#like his sentences are layered and carefully chosen

[presencinglife]

You will know him by the way he holds all your edges as if they were silk, your fire as if it were a quiet hymn to be sung in the hollow of his chest. When you are playful, he will laugh like the wind through a field of bells. When you are serious, he will meet your gaze as if your words are the truth he has been waiting to live by.

He will never carry your softness like a blade to wield. Your secrets will not be weapons but threads woven tighter into the fabric of his understanding. He will not whisper one thing and mean another. His sentences will be clear water— no need to search for stones at the bottom.

When you speak your hunger, he will not flinch. Your desires, your layered wants, will only make you shine brighter to him— a map of constellations he has been yearning to trace. Nothing you want to do with him will ever be off limits. He will not look at you differently afterward, but see in that wildness the sacred untamed you reserve only for him. And he will love you even more for it— for the trust it takes to hand over the full expanse of your soul, the shadows and the flames alike.

He will be your cheerleader, the voice that lifts your joy higher when you are already soaring. Even when he cannot be in your moments, he will celebrate them as if they were his own. He will root for your success the way you define it— never asking you to shrink or dim, only lighting the path you’ve chosen. He will listen, and in his response, you will hear the echoes of your own words held carefully, tenderly, as if they were treasures worth guarding. He will remember the things you love, the small, quiet details, and find ways to bring them into your day— a favorite scent, a line of your favorite song— so you know that he remembers, always.

He will make love to you with every fiber of his being, and you will never doubt his loyalty. His eyes will shine for you like none other, mirroring a devotion that feels as old as the stars. You will know you have his soul in your palms, and in the cradle of his hands, he will hold yours just the same.

He will not ask you to bend into shapes that bruise your spirit, to wear loyalty like a shackle. Instead, he will think of ways to grow roots beside you, to be the steady shadow that lengthens your light.

And with him, you will feel as if the cliff has softened to meadow, the ground beneath you no longer sharp, no longer slipping. For the first time, you will exhale— not to brace yourself, but to let yourself be fully, finally here.

This, this is the definition of a real man.

[ilynpilled]

The thing about the hand loss and how people attach things behind it like “it was as a result of Jaime’s arrogance towards Hoat” or “he lost it because he saved Brienne from rape,” is that neither is true to what actually happens in the text. Those actions still hold meaning, sure, but the chop itself is also independent to it all (the maiming is symbolically karmic in a lot of ways as it is tied to his greatest sins, but that is not what i am talking about). The capture itself is different, but the right hand and his fate was doomed the moment he landed in Hoat’s hands for reasons out of his control. What is so good about it is that the hand chop is not really about Jaime as a human being (which makes it causing one of the biggest existential crises in the series all the more interesting), and more about Jaime as a token. Ironically, his status and relationship to his father is what ends up dehumanizing him entirely. There are so many things going on outside of Jaime. He is an integral political piece, every side is scrambling for him for different reasons, and he is fully treated as such in the Riverlands.

Hoat had his own motivation, that is much bigger than Jaime, due to his previous betrayal of Tywin, which turned into a death sentence following the results of Blackwater. As Roose implies throughout the dinner conversation, Jaime’s hand chop was, above all else, the result of Tywin and the ruthless foundation of much of his authority (the Reynes and Tarbecks are brought up again). And what I like about it, other than the emphasis on the players constantly making moves solely for their own benefit in war while everyone else suffers the consequences, is that it does address and criticize the Lannister method a whole lot. The hand chop almost feels less karmic for Jaime himself than it does for Tywin. It is another reason that I find the perspective that these books were heralding this kind of sociopathic ruthlessness as competent and uber effective while completely condemning the relatively more “moral” Starks so funny. Like without even getting into where we are headed in the aftermath of the WoT5K, the holes within the “Tywin method” are already being explored. And the results are creeping towards Tywin himself, invading his family, because it is his very heir that suffers directly from it. The more we move along in the story the more the distance lessens between him and his putrid actions to cement his authority and power. “I’ve lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I will lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war.” is a Tywin/House Lannister thesis when it comes to the events of ASoS. For a start, he is the one who brought in the Bloody Mummers. The cruelty he unleashes on the smallfolk ends up coming back to him directly through his heir being the one experiencing it full force. There is the layer of loyalty vs utilizing sellswords, which is one way the conflicting sides in the war foil each other, and it is a root cause of the betrayal to begin with. If you use these men, you can end up suffering the consequences yourself, loyalty can only be bought if you remain the highest bidder. Relying on greed is fragile. Then, the part that Jaime is repeatedly faced with throughout his narrative: fear ≠ trust.

Hoat is smart enough to realize by now that his betrayal will not be pardoned by Tywin. Jaime’s offer means nothing in terms of his safety. He is aware of his low status and the meaning of his action to Tywin. That is what truly dooms Jaime and his hand. Hoat needed that token, and he needed to secure a path for himself (without losing his token along the way to Roose) to the Karstarks. He made sure that he brought Roose down with him, and put him in a difficult situation. Sure, Jaime’s skill itself is a huge threat and liability, but that is not the primary motivator. It is his sole ticket to safety from Tywin’s ruthlessness.

Then the goat gets outsmarted by Roose, and Jaime catches on to that part, so Hoat does take the L ultimately I fear, but these layers remain and it adds a lot. I also like how in ASoS, Jaime’s status is constantly fluctuating between dooming him and saving him. It often depends on how clever he is being in the moment.

[dearestgojo]

Geto x reader

Warnings: 18+. Angst. Cheating. Betrayal. Infidelity.

Wc: 961  | JJK Masterlist | Main Masterlist

There were things you'd come to expect from Suguru throughout your short courtship. Things he himself had set up from the very beginning. Like him opening every door for you, a warm cup of tea waiting for you whenever you visited his apartment, or the extra pair of flats he kept in his backseat for whenever you got tired of wearing your heels on dates. But for him to tear your heart to shreds, now that had been somewhat of a surprise.

The signs had been there, and you'd just chose to turn a blind eye to them. The fact it took him twice as long to respond, the lingering scent of rose-scented perfume in his car, and the barely there look in his eyes when you were together. Yet, despite being aware of them, it didn't stop your stomach from twisting. It didn't stop the tears from burning the edges of your eyes while you fought to hold them back. Or the knot that formed in the back of your throat, lodging itself there for you to feel the dull ache every time you swallowed. You had chosen to ignore all the little cues because some part of you had hoped that you'd simply been seeing something that wasn't there.

You had been too trustful. And from past experiences, you should've known better.

He'd promised not to hurt you ever, yet here you were, sitting silently in front of him with your heart bleeding on the table as he kept talking, as if everything was the same. Even when you barely replied, humming or nodding when needed, he continued as if the very thing you need to live; hadn't been ripped from your chest and was now beating loudly in front of him. It made your insides burn with anger.

The nerve of him to look at you with his cunning face, smiling softly at you when he'd been wrapped in the arms of someone else hours earlier. And just not any other person, but one of your friends that had once listened to you vent about past heartaches. Discovering that was like taking a knife to your already exposed heart. 

Clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth you pick up what's left of pride, and stood up from the table, interrupting him in the middle of a sentence when your chair squeaks along his floorboards. He looks up at you for the first time the entire evening, actually looks at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together. His dark eyes flow you into his small kitchen, watching as you put your cup into the sink before you slip into the pair of rubber gloves and start washing it. He watches the way your movements are stiff, the muscles of your back tight, and how your silence rings throughout the room, slowly seeping its way into his own bones. A sudden shiver runs down his spine.

"Are you okay?" he asks, picking up his half-full cup of tea, making his way over to you carefully, "You've been quieter than usual."

You look at him over your shoulder, the look on in your eyes making him stop like a deer caught in headlights. To anyone else the smile you give him would've been sweet, a normal smile any girlfriend would give their boyfriend, but Suguru feels uneasy, guilt swelling in his chest, because there's a knowing layer to the way your lips curl. 

"I'm fine," you answer, but you aren't fine. You and Suguru both know that now, the only thing either of you is unsure of is who will address it first. 

Letting out a heavy sigh you turn to scan at the wall above the kitchen sink, eyes surging with tears for the nth time today. You thought you could do this. Come here and face him. Give him a piece of your mind. But doing that would be like admitting you had fallen for the same tricks you'd said you'd never believe again. That'd you'd let yourself once again be sweet-talked into a man's arms and bed.

Suguru closes the distance between you and him as your sniffles start, cup left and the end of the counter when his strong arms engulf you. "Hey what's wrong?" he asks, feigning like he doesn't know what's troubling. The look in your eyes and your smile were giveaways that you'd likely found out already, but if he started apologizing now he'd be confessing to the crime. And Suguru didn't want to face the fact that he'd dragged out this break-up far longer than needed simply because he liked having you around. He'd also have to admit that, for the first time in his entire dating history; he'd cheated. He was standing with the very men he'd said he'd never be. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you deeper into his chest, murmuring into the crown of your head, "I'm always here for you."

The anger that's been bubbling inside of you suddenly spills over, and you're pushing your way out of his hold. Pushing him back into the counter, his elbow bumps into the cup causing it to fall over and shatter as it hits the ground. There's an exchange of words you barely recall before the sound of the door slamming rings in your ears. You hardly even recall how you made it back home two hours later when you're crying into your pillowcase. Or how you ended up wrapped in the warm arms of your roommate. 

All you remember three days later as your delete messages and unanswered calls, and block two numbers, is the hoarseness of your throat as you yelled and the shattering of your heart as the door closed behind you.

© Copyright 2023. Dearestgojo. All rights reserved.

[hisui-dreamer]

ode to the scheming eel

Pairing: Jade Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: the world would never know how wonderful he is, but he was a treasure beyond compare

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic hehe, reader is a simp for jade

Word count: 604

Notes: double posting for floyd's too!!! eel birthday fics wooo!

yes it's been a few days but im still celebrating (⁠ﾉ⁠≧���∇⁠≦⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠ ⁠ﾐ⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

Masterlist

Your lover often keeps himself wrapped in layers of soft-spoken charm and formal eloquence. The world sees him as a meticulous vice housewarden, yet, there's more to him than meets the eye. He revels in the art of deception, a master puppeteer manipulating the strings of those around him. Words, for him, are the weapons of choice, and he wields them with a finesse that leaves others bewildered. They dance with a subtle wit, each sentence a carefully crafted tapestry of indirect barbs veiled in layers of politeness, but cut sharper than any blade.

Your lover possesses a subtle artistry in the way he observes you. His keen eyes, like an ever-watchful guardian, seem to unravel the intricacies of your being with each passing moment. His enjoyment in watching you is not invasive; instead, it's a delicate dance of understanding, an appreciation for the nuances that make you who you are. In his gaze, you feel a sense of acceptance and fascination, a warmth that borders on admiration. And though he may be admit to being uncomfortable when it becomes your turn to observe him, there’s no denying the blissful smile on his flushed face.

Your lover possesses a remarkable capacity for care and an unparalleled attention to detail that extends beyond the bounds of ordinary affection. It's as if he holds an intimate map of your well-being, meticulously navigating the subtle shifts in your mood. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, catch the nuances of your expressions, and his gentle inquiries are a testament to the depth of his concern. Whether it's a fleeting illness or the weight of a difficult day, his caring nature unveils itself in the subtle gestures—a comforting touch, a jacket on your shoulders, a few words of motivation, or simply a quiet presence that speaks volumes. His attention to the nuances of your emotional landscape is a testament to the genuine and compassionate love he harbours for you.

Your lover takes immense pleasure in the teasing you, delighting in the subtle dance of words that elicit reactions from you. He possesses a mischievous flair, savouring each moment as he skilfully weaves playful banter into your interactions. The sparkle in his eyes betrays the satisfaction he finds in observing your responses, a testament to his mastery in the delicate game of verbal sparring. However, the tables turn when you successfully tease him back. In those moments, a subtle flush colours his cheeks, his usually eloquent words falter, replaced by a silent vulnerability that reveals a side of him he keeps well-guarded. It's in these instances that the power dynamic shifts, and you catch precious glimpses of your tender, unguarded lover beneath the veil of his composed exterior.

