#the human body is so wild... one of them was alive day-of the operation and lefty is coming back online

[sergle]

oh here's something funny I don't think I said yet it's been *almost* a year since my breast reduction surgery, and after all that time: my Left Nipple has randomly come back online.

[gothtransandroid]

Necropunk: Vampiric Order of the Crossroads

The second largest institution in Eutoria, if you could call it one institution, is the disparate nomadic tribes of Vampires roaming the land by road to find the leftover mortals from the Archlich's raids for children so that they might feed another day longer.

While many of the roamers, or Mosquitoes, tend to find bodies and drain them in haste just to slake their hunger there are wiser vampires on the ground who know to keep a person alive as a blood bag to prevent going mad with hunger. These vampires tend to lead the lower level groups and are known as leeches, holding on as needed and not letting go of their position. Mosquitoes tend to follow Leeches knowing that a Leech will only keep a prime, healthy body and discard the others to live or die in the aftermath. Both vampires tend to survive by burrowing and waiting out the cycle of day to night by temperature alone. While this causes many overstarved Mosquitoes to die, it also makes them and Leeches much harder to hunt by more daring mortals.

A Leech who is worth their salt as a leader and survives for some time will then garner the attention of the more stable vampires who operate in vehicle caravans. Due to their more wild and erratic movement, willingness to make deals with larger mortal settlements and knowledge of the roadways the leaders of these caravans are called Finches. Finches only take in a Leech when they can prove that they can keep their blood bags alive without their Mosquitoes fighting back or causing more chaos in the process. The Finches then either bring them in as muscle to keep the caravan, or flock, safe or they train exceptional Leeches so that they may split a flock when it has grown too large or become harder to manage due to more erratic personalities. Flocks do collapse however, usually when a Leech who starts their own caravan encounters another flock they do not know and the new Finch either cannibalizes the flock to build a stronger one or is crushed by the more well established flock and their resources are taken.

The final and natural progression of these names are the Bats, Vampire Lords so insular and self reliant that they need little to none of the support the flocks or Mosquito swarms provide. Instead, the Bats have a deep knowledge of the now primal necromancy of the land and as such have created powerful vehicles constructed from the bone and stone of ancient crypts and, holding such constructs together with their sorcerous magics, operate two wheeled speed vehicles faster than anything short of a dragon. These crypt-drives can only be tamed by sorcery and even some of the most trained wizards or priests cannot manage to recreate the devices. Bats are so charismatic and well versed in mortal society that they know how to not only build trust in mortals but can convince some to serve as a source of blood of their own free will, which is surprising as the six existing Bats known to the crossroads could each decimate a human settlement on their own, as some have to prove their power.

Of note the twins Orphie and Phillie, indistinguishable from one another, were said to move so fast some thought they were quadruplets as the former towns of Charity and Eastwind were torn asunder simultaneously, broken bodies everywhere to be found but not a drop of blood was wasted between the two ghost towns. Each town left a survivor to tell the tale, though said survivors were never seen after the next dawn. Many of these tall tales are hard to put much faith in without first hand account, but another cannot be denied.

Silver Smoke, the youngest of the Bats in appearance, burrowed a small road large enough for their crypt-drive in Cragsteel Mountain. This is taken as fact for two reasons; the hole exists clear as day between the settlement of Propriety and the last road to the Archlich's Citadel, but also that Smoke seems to have left all the ore mined from the act for Propriety, which on top of being used to make locks and bars for all the buildings was also used to make a small statue of Silver in the middle of town as both acknowledgement and warning to remember that no metal could keep such a being out of their homes.

[shimmerbeasts]

Unlike Ekko, Jinx did not fully split herself into the Hound and who she was when that mindset had not been triggered. Because Silco encouraged violence with such ease and spoke of it as a natural part of a Zaunites' everyday life, in her mind some small elements of the Hound would always bleed into everyday life. For Jinx, that part of her Vastayan heritage - the wild, untamed animal - was always the closest in fights or when she consumed human meat, something she did so proudly, she often preferred the special meat stews to a hearty meal of fish and potatoes, and of course, whenever she fantasised, even in her most private moments.

Though, of course, there was having the beast be a backside passenger and bleeding subtly into your everyday life and interests, and then there was what being triggered into the Hound mindset actually allowed you to do: The complete and total domination of the beast over your body and mind, the indulgence of its every whim. This pure embrace of the primal might be regarded as the greatest state of bliss, you could possibly experience. There were no worries of the future, there were no unsettling whispers of the past; there was nothing but the here and now and the blood on your hands and the meat between your teeth.

Monsters needed proper care if they were to thrive. Overindulge them, and they would sneakily retaliate by destroying your body and deforming you until hunting and killing became almost impossible. Like a lion with broken teeth, all you could do was prey on easier and lonely targets. You had to employ backhanded tactics and strategies, mean tricks, to be able to get even a vial of Shimmer to ensure the beast and you were tended to.

However, underfeeding the monster had consequences too. Particularly if you had given it a steady supply of Shimmer before. Cut it off from that supply as abruptly as those did, who tried to quit Shimmer - as if you ever wanted to stop feeding your monster! -, and you had to fight with crippling withdrawal syndromes. Your body would shiver and shake, you'd burst into bouts of sweat and your innards would feel like they'd be cooked alive. A lot of former Shimmer addicts had absolutely ruined their claws as they took to chewing them short to mitigate the growing hunger and need for the purple substance. Even Ekko's own nails, upon closer inspection, had been utterly ruined.

Jinx had met Ekko's monster briefly once before she had conditioned him into a Hound. Back then, both of them had still been teens and learning that they had claws and fangs, which were for a bit more than just climbing. Jinx dimly remembered the puppy crush love, Powder had been having for Ekko. The type of love, she had not known what to do with but also had not indulged in because Mylo for sure, would have poked fun at it. When Jinx had laid eyes on Ekko's monster though, that love had come back possessively and twisted into one burning thought: I must have you! You are mine!

However, with the emergence of the Firelights and their owl-masked leader, Jinx had been forced to confront the realisation that Ekko had not just stopped feeding his inner monster, but had even locked it up. The fact that he not only rejected Silco's gift but downright sought to destroy it was infuriating in and of itself. Nobody, who had ingested the Undercity's purple gold, was allowed to turn around later and decry it as vile and evil when it had saved their life mere days prior. Every broken jar of Shimmer, every ounce of the liquid burned in malice was an attack on not just Silco's operation, but an attack on her father. Jinx had already shown no tolerance for such behaviour by lesser ruffians, but to see it be committed by Ekko out of all people, was the last straw!

Something had to be done about the error of her former friend's ways! Something, which would make him cease such actions and also allow his monster to be given the care and nourishment, he refused to allow it to have. Jinx quickly turned to Hounding as her possible answer. She remembered her own conditioning process. Surely, she could replicate what Silco had done with his help and assistance. It had taken a bit of planning and a lot of willpower on Jinx's part, but eventually, Ekko had been broken down and his Hound had reemerged - and Jinx had embraced the monster like an old friend.

The blood on Ekko's face and hands was not the only sign that they had waited far too long. His scales had burst out too. Whereas Jinx had the DNA of an ocelot in her Vastaya lineage, Ekko had had a chameleon. It made his scales look rough and coarse, almost like unpolished pearls embedded in rock. His scales were a gorgeous blend of green and red, sprinkled across his shoulders, the sides of his neck and even replacing one of his eyebrows. Jinx felt like he never looked more beautiful.

"That's my Wolver", Jinx said with a gentle smile as she watched Ekko squat down and yank the mask from his head. His sloppy eating - the hasty chewing and swallowing - reached her ears as she went over to pick up his mask. Tying it back to her utility belt, she gave an encouraging chuckle as Ekko ripped open another carcass and went for its heart.

"My poor Hound", Jinx purred, "Ekko must have kept you famished. There, there. It's all good now." She caressed the conditioned man behind his ear. "I'm here. I got you." Her eyes widened in surprise and she chuckled breathlessly, cheeks flushing as Ekko scampered around and brought her a dripping wet liver, freshly plucked from another corpse. "For me? You are too kind!"

She sat down cross-legged and sniffed at the fresh organ. The bloody smell made her growl softly. Jinx licked over the liver, using the sharp hooks on the surface of her tongue to pull away some of the flesh. Chewing it around, the juicy flavour caused the Loose Canon to moan. "Oh, that is delicious", Jinx whispered and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, "I forgot how good liver tastes when freshly harvested."

Their chewing filled the air as Jinx and Ekko's Hound sat among the carnage and ate their fill. Slow steps reached Jinx's ears as the Chem-Tanks came marching up towards them. Their passengers were still spasming and twitching unnaturally inside the cockpits. Their eyes were wide and their mouths agape. Saliva crusted in the corners of their lips. Unlike Jinx and Ekko, they were overindulgent monsters, who had gotten their bodies so ruined that dumping them into one of the Chem-Tanks felt like doing them a favour.

"Calm down, boys", Jinx told them as she waved a hand at the Chem-Tanks, "He is one of us. He is not a threat. You can stand down."

Despite the fact the hound was a separate part of Ekko, it shared the gift that Ekko had. Empathy. While Ekko did his best to hold it back, to hide from the feelings it presented, the hound didn’t. The hound openly embraced a gift it didn’t fully understand or even register. It was because of that that it was so eager, the fear feeding the monster in ways that made it more violent. Violence it had been craving for nearly a month in which its host had been pushing it back.

For its part, the hound didn’t suffer in silence during that time. In fact, it promptly punished Ekko in the form of nightmares. Leading up to today the Firelight leader had been plagued with dreams of endless violence every night. These were times that hound took control of the mind, made him see his family killed by their own hands. Each night only getting progressively worse in experience.

This wasn't the first time Ekko had been punished for his actions. The monster existed before the hounding, back when Ekko still willingly took shimmer. During that time they had truly been one. So, when Ekko tried to stop the shimmer, the withdrawal was it's way of punishing him. But after that it been tucked away, to never see the light of day. Until Jinx conditioned Ekko into a hound, and it felt more alive than ever, only to find that Ekko rejected it. When Jinx wasn't there to let it out, Ekko would shackle it... It's needs were all but ignored.

Today it had finally been released from those shackles, a gift bestowed upon it by it's savior. One who understood it and gave it what it needed. Unlike the other times Jinx had brought it out for a hunt, it had been starving. The blood that coated Ekko's arms and chest, even the blood splattered all over his face, was a direct result of waiting so long. The hound eyed was still hungry, however, and was fixing to attack the innocent factory workers.

The whistle, however, instantly caught its attention as the hound turned it's head to focus on her immediately. It's eyes were immediately drawn to the wet liver in her hand, mouth already salivating at the thought of ingesting it. The hound caught the liver one hand and squatted down. However, the mask was in the way of consumption. This was not the case long as the hound used a clawed hand to pry the mask off. Said mask fell to the ground, already forgotten.

Once the mask was off there was nothing stopping it from eating the liver, savoring it's taste while it did. One liver seemed to not be enough as it was already digging claws into the corpses below, this time ripping out a now still heart. The hound let out a satisfied hum, both at the taste and at Jinx's gesture.

To return the gesture it took out a liver from one of the other corpses and offered it out to Jinx. It knew that she'd been tempted to join in on the hunt but hadn't. That didn't mean she couldn't have a piece of its meal. Shimmer laced were brimming excitement, hoping she would take the offered organ.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗

-

I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, “Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”

“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.

-

Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

-

Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”

I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”

At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.

“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”

I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.

-

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.

-

Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.

Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”

“What?” I ask.

“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”

-

“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”

“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”

“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”

-

Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”

-

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.

-

“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”

“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.

Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.

-

Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.

As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”

Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.

-

I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.

-

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

-

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.

Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.

"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

-

Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.

-

He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”

-

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.

-

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

-

I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"

-

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Injured Part 2

@canigetanamenforbritney here you go!

Part 1

Warnings: hospital setting, refusal of medical attention, pet names, surgery, negative discussions of someone, stitches, descriptions of medical care, painful wound tending, exhaustion, begging, mean caretakers

*not edited*

~

"He needs surgery."

"Yeah, yeah I get that. That's not the problem. The problem is, you won't perform it."

"We aren't about to waste supplies on a villain, Hero."

Villain fumbled with consciousness- played with, frolicked with it- until it because a drifting manner. Awake here and there, hearing bits and pieces of conversation. Then the blissful euphoria of sleep. Those moments of painfree unconsciousness were what he longed for, craved.

He didn't understand his situation. He knew that there were people around him, but they didn't seem to be doing much. Only periodically pinching his elbow, leaving him floating in serene waves.

Was this what care felt like? It didn't seem like much, maybe Villain just had an active imagination- dreaming about endless words of compassion, a light touch to his cheek... maybe those sensations were just fantasies.

The people... they seemed to speak above Villain in rumbling tunes. Never aimed at him and even in his foggy state he knew that they were strictly clinical.

It was, to say the least, disappointing.

Very disappointing.

Maybe he did just expect too much.

《~~》

Hero paced around the hospital bed as the nurses argued amongst themselves. Villain was stable, but not faraway from slipping. Why did she have to do this to him? A dagger in his side, concussion, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder... the injuries went on above this.

And then the fact that he was doomed to actually take care of himself in this state? The very idea that Hero expected him to jump back on his feet- it was disgusting.

How could she be a hero when she allowed someone to suffer?

She saw the trails of blood, the discarded bandages, the opened cupboards. He struggled. Struggle to stay alive.

"We could get fired if we operate on him. Honestly, just hand him over to the center."

"What is wrong with you!" Hero exclaimed when she heard that utterance. "A life for a job."

"You beat him up," that same nurse pointed out, crossing her arms. "Stop your hypocrisy, you are not better than us."

"Yeah if it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be here," another chimed in.

"Shut up! Shut up! All of you, shut up!" Hero growled. "I will pay for the surgery and take full responsibility. If he doesn't die, he will be permanently disabled."

"We know."

"Yeah I know you know," Hero said, huffing and giving an awkward smile. "You know and yet you still don't do anything about it. What kind of sick doctor are you?"

"One that follows the law."

Hero was silent and thrusted her hands through her blonde hair.

"It's nothing against Villain-"

"Yes it is!" Hero roared and flung herself next to Villain's side. His eyes were halfway open. Hero sighed, "Should I give him another dose?"

"No," the head nurse said. "Let him wake up."

Hero waited and waited, foot tapping and teeth clenching in anger, as Villain became more and more accustomed to his surroundings.

"H-hero?" He croaked, nervous fear evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Mm care... caring f-for for me?"

"Trying to."

Villain groaned and threw his head back suddenly, pain gripping every one of his features. Tears formed in his eyes and as sudden as the outburst happened, he stilled and collapsed back onto the bed.

《~~》

Everything hurt.

The drugs must've worn off, inviting the pain to eat him whole. Villain groaned and tossed his head about, punching the mattress with clenched fists even though that hurt and...

Villain cried out. Even Hero stepped away from that primitive noise.

Why was he is pain? Why did he have to go through this?

Because I am a villain, he answered himself. Stupid stupid stupid! He shouldn't have delved into the evil side of the world, should've applied for the College of Heroics or be a normal civilian or anything other than villainy.

He cried, his chest shuddering. Small squeaks escaped his mouth. Even the boisterous nurses ceased their banter, looking in pity at the sobbing human on the hospital bed.

"We'll operate, but we won't give him anesthesia," the head nurse conceded.

《~~》

That was good.

Not ideal, but good.

Hero helped slide on a blue hair net over Villain's head. Wild eyes darted around, creasing at the edges every once in a while, as the pain flared up in many places all at once. His breathing hitched as well.

"What are they doing to me?" Villain wheezed, fingers tapping. Anticipation etched at his body.

"You'll be fine," the hero soothed, rubbing her fingers together. After the surgery...

"Cuff him," one of the nurses ordered, wrapping Villain's wrists and ankles with soft, padded bracelets of leather. He stiffened before instinctual motions kicked in and he struggled.

"Don't. Don't do that," Villain pleaded as he watched the nurses inhibit his only chance to fight and to escape. He gulped, pressing his head back into the hospital bed like his pain was forgotten. But the irregular heartbeat on the monitor betrayed his real sensations and emotions- pain and fear.

Hero frowned at the distressed face before looking up at the nurses.

"Should've we give him something? Like a muscle relaxant? Make the procedure easier?" Hero asked, but immediately wished she hadn't for the villain's face contorted into an expression of pure terror at the mention of "procedure".

"Maybe," one of the young nurses whispered, but the head nurse brushed the idea off with a firm "no".

"Let's begin," that same nurse said and approached the writhing villain. "Begin incision on his right side where we assumed a piece of residual metal is from the dagger."

"Let's not do this," Villain begged, pulling madly against the restraints, but the nurses did not pay attention.

Just as the sliver of metal was about to protrude into Villain's skin, Hero spoke up,

"Where is the doctor? You know, the one who actually does surgeries."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you weren't trained for this."

"So?"

Hero was silent, but her gaping mouth spoke loads for her.

"Hero," the head nurse chuckled. "This is a villain. A half-eaten cheeseburger in the trashcan. Relax hon."

Hero bristled at the pet name, but didn't do anything rash. She just pulled up a chair and sat at Villain's side. He looked up at her with large, pleading eyes that broke Hero's heart.

"It'll be over soon," Hero promised. Villain's face relaxed slightly, but his muscles stayed tense in waiting for the inevitable pain.

"Begin incision."

Villain mewled as the thin knife slipped into his skin, right above the infected flesh. His toes and fingers curled in, then stretched out.

"Okay stop," Villain said in a hurried manner. His brow furrowed, nose twitching. "Stop."

Hero placed a hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to quiet his protests.

"Located the residual. Tweezers."

A tool made of two grated prongs took the place of the knife. Villain sighed as the knife marked its leave with a clatter, but his muscles immediately seized when the bloodied particle was removed.

"Staples."

Villain's eyes widened as a nurse pulled his skin together, shoddily and lazily stapling it. Villain screamed, jerking around each time the plunger cinched his tender flesh together.

Hero wrinkled her nose. The nurses weren't even bothering to use actual medical tools. Literally, the stapler was from the school section at the local Walmart.

The nurses topped their kindergarten artwork with a thin line of some numbing ointment, but that was all. A tiny gift, a mug saying "The Best Teacher Award" on teacher appreciation day.

The next injury the nurses fixed was the dislocated shoulder. Two nurses positioned themselves on both sides of the shoulder. Without warning, they pushed the joint back in.

Villain arched his back up in a desperate feat to escape the miserable pain. He clenched his teeth, holding in a scream that Hero knew just wanted to go.

Then he fell back into the bed, breaths full of pained whimpers.

"Okay. I think we tortured him long enough," Hero said, angling herself to give a more authoritive stance.

"We are taking care of him?" The head nurse replied, purposely making her statement an authentic question.

"Just give him something. At least something to take the edge off," Hero pleaded. "Can't you see? His world is nothing but pain."

"No."

Hero sighed, shook her head, and went back to Villain who now had tears streaming out of half-lidded eyes.

"Make them stop," Villain whispered, not even looking at Hero. "I'd rather be hurt. Rather be hurt at home."

Hero felt a twinge of pity, listening to Villain's requests. It was saddening to say the least, someone so hurt just wanting to go home if it meant that they could escape the extra pain of care.

Pain of care, now that didn't sound right.

Hero grabbed Villain's head and stroked it, but the tears and whimpers did not cease.

After a good few hours, the villain was throughly exhausted. He could barely stay awake, just dozing off even as caffeinated nurses shakily sewed the millions of cuts together.

Hero slowly stroked Villain's head, watching as his eyes drifted shut. She smiled. Sleep was his only escape from the pain.

[uchihashisui-kun]

I tried going to bed but I just cannot stop thinking about a modern AU where magic exists, just like mythical beasts and things like that, but it's a rather rare thing and people who can use magic or are of another 'race' (werewolves, yokai, vampires, things like that) are mostly hunted, captured and killed

The Akatsuki is an underground organization of magical people and beasts who help each other run away and hide from normal humans and help each other keep their identities a secret, and as such are seen as a bad organization but they're so well-functioning and protective of each other that they very rarely get caught, and even if they do get caught they always have a backup plan and enough reinforcments to escape every time

Shisui is a ghost who used to be a wizard. One day he died, and somehow remained tethered to the living world. He knows the truth, of course, about his death and the reason why he remained behind, but every time someone asks him he changes story, so no one knows the truth about him. He has actually quite a lot of fun making things up, and sometimes his tales are just way too wild and unlikely to be true

Kakashi is a werewolf, not an original one but a cursed one, and every full moon he has to hide away so he does not transform with people around

Obito is a vampire, transformed against his will by Madara. He has lived long enough to have accepted the fact that he's not human anymore, and he has fun writing books about vampires with wildly innacurate facts so that no one will ever find out the truth

(No, they do not sparkle under the sun, and they do not burn either. Obito actually likes eating garlic quite a bit. His cousin Izuna prays and goes to Church every Sunday. Really humans, why are y'all so stupid as to believe all that romanticized crap)

Rin is a witch, and she's the one usually helping Kakashi during a full moon by keeping him in check with magic. She mostly works with natural energy, and she's a bit of a bookworm

Shisui and Obito are the original brains behind the Akatsuki. The two of them have been alive for quite some time and they've been helping people like them for almost a hundred years now

Kakashi has joined them shortly after being transformed, and he's been the one saving Rin from being captured by the humans, prompting her to join the Akatsuki as well

Gai is Kakashi's human boyfriend, and has absolutely no clue about the Akatsuki and Kakashi's play in it, nor about the fact that he's a werewolf, because Kakashi is afraid he might put Gai in danger if he tells him the truth

Itachi is a human as well, but, unlike Gai, he knows about the Akatsuki and works with other humans like him to help them. They're still a small fraction of the human population, the one supporting magical people and beasts, but they're slowly growing and Itachi's goal is to be able to create a society where humans and magical people can live together in harmony

Naruto is Iruka's adopted kitsune little brother. Of course, Iruka, who is a human, knows that Naruto is a kitsune, but he doesn't know about the Akatsuki so he does everything in his power to keep Naruto's powers a secret all alone. He's very much afraid of losing him, and he's ready to do everything he can to protect him

Sasuke is a werecat. He has never believed in magical people, mythical creatures and such, and Itachi has always been happy to keep him out of that side of reality, as ignorant and safe as he could be, but with adolescence, his body changing, all that teenager crap, it actually comes out that he took from his mother's side of the family

Not much is known about Mikoto, except that she supposedly died in an accident. Of course, it wasn't an accident, and Itachi has found out the truth about their mother some time ago. She was a werecat, not by curse but an original one, and killed for it

Itachi finds out the truth about Sasuke when Sasuke is thirteen-almost-fourteen. It's the first time his little brother transform, and Itachi panics just a tiny bit when it happens because he has in no way the means to take care of a situation like that, so the first instinct is to reach out to Rin and Obito who are used to dealing with Kakashi during those particular days

Because Itachi has no magic or way to contain his brother safely, Sasuke escapes to follow his instincts and almost gets caught before Obito and Rin can come and snatch him away to safety, but because people now know about him they need to keep him hidden with other creatures and people who live their lives in secret

Danzō is the one leading both ANBU and ROOT to take out every known magical person and mythical beast around, but there is irony in his position, since Danzō is a magical beast himself

Danzō, in fact, is a Bakaneko, a monster cat that has lived long enough to become a yokai, a master of shape-shifting and disguise, with the ability to also reanimate fresh corpses and use them as puppets for his own nefarious purposes

No one knows the truth about him anymore, all the people who once knew about it are long dead, and Danzō is also very careful about using his shape-shifting abilities to make himself age like a normal human would, even going as far as to having faked his own death multiple times during his long lifetime to then completely change identity and keep himself clear of any suspicion, and it's also very much unclear if Danzō's operatives are living people or reanimated puppets under his control

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Burn The Bread Book: Industrial Communism Will Not Liberate You

The True Cost of Bread

For years I've watched a man drive his pick-up truck into the forest around me and cut down all the trees that aren't legally protected. So, every tree that isn't a pine or an oak. The moment a carob or olive or hawthorn or mastic or strawberry tree grows big enough to burn, he cuts it down and drags it away for firewood. He even fells trees I planted, while smiling and waving at me like he’s doing me a favor. I glare at him silently but don’t say a word, knowing he has the full power of the state behind him.

