#only held together by lies and willpower

[elovelovelovelovelovelove]

6.12.22

Hes elusive, unreadable. Not a single weak spot I could bend myself to hit. As a result, I can only be myself. My mighty, harsh, cold, willpowered, driven, little self. He leaves no room for manipulation. No room for obsession. It is a whole new sensation. Not love, neither intimacy. Just- existence. Unveiled existence. No unnecesary floating around, no needless words held together with sweet but pointless little lies. No meaning.

Theres nothing I could do to bedazzle myself in his eyes. At the same time, there's not really a reason to try either. Only- be happy- and confident- and independent. He's not one to lean into. He's one to watch from a distance.

It's a weird feeling. Somehow he makes perfect sense, it seems as though I understand his every move. Predictable. Yet, if I try to figure out what to do, I have no idea. He's not influencable. Neither does he influence me much. We can only respectfully exchange polite conversation, noone having any odds in their favor. It is only a matter of time and mutual tension that keeps us together and apart. Not feelings. Not "love", whatever taht even is.

[poppitron360]

Y’know what? Fuck it, I’ll post it right now, before I go to bed so I won’t have time to regret it:

Jason hated The Mask.

He hated that fucking metaphysical piece of shit. Intangible, and unattainable. He hated how he couldn’t just tear it off Leo’s face and smash it on the ground. He hated how much it was hurting Leo, and yet he refused to take it off- clinging to it like a lifeline. The worst part was, nobody else made any effort to help Leo take it off. They just accepted the lies and charades, and pretended like there was no Mask at all. How could they all abandon him like that? They all saw it, Jason knew they saw it, but they did nothing. But that thing haunted Jason. Its mere existence angered him. Maybe they didn’t see it the way he did. To them, it was more realistic, more lifelike. But Jason saw it was broken, and slipping- held together with duck-tape and willpower. He saw its sharp, jagged edges cutting into Leo’s skin. He caught glimpses of a little boy’s face behind it- crying out in pain. Jason wanted more than anything to help that trapped kid. To save him from his own self-imprisonment.

“Hey,” Leo said, cheerfully. The Mask was smiling at him. The Mask was always smiling. Especially at Jason, like it knew he was aware of it. Jason hated that smile.

“Hey!” Piper replied. She smiled at Leo, like she couldn’t see the grotesque papier-maché that covered Leo’s face. She talked to him completely normally, chatting amiably about the weather.

“Did you see Orion’s belt last night?”

“Ugh,” The thing that covered Leo’s face mock-rolled-its-eyes, “That thing is a huge waist of space.”

It took Piper a second to get the pun, but when she did, she pushed him, playfully, “Gods, Leo, your jokes are getting worse.”

Jason saw a tiny crack appear in The Mask, and it slipped off his face a tiny bit- but then he saw Leo take a wad of duck-tape out of his tool belt and tape it over the rift, securing it tightly to his chin. Every time he did that, it made it harder and harder for Leo to take The Mask off. Jason worried that eventually it would completely weld itself to his skin, sealing it tight, cutting off all oxygen to the boy behind it. The Mask was suffocating Leo. And Leo was letting it. Jason wanted to grab it and rip it off, but all that tape stuck to his face would mean Leo got hurt in the process. Jason had tried being gentle, slowly peeling the tape off, chipping away at the layers and layers of porcelain, broken glass, and stone that was pieced together amongst the glue and paper and tape. He’d felt like he’d made progress, in those low-voiced evening talks. But the next morning Jason would see that Leo had smothered the cracks with more duck-tape. Jason tried not to take it personally- Leo was too protective of The Mask, but the fact that he refused to take it off even for Jason made him wonder what he was doing wrong. He wanted so desperately for Leo to let him in, let him be vulnerable, let Jason see what he was hiding. But Leo only shut him out. The closer and closer he got, the more Leo tried to push him away. What was he hiding under there? What was he so afraid of? What didn’t he want Jason to see?

Piper and Leo kept talking, and Jason left them to it. He couldn’t stand being around that thing, seeing what it was doing to Leo. He didn’t understand why Piper didn’t see it- she was a daughter of Aphrodite after all, she was supposed to see people for who they really were. But Aphrodite was the Goddess of Beauty. The Mask played to that, making itself look beautiful to Piper. Jason thought again about That Smile. Why was he the only one unsettled by it? Was he really the only one who could see The Mask for what it was? Or did Piper and the others just not care? Maybe whatever Leo was doing to keep the lies up, he wasn’t doing to Jason. Maybe he was letting him see the mask, hoping he’d save him. It was a silly thought, but Jason wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe Leo was asking for help, that he hadn’t completely resigned to The Mask’s ways.

Jason looked in the mirror. He saw his own Mask- it was murky and translucent, but you could see the vague shape of his face underneath it. It was thin, compared to Leo’s, more breakable. He saw the tiny cracks and scuffs around the edges- the bigger ones neatly filled in with glue. It was the mask of a soldier- a warrior. Someone who never showed weakness. He imagined how it used to be more opaque, back at Camp Jupiter, where he was expected to lead and be responsible. Now he had spent more time around his friends, it wasn’t as solid. His true self shined through- and he wasn’t desperate for oxygen. His Mask was restricting, yes, but he’d learned to let it down a bit, allow himself to breathe. Leo had helped with that so much, more than Jason had realised. Jason wanted to return the favour, but lowering Leo’s mask would cause Leo so much pain- he didn’t know anymore if it was even the right thing to do.

Leo thought the mask was for that little boy’s protection. It was a shield to block out the rest of the world. But really it was blocking him in, caging him, locking him away. It was hurting that kid more than the world could. Jason knew that there had been a time when The Mask was a necessity, a way of survival. Jason had tried to make the environment safe around him, so that Leo wouldn’t need The Mask to protect him, but now Leo was dependent on it. He couldn’t take it off. He hadn’t faced the world without it for so long, he was scared to not have it- even though it was killing him.

Leo’s knees were buckling under the heaviness of The Mask. It was covered in so many protective, impenetrable layers that it weighed him down, and Leo struggled to keep his head upright with that thing attached to his face. He stumbled, and Jason caught him, and he saw The Mask slip away again slightly. He saw desperate, panicked, fearful eyes crying out in agony. A vision flashed in Jason’s mind. A boy, no older than eight, rifling through a box of stuff. He took out The Mask and held it aloft. It wasn’t as broken or cracked as it was now, but Jason still recognised it as The Mask. He watched the boy put it on his face. The boy didn’t say anything exactly, but Jason heard him make a silent vow to never take it off again. That boy had the same scared eyes as the ones he had just briefly seen. He didn’t know where that image had come from, but he figured it was the child asking for his help. Jason knew he must look completely different now, his face deformed from years under The Mask, away from the sun. How he had not died of starvation by this time, Jason didn’t know. He imagined a skeletal face, emaciated and disfigured from hunger, badly scarred from the broken edges. The only thing that would be the same were those eyes, deep and brown and fearful.

Leo was busy securing The Mask back onto his face. Each layer of duck-tape making it heavier and heavier. Jason grabbed Leo’s wrist and yanked the roll of tape away. Leo cried out, and tried to snatch it back. The Mask began to crumble slightly, but it didn’t fall. That smile never faltered. But still, he was one step closer to saving that poor kid.

Jason reached out and touched The Mask. His fingers didn’t break through its hard surface, but it was still the closest he’d ever been to it. Through the layers, he thought he could hear the sound of the little boy gasping for air. “I’m coming. I’ll save you,” Jason told the boy in his mind. The Mask just smiled at him. Leo touched his fingers to his face, and his hand came away bloody where The Mask was cutting into him. The Mask kept smiling at Jason. Jason tried again and again to pull it off, with no luck. The lines between Leo and that thing were blurring, becoming one. The Mask was consuming him. The little boy was choking on what little oxygen there was left. He didn’t have much time. The Mask kept smiling.

“Buddy”?

Jason I think you might be Dyslexic too because I’m pretty sure you just spelt “Husband” wrong.

[stellocchia]

For dadbur does Wilbur ever regret not raising Tommy as his son like would he sometimes wish he raised him and Fundy as his sons or that he switched it up and had Tommy just as a son

I don't think he would ever regret that, I think it would be the opposite actually. Because of the way he raised them, Wilbur is a lot closer with Tommy than he is with Fundy. His and Fundy's relationship is strained at the best of times after all...

I think the two things he may regret was not raising Fundy also as his brother and ever telling anyone that Tommy is his son (mostly because he thinks the new distance that Tommy puts between them is because of the change in relationship more so than, you know, the 17 years of lies?).

[n0bamak1s]

laughing gas - mai zenin x reader

request: “Mai Zenin x Fem S/o, where the s/o gets their wisdom tooth removed and confesses their love to mai acting all sweet and cute, mai then takes care of her s/o and confesses too, we can see mai being her bratty and confident self but when she is with her s/o she just lets her walls down” - @shockfirefly

summary: in the request! (genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slice of life, humor)

warnings: reader is high on anesthesia if that counts as a warning, swearing, mostly just tooth rotting fluff (literally!!)

word count: 2k

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this request! at this point i’m basically just a mai zenin stan account tbh but the requests for her are just so fun to write. i’m almost on summer break so hopefully i’ll be more active bc i have a few ideas i’m excited to write for!!

it seriously took everything in mai’s willpower to not immediately whip out her phone to film your groggy state the moment she stepped into the room where you had just gotten your surgery done. she stifled a laugh at the bandage wrapped around your head, vaguely reminiscent of the one noritoshi had worn following the exchange event. when your eyes flicker over to meet her gaze, you give what she can only assume is your attempt at a smile, but looks more like a dog caught eating its owner’s dinner, with your face all swollen and slightly flushed.

forget that willpower shit.

she shamelessly calls out your name, to which you respond like an eager little kid. “say cheese!” she gives you an uncharacteristically wide grin to signal you to mirror her actions. you seemed to not learn from your previous mistake and attempted to smile back at her, before immediately cutting yourself off with a muffled groan. she hardly bothered with hiding her giggle this time, but at the very least she had the decency to cover her mouth as she cracked up.

with an annoyed pout on your face, you huffed and turned to the nurse standing beside you, who you were apparently to loopy to notice had joined in with mai on giggling at your grogginess. “she’s so mean to me!” you said, though your tone had no real irritation to it.

“it’s just to send to utahime. she wants to make sure your doing alright.” mai lied straight through her teeth, though you seem satisfied enough with that answer as you started to push yourself up from the seat you’d been in. mai quickly rushed to your side, knowing you weren’t sensible enough at the moment to ask for her help. before you could stand up and inevitably wobble over, she looped an arm around your waist and moved your arm so it was slung over her shoulders.

“alright champ, let’s get going.” she tried to remain as nonchalant as possible with the close proximity, but unfortunately for her, you seemed determined to embarrass her as much as possible.

“well at least buy me dinner first, ya casanova!” you said (much louder than necessary, mind you). honestly, it wouldn’t be surprising to mai if you could be heard from the waiting room.

with an over enthusiastic wave from you and an awkward thanks from mai to the nurse, you guys set off on your way.

to be fair to you, it was surprisingly a relatively tame trip to the door, with you focusing on keeping your steps in tune with mai’s. you were too lost in thought to embarrass yourself until you had made it to the waiting room. you had rather innocently pointed out a small curse, which would have been completely harmless had it not actually been an old woman, and had you not spoken with an inappropriately loud voice. the poor old lady who had fallen subject to your anesthesia induced self gave you an agitated glare as mai waved sheepishly in apology. the moment you guys were out the door, you turned back to glance through the glass.

“we’ll get her later, mai!” you patted her on the back with determination, your voice still muffled in a way that made you sound like you belonged on sesame street. “she can’t fool me, stupid curse!”

had it been anyone else, mai would have simply rolled her eyes and tugged you on, but since it was you, she found herself laughing along, a quiet laugh, like the sound of a wind chime in early spring weather. the sound seemed to catch you off guard, causing you to stop in your antics before turning to face her. she paused when she felt your gaze back on her, looking at her like a kid would look at fireworks for the first time.

she raised an eyebrow at your sudden change in demeanor. “what?”

“your laugh is pretty.” you stated simply, clearly having some pride at being the one to get her to laugh like that.

she turned away for a moment, hoping it would stop you from seeing the flush spreading across her face, knowing you’d never let her live it down. “thanks.” she muttered, praying she sounded at least a little bit cool and composed.

the short walk to the car was filled with you pointing out random cars asking if they were mai’s as you rested your head on her shoulder, before deciding the swelling was too painful for that.

a large grin which quickly turned into a grimace (you really never learned) appeared on your face when mai finally informed you that you’d made it to the right car. she held your hand to support you as you stepped into the seat, and once she’d sat down, reached over to buckle you in. she chose to ignore the over exaggerated wink you sent her way in favor of her own sanity.

as she drove, you babbled on about nonsense like how you were sure noritoshi had made mechamaru to hide the fact that he was secretly a robot, or how after that run you had gotten at the baseball game, you were sure you were destined to quit sorcery to go to the major leagues. to humor you, mai nodded along, before dryly responding that she’d probably be a better fit considering how good she looked in the baseball uniforms.

ignorant of her joking tone, you were quick to agree enthusiastically. “definitely! but i dunno if i’m the best person to ask, because i think you look good in just about anything.” your voice was sincere as you turned fully to look at her with slightly hazy eyes.

before either of you had time to process the admiration you had shown towards her, you glanced back out the window to the familiar sight of your school. you excitedly waved at the sight of todo and noritoshi sparring together. after catching his attention, todo didn’t even bother to stop the roaring laughter that came from your appearance, pointing out to noritoshi the similarities between your current look and his from just a few weeks ago. noritoshi gave todo an annoyed look, before glancing back over to see mai helping you out of the car, once again slinging your arm over her shoulders and supporting you with an arm on your waist.

she tried her best to ignore todo, she really did. though, it wasn’t exactly easy to ignore him when he loudly exclaimed what a ‘lady killer’ mai was. she snapped her gaze to meet his eyes, giving him a cold glare, before continuing to slink you along to your dorm.

when you opened the door to your dorm, the first thing mai noticed was a bulletin board on your wall, decorated with photos of all your friends, which most recently included your classmates. her eyes flicked to a photo of you next to another girl in elementary school with a smile that showed off your gap from missing teeth, and she chuckled softly at the irony of the photo compared to your current situation. her gaze then quickly shifted to a newly added strip of pictures from a photo booth. she smiled fondly at the memory of you, her, miwa, and momo sandwiching yourselves together in the tiny booth to take photos during your shopping trip. they weren’t ‘good’ photos, per say, in fact you guys all looked rather ridiculous trying to pack into frame, but for some reason, mai seemed to soften up at the memory of it, and how happy you looked just to be next to her.

her train of thought was interrupted by you tugging on the hand that didn’t rest on you, making her turn to see you mere inches from her face.

why the hell were you so close???

“yes?” she questioned, hoping to deflect from the fact that she was so obviously gushing over the photos on your wall just moments before.

“will you sleep with me?”

had you not had an arm around her, she probably would have dropped you in that instant. from the way she carried herself to the way she talked to others, most people would assume mai zenin does NOT blush, yet somehow you’d managed to disprove that theory way too many times today.

“WHAT?” it was her turn to be loud for a moment.

“i’m tireddddd” you whined “and you’re so warm.” you had stated it so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

she groaned, as if it would cover up her sheer embarrassment at how bold you were. wordlessly, she walked you to your bed, keeping her grip on your waist secure. it was amazing how gentle she was as she laid you down on that rock solid bed all the dorms were stuck with. she pulled a blanket over you, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed in hopes you’d doze off peacefully from there. when she didn’t shift from her position, you looked at her with a confused expression.

“wouldn’t it be more comfortable to lay down?” your words were still slightly slurred together. you rested a hand on hers. “you know i don’t mind.” despite your dazed look, she could tell your words were sincere as your thumb rubbed circles atop her hand.

mai turned to face you full on, her eyes gentle rather than their usual harsh look.

curse you for being so hard to resist.

“fine” her voice was quiet “but only because it’s my job to watch over you.” she stretched out her legs so she was laying down on the bed, pulling the blanket towards her so she could get comfortable.

“you’re so good to me mai.” you smiled. not a pained grimace, or an awkward baring of your teeth, but a smile. “people always seem to be so intimidated by you, but i don’t really get it. you’ve always been so nice to me. it’s nice.”

she didn’t understand how even when you were all loopy, you still managed to have such an effect on her. hesitantly, she reached up to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

it seemed the boldness from your anesthesia had rubbed off on her.

before she had time to talk, you continued. “i always feel so glad when we get paired up for missions, you make me feel so safe. like, i know when i’m around you that you’ll protect me. i admire you so much for doing all that for me.”

she went slightly stiff at your...confession? declaration? what exactly would you call that? you had said it so nonchalantly, whether it was out of trying to play off your fear of rejection or legitimate confidence, it was hard to tell.

“plus you’re really pretty.” your hand squeezed hers as you looked suddenly very interested in the pattern of your blanket. it was odd, seeing you get so shy all of a sudden, though she supposed it was somewhat of a win for her.

as you stared sheepishly away from her eyes that traced over every inch of your face, you felt her hand come up to your cheek, tilting you to face her. she continued scanning your face with an impossibly soft expression, before meeting your eyes once again.

