#so hard to be seen as rabid‚ to have an explanation better than fear

[shineyfish]

Oh you so desperately want to be a rabid animal. You put on a violent act, snarl and bite anyone that comes into contact with you, pushing away everyone you can, putting on an act that the people want to see, playing into their expectations of what disease truly is.

You so deeply wish there was some simple explanation for it. Some easy-to-define reasoning as to why you act the way you do. Why you can't stand the way their hands reach out to you in kindness. Why it makes you feel sick. You so desperately want to call it a disease, a malady, a virus, when you're just scared. You've been scared all your life. You've been gnashing your teeth before they can bite you first for as long as you can remember.

But I know what a rabid animal looks like and it is not you. You are not fatal. You are not doomed. You're acting because it's all you know how to do anymore, and I can see right through it.

[pompompurin1028]

Oh my God!! I had never thought of it that way, that’s awesome! Good catch, Kat :o

That is so true, we read Yozo’s life and deeds completely through his own eyes therefore we can’t treat it as an objective narrative. When this is combined with all the analyses you made yesterday, it’s all coming together and this is the best feeling ever, when I first read your response I went crazy with euphoria😭

And exactly! We can definitely distinguish these two narratives -Yozo’s and the woman’s- in the last scene under the sunset. Dazai, for some reason, always denies his good intentions and is “blinded to his better side” as you said and I totally adore this way of putting it. I really hope Atsushi will be able to bring him back to reality😔

I mean, of course he’s not the most snow white person out there, he still has really gray morals, but isn’t this already an incredible step considering that he was born in pitch black? He needs to see how much he’s achieved since then, but he still feels guilty and this totally blocks the good parts of his journey in his mind, which is probably why he always has that façade to keep him from breaking down. Just like how Yozo had this façade of “clowning” even though he was feeling empty inside all while entertaining people and seeming so cheerful. This clowning thing was a really beautiful parallelism between BSD Dazai and Yozo.

Exactly😭 For someone as traumatised as Atsushi, that poor cinnamon roll is really so precious with his amount of trust and kindness🥺 And yeah… There’s no way I would be able to 100% restore my trust for him -if I had it in the first place, of course, you never know with Dazai😂-, I would question constantly if he’s planning new things with several villains “for the sake of the city”, and this is just what Atsushi says, he denies this as well like what- then why😭 He owes a really good explanation to the ADA, tbh. I hope they treat this subject in S3 or I’ll get really mad if he just gets away with it as if people didn’t die because of his shenanigans😤

And oh my God! I never knew that! This is really intriguing, I’m totally on Dazai-sensei’s side on this matter, Run, Melos! will be so interesting to read :o And as always, I’d love to read your analysis on it😌

And that’s so true😞 His plans are always so complex and detailed that if the littlest thing goes wrong, it would all be over, I mean, trusting that Chuuya punches him in the face or he’ll die?? He’s really walking on thin ice there haha. Which, of course, comes with great stress. And omg I LOVED THAT ANALYSIS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING💕 I reblogged it privately to come back to it whenever I start having doubts or feeling bad about Dazai which happened way too often even before Dead Apple, I just couldn’t keep a healthy relationship with him like I do with Kunikida I have no idea why this will really be a useful thing to come back to 💫 It pains me to see that how much he suffers in reality yet he’s not even able to acknowledge that it’s not his fault😞 (you can gimme all your analyses don’t be shy👀)

I’m planning on reading this one, it has several chapters and they all seem really explanatory. (I hope linking system works in asks🤔)

Exactly, I honestly used to miss all these about Akutagawa and just overlook him, consider him as a mere invincible rabid dog with an unhealthy obsession, whose ability is just to murder. But that’s not true at all, he’s more than his ability. To be honest, I think this movie made this sentence valid for everyone, especially if the ability is too strong, one always tends to consider them as their ability and nothing else, but that’s not true, their abilities are a part of them but they don’t assure their existence. Each one of them is more than their ability and I loved seeing that, I even felt sad when Aku regained his Rashōmon😭

Haha, always!!❤️ Never hesitate to share anything about any theory/headcanon you have, I love discussing them🥰

These asks and responses are getting longer and longer but I’m not complaining😂

Thank you so much!🥺 That makes me really happy that you said that!

And yes exactly! We have to make note that the novel is written in an I-novel narrative, and like all first person perspectives, they are unreliable. And "crazy with euphoria", that makes me so happy to hear😭💕

But yes, we can clearly see the distinct difference between how Yozo sees himself, vs how the woman sees him. (Side note: And one of the reasons why I love this book despite its dark themes and narratives, is that it talks about the goodness of humanity that still exists in even the worst people. Dazai-sensei's narration of Yozo is written in a way that almost makes us hate him. But we have to always be reminded that despite this, there are goodness, even in people like Yozo, which I felt is an amazing reminder) And his own blindness to his better side is obviously self-destructive, as seen in the novel, and I believe that if Dazai continues to see this way, he will not be able to heal despite following what Oda wants him to do. No, he first has to face his past, and as you said he has to recognize how far he has come, even though he is still learning, he is still changing. Like all other characters in Dead Apple, Dazai is also facing his past, or more so an introduction to having to face his past, as I believe that Atsushi had also said that he hopes that Dazai can put his past behind him or something similar to that. And I personally feel that Dazai would have a happy ending because unlike in the novel, he has someone (Atsushi) to remind him of his goodness, the fact that he can go beyond what he is in the past. I just love Dead Apple so much😭

And the clowning part breaks my heart too... In addition to being a facade to stop others from seeing how empty he is inside, which would deviate himself from being "human". It gives me a saddening understanding that Dazai is keeping everyone at a distance. Although he wants others to understand him, and his whole existence is basically a cry for help, he fears being hurt, or at least that's what I believe how Yozo thinks. And it should be noted that the act of clowning, can also be seen in The Setting Sun as well, which he once again uses a mask to attempt to blend into society, yet knowing that he'll still be different from the rest of them

Also one thing I also realized as I am writing this is how Dazai-sensei intentionally in a sense villanizes himself (as it is semi-biographical) as well as Yozo in No Longer Human, and I can't help but wonder if this is another parallel to Dead Apple?🤔

But unfortunately, the consequences of him making that meticulous plan which endangered everyone will not be resolved, as it should be noted that this is a sort of spinoff from the main storyline. But in a sense I like the ending it gave us, as it allows open interpretation. And I feel that it also might symbolize the fact that all the main characters in the movie are still growing, are still learning and are continuing on their paths to face their pasts... And what I think is also quite important to note that is there's also a sense of trust Dazai gives to the people involved in his plans, he trusts them to make that exact move to make his plan whole. And also, what also makes me sad is that Dazai seems to be asking for forgiveness for what he did during dead apple, at least that's what it sounds like to me as he said: "Atsushi what I did earlier-"

And I totally agree that it is impossible to restore full trust back to Dazai. That itself is impossible, for it is a disillusionment, it is a stage you cannot go back to. But and I agree with Dazai-sensei, I believe that this could help Dazai see the better parts of humanity like when he said to Oda, that the good side is really more beautiful.

And I'm so glad to know that you want to save it🥺 It can definitely be hard to see Dazai's good side at times, he is quite confusing and is easily misunderstood ngl. But sometimes I think he intentionally does that so no one can see through his true intentions, to keep himself at a distance, while at the same time wanting others to see through him, to help him😔

And oo thank you for the analysis! I'll definitely have to read it soon☺ Also if you have any analysis that you'd like to discuss or want me to know, feel free to drop them in my ask box as well!

And yes exactly! That about Aku is so beautifully said.