He uses the wood to fuel his traditional bakery which has several large outdoor ovens. The much-loved industrial product he produces is bread; a product that has rapidly replaced all the native food-bearing plants of the area as they’ve been cut down to make room for wheat fields.

The villagers are proud of the bakery because it attracts visitors from all over the island and thus creates further opportunities for them to earn profit. The local bureaucracy; the democratically-elected village council, gives the baker free reign to do as he pleases since so many livelihoods depend on his bakery.

Because the baker cuts everything down as soon as it reaches human height, the trees never get big enough to fruit, so they don't spread their seeds and grow new trees. The forest slowly dwindles to nothing but pine trees and can no longer sustain most animal life. The climate dries, the soil erodes, the air grows stagnant and depleted of oxygen. All that’s left in the few remaining forests that haven’t been bulldozed to grow more wheat is a sterile pine desert.

The baker will soon no doubt lobby the village council to allow him to harvest the pine trees too, otherwise the all-important bakery will cease to be operational when he runs out of legal trees to fell.

In just a few years, all the fruits, nuts and berries that sustained the people in the area for millennia are wiped out and replaced with a consumer product that is made from a single grain crop. A thriving ecosystem has been replaced with a wheat monoculture that could collapse at any moment and take the lives of everyone it feeds with it.

It’s worth noting that the baker, like most people in my village, and in fact most people on the island, considers himself a communist. The village has a “communist party” clubhouse and they always elect “communist” local leaders and vote for “communist” politicians in the national elections.

Any anarchist worth their salt has no tolerance for these faux-communists, or “tankies” and their brand of collectivist-capitalism because they cling to money, states and rulers and really only embrace Stalinist politics because of the promise of cushy government jobs for them or their relatives.

The Stalinist politicians openly buy votes by promising jobs in the public service to their supporters. A job in the public service here is a guaranteed free ride for life for you and your family, with the salaries multiple times higher than private sector salaries and benefits out of the wazoo - including multiple pensions. They get a full pension for each gov sector they worked in, and the more connected civil servants are rotated through jobs in multiple sectors in the last few months leading up to their retirement to ensure the maximum pay-out possible.

I’m confident anyone reading this knows Stalinism is designed to enrich the bureaucrat class and give them complete control over the state’s citizens. No anarchist sees that shit as communism. But in a “real” communist society; an “anarcho-communist” society where money, state and class have been abolished, the local baker would presumably still bake that bread, and since it would be offered freely to everyone far and wide, he'd need to bake a lot more of it and thus need more wood. More forest would be razed to keep the bread production going. Everyone living in the village and anyone passing through, and people in faraway cities will expect to have as much gourmet bread on their plates as they desire. More bakeries would need to pop up on the mountain as demand rises for delicious bread in the cities below, with the rural population working hard and doing their duty to feed the hungry urban population.

Over the years, I’ve put a lot of thought into envisioning how the workers seizing the means of production would end the environmental devastation this bread production brings to the mountain. I struggle to see any scenario where communism would stop the devastation being wrought on the ecosystem. The forests would continue to be razed to ensure production won’t slow down.

Free bread for everyone today means no bread (or any food) for anyone tomorrow as the top-soil washes away, the climate warms, the wildlife goes extinct, and the whole mountain rapidly turns to desert. It’s inevitable that soon even wheat will cease to grow in the fields surrounding the village.

Regardless of the economic system in place, the villagers being able to consume as many fresh loaves of baked bread as they can carry means all the forests in driving distance of the village are eviscerated, eventually all the fields become barren, the crops fail, and everyone starves. This is already well on its way to happening, and switching to a communist mode of production would do nothing to allay this inevitability.

“How would you feed people then, genius?” I hear you scoff. The answer is simple; tried and tested for millennia. I wouldn’t feed people. People would feed themselves instead of expecting others to labor to feed them; an entitlement that arose with industrial civilization. People would be inclined to protect the forests instead of bulldozing them for the supposed convenience of industrial food production if they picked their food directly from those forests everyday.

They’d protect the forests with their very lives because they’d need the food that grows in the forests to survive without industrial farms, bakeries and factories outsourcing food production and then hiding the ecocide they cause just out of sight of the villages and their carefully manicured streets.

Bread and other industrial products alienate us from our ecosystem and cause us to stop caring about how our food is produced, so long as it’s there in the store when we want to eat it. Putting food production back into the control of the individual is the only way to preserve the ecosystem. Direct food is the only anarchist mode of production. When other people are tasked with growing your food, they will take shortcuts because the food isn’t going into their own mouths or the mouths of their loved ones. Food harvesting needs to go back to being a way of life for every able-bodied person, rather than something industrial farm workers are tasked with to serve an elite class of privileged office workers who are completely disconnected from the food chain.

All over the world, complex centuries-old polyculture food-forests that sustained countless lives for generations are destroyed by the arrogance of industrial production, replaced for a short while by a wheat or corn monoculture so people can pick up their bread down the street from their home or workplace instead of muddying their feet to gather food from the wild as their ancestors did. This convenience seems like “progress” to civilized people, at least until the destructive industrial agriculture process renders the wheat fields infertile and farms all over the world are turned into a vast uninhabitable dust bowl. A sustainable way of life that kept us alive and thriving for centuries has been tossed aside in favor of a short-lived attempt at industrial convenience that has already proven itself a horrible failure; bringing us and every other lifeform to the verge of extinction.

Industry is not sustainable. Industrial systems are all destructive. Communism, capitalism, fascism, they’re all founded on ecocide. The authority of the baker is upheld over everything else because domesticated people would rather consume “free” industrial bread for a few years than unlearn their destructive consumerist habits. If we are to survive these times of devastating ecological collapse, humans need to go back to fostering vast food forests as our ancestors did for millennia; producing and gathering our own food without destroying the very ecosystem that gives us life in the name of luxury and convenience.

"The People's" Authority: How “Anarcho-Communism” is Authority-Forming

If someone kept cutting down all the trees to bake bread, the people who depend on the forest to survive would of course have to intervene to stop the loggers from destroying the forest and thus killing their way of life.

This happens in rainforests today where indigenous people who have been let down by the state gleefully issuing licenses to corporate loggers, and turning a blind eye to illegal logging, instead take matters into their own hands and shut down the loggers using force.

They put their lives on the line to do this, and a lot of them are killed by the loggers who value their profits over the lives of indigenous people. They know if they don’t act to stop the loggers, the forests they call their home will be decimated and their way of life will have been destroyed forever. They’ll be forced into the cramped cities and have to labor all day everyday to buy the bread and beef that stripped their forests bare.

So how would an anarcho-communist society deal with someone who cuts down all the trees to bake bread? In an anarcho-communist society, everyone will be environmentally conscious and consume sustainably, right...? No. Not if you’re engaging in any kind of critical thinking.

Loggers can only destroy forests at the current explosive rate if the society imbues them with authority. If they have no authority, there's nothing stopping others from using force to end their pillaging of our natural resources. Without the authority of civilization behind them, the loggers have incredibly diminished power and no real motive to risk their lives to fell trees.

Anarcho-communism is an industrial ideology based around the notion of seizing the means of production and then running the factories, saw mills, oil rigs, mines and power plants democratically. Industrial civilization is an incredibly totalitarian authority that is nevertheless upheld by “anarcho”-communist theory, even though anarchists supposedly oppose all forms of authority.

In an industrial communist society, much like in a capitalist society, logging is necessary to further the industrial production the society is built around. As long as production drives the system, trees will have to be felled for all kinds of reasons: from lumber and paper production to making way for crops and cattle.

So, logging is highly valued by the people that uphold the industrial society, and in a real world scenario, these “anarcho” communists would have to take measures to protect loggers from repercussions from a small, uncivilized minority – the indigenous inhabitants of the forest. These measures are, by any definition, an authority. A monopoly on violence. A state in everything but name.

But since the loggers are providing this valued service to good, decent, reasoned, educated, domesticated, egalitarian, democratic, civilized anarcho-communists in big shiny cities who are accustomed to a litany of luxury consumer products being delivered to their doors everyday… Decidedly authoritarian methods will need to be taken to ensure the anarcho-loggers can do their anarcho-work without facing retaliation from the “primmie” forest dwellers. These methods can easily be justified in the ancom’s mind; there’s nothing an ancom loves more than to “justify” authority with their mighty reasoned logic™️.

So when faced with the conundrum that the anarcho-communist city needs lumber, paper, corn and meat, and the only thing standing in the way of production is a few indigenous tribes, the ancom will put their anarcho-Spock ears on and declare: “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few”. Just as capitalist and socialist states today violently suppress the indigenous people who take action to shut down logging and mining operations that quash their way of life, the anarcho-industrialist will send a red-and-black army in to escort their red-and-black bulldozers and discipline anyone that interferes with the will of “the people”.

The indigenous inhabitants of course won’t give a shit that their forests are being felled by communists rather than by capitalists. They won’t give a shit that the bulldozers are now owned collectively or that the land they’ve lived on for millennia has now been designated as belonging to “the people” (the civilized voting majority) instead of to the state or to capital.

The forest that nurtures the indigenous people and their children is still being decimated to maintain the destructive lifestyles of apathetic city-dwellers. Their lives are still being ended because to civilized people, they’re a backwards, regressive minority standing in the way of progress... Damaging the revolution, inhibiting the growth of their glorious egalitarian civilization. The educated, “progressive” majority outvote them. Anyway, everyone who has spoken to a red anarchist knows primmies are dirty reactionary ableists who want to stop us from building wheelchair and drug factories, right?

Civilized people always have pushed the notion that the “common good” or the good of the many will always outweigh the needs of individuals or small groups of people, ever since Aristotle, in his "The Aim of Man” wrote:

"The good of the state is of greater and more fundamental importance both to attain and to preserve. The securing of one individual's good is cause for rejoicing, but to secure the good of a nation or of a city-state is nobler and more divine." Communism is even more adamant in this “the will of the majority is paramount” shtick, going as far as to declare the industrial-worker class as the only voice that matters, with everyone needing to become part of the worker class in order to abolish class differences.

This logic is why the USSR, China and other communist experiments forced collectivization on self-sufficient indigenous peoples and then slaughtered them when they inevitably resisted. If people won’t consent to being displaced from their ancestral lands to work on the industrial farms and factories that fuel the destruction of their homes, they’re branded “kulaks” and “counter-revolutionaries” and “reactionaries” and are systemically genocided, usually by destroying their food sources.

Industrial goods are valued by industrial society over the forest and its inhabitants because domesticated people want to eat bread and microwaved pizza and the real cost of those products (environmental destruction) is of no real concern to industrial society beyond empty gestures like an occasional “save the rainforests” or “go vegan” banner.

The inhabitants of the forests and their strange foreign culture are too far removed from the busy cities for the average urbanites to involve themselves in their plight. Even the civilized rural people who live around the forests are forever striving to urbanize their villages in the unending quest for upwards mobility. In my experience, they’ll happily trade every tree in sight for a gourmet bakery, Apple Store or coffee-shop so they can feel as civilized as the people in the big cities who tend to look down on them for being “hillbillies” or “country bumpkins”.

“The people in the big cities of Sao Paulo and Rio, they want us to live on picking Brazil nuts,” a farmer says. “That doesn’t put anyone’s kid in college.” (From RollingStone.com.)

The settler-farmers who are burning what’s left of the Amazon rainforest to the ground say they’re doing it for their children... To make the cash to pay for their children to be educated and get good jobs in the city. It shouldn’t be controversial for me to say civilized people value their civilized life and will always put their civilized needs before the needs of uncivilized others.

Civilized people can relate to their civilized neighbours who have the same struggles as them: paying their bills, educating their kids, buying good insurance, washing their car, deciding where to go on vacation, renovating their kitchens, choosing the next Netflix show to binge watch... So it’s not surprising that they’ll do everything they can to prop up civilized people and kick down the uncivilized people who stand in the way of their quest for ever-increasing industrial comforts.

I can already see the denial stage setting in on some of your faces as I type: “But us anarcho-communists aren’t like capitalists, we’re good caring people. Humane people. We’ll make industry green, we’ll manage the forests in a sustainable manner using direct democracy, unions, unicorns and equality!”

Why would anyone swallow that crock of shit? Why would thoroughly domesticated people used to all the comforts of destructive industrial civilization suddenly decide to forgo those comforts because of democracy? Why would 7.7 billion people suddenly change how they live because anarcho-communism has been declared? How would ancom civilization make industry “green” when it’s clearly demonstrable that all industry is destructive to the environment and to wild people, and modelling a society on an industrial system has had disastrous results throughout history, regardless of what the attached ideology was named?

All controlled mass-society, including every historical experiment at building a communist society has created authority; bodies of people that hold power over others. That power grows over time and takes the “communist” society further and further away from its revolutionary origins. Every indication is that authority would continue to be manifested with industrial anarcho-communism. There is no evidence that anarcho-communism would avert authority when it’s so dependent on destructive, exploitative, alienating, domesticating industry and the control and domination of a global population of workers.

All Industrial Goods Free for All People: A Recipe for Disaster

In communism everything is free for the taking and resources are often treated as if they're infinite. If you decide you need something, you take it from the communal store. Kropotkin said no one has the right to judge how much an individual needs, except the individuals themselves.

Since most reds hold that resources should be allocated according to “need”, decisions would need to be made to determine who in the community has “need” of the biggest shares of resources.

I know most ancoms, like Kropotkin, claim every individual will just take whatever they “need” (want) from communal stores, but I'm going to cry foul on that because it's really not practical in an industrial society. Resources aren't infinite and no one is going to spend their life doing gruelling manual labor and then just give everything they produce away to some random stranger who shows up at the communal store with a dumpster truck and says "I need your community's entire monthly output of goods today, so load it up". For some reason ancoms think assholes would cease to exist in a communist society. Why would anyone work their asses off, wasting their life away doing menial manual labor just to watch some shitlord drive away with everything they produced because he announced he “needed” it?

“But as woke anarcho-communists in an advanced fully-automated luxury communist society, labor will in fact be quite limited and fun because we can divide duties between all our comrades! And profit will no longer be a concern since everything we make will be given to anyone that wants it free of charge, so we don’t need to worry about marketing our products and that will further minimize the amount of labor we’ll do, giving us ample leisure time to enjoy the fruits of our production!”

For the purposes of cold-hearted mockery, I’m slightly paraphrasing an ancom who responded to an early draft of this piece. What fantasy realm are ancoms living in where all the massive problems posed by industrial production (including the ongoing extinction of near-every lifeform on Earth) will evaporate when you remove profit and marketing from the equation?

I keep saying this in my writing but here I go again: In an industrial society that aims to give everyone in the world equal access to consumer goods, industry does not decrease; it increases. If everyone in the world suddenly has free and equal access to the mountains of wasteful shit that Western consumers consider necessary to life, not only would production need to massively increase, but we would run out of resources to exploit much more rapidly.

That’s assuming anyone would even want to work in the mines and factories in a supposedly equal society if they no longer had guns to their heads. Why would anyone go back down into that mine once their chains are broken? Does anyone honestly think those Congolese kids give a shit if you have a new phone every year? Should they really be expected to sacrifice themselves for your entitlement? So you can continue to live in luxury with all your little conveniences?

In a real world implementation of industrial communism, communities will no doubt quickly impose limits on what can be taken from communal stores after a few people take way more than they have any right to and other people go without as a result, despite them laboring for hours a day to produce those goods. Kropotkin might insist we’ll all be happy toiling away all day to make this consumerist shit just to give it away to random strangers, but he was a privileged scholar who never had to work a day in his life, so what do you expect?

Industrial society right now is fed by the ceaseless labor of billions of exploited people in the Global South. People are forced to toil in mines from childhood to procure the materials that other people (also including children) then assemble into consumer goods in factories, all for starvation wages. This is debilitating, dangerous work that leaves the people who do it sucked of their youth after a few years.

Anyway, let’s play along with communist mythology for a bit to get to my next point. In an ideal communist society (where I guess minerals are somehow found equally all across the planet and not overwhelmingly located in the Global South as in the real world), outsourced labor would presumably go away because communists would never exploit workers in distant lands (who ever heard of an imperialist communist, right? Right??) So instead production would need to be localized, and then the goods would be distributed according to need.

For resources to be allocated according to need, you'll have some kind of deciding body in place to judge what each person's needs are; what resources each person should be given.

There are lots of factors to take into consideration when deciding someone’s “needs”, like how far they live from work, how far they live from the store, how many calories they burn doing the labor they do, the size of their family, their dietary restrictions, disabilities they might have, their particular metabolism, how many parties they throw, how many friends they have and thus might invite to the parties, their religious and cultural practices, the size of their house, the size of their garden, the type of insulation their house has and how quickly it loses heat, the fuel efficiency of their car... I could list hundreds more things but I’ll stop myself.

Giving bureaucrats this power will no doubt mean certain favored groups / individuals will be rewarded and less desirable groups / individuals will be neglected, or even punished. This is the nature of authority. You’ll need a body of full-time bureaucrats to collect all this data and measure how it should determine your share of the pie, and those bureaucrats are going to have biases. If a computer does it, the programmer will have biases. And you'd still need bureaucrats to collect the data and feed it to the computer. Then they could easily feed incorrect or selective data to the computer because of their biases.

It's always felt like a recipe for corruption and exploitation to me for a bureaucracy to determine someone’s worth... Which is probably why Kropotkin stipulated that everyone should be able to just take whatever they themselves decide they need from the stores.

Of course, the real solution would be to not base your proposed utopian society on industrial production in the first place... Promising industrial production will be unlimited because everyone will voluntarily agree to work real hard in the factories and mines and slaughterhouses and the goods will be distributed to everyone everywhere somehow while maintaining a sustainable ecological green solarpunk paradise just makes you a smug fucking liar. No different than a grinning politician promising to give us freedom, liberty and prosperity if we vote for him.

The only red anarchist tendency that made a modicum of practical sense in my mind was anarcho-collectivism, because at least the workers would receive the direct value of their labor hours instead of having external bodies decide how much value / worth to assign to them as a person.

If you're going to spend your life toiling in a factory or farm to produce goods for other people, would you really want a bureaucrat or a committee or even a direct voter body deciding how much you deserve for that labor, while giving someone who does the same job (or a much easier job) more than you because of potentially biased reasons?

Regardless, anarcho-collectivism still only really values the workers who are most willing to submit to the factory grind and put in the most hours. Anarcho-collectivism still holds ecodical industry and luxuries for cityfolk up above all life on the planet... So that 19th century ideology isn’t going to save you either. Throw it right in the trash with the bread book because this “reform-industrial-society” charade isn’t helping when the planet is on fire.

If industrial communism were actually implemented in the real world, you can be relatively certain that some kind of authority would need to be put in place to prevent bad actors from showing up at the store and taking a community’s entire monthly production. People would need to police the store and judge whether someone is worthy of taking as much as they’re taking. They’d need to become authorities, upholders of law and order. Purveyors of “justice”.

Let’s be clear now because I know a lot of red anarchists are going to try to “justify” this authority as being “necessary for the good of society” as they will do. Policing who can take food and how much they can take is a clear authority. Not a “justified” authority, because such a thing simply does not exist.

And this store-policing is not the anarchist tactic of “direct action” either, let’s make that clear right now, because it’s a frightenly common misunderstanding with red anarchists. Creating a police force has nothing to do with direct action.

Direct action is an isolated use of force unconnected to institutional systems of power. People who engage in direct action are not appealing to a higher authority for legitimacy. Their action is not legitimized by anyone and they receive no protection or reward from an authority as they take the action. There’s no monopoly on violence being granted to them by an authority, so there’s nothing to guarantee their safety from retaliation if the action fails or succeeds.

There’s no institutional power-imbalance being created when someone takes direct action against an authority. The authority already created the power imbalance, and your direct action is a form of defense to shield you, your ecosystem or your community from that imbalance.

Direct action is an entirely anarchist tactic, but pinning badges on people, officiating them, and giving them the authority (and the monopoly on violence) to police a store and withhold food and products from certain people for whatever reason has nothing to do with anarchy. Building a hierarchy like this has nothing to do with anarchy.

Police officers and judges (authorities) ruling over a communal store is authoritarian. An officiated police force is a completely different thing from the isolated use of force by a lone actor or a small group of actors to preserve life and combat authority (direct action).

Creating a police force, even if it’s formed of volunteers, even if they were elected, even if they make decisions collectively, even if their uniforms are red and black, even if the officers placed on duty are regularly rotated, is authoritarian by any definition. There are no anarchist cops. An “anarchist cop” couldn’t be a bigger oxymoron.

Here’s an example of direct action: me punching a logger who is cutting down my favorite tree. This action is completely removed from structural systems of authority because I have no authority or structural power behind me. There’s nothing legitimizing my use of force or giving me a monopoly on violence. My use of force doesn’t extend beyond my own two fists. Since assault is illegal, and his logging is legal, the logger has the full authority of the law behind him, so any action I take to oppose that authority is punching up. It’s fighting to curve a gross power imbalance. It’s anarchy.

In this civilized world, I could be severely punished by law enforcement for using force to stop his desecration of a forest. As the state gave him his logging permit, he has authority over the forest and every life that depends on the forest to survive. He punches down every time he fells a tree. He is the full embodiment of archy. If I choose to stand in his way, there’s no state behind me, no court, no police force. Me physically stopping a logger from felling trees is an isolated use of force to strike back at a system of authority. The logger destroys life for profit, and if I take action to stop him because I don’t want to see the forest become a barren desert, I don’t become a state or any kind of authority based on that decision to fight back.

Forming a police squad and a bureaucracy to patrol and govern an officiated communal store, appointing authorities to sit and judge how much each individual deserves to eat, on the other hand, creates legitimized systems of power and an institutional monopoly on violence. It creates a state, or at the very least a proto-state that will later develop into a full-blown state as the bureaucracy grows.

The German philosopher Max Weber defined the state as a monopoly on the legitimate use of physical force. State violence, whether it’s committed on behalf of the state by a politician, a judge, a cop or a logger, is always a legitimate force. Any violence the state does is immediately “justified” simply by virtue of it being dispensed by a legitimate state actor who is doing it for the good of the state and its authority.

A logger with an official permit to slice up a forest is thus fully justified in the eyes of society to do as much harm to the forest as is deemed necessary by the authorities who granted the permit.

A state exists wherever an authority can authorize and legitimize violence. There is no way for an anarchist to “justify” a coercive, authoritarian institution such as a police force that will no doubt be biased against minority groups and lead to the accumulation of power by the dominant group, and abuses of power by the people doing the policing. Even if minority groups are involved in the police force, the majority group will still oppress their groups.