“you know i wouldn’t do all that if it was anyone else.” her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes bore into yours. her face was so close to yours that you could feel her breath fanning lightly across your face. “it’s all for you.” you’d never seen her so earnest before.

you smiled softly at her, even despite the ridiculous bandages around your head, and your chipmunk like cheeks, she still stared at you with so much love.

“you like meeee.” your tone was teasing, but it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that you were just as whipped as her.

“dammit. you figured me out.” she said sarcastically, shuffling forward slightly so you were flush against her.

up close, the tiredness in your glassy eyes was obvious. she sighed to herself, and slowly leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

“get some sleep.” she smiled at your eyes struggling to fight open your heavy eyelids. “we have a lot to talk about once the anesthesia wears off.”

maybe todo wasn’t so far off with that ‘lady killer’ comment.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 15 - ao3 -

“I thought Sect Leader Wen was above visiting other sects,” Lan Qiren said sullenly, leading Wen Ruohan on a tour through the Cloud Recesses. He had nothing better to do: classes had been temporarily dismissed on account of sect business, what with the teachers all being recruited to receive the Wen sect’s retinue; at this rate, this year’s rogue cultivators wouldn’t learn anything of value, and Lan Qiren had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow all his fault.

“I can’t imagine why you think that. Don’t I attend every discussion conference without fail?” Wen Ruohan said smoothly even though that wasn’t what Lan Qiren had meant and he knew it.

Wen Ruohan normally treated himself and his clan like the imperium, preferring to summon visitors rather than go to visit. Presumably, in this instance, it was only that his desire to bother Lan Qiren had overcome his vanity, or else perhaps he’d reminded himself that even the Emperor would sometimes summer at the homes of his lackeys, allowing them an unasked-for opportunity to pay homage to him.

Truly a very irritating man. Lan Qiren was almost entirely sure that it wasn’t his adolescent brain speaking, either, though he supposed he couldn’t discount the possibility entirely – he’d been very irritated by Cangse Sanren, too, and they were friends now.

Actually, he was still pretty irritated with her sometimes. Maybe it was just a symptom of adolescence. Or perhaps it was that strange similarity he sometimes found himself observing between them, whether it was their seeming timelessness or their overweening arrogance...

Well, when in doubt, there were always the rules: Do not disrespect your elders.

Also possibly Have affection and gratefulness, though that one had always been hard.

Lan Qiren took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then released it, taking stock of himself: his walking pace was steady, his hands were clasped together so that they didn’t flail, and his appearance was calm. It was just a matter of getting his emotions under control, and he had plenty of experience with that.

“You’re right,” he finally said, releasing his irritation with an effort of willpower. “You do. I was being rude, and it was uncalled for. Is there any particular part of the Cloud Recesses that da-ge would like to see? I doubt the Library Pavilion or the main buildings have varied much since your last visit, but the gardens and wild forest are beautiful this time of year.”

Wen Ruohan was quiet for a while, the two of them walking side by side in silence, and then unexpectedly he said, “Does the Lan sect use well-water or river-water as your main source of drinking water?”

Lan Qiren stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not telling you that. That’s private!”

“Is it?”

“Not everyone’s like the Nightless City, telling everyone that they rely on a half-dozen imported sources for their food and drink and challenging them to try to do something about it,” Lan Qiren said crossly, and tried to remind himself Sneering for no reason is prohibited. “I’m not actually a half-wit, you know.”

“You misunderstand me,” Wen Ruohan said, though his eyes, narrow with satisfaction like a cat, suggested that he would have been more than happy to take advantage of the situation if Lan Qiren had been so foolish. “I only wished to know whether it was the source of water they are drinking that has rendered them all blind to the treasure they hold in their hands.”

“…I’m not showing you our treasury, either.”

Wen Ruohan barked a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, either. Why don’t you show me your Wall of Discipline? I’m sure there are a few new rules since last time.”

There probably were – the rules were like water, both eternal and in a constant state of flux – so Lan Qiren obediently turned his feet in that direction.

“It’s not a work-day,” he warned. “So you’ll miss out on any carving. But the rules are there, and I can answer any questions you have about them, if you like.”

“Any question? A bold claim.”

“Any question I know the answer to,” Lan Qiren clarified. “If I don’t, I can ask one of my teachers, or look at the books in the library.”

They walked in silence a little longer, although a surprisingly comfortable one given their age difference and Wen Ruohan’s general aura of barely restrained bloodthirst. Perhaps Lan Qiren was just getting used to it.

“Have I disturbed your afternoon plans with my visit?” Wen Ruohan eventually asked, gazing at the Wall contemplatively.

“I was going to meditate in the Cold Spring,” Lan Qiren said. “But it’s nothing I can’t do another time.”

“A Cold Spring?” A faint smirk flickered on Wen Ruohan’s face. “That’s useful for the suppression of yang energy.”

“And for cultivation, and for healing, and for encouraging clarity of thought,” Lan Qiren said, and managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Of course, if da-ge is having some trouble controlling his lascivious thoughts, he is welcome to try it out. Such requests are not uncommon among newlyweds.”

Wen Ruohan was smirking outright now. “Tell me, little Lan, has that sharp tongue of yours ever cut the inside of your mouth? Or is that something you reserve for me?”

Lan Qiren pretended not to hear him and instead pointed out one of the rules on the Wall. “I always rather liked that one.”

Wen Ruohan glanced over and saw Have wins and losses - otherwise known, colloquially, as don’t be a sore loser - and grinned. “Oh, really? I find I’m rather partial to Honor the aged and wise, myself.”

“Really? And here I would have thought someone as humble as da-ge would opt for Do not say one thing and mean another, or maybe the prohibition against praising yourself.”

“Are you saying I do not count as aged, little Lan?”

“I would never question your years,” Lan Qiren said. “But the rule does include two clauses.”

Wen Ruohan was surprised into a snicker. “Sharp and sharper! Is this more of your vaunted Do not tell lies?”

“Be of one mind,” Lan Qiren retorted. “Anyway, you enjoy it, or else you would’ve just pointed out Do not argue with your family.”

“Indeed, I am not Qingheng-jun,” Wen Ruohan said, his smile poisonous, and Lan Qiren, struck dead on by the accurate blow, could only glare at him. “My little brother can argue with me any time he pleases…and does, I find. I told you to come to the Nightless City, and you disobeyed.”

“Learning comes first,” Lan Qiren said. “I had classes. Like I told you!”

“And your father and brother agreed with your prioritization?”

Lan Qiren winced, having not told them of Wen Ruohan’s request for exactly that reason.

Wen Ruohan only smirked, though, and did not call him out on it further. “Perhaps I will take you up on your offer,” he remarked instead, and for a moment Lan Qiren had no idea what he was talking about. “Travel is always so wearying, and I’ve heard fine things about the quality of the Cold Spring in Gusu.”

Right, that.

Lan Qiren was pretty sure he was allowed to make that offer.

“Unless of course you planned to have other company there…?” Wen Ruohan glanced at him and saw his confusion. “Your little immortal’s disciple lover?”

“Certainly not!” Lan Qiren exclaimed. “Men and women do not mix like that. Anyway, she’s not my lover. We’re only friends. She’s agreed.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows went up as if Lan Qiren had revealed more than he’d intended.

“Very well,” he said, sounding almost agreeable. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Lan Qiren eyed him suspiciously.

“I’d still like to meet her.”

Of course he would.

“She might not like you,” Lan Qiren warned, shaking his head. Cangse Sanren was a warm and generous person, but her views were unshakable once set, and she feared nothing; he could only guess at the monstrous clash of egos that was about to take place. “But she should be by the training field at this time of day; we can go there next.”

Wen Ruohan reached out and ran his fingers along the Wall – seemingly at random, hitting Change clothes after taking a bath and No adornments that make sound as he did – and then turned to follow Lan Qiren with a look in his eyes that Lan Qiren did not understand.

“Then let us go,” he said.

As he’d thought, Cangse Sanren was practicing alone in the training field, looking especially fierce with her hair flowing freely in the wind as she danced with blade and horsetail whisk. Lan Qiren waited until she was done with her current set before clearing his throat to announce their presence; when she turned, he pulled out a ribbon from his sleeve – he’d taken to carrying spares – and offered it to her.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he said to her. “It doesn’t matter how high your cultivation is, it’s still not going to help you in a fight if the wind changes mid-move and you get smacked in the face with your own hair.”

“Maybe,” she sniffed. “But I look amazing.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes.

“This is Cangse Sanren, a disciple of Baoshan Sanren,” he told Wen Ruohan. “She has no personal name, so don’t ask for one. Cangse Sanren, this is Sect Leader Wen.”

Lan Qiren had heard rumors that Wen Ruohan had once had a personal title, but that he hadn’t liked it, and that he’d ensured that no one ever dared to use it to his face. At any rate, Lan Qiren didn’t know it now and could not use it as an introduction.

Not that Cangse Sanren would have cared, of course. She raised her hands in a salute, boldly keeping her head raised and the bow shallow enough to be insolent.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“And I of you,” Wen Ruohan responded. “It’s been a long time since a disciple has descended from the immortal mountain. Tell me, are you planning on joining the Lan sect?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Are you planning on proposing some alternative you think I might like better?”

“Perhaps I will. You never know what the future might bring.”

“Knowing the present and the past would seem a sufficient guide to me.”

Lan Qiren looked between them in growing alarm as they exchanged seemingly pleasant words in cutting tones. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected this, but perhaps not quite so quickly...

“Could the two of you maybe not do this?” he asked, feeling a little plaintive. He didn’t want to have to explain how a casual tour designed to kill time had escalated into an inter-sect issue. “Cangse Sanren, if my da-ge’s presence bothers you, we can just leave.”

Cangse Sanren broke away from the staring match she’d started with Wen Ruohan to frown at him. “You call him da-ge?”

“Is there any reason he shouldn’t?” Wen Ruohan’s voice was as smooth as the silk used to execute empresses. “He’s my sworn brother, after all.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “It’s only that he calls Qingheng-jun ‘xiongzhang’.”

Wen Ruohan seemed a little surprised by that. He glanced at Lan Qiren, who scowled back at him. “So what?” he said, feeling oddly defensive. “You asked to be called ‘da-ge’.”

“I suppose I did,” Wen Ruohan said, and his lips curled upwards in satisfaction.

“Hey, Lan-xiao-gege,” Cangse Sanren suddenly said, and Lan Qiren automatically glared: he didn’t like her calling him that. “Could you get me a ribbon from my room?”

“What? I just gave you –”

“There’s one in particular inside a qiankun pouch on my desk,” she said, barreling on. “You can just bring the whole thing. I need it rather urgently, and for various reasons cannot go myself.”

“But –”

“You shouldn’t deny a lady in need, little Lan,” Wen Ruohan interjected. “Don’t forget that chivalry is one of your rules. Go and return; I will wait for you here.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he does,” Cangse Sanren said, which was horribly rude even if he did somewhat need that reassurance. “Please, Qiren-gege? Would you?”

“…all right,” Lan Qiren said, having the distinct feeling that he was being ganged up on. “I’ll be back right away.”

There was a rule against running, but he’d long ago mastered the art of walking as quickly as he could without breaking any of the rules against haste; he was able to retrieve the pouch and return to the training field within a single ke, which he thought might have broken some sort of record. Even so, by the time he returned with the pouch, Cangse Sanren and Wen Ruohan were standing side-by-side with identical expressions of smug satisfaction that suggested that they’d accomplished whatever it was that they’d so obviously wanted him out of the way for.

Hopefully not a recruitment into the Wen sect. His brother would kill him.

“Ah, Qiren-gege!” Cangse Sanren said, and accepted the pouch. As if purposefully adding insult to injury, she tied it to her waist without even bothering to pretend to root around inside for the ribbon or whatever thing she had so ‘urgently’ needed from it. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re a pest,” he told her, but she only looked pleased with herself. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of her, and he didn’t even bother to hope for one from Wen Ruohan, who was exactly the same. He looked at him regardless: “Da-ge, are you done here? Even though they haven’t sent word, I’m sure the elders have finished preparing to receive you properly, so you can finally do whatever it is that you came to the Cloud Recesses to do.”

Get out of my way maybe, he meant, and not especially subtly, either.

“Uh, Qiren-gege,” Cangse Sanren said, grinning at him. “I’m pretty sure he’s already doing that.”

Lan Qiren refrained from rolling his eyes at her yet again – nobody would gather up their entire retinue to travel halfway across the cultivation world to see him – and turned expectantly to Wen Ruohan.

“I gave my lieutenants orders to begin negotiations without me,” he said, looking disinterested. “Your sect elders will not want me to disturb them until they have reached preliminary agreement on the main points, so as to avoid losing face for either sect in the event we can’t reach an appropriate resolution.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought of that. He supposed it made sense.

Irritating, irritating sense.

“We’ve already seen quite a lot of the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ruohan added. “Why don’t we take some tea in your rooms?”

Lan Qiren thought about his rooms, which were still in a terrible state, and tensed – he’d neatened up as best as he could after his tantrum in the little time he’d had to himself, but removing all the broken things had left the space bare and uninviting. He wasn’t even sure he even had a matching tea set left.

“You should go down to Caiyi Town,” Cangse Sanren announced. “It has a thriving market full of unique goods, and from what I hear you have a new bride, Sect Leader Wen. If you don’t get her something from your trip, she’ll never forgive you.”

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully, and Lan Qiren seized on the excuse to nod fervently and usher Wen Ruohan towards the gates instead of his rooms.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to her taste,” he told Wen Ruohan, and for some reason remembered how the man’s long-nailed hand, capable of crushing mountains, had so delicately held the bowl Lan Qiren had painted as he had drunk his wedding toasts, as if he’d been afraid of causing the slightest damage to it. “There’s plenty there.”

“I’m sure there is,” Wen Ruohan said, and to Lan Qiren’s relief they were able to spend the next two shichen wandering slowly through the market. Wen Ruohan seemed to be particularly interested in stalls or shops selling household goods, whether vases or inkstones or paperweights, or else in paintings and other decorations; he solicited Lan Qiren’s thoughts on them all, and insisted on hearing them no matter how much Lan Qiren tried to demur.

“I really don’t know how much it’ll help you to know that I personally prefer my décor to have neutral colors with abstract designs,” he said, rubbing his forehead after one particularly extended discussion with a very enthusiastic shop manager in which they, again, did not make any purchase. “I doubt your new bride shares my excessively particular tastes.”

“What makes them excessive, rather than simply a preference?” Wen Ruohan asked, strolling over to where Lan Qiren was standing and running a finger along the blanket Lan Qiren had been absent-mindedly kneading with his hands out of lack of anything better to do. It was made of multilayer silk, airy as a cloud but trapping enough heat to allow for some warmth, and some clever designer had introduced some sort of subtle pattern to the embroidery that made it feel almost fuzzy. Lan Qiren had liked it at once, although regrettably it was the sort of expensive that was beyond the reach of even his generous allowance, especially since he’d so recently depleted it; it would have required him to rely on sect credit to obtain it.

He was technically entitled to do so, especially as one of the main branch family, but it wasn’t worth the snippy comments about Do not wallow in luxury that he’d invariably get for it. When he was younger, his brother had, in a rare moment of sympathy, told him that he’d be able to do much more and allow himself far more freedom while still avoiding such criticism if only he weren’t so insistent on talking about the rules all the time, but at that age Lan Qiren had struggled tremendously with focusing on other subjects and it had seemed easier to simply give up a few privileges. Later, of course, he’d realized that he didn’t have to give up those rights at all – the rule against luxury was intended to forestall dissipation and waste, the prioritizing of self-indulgence over duty, not occasional purchases designed to make life more comfortable – but his austere habits had remained. It was easier to pretend to have a preference towards asceticism and restraint than to admit that he was just being picky again, that he’d rather no blanket than a scratchy one or that loud colors or busy designs hurt his eyes and distracted him from his studies no matter how beautiful the art.

“I don’t suppose you remember those greens they were serving, the first time we met?” Lan Qiren asked dryly. “The ones I didn’t eat? It’s a bit like that.”

“Mm, I recall,” Wen Ruohan said, which surprised Lan Qiren: the other man’s memory must be prodigious to recall such a small event in such a long life. “You cried when you tried to force yourself.”

“It was a physical reaction,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth. How did Wen Ruohan always manage to find the most irritating take on any subject? “I gagged, that’s all. Anyway, all I meant was that I’m picky and particular, set in my ways and preferences, and what I like doesn’t necessarily transfer to other people.”

He wanted to ask Are you planning on getting something here already, but that would be crossing the line from blunt to intolerably rude, given that Wen Ruohan was his guest and his elder. Instead, he waited until it seemed like Wen Ruohan was done talking, and then edged pointedly towards the exit in the hope that the older man would get the hint.

In the end, they returned to the Cloud Recesses just in time for dinner, in which Lan Qiren was seated next to Wen Ruohan but which, per Lan sect rules, was silent, and was happily sidelined for most of the discussions that took place afterwards, which were mostly about sect affairs. The next two days Wen Ruohan spent fully ensconced in negotiations with Lan Qiren’s father and brother, and the day after that he was scheduled to leave – he had made plans to visit the Jin sect next before returning to Qishan, a route that ever so coincidentally would make it convenient for him to unofficially swing by Qinghe on his return as well – and in the end they only had time to take tea a few more times, almost always in the company of others.