And honestly I'm not complaining either haha. These have been quite fun🥰

[nelllraiser]

entangled | dave & nell

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @seizethecarpe and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: dave wants to make a snack of nell. CONTENT: sibling death mentions and ptsd symptoms.

Dave paced the beach agitatedly. He’d rented out the dingy he’d told Griffin about, and had started sailing out to quarantine himself when he had gotten the texts from the demon summoner. He wasn’t about to tell her what he was going through, barely even felt a twinge of guilt at the mention of Mina’s broken ribs. He looked down in agitation at her claw marks on his arm, the worn and bloodied bandages around the vicious bite from that rabid werewolf. Weird fucking week. Without even realising what he was doing, he’d turned the boat around and texted her to come to him. They could look for her mystery seal together. The first place Nell should check? Down Dave’s gullet. He smiled slightly at the thought, and looked up when he smelled her approaching. Dave loved a challenging hunt, alright. 

It was strange to Nell that she was now searching for two selkies when she’d had little to do with tacking them before a few months ago. There was the selkie from her birthday party that she still owed an apology, and then now there was a mysterious murder selkie out doing who knows what to try and track down. And somehow the only new selkie she’d stumbled upon in all that time had been Dave. Her seal luck didn’t seem to be going all that well. To be honest she’d been a little surprised to hear that he wanted her help finding this killer selkie, figuring he still didn’t trust her so far as he could throw her. But maybe their little chat after he’d returned her jacket had created a small and sinuous thread between them that could be tugged on. Squinting at the boat coming in, she kicked off her shoes to step into the edge of the ocean. “Alright- so where do you think this selkie is?”

There was, in some tiny part of Dave’s brain, a shrieking voice demanding that he turn around, go back. This was no longer an accident, this was premeditated. He knew this was wrong, that he couldn’t be trusted around her. Hell, he’d lied to her to bring her right to this rocky beach, trapping her away from other people so that no one would see her corpse drop beneath the water. Dave grit his teeth together, clinging to the edge of his boat. Don’t get off, that tiny voice whispered. Turn around. Call a hunter. You’re out of control. Call a hunter. You’d call a hunter on anyone else like this. 

Later, he wouldn’t be able to say whether it was his hunger or his pride that had him decide against it. He stepped off the back of the boat and waded up the beach towards her, his lips set in a thin line, his trident in one hand and his net in the other. “You need to speak up,” Dave growled, touching his ear as he walked closer, using the seconds of her repeating herself to close the gap between them. He whipped the net around her ankles and body slammed into her, tangling her feet in the thick rope webbing. 

Nell had been about to repeat herself when the breath was knocked out of her, in no way prepared to be tackled by the larger man. “What the-?” Her feet kicked instinctively, already trying to free herself from the netting she was trapped in. A familiar panic began to rise in her throat, remembering what it felt like to be held in a cage with little room to move. The net wasn’t exactly the same, but it was similar enough to bring the musky scent of the Ring’s underground to the forefront of her memory. “What are you doing?” she yelled at the selkie, able to feel her magic bubbling to life in her veins as an instinctual response. She didn’t want to hurt Dave, though. Hitting him with magic on the boat had been more of a defensive reaction when she’d been tired and spent, and after hearing Dave speak about his own guilt and having to soldier through it...she couldn’t help the shred of empathy that he’d spawned somewhere in her chest. “If you don’t get me the fuck out of this net I’m gonna- I’ll-” But even her threats fell short, her heart not yet in it when she wasn’t sure what Dave was trying to achieve.

The more she tried to untangle herself, the more Dave trapped her in the net, the weights dangling around the edges kept the net weighing her down as he dragged the net over her head, manhandling her roughly. He paused, body trembling with the exertion. He knew this one. She was dangerous, but not malevolent. He’d thought about tearing her throat out before, he’d been justified in it too. Someone so dangerous didn’t deserve to win. That was his gut instinct, his drive, not the hunger, because wanting to eat someone because you were starving with a full belly made no sense. The only explanation was that he’d weighed his choices, and decided she was a threat. Tiny and struggling under the weight of his net, though, Nell still made him pause. His gut encouraged him on. Dave roared, inch long canines just inches from Nell’s face, his breath stinking of seal flesh and rancid fish. Blood stained saliva dripped from his lips. 

“Get the fuck off!” Nell growled as the net simply entangled her more and more, still teetering between whether or not she should let her magic take hold. Beyond that was the problem of trying to remind herself that she wasn’t holed up beneath the Ring, even as she swore she could hear the whispers of Jax and his mind controlling voice in her ears. He wasn’t here- he couldn’t be. Not when he was dead. The distraction of trying to fight against her own mind was more than enough to have it be nearly too late before Nell really registered Dave and his blood mouth getting closer, and one scarred arm raised to be an instinctive barrier between her and the selkie. She didn't understand. What had changed between their last conversation and now? Maybe she actually had let on too much when they’d talked about guilt, and he’d realized she had far too much of it for her not to be a liability. And liabilities needed to be done away with. This was reaching a point where she needed to act, and she would have already gotten there had thoughts of past trauma not been so time-consuming. 

Without thinking, Dave bit down on Nell’s scarred skin, puncturing through flesh until his teeth hit bone. He paused again, unable to say why, save that it would take a moment to bite hard enough to tear a human arm off. Dave inhaled, like a connoisseur might sniff at a wine before inhaling. There was no smell to magic, but human flesh and human fear. It would scratch the itch like nothing else had. He breathed in and began to bite down when he caught scent of a much, much more enticing offering. Sweet and salty in equal measure. Half man, half seal. The perfect mesh of two extremes, the love child of the earth and the ocean. Dave shoved Nell backwards into the thigh deep water, and plunged into the sea. If there was a hesitation in his mind, Dave did not show it. 

The bite was the last straw. Pain ricocheted up Nell’s arm as she grunted in pain, magic ready at her fingertips and a spell on the edge of her lips to be let loose until her mouth was filled with salty sea water. She’d barely registered being shoved further into the water at first, too caught up with the physical attack. Now she had a bigger problem than a seal who’d changed his mind about killing her, the weighted edges of the net not helping in the least when it came to freeing herself. The water around her injured arm turned red as she continued to thrash for a long moment. Then she was forcing herself to be still, running through her options as she laid prone in the water. Get out, get out, get out! It was the only thought she could focus on, still feeling as if she were fighting against the iron bars of a cage rather than the rope of a net.

A pulse of magic, and Nell was finally free, the sound of the net magically ripping underwater echoing further out to sea. She burst through the hole, just big enough for her to step out of the cursed contraption, and look around for Dave, her uninjured hand already swiping some of the blood from the place where Dave had bit her over one of her summoning sigil tattoos. But...where the fuck had he gone off to? Confusion took hold now that she was free of the net, and Dave was nowhere in sight. Why hadn’t he tried to finish what he’d started? She might have sent a tracking spell after him, trying to find where he’d gone off to had the dripping blood of her injury not reminded her that she had other things to deal with before she could find him. Wordlessly, she gathered her shoes from the edge of the beach while she used her blood magic to scab the bite over.

As Nell trudged her way up the shore she couldn’t help but feel angry, already thinking of ways she might protect herself from Dave in the future...many of them ending with her going after him another day, and making sure he didn’t get another chance to go after her. But below her self-preservation was a returning of guilt, wondering whether or not she could actually blame him for trying to end things. She’d already proven herself a liability, and she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d tried to make sure she didn’t hurt anyone in the future. Still...she’d let herself hope that maybe he’d seen something in her worth not killing with the way they’d shared bits of themselves over her jacket. Stupid. The witch had known better than to put her faith in something like that, and done it anyway— looking for validation in the wrong places. With any luck, she’d be more careful next time, and stop showing her cards to anyone who so much as began to offer her solace.