A society that mass-produces goods and distributes them in communal stores will manifest itself as a state, regardless of Kropotkin’s insistences that everyone will work voluntarily and then take whatever they want from the stores. There’s no practical scenario where industrial labor is truly voluntary. There’s no practical scenario on this Earth of rapidly diminishing returns where “free” stores won’t need to be policed to deny unlimited goods to individuals and groups who the governing body decides are less worthy of the fruits of their labor.

Anarcho-communism simply isn’t revolutionary as long as we are depleting all our resources in the name of industrial civilization; something anarcho-communism demands as an industrial, work-based ideology that revolves around civilizing the land and its inhabitants in order to extract resources and labor. There’s nothing revolutionary about continuing the global ecocide under the guise of democracy. Every anarchist should understand the difference between isolated force and authority, but very few self-identifying social anarchists seem interested in this and are content prating on about “justified authority”, debating “how an anarcho-communist police force could work” and excitedly discussing Chomsky’s latest speech telling them to vote for a lesser-evil neoliberal politician.

I know I sound bitter, but I’ve been disillusioned with the majority of red anarchists I come into contact with for years now and they only seem to get worse as industrial society plods on and the sands and seas climb further up our necks.

Anarcho-communism is not the solution to fighting authority, it’s simply a skin-deep re-brand of authority. A sparkly new paint job. There’s a reason so many ancoms strive to “justify” authority. They don’t actually care about reaching for anarchy.

Is Communism Always Authority-Forming?

In my mind, communism can only work outside of industrial mass society. A small community gathering or growing supplies and freely sharing them with the rest of the community. Each community trading with other small communities. Marx and Engels ironically dubbed this hunter-gatherer form of society that had long existed in human history as “primitive communism” and suggested it was inferior to their advanced industrial communism that valued the factory and centralized city life above all else.

Mass industry requires mass agriculture, mass labor, mass transport, mass resource extraction, mass construction, mass policing, mass military... Mass society and will only lead right back to capitalism and statism because it's so unwieldy and authority forming. Any communist tendency built around industrial exploitation is going to create all kinds of fucked up hierarchies and just lead us right back to the apocalyptic status quo.

Most communists I’ve talked to about this are unable to accept that some people will still act like assholes if capitalism collapses, which I’d probably find endearing if these people weren’t such giant assholes themselves; calling me a privileged reactionary for daring to suggest their blessed ideology might have some flawed logic. They insist everyone will cease being selfish assholes once capitalism is done away with because “assholes are only assholes as long as capitalism pits them against each other.”

Even if we wake up one morning and marketing, consumer culture and wealth are all done away with, we still have generations of indoctrination in authoritarian behavior to contend with. That doesn't go away overnight. But even without consumer culture to guide them, people are still completely capable of being assholes. Going back to before mass-society even existed, people would murder each other and take their stuff. They'd raid each other's settlements, they'd steal their children, they'd fight over territory and cultural differences. These aren't things that were invented by capitalism and they won’t go away just because communism is declared.

People aren't inherently just or unjust. Humanity is not good or bad. Every person is an individual, each with different experiences, motivations, traumas. Communism expects everyone to be altruistic. Capitalism expects everyone to act out of greed and self preservation. Neither is true because both are ideologically driven worldviews that attempt to define human nature in order to instruct us how to behave by instilling us with their morals. People are greedy, people are generous, people are kind, people are mean-spirited. Every person in the world is all of these things and more. People are not defined by one single personality trait their entire lives.

I’m haunted by every shitty thing I’ve ever done and I’m sure I’ll do more shitty things yet, despite my best intentions. No one is above making mistakes. Mutual aid is a great thing, but it needs to be earned. There are people in our lives that we trust and people we can’t stand to be around. Not everyone is deserving of the products of our labor. Some people in the world will always try to exploit you, even if they already have everything their hearts could possibly desire. Some people will be kind to you no matter how big an asshole you are.

I’ve been accused by communists of being cynical, of being “regressive” and “counter-revolutionary” because I don’t buy into the communist notion that humans are inherently good and they just need the right industrial system to bring that good out of them.

Any society where I’m expected to just sit back and watch as a logger destroys my ecosystem because he’s serving the “greater good” isn’t a society I want any part of. I value my autonomy over the desires of traumatized workers pushing buttons for 8 hours a day in a city far-removed from me. I’d rather take the logger’s chainsaw away than fiddle my thumbs as he takes everything I know, and to hell with whatever bureaucratic process enshrined him with the right to decimate the forest to give bread to the workers. Fuck the workers and their bread and their fully-automated luxury communism and their divine democratic rights.

There’s simply no reason to believe exploitative assholes will go away if communism is ever enacted.

There’s a man I know who constantly exploits me for my labor, and I always go along with it. He dangles a carrot on a stick in front of me every time; promising that after I help him, he’ll hook me up to his well so I can have free water for my trees. For years he’s made this promise.

I’ve spent countless hours doing dangerous work for this guy with no reward. He always disappears after I do the work without giving me what he promised. Then the next week he wakes me up again at 6am on a Saturday by honking his horn, apologizes for not getting around to hooking me up to the well yet, saying he was too busy or in the hospital or had a family emergency, promises he’ll do it this week, and then I’m hanging off a cliff or a roof repairing pipes for him all day while he barks orders at me.

I do it because I’m a fucking pushover who can’t say no to people due to my ridiculous kind nature. But whenever I ask him for anything, I’m met with a blank stare, an abrupt subject change or a sorry excuse. I was stranded a two hour walk down the mountain last week when my car broke down, and he drove right around me and didn’t even slow down. When I saw him later, he swore on his life that he didn’t see me because the sun was in his eyes. I nodded and shrugged.

Communism wouldn’t stop this lying dipshit from exploiting me; he’d still need someone to fix his leaky pipes, start up his diesel generator, saw off the upper branches of his olive trees and climb shoddy makeshift structures for him regardless of the economic system in place. He’d still give me a sob story about his painful ulcer and I’d still do the hard work to spare him the pain of doing it himself. He wouldn’t stop being an exploitative asshole just because democracy is installed in the workplace. He wouldn’t start practising mutual aid when he goes to great lengths to avoid all work and shames other people into doing it for him.

Red anarchists throw every insult in the book at me when I voice my doubts about their wistful ideologies; condemning me for being critical of the amazing breadman Kropotkin or their “green industry” tsar Professor Bookchin... It’s hard to give my perspective as an indigenous anarchist to these people who are so hostile to any worldview that doesn’t validate their luxurious industrial lifestyle and their driving desire to make that lifestyle more democratic in order to receive a bigger share of the pie.

Between the shouts of “reactionary lifestylist” and “dirty primmie” they lobby at me, I try to explain my perspective to them. I see suffering in the world and I want to make sense of it. I’m not satisfied just handwaving it away and clinging to fanciful utopian ideologies designed to energize European factory workers from the 1800s. I don’t believe red-industry will cure society of all its ills and free humans from their chains.

The warehouse I’ve worked in for more than a decade will not become magically liberating if I’m given the power of democracy. It’ll still be a miserable fucking place filled with toxic pesticides that are slowly killing me.

Some ancoms will no doubt unironically reply to this piece with reasoning that just amounts to "no, actually, anarcho-communist industry will be a utopia because Kropotkin said so". They’ll quote a bunch of literature to me that is nothing but empty promises by long-dead European philosophers for industrial egalitarianism. I’ve really run out of patience for that line of thinking. It’s no different than a 7 year old trying to win an argument by insisting “because my dad said so”... But when it comes down to it, that’s all most reds can do. Quote their heroes and cling to the hope that they’ll be proven right some day. That hope is what keeps them going as their miserable civilized lives burn the world up. “All our suffering will end once we have democracy in the workplace”. Those poor, deluded, hope-filled souls.

Everything I know tells me industry cannot be made "green" any more than capitalism can be made ethical. All agricultural industrial society in history has resulted in ecocide and eventually collapse. When you extract resources, burn fuel, manufacture goods and distribute them to millions or billions of people, you do real irreversible harm to ecosystems and human lives. Ancoms are not magical beings that can somehow escape the consequences of this because they're supposedly "good" and “egalitarian”.

If anarcho-communism were ever attempted, half the "nuances" it has will be thrown out for being fantastic, half-baked and impossible to implement in an industrial mass-society. Compromises will be made to make the system functional. A lot of things have been claimed about communism, but whenever its been attempted in real life models, almost none of those claims have come to fruition and they never will because:

a) Resources aren't infinite.

b) Industrial output has a high 'hidden' cost, and most importantly:

c) Work isn't voluntary.

No matter how much you swear you’ll make labor democratic, no one is working because they really want to. They’re working because the system requires them to work to survive. No amount of democracy will stop the system from asserting its authority on everyone inside its suffocating walls. Abolishing the borders between territories will do nothing if industrial civilization continues to box us in and starve us if we dare to resist its rule. If we can’t escape civilization, the whole world is nothing more than one big prison.

Civilized people labor to create consumer goods because the system gives them no other option if they want to survive. The only way people will continue to toil in the factories and warehouses in "a communist society" is if they are forced to by the system. No free hunter gatherer will voluntarily give up their freedom to stand at an assembly line pushing buttons so other people can have Corn Flakes, weedkiller and AAA batteries. It's something that needs to be forced on humans by domestication and the joined threat of violence and starvation that props up the industrial system.

Industry is a clear authority and anarcho-communist theory is completely oblivious to that. Anarcho-communism is nothing more than an attempt to reform the tyranny of civilization to give it a sly smile. It’s the anarchist version of Barack Obama promising change but just delivering more of the same and expecting you to celebrate it.

Seize the Means of Destruction! (And fucking burn it to the ground…)

Ancoms insist “people would choose to produce only what is needed” in an anarcho-communist society. That word; "needed" is really useless. Anyone can define anything as being "needed", but almost none of the things defined as such are actually needed. This is why industrial communism isn't really compatible with anarchy: anything and everything will be defined as "needed" by domesticated people, no matter how authority-forming the things are. If it means they get to keep consuming, anarcho-consumers would happily define everything from pesticides to slaughterhouses to automobile plants as “needed”. This is the power of democracy. Whatever narrative the collective adopts becomes the official, approved narrative and anyone questioning it will be seen as subversive and dangerous and a threat to order and common decency.

This "needed industry" argument is a lot like the "justified authority" argument a lot of red “anarchists” keep making to uphold every shitty authority they cling to all the way up to the state, prisons and the police.

Usually they’ll just rename these authorities “the commune”, “the social re-integration facility” and “the peacekeepers” and be satisfied that they’ve come up with a real change. It's meaningless. Domesticated people will not allow themselves to see past the carefully manufactured alienating world they’ve inherited. Very few civilized people are willing to risk losing what they perceive as the great comforts imbibed to them by industrial civilization.

Even if they recognize how strangling these “comforts” actually are to them and everything else on the planet, instead of rejecting them outright, they draw up elaborate plans to reform the way those “comforts” are produced and dispersed. Most of these plans, when deconstructed and debullshitted, ultimately amount to little more than slapping the word “anarcho” in front of everything and trusting it’ll be all good because it’s anarchized now.

People thrived without industry and agriculture for millennia. Civilization has led to the extinction of near everything on the planet. 99.9% of industrial goods are not "needed" by humanity, they're wanted.

Ancoms aren't going to suddenly decide to give up their phones, Doritos and washing machines when they find out they're environmentally destructive. They'll just rubber-stamp all the things they want as "needed", “eco-friendly”, “sustainable” or “green” and call it a day. And we’ll be expected to keep working our miserable jobs and like it because now they’re anarcho-jobs in an anarcho-society with anarcho-exploitation and anarcho-masters.

Keeping people in the mines and factories building those consumer goods that "the people" decide they "need" will require massive authority that will be just another iteration of capitalism in all but name. Just like “communist” Russia and “communist” China and “communist” North Korea. Not a trace of communism will survive once industrial civilization is done grinding everything up. There’s nothing about “anarcho-communism” that will spare it from the same fate. Claiming to be anti-authority rings hollow when you cling to authoritarian industrial civilization, workerism and all the other authorities ancoms at large decide are “justified”.

A bureaucracy will always be instilled in an organized mass-society and this is why industrial communism isn't tenable. It’s why every time industrial communism has been attempted, it has simply been manifested as a perverse collective-capitalism with even more centralized power than regular-flavor capitalism. The bureaucracy will quickly morph into a state, and by definition the society will no longer be communist. But of course, it’ll keep calling itself “communist” and ensure the distinction between capitalism and communism remains paper-thin so people won’t be able to envision a better world than the brutal industrial wasteland we’ve all been born into.

Any system that allocates resources and polices people is functionally a state, regardless of what it brands itself as.

All implementations of industrial society have failed to liberate people, instead making their lives more and more miserable with each stage of industrialism, and to claim that attaching “anarcho” to the front of an industrial system will make a difference is absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Communism has never succeeded at liberating us historically and will not suddenly succeed just because you promise you’re better than other communists and you and all your super-libertarian ancom comrades will pick up cans of paint and make all the chimney stacks bright green.

Authoritarian behavior will only ever be repeated if society is structured around authoritarian institutions like industrialism and democracy. Both Marx and Kropotkin’s communism are centred around these institutions because their ideologies require that people be controlled by bureaucracy. Whether it be decentralized democratic bureaucracy or centralized party bureaucracy is irrelevant. The result is the same: Authority and control.

Without this bureaucracy, the society would descend into anarchy. Yes, wonderful, amazing, freeing anarchy. The very thing every red fears most because it would mean they’d no longer get to forcibly structure society and people around their sacred ideology and force their authority and morality on them. Domesticated people sit trapped in sterile little boxes, fed a steady drip of pesticide and high-fructose corn syrup as they labor, consume, consume, consume and then die.

This isn’t life. This isn’t anarchy. This is a waking nightmare, a depraved hell-world that has all of us thoroughly brainwashed into thinking it acceptable. Branding it “communist” or “libertarian socialist” or “democratic” or “egalitarian” or “decentralized” or “anarcho-communist” will not end the nightmare. It will not stop the planet-wide ecocide civilization has wrought on all living things. The means of destruction being controlled by industrial workers instead of industrial bosses will not stop the ecocide.

Seizing the factories and making them democratically managed as all reds yearn to do won’t do anything to save us from violence, misery, alienation and eventual extinction.

The only way to destroy authority is to burn industry to the ground before it devours every last lifeform on the planet.

The only chance we have to survive what’s coming in the next few years as our ecosystems are collapsing all around us is to tear down every factory and close every port and slice up every road until civilization is in ruins.

But in all honesty, we’re not going to do that. We’re going to watch television and sip iced tea and we’re going to wait for the end. I’m going to keep watching in silence as the local bread man fells the last remaining wilderness.

Maybe the planet will recover somewhat in a few millennia and maybe the next lifeform that evolves will have more sense than the desertmakers. This is the last hope I cling to.

[unpeumacabre]

soaring dragon dancing phoenix - 龙飞凤舞: chapter one

Yunmeng is no longer home for Wei Wuxian, for he is no longer welcome. And so when he visits he can always count on Jiang Cheng descending upon his head with the full strength of heaven's fury, to chase him out. But one day when he sneaks into Yunmeng again, days go by without Jiang Cheng making an appearance. Something has happened to Wei Wuxian's prickly shi-di, something that - once they reunite - they will find is far greater than they could ever have anticipated. Accompanied also by Wei Wuxian's dear friend (?) Lan Zhan and a Lan Xichen who has only just reluctantly left isolation, the four of them set out on a journey that will bring them across the greater part of China to the mystical Kunlun mountains of mythology - and more importantly, may bring them love, healing, and reconciliation.

If only Wei Wuxian could take his head out of his oblivious arse and start putting himself in other people's shoes for once...

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Wangxian, Xicheng, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 8k

<- previous

Wei Wuxian woke in darkness, and it was a darkness he did not recognise.

He sat up, groaning as the movement jarred his bones and made him ache in places he’d not known existed. There was something clouding his thoughts, draining his energy; after a few moments wherein he tried to get his bearings, he sensed the presence of a suppressing array designed to repress spiritual energy and sap his strength.

It was not a man-made array. Instead, it had the hallmarks of something far more ancient and terrible.

The amount of resentful energy in the air was so thick that he almost choked on it. In fact, if not for the suppressing array, he would have had trouble stopping the energy from churning through his body and sending him into a state of backlash.

As he stumbled to his feet, there was a crunch underfoot. Something sharp poked into his hand as he steadied himself against the ground. He felt for the object, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised he had stepped on and broken the jaw bone of a skull.

“Ah – “ reflexively he recoiled. Then he relaxed as he realised it was likely the skull of a deer.

As he blinked and looked about the room, slowly things came into focus. First he saw around him walls made of dark, dank stone. There was a sour, mossy smell in the air; the air felt thick with moisture, and he wrinkled his nose in response. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and there was a faint ringing in his ears, likely from the blow to his head he’d received to knock him out before he’d been dragged into this chamber.

“At least whatever took me left me mostly intact,” he muttered to himself, fishing a talisman out of his robes and lighting it with a brief spark of spiritual energy.

He looked down, and realised that the floor was littered with more bones – animal bones, human bones, and unidentifiable shards which were coated in a thin layer of something shiny. When he nudged one of the fragments, it made a squishing noise under his foot, and Wei Wuxian instantly regretted his curiosity.

This must be the lair of the human-eating monster, he thought to himself, and this is where it chucks the remnants of its meals…it must have deemed Mo Xuanyu too skinny and underfed to be worthwhile fare, and tossed me in here for storage instead. It’s not my fault his isn’t a body which builds muscle easily! Why, if I only had my old body…

As he continued to stew indignantly over the monster’s disrespect of his physique, he returned his gaze to the walls, and suddenly realised that there was a passageway carved into the wall, leading into the next room. With one last glance around the chamber he was currently occupying, he deemed there to be little else of note therein, and trotted over to the aperture in the wall.

As he walked cautiously through the passageway, feeling his way with his hands and trying not to cringe at the thin layer of sticky moisture which gathered on his palms, suddenly the corridor opened out into a large chamber. More bones crunched under his feet, and now he found he had to pick his way carefully across the floor without falling over.

Abruptly the faint light from his talisman revealed a purple-clad body on the ground, and Wei Wuxian tripped.

Thankfully, he caught himself before he managed to fall on the body, and once he had regained his balance, he squatted over the body and squinted balefully at the face of the unfortunate person.

Jiang Cheng?! Wei Wuxian exclaimed mentally. What luck!

- Or, lack thereof, depending on how you looked at it. It was supremely lucky that he’d managed to find Jiang Cheng – alive, judging from the steady shallow rise and fall of his chest – and with all limbs and his head still firmly attached. But also supremely unlucky in the sense that they were now alone in a room with both their spiritual energy severely depleted, and without other Yunmeng Jiang sect members/Lan Zhan as buffers.

“Oh well. The rice is now cooked; what’s done is done, and there’s no way around it,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’ll just have to deal with his bad temper when he wakes up.”

Wei Wuxian leant over Jiang Cheng and scanned his body. There were faint lines on his temples where dried blood had trickled down from a wound on his head, similar to that on Wei Wuxian’s own forehead, but there didn’t seem to be much lasting damage. His spiritual energy was worryingly low, however, and it could barely be felt through his pulse point. Hurriedly, Wei Wuxian yanked open the collar of his robe and undergarments and placed his hand against his chest.

Thankfully, the thrumming of his spiritual energy was still present – very faint and weak, but still there.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING,” Jiang Cheng said weakly.

“Aaaahhh!” Wei Wuxian yelped, falling backwards and dropping the talisman. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Why are you the one yelling? I’m the one who woke up to being groped by a goddamn cut-sleeve!” Jiang Cheng shouted, albeit a bit feebly.

“Even when you’re half-dead you’re still so noisy,” Wei Wuxian said peevishly. “I was just checking your golden core! As if I’d want to touch you. Gross. And I’m not a cut-sleeve,” he added quickly.

Jiang Cheng ignored him, lifting himself up on his elbows and attempting to get onto his feet. He slapped away Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hand and managed to hobble upright on his own.

“My golden core,” he said suddenly, and looked up at Wei Wuxian with wild eyes. “I can barely feel it. And my senses feel dulled. I can’t think properly. What the hell’s happened to me?!”

“There’s a suppressing array in place,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Can’t you feel it? It’s suppressing your spiritual energy and sapping your strength.”

“Why don’t you seem affected then?” Jiang Cheng said, his tone mildly accusatory.

Wei Wuxian paused. “I don’t have a golden core, remember. And I’ve gone so long without one, I suppose it’s easier to get used to operating on lower spiritual energy.”

He kept his tone breezy and light, but even he felt that it was slightly over-played. Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched and he turned away.

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Come on, Jiang Cheng,” he tried. “You know it doesn’t matter to me anymore. It’s an old wound, and I was the one who chose to give it up anyway. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

When Jiang Cheng turned back, there was so much guilt and anger in his eyes, Wei Wuxian found he could no longer stand it. He broke their gaze and looked around instead.

“We’re going to need weapons for defence,” he said, thinking out loud. “Spiritual weapons won’t work, since you’re low on spiritual energy, so Sandu and Zidian are out. Oh, how about this!” and he skipped over to the corner of the room, where a bunch of corpses were haphazardly piled on top of each other, covered in sparse cobwebs. A giant hairy spider crawled out of one of the skulls’ mouths and scuttled sideways into the shadows.

From their garb, the bodies had apparently been farmers or fishermen, and accordingly, there were various tools scattered on the ground next to them. Wei Wuxian picked up a few of the items and scrutinised them.

“Here, Jiang Cheng!” he called, and held them out. “Hoe, spade, pitchfork; time to play farmer for the day! Take your pick?”

Jiang Cheng grabbed the pitchfork without looking, his eyes trained on their surroundings and scanning the walls with what little light from the talisman remained. He clenched his fist, and Zidian crackled weakly, but otherwise there was no response, as expected.

“What do you remember before you were knocked out?” he said finally. “How did you find me here?”

Wei Wuxian was relieved to find that Jiang Cheng’s demeanour was back to normal.

He dropped the tools carelessly. “Hmm… I’ve been in Yunmeng for a while, and I went to – I met some Yunmeng Jiang disciples in Yunmeng and they told me you’d taken a group of your cultivators to the area outside the city where there had been a monster causing trouble and eating humans,” he said. “Since you’d been gone for quite a while, I figured it might be an interesting monster, so I came to have a look. I found the entrance to a cave in the area the disciples mentioned, but just as I entered, something knocked me out. Though I didn’t see what.”

“It was the same for me.” Jiang Cheng’s brow darkened, and his jaw clenched. “We must find the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who came with me – whether they be dead or alive.”

Wei Wuxian nodded grimly. “I came from another room in which there were also many bones and remnants of clothing. There must be other rooms in which they may be found.”

They made their way sombrely through the various passageways and tunnels into other rooms which also reeked of dampness and decay. One by one, they found the distinctive bright purple robes of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples, covering bodies with the flesh only recently gnawed off the bones. For all of them, Jiang Cheng knelt by their sides and covered their bones with their robes, and arranged their remains tidily as best he could.

As he stood up from the side of the last corpse of the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who’d accompanied him on his night hunt, his eyes were red with unshed tears. Wei Wuxian tactfully remained silent as Jiang Cheng took a few moments more to compose himself.