Your lover's unusual obsession with mushrooms may be slightly concerning, but you can’t find it in yourself to deny him when his eyes shine with delight. There's an undeniable allure in witnessing his fervor, and you find yourself incapable of withholding support. Your scavenging hikes become cherished adventures, traversing landscapes in search of the elusive fungi. Throughout the journey, he remains attentive, ensuring your well-being at every turn. In embracing his passion, you discover a shared joy that transforms any reservations into moments of bonding and shared experiences.

Your lover, with all his complexities, is the masterpiece you've chosen to love, a canvas painted with shades of eloquence, mischief, and a profound appreciation for the beauty that others may overlook. You find yourself captivated by the enigma that he is, drawn to the uncharted territories of his thoughts and the subtleties of his actions.

Your lover, is none other than Jade Leech.

Masterlist

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[autistichalsin]

Hello 🙏Big fan of your work! thank you for sharing with us your wholesome analysis content, can't get enough of it .I feel this to some extent to be another layer in his character :,) maybe i can't fully extend on why it would make sense but is this something? Sorry

I perceive Halsin as someone who, deep down, might feel unworthy but chooses not to express it. It seems that throughout his relationships he has carefully crafted his expressions, possibly out of a desire to avoid burdening someone he cares for with his inner struggles. The carefully chosen words and planned sentences might be a way for him to shield his own insecurities. While he outwardly promotes freedom in relationships, there's a suspicion that this stance might stem from a reluctance to express his true feelings of unworthiness, creating a facade of responsibility instead of authenticity.

In his pursuit of love, Halsin paradoxically insists on the potential for greater happiness with someone else, repeatedly emphasizing freedom in the relationship. It's as if he wants the love of his present relationship but hesitates to fully embrace it, perhaps until it becomes unmistakably clear that he is genuinely and deeply loved. Until then, his expressions may be veiled attempts to maintain a sense of control over his vulnerabilities, revealing his true desires only when he feels secure in the reciprocation of love.

Guyyyyyyys you're gonna make me blush!!! How am I at the point where I'm getting fanmail in my inbox now!!! *Kicking my feet and blushing*

I agree for sure that he tries to shield others from his own stuff. Maybe not out of a sense of unworthiness per se, or maybe it is. But he definitely doesn't feel like he should ask for the same emotional real estate that he gives to others.

However, I will politely say I don't agree with the rest of this. I don't think him being poly is a cover for any of his insecurities (nor does it stem from his traumas, I.E. in the Underdark). It is who he is, especially as a wood elf; polyamory is the default in wood elf culture. (In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the consent given by other characters, who otherwise want monogamy but make an exception for Halsin, is given on the basis that Halsin is a wood elf). The devnotes for the scene where Halsin explains his nature says "sincere. This is a core belief of his." Halsin is poly and traumatized, not poly because he's traumatized; Halsin is poly and struggling with asking for what he wants, not poly because he can't say what he wants.

The "you're all I want" line that usually gets picked as proof of him not being poly is, IMO, a poorly-written one- what he is trying to say there is that the player is all he wants at that moment, not forever. It isn't uncommon for poly folks to be in relationships with a single other person, not because they aren't poly anymore, but because there aren't any other poly partners around. That's what Halsin is getting at.

I hope this response doesn't put you off or anything! I appreciate your message very much. I just fundamentally can't get on board with any attempts to link Halsin's identity as a polyamorous person with trauma and/or emotional insecurity.

[namazunomegami]

11 and 21 for the writer ask thing!!

Omg, girl, you're a blessing!

11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most

No doubt, Frank Herbert is the one who influenced me the most. Like, he literally changed my writing style and techniques from the basics when I read Dune. I absolutely abide his rule that "if you want to be a great writer, write about what you know best" or something along the lines. Basically, write about what you're interested in and willing to put effort in it. In Herbert's case, he was interested in how environtments change people and vice versa, to me I guess it's how people have an effect on each other and I know dysfunctonial relationships like the back of my hand.

I also like subverting tropes in the way that he did with Dune and the whole "hero's journey/chosen one" thing. And using an omnipresent/omniscient narrator, constantly switching POVs in a scene.

It's so funny but I think I should thank Tarantino for influencing me when it comes to writing dialogues. You shouldn't be afraid to put some mundane stuff when your characters are talking, and you can deliver tension with a few carefully chosen words in these mundane segments. And also building your characters through conversations, because that's how real people do when they don't know each other. I always circle back to Inglourious Basterds which is understandable, it's one of my fave movies all time but this movie is the epitome of building up tension in just dialogue alone, and the setting, the character's manerism is just spice to the whole scene.

But some of the writers here on this site are great sources of inspiration too. If I want to write a fic that makes your skin crawl, I read something from @/rush-the-stars or @/banjjakz since their writing styles will never fail to amaze me.

21. Who is/are your favorite character(s) to write?

I think Geto deserves to own a fave title for the sheer amount of shit that I wrote for him. There're countless wips that yall don't know of or won't plan on sharing.

But I like morally questionable, emotionally constipated guys who act like nothing fazes them but go soft for one person. And maybe... have crazy ways to protect them from literally anything. Or not. I have fics and wips of really shitty characters who only want to hurt the reader and they're generally delighted by their pain. But hey, don't judge me, this is a dark content blog.

Characters that can give you a bit of a psychic damage if they want to. The ones that are so complex it makes me want to pull them apart to see their layers and explore them.

To talk about my wips a lil bit, writing Alastor and Asmodeus were quite the fun! I enjoyed every single sentence that I came up with for their dialouges. For you, I really want to elaborate on what I like about writing Adam but sadly I couldn't spend enough time with his fic yet.

About readers... I like the ones who are blusterous, driven, observant, stubborn and even petty to the point to make stupid decisions because that was the only way they saw it right. Shy and inherently submissive readers (even tho that my readers are submissive in sexual situations) kinda make me feel cornered and limited.

When I was thinking about how to answer this ask, an original character, Lotte came up in my mind as my fave character to write. She's the main character of my novel and recently reread the doc (that shit deserves a massive rewrite) and I just love her so much and all the time I can spend in her head. All that pain, repressed anger, petty defiance yet the rest of her emotions are dull and muted from all the suffering she experienced. And even tho she is fucked up beyond repair, her heart is still filled with love, an almost chivalrous kind of need to protect anything that's dear to her. And the arc her character leads me through is just amazing. This is the character I love to write.

[arc-77]

@ofblasters » (MIRAX KUROON) :

                   ❝  i’ve heard much the same from veterans i’ve spoken to, sir.  ❞    the urge to simply speak her mind surged within her lungs, but she bit down hard upon the impulse.   now was not the time for criticism, to dismiss his interest as, even if he chose her for some godsforsaken reason, he could never allow her ideas to take hold as she wished they could.   the fledging lieutenant had done the legwork, read the research, the budgets, the arguments which were within her classification.   to command, the cost-benefit ratio was too far off to pursue it, even as it cost lives, lives far more expensive in the long run than the innovation required for better armor.   even if they worked, her ideas were merely a fantasy, her criticism potentially treasonous... depending on who was asked.

                   pausing in her steps, forcing this obvious shepherding to halt at least a moment, she pivoted to face him.     ❝  there are multiple ways this could be approached, but namely, i believe, along with restructuring the angles and thicknesses of the standard issue and layering the existing composite with the potential one, we could lighten the overall weight while the extra strength depends entirely on how actually durable and resistant the new composite proves.  ❞     as subtly as she could, mirax caught her breath, wishing to shake her head at the ridiculousness of it all.   she’d end up testing the quality of the food supply on some star destroyer somewhere deep in the rim, not involved in innovations no one wanted but those forever maimed by others’ disregard.      ❝  it’s already a technique used in officer combat and some specialty armor, as i’m certain you’re familiar, sir, but there at a far greater expense.  ❞      

                    and then, there was the unknown, the eternal void of possibilities in clearances she did not yet hold, perhaps never will.     ❝  an in depth study of that grade of composites hasn’t taken place, as far as i can find, since the beginning of the clone war.   if there hasn’t been one i’m not allowed to know of yet, logically there should be.  ❞

Her sentences were measured, her words carefully chosen. Learned and refined by necessity of survival, as opposed to the confident-yet-flawed utterances of those carried through the academies by their zeal and privilege alone. Obscured beneath this cultivated surface was something more. Drive. Dissatisfaction. What he saw before him was a honed blade, underestimated by those around her. Given proper motivation and opportunity, there was much they might accomplish.

“Indeed. Logically, there should be. Initial investment in such a study would surely pale in comparison to many heavy-handed, resource-intensive projects our military has seemingly endless funding for — especially if, for instance, the required infrastructure was already in place.” He clasped his hands together behind his back, lowering his voice slightly. “One must wonder where the priorities lie.”

He knew why such improvements for the common infantry were never a priority. It was made abundantly clear to him, in the Empire’s earliest days, that he and his ilk were expendable assets, to be deployed and discarded as his betters saw fit. The practice remained at the core of the Imperial ideology and its war machine even through the advent of conscription, the unsavory reality painted over by propaganda and promises of advancement. Sheer luck and tenacity allowed him to infiltrate the ranks of his betters, but the knowledge of their sins remained always in the back of his mind.

He wondered if she had connected the dots herself. Something was bothering her. It was a good sign. He preferred those of a like mind.

“You’ve spent much time considering the prospect, clearly. How did this come to be your goal?”

[tatiekfuji]

Revealing the depth and complexity in the 52 -selected work of God’s love. Docx

About Denny Ja

In the world of Indonesian literature, there is no doubt that Denny Ja is one of the famous and respected writers. His work which is full of depth and complexity always manages to captivate the hearts of the readers. One of his latest works that should be noted is “God’s love alone”, which was chosen as the 52nd elected work of Denny JA. In this work, Denny JA once again shows his expertise in expressing various aspects of life with a unique and meaningful writing style.    “God’s Love alone” is a work that combines religiosity elements with very realistic storytelling. Denny JA succeeded in describing the complex relationship between humans and God in depth and emotionally. This work invites the reader to reflect and question various aspects in life, as well as exploring the true meaning of love and belief in God.    Through the main character, Denny Ja presents the life of a young man named Adam. Adam is a religious person and has a strong belief in God. However, Adam’s life is not easy. He must face various obstacles and trials that make him doubt his own beliefs. Denny Ja carefully described the internal conflict experienced by Adam, as well as his struggle to remain loyal to his faith.    In “God’s love alone”, Denny Ja also raises social issues that are relevant to the Indonesian people today. Through a short story contained in it, Denny Ja describes the various problems faced by the community, such as poverty, injustice, and social division. With a beautiful style of language and strong narrative, Denny Ja managed to make the reader carried away in the world he created.    One of the things that makes Denny Ja’s work so interesting is the use of rich and imaginative language. Denny Ja is able to use words very precisely to describe the atmosphere and feelings of the character. Every sentence in this work feels like a beautiful and emotional essay poem. Denny Ja also combines the elements of traditional literature with modern techniques, creating a unique and attractive writing style.    In addition, “God’s love alone” also shows Denny Ja’s expertise in composing complex and deep stories. In this work, there are many layers of narratives that are interrelated and reveal various aspects of life. The reader is invited to see from various points of view and understand the complexity that exists. Denny Ja is adept at managing the storyline and expressing important details in a timely manner, thus bringing the reader on an interesting journey and inspires the mind.    Of course, “God’s love alone” is a work that cannot be missed by Indonesian literature fans. Denny Ja succeeded in expressing the depth and complexity in life through this work. Not just a story, this work also teaches us to reflect and explore deeper meanings. Denny Ja once again proves himself as one of the best Indonesian writers with this work.    As readers, let us let ourselves swept away in the world created by Denny Ja in “God’s Love alone”. Let’s explore the depth and complexity of life through beautiful words. And in the end, let’s ponder the true meaning of love and belief in God.

