#it hissed at him and he immediately perceived it as a threat

[mustard-minneola]

assuming that soda goes flat after over three hundred years i like to think that hes never had fresh soda and is baffled by every aspect of it because hes so used to it being devoid of everything that made it soda in the first place

[proheromidoriyashouto]

silly Cat Witcher headcannon that Cats struggle with recognizing themselves in mirrors. Usually only for a moment, but there's a real split second where they don't immediately recognize their own reflections and knee jerk reaction to a stranger in their space.

they work around this discomfort by grooming each other rather than rely on mirrors, and throw stones into still bodies of water before they pass to avoid seeing themselves reflected back. the few times they can't avoid this or forget, they flinch, which for a Witcher means throwing knives at this perceived threat, especially when the younger ones are just learning knife tricks. so many handy knives get lost in ponds, so many expensive silver mirrors ruined.

it's not so bad as far as after effects of the trials, but its so goddamn embarrassing for them in particular. Cats are the lithe and graceful ones. What do you mean they hiss and snarl at themselves in a mirror. How do they sneak into fancy mansions and carry out hits when there's so many shiny reflective surfaces in there??

Gaetan has to have his head shaved because he is a poofer. Every hair standing on end at the sight of SOME CAT I DON'T KN--oh, that's me. He does not acknowledge this shame.

Aiden, trying not to show this weakness, half catches himself about to throw a knife at his reflection which stalking a target with Lambert and ends up stabbing his own thigh instead. Lambert immediately scents blood and worries, but Aiden just waves him off acting too cool for this haha, until Lambert turns a corner, and quiet screams into his other fist while yanking it out of his leg.

The Wolves can never know. Especially not Lambert, the one willing to entreat with them, the one who helps the caravan with potions and armaments and is so bitingly snarky and strikingly handsome and does tell his brothers important things like the caravan's intended Path every year so they'll go on avoiding each other.

To be a Cat is to suffer...

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Birthday II

(Masterlist)

part two of two. the meltdown.

(Content: physical violence, blood, begging, alcohol and drug use, panic attack, drowning, death mention)

===================

The music at the ball was getting progressively more goth, which he knew was a signal to head out. He knew the way back to the ship. He guessed he’d be making the return voyage alone. It wasn’t a long walk, but it had only gotten colder out as the night went on. He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself as he stepped out into the dark. 

The sky was full of light and sound from all the departing ships. He paced beneath them, past the garden and its fence, onto the dirt road into the woods. The strong evergreens rose up all around him. It almost blocked out the moonlight. Still half-drunk, it only occurred to him then how dangerous this could be. Paris really should not have left him alone at the party. Especially unguarded. Especially on Thales. 

With a start, he realized he was unguarded. He stood alone on the dark road. 

It couldn’t be that easy. He felt the collar at his neck. The skin chafed beneath it. 

No. Just a passing thought. It’s not like there was anywhere to go. Not on Thales. 

His fingers were turning numb. He began to walk again. He listened for sounds in the dark, but there was nothing he perceived as a threat. Soon enough, the Thorn came into view. He was relieved to see the entry ramp was still down.��

The ship was quiet. Eerily so. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it had been dark when they arrived and it was still dark now. He wasn’t going to try and find Paris right now. He’d deal with those hurt feelings in the morning when both of them were sober.

Delta needed to sleep. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until Lorelai mentioned it. He needed to get warm, too. The feeling hadn’t returned to his fingers. He creeped down the hallway to his room, sliding the keycard in the door. 

The light was already on. Delta jumped out of his skin. Paris was leaning back on his bed. Delta’s bed. In Delta’s room. Delta shut the door slowly, trying to recover himself.

“Hi,” Delta said stupidly. He felt drunker than he had a few seconds ago. His bed. Where the lapt

His heart sank. Paris stood up.

“Wait.” Delta said. “Wait. Wait.”

He backed into the door, raising his hands in surrender.

“Why? What did I do?” He could feel his heart beating in his chest irregularly. He searched Paris’s face desperately for any kind of confirmation. His laptop had been right under the mattress. Had he-?

Paris punched him as if he was trying to break through to the other side of the door. The blood came immediately, pouring from his nose and mouth. Delta reeled, falling back into the door. His hand flew immediately to his face, instinctively trying to stop the bleeding.

He didn’t get the chance. Paris reached out to grab his wrist. His other hand came around Delta’s collar, close to the skin. He barely had time to react before he got slammed into the vanity. The edge of the table jutted roughly into the small of his back. He felt the mirror shatter before he heard it. His head and shoulders made impact as if he’d slammed straight into the wall. He felt blood on bis neck. The glass pieces exploded onto the floor. Delta made a small choked noise in the back of his throat.

Paris threw him roughly to the floor. He cut his palms on the glass where he landed. He was getting blood everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” Delta begged, “I’m sorry. Please.”

Paris wasn’t answering. He ripped Delta’s arm back up. Somehow Delta knew it was coming. 

“Your Highness, please. What did I do?” He couldn’t contain his own panic. He needed to know.

Paris snapped his wrist cleanly. 

“Fuck. Fuck!” Delta hissed. There was no point in staying quiet now. It was the reckoning.

His arm fell limply back down. Paris kneed his shoulder, expertly forcing him down onto his back. He felt some stray shards of glass poking into him. There was too much to concentrate on, so much that he almost couldn’t think at all. Paris slammed his heel into Delta’s ribs with precision. Not like the other times. It was only then Delta realized how much Paris had been holding back. This time, the ribs broke with a sharp crack.

It hurt too badly to even scream. Delta’s voice failed. He didn’t have the air he needed to make sound. 

Paris stepped over him. Delta took desperate, pained breaths as he lay there on the floor. His head was swimming with fear. Distantly, he heard the sound of running water. 

Paris picked him up by the collar, dragging him into the bathroom. Delta half-crawled, half-stumbled. He could barely see. He fell roughly to the floor without even needing to be pushed. Paris gave a little tug at his collar again. He straightened out into a kneeling position. He kept his head bowed; Paris shoved it back down when he tried to look up.

“What did you see?” Delta managed, “Please.”

The bathtub faucet was running. Paris leaned his hips back against the sink. A bit of powder came off the side of it.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Delta asked.

Paris lit up a cigarette. The bathroom filled up with light smoke. 

“Please talk to me.”

The bathtub was filled up to the top. He noticed the thick chains in a pile by the edge. The bathroom light glowed gentle and warm. 

“Your Highness?” Deltra tried.

Silence.

“Sir?”

Silence.

“Paris?”

He put the cigarette out in the sink and shut off the faucet. Without much force, he pulled Delta up by the collar and guided him into the tub. Delta clung to Paris’s arm in desperation. Paris pried him off, ignoring the bleeding lines Delta’s claws left into his skin. He was too high to even feel it.

The water was freezing. He thought he didn’t have it in him to be shocked anymore. He was wrong. It chilled him to the bone. He was terrified. Paris fastened his wrists. They stretched up over his head, hanging limply just outside the rim of the bathtub.

“Please.” Delta said. “Please, please, please…”

His head was forced under.

Delta knew he was going to die. It was so stupid. He felt it in the way his lungs froze up, the way the capillaries on his face broke, the way his cuts turned the water the same shade as his blood. It was so stupid. At least it would be over. 

He thrashed, regardless. He’d tried to close his eyes, but they were forced back open in his body’s grim determination. With his wrists shackled, he couldn’t do much else. Everything hurt. Why was it taking so long? 

Paris pulled him back up. Delta coughed roughly, forcing the water up from his throat and lungs. He takes a few ragged breaths. Paris clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing his jaw shut. Delta blinked rapidly, trying to clear out his vision. His sight remained blurry, but he could hear just fine.

“I hate you.” Paris said. He released his grasp. 

Paris stood up and exited the bathroom. He turned the light off before he closes the door. Delta heard Paris leaving the room. In the total darkness, there was no other sound but his own desperate breathing.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Freedom

Sihtric x you

Authors note: I really hope that my dark and heavy period has come to an end with this fic and, hey, I managed to write a happy ending to it 😊.

Thank you so much to everybody who liked my first modern!Sihtric fic. I have several modern!Sihtric requests in my inbox now and even some very fluffy ones. I accept them all and I will write them all. Just please be patient as my maximum capacity is around one fic per week, but I am so enormously happy to receive the requests, so go ahead and give me some more.

Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Sihtric, whom he liberates from the slavery after the fall of Dunholm. The life has not been easy on her since Sihtric left to the point that she does not even recall him at first.

Warnings: mention of violence, blood, slavery and sexual abuse, deep depression, attempted suicide, and to overweight this all – Sihtric being incredibly sweet and caring 😊

Word Count: 3,565

Sihtric immediately recognized you the moment the men swung open the heavy oak doors of the slave pit in the depths of Dunholm.  The pit emptied in an instant as everyone hurriedly fled the smelly and filthy room, almost knocking Sihtric off his feet. He had to sidestep to avoid the rush, momentarily losing sight of you. Concern furrowed his brow as he feared he might have missed you, but then his gaze found you. You were still there. Sihtric's initial assumption was that you had stayed because you had spotted him, and a gentle smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. Taking a step toward you, his heart stilled, his gaze darkening, confronted with the sight that now lay bare before him as he could clearly survey you.

You resembled a feral, abandoned kitten. Vigilant, watchful eyes taking in every motion around, your body taut, spine arching in an innate urge of self-preservation, ready to leap at any perceived threat. Your clothes mere tatters, scarcely covering your delicate, emaciated frame; your hair unkempt, dirty and tangled like a dishevelled bird’s nest, some leaves and twigs entwined within, a few strands falling over your eyes. Your eyes, once two unbelievably blue radiant pools of warm kindness and mirth, had transformed into bleak and desolate orbs, an endless, vast expanse of fear and anxiety. Sihtric advanced another step, and you hissed at him, retreating further into the corner. His countenance fell, the joy and delight in his eyes giving way to a tempest of anxiety and concern, prompting him to turn and storm out of the basement abruptly.

“Don’t approach her and don’t touch her,” he directed sternly to the men clustered near the doorway, eliciting baffled glances. He reappeared moments later, clutching a fresh loaf of bread. Sihtric approached you with care, lowering himself into a crouch, extending his hand slowly and gingerly, palm upturned, the bread perched upon it. You refrained from reaching for it, yet he waited. His hand extended, breath shallow, unwavering gaze fixed on you. No grin, no words, no hasty gestures. At length, you summoned the courage to snatch the bread from his palm and quickly retreated back into the corner. Seating himself on the floor, legs crossed, Sihtric observed as you hungrily swallowed the offered loaf.  Some other men entered the room, wanting to speak to him, but Sihtric merely shook his head and remained seated in his place.

“Do you remember me?” he finally uttered, his voice soft and almost trembling, a stark contrast to his intimidating exterior smeared with blood on his face, armor, and hands. Not a sound escaped your lips. His gaze remained fixed on you.

“Do you understand me? I will not hurt you, and I will not let anybody else harm you. Would you come with me?” He extended his hand again, palm upturned, the other hand raised in the air with an open palm facing you, a gesture meant to reassure that he held nothing concealed within it. Remember? What did it mean to remember? You had long learned to live just for the current day, leaving everything behind. There was nothing to remember in your life. Your eyes roved around the room, occasionally resting on the warrior before you. Your head tilted to the side, your gaze vigilant, yet avoiding direct contact with his. To lock eyes was to issue a challenge, and challenge equated to pain. This you retained. What did the stranger want from you? It seemed that he was not an imminent threat, and your tense muscles eased marginally.

There was just a small, almost imperceptible shift in the startled eyes of the wild kitten, a sparkle of comprehension, a trace of uncertainty overlaying the sheer angst that had radiated from them before. Sihtric noticed the over tensed muscles slowly slacken in the small quivering body. An almost irresistible urge welled within Sihtric, a wish to wrap his arms around the trembling creature and cradle it carefully against his chest, yet he recognised that this would only scare you off.

“Follow me,” Sihtric ordered with a firm voice, rising from the floor and turning toward the door. This was a language you understood. A command, an order. You obeyed, ascending from the floor and trailing behind. Your gaze remained affixed to your newfound master's back.  The air reeked of battle and blood, and you did not want to see all the dead bodies spread on the ground. Your footing faltered and you almost fell, a bare foot sliding on something repulsively warm, squishy, and greasy. Two strong arms encircled your waist, steadying you back on your feet before releasing you in an instant.

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

Freedom. Can one truly bestow freedom upon another? Especially someone who has never known what a freedom is? Someone unfamiliar with the concept of choice. Is it really a freedom then? Or rather another cage, just a bit more spacious, draped with cosy furs and tapestries concealing the bars and razor wire? Could it be that freedom hurts even more than the despised chain around your neck? Hated yet familiar unlike the invisible rope of unknown freedom that constricts you when you least anticipate it.

You don’t count time, but something has changed. You are not a blank, unwritten page when you awaken anymore. You remember. You remember the imposing doors of the big, overcrowded basement chamber swing open, and unfamiliar faces commanding all of you to get out, declaring you were free now. Free to do what? You still have no answer to that. You sense the light sipping through your closed eyelids, announcing another new day rising, but your reluctance to open them prevails. Do you have a freedom of choice? None. You remember the pain, the voices. All memories blurred, but live and present. It scares you.  

The dark-haired warrior with oddly and somehow distantly familiar mismatched eyes, has taken you in. You don’t understand him. He’s your new master, at least that much is clear for you. He hasn’t claimed you. He hasn’t hurt you either. At least not yet. What does he want from you? Your days trickle past in a torturing fog of daze and stupor, mostly spent nestled in a corner of your small room, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, admiring the intricate lines of the wood. There is nothing to clutch, to navigate the passage of time. He does not tell you to do anything. Sometimes you even wonder whether you are still alive. It’s hard to tell. You remember, how the lingering sting of bruises left on your skin by the rough hands of your masters, or the deep pain of the open wounds etched in your flesh by the whip, served as reminders that there was still an awareness hidden within the shell of your body, capable of sensation.  But now? No pain, no hunger, nothing.

You hear him sneaking into your room at night. You feel his breath caressing your skin as he leans over you, lightly grazing your hair with his lips. At times, he refrains from approaching, standing in the threshold and observing your sleep. He doesn’t know that your senses capture his presence each time. You wait. Wait for the real him to appear. Wait for him to grab your hair and pull you out of the bed to your knees to face his manhood, breeches half down. To slap you, push your mouth open, his hand squeezing your jaw, rough fingers painfully digging into your cheeks, and to force his hard, dripping cock within. His other hand would hold you in place firmly by your hair, while he would keep thrusting deep and merciless into your mouth, grunting in satisfaction a lustful grin on his lips. This is what you remember. Isn’t this the reason for your presence here? It’s something you would understand. You’d obey and endure. You would know you have no choice. That would make it all so easy. So, what is he waiting for?

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

Sihtric lingered in the doorway, watching his wild kitten sleep. Slowly you had grown accustomed to his presence, no longer flinching, or snapping your head at him whenever he entered the room. He maintained a respectful distance, never encroaching too closely, refraining from any touch. He wanted you to feel safe in his presence before progressing further. His attempts to speak with you had been met with silence. So, he turned to the other women who had journeyed with Uhtred and his men from Dunholm to Cochem, inquiring about you. Nobody knew much about you. Only that you had been born in the fortress and that your mother had died, when you were still a kid. Until he finally found an elderly woman, who had more detailed memories.

“Poor soul,” she had told Sihtric, shaking her head sadly, “She was so tender when her mother passed, a mere six or seven summers old, no more. There was an older slave boy and his mother – they did their best to care for her. He acted as her older brother, protecting her and ensuring she had something to eat. Then he was sent away, and he never returned. That’s when it all began. Her liveliness dwindled with each passing day. To her biggest misfortune, she was pretty. Men started to notice her. After a while there wasn’t a single warrior in the fortress that hadn’t humped her. She closed herself completely down and even ceased to speak. Sometimes they were taking turns on her, betting who will be the one to make her cry. It’s no wonder she got completely mad at some point.”

Sihtric’s eyes darkened as he listened to the woman, his visage taut and his jaw subtly twitching from the pressure of clenched teeth. Before she could utter another word, he pivoted and stormed away, swiping at the tears that welled at the corners of his eyes with his fists. He had come too late. The realization gripped him like a vice, his chest heavy with the weight of ballast stones, pressing down, dragging him into the abyss of self-reproach. He had failed his promise. Inhaling deeply, he attempted to fill his aching lungs with fresh air. Though he had reached his house he found himself unable to ascend the few steps leading to the door. Instead, he turned the corner and leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath. Gradually, Sihtric sank down until he was sitting on the ground, knees bent, head resting against the wall, eyes shut. Above, birds chattered amid the canopy of trees surrounding his small riverside housing. Their cheerful twitter brought up sweet memories of him sitting beneath an old oak tree, marvelling at the playful dance of water as it meandered through the rocky bed of the stream flanking Dunholm. He’d share pilfered morning bred from the kitchens with strikingly blue-eyed girl. The birds were chattering with the same unburdened intensity as they did now, and suddenly the girl sprang to her feet, fetching a bucket to be filled with water, playfully splashing a handful onto Sihtric. Her sound laughter sparkled and purled as the stream itself. It was the last time he had seen you, before Tekil had summoned him to gather his belongings and join him on the mission to locate Uhtred.

Sihtric shook his head as though trying to dispel the vivid memory, but it did not let go of him. It felt so tangible, as if he could merely extend his hand to tuck that stray lock of the girl's soft, velvety hair behind her ear – the hair that perpetually cascaded into her eyes. Those same eyes that now gazed at him each morning void of recognition. Empty and wild.

"No, no, no! You won't fail her again," Sihtric murmured, the sound of his own voice grounding him in the present. He was convinced that deep within those untamed eyes, concealed beneath layers of protective madness, there still lingered a dormant soul, waiting to be brought back to surface. And he would do anything to bring the light back to those eyes. An idea took hold of him, and Sihtric sprang to his feet.

“Come with me,” Sihtric beckoned, extending his hand as he entered the room. There you were, nestled in your favoured corner, your gaze fixated on the ceiling as always. He had long understood the futility of posing questions to you; there would be no response. The only way to elicit an action from you was through direct orders, leaving no space for choice or contemplation.

You rose to your feet and trailed after him.  This time, Sihtric clasped your palm in his own, a rush of elation engulfing him as he noted your lack of resistance – no snatching away, no hissing defiance. Instead, your eyes met his with a sense of anticipation. It was still an early morning, the air carrying a gentle, invigorating chill, that foretold the warmth to come.  The sun unfurled its fingers across the horizon, casting a tender, golden glow that gently roused the world from slumber. The birds, perched upon branches, continued their cheerful singing just as the moment before when it had evoked Sihtric’s memories.

Guiding you to the riverside, Sihtric led you to a modest plank jutting into the water. Seated there, your bare feet dangled, almost grazing the surface as the river flowed beneath.