[theflowergirl]

🤍 Wangji Week 2020 🤍 #5, Bearer of Light

Canon Divergence, Wangxian never met as students

For @syolen, happy birthday ❤

It’s rare to watch the rain at the Cloud Recesses. It snows for a good portion of the year, at any part of the day, obscuring the skies in gray and covering the shivering trees and wilting flowers in frost, the crystals reflecting the shy sunshine when it peaks through the clouds. The rain, however, isn’t non-existent. Like the Gusu Lan disciples that are taught to give back to the world that borne them, the Earth has its way to run its course, to paint the trees in green, to shower on flowing waters in a never-ending circle of life. It rains mostly at night, when the cultivators of Gusu, save for those on patrol or on night hunts, are asleep. It’s a melody drumming on roofs, humming in dreams. Elegant like billowy sleeves, waving like silk curtains by windows. It’s just the sky running its cycle, mindless, uncaring of worldly matters.

 On the night the Yiling Patriarch taps on his door, the sky seems to flash, darkening the shadows. The rain feels almost oppressive, as if rejecting the air that blows out of the man’s lungs. Lan Wangji can scarcely believe the black of the man’s clothes, his slim figure accentuated by his drenched state, and the piercing ferocity of his eyes. At his back, lightning flashes again. On his back, a child flinches.

 “Second young master Lan,” he says as a greeting, not attempting any kind of formal salute. His voice is raspy, tired, but a blade. “I couldn’t think of anybody else.”

 Lan Wangji’s reflexes are the only thing that save him from crashing onto the Quiet Room’s floor, and though he can barely keep himself upright, his arms, painfully stiff at that point, keep on holding onto the child. Caught by reluctant arms, breathing hard against the fabric of Wangji’s clothes, he speaks again, frantic. “An attack is imminent, I couldn’t... A-Yuan, I can’t leave him there, so please...”

 As his voice reaches the pitch of desperation, he loses consciousness, leaving Lan Wangji alone with his maddening thoughts. How did he get there? How did he break through the wards without anyone noticing? How did he find him? And why—

  “I couldn’t think of anybody else.”

 He had fought alongside this man during the Sunshot Campaign. Had seen the wild glint of his eyes, heard the beckoning death song of his flute. He’s seen the trail of blood he leaves with his footsteps, and kept on hearing about it even after he cast himself aside, after he set himself atop the ruins of resentment in Yiling. Looking at him now, Lan Wangji sees only a man and a child, both on their way to certain sickness. A-Yuan. With the Yiling Patriarch? Certainly Wen Yuan. Public enemies, causes of endless discussion between the sects. Demonic cultivator. Wet and cold, curling on themselves at his feet.

“Please...”

Lan Wangji clenches his jaw. Peeking his head through the doors of the Quiet Room, he looks left and right, and upon seeing no one, he closes the three of them off from the world.

 The Yiling Patriarch has a lot of explanation to do.

***

 The man doesn’t sleep, and it has nothing to do with sickness. Even after Wangji discarded his wet clothes and dressed him in his own, even in the dim light of candles and with incense burning to calm them (all three of them, his own heart beating restless inside his chest), Wei Wuxian doesn’t sleep. Lan Wangji is forced to line his own walls with talismans so the whole Cloud Recesses doesn’t wake to the sound of the man’s wailing, but they’re far from the realms of safety, all with the tendrils of darkness that seem to snake out from Wei Wuxian’s very pores.

 Lan Wangji makes to stand from the man’s side, intent on getting his guqin to play any — every — song to appease the resentful energy, but Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist, holds his back.

 “It’s under control,” he makes through gritted teeth.

 “Demonic cultivation harms the body, the spirit and the heart,” he throws back, in thinly veiled exasperation.

 “What would you know about me?” Wei Wuxian barks, his eyes opening wide, tinted red. He looks like a rabid dog, and his grip on Lan Wangji would be bruising on anybody else. But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he screams, back arching off the sheets, and the wisps of darkness almost appear to laugh in the air.

 Lan Wangji makes do. With his free hand, he reaches for the black dizi, a relic already etched in cultivation history. Every Lan disciple in the future will know its name from the books in the Cloud Recesses and the part it played in the Sunshot Campaign, but no one but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji will know that more than one person drew their breath through it.

 He’s not good at it, not like he is at the guqin, but brother taught him the dizi and the xiao. He frowns in concentration, trying his best to play Cleasing. It’s far from perfect at first, but it helps that he knows the song by heart, that the melody exists inside of him as easy as breathing, after years and years with it at his fingertips. The darkness inside the instrument taunts him, penetrates his nostrils, once again seeming to laugh, but he plays on, breaks through its rage and vileness. He can feel Wei Wuxian loosen his hold on him until he lets go altogether, feels his own brow ease back into tranquility, the song gentle, caressing and a little more certain, as if Chenqing allows him this one moment of respite, just this once. The moment the song fades, he feels the instrument tug against his grasp, and he lets it fall back, by Wei Wuxian’s side.

 The thick, tense silence is broken by the Yiling Patriarch’s chuckle.

 “You are truly the Light-bearer.”

 And whether he means it as a jab or praise, Wangji will never know, for those eyes, finally serene and catching the candle’s warmth, fall closed.

 ***

 The rain is but a light drizzle as the dawn nears, a buzzing that helps Lan Wangji meditate, when he hears Wei Wuxian move again. He’s already shoving the sheets aside when Wangji unhurriedly gets to his side, and he struggles against the hands that try to hold him back.

 (He knows, without having ever exchanged but a glance with the man prior to this night, that words are futile against him.)

 “Thank you for your hospitality, second young master Lan, but I must return before your entire sect awakens.”

 “You’re still weak,” Lan Wangji says, trying to push him back, just then realizing how weak the other really is, by the ashen color of his skin.

 “I cannot be here,” he says, only managing to get Lan Wangji’s hands off his shoulders because the cultivator lets him. “The Wens need me, I need to go back.”

 “How do you mean to survive like this?” Lan Wangji says, voice betraying its usual calm, if only for a minimal rise in volume. Looking back at the bed, he notices the Wen child is still asleep, albeit frowning. He’ll have to take him to the healers to make sure he’s not sick.

 Wei Wuxian tries to open the doors, but they don’t budge. When he turns around, even with his shoulders dropped low with exhaustion, his glare is a tell-tale of horror stories.

 “Let me out,” he says, low, heavy with promise. “You cannot keep me here.”

 “Why did you come here, Wei Wuxian?” Lan Wangji asks, fists clenched by his sides.

 “For A-Yuan, and nothing more. Your sect prides itself in righteousness, and although that’s been a bad joke since the end of the war, you’re better than nothing. Let me out.”

 Lan Wangji takes a step closer, never one to fear the chaos.

 “Why did you come to me?”

 Wei Wuxian is something like a beast, his nostrils opening wide as he struggles to breathe.

 “Lan Wangji!” He yells, and on the bed, Wen Yuan lets out a small whine.

 “Wei Wuxian!” He shouts back, because he sees something in the idiosyncrasies of this man, who walks into the most secure sect’s home like it’s nothing, all for a child. He can almost glimpse the answers he’s been looking since the end of the war, the answers for the other sects’ behavior against the remaining Wens, for the helplessness he notices in his brother, between those frantic eyes. So he tries, takes a leap, for the peace of his own heart. “Do you trust me?”

 His voice is low, controlled, a mimicry of his usual tone. Wei Wuxian’s laugh is guttural, tinged dark.

 “Is that what you think?”

 No.