“We should get out and find reinforcements,” Wei Wuxian said at last, when Jiang Cheng’s colour had returned, and his grip on Sandu’s handle had loosened.

At Wei Wuxian’s words, he stiffened, and said suddenly, “What about the monster? It’s somewhere in here causing havoc. Who knows how many more people will killed in the time it takes for us to get back to Lotus Pier and fetch more people to help?”

“Our spiritual energy is so diminished, and we don’t have any useful weapons on us,” Wei Wuxian answered exasperatedly. “With this suppressing array in place, what damage can we possibly do to the monster?”

“Even if we bring reinforcements, they’ll be hit by the suppressing array too,” Jiang Cheng said stubbornly

“This creature is clearly a dangerous one, if our experiences have taught us anything, and one not to be taken lightly. We won’t be able to do much to it!” Wei Wuxian protested.

“Didn’t you kill the Xuanwu even while starved for three days, and heavily injured?” Jiang Cheng rebutted angrily. “Are you saying I’m not as competent as Lan Wangji?”

When Jiang Cheng was like this, it was difficult to deal with him. Wei Wuxian let his exasperation get the better of him. “Fine! Have it your way then!” he snapped. “For the record, I still think we’re going to our death. But since you’re being so pig-headed about it, we might as well try and find the monster and do what damage we can before we end up dying.”

They walked for a bit in a stony silence. The talisman, previously already on its last embers, soon shrivelled away into nothingness. Wei Wuxian wordlessly fished another yellow sheet from his robes and lit their way once more.

In the few moments in which darkness had reigned, Jiang Cheng’s expression had changed.

He quickly schooled it back to his familiar frown, however, and Wei Wuxian would have thought it a trick of the light, if he had not seen it plain as day.

“At least… let’s at least scope out the terrain so we know it better,” Jiang Cheng muttered, with a curious scraping noise, as if he were grinding his teeth. “Then we’ll know it better the second time when we come back with reinforcements.”

“… Are you feeling alright?” Wei Wuxian asked cautiously, with concern. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?”

“Shut up! Don’t make me change my mind!” Jiang Cheng said huffily, and walked a little bit faster.

Now I remember why Jin Ling’s princess-like temper seemed so familiar, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. He’s a carbon copy of Jiang Cheng as a child! No wonder, what with the way Jiang Cheng raises him.

Of course he would never dare to say such a thing to Jiang Cheng’s face, so they continued ambling on in more silence. Suddenly, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“I can sense something different,” Wei Wuxian said, turning his head from side to side as he attempted to trace the thing which had caught his attention. He closed his eyes and focused his mind.

It took him much concentration and mental capacity, but finally he sensed what had distracted him – a tendril of energy which differed from the constant thrum of resentful energy that threatened to overwhelm him at every step, the latter which likely came from the multiple corpses that they had left behind in the previous rooms. This new energy felt more similar to the force that sustained the suppressing array, but at the same time, curiously unlike. Wei Wuxian tilted his head to the side as he tried to sort out the tangled coils of energy in the air, into a more coherent map.

“I think I can sense the spiritual energy of the monster,” he said, after a few moments. “That is, if this creature is indeed the one that set up the suppressing array. Following its energy should lead us to its location.”

“There’s such a thick cloud of resentful energy. You can tell the monster’s energy apart?” Jiang Cheng asked in disbelief.

“Master of Demonic Cultivation, remember?” Wei Wuxian said, mustering up a grin. “I lived and breathed resentful energy for a while before I, er, before the siege on the Yiling Mounds.” He rushed on quickly before Jiang Cheng could become maudlin again. “It’s nothing to me, to tell apart different sources of resentful energy.”

“I’ve never before heard of a beast that was able to cast a suppressing array,” Jiang Cheng said, thankfully too preoccupied with the matter at hand to be easily distracted by talk of the past. “It must be a human-like monster then – but no, those were clearly the marks of an animal’s teeth on the bodies of my cultivators.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “My line of thinking was the same as yours. I don’t think this thing is purely beast-like nor human-like, and it’s probably a mix of both, such that it’s able to cast a suppressing array, and yet attack people with such ferocity and strength. We’ll have to trace the energy to its source to find out.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement from Jiang Cheng in response, they continued trudging on in a firm, painful silence. This was a foreign concept to Wei Wuxian; even in his time with Lan Zhan, that taciturn rock of a man, he’d been able to fill the void between them with his aimless chatter and the playing of Chenqing. But something between him and Jiang Cheng still felt too raw, too new and vulnerable, to risk damaging with his usual frivolous antics.

This is so awkward, Wei Wuxian thought. Should I make the first move? But he might yell at me again. Hang on, since when have I been so afraid of Jiang Cheng’s scoldings? Anyway, what would I even ask him? ‘How are the lotuses doing in Lotus Pier?’ Um, no…

Surprisingly, however, Jiang Cheng was the first to break the silence.

“How – ahem. How is Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d heard him right at first, but as he looked at Jiang Cheng incredulously, the question forming on his lips, Jiang Cheng flushed, and looked away.

“Oh! Er, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked, loudly to cover up both their discomfort. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s Chief Cultivator, you know! Isn’t that amazing?”

Jiang Cheng muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I’m the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader, of course I know who the fucking Chief Cultivator is, but then he harrumphed and cleared his throat. Wei Wuxian magnanimously decided to let him off and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

“I thought you two were inseparable?” Jiang Cheng asked, darting a sideways glance at Wei Wuxian. “And yet you haven’t seen him for a while?”

For some reason, that particular question grated at Wei Wuxian’s skin, and the light of the talisman flickered in response to his annoyance. “Well, he’s busy,” he said airily, “and… and I’ll see him soon. I’m sure of it. As if he could go a day without my presence!”

“He seems to be getting on perfectly fine without you,” Jiang Cheng pointed out, detestably reasonable as always.

“With Lan Zhan’s poker face, how can you tell?” Wei Wuxian returned quickly. This time it was he who walked a little faster, just to be spiteful, and just because he could.

“You look like you’ve been tramping through the wilderness,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly switching the subject.

“I’ve just been living wild for a while. You know, living off the land, eating only fruits and berries, surviving by my abundance of wits as usual…”

“Hah!” Jiang Cheng snorted. It was not a nice snort, Wei Wuxian thought crossly, and in retaliation, he decided not to respond.

Jiang Cheng finally spoke up again, after a long while in which Wei Wuxian had been distracting himself with thoughts of a new classification system for demons of the five elements. “We’ve been going in circles!” he said, and his tone bridled with frustration. “I recognise that rock formation over there. I caught my hand on it earlier – look, my blood is still fresh on the stone.”

Wei Wuxian looked at the rock, and indeed, Jiang Cheng’s blood still glistened on its surface. He wondered how he could have gotten so completely turned around – hadn’t he just been following the tendril of malevolent energy? He could’ve sworn he’d felt it getting stronger, too, which should have meant that they were nearing its source. How was it that they’d ended up circling back to where they’d started?

“I thought we were following the energy from the creature,” Jiang Cheng said irritably.

“Shhh,” Wei Wuxian said, not paying attention to him. “There’s something else at work here. Something I’m not getting.”

Surprisingly, Jiang Cheng quieted down, and leaned against the wall. He did so surreptitiously, as if to escape Wei Wuxian’s sight, but of course he noticed.

Jiang Cheng must be more drained than I thought, Wei Wuxian thought, if he’s stopped arguing with me. Especially since he’s been here for a few days more than me already, and with no food or water. I must find a way to get us out of here - and quickly.

He mustered what little spiritual energy he had left, and focused. In his mind he pushed aside the suppressing fog that clouded his thoughts and distracted his attention, concentrating only on sensing the pulses of energy emanating from every wall in the passageway around him. There was the faint tendril of energy from the creature responsible for the suppressing array, yes, and overwhelming amounts of resentful energy pouring from the corpses of the creature’s meals, and underneath it all… underneath all that energy…

“There’s a maze array in place,” he realised suddenly, his voice echoing in the stillness of the corridor. “It’s cleverly buried under the other layers of energy in this cave, but it’s there. It must have been cast a long time ago, for I could barely sense its presence. And it was not cast by the creature maintaining the suppressing array.”

“That’s what’s confusing your sense of direction?” Jiang Cheng asked despairingly. “Then how are we supposed to get out of here with little spiritual energy and our only lead a complete dead end?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, mustering a small smile. “Don’t lose hope so easily, Jiang Cheng! We’ll find a way out. We just need a way to overcome the maze array – then we can follow the creature’s malevolent energy without being confused. We just need some way of maintaining our sense of direction.”

“What do you suggest we do? Is there any way to track our steps, perhaps?” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Wuxian tapped idly at the side of his nose as he thought, pacing back and forth in the confined space. Jiang Cheng’s eyes, lit up by the flickering light of the paper talisman, followed him back and forth.

“I could cast a tracking spell… no, but with my depleted spiritual energy, that wouldn’t last long… I have the Compass of Evil which I worked on to improve last week, but this creature doesn’t consume souls, and so it wouldn’t work… Oh?”

The unravelling hem of his ratty travelling robe had snagged on a shard of rock protruding out of the wall, and had caused him to pause in his steps. Wei Wuxian stared down at the little loop of thread curled around the stone protrusion.

Suddenly, an epiphany came upon him.

“I have an idea!” he said, excitedly, and began picking apart the hem of his robe. Jiang Cheng lifted himself off the wall and came over to inspect what he was doing.

“What’s that supposed to do?” he asked sceptically. “Is it just another excuse for you to go naked again? Oi, just because it’s just me down here with you - ”

“It was one time, and I was eight,” Wei Wuxian said exasperatedly, “and don’t tell me you’d never seen a penis before that! I don’t know why you had to act like a blushing maiden and try to stab me with your brush. We’re both men, aren’t we? Nothing you haven’t seen before!”

While he’d been going on, and Jiang Cheng had started spluttering and turning interesting colours, he’d managed to unpick the thread from his robe, and tied it around a sturdy stalagmite on the ground. He gave the limestone pillar a few experimental pulls, and it didn’t budge.

“Now we just have to follow the thread, and we’ll know which routes we’ve walked, and which routes we haven’t!” he said brightly, as he straightened up.

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Jiang Cheng said grudgingly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the stalagmite.

“I always have good ideas. Don’t you know?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning. “Come on, let’s hurry. I don’t know how many days have passed, but surely it’s been too long already. We should quickly find the monster’s hideout and then figure out a way to escape.”

It was indeed a good idea, if Wei Wuxian said so himself (and he did, multiple times, very smugly, so much so that Jiang Cheng started ignoring him again), and with its aid, they managed to find their way out of the maze of corridors that surrounded the rooms containing the corpses. Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh of relief as he finally felt the thick fog of resentful energy that had been giving him a massive headache, fade away into the background and eventually disappear.

Now, the passageways they walked were a little less damp, and a little less foul-smelling. There were even lamps embedded in the wall, unlit and covered with cobwebs, but obviously made by a talented craftsman. Wei Wuxian stopped to inspect one of them, and the style of its carvings and the technique of its forging marked it as a craft belonging to the dynasty of six centuries ago.

“Whatever inhabits this cave must be ancient indeed,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, as Wei Wuxian shared this insight with him.

They stopped abruptly as a carven wooden door appeared beside them, looming out of the darkness, leading into an enclave that branched off from the main tunnel.

The frame of the door extended high above their visible range, and as Wei Wuxian guided the talisman as far up as he dared without losing his tenuous hold on the charm, they realised just how large the tunnel was beginning to run. All they could see above them was darkness, and there was no observable ceiling. They exchanged glances, and with a mutual nod of acknowledgement, Jiang Cheng placed his palm on the door and pushed firmly.

It creaked open with a loud sound of protest. The noise made both of them wince and glance around sharply to see if the clamour had attracted any undue attention. But thankfully, even after a few moments of silence, they were still alone in the tunnel, with no foes in sight. Jiang Cheng pushed the door open all the way, and they peered into the darkness cautiously.

“It’s a library - !” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, his voice hushed, as the talisman floated into the room and lit up shelves upon shelves of crumbling, decaying books and scrolls. Jiang Cheng scanned the titles, trying to make out the words on their spines.

“Vegetarian Dietary Principles,” Jiang Cheng read out, “Journey to the West, Classic of Poetry, Classic – Classic of – Music?”

Wei Wuxian expelled a surprised breath and shook his head. “Whoever owned this library must have been a great patron of the arts - he’s even managed to acquire books which no one’s ever had a copy of before! It’s a collection to rival even that of the Gusu Lan library. But such a valuable hoard would usually be maintained zealously by its collector, not left to rot away in such a sorry state.”

The talisman settled on a pile of objects arranged neatly in the corner of the library, and Wei Wuxian felt his brows shoot up even further.

“A guqin, guzheng, pipa, dihu, yangqin – truly an impressive collection of instruments from all across China!” he said admiringly. “They’ve been left to gather dust as well, and they haven’t been maintained in a while. Things are becoming curiouser and curiouser indeed.”

“Perhaps the owner of the collection was eaten by the monster,” Jiang Cheng suggested.

“Perhaps,” Wei Wuxian said doubtfully. I feel that there’s something here we’re still not getting…

They left the library behind, unable to see much in the darkness and with their limited light source. Wei Wuxian had to light another talisman, for the previous one flickered and shrivelled to dust. Just as he did, his stomach let out a loud sound of dissatisfaction, and he automatically pressed a hand to his abdomen.

“I’m hungryyyyyy,” he whined. “Jiang Cheng, do you have any food?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Jiang Cheng retorted sharply. “If I’d had any food, I’d long since have eaten it up already!”

“Ugh,” Wei Wuxian groaned, leaning dramatically forward as they walked. “I’m going to die of hunger. Who knows how many days and nights we’ve spent in here! It’s not like you have a set sleep schedule so we can count the days. We’ve probably been walking for a few days without rest already – and who knows how much longer it’ll take to get out.”

He felt his coat slip off his shoulder, and he looked down at it. Because of the unravelling string, his already-raggedy outerwear was falling apart, and it no longer resembled anything coat-like. Wei Wuxian shrugged it off and tucked it under his right arm, and was left only in his underthings.

“I feel the wind blowing through places I didn’t know existed,” he complained, shivering.

Jiang Cheng looked at him and immediately averted his eyes, a dull flush colouring his cheeks. “Shameless!” he spluttered. “What wind?! There’s barely any wind, we’re underground! Wei Wuxian, you’re truly shameless as always!”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the old Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian muttered under his breath. “One of him is good enough, thank you very much…”

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting crash, and it was only their quick reflexes that caused them not to be buried under a large column of rocks that suddenly came pouring down on them. Both of them leapt to the side, and stared, bug-eyed, at the spot in which they had been standing just moments ago.

“Agh, my eyes,” said Jiang Cheng loudly, as the fog from the avalanche cleared, and piercing sunlight shone down on them from the large hole which had suddenly opened up in the ceiling of the tunnel, far above them. Wei Wuxian shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted blearily up at the hole.

…

“LAN ZHAN!!!!” he cried out happily, as he made eye contact with a very dear, familiar figure. Lan Zhan peered imperiously down at them, the sunlight making it seem as though his head was glowing.

“Speak of Cao Cao and Cao Cao will arrive,” Wei Wuxian said, bouncing excitedly up and down on the spot. “Didn’t I tell you Lan Zhan could be counted on to rescue us?* Huh? He’s reliable, isn’t he?”

*A/N: (he didn’t)

“Did you really have to invoke his name?” Jiang Cheng said grumpily, following his gaze upwards. “I always feel like he’s looking down on me, but now he’s actually literally looking down on me.”

Another figure appeared beside Lan Zhan and peeked cautiously over the edge of the hole. After squinting for a while more, Wei Wuxian realised it was Lan Xichen.

“Are you two alright?” Lan Xichen called down to them, his gentle voice filled with concern. “I’m afraid we went a little, ah, overboard in trying to get down to you two…”

“We’re fine, Zewu-jun, thanks for your concern!” Wei Wuxian hollered back up at them. “Won’t you come down and join us? We’re depleted of spiritual energy and unable to join you up there!”

Lan Zhan immediately flew down, but the moment he alighted and laid his eyes on Wei Wuxian, his finely-sculpted eyebrows shot up towards to his forehead.

“What – what happened to your outer robe?” he said, sounding faintly strangled.

“Oh – this? I used the string from my hem to track our progress through this cave,” Wei Wuxian replied cheerily. “There’s a maze array in place, although it’s quite difficult to detect, and with our limited spiritual energy there wasn’t any other way to stop ourselves getting lost. Jiang Cheng will tell you it was quite a clever idea. It must have been quite cold outside, Lan Zhan, your ears are turning pink! Here, rub your hands together…”

Jiang Cheng, predictably, ignored him and lifted his hands in a salute to Lan Xichen, who’d descended as well to join them. “Sect Leader Lan,” he said formally, and Lan Xichen returned the gesture. Jiang Cheng turned to Lan Zhan and repeated the gesture, a little more unwillingly.

“Here, take this,” Lan Zhan said, pulling a qiankun pouch out from his sleeve. Sticking his hand inside the pouch, he drew out an overcoat with the designs of the Gusu Lan sect and placed it securely around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders.

Wei Wuxian whistled in surprise and appreciation. “Lan Zhan, you came prepared! It’s one of your robes, isn’t it?” A thought occurred to him which made him laugh out loud in pure delight. “Ooh, Lan Zhan, are you embarrassed by my lack of clothing? You know I’m shameless, I don’t mind even if I’m just parading around in my underwear or even if I’m stark naked.”

“As you can tell, Hanguang-jun, he’s doing perfectly fine,” Jiang Cheng said acrimoniously. “The days of starvation and lack of spiritual energy haven’t done anything to dampen his personality.”

Wei Wuxian pouted. “Lan Zhan knows that,” he replied peevishly. “We killed the Xuanwu together under the same circumstances, remember?”

A soft laugh from the side reminded him of Lan Xichen’s presence, and he spun around to face him.

“Sect Leader Lan, what’re you doing here?” Wei Wuxian asked curiously. “I thought you were in seclusion. What brings you here?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I was in seclusion, but Wangji came to me today and told me of your and Sect Leader Jiang’s disappearance. He was quite distressed by the news, and asked me for help to track the two of you down. And when I heard that A-Yao – that Jin Guangyao had been seen in the area…”

He hesitated, and said no more. None of them pressed him further.

“How did you manage to find us?” Jiang Cheng asked quickly, directing his question at Lan Zhan.

“Jin Ling wrote to me when he found that you were missing,” Lan Zhan answered. “We followed your trail to this place. And I could sense Wei Ying’s energy coming from here, so we entered here.”

“You could sense my energy?” Wei Wuxian asked, bewildered by this new turn of events. “But – how? Plus the suppressing array – “

“Where is the human-eating monster?” Lan Zhan asked abruptly, cutting him off. “Have you already killed it?”

After a pause, Wei Wuxian shook his head, and relayed the events of the past few days to them. It turned out that Jiang Cheng had been missing for nine days, and Wei Wuxian for three – that explains why Jiang Cheng looks so exhausted, he thought to himself; nine days without food or drink will do that to you.

Lan Xichen passed them water in a flask and two bags filled with baozi, steamed buns, which Jiang Cheng immediately started scarfing down ravenously. Lan Zhan took the other bag and held up the flask to Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

“Drink,” he said softly. One of his hands came up behind Wei Wuxian’s back to steady him.

Wei Wuxian drank obediently, thinking, I am so loved.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Lan Zhan immediately fished one of the baozi out of the bag and held it up for Wei Wuxian to take a bite. The meat inside the bun tasted truly delicious to his starved palate, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out little ‘mm’s of enjoyment as he chewed.

Only when Wei Wuxian had finished munching on the baozi did Lan Zhan exhale and relax, although his hand still remained on Wei Wuxian’s lower back.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he said, smiling widely. Something about Lan Zhan’s presence always left him feeling refreshed. “I knew I could count on you. You’re such a reliable friend. No wonder you’re the Chief Cultivator, indeed!”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Jiang Cheng said indistinctly, and Wei Wuxian whipped around to look at him.

(If he was being perfectly honest, he’d forgotten Jiang Cheng – and Lan Xichen – were there.)

The two of them were staring openly at him and Lan Zhan, the bag of baozi dangling loosely from Jiang Cheng’s hand and Jiang Cheng’s cheeks still stuffed with bites of baozi so that he looked like a squirrel. Lan Xichen’s smile looked like it had ossified on his face.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said in confusion. He looked at Lan Zhan for reassurance that he wasn’t the only one bewildered in this situation, but Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to do something with his face, alternately widening and squinting his eyes at the two other people.

Lan Xichen coughed. “Never – never mind, Young Master Wei,” he said, his smile back on his face, although now it looked a little bit forced. “If you’ve finished your meal, we should proceed with your original plan to find the human-eating monster. Wangji and I have spent only a few moments in this cave, but already I can feel the effects of the suppressing array. Wangji, you feel it too?”

Lan Zhan inclined his head, his face back to its usual expressionlessness. “It was not cast by a human,” he replied. “The energy is different. Staying here longer than necessary will result in full depletion of our spiritual energy.” He materialised his guqin and played a few complicated sounding notes. Blue light flared as he cast the pathfinding spell, and it formed a faint line on the ground showing the direction in which they were to go.

“We must hurry,” he said brusquely, “or my energy will fail and the spell will disappear.”

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding decisively, feeling much more comfortable and at ease now that he was no longer alone with Jiang Cheng, and Lan Zhan was here at his side. As they walked, Wei Wuxian filled the silence with his usual chatter, speculating about the origins of the creature and how it could possibly have cast a suppressing array, interrupted only by Lan Zhan’s ‘mm’s of acknowledgment and the occasional offered insight.

If he was speaking a little louder than usual, it was only because he could feel the supreme awkwardness radiating off the two sect leaders walking behind them. It wasn’t coming off Lan Xichen, no – Wei Wuxian had previously turned around surreptitiously to check on the two of them and Lan Xichen had looked perfectly at ease and his usual composed self. Rather, it was Jiang Cheng who was blatantly trying to avoid everyone’s gaze, and who’d answered Lan Xichen’s initial attempts at conversations with curt, albeit polite, rejoinders.

That’s strange, Wei Wuxian mused to himself, as he chattered on to Lan Zhan about his theories regarding whether or not beasts had souls akin to that of humans, Jiang Cheng’s used to silence and isn’t often fazed. I wonder if something happened between him and Zewu-jun? Or maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe he feels left out of the conversation between me and Lan Zhan? But that’s not my fault! He’s the one being all grumpy and crabby. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly back to normal between us, but I’d thought after the Guanyin Temple events he’d started to hate me a little bit less…

“We’re here,” Lan Zhan said, stopping abruptly, as the faint blue line on the ground ended and they were faced with a large door.

This was different from the door that had led into the library, for it was carved out of granite and not wood, and gems were embedded deep into the stone in a pattern that radiated out from the centre, where two large knockers were located. The faces of two door gods glared at them out of the darkness, painted as they were on either panel of the door.

It must have been a glorious sight, Wei Wuxian thought to himself, when the lamps had been lit. But now the gems only gleamed dully in the limited light from the talisman, and the paint of the door gods was chipped and peeling. Now their stares looked mournful, rather than stern and majestic, as they would have been before.