Taking his place beside you, he softly implored, "Listen. Can you hear the birds?" His voice was hushed, carrying an air of reminiscence. "Do you recall the stream behind Dunholm? The one from which you fetched water each morning?" Sihtric reached into his pouch and retrieved a fresh loaf of bread, he had fetched moments earlier in the kitchen. It was still warm, and its mouth-watering aroma instantly hit your nose. Breaking the loaf in half, he extended one piece to you.

The river at this point ran deep, its current strong as it flowed over rocky terrain, a lullabying yet vivid sound emanating from the water as it lapped against the shore. Almost unconsciously, you extended your arm, your fingers closing around the offered bread. Slowly, you brought it to your nose, inhaling deeply, its aroma.

The morning sun cast a luminous glow through your tousled hair. Captivated by the look of it Sihtric’s hand extended instinctively, gracefully tucking a stray strand that obscured your gaze behind your ear – a gesture he had executed countless times before when you both were in Dunholm. You stiffened, the tension palpable, prompting Sihtric to hastily withdraw his hand. Yet in that fleeting moment, it was as though a dam within you had ruptured, unleashing a torrent of distant memories. These memories surged like crushing waves, demolishing the barriers painstakingly constructed around your consciousness, mercilessly tearing down the fortress that shielded your mind. Tearfully, you looked at the man beside you, the gleam of recognition flickering within your gaze. This was the first time you had truly met Sihtric’s eyes and he held his breath locking his gaze with yours.

"Do you remember me?" he murmured, his voice a tender whisper. Silence hung in the air, your gaze drifting from the loaf of bread in your trembling palms to the river beneath your feet. The only evidence that something had changed within you were the tears that trickled down your cheeks, tracing glimmering paths as they fell.

Time seemed to have lost its meaning as you both sat there, enveloped in the moment until distant voices called Sihtric's name and brought you back to reality. He clasped your hand and led you back indoors, where you crouched in your familiar corner. Your arms enveloped your knees, and your head nestled upon them. You looked so peaceful to Sihtric, not noticing the storm of feelings that swept through you.

It was a late evening when Sihtric finally returned home after a long day patrolling along the roads surrounding Cochem. A faint smile played at his lips, his thoughts tracing back to the morning's events. He had been right, there still was a chance to rouse you from your stupor. You had remembered him, he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time and his devoted care, and he would get you back to this world.

Entering the house, he unfastened his armour and carefully set his weapons upon the table.  He hoped you were already asleep as he carefully approached your room, casting a cautious glance within as he lingered in the doorway. His eyes widened in horror as he understood that the room was empty. You were not there. Panic seizing him, Sihtric searched the house frantically, every corner and crevice, but there was no trace of you. His steps led him outside, and driven by instinct, he followed the path that led to the riverside, silently cursing himself. He shouldn’t have done it. He knew he had acted too hastily; you were not prepared yet. His eagerness to prove himself right, to ascertain himself that you were not completely lost to your madness had been unconsidered and premature. Amid the gathering shadows, he spotted your silhouette upon the plank from a distance. Your fragile form trembled in the evening breeze, your back turned to the shore. Sihtric's heart raced as he sprinted toward you, arriving at the beginning of the plank and urgently calling your name. Uncertain if the sound would evoke any response, he watched as your gaze fixed upon him, sharp and concentrated. In the next heartbeat, your attention shifted, and with an abrupt motion, you leapt into the cold, enveloping darkness of the water.

Fear widened Sihtric's eyes. A cry of despair burst from his lips as he reached the end of the plank and propelled himself into the water after you.

The river swallowed you, encircling you, embracing you soothingly. This was it. The end of your suffering. The promised freedom. Freedom of choice you had sought and finally found. But your body had not yet surrendered to the decision your mind had made. The agony in your lungs cried for air and involuntary you breathed in the water, convulsing you into coughs and thrashes. Writhing with your arms you desperately tried to reach the surface once more, to catch the last saving breath. In the moment you thought you had lost the struggle, two strong arms seized you, wrenching you back to the surface and after a few moments you found yourself sprawled on the sandy shore, enveloped between Sihtric’s legs, coughing, and expelling water. His arms clung to you, holding you tight against his chest in an almost suffocating embrace.

“Let go of me!” you cried, wriggling madly in his grasp, striving to break free from his clutches.

“Never!” came a firm answer and the hold of his arms only tightened.

“Why did you come back? Why did you make me remember?” your voice echoed in a shout, the anguish and frustration ripping through the air. "Don't you see? I didn't want to remember. It hurts too much! I don’t want to endure this existence any longer. I can’t!” you shouted, raging against his grip, tears tracing down your cheeks, your words slowly turning into incomprehensible cries of despair.

"I'm here, and I won't let go. Never," Sihtric’s words sounded with an unbreakable determination.  “Do you hear me – never! I am here for you, as you were for me. Do you remember? I know you do. The day my mother died. I wanted to die with her, but you refused to let me. You wrapped your arms around me, clinging to me with all your strength. You begged me to stay with you. You kept holding me through that night. You never gave up on me and I will never give up on you,” Sihtric's voice was a tender murmur, his lips close to your ear. “And now I am begging you to stay with me. Please, forgive me, that it took me so long to find you.” His lips brushed against your wet hair, your dampened cheeks, and your forehead in a sequence of gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine from the softness of the touch.  Your rage slowly faded, your strength waning, and your cries dwindling into muffled sobs as you surrendered to Sihtric's unyielding embrace.

Lifting your near-weightless form, Sihtric carried you back home. He settled you onto the bed and nestled beside you, his arms never loosening their hold. Throughout the night, he held you close, tenderly caressing your hair and telling you his story – how he found his place in Uhtred's service and how he never stopped hoping to find you.

“I’m glad I remembered you,” were the only words you managed to bring over your lips, looking up into Sihtric’s eyes as the sky began to be painted with the first brushstrokes of dawn's light.  Sihtric's heart skipped a beat at those simple words. He knew there was still a long way to go, but the mere fact that you had recalled him and that he now held you securely in his arms made him almost dizzy from the happiness. Leaning in, he brushed a kiss upon your hair, drawing you closer against his chest, your shared warmth enveloping you both as sleep finally overcame you.

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 54: The Dead Outnumber the Living

Chapter Summary: Rose and her companions continue to settle into camp in Crestwood and make contact with the village. On their way there, they quickly begin to grasp the scope of the undead problem they're faced with.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

This week I have two companion fics for this chapter:

Into her Hands (Hawke POV) The Gift (Cullen POV)

Excerpt below the jump ⏬

Hawke and Blackwall bear lanterns as we make our way along the road to the village in long silent strides, mouths sealed and ears sharpened for shamblers finding their way up from the lake. Twilight barely registers through the heaviness of the clouds and the mist that drifts in from the lake. The four of us are a colorless muddle where the orange firelight doesn’t hit. It doesn’t take long for the corpses to find us, or one of them anyway, the unmistakable thwip of an arrow narrowly missing us revealing the mode of attack. “For Maker’s sake,” I scoff, tugging my helmet lower. At least it’s not bloody hungry. Hawke slips silently around to my right, sliding his shield onto his arm and holding it up high enough to block any arrows that might strike us as he tugs me to cover behind a large boulder. Varric and Blackwall duck behind rocks closer to the perceived direction of the corpse. Behind Hawke’s shield we hold our breath, waiting for a rustle or a hiss. When it doesn’t immediately come I become keenly aware of his utter nearness, his arm scooping me close to his angular cuirass, his helmet leaning against mine. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with it, his eyes focused on nothing in particular as he listens for threats. “I got eyes on it,” hisses Varric. “Your eleven o’clock.” Bianca would barely slow the creature but Blackwall could take care of it. Heavy steps through the underbrush indicate he’s chased after it. “What if he attracts more?” I ask Hawke, whose eyes flick to mine finally. He smiles gently. “We’ll take care of them,” he says softly, patting my back where his hand holds me. We hear the guttural groan of the corpse and shing of steel as contact is made. In another moment the rustle of leaves. “Looked like it was just one,” says Blackwall, his voice muffled by shrubbery as he trudges back toward the road. “Thank you,” I say to Hawke. “And they say chivalry is dead.” “It is dead. We’re all sunk without you,” he says with a smirk. I give him a light shove against his breastplate which only intensifies his smile. “Besides who else would help me prank Varric?” “I can think of a few people.” “But none of them so beautifully,” he answers. I drop my head forward, the force of his brazen mouth provoking another ridiculous blush. “That wasn’t a flirt,” he adds hastily. “Really, Hawke,” I scold him. “I was merely stating the objective truth.” “For Maker’s sake!”

Read the rest here Start the fic here

DAFF Tag List:

@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @ir0n-angel | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @mogwaei | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @agentkatie

[rebrandedstoryline]

Naughty Nightlight

AYO, more soup! More hot n spicy SOOP!

@zenkaiankoku, @feralmoonlight, @saburo-kyoto, @juupitrr

I didn’t think I’d wind up writing this one so soon but the idea was there when I woke up so I had to get it written or my brain would pester me. Still technically inspired by this post.

Moon x Reader. Contains the use of toys. Contains spanking. Contains biting. I’m pretty sure this qualifies as BDSM to some degree. This is a jealous, possessive Moon. This is more than suggestive, it is explicit. So be warned. 2k words. Just in case: This is all a completely consensual part of the relationship. Moon is very dominant and a punishment can be easily stopped with a safe word. Stay safe out there and be aware of your partners needs!

A furious growl escapes the animatronic as his eyes fixate on you. Dark. Threatening. Ominous. Quiet, but oh so obvious. He stares at you. He soaks in your disheveled appearance. Body bare upon the bed. Skin flushed pink from personal indulgence. Legs spread apart and bright blue dildo pressed all the way inside you. An excited, somewhat anxious tremble escapes you as you take note of his expression. For as angry as that growl was, his expression hints at nothing.

A wide, seemingly excited smile has spread across his features. Sharp teeth on display. He licks his lips as he looks at you. But it’s his gaze which hints at his fury. Intense. Fixated. Like a predator which has just come across weak, vulnerable prey. He practically stomps into the room. He comes to the edge of the bed, crawling up so that he might kneel upon it between your legs. Rather than touch you immediately, he proceeds to dig his fingers into the bedding. You jolt slightly at the sound of fabric being brutally ripped.

          “What a naughty, naughty little girl you are, Nightlight~” Moon growls out, leaning towards you. His smile never wavers. His eyes remain unblinking. Hungry. Angry. Practically threatening. Against your wishes, you tremble from the excitement of it all. You can see that possessive glint in his eyes. Against your better judgement, it excites you. You like when he gets possessive. You like how much he obviously wants you. You also like to tempt fate. In effect, you’ve just invited a very grouchy, very hungry lion into your bed. And he had the teeth and claws necessary to make short work of you.           “Playing with such a crude thing. Making such a mess. Leaving me left out. Rulebreaker. R u l e b r e a k e r~!” He effectively hisses out the words, his voice getting deeper and darker as he speaks. You hear him tearing into the bed again. A tremble rolls through you. That could be you being shredded by his claws. Some part of you wanted it to be. Some part of you wanted him to take you and violently remind you that you were his. To remind you why it was that you had so expressly been forbidden from doing this naughty deed. It wasn’t even that he hated the idea of you masturbating.

          It was that he absolutely despised the idea of anyone else’s cock being inside of you. Moon was jealous. He was possessive. Even a toy purchased for your personal use seemed to be perceived as a threat to his claim to your heart and soul. Even when you’d sneakily gone and made it mirror the shaft that sprouted from between his legs. Even when you’d gone out of your way to intentionally show that you were trying to replicate his touch when you were unable to be with him. He didn’t like it.

          Now he was angry. Angry, and possessive, and on the brink of going feral. Some part of you felt guilty for upsetting him. The other part of you recognized that your punishment was going to be stern and it was going to be sift. He leans closer to still, his tongue half poking from between his sharp teeth as he stares unabashedly at your crude display.

          “Hands under your ass. Now. Lift it up.” Moon commands, his voice an even more stern growl. Trembling faintly, you oblige. You slide your hands around to grasp at the underside of your arse, and strain somewhat to lift your lower half up off of the bed. The position is difficult. The position is uncomfortable. That is the point. You are being punished and you know very well to obey. Disobedience will add to the punishment.           “Do not move. Do not take your eyes off of me.” He commands, prying a hang out from the mangled corpse of the bed to move it between your legs. You keep your eyes locked on his. You soak in his wild, passionate expression. All the while you are not allowed to look at what he’s doing with his hand. All you’re allowed to do is feel it as you struggle to maintain the position he’s had you lay in. Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel him take hold of the pho phallus that still lays buried inside you.

          He pulls it out completely in one swift movement. Not fast enough for it to genuinely hurt, but fast enough for it to almost sting. Just as swiftly he pushes it back in. Then back out. Then back in. Repeatedly. Relentlessly. He ignores how your legs begin to tremble from the strain of maintaining your pose. He doesn’t care whether or not his actions are pushing you near orgasm. They are. But laying here alone with him in bed, knowing that he could so easily touch you directly, that was the punishment.

          You’re being denied the pleasure of his touch, just as you were denying him the pleasure of touching you when you decided to use the fake shaft. All the while you’re forced to keep your hands to yourself by maintaining this awkward and tedious position. All the while you’re forced to maintain eye contact with him as he gives you exactly what you asked for. An orgasm. An orgasm brought about by the swift and unfeeling thrusting of a silicone cock. Cold. Unloving. A useless toy that you now regretted bringing into your home.

          Tears prick at your eyes as the ache in your arms and legs grows more obvious. You’re so close. So close to climax. But you can’t do it. Your body buckles abruptly. While you don’t exactly fall far, you do fall enough for the toy to be unceremoniously withdrawn from you completely. Still, you maintain eye contact with Moon. You watch as his smile falters for a split second. You watch as rage, and dare you believe it, concern, flashes in his eyes. He finally looks away from you. You follow his gaze.

          He’s glaring daggers at the sopping wet toy that he holds in his hand. His strength is so easily portrayed as he abruptly mangles it in his grip. His claws pierce and shred the silicone with the ease of a hot knife through butter. The dildo is left ruined beyond the means of use. He throws it directly into the trashcan near the nightstand. Gone. Never to return. Forbidden to return. He turns back to you. His gaze still angry, though there’s a softness to it now. He pulls you closer to him.

          Close enough that you can feel his erection confined within the fabric of his clothing. He purposefully and roughly grinds against you. Stimulating you while also denying you both the contact you both so desperately desire. He growls again. Softer first. Then his voice gets ominous once more. He leans down to lick away the tears that have escaped your eyes. Gently. Slowly. Seemingly resisting the urge to call your punishment done and begin the aftercare process. But he knows he’s can’t. He’s not done yet. You broke the rules again.

          “I told you not to move.” Moon growls again, moving his hands to run them along the underside of your legs. Slowly. Carefully. He slides them up to press his palms against the underside of your knees. Then up your legs go. He pushes them up. Not quite to your chest, but your backside is rendered entirely exposed to him with the position that you’ve been pushed into. He adjusts you in his hold to keep both of your legs held up with one hand. You know what’s coming next. It’s obvious. You shudder slightly in anticipation of it.           “Now I have to punish you more!” He practically snarls, bringing down his free hand to strike you on the arse. It stings. It stings a lot. Enough to make tears well in your eyes once more. There’s no pleasure to counteract the pain. He strikes you once. Twice. Thrice. Your backside is no doubt left littered with three distinct imprints of his hand. The swats stop as soon as a tear rolls down your cheek. That’s enough. He loves you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want to push you to your breaking point. He lets go of your legs, but you keep them up.

          Slowly. Carefully. He caresses the pink welts that he’s left upon your ass. Apologizing for the pain. Reassuring you that despite his anger - despite the ferocity of his punishment - he still loves you. Still, you tremble at his touch. The pain and pleasure mixes together where his fingers meet your sore skin. His growling is gone. Replaced with soft, soothing shushing. He leans to lick the tears from your cheeks once more. When you wrap your arms around him to pull him in for a kiss, he does not deny you.

          The kiss is short but hungry. Brief, but exactly what you needed to come back down to earth. Still, you crave him. The toy wasn’t enough. The toy wasn’t the same as him, even if you succeeded at making it resemble him. Your insides feel empty. Wanting. The heat of your loins screaming for his touch.

          “I-I’m sorry! Pease...” You breathlessly whisper your apology against his lips. Begging for him. Pleading for him to touch you more. For him to fill the emptiness that the toy left behind. He practically purrs against your lips as he kisses you again, pulling you closer. You feel him grind his clothed phallus against you ever so slightly, but he’s not teasing. He wants to feel you. His hand sneaks down to fumble about for a moment. Just to free himself from the fabric that prevents him from feeling you.

          “Good girl~” Moon purrs, breaking away from the kiss to lick along your neck. A loud, breathless moan escapes you as you feel it. He presses in. One sweet, swift motion. He buries himself inside of you. Prevented from penetrating further only by the force of your pelvis being crushed against his. Hot and slick. You wrap your legs around him, trying to keep him close. Not that he plans on going anywhere. He won’t even risk slipping out from inside of you as he begins to roll his hips. Slowly. Sweetly. Replacing the emptiness that the toy left within you.           “Oh, Stars... I love you~!” His voice leaves him as both a moan and a growl. You gasp abruptly, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder. He bites you deeply. He bites you swiftly to reduce that initial pain, then he locks his jaws for a moment to soak up the bitter taste of your blood. Your trembling increases. The pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a euphoria that cannot be described with words alone. When he withdraws his teeth from your flesh, he cleans the wound with his tongue. Slowly and intently. Assuring that the blood can’t drip off to stain the blankets.           “Never do that again. Never! Never!” He growls, growing possessive once more. He’s demanding. He’d begging. He’s making it clear that he doesn’t ever want to discover you replacing his touch with a toy again. Ever. Never. You can’t even find your voice to respond to him, it’s been overtaken by the gasps and moans which escape you with his every thrust. So you pull him closer. You cling to him. You bury your neck in his shoulder and lightly bite him back. Your teeth are to weak and blunt to do anything to him.

          Still, he can feel it. His possessive growls grow louder as his thrusts get stronger. Filling you. Breeding you. He’ll mark your body with his teeth. With his claws. With the essence that spills from within him to plant itself inside your womb. Then, when you’ve been left breathless and exhausted, he’ll lay with you. He’ll cradle you close. He’s whisper sweet nothings and sing your name as you come down from your high. Then, when your legs fail to support you, he’ll carry you.

          He’ll tend to your every want and need, having been satisfied with fully imprinting himself onto you. His one and only. His Nightlight. His one shred of hope that shines bright regardless of the dark.

[consistentsquash]

5 fic recs for Friday

Pretty behind on reading but got some recs for you!! Happy Friday <3

Fruitful by dalula.

Length - 1500 words.