 “Wen Yuan,” he says, and the uncomfortable smile on Wei Wuxian’s face falters. “I promise to take care of him. Do you trust me?”

 The man seems to search for something in his eyes too. Perhaps they’re both stranded, desperate for an anchor.

 “After coming all the way here, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

 “After coming all the way here,” Lan Wangji echoes, “You have a choice.”

 He walks to the low table in the room, where he often talks to his brother, where he’s often studied all the principles that made him who he is, and he sits down. Locking gazes with Wei Wuxian, who’s still frozen by the doors, he motions for the place across from him. It is almost time for the Cloud Recesses to wake. If Wei Wuxian denies him, what will he do? Will he lock him up and surrender him to trial? (Do not associate with evil.) Or will he let him go to fight for those under his protection? (Be fair, and they will follow you.)

 He holds his gaze and waits.

 Do you trust me?

 (Believe sincerely.)

 A laugh bubbles out of Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji can’t help but blink, slightly surprised at its clarity.

 “Light-bearing Lord, you realize I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

 “I will listen.”

 He falters again. With an arm around his middle and no threat at his lips, Wei Wuxian looks positively young.

 Lan Wangji nods, a short, almost imperceptible gesture that does not reflect the storm inside of him. But he wants to listen, wants to be trusted, wants to understand. Just what happened to the world he thought he knew, that he agreed with, three thousand rules at its base.

 Wei Wuxian moves, sits across from him, and extends his hands, palms up. He blinks, slowly, before looking up at those eyes that contain too much to be read.

 “You said you’d listen. Do you want to see instead?”

 He doesn’t hesitate. They don’t have enough time, not to think about the dangers, to think about regret. He lays his hands on Wei Wuxian’s (warm, too warm), looks back at his eyes one last time and then closes his own, lets himself be pulled into the other, to see what he saw.

 ***

 He’s panting when he opens his eyes again, exhaling dozens of emotions with each breath. Grief, wrath, anxiety, paranoia. They burn in his lungs, in his heart, in his head. He can still see the fire crackling before his eyes, taste the corpses in his tongue, and he’s crying without even taking notice of it, the tears trailing down his face, down to his hair, down to the table.

 He raises his gaze to look at Wei Wuxian, who’s already halfway towards the door. Lan Wangji makes no effort to keep them closed this time, he just watches as the man known as the Yiling Patriarch (wrong, they’re so wrong about him) opens the doors and the rising sun casts him in light. He takes one last look at the boy fast asleep on the bed before gracing Lan Wangji with his attention and parting words.

 “Light-bearing lord, second young master Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan,” he recites, and it’s almost lyrical, but too sad. “What can you do now that you know?”

 And he parts, leaving a piece of him behind, a piece that Lan Wangji will never be able to shake off.

 The second young master of Gusu Lan breathes, and he cries, and he vows, all in silence.

 ***

 Wait, he cries in his mind as he parries one more attack to Wei Wuxian. Wait, he pleads as he strikes down one more elder from his own sect. When he finds his brother in the turmoil of the battlefield, he doesn’t see the brother who taught him all he knew of love and trust and righteousness. Lan Xichen has nothing of calm, he’s just desolate with the dirt of the battlefield all over him. Maybe he shouldn’t have placed the weight of the truth on him, but could he bear to carry it all by himself, powerless as he was?

 “Wei Wuxian,” he calls to the man who walks away, putting a distance between himself and the men who fight over the remains of the Stygian Tiger Seal. “Wei Ying,” he tries again, because he once felt his lifetime like it was his own, because if there’s villainy in him for the blood in his hands, then they all carry it, too, unable to be washed away and covered up by elegant robes.

 The Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying turns to him. His hair, unbound, casts shadows over Wangji’s figure as he stands with his back to the rising sun.  He had asked Lan Wangji to do something, but he couldn’t help him in the end. Lan Wangji loathes it. Loathes the outcome, his helplessness, and the ones he can hear fighting over the Patriach’s power right behind him.

 Had they truly all lost their way?

 He expects Wei Wuxian to curse him, to look at him the same way he did when he left him with A-Yuan, but he doesn’t. His shoulders shake, but not with barely contained rage.

 The sunlight reflects on his tears and he smiles. Lan Wangji’s breath catches, but he’s not sure the other can see anyone, not anymore. He walks, backwards, closer to the cliff, his smile switching between a grimace, over and over again.

 “Wei Ying,” he calls, and the man tilts his head. Looks at him.

 And lets himself fall.

 In the cacophony of voices behind him, no one hears him scream.

 ***

 His fingers pluck the strings, filling the Silent Room with a melody of days long past. Whenever he plays it, he can’t help closing his eyes, seeing a boy playing among the lotus flowers, laughter ringing clear like flowing water. Outside, the last of the evening rain is falling, thin, shy, watering the flowers outside his window with one final touch, a delicate rainbow stretching over the clouds. Lan Wangji inhales deeply, the scents of nature, of his home. His fingers never falter, ending one melody and beginning the next, as he feels his companion slowly wake.

 He plays a song of the past, and hears Wei Wuxian’s breath hitch in recognition. A song a woman taught her son a long, long time ago, as he sat atop a donkey.

 “Mom, it’s too difficult!” The child complains, glaring at his dizi, and his mother only laughs.

 “One day, you’ll play it better than me, A-Ying!” She says, and her husband nods. She plays it again, bright and cheerful, and A-Ying pays close attention, tries to memorize it, and his mother has to stop playing to laugh at his focused face. They all laugh together, the whole world open before them.

 It’s the song that gave him away, but only barely. Lan Wangji recognized him when Wen Ning appeared, he recognized the poise of his shoulders, and above all, he recognized those eyes that recognized him in return. But he plays it like a message that he could never convey in words, like a promise, born anew.

 “Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian asks, sounding both tired and playful and daring. Lan Wangji’s heart beats a little faster, because this is the man he once saw through Empathy, a man who mesmerized him but that he never got a chance to meet. “The song you were playing before... What’s it called?”

 “It doesn’t have a name yet,” he says, looking at the strings stilled under his fingertips. I don’t have a name for it yet.

 (What is it, the name of this feeling?)

 Wei Wuxian hums. Lan Wangji rises from his position, walks to his bed. This time, there’s no darkness coming out of the other. This time, the window is open, illuminating Wei Wuxian, and somehow, his eyes look just they did, a lifetime ago. If only with a little more light, a little more life.

 Lan Wangji offers him one hand, palm up.

 Do you trust me?

 Wei Wuxian gazes at it for a moment, before he places his own down, their palms touching. There’s no more empathy to flow between them, but somehow, the touch makes Lan Wangji burn.

 He pulls Wei Wuxian’s arm closer and starts checking his wounds. Wei Wuxian lets him but whines all the while, pouting and grumbling, and Lan Wangji fights the urge to smile.

 Nobody knows Wei Wuxian is there, and he’ll do what it takes to make things right this time. The cycle of life, always precise, always infallible, somehow brought him back, and Lan Wangji will give back what is rightfully his. Justice. Closure. His A-Yuan.

 (Lan Wangji’s Sizhui.)

 “Lan Zhan.”

 But when he says his name, why does he feel like giving everything that he is to him as well?

 I trust you.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Ghost Hunter Tracy Ander-Hummel” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

When a ghost-obsessed Tracy thinks she's discovered evidence of a haunting in their house, Kurt and Blaine have to deal with the consequences. (1727 words)

Notes: This au assumes that Mercedes was Tracy's surrogate mom and not Rachel.

Read on AO3.

“Daddy! Papa! I have something I need to show you!” Tracy takes the stairs down from her bedroom two at a time, racing full tilt thru the living room and into the kitchen. She slides across the linoleum in socked feet, stopping mere inches from her two dads preparing breakfast at the stove.