Words were carved into the upper frame of the door, large, sombre characters in ancient text. They looked as if they had been etched into the stone by a great claw, the edges of the words were still clear and relatively unchipped by time.

“Cave of… Cave of Dormancy?” Wei Wuxian read with some difficulty, for he had not practised reading ancient scripts to any significant extent.

“There is a great well of yang energy beyond this door,” Lan Xichen said from behind them, his voice almost awestruck. Wei Wuxian concurred. As they had been following the path indicated by Lan Zhan’s pathfinding spell, he too had felt the presence of a boundless amount of yang energy emanating from some unseen force, that now apparently lay behind this door.

Even in his weakened state, it felt ponderous and overpowering; he could not imagine what it felt like for Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen, whose reserves of energy were mostly intact. True to his thoughts, Lan Zhan staggered slightly, and the blue line on the ground faded. Wei Wuxian dropped the ratty overcoat tucked under his arm, and steadied him with a hand on his elbows.

The faint crackle of Zidian echoed throughout the space as Jiang Cheng clenched his fist, and he strode forward, placing his palm on the handle of the door.

“Sect Leader Jiang, we must be cautious,” Lan Xichen said, and in his gentle voice it did not sound like a rebuke. Jiang Cheng spared him a sideways glance, then nodded shortly. It took the both of them to push the heavy doors open, and Lan Zhan levered himself out of Wei Wuxian’s grasp to peer carefully into the chamber.

It was the light that hit them first, and blinded them.

Jiang Cheng grunted in surprise and cast his head away, for he had been the first one to gain entrance to the chamber. Wei Wuxian pushed his way forward and squinted into the blinding light.

Once his eyes had stopped metaphorically bleeding, he made out lamps on the walls, larger than the ones in the passageways, and this time, these were lit, with a curious iridescent flame that flickered and danced even though there was no wind.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he began to make out more features of the room. It was a vast chamber, with the ceiling towering high above them, and every panel of the walls inlaid with gold and jade. Golden dragons snarled motionlessly at them from the corners of the room, their presumably-once-gleaming surfaces now flecked with dirt. Two thrones sat at the far end of the room – which was more like a hall – one enormous and golden, the other slightly smaller and carved in jade. A thin layer of dust covered every single object and surface in the room.

Except for the centre of the chamber, a shining golden pedestal, upon which lay a great slumbering long.

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind Wei Wuxian from Lan Zhan that told him he’d noticed the long as well. Very slowly, not daring to take even a single breath, Wei Wuxian stepped backwards and back into the passageway.

Once he was no longer in the hall, he spun around, his eyes open so wide he felt they were about to fall out of his skull.

“It’s a Shenlong. A heavenly dragon,” he hissed frantically. “The nine resemblances were present: the stag’s horns, the camel’s head, the demon’s eyes, the snake’s neck, the clam’s belly, the carp’s scales, the tiger’s paws, the cow’s ears, and most distinctive of the Shenlong, out of all the types of long – the eagle’s claws, of which there were five on each foot.”

Jiang Cheng’s were equally wide. “Is it… is it the real thing?” he managed. “Or is it a deformed copy, like the Xuanwu of Slaughter you and Lan Wangji fought?”

“He is a true Shenlong,” Lan Xichen spoke, and there was a subtle tremor in his voice. “He had the chimu atop its head, without which he may not ascend to the heavens.”

“That explains how he was able to cast the suppressing array, and the non-human aura of his energy, given that a Shenlong is a fully sentient being and not merely a mindless beast. But what’s he doing down here, though?” Wei Wuxian wondered aloud. “A Shenlong belongs in the heavens or in the body of water he governs, not under the ground where he has no access to the water which sustains him.”

Lan Xichen shook his head, his gaze equally uncomprehending. “Before we left the chamber, I observed that there were large lacquer panels on the walls with accompanying text, which likely depicted the Shenlong and his story,” he said quietly. “I did not get a close enough look at the words, however. But there is one thing beyond doubt – this Shenlong is unlike his more benevolent peers, and is responsible for the disappearances of the people of Yunmeng. We must find a way to observe both the Shenlong and the panels on the walls, which may give us a clue as to how to combat him.”

“According to the stories, it has superior sight and smell,” Lan Zhan spoke up. “It will be difficult to evade its notice.”

“It did not notice us when we first entered, however, and we were rather noisy,” Jiang Cheng said. “If we are careful, we should be fine.”

Given that none of them saw any other way to proceed, it was on that note of caution that they entered the chamber once again. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes firmly trained on the Shenlong, but even as they eased themselves slowly past the door and into the room, he did not wake. The lines of his magnificent, serpentine body rose and fell in tandem with his breaths, and the silky tendrils of his beard fluttered in the air that whooshed out of his nostrils. A pearl glimmered faintly from where it was nestled underneath his chin.

Wei Wuxian could not help but stop and admire his majestic beauty. It was truly a sight he’d never thought he’d see in his lifetime, for long were said to be mere figments of imagination, myths of the past.

But… I suppose, if there’s a Xuanwu, why not a Shenlong? It was a perfectly reasonable line of logic, he thought, and besides, unless he and the other three were having mass hallucinations, the proof of truth in those supposed legends lay before his own eyes.

It was only when he was sure that the Shenlong was deep in slumber, that he finally turned his attention to the four lacquer panels on the wall. These were clearly done by a great artist - like the rest of the statues and art pieces of the chamber - for the panels were carefully inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf carved into the shapes of miniscule birds and flowers that fluttered in and adorned the background of the scenes. Below each panel were lines of ancient script, carved deep into the rock by the same great claw which had labelled this cavern the Cave of Dormancy.

The words were not clear to him, given his inability to read ancient text, but thankfully, the pictures were evocative enough that he was able to get the main gist of the story. In the first panel, the Shenlong perched atop a mountain, watching as the towns and people in his purview were washed away by strong wind and rain. In the next screen, he was depicted swooping downwards into the fray and picking off various unfortunate victims from the deluge of water below. His large bulging eyes, created with carven jade gemstones, glimmered malevolently in the light. Blood gushed from his cavernous jaws.

Then, in the next panel, a Fenghuang – a divine phoenix - had descended upon the scene, and was tussling violently with the Shenlong, her long, sharp beak digging into the flesh of the Shenlong’s leg where it was buried. The artist had captured their likenesses so perfectly that the extended claws of the Fenghuang seemed to leap out from the painting at viewers, and her vibrant feathers appeared soft and inviting to the touch.

The scene depicted in the final screen was set in a familiar location: here, in the Cave of Dormancy, the Fenghuang presided over the Shenlong, the iridescent plumage on her wings spread wide as she cast her shadow on the slumbering Shenlong. His long body was now marked heavily with the scars of battle and blood, and he lay in exactly the same position as he was in now, atop the golden pedestal, feet tucked under his body and tail curled round his head; a curiously docile posture.

The only difference between then and now, Wei Wuxian reflected, as he glanced back to the actual Shenlong, was the array of bones now scattered haphazardly around his pedestal – some animal, some human.

The old stories only tell of the Shenlong as a noble and wise creature, who bestows rain upon peasants as a water god, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. This Shenlong must be a rogue one, akin to the black dragon of Jizhou which was killed by the goddess Nüwa. This Shenlong must have brought calamity to the surrounding towns and abused his power to consume human flesh.

All this information he recalled from dusty textbooks and boring lessons on rainy days that seemed a lifetime away – well, he corrected in his mind, for him at least, they were a lifetime away. But there was no time to dwell on his sad past, now. The important thing at hand now, was to find a way to defeat this Shenlong, and stop it from killing any more Yunmeng people. The only thing was – how? Wei Wuxian could see from the grim look in the eyes of his companions that they were similarly nonplussed.

In the stories, there were few who actually fought a long, and even fewer who survived, Wei Wuxian thought, his brain working furiously. Of those few, most were deities or gods like the Monkey God Sun Wukong, or the Third Lotus Prince Nezha. Long have few weaknesses and many strengths, and it will be difficult to conquer it without external, godly help…

Then, all of a sudden, came the clear, sonorous ring of a bell.

Immediately, all four of them froze. Slowly their gazes turned, from the four panels on the wall, and landed on the Shenlong sleeping atop the golden pedestal.

Wei Wuxian’s last thoughts?

…

We’re fucked.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

With Cherries On Top

Chapter 2: The Proposal & The Deal

Summary/Author's Notes: Oh.my.god. the response from part one was fucking WILD. I love you guys so so so much! As always, dedicated to @rae-gar-targaryen. She’s had a bad week, yall, go show her some love. <3 ITS WHAT MAX WOULD DO.

Max explains himself and gets down on one knee to ask the big question. Your trust is tested as he tries to pull a fast one, but he makes you an offer you cannot refuse.

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader (The Proposal AU) Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: Language, flirting, SEXUAL TENSION, Max Phillips is a bastard man, vampire themes

Chapters [1] [MASTERLIST]

Max finally caught up with you and convinced you to go with him to the immigration office. The entire cab ride across town you were seething. Neither of you spoke, and when the cab parked in front of the Federal Plaza building you got out. Glad to leave him to pay for the cab and top it off with slamming the car door in his face. You heard him growl his frustration but didn’t stop as you stormed into the building and he had to jog to keep up.

"Will you slow down?" He snarled and you ignored him.

How could he be this egregiously shameful? You knew Max was cunning. That he would do anything to make the sale, to close a deal, but this--this was a whole other level, even for him.

In hushed tones, in his office, as you threw your items in your purse, he had explained that he was being deported. That the government had caught him in a technicality of his after-life status versus his human one, and although you agreed it seemed to be a petty place to draw the line, his way of kicking you into the fire with him made you not want to help. Did he deserve to be sent back to Romania? Probably not. But forcing you into marriage? Or an even better term for it would be forcing you into fraud. The two of you were breaking the law and he didn’t even have the balls to ask you first.

The immigration office was jammed packed with multiple lines of people waiting for a free attendant and dozens of others waiting in chairs, looking over reading material and playing on their phones. This was going to take forever. Apparently, Max had other plans, as he grabbed your hand and pulled you both to the front of the line. No one stopped him, no one questioned him as you tried to make your face as apologetic as possible to the people already in line that were giving you dirty looks. He asked for the fiancee visa application and the next thing you knew the two of you were being led into a cramped office in the back and looking over the desk at a very stoic, older, government worker.

“Sorry about the wait, folks,” the older man said as he pulled out a file folder filled with papers. “Busy day.”

“Of course, of course,” Max nodded, crossing his ankle over his knee and giving the man his best smile. “We appreciate you meeting with us on such short notice.”

The older man looked Max up and down slowly and smirked--whatever Max was selling, he wasn’t buying and the realization made you want to lean over the chair and vomit on the floor. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Okay, so, I only have one question for you,” he continued to smirk as he closed your file and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Are you both committing fraud, in order to keep Mr. Phillips here from being deported back to Romania and losing his position as CFO at his company?”

“What!”

“Ridiculous!”

Max and you both scoffed at the same time and shook your heads as you waved your hands in front of you and he rolled his eyes, giving a good-hearted laugh.

“Mr.--” Max looked at the nameplate on the desk as he leaned forward and addressed the man. “Yates. That is an absurd assumption. We are just a couple that want to get married and I assure you, our case will be the easiest one you have all day. So, just tell us what we need to sign and we can get out of your hair.”

You wished more than anything you had the courage to grip Max’s leg and beg him to shut up. His normal bullshit was not going to get either of you any favors with this man and if he didn’t tread carefully, you both were about to be in a world of trouble. You knew you wouldn't last in jail, but Max really wouldn't last in jail. That mouth that never seemed to stop talking would get him stabbed...wait, maybe jail was a good idea after all.

"What makes you think we're lying, Mr. Yates?" You asked, crossing your ankles and moving your legs to the side comfortably.

"A tip that came in this afternoon from a concerned citizen--"

"His name wouldn't happen to be Evan, would it?" Max asked.

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"I knew it. He is nothing more than a very disgruntled employee who is out to get me." Max shook his head and waved it away as if that discredited the tip. "I fired him this morning."

The other man scribbled down a couple of notes and went back to pressing his fingertips together and leaning his elbows on the desk. He heaved a large sigh and suddenly looked very tired.

“Here’s what’s going to happen next, you two. I am going to schedule you an interview for next week. I am going to put you both in separate rooms. I am going to ask you a series of questions that real couples would know all of the answers to.” He said the term ‘real’ in a pointed way and looked directly at you, making your stomach fall to your feet. “And that’s the easy part--”

“Okay, seems fair.” Max started, but Mr. Yates ignored him.

“Then I am going to dig deeper. I’m going to check your phone records, your emails, talk to your friends and family--your coworkers. If anything, and I mean anything, seems out of order or does not match your story, you,” he pointed to Max. “Will be deported to Romania indefinitely. And you, young lady,” he turned and pointed to you. “Will be fined two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars with a minimum five year sentence in federal prison.”

You swallowed so hard it hurt as you felt your vision narrow, your body threatening you with the idea of passing out. You felt like you were sitting inside a vacuum, like a larger entity had sucked all of the air out of the already too small office space.

Prison. It wasn’t enough that you had been at his beck and call for the last five years. If this all went sideways, Max Phillips, in a last act of extreme selfishness was going to get you sent to prison.

“So, that being said, Ms. (y/l/n),” he smiled and crossed his arms as he addressed you. “Do you want to talk to me? Tell me what’s really going on here.”

“What’s really going on--” you started, your heart hammering in your ears so loudly that you were sure Mr. Yates could hear it.

You looked at Max and thoughtp about how you wanted to do this. Could you really throw him under the bus and let them ship him away from his home? Could you match his heartlessness and protect yourself above all else? No. Despite how much he deserved it, that wasn’t how you operated. He had insisted on dragging you into this mess and now it seemed, at least for the time being, you were going to have to play along. He looked at you with those soft, coffee colored eyes, so full of anticipation that you almost groaned. Instead you reached over the arm of his chair and patted his leg.

“What’s really going on is that Max and I are getting married,” you squeezed his knee and saw him give a full body sigh of relief out of the corner of your eye. “We just couldn’t tell anyone.”

“And why not?”

“Because he’s a vampire,” you shrugged. “And we were worried how my family would take it.”

“I see,” Mr. Yates leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms waiting for you to continue.

“And--” you, glanced at Max and back. “Because of the promotion.”

“Promotion?”

“Promotion?”

Both Max and the older man said at the same time and you steeled your resolve and continued.

“Yes, I am in line for a big promotion, and both of us felt if our relationship went public before that it would look unprofessional. Right, honey?” You looked at Max and although you were smiling, your eyes dared him to say otherwise.

“That’s...right, dear.” He nodded, putting his hand over yours on his knee.

Mr. Yates looked at the both of you for what felt like a very long time. You kept your smile even for so long, your cheeks started to ache. The hand you had on Max’s thigh offered a small amount of comfort and you allowed it to ground you, to center your mind as you did your best to look like the definition of truthfulness.

“Well,” he sighed and opened up a filing cabinet and pulled a very large binder full of papers for the two of you. “If that’s the story you’re sticking to. Here are the questions you could be asked, there are about three hundred of them--along with all of the forms that need to be filled out, references we will need, and copies of your identifications. As well as,” he paused and looked pointedly at the both of you. “The marriage certificate.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly as you leaned forward and took the binder from him.

“Have either one of you told your families about this, happy little arrangement?” he asked as he gestured between the two of you.

Max laughed and shook his head. “No, my parents are dead. Only child, too. It’s a real shame.”

Mr. Yates, chuckled dryly, not understanding how such information could be considered funny. “And what about you, Ms. (L/n)? Are all of your relatives dead as well?”

“Mine?” you put a hand to your chest. “No, no, they are alive--”

“We were actually going to tell them the news this weekend,” Max chimed in and you looked at him in surprise. “It’s grandma’s 85th birthday--we thought it would be a nice surprise.”

You stared at him like he had grown a second head. How did he know about your grandmother’s birthday? The idea that Max paid more attention to you than you thought was sitting uneasily in your stomach, but you continued to smile and nodded in agreement.

“We’re flying up to, (y/n)’s parents house.” Max took the binder as you handed it to him.

“And where is that?”

“Alaska.” You said simply, crossing your legs and adjusting the hem of your pencil skirt, reveling in the way Max’s entire face fell.

“Ah-ah-las-kah?" Max stuttered and glared at you. "Alaska." He cleared his throat and repeated.

You returned his intense look of malice with an overly satisfied smile. It felt good to ruffle those feathers, to catch him off guard and see him out of his element.

“Well, I wish you both a safe trip,” Mr. Yates stood up to show you the door and the both of you mirrored him. “I’ll call to schedule your visa interview after what I’m sure will be a lovely week.”

--

Leaving the federal office felt like you were walking in slow motion. You vaguely heard Max put his bluetooth on his ear and take a call, letting his boisterous voice echo in the too loud, too crowded lobby. Going out onto the street and feeling the cool air on your skin didn’t make breathing any easier as you thought about what just happened. In your trance you almost dropped the heavy glass door on Max’s face.

He hung up the call and started talking like everything was just a normal day back at the office, like the two of you hadn’t just been threatened with the American government absolutely ruining your lives.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said as he put his sunglasses on to protect him against the already very overcast autumn sky. “What’s going to happen is we are going to run up to your parent’s place, act like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend--we can stay in a hotel and that will make it easier to fake. Make sure you use the miles for the tickets--”

“Max…”

“I will pay to have you fly first class, but only, and I mean only if you use the miles. If I don’t get rewards, then we aren’t going.” He pulled his sleeve up slightly and looked at his watch. “Also, please confirm they offer vampire accommodations, because I swear if they put me next to some old hag like last time and I have to smell her O-positive, diabetic, dustiness for six hours--I’m. Going. To. Lose. It.”

“Max--”

He stopped as he realized he had walked quite a ways in front of you and he turned around. “Why aren’t you taking notes?”

Your jaw dropped and you stomped over to him and shoved the binder against his chest with enough force that he stumbled back a step. “I’m sorry! Were you not in that room with me just now? Were you not fucking listening??” You were almost screaming and he looked around quickly before stepping closer and towering over you.

“You look crazy, calm down--”

“Calm down? You have some neve, Max. Some. Fucking. Nerve.” With each word you poked your manicured finger into the middle of his chest, on top of his stupid, yellow tie. He grabbed your wrist to stop you but you yanked out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

“Listen,” he took a breath and spoke to you like the ticking time bomb that you were. “You did well back there. That thing about the promotion? That was genius. He really bought that.”

Evan’s words rang back through your head and you took a step back looking at Max. He's never going to promote you. You know that, right? Five years. For five years you had done everything for him. You had done the work of an executive level salesman and made a secretary's salary. And for what? To constantly be missing out on important things in your life? Friends. Family. Dating. You couldn't remember the last time you had actually been on a date with anyone. Everything seemed to revolve around the man in front of you--and you had reached your limit. All of this was asking too much of you.

When you finally spoke, your voice was flat and even. “I meant it. I want that promotion.”

“To what? Evan’s job?” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m the one that is facing a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fine, and jail time--that changes things. I want Evan’s old job and a thirty percent raise.” You crossed your arms and planted your feet as you held his gaze.

Max moved his bottom jaw from one side to the other, a tick you had often seen and come to realize meant he was mulling over his options. “Fifteen.”

“Forty.” You counter offered the wrong way and he gave a hard bark of laughter. “Okay, fine. I’m walking. You’re screwed. Goodbye, Max--have fun in Romania.”

No sooner did you turn around did Max lunge forward and grab you by the upper arm. “Okay! Okay. Fine.”

“Fine?”

He looked at you pointedly and pulled you into the front of his body. His eyes shimmered for a brief moment and his lips turned upward into a small grin. “Unless--you’ll take something else? Plus, ten percent of course, I’m not a monster.”

You felt as if a small breeze was whispering against the nape of your neck, and you fought the urge to bat at it like a fly. The press of his voice worked its way into your ear and you could almost feel it trying to go deeper. When you realized what he was doing, you gasped and slapped him across the face. “Did you just try and hypnotize me??”

“Ah, shit!” he released your arm and put his hand to his cheek. “Did it not work?!”

“Go to hell, Max!” You turned once again and started walking down the sidewalk, ignoring the faces of the people that were nosily watching your heated exchange.

“Why the fuck didn’t it work--” he mumbled, continuing to rub his cheek and coming to his senses once he saw you putting more distance between the two of you. “Hey!” He jogged quickly and passed you easily in your high heels, turning around so he could look you in the eye. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Typical,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“I can’t do this without you,” he held his hands up defensively and gave you an almost pleading look. “I’ll give you the promotion, and the raise. If I’m not at that company, they will get rid of you like that,” he snapped his fingers and you clenched your jaw. “I don’t want to go back to Romania. I didn’t have such a good trip the last time.” He smiled way too large, an action more for the purpose of pulling back his lips so he could gesture to his fangs. “So, will you do this?”

"I have a few conditions."

"Name them."

"We do this my way, and on my terms. This is my family that we are lying to, so we will tell them when I want, and how I want."

"Done. Next?"

"How did you know it was my grandmother's birthday?"

"You think I can't hear every time your family calls and begs you to quit? Even without superhuman hearing--you sit right next to my office." He made a gesture of his hand pantomiming a small distance.

"Fine."

"Fine." You both said one right after the other in shared stubbornness and mutual disdain. "Anything else?"

You crossed your arms under your breasts slowly and straightened your shoulders. “Ask me nicely.”

“Ask you what? I just--”

“Ask me to marry you.”

Max paused and leaned back a bit, rubbing a hand down his face and chuckling like your request was unbelievable. “Uh. Fine. Fine.” He nodded and cleared his throat. “Will you marry me?”

“Like you mean it,” you insisted. “On your knees.”

He gaped at you like a fish out of water. His large hand rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around embarrassed by the idea that any of the hundreds of people on the street could see what he was about to do. He looked at the ground to make sure there wasn't anything obviously sticky lurking on the pavement before slowly getting down on one knee.

"There. Happy?" He gestured to himself and you nodded.

"Oh, extremely."

He sighed and bit his tongue with what he really wanted to say as he looked up at you from his spot on the ground. "So, will you marry me?"

"I believe I said, ask me nicely. Sales. Is. Seduction. Right, Max?" You clenched your fists and brought them into your chest, mimicking his speech from earlier in a most obnoxious way. "Seduce me, then. Really sell it."

Max blew a heavy sigh in the form of a loud raspberry and cracked his neck. He shook out his arms in a dramatic display like he was getting ready to perform and finally looked up at you. His expression was genuine enough. His eyes were warm and his smile small, and he even took your hand and held it out in front of him lightly.

"Sweetheart--(y/n), beautiful, intelligent, decadent, sexy, vibrant--"

"Enough." You said with a frown. "Remember, I'm a person, not a dessert."

He continued as if you hadn't interrupted his string of praise. "Will you please, with cherries on top, marry me?"

You tapped your chin in mock contemplation and gave a single nod. "Okay. Yes. Although I don't appreciate the sarcasm." You let go of his hand and let it fall to his side as you adjusted your purse on your shoulder. "Get me a ring. If we break the news to my mother and there's no ring, she will go bezerk."

"Fair enough."

"See you at the airport, Max."

You walked passed him without another word, leaving the most powerful man you had ever met on his knees in the middle of the New York street.