Pairing - Druella/Cygnus

Blurb - Super creative. Super rare pair. Really intense Druella characterization. Creepy/dirty/bad/hot/wrong. This fic is pretty ruthless. Loved it. From @hp-chan-fest. The collection on AO3.

Vibe quote

He doesn't even blink when she takes him to an empty bedroom and locks the door behind him. With siblings like Walburga and Alphard, Druella had expected him to have some kind of common sense, or at least a little curiosity, but no. He stands waiting for her, delightfully naïve.

Hiraeth by @theseismicshifts

Length - 2800 words

Pairing - Genfic. Regulus and Sirius.

Blurb - Omg. Regulus checking on his brother during Azkaban. It's horrible. Super tragic. Super loving. Heartbreaking. Must read. This is from Ghost Regulus Fest 2023.

Jumping up, Regulus stood between the hungry Dementor and what remained of his brother. With his feet planted firmly and hands gripped in knuckle whitening fists, he was determined to make a difference– this time.

Just Wednesday by @lumosatnight

Length - 2200 words

Pairing - Wednesday/Enid

Blurb - Ok! Super late to the Wednesday f/f fics but I picked the best fic to start with. Totally vibe with this. Really love how sensitive + bold the fic gets about gender vibes. Also Monday (fuck/fucker/fucks) is my gender on Mondays just in case anybody wanted to know :D

“Personal pronouns. I think they’re dumb. They shouldn’t matter.” Eugene pokes his curly head around the hive. “I don’t think they’re dumb.” His brows pinch together. “And I think they do matter. It gives you something to feel connected to, something to say ‘This is for me. This is mine.’” He looks down sheepishly. “I mean, only if you want to. But lots of people want to. I know I want to. I know Enid wants to, too.”

Year of the Thestral by @perverse-idyll

Length - 22800 words WIP

Pairing - Hooch/McGonagall, Snape/McGonagall

TL;DR - You know what they say about making deals with the devil. This fic is pretty much that.

A fic I read at work. I mean I definitely shouldn't be reading at work but I saw the update and of course needed to read it immediately. Because this is my favorite WIP from perverse_idyll at the moment. Maybe it's kind of a Snarry betrayal to say that but I feel the Snape characterization here is the same level of intense as Rose and Fire which is something I haven't seen before in fic. YMMV!

Premise - the structure of the fic is really brilliant. We get to start with McGonagall post war but like really, really post war. Love the themes of growing older and how that makes you think about the past differently. Of course, for McGonagall the past doesn't get easier to think about. Because her past during that DH year is the worst. Really intense, really about a battle of ego/principles/desperation/hatred/everything. We get to see why that is. Definitely not good. I am a super Snape fan but I really want to cancel him in this fic. But McGonagall herself is super flawed/super human. I feel for her so much. Actually I feel for both of them but Snape is definitely A+ bastard.

Prose - Gosh, the prose. It's actually pretty different from the usual PI prose. The McGonagall voice is super sharp/super observant/super vivid. But not like in the descriptive sense we get to see in the author's other fics. This is an incredibly brutal POV which definitely goes more hammer compared to paintbrush. Idk if that makes sense.

Vibe quote

"One more thing before you go," he said, and Minerva braced herself, her gaze lifting to the portrait of Dumbledore asleep, head on one hand, spectacles sitting crooked on his crooked nose. "Do not ever," Severus enunciated, the hiss sharpening to a viper's threat, "come in here and presume to thank me for sparing your conscience. I will not tolerate being patted on the head as if I've performed a party trick. I'm not your pet, Minerva. My perceived lenience in this instance has nothing to do with you. Make that mistake again, and I will take my alleged 'fairness' out of Longbottom's hide." "Over my dead body," she snapped, meeting coldness with coldness and feeling that melodramatic ripostes were the only possible response to such foul nonsense.

The Eumenides Triptych (Szozat, Eumenides, O Glaube) by eldritcher

Length - 12000 words, complete.

Pairing - Tom Riddle/Abraxas Malfoy.

TL;DR - Sometimes making deals with a God is just as bad as making deals with a devil. This fic is pretty much that.

Dark/delicious/intense. Mythical/haunting/lyrical/horrible. Super unhealthy. Also Love in Capital Letters. <3

Premise - There are three Gods in Tom Riddle's life. First of course is Albus Dumbledore. Second is Tom himself. Third is Abraxas who is Tom's love interest. Depending on the choices Albus Dumbledore and Abraxas make Tom either goes into madness + evil + destruction or has a traumatized life after going through a lot of loss/grief . Definitely no happy ending. But it's absolutely human either way.

Beats - Albus Dumbledore timetravels to adopts/raises Tom Riddle but Tom dies during the war with Grindelwald. Albus resurrects Tom with Sacrifice in Szozat. Of course Abraxas has got to deal with the fallout in Eumenides. It is horrible. But also beautiful. We get to see the conclusion in O Glaube.

The theme of choice - The Prometheus Triptych has some of the defining characterizations and character dynamics which influenced literally 99% of the fics in that pairing. It is about Abraxas enabling Tom Riddle because of their love. Eumenides goes in the opposite direction which is Abraxas fixing Tom Riddle because of love. A beautiful story about the two of the extremes love can lead to. Somebody said it's the difference between the Tragedy that condemns/The Tragedy that redeems. Pretty much this 100%.

Vibe Quote

Grindelwald had dragged the boy before us. His men had carven an eagle on his back, and cut his bones open from breast to loin, and pulled his organs out and fed them to the dogs. And what remained, it had been left to rot in the open fields of the no man's land on the front. There it would have lain, until the vermin and the rains and the earth picked it clean, but Albus Dumbledore had been a creature that had swept across time to raise the boy as his own, and he had eaten the flesh to inverted womb's song.

[mia-preston556]

Day 73 -Part 2

I opened the door but to my surprise I didn’t see any of those disgusting creatures on the other side of the fence, I took a step outside holding my hand up to signal to Sebastian to stay put. It was eerily quiet despite the soft breeze and gentle rain I felt as I surveyed the immediate area outside focusing on the fence, an electric fence, after people started turning into “Zombies” despite their ability to talk to lure those not infected to them, so after the military failed, quite quickly I might add. We took up residence in a large, fortified military base and luckily they can’t get in.

No holes in the fence or perceivable threats in the area, good… Not wanting to turn my back to the fence just in case, I motioned to Sebastian that it was all clear over my shoulder.

“There is no way that at least one of those things aren’t near by Henry!” Sebastian hissed trying too be quiet, though it wasn’t working well…

“I know Sebastian please be calm, the scream didn’t sound too far, let’s just do our rounds and if we see one of them we will rush back inside, Deal?” I said my voice calm and collected, though on the inside I was anything but that.

“Deal.” I heard Sebastian grumble in response along with a few curses though I chose to ignore them.

I pulled out my knife ready to attack if need be, well Sebastian pulled out his 92 Revolver he found well raiding houses a few weeks back, he wasn’t going to take any chances. As we started the long walk to secure the base, neither of us said anything.

~2 hours later

The walk felt much longer in the awkward silence me and Sebastian shared, and we continued to say nothing as we entered the main building making sure the door was shut all the way behind us. As we walked down the long hallway to the cafeteria he finally spoke…

“ Hey Henry have you ever wondered how it’s mostly kids and teens that are immune and rarely adults? I mean it’s obvious it’s not an age thing as are immunity hasn’t seemed to change with age, do you think it’s a generational thing?” He seemed genuinely interested in the answer though I didn’t have a concrete answer I decided to humor him.

“Maybe, Michael has been scouring all the documents left in this place for answers so that’s more of a Michael question, though I think if he found something along those lines he would have told me…” After I spoke I really thought about it, maybe this was all planned I didn’t want to believe it though now it seemed more plausible than ever.

Sebastian opened his mouth to say something but was suddenly cut short by a loud bell, almost like a school bell, and then the same voice that spoke every night said…

“Team Dragon please return to your rooms or to the mess hall, Team Wolf please report to your assigned commander.”

Though the voice stopped many other people in the hallway, I wasn’t surprised I was the top of command around here despite my age, so I expected Melody’s announcement as it was on the schedule and always perfectly timed as to not overwork anyone.

I took a sharp turn right towards my room deciding to sleep instead of going to social time, I entered my room after a few minutes and flopped down onto my bed after removing my gear. I laid in silence for what felt like hours until I finally drifted off into my usual restless sleep…

[oatmealdaydreams]

Hearthfire (5/16)

Chapter IV | The Armadillo and the Dog

<- Prev // Masterpost // Next ->

--- --- ---

Summary: Orange does his usual tending in the garden. Blinding anger, well, blinds him as he remains bedstuck after something happens with Thomas. Virgil and Patton are arguing yet again, and there's an awful lot of indignance to be dealt with.

Warning: insecurity, burn scars, panic (animal), fire, burns, overstimulation; let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 5956

--- --- ---

Cyan and Purple have no fucking clue what’s going on with their fellow Sides. 

Yellow hasn’t dared to be around Green for a while.

Cyan and Purple have no fucking clue what’s going on with their fellow Sides.

They weren’t there in that stupid, fucking meeting. They didn’t witness the breakdown of both Red and Indigo. They didn’t see Green defending his brother, nor do they know of Yellow’s seemingly sudden realization that he’s gone beyond a certain point in harming the Prince. They have no clue. They’re presences were still felt somewhat—as happens when Sides aren’t physically there, they don’t just disappear unless they choose to—but that doesn’t mean they know what went down. 

So, a confused Purple armadillo and a deeply worried Cyan Shifter Dog. 

Yet another mess that’s left for Orange, and more tending to the Flower Garden and its various flora and fauna. 

Which brings the canary to shoving his gardening gloves on when the Armadillo won’t come out from its balled-up state. 

He has to wear gloves when this happens because this armadillo hates it when human skin touches its shell. Orange hasn’t the faintest idea why—come on, he doesn’t know everything, he’s not omniscient—but he doesn’t need to know the ‘why’ to know how to take care of it. He crouches down on his knees once his gloves are on securely, carefully so he doesn’t crunch the grass too loudly and scare the poor thing further. The armadillo lays balled-up not too far in front of him, shaking lightly with how tight it's holding itself. Orange calmly shushes it, keeping as calm and slow-moving as he can. It makes little noises, snorting and scruffing its nose as it squeaks. 

“Shh, little pup, you’re safe, you’re safe,” he does his best to soothe. 

The little armadillo grunts, squeaking and squealing in its protective shell. 

Orange sighs, “Yes, I know, I know. No human skin though, see? Why don’t you peek out and see?” 

At that, the armadillo warily follows instructions and peeks out from its shell. It sniffs around, spotting his gloves, and its noises quiet down by the smallest bit. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he encourages, “Let’s uncurl a little, huh?” 

The little pup eyes Orange before it slowly uncurls. It’s slow, hesitant, still squeaking and grunting as it stays wary. Once it’s uncurled enough from its bumpy shell, Orange places a firm, gloved hand on its back. It freezes, but then immediately relaxes as he begins to stroke his hand up and down its shell. It keeps sniffing, crawling over to Orange to get a better tell of what’s going on. It picks up on the scent of campfires and burnt wood—and something else, something underneath those scents—starting to purr lightly as it recognizes him. Orange sighs in relief. Usually, the armadillo isn’t as easily relaxed as this, but he’ll take what he can get. He scoops it up into his lap, and it leans into him as it purrs louder. A surprised smirk tugs at his lips as he thinks about why the little pup was so panicked in the first place. 

The armadillo can be easily spooked, depending on what it is, but it also will just as easily go into defense and hiss at any perceived threat. So, what spooked it this time? And why has it calmed down a lot sooner than it typically does? Not that Orange is complaining, but...well, it’s interesting. Knowing who the armadillo is connected to, it would more-so try to bite and growl and hiss than let him take it into his lap and purr. Something’s changed. What makes an Anxious, Purple pup calm down faster? Is it a what or a who? Or a how? Has it just finally gotten used to Orange as its handler? No, he’s been doing this for a long, long time. The armadillo only just now started doing this. It’s the first time this has happened. 

His brows furrow. 

It sniffed him, so...he sniffs the air. He normally smells like fire, in its many forms, and citrus, because of course Orange would smell like citrus. There’s a strange hint in there somewhere. He closes his eyes as he concentrates on what it is, the armadillo burrowing into his stomach. Where was he last that the armadillo would favor scent from? It would be from someone else, somewhere else, that he’s visited within the last few days. A small hint of rose petals catches Orange’s nose, and it dawns on him. 

Oh, he thinks, I see now. 

The little pup is worried about the cardinal—to be fair, they’ve all been worried—and smelling something that vaguely reminds it of Red must’ve triggered its comforting instinct. Armadillos in the physical world, the one Rainbow lives in, may or may not purr for comfort, Orange doesn’t know, but this armadillo does. Considering who it’s connected to, it’s not really surprising. For all his grump and dark persona, Purple is a protector at his core and a damn determined one at that. Sometimes, that includes comforting the ones he cares about, especially when they’re anxious. 

A yip and running, thumping paws break Orange from his thoughts as a border collie appears no more than a few feet away. It almost barrels into him and the armadillo, but he just manages to scooch out of the way as it tumbles into the grass. It immediately gets up as if unbothered and trots its excited little tail over to them. Sniffing at the little pup in Orange’s lap, it sits down next to him. The armadillo promptly hisses at it for startling the poor thing, and the dog simply barks at it. 

He hasn’t seen the Shifter Dog in the form of a border collie for a long while, but at least it isn’t shifting frantically again. It’s called a ‘Shifter Dog’ due to its nature to just...shapeshift into different dog breeds depending on its connected Side’s mood. A border collie means he’s either worried or happy. Usually the latter, but with the way it’s stubbornly sticking by the armadillo, he’d say it’s both at once this time. Why would Cyan be happy and worried? Worried makes sense, considering recent events, so why happy? He hasn’t been happy for some time, not with all the everything that’s been going on since a little before the wedding, not even when he claims he is. He’ll dress up his face in a nice smile, make breakfast for the five of them—when was Green ever actually invited or welcomed to those—and say he’s happy just to see his fellow Sides. Yellow will hiss lightly under his breath, glancing at Cyan, but he doesn’t comment on the lie and neither does the father figure of the Mindscape. Happy doesn’t make sense. 

Orange glances at the border collie, seeing where white fur should be is more ashy grey than anything. 

Well, see, that makes a lot more sense. 

He’s sad. 

Sad and worried make a lot more sense. 

It is a Shifter Dog after all, not every dog breed it shifts into will be completely accurate to what it’s technically supposed to look like. So, a grey and black border collie makes more sense as it wags its tail at the armadillo, who in turn clacks at the dog. Orange raises an eyebrow as the little pup crawls off his lap and to get away from the border collie. The little puppy whines after it, tail wagging slower as it steps after the armadillo. Orange decides to watch and see what happens. 

The puppy whines again, barking at its friend. The little pup hisses again, rolling itself back into a ball. 

Orange sighs. He knew Cyan and Purple have some sort of troubles, since sometime before they watched that Disney movie with Rainbow—the time when Red had insisted on onesies being the only acceptable attire to wear during a movie night—but it hasn’t gotten any better. He’d argue, by the looks of these critters, that it’s actually gotten a little worse. 

Orange stands, tugging off his gardening gloves and pocketing them as he gazes around the Flower Garden. The little cardinal still sits in the Orange Tree, the crow watching it from a higher branch on the other side. The skunk keeps eyeing its brother bird, clicking as it talks. He doesn’t know where the bumblebee went, but there’s faint buzzing some distance far away from where all the other fauna are.

There’s a snap on the ground in front of him and an odd squish of what sounds like fruit. He glances down as he takes a step back. A branch from the Orange lies on the ground, broken, cracked, twisted, an orange squished into juicy citrus bits a few inches from it. There’s no flowers on this branch. No orange blossoms to help make up for the lack of fruit. It’s bare. It’s bare and sad and dead. 

A vibrant, orange feather floats softly to lay next to the destroyed fruit remains. Something snags on the inside of Orange’s leather jacket, tugging uncomfortably against his back. He feels his wings, hidden under leather, twitch at the sight of a fallen feather. Reaching back carefully, he manages to get his jacket off before his wings try to weep more feathers. Now free, his small pair of wings stretch awkwardly, shuddering and flapping as they do. More feathers fall to the ground. Orange stares. They look like soft fires amongst the grass, setting the garden ablaze.

He grunts as he plucks the loose feather from where it had snagged against his jacket. There’s a quick prick and tug, and it’s free. 

Something hurts in his chest as he holds the feather. It’s so small, he can hardly twist it around his fingers and fidget with it. A primary. A little fluffy primary that’s so tiny and small compared to how big it should be. 

My wings shouldn’t be so small, amber light turns into fire on skin. I should be able to fly, I want to fly with big wings and soaring Hope. I should be a soaring Hope. 

Orange winces as his hand catches the feather on fire, shriveling it into ash and dust and nothingness. He kicks the dead tree branch and stomps on the already-squashed orange. It bleeds more juice into the grass. He shouts as he almost stomps on his jacket instead of the wood, and that’s when the anger vanishes into an empty pit in his ribs. He huffs, glaring at everything and anything as he puts his jacket over his arm.

And Orange exits the Flower Garden in an indignant, empty rustle of too-small wings. 

=====

Rainbow yelled at the wrong person, apparently, according to everyone’s frantic scolding of each other and the fact that Green is thriving within the chaos of it. 

Orange doesn’t even need to leave his room, laying on his stomach on his bed again, his leather jacket acting as another pillow. He can just lay there because everyone’s Unfair and Angry thoughts are blinding his eyes as they bounce around from sentence to sentence to sentence. His eyes burn and sting. 

They’re blaming me for this? What did I do? They didn’t even let me speak!

Orange’s eyes won’t stop glowing amber.

Of course, it’s my fault. It has to be, it can’t be anyone else’s, no, only a villain is capable of making Thomas have an outburst. It’s not like he’s responsible for his own actions or anything.

Brighter and brighter and brighter. 

I don’t understand, I’m sorry that I don’t understand, but I don’t, I don’t get why we did that. Why can’t they hear me? Why don’t they see how much it hurts me? Why can’t I bear to show them what happens when the Ego is bruised?

It feels like the fires are trying to worm their way into his retinas.

After all that, and suddenly I’m the bad guy again? They never change! I shouldn’t have trusted them!

There’s an unwelcomed, boiling heat that slides down Orange’s face under the guise of tears. 

‘It’s good for Thomas’, they said. ‘This is too important for you to be here’, they said. I ain’t the fuckin’ problem! They never listen, and they never will!

He can already feel the start of new burn scars that trail from the tips of his eyes down down down to meet his jaw. 

Why don’t they believe me anymore? We used to be a family, it’s not fair. They don’t treat me like family anymore!

It really fucking hurts. 