Lan Qiren breathed a sigh of relief at having managed at least one successful one-on-one interaction with Wen Ruohan that hadn’t blown up in his face. He obtained belated permission for his invitation to the Cold Spring and mentioned to Wen Ruohan that he could take advantage of it during his next visit, whenever that might be – Wen Ruohan had seemed pleased by the offer – and obediently watched the visitors depart before returning, at long last, to his classes.

There were whispers, of course, but he ignored them with the ease of long practice. His sworn brotherhood was unusual, inevitably drawing attention; that would not change, just as it would not change the existence of it, and so other people would simply have to grow bored of their gossip first.

It wasn’t until later, when classes broke for the day, that he finally went back to his rooms.

His rooms, which –

Did not look like his rooms.

Lan Qiren stared.

What should have been bare walls and a cracked table and a bed with a single sheet had been transformed: there were paintings and vases, each with the subtle designs he favored, the latter filled with flowers emitting a cool and subtle scent; the incense burner had been replaced with one of delicate and intricate copperwork, a perfect match to the copper accents that adorned the new table, made of dark wood, that had replaced the one he’d broken. Even the pillows and blanket had been replaced – and he recognized that blanket, expensive and unnecessary, with clever embroidery and multiple layers of silk –

“His taste’s a bit much, I think,” Cangse Sanren said from behind him, having apparently followed him in at some point when he hadn’t noticed. “But I suppose you can’t fault him for efficiency.”

Lan Qiren turned to stare at her. “You – you knew about this?”

She grinned at him.

“You didn’t say – you didn’t tell – !” Lan Qiren looked around. “He was shopping for me?”

“All your fault,” she said cheerfully. “Apparently you were the one who started it all, giving him a gift –”

“He was getting married!”

“Some men are unreasonably competitive, Qiren-gege. Your sworn brother is one of them.”

“I – a competition – ?!”

“Possibly he also felt bad about getting you drunk and taking advantage of you,” she said. “And wanted to make up for it somehow. Just a thought.”

Lan Qiren flapped his hands in the air, unable to form words for a while – not least because he was pretty sure Wen Ruohan didn’t do emotions like felt bad, and probably maxed out at this made you have feelings which are inconvenient for me – and then finally settled on some: “What did the two of you talk about?!”

Cangse Sanren poked at the new guqin stand in the corner, dark wood and copper as well, embedded with a few dimly glowing night-pearls, and nodded to herself in satisfaction at its balance. “Blind people with no judgment or appreciation, mostly.”

“…what?!”

“I may have also mentioned that your room was looking a bit too ascetic recently…”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She laughed her peculiar laugh, the deep one that came from her belly and made everyone around her want to join in, and took to her heels as if afraid that he might chase her. Lan Qiren seriously considered it for a moment, wanting to scold her and also to extract every detail about how she had almost certainly tried to scold one of the most terrifying men currently living, but he found himself drifting over to the bed instead, putting his hands into the comfortable blanket and already imagining how well he would sleep with it tucked tightly around him.

Fine, he thought, scowling down at it with a glare that was for no one’s benefit, not even himself. Maybe next time he writes inviting me, I’ll even go.

[heathsbitch]

HER - j.f

a/n: This is written from Jesper's point of view and was inspired by a poem called 'Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae' by Ernest Dowson. I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: There is a slight reference to some spice but nothing major.

Word Count: 1521

Guilt trembled in the cavern of Jesper’s chest; it loomed there like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. It seemed to grow and grow as the minutes ticked by into the early morning. Jesper hadn’t slept. He’d kept his eyes trained on the creaky ceiling of his room in the Slat, waiting for the boy beside him to wake up and realise what had happened the night previous. The guilt didn’t come from sleeping with the stable boy, though he was far from a mere boy if Jesper’s memory served him correctly. The guilt seeped into his pores from where his mind wandered while he buried himself inside the stable hand - he was never immersed in the moment, never cared for the person underneath him. His mind was fixated on something entirely different. 

Her. 

She had left, taken away by unforeseen circumstances, leaving Jesper with a heart shattered into small shards; shards too small to pick up and piece back together. It wasn’t the stable hand’s moans that filled his ears last night, it was hers. He felt her soft skin along his bare back, her voice lulling him towards his climax. The guilt came from not caring about his intimate partner. It was no lie Jesper wasn’t conservative in who and how many people he spent his evenings with, but he had never been the type to not care about the person he was with, even if the care he held was only minimal. Last night stained his mind, he had enjoyed himself, but it had been for the wrong reasons. 

As he laid bare, feeling like a stranger in his own bed, his mind began to trail again, deeper into the treasure chest that was his own memory. His thoughts transported him back to a time where the world seemed brighter, shadows didn’t lurk in every crevice they could cram themselves into, despite the reputation of Ketterdam. He remembered a time where his dark eyes danced upon the patterns of the stars, his back cold against the grass underneath him. But his arms were full, full of love, full of her. She lied there, legs intertwined with his own, her cheek pressed against his chest, her hands stroking faint patterns onto the material of his shirt. Jesper swore he had never felt such peace as that moment; where their eyes didn’t have to be locked with one another to share such a connection. The stars stretched high into the sky above him and were miles away from reach. Yet with her, he felt as if he could stretch out his lanky limbs to grab one, to grab them all, just to give them to her. The corners of his lips turned upwards as he imagined the smile on her face, the way her eyes would light up as she gazed at him as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered. The way she would whisper, “Thank you, Jes.” before coyly placing the lightest of kisses on his cheek. 

His heart burned, no matter what he did, her memory would always return, always plague him. He had grown sick of an old passion, yet he still clung to every moment they spent together as if sheer willpower would bring her back to him; as if she would walk through the doors to his bedroom with that supple smile on her face and the stars in her eyes. Jesper knew it was wrong to indulge himself in such fancies, “Remembering will only make it hurt more.” Kaz had constantly reminded him. The words carried a weight Jesper couldn’t quite pinpoint. He knew Kaz was right though, but despite everything, her memory crawled into bed with him every night without fail. All night upon his he felt her warm heart beat, night-long within his arms in love and sleep she would lay; the kisses of her red mouth blemished his mind, but now he lay desolate and sick of an old passion. 

The murky Ketterdam skies no longer held the charm that once lured Jesper onto the streets - the rain that spiked the streets no longer invited him to splash around in. They were like bullets, tearing through his flesh, each scar a reminder of what he used to have. Nothing felt the same as it did with her. She had managed to occupy every corner of his mind while they were together, so much so that his hands never sought the sweet touch of cards, his mind never felt the desire to gamble. Though she still slept in his mind, his hands twitched for the familiar weight of coin - he yearned for the thrill of the win, no other distraction worked as well as gambling, not even the call of his pearl-handled revolvers could satiate his hunger for her. Jesper would sit in the darkest corner of the Crow Club, playing hand after hand, his eyes trained on the entrance just wishing that she would traipse through those doors. His heart jumped when a woman that resembled her in almost every way tripped through the doors to the club. But she was wrong, the curve of her lips were wrong, the length of her lashes were wrong, the lilt of her voice was wrong. Jesper swore he could remember every simple detail of her, every detail she had overlooked or put herself down about. He thought she was perfect, a gift from the Saints themselves, an angel sent to watch over him. 

Another memory shot through Jesper’s brain; a time early on in their relationship, though it had seemed they had known each other for years. He swore he could still hear her laugh drifting on the airwaves. He had been messing around, of course, always looking to make himself look a fool in front of her just so he could hear that laugh, see that smile. His revolvers were nestled in his palms as he shot at the leaves of the large oak tree that sat before them. She was lounged on a blanket, a stream not too far from where she layed. They had looked for a place to have their picnic for what felt like hours before they found themselves at the foot of a wood, just a ways out of Ketterdam. The trees reached far into the sky, almost as if their branches were limbs trying to clutch at the clouds floating above them. She had been ecstatic, sprinting into the woods in the hopes of finding a clearing where they could eat, the stream providing such a place for her. 

She had fiddled with the ends of the blanket before finally settling on a place, beckoning Jesper to go and join her once he’d finished showing off with his guns. His plump lips stretched into a wide smile, his expression mirroring hers. She crawled into his embrace as he made himself comfortable, taking a grape into his mouth from the basket and chewing it slowly. “Maybe we should run away.” She had muttered, face slightly squashed against his hard chest. He hummed as his slender fingers stroked her back, tracing small patterns onto the fabric of her clothes, “And live here?”

“We wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

“What about wolves eating us in the middle of the night?” She tapped his chest lightly as if to scold him, a giggle resonating from the man. “I could get you that dress you want from the market. Live here like a little faery” Her eyes had lit up at that, the smile stretched across her face practically radiated joy. He pulled one of his hands from her back and tapped her nose, lightly chuckling when it scrunched up as a reaction.

Tears threatened to drip from his eyes at the reminiscence, “Others will come.” Inej had comforted him once he had gotten the stable hand out of his bed and left the room. She had come in to check on his condition, being met with the mess that Jesper now was. “But they won’t be her.” He whined, throwing himself back onto his creaky bed, his hands rubbing his eyes as if to get rid of the memories of her for just one more moment of relief. Inej gazed at her friend, wanting to help but not knowing how to. If only he weren’t so stubborn. She had sent him a sympathetic smile before slipping out of his room, closing his door to leave him isolated once more. 

The thin curtains of the Slat cast shadows across his bedroom, even in the light of the day. Their shapes seemed to crawl and dance across the walls as the breeze flicked at the material. When all fell silent, when all fell stationary, one shadow peeled itself off the wall. 

Her. 

He tried to reach for her, to clutch her body. If only he could hold her once more, feel her smooth skin against his, the press of her lips against his own. But there was nothing but void; Jesper was left desolate, and sick of an old passion.

MY OTHER JESPER WORKS

I Hate You

MASTERLIST

[dreamii-yume]

@shikigamiuwu said :

“Epel’s have a crush to y/n since they meet them and has confessed there love for y/n many times but y/n reject him. So since it was here birthday he thought of confessing again since he has birthday pass, but Y/n reject him again since he has a crush to Vil or Rook (whoever you want) to Epel’s demise, so Epel’s became so frustrated and angry that he just rape y/n and manipulate him on think y/n is not worthy to be with Vil’s so he can have y/n for himself.”

••••••••••

You, my good bitch, have sent like- four big-brained ideas for not only Epel but SILVER BIRTHDAY CRUMBS and I am ascending. Yume does not deserve this, I–

Warnings : Non-Consensual Touching | Non-Con | Yandere

“I like you.”

If it happened to be your first-time hearing Epel say those three words to you in such an affectionate manner, words that are obviously meant to be taken as a confession, it would’ve been enough to put you through a coma because of shock. You’ll be all flustered and probably stutter like a toddler learning how to speak for the first time, trying to figure out if it was a joke or not, despite the obvious signs. I mean...It was a confession from such a beautiful boy after all and you don’t really consider yourself as someone who can reach that level of beauty so, how can you not panic? If it were the first time, you wouldn’t know what to do, what words you should say, or which feelings you should prioritize. You’d be totally lost!

Except…This was no first time.

How many times had this beautiful boy confessed to you over the course of a few months? You weren’t counting, but you do know that you rejected each one of them respectfully and thoroughly. You didn’t why he kept coming back, he’s a lot more persistent than he lets on. “...How many times are you gonna tell me that?” You can answer him as differently as you want, but Epel would only smile at you and say the same thing every time.

“Until you can say that you like me back.”

The first time was as true as it could get, you were flustered, in the state of disbelief, plenty of eye movements going everywhere, grateful but unsure, and nervous sweat formed on your forehead. He loves you in a romantic sense, but even if he was someone precious to you, you just can’t see him as someone more than a really good friend, family even. “...But I keep telling you, I already like someone else.” It was your only excuse; it was a weak reason but at least it wasn’t a lie, Epel should know it more than anyone. It shuts him up, unable to say anything that could counteract your words and at first glance, it looks like a sign of giving up but soon, he’d just shrug it off like you never said anything in the first place.

It was troublesome, Epel wasn’t forcefully pushing his personal ideologies into you but having to tell you something that you already know is tiring to say the least. You wanted to be polite and even appreciate his honesty, but the more times he confesses, the more desensitized you get. Your rejections went from being apologetic to giving out an exasperated sigh and a shake of your head, just wanting to get it over with. It’ll just be the same anyways, the same confession and the same response, there was no point in sugar coating your words at this point.

“I like you.”

Epel might have thought that he’d get the response he wanted if he confesses to you on his birthday, but you could just shake your head in pity. No, you weren’t going to give in to the fact that it’s his special day and feel obligated to reciprocate his feelings because of it. You’d be lying otherwise, and you’re not about to build a relationship out of lies...Seriously, when is he ever going to stop terrorizing you with all these confessions, you’re starting to feel really bad about yourself here.

“Like I said a million times before, Epel.” You narrowed your eyebrows together with a stern and impeccable voice. “I don’t like you that way, I have someone I already like—“

“It’s Vil-san, right?”You widened your eyes as you looked back at Epel, surprised that he gave up a different answer than the usual. He was wearing the same smile as he does before, but up until now, you just can’t stand the fact on how empty it feels.

“H-How did you—“

“It’s obvious. Anyone could easily guess it if they observed you enough...Especially with how you constantly you look at him.” He said, his clear cerulean eyes burning holes into your soul. This made your cheeks flushed, quickly looking down...Do you really act that weird when it comes to Vil? It’s true that he makes your heart flutter and his presence was just something that you can’t turn a blind eye into but...You always thought that you were keeping your feelings cool and low. “What, don’t tell me you’re not aware of it yourself?”

Epel laughed, his hand covering his mouth like a delicate princess. “You’re really funny, charming even when your making such a dumb face too, hehe...” He said with a tinge of adorable red tainted on his flawless skin, rosy cheeks that you could only ever wish in your dream to have. You gulped as he looked back at you, staring straight into your unsettled eyes, making your body tense without knowing the actual reason as to why. “...But that’s only because I really like you that I’m willing to accept any of your bad characteristics. What do you think will I think if I were a normal person? If I were Vil-san?”

Your mouth closed and open multiple times, trying to find the words you want to say. Somehow, you began to piece together what he wanted to say and yet, you couldn’t actually stop him from saying it out loud. You knew it yourself; you didn’t need someone to pressure you into admitting something you already knew. Was Epel this much of a shrewd person before? Regardless, his pink polished lips twisted into a chilling smile.

“I’d think you’re disgusting.”

“You think you’re so smooth, following him around and eavesdropping every time he opens his mouth to talk just to hear his voice. You’re probably the type to steal some stuff from him too, it’s creepy!” Epel said, walking over to you as you kept your head held down, ashamed to be called out like this. “That makes you no different from a crazed fan, a stalker. Vil-san already gets plenty of those, he doesn’t need another one.”

You gasped as Epel grasped your chin, his eyes remaining as dark and cruel as you remembered them before, only that this time, he was no longer smiling. “…That’s why it’s disgusting. That’s not the kind of beauty Vil-san is looking for.” He said as you tried backing away, only for him to keep on stepping forward to stay close to you. “He’ll never acknowledge someone like you.”

You yelped as Epel suddenly pushed your shoulders down, tackling you down to the ground. Grunting, you landed in a not-so gentle manner with his beautiful face hovering above you. “...But I do.” He added, a small smile reappeared in his face, it was more like a pity smile if anything else.

You were getting scared, there was fear in your eyes alone as you try to search for your way out of this situation. Epel has a small structure despite being growing man himself, the different in size between the two of you are barely even noticeable! But with that cold, intimidating gaze, it feels as if you were forced to shrunk down beneath him. “E-Epel—“ Your voice calling out his name only became an encouragement for him to move his hands freely around your body. Even when you widened your eyes as he suddenly lifted up your shirt to expose your chest.

“W-Wait— no!” You can protest all you want, but even struggling against him as a fit resilience did nothing to reach conscience. Your breath was shaking as he merely swayed your flinging arms away, already weakened by your own will, and worked his way into freeing your mounds to be groped. His hand reached the underneath the skirt that you were wearing for his party and wasted no time in reaching for your underwear. Quavering lips turned into gasps of panic as he makes its way down to your erogenous zones, his nimble fingers able to send pleasures down your body. It didn’t take too long before the realization came to you, just how serious this is, that tears began to well up in your eyes.

He took no mind to it though, you plead and beg but you were met with cold, uncaring eyes as you felt a finger sliding in pass your folds. The way you squeaked like a mouse as he bit on your breast too, it was all too insignificant to really reach his ears at all…Looking deeper in the depths of those seemingly gentle eyes, it slowly occurred to you the emotions that he was hiding underneath there. Something that you’ve never noticed until now, or something that you never really bothered to look into, even if it was just for a split second.

All this time, Epel...was angry.

“S-Stop!” As if yelling out in a demanding voice can stop him, it only made him growl in irritation as he thrusted yet another finger inside you. Your willpower was incredibly weak, your stomach was already forming a knot ready to burst out any moment just by his fingers alone. With a scissor-like motion, it’s almost like he knew where to hit you, which places would feel good and would irk you even more, he even dug deeper down your entrance to explore undiscovered places.

An orgasm was inevitable, he was surprisingly skilled with his hands and your body wasn’t able to take all of that pleasure all at once and bursts right then and there. The toll on your body it took had you writhing on the ground, sobbing at the light-headed feeling spreading inside your brain. Epel seemed satisfied though, pulling out his fingers completely to marvel at how soaked you’ve made his fingers to be. “…You’re amazing.” He said, smiling down at you as he began to shuffle in between your legs, not even letting you rest for even a minute. “This is why I like you so much.”