--

Perm Tag List: @rae-gar-targaryen @zeldasayer @stevieharrrr @winters-buck @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor @readsalot73 @cryptkeepersoul @skdubbs @sendhoots @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @googiebeankat @dinohaze @saltywintersoldat @huliabitch @silver-lined-solitude @tainted-gay-ghost @roxypeanut @@hayley-the-comet @domino-oh-damn @manda-but-not-lorian @maybege @corvueros @thea-cartier @pettyprocrastination @qveenbvtch

COT Tag List:@atlas-adams-apple @the-feckless-wonder​ @legally-a-bastard @heatherbel @spacegayofficial @holographic-carmen @queenofheavenandhell @space-floozy @corvueros @catfishingmorales @hdlynn​ @escapinginmymind078​​ @thelastemzy @88dragon06 @yaboiithewreck @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @mrpascals @pedropascals420 @agentpike @hdlynnslibrary

@apples-of-february​ @gamingaquarius​ @thelastemzy​ @californiakoenig​ @trashbin2​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @silver-lined-solitude​ @whiskeyslasso​ @timeslugarts​ 

as always please let me know if you wish to be tagged or untagged!

[generalfoolish]

Aay'han

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: lots of bad space language, talk of Bo-Katan and Death Watch, mentions of lost family, Soft!Luke (needs a tag), maybe some lusting over Luke? He's handsome, y'all, mad!Mando, some Grogu because I can't help myself, some nightmare talk/horror type themes-blink and you'll miss it though

Word count: ~2.4K

Pairing: (eventually!!!) Din Djarin x F!reader

Summary: Two Mandalorians on the road to Dagobah, in search of a Jedi.

A/N: Hey babes! This is number six of the #mandomay2021 prompt list. This one is soooo self-indulgent, but it's pretty exposition heavy. Our sweet mandalorian doesn't know Mando's story like we do, so bear with me! Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Cyare'se | Partaylir

Mando is silent as he toggles the destination into nav, and remains silent long after the jump into hyperspace. You don’t know what to do. The cockpit isn’t cramped, but you feel like your thoughts are too loud. You wonder if he can hear you thinking.

If he could hear you, he’d know that you were second guessing this whole quest. You had once been spurred on by hate and loss and grief, but in the starkness of this new ship you think you may have run head-long into something you couldn’t control.

You wonder, not for the first time since meeting Mando, if your resolve is weakening or if you’re simply intrigued by this mandalorian.

As if he could read your thoughts, Mando turned to face you.

“I’m not sure that Skywalker will be much help. I have hope, but I need you to know that it may not be productive.” He sounded so earnest, that all you could do was raise your shoulders in a pitiful shrug.

“Where is Skywalker?” You asked quietly.

“Dagobah. It’s a swamp planet.”

“I’m not sure I know it.” You thought back to the last time you mapped the galaxy. It had been a long time.

“You wouldn’t. It’s almost Wild Space. Further south than Naboo.” You nodded, then considered it.

“That’s across the galaxy?”

“Yeah, but he’s the only one who would know anything. Except for Bo-Katan, but we both have reasons to avoid her.” He added, wistfully.

“You do?” You asked, and Mando shook his head.

“Yeah, but it’s a long story.” You shrugged, it didn’t really matter. As long as you were on the same page when it came to clan Kryze. You sat back in the seat, and Mando turned back around. You wondered about his motives. He had mentioned having a son, one that could still be hunted by the Empire. But, he was alone. And there was no covert on Nevarro. If he was staying away from Bo-Katan, then the son wasn’t likely near Mandalore. You narrowed your eyes as you worked through it.

You didn’t have children, not your own. Your Tribe had been very closely knit, and you had loved and looked over the children. They were why you had thrown yourself into this plot. You would never leave them behind, though. If you had them in your arms, would your hate dissipate as well? He mentioned loved ones, and you wondered again about his entanglements. Was there a Tribe? More hidden? His son had been hunted, was his Tribe destroyed along with the covert?

You wouldn't speculate anymore.

“Mando, where’s your ad?” He stiffened visibly. You worried you had crossed a line, one that you couldn’t easily retreat from.

“Why?” His voice was terse, and his shoulders remained tense.

“If he’s alive, you should be with him? This is a suicide mission, you said so yourself. Why would you agree if you had a son who was waiting for you?” You prodded. It felt important to know. You needed to know what kind of man he was, that’s what you told yourself, anyway.

You needle people, that inner voice told you. You needle and push until they’re gone.

Minutes passed before you heard Mando sigh, long enough that you had started to regret ever getting on the ship.

“He’s in training. He’s a foundling.” You nodded, but didn’t fully understand. Training for what? Combat? Guns? A bounty hunting mandalorian should be able to handle that.

“Training?” You asked, no longer able to keep your question at bay. He exhaled loudly, and turned to face you, the tension released from his shoulders.

“He is with Skywalker. They’re Jedi.” He told you plainly. As if that explained anything.

“Jedi?” You scrambled trying to remember if your buir had ever mentioned Jedi in your lessons. You recalled their weapon, the jetii’kad, a laser sword, you thought.

“They use the Force.” He told you, confusion laced in his words. “I...I’ve seen it. They use their powers and laser swords to fight. I have seen things I can’t explain.” You listened intently. You had only heard the stories, the reason Mandalore needed a Mand’alor, and the reason mandalorians wore beskar. But even in your wildest machinations they weren’t true, just stories for the children to cling to. Something to believe in, when everything else seemed helpless.

“The jetii are real? You said “they,” are they more than one?”

“Mm. Two, well three if you count the kid.” You closed your eyes under the helmet, and wished you could rub your face. It didn’t seem real. You turned your attention to the streaking colors of hyperspace. It wasn’t impossible that Jedi would be real. The dark saber was real, you had heard the chatter. A mysterious mandalorian, one without ties, wielded it now.

Your eyes snapped back to Mando. A mysterious mandalorian, one without ties.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. This guy wasn’t the Mand’alor.

Why else would he be running from Bo-Katan?

He’s connected to the Jedi.

The Mand’alor a Child of the Watch from a backwater like Nevarro?

It would be impossible...right?

You snapped your eyes back to Mando. He had busied himself with the control panel, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mando?” He turned toward you slowly, his body language a question.

“Why are you hiding from Bo-Katan? I don’t care if it’s a long story.” He sighed at your request. He didn’t answer, he simply stood and left the cockpit. You sat up straight, fear creeping up your spine. You had pushed too far.

He returned after a moment, though it didn’t seem as though he had grabbed anything. Confusion replaced your fear, and you leaned forward on your knees.

“I kind of made a promise to her that I never intended to keep. She knows my face, and I have something she wants. I just need to keep space between us.” You narrowed your eyes again, his story sounding like bantha shit.

“Okay, Mando. We’ll stay off her radar.” You told him, but that dark voice crept up from your stomach and filled your throat with bile. Something was wrong. He was lying.

~

“Well, this is Dagobah. Nowhere to land. At least an X Wing will be easy to spot.” Mando muttered from the pilot chair. You said nothing. In fact, you had more or less kept silent for the few days it took to travel. Mando seemed to operate quietly usually, so it didn’t bother him. Or if it had, he hadn’t voiced it. You had been keeping in the hold, for the most part, as well. Keeping distance seemed the proper course for now. Until you could parce out why he had lied about Bo-Katan. A growing part of you was terrified you’d awaken to him standing over you, wielding that damn dark saber. Your thoughts ping ponged from the saber to Bo-Katan, and when you could finally put them out of mind, you were assaulted with the new information about the Jedi.

You were having trouble processing. And you had kept your crikking helmet on for far too long.

At last, you had seen the planet looming in the darkness of space, massive and green. You’d have answers soon. You had a mental inquiry for this Skywalker, ranging from Mandalore to the New Republic. The Empire side-lined for a moment, was queued up after your current thoughts were sorted. It was too much.

Mando piloted the ship easily down into the muggy swamp. You wrinkled your nose, and were actually thankful for your helmet. It would filter out the worst of the smell. Mando had set the ship down on the, seemingly, only piece of dry land. It housed another ship, the X wing, you presumed.

He motioned for you to follow, and you complied. Not speaking for almost a week had it’s advantages, the two of you had become masters of nonverbal signals. You looked around outside of the ship. Skughole, that was your only thought. Crikking skughole. Not even a port. Mando walked forward, and you followed behind.

You heard the man before you saw him. He was cursing a blue streak through the muggy air. He wasn’t what you expected. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but the lean, human male wasn’t it. He was dressed in tan, loose fitting clothes, and was covered in the bluish mud. His brown hair hung messily in his face, which was plastered with sweat.

You tore your eyes away from the only Jedi you had ever seen, and gaped at what you saw. A massive boulder was levitating in front of him. It was just floating there, in the open space. You turned quickly to Mando, and he nodded once at you. It felt like a confirmation that you weren’t insane. That what was happening was real.

Not that you had time to dwell on it. Before you could blink, the rock imploded. Tons of small rocks fell to the mud, and the man exhaled loudly.

“Mandalorian. I’ve been expecting you.” The Jedi panted, before walking over.

“Grogu?” Mando asked. You blinked in confusion. It wasn’t Mando’a. Or any other language you knew.

“He’s napping. We’ve been training hard. Searching for more of his kind. My Master was one of his species, and I believe there to be more here. This planet…” He trailed off before turning to face you. “Apologies, I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Master. The Jedi Master, I guess? There’s not many of us left. Not to worry,” he added, leveling a kind look at you, “You travel with a kind man.” Mando snapped his head down at you, but you were as confused as him.

“Can Jedi read minds?” Luke laughed and wiped his forehead off.

“No. I can sense that you are nervous though.”

“With the Force?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You had never had to filter emotions more than through your voice. The beskar hid everything else. You felt Mando’s eyes on you, burning through what was left of your shield.

“Kind of. Let’s get some food, yeah? Grogu needs to eat, and I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you, Mando.” You followed Luke, but you could feel Mando’s eyes on you the short walk to the hut. Luke dipped into the small hole, and disappeared inside.

“You don’t trust me?” Mando asked, gruffly, as soon as Luke was out of earshot.

“No. You lied to me.” You leveled. He scoffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“You lied to me!” Exasperated, you yanked your helmet off.

Of course, you regretted that immediately. The smell of the swamp nearly gagged you. You hadn’t gotten acclimated to it at all, and it hit you full on. Mando took a neat step backward, hands mid air, helmet looking down. Luke was walking out with bowls, and peeking around his leg was a long green ear.

Your eyebrows pulled together, and you opened your mouth to say something--anything. But Luke beat you to it.

“Oh criff.”

~~

You sat with Luke, helmet beside you on the log, and faced the fire. Mando had taken a walk with Grogu.

“What makes you so apprehensive to the warrior?” Luke asked, slurping stew from the bowl. You looked at him, aglow from the flames, and sucked your teeth. You didn’t know their relationship, but you couldn’t hide it from the Jedi.

“I think he has the dark saber.” Luke nodded.

“Would this be an issue?” You considered it for a moment.

“I don’t know. I keep having nightmares. He...strikes me down with it.” Luke drained his bowl, and sat it aside.

“Why would he do that?” Luke asked, full attention on you.

“That’s what I’m nervous about. He doesn’t have a reason. Unless, he thinks I’m a threat to him. Luke, do you know the story?” He shook his head, and you thought about it. “My buir, sorry my Mom, taught me many lessons of the mandalorians. My father was lost during one of the many civil wars. I saw the destruction and horror first hand, as I’m sure Mando did. The difference though, is that his people were the ones that murdered mine. It’s hard to separate the man from the myth.” Luke nodded thoughtfully.

“I am afraid I know little of Mandalorian lore, but I have seen my share of pain and betrayal. We cannot always know what path is right, but we can trust in the Force to lead us there. What does your gut tell you about Mando?” You sat silently, staring deep into the flames before you. You had been turning it over since Nevarro.

“He’s safe.” You told the Jedi, so quietly it was almost lost to the crackling fire. But the man beside you nodded, and patted your knee. You looked down and saw that his hand was mechanical. You snapped your eyes up to his face, and his eyes twinkled at you. You heard a twig snap and your eyes shot to the source, fingers wrapping around your blaster.

You saw Mando’s beskar reflecting in the low light, and the curl of his arm, before you heard the child’s babbling.

Mando was a mystery, but Grogu had stolen your heart immediately. He had been in Mando’s arms, cooing, since he woke up. Mando, for his part, had nodded and participated in the very one sided conversation.

You offered Mando a small smile when he approached, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“It is a bittersweet reunion for him.” Luke told you quietly, when Mando dipped into the hut.

“Why?” You asked, watching the hut closely.

“He knows he must leave him. Grogu’s training takes precedence, but their bond is strong.”

“Ah, we have a word for this: aay’han. It is both mourning and joy at once.”

“Aay’han,” Luke echoed the Mando’a back perfectly, and you thought it sounded lovely. “Such a beautiful word, the meaning is interesting. I would like to know more of your culture, someday. First, I am seeking my own.” You smiled at Luke as he stretched beside you. It had been days since you had truly spoken.

You hated this swamp planet, but you were growing fond of its inhabitants. Aay’han, indeed.

**Translations

Aay’han: bittersweet

Ad: son

Buir: parent

Mand’alor: Ruler of Mandalore

Jetii: Jedi

Jetii’kad: lightsaber

[lune-hime]

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 6

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tulipa clusiana ~ A delicate tulip that resembles a pale star, shining in the indigo expanse of the night.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

You coughed.

Actually... coughed.

A sound had been pressed from your slightly agape mouth. While Levi would have preferred it to be words or an utterance of consciousness, he would take what he could get. He didn’t know if it was pathetic that his heart swelled with happiness at the occurrence.

“That’s it, my Y/N.” He praised and stroked your cheek affectionately.

“Oma-” Levi yelled, his call rising in strength as the newfound name left his lips. A harsh clanking followed by rapid footfalls against the stairs brought your grandmother into the room with Felicia hot on her heels. Her chest fell with heavy breaths and her housekeeper looked as if she was prepping herself to slay a dragon.

“She coughed.” Levi stated. He allowed a rare unfiltered grin to spread across his features. Oma looked from him to you and soon her alarm blended into a smile of her own.

“Maria, Rose, and Shina boy you almost gave me heart palpitations.” Oma grumbled but the warm look never left her face as she padded over to you. She held her hand above your mouth and felt the steady breaths on her skin.

“That’s such good news!” Felicia said with clasped hands.

“Indeed. Her body is slowly regaining some normality.”

Oma lovingly gave your hair a few strokes before turning to Levi. She gave him an unusually sweet grin and he grimaced at the strangeness of it.

“You should smile more. It suits you.” She mused smugly. The upturned corners of Levi’s mouth comically went slack at her comment.

“Come have some tea with me. Felicia won’t let me in that damned kitchen without pecking at my ear. So we’ve been banished to the living room.” She added with a flick of her wrist. Levi gave you one final glance and followed her down the stairs. When the two of them had reached the main hallway, a rapid thudding from the front yard stopped them in their tracks.

“Oh, it better not be that goddamned wolf again.” Oma hissed and reached for her shotgun. With disregard for her slipper clad feet she stormed out onto the porch. Levi jogged out behind her, almost bumping into her as she undid the safety on her gun.

“Wait!” Levi shouted and preemptively put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from cocking her weapon. She halted with his grip but raised the barrel of her shotgun to her eye.

“Damn, It’s that cursed horse.” She sighed and put the safety back on her weapon, propping it up along the siding of the house with a frustrated movement.

Your horse was absolutely deflowering whatever poor tulip that fell under his hooves. He would gallop in one direction, head swinging and tail cutting through the wind, only to playfully buck up and then zoom away in the opposite direction. His obsidian coat absolutely contrasted with the flourish of bright colors that nipped at his hooves. It was the most Levi had seen him run freely in his life, and to be honest it was kinda beautiful. He had no fences to confine him or HQ pastures to deprive him of this endless botanical ocean. The creature that he saw before him now was a world away from the sad one he took care of yesterday. And Levi was at least glad for that.

“Well how the fuck did he get out? Did you forget to lock the stall door?” Oma seethed, waving her hands in frustration and hobbling down the porch steps. She looped around to the side of the house, where tethering poles were located and grabbed halter and lead rope to catch him with.

“I did lock it but that never stops him.” Levi exhaled, absorbing her well-earned anger as he followed closely behind her. She mumbled sweet nothings about humane euthanasia and turning him loose to be a wild horse until she stopped at the edge of her field.

Noticing he had company, your horse slowed his aggressive drifting to a halt and watched the two attentively. His nostrils flared with his excited breathing and the three beings held a staring contest within the gentle chroma of petals. Taking his stillness as an invitation to come get him, Oma carefully trudged between the rows of flowers. However, she did not get far, for when she got within a reasonable distance he suddenly snorted and skittered to the side, destroying even more of the crop.

Oma snarled and began stomping over more aggressively while being mindful to step around her moneymakers. For every one step she took in his direction, your horse trotted about four feet away and stopped, as if taunting her to come in further and destroy even more plants.

Levi watched nervously from the main path. He decided it was time to jump into action when Oma managed to get within range of looping the lead rope and halter around his neck. Your horse suddenly delivered a powerful kick that if she hadn’t deftly dodged would have clocked her right in the ribs. Oma cursed in simmering frustration.

“Stop, you’ll get hurt!” Levi called, mindfully stepping through the field and grabbing one of her arms to stop her from advancing. “Let me try.”

He gave Oma a determined look to which she grumbled and surrendered him the halter. Levi approached the animal calmly to only be met with the same snotty behavior. He closed his eyes in annoyance and heard your giggle ring through his mind.

He loves it when you talk to him, see?

“You don’t have to freak out stupid.” Levi told your horse, noting the nervous giddy in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I called you a little shit yesterday, Puddle.” Levi continued through monotone gentleness and advanced slowly. Oma shook her head in disbelief.

“Am I watching a play about a princess right now? Are you going to start talking to the flowers next?” She huffed. Levi shot her an icy glare over his shoulder. Puddle snorted and eyed Oma as if in response.

“Apologize.” Levi turned to her with his default blandness. It was time Levi got back at her for all her incessant teasing.

“...Pardon?” She spat. “You think that bastard will comprehend?”

“Y/N says he understands what she is saying so; apologize. He won’t let me catch him until you say you’re sorry.” Levi was trying to hold back a smile and Oma’s perturbed features.

“Believe me, no one thinks it's more ridiculous than me.” Levi added.

“Maria, Rose, and Sina fuck me.” She mumbled before standing her ground, unamused.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you..uh-what did you just call him?” Oma started.

“Puddle.” Levi stated.

“Why does that name sound so familiar?” Oma furrowed her brow in thought.

“She named him after her pet frog.”

Oma exhaled and shook her head once more.

“Puddle.”

His ears perked up at the mention of his name. Levi eased himself closer and there were no more protests from Puddle besides a few anxious paws at the dirt.

“I hope he didn’t cause too much damage.” Levi sighed as he reached up to buckle the halter around Puddle’s head.

“Not significantly, just more weeding for me now.” Oma chuckled dryly. She fell into step with Levi when he exited the field.

“Of all things why did she choose such a cutesy name for a warhorse?” Oma wondered aloud. Levi almost laughed at the memory her question drudged up.

“She received him when she graduated from the cadets. It was rainy that day. When he was brought out to her, he immediately laid down and rolled in a muddy puddle. The brat got all dirty and she laughed when he shook mud on everyone.”

The smile that graced Oma’s lips held as much vibrancy as her flower crop. That kind of look seemed to take over her features every time you were mentioned.

“Put him in the pasture instead of the stall, he can tear up my grass to his heart’s content.” Oma instructed when they got to the front yard. Levi nodded in confirmation.

“And meet me inside after, Felicia should be done with dinner by now.”

Levi let out an exhale that puffed his cheeks as he stood in the yard for a moment, gathering his bearings. He looked over to Puddle who was munching away on the grass, acting as if he hadn't a care in his life.

"You're always going to be a pain in my ass huh?" Levi mused aloud as he jerked on the lead rope.

↞♞♘↠

Another droplet of sweat slinked its way down the side of your face as you heaved yourself up from the dirt.

“Good job Armin!” You praised the boy who gasped for air. “Your technique is improving.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. I still lost.” He laughed nervously as he graciously took your hand and let you pull him up from where he laid on the ground. You clicked your tongue in disapproval.

“In sparring matches it doesn’t matter who ‘wins’, it just matters if you improve your skills. The true winner is the one who comes out of whatever situation you are faced with alive.” You assured, boosting his confidence with an encouraging smile.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He replied with a more confident grin.

“You’ve gotten so philosophical since you became a squad leader.” Jean commented with a hint of snark.

“Someone needs to be the brains of this operation. I’m definitely second to Armin.” You lauded at the shorter boy and he blushed.

“Even I'll admit we’re at the bottom of that totem pole Jean.” Connie snickered and Jean scowled.

“That makes me the brawns then?” Jean questioned rhetorically. You rolled your eyes at his cockiness and Mikasa snorted from her place on the fence.

“You also didn’t beat me in our sparring match.” You countered playfully.

“You just said that winning doesn’t matter.” He quipped back.

“That doesn’t apply to you.” You teased and stuck out your tongue.

Jean was about to counter attack when Sasha butted in.

“Yo, Y/N. Captain Levi and Eren are back.” She said between bites of her fries she had stolen from the leftovers of today’s lunch. She nodded behind you and you turned to see them walking towards your group. Since the incident with Annie and the devastation that befell the special operations squad, Erwin decided to combine the talent of your squad with that of the remaining members of Levi’s squad. Thus you became joint squad leaders. You usually trained all together as one unit but when Levi worked with Eren one on one, you were left with Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, and Sasha. You looked down at your watch.

“It is about time we’re scheduled to be done anyway, see you guys later!” You grinned with another successful sparring session coming to a close. The mob of scouts moved out after they had said their goodbyes, absorbing Eren on their way back to HQ. Levi nodded at the group in a silent address when they passed them.

“Hi.” He greeted when you came to stand in front of him.

“Hey, enjoy the show?” You teased and casually fixed where his collar had blown up haphazardly.

“Mhm. I love watching you kick other people’s asses.” He replied with a hum as he craned his neck to give you better access.

“Someday if you’re lucky, I may even kick yours.” You winked and he huffed.

“You don’t have any plans tonight, right?” He asked, confirming you had the evening open for him. You shook your head.

“Nope, you told me to free up my schedule.” You beamed. Levi smiled softly.

“Good. I have a surprise.” He stated simply. The way your eyes bugged out of your head caused him to chuckle fondly.

Surprise? Levi? This was something rare.

“Follow me.” He instructed with a smug half grin. He led you to the stable where his horse was already tacked. Dandelion, as you had named her after her flaxen coat, had a flannel blanket secured to the back of her saddle framed by saddle bags filled to the brim.

“I couldn’t get him, as usual.” Levi sighed and you giggled in understanding.

“Be right back.” You said with a gentle hand on his arm as you passed. You re-emerged from the pasture a few minutes later with Puddle in tow.

The ride through the forest was blissful. Levi led the way through the lush grove of trees, the warm chroma of the fading sun’s tendrils breaking through the canopy and nuzzling into his dark locks. Your ride took you not too far from headquarters and soon you found yourself face to face with a lovely sight. Before you lay a pond; ducks flapped about in the cattails, crickets harmonized along its edges, and the water sparkled in the waning daylight. You dismounted Puddle with your mouth hung open in awe.

“How did you find this place?” You almost whispered, too enamored with the little cove framed by towering pines. It felt like a secret spot. Your secret spot.