This is what happens when Rainbow gets overwhelmed with anger, specifically the kind that intertwines itself with Unfair. That’s Orange’s domain, of course it’s going to fucking affect him, not that any of the Others will ever see it. It’s like this because Rainbow sees all forms of anger as hurtful—the burning and stinging in his eyes worsen—and blinding—he can’t see, it’s too much, there’s too many scorched words overlapping in his vision. Orange’s breath hitches as pain erupts in his temples, a headache swiftly adding to the overwhelming mess. 

Rainbow...Rainbow needs to calm down. He needs Yellow to shut his snide little maw, for Green to take care of his brother—because if he’s too occupied with caring for Red, then he won’t be messing with their centre as much—he needs for Red and Purple to take a deep breath. He needs Cyan to set his own hurt aside for a few moments and help take care of the Others. He can feel the things he needs to feel, of course, he shouldn’t repress it, but putting aside for a little bit and then coming back to it later isn’t repression. In fact, it’s a healthy thing to do when there’s other pressing matters at hand, like when your fellow Sides need your help—even though they may not want you right now. Cyan could at least help Yellow. Purple needs to go check on Indigo, or hey, maybe Red can do that because then they can sort through whatever fondness they’re feeling for each other. 

Listen, it’s not that hard to notice, especially when you’re the one that watches everything from the shadows. 

Indigo needs someone to listen to him. So does Green. They both do. Maybe Red can drag Green on over to Indigo and they can take turns listening to each other, and then maybe there’d be less problems to deal with if the Ego, the Unwelcomed Creative, and the Teacher could be there for one another. The Creatives already are there for each other—as much as they can be, at least–but he digresses. 

Orange groans in pain, on his bed, alone, wings flapping as his own sense of annoyance wriggles itself in his veins like a mock version of purple vines. It’s not purplish vines that burn. 

It’s not the fact that Rainbow is angry and indignant, that’s not what’s hurting him. It’s the fact he internalizes and represses it so vigorously because he’s so afraid of being perceived as a bad person that makes this fucking painful as all hell. Maybe if his dear centre let himself feel things without worrying about what it means in terms of Morality and Goodness, then perhaps a lot of things that he struggles with wouldn’t be as bad as they are. 

But hey, where’s the fun in that? 

God fucking damnit. 

Orange can’t even scroll through his phone or get up to attend to matters at his desk while he’s like this. It sucks. 

Something catches the tip of a feather, and the room smells like old, burning jumpers. 

He frantically tries to bend his wing enough to reach where it could be on fire, because that happens, he catches on fire, thanks a lot Rainbow for being Mr. Repression, but his hands find nothing but small feathers that feel too soft to be properly matured. 

Dear fucking god, let this be over so I can do my damn job, Orange thinks as his own indignation threatens to light his tears on fire as if they were practically boiling already. 

They aren’t actually boiling, but they sure fucking feel like it. 

And it’s going to feel like it for a while at this rate. 

=====

Once the Others have calmed down enough for Orange’s eyes not to be plagued by constant and sporadic amber letters and burning sensations, it’s almost late evening. 

Now that there isn’t a haze of fire fire fire and unfair unfair unfair, he can finally start thinking about what actually happened that led to that. 

Yes, he’s a part of Rainbow, and thus is the ‘manifestation’—as Indigo calls it—of this specific type of indignant anger. He reflects what it looks like when Rainbow’s all righteous fury and shit. He’s set ablaze like an outraged phoenix with the wrong type of wings, and shit happens. Rainbow may huff or punch a pillow or—and you’ll appreciate the callback—yell at someone. The thing is whoever Rainbow yelled at deserved it because they did or said something Unfair, and guess what, bitch, that’s not okay. You don’t get to be Unfair to Rainbow, nope, not without consequences, motherfucker. That’s most of Orange’s entire point. When Unfair things happen, he’s the one who makes sure Rainbow—and the Others, by proxy—get some sense of Justice because no fucking way can any of them just stand there while shit goes down. 

You see it in how Red in the way he plays the role of the Prince—and how he desperately tries to play the role of the Hero, though he’s not sure what that means anymore—saving distressed townsfolk and critters from whatever antagonist that decides to plague them. 

You see it in the way Purple is a guardian, a protector, ready to get any of them out of potential danger at a second’s notice. 

In the way that Yellow shows and guides and gently prods them to take care of themselves and for Rainbow to take care of himself, in the way he hides what Rainbow isn’t quite ready to discover about himself, not yet, not until he gives the word, in the way he lies with a lemon-tart tongue and shining scales to protect them all from the agony that is being the villain because right now, someone has to be the antagonist for things to be realized. 

You see it in the way Indigo and Cyan watch over everyone like teacher and parent, a duo grouped together because of similar glasses and hues of similar colours; in the way Indigo guides and educates and does his best to support, and in the way Cyan holds and soothes and tries so hard to figure out how to better himself with Rainbow and the Others in his thoughts and his heart. 

You see it in the way Green will babble on and on and on about the nastiest, most Unwelcomed things to highlight the things Rainbow isn’t because if he spits what’s Bad and horrifying, than maybe—if Rainbow listened—he could see just how Good and wonderful he really is because Green only says the things that aren’t Rainbow and how he cares cares cares for people and the world around him. In the way Green shouts and screams and screeches like a noisy skunk to distract the Others from noticing a hurting and bruising Ego, how he sinks right after Red and opening brotherly arms of comfort, of warmth, of an understanding between the Creatives that no one else could ever Hope to replicate. 

Not a single one of them could ever remain a bystander to Injustice and Unfair things because they’re parts of a whole entire Rainbow, and their lovely Rainbow cannot fathom it in himself to let others suffer in such a way, especially when he knows that discriminatory suffering a little too well himself. 

Orange digresses. 

Who would say or do such stupid things to make Rainbow feel that indignant flare within himself? Not his friends, no, no one like Joan or Quill or Terrance or any of them would piss him off like that. That’s not to say they have arguments and disagreements from time to time, but it’s nothing so hurtful to outrage all six of the Others and blind Orange so viciously that he’s rendered bed-stuck and burning for hours on end. Perhaps a family member he doesn’t see that often decided to show face? Well—no, wait, Orange has seen Indigo’s activity calendar he keeps in the intercepting hallway, Rainbow doesn’t have any sort of scheduled dates or times to see extended family for a while. He does have a date where he plans on visiting his mom and taking her out for a day to spend time with her. It’s past Mothers’ Day, sure, but who says you can’t spend time with your loved one outside of a holiday or celebration? Point is this: she might’ve said something on a call recently, if she’s the one who fucked up. Rainbow likes to call her sometimes because he’s Rainbow and he loves his mom. 

Listen, sometimes parents say hurtful things without realizing they’re hurtful and piss off their kids, and then they get all confused on why their kids are pissed off, and then they get indignant themselves because a lot of parents have this insecurity when it comes to being respected. It’s a loop that goes on and on, that creates more and more distance between parents and their kids until someone finally acts like the bigger person and fucking communicates about why they’re mad. 

So, yeah, maybe Rainbow’s mom said something without realizing, and Rainbow got hurt by it and reacted due to Orange’s nature of being...well, Orange. 

For as much as he watches from the shadows as a little citrus mist, Orange doesn’t always know when things happen or even what happens to cause other things to happen. Besides, Rainbow doesn’t know about him—nor do the ‘Lights’, as Red calls them—and he’s mostly hidden away by Yellow’s Denial influence and the fact that Rainbow hasn’t ‘given the word’, so to speak, for Orange to be something he’s actually open to confronting. Orange simply can’t be in certain places in certain moments because it’s these certain times that Rainbow, for as confused as he usually is, would one-hundred percent notice a vibrant orange mist watching from the stairwell behind Purple’s typical spot. Now, see, sometimes Orange can hide and watch while the Others argue and, well, ‘debate’, but that’s not an absolute guarantee.

Orange needs to stop digressing. 

Point is Orange doesn’t actually know who the fuck set Rainbow off because, while his influence was definitely there, he himself wasn’t. So, Rainbow’s mom is a good candidate. Unfortunately, a less-likely-to-happen candidate because she’s been busy herself for at least three weeks, according to Cyan’s extensive memory logs in the Long-Term Memory Museum. Never let it be said that Cyan can’t be organized and responsible when he needs to be. 

So, not the mom. 

A stranger, maybe? A collaboration gone wrong before it could’ve started? An insensitive fan thinking they had a right to say something they had no right to? 

Hm. Well. 

There might be one person he can think of. 

One person who was an indirect cause of further ignoring Indigo. One person that has a better chance at bruising Red much easier than most. One person who could turn away and leave if they found Sides like Green or Yellow as ‘immoral problems’. One person who has a strong influence on Rainbow because he cares too much, one that has Cyan’s attention—even if it’s somewhat hesitant attention. One person who Purple worked hard to get Rainbow to meet instead of running the other way because it was important to connect with them, especially to poor Red who needed this so desperately. One person who Orange himself has a special little appreciation for because they indirectly gave him the opportunity to help Indigo release some of his pent-up anger—without discarding Green’s role in that, of course. 

See, this person has a certain thing for carrots. 

The charming, sweet Nico Flores. 

Of course, the lovely flower, Orange comes to a conclusion. Our sweet flower said something, didn’t he? Oh, dear Gateway, you haven’t a clue of what you lent a pathway to. 

Well, Orange isn’t one to deny such a generous offer from their precious Gateway.

=====

“Well, kiddo, I just think that—”

“Patton, you—stop calling me ‘kiddo’, I thought I told you that already,” a voice grumbles as two sets of footsteps walk down the darker hallway. 

Orange turns in his desk chair, listening to the Purple and Cyan as they trek down the hall. They’re getting close to where his door is hidden, in the darkest of shadows, in the back, in a Void where no light can escape and shine through to the outside. They wouldn’t be able to see or find his door.They can’t see what the Mind doesn’t want them to see, what Rainbow himself doesn’t want to confront yet, what Yellow is so determined to keep secret until their centre says ‘let me see’. Green, Purple, and Yellow know Orange, of course, but the only one who knows where his door is, is Yellow. Even then, none of the six have been in his room, or the Flower Garden. No one’s seen the critters he tends to. No one heard the painful days and nights of being engulfed in flames or tending to small wings by himself when it would be better to have help. 

They don’t know Righteous Anger or Wrath. They don’t know Hope. 

They don’t see yet. 

But soon, they will. 

They’ll all see.

“Right, sorry, kid—Virge, guess this old man forgets things from time to time,” Cyan apologizes, then jokes, and Orange can practically hear the painted grin. 

A dismissive hum, “Sure, yeah, whatever you say, Patton.” 

Why don’t you let me call you nicknames anymore? You dismiss me when I try your name, when I slip up and say ‘kiddo’, when I try using a different thing altogether. What do you want me to do? Why won’t you let me love you anymore? 

Orange’s eyes flash amber, and he sighs. 

Great, just when he started getting to work, now he’s gotta do something else, because god forbid he doesn’t watch the Others for five fucking minutes. 

The starting heat of fire on his knuckles reminds him to take a deep breath and calm down. He inhales and exhales the way he’s seen Indigo show Purple. In...and out…in...and out…in…and out. The heat dissipates and cools, and Orange slumps in relief. At least he doesn’t have to do his job while on fire. He’s had to do that before, and it fucking sucks. 

Orange pushes back in his chair, stands, and shifts in mist as he leaks through the door like a strange fog-like water. He wades through the Void of inky blackness that hides his door from sight in the darker hallway. It’s vast, stretching on for miles and miles. A nothingness that raises Bleak and Dreary to be their depressive selves. Almost like a never-ending sea that’s matte black, no shine or shimmer to give reflection. It’s liquid with the consistency of mercury. Viscous but not terribly so. It takes a while to find the crack in the Void that leads to the outside. 

The crack is small. The liquid Void falls through it like a waterfall, only without the calming sound of rushing water. That’s another thing about this place. There’s no sound, just ringing in your ears that steadily gets louder and louder for every second you’re here. Orange hates it. It’s so fucking stupid that he’s hidden away from Rainbow, but there’s only so much he can do about it. Aside from going after Yellow, he can’t really lash out against anyone but the Mind itself. 

Because Yellow doesn’t create the Voids, the Mind does. 

Yellow just…‘manages’ them. 

Now, yes, Orange could very well just sink out into the darker hallway and not have to deal with the Void. He could. He absolutely could’ve.

But it was important to show you, Orange glances at an unseen force that watches and reads and imagines. The Void is a special place, no? Ever had to live in a Void before, lovely firelets?

Orange slips down down down through the crack in the Void.

Inside is almost like a pocket dimension, like sinking into a mirrored pool of water that has you rise out of it to the other side. It’s pitch black in the crack, a wormhole of sorts. Perhaps it’s so dark because it’s the raw materials that the Mind is made of, and if Orange ever saw what it really looked like, he’d lose all mental coherence in the flash of a forest fire. So, yeah, it’s best he can’t see what the Mind looks like when it’s...like that. 

He climbs through the other end of the crack, a small piece of the wall in the darker hallway missing. It’s right by Purple’s door—well, it’s more of a gateway, but whatever—from the time he got mad at Yellow and punched the first thing he saw. Citric mist seeps from the scar in the wall and onto the floor, pushing and shrinking itself to be among the textured floorboards. It waits and listens as Cyan’s and Purple’s footsteps thud thud thud closer. He hears a Purple-classic scoff as they near. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Purple’s shoulders are tense, hands buried into the pocket of his patchwork hoodie. 

“Language.”

“I—well, it’s nothing bad…” Cyan stumbles as he fails to explain.

“That’s some of the most vague shit I’ve ever heard, and I share a hallway with Janus.” 

“Oh, really, that’s the thing you’re focused on? Tch, wow, Patton.”

“No, Virge, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You don’t mean a lot of things.”

“What? Virgil—”

“No, just forget it. I’m just gonna go to my room—Patton!”

Cyan steps in front of Purple, blocking his path from getting to his door. 

Let me through, you can’t force things to happen, let me through!

Orange’s eyes glow amber in the midst of mist. No one’s noticed the odd spot on the floor that suspiciously looks like carrot juice had a baby with peach fuzz.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Purple sneers. 

Cyan frowns at the use of a swear word, but he decides to let it be this time.

“I just want to talk with you, Virge. That’s it,” he explains, pushing down a nebulous feeling of—wait, what?

A huff, “Yeah, because blocking me from my room is gonna go so well for you.”

“Virgil, please. I just—I wanna talk about the meeting.”

Well, that sure shut Purple up. 

Purple presses his lips into a thin line, grumbling a quiet agreement along the lines of ‘whatever, fine’ and nods at Cyan to continue. Cyan lets out a breath of relief before he speaks. 

“We...I know you weren’t there either, but...do you know what’s happened with everyone else?” he asks, fiddling with the paws of the cat hoodie tied around his neck. 

“No, I don’t,” Purple answers, shortly.

“Okay, that’s—okay. I think something, um...you haven’t seen Roman around, have you?”

A pause, worry slithering its way into Purple’s throat, “Uh, no, I haven’t. He’s—I thought he was just working. Just work stress an’ all that.”

Cyan nods, thinking. Purple narrows his eyes at him, suspicion joining the worry. 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Cyan forces his hands still, “Well, Janus—”

“Oh, Janus told you something? And you actually believed him?” 

“Wha—Virgil, now’s not the time to be rude.”

The chide is promptly ignored. 

“You’re implying something’s up with Princey, and you think Janus is the Side to tell you what’s wrong when he’s the one who always fucks with him? Really?”

A scoff. Eyes burn with hurt. They both think the same thing.

Why are you doubting me when I know him better than you do?

Amber flashes and glimmers in the mist as it shifts an inch closer. Purple crosses his arms. Cyan puts his hands on his hips as he gives the resident armadillo a stern look. 

Discrediting Yellow’s genuine care isn’t a good place to start. It’s been discussed before: Yellow is both Self-Care and Deception, a bumblebee capable of stinging who it wishes while still being sweet as honey when it suits it. It could sting the other critters, but the choice not to is an everyday, every minute decision. There’s some credit in that, isn’t there?

Cyan and Purple stand as opposing mirrors, blocking each other from either the path to leave or the path to rest. They reflect each other in such a way that it’s hard to determine what started in who. They believe themselves to be in the right and the other in the wrong. They think they know better when neither of them know what even happened for Red to hide away for so long. They think they know a certain Side better because he’s Accepted now...but only one of them grew up with him, and the other is the only one getting to know him in such a close way that the Others are hesitant to try. 

Both the little dog and the little armadillo are stubborn, and they don’t see past what their own mirror tells about the other. 

“I know Janus can be...confusing sometimes, but I trust him,” Cyan continues, pushing the tearful feeling back—though it tries to surge up and through his eyes. 

Purple scoffs again—he does that a lot, doesn’t he?

Another frown, “I know you two have your differences, Virgil, but I just think that—”

“No, Patton, I don’t think you are thinking.”

“Virgil, please.”

“No! I think you’re too caught up in what you did wrong, and can’t seem to fathom a literal snake being deceptive. You’re acting so naive with—”

“I’m not naive!” 

Orange eyes flare up in Cyan, blinding, glowing, bright in amber anger and defense. Purple instinctively steps back, flinching lightly as Cyan shouts at him. Cyan breathes heavily, blinking and glancing at his surroundings with furrowed brows. He spots a fearful look in Purple eyes and swallows, Regret burning hot and thick in the back of his throat. Purple’s shoulders are tensed up, hand buried in his hoodie pocket, and he looks ready to bolt away. 

“I—I’m sorry, Virgil, I…” Cyan’s apology dies on his tongue, stuttering and stumbling through a cracking heart at scaring his fellow Side. 

Purple’s gaze flicks to his door, and Cyan wordlessly moves aside to let him by. He does not look at the little armadillo, and the little armadillo does not look at him. Scurrying into his room, Purple slams his door. Cyan winces at the loud sound, standing there in shock of himself. 

“Did I just…oh, no,” he mumbles aside. 

Cyan promptly sinks out. 

Orange waits until the blinding, burning sight of hurt hurt hurt dissipates enough that he can see the floorboards again. 

That, that was so horribly pent-up and cold. Fire isn’t supposed to be cold. Not unless it’s so hot that it feels cold, and this wasn’t it being unbearably hot. It was only cold. Why is Cyan’s indignant icy like that? 

Orange sinks back into his room, shifting into his typical form as he does so. 

If the little dog’s anger is so cold, then how long has it been sitting, pressed down, to get like that? What in the fuck happened for the little armadillo to be so defensive around him?

Why does Rainbow's Heart feel so cold?

[hcdcsbcbydcll]

.&& dale

the confrontational nature of her tone went straight to dale’s dick. it shouldn’t have surprised him. they both seemed to be fueled by pushing back against the expectations of being passive, and this was just another thrill for him. he felt a surge of carnivorous anticipation. he felt the muscles in his back and shoulders bunch at the blatant challenge. 