“Please, stop...! W-Why…Why are you doing this…!?”

He leans in, wiping the tears off your cheek as he shook his head stubbornly. “Do you still…not understand?” He said, that chilling smile on his face was making it all the more terrifying for you as he comes and undo his pants. It’s not about whether or not you understood his motive here because you already had way too much time to do that, you were just in a state of disbelief that you’re just…doing anything you can to call off this reality your experiencing at this moment. “I said it over and over again, didn’t I?”

“I like you.”

Epel then chuckled, before shaking his head as if to correct himself from his own wording. “…No, maybe that’s why you couldn't understand.” He said, his smile becoming wider and wider. “Because it’s love.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

[lysmune]

Hoarfrost Heart

Human still

Pairing: KaeLumi CW: Kaeya has an anxious breakdown near the end, and a lot of this fic deals with his trauma of not opening up to people.

  Blood is a loyal follower to Kaeya’s truths, a faint whisper that reminds him of everything that could—has—happened if he slivered an inch of his thoughts. It is the scent of iron he could never wash out, not from the thin line of death across the necks of so many people, not from his hands, nor from the soles of his feet, split open as he walks across the evergreen growth of thorns, fed fat from his deceit.

   These are only skin deep, is how he convinces himself as he tucks the unease behind a veiled smile that pinches his cheeks. Flesh wounds will heal but honesty, baring an unguarded heart out upon his sleeve, is a dangerous game and Kaeya has no desire to tempt mortality again.

   One narrow escape is enough.

   Sweet words, sweeter lies, he offers those instead. They always repay him in trust, a valuable currency he never quite could give away, so he sacrifices what spare human feeling he has for the pristine beauty of a white winter when he responds. Clean, untainted, pure.

   It is easier to deal with the disease that is loneliness than a knife to the back.

   A laid-back, duty-shirking cavalry captain, whose dull seaward lineage is made riveting through ten rounds of Death After Noon. That is who Kaeya is.

   That is how he introduces himself to Mondstadt.

   That is the image he’ll set in the starlit traveller’s mind.

   That is who she, with unabashed vocality, politely refuses to believe.

   Lumine chalks it up to the vagueness of a hunch, and he can’t help but roll his eyes, click his tongue. Sure, he might enjoy throwing the same reason around, but it feels like complete nonsense to have it flung back at him. He pouts, intentionally puppy-like and innocent, and pleads with a tone of feigned hurt.

   Lumine laughs.

   Laughs and looks at him with topaz-cut eyes, eyes like honeyed spring water. Kaeya can’t decide whether he should feel offended at her subtle dig, or honoured that he’s made her smile. He settles on brushing it off with a shrug and a, “Well, you’ve got me there.”

   “I know,” is Lumine’s response, a simple phrase that holds much more depth than it lets on, and he wonders if she’s seen just what it is he’s truly hiding.

   The prospect sends chills down his spine. Does she know me, more than I do?

   Kaeya drowns those fears in the tavern, his local safe haven, a place away from his worries and her all-seeing gaze. It is short-lived some nights, languorous on the others, but at least, here, the chatter is comfortable. Leaning forward, he listens to the slurred words, the odd secrets, to keep his thoughts at bay.

   And yet

   And yet, Kaeya finds himself following the wide expanse of her back, her small frame belying her insurmountable strength as she carries every single burden in silence. “Trust me,” she would assure with her sunlit smile. Kaeya would never admit it, but he does—he wants to.

   But what has trust ever given me?

   Rain and ichor, and festering wounds.

   Everything is unflinchingly loud. How laughable, how maddeningly soft of him, to be so weak in his resolve. Against the hushed humdrum dawn, he watches her leave the gates.

   They say if you stare too long at the sun, you’ll go blind. In her presence, Kaeya feels robbed of his vision. He looks to her footprints instead, at the trail of fireflies she leaves in her wake. They don’t hurt him as much as her wayward glances do, not as much as the sincerity in her voice when she reminds him that he can always seek her company when he needs someone to talk to.

   “I won’t stay long in Mondstadt, anyway,” Lumine laughs, laced with melancholia. “Whatever your secret is, I’ll bring it with me.”

   Kaeya’s chest tightens, constricts. “How fun would I be without my mysteries?” he hums and she scoffs.

   “Well, either way,” she says, shrugging while she goes to her feet, “I’m here to listen.”

   He knows, he knows, that’s why it’s proving difficult to keep all his bottled thoughts neatly safeguarded. Everything is easier around her, as though he can just be honest and loose-lipped, and bare, and Kaeya despises it.

   He despises how vulnerable he feels, how vulnerable she makes him feel.

   Each passing day only serves to coddle that parasite of an idea, the frail, tempting whisper at the shell of his ear, gnawing at him endlessly. The words coagulate in his throat, begging to be spoken and put to death all at once, barred only by gritted teeth and sheer willpower.

   Lumine never quite pries him, not when he excuses himself of her company through the blatant lie of working through his commissions; nor when he hides at the corner of the bar when they celebrate her victorious homecoming; nor when his nightly patrols loop him back to her in some cyclical torment.

   She gives him his space, lets him breathe. Kaeya isn’t sure if he enjoys the consideration, the lack of judgement, the misplaced respect.

   A clean-cut, clinical distance maintained. Lumine never quite meets him again, and he never bothers. It’s easier, it’s easier, he tells himself, chanting it through like a broken record.

   It’s easier, Kaeya convinces, even when he finds her perplexed at her usual spot at Good Hunter, bathed in the scarlet red of a sunset.

   “My,” he greets, pulling up the chair reserved for him, “I don’t think I’ve seen you quite so bothered, Traveller.”

  Lumine’s eyes never quite meets his, even when she’s turned her body to his direction. A chill creeps up the length of his spine.

   “I’m leaving for Liyue,” she says under her breath, so quiet it’s near indistinguishable from the wind. “Tomorrow morning.”

   “Oh,” is all Kaeya manages to muster. She doesn’t speak after that. He doesn’t either, all the sentences tangled and fumbling on his tongue, and It’s easier this way, he reminds himself still, even when she’s long receded into Mondstadt’s crowd.

   There’s a ringing in his ears, a loud, obnoxious pounding against his skull.

   Lumine’s leaving.

   The creature in his chest twists, writhing as he inhales deeply, like it is wounded and angry. Isn’t this what I wanted?

   Iron fills his mouth as his teeth bite into the inside of his cheek. He’s never once looked at her, not in the longest time, and before he knows it, Kaeya’s letting his feet lead him to the home she’s staying in, blood cold and hands trembling.

   The last time Kaeya’s ever held a person so warm dear to him, he burned to ashes.

   Something old and ancient stirs, an acquaintance he thought bygone. Wrapping around his shoulders like a winter veil, it hovers, large and engulfing.

  What has trust given you? Trauma sneers. Kaeya swallows. Rain and ichor, and festering wounds. Scorched skin black to its bone, pain still as new and fresh as spring. All that hate and fear, and loneliness.

  His hand rests quietly on the door, shaking softly.

  Intimately, anxiety slithers around his neck, a spurned lover begging for a second chance. His back is soaked in the frozen thunderstorm, the terrorised flesh on his arm throbbing painfully, this memoir he’s carried with him since eighteen.

  I should leave. I should go. There isn’t much point in this.

  Flashes of white dancing at the peripheral of his eye, embers sparking like coals. Kaeya balls his hand into a fist, breaths shallow and ragged, the smell of carbonised ozone filling the air.

  This was a terri-

  “Kaeya.”

  His demons fall quiet.

  Her fingers are warm around his wrist, comfortingly so, a hearth on a winter’s eve, and Kaeya’s heart steadies. Everything does.

  I’m scared, he realises when he keeps his gaze to the ground, when he struggles to look back at her, when he’s being honest to himself past all those pretences, a lost child navigating uncharted wasteland.

  I’m scared, he realises, of learning how to trust. It feels like centuries since he has. What has trust given you? Rain and ichor, and festering wounds.

  Her grip on his wrist tightens.

  A home. A friend. A brother. Tiny, stumbling memories that fill with laughter.

  Kaeya swallows and turns around, and this time, he meets the gold of her eyes. In the dying light of day, she seems to glow brighter still, undying and unyielding.

  They say if you stare too long at the sun, you’ll go blind. As long as it’s her, he can learn to live with that, to have faith in her promises and follow her lead.

  “Are you alright?” Lumine questions, and he’s touched by the worry in her voice. Kaeya allows himself to smile, just barely, and nods.

  “I’m here for that offer,” he says. There’s an unusual tremor in his words, a nervousness that he’s not quite felt in ages, and ages past. She blinks, once, twice, and Kaeya wonders if he’s misread.

  Maybe-

Lumine laughs, then, like chimes in the wind, and Kaeya can’t help but chuckle along. With practiced ease, she slips her hand around his, linking their fingers together.

Kaeya lets her.

“Make yourself at home,” she guides him through the door and into her space effortlessly, seamlessly. Within the four walls she calls hers, in the incandescent ardour of her presence, he feels safe. Safe and heard, and at peace.

  It isn’t likely that Kaeya will tell her everything he’s been shouldering within the day, nor the coming week, or month, or possibly a year, but he knows he eventually will. If it’s her, he wants to, and when she offers him a gentle sunburst smile, he’s certain of it.

 For the first time since eighteen, Kaeya offers his heart, bare and beating, and him.

[rockislandadultreads]

Asian Authors & Stories for Asian American Heritage Month

May 2021: Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month: in celebration of history, culture, and contributions.

If I Had Your Face by Frances Cha

"Even as a girl, I knew the only chance I had was to change my face... even before a fortune-teller told me so." Kyuri is a heartbreakingly beautiful woman with a hard-won job at a "room salon," an exclusive bar where she entertains businessmen while they drink. Though she prides herself on her cold, clear-eyed approach to life, an impulsive mistake with a client may come to threaten her livelihood. Her roomate, Miho, is a talented artist who grew up in an orphanage but won a scholarship to study art in New York. Returning to Korea after college, she finds herself in a precarious relationship with the super-wealthy heir to one of Korea's biggest companies. Down the hall in their apartment building lives Ara, a hair stylist for whom two preoccupations sustain her: obsession with a boy-band pop star, and a best friend who is saving up for the extreme plastic surgery that is commonplace. And Wonna, one floor below, is a newlywed trying to get pregnant with a child that she and her husband have no idea how they can afford to raise and educate in the cutthroat economy. Together, their stories tell a gripping tale that's seemingly unfamiliar, yet unmistakably universal in the way that their tentative friendships may have to be their saving grace.

How Much of These Hills Is Gold by C Pam Zhang

An electric debut novel set against the twilight of the American gold rush, two siblings are on the run in an unforgiving landscape--trying not just to survive but to find a home. Ba dies in the night; Ma is already gone. Newly orphaned children of immigrants, Lucy and Sam are suddenly alone in a land that refutes their existence. Fleeing the threats of their western mining town, they set off to bury their father in the only way that will set them free from their past. Along the way, they encounter giant buffalo bones, tiger paw prints, and the specters of a ravaged landscape as well as family secrets, sibling rivalry, and glimpses of a different kind of future.

Where Reasons End by Yiyun Li

The narrator writes, "I had but one delusion, which I held onto with all my willpower: we once gave Nikolai a life of flesh and blood; and I'm doing it over again, this time by words." Written in the months after the author lost a child to suicide and composed as a story cycle, this conversation between mother and child unfolds in a timeless world. Deeply intimate, poignant, and moving, these conversations portray the love and complexity in a relationship across generations, even as they capture the pain of sadness, longing, and loss. In writing this book, Yiyun Li was inspired by a line from Proust's Remembrance of Things Past "Ideas come to us as the successors to griefs, and griefs, at the moment when they change into ideas, lose some part of their power to injure the heart; the transformation itself, even, for an instant, releases suddenly a little joy." Meeting life's deepest sorrow with originality, precision and poise, Where Reasons End is suffused with intimacy, inescapable pain, and fierce love.

The Color of Air by Gail Tsukiyama

Daniel Abe, a young doctor in Chicago, is finally coming back to Hawai'i. He has his own reason for returning to his childhood home, but it is not to revisit the past, unlike his Uncle Koji. Koji lives with the memories of Daniel’s mother, Mariko, the love of his life, and the scars of a life hard-lived. He can’t wait to see Daniel, who he’s always thought of as a son, but he knows the time has come to tell him the truth about his mother, and his father. But Daniel’s arrival coincides with the awakening of the Mauna Loa volcano, and its dangerous path toward their village stirs both new and long ago passions in their community. Alternating between past and present—from the day of the volcano eruption in 1935 to decades prior—The Color of Air interweaves the stories of Daniel, Koji, and Mariko to create a rich, vibrant, bittersweet chorus that celebrates their lifelong bond to one other and to their immigrant community. As Mauna Loa threatens their lives and livelihoods, it also unearths long held secrets simmering below the surface that meld past and present, revealing a path forward for them all.

[rhysanoodle]

The Night We Met

An alternate ending for ACOMAF leads to devastating results and a severely different Prythian 100 years after the war. Azriel stumbles upon a mysterious female who, unbeknownst to him, is the believed-dead Elain Archeron, in a magically suspended slumber. This is the story of discovering her past and healing together.

Word Count: 1938

AO3

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7

A week later, Cassia still hadn’t managed to summon any visions on her own, though she had had another dream. Nothing spectacular, just one involving gardening behind a massive estate. She had mentioned the estate to Azriel, and he said he was going to check in the Solar courts to see if there was anything matching the description, but nothing turned up.

She was managing to make progress with walking though. She still needed Azriel’s help with her clumsiness, but she had managed a few short trips without his support before he caught her weight again. He was convinced that within a few days, she’d be up and hobbling around the cabin on her own, even if just in short bursts.

It was embarrassing, waddling around like a babe, but her willpower screamed at her to keep up with it. Azriel had already seen her at her worst, so why should making herself look more of a fool as she fought to improve her situation bother her at that point?

They had fallen into a simple routine. Mornings were spent training her body, reteaching it how to move and respond to her surroundings. Afternoons were spent with meditation, reading, and chatting together. It was nice to have a friend like this. And slowly but surely, Azriel was blossoming in her presence.

She wondered how many people ever got the chance to see this side of him. The sardonic yet tender side. It was nothing like what she’d experienced in those frigid first few days, and if he were able to spend so much time away from home without anyone batting and eyelash, she was willing to bet that there were few if any who knew him the way she did. Now, if only either of them could say the same about herself.

She knew who she was as Cassia, as the female whose life had begun in this cabin, but there was still so much more to discover about herself. Including if there was still anyone out there to connect her to her old life.

“What are you looking at?” he murmured, and Cassia realized that she had paused for too long and was staring at him over the top of her book.

“Nothing,” she lied. Because there was no way in hell that she’d admit that she used every opportunity she had to drink him in like a—

“Liar,” Azriel crooned, and Cassia cursed as a shadow flitted away from his ear.

“It’s not my fault you’re handsome,” she muttered under her breath, and Azriel froze. She wasn’t sure what she could have expected. Every single time they seemed to gain any semblance of closeness, he pulled away from her.

She couldn’t explain to him the dreams she’d had—the ones where a scarred hand held her own, where she’d seen their future daughter toddling around in a meadow. Were they dreams or visions? She was never quite sure. Not where Azriel was involved. He’d lived for so long in her sleeping thoughts that she had no idea how to separate the two. And it didn’t help that both her dreams and her visions had the same tenebrous feel to them when she was inside them. Enshrouded and misty around the edges as if to help her separate them from reality. Whatever that was anymore.

“It’s getting late.” Fine. That was all the response she would get to her admission, forced though it may have been.

The twins helped her dress for bed, and then disappeared before Azriel settled himself on his bed roll and extinguished the Fae lights.

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

The clang of steel rang out somewhere behind her, but Cassia was laser focused on the male and female before her. 

The male was a rugged sort of handsome, with shoulder-length hair partially tied back and the same coloring as Azriel himself. The female though …

Her golden-brown hair was coming loose from its braid as sweat dripped down her brow.

They were both familiar, yet she couldn’t quite pin down how.

“So.” The male gulped down his glass of water. “When are you going to talk about how you wrote a letter to Tamlin, telling him you’ve left for good?”

Who the hell was Tamlin? The name didn’t ring a bell.

“How about when you talk about how you tease and taunt Mor to hide whatever it is you feel for her?” the female sniped back at him. Whoever this Tamlin was, he clearly bothered this mystery female.

The cacophony of noise behind Cassia faltered for a split second before resuming. “Old news.” The male choked out a laugh, unphased.

“I have a feeling that’s what she says about you.”

“Get back in the ring,” the male commanded, and Cassia listened as the male explained how Az had told him the fact which had sparked all this.

Az must be Azriel! So these were his friends?

She watched as the male instructed the female to strike at his sparring pad, shocked at how her frustration and anger burned literal holes through the material—

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

Cassia was thrown out of sleep by a thrashing noise. It took a moment for her head to clear enough for her to realize the source.

She rolled over, igniting the lamp next to the bedside enough that she could see Azriel flailing on the ground beneath her. Him knocking into the bed must have awoken her.