Check in full: reveal the depth and complexity in the 52nd selected work of Denny JA: “God’s Love alone”

[fitaamel]

Revealing the sharpness of the mind in the work of Denny Ja 41: the strongest light

Revealing the sharpness of the mind in the work of Denny Ja 41: the strongest light In increasingly complex and challenging life, art has become an important means to express emotions and deep thoughts. One of the artists who was able to uncover the sharpness of the mind through his work was Denny Ja. The 41st chosen work, the strongest light, is a clear evidence of Denny JA's expertise in arranging stunning and meaningful words. Denny Ja, a famous writer and writer, has exceeded the limits of Indonesian literary arts with his work that continues to inspire and challenging. Through the strongest light, he presents an emotional journey that illuminates our mind. In this work, Denny Ja brings us on a charming spiritual journey. He invited the reader to reflect on the meaning of life, the relationship between humans and nature, and self -existence. In every word chosen carefully, he is able to describe the diversity of human emotions and show the layers of the minds of the mind hidden behind it. In the strongest light, Denny JA uses deep language and evocative metaphors. He combines philosophical knowledge, history, and culture to create a rich and attractive narrative. Each sentence feels like poetry, plays the feelings and imagination of the reader. Not only that, Denny JA also described the social and political conditions that exist in Indonesian society. He reviewed the injustice, corruption, and the struggle of the small people. In each of his writings, he emphasized the importance of social justice and invited us to act for better change. The strongest light not only touched the mind, but also aroused deep curiosity. Denny Ja plays words with extraordinary intelligence and sensitivity. He is able to present a complex story but is still easy to understand, and create a character that lives in it. In addition, this work also revealed the extraordinary strength of Denny JA's imagination. He described the beauty and uniqueness of Indonesia's nature, filling every page with a captivating picture of mountains, forests and oceans. In every narrative, we can feel the energy and natural wonders of inspiring. Through the strongest light, Denny Ja invites us to recognize ourselves and live life with enthusiasm. He presents a strong and inspiring character, which goes through their life journey, facing obstacles and finding the strongest light within themselves. This work is a reminder for all of us that we have unlimited potential to develop and achieve the goals of our lives. Overall, the strongest light is a work that expresses the sharpness of Denny JA's mind. In every word and sentence, he is able to arouse emotions and make us fascinated. His work not only entertains, but also provokes our thoughts and invites us to see the world with a new point of view. As readers, we not only witness the greatness of Denny JA as a writer, but also gain a deeper understanding of life and humans. The strongest light is proof that Indonesian literary arts have an extraordinary appeal, and that Denny JA is one of its best writers.

Check more: reveal the sharpness of the mind in the work of the 41st Denny Ja: the strongest light

[randomwriteronline]

"You should put on weight, beloved," Gaeric said suddenly. "There's signs this winter will be a rather rough one."

The other warden hummed and mumbled, half asleep and snuggled with his cheek thoroughly smooshed against his lover's vast chest: "I am not fat."

"I know, and that's what worries me," Gaeric replied gently. His fingers went to comb through white hair and gently massage at the nape of the man in his hold: "Bibarel fur linings can only do so much - you need some natural layers against the chill or you'll freeze yourself to death."

At that Ingo furrowed his brows and cracked open an eye to better process what he was hearing, because something didn't seem quite right.

"Oh," he exclaimed lazily after a moment of buffering: "You said I should gain weight. Not lose it."

Gaeric pulled himself a little away and looked at him like he was out of his mind.

"In this weather?" he asked, horrified.

Ingo made a quiet noise and pressed a chaste kiss to his neck.

"I wouldn't tell you to lose weight if I was sentencing you to death! Not even the Diamond Clan would - is it a thing in your homeland? Do people not value a good layer of fat against the cold?"

Now that Ingo thought about it, as muscular as they were, Gaeric and Irida did have a discreet amount of fluff on their limbs and stomach to hide them - carefully built through the years with what supplies the Icelands provided, while Palina was losing a bit of it now that she had mostly moved to the Coastlands, Lian was still balancing the distribution, and he himself had remained 'unreasonably lean' according to Calaba.

"I believe they do not," he agreed absentmindedly, leaning back into his beloved's embrace: "The only person to ever tell me to gain weight has been my..."

He interrupted himself, brows furrowing slightly as the fuzziest hint of a memory struggled to resurface: "My... Father... I believe. I think I had not... Been fed enough. Before he came around."

Ah, Gaeric reflected, a chosen father probably, like with him and Irida.

Either way he nodded approvingly and nuzzled a kiss on white hair: "He gets it. A good father-in-law with a good set of priorities. I would have loved to meet him."

Me too, Ingo thought to himself. "I have a feeling he would have liked you."

-

"Gaeric has said I should gain weight," Ingo started as he carefully folded his coat.

"Then you should," Melli simply replied.

He felt the other warden turn to look at him with that stinging surprised gaze of his and faced him, head sinking into his shoulders.

"What?" he asked, stoking the hearth a bit as the night promised to be anything but warm. "I don't like to admit it, but he knows his stuff when it comes to these things. The first time Sabi went to the Icelands he sent her back to us chubbier than a Croagunk's cheeks - and with Calaba in tow to lecture us with his exact words, she said, that we were fools for sending a scrawny child like that over with just some furs on her!"

He watched as Ingo debated wether or not to keep his tunic on, and shed his own.

"You aren't quite fat, though," he heard him say while he busied himself with pulling the garment over his head.

"I come from the South of Hisui too," he argued back, "And even then I've got plenty of things to keep me warm when I'm here in the mountains - you, for one."

"I an not sure my body heat alone would be sufficient to stave off a harsh season."

"Oh, you're no Skuntank, that's for sure, but you do try."

"Alas, I do not have fur."

Hair fully shaken out of the fabric, Melli turned back to the bed, where a lump was already under the covers; with incredible swiftness he snuck over and pressed his mouth to his darling's cheek.

"Maybe if you did have a bit more meat on you, you'd be a little warmer," he posited, slipping under the blankets and wrapping his long arms around the slightly stouter frame as he spooned him.

Soon enough he let out a soft groan into Ingo's nape: "Or at least your awfully sharp bones wouldn't stab my stomach as often..."

A laugh shook the back of the Pearl warden: "This is my hut, you know," he reminded him, shifting to get an arm around him, "I could leave you outside if I so decided."

"You won't," Melli replied flatly.

He was right, of course. But admitting his victory would have made him gloat incessantly about being right, so all he got was a kiss on his lips - which was in fact the same thing, but in this case he very gladly remained quiet if it meant he would get a couple more.

And because his lover was terribly soft about these things, he would get quite a lot.

[typically-untypical]

My Name is...

Soulmate September Day 15: “It is impossible to lie to your soulmate.”

Pairing: Intruloceit

Alternate Universe: College AU

Warnings: Sexual Innuendo

Word Count: 2066

Remus was leaning against Janus, talking about everything that had been going on today in his classes. This had become their normal, the two of them sitting at the dining table, Janus actually working on his class projects while Remus just continued to ramble and talk. Things had taken a slightly different turn this semester because Remus was taking an ethics class, and wasn’t that hilarious. Remus and ethics were not something you would normally expect in the same sentence, and that was probably why Janus loved Remus. Something he knew better than to admit out loud.

“So, like super hot nerd I’ve been talking about, right. Like 15 out of 10 on the hot scale, if you took how hot Roman thinks he is and put it in a person you would get this guy, anyway, so we are supposed to choose a partner for our ethics project and guess what I did?”

“Let me guess, you attacked the nerd?”

“I attacked the nerd!!” Remus said with a lot of pride in his eyes. “He was actually fascinated by some of the topics I brought up and ‘be still my dead heart’, I thought I was going to pass out from the owos. I didn’t know that it was possible to die from an owo overdose.”

“Fascinating.”

“Anyway, he’s gonna come over to the apartment tomorrow, you don’t mind Jani, Right?”

“Wait, what?” That got Janus’ full attention. He and Remus shared an apartment that wasn’t too far away from the school. They had been childhood friends and Janus had chosen this school so he could stay with Remus. He would never admit that. He always said the half-truth that he had chosen the school because of its cost and law program but Remus was always the real reason. He had suspected that Remus was his soulmate for a while now, but there were little things that didn’t make sense, such as their compatibility in bed. Janus was asexual sex-repulsed, and Remus was exceedingly gay. Also, if they were soulmates, how had Remus not noticed. Still, there had been a few times where Janus meant to say something and something else slipped out. It could have been a Freudian slip, but-

“Yeah! The nerd is apparently the type who likes to start on projects early so that the deadline doesn’t come up too fast.” Remus was wiggling his eyebrows.

Deceit sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Even if Remus wasn’t his soulmate he loved this man. Why did he love this man? He had to think about his words carefully. “Academically, I think starting your project early is your best choice. I’m not leaving the apartment though.” He couldn’t admit that he didn’t want another person coming in and messing up their dynamic.

“Wouldn’t expect you to, but…. would you be willing to cook?” Dang it, he was looking at Janus with that all too rare puppy dog face.

“Ah, you are just trying to exploit me?”

“Of course.” Remus gave him a chaotic smile that always made Janus’s heart skip a beat. Damn this man.

“Fine, but your crush is helping with the groceries. I’ll text you what he has to get.”

“Yes! Remus builds a harem is a go!” Remus giggled and Janus affectionately rolled his eyes. He may not like the idea of Remus not being his, but how could he deny him any happiness the world could offer.

After agreeing to have Remus’ new group project partner over, Remus was ecstatic and crawling all over the couch and the table where Janus was trying to do his homework. He was obviously trying to keep Janus’ attention so he gave up trying to do his homework and instead they ended up playing strip Mario Kart, Remus’ favorite game, and one of the many reasons that Janus wore extra layers.

Their night ended like it did most nights with Remus near passing out on the couch and Janus walking him back towards his bedroom. How much this would change if Remus decided to date this other person? Even if he and Remus were soulmates that didn’t mean they had to be together. Janus had always been a proponent for destroying the status quo and there had been a movement recently to not discriminate against people who didn’t want to be with their soulmates.

The thoughts plagued Janus’ mind, he got no peace in his sleep or in the morning when he woke up early to finish his work. It was Remus’ choice but maybe Janus should have said something before Remus went off chasing someone he was so enamored with.

Even with his thoughts in turmoil he still managed to get all of his work done, and planned dinner for the three of them, texting Remus what he expected their guest to bring over. Remus had, predictably, forgotten to send the list to his nerd, so he had run out to get the extra ingredients while Janus prepared what he could, waiting for their guest.

There was a knock on his door at the exact time that he was supposed to show up and Janus was honestly surprised but he opened the door and looked the man over. Definitely a serious one.

“Hello, My name is Logan Celestius, I am here to meet with Remus. Am I at the right apartment?”

“Yes, you are.” Janus’ eye grew as he spoke and realized that he hadn’t lied like he intended to, but rolled his eyes in order to keep his aloof appearance as he allowed Logan in, closing the door behind the two of them.

“Thank you, might I have your name?”

“Janus Dameleo” Again, he wasn’t going to give this stranger his name, but it just came out, and that was a problem. Janus could manage being Remus's soulmate, even if he wasn't wanted, but being soulmates with Remus’ crush was another, completely different problem.

“I am nervous about meeting you.” Logan slapped his hand over his mouth, apparently realizing the issue as well as the two looked at each other, standing right by the door as it was flung open once again.

“I’m home!” Remus shouted before looking between the two of them, “Jani, Hottie, you two look like you’ve seen ghosts, which is seriously cool!”