“when father first told us your name, i knew nothing good would come from having you here,” dale’s tone came out hoarse. he remembered the nigh the announcement came from moon. the patriarch of the family always exuded confidence and strength. but dale knew that he ultimately had no power in this decision. morgan would have taken her even if moon objected to the whole arrangement. “you’re only a means for my brother to gain further control,” his voice low and taunting as he finally tore the claws on his left from the bed and quickly grasped her thigh.

the contact registered in his brain immediately and he squeezed the soft flesh hard enough to leave a mark. another deep inhale, eyes fluttering when he picked up on her arousal. now, that was new. he always kept his distance from aroused omegas–or rather, his siblings were too territorial for him to ever safely go near them. though he was never perceived as a threat, he was in the way.

“look at you. so much denial. angry or not, your body knows what its purpose is.” the irony of him saying the words didn’t escape him. “do you like the idea of getting fucked in the woods like an animal? held down and pounded into the dirt for hours and hours till sunlight finally hits the trees? you’d only be dragged right back here to this bed afterwards.”

.

“what a funny coincidence, i felt like i was called to the gallows when my father said yours.” the wright family was infamous in the lands for their viciousness and territorial nature. a family of alphas save for the poor little beta thrown in the mix. she knew there was no way that morgan would let go of her, not before she was properly bred and mated. did he think she would be tamed? made docile if he shackled her to him? she had to remember that maybe rational thought wasn’t part of the alpha’s repertoire.

but it should be his younger brother’s, the beta should have been calmer, collected in a way that an alpha could not be. instead, lia was hissing as his claws sank on the soft flesh of her thigh, another snap of her teeth being given as if that would make him let go. she didn’t know what he planned to do with her, but it shouldn’t be nothing good. and if he was going to try and suffocate her with her own pillows or bite her neck off... well, the brunette was ready to fight back.

smaller claws moved to his chest, keeping him away from her, pressing against the layers of clothing to reach the skin underneath. “how can you know?” lia snarled at him, growling low on her throat, eyes narrowed because what could a beta know about instinct? “i bet if it was your brother, he would be salivating at the thought of chasing an omega.” her growl only became louder as dale continued, thighs pressing together as her traitorous body kept responding to the image he so well painted. it was unfair, how she was betrayed by her own instincts.

“i would have done my best to get away from here, i would have fought back. i wouldn’t have backed down.” if that ever happened, morgan would have to drag her unconscious body back. “but you can never know how it feels, can you? the rush of being chased or chasing. of catching or being caught. you’ll never have those instincts inside of you because you’re a mere beta. a whole family of alphas and you’re the disappointment, aren’t you?”

[deniigi]

Cody-Centric Fic Recs

Name of the Game - esama

There's a new Dark Sider on the battlefield, one who has it out for Cody's General.

-----

Codywan; pre-slash, sith!Obi-Wan

Of Warnings (Ignored) - Trixree

“Listen to me, Kote. Are you listening? Because it is very fucking important that you listen to me right now,” 17 says. He would seize Kote by the chin and make him pay attention, if 17 was looking to get bit on top of all the other pain his body is gifting him with.

----

Codywan; Cody is a little shit; Alpha is longsuffering

Bonding Rituals - blackkat

Cody smirks, tilting his head. “Sounds like Fox has a date,” he says, and Rex is suddenly, vividly reminded of the fact that Cody and Fox are batchmates. Something must have gone wrong with the cloning process there, because that much asshole in one batch should be physically improbable. For a moment, he almost feels sorry for Fox.

Then he remembers that Fox yelled at Fives last time they ran into each other during an escort mission on the front, and decides that he actually doesn’t.

-----

Fox/Obi-Wan, Rex & Cody, Pranks and Practical jokes

sunshine and the shade of poetry - Petrichordiam

 "Sorry sir, but I don't think we've met," Cody said, turning up the friendly customer service representative levels by two points.

 To his delight, there wasn't really any visible change in his general's expression. "Have I neglected to leave an impression on you over the last several years?"

 "I'm not sure you want an honest answer to that question, sir."

===== The war comes to an abrupt end, and everyone around him begins the long road to recovery and discovery. Cody, on the other hand, just needs to find a new job.

Unfortunately, he has no idea what to do next.

-----

Codywan; Rex & Cody, Coruscant Art Scene, Romance-writer Cody

*And because I am shameless, some of my own fics:

girlboss, gatekeep - deniigiq

Captain Gregor immediately leans his chin on his palm and smiles at Fives. Fives smiles back. He does not perceive this action to be the threat that it truly is.

“That man’s going to kill him,” Jesse says with his neck craned as far as it will go.

“Yep,” Kix agrees solemnly.

“You never know,” Echo says. “He’s squeezed better outcomes out of worse odds.”

(Fives decides that he's going to join the illustrious, mysterious, and oh-so exclusive Commanders Batch, and he's going to start by becoming besties with Commander Cody. Rex cannot stop this trainwreck but he can certainly watch it happen in slow motion - and occasionally he can offer a word or two of advice.)

-----

background Codywan; Fives & Cody; Rex & Cody, Cody & Command Batch; hijinks and shenanigans

they're neutral - deniigiq

Retired Commander Cody moves into a new neighborhood and becomes furious at the way a nearby roundabout is treated as a dumpsite. He installs a giant Jedi Crest fountain dead in the center of it and accidentally creates a safe place for the diasporic Jedi community to worship.

-----

light codywan; Cody & Wolffe, Cody & Rex, Home Improvement; Community Development

the time when stars align - qigiined

Lord Vader stands before Cody with a ruined body and asks him between puffing, hissing breaths, how he has found the latest therapy.

Cody explodes.

Never before did he realize how hopeful he was that he would soon die. Never before has he felt so helpless. The only natural process he could depend on has been snatched from his fingers. He is again a young man. His accelerated aging factor has been ‘cured.’

-----

Codywan; Force-Ghost Obi-Wan; De-aging; Treason

[a-lil-perspective]

*drops this and runs*👀

You and Crosshair having to pretend to be an item while secretly wanting to be an item has me by the throat jjsjsjshs.

A squeak involuntarily pulls from you as Crosshair suddenly reels you to his side, and you’ve not any time to register the deliberation - and dare say, possessiveness - behind his movements before you’re blinded by his audacity, the way your tone of surprise turns into a snarl and you’re fighting against him. “What’s with you?” you hiss.

His voice is eerily calm. “There are a few patrons with their eyes on you. I’m just trying to make it convincing that we’re actually here together.”

“Oh.” You work quickly to settle into his side, shame heating your cheeks in the wake of your undue haste.

Crosshair stares down a perceived threat as he sets his drink down purposefully, having nearly cleared the bottom while yours is barely touched, a lost cause with your nerves utterly shot. You’re on high alert and raptly watching his every movement. Crosshair suddenly reaches around you, and pulls you across his lap so that you’re straddling him.

You’re way too close for comfort, cleavage nestled against the crisp and folds of his suit, bodies inlayed a little too perfectly for your liking as you begin a dangerous game. You’re mesmerized by the immediate transfer of power between you. The fit of your dress entirely in his control. The way his mind is ten steps ahead while you’re left dizzy. You brace your hands on his chest to establish a modicum of space you’re not entirely sure you want. You swear you can barely breathe. “Maker, seriously?” is all you can say, albeit breathlessly.

His lips are hot on your neck. “Just trying to relay that you’re taken for the night.”

You let that sink in, along with a confounding level of arousal brewing. “I think they get it,” you breathe, involuntarily canting your neck to give Crosshair better access, fingers sidling into his hairline as you’re swept away by the undertow of his charisma, and before you know it he’s laying more of that hidden charm on you. Crosshair chuckles sordidly against your skin. His nose brushes the curve of your jaw and nestles in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet of your perfume. His hands tighten around your waist, feeling you out with purpose.

“You love this,” he accuses as he ravages your skin.

You graze your nails along his scalp and the pleasing hum against your neck in response is electric. You grin, all teeth and sunken seductively into your painted lower lip. You can play with that.

“That makes two of us, hotshot.”

[wito-chan-bla-bla]

Are you trying to flirt with me or are you planning to kill me?

I just liked this art so much that I was inspired by it in some way. (And it doesn't matter that I don't understand a single letter... because these are hieroglyphs).

(I have serious problems with Twitter, so I can only drop a link to Pinterest. Of course, I don't pretend to anything).

(https://www.pinterest.ru/pin/697706167284338773/)

(I do not know why I wrote this, just don't ask. It looked better in my head)

~

AU, where sorcerers are actually kitsune who can hide their tails and ears. A sorcerer can have a maximum of nine tails, their number depends on the strength. Summoning the "fox" form allows you to use the cursed techniques with less energy and, in principle, it is easier to fight with it.

~

You almost cry, snuggling closer to Megumi, hissing along the way at the somehow satisfied sorcerer. Why is he threatening you and laughing so terribly at the same time?! Did you do something wrong? Well, going to this school was definitely a bad idea... right?..

~

Being a person capable of using cursed energy to heal injuries and wounds, you tried to squeeze the maximum benefit and benefits out of this ability. Thus, you often signed contracts with various large (and not so large) clans, working for them and treating their children, before leaving for another place as soon as the contract ends. When you were offered to become the second "doctor" in one of the two schools of sorcerers in Tokyo, you immediately agreed. As Mei Mei says, "Money doesn't smell."

(She doesn't say that).

You arrived at the school on time, a small crowd gathered to greet you. By tradition, it was necessary to reveal all their tails in front of new comrades to introduce themselves and show their strength. Everyone didn't care about tradition. However, you have been working in the clans for too long to give it up now.

So, you bowed and revealed to the world your three only slightly fluffy tails, as well as low ears, which you constantly pulled, unable to hide some excitement. The students and teachers were a little surprised, but they also began to show their "fox" forms, introducing themselves to you.

And then he came. A man who is heating up his legs, as he has to bend down every time to enter the room. A man whose tails took up so much space that at least one vase suffered every time they appeared. A person who has one palm bigger than your head.

Yes, it was our dear Satoru Gojo! Of course, the man saw in advance that all the sorcerers had activated their "fox" form, and decided to join the fun! What almost made you faint.

You just froze there, looking at the nine fluffy and big tails, in which you could get lost as easily as in the forest at night. Pressing your ears and your own three tails as low as possible, you tried to hide from the burning gaze. You didn't know if the sorcerer was looking at you or not, but you still felt his heavy influence.

You immediately returned to your human form, and the students who wanted to ask permission to stroke your tails and ears immediately mumbled in frustration.

A short interview with one of these people. The interviewee expressed his disappointment to the dissatisfied: "Salmon, salmon!"

In the world of sorcerers, a sharp challenge of the "fox" form could mean a desire to challenge or express aggression towards the enemy. So you tried not to call your tails next to Satoru. Of course, it could also mean flirting, some kind of mating dance, a desire to show off in front of a prospective partner. It all depended on the mood and the relationship between the two sorcerers.

You were afraid of Satoru, so for you all his actions were a threat, since you will not be able to even try to resist him, fight for your life if they decide to attack you. Gojo thought he had a completely different influence on you. He was used to the fact that almost everyone was delighted with him, so he perceived what was happening as flirting.

Every time you cried internally when Satoru caught you in some deserted place and sharply called all his nine fluffy tails, which seemed to cut off your opportunity to escape. Gojo was so busy standing in front of you as seductively as possible, showing off in front of you and letting you appreciate his strength, that he didn't notice how you were trying to roll down the wall, turn into slime and escape through the sewer.

In a pathetic attempt to hide and fight back, you fluffed up your three tails, which Satoru perceived as a response to his tackles. And even when the sorcerer noticed that you were hissing at him, he perceived it more as a playful response to him than an attempt to save your furry body.

The more Satoru flirted with you like that, the more his animal fox side manifested itself. Soon he began to bring you food, some soft things, offered to comb your tails and stroke between your ears. You clutched three small fluffy lumps to yourself with horror, your ears lowered to your head while you tried to merge with the wall and become part of the corner. Gojo took it as embarrassment and said with a creepy smile that you don't need to be afraid of him, because what he's going to do doesn't hurt at all.

(And you couldn't even just ignore him, because Satoru came to you almost every day and asked you to heal his wound. Usually it was a paper cut or a small bruise, but Gojo pretended to be dying, insisting that you take care of him. The sorcerer was even able to sleep on your tails a couple of times, saying that his sleep is improving so much. You tried not to move, thinking that otherwise you would be rudely deprived of these three tails. But the sorcerer just wanted to sleep on your soft tails!).

One day Satoru brought you a curse, offering to show his strength and expel it. You shouted at the whole school, hitting the curse of the first rank, and Satoru happily clapped you, mentally proudly thinking that his future mate can stand up for themselves!

A? Mate? Did someone say "mate"? No, Satoru Gojo has definitely not decided that you will be dating him. Especially without your knowledge! Because if they talk about a "mate", it means that something bigger is planned. Satoru Gojo is planning a marriage.

If you thought the curse was the worst thing that could happen to you, then you're wrong! Satoru brought you a bird he killed in your mouth, and you had to urgently check if the sorcerer was poisoned by trying fresh blood.

(While you were panicking, Gojo was enjoying being touched by you. He decided that next time he would bring you someone more).

The peak was reached when Satoru, who summoned his nine tails, began to dance a strange dance that any adequate person would perceive either as a desire to get into a mental hospital, or as some kind of strange rite. Confident that you belong to the third group, realizing that this dance is an invitation to the beginning of a relationship, Gojo continued to jump on the street, involuntarily forcing you to move back to the wall, which met you with its hard texture.

After a few seconds, the sorcerer froze over you, lifting the blindfold and looking with his innocent blue eyes. He smiled when he saw your face (shocked more because of fear), winked and leaned over, gently rubbing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Do you agree?" - was all he asked. Or he could have asked at all. Because you, thinking that now Satoru will bite you with his sharp teeth in the neck and kill you, just fainted.

You woke up surrounded by something soft, which you immediately hugged and pressed to yourself. Someone squeaked with joy in your ear, but you ignored this sound. Suddenly someone started gently scratching your tail, and you groaned quite.

You finally came to your senses only when you heard a familiar voice. "Can you become a little fox? You have a very naughty coat. I'll have to work with my tongue to get her back in the right shape."

The little fox-kitsune immediately appeared in the air, ready to escape, but then big hands that could completely hide you caught you. Satoru breathed out in surprise at what a cute little fox you were, and then his face was hidden in your fluffy tummy. You tried to beat Gojo's face with your hind legs, but it didn't have any effect.

As a result, you had to stay in a pile of tails hugging you and Satoru from all sides. The sorcerer was lying on his white fur, hugging you to him and drooling in his sleep. Having doubted, you still decided to become a human again. Gojo hugged you harder, hiding his face in your neck, and for the first time you felt that they were not trying to kill you.

Having decided to enjoy Satoru's soft tails at least before death, you decided to just go to sleep with him.

When, after a while, you find out that the big kitsune with nine tails was just flirting with you, you will become a little fox and hide on top of the closet, just so that Gojo, laughing at your fear, does not find you.

[respectfulkitfistosimp]

Grease under the nails

A Darth Vader x reader fanfic master list

It was late at night, or at least anyone who was stationed in the star destroyer would assume as much; yet time made no sense to you as the only thing more important than giving your body the much needed rest that it deserved were your duties. You sat on the steps of the ladder looking out into space, waiting patiently for the TIE fighters to come back and repair whatever they needed, but on moments like this, where the complex and vast space whispered to you sweet nothings as if it were alive you hoped to stay on this brief couple of seconds forever when nothing mattered other than you, the stars and some occasional planet whom shared a connection that only you could hear for you listened to them carefully, not wanting to loose anything that was said to you on the cold space between, specially since their words were one of the few things keeping you safe after being on this damned ship for so long. The Force knew that you would have loved to stay a second longer on those stair yet it did not care for you wishes because of the fighters that came back, a third of the ones that left already giving you and idea of how your Lord would feel, more than of them had been destroyed and all you could do was sight on discontent as you made your way to them, careful not to approach them too fast as to not be perceived by Lord Vader; the anger that poured from that man when the lid opened felt like vapor being released from a pressure pot, one that exploded when the throat of one of the pilots got crushed by his ghostly hand. Your steps halted yet no fear at all came even close to you when you were just so used to such a scene, at this point you couldn't even count the amount of times you had witnessed something like that on all of your fingers and toes, all you knew is that you would be safer the further away you were from him.

As if the Force had heard your thoughts the void that was that living armor turned to you, eyes deep as the space you looked so dearly at getting closer to you followed by the heavy steps of his boots and his respirator, the sound of the later one that you weirdly enjoyed since you replayed it every night on your head to lull yourself to sleep. Even as he came closer to you it didn't fright you, even with his commanding orders that could kill just by being uttered:

—Fix my ship immediately.

You had just nodded, on normal occasions you would have puller the pair of earbuds from your pockets yet on this situation it would have been an obvious death sentence, instead you just simply got yourself busy with the task at hand, quickly fixing it to his demands with his piercing eyes on your back, watching every move you made like he was a predator waiting for the smallest mistake to eat you alive while you screamed for forgiveness, but you didn't give him the luxury of claiming your life after you had finished on record time pleasing the dark lord and perhaps easing a bit of his worries after what you noticed had been a dreadful day for him, yet a man such as him could not leave you without a threat:

—If this ship has even the smallest flaw I will come for your head.

It seemed like he was used to speaking in such a harsh way since he didn't even point his finger at you, much less look at you when he hurriedly flew away followed by what was left of his squadron. You exhaled yet another sight, the air exiting you mouth leaving with the stress that lived in your gut yet it didn't leave it empty, instead the familiar sense of pity taking up space within you as you sat again on the steps of the ladder noting the repeating circle of Vader coming back with fewer TIE's each time till eventually the only one coming back was him. He was exasperated, the usually calm sound of his respirator turning into a hiss as he slowly turned into what you felt was a pure ball of rage, as if a star fueled with nothing with anger stood there trying to make you fear him, perhaps such feeling from you would have grounded him, yet you felt no such thing even as you approached him.

—Why don't you fear me?

His words stabbed your gut, he was so used to everyone feeling negative emotions around him that he voiced his concerns, but you were a quiet individual, so you only looked up at him to were you thought his eyes were and stared. Under normal circumstances your head would have already been rolling on the floor.

—I will soon leave for a long mission on a planet, you will accompany me.

With nothing else to say he turned around, the hypnotic wave of his cape following him from behind left you standing there yet the light vibration from your wrist brought you back to reality to note the end of your shift. You turned around to walk on opposite direction from him to wash your hands, the dirt and oil from your hands easily being washed off yet no matter how much you picked the underside of your nails the smell of grease never left them, and some parts of it seemed to had just simply turned one with the soft tissue under them. Defeated you just left them be and walked directly to the dinning hall, you served yourself the ugly looking and disgusting tasting food for dinner while you tried to drown the whispers of others, sometimes having such strong sense of hearing wasn't good, by sometimes I mean all of the time on that damned executor.