“Azriel,” she hissed. “Azriel.” No luck. Whatever was pulling him under had a grip on him, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. She was only one frail female. She had no way of even calling the twins. They merely appeared, presumably at Azriel’s bidding, whenever she needed them to physically assist her.

She didn’t allow herself to think too hard about what she was about to do before she rolled to the edge of the bed and used unsteady legs to lower herself to the ground. Her landing was rocky—and she had no idea how she’d maneuver around if she could not wake him—but it was the best she could do.

She managed to crawl until she was on top of him, straddling his bare chest, the blanket covering him having already been thrown across the room. “Azriel!” she yelled hoarsely, hands reaching down to cradle his face, and she saw shadows intermingling with her fingers, whispering their own sweet nothings to him, and his eyes cracked open.

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

How the hell had Azriel gotten here?

He could feel sweat slicking his chest as he came to consciousness, Cassia’s face hovering above his own, those doe eyes wide and worried for him as he realized he had probably been making a fool of himself.

He thought he’d quelled the nightmares—or at least learned how to control them so he didn’t wake the others when they stayed with him at the House of Wind—but tonight he had been powerless as he watched over and over as his brother sacrificed himself to save them all. 

Azriel had not seen the act with his own eyes, so in his dreams, he was tormented by a thousand different ways it could have happened. How Cassian could have been bloodied and brutalized before Nesta found whatever strength was inside her to wipe them and the King of Hybern from the face of the world.

And now Cassia had witnessed this weakness of his, this shortcoming of raw emotion he still struggled to keep in check, even after a century of having lived with it. And she was straddling him as well. A lump formed in his too-parched throat.

“Nightmare?” she asked, raising a brow for confirmation.

He nodded, averting his eyes, lowering them until he drank in that nightgown which clung to her too-thin waist. Though they had begun filling out over the weeks they’d spent here. Much as he’d tried not to notice.

“What about?” He wished she wouldn’t carry such concern for him in her voice. He didn’t deserve it. Not after the life he’d lived, after the things he’d done.

“My past. It’s not important.” He shook his head. “You didn’t need to wake me.” His eyes dropped to her scraped knees, raw from where she must have hit the floor in her attempt to scramble over to him.

“You did the same for me,” she whispered, one thin hand reaching and caressing his face. Azriel fought the shivers whipping in a current down his spine. He was just shaken from dreaming about Cass, that was all. He really ought to take something. Perhaps a glass of whisky would soothe his nerves and allow him to finish out the rest of the night. Maybe two.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” he murmured, wrapping her in his arms and laying her upon the plush mattress. He was envious of her for this, but … He couldn’t leave her overnight so he would just need to continue putting up with his bedroll for the foreseeable future.

Once she was again tucked under her quilt, he stumbled into the kitchen, fetching a bottle of amber liquid and filling up a knuckle’s length in his glass.

“You know, perhaps you would sleep better if you occupied the bed,” Cassia offered, eyes darting at him in a way Azriel knew meant she was assessing every inch of him.

“We’ve been over this.” He sighed. “You need the bed. You’re the one healing. I’ve dealt with nightmares before, and I’ll continue to survive them now.”

“The bed is big enough for two.” Azriel was thrown back to last week when he’d woken up beside her. It had been a mistake. A complete and utter mistake. But now she was using the knowledge she’d gained to tempt him. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t tempted by the idea. Warmth, comfort … But no, he couldn’t accept.

He opened his mouth to decline, but Cassia cut him off before he could get a word in edgewise. “We’re friends, right?”

He was dumbfounded. “Y—yes,” he stuttered. They had certainly grown closer since he’d awoken her, but Azriel was her only company. He hadn’t gone so far as to think that she would revere him in such a way.

“And you’re uncomfortable sleeping on the floor?”

Azriel’s wings rustled as he drained his glass. “Perhaps.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. So what’s the big deal? We’re just two people. I trust you.”

And it was that phrase which undid Azriel, that last frozen bit of resistance melting away. “Fine. But if either of us gets uncomfortable with it—”

“You can go back to the floor if you need to, and like I said, I trust you. Do you not trust me?” She blinked, eyes questioning, searching for something.

“I do.” Azriel was surprised to find that he actually meant it. Whatever and whoever Cassia had been, the female he knew now … Well, she couldn’t have been bad before. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body.

“Then, it’s simple really.”

Cauldron, she was going to be the death of him. “You promise to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable?” He poured another knuckle of whiskey.

“Of course.” And there was nothing but unrelenting will in her eyes.

“Fine, but go back to sleep. I’ll join you soon.”

Azriel watched as Cassia shut her eyes and waited until he heard her breathing even out before he stooped to pick his pillow off his meager bedroll and placed it atop the mattress, carefully keeping himself on top of the blanket and settled into one of the more comfortable sleeps he’d had since he met Cassia.

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

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

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[buckysgoldenheart]

Protect You

August Walker x Reader

Summary: You discover August is working with Lane and it crushes your heart, but he’s not about to let you go any time soon. He’ll do what he must to prove that you are more important to him than what he wanted before he had you.

Warnings/Notes: Fluff, some smut, cursing, maybe slight angst if you squint (like super hard), Sort of breeding kink (kinda hard to say (it’s like one sentence)).

The details of this story, with Lane and August and their plan/how their relationship worked, are not 100% accurate. There are slight changes, but I just did it for the sake of plot. And dear lord, there are questionable writing choices, but after writing and rewriting this idk how many times, I can’t tell what’s good and what isn’t. So, sorry in advance :’]

Words: 4k…Way too many (my bad).

You ran as fast as you could through streets and back alleys, your steps disturbing the settled water puddles on the cobblestone. Escaping where August had tied you up proved to be much simpler than you were sure he imagined, and he unintentionally gave you enough of a hint to know exactly where he was going.

God, you felt so stupid. He deceived you, fooled you, bound your wrists around a bedpost and gagged you, leaving you behind like trash while he went after your friends; your team.

You shoved through the side door of a parking garage and sped down the stairs. You paused before the last door that opened to the basement floor, inhaled deeply then peeked through the small window. Your vision went red at the sight of your team, their hands raised and weapons scattered at their feet.

“Take them--” August began, his voice devoid of all emotion as you ran in.

“Stop!” You shouted, only slowing your pace once your body was a small barrier between your friends and the crowd of armed men with August at their side. One of many masked men in vests immediately turned his gun your way, ready to pierce a bullet through your heart without a thought, but you didn’t care, your heart was already broken anyway.

“No!” August snapped, his face twisting at the sight of you. He was instantly pissed, you could see it in his body, in the way he now stood. No one else would be able to tell, but you weren’t just anyone else. You knew what every stance, every lip quirk, every flash of emotion in his eyes meant.

He looked away from you for a moment, then shook his head with a curse on his lips. “Not her.”

Masks or not, you knew the men seconds away from killing you had surprised looks plastered on their faces. “Sir?”

“Bring her,” August looked at you. “Inform Lane you have these three,” He said, and you darted your eyes to the panicked faces of Ilsa, Benji, and Luther. “And find Hunt.”

Another man grabbed you around the waist at his order. You kicked at legs and clawed at the arms around you as Benji shouted your name, his voice falling farther and farther away with every step you were dragged from them.

August walked ahead of you, not daring a look back.

“August…” You growled, ready to tear into him, but a needle was shoved into the side of your neck and your vision was quickly blurring the form of his body.

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

Your head jerked up and your eyes burst open. You tried to rub the haze from them but couldn’t.

Tied up again…wonderful. This was not something you enjoyed getting used to, at least not in this way.

As your vision cleared, you saw him sitting across from you, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped as he stared at the floor. You had no idea how long you’d been out or how long he’d been watching over you, but by the look of him, he hadn’t slept much in the time since you last saw his face.

“August!” You wiggled in your chair, trying anything to loosen your binds.

August’s head shot up. He looked relieved despite the furious way you hissed his name, but his annoyingly handsome face quickly succumbed to irritation. “I told you to stay put,” He said, a certain grit to his voice. “Why couldn’t you just listen?”

“You tied me up and left me in a room so you could kill my family, you asshole. What did you expect, huh? An obedient little girl? I figured by now you’d have learned I’m far from that.”

“Y/N—”

“How could you do this to them, to…me?” Your voice broke, and god, if your hands were free you would’ve slapped yourself silly. Letting him see a crack in your rage was not a power you needed to give him.

“It’s not what you think. At least, not anymore.” August stood from his chair and crossed his arms. “I didn’t betray you. It’s just complicated and, believe me, you are the last person I wanted to get caught in the crossfire,” He said. “I wish I didn’t anymore, but I have a vital role in Lane’s plan. I don’t just get to back out because I met you. I can’t say ‘sorry, I don’t want to work with you anymore because I have a thing for the girl on the other team.’”

“That’s pathetic,” You spit out. “You’re pathetic, and your loyalty to him is disgusting.”

He hummed, seemingly unaffected by your outrage. “Loyalty is not something I have the luxury to hand out like little candies, sweetheart. It goes to whoever I benefit most from.” He paused. “I get something from Lane believing in my loyalty, but it’s not real, baby.” He leaned down and cupped your jaw. “Every last scrap of devotion I have in me truly goes to you.”

You hated the thought of you and him. You grew more nauseous with each memory you replayed in your head. They were lies. Every move you made while he infiltrated your team he’d observed with a sharp eye. Every kiss you gave him he dissected to discover exactly what to do to make you melt in his arms. The way you spoke, what it took to make you smile, what he needed to say to get you into bed; all of it he must’ve stored in the back of his mind to use against you later. It was all fake; every loving gesture he made, a complete ruse. It had to be.

“What do you mean it’s not real?”

“Lane doesn’t know how I really feel about you,” August said simply. “He thinks I’ve been manipulating you for information.”

A scoff left your throat that you couldn’t help to hold back. As far as you were concerned, he was.

“And he needs to keep believing that, because if I suddenly decide not to finish this,” He continued. “Lane will find a way to make me regret it. And I fear if he gives it too much thought, he will realize the truth; that the only way to break me is to hurt you. So, I tried to separate you from it. I tied you up and I told you to stay there!” His words grew harsher with each one that passed his lips, and by the end of his rant his frustration was more than palpable.

“And what, August, starve to death?”

“I was going to come back for you!”

“Why should I believe you?” Tugging at your ropes again, you groaned. Clearly, he tied this knot better than the last. You looked at him again. “My friends could be dead because you handed them off to Lane, so spew all the pretty words you want but nothing will change that. I may never see them again because of you. You might as well have shot them yourself!”

August was in front of you in an instant, his large hands gripping the arms of the chair you were bound to as he leaned down to look you in the eyes. You glared back at him.

“I don’t give a fuck about them! I give a fuck about you! I don’t care who dies as long as you don’t!” He yelled, scolding you like a child. Then he straightened up. He was so tall, hovering above you. “When this is over…when Lane gets his revenge on Hunt, then I’m done. I will have held up my end of the deal, and that is all he cares about. He has no interest in how I choose to spend the rest of my life, a life with you, as long as he gets what he wants. If the bombs go off and Ethan goes down, you and I can--”

‘A life with you.’ Those words made the steady pounding of your heart stumble, but you shook it off. “I won’t help you find Ethan. I won’t help you pin a massive bombing, the loss of so many lives, on him.”

“No, you won’t,” He agreed. “Because you won’t be doing anything. You are going to stay here, out of harms way, while I make sure everything else goes to plan. I killed one of Lane’s men, the one I told to bring you, so we could get away, and that is all the complication I can afford right now.”

Get away to where, you wondered and looked around. You hadn’t taken to time to process where you were, but as you scanned the room, it was not what you expected. It was something of a small apartment. One common area; A small kitchen that was really just a stove and a fridge, and a couch that pulled out into a very uncomfortable looking bed; A single window carved into the wall to your right allowed just enough light seeping through to tell the time of day. “Where are we?”

“My place…temporarily, anyway.” He mumbled. “But, Y/N, I have to go back. I have to play the part until Lane wins this.”

He’d been playing a part, alright, but you weren’t so sure who he was trying to manipulate anymore. You or Lane. Lane or you. The training in you told you it was you, it was always you. His goal, the reason he planted himself in your team, involved taking you down and you had no reason to believe otherwise. But if there was a chance he wasn’t lying, if he really wanted you to be his, you weren’t sure you’d have the willpower to turn him away no matter what horrible things he may have done. He had that unforgiving power over you, unfortunately.

“Don’t do this, August.” You said. “Lane is a villain, he—”

“I know what he is.” He shut you up.

“If you know what he is, then why would you ally yourself with him?”

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Tell me the truth,” You pressed. “You want me to believe you? Then be honest with me. You owe me that much.”

He paced once, an agitated look marring his beautiful features. At war with himself. You’d seen that look before when you laid in bed together. Now you knew why. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through, and one day I will explain it to you, but I was angry, and working with Lane presented me an opportunity to change things in my own way. To create a better world.”

“Then why give it up? Why bother dropping that fucked up dream of yours? What, have you suddenly seen the error of your ways, August?”

August’s eyes softened as he took a breath. He studied your face in a way that made the last ounce of your tenacity shred to bits. “I’m giving it up because if I don’t, you won’t want me anymore, and I can’t have that.”

“If you still plan to help Lane then it doesn’t make a difference…and I don’t want you.” You lied. Two big, fat liars. Perfect for one another.

“You did a couple days ago.”

Yes…a couple days ago you were kissing him in the early morning before joining the team, musing over the idea of that life together. The idea of being with him, being happy, you craved like nothing else before. He made promises he said he intended to keep. ‘No matter what happens,’ He’d said. ‘One day, you and I will have everything we want.’

He continued. “Y/N, you are all that I care for. I’d give up anything you asked me to. But I’ll also do whatever I have to in order to get us a chance to be together. If that means working with Lane a little longer, then that is what I’ll do.”

“So, to avoid raising suspicion you just had to give my friends over to him, is that right?”

He grabbed the chair he was sitting in earlier and placed it in front of you before taking a seat. “Look, baby, I don’t care about your friends or if Lane kills them, but I know you do, so after I put you in the car, I created a tiny diversion, an advantage over Lane’s men.”

He brushed a few stray hairs behind your ear. You savored that touch, brief as it was.

“Getting you away from there was my main priority, and I didn’t stick around to see the outcome, so I make no promises as to their fate. But…I wanted to do this for you.”

Your eyelids fluttered as you pushed yourself to focus more on his words than the feel of his fingers on your cheek. “So, Lane doesn’t—I mean…they could be fine?” The thought that August spared your friends, or at the very least, gave them the opportunity to escape, made your chest swell. That was the man you had fallen for.

“As long as they took advantage of my generosity, then they could be alive, yes, and might remain so if they don’t run headfirst into the war zone.”

“You know they will.”

“That is not my problem.”

“And Ethan…”

August shook his head. “I won’t give you hope when it comes to Hunt,” He said. “To get what I want with you something must be sacrificed.”

Something? Someone; Anyone, you realized. August clearly didn’t care who. “Then help us take down Lane before he kills all those people. Ethan could get him, and we could escape before Lane even realizes that you aren’t on his side any longer.”

“What?” He rose an eyebrow. If it was anyone’s idea rather than your own, you knew he would have dismissed it without a thought. Assisting Lane was the path of least resistance.

“If all you want is to be with me, for Lane to not cause us any trouble, then why does it matter who you ally with? If something must be sacrificed, why not him?”

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

Four Months Later -- Scotland

“Goddamn, baby,” August growled around your nipple in his mouth. He lightly bit down, and you yelped, the sting of it only adding to your desire.

Roughly thrusting into you once more, he pulled out and crawled off your body to stand at the base of the mattress. You whimpered at the loss of contact. Without him on top of you, your internal temperature dropped to unsafe levels.

With his arms under your thighs, he yanked you to the edge of the bed. He kneeled and placed his warm mouth on your cunt, licking and sucking until you were writhing around, clutching the sheets for dear life. God, you loved what he did to you. You loved the feel of him. You loved the way his beard scratched your inner thighs until angry red marks remained long after he left you sated.

He had grown out his facial hair; kept it neat and manageable to avoid the homeless, mountain-man look, but it was no longer close shaven like it was when you were first together. Warm water didn’t exactly make it to shabby, man-made shacks on the abandoned, cliffside beaches of Scotland, and if August didn’t have warm water, he wasn’t shaving. Without a proper hot water system, the hard and frigid ocean was your only source. You only ever bathed together; your combined body heat the one thing that saved you both from freezing to death.

You came with his name tearing from your throat. You could feel his smirk as he lapped at you two more times before kissing his way back up your body to your swollen lips. He placed his mouth on your own, forcing you to taste yourself, then slid himself in you again, thrusting deep until he filled you with his cum.

You knew you were being stupid; that choosing to have sex without protection while hiding from a man that could kill you at any moment was one of the worst choices you could make. But with each day that passed, you cared a little less. The thought of carrying August’s baby turned you both on like nothing else.

He collapsed next to you then tucked you into his side and sighed.

You looked up at him and he smiled back at you. “I fucking love you,” He said.

“I fucking love you, too,” You chuckled as August ran a hand up and down your arm.

He hugged you to him one last time, kissed the top of your head, then untangled his limbs from yours and hopped up from the bed.

You stared at his ass with a grin on your face as he strutted to the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast, babe? Oatmeal or…oatmeal?”

“Both,” You called back, sitting up and stretching.