“I was on my way back from one of the outposts and came across it. It’s...nice isn’t it?” Levi explained as he dismounted and began unraveling the blanket. He snuck a peek at your amazed expression and felt himself swell with warmth.

“Yeah, it’s wonderful.”

Levi walked over to the large grassy area and flicked the blanket open and let it fall flat onto the earth.

“How can I help?” You asked, still oblivious to the purpose of this excursion. Not that you were complaining. The inner romantic in you was squealing in delight.

“I’ll do it, go check out the pond for a bit.” He smiled with a nod in the direction of the water. Leaving the horses to graze near the entrance to the clearing you trotted down to the water’s edge. It had been so long since you had been in such a natural space. It reminded you of the big lake in your village where Oma would take you and Jean fishing as kids. You were being lulled into a state of relaxation by the gentle ripples of the water when Levi’s call brought you back to reality.

“Ready.”

When you regrouped with him, the fruit of his actions manifested a grin that was so wide it hurt your cheeks. The blanket was adorned with two plates and a basket full of delicious smelling food. You couldn’t contain your excited grin as Levi patted the spot next to him.

“Did you make this?” You asked in shock as Levi served you grilled salmon and a warm roll.

“Yes.” Levi chuckled at your continued amazement. You took the plate gratefully and smiled when he reached for a thermos you knew had to contain tea.

“By yourself?” You pressed. He side eyed you as he poured you a cup. He blew on it once and passed it over to you.

“I...had some help.” He confessed.

“One of the cooks?” You guessed as you grabbed a fork and napkin from the basket.

“No, surprisingly. Erwin.” Levi stated as he took a sip of the tea. Your eyebrows furrowed in astonishment.

“No fucking way, Erwin cooks?” You chortled. You pictured Levi struggling with the stove and being corrected by Erwin who stood watch over his shoulder. Your happiness was contagious and Levi began laughing too.

“I was shocked too.” He smiled genuinely and hoped you could see how warm you made him feel in moments like these. In all moments, really.

Your meal was enjoyed with your usual playful banter and discussions of your days.

“So what’s the occasion for all of this?” You finally asked when you had both finished eating and tidying up. It wasn’t your anniversary, it wasn’t either of your birthdays. It wasn’t Puddle’s birthday either. (Yes, you indeed celebrated that.) Levi cleared his throat in response. His cheeks were dusted with the faintest of roses. His uncharacteristic bashfulness had you practically vibrating with anticipation.

“It’s uh, the day that you first told me you loved me.” Levi declared with a tenderness to his tone that he rarely expressed. Your heart threatened to burst from your chest as it filled past its brim with pure affection.

“You remembered the date?” You asked, tears welling at your eyes at the touching confession. You remembered the time as vividly as if it had happened yesterday but not the numerics of the day.

Levi nodded and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. The devotion that burned from every essence of his being radiated onto you with such a heat you would have surely melted into pure love without his hands holding you.

“Y/N, I know I’m the king of shit when it comes to expressing my emotions. But if there is one thing I want to be good at expressing, it's my love for you.” He professed with a passionate kiss to just under your jaw.

“I want to make sure you know how enough you make me feel, how much life you have breathed into me.” He continued, his voice straight out of a confectionary. He reached up to kiss your forehead.

“I can’t think of myself without thinking about you. I’ll save the self depreciation because I don’t want you to hit me.” He smirked and you huffed happily through your incoming tears. His kisses trailed to your cheeks, effectively curbing the salty stream.

“I’m working on saying it more. You make me feel loved every moment of my life and I need you to feel that way too.” He stated with velvety purpose. This time his lips touched upon yours and you molded into his embrace as if you were two droplets of water from the nearby pond.

“Levi…” You exhaled between kisses, too overcome with emotion to say anything other than his name. For his name was the source of your greatest happiness and you cradled it close to you always. He took the opportunity of your speech to slip his tongue between your parted lips. You moaned at the closeness as Levi gently pushed you back onto the blanket.

“I love you, Y/N. Infinitely.” He whispered to affirm all he had confessed previously. His eyes held yours with such a desperate desire that you equally matched.

“And I love you, Levi. Always.” You returned. Your wandering touch down his torso transferred thousands of unspoken professions of love into his being. When he pressed his body down to yours, you swam in his palpable admiration.

Soon your pleasurable shrieks were spilling from your throat with the sporadic intensity of firecrackers. With every deep thrust, the fuse lit, exploded, and relit again, sending you into an endless loop of ecstasy. Levi’s next thrust hit you in just the right spot to spark electricity and you let out a passionate moan that echoed off the trees. You yelped and moved to cover your mouth, only Levi was quicker. Walls forbid a patrol heard you.

He pinned your hands over your head as he continued to move against you. Removing his mouth from your neck, he regarded you with lustful intensity. His pupils were dilated and locked onto your blissfully contorted features with eyelids heavy with raw pleasure. His lips were swollen from endowing you with praise and it was enough to send a jolt of arousal coursing through your figure.

“Don’t. I want to hear you. We’re far enough away that only I’ll hear your sounds.” He cooed just before a husky moan parted his lips as the roll of his hips grew more fluid. You obeyed his wish and blessed his ears with another erotic cry as his hands smoothly traced down your neck, over your breasts, down your sides, and came to squeeze at your hips. The grasp gave him more leverage and you felt yourself seeing stars when you bucked your hips to match his movements.

“Levi I’m close-”

“Fuck, Y/N. Me too-” Levi groaned, the pleading tone you used to speak his name sending him over the edge. As the wave of his orgasm crashed into him, he was so mesmerized in the way your back arched into his hips, the way your hands feverishly grasped at the fabric of the blanket, and the way your supple breasts bounced with every pump, that he almost forgot to pull out.

What happened in the next moment, though, made that choice for him. A resounding thud at his side ceased his movements and he pulled out of you in alarm. You both whipped your head in the direction of the intrusion. Before you could even register what was going on, Puddle rammed Levi in the torso with his head and sent him stumbling backwards.

“Levi!” You squeaked and scrambled to get between him and your raging horse. Holding your hands out in front of Puddle, you stood protectively over Levi who was still recovering from the sudden flight.

“Hey, hey! I’m fine. See?” You gently called to him. He stamped his hooves a few times anxiously before falling under your calming aura.

“I’m fine sweet boy.” You assured and reached out to take his head in your hands and stroke his nose. Hearing Levi curse under his breath behind you, you tried to contain your laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

“Are you alright, Levi?” You asked with a guilty bite of your lip. He glared up at you and your puffed cheeks from stifling your amusement. He was only annoyed for a moment before the two of you cracked up in unison. He shook his head and got up.

“Yeah. He just knocked me over.” Levi replied, his irritation washing away the moment he regarded your curves accentuated by the caress of the moon’s rays. Levi rose and moved to your side. When he got within proximity of his hand ghosting the curve of your lower back, Puddle pinned his ears and snorted. Levi jerked his hand back.

“Oh fuck you, horse.” He spat and glared at the animal. You giggled once more and tethered Puddle to a tree next to Dandelion. A shiver raked your body at the loss of Levi’s vigorous body heat as you padded back over to your love nest.

“You better be fucking me, captain.” You ordered with a viscous sweetness that slid right down Levi’s throat. You lied down on the blanket with your legs pressed together. You shimmied your hips in a sinful rotation that had Levi twitching with arousal at your forefront request.

“It’s unfair you got to cum and I didn’t.” You pouted suggestively.

“It is poor manners to leave anything unfinished. But I have another idea.” He purred. The ethereal view you had of your lover from this angle made you gasp. The puff of air that left your lips released all the boldness you had mere seconds ago into the atmosphere. Heat bloomed on your cheeks at the view that convinced you for a split second you had to have been in a painting. The indigo twilight bathed him in a pale argent aura that only elevated the silver shine of his eyes as they regarded you as if you were the only living being within these walls, within the world itself. He wore the light of the moon as a cloak that kissed his muscles and ivory skin. He was like a fallen star that had just tumbled into your lap.

From your lap, Levi gingerly spread your legs. He spared one more cautious glance towards your horse before nipping at your plush thighs. Where he bit, he followed with an open mouthed kiss that felt like you were being touched by the wing of a butterfly. While his kisses were extraordinarily soft, his hands were not so. They pawed at the flesh of your upper thighs and journeyed to your ass to squeeze. The combination of pressures was driving you insane .

“Levi-” You whined when his hot breath tickled the top of your core. He flicked his eyes up to meet your wonton expression. His charged gaze stayed cemented to you as he dipped down to languidly lick your wetness. When he tasted your sweetness, Levi let out a syrupy moan that vibrated against your clit and reignited the fireworks. Your thighs squeezed together in euphoria, locking his head in place. Your excited spasm delved his tongue into your slick opening and stole any coherent thought from you. He momentarily broke from his ministrations, rising from you with lips glossy with your juices. He licked them tantalizingly slow and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Don’t worry, princess, because of our interruption we are just getting started.” He hummed in satisfaction before diving right back into your intoxicating taste.

[americangodstalk]

Cultural background: Odin

Odin, also known as Woden, Wotan or Waotan, is one of the main gods of Norse mythology.

Son of Borr (son of the first god Buri) and of Bestla (daughter of a jötunn), Odin was responsible for the creation of the world as we know it alongside his two brothers, Vili and Vé. Together they killed the primordial jötunn, Ymir, and used his corpse to form the universe - his flesh becoming the earth, his bones the mountains, his brain the clouds and the maggots eating his carcass the dwarves. When they murdered Ymir, the blood flowing from the giant's body drowned almost all of the other jötunn, resulting in their species becoming fierce ennemies of the gods. Odin and his brothers also created the first humans: Vé gave them faces and five senses, Vili gave them mobility and intelligence/consciousness, while Odin gave them life and minds. Finally, the three brothers created together Asgard, the realm of the gods and one of the nine worlds of Norse cosmogony.

Odin is the leader of the main family of Norse gods, the Aesir, a clan of civilization, war and craft-related deities living in Asgard. As a result, Odin was considered a god of roylaty and nobility, as well as the god of war. Men often prayed to him in order to obtain victory in battle, but since Odin enjoyed deeply feuds they knew he could easily give victory to the opposite side, not caring about fairness or justice but rather about the quality of the fight. It was said that Odin started the war between the Aesir and the Vanir (the second clan of gods, associated with nature, fertility and weather) by throwing his spear at a Vanir living among the Aesir. One of his domains in Asgard was Valhöll or Walhalla (the "halls of the slained ones"), a paradise-like afterlife for those that died in battle or while fighting. These dead would become the einherjar, the elite warriors of Odin's personal army, spending their time fighting each other (but healing and resurecting each evening) and feasting on never-ending supplies of meat and food. This afterlife was so sought by the Norsemen that some warriors who failed to die at war were known to kill themselves with their own spears to become einherjar.

Odin is known to be married to Frigg, a beautiful and graceful goddess of foresight and wisdom, but he had numerous love affairs with goddesses, female jötunn and mortal women, resulting in the birth of numerous gods of the Aesir pantheon: Thor, Baldur, Tyr, Heimdall, Ull... Usually appearing as a grey-haired and bearded old man wearing a large hat and a blue cloak, he liked to travel through Midgard (the world of humans) as a simple mortal, to either test people's hospitality or seduce women (many Norsemen liked to claim they descended from Odin to give themselves a higher social status). Odin owned several fabulous treasures, which included Gungnir, a spear that never misses nor stop until it reaches its target, Draupnir, a gold ring that produces every nine nights eight replicas of itself, and Sleipnir, an eight-legged horse as fast as lightning and able to run across water or through the air.

Odin was also known as a spiritual god. He was the god of poetry, guardian of the mead of poetry (that he stole through trickery, transformation and seduction from the dwarves who created it) and able to gift both gods and men with inspiration or the talent to write or sing. He was a god of wisdom: not only did he sacrificed one of his eyes to drink from Mimir's well, whose magic waters made him knowledgeable and wise, but he also hanged himself from one of the branches of Yggdrasil, the World-Tree, with his own spear piercing his torso, for nine days and nine nights, as a sacrifice to himself. This particular operation, on top of making him the god of gallows and hanged men, and confering him even more wisdom, helped him invent the runes, a form of primitive alphabet used to cast spells. Indeed, Odin was also the god of magic, recognized as a seer and a wizard. He was the master of seidr, a form of ritualistic magic able to shape fate for good, neutral and negative purpose, and which allowed him to see or know the future and curse his ennemies with death, sickness or bad luck. It should be noted that the seidr was seen as a female practice, and considered dishonorable for a man to practice as it would be a cowardly form of cheat (Norsemen were encouraged to fight in more honest and virtuous ways, with weapons or their physical strength). Due to his strong association with the death (god of the slained warriors, god of the gallows) Odin was also a practicioner of what would be called today necromancy known as the "lord of the ghosts": he could resurrect the dead (especially if they had been hanged) and enchanted Mimir's cut head so it would keep speaking even without a body.

Odin had an impressive collection of powers through his knowledge of seidr, runes and other forms of magic. Some of his abilities included turning enemies blind, deaf, paralyzed or mad, taking numerous shapes, stopping arrows through mid-air, turning warriors into invulnerable beings, or letting his mind travel through the world under the shape of an animal while his original body stayed in a form of trance. In the Germanic tradition, Odin was the leader of the Wild Hunt (Wodans Jagd), a celestial and supernatural hunt through the sky that manifested itself as violent storms. Odin does not need to eat, merely to drink wine: all of the meat that is served to him is actually given to his two wolves, Freki and Geri, always sitting at his feet. Another defining trait of Odin is his omniscience: when he sits on his throne, Hlidskialf, he can see the nine worlds all at once, and every morning his two crows, Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory) leave Asgard to explore the other worlds, coming back in the evening to tell the Aesir lord everything that happened in the universe.

While recognized as a wise, generous, brave and powerful god, Odin was also said to be prideful, cunning, selfish, cruel and a trickster. In fact, he was considered to be the most frightening of all of the gods, humans dreading him greatly. It is said that at Ragnarök, the end of times, he will lead the Aesir, Vanir and einherjar into battle against the forces seeking to destroy the universe, and die swallowed alive by Fenrir, the giant wolf.

The important and ancient character of this deity can be noted through his names: experts have currently collected more than 170 names and nicknames given to the gods (his most common being "All-Father", a title representing his role as the creator of the world, gods and humans). While the Romans identified him with the god of Mercury, many have pointed out that his role would be more similar to the one of Jupiter. The word Wednesday derives from Odin's Germanic name Woden (''Wodnesdaeg'', the day of Woden - for originally, Wednesday was ''dies Mercurii'', the day of Mercury).

[thethousandyearwitch]

Eye for an Eye

A "Medical Experimentation"/Black Market Surgery KakuHida fic, because it came to me in a dream.

"Hidan wakes up after a wild night, only to find himself in an uncomfortable and yet enticing predicament featuring a good looking stranger and the miracle of Jashin. And maybe both parties can get something out of this situation..."

Rating: Explicit due to some gruesome talk

Ship: KakuHida

Words: 1702

AO3 Link

Nauseating Darkness. That was the first thing Hidan perceived when he woke up. The feeling of a room, that you’re not even seeing, spinning.

He should have known that this would happen, after the hot bartender kept pouring drinks on the house before he could even finish them. It wasn’t his intention to get drunk off his ass, but free alcohol and shallow compliments from some goth chick can change a night quite quickly.

Reflexively, the man tried to turn to his side to soothe his nausea, only to feel a firm resistance on his wrists. The restrictive movement called his attention toward how cold he felt overall, and how fucking uncomfortable whatever he was laying on was. At the same time, he could hear some movement close to him come to a halt.

“Hey, hey, I’m not in the mood for some BDSM games, I think I’m gonna hurl.” He slurred and tested the restrains again. A gurgle crept up from his abdomen, and the suffocating darkness still wasn’t giving way to any light.

“What the fuck.” A deep voice echoed, definitely not from the cute bartender that Hidan had hoped he took home with him. It wasn’t a question, more of a baffled statement. The young man wasn’t a stranger to taking men home with him, but this was definitely not planned, and the unclear discomfort from his abdomen that stretched all the way to his sternum was enough of a boner-killer that he just wanted to get a shower and a prairie oyster.

“Dude, just, uncuff me, get this fucking blindfold off, and I promise I’ll write you a 3page essay apology for the missed sex or whatever.”

“What- No, stop. Listen closely to me.” The deeper voice came steadily closer, and Hidan was sure he could feel the warmth of another body inching closer to his. “I am not about to fuck your sorry ass. You had some real bad luck, and drew the interest of one of my clients, who paid me to remove your eyes and a couple of organs.”

The spinning inside of his head only got worse, and Hidan let out a confused groan. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“There’s no blindfold, dumbass, your eyes are already sitting on my desk ready for pick-up. I don’t even know how or why you are alive; you’re probably banged up on some drug cocktail that cancelled mine out. But you’re going to bleed out any second. No hard feelings.”

Oh. He’s been tricked. Of course, free drinks are never truly free, but he’s never paid with organs before. First time for everything.

The pressure on his body became clearer to him now. He could feel the burning edges of an incision, reaching roughly from 1cm below his bellybutton up to the tip of his sternum, between the 6th and 7thrib. The foreign body that squirmed itself under his ribcage, wrapped itself with learned precision around his heart, that could only be a human hand.

“Can you not afford a bone saw like any other unlicensed doctor?” Hidan laughed and could feel the pressure on his lungs. Every muscle in his body slowly started to follow his command again, warming back up with steady relaxation and contraction.

“I don’t need to justify my expenses to a dead man talking. I don’t care about leaving a neatly chopped up body, and neither does my guy who’ll get rid of you after the job.” Something cold and sharp pressed against Hidans Aorta, a scalpel, he was sure. “Any last words?”

The pain from the incision gave way to a booming headache, itching and scratching the inside of his skull. Slowly, white spots came into his visions, like a night sky that revealed itself one star at a time. “Yeah, what’s your name, asshole?”

“…Kakuzu. Goodby-“Before he could finish his parting words, Hidan snapped his arms free of the leather straps that held him down, and he threw himself at the other man’s throat, toppling both of them to the ground. His eyes had fully reconstructed themselves, and away from under the surgery lighting, he could slowly take in his surroundings in dimmer light.

“This place is a fucking shithole.” The floor was dirty, the walls and even the ceiling were covered in dark stains, an oakwood desk near the wall was held together with layers of yellow-ed glue, next to it a beat-up office chair with scotch-tape adorned seating. His eyes wandered to the man he kept pinned below him, covered in Hidans spilled out lower intestine. “You’re not too bad though, damn.”

His hands were wrapped around the throat of a well-build man, probably a couple years older than him, with rich, sepia brown skin, black hair tied in a knot. He wore a surgical mask, but it couldn’t fully cover the ends of what was clearly a not yet fully healed Glasgow-smile. But what was most striking about Kakuzu were his eyes; His sclera was a dull red, and his Iris were a bright emerald green. “Why would anyone want my eyes when you’ve got the grand prize resting in your skull?”

Under Hidans firm grip, he could feel the strength Kakuzu had to use just to speak up. “What the fuck are you?”

“I’m my gods most favorite little bastard! Now, how about a little trade, ‘kuzu?” He shifted his weight off of the other man’s windpipe, just enough to let him breathe under a strain.

“What do you want?”

“My guts, ideally back where they belong. And in return- “He grabbed Kakazu’s hand, which until now had been busy digging his fingernails into the immortal’s arm, and guided it to Hidans restored eyes. “-I’m sure your client would go bonkers over two sets of eyes.”

There was a pointed silence between the two, Hidan grinning as his internal organs tried to work against the pull of gravity, tissue already trying to reconnect itself with a painful burning sensation. For a moment he thought that the incision would close over his exposed organs before he’d get a response.

“Get on the table. I’m not going to waste anymore anaesthetics on you though, or else I won’t turn enough of a profit.”

Hidan climbed back on the operation table, arms rested behind his head, legs crossed leisurely. “Money greed is a sin, y’know?”

“That’s fine by me, I’ll buy myself a VIP seat when I get there.” Kakuzu readied a medical sewing kit, and unceremoniously crammed Hidans intestines back into his abdominal cave, to which he squirmed in response, but snickered as well.

“It’s not too late to repent! Jashin takes every poor soul that knocks on his door with the correct offerings, and I have a feeling you’ve got what it takes. And I’m living, breathing proof of his miracles. Or else how will you explain all of…this?” He waved his hand around in the general direction of his eyes and his open wound, and Kakuzu swatted his hand away.

“I don’t know, I don’t care. Maybe you’re the result of a radioactive freakshow. Maybe I’m finally succumbing to asbestos poisoning. Now hold still or I will have to tie you back down again.”

“Kinky! Say, after you’re done stealing my eyes again, wanna grab some drinks?”

“Drinks is how you got into this situation in the first place.”

“I’m not regretting it~”

This earned him an eye roll, though more importantly, he realized Kakuzu didn’t say ‘No’ to his proposition. The surgeon finished the final stitches and gave his work a satisfied nod. He placed a glass jar, filled with some strange liquid, on a smaller table next to the operation table, and leaned in closer to Hidans head. “Now for the money-makers.”

“Wait-wait-wait, how are you gonna take ‘em out? You’re not just gonna snatch them out with your fingers, right?” Hidan fidgeted, though his manic grin didn’t falter. His chest was rising and falling heavily with rapid breathing, pulling at the fresh stitches.

“You really are an idiot. The eyes are too delicate and firm to be taken out like that. I’ll be using a tool that looks like a spoon, but has the sharpness of a scalpel, to basically scoop them out. Getting scared?”

“Are you kidding? I’m really getting excited now…”

Kakuzu huffed and placed one hand on the right side of Hidans face, using his thumb to pull the skin under his eye down. “No squirming, or I’ll take your teeth as collateral.”

“Don’t entice me, ‘kuzu.”

The sharp, cold tool slid smoothly between eyelids and eyeball, and without much resistance it curved into the eye socket and severed the optical nerves. In just a second, Hidans vision on his right side went black, and his heart beat violently against his chest. The pain was overpowering, searing, and exciting.

The surgeon dropped the disconnected eyeball into the formaldehyde jar, and switched hands to get a better grip on the left side of Hidans face. “Halfway done. Need a break?”

“Stop being a fucking tease…” Hidan breathed out, face flushed with excitement, fingernails helplessly scratching at the side of the solid table.

And without any further warning, the tool slid behind the second eyeball, severed nerves, and discarded it into the jar.

Back to nauseating darkness. All of Hidans other senses felt enhanced, he could smell the preserving chemical mixed with his fresh blood, he could hear the buzzing of the lamp above him, he licked his lips and tasted only his sweat, and most of all, he could feel the lingering warmth of Kakuzus hand still on his face, his thumb brushing over Hidans cheekbone.

“You’re a walking organ bank.” The younger man didn’t reply, too busy with catching his breath. “I could save money on anaesthetics and trying to lure idiots to operate on. I’d have any organ anyone could want – on demand.”

“I’m not gonna let you cut me open every day for free, yknow?”

And suddenly Hidan could feel hot breath ghosting over his ear, so close that cold shivers ran down his spine.

“Maybe I do have some free time for a couple drinks, and a little business talk.”