They spoke of you as if your weren't a living being, because to their eyes you weren't. You had never felt fear, anger or sadness on your short life, your brain was simply incapable of producing such emotions for they served no purpose to you, they would just stand on your way, make you clumsy and unreliable and on this Empire reliability was everything that mattered for people like you who were born with nothing.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: WWX is one of JGS's bastard sons, raised by his mother and her husband - until they die when he's young. Then he gets taken into the Jin sect instead of the Jiang.

Right Hand Man - ao3

It was a bad day.

All the days were a little bad, but this one was especially bad.

“He’s Cangse Sanren’s child,” Jin Zixuan’s father said, tapping his fan against his palm so that he would look more like a scholar. Secretly, shamefully, Jin Zixuan thought that it didn’t really work – he just looked like one of those scoundrels that tried to pay for their meals with calligraphy instead of pennies. “Taking him in will show our strength.”

“You dare bring one of your bastard children here,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, “and I will drown A-Xuan myself rather than let him suffer through the shame of it.”

Jin Zixuan shivered. No matter how many times he heard his mother say that in her cold and vicious voice, he never got used to it. She’d explained to him that it was the only thing that might work on his father – the fear of losing face like that, of shaming his ancestors, of cutting off his legitimate line – and she was his mother so of course Jin Zixuan believed her, but sometimes when she said it like that he thought she might really go ahead and do it.

“It’s the immortal mountain,” his father argued, ignoring the threat. “The perceived connection is only to our benefit…and anyway, he wouldn’t be legitimized or anything. Legally, his father is that Wei Changze – I could even bring the boy in as a servant if that pleased you more!”

“Nothing you say or do will ever please me,” she said, and that’s when she started throwing things and he started shouting and Jin Zixuan waited until they weren’t paying any attention to him before slipping out.

They’d make a decision one way or another.

It didn’t have anything to do with him.

-

Wei Wuxian was nominally brought in as a guest disciple, but everyone knew he was really a servant.

Jin Zixuan’s mother made sure everyone knew.

Despite this, Wei Wuxian smiled at everyone, seeming as carefree as a butterfly. It didn’t seem to bother him when he wasn’t allowed to wear sparks amidst snow, or even the usual gold of the guest disciples – Jin Zixuan’s mother said that it was better that he wear plain colors, like white or black, to represent his father and mother and show the world that he hadn’t forgotten his filial piety. It didn’t seem to bother him that he had to room with the other servants, or that he wasn’t invited to dinner at the same time as the rest of them, or that he got less training time –

Whatever it was, it didn’t bother him.

It bothered Jin Zixuan, though.

He started having the old nightmares again – the ones where his mother belatedly found out that he’d been swapped in the cradle for another bastard child of Jin Guangshan, and started treating him just the way she treated all the rest of them while praising some other boy up to the heavens – and his temperament, never considered especially good, got worse due to lack of sleep.

“Go talk to him,” Mianmian suggested. “Maybe if you see he’s reallynot bothered by it…”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s not bothered,” Jin Zixuan muttered. “It’s that I would be bothered if I were him.”

She didn’t understand, of course. Most people didn’t.

They couldn’t understand why Jin Zixuan was so bothered by the knowledge that his parents’ love was conditional on his bloodline and legitimacy – after all, he was the beneficiary of that bias, wasn’t he? What did it matter to him if they were cold to others?

Jin Zixuan didn’t know how to explain that the problem was in knowing that their love was conditional.

It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian was excelling despite all his disadvantages – all their teachers praised him in private, or else when they thought that no one surnamed Jin was listening. All of his mother’s dark speculations about what his father would do if ever there was a bastard child brought back that turned out to be even more talented than he was rang in Jin Zixuan’s ears, and he couldn’t help but look at Wei Wuxian, and wonder if this was it, this was the moment, if he was finally going to be replaced…but no, that would never happen. He was the one with the right blood.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually the best.

Nothing he did in life mattered, really. Nothing had ever mattered since the day he’d been born from the right womb.

“He’s actually really nice,” Mianmian said, and Jin Zixuan looked up, wondering what she was talking about, only to blanch when he realized that she was talking to Wei Wuxian. “Just shy, that’s all –”

“Mianmian!” Jin Zixuan hissed, rushing over, horrified. “He can’t be here! If my mother finds out –”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Wei Wuxian asked, his face brightening. “I thought you just didn’t like me!”

“I don’t know you,” Jin Zixuan said. “How could I dislike you? But really, my mother –”

“We can be friends!” Wei Wuxian declared, and Jin Zixuan was rendered immediately mute. What exactly could he say to that?

He wanted to be friends, too.

-

His mother found out, because she always found out, and when she did, she threatened to feed Wei Wuxian to the dogs.

It turned out that Wei Wuxian was scared of dogs, something Jin Zixuan’s mother had figured out pretty quickly. That wasn’t a surprise – she knew best how to find people’s weaknesses, and also how to use them. Looking at Wei Wuxian’s sickly pale face, it was clear to Jin Zixuan that this wasn’t the first time dogs had appeared in one of his mother’s punishment, although this was clearly more severe than in the past.

“It was my idea,” he lied, acting on impulse. “Mother, I want him to be my personal servant.”

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“Why is it ridiculous?” he asked. “Wouldn’t the contrast between us only be magnified that way?”

She pursed her lips, but that wasn’t a ‘no’.

Seeing a possible waver, Jin Zixuan decided to trade away one of the very few point on which he and his mother had long disagree.

“He’s charming,” he said. “He can help me woo the Jiang sect girl.”

His mother knew him well enough to know that he was trying to manipulate her, but he also knew that she liked it when he did that. Men were supposed to be upright, straightforward, and virtuous, and yet she liked to see him being subtle and sly – it reminded her of herself. It made her feel like he was more her blood than his father’s, even though in actuality those traits could very well be his father’s, too.

Unfortunately, sneakiness wasn’t really in Jin Zixuan’s nature. Comparing his straightforward and even a little stupid self to his clever and cunning parents, he didn’t know who he took after – it was part of the reason he had so many nightmares about being some cuckoo’s child left in the Jin sect’s nest.

“Fine,” his mother said at last. “He gets one shot.”

Later, when she’d swept off, an empress with her retinue, Mianmian looked at Jin Zixuan with wide eyes. “But Jin-gongzi,” she said. “You don’t wantto marry the Jiang sect girl.”

“I’ve never met her,” Jin Zixuan hedged, which was also true but a little vaguer. He didn’t want to marry a girl he’d never met, one who was several years his elder and who had been described to him only as ‘nice’ and ‘average at best’, just because her mother was his mother’s old friend. He didn’t want his marriage to be yet another thing he had to do because he was someone’s child, rather than his own man.

He wasn’t going to get a choice, though, no matter what he did, just as always. Might as well use it for something good.

Wei Wuxian crashed into him a moment later, clutching him so tightly that it hurt.

“I’ll pay you back,” he promised, his voice tight. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be your best friend ever!”

“That’s good enough,” Jin Zixuan said, his face suddenly hot. “There doesn’t need to be anything more.”

-

Wei Wuxian really was very charming when they went to visit the Lotus Pier, far more charming than Jin Zixuan ever was or would be, and his future bride seemed positively enchanted by him, which was probably a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan felt he should probably do something about it, but he didn’t know what, so he just snuck off and went to go dip his feet into the river, something he almost never got the chance to go while at home.

“I’m sorry,” the Jiang sect heir, Jiang Cheng, said, sitting gingerly next to him.

Jin Zixuan looked at him sidelong, a little surprised. He’d thought that Jiang Cheng hated him. “What for?”

“My sister. Your half-brother.” Jiang Cheng looked uncomfortable. “I can’t even imagine growing up with someone who’d flirt with the person I was engaged to.”

Jin Zixuan thought it over, then shook his head. “I don’t think he likes her like that. Or her him, either,” he said, since it seemed like Jiang Cheng had misunderstood both Wei Wuxian and his own sister. “Wei Wuxian’s just – like that,” he added. “Always. Everyone loves him unless they’re specifically told not to.”

“That’s worse.” Jiang Cheng wrinkled his nose. “He’s the ‘other person’s child’ here, you know. My father really liked his parents – he’s always talking about him. My mother says he wishes he were his son, instead of your father’s.”

“Now that sounds awful.” Probably better for Wei Wuxian, though. Jiang Fengmian would probably treat him like a real son, not the way Jin Guangshan did, like a pawn or a liability or a bastard brought in just for his possible connections – but it would probably be much worse for Jiang Cheng, who’d have to live with that happening right in front of him. It seemed mean to wish for such a thing. “He’s actually pretty nice? We’re friends. I asked him to help me make friends with your sister…I’m not really good at making friends, when it’s just me.”

He hadn’t expected them to hit it off that well, though. At least to Jin Zixuan’s eyes, they’d clearly all but adopted each other as brother and sister the moment they laid eyes on each other…which in his opinion was actually a little bit worse, since he felt like he himself was still painfully trying to figure out what being a sibling was like, and maybe failing at it.

And in all honesty, he felt a little resentful at Wei Wuxian for being picked, too – or was it a little bereft? No one ever picked him just because they wanted to; it was all because of who he was.

Who his parents were.

“I can be your friend, too, if you like,” Jiang Cheng said. He was scowling into the distance. “A better one.”

“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, startled. “Don’t you – not like me?”

“We’re friends now,” Jiang Cheng scowled at him. “Deal with it!”

-

Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a lot, and he liked Jiang Cheng, too, and Nie Huaisang, who he’d just met, fit in with the two of them as if they were three peas in a pod, so he guessed he must like him, too – but if those three endlessly chattering idiots didn’t shut up and let him study he was going to throw himself off some cliff in Gusu and be done with it.

“You really don’t mind me sitting here?” he asked Lan Wangji, who nodded.

Nodded and did not respond verbally – blissful silence!

Still, Jin Zixuan lingered a bit by the door to the peaceful little pavilion he’d found and thought to claim for himself as a secret study place – necessary on account of the fact that Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang spent all their free time together making trouble instead of studying, because Wei Wuxian just did that to people, winning them over despite themselves and then leading them into mischief – only to learn that it belonged to Lan Wangji. It was filled with gentians, which were more Jiang Cheng’s color than Jin Zixuan’s, but Jin Zixuan had seen enough peonies for a lifetime and needed the concealment besides.

It was very kind of Lan Wangji to let him stay, but he still felt he ought to apologize.

And not just for the intrusion.

Wei Wuxian’s ignominious departure from Lan Qiren’s classroom had made it much more peaceful, but that had come at a cost to Lan Wangji’s own education and opportunity to make friends with others – and while Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a great deal, he wasn’t sure how Lan Wangji felt about being stuck having to monitor him all day.

And now Lan Wangji was being nice to Jin Zixuan, letting him disturb his privacy like this without complaint, and even agreeing to let him stay so that he’d have somewhere quiet to study…he really ought to say something. Maybe apologize for Wei Wuxian, if that was appropriate. It probably was: he was responsible for him, in his own way. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation –

“Do you like Wei Wuxian?” he blurted out, then felt his face go bright red. He hadn’t meant to ask it that way! After all, who didn’t know how much Lan Wangji disliked Wei Wuxian? He was always glaring at him and saying he was speaking nonsense and telling him to get lost and –

Lan Wangji nodded.

Jin Zixuan blinked. He did? But then why –

“Oh,” he said, suddenly realizing. “You’re socially awkward, too!”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, and Jin Zixuan waved his hands.

“No, no, I don’t mean that as an insult,” he said hastily, trying to cover for his blunder. “It’s like me! I always say the wrong thing, so most of the time I try not to say anything – of course people always get the wrong idea anyway, thinking I’m being quiet because I’m looking down at them…Wei Wuxian’s getting better at understanding people, but he’s still not very good at it, either. I bet he has no idea! If you like him, you should say as much.”

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“…I could say it for you, if you want?”

Even more urgent head-shaking.

Honestly, if Lan Wangji were a woman, Jin Zixuan would’ve thought that he had a crush.

As it was, he was probably just like Jin Zixuan: naturally awkward, and shy about it, too.

“It’s all right,” he said encouragingly. “Next time they throw a party, you can come and sit with me; we can have tea and pretend not to know them. It’s what I always do.”

Lan Wangji stared at him for a long moment, and then finally nodded very slowly.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice neutral. “Thank you.”

-

When the time came and the Wen sect pushed things too far, naturally Jin Zixuan stood up for Mianmian.

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji all did, too.

Naturally, this made Jin Zixuan feel like complete crap on their account – Mianmian was his friend, his sect, and naturally he had a responsibility towards her; the rest of them were just helping because they were good people, and good friends. But at this point they’d done it, and Wen Chao was angry at them all over it, and there was nothing to be done about it.

And then there was the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and they were all trapped inside with it.

Sometimes, he really hated the Wen sect. Often, even.

“Jiang Cheng, you and Jin Zixuan lead the way out,” Wei Wuxian instructed. “No, don’t protest! You’re heirs of Great Sects; everyone will follow you and listen to you, and that’s critical – you’ll need to evade the Wen sect’s efforts to recapture you. That means cohesion, and cohesion means hierarchy. I’ll stay behind to distract the Xuanwu…”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jiang Cheng exclaimed.

Jin Zixuan nudged him. “Wei Wuxian’s usually right about this sort of thing,” he reminded him. It was a good thing they’d gotten over that period in their lives when Jiang Cheng thought Wei Wuxian was an evil thief who wanted to take away his older sister and Jin Zixuan’s rightful spouse, when they’d fought all the time while Jin Zixuan desperately tried to get between them. He still had no idea what magic alchemy had happened that had suddenly made them best friends – he suspected Mianmian, or maybe Jiang Yanli – but he was deeply grateful for it. “And we can’t risk the majority. Preserve human life above all else, remember? Teacher Lan’s lessons were very clear.”

“I will remain with Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, to no one’s surprise. They’d been more or less inseparable after Jin Zixuan had recruited Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang to help them get along better after Wei Wuxian’s temporary exile to the Library Pavilion had ended. It helped that Lan Qiren had pulled Wei Wuxian aside for personal lessons to help him catch up with the rest of them, and that those had somehow metamorphosed into afternoon sessions about inventing new types of musical cultivation techniques in which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were the most enthusiastic, and only, students.

Best of all, it had given the rest of them a chance to finally actually do their work.

Well, not Nie Huaisang, but that was only to be expected.

“But your leg –” Wei Wuxian started, and Jin Zixuan nudged him.

“He’ll only be more worried if you don’t let him stay back and join you,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, it’s good for you to have an incentive not to detour into some big flashy heroic bullshit.”

“Awww, but Jin Zixuan, I like big flashy heroic bullshit!”

Jin Zixuan was, by this point, almost entirely convinced that Wei Wuxian actually was the biological child of Wei Changze, and that his father had lied, both about the man’s supposed infertility and possibly about having slept with Cangse Sanren at all. From Jiang Cheng’s stories, inherited from his father, it seemed that Wei Changze was also the sort of person who went in for big flashy heroic bullshit and reckless humor, the sort that would win him a disciple of an immortal mountain as a bride; it certainly seemed more likely than him sharing blood with Jin Zixuan or his father or even Jin Zixun, all of whom tended towards arrogance, but whose flash was all in their clothing.

Not that it mattered at this late date, of course. They were brothers now – as Nie Huaisang would put it, there were no takebacks allowed.

“No bullshit, you hear me?” Jin Zixuan repeated, looking pointedly at Wei Wuxian. “Not allowed. Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t make me have to tell Mistress Jiang that I lost her favorite idiot friend.”

“You tell her?” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “I’ll have to tell her. All right, let’s go.”

-

Jiang Yanli was not impressed with the fact that they’d left Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji alone in a cave with a giant murderous turtle.

She still made them soup and gave them bandages to wrap up their bloody feet, though.

(Jin Zixuan was never going to make a good impression on her, no matter what Jiang Cheng said.)

-

“Wen Chao has demanded recompense for the mess at the Nightless City,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, reading a letter. Her lips curled up in a strange little smile. “He said Wei Wuxian’s right hand would do.”

“Mother,” Jin Zixuan exclaimed, leaping to his feet with his eyes wide. He’d only been home a week from the indoctrination camp, and Wei Wuxian was still lying in bed most of the time, pretending he wasn’t exhausted; Wen Chao must have sent the letter almost immediately after he’d realized they’d escaped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s just what the little bastard deserves, always trying to outshine you.”

Jin Zixuan shook his head, frantically trying to think of a way out of this, because he knew his mother wouldn’t so much as hesitate to order such an atrocity. She’d never forgiven Wei Wuxian for the possibility of being a threat to Jin Zixuan’s position, however remote the chance, and she’d tried very hard to convince Jin Zixuan of it, too – it was the only thing they didn’t agree on, the only thing Jin Zixuan didn’t yield to her on, and he hated every moment of it.

But not as much as his mother hated it.

It was the only thing she couldn’t control in his life, and she hatedit, and hated Wei Wuxian for it, too.

(She couldn’t hate Jin Zixuan. She couldn’t, because he had the right blood, because he was her son, because he was the heir of Lanling Jin and the source of all her power. But sometimes, when the light was dim and she glanced over too quickly and thought she saw his father when she looked at him, he thought that she wanted to.)

“You can’t be serious,” Jin Zixuan said a second time, keeping calm by sheer willpower. No one but him would dare to object if his mother made a move, especially in his father’s absence…and even if his father was there, Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure his father cared enough about Wei Wuxian to endure another fight with his fearsome wife. “Mother, he’s my servant – my responsibility. Whatever he does is my responsibility, whether to my credit or to my deficit. That’s how that works. They may be asking for Wei Wuxian’s hand, but who’s to say, when they come to claim it, that they won’t seek mine instead?”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s the Wen sect,” Jin Zixuan reminded her. “What don’t they dare?”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over, and for a moment he thought he’d won. “Perhaps,” she allowed, and before he could even breath a sight of relief continued, “But no matter. They’ve set the price, and we can pay it, so why not? We can cut off his hand and send it to them as a peace offering in advance. After all, they’re important allies of ours, and he’s just a bastard.”

“But –”

“No, A-Xuan. No more arguing; I’ve decided.” Her smile broadened. “We’ll do it now.”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t fight with his mother. He’d never had the courage – he was as spineless as his father.

Almost as spineless.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, and drew his sword.

“A-Xuan..?”

“My servant, my responsibility,” he reminded her, and he knew that she’d misunderstood, that she thought that he was going to go take care of the grim task himself. He knew, because for a brief moment in time she looked happy – not true joy, but the only way she ever looked happy for as long as he could remember, like she’d won one over on someone and gotten her way despite everyone’s efforts. He hated to disappoint her. “I have my honor to think of, too.”

-

Jin Zixuan sent Wei Wuxian to the Lotus Pier, bearing words of warning. His father’s spies had reported that the Wen sect would probably target them first, using Jiang Cheng’s interference in the Xuanwu cave as an excuse – there wasn’t any point going after the Lan sect a second time, and the Jin sect were longstanding allies of Wen Ruohan, with Jin Guangshan being a coward at heart; if Wen Ruohan could keep him out of the inevitable war for a little longer by playing nice, he would.