“Ten points!” Blaine cheers, offering her a high-five.

“Blaine, don’t encourage her!” Kurt scolds, stacking pancakes one by one onto a large serving plate. “Tracy! What have I told you about running in the house?”

“I’m sorry, Papa! But I had to come tell you … I got one! I really got one!”

“Got one what, Bunny?” Blaine asks while Kurt, cracking eggs into a bowl for scrambling, shudders. The last time Tracy said those words, she came bounding into their bedroom covered in head-to-toe mud, carrying something Kurt could only describe as furry, squeaky, and highly annoyed.

Luckily, it wasn’t rabid.

“An EVP!” she announces proudly, holding up a silver digital recorder. “I was right! I told you! Our house is haunted!”

Eggs forgotten for the moment, Blaine and Kurt turn to one another and share a look – Blaine’s of pure amusement, Kurt’s of mild terror.

“Are you sure?” Blaine asks.

“Oh, absolutely!” Tracy says, beaming with confidence. “I listened to it five times! It’s definitely an EVP! It sounds exactly like the ones I heard on the YouTube videos Uncle Sam messaged me!”

“Sam,” Kurt grumbles, shaking his head. Blaine puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder and massages, but it’s cold comfort.

This is all Sam’s fault.

When Sam and Mercedes accompanied Tracy on a school field trip to the New York Public Library in Manhattan, he thought it would be a good idea to look up the history of his and Mercedes’s apartment, then Kurt and Blaine’s house. The apartment turned out to be a bust – a speakeasy back in the day, but most buildings were. But as it turned out, the Ander-Hummel house had been the setting of an infamous mob-related massacre back in the 20s. According to newspaper clippings only available on microfiche, twelve members of the Pirelli crime family were gunned down in cold blood while they slept, but only two of them were hit men. The rest were innocent bystanders – including five children.

Prior owners had reported experiencing cold spots, feelings of dread, lights flickering on and off, doors shutting on their own – things Kurt feels are easily explainable outside the realm of the supernatural. He did spend the better part of his formative years bunking in a renovated basement after all. From creaking floorboards to improperly installed doors and the occasional electrical fault, Kurt has seen it all, so he’s immune to the idea of a door slamming unexpectedly being proof his house is haunted.

Kurt’s biggest fear when this began was that Tracy might be so frightened by these stories, she wouldn’t sleep at night.

Oh, how naïve he was.

Tracy was far from frightened. She was fascinated.

When she found multiple witness accounts of shadows walking down the stairs, moaning in memoriam of their mortal agony, she became hooked. She’s been obsessed with hunting down the supposed ghosts inhabiting their house ever since.

“Do you think maybe you can jump on this one?” Kurt asks while their daughter stands between them, arm outstretched, begging with poignant facial expressions for someone to ask her to press play. With any luck, she just recorded herself snoring, or talking in her sleep, something that would be easy to explain in a way that would neither frighten nor disappoint an inquisitive ten-year-old. Kurt isn’t a big fan of the whole ghost hunting thing, but he doesn’t want to discourage her inquisitive mind.

“Why?”

“Because if our house is haunted, I don’t want to know about it. I mean, we’ve lived here for over a decade. If there are disembodied spirits among us, obviously they’re happy with us seeing as we’ve never seen or heard a peep from them. I don’t want to ruin that relationship.”

Blaine stares in awe at the skill of his husband, able to present a logical argument laced with sarcasm in a way that their precocious little girl won’t detect. But Blaine can tell from the tone in Kurt’s voice that the next time they see Sam, he’s in for an earful.

“Al-righty, then.” Blaine takes his daughter by the shoulder and steers her towards the living room. “Come along, Bunny. Let’s go have a listen.”

“Yay!”

Kurt watches the two wander off into the living room. They plop down on the sofa, which he can see from the stove, but he can’t hear anything over the crackling of turkey bacon. Good, he assures himself. Because he’s absolutely not curious. If Tracy did find evidence of some long-dead mobster’s ghost in their house, and he doesn’t believe for one minute she did, he doesn’t need to know about it. He doesn’t believe it anyway, so why is this a question? It’s not. It has no bearing on his life whatsoever. And it doesn’t matter one inch that when they first moved in, he used to get chills in the oddest places – like the completely insulated coat closet in the hall, or the windowless shower with the scalding hot water running; or the fact that he avoided Blaine’s bedroom-turned-studio for weeks before he had it completely re-done because walking in there just made him … sad.

He stands by what he said.

Though he might start dressing underneath a towel, just because.

Not too long after the pair leaves, Blaine returns carrying the recorder and wearing an indecipherable look on his face. Kurt watches him anxiously, waiting for an explanation, but his infuriating husband doesn’t give him one. Instead, the grin on his face widens steadily, it seems, in correlation to the size Kurt’s eyes become.

“Well?” Kurt says, even though, again, he doesn’t want to know. He’s just been making breakfast – scrambling eggs and buttering toast, not at all overanalyzing every minute he’s spent alone in their house when he’s had to rationalize something that’s happened that he couldn’t outright explain.

“Well, she definitely caught something.”

Kurt swallows hard. The top of his head goes cold. His hands begin to shake, the beating of his heart vibrating his entire body. But he fights for calm because if there’s one thing Kurt doesn’t believe in it’s ghosts. Or God. Or life after death of any kind. If he had, it would have made his entire life from eight to eighteen much easier to bear. And that’s one of the reasons he can’t believe now. If he listens to that recording and it happens to be real, then what does that mean for his entire life view? His take on the universe and his place in it? “Oh?”

“Yup. And it’s … thought provoking.”

“Oh God!” Kurt groans, forgetting about breakfast and putting his hands over his eyes. “No!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Of all the things I don’t need to worry about! I mean, she’s ten! Puberty’s coming up, menstruation, acne! I don’t want to deal with ghosts, Blaine! I can’t!”

“Kurt …”

“Because talking about ghosts leads to talking about death, and talking about death leads to talking about God and heaven, and these are concepts I’m just not comfortable coming to terms with right now!”

“Kurt …”

“Besides, think of what living in a haunted house would involve! You saw The Amityville Horror! The Conjuring! The Woman in Black! Between the investigators and the séances and the television interviews - I really really don’t have the time for that!”

“Kurt!” Blaine snickers. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that.”

“Really?” Kurt’s hands slide down his face. “So you’re okay with us living here with the ghost of Ham Hands the Enforcer roaming our halls? Or some poor little kid crying out for his mommy?”

“Kurt, honey” - Blaine wraps an arm around his agitated husband’s waist - “I didn't realize how uncomfortable this might be for you. But if it makes you feel any better, the solution to this might be a little less complicated than you think.”

“Wh-what … what do you mean less complicated? What do you mean? What happened in the living room!?”

“I listened to what she recorded, and I agreed it sounded ominous. Then I gave her $20 for it, and promised her an additional $20 if she swore to let this go and never try to record an EVP again.”

“Wha---why? Is it that bad?” Kurt asks, imagining screeching and wailing and blood thirsty howls, things that he and Blaine might not have heard because, ironically, they sleep like the dead.

“Why don’t you listen for yourself?”

Kurt’s eyes pop open at such a phenomenal speed, Blaine swears he hears a snap. “Why would I want to listen to it!? I’m asking you specifically because I don’t want to …!”

Blaine presses play without waiting for Kurt to finish, and for all of Kurt’s arguing to the contrary, he goes quiet so he can listen. According to the counter on the recorder’s display, whatever Tracy heard starts at over two hours in. Tracy goes to bed at 8, so that would make this around 10 something. Kurt and Blaine would have still been up. But Kurt doesn’t remember hearing anything.