“Remus, I believe it is possible that your-”

Janus began to freak out, not ready to deal with this conflict. He needed a moment to compose himself but the words he wanted to say didn’t come out. Instead, he just sputtered the truth. “Don’t say anything, I’m not ready to talk about this.”

Remus tilted his head sideways, “I don’t understand.”

Logan, thankfully, seemed to understand the situation a little bit. “Remus, can the three of us talk in the living room?”

“Sure… but I have a rule that you have to take off your clothes in the living room.”

“No one but him follows that rule.” Janus muttered, “Re, keep your clothes on.” He was trying to compose himself. Had all of the studying he had done between him and Remus just been wish fulfillment?

When the three of them were finally sitting in the living room Logan cleared his throat and began to speak. “Remus, I believe that your boyfriend and I are soulmates.”

“Wait?!” That was a completely different conversation that Janus wasn’t ready to have. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes, that is how Remus introduced you while we were talking in class.”

“Well yeah, that’s because we are. I mean, I don’t know how long we have been dating, but that’s what soulmates do right?”

Janus’ head was now spinning and he sat up straight, not letting a single thing show on his face.

“If you two are soulmates….” Logan looked between the two of them. “Remus, can we test something? I have a hypothesis.”

“Does it involve probes?”

“Not this time.”

Remus grinned manically, “alrighty, experiment on, Teach.

“Very well, Janus, Remus, I am going to attempt to lie to both of you. My goal is to tell you a lie regarding my name, and as you both know my first name, you will be able to immediately tell if I can lie. If it seems as if I cannot lie, I would like for Remus to attempt to do the same, and then finally Janus.”

Janus nodded slowly. He had to be ready for this now.

“I shall begin then.” He turned to Remus. “My first name is Logan.” Logan seemed to nod at the data before turning and repeating the same sentence to Janus. For some reason that made Remus extremely giddy.

He attempted the same thing. “My first name is Remus,” and when he failed to lie to Logan he giggled excitedly. Then he proceeded to fail to lie to Janus.

Janus knew this could be a cruel joke, that he could turn and be able to lie to both of them, but he didn’t think Remus was the type to do that to someone he actually cared about. It was time for the truth. One way or another. He turned to Remus first and said, “My first name is Janus.” He had wanted to say Julian, but it just came out. That confirmed that he was soulmates with Remus, but what did this mean for their relationship? He then turned to Logan, attempting to lie once again but he couldn’t.

“Thank you for participating, I think the results were fairly conclusive. It seems that we are all each other's soulmates.”

“So what now?” Janus asked, “And Remus, what is this about us dating?”

“I mean, we live together, flirt constantly and go on dates. Is that not what dating is?”

“I… I just….”

“Wait!? Jan Jan, did you not know that we were dating?”

“Of course I didn’t!” Janus cursed under his breath. He had meant to lie, but it just wouldn’t come out.

“Oh… wait? Does that mean you didn’t kiss me because you are ace, or because you didn’t know?”

“Why do I love you so much you are so dense? I’m Ace, not Aro. You could have asked to kiss me.” There was a blush on Janus' face that he was trying hard to hide, turning away and muttering somethign under his breath. The statement was much too honest and he didn't want Remus to hear about how stupid he felt for not realizing sooner.

"I know that, but like, I thought kissing was part of it. I mean I told you all the time I wanted to kiss you but I knew you weren't into that."

Janus just sputtered, "Well, I like kissing okay?"

Remus didn't mind being called dense. He was grinning from ear to ear like a child who had just been offered a free pass at a candy store. Janus didn’t have time to prepare himself as he found Remus launched onto his lap and kissing him. It was wonderful and exactly what Janus had wanted for years.

“I’m still confused,” He muttered when Remus finally pulled away.

“From the evidence I have gathered, we appear to be a soulmate grouping rather than the couple ‘standard’” Logan explained. “I did a full study on this in biology class last semester. There are cases where soulmates are paired up in groups rather than two people. From what Remus has told me, you and I are intellectually compatible, and I could see myself becoming physically compatible with Remus in the future.”

This was a lot for Janus to take in and Remus was still giving his face soft kisses like he had a lifetime to make up for. “How about I start dinner and we can talk about this more?”

Logan nodded. “I believe that is a very appropriate choice of action. Remus, you and I can start working on our project.”

“Only if I get to sit in your lap!”

“You have to earn that reward,” Logan said and Remus pouted, pulling away a bit.

Janus was flustered, but for the first time, he thought this could actually work out. He would have to do more research on Soulmate Groups, but it seemed Logan would be a useful resource.

For the first time in 24 hours, Janus let out a contented sigh, happy that this was how things had turned out. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hard on Remus having a crush.

Tags: @tsshipmonth2020

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH39

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 39: Star Death Reality Show (XXII)

This sound was like a signal to escape. Janet, Alex, Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue ran away in fear, wishing to escape to the ends of the earth.

"Take Lara away, get back! I’ll lead it away, I can deal with it!" Qi Leren kicked Du Yue and told him to act quickly. He shot at the monster's head to attract its attention, and prepared to take it somewhere far away and solve it with his own hands.

The monster came out. The swollen amphioctopus broke from its host body, and Francis's body was like a deflated balloon hanging off the amphioctopus, but this space alien had revealed its true appearance—an odd tentacled creature shaped like an octopus, which was covered in Francis's blood, and had changed from a mass of parasitic "seeds" in the body to a dangerous predator full of viscous body fluids.

Its speed was extremely fast. After breaking free from the shackles of the human body, it rushed toward Qi Leren at an amazing speed!

Qi Leren stopped shooting, picked the flashlight up off the ground, sped up his strides with all his strength, and rushed through the corridor deep in the institute at an inhuman speed!

The boundary between prey and hunter was difficult to distinguish. Both sides were sure that they were the hunter, but it wasn’t known who would die.

The S/L Data’s thirty seconds had passed. At this time, Qi Leren, who didn't have an immortal body, could only rely on his own abilities to handle this difficult opponent. At a gallop, Qi Leren realized that the distance between the octopus and him was getting farther and farther, and he was running fast enough to get rid of this fast-moving monster after having broken the shell.

He looked back, glancing out of the corner of his eye. This monster, which looked like an octopus, came after him as quickly as if it was sliding on the ground. Fortunately, it still didn't run as fast as he did. Seeing that there was a T-shaped intersection ahead, he immediately cheered up and prepared for the final battle.

Three, two, one, do it!

Qi Leren bit the ring off his hand grenade and threw it behind him. He pushed his running body harder, jumping around a 90-degree corner, and hugged his head on the ground.

Boom—

A huge explosion sounded around the corner, and the flames from the explosion lit up the whole passageway. Even Qi Leren, who was lying on the ground, felt the immense heat and shaking, and countless debris blew out and sprayed straight into the corridor ahead. Hiding in the vertical position of the T-shaped corridor, Qi Leren survived the explosion unharmed.

It was over.

Qi Leren stood up and was about to lift his foot to go out when Chen Baiqi's warning came to mind again. He breathed a sigh of relief, kept on alert, and carefully stepped around the corner with his gun drawn.

The explosion had made this area ahead unrecognizable. The body of the octopus had been blown apart, and several tentacles were thrown on the metal wall, sliding down slowly together with mucus, dragging out a scarlet liquid trail. With the loss of its tentacles, the octopus would only move helplessly a few times before falling to the ground completely dead.

All the four mature amphioctopuses had been dealt with, which meant that requirements could be almost declared for this task. Even if there were still a few newly spawned parasitic amphioctopuses in the contestants, they could be easily distinguished by detecting them with the instruments. But to kill people... Qi Leren imagined the scene with a heavy heart.

Once parasitized, it was hopeless. All he could do was let the parasitized people die happily.

Qi Leren pursed his lips and felt a little dry cough. His throat choked by the smoke was also a little painful, but it was still within tolerance.

He should find Du Yue and meet with him first. Qi Leren thought about it and walked along the way back.

At the moment he walked around the corner, the flashlight in Qi Leren’s hands suddenly swept onto a reflective object. When he looked intently, it was a half-open iron door, just at the end of the corridor where he had escaped the explosion just now. That is, at the bottom of this T-shaped intersection, there was no other fork in the road at its end, only a lonely door.

There was no sign on the door, no words, no letters, no special symbols. It was just a heavy iron door, half-hidden, and it was dark inside.

Qi Leren's heartbeat suddenly slowed, and his intuition whispered vaguely in his ear, encouraging him to move forward.

He pushed open the door, and the flashlight lit up the dark space. This small room was an office with desks, bookshelves, and office chairs.

There was also a computer: the same laptop that Qi Leren had been worried about, afraid of, and looking forward to.

His heart jumped wildly. Qi Leren took a deep breath, slammed the door, rushed to the computer in three steps and two steps, took out the prepared mobile power source from the item bar and connected it, and pressed the power-on button with trembling hands.

When the familiar boot screen appeared, Qi Leren clenched his hand and couldn't help tapping on the desk. Hurry up, open it quickly, and let him try again. Could he play Nightmare Game again? He had too many doubts that he needed this game to answer.

After the boot was finished, the mouse cursor moved to the icon of Nightmare Game and double-clicked.

The game interface appeared, and Qi Leren's heart was about to jump out of his throat. He held his breath and moved the cursor to "Save and Load".

Countless save files jumped out, arranged in reverse chronological order, and the last one was in the chapel in the Village of Dusk. At that time, he had gone through rows of old pews and was faced with a choice in the depths of the church: to the left or to the right.

He had saved the file, then walked through the door to the right, received the Holy City task, and had his first death there. In the real Nightmare World, he had chosen to go left, and then he met Ning Zhou in the graveyard outside the door, who had come to sweep Maria’s grave.

What if this time, he chose to turn left in the game? Would he meet Ning Zhou?

This problem had once bothered Qi Leren, but now he could prove it.

[…Reading save file, LOADING……]

[File read completed. Player "Passerby A", welcome back to the Nightmare Game.]

In the game, Qi Leren’s character named "Passerby A" went to the left door under his command. Qi Leren hardly dared to breathe, and countless chaotic thoughts berated him. For the first time, he was strongly aware of the fear that overthinking could bring.

The wooden door opened, and the game entered a cutscene animation. He could no longer manipulate his character, but watched him walk forward.

Outside the door was a gravel path occupied by shrubs and weeds. He went straight ahead. All the greenery in this sunset did not give a feeling of peacefulness, but instead filled his with anxiety and unease.

Qi Leren didn't know whether he wanted to see Ning Zhou in the game or not. His yearning heart was looking forward to meeting him again, even if it was separated by a cold screen. But reason made him resist. He didn't want to see Ning Zhou as an NPC in this game, because he didn't dare to ponder the hidden meaning behind it.

No matter whether he wanted it or not, in the dim afterglow of the sunset, Qi Leren still saw a figure standing in front of the tombstone.

So familiar, because he was so deeply imprinted in his mind, but so strange, because they were separated by the layer of a cold screen.

The figure appeared on the screen murmuring and, just like every NPC, the lines were displayed on the screen:

[Mom, I’ve fallen in love with someone I shouldn't love. He’s made me confused...]

Qi Leren's eyes had just seen this sentence when the words were blurred instantly.

It turned out that on that day, before he had walked from this church and seen Ning Zhou, Ning Zhou had once said such a thing in front of Maria's tombstone.

This was a lost Ning Zhou. At that time, he had not yet firmly believed that he would be willing to exile himself for his love. He was hesitating, unsure and uneasy, but he had no one to talk to. He could only come to his mother's grave and tell her quietly, even if he couldn't get an answer.

Qi Leren covered his face in front of the computer, tears flowing down his fingers and wetting the keyboard. He never knew he was such a fragile person; even if it was just a few words he had never heard before, they made him burst into tears.

He wanted to rush into the screen, embrace that lonely back, and comfort the lonely wandering soul.

But his approach would only wake up the lost man.