Word came back not long after that they’d been right: the Lotus Pier had been destroyed.

It also said that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were missing – missing, but not dead. It didn’t say anything about their parents, and that was suspicious, too.

Maybe sending Wei Wuxian had helped after all.

“We should reach out to the Nie sect,” Jin Zixuan told his father. “With our money and their strength, we can resist the Wen sect long enough for the smaller sects to catch up.”

“The Wen sect is all-powerful,” his father objected. “What’s even the point of resisting? We’d be better off reaching out to them to see if we can reach a peaceful agreement.”

“We’ve already seen what agreement they want to reach,” Jin Zixuan said, and his father’s gaze dropped guiltily to his waist. Jin Zixuan didn’t bother looking down himself. He didn’t do that much, these days. “Am I your heir or am I not? You promised me that I’d inherit a sect, not slavery. Reach out to the Nie sect.”

Jin Zixuan should not talk that way to his father. He had always been a filial son, and a spineless one; his father’s son, and nothing else. The only thing he had going for him was the right blood – and even that wasn't that sure a bet, these days. He knew his father was already thinking about Jin Zixun in a way that suggested that all those rumors about his ‘cousin’ having a different father than the one everyone said he had might have some merit.

It seemed, though, that when pushed to it, he was also his mother’s son.

He hoped she choked on the knowledge.

“Reach out to the Nie sect,” he said again. “With all the cultivation world uniting, the Wen sect’s fall is inevitable. If we don’t act now, we’ll be seen as cowards, hanging back and waiting to see how things fall out to eke out the best advantage – if we act, we’ll be seen as heroes.”

“But what if you’re wrong, and the Wen sect does win?”

“Then we’ll tell Sect Leader Wen that we’re perfectly positioned to negotiate the other sects’ terms of surrender, and use that to win anyway,” Jin Zixuan said, less because he thought that was an acceptable course of action and more because he knew it would be what his father would do anyway. “Call the Nie sect.”

-

“I’m going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng hissed, wild-eyed, and Jin Zixuan blinked at him, taken aback.

“Is it because I wasn’t able to do more to help with the Lotus Pier?” he asked, feeling helpless. “I really did try to convince my father to send more people, but I barely even got him not to block my sending Wei Wuxian –”

“Not because of that!”

Jin Zixuan took a step back. “Uh, then –”

“You cut off your own hand you maniac!”

“The situation –” Jin Zixuan started backing up. “It was necessary – Wei Wuxian, help!”

“No, he’s right,” Wei Wuxian said, arms crossed. His eyes were teary, but they’d been that way since he’d left Jinlin Tower – ever since the Wen sect’s letter. “You’re a maniac, and Jiang Cheng’s going to kill you, and you’re going to deserve it.”

Lan Wangji, standing beside him, nodded.

“It’s not that bad, really.” Jin Zixuan tried to explain. “My mother and father would never have accepted anything else – threats to me are the only thing that work on them, and even that’s stopped working after all these years. Only a real injury would have an impact. If they hadn’t been so shocked, they would’ve just continued to ignore what the Wen sect was doing, or offered them an olive branch, and then then the Wen sect would’ve used that as an opportunity to come and divide up everyone else. We’d lose precious time to regroup, and the Wen sect would only get stronger and stronger –”

“You. Cut. Off. Your. Hand!”

“The Wen sect demanded the hand of the person who started the rebellion in the Xuanwu cave,” Jin Zixuan said quietly. “That was me, not Wei Wuxian. Why should he pay my debts?”

Everyone still seemed very upset, but maybe a little less murderous. Definitely a lot more teary-eyed.

“Couldn’t you have at least picked your other hand?” Wei Wuxian mumbled. “Your right hand – that’s your sword arm.”

Jin Zixuan shrugged. “They demanded the right hand,” he said. “Anyway, it’s fine, I’ve been using my left, and it’s been going smoothly enough…you know, I think I might actually be left-handed? I never knew; everyone always made me use my right.”

“Does it hurt?” Lan Wangji asked suddenly, and Jin Zixuan hesitated, not sure how to respond to that.

Unfortunately, everyone else took that in the worst way possible, and insisted on taking care of him, no matter how much he tried to explain that it didn’t hurt, not really, not anymore; it was just the strangest feeling of absence. Like something that had always been there wasn’t there anymore.

A bit like his mother. She wasn’t talking to him anymore.

He was a terrible son, and would probably end up spending eternity in some afterlife hell being tortured for failing to properly honor his parents.

He’d already resigned himself.

“How are your parts of the war going?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Chifeng-zun says it’s going well, but you know how he is; it’s all business with him, you never hear any stories. Did Wei Wuxian really knock out old Sect Leader Jiang when he refused to leave the Lotus Pier? Tell me he didn’t.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng said, and he looked amused about it – maybe he’d be in the next boiling pot over in the afterlife of unfilial descendants. “He was a little frantic, you see, on account of not wanting to fail you by letting them die. After all, you had just cut off your own hand for him…”

“Are you ever going to let that drop?”

“Sure. As soon as you have two hands again.”

“…so, never.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said patiently. “Never. Never ever, if that makes it clearer for you.”

-

Jin Zixuan’s new hand was made of steel and wire, under the gilding, and functioned using some of the innovative new talismans that Wei Wuxian had invented. He couldn’t help but hope that they weren’t part of the subset that constituted demonic cultivation because people were being really weird about that.

“It’s like people wanted for me to just die in the Burial Mounds,” Wei Wuxian complained. He was dressed in black and grey and red, which he’d apparently adopted as his new sect colors – Jin Zixuan had only managed to send him out of Lanling the first time by officially ejecting him from the Jin sect, a decision his father had initially endorsed but now, he suspected, was regretting.

It was a lot easier to throw out a servant than it was to invite back the founder of demonic cultivation, especially now that he was a war hero and a sect leader.

“You didn’t have to be in the Burial Mounds to begin with,” Jin Zixuan reminded him, to no avail. “I know I said I needed an army because my father wasn’t supplying us properly, but I didn’t mean ‘invent an entirely new cultivation technique and raise an army of the dead’. You know that, right?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged it off, because of course he did.

“You know, they’re calling me the Yiling Patriarch?” he said, and grinned. “It’s because the Burial Mounds are in Yiling, and because I’m founding my own sect. Or whatever. Like I wouldn’t be supporting you, anyway.”

“It has to be your own sect because otherwise you might be forced to share your secret techniques,” Jin Zixuan explained, not for the first time. “Rogue cultivators don’t have the same protections that sects do, even small sects. It doesn’t matter if you’re the only person in it. Or, well, you and Lan Wangji, I guess.”

“I still can’t believe he’s willing to leave the Lan sect to join me,” Wei Wuxian sighed happily. “He’s such a good friend.”

Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure about the strength of his new hand, which was the only reason he didn’t try to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You’re a bad influence, you know,” he said instead of trying to explain to Wei Wuxian that people didn’t generally leave their natal sects for the sake of a ‘good friend’. “I nearly hit a girl the other day.”

“You did? You? What’d she do?”

“She gave me soup and implied that she’d made it,” Jin Zixuan said. “Except it tasted exactly the same as the soup Mistress Jiang is always making for you – I’ve had it recently enough to know. Sure enough, I push the issue a bit and it turns out it was Mistress Jiang’s. The girl was just trying to claim credit as an excuse to get close to me.”

He sighed. He’d been so angry about it. They were at war! People were dying, losing their homes, losing everything, and this stupid girl could only think about how to plot and scheme to try to get to a prized position as the future Madame Jin. Had his mother done the same, when it’d been his father…?

“You’ve had shijie’s soup recently?” Wei Wuxian asked. His expression looked slightly odd. “Shijie made you soup?”

“Yeah, I think she’s been dropping off whatever’s left over at my tent when she’s done,” Jin Zixuan said, shaking his head. Jiang Yanli was so nice, really truly genuinely nice. He’d never met anyone like her. “Could you thank her for me? I appreciate the thoughtfulness – it’s filling enough that I don’t need to go to the mess, which means there’s more left over for everyone else.”

“…sure,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’ll tell her. Or, and here’s a thought – why don’t you tell her yourself?”

“Why would I? You’re the one she likes,” Jin Zixuan said, puzzled. “I mean, you’re her adopted little brother, aren’t you? She’s practically your second soulmate, after Lan Wangji.”

“I’m really busy,” Wei Wuxian announced, despite having been lazing around complaining that they didn’t have any encounters with the Wen sect lined up for a whole week only a few moments before. “I couldn’t possibly take the time out of my schedule to go talk to her – you see, I’ve had an idea, which is going to keep me very busy…in fact, I’m not even going to be here at all! I need to go to the Lan sect encampment to consult with Teacher Lan.”

Discovering that Lan Qiren had a mad scientist streak when it came to musical cultivation had been extremely disquieting, Jin Zixuan reflected. The world might’ve been better off if Lan Qiren had never had a chance to actually get friendly with Wei Wuxian – Wei Wuxian provided the terrible ideas, Lan Qiren scolded him about them and then helped him smooth the kinks out of them anyway.

Teacher for a day, father for a lifetime…

“All right,” Jin Zixuan said, though he still didn’t exactly understand what had just happened. “I’ll go talk to her, I guess.”

-

“I just wanted to make sure you know you’re not obligated to make me soup or anything,” Jin Zixuan said, not sure where this conversation had gone off the rails.

Probably around the time that Jiang Yanli had started smiling at him, because he always turned into an idiot whenever that happened. She was so very nice, not just average at all no matter what anyone said, and blissfully down-to-earth – she wouldn’t be wasting her time and everyone else’s thinking about how to politically advance herself despite there being a war on. She spent all her time learning field medicine and helping cook meals for the mess and –

And he’d better stop thinking because he was turning red again.

“I enjoy making soup for you,” Jiang Yanli said peaceably. “Especially since I know you enjoy it, too.”

“I do! It’s just, I don’t know, you already do so much, with the medics and organizing and everything…It’s – uh – I – listen, I know our parents – you don’t have to pay attention to that. I only have one hand, I’m not – don’t feel obligated, not because of that. And don’t let Wei Wuxian make you think making soup is the only thing you’re good for, no matter how much he likes it, okay? You do so much more than just that!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, covering her smile with her hand. “You’re very sweet, you know.”

Jin Zixuan made an incoherent sound.

He would need to do something in return, he thought, a little frantic; he really didn’t know how to deal with a sincere compliment from someone he actually liked. Maybe poetry? Girls were said to like poetry. He couldn’t write poetry worth a damn, but he could pay someone –

She kissed him on the cheek.

All thought abruptly departed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not inappropriate – after all, we’re already engaged,” Jiang Yanli said cheerfully. “Which I’m very good with, so don’t worry about that. Good luck in your next battle, Jin-gongzi.”

At some point she must have left, because she wasn’t there anymore, and Jin Zixuan was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Mianmian peeked in, then snickered. “Oh no,” she said. “She broke him. Everyone! Come look! She totally broke him!”

-

“Did you actually cut off your hand to save a servant?” Jin Guangyao asked.

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” Jin Zixuan said, uncomfortable, then added, “Welcome to the family.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

For some reason, Jin Zixuan felt a shiver run up his spine. He didn’t think he liked this new brother of his, and he felt bad about it – he’d welcomed Wei Wuxian whole-heartedly, hadn’t he? Was it really that different when it actually was someone of his own blood?

He didn’t like that thought.

“I hope we can be friends,” he said, willing it to be true, and Jin Guangyao murmured something agreeable in return.

Jin Zixuan wished he liked him.

“My mother is going to hate you,” he said, because he knew that she would. “If she does, let me know, and I’ll try to stop her…not just her. If anyone treats you wrong, just tell me. I’ll stand up for you.”

Jin Guangyao smiled again.

“You’re so kind,” he said, and for some reason Jin Zixuan had the feeling that he didn’t mean it at all.

-

Jin Zixuan had been engaged since before he was born, and it still somehow came as a surprise to find himself married. Not just the event, either – these days he woke up with his wife in his arms and was forced to just stare at her lying there in the soft morning light and wonder how he got so lucky.

He was married.

To a very nice girl, who actually seemed to like him a great deal – she’d made that clear enough when she’d had a chance. Very clear, in fact, which was why there was also a very slight curve in her belly that meant that soon enough he wouldn’t just be married, but a father.

“You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who was visiting again. He did that a lot, but in fairness he didn’t really have a settled place to live – everyone knew the supposed ‘sect’ he’d founded was little more than a sham. He’d been technically kicked out of the Jin sect and refused all offers to rejoin, and it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to scandalize the entire cultivation world by marrying into the Lan sect no matter what Lan Xichen had been hinting. Sometimes he and Lan Wangji spent time at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, or the Unclean Realm with Nie Huaisang under Nie Mingjue’s long-suffering gaze…everyone called Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch, on account of him ‘founding’ his sect there – or rather, summoning up extra resentful energy from the Burial Mounds for the purposes of obtaining an army while minimizing the number of disturbed graves – but he wasn’t, not really. He didn’t live there or anything.

Who would want to live there?

“I would,” Wei Wuxian agreed, but he didn’t follow it up with teasing or anything the way he usually did.

He just looked very uncharacteristically perturbed.

“What is it?” Jin Zixuan asked. “Can I help?”

“No heroic bullshit,” Wei Wuxian said at once, which meant that there was a possibility of heroic bullshit. Given Wei Wuxian’s personality, that also meant that it was heroic bullshit that would be bad for the Jin sect, which he still felt bad about on account of them raising him and all…in all honesty, it might be a good thing in the long run that Jin Zixuan’s father and mother had been so awful to Wei Wuxian as a kid, and that he’d known it. If they’d been good to him, he never would have been willing to leave. “But, uh, remember Wen Ning?”

Jin Zixuan blinked. Wei Wuxian had told him some stories: a junior disciple of the Wen sect, from a branch family – Dafan Wen – who’d helped Wei Wuxian out a few times when he’d been smuggling the Jiang clan to freedom.

More than a few times: he’d been Wei Wuxian’s first disciple in matters of resentful energy, which Wei Wuxian had apparently been thinking of since forever and started playing around with more or less the moment he was no longer officially tied to a sect, and had been a valuable contact during the early period of the war before events had changed and he’d been lost.

“Yes,” he said. “What about him?”

He hadn’t thought of Wen Ning in ages, beyond abstractly hoping he was doing well. It might be hard, with a surname as he had, but surely there was somewhere in the cultivation world for those surnamed Wen – Wei Wuxian had argued fiercely in favor of leniency for the remaining Wen cultivators, and the Lan sect had backed him, thanks to Lan Wangji. The rest of them had been exhausted, Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and his parents, even Jin Zixuan…his father had ended up volunteering their sect to help with resettlement of the refugees, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Sure, Jin Zixuan knew his father well enough to know that he was only doing it for the clout and possible advantage it would give him, but he was pretty sure the Wen civilians didn’t especially care why they were going to get a reprieve from death and a new place to live, only that they did.

“I’ll get there,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s a bit complicated…you know how Jin Zixun’s in charge of resettlement?”

Jin Zixuan nodded, puzzled. “What about it?”

-

“You can’t do that!” one of the guards shouted at Wei Wuxian. “We’re disciples of the Jin sect –”

“Is that so,” Jin Zixuan said, and they all turned to look at him, each one of them blanching in utter horror. “And why didn’t I know that my Jin sect had such people as you?”

“Where’s Wen Ning?” Wen Qing asked Wei Wuxian, looking desperate. “I don’t see him…Where is he?!”

“That monster?” one of the guards blurted out.

“My brother is not a monster!”

“He’s been hiding in the woods,” one of the Wen civilians volunteered. “He’s been raiding the camp, rescuing people who are being abused –”

“Our response was reasonable in light of his aggression,” the guard argued. “He used demonic cultivation – he’s a monster! We had no choice –”

“We’re going to need to question them,” Jin Zixuan said to Lan Wangji, who was looking faintly murderous in his usual righteous sort of way. “To find out who’s their backing – Jin Zixun wouldn’t have dared something like this, not on his own. Can you bind them for me?”

-

It was his father.

Of course.

-

“A-Yao, what do you want?” Jin Zixuan asked, and Jin Guangyao stopped in his tracks, staring at him in confusion – as well he should, since he’d only come into Jin Zixuan’s study in order to say good morning on his way to breakfast. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you know, in life.”

Jin Guangayo blinked at him.

Probably not the best question to spring on someone before breakfast, Jin Zixuan reflected.

“It’s about the trouble that my – that our father got into,” Jin Zixuan explained. “The other cultivation sects are furious to no end that he took advantage of their trust in order to do such a disgraceful thing…I’ve ordered Zixun to be confined for now, and I suspect he’ll have to be banished to some country house for a few years. And as you know, my father will be retiring soon and handing over the position of sect leader to me…”

Neither of them especially wanted that to happen, his father as loathe to give up power as Jin Zixuan was to take it. But what other solution was there after such a scandal?

The Lan sect, ever concerned with morality, had been horrified when they’d found out what had happened; the Jiang sect, despite their close relationship to the Jin sect, had immediately denounced it, and Jiang Yanli, who was Wei Wuxian’s friend, was the very first to speak. The Nie sect, never a firm ally for the Jin sect, was growling about righteousness, and if Nie Mingjue was sincere about that being his only concern – and having worked with the man, Jin Zixuan believed he was – then there were plenty of others in the Nie sect that had their eyes on the greater influence and power that would accrue to their sect if Jin Zixuan’s father were allowed to bring his sect down with him.

Handing over power was the only way to make sure their Jin sect remained strong.

“He won’t be alone, at least,” Jin Zixuan sighed. “I won him that much.”

Jiang Fengmian had agreed to step down from his position as sect leader as well, making it seem as though Jin Guangshan’s retirement were voluntary, part of a joint agreement of the older generation handing over power to the newer. Everyone would know in their hearts that that wasn’t the case, but it would be far less shameful than the alternative – saving a little bit of his father’s face.

“You did well,” Jin Guangyao said, listening with a neutral expression. “In uncovering everything, and revealing it.”

“I would’ve brought you in to help, but I couldn’t,” Jin Zixuan explained. “I know he asked you to help in finding demonic cultivators to join the Jin sect, and…”

He hesitated.

“He implicated me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

He had. Their father was shameless: he’d even sought to move all blame to Jin Guangyao’s back, whether as the actual mastermind or, when that was rejected, as the inciter of the scheme. Nonsense, of course.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Even if Jin Guangyao had suggested it, it would have been his father’s responsibility to refuse.

“No one believes it,” Jin Zixuan said, which was only partially a lie. “Even Chifeng-zun laughed in his face and said you wouldn’t be nearly that stupid.”

Jin Guangyao looked – oddly pleased by that, if Jin Zixuan had to guess.