The loudest noise in the room is the soft inhale-exhale of their daughter sleeping. But not long after, another noise starts. It’s muffled, intermittent. To the untrained ear (and through several walls and closed doors) it does sound very ominous, like the notes of a sustained and painful cry rising up from the depths of hell below.

But to someone who knows exactly what they’re listening to, it’s clear, and Kurt blushes bright red to the roots of his highlights.

It’s the sound of him moaning in the farthest thing from pain.

“So, would you say that’s twenty dollars well spent?” Blaine asks, grinning like a goblin.

“Yes,” Kurt says, clearing his throat, reaching out to turn the recorder off before he hears something that makes his face ignite. “Good call.”

“Thank you.”

“In other news, I am now very self-conscious of my sex noises.”

“Don’t be. I think your noises are damn sexy.” Blaine chuckles. “Besides, you didn’t listen long enough to hear mine.”

[angelaiswriting]

‘Please, don’t leave me’ (part 1 of 4) | Hvitserk x reader, AU

[GIF not mine, found on Google, probably by @fl0wsb0thways ?]

✎ Pairing: Hvitserk x reader

✎ Requested by @sweetvengeancee : Okay, here goes nothing I guess! How about an angsty modern Hvitserk one shot where he and the reader have an argument (he's jealous or he flirted with someone right in from of his gf/reader.. Or anything else I suck at fights ideas haha) and he says some very hurtful things without thinking it through and it's just pure angst and then the reader leaves or locks herself in the bedroom and he realises his mistake and tries to apologize/make it up to her? You've hurt me enough I need a cute end 😂♥️ 

✎ A/N: wow, angst. Wow, a two-part story. Wow, I am suffering again. Wow, Skyrim music helps. Wow, I didn’t forget to add the ‘keep reading’ thing. I don’t know when part two will be up, hopefully soon, but now I have to deal with the consequences of... this haha. I hope this is enough suffering, girl hahaha

✎ Warnings: angst. Angst. Angst. Hvitserk and reader fighting. Reader definitely not overreacting since I would slap him so hard his head would keep turning for years. It’s an AU!

Word-count: 2236

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Requests are still open if you’d like to request something ❤ 

The door slammed so hard it made the car tremble.

If there was something Hvitserk was sure of at that moment, it was that he had never seen her this mad. Y/N was usually a pretty calm and nice girl, always polite and never raising her voice. And yet, that night she looked like a completely different person.

He had followed her outside the pub Björn had chosen to celebrate his birthday, shirt halfway unbuttoned and braid disheveled, but she had already entered the car and all he had come up with was walk in front of the vehicle to stop her from leaving. He had the feeling that if he let her get away, he’d never see her again.

That gesture didn’t stop her: Hvitserk had to be the one moving away if he didn’t want to end up under her car.

The slamming of the car door still rang in his ears even now. He stood in the frame of the door of their shared bedroom and stared at her petrified.

She was leaving.

She was angrily shoving her clothes into the luggage she used when they took a plane and she was almost literally fuming. Hvitserk could almost feel her blood boil in his own veins while she did her best at trying not to scream at him.

“Please, Y/N,” he begged, not daring enter the room in fear that she might hit him. “Stop for a second.”

She didn’t answer: she just went on emptying her drawers, shoving everything in the bags she had managed to find through her anger.

“Why are you acting like this?” he went on, hands immediately raising in a defensive stance as she turned to send him the scariest look he had ever seen. She almost looked like a rabid dog, like a werewolf on the verge of turning.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak and he was almost ready to see claws elongate in front of him. She looked for words, her fists tightening on the panties she had in her hands, but she couldn’t find anything to say and so she turned around, going back to ignoring him.

Hvitserk sighed. He was trying to think back to just mere minutes before, trying to understand what exactly he did wrong. Maybe he had said the wrong thing through the phone when he had called her to make sure she had left her workplace. Or maybe it was something he had done that morning: he knew he had promised to make her breakfast since she always had to wake up earlier than him, but he had played soccer all night with his brothers at Ubbe’s place and had come back home dead tired. Maybe that was the reason.

“Listen, if it’s because I overslept this morning… I’m sorry, love,” he tried again, taking a step towards her.

He saw her shoulders tense through the see-through dress she had worn for the night and he knew he had messed things up again.

She still didn’t answer and her lack of words was the scariest factor.

“I know I stayed up too long playing football with the guys yesterday,” he tried to apologize. “I always say I won’t come back home that late, but I always end up doing it… I’m terrible at time management, Y/N. And I know I had promised to make you breakfast, and I’m sorry I made you get up earlier when you could have slept a bit more.”

“Do you really think I’m furious because you didn’t make me breakfast?” she seethed. The tone of her voice, so low and so strained and so deeply pissed, made him take a step backward. “Do you really think I’m murderous because you came home late?” She let the shirts she was holding fall into the travel bag and she slowly turned towards him. When he lowered his gaze, he saw her tightening her fists, her fingernails penetrating the skin of her palms, trying to get a hold of her anger to not let it all out on him.

Even though he deserved it, she thought.

“Are you really such an imbecile?”

Hvitserk looked away, his eyes focusing on the open closet on his left. Her half was almost completely empty now and he felt as though she was taking a part of himself with her, too.

“What did I do wrong, then?” he wondered. But he made the mistake of formulating that question with real words, using his voice, and he had to duck to avoid the hairbrush she had suddenly taken out of her bag and thrown at him.

“You are a moron,” she growled, not daring to move for fear of really hurting him.

And he knew she’d be capable of hurting him: she hadn’t gone to the gym for years to box for nothing. Her anger had always been an issue for her and her parents had come up with that outlet when she was eight.

“You are an idiotic piece of shit,” she continued, slowly turning back towards her full bags. “But it’s not my problem anymore,” she added, closing the zips to the bags and luggage. “You can go on being one after I leave this damn house. Don’t worry changing the locks: I’m not even taking the key with me. This is the last you’ll see of me for the rest of your pathetic life.”

He could almost feel her struggle pronouncing those words. It wasn’t because they hurt her, or because they hurt him. It was because she was trying to keep it all in, to not let it out, because there was a gym opened 24/7 not far from where they lived and she needed an outlet that didn’t mean going to jail with a murder charge on her shoulders.

Hvitserk followed her like a lost puppy, walking down the stairs to the garage she had parked her car in. Her heels clicked menacingly with each step she took and all he could do was wince, expecting the worst at any minute.

“Please, tell me,” he begged again. “Was it because I had to cancel our night out because of work?”

She slammed the door of her car again, much like she had done before at the pub, and Hvitserk’s hands automatically rose mid-air.

“You really are the most stupid among your brothers, then.” She was more shocked than anything else. It was almost like she wasn’t mad anymore, but Hvitserk was smart enough not to hope for something that stupid.

“What is it, then? Why are you leaving? Where are you going?”

“Why don’t you think back about tonight?” she smiled, white teeth threateningly winking at him under the neon lights of the garage. “You were having quite the fun,” she nodded, arms crossing over her chest. “Was she a good kisser? Is she better than me? Did she suck you off to?” she wondered, eyes squinting through the anger.

He couldn’t hear it, but her heart was beating like a drum in her chest, hurting painfully against her ribcage, deafening her with its hammering rhythm. And it wasn’t just because she was angry, furious, murderous; it was because she was scared, because she had loved him so much, even when all he did was hurt her with his stupidity. She knew he was trouble the second she saw him that day. She knew he’d end up hurting her if they’d ever get close enough to care. She had always known he’d break her heart one day; she just had never thought he would do so right in front of her.