"Who’s there?" Ning Zhou appeared again on the screen.

Qi Leren woke up from grief. Ning Zhou had discovered his existence!

He couldn't make any answer. It was just a game with pre-written dialogue. When the game didn't give him options, he couldn't say anything.

They looked at each other without saying a word. They were as unfamiliar as two strangers.

They were indeed strangers.

Footsteps came from behind, and the Qi Leren in the game turned his head. Along this path full of weeds and shrubs, he saw a man walking towards them, bathed in the sunset from where he had come.

His words were also subtitled on the screen: "Passerby A? Ning— Ning Zhou? Why are you here?"

At this moment, Qi Leren was shaking and unable to breathe.

A familiar person stood there, looking surprised and shyly at Ning Zhou behind him.

That was himself.

-----

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[aidemint]

reflection - bucky barnes

word count: 3k+

notes: god i just love Bucky so much asdkjahdkfjhskdjfsdf his character is kinda hard to capture because of the layers that marvel set up but i tried lol

warnings: angst turned to fluff with a lil bit of spicy kissin with a hickey 😏😏 but mostly (?) wholesome bucky n his beautiful partner 🥰✨

Ever since Bucky moved into the Avengers compound, he was always distant. He’d go out of his way to avoid close contact with anyone besides Steve, even going so far as to skip meals or lock himself up in his room all day, reading books that Steve delivered to his quarters. And despite all the pleading and beckoning from Steve’s end, it seemed like nothing could get Bucky to open up and spend at least a few hours with the people around him. 

Perhaps his self-isolation was a form of self-punishment. Perhaps he didn’t truly believe that he deserved anything, or that he wanted to be with people, that he wanted to laugh and have fun with friends. There was an amalgamation of repressed emotion behind those piercing, dark blue eyes. 

In understanding this, I was fortunate enough to get close to Bucky -- not as a means to fix him, but to understand and comfort him when and where he needed me. We’d spend nights together looking at the stars, talking about the bits and pieces of our childhoods that we could remember, or simply laying next to each other in complete silence, relishing the peaceful and serene atmosphere that the evening brought.

 And it was in that setting in which we shared our first kiss. 

From then on, we always shared a special, intimate relationship. He opened up to me, as I did to him. We were equals -- something that Bucky had never known, being trapped in the Hydra system ever since he got out of ice. 

But I’d only known him for a few months. I’d only been with him for a shorter amount of time. There was so much more to uncover, so much more that he had yet to choose to speak with me about because he just wanted to keep everything stuffed inside a tight little jar and ignore it. He wanted to ignore it because he was scared. He was afraid that the soldier would come back and he would lose everything all over again. 

He was scared of the monster, of the ravager that lived inside of his mind in the minefield of memories. 

A habit of his seemed to sprout from this inherent terror.

Whenever I talked to him, he could never keep his gaze trained on mine. His stare wandered to every inch of my face but never seemed to pass my eyes. He’d look at my forehead and the bridge of my nose at an attempt to fool me into thinking that he was lost in my eyes, but I knew. And it was the same with reflective surfaces. He’d turn away from mirrors and slightly opaque windows with a wince, hide behind his cap and stare at the ground in elevators, among other acts. 

For days, I wondered why. I even mustered the courage to ask him, but he’d deflect, then changed the topic as soon as he could. I didn’t prod, as I didn’t want to venture in a space beyond his comfort zone, so I just left it. 

Yet it still seemed to haunt me. I figured it would be an inquiry that was to remain forever unsolved, but it lingered at the back of my mind whenever I saw Bucky. This was beginning to form a bad habit. I didn’t want myself to become fixated on “helping” him in a zone that he’s clearly not comfortable talking about. I couldn’t allow for myself to spiral into obsession over such a thing.

So the question remained unanswered.

__

A week had elapsed since the thought had initially come to mind. It was midnight and I was finishing up some research about a newer perpetrator that was affiliated with a series of bombings in Berlin. As I sent the documents to Tony so he could do some deep diving, someone entered the hall, light footsteps padding towards the small kitchen island where I was sat. 

I lifted my head up only to see Bucky moving towards me. Closing my laptop, I gave him a small smile and turned to him.

“Buck? What’s up?” He sucked in a breath and let it out shakily as he took a seat on the kitchen island next to me. I couldn’t tell what emotion his expression was of, but it wasn’t something pleasant. No, his brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a deep frown with unexpectedly prominent wrinkles forming underneath his eyes and on either side of his nose. It didn’t foretell the beginnings of devastation, nor desolation, but a simpler feeling that I didn’t recognize. 

“I need to talk to you,” he spoke lowly. I nodded, holding my hands out so that he could place his in mine. Not minding that his gaze was lowered as to avoid mine, I still stared at him attentively, making sure that he knew that he had every bit of my attention. 

“I’m here for you, sweetheart.” I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can tell me anything.” The brunette gave a small but appreciative smile, then cleared his throat before speaking. 

“You know the question you asked me before?” I nodded. “I think I have an answer.” 

“I’m all ears,” I murmured in response, rubbing the tops of his hands with my thumbs, “Take your time.” Bucky opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it soon after, unable to unstick the words that were lodged in his throat. 

He looked as if there was something restricting him from telling me -- a higher, greater force that forbade him from speaking about this taboo topic that was his issue. His irises, normally a deep shade of clear blue, were stormy, clouded with dark thoughts that swirled around his mind. The sight was uncomfortably familiar -- I’d seen that face before, when he first arrived at the Avengers compound. His hair was disheveled and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a week, but what stood out to me the most was how pained his gaze was. The complete and utter wreck that he was inside only showed through his stare and it hurt me more than expected. 

I never truly believed the ambition of the saying “the eyes are the window to the soul,” but for the first time, it became my mantra. How torturous was Bucky’s inner state, how unbelievably despondent he was. That chest of his lacked a spirit because it had died in the wasteland of the mind. There was no shred of hope left in his consciousness. 

There was no sparkle in his eyes. 

I wondered where that gleam had gone.

In the present, I kept waiting for his response, patiently sitting and holding his hands until he was ready. 

Bucky drew in a breath, then let it out, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on clearing his mind and seeking comfort in our bond, in the trust that he’d so courageously given to me. 

He fluttered his eyelids open once he found his place.

And then it all came out in carefully chosen words and cautious sentences.

“I hate seeing my reflection. I hate it. If there was a stronger word, I would use it, but i-it’s all that I can come up with right now. I-I just- Every time that I see myself I just think that this was the last face that people saw before they died, that this was the face plastered across the news, that this was the face that served for Hydra.

And it’s pathetic, I know. I know that I’m an Avenger now, and I know that I’ve somehow changed, and I know how much effort you put into each and every moment, in trying to understand me, and I feel so horrible every single time you look at me and I can’t seem to return that… that hopeful smile, or lovestruck gaze because I just-” He paused, an influx of emotion surging through his body. I rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand to assure him that everything was going to be alright. 

“I can’t look at you because I can’t stand seeing that… that man in your bright eyes. Those bright eyes that are filled with so much life, so much joy whenever they’re on me. I don’t- I don’t want him to be in there. I don’t want him to hurt you, (Y/N). I don’t want-” The brunette stifled a sob by tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth. My heart ached at the sight, my grip on his hands becoming tighter as I watched him come undone. He turned to me with tears in his eyes, tears that threatened to fall onto his cheeks, threatening to stain his skin with the colors of sorrow.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. A trembling breath flew out of my mouth as all the wind seemed to be knocked out of my lungs at the impact of his words. I took him into my arms, pressing his heart to mine and clenching my fists around the fabric of his shirt. Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around my body, finding comfort in my touch, resting his chin on top of my shoulder blade, drinking in my scent in heavy but silent gasps.

“Oh sweetheart…” I flattened my fingers to softly pat his back, attempting to ease him into a less panicked state. “Everything’s gonna be alright. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, I’m not going to get hurt because of you. You’re not going to hurt me, honey.” The brunette in my embrace shuddered, hopelessly clutching onto me in desperation, almost at a mad scramble for some sort of safety. 

We sat there, intertwined with one another as I whispered words of solace until Bucky’s breaths became even and his hiccups subsided, making way for a smoother airflow and a stable, steady heart rate. Unlocking my arms so that we could separate, I gingerly placed my hands on Bucky’s chest and delicately pushed away enough for me to brush all the hair out of his face and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Bucky, I want to show you something.” 

“What is it?” 

Taking his left hand, I led him to the bathroom down the long hallway on our floor. He sensed what was going on and immediately stopped in the middle of the hall, his grasp tightening around my hand. 

“(Y/N),” he spoke, “(Y/N), please.” I clasped my hands around his metal one and gave the back of it a kiss, my gaze full of sorrow as I stared at the brunette. 

“Please, Buck. Let me help you.” Bucky could hear the pleading tone about my voice. He hesitated for a moment, pausing to take a breath, but eventually gave a reluctant nod as I led him to the bathroom. Upon entry, Bucky immediately bowed his head, completely avoiding the centerpiece mirror as he moved to a spot in front of it. I gave a soft, sympathetic sigh and hopped on the table that was built into the giant vanity, making sure that my boyfriend was positioned right in front of me. 

“If you’d like, you can close your eyes, sweetheart,” I hummed, “Can you lift your head up for me?” The brunette did as he was told, fluttering his eyelids shut as I gently raised his chin so that it sat at a normal angle. Letting a breath out, I admired his features with despairing irises. I looked on at his red, puffy eyes and unkempt skin as a pang of heartache reverberated through my body. Despite how painful it was to see him in such anguish, I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and opened my mouth to speak to the broken man.

“Honey, I-I don’t know how you feel. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have gone through during your darkest times, but I want to be there for you. I want to be there for you whenever you crash or you forget that your actions in the past don’t dictate your future. You’re not the person you were a year ago, Buck. Your face doesn’t remind me of the desolate times, but of the happiest moments in my life.” Noticing that I was getting loud, I paused for a few seconds to cool off, then continued. 

“Whenever I see this face,” I murmured, cupping Bucky’s cheeks in my palms, “I see my Bucky. I see the face of the man who has been nothing short of sweet, understanding, patient, and oh-so dear to me.” My view flitted to his hair, to which I reached for to slowly entangle my fingers in. Bucky gave a small hum as I brushed my digits through his hair, instinctively collecting the brown locks into a half-bun. His neck arched at the feeling, his shoulders sinking while I continued to play with his hair while talking freely. 

“I see the face of the man who is selfless, caring, who is willing to change and diverge from his past to strive towards a brighter future.” As I secured the half-bun in place with a hair tie, I smiled at the sight of Bucky’s expression: his eyes were still closed, but the edges of his lips were curled up in content and comfort -- a rare but always stunning sight. 

“I also see the face of the man that I love with every single bit of my heart, and who I know loves me all the same.” Finishing the look, I leaned back and reveled in the newfound freshness to the brunette’s complexion. 

“If you want, you can open your eyes, Buck.” To my complete surprise, his eyes shot open the moment those words left my mouth. Without missing a beat, he jerked forwards and looked at the mirror with sudden resolution. My heart jumped upon seeing his readiness and the sudden jerk his body took upon, but soon melted as I recognized spots of determination and wholehearted faith in his expression. 

He was slowly shifting out of his comfort zone. 

The progress made here tonight would’ve taken weeks if we attempted this a few months ago. 

It was an understatement to say that I was absolutely ecstatic about this huge leap we’d taken together. My emotions were beyond elation, beyond excited -- the mere thought that Bucky had felt comfortable enough around me to do this sparked a fire within my chest, one that sent flames rushing through my veins so that the tips of my fingers tingled, trembling as they struggled to contain the enhanced level of exhilaration. 

“Baby,” I breathed, “Oh, Bucky.” I turned around to look at the mirror and watched in pure joy as a delighted grin spread across my lover’s face, lighting up his features in the best ways possible. His gaze shifted to my reflection, then back to his, soaking in the wholeness of the image before us. 