[loyally-unfaithful]

pairing: rengoku kyojuro x gn!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: henlo is me again, i’ve never owned cats and it shows i made this into headcanon format, but if you were looking for something feel free to resend a request c: alrighty hope you like it

edit: i know this is a super long time since this ask was actually sent to me?? and i honestly have no excuses to give. i’m really sorry to whoever sent the request: i was just procrastinating and then covid hit and my motivation plunged even lower. i know this is not much, and it’s probably ooc to all hell but i do hope you like it.

so ok, here’s the premise: you just moved out of your old residence, whether it was a flat or a house—you’re outta there! you is gone !

and ur friend or flatmate had a litter of cats and u just couldn't help urself but adopt one. they were just that cute.

so u did.

got that bad boi for free too, what a bargain!

and anyway u love that bastard with all ur heart.

it's just a bastard but she’s your bastard so it's all good.

very adorable dainty catto, and you took her to the vets to get her checked up, vaccinated, dewormed, and all that good stuff to make sure she will have a long and healthy lifespan.

u recall that u need to bring her in within 6 months to get her spayed so that there wouldn’t be an accidental litter. the operation is postponed since rn she’s too small, and ur like.

ok, i'll see u in 6 months.

that was 3 months ago.

now u moved out into a new apartment, with ur precious catto in tow.

after u finished bringing in all your boxes and furnitures and such, you thought to yourself, “hey, why not start this new chapter in life with a good start by acquainting myself with my neighbours”.

and that's exactly what u did: u gathered like, a packet of strawberries, and went over to the flat directly in front of urs while rehearsing what you will say in your head.

as you reached the other side and pressed the doorbell, you wondered who lived behind those doors…

first you’ll introduce yourself by name.

maybe it was a married couple? maybe even with a family?

and after that, you’ll tell them that you just recently moved in.

or perhaps it would be some elderly gentleman or lady?

and then, you will hand the gifts over and express that you hoped that the two of you will get along—something like that.

worst case scenario, the person is some weirdo… you hoped not…

the door finally opens with a click and you begin to recite what you had practiced:

« hey my name is... » your voice tapers off as you fully took in the person greeting you.

your voice disappears, meeting someone you absolutely did not expect. out of all the possibilities, you did not think for a moment that your neighbour would be the handsome young man with piercing golden eyes, lustrous locks of bright yellow hair, and an even brighter smile, standing before you.

were you staring? you were staring weren’t you? you realised in embarrassment that you were staring at the man, who was probably confused to all hell as to why you appeared on his front doors.

fighting your urge to combust and run away, you introduced yourself following the script you made up (though with more stutters than originally intended) and brusquely handed the berries over.

he happily takes your gift, repeating your name, assuring you that he was listening. it’s so stupid, but the way he says your name makes your stomach do flips. « well, welcome! he says enthusiastically. i’m rengoku kyojuro! i hope you enjoy it here! »

and that was that.

you mechanically went back to your flat, face burning and nervousness still clawing at you.

you’d say that you got adjusted to this new life pretty quickly. you seldom visited kyojuro as you were too embarrassed to pop by and chit-chat as often as you would’ve preferred to—dreading the thought of crossing him on your way to your own flat whenever you went home—but otherwise everything had been good.

alas, your cat was now 5 months old and oh boy.

something tells you your cat was entering its heat cycle or something—you were a first time cat-owner, but you had an inkling.

if your cat’s sudden affectionate, or over-affectionate, streak and unexpected attention seeking behaviour was anything to go by. she would roll on the floor, rub herself all over you and leave fluff all over your clothes, and yells.

she screm!

most stressful of all was how she absolutely wanted to escape to the outside, but you were not having it. you did not want kittens. one cat is enough thank you.

but nope, your wishes were in vain as one day, she just fucking disappeared—god knows where she is , she’s just somewhere.

understandably, you lost your shit and panicked because holy hell your cat escaped!!!

you went around to look for her, with no luck, and you were absolutely heartbroken.

that was until like??? 2 months later and you went to open a drawer to get some socks and lo and behold!

A CAT

and not just any cat! your cat! AND NOT JUST YOUR CAT! but also a bunch of other smaller cats, also known as kittens!

at this point, you weren’t even upset at the thought that you fucked up and ended up having kittens—you were just happy your cat is back and alive and well and back home. who knows how she entered back into the house.

who cares??

your cat is back!!

you’ll just have to spay her once she’s done nursing.

but as you watched over the litter, which looked like your cat but also another cat, you began to see a resemblance between their orange fur and caprisun, kyojuro’s ginger maine coon!!

and now everything makes sense…  

body working on autopilot, both because of how tired you were after watching over the cats and also because you were still dissociating from the realisation, you stiffly made your way to your neighbour and ringed the doorbell… ignoring the fact that this was now 2 in the morning.

you had to tell him, or confirm or do something with this new knowledge. his sleep can wait.

surprisingly, he answered the door without you having to ring him a second time. unsurprisingly, he looked tired and was ???? at you summoning him at such an odd time in the evening.

« i know that we don’t really talk, you started. but i need to show you something: i think your cat might have gotten my cat pregnant?? »

that caught the blond’s attention enough to wash the grogginess away from his face, and he followed you back to your flat.

normally the idea that a stranger, a good looking stranger no less, was going into your flat would fluster you, but right now you were a man with a plan, you had something to do and that was to show kyojuro the litter of cats.

he was surprised when he saw them, but confirmed that you were probably right, and that his male cat had probably gotten to your cat during her disappearance.

at this point you were a little bit (a lot) overwhelmed by the responsibility that came along with being a parent (and a grandparent), so you were about to ask him to help you coparent for the little buggers.

but he suggested it before you had the chance to, taking initiative:

« then! he expressed emphatically. we must raise this little kitty family together! kyojuro declared. »

and thus began your misadventures together as cat parents.

even though you both had work and a multitude of other things to do during the day (kyojuro still has his own cat to take care of, for that matter), you made it work—perhaps through sheer stubbornness and desire to make things right.

if anything, this whole ordeal cemented the fact that you were officially put off from having real children: if taking care of kittens was this demanding, imagine a whole actual human baby.

no way, no thanks.

you’re good.

hard pass.

funnily enough, after taking turns to take care of the cats and after the shifts to watch over them, you two had become fast friends. despite your reluctance with meeting him again after your disastrous greeting, you found yourself being very comfortable being in his presence and getting used to having him over in your flat (for the cats, of course).

but you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy spending time with kyojuro, conversing with him and learning more about each other as you both opened up to one another.

it was when he beamed at a joke you made, wearing his signature exuberant smile and laughing a laugh that you found so adorable, that you realised that you were in too deep. that you were definitely catching feels.

sometimes, you wished that you two would’ve been more than just friends. you wince at the thought that the two of you drift apart after this whole mess was over. but you pushed that inevitability away from your mind.

for the most part, nothing noteworthy ever happened as you took care of the kittens as the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm.

one day, while you were both taking care of the cats, his exhaustion got the best of him and kyojuro fell asleep. you found him dozing off on the couch when you walked in, and you had to stop for a moment and tiptoe in the piece because of how peaceful he looked as he was resting. it was incredible how impeccable he looked, awake or asleep.

secretly, you took a picture, capturing this moment forever. he looks adorable. you’ll probably show the image later and tell him that he can take it easy for a while seeing as he was worn out and that you just received a few days off.

speaking of sleeping on duty, you’ve caught yourself passing out once or twice (ok a few times, more than just once or twice), but the weirdest part of all was that you would always wake up on your bed instead of wherever you fell asleep.

butterflies would go feral in ur stomach at the implication that kyojuro had been carrying your sleeping form to your bedroom.

but that was what has been happening right?

you think that at some point, you had fallen asleep on kyojuro… but to save yourself from the embarrassment, you chalk that up to your imagination running wild or a dream.

a few months into this ordeal, he pulled you over to another room to talk privately to you (ignoring the fact that there wasn’t anyone else in your apartment except for the cats).

he seemed to carry himself with a hesitance or shyness that was never there, and you found yourself dreading what he was about to tell you. what kind of bomb was he about to drop on you?

before starting, he paused for a moment, resolute… or was that a look of determination in his eyes? you didn’t know what to expect and it made you worried.

« i have something i need to tell you, convey to you! he started, confidence not lost in his voice. there is a burning passion in my heart, and it was about time that i listened to it! i know we’ve only met just recently, but after our time together i realised that i have feelings for you! he uttered your name again, with such gentleness and softness that it made your heart tighten. i like you! »

« i like you too!! you responded quickly, too quickly. you winced at how loud you unintentionally were, but he didn't seem to pay attention. »

instead, a radiant smile graced his features as he realised that you shared the same sentiment. and the same smile spread on your face, happy that he returned your feelings.

slowly, he moved closer to you and like a magnet, you mirrored him.

perhaps a bit hesitant, you could feel the ghost of a kiss over your lips as he leaned towards you, inching ever closer to each other.

but as your lips were about to connect, you hear crying from the other room…

the cats!

you two jerked away from each other, alerted by the sound, before looking back at each other, dumbfounded.

after what felt like an eternity but also an instant, a chuckle escaped you as you began to laugh uncontrollably—overwhelmed by giddiness and the sheer absurdity of this entire situation—and the blond followed suit, laughing along with you.

as you calmed down, your eyes found each other and the two of you just smiled.

the both of you wore brilliant smiles, and you were floored by the tenderness he held for you.

you look like a mess.

and he looks like a mess.

and you're both tired beyond belief.

but you’re both really happy.

and really happy to have each other.

(and your cats of course).

you’ll have to thank your cat later for helping you meet this wonderful person.

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

[bubbyleh]

the resurrection

it’s a monster au, and gordon’s a zombie. so his backstory is a lil rough.

content warnings for: murder, dismemberment (offscreen and also no blood), blood, cannibalism (technically).

Gordon isn’t dead long enough to get a peek at what lies beyond the veil. One second, he’s alive and well, walking home with a few snacks he bought at the gas station. Then the next, there’s a cloaked figure in front of him, who places an icy cold hand on his shoulder, and for a while after that, Gordon is gone.

He awakens in the woods, which isn’t where he was mere hours before. Gordon sits up, expression hollow, eyes wide and unseeing. He’s in a small clearing, but his mind isn’t operating clearly enough to process that. All he can focus on is this new, strange feeling in his stomach. An emptiness so strong that he feels like he’s being clawed from the inside, ripped apart.

It’s maddening. Gordon’s head feels scrambled, but strangely, he can focus on his stomach. He… he wants something, needs something. There’s something wrong, and it takes a moment for his undead brain to realize.

“I’ve done it!” a voice proclaims, and Gordon’s glassy gaze turns to focus on the cloaked figure. They’re familiar; the way their eyes glow in the dark night is terrifying, for some reason. But Gordon currently doesn’t have the awareness to question his fear.

“Rise, mindless zombie!” the figure continues. “You will be the first in my army of the undead!”

Shakily, Gordon stands to his feet. He can’t quite move his limbs right, but that’s only a minor concern. With a shambling step, he moves towards the figure. Because Gordon finally figured out what’s wrong with his stomach.

He’s hungry.

And human sounds good right now.

†††

A small part of himself comes back. It’s not enough to think critically with, not yet, but it

is

enough for him to realize that he’s covered in so much blood and that’s

wrong

. His face, his hoodie, his hand… all soaked in blood that isn’t his. And then Gordon realizes that he’s on his knees, and in front of him is a-

A dead person. So horrifically mutilated that it looks like an attack by a wild animal.

Gordon can’t comprehend it. He scrambles backwards, stumbling when he tries to support himself on his right hand only to find that his entire forearm is gone. In fact, there it is, just a few feet away from the body. Before he can even really think about it (not that he can right now, anyway), Gordon snatches his detached arm up, holding it close to his chest and he curls in on himself.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, panicking for a reason he can’t understand with his hoodie pulled over his head. Gordon comes back to reality when he hears a voice, shocked and worried.

“Oh dear.”

Gordon peeks out from behind his arm, and he sees a man kneel down between himself and the body, blocking his view. “Are you alright?” the man asks, and somehow, that question seems wrong to Gordon.

Warily, Gordon shakes his head. The man frowns, and the sight of it causes the pit in Gordon’s stomach to grow deeper.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

Gordon nods, and the man rests his hand on Gordon’s back, somehow comforting despite the fact that it’s not warm in the slightest. In fact, it’s almost unnaturally cold, which he can’t wrap his mind around.

But the one thing Gordon does know now is, for whatever reason, he’s safe. This man isn’t going to hurt him.

He can trust him.

†††

Gordon is led deeper into the woods by his remaining hand. The man introduces himself as Harold Coomer, and he promises to help Gordon while he figures out being undead. In a show of good faith, he helps him reattach his arm, even though Gordon can’t figure out the mechanics of it. His arm was off, but as soon as it was held up to his disturbingly bloodless stump… it was on again.

He asks Gordon a few questions, like what happened to him? What does he remember? Who was that person? Gordon can’t answer any of them, he just shakes his head whenever Coomer asks him something.

To be honest, Gordon does zone out a bit on their walk. Now that he’s calmed down a bit, it’s harder for him to stay focused. He barely notices their entry into the small, run-down house in the middle of nowhere. At least, not until the shouting starts.

“Harold, you can’t just bring a zombie here!”

“Why not? He needed help!”

“Why do we have to provide it?!”

Gordon isn’t entirely sure what this new person is. They’re much more obviously monstrous than Coomer, who Gordon’s already convinced isn’t human anyway. But this stranger looks like a patchwork quilt, stitched together and uneven. When he draws his knees to his chest, Gordon realizes that he’s sitting on a couch.

“What, you can’t relate to an undead monster trying to find their way in a world that is confusing and fearful of them?” Coomer quips. “Because I swear, it sounds familiar to me.”

The stranger groans. “Harold. Don’t.”

“I think I’ve met someone like that, once.” Coomer taps the side of his head, as if thinking. “Maybe two people? Maybe two undead creatures?”

“Harold-”

“Oh! Us!” he’s cheerful despite the fact he’s clearly in an argument. “Come on, we should at least help him get back on his feet.”

“Fine!” the stranger throws their hands in the air. “You’ve convinced me! We’ll house a zombie, whatever!”

Gordon looks down at his reattached right hand, and notices for the first time that his skin looks dull. He flexes his hand, watching as it moves perfectly despite being literally separated from his body not too long ago. That doesn’t make sense, it… shouldn’t work.

Something in his mind clicks.

He’s dead, isn’t he?

†††

Bubby—whose name Gordon learned on his second day—places an item on the table in front of Gordon.

“Coomer doesn’t want to accidentally eat your meal,” they say. “So try it.”

Gordon glances between the packaging and the person in front of him. With a nod from Bubby, he carefully takes it into his hands and begins to tear it open.

The smell hits him first. That gnawing, stabbing, empty feeling returns to his stomach. He barely has a chance to realize that what he’s holding is fresh meat before it’s gone, and the emptiness recedes.

“Huh,” Bubby remarks. “Maybe you’re new enough that you’ll take anything.”

Gordon’s not completely sure what they mean by that. Bubby slides into the seat across from him, grabbing onto his sleeve when he tries to wipe his face with his hoodie.

“Stop it,” Bubby scolds him. “We just got that cleaned for you. Use a napkin.”

“Sorry,” Gordon mumbles, and it takes him noticing Bubby’s mildly surprised expression to realize that it’s the first thing he’s said since Coomer found him.

Bubby leans back in their chair. “Okay, so you can communicate. Why the silent schtick?”

Gordon blinks. Talking still seems kind of foreign to him, to the point where he has to put all of his mental energy towards making sure the words come out right. “I… couldn’t,” he tries to explain. “But now… I can.”

He looks down at the empty meat packaging. “I think… eating helps.” Gordon rests his head on the table.

For a moment, Bubby squints, as if he were a nut to crack. Finally, they speak. “You got a name, then?”

It takes him a second to process that. “Gordon,” he says simply.

Bubby pats their hand on Gordon’s head, but it’s not condescending. It feels warm, and nice, and understanding. “Well, Gordon,” they confess. “I think you’re gonna be fine.”

And for the first time in his whole unlife, Gordon smiles.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Can you please tell us about the whole scenario where MC gets kidnapped and Comte rescues her? The one with the CG I mean.

Sure thing! I’ll do my best to relay the events accurately, as this is one of my favorite moments in his rt~

Sizable Comte rt spoilers below, pls don’t click if you’d like to wait for the ENG release!

Okay so some much needed context before I delve too deep. In the first few chapters of the route, MC debuts in French high society (introduced by Comte as a friend’s heiress from overseas). As such, the better part of the Parisian population knows MC as somebody of noble birth. This is important moving forward.

One day while she’s in town she goes out with a friend upon request (also of high rank, somebody she met and made friends with at her debut) and Sebas encourages her to have fun before meeting up again to return home. Problem is, there has apparently been a great deal of unrest among the people in the lower rungs of the social ladder. Joblessness has been a prominent issue, and so a group of men decide to target members of the elite in order to force them to give a damn about the problem. In their desperation, they choose to abduct MC and her friend and tie them up in separate locations.

The other young lady’s butler/servant is present when they’re taken, but is unable to do anything to stop them. Surprising no one, he races over to find Sebas and tell him what’s happened. Naturally, Sebas is beside himself and takes the man with him in order to alert Comte. And Comte.........well........let’s just say he does not take the news well to say the LEAST. He hears them out, goes silent and it shows his furious sprite, and he’s about to storm out when Leonardo appears out of nowhere after he says MC’s name raggedly. (Note: not that odd bc purebloods seem to be able to sense each other’s feelings easily, and it’s likely he was responding to Comte’s acute and sudden distress). Leonardo has to grab Comte’s shoulder and tell him to calm down before he collects himself again, and then he leaves with Napoleon and Jeanne to go find them asap. 

Iirc, Sebas/the other residents take up the task of alerting the police and trying to find more information while the search party is underway. There is a hilarious tidbit I’d like to share, only because it’s uproarious and makes me laugh every fucking time I translate it fdkhdgdjfsf. So basically they’re all trying to figure out what’s going on, until Sebastian mentions the whole coalition of impoverished people looking to get back at high society for the financial inequities of the historic moment. Now Mozart, in a moment of brilliant word association, says “Oh, well yeah under those circumstances that would make MC the ideal target.” And I fucking. Isaac just turns around and is like. “Could you not. Say it like that. When our dad is hAVING A FUCKING MELTDOWN AND A DISPLACED HUMAN WOMAN IS IN MORTAL DANGER. COULD YOU MAYBE NOT???? JUST THIS ONCE.” And I just fucking lose it every time????? Like are those not the most Mozart-core and Isaac-core responses imaginable????? Mozart being so focused on the logic of the situation he just doesn’t seem to be able to read the room/keep in mind how upset Comte might be. Isaac being HYPERSENSITIVE to the emotions in the room and being MORTIFIED that Mozart wouldn’t word things more carefully.

Also a short note since I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. One parallel between Comte and Isaac I find utterly fascinating is that the two seem to share a formidable understanding when it comes to anxiety especially. Despite how composed Comte appears in the game, we later see more and more evidence of how deeply anxious he is when it comes to his future and the prospect of sudden loss. As a result, I feel like their biggest difference lies in the fact that Comte is a great deal older--so he has an easier time concealing/stifling/de-escalating his anxious responses. Even so, they seem to share difficulty in maintaining emotional distance. If Comte doesn’t exercise control, he gets too close to people, and the inevitable fallout (since they usually die first) is devastating. I think Isaac operates similarly, but his anxiety was so overwhelming he didn’t manage to get that close to most of the people in his time (Essentially, he doesn’t have the same charisma Comte possesses and he hasn’t lost as many people consecutively as Comte has). 

Moving right along. So! Comte and our swashbuckling friends (the Baguettes, as I like to call them) pinpoint the location/bunkers where MC and her friend are being kept against their will. (They find them after they receive a tip as to where the two ladies were last seen in town.) I’d like to note that in Comte’s POV of this chapter, he continuously blames himself for everything that’s happened. Saying that if he had been more careful, if he had done the right/smart thing and kept his distance, then she would have been out of harm’s way. (I disagree in that, when trouble seeks to find you it’s usually more a matter of entropy). In the midst of his agonizing, his mind goes to the worst case scenario and he forces the terror down--desperately wishing that he isn’t too late. 

So our bois split up into two groups, one being Comte and the other being Napoleon and Jeanne (yes this is Area 51 and Comte literally does Naruto run--but he doesn’t dodge the bullets bc they can’t kill him). Naturally our pureblood wonder manages to take out all the guards present and kicks down the door to where she’s tied up. The moment he sees her relief floods him and he rushes forward, untying her immediately. MC sees him covered in wounds--blood and torn clothing as far as the eye can see--and has a moment of genuine shock. She’s so used to the immaculate and ethereal appearance (not a hair out of place) that seeing him so disheveled and wild-eyed startles her. He asks her if she’s injured anywhere and she’s able to confirm she’s fine. He seems to be unable to register that she’s alright until she says those words, and he draws her close in his arms and starts shaking. She’s surprised again by his sudden proximity, but when she feels him trembling she hugs him back and strokes gently along his back, murmuring over and over again that’s she okay. She feels fine, she’s safe now.

In his POV, he speaks to the terror of her life lost that was weighing on him. He’s only able to verify that she’s alive when he feels her body heat, can feel her heart beat, can feel her arms moving--that’s why he hugs her; to have undeniable evidence that she’s still breathing. He hates himself for being so fragile, for being so needy, but melts under the gentleness of her touch.

Before the scene ends, MC hears his broken mumble at her shoulder: “Thank goodness...I don’t want to lose anyone anymore.”

And just to make it hurt even more! From Comte’s POV it reads (the brackets are his unspoken thoughts): 

"I......I don't want to lose anyone.......anymore" [I don't want to lose you... She hugs me back and her hands stroke gently along my back, as if cradling my heart. Her hands are so warm, proof that she's alive. You're so strong.....and so, so gentle. I know I should be prepared to say goodbye. I know I shouldn't be doing this. But I don't want to let you go...]

;-; I just. Every single time I read those lines I just start sobbing. He’s so tired of being alone, so exhausted. He loves her so much!!!!!!! He just wants one moment of PEACE GOD DAMN IT, LEAVE HIM ALONE CYBIRD!!!!!!!!!!!!

ANYWAY the story then skips to the aftermath, where Comte is back to his usual collected self. He’s at his desk doing his work (as usual) when MC comes in asking about how everything's going. He explains that he was able to find work for the people who attacked her, citing once again the concept of “Noblesse Oblige.” (For those unaware, it means “noble obligation” in French and alludes to this notion that the wealthy/privileged parties of society have nothing short of an obligation to use their resources in service to the less fortunate.) MC starts gushing about how both her and the police are really impressed by his ability to forgive them and help them anyway. This is where Comte drops that L E G E N D A R Y line where he says “Forgiven them? I never said I had forgiven them. On the contrary, the only reason I’m doing this is because they left you unharmed.” with that chilling smile.

So like. Get you a fucking mans that has the ability to pretend everything’s fine when you get abducted, beat the shit out of your assailants to free you, have a panic attack after you’ve been secured, and then still manages to have the grace to help the people that put him through his literal worst fear imaginable/re-traumatizing him even if they didn’t know it. This was essentially the scene that made me fall 100% in love with him. It was one of the first moments of profound, undeniable proof that not only does he care about people--he cares so deeply it shakes him to the very core. There’s just something....so moving about the fact that no matter how hard he tries to pretend that he’s distanced from something/someone, beneath that persona you just find a veritable avalanche of compassionate feeling/love.