Hvitserk looked like he finally understood where the problem was, where he had messed up. “It was just a game,” he sighed, head tilting back to sigh again at the ceiling. “We were playing truth or dare. You know my brothers are pigs, I didn’t want them to know about our private life. I chose dare and they made me kiss that girl.”

She nodded, sarcasm hitting him with the daggers her eyes were shooting his way. “Wow, this is an explanation.”

“Come on, love! I don’t even know her name! It didn’t mean anything,” he tried to make her reason.

Y/N closed her eyes and if that wasn’t enough, she squeezed them tighter to try and maintain her calm. “You really don’t see the problem in it, do you?”

“What was I supposed to do? Reject the dare?”

“You were supposed to respect me enough to not even think about the consequences of rejecting the fucking dare!” she was screaming now, and he had never heard her yell. “And your brothers…” She squeezed her eyes shut once more, grounding her teeth for a minute too long before speaking again. “They are just like you, a bunch of imbeciles that aren’t even mature enough to respect the people they love or are close to.”

“It was just truth or dare…” he protested in a whisper, hands trying to reach her wrists to… he didn’t even know what he wanted to do. He was maybe starting to see her point. But it wasn’t a big deal, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It was just a stupid game, and it was just an even more stupid kiss that didn’t mean a thing to him. “I didn’t think…”

“Exactly, you never do!” she groaned, pushing back to not let him touch her and bumping into the side of the car. “When you see something you want, you just take it, whether it should be taken or not. And when something isn’t even remotely close to damaging your ego or your reputation or whatever it is, you never stop to think! Do you think I didn’t know about the girls you were banging for the first half year we were together?”

Hvitserk opened his mouth to reply but found nothing to say and so he closed it again.

“Exactly, you never do,” she repeated. “This is the last straw, Hvitserk. I don’t care who your father is, or who your brothers are, or even who you are. If we are together, if we are getting married in a year, I need to be able to trust you. You broke my heart so many times in the past that I lost count, but I kept deluding myself into thinking you’d get better, or that I would – because maybe I am the problem. Maybe you just want to participate in an orgy and so I should want to do such a thing, too. Maybe all you want is to be able to fuck whoever you want even if I’m in your life and even if I should be the only woman like that in your life. I don’t know, you tell me because I don’t even know what to think anymore. The more I look at you, the more I’m disgusted. You make me want to throw up everything I have inside because I’ve never met such a disrespectful little brat. If you can’t keep it in your pants, that’s your problem and you should do something about it. But if you want to go back having the life you had when we first met, maybe it’s the case we break up, because I don’t want to get old fearing that my husband – the father of my children – goes around warming other women’s beds.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Hvitserk soundly swallowed, arms limp at his sides, head hanging low. “I didn’t know…”

“Didn’t know it hurt so much?” she went on, finishing his sentence for him. “Or that I knew? Or that I cared too much about you and too little about myself? Or that I cannot live that life? That I cannot spend the rest of my life hoping I’m the only one my husband sleeps with? How many girls did you delude like this?”

He stammered, trying to find the words. “No one,” he answered, unable to think her questions through, unable to even fully comprehend them.

“Wow, so you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you’re deceiving me.”

“I’m not… what I meant was…” He passed a hand over his face, a sigh escaping his lips, his shoulders sagging.

Was she really leaving? Or was is just to wake him up? To make him stop fucking around? He didn’t know, couldn’t understand. A minute they were about to reveal their engagement in front of his family and the next he didn’t even know if she still wanted to marry him.

“I’ve never wanted to hurt you,” he admitted. “You know, I don’t think things through and I mess up and…”

“You’re turning twenty-six this year, Hvitserk! You should grow the fuck up; don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Of all the things she had expected to hear, that was the last on the list. “Give me a good reason why I should stay, then.”

“Because I love you?”

Y/N looked away and let out a short laugh. “Nice one,” she nodded, walking to the other side of the car and opening the driver door. “Don’t call me, don’t look for me. We should take a break and see if someone changes because if we stay as we are now, we are never going to work and I’m tired of pretending you never do anything wrong and that you are more important than my psychological and emotional health.”

I am dead tired and proofread this twice, hopefully there’s not too many mistakes.

PLEASE, CONSIDER LEAVING A COMMENT/MESSAGE/REBLOG SAYING WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS - IT’D REALLY MAKE MY DAY ❤  I always love to read your opinions and chat with you

TAGS

Everything: @selldraug @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892

Vikings/Vikings related: @sweetvengeancee @titty-teetee @float-autumn-leave @oddsnendsfanfics @kenzieam @bellaagates

Hvitserk Ragnarsson: @strangunddurm

[honeylikewords]

Who do you think the most protective of the Jew Crew bois is?

again, another list format! let’s get listicle!

my favoritest, fluffiest puppy, David, is heading off this list! i think David is the most anxious about and protective over his loved ones. he frets endlessly and worries that people are going to hurt his precious people, so he gets defensive and maybe even overprotective. it’s endearing, but also concerning, considering how it’s born from his deeply rooted fear and constant paranoria.

this poor guy. just... everything about Frank is protective. to the point where he’s got to attack just to feel like his loved ones are protective. anyone who’s seen this man at work knows what i’m saying and needs no more explanation.

look at this sad, puppyfaced boy. Joe Teague is motivated entirely by his need to protect what he loves. Joe would go to the ends of the earth and burn the world to protect what he cares for. that’s all you need to know.

BJ is deeply protective of his son and his family and would never, ever, ever willingly allow harm to come to them. he is constantly worried about his loved ones and wants only the best for them.

Shane is less protective than he is, i dunno... territorial? he does protect lori and carl viciously, since they are his surrogate family, and would do even more for a family that was truly his, but shane does have problems. still, his loyalty is intense unto fault, and is therefore high on the list of protectives. if less positively.

Michael knows what he’s protecting and defends it fiercely. on the show, what he’s protecting are the rights and liberties of the people and the promises they were made. he’s earned his spot.

Braxton defends his secrets and privacy with utmost rabidity. however, he did kinda punch his brother in the face so... he’s a little fickle. still, the intensity with which he protects his personal agenda is likely indicative of a larger protective streak.

Eddie’s only this low on the list because he’s hard to fluster. Eddie’s fine. he believes in learning for yourself, and he knows he’s better off letting people live their lives and experience it firsthand. he’ll always be there to comfort if something goes wrong and protect from any real danger, but for the most part, Eddie isn’t gonna go out of his way to coddle people. he knows they’re strong and he’ll be there to support them, but not to helicopter them.

secretive and a little selfish, Griff is less “protective” than he is “pissed off”. he’s quick to anger and annoyance. he’s fine with fighting his own fights but would prefer to be less alone. he protects his privacy.

Grady is just trying to stay alive out there. he can’t really even protect himself. he wants to try and protect others, but it’s just not always an option. it’ll be okay. he’ll grow into his protection, someday.

[takadasaiko]

Fallen Series:  Trust, Need, or Wyatt’s Own Ghost

FFN II AO3

Summary: Future fic. The last thing they can afford is for Bulshar to get his hands on Peacemaker.

Trust, Need, or Wyatt's Own Ghost

It had gone from bad to worse faster than they could blink. Fighting - and winning - against Bulshar was not a task to be taken on lightly. It took determination and planning. Not just one plan, but contingency after contingency to make sure they were ready for anything. Not that even that worked sometimes. Not when Wynonna Earp was at the center of it all. The woman was a living, breathing chaos magnet and, if he didn't know better, more stubborn than her great great granddaddy.

Right then it didn't matter. Not who was to blame or who should have listened to whom. It didn't matter what the plan might have been. It was all blown to shit anyway. They just needed to focus on getting out alive and preferably in one piece, which was looking less and less likely.