You followed him to the kitchen a moment later, snickering at the small apron he’d tied around his naked waist as he started up the portable camping stove. They weren’t meant to be used indoors, and the breeze from the open windows for airflow chilled your skin.

“Don’t laugh at me, Darlin’. We can’t have sex again if my dick gets burned off.”

Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you placed a feather light kiss between his shoulder blades and said, “Well, I can always find someone else to fuck.”

August tensed on spot and spun around in your arms with a scowl. “That’s not allowed,” He growled.

“The having sex with someone else, or the mentioning of having sex with someone else?”

“Both!” He snapped but all you gave in return was an innocent grin. “Though, secluded, misty beaches are hardly tourist spots. I don’t know who you think you could find to fuck you around here.”

He suddenly made a face as if a bitter flavor coated his tongue.

Your eyebrows rose. “What’s wrong?”

“Having ‘fuck’ and ‘you’ in a sentence without the words ‘I’m going to’ in front of them just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“You’re a dork.” You slapped his chest and pulled away from him, then nudged your head toward the water starting to boil in the pot. “Now pay attention or you’ll burn the water.” You winked.

Just as August was turning back around, his secure phone on the table flashed red and began to buzz. Both sets of eyes darted to it then you looked at one another. Your breaths hung in the air. August quickly took the pot off the burner and tossed it in the sink.

“Get dressed. Get your stuff,” He said sternly, and you jumped into action as he untied the apron and hurried behind you. You both threw clothes on your bodies, then you went to grab the emergency bags from under the bed while August punched some numbers into the small gun safe. Who the fuck knew you were here? You prayed it wasn’t who you thought it was. You knew Lane hadn’t succeeded in his original plan, but that didn’t mean he had been caught. He was resourceful. Regardless, the alarm was tripped so you needed to get the fuck out of dodge. You’d only have minutes.

“Passports.”

“Got them,” You said, running into the bathroom to grab a couple things.

“The cash.”

“Yes.”

“What about—"

Your eyebrows scrunched together at his pause and you dipped your head around the corner. All of the blood drained from your face.

“Drop the gun,” Ilsa’s deep, feminine voice demanded as she held her own gun to the side of August’s head. His lips thinned but he did as she asked. A loud thump sounded through the room that matched the beat in your chest. “And do not move,” She snarled.

With a smirk, August casually put up his hands. “Don’t worry.”

“Where. Is. She?”

You rushed into the room. “Ilsa!”

She looked at you, her confusion evident, then pushed the gun harder into your boyfriend’s temple as if she thought the image of you in front of her was an illusion meant to catch her off-guard. She didn’t trust August, and you couldn’t blame her.

“Ilsa, please. Just put the gun down.”

Her eyes narrowed as they grazed you up and down. You knew she was wondering how it was that you had not a scratch on you, how you had all of your limbs still attached after months of being held captive by the man she considered an enemy.

“Benji, she’s here,” She spoke into her earpiece.

August stared at you, unconcerned despite how close he could be to death. Your fingers twitched. You wanted to run up and yank him away from Ilsa. You wanted to lock him in the bathroom, out of harms way so you could talk your friend down.

Benji came crashing through the front door not a minute later and all tension in his body visibly released at the sight of you. “Oh, thank God.”

“Guys—” Your trembling voice began.

“You’re alright.” Benji blew out a breath. “I gotta tell you, we weren’t sure we would find you there for a second. This asshole is clever,” He said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder in August’s direction. “We have a chopper a couple miles south, so let’s go. Ilsa can deal with--”

“Guys! Stop.”

Ilsa’s lips parted. “Y/N…”

August chuckled at their obliviousness and you glared at him. “We should’ve moved last week,” He said.

You rolled your eyes. “They clearly aren’t Lane, August.”

“I don’t like them any better.” He crossed his arms in defiance, ignoring the gun at the ready to blow his brains out.

“Y/N!” Both Ilsa and Benji shouted at once, drawing your attention to their bugged-out eyes.

“Look,” You made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “There’s a long story and I will explain but put the gun away. You don’t need it.”

Dubiously, Ilsa lowered her weapon, and with every inch it traveled further away from your boyfriend, the easier it became to breathe.

You reached your hand out and August tried you walk your way, but Ilsa put her arm up, blocking his path. He halted though he could easily snap that arm like a twig.

“Someone needs to speak…now,” She said.

“Where are Ethan and Luther?” You asked.

“Reykjavik,” She replied. “We had two potential leads of your whereabouts.”

It had been easier to track you than you hoped. You’d just left Iceland a few weeks prior.

August looked at you smugly, but his eyes held their usual hint of love that no expression could erase. You knew what he was thinking. ‘I love you, babe, but you should’ve listened to me. If we kept moving, we could be having sex right now.’ He was right. You’d been moving every couple of weeks to throw anyone who might be tracking you off your trail. If you stayed in place, Lane had a better chance of finding you, but you were tired and you liked Scotland. August, soft as was with you, hesitantly agreed to one more week before packing your bags again.

You didn’t notice Benji’s eyes examining the two of you like a hawk honing in on his next prey until it was too late. “Holy shit,” He said, almost stumbling back. “He actually loves you.”

Your head snapped to the left. “Benji—”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! He took you because he loves you! All this time, we thought this asshole was torturing you, maybe even killed you, but he took you because he wasn’t lying about being in love with you?”

You only nodded. He summed it up so eloquently there was little left for you to say.

“Oh, Ethan is going to lose it. This might actually be the thing that does him in.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Benji continued his rambling, now looking to August.

“So, was that the only part of your undercover bullshit that was real, or were you secretly planning to save the rest of us as well?”

“No, I didn’t care if you got killed. Still don’t, actually.” August retorted with a sarcastic smile. “But she does.”

“So, you weren’t with Lane or…?” “Ilsa asked.

“I was, but not since I left with Y/N.” August nudged his head in your direction.

Your friends turned to you. “You should’ve told us,” Benji said.

“I know. I’m sorry, but once we tipped you off about Lane, we had to hide. If he found out it was us before you guys could get to him, then he would’ve killed us both. We didn’t want to take that chance.”

“You tipped us off?” Ilsa’s eyebrow quirked and you could tell her mind was shuffling her thoughts.

“Yes.” August had given you all information he had on Lane and you hoped, after anonymously sending all of it to your team, they’d find a way to take him down. You considered seeing them once more and explaining everything in person, but August wanted to leave immediately and demanded there be no paper trail with your name on it.

Benji sighed. “Well, it worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lane is dead,” Ilsa said. “Last month.”

“What?”

Lane...

…dead?

Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

He was gone.

No one was coming after you.

You could go home, wherever you and August would decide that be. You could live the life you promised one another without a threat at any wrong turn.

August rose an eyebrow at you, and when you let out a breathy laugh of relief, he shoved his way past Ilsa.

“Come here, baby,” He whispered only for you, then pulled you to him and kissed you hard.

Benji roughly rubbed his fingers along his forehead, creating wrinkles that were sure to last. “This is so not how I thought this day was going to go.”

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

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[robininthelabyrinth]

A prompt: Chief Cultivator Yao

Untamed

“I mean no offense, but that’s the stupidest suggestion I’ve ever heard,” Jin Guanshan said, only barely keeping his smile intact.

“He is aware that simply saying that he means no offense doesn’t make it any less offensive, right?” Wei Wuxian asked Jiang Cheng in a soft murmur, desperately happy in retrospect that he hadn’t decided to miss this meeting.

He didn’t attend most discussion conferences, even though he’d officially been recognized as a Sect Leader and therefore entitled to sit at the table – there wasn’t much point in arguing about cultivation territories and who did what when his ‘sect territory’ was limited to the Burial Mounds and his ‘sect’ consisted of himself and the only three Wens young enough to join a sect, one of which hadn’t yet passed his fourth birthday.

Still, he’d been a bit curious to know what was going to happen with the seemingly never-ending argument about who was going to be Chief Cultivator – whether Nie Mingjue would finally give in (unlikely, given the man’s personality) or if Jin Guangshan would find a way to get around him (possible).

He hadn’t expected Nie Mingjue to be the one to get around Jin Guangshan – especially not with such an…unorthodox proposal.

"You can't seriously be suggesting that we elect Sect Leader Yao to be Chief Cultivator!"

“I don’t see the problem,” Nie Mingjue said, heroically maintaining a straight face despite the slightest curve in his eyes that indicated a man who knew exactly what the problem with his suggestion was. “According to all the stories I’ve heard him tell, Sect Leader Yao has been at the forefront of every action in the past few years, large or small, no matter where or how implausibly quickly he must have traveled to get there.”

The unexpected man of the hour, Sect Leader Yao himself, was still gaping in shock at having been named, but at this he stirred a little, looking mildly panicked, and said, “Sect Leader Nie, I appreciate the compliment, but –”

“Nonsense! I would never stoop to baseless flattery –” That much was true, Wei Wuxian reflected, especially since exactly nothing that had come out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth really sounded all that much like a compliment if you listened closely. “– and though your sect is small, it can hardly be said that your voice is not heard during our discussions.”

“Constantly heard,” Jiang Cheng muttered under his breath.

“Come now, Sect Leader Nie,” Jin Guangshan said with a fake laugh. “The position of Chief Cultivator is a heavy one; if Sect Leader Yao is busy with his own affairs –”

“On the contrary,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, and suddenly everyone was turning to him; it was by now too late for him to reverse course, so he could only soldier on, saying, “It is well known that Sect Leader Yao is very generous with his time, isn’t it? I’ve never known him not to be happy to volunteer to involve himself with other people’s concerns.”

Wei Wuxian was not going to laugh. He was not.

“Uh, thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Sect Leader Yao said. He was now sweating. “While I appreciate –”

“Let us not forget Sect Leader Yao’s decisiveness,” Wei Wuxian interrupted, batting his eyelashes at the increasingly furious Jin Guangshan. “I find that no matter how little information there is available on a given issue, Sect Leader Yao is always ready at hand with an opinion.”

“Well said, Sect Leader Wei,” Nie Mingjue said before Sect Leader Yao can put in a word. “Yet equally important, he is not inflexible, which I admit I can sometimes be – I have never known Sect Leader Yao to remain fixed on a position if the wind appears to be blowing in another direction.”

“Sect Leaders, please,” Lan Xichen said, and he looked somewhere between trying to resist laughing (much like the rest of them were) and feeling genuinely apologetic for the situation Sect Leader Yao had found himself in. “Sect Leader Yao is a devoted member of our group, and he has always tried very hard, and regardless of the outcome of his efforts or lack thereof, he is still very good –”

Someone in the audience guffawed.

Lan Xichen appeared to belatedly realize that he’d given Sect Leader Yao a ‘good person’ card and flushed.

“Nevertheless,” Jin Guangshan said with gritted teeth, “it does seem somewhat inappropriate to burden the leader of such a small sect with such a high title -”

“Why?” Nie Mingjue said, and bared his teeth at Jin Guangshan in what could only barely be pretended to be a smile. “There are more of them together than there are of us. Are you suggesting that a small sect leader could never become Chief Cultivator?”

“No, no, of course not! It’s only that I wouldn’t want him to feel obligated to accept –”

“As we all know, Sect Leader Yao’s first thought is always the emotions of others,” Jiang Cheng said, apparently still bitter about the time Sect Leader Yao had told Jin Ling – still a toddler – to stop crying already. “But he is also very cautious to always be in the right on any issue that crosses his path –”

“Anything less would be beneath the level of dignity with which he always conducts himself,” Wei Wuxian interjected.

“…yes, that. In sum, surely he would not deny himself the honor we are all so eager to give him?”

“It is exactly as Sect Leader Jiang said,” Nie Mingjue said. “I think we’re all in agreement at what qualities Sect Leader Yao possesses that would make him the ideal Chief Cultivator –”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but notice the lack of any adjective indicating whether those qualities were good or bad.

“– and so the matter would seem to be to be settled in perfect compromise. I propose a toast.”

“Seconded!” Wei Wuxian said immediately, lifting his cup.

“Hear hear,” Jiang Cheng said, somewhat unenthusiastically.

Lan Xichen simply held up his cup with a smile and no words, appearing to require all of his considerable willpower in not breaking up laughing – an battle that a number of small sect leaders were currently losing.

“What say you, Chief Cultivator?”

“Well,” Sect Leader Yao said, still looking dazed, “I suppose if everyone agrees…”

Jin Guangshan had a murderous expression on his face, but his face wasn’t quite thick enough to stand against the majority like this; he lifted his cup as well. “Best wishes,” he growled.

The discussion conferences broke for the night soon afterwards.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Jiang Cheng asked Wei Wuxian. “I didn’t actually mean to speaking in his favor, it’s only, you know…”

“You have trouble hearing outright lies be told,” Wei Wuxian said agreeably, nodding. “No, this is great; I can see exactly what Sect Leader Nie was thinking – our new ‘Chief Cultivator’ lacks the backbone to make and stick with any decision, which is the same as never making any decisions at all. The role will become purely ornamental.”

“Exactly,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice deep as he appeared behind the two of them, Nie Huaisang trailing behind. “I thank you both for your timely support.”

“Of course,” they both said, saluting; he saluted them back and departed, although Nie Huaisang remained behind with a smile when Wei Wuxian waved at him behind his brother’s back.

“Who thought of that scheme?” Wei Wuxian asked. “It was brilliant.”

“Oh, it was all da-ge’s idea; I had no idea what he was planning until he did it,” Nie Huaisang confessed gleefully. “Er-ge’s been playing music for him regularly to help improve his mood, which I think has been helping; I haven’t seen him make trouble like that in years.”

“It was a true work of art in mischief-making,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “I salute the masters.”

Nie Huaisang laughed and saluted back. “In a contest of making mischief, if you claim to be second, who would dare be first? No, no, my sect cannot bear to hold this honor; it must belong to you.”

“On the contrary, I insist –”

“If you two dare get started with your nonsense, I’m going to find a river and push you both in,” Jiang Cheng threatened. “Come help me with something important instead: figuring out how to convince our new ‘Chief Cultivator’ that he doesn’t need to give speeches at the start of every discussion conference the way Sect Leader Jin has been doing…”

“But Sect Leader Jiang!” Wei Wuxian protested earnestly, his eyes dancing in amusement. “If we don’t have those speeches, we might actually have to be awake at the start time…”

[ilysmxiao]

your title is gone now, childe. | childe x reader

ok this is rlly shitty bc ive nvr written for childe before. the reason why i did was bc there was a yt vid (which the link is here) and a lot of ppl were writing ab it,, so i decided to join in on it and my friend rlly liked it lol. so im posting this here . this is super shitty tho, cus i rushed it. childe is probably occ so b warned. anyways i might start writing genshin fics, so yea. pls pls pls check the warnings bc this is triggering,, gn prns used !! i wrote this listening to i bet on losing dogs on repeat lmao summary : the love of your life remains as your enemy, even as you both grow closer and share memories you would never share with another person. although you truly loved him, he had what you didn’t. in our lives, we do what we can to achieve what we want, even if it ruins what we already had. we must pay the price if we sought to get what we wish. warnings : character death, gore/blood, knife stuff, possible manipulation?? jus overall sad shit. please dont read this if ur triggered by those things !! 