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke, “You’re so beautiful, (Y/N).” My heart leapt to my throat as I burst into laughter, my cheeks rosy and my head spinning. He’d called me beautiful in the past, but it never felt like this -- so pure, so close to the heart and endearing as ever. The brunette stepped back to gaze at me as I giggled with a hand clapped over my mouth. 

“Doll, don’t you dare cover your face, now.” Bucky gripped both of my forearms and pulled down so that the big, dopey grin on my face was fully exposed and my laughter could finally echo freely through the chamber of the bathroom. The brunette drank in the melody of merriment with a big, dopey grin of his own as he started to slide his hands down my arms and to my thighs. 

“Hey, look at me, beautiful.” Instinctively, my gaze shifted to meet Bucky’s. The world seemed to slow moments before our eyes met. Waves of motion blurred and the background turned into white and beige gaze as my pupils started to fixate on my lover. 

There was silence, seemingly senseless blindness, even.

And then this brilliant wave of blue, the crashing of cymbals, the tidal wave that immediately swept over my eyes. 

I started to cry as I saw the way his irises glimmered underneath the bathroom lights as they bore into mine, those beautiful dark blue irises finally making their way into the depths of my soul. I cried my heart out, hot tears streaming down my flushed face, cascading down my cheeks and dripping onto my chin. God. I was breathless. 

“Doll,” he said, brushing a tear off of my cheek, “Hey, what’s wrong? Are my eyes that ugly?” I laughed at his jokes, lightly shoving him in response to his cheeky comment. 

“I-I’m just so happy,” I sobbed, “I’m so happy, Bucky.” The brunette smiled and leaned in, nearing my face as his eyes grew half-lidded. He gave my thighs a squeeze before whispering against my lips, his hot breaths bearing down on them, filled with want. 

“I am too.”

His lips pressed against mine and suddenly everything was right in the world. As my hands slid up to cup his face in my palms, I wrapped my legs around his torso, bringing him closer to me, his lower stomach pressed against my core. I hummed at the sensation of his finding their way to my waist, fingers smoothing over my curves, cherishing every small wave that they found themselves riding. 

Gasping softly as his mouth moved to layer kisses down my neck, I moved my hands to rest comfortably on Bucky’s shoulders as he started to lap at a spot at the base of my neck. Small huffs of breath and mewls spouted out of me as the brunette worked on forming a bruise.

“God, I love you,” he murmured into my skin, “I love you so much.” I could only hum in response, toes curling at the sensation of his teeth gently nipping at my collarbone as his tongue coaxed my nerves to scream in delight. 

Once he was done, he parted from my collarbone with a satisfied glint in his eyes and lifted his head to fondly gaze at my relaxed features. 

“Thank you, (Y/N). For everything,” he spoke. I kissed his forehead and beamed at him, overjoyed to finally have seen him like this -- relaxed, with a radiance about his expression that could not be attained from anything other than pure laughter. 

And with that, I pressed my lips to his again, only parting to reply to his expression of gratitude. 

“You deserve it, baby. You deserve it.”

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 37

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Fuck the Canon: Happy Endings For Everyone

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36

There is no tea.

Not only is there no tea, but the Emperor’s small private study, located just beyond his personal chambers, is distinctly lacking in any accommodations necessary to serve or consume tea.

Ordinarily, WangJi would find himself irritated, even by such a harmless deception. After five days spent in the Immortal Mountain, however, he finds that he has become more patient. Perhaps not with others, but certainly with the Emperor, whose careless attitude and playful nature seem to conceal a much more complex character, one that WangJi has grown to respect.

The Lan Sect does not listen to gossip, but their new lodgings in the Jade Sword Palace make gossip impossible to avoid. Wei WuXian had lingered by WangJi’s side long past midnight, sunrise only hours away by the time they had finally parted. Yet, great many things seem to have happened since then, each one significant enough to shake the Immortal Mountain to its roots.

Before noontime tea, the Young Master of the Jin Sect had seen his betrothal annulled, the Jiang Sect had fallen out of favor, Sect Leader Nie had been given a title, and the Council seems to hover on the verge of being dissolved.  

WangJi cannot begin to guess what all of these events mean, separate or together, but he knows that Wei WuXian could not have possibly had a sufficient amount of sleep. He also knows that the world of court schemes and maneuverings, as distasteful as he finds it to be, is an inevitable reality of Wei WuXian’s existence. A part of him is even slightly curious, tentatively attempting to forge a connection between these seemingly unconnected events. Another part of him feels pity, that Wei WuXian cannot begin his day without some sort of upheaval.  

Even now, standing by the desk, wrapped in the heavy, intricate layers of the Imperial dragon robes, the Emperor is all exhaustion and tension. Less than a dozen hours have passed since they had seen each other last; WangJi had spent those hours in the peace and silence of the Imperial guest chambers. Wei WuXian looks as if he had spent them on the battleground, fighting for his life.

Still, when he sees WangJi, his face tranforms.

“Lan Zhan.”

WangJi nods in response. He is not sure when he had become fond of the way Wei WuXian says his name, but he can no longer deny the inevitable elation following on its heels. Each time, his name comes with an accompanying smile, and each time, that smile is for him alone.

“I hope you were not expecting tea,” Wei WuXian says ruefully.

WangJi does not dignify that with a response. One must adjust their expectations when faced with an Emperor who runs barefoot over the rooftops, and becomes unreasonably excited over rabbits.

“Uh, right,” Wei WuXian says, “there is something I need you to see.”

The bookcase behind the desk is filled to bursting. Perhaps, if it were only used to hold books, there would be plenty of space, and little to no chaos. But Wei WuXian seems to have filled the shelves with anything that could fit, and many things that could not, creating a precarious mess of objects that could topple at the smallest disturbance. There are numerous jade figurines of all sizes, small pots, boxes and ink stones, a few odd shapes that resemble children’s toys, books and scrolls crammed in between the objects, all with no sense or order.

It is a surprise when Wei WuXian manages to pull out three books and a flat box hiding behind them, without knocking anything to the ground. WangJi realizes that he has shifted to stand on his toes, fully expecting to have to provide assistance, or perhaps even protection from any wayward object that may come flying off the shelf to cause potential injury. No such thing occurs, however, and he places his heels back down, feeling silly for his overabundance of caution.

The flat box looks plain and light. Inside, it holds a single piece of paper, although it is immediately obvious that the paper is an Imperial Order, the Emperor’s stamp bright and bold, and difficult to miss.

WangJi does not expect Wei WuXian to simply offer the paper for perusal, without ceremony, and without any hint as to what the Order holds.

He is even more confused once he realizes that the paper is actually a declaration of succession. In the event of Wei WuXian’s death, the throne is to pass to--

He blinks. The Imperial Order is not long, for there is not much to the actual succession except naming the heir. Still, WangJi reads it again, just to be certain that he has not read the name in error.

He has not.

Well.

While he is reading, Wei WuXian is fidgeting. The dragon robes are not designed for such impatient movement, and WangJi resists the urge to grab him by the shoulders, and tell him to stop plucking at the golden thread on his sleeves. The robe probably costs more than thirty villages are capable of producing in a year.

He offers the paper back.

“I do not understand.”

“Which part?” Wei WuXian says slowly, and WangJi blinks at him.

Is there more than one part to the succession? No, he has read it twice.

“I do not understand why I need to know this,” WangJi clarifies.

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, smiling again, but it is a nervous smile, as jittery as his hands, “This-- it is important. The-- line of succession. The person I intend to marry should know that the heir has already been chosen.”

WangJi narrows his eyes. He feels as if he had missed a part of their conversation.

His mind inevitably turns to the rumors that had flown rampant in the palace that same morning; the new title granted to the Nie Sect Leader, the dissolution of the Young Master Jin’s betrothal, and the possible dissolution of the Council.

Does-- Wei WuXian mean to marry Jin ZiXuan? It is a preposterous idea. Absolutely ridiculous.

But even so, WangJi suddenly finds that Jin ZiXuan cannot be allowed to live. WangJi will challenge him to a fight, then remove each and every one of his limbs, starting with his head. This should not be difficult to accomplish.

“You are angry,” Wei WuXian says, “I should have-- perhaps I should not have begun with the line of succession. I am not good at--“ he waves his hand, as if the motion is somehow supposed to make his words less incoherent.

He looks agitated and unhappy, and WangJi wants to help, but he is not sure how.

“You want to marry,” he says, trying to establish some logical narrative.

“Yes,” Wei WuXian says, “I want to marry. And before you disagree, I am aware that five days is an extremely limited amount of time to truly get to know another person. I have already gotten a lecture about this from A-Sang. And I have already gotten a lecture from your uncle, who can be extremely rude while remaining polite, a skill I admire, but do not want to confront again. Not if I can help it. And I-- I know life in the Immortal Mountain is probably not what you had in mind if-- if you had marriage in mind. Before today. But I think-- if you are willing to give it a chance, I could make you happy. I would like to try. To make you happy.”

There is a lag in WangJi’s understanding, as each sentence needs to be rearranged in his own mind, just so he can comprehend its meaning. Still, even with the lag, it takes him an abominably long time to fully grasp what Wei WuXian is saying.

Once he does, he finds himself shocked into stillness.

“Are you--“ Wei WuXian looks as if he means to move closer, than stops himself at the last moment, “You look-- more angry now. Than before. I understand that this is not an ideal proposal, what with the-- lack of gifts and ceremony and everything else, but--“

He sighs, apparently forgetting that his hair is neatly arranged, because his fingers make a mess of it in moments.

“An offer of marriage should not make you angry, Lan Zhan. I thought we-- does the idea of it bother you that much?”

WangJi needs to speak. Wei WuXian is capable of drawing thousands of incorrect conclusions before WangJi can formulate a single sentence, and WangJi needs to prevent this from happening, as soon as possible. But what is he supposed to say?

Clarify. This is always a good strategy, especially with Wei WuXian.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” WangJi says carefully, fully expecting Wei WuXian to laugh and deny it.

He believes that he had made his peace with the fact that the Emperor really likes him, whatever that means, when coming from a Divine Ruler. But marriage is-- something else entirely.

Even saying it out loud sounds ridiculous.

“Yes!” Wei WuXian exclaims, “Yes, I am asking you to marry me.”

“Why?” WangJi blurts out, incredulous.

“Why?” Wei WuXian repeats, the dumfounded expression on his face a perfect reflection of WangJi’s own feelings, “wh-- what do you mean, why? Because I fell in love with you. Why else would I marry someone?”

“You--“ WangJi’s throat is completely dry, and seems to have shrank into nothingness.

It is difficult to breathe, let alone form words.

This is utterly ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing WangJi has even heard, seen, or experienced, in his entire life.

And yet, he wants to hear it again. He wants Wei WuXian to say it again. The rush he had felt at those words cannot be described. It is obliterating.

Wei WuXian inches closer, his posture careful, “I still cannot tell when you are just angry, or so furious that you might try and kill me, so-- do not try and kill me? I should have probably led with the declaration of love, huh? I can try again. Lan Zhan, I am in love with you. I would really like it if you would marry me, and become the Emperor Consort. Your uncle has already given permission, and the Council is about to do so as well, or Empire will no longer have a Council. The throne already has an heir, so the succession is nothing to worry about. And since I cannot imagine sharing my life with anyone else, I can swear to take no other spouse, as long as we are both alive in the world. Is that better? Did--“

WangJi does not plan to move.

He does not plan anything. The chaos of thoughts and emotions rushing through his mind can hardly be called thinking, let alone planning. Therefore, he is astonished to find himself acting so brashly. But Wei WuXian does not waste a single moment with something so banal as surprise.