“Still, it’s awkward,” he said, rubbing his head. “People talk, and our subsidiary sects have never been as quiet as some others…you don’t have to tell me right now what you’re planning, or what you want in the long term. But maybe – uh – you have two sworn brothers. Is there any chance…”

“I could go visit them for a while?”

Jin Zixuan smiled helplessly. “I wish it weren’t necessary. And if you did know what you wanted, I could take it into account when planning the future…”

“No, no,” Jin Guangyao said. “Visiting my sworn brothers will be – fine.” He looked thoughtful. “You said Chifeng-zun didn’t think I was involved?”

“Zewu-jun was also vociferous in your defense,” Jin Zixuan said, trying to elide the fact that it wasn’t so much that Nie Mingjue didn’t think Jin Guangyao was capable of such atrocities, but rather that he declared, and loudly, that if Jin Guangyao had intended to do something horrific like that, he’d have handled it better. Judging by Jin Guangyao’s amused expression, he might have guessed anyway. “I appreciate your understanding.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

Jin Zixuan thought he might even mean it, this time.

-

“I’m an uncle!” Wei Wuxian crowed, holding Jin Ling in his arms. “I’m an uncle, I’m an uncle!”

“Big deal,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, which would be more convincing if he wasn’t beaming foolishly. “So am I. Hand him over...hey, A-Ling! It's me, your jiujiu!”

“Can I be an honorary uncle?” Nie Huaisang asked – Jin Zixuan had no idea when he’d even arrived, or why he was here, or anything, really, but that was probably because he hadn’t really slept on account of over-excitement. “I mean, my brother’s sworn brothers with Jin-xiong’s brother, so it works, right?”

“That’s ridiculous –” Jiang Cheng started.

“No, I love it!” Wei Wuxian immediately declared. “That means Lan Zhan’s his uncle, too!”

“Wei Wuxian…!”

“Don’t worry,” Jin Zixuan said, hugging Jiang Cheng out of sheer excitement. “You’re his only jiujiu, right? Everyone else is related through me, so they have to share.”

Jiang Cheng seemed pleased by that, and Wei Wuxian laughed.

Nie Huaisang was calculating on his fingers. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “This might be the most well-connected baby in the entire cultivation world? The only thing we’re missing is the Wen sect…Jiang-xiong, how about you marry Wen Qing? Then we’d have them all!”

“That is not how I’m determining my marriage!” Jiang Cheng yelped, but notably didn’t reject the idea.

Jin Zixuan looked at Jiang Yanli, who looked back at him, and they both started laughing.

There was more noise after that, and eventually Jin Ling woke up and started crying, making everyone start fussing like a bunch of old hens surrounding a long-suffering Jiang Yanli who’d already grown accustomed to it in a way the rest of them hadn’t.

It suddenly occurred to Jin Zixuan that everyone who was here was here because they wanted to be. Not because of his name or his wealth, not because he was Sect Leader Jin, not because of the circumstances of his birth, but just because they liked him – because they wanted to celebrate with him, and to cherish his child, to share his joy.

It was a good day.

All the days were a little good, but this one was especially good.

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

heyo your imagines are amazing and i like reading them so much. i really appreciate you for writing for Alice in borderland as there isn’t a lot of content out there~ can you please write an imagine for niragi where the reader has been at the beach for quite the time and when she gets to know niragi she somehow falls for him because she sees right through him, and that he maybe starts to develop feelings for the reader too because she’s fearless and very confident. if it’s not too much trouble, could you make it a bit suggestive as well? thank you in advance~~

Of course I can! I’m not the best at writing with suggestive themes so I’ll try my best! 😅 I’m sorry but I changed the story line a little bit for it to fit more, so I hope this is still kind of what you had in mind.

Unlovable | Suguru Niragi

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. Ann, Aguni, Hatter, Mira, Chishiya, Arisu, Last Boss)

Summary: Niragi finally finds you, who loves him for who he is, well, not exactly. And he gets a bit too attached.

Warnings: toxic relationship, suggestive themes, a lot of gaslighting, obsessive themes, a little bit angsty, threatening, choking, swearing, name calling

Word Count: 3.2k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a while to post. I was busy for the past couple of days so it’s kinda rushed 😣

“Y/N! Come quick!”

You jolted awake as Ann burst into your room, shaking the door frame from the force. You blinked your eyes to adjust to the light, looking at her dazed.

“What?” you murmured, sitting up and out of the comfy sheets on your bed. 

“The executives have called a meeting. They say it’s urgent,” she stressed, rushing up to the side of your bed and ripping the duvet off of you.

You shivered and sighed loudly in disappointment. “Why? It’s too early for this shit,” you whined, rolling back onto your side and closing your eyes again. These urgent emergency meetings have become ridiculous, always taking place in the morning when everyone’s still sleeping. You would gladly have quit having the higher place at The Beach if it meant for you to have some peace and quiet.

“Now!” Ann pushed again. You groaned in annoyance and got out of bed. She seemed serious, so you didn’t want to anger her more.

You both quickly made your way to the top floor where the meeting room for the executives was located. You noticed Ann’s heavy breathing and worried expression, making you anxious as to what she thinks could have happened.

Hatter had left the night before to replenish his visa, having a big celebration as he drove off with Aguni and a few more of his men. Things had been becoming more tense as time went on. It felt wrong watching Hatter drive away so reluctantly. You offered to assist him in his game, seeing as you earned yourself a high number at The Beach from clearing many difficult games yourself. But Hatter declined, insisting that he would return to The Beach safe and sound before you knew it.

But unfortunately, he was wrong.

You and Ann rushed into the large room. You saw Arisu and Chishiya standing near the end of the table placed in the middle of the room. You strolled over to them and laid eyes on the scene before you.

There, Hatter laid dead on the table. Limbs spread out lifeless, skin pale and dead. The horrific sight made you feel sick, making you cover your mouth with your hand. The scene almost felt unreal, this shouldn’t have happened. Hatter wouldn’t be dead if you just went with him.

Ann walked over to his body to examine it, but before she even had the chance to touch the bullet wound embedded in his bare chest, Niragi barged into the room with his usual cocky and obnoxious aura filling the air like a bad smell.

“Oi, don’t touch him as you please. You dissection maniac,” he growled.

Your eyes followed him closely. Now that Hatter was gone, people like him could start dangerous trouble at the hotel. But, as long as you said something about it, you would make sure Niragi wouldn’t start any fires that he’s not willing to put out himself.

After all, you were the only person who knew his true self, and how he perceived everyone around him. It was pathetic really. In a way you took pity on him. Such a simple tactic for the brain to protect itself, become a heartless and cold monster towards others so no one could ever do the same to you again.

With Niragi, unfortunately it was hunt or be hunted.

You kept your strong gaze on him as he lifted his eyes to meet yours from across the table for a hot minute. His dark orbs glistened as they locked with yours, making the tension in the room become thicker as every second passed. He smirked in your direction before turning away.

“He was shot by a gun,” Ann stated, breaking the thick silence in the room. She looked over the small hole in his chest in fascination.

“What will happen to The Beach?” a young man asked who was standing nearby you. You stayed silent, not wanting to start anything that may end in chaos. You always had good points and valid arguments, but sometimes you knew when the best time was to bring them up. This was not it.

“I mean it’s only reasonable for the strongest to become the new leader!” Niragi exclaimed over everyone. “We need someone who can take good care of The Beach and keep order,” he yapped on, swinging his sniper rifle all around making a few people flinch when he aimed it at them.

You rolled your eyes at his behaviour. Trust him to be the most opinionated.

“I say, how about Aguni as our new leader,” he suggested, leaning forwards onto the table and watching everyone like a hawk. Aguni held no reaction, keeping his usual cold stone expression while having Niragi speak for him.

After no one reacted, all looking down to the ground to avoid Niragi’s gaze, he stood up straight and pulled a bored expression. “That’s not a good reaction,” he mocked, “Last Boss?”

You glanced over to where the hooded figure stood, watching in fear as he unsheathed his katana sword and rushed over to Ann, holding the deathly sharp blade a few inches from her throat. Your heart leaped to your mouth. If he was to try anything, you were ready to start chaos.

But nothing of the sort happened. Ann simply sighed frustratingly and held up her hand obediently. Niragi hummed, approving.

“This isn’t a majority vote,” Mira hissed from next to him.

Niragi stood and leaned his face close to hers, holding the barrel of his weapon close to her face to threaten her. “But it is! Isn’t it? After all, you’re all free to vote as well.”

One by one, he slowly circled the table, each person being scared for their life the closer he got to them. But you remained calm next to Chishiya, knowing that considering the relationship you have with Niragi, he wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you. He didn’t have the guts to.

As he moved from Chishiya, he finally locked eyes with you. He quickly strolled up to your still frame, stopping suddenly very close to you in an attempt to make you feel threatened. ‘As usual,’ you thought to yourself. ‘The old “I’m taller and bigger than you so I’m stronger” stupid tactic.’

“And what about you princess? Care to raise your hand for a vote for Aguni?” he hissed into your face. You held your neutral expression, becoming bored from this act he was putting on. It was purely for show, and yet wasn’t everyone’s personality? But Niragi, his act of this scary psychotic man angered you to your core.

“What if I don’t?” you snickered, walking towards him in an attempt of intimidation. He took a step back in shock. “It’s not like you need my precious vote, you already have so many.”

Niragi’s usual cocky smirk melted from his face, turning into a frustrated scowl. You felt him put his rifle underneath your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “Be careful with that tongue of yours sweetheart, you wouldn’t want to lose it,” he growled quietly.

His threat made you smirk, almost bringing butterflies into your stomach. “I think you should be more concerned about that head of yours. You wouldn’t want to get it stuck too far up your own ass.”

You flinched as you felt his rough hand shoot from his rifle to your neck, instantly tightening around your throat making you widen your eyes in surprise. You lifted your arm and gripped his wrist in case he tightened his hold anymore. The look on his face was deathly. If looks could kill, you’d be already a few years into the afterlife.

Chishiya stood beside you watching the whole scene. He knew better than to intervene, as he could tell that Niragi wouldn’t ever intentionally permanently hurt you.

Niragi held you still as he leaned down to your ear, his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin. “Shut your fucking mouth you brat. You wouldn’t want me to hurt you too much later, would you?” You cringed as you felt his tongue slide behind the back of your ear, the piercing making you shiver.

“Niragi,” you heard Aguni say, saving you from the public embarrassment of getting felt up by Niragi in front of everyone you knew. “That’s enough, I think she gets the point.”

Niragi grunted in annoyance before loosening his fist on your neck. You sucked in a huge gasp of air, coughing slightly. Chishiya placed a gentle hand on your back in a sign of care, hoping that you’re okay.

Niragi aimed his rifle lazily at Chishiya’s face. “She’s fine, don’t touch her. A little choking is nothing she can’t handle.”

Chishiya immediately took his hand off of you, being taken back by Niragi’s comment.

You stood up straight after recovering, laying your eyes back on Niragi as he continued terrorizing the executive members.

God you hated that man. You hated how much you loved him.

*************

The room was now empty, consisting of no one except for you and Ann, who was still looking over Hatter’s body for any other injuries. You watched curiously, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

“Seems a bit weird, doesn’t it?” you spoke up through the silence.

“What does?” Ann answered, not bothering to look at you.

“Someone with a hundred percent winning streak dies now? Just as the tension between the militants and the others was getting to its peak?” you questioned.

Ann rolled her eyes sarcastically and turned towards you. “Took you long enough to figure out. Really? You didn’t suspect that from the start? Even after that shit-show that Niragi pulled earlier?”

You were taken back by her sudden anger. Ann never became mad at you, even if she had a legitimate reason to. You looked at her as she stared into your eyes intensely before sighing and turning back to Hatter.

“Sorry Y/N,” she apologized. “I’m just stressed. This shit is getting too heavy to handle, and now with Hatter gone and Aguni in his place, who knows what will happen to people like you, me, Mira, Chishiya and Alice. They could kill us if they want to.”

Her words hit your heart heavily. It was true. Aguni and his militants were never a particularly predictable bunch. And you weren’t exactly on all their good sides, well, except for Niragi’s.

“Sorry Ann,” you muttered out quietly. You thought it would be best to leave her alone. She obviously was quite distraught from Hatter’s death.

You shuffled out of the room, head held low in despair. Who knew what would happen to this place now? It was like a ticking time bomb only no one knew how long there was left until it exploded.

As you walked through the large door frame that led outside of the meeting room, a sudden grip on your arm brought you out of your thoughts and made you yelp. You were yanked into a hard chest, being held close and tight.

“Hey love. How are you feeling?” the person growled. You looked to see it was none other than Niragi himself. Of course it was, who else would treat you so roughly?

You stared into his ominous eyes, trying to read him. He ran his hand down your back slowly causing you to shiver. “Niragi,” you breathed out. You pushed against his broad chest to separate you. “Sorry, but I’m not in the mood right now.”

You stepped away from him and tried to escape down the hall, but he grabbed your hand before you could go anywhere. “Bullshit. You’re never in the mood. And the sass you were giving me in there in front of everyone says otherwise.” He pulled you back towards him, pushing your head onto his shoulder and nuzzling into your neck. “I didn’t like how you treated me, it made me upset.”

He was lying through his teeth, knowing that making you feel guilty for defending yourself against him would bring him more of your attention. Simple gaslighting, worked every time.

You chuckled against him then leaned back and cupped his face with your hands. He held a sad expression on his face, obviously to make you sympathetic.

“You’re such a big baby,” you laughed. “Try to act so tough and dominant in front of everyone, but look at you now. Crying into my shoulder about your feewings?” you mocked him. Niragi scowled and pulled his head out of your hands. “Shut up, as if you’re any better.”

It was true. That’s why you both clicked together. He was a gaslighting maniac who knew how to put up a fake ‘nice guy’ façade around you and you were a tough and snappy woman, who felt much too much empathy for others.

That’s how you fell into his trap. He used your empathy to his advantage, making you fall in love with him so he could have what he’d always wanted. Someone who loves him for who he is, no matter how many masks he had to put on for them.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning up and pressing a small peck onto his lips. “Can you promise me something?” he suddenly asked after you pulled away from his face.

You grew anxious about what he wanted and nodded your head slowly in hesitation.

“When the chance comes, can we leave The Beach together? Like, run away?” he questioned, snaking his arms around your waist and squeezing tightly.

You laughed at his question, making him frown. He was being completely serious. “And go where Niragi? There’s not exactly a place we can go to.”

“Anywhere,” he answered sharply. “We could find a nice little hideout in Tokyo. Just you and me, no one else.” His grip on your waist tightened, making you flinch in his arms slightly.

He could see you tossing between answers. It wasn’t working, he had to try something else. He put on the fakest sad face he could do and pressed his forehead against yours while pouting. “Please? I promise I’ll take care of you.”

You practically melted as his begging. “Okay,” you sighed.

“Promise me,” he reminded you, running a hand through your soft hair.

There was a short moment of silence before you answered. “I promise.”

*************

You laid in your room with the sheets tossed lazily over you. Niragi was called to go talk to Aguni again before he went to sleep, so you were waiting for him.

Your eyes scanned your book quickly, wanting to finish the chapter you were on before Niragi returned. Because god forbid you having your attention on something that wasn’t him when he was around.

You glanced over at the door when you heard it creep open and Niragi stepped in, placing his sniper rifle carefully on the ground nearby and removing his boots.

“You took your time.” you teased, putting your book on the nightstand and sitting up in bed. Niragi groaned tiredly, stumbling over to your shared bed and collapsed dramatically face down onto the duvet. You giggled at him, running a soft hand though his midnight hair and pulling it out of it’s hair tie.

If he was a cat, he swore he could’ve purred at your touch. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Not having physical affection for years on end does that to a person.

He sat up and crawled over to you. He grabbed your chin and pressed your lips together roughly, running his tongue across your mouth as he did so. You groaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, making him smirk against your lips.

After a few minutes, he detached his lips from yours and started licking and sucking your sensitive skin on your jaw, slowly making his way down your neck. He felt shivers run down his spine as you gripped his shirt in your fist on his back. He loved having this power over you, and having you accept him and love him enough to not fight back.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, giving him more access to your neck. As you did so, he placed a hand on your lower back and pulled you towards him, forcing you to lie down on the bed with him hovering over you.

He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, admiring your anxious expression painted across your face. He chucked. “What’s wrong baby,” he cooed, leaning down and continuing kissing your collarbones.

His voice was dripping in sweetness, so sweet it could’ve made you feel sick. It sounded fake, but you didn’t pick up on it. It was a shame. You saw Niragi as nothing but a victim of his own mind, but you weren’t able to see yourself becoming a victim of it.

“I’m just...” you mumbled out, feeling weak and vulnerable under his touch. “I’m scared Niragi.”

He pulled back again and looked into your eyes with a worried expression. “Why are you scared? It’s just me and you here angel. You’re perfectly safe,” he whispered out, stroking his knuckles down your cheek lovingly.

You knew you loved Niragi, but knowing he can change his personality in a blink of an eye unsettled you. Who knew when he would do that to you? You heard him speak up again.

“We’ve slept together many times before, why are you becoming shy just now?” he teased, lifting a hand and slowly running it up along your tummy underneath your shirt. Your breath hitched as his cold hands made contact, making your stomach muscles tense.

“So sensitive,” he cooed again, snuggling his head into your chest, just above your breasts. “I love you.”

The confession made your heart skip a beat and you tensed. Niragi noticed this, making his body fill with anxiety. Did he say it too soon?

“Sorry,” he mumbled against your shirt. “That was a bit much, you don’t have to say it back,” he gaslighted.

“No,” you cut him off. “I love you too.”

Niragi’s heart filled with warmth and he felt all his nerves tingle around his body. He hadn’t heard that since he was a kid, and hearing you say it did nothing but make him more fall in love.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he sniffed out. You looked down to see him staring at you, tears filling his eyes. It made your heart ache.

He took his body weight off you and hovered himself above you again. “I promise, I won’t let anyone ever hurt you,” he mumbled, voice cracking slightly. His arms that laid on either side of your head acted like a cage. Whether you were trapped willingly or forcefully was beyond your guess.

As he leaned his head down again and pressed his still wet lips against yours, you felt his lanky arms snake around your torso underneath you, keeping you in place.

You laid there, moving your mouths together and holding each other as close as possible. It would’ve almost been romantic and loving if it wasn’t for the context. While one was preying on their victim to achieve what they’ve so desperately wanted their whole life, the other believed that that person was the victim themselves.

Such irony, to love someone who has a ‘unlovable’ personality, when it’s not even the one that you fell in love with.

The one you fell in love with was nothing but one of his many masks. And no one could determine whether he would ever take it off in front of you.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this one was actually hard to write. It’s a bit all over the place but I hope it was still enjoyable to read! Also I’m not going to do a Part 2 to this fic, but if you want to read something similar to this kind of yandere theme with Niragi, read my other fic called You’re Everything You Once Hated. I’m going to be posting a Part 2 of that one soon.