at first, it had felt like a game - a childish one, in which both had fought for the title they held so dear. a number was just so in many eyes, but in their own, it held much more meaning. to be a harbringer, you must prove your strength. to achieve such title, it wasn't considered dirty to cheat, as it all was just part of the game. as time went on, though, it all had lost it's meaning, though one continued to fight - whether that was to prove he earned his title, and did not want to lose the superiority that it granted him, or for other selfish reasonings that even his inner thoughts refused to accept. due to his own lack of true understanding of the powers others held to make himself seem all the greater, childe went into the war blindly; yet, at the same time, too aware, so much so that his concentration on his weak spots created a new one entirely that was left open. it was not paranoia that put him in this spot, but his own selfish reasons he had yet to entirely understand. a cough escaped the males lips, blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth. it was then, did he realize he underestimated his lovers strength, their willpower, and the lack of true love they held for them. even with a knife against their neck, they would not back down, and it was far too late to realize such. whether [y/n] truly loved him or not, whether they used him for the title that granted them so much power in liyue, he could not tell if what angered him was the lies he had been given or the very fact he so gradually fell straight into them. in the end, all that mattered was who won, but he was unsure if the battle he sought was one he truly wished for. although he was a merciless harbringer, one with no care for the likes of someone like [y/n], he still had a right to love. not only so, but at the end of the day, [y/n] promised him that if all else corroded around the two, they would always be there. childe refused to listen to the soft spoken echoes of the loving words [y/n] used to tell him. he refused to watch the sweet memories of the two playing with teucer, bringing back the toys [y/n] taught him how to make for the pure fact that the poor kid would not find out the truth - or when they would lay in bed together, speaking of the many stories they had experienced in their lifetimes that made them who they were now. but when all is said and done, what all of that was true? did any of it mean anything, if the ones people truly loved hurt them in a way that was unforgivable? when they took away the one thing that meant so much to them? when all is taken, what do they become; what happens then? "oh, oh, my little baby," his lovers lips cooed, their hand softly grazing the others chin. "what have you become?" a soldier that blindly ran into war, fighting against a force he could never put his finger on. the title of a harbringer was an important one, though, how important it was to another was never going to be the same as the other. childe lacked to realize such, stuck in a bubble of his own selfishness and his love for the other - he never cared to realize how much it might have meant to the other. he never sought to realize the power that being even related to one it gave them, or the trip that it would put them on. childes eyes gazed up at his lover, soon shooting away to the empty space beside them. upon looking into those blue eyes of his, one could see the color began to dull and the ambitions he once held began to fade. "i should have been more cautious of you, i would have never expected you to be the one to steal this from me." although he said it in a tone that could show the way he laughed at his own faults, [y/n] knew very well that he had officially been stripped of what power he had held. "you underestimate me, childe. did the acts of other teach you nothing? even the ones you love betray you, a war can not have two winners." a small, hoarse chuckle left his lips; a burning sensation growing in his abdomen. the blood continued to poor out of his side, in which, caught his attention - his eyes glanced at the wound at his side, then back at his lover. he knew his time was up, as the thoughts of his loved ones and the risks he had managed to pull through with scattered his mind - was it worth it, leaving his loved ones behind, his younger brother who had meant as much to him as he did to teucer, in the end? "i hope that..," [y/n] paused for a moment, a small sigh leaving their lips. "in the next life, we meet again, and that you are sure not to let your guard down." the gaze that casted upon childes body soon wavered, turning into almost a sad one, perhaps even a disappointed one - in that moment, when their gaze met each others, they both realized what this both costed them both. it was clear that [y/n] still loved him, and always have loved him, and that was the breaking point for the both of them. one refused to show it, the other was uncaring of what he had let the other see. what is left after life is what truly matters, and although you may not like how it ended, at least something stuck with you until the end. right? "i-i'd like to believe that, [y/n]," childe muttered shakily, his brows very slightly furrowing. "you truly can not trust those closest to you." although the males lover already knew what they had done, what it had costed them - the one person he had chosen to love, the last words to leave childes lips was what had made him fully understand what he had done and the pain was one he knew that he never truly would be able to get away from. "well, we will see, won't we?" there was a pause, silence soon flooding the air. childe knew his time was coming, he accepted it, and it nearly mortified him to know things had to end the way it was going to. "y-yeah, we will.," few words left childes lips, and another blade plunged into his stomach. another groan left his lips, his face coiling slightly in pain. if you were to look hard enough, you could almost see the tears that soon began to prick the males eyes. "i love you, ajax." soon, [y/n] wrapped their body against their dying lover, and childe attempted to do the same. "i-i.., love.. you, too." those were the final words that childe spoke, his body soon going limp in his lovers arms. the words he spoke still lingered, echoing in the bristling sounds of leaves swaying in the wind - nothing more, nothing less. to become a harbinger, there were no rules - you just had to prove you were worthy of such a title, no matter what it costed, no matter how you cheated the rest. life does not come with special privilege's, no one will let you surpass them willingly, you have to fool them into believing you cant, and only then will you be able to reach what you sought for.

[kiirokero]

Brother’s Best Friend

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: College AU, F2L, Fluff, Light Angst

Word Count: 1,956

Summary: You and your brother Jimin are 2 peas in a pod. You’ve been with each other through thick and thin, but what do you do when you fall for one of his best friends, Kim Taehyung?

Warnings: Mentions of abusive parents but it’s like... one alluding sentence.

Note: Look Ma, I’m trying

     The scent of the stew you were cooking on the stove for breakfast wafted through the air, calming in an odd, homely way. Your brother, Jimin, walked out of his room, the remnants of sleep still evident as he bumped into furniture and rubbing his eyes. "Careful, don't hurt yourself." You chuckled, turning your attention back to breakfast.

     Jimin grumbled, stumbling over to the kitchen. "You're making breakfast?" He asked, peeking over your shoulder. "Yeah, you stayed up all night studying, figured you would need the energy." I shrugged, turning off the burner, allowing the stew to cool. "Speaking of," You continued, "Have you decided what you wanted to do for your graduation celebration?" Jimin was quiet for a minute before he sighed, "I'll probably have Tae and Kook over for a mini party. I mean, it's just college."

     You gasped, whipping around to glare at your older brother. "It's not 'Just college'." You countered, "You've been working so hard to get this music degree, you deserve something special." You poked his chest and started making bowls of stew for the both of you. "Y/n, we're both broke college students," He chuckled, following close behind you as you went to sit at the coffee table, the usual breakfast place.

    You and Jimin shared a small apartment about 20 minutes from the college the two of you went to. 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, and an open kitchen-living room plan. You could have a conversation with one another from anywhere in the house. But both of you were extremely proud of it. Living with your parents wasn't the healthiest, it took a toll on your mental health, Jimin's too, but you always had each other.

     So when you two got scholarships for the same college, Jimin for music, you for foreign languages, it was like a dream. That didn't mean the two of you were breezing by, but together, you managed. Jimin was a performer at a local restaurant and you had odd jobs. You would make money being a tutor, working at the local cafe, and, now and then, being a teacher assistant for foreign exchange students. Together, you saved enough money to rent your shared apartment and just live. You guys weren't sailing by, but you always had enough.

     "Just hush and eat," You dug into your own bowl, humming when the savory taste hit your mouth. "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, Tae and Kook are coming over today." Jimin casually informed you, like he hadn't just dropped the biggest bomb. You choked on your stew and Jimin frantically handed you his glass of water. After almost dying, you took a deep breath and laid your head on the table. "You couldn't have told me sooner?" You grumbled.

     "Why? The apartment's clean." He shrugged, continuing to eat. It wasn't that, far from it. The apartment was always clean. It was the fact that the man you were crushing on was suddenly coming over. Tae. Taehyung. Kim Taehyung was coming over and your idiot brother didn't tell you until now. "When will they be here?" And as if that were a cue for the universe, there was a knock at the door. "Now!" Jimin cheered, smiling as he answered the door.

     The familiar voices of Taehyung and Jungkook filled your tiny apartment. Quickly, you tried to sneak down the hall to your bedroom, "Hey Y/n!" but that plan was halted when Taehyung's deep voice calls out to you. Taking a deep breath, you turned around to face him. The wind was knocked out of you when you laid your eyes on him.

     He was dressed casually, black beanie, white jumper, and jeans. You felt your knees grown weak, but you held yourself up for the sake of your dignity. "Hey guys, how are you?" You smiled, trying not to give away your obvious nervousness. "We're good!" Jungkook chimed in, walking over to give you a quick hug, Taehyung not far behind. You got a whiff of his cologne, it was earthy, it reminded you of a forest after rainfall.

    "Y/n! You wanna join us? We're just going to play video games." Jimin gave you a hopeful smile. He always wanted you to tag along, you being his best friend since forever. The other boys didn't mind either, always getting sad whenever you were too busy studying to hang out with them. You chuckled softly, "Sorry Chim, I uh... Have a video call with Namjoon." You lied, knowing that if you spent another second next to Taehyung, you would probably pass out.

     Jimin pouted, his blonde hair was thrown back as he whined, "Do you have to?" Taehyung said, sporting a pout as well. He was testing your willpower, but you stayed the same. "Y-yeah, maybe next time." You scrambled away to your bedroom, shutting the door and flopping on your bed with a groan. Why were you so awkward?

     It felt like minutes passed as you sat on your bed, but in reality, it was a couple hours, lunchtime. You only knew this because Jimin came barging into your room asking if you wanted a burger from the local diner. Of course you agreed. "Alright, we'll be back soon." He gave you a salute and you laughed, waving him goodbye. You heard the ruckus of the boys putting their shoes on and the front door closing, indicating that you were alone. Or so you thought.

     That notion was quickly proven false when a certain Taehyung peaked his head through your door. He gave you that adorable boxy smile of his and you couldn't help but smile back. "Can I come in?" He asked, you nodded your head and he sat on the edge of your bed.

"I thought you went to the diner?"

"I didn't feel like going." Taehyung shrugged.

"Are you tired?" You asked.

"Not really, I just... wanted to hang out with you for a bit."

     You felt butterflies in your stomach bloom when he said that; you wanted to turn and hide your face but you resisted the urge. "W-why me? Jimin and Kook are your best friends." You stuttered, looking at his sculpted side profile. He turned to you, catching you off guard when he looked right into your eyes. His earthy ones bore into your soul, and you didn't have the willpower to look away.

     "You mean more to me than you think." He turned away, flopping down on the bed right next to you. "So, how was your chat with Namjoon?" He asked as if you weren't internally having a meltdown. "What?" You realized your mistake as soon as the words left your mouth, "I-I mean it was fine. It was good." You coughed, embarrassed. Taehyung broke out in giggles as he rolled on his side to look at you.

     "I know you didn't have a call with Namjoon," He said in a low voice, he started moving closer while you moved back, eventually hitting the headboard. He kept getting closer until he was right in front of you, at level with your stomach with both his arms on either side of your legs. "Why are you avoiding me?" He whispered to you. "I don't know what you're talking about." You whispered back, Taehyung chuckled. "I see the way you look at me, you know."

     "What do you mean?" You looked away, pretending that whatever was happening outside was more exciting than your crush who was practically in your lap. Suddenly you felt a hand grab your chin and you were slowly turning back to Taehyung. "You look at me like I'm the only man on Earth." His eyes looked longing, a hint of admiration in them. "Am I right?" He continued.

     You didn't know what to say, so you just avoided the question. "You're my brother's best friend." You grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from his face. "So?" He countered, taking your hand in his. "W-what will he think?" You mumbled, turning away from his amber hues. "Are you saying that you do feel this?" He squeezed your hand, moving his head to be in your line of sight but you kept looking away.

     "I-I don't know." You whispered. "I think you do." Taehyung sat up, resting on his knees as he grabbed your face to make you look at him. "I think you know but you're scared of what Jimin will think." And you were. How were you supposed to tell him you have the fattest crush on one of his best friends? What if Jimin drops him? What will happen then? What happens if this doesn't work out and you get your heart broken?

     Taehyung brought your face closer to his, bringing you out of your thoughts, "Aren't you?" He whispered, so quietly that if the deafening silence wasn't engulfing the both of you, you wouldn't be able to hear him. Defeated, you nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. "Don't be, it could be our secret for the time being." He continued. If your brain made a noise, it would be the Windows error sound. Your nerves were shot and your mind was going haywire. You felt your palms get clammy and your breathing pick up. Taehyung was still staring into your soul, his look intense but holding a fondness in them.

     "T-Tae, you know Jimin means a lot to me..." You sighed, the thought of keeping secrets from him was saddening, the possibility that he wouldn't approve of Tae and you saddened you even more. "Then we'll tell him. Just... kiss me." He begged, using his thumb to caress your cheekbone. One kiss couldn't hurt. So you nodded, ignoring the web of emotions that was currently restraining you from what you really wanted, Taehyung.

     Slowly, Taehyung leaned in, stopping right before your lips touched. His earthy cologne filled your nose and your heart fluttered when his warm breath hit your face. His lips met yours softly as if you were prized china, precious and fragile. Your mind calmed from all the doubts that were swirling through it, all you could think about was Taehyung plump lips, a little chapped, but soft.

     You were inexperienced, but Taehyung was more than happy to take the lead. His hands releasing your face and moving their ways down your arms, grabbing your hand with one and pulling you closer by the waist with the other. Fire seemed to burn in your stomach as you wrapped your arms around his neck, waiting to feel more of the warmth that radiated off of his body. His brunette curls brushed against your face. In any other situation it would've made you giggle, but now it only made your heart skip a beat.

     He gripped your waist tighter and he kissed you harder, more desperate, but he was holding back, not wanting to go too far. His other hand squeezed yours, his thumb caressing over your knuckles. The two of you only pulled apart when your lungs screamed for oxygen. He rested his forehead on yours, his curls like a curtain pulled back to see his sculpted face. His lips were swollen and glistening, and yours were too.

     He didn't say anything as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, head resting on top of yours. The rhythmic sound of his breathing calmed your pounding heart. You couldn't stop your wandering hands from resting on his waist. "Can we... try?" Taehyung spoke, still breathless, "We can tell Jimin if that's what you want, I just want you..." You couldn't help the smile that crept up on you, the happiness you felt quickly drowning out the doubts that whispered in your ears. "Yeah, I'd like to try."

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

If it's alright can I request a story for Helena and MC, whereby MC is forced to result to violence and killing to protect Helena?

WARNINGS FOR: Violence Blood and Gore Some Language Helena’s abuse Spoilers for Route.

Written by @evoedbd

++++++++++

The ground was ash. Sodden with blood and sweat, forming mountains over the bodies of the fallen. Heat clung to Kya’s body, thickening the air in her lungs as she desperately tried to claim one more breath in the chaos. The horizon was aflame with the only consistent splash of colour, deep and raging ember oranges against the backdrop of dull greys and blacks. Smoke billowed from what had once been wagons filled with grains and long-lasting supplies for the starving Capitol. What once had been fields growing crops and hosting cattle were now a remnant of what once was. Battle echoed around her, clashing steel ringing around disembodied cries and coughs. Some were strong and hearty, those men might survive if they fought well. Others were weak, somehow wet in the dehydrated desert of death. These men wouldn’t make it. No matter how hard their fingers dug into the ground as they blindly crawled in search of clean air and their salvation.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, Kya had her arms wrapped around Helena’s waist, head on her shoulder as she dosed behind the saddle. The next, explosion. An attack so vicious Kya hadn’t even registered falling from the saddle, only the screaming. Only Helena barking orders between spells, trying to protect those who were unarmed, to protect the supplies for the poor villages near the Capitol.

Everything was merely white noise in Kya’s ears, a dull swirl of chaotic sound which served as an undercurrent for a pounding heartbeat. A heart raging against reality as it shattered her bones with every jarring beat. How was she to survive when the act of breath was a war within itself? What choice did she have? The heat against her bare palms was nothing compared to the worn grip of a jagged sword. She could feel the dampness of sweat, along with the smoothed tracks where leaner, longer fingers normally grasped. A familiar knick in the grip allowed her to understand how the callused palms of its mistress has come to be. A mistress resting several feet away.

Helena Klein was battered, a vestige of war, pillaged by blade and blow. Each breath was short, a slash of a blade or chop of an axe instead of serenity. Each rattled, as if the broken bones of her ribs might be coming up her chest, ribs she desperately attempted to hold in place by tucking her right arm tightly to her side. The majestic blues of her tunic parted like the seas, giving way to a landscape of soft, snowy flesh mixed with rivers of fouled blood springing forth from a nasty gash. The touch of a blade had begun at the curve of Helena’s shoulder, caressing down to the crook of her elbow, a path Kya’s fingers often followed. Only Helena’s grimy bracer held her sleeve together, protected her forearm from the same fate. The bracer Kya had tied with a gentle smile not an hour prior. One might think it yet another physical representation of how different the loves of Helena Klein truly were. The Queen’s affection was the battlefield, the agony, the desecration of body and soul.

Just like when she was in the Queen’s service, Helena was brought low, left to support her weight on her only uninjured arm, fingers splayed in the slippery mud which oozed through them, trying to swallow her hand. Bedraggled hair hung around her flushed face; white gold tainted to mousey brown by the blood of her foes. A representation, perhaps, of what each life taken meant to her gentle soul. Stains. Darkness. The evil she defied, fixating her icy glare at her hands in rebellion, even as she tamed her trembling body, harnessed her adrenaline and pain into stillness by her sheer willpower alone. Her refusal to let the leering soldiers break her, even with their blades prone to pierce to her vital organs.

The sight of Helena in such a position set something off in Kya’s chest.

Her heart rebelled, pounding even more ferociously within the weak confines of her chest. Drums. The feeling of speakers at a punk rock concert, shaking her entire foundation, filling her with nothing save her screaming morality wrestling with the concept of mortality. She’d failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. She was meant to protect Helena, to never let this happen to her ever again, yet Kya was stuck watching those soldiers prod and taunt the Sorceress, keeping her pinned like a feral creature. The dog The Queen had forced Helena to be. That thought hurt. Kya ached. Rage and helplessness spread beneath her skin, leaving her with a physical sensation of fingers pressing against her flesh from the inside. Filling her, making everything so tight, as if she might simply explode. Shadows played across moonlight as one of the soldiers lifted his sword, mouth moving as he delivered an undoubtedly smug line. Kya didn’t hear, couldn’t hear, over her own blood rushing.

“-No! Please! Helena! Stop him! Oh god, he’s going to kill her! I can’t! Gotta move. Gotta move. Get the FUCK AWAY FROM HER! Fucking MOVE Kya!-” Her mind could only work in snapshots of a thought, missing everything save the panic. Loss pounded at her mind, threatening to take everything she cared about. Her soul sunk, falling into a blazing heat that travelled through her veins to every needed muscle. She was so tense it hurt, as if she were slowly snapping every strand of her being. She sprung into desperate action. Her hand tightened around the hilt of Helena’s blade as she leapt, rushing the man with his weapon raised.

HELENA!

The cry would have been worth alerting the soldiers she was charging, yet no sound escaped. It was nothing more than a shriek echoing within the confines of her mind, burning in every fibre of her existence. Try as her body might, it couldn’t force out even a single sound in the seconds it took for her to cross the distance. These fuckers couldn’t have her! They couldn’t treat Helena like some animal! Couldn’t put her down like a feral dog for biting an abusive owner. Couldn’t bridle her! Nobody had that right, and Kya was not about to let someone take it. Helena was her warcry, everything redirected to a singular purpose. To protect her very heart and soul from these fiends following a tyrannical Queen. The name caught in her throat, wheezed out in a silent burst of determination as she swung the blade with all her might. She couldn’t even care where it hit, only that she needed to save Helena.

