he clarified, stepping closer. Instinctively, you backed away, maintaining a respectable distance between your bodies.

"I took it upon myself to... remove her from her position. Both of them," he continued, a smile playing at his lips. Although his expression appeared benign, the underlying darkness in his words was unmistakable. Your mouth fell agape in astonishment. Alice had made no mention of Iseul's disappearance, as she had been the one to administer your punishment. However, Sanria, who had silently observed the ordeal, had now vanished, thanks to Hoseok's intervention.

"You didn't have to do that!" you protested, your eyes widening in disbelief. "Of course I didn't enjoy the punishment, but that's just the way things are done here! It wouldn't be fair to expect special treatment when others don't receive the same kindness."

Hoseok's brown eyes clouded with an unfamiliar emotion, prompting you to hastily clamp your mouth shut, fearing his potential wrath. His jaw tensed and relaxed several times before he spoke again.

"Either way," he said, his tone clipped. "No one will lay their hands on you. You're not theirs to hurt." With a rough grip, he seized your chin, his demeanor shifting from jovial to menacing in an instant. "And that little blonde whore? She had no right to treat you the way she did, either."

His words struck you like a physical blow, and it took only a moment for their full weight to sink in. As terrified tears welled in your eyes, Hoseok made sure to drive his point home, leaving you no room for doubt.

As Hoseok recounted the disturbing events in vivid detail, a nauseating sense of satisfaction twisted his features. "I'll do it again, too," he declared, his voice tinged with darkness as he offered you a sinister smile. "I'll do it as many times as it takes to make my point clear. No one should ever treat you as anything less than a Queen."

His gaze bore into yours, waiting for any response, but you were unable to find the words, overwhelmed by shock and fear. Your mind raced, your heart pounding relentlessly in your chest. Sensing your silence as surrender, he advanced towards you, his grip on your chin tightening as he closed the distance between your bodies.

You didn’t move as he gently worked his lips against yours. Your stiffness didn’t seem to bother him as he groaned softly, his hand caressing your cheek. It was overwhelming for you. The close contact, the terror that coursed through your veins from his confession.

You were letting a murderous prince kiss you, the same one who had just informed you that he would willingly kill again. You had only spoken with him a few times, and he was already this obsessed with you?

The kiss seemed to last an eternity, before he finally pulled away. A satisfied expression graced his features as he swiped his thumb across your lips. Then, he backed away slightly, allowing more space between you both. His hands still held you, your skin tingling once more as it had at the winter ball.

His brown eyes now held a warm fondness, which was a stark contrast to his dark behavior from only a moment before. It was terrifying, and you suppressed a shiver.

You allowed him to hold you close as you struggled to find your voice amidst the turmoil of emotions. The last thing you wanted was to provoke his wrath. After all, he was the one responsible for Lady Pyke's murder—a brutal and chilling act that still haunted your thoughts. The mere contemplation of what he might do caused a surge of anxiety to envelope you.

Finally, summoning a flicker of courage, you drew in a deep breath and posed the question, "What do you want from me?" His response was delivered with a smile that mirrored the patronizing gaze of a parent faced with an obvious question from their child—a look that practically dripped with condescension.

"I love you," he stated firmly. "I want you to be mine. You are mine." His words left no room for debate, his tone resolute. Yet, his declaration did not soothe you, especially considering the heinous act he had committed.

"You've only spoken to me three times!" you pointed out, a frown creasing your brow. "How can you claim to love someone so profoundly after only knowing them for such a brief period?" As you placed your hands on his chest, intending to create distance, he misinterpreted your gesture and drew you closer instead.

"It was love at first sight," he murmured softly, his hand gently caressing your cheek once again. You tensed, hoping that he didn’t kiss you again. "I don't understand it either. One day, I was daydreaming about breakfast, and the next, I was dreaming of you. It was as if a fire had ignited within my soul, and it hasn't dimmed since."

You shook your head, struggling to comprehend his words. Was he hinting at something more? Was it sex he spoke of? No, surely he wouldn't go to such lengths just for physical desire. Yet, attempting to delve further into his explanation seemed futile.

"I'm just a maid. We can't be together. It goes against the laws of the kingdom," you asserted, averting your gaze from his. "We could both face severe punishment. The King and Queen would not approve."

Growing increasingly frustrated and feeling suffocated, you summoned the strength to push yourself away from his embrace. Every fiber of your being screamed for this nightmare to end. Part of you wished desperately that it was all an elaborate hoax, that he was merely toying with you. Yet, deep down, you knew the grim reality.

Hoseok was genuinely unhinged, convinced that you were the love of his life. He was willing to commit unspeakable acts for you, perhaps even harm you if provoked. He was a dangerous man, and it would be nothing short of reckless to deny him. But did you still do it? Yes.

"I can't marry you," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you met his gaze. Though his expression remained gentle, his words carried a sharpness that sent a chill down your spine.

"Of course you can," he murmured, a subtle arch of his brow accompanying his words. "I won't allow the court or my parents to stand in our way. You belong with me, and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure it becomes a reality."

You shook your head in disbelief. "No, Prince—" you started, only to be swiftly interrupted as he waved his hand dismissively.

"Please, my love," he interjected, his tone softening. "Drop the formalities. Just call me Hobi."

You rubbed your face harshly, the weight of desperation pressing down upon you. All you craved was to escape from him. "Prince Hoseok, I do not want to marry you!" you declared, your voice laced with anger, punctuated by the sharp stomp of your foot. But in the next moment, you realized your mistake.

His soft expression dissolved into one of fury in the blink of an eye. Before you could react, he seized you and forcefully pushed you against the wall. Towering over you, his face contorted into a menacing snarl.

“Do not decline me, my love.” He said, his voice low and dark. His face was inches from yours. “You will come to regret it.” He ran a thumb over your lip gently.

You stared up at him in horror as he breathed, “You will be mine.”

You couldn't help but berate yourself for your foolishness. Wedged between a rigid wall and a raging, erratic Prince, every instinct urged you to surrender. After all, he was a Prince. He was wealthy, had status and influence, and appeared to harbor genuine affection for you. Perhaps accepting his advances could lead to a life of relative comfort and ease? And of course, it could be safer than making him angry…

Once more, you felt a surge of defiance flow through you. You found the strength to reject him yet again. "No, I can't." In response, he pressed you even harder against the unyielding wall, his grip on your arms tightening painfully.

"Then I will make you regret it. You will come back to me, begging," he sneered, his words like icy daggers piercing through your resolve. As his grip finally loosened, you felt a rush of relief, though it was quickly overshadowed again by fear. You screwed your eyes shut, tears welling up, bracing for what would come next. Then, unexpectedly, he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. "And, of course, I will take you back with open arms."

As he pulled away, you slid to the ground, feeling utterly defeated. "My room is the one on the second floor, at the very end," he said, stepping away. "When you come to your senses, do not be afraid to come find me. If I were you, I would do it sooner than later." His words echoed in your mind as you watched him leave, leaving you alone with your turmoil.

He took one last look at you before disappearing through the double doors to the library. As the door clicked shut, the hallway once once again filled with silence. Once you were sure that he wouldn’t return, you scrambled to your feet and rushed to the storage closet closest to you. There, you fell to the ground and curled your body, tears falling from your eyes as his words echoed in your mind like a haunting song.

"You are mine. You are mine. You are mine." Each repetition felt like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you with a sense of helplessness and dread.