Bobo had gathered some of the Revenants to him, relying on old loyalties and fears instilled over the last nearly ninety years. It hadn't been enough to counter Bulshar's call for all of them, though, and those that had called him master had been given more power in exchange for losing even more of themselves than they already had. They were all bloodlust and madness, and while that made it easier to out maneuver in the long run, facing them head on was like facing a rabid beast.

If it had just been him it would have been one thing. He'd heal. Hell, if it had just been he and Wynonna he thought it would have been easy enough, but Waverly and Jeremy had been with them. Waverly was a deadly aim with a shotgun, but it only put them down so long and Junior over there was still getting tossed back on his ass every time he got a shot off.

Bobo loosed a dangerous snarl as he yanked one of the red-eyed Revenants back before he jumped the downed scientist. There was a brief flash of fear that made it through Bulshar's control as the Revenant leader slammed him hard into the ground, picking up a boulder with his powers and dropping it on the howling demon. "Stay."

"He was, uh… Thanks," Jeremy managed and Bobo shot him a half irritated look, ready to grumble at him - he couldn't have the kid think he was going soft in him, after all - when he heard Waverly shout her sister's name, drawing his attention away.

If things had already gone from bad to worse to shit, this was whatever followed that. Fear wasn't something Bobo was accustomed to very often anymore. When you couldn't be killed, there wasn't much that scared you, but seeing the Heir laid out, a hard blow taking her from her feet and Peacemaker lying closer to Clootie than Wynonna was certainly cause for concern.

Everyone had frozen where they were, terror sweeping through the little field they stood in, almost tangible from Waverly and Jeremy, and Bobo briefly wondered if his own fear was that evident. It didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping Wyatt's gun out of Clootie's hand.

He reached out and pulled. He'd called the gun to him before. It took considerably more effort than moving anything else of that size usually did. It was Peacemaker. Wyatt's gun that had killed him and the only thing that could send him to hell. He had held it more than any other Revenant, he would wager, and certainly longer before it decided to burn him. Now, though, he just needed to keep it away from their enemy.

Metal and wood flew through the air, fitting into his hand and Bulshar turned burning eyes on him. For half a moment the whole world slowed to a stop. Clootie and Robert stared at each other, Wyatt's gun between them, and Bulshar's lips twisted into a terrible, snarling smile as he lunged towards him.

It had been a long time since Bobo had had much use for guns and this one was more useless than others to him, but the impulse to protect oneself overrides conscious, logical thought at times. He leveled it, his mind recalling every lesson Wyatt had ever given him with that very gun. In that moment he could almost feel his old friend's hand moving to reposition his grip, his patient voice instructing him how to take the shot.

He hadn't expected anything when his finger squeezing the trigger. Just the click of it jamming on him. Maybe even the gun burning him. It was a fickle thing, after all, and Bobo Del Rey had not only dared to hold the Heir's gun, but to take the shot. The fact that it fired, the bullet riding out through the long barrel, the kick startling him enough to have to adjust his stance so he could remain on his feet, surprised both him and the creature rushing him.

Robert Svane had never been a great shot in his day, and the years hadn't made him any better. It clipped Clootie, but the fact that it had fired at all was enough to silence everyone in its wake. Bobo stood there for a long moment, still staring down the barrel of the gun aimed at his enemy, and Bulshar snarled at him as the Revenants that had been attacking the Earps, Jeremy, and Bobo started to ease back and away from them. "This isn't over, Robert."

"Didn't think it was," he answered, his voice much steadier than he would have anticipated.

Bulshar's Revenants started their retreat in earnest, turning and fleeing the scene. They knew what was supposed to happen when he touched it and had seen what had happened. Let them be terrified. Maybe they'd think twice before attacking them out of nowhere like they had. He finally let his arm drop, loosing a shaky breath as the last of them slipped away.

"Holy shit!" Wynonna half-yelped from her place back on her feet. "Did you just…? Holy shit."

Bobo flipped the gun around to hand it to her hand-first lest the thing start burning him.

The Heir took it, eyeing it suspiciously before turning her gaze on the Revenant. "How did you do that?"

He shrugged noncommittally.

"You shouldn't even be able to hold it, right?" Jeremy asked, excitement causing the words to tumble out a little faster than usual. Oh great. He had a new little mystery to solve. Bobo wasn't sure how he felt about being the center of it. There was plenty that most of them didn't know about him and he had no interest putting everything on the table. He snarled irritably as Jeremy tried to check the palm of his hand for signs of a burn. Even if he'd gotten ahold of him, he wouldn't have found any wounds there. The pistol hadn't even sizzled.

"It must have something to do with your connection to Wyatt," Waverly mused and Bobo shot her a look.

"You know, I've never heard that whole story. What-?"

He didn't let Jeremy finish as a deep growl escaped him and he turned to start back towards town, hearing the scientist's protests behind him. He kept his gaze fixed ahead even as Waverly jogged to catch up to his long stride. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Woulda been better if it had been a shot that did something," he groused. Neither he nor Clootie had been expecting the shot to work and that was the only reason that the more powerful demon hadn't deflected it. If his aim had been better, maybe all of this would have been done and over with that afternoon.

Waverly's expression was still impressed. "You shot Peacemaker. I'd say that's something." He grunted a response and she nudged him hard in the side. "Maybe Wyatt hasn't really abandoned you after all?"

His step faltered just a little and he loosed the frustrated breath through his nose so he wouldn't snap at her that Wyatt Earp had had nothing to do with what happened that day. He'd been dead and in the ground for nearly a century, and if she thought some fluke in the curse… Blue eyes closed and he forced the admittedly irrational anger down. It wasn't Waverly's fault, and she had just decided to give trusting him a chance. The last thing he wanted to do was let his temper get in the way and spook her.

She had always been an intuitive girl though. "Or maybe you've just got the trust of the current Earps," she said slyly.

Bobo opened his mouth and then closed it, his teeth clicking together and a low chuckle finally escaping. "Maybe so."

She beamed at him and motioned back to where her sister was looking at Peacemaker like she wasn't sure it was the real thing or not. "If nothing else, you've really freaked Wynonna out."

His lips twitched upward. He did enjoy riling the Heir whenever time permitted. They watched her as she grumbled about how just anyone must be able to shoot her gun if Bobo was able to now, and Jeremy was rattling off possible explanations from what he knew about the curse and precedent that he'd seen in other curses that Black Badge had run across over the years. Waverly choked back a giggle that earned a glare of irritation from her sister and a playful wink from Bobo once Wynonna had gone back to her grumbling.

For the near disaster they'd faced, somehow the aftermath was more peaceful than he could have imagined. It had been odd, and once the Earp sisters let it drop it would change nothing for them, but for the Revenants that had chosen to side with Bulshar it would remind them why they should be afraid of their former boss. He was different than them. He always had been, even if they didn't know why. If the shot had gone off because of trust or need or Wyatt's own ghost, Bobo couldn't be sure, but it had, and even if he could never replicate the action, they'd remember it, and that fear and uncertainty wouldn't do Clootie any favours.

Notes: I've been very amused with the idea of Bobo accidentally shooting Peacemaker recently, so I finally worked it out into a story. Peacemaker seems to be able to choose to a degree. It allowed Wynonna to shoot it at 12, even though it should have jammed. It seemed to have trouble deciding between Wynonna and Willa when they were both of age and Willa came back, and it also allowed Waverly to shoot it to protect Wynonna. I love the idea that either Wyatt's faith in him or maybe even Wynonna's would allow him to take the shot in a desperate moment. That Wyatt saw Robert as family when they were both alive and human.