She had seen a thousand movies involving beheading a man, where the dashing hero swung their blade and off went someone’s head. It was in a crushing moment of reality she registered that, yet again, the modern world of media had lied. Majorly.

The blade buried itself halfway through the man’s neck, grinding to a halt against bone as the soldier cried out. His gloating never met completion, the final words hanging on his tongue as blood replaced them. It dribbled down his chin, mixed with spittle, only to mix with Helena’s hair and the mud between her fingers.

“Kya!” Helena’s voice was rough with strain, yet the intensity of her command was sharper than any knife. Sharp enough to slice through the fog surrounding Kya’s mind, through logic and reason, and straight to Kya’s body. A single cry held a thousand reminders, a thousand little meanings that neither could ever put into words. Only action. Kya’s body was driven into action, even as her mind wandered further into the protective haze of mist and confusion. With a groan of effort, Helena pushed herself forwards, launching to extend her only good hand even as her shoulder and ribs came down hard into the mud. Kya was already moving, scrambling to grab Helena’s second blade, running straight for the soldier’s Warhammer. He brought it down in a deathly arc. Steel met glyph, casting sparks across the invisible dome Kya was dashing for like a child in a McDonald's playground. It was instinct to duck under Helena’s spell, slithering through the opening the Sorceress had provided. Just as Helena had taught her. This time, however, Kya abandoned her teachings of digging an elbow or a hilt into the soft underarm. Instead, she thrust with all her weight, pushing Helena’s blade until steel pierced the Soldier’s undershirt.

Again, Hollywood failed her. The blade did not slide in smoothly with a graceful thrust. Instead, it jerked with the man’s body, it met the resistance of bone, bouncing off it before sliding through flesh. For one terrifying breath, Kya hesitated. Not out of remorse or pity, but for the shock of resistance. The shock of what she had managed to do. What had she done? Oh gods, what had she just done? She’d stabbed a man. A man who’d left Helena bleeding… Her hesitation vanished. He’d cut Helena. Kya pushed harder, forcing the steel as deep as it could go. He’d tried to kill Helena. Kya clung tighter, twisting the blade was not as easy as Hollywood made it look. She didn’t expect the gush of heat over her unsteady hands as her awkward weight tore the opening of the wound wider. Nor could she have prepared for the sheer slippery yet grittiness as blood covered her hands. All she could do was cling to the hilt, allowing her body weight to fall with the soldier into the mud.

Hot stickiness coated her body, clinging to her linen shirt as she fell against the Soldier’s armor. The collision, along with the clash of hot and cold left her nerves caught between tingling and prickling in confused agony. Breath was banished from her lungs. For several seconds, the world was nothing but too much. So many sounds and feelings, a blur she couldn’t make sense of. Groaning, she forced herself to lift her head, to survey the battlefield, to make sense of what she saw.

The pink figure of Altea dancing across the battlefield, staff in hand as she yelled spell after spell at the dwindling enemy forces. The dashes of green as Isuel masterfully wove around the edges, his arm moving as a blur as he unleashed a volley of arrows to match a battalion with lethal accuracy. A dark shadow melting high and low as Searys unleashed his demonic strength upon any who drew close, indifferent to the fact they were covered in steel as his fists left dent after dent. August, a silver knight who lunged in and out, clashing with foes masterfully, cutting them down in waves with the determination of his swings. Then, the blazing red glory of Reiner, leading his Retainers with precise commands as his crossbow sung, ensuring victory every time his finger closed around the trigger.

The realisation that reinforcements had arrived was slow to dawn on Kya, yet not as slow as when she looked down to her hands.

Blood. There was actual blood on her hands, obscuring her pale skin with smears that almost reminded her of soy and chilli sauces mixed together. Then spread thinly over her skin. Had she been wearing her armor, would she have felt that at all? Stupid. She had been so, so stupid! Why hadn’t she anticipated an ambush with everything they knew? She’d been napping, not thinking at all. She’d let everyone down, including herself. If she had just worn her armor, she wouldn’t have to deal with this stickiness. Wouldn’t have to feel the blood on her hands. Wouldn’t have to see…

“O-oh god.”

She couldn’t stop seeing. Her eyes fixated on the man beneath her as she frantically pushed up to her knees, trying to flee the sight. His death had not been something graceful, with lingering peace across gentle lips. Instead, his face was twisted with horror. His lean jaw and full lips were contorted into a forming scream of absolute agony. Deep brown eyes stared listlessly back at the world, lacking the spark of life Kya was so used to seeing in everything. As soot floated down across his face, it gathered on those unblinking eyes, slowly obscuring their colour as Kya watched with a growing horror and a gurgling in her gut.

What had she done? What the actual fuck had she just done?!?

“Kya!” Helena’s voice was the closest to frantic Kya had ever heard, wavering at a higher pitch. A shrill shriek, filled with an immeasurable amount of fear. Fear more than Helena had ever felt. Helena, who had seen hells that rendered a nation extinct. Who had been tortured beyond instinct, to the point she defied the very laws of nature. Helena, who’d begged for death a thousand times over for the horror she’d endured, screeched her worst for Kya. It was a sobering footnote in Kya’s consciousness. She couldn’t hold it, couldn’t even hold herself as she collapsed backwards. Helena was there, skidding through the mud to catch the love of her life. To gather Kya into her chest, greedily pulling the smaller woman into each of her injuries in an effort to keep her there. To protect her. Once again enduring pain in silence. Helena’s desperate hands wrapped around Kya’s jaw, around her tender throat, trying to guide Kya’s gaze to meet her own. Even in her adrenalized state, Helena’s hands remained gentle, cradling Kya as if she might shatter in her palms. Worshipping, despite the chaos surrounding them. When Kya surrendered to that guidance, she found herself falling into pools of obsidian-tinged sapphire, watching the magic swirl and fade as Helena regained control of her emotions.

Helena’s eyes were so beautiful. So alive. The depth of love and need that underlaid every emotion drew Kya in, drowning her an indescribable heat that threatened to consume her if she didn’t look away. The passion there was scorching, eradicating everything save the thick veil of devotion in those lively eyes. The haze was soothing, somewhere she could simply watch from as her body moved with Helena’s gentle touches. That gentleness was not spared for her clothing. Helena’s hands were weapons once more as the Sorceress literally tore Kya’s shirt open, running that one good hand though the blood, searching for the cause. Even as that hand ran, her injured arm cradled Kya’s head, keeping her upright, preventing any chance for fluids to drown the smaller American. Then, she was lifting a vial to Kya’s lips, pressing just a little too roughly, too desperately. Glass bounced against Kya’s teeth in a shaking hand, almost causing pain as she retreated, meanwhile flailing her own hand to reject the vial.

“I’m fine! It's not my blood.” Kya dismissed the tender touch as if it were a normal occurrence, her voice completely casual in her instinctual effort to reassure Helena. The Sorceress stopped, breathing rapidly as her gaze fixated upon Kya’s once again, realisation dawning in icy eyes. Realisation. Understanding. Guilt. Horror. Regret.

What had she done?

“It's not my blood…” the second time it escaped Kya’s lips was bitter, a lowered mumble as her body caught up with the fact. She’d killed someone. No, not just someone. Two someones. She’d taken two lives without any hesitation, without any mercy. They’d tried to take from her and that had been enough for her to mindlessly take those two lives from others. Just like so many had done to her with Helena. What would those lovers care for reasons when their arms were cold and empty? What would daddy’s crimes matter to the little girl waiting for him to come home? What words could soothe a mother missing her baby? What families would get letters saying their brother, father, son or lover had fallen in battle? Was the Queen even merciful enough to have someone notify the families of her dead? Would those families spend years waiting for answers? Never knowing if their loved one would return. Would children wonder what they did for daddy to abandon them? Would…

Kya tore herself away from Helena, falling onto her hands and knees as the pressure in her stomach exploded out her throat, a warm mush that coated the ground between her hands. Mouthful after mouthful of vomit came up, each punctuated by an impossibly loud wretch. It stunk. Everything absolutely stunk. Nothing had prepared her for the strong stench of blood, the almost delicious smell of cooking flesh for a split second before disgusting burning hair.

Soothing fingers ran against Kya’s scalp, gathering up the sweat-soaked raven locks in adoring hands as Kya’s vomit became bile, the contents of her stomach emptied. It left her feeling weak, so weak her body trembled with the effort to hold herself even somewhat aloft from the mud. Everything was covered in a layer of fleece, making everything distant to her senses. Even that distance couldn’t banish the warmth of Helena’s arms as they wrapped around Kya, bringing the exhausted girl into the safety of the Sorceress’ chest. Helena’s arms became her bedrock. As the world crumbled around her, Helena’s strength and comfort held true. She couldn’t find her perverse enjoyment of Helena’s chest, nor relish the powerful flex of muscles. All she could do was find solace of the touch.

“Would that I could spare you this pain.” Helena’s voice was laden with sorrow, weighing her tones down along with Kya’s heart. Even then, Helena’s mind was on comforting as she lifted her own sleeve to Kya’s lips. The Sorceress lovingly cleaned the trails of bile from Kya’s chin, delicately tracing the soft material over quivering flesh. Her brows furrowed in guilt as she leaned closer, resting her forehead to Kya’s in an attempt to dull the pain. To flood the girl with reassurance and acceptance. Neither woman jumped at the tickle of the tip of their noses bumping, though Kya let out the softest groan of protest.

“I stink.”

“The discomfort of your pain is far worse than any fouled breath.” Helena retorted calmly, her voice near a whisper as she leaned closer, forehead to forehead. Kya’s eyes drifted closed, as if she might defy the reality of what she had seen. She couldn’t. It burned behind her eyelids. Lifeless bodies. Blood. Helena’s terrified face when she had first gathered Kya into her arms.

“I…”

“I am here, Kya, for whatever you would ask of me. Please, allow me to bare this with you.

It was the gentleness in Helena’s voice which finally undid Kya. The girl broke, tears streaming down her cheeks as she buried herself within Helena’s embrace. She nuzzled, squirming into the comforting scent of parchment and herbs, of magic, of Helena. By now, Kya had smelt many a mage, many a warrior, yet none were Helena. None could make her heart race and settle simultaneously. She couldn’t help but press her lips under Helena’s jaw, to relish the feeling of a fluttery pulse at the gesture. Alive. Helena was alive. She was alive because Kya had acted, had sacrificed morals. If she hadn’t… they’d have done the same. They’d have taken Helena’s life for their Queen not to take theirs.

“I killed people. They were going to kill you, and that should make it easier but…” Kya tried, swallowing back the empty feeling of vomiting. Her throat closed up, tickled and thick at the same time, as if she might gag. As if she might choke on the blood she’d shed.

“I don’t feel sorry I killed them. That’s easy. But their families… the people left behind will suffer when they did nothing wrong.”

“It is the price of war, Kya. If only I could have protected you longer, that you would not endure such a torment now.” Helena sighed, tightening her arms around Kya for a breath before she relaxed, allowed Kya to withdraw a little. Kya’s lips fell open, disbelief etched across her face.

“Don’t. Helena, you cannot take the blame for this. You didn’t attack first or make any of this happen. Existing doesn’t make it your fault.”

“You killed to protect me.” Helena laid it out, her casualness leaving Kya reeling. How could Helena even think that? How could she so calmly blame herself for a choice Kya had so readily made? No. It hadn’t even truly been a choice. Losing Helena was unfathomable. Blaming Helena for such a thing felt like blaming her for the existence of death and pestilence. It was not Helena’s fault, no more than it was that the seasons changed. Yet of course, Helena would claim the blame before it could be laid upon her, or worse, before accountability could slip away. Before she could escape her responsibilities. Helena’s magic allowed her the power to do the unthinkable, to defy nature itself. For her to see Kya suffer, of course she would take it as a personal failure. As something she was meant to prevent. There was that touch of nobility, that spark of absorbing every problem and taking blame.

“Yes.” Kya agreed, nodding before she continued.

“That doesn’t make it your fault, Helena. You never asked me to fight, you did not force me to act. They hurt you! They were going to kill you, Helena, and I just… I had to protect you, no matter the cost. Just like you’ve always protected me. That does not make it your fault.” Kya had to take a breath. Gods, Kya loved her. She loved this noble woman so much it hurt… but curses if it didn’t frustrate her. If she didn’t want to cut down everyone who’d beaten Helena into this place. Who’d taken her nobility and weaponised it into self-sacrificing tendencies. Kya could only lift a hand to Helena’s cheek, a silent rebuttal to Helena’s brewing guilt. Something she’d soon find the words to address in-depth, once her own agony dulled, once her tongue wasn’t so heavy in her mouth. Kya stared into those deep blue eyes, lost in what she saw there. Helena understood. She understood too perfectly, even without more words exchanged. It was the price being so close to her she’d constantly warned Kya of.

“I didn’t think of any of it. I just killed when you were in danger. So many people might have moral reasons to kill you, and if they did, I’d kill them. I couldn’t be moral if you were hurt, Helena. I love you. My reason for killing those who hurt you would be moral, as would their reasons be for hurting you. As would anybody who hurt me as payback. When does it end?” Kya pleaded, looking to Helena for an answer. Violence begets Violence. That had never made as much sense as it did the moment she saw the dullness in Helena’s eyes, the exhaustion. The answer the sorceress didn’t want to give. And why should she be forced to? This cycle had been Helena’s curse since before puberty. Violence to survive, earning violence in return. A currency exchange of flesh and soul. An exchange the Witch Queen had indebted Helena so heavily to that it was doubtful she’d ever escape again. That she’d ever be truly free so long as she walked this world.

Helena could only give a sad curl of her lips, a silent expression of utter helplessness even as she pulled Kya back into her embrace, as if her arms might shield Kya from these harshest of truths. As if the world might take pause from its corruption of the tender soul cradled so close to a sullied, blackened heart.

Silently, Kya allowed her head to fall to Helena’s shoulder once more, relishing the closeness. The life. The moment of stillness. She understood now, why Helena had been so fearful, so guilt-ridden for her feelings. For her affections. Not for feeling, but for the burden such things rested upon Kya’s shoulders. It was enough to almost make Kya cry again. Here Helena was, pleading to take a burden that she’d shouldered alone for so long. A burden Kya found herself willing to carry. Able to. She had to.

There was no going back, no button to undo her actions. To rewind and alter history. The innocence Helena had fought to preserve was gone.

It was as the Sorceress said. Such was the price of war.

[stitch1830]

Sorry that last ask was for someone else but if you're also willing to do azulaang prompts then 32 otherwise ignore.

Not a problem! Figured I’d try to answer both haha. Thanks for the ask!

#32 - Azulaang - “You’re blushing”

Traveling with the Avatar was driving Azula up the wall. His cheery attitude and chatter was nonstop, and she needed a reprieve. But there was no escape in sight. They were flying on the bison at the moment, and Aang kept going on and on and on about everything and nothing in particular.

He was talking about something he did a hundred years ago as a kid when she couldn’t stand it any longer and interrupted him.

“Avatar!”

Aang raised an eyebrow at his traveling companion. “Yes, Azula?”

“Your incessant babbling is giving me a migraine. Do us all a favor and shut up.”

“Sorry, Azula. I just thought maybe—”

“—You thought wrong!” she hissed. “I want to travel in silence.”

The Avatar frowned as he steered the bison toward their destination, but nodded his head. 

Not another word was said between them during the flight. And Azula reveled in the silence. 

But then when they walked through the town together, Aang was still silent.

And then when they were back on the flying bison, he remained silent.

Now the silence was driving Azula up a wall. He was never this quiet! Was he playing games? Was he trying to prove a point? The firebender tried to piece together the Avatar’s end strategy for this particular play, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure him out. 

Maybe that was why she agreed to traveling with him… He was an enigma, a puzzle she wanted to crack, like she was to him.

But she couldn’t figure him out if he didn’t speak to her.

At their second town stop, Aang didn’t speak to her while they walked together, and Azula couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well, aren’t you going to say something, Avatar?”

“You asked for silence, Azula. I just wanted to respect your wishes.”

“Well you’ve somehow succeeded in annoying me further.” 

“I don’t understand,” Aang sighed, annoyed. “Do you want me to be silent or do you want to actually talk? Because earlier you said that my voice gave you a migraine.”

Azula frowned and grit her teeth. “It didn’t,” she quietly replied.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you, even with my big ears,” he teased.

“I lied, okay!” She clenched her fists, frustrated. “It appears that I prefer hearing your voice than sitting in silence.”

Aang raised an eyebrow at her. “You like my voice?”

Azula said nothing, she just tried to fight the color forming on her cheeks, but alas. Chemistry seemed to beat out willpower in that moment.

She was silent for too long, for the Avatar pointed out the obvious. “You’re blushing.”

“Thank you for your astute observation, Avatar,” she snapped.

“No, it’s okay,” Aang smiled at her and grabbed her hand. Both actions did not help with the blushing situation. She felt her cheeks growing redder and redder the longer Aang held onto her hand.

But before Azula could feign disdain for Aang’s sudden displays of care, he said, “I like it when you blush.”

Her cheeks were never redder.

......

Figured I’d try to answer both asks haha. Thanks for the ask!

Ask me to write based on a quote. I typically only write for Taang but can attempt Zutara and Sukka lol.