His arms immediately wrap around WangJi’s shoulders, as if they belong there. There is a faint, lingering taste of pears and honey on his lips. His mouth is soft, his breaths hot and fast, his heartbeat a forceful thunder against WangJi’s chest. The exquisite texture of the Imperial dragon robe under his hands has nothing on the actual shape of Wei WuXian’s waist. WangJi can feel the ridges of his spine through the material, enticing but also fragile, and raked with barely perceptible tremors.

Wei WuXian smiles against his mouth, then laughs, his lips pressing a quick kiss to the tip of WangJi’s nose.

“Is that a yes?” he says, “Please tell me that means yes.”

WangJi is not yet capable of forming words. An extremely advantageous hindrance, because he cannot simply accept an offer of marriage, regardless of his feelings.

The bright smile on Wei WuXian’s face begins to fade, and WangJi feels panic, that he cannot explain himself quickly and succinctly, the way the situation demands.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I cannot accept,” WangJi says.

Wei WuXian blinks at him, then shifts slightly, as if to pull away. WangJi refuses to release him, his arms wrapping more securely around the silk-clad waist, fingers clutching handfuls of delicate material.

Perhaps he does so with more strength and urgency than necessary, because Wei WuXian stumbles, catching himself against WangJi’s chest.

“I want to accept,” he clarifies, “but I cannot. I must speak to uncle first.”

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, “That-- but he-- I have already spoken to your uncle.”

“You have spoken to many people,” WangJi points out, “Everyone whose opinion you care to hear. Other than myself.”

Wei WuXian huffs, his restless fingers now plucking at the thread of WangJi’s robes instead of his own. WangJi would grab his hands to prevent it, but this would mean releasing his hold, and he does not think he is capable of doing so, at least not yet.

“I should be allowed to do the same,” WangJi says, “You must give me time.”

Wei WuXian’s fingers have now found their way to the collar of WangJi’s robes, and the brush of them against the skin of his neck is extremely distracting. The logical part of his brain insists that this is an inappropriate way to have a serious conversation. A marriage, especially one that would make him the Emperor Consort to the Divine Ruler of the Shan Empire is perhaps the most serious conversation that can possibly be conceived.

But Wei WuXian’s hair smells like pears, sweet and heavy, and he keeps biting his already reddened lip. The other part of WangJi’s brain, the one that does not care for logic or propriety, insists that he should stop speaking and kiss him again, regardless of the seriousness of the conversation.

Lan Zhan, I am in love with you.

His arms tighten of their own volition, and Wei WuXian huffs out a laugh. It is a small laugh however, and there is and nervous edge to it, carrying over into his voice.

“How much time? Because-- what if-- what if you think about it, and then-- decide that you do not want to marry me?”

“Then, I suppose you will have to marry Nie HuaiSang,” WangJi deadpans.

Wei WuXian splutters for a few moments, the expression on his face rapidly shifting from shock to displeasure to pure exasperation. Considering how many times Wei WuXian has managed to exasperate him in turn, WangJi does not feel bad.

“Do not joke,” Wei WuXian says, “I am serious. Your uncle had given permission, but he does not like me, and he will tell you all the reasons why marrying me is a terrible--“

“Wei Ying,” WangJi says, effectively cutting off the flow of words, “I want to marry you. I will not change my mind. But you must give me time.”

He is utterly unprepared for Wei WuXian’s bright smile, the warm glow of delight that washes over his face, the tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He is even less prepared to be kissed again, but he is more than willing, Wei WuXian’s mouth eagerly searching for his own.  

They should have spent the past five days kissing. Any moment that WangJi had not been kissing Wei WuXian now feels an unacceptable waste of time, one he has every intention to remedy. Although Wei WuXian seems as invested in this plan as he is, he cannot seem to help smiling into the kiss, his lips often darting to press to WangJi’s cheek, his chin, the side of his nose. It is sweet and silly, his restless excitement, and WangJi is now certain that Wei WuXian had been right.

He will be more than capable of making WangJi happy.

[lethesomething]

The ghost and the witch

I am still dealing with the emotional gut punch that is the ending of Ghost of Tsushima, so have a very indulgent… fluff piece? My proofreaders have told me I can’t call it a comfort fic, so let’s go with ‘soft fic with canon levels of angst’ instead.

Tags: Jin Sakai x Reader, fluff, soft, comfort (?), angst, ridiculously poetic descriptions of nature, ludicrous levels of symbolism, so much pining

You scoop the dry green dust into the pouch, carefully checking the weight on a tiny brass scale. With a small wooden spoon, you stir the dust into the clay powder and dried grass already present, checking the contents of the pouch one final time before closing it up and using a few quick stitches to secure it. 

"There." You add the pouch to the pile and hold out the order. "One bag of stomach salts for the Fushikawa boy, and five wound ointments. That should keep you going for a while longer."

The Ghost, sitting in seiza on the opposite side of the table, bows his head as he takes them.

"Thank you."

He looks tired, sweat and mud mixing with caked blood on his brow. You're fairly sure it's not his, but that knowledge does not soothe you as much as you'd like. There are hard lines in that face, drawn by sacrifice and pain, etched in stubbornness and unwavering, never-ending pursuit.

"It would be better if you rested, lord Sakai."

He looks up. His eyes are clear and focused, crisp as the winds blowing up the northern cliffs of the island.

"Please, call me Jin."

"My apologies," you say, "force of habit."

"I don't recall you ever calling me 'lord' when we were young," he grumbles.

"That's because you wanted it too much back then," you grin. "But either way. Jin. Please take a rest. Your body cannot keep this up, no matter how tight your resolve is. You need actual sleep. You can stay the night if you want. You'll be safe here."

His gaze drops down and his brow knots, as if he's thinking over a new concept, something so foreign to him that it leads to confusion. Then he gets up. "The boy."

You're not about to argue. He's the most stubborn man you've ever met. With a sigh you follow him to the door of your house. "Then come back."

His retreating form stops briefly. The wind twirls leaves around his silhouette, outlined against the moss-covered trees. It's late in the afternoon, and light comes down the canopy like droplets, skittering from branch to branch until it falls to the ground in ever smaller pools. Shadows rule here, hiding his face, obscuring even the horse trotting to his hand. "I'll see what I can do," he says, and then he's off.

 ----

 Rain beats like hooves on the roof, mercifully muffled by the thick layers of thatch and greenery that shield your abode from prying eyes. Still, for a short moment your heart stops when you hear the screen door softly slide open, and just as quickly, slide shut. He stands there, slick with rain and glowing faintly orange in the light coming from the fire. "Excuse my interruption," he says.

You shake your head. "Welcome back." Embers fall off a log in the fire, popping and crackling. The rain drums above you. "Have you eaten?"

"A little," he mumbles, too stubborn to admit to hunger, but not composed enough to keep his eyes from wandering over the shelves for supplies you may have.

Movement comes to you in a sudden rush. "Sit down, I have some millet porridge leftover."

"You don't have to-"

You wave away his concern. "And I have water in the hearth, I'll draw you a bath."

"That's really not necessary," he starts saying, but he stops when you turn and raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yes it is."

For a long moment he halts, as if to take stock of the dirt, the sweat, the blood, the horse hair dampened by the rain but not washed away fully. He watches the fire, breathes in the smell of herbs that fills the very air inside this house and looks towards you, bustling over a pot of warm food. He nods. "Alright," he concedes, and gets comfortable on the floor. "Thank you."

 ---

 Steam rises, curling and dancing in intricate patterns toward the rafters. Jin rests his back against bamboo planks and rolls his neck. The tub is just big enough to submerge his lower half in warm, fragrant water. Whatever it is you’ve put in there smells nice. Calming. He takes a cloth and rinses it, before he wipes it on his face and shoulders, rubbing away what feels like years of grime and fatigue.

You’re tending to the fire, your form similar, but somehow more graceful than what it was. Your hair is longer, the skin on your hands rougher, but the years have not taken much else from you. Certainly the bright flame behind those eyes is still present, unrelenting and unyielding in the face of everything. 

You look up. “Did you want me to do your back?”

He blinks. “Uhhh.”

And then you smile, and that hasn’t changed either. Your lips curl up in a way that could be read as polite or mischievous, depending on the outlook. He’s always been fond of it. 

“Please,” he says. 

-- -

You sit on a stool by the bath and knead the heated skin on his shoulders between your fingers, the pads of your thumbs running small circles on his neck. His back is a patchwork of colours, from dark purple bruises to blues and reds and yellows.

You try to avoid the more painful looking blotches while you make your way down, but he does not protest at your touch. He’s silent, save for an occasional sigh and a roll of the neck. 

He’s grown, you notice. There is a dignity and a will to him that he lacked when he was younger. You’re well aware of what he’s doing, the lives he chooses to take, and those he chooses to save. You know of the enemies he’s made. Part of you is very proud of him. Another fears for his wellbeing at every turn. The path he’s chosen is not an easy one to walk. 

“How long has it been since you last washed your hair,” you ask into the silence that sits on top of the rumbles of fire and the splash of water. 

“I’m not letting you do that,” he says lowly. 

“Can I at least pick out the leaves?”

He chuckles. “If that’s what you want.” He leans back against the side of the tub and lets his head fall towards your knees. “Next you’ll ask me if you can shave me as well.”

“Would you let me,” you say, tugging at the cord that holds his bun together. 

He grins. “I just might.”

He closes his eyes and a curtain of black falls across your lap. You take a silver comb, one of your few treasures, and start gently tugging at the knots, unraveling the work of the sea and the wind. 

--- 

Jin leans back and closes his eyes. Your comb runs across his scalp in languid, repeating motions, like waves lapping at a beach. He times his breathing to their rhythm and sits there, relishing in the soft intimacy of your hands. 

There is comfort in the motions of your fingers running across his head. The smell of camellia’s is faint but nostalgic as you comb out the strands and oil them. It’s been a long time since he felt this warm, this content.

“Can I ask you something,” he says. 

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you leave?”

Your hands pause for a  second, but do not falter. Your fingers continue their gentle motion,  starting at the scalp and gliding down to part the hair, followed by the comb. 

“I suppose they never told you.” He feels a weight to those words, but can’t quite make it out. 

“I have always wondered,” he says. “I didn’t really understand what happened. One day you were just gone.”

“Jin.”

The weight shifts. There is a pause, a silence in which your fingers keep moving and steam fills the void between the two of you. The rain outside has stopped, he notices, and then you take a breath. 

“We were close,” you say. “Close enough for people to notice.” Your voice gains a raspy edge, as if it is difficult to speak. “I was not good enough. Not for you.”

“That’s-”

But you continue before he can form the sentence. “It was decided that it would be best that I move north, so as not to needlessly distract you from your studies.”

He swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“That was, perhaps, for the best,” you say softly, and your fingers start gathering his hair. “You were not in a position to do anything about it.” You collect the strands in the palm of one hand, smoothing up any stragglers with the other. 

“The last I heard was that you were to marry one of clan Terushima’s retainers, but you didn’t.”

“I did not,” you hum behind him, as you coil his hair and tie it with a thin piece of string. “I’m sure he was nice enough, but I was never going to be some random man’s wife. I decided on a different path.”

You tap his shoulder and Jin sits up, takes in the herbs drying from the ceiling, the shelves of jars and powders. The pebbles, the statues, the trinkets. “You did,” he says, and he watches as you wipe down the comb and carefully fold it in embroidered silk, a piece of an old kimono he vaguely remembers, and store it in a box on the shelves. 

“Do you regret it?” he asks. 

You shake your head and carefully put away the oil. You rinse your hands in a bowl of water and dry them thoroughly. You set your shoulders before turning to him. “No path is easy to walk, Jin. Especially if you follow what you feel is right,” you say, finally. “Some roads are smoother than others, but we all crash into the walls and thorns confining us eventually. Whether you pull back from the edge or push through is up to you. We all do what we must.”

“We do,” Jin says quietly. His eyes feel heavy now. The fragrant water hanging thick in the air seems to call out, beckoning his senses deeper into the mist. When he looks up again, you are standing by his side, a towel in your hands. 

“And you must really rest, so get out of there while I pick up some more firewood in the shed.”

--- 

The birdsong of early morning filters through the blankets of vegetation that swaddle your house. The light will take a little longer to get here, traveling all the way from the top of the forest canopy like honey oozing off a spoon. 

You get up from a nest of fabric and straighten your clothes, combing your hair with a wooden pick before tying it back.

The Ghost lies on a mat in the corner, chest slowly rising and falling.

You poke the dying embers in the fire, sparking them back to life. There are many things to do: clothes to darn, balms to brew, but for now you are content to sit here and listen to soft breaths as you watch the sparks rekindle, adding branches to a fire that is sure to burn you if you continue to let it grow.

---

Jin Sakai adjusts the strap of his glove, tightening it. There is a dull ache in his chest that he didn’t notice before today. It has come to the foreground now that many of his other stings and pains have found relief. 

His breath is deeper, his head is clear. The deep, gnawing exhaustion that turned his every movement into a deliberate act, a decision to go on despite the waves crashing down, is shallow now. It tugs at his feet like mud, enough to annoy, but not to trip him, certainly not enough to stop him.  

You’re leaning against the door style, arms folded. Your lips are curled, smiling, but your eyes are not. 

He sighs. The sun dapples you with blossoms of light, crowns you in golden glory. Slowly, his hand reaches up, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. 

You blink rapidly up at him. “Jin?”

A sudden gust of wind whirls around you, tugging pieces of thatch off the roof and blowing strands of hair into your face, obscuring your vision.

He leans in and softly, briefly, places his lips on your forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything.”

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//just one bite. sakusa kiyoomi//

Warnings: Blood/Mild Gore.  Some swearing

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: My google search history is W I L D after this, but @nekxrizawa needed some Vamp!Sakusa, so here you go, bby ;-;

(Vampire!Sakusa x Human!Reader)

“I’ll only be gone an hour.  Go on to sleep, love,” he had whispered, tucking a loose strand of hair from your face.  It was late, the only light coming from the soft flickering of the candles and the rays of the moon illuminating his face.  The soft gleam of white fangs as lips were eased up into a small smile.  You were only left to watch as his coat was pulled on and a long scarf was wrapped around his neck to help disguise him from the townsfolk.  A quiet thud of a door closing is the only indication that he had wandered out into the night, a small “please be careful” escaping behind him.

Glass shattering in the main room of your small home yanks you from sleep's embrace.  There are soft grunts as a chair is scraped across the floor.  You gently move the blankets off your body and tiptoe towards the bedroom door.  Your fingers tighten around the nearest blunt object: an unlit candlestick.  Excellent weapon choice, Y/N. 

The door is eased open just enough to get a good view of the cause of the ruckus.  The candle is dropped and you throw the door open.  Socked feet drumming against the floor with each hurried step towards the man at the table.  “Sakusa, what happened?” You fret, crouching down to be eye level with your husband.

He gives you a tired smile, fangs shrinking to blend back in with his human teeth. “I told you I’d be back in an hour.”  Small trickles of the sticky red substance ran down the side of his face, dripping onto the shoulder of his now torn coat.  Sakusa winces a little as you move your hand up to move his hair away from his eye, fingertips brushing accidentally over a heavy bruise on his cheek.  “I guess I need to find new hunting grounds,” he mutters, leaning back to the best of his ability in his worsened state.

“Again?  You just found this one last month.”

“Clans already took it over,” he grunts, pushing his hand against his abdomen.  It was dangerous to not have a clan to call your own, Sakusa was the perfect example.  Constantly having to find new places far enough from the prying eyes of the townsfolk just to get your next meal, moving silently as to not alert your prey or the other vampires undoubtedly in the area.  Good grounds were precious and unclaimed ones that weren’t an immediate death sentence were hard to come by nowadays.  It seemed like every inch of forest around the town was taken by one of the few neighboring clans, but when you’re just alone?  It’s damn near impossible to eat when you need to.

“Come on.  You need to lay down and rest.” You reach out your arms to offer him an extra support system, willingly accepted by the injured man.  He lets your arm slide around his waist as he attempts the slow hobble towards the bedroom, desperate to sleep this night away.

But, he couldn’t ignore it.  The pangs of hunger that came and went.  The smell of blood, even if it was his own, making his mouth water, his head spin at the delectable scent.  It took everything in him not to raise his hand to his lips and lap the blood from his cut knuckles.  It’d been days since his last proper meal and a small rabbit never lasted him long.  What he would do for a small snack, anything to soothe him.

You laid him gently on the bed, leaving only briefly to get a wet rag.  Sakusa’s fingers dug into the sheets as you used the towel to wipe away the blood from his face.  His beautiful features contorted into a grimace of pain at the feeling of you attempting to gently scrub him clean.  He didn’t even have to see himself to know that your increase in pressure meant that it had stained his cheeks.  There’s a weak grab for your-

Wrist. The blue vein running up your arm, waving in front of his face. Teasing him. Testing his will.  The all too familiar feeling of his fangs poking the inside of his lips returned, a small quiver in the corner of his mouth becoming evident.  Just one bite.  That’s all it would take.  One little taste and then he’d be fine.  He’d have enough energy to last him until the morning and then he might be able to see his friend at the butcher shop, see if they had anything fresh in, see if there was any blood.  It wouldn’t even hurt.  It’d feel like a bee sting.  Hell, maybe if he waited until you had gone to sleep, you wouldn’t even notice.  Your flesh just looked so soft in the low midnight light.  He had always wondered, from his very first meeting with you, how good it would feel for his fangs to pierce that beautiful skin.  How your blood would look staining his fangs, the crisp metallic taste still on his lips hours after.  He finds himself leaning towards you, eyes trained on the vivid vain that contrasted so teasingly against your skin.  Just one bite-

What am I doing? He shakes his head free of those thoughts.  He promised you that he would stop drinking from humans and you were not about to be his first taste of human blood after years of upholding that deal.  He pulled himself away from you quickly, the sudden pain in his side eliciting a gasp from him.  

“What?  What’s wrong?” You worry, eyes staring into his.  

Sakusa just hums, waving off your concern.  “Moved too fast.”  His voice is barely above a whisper, rasping with every word. His head had begun to feel woozy.  Between the fight in the forest and his slow, painful trek home, he had lost a lot of blood.  Even just from moving from the main room to the bedroom, he had left a small smattering of blood droplets all over the floor.  That was going to be a pain in the ass to scrub up tomorrow.

You continue dabbing at the cuts on his face.  Every few moments, his breath catches in his throat, eyes shut tight to distract himself from the small sting.  Your hand goes down to rest next to him on the bed in an attempt to better support yourself.  The sheets are warm, Sakusa’s radiating body heat-  You stop. Body heat?

Eyes scan down to your hand and the slowly growing stain of red blood on the white bedsheet.  You can feel your heart beginning to thump thump thump rapidly in your chest, head clouding at the sight.  Bringing your hand up to examine the bright color, fingers quivering.  “Sa- Sakusa?”  Your voice shakes just as much as the rest of your body.  Your husband’s head is lolled weakly to the side, eyes glazed as the life is slowly drained from them.  His chest rises with short little stutters as his breathing grows ragged.  Yet, despite everything, there’s a sleepy smile on his lips. 

“Sakusa! Come on, don’t do this.  Stay with me, my love,” you whisper, carefully moving layers of clothing to reveal the deep gash on his side.  “I need to go find the bandages.  Do not go to sleep, do you understand?”  You’re on your feet in a flurry, running to the kitchen, careful to avoid the blood trail.  Rummaging through every cabinet to find the cloth bandages and a bottle of alcohol, anything to disinfect the wound.  You were finally able to get a good look at the scene around you.  Your brain had been fogged with worry, all focus on Sakusa and his health and you had failed to notice the sheer disastrous state that the house had been left in.  Mugs that had been left on the table from your evening tea had been smashed to the floor upon your husband’s rough entrance.  Bloody hand prints seemed to be plastered on every single surface.  It looks like a crime scene in here.

Sitting back down next to Sakusa, you place your cloth, wet with alcohol, against his wound.  The sting brings a low groan from him, body tensing at this new pain.  “Please-” He whispers, weakly trying to move away so you’ll just stop.  “I can’t-” Sakusa gasps as you place the rag back on his side.  His mind, so taken over by the burning of the disinfectant doing its job, couldn’t even register the hot tears flowing over his cheeks.  “Stop, please,” he begs, his voice barely audible.

“I know it hurts, sweetie, but, I promise, I’m only doing this to help you, okay?  You’ll get better faster if you just keep pushing through this.”  You lean over him, peppering his face with soft kisses.  “You’re doing incredible.  Just keep your eyes open, Sakusa.”  

There’s more groans and hot tears of pain.  More whimpers and desperate pleas.   “No more-” “Please, I can’t-” “My love, st-”  You had to stop.  It hurt too much to see him in such a state: weak, broken, a sobbing, bleeding shell of the man you loved so much.  

“I’m going to sit you up so I can bandage you up, okay?”

He nods weakly, letting you pull him into your arms.  Sakusa’s head buried itself into the crook of your neck, letting you feel his soft shallow pants against your skin.  So . . . hungry.  He was so close to all the blood he needed.  He could just sink his teeth in so easily. He could eat.  Regain strength.  He’d be able to heal his wounds if only he had just a little energy.  One little taste wouldn’t hurt anything, right?  You would understand, right?

You could feel his mouth open against your skin, smiling a little as you anticipated him to place short kisses over your shoulder while you worked.  Involuntarily, you tilt your head to the side, giving him more space.  The soft graze of teeth against your skin is almost sinful in this situation.  “Sakusa, you’re making it hard to focus.”

He says nothing, teasing the point of his fangs more harshly on the spot he had chosen, the scent of your blood coursing through your veins most prominent here.  He paused, waiting for you to push his head away, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.  But, you never did.  You just continued wrapping bandages securely around him. 

It was a blissful moment, really, when he finally broke through.  His first taste of human blood in nearly five years.  He forgot just how good humans tasted compared to animals.  The sharp metallic carried an extra sensation.  He was never able to describe it to you.  He had never had anything human that even compared to the taste, but if only you knew just how delicious you tasted.  Sakusa pulled his fangs out, eyeing the blood seeping from the two little marks.  His tongue darts out before he can stop himself, licking up the stream that had started to creep down your neck.  His mouth attaches over the wound, long, hungry drinks running down his throat.  

You had long since stopped wrapping his wound.  The sudden pinch on your neck had made you yelp, but Sakusa didn’t notice, too lost in the ecstasy of finally being able to eat.  The blood that kept dripping down your neck was not lost to him, enjoying each and every single drop that was pushed up from the wound.  With each swallow, he could feel his strength returning to him, the wounds beginning to close as his supernatural healing was finally able to kick it’s ass into gear with the newfound energy.  His head had begun to clear, satisfaction coursing through him as his hunger passed.  Sakusa pulled his lips away from- 

His eyes shot open and you were convinced that he was going to fall off the bed at how fast he had scrambled away from you.  Embarrassed, he wiped the excess from his chin and stared at you like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  What had he just done?  You were going to scream at him.  Tell him that he had mere minutes to get out of the house and away from you.  He was a monster.  He shouldn’t be anywhere near you.  

You can imagine his surprise when he sees you just smile a little.  “Did you get enough?” You ask, tilting your head just in case he found himself still hungry.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I was doing!  I was just-  I was hungry and I- I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that!” He frets, trying to move away from you.  Even in the low light, you could see the red flare up on his cheeks.   Your hand reaches out to caress his face, feeling him try to hide his face in your grasp so you can’t see every ounce of embarrassment evident on his features.  

“It’s okay, my love.  One bite isn’t going to hurt me.  I’m just glad that you’re okay.”