#there were and still are tragedies around me that split my heart in half with fury and despair

[posletsvet]

So—

Being eighteen was great, can't wait to see what being nineteen will show!!

[littleeyesofpallas]

it was a mistake to do the follow ups to these one batch at a time. a foolish decision.

Shocked Loly got voted down so hard, obviously she's got issues, and she's not even particularly one of my personal favorites or anything, but like clearly that's part of the appeal. Also suprised at Ginjo's performance on these, especially given that his bankai form got its own. I get not liking the mullet, that's fair, but I feel like the bankai rectifies that, not to mention the overall villain form. No Love for Love, really? Also absolutely shocked Luppi scored so low. An egregious disrespect to those hip windows. I'll admit the bangs aren't great but the cute little curls are to die for.

I just cant with people and their love of utterly featureless dead moms/wives. And i love Momo to death but she's just not a smash. girl needs therapy and like a vacation from work, but the girl does not need to be sexualized. Most of the rest of these seem pretty obvious though, both for me and the general concensus. Yeah yeah Mayuri fans are in the minority. Boo... Actually, you know what, in regards to miss Misato, the lack of respect for a modestly attractive teacher over a bunch of tragedy fodder madonna martyrs is shameful

Once again I just cannot jive with the fanbase's absolute garbo taste in wwomen with either zero personality zero autonomy. Nanao I'd have considered back during SS when she was still more of a corporate icequeen, even if the begrudging mommy/put upon secretary role would still have been a huge turn off. But the whole thing in the TYBW arc just ruins her character for me. I feel like I've complained about Nel enough on this blog that I don't need to go over this again: I would unironically rank screeching baby Nel over Neliel, even if they're still both a pass. Nemu I feel bad about, I don't dislike her general character, but again zero autonomy is not a turn on: Hard Pass. Ya'll are cowards not fucking with The Wind. I like his perma bed-head and his two tongues, and yeah even his goofy ass casual ahegao. I want to pull him by the hair. We all knew how the Nnoitra thing was gonna go; obviously not a popular pick but the girlies who got it bad got it bad bad. Nobutsuna is some kinda Thief and the Cobbler/Jafar Aladin/Rurouni Kenshin Udo Jinne ass ting going on and I'm not gonig to lie, I'm into it. The man looks like a whithered corpse but in a good way(?) It's not a super committed smash, but it's there. Honestly, Numb Chandellier I had to think about a little, but she's just the wrong kind of tentacle and the wrong kind of mind control. The heart eyes are cute tho (Category N also marks the first time I've managed a 0% Smash Approval Rating comparing my picks against the general consensus.)

This was a nice short batch with a pretty big split on almost every one. I'll admit, I had to stop and think about Nimaiya a little. When he ties his hair up in a samurai topknot and gets serious about blacksmithing I almost would, but his loud goofball pervert shtick is just not for me. Given the spit I think these are all safely decided, even though the last ones have a few days left. Nimaiya could still flip on me in the next like 24 hours tho...

looks like the R polls are prettymuch wrapped. I feel like i'd get flak for it but look, Unohana's cool and all but not like sexualized cool. And I'm just not into the fetishized servile and demure matronly thing. I feel bad Riku scored so low, he doesn't particularly feel like he deserves it, just not my type. Boy the bleach fans really hate the moustache huh? like it's not an overly enthusstic smash but I wouldn't not. Shocked at the cowards not wanting to fuck Rudbornn; he's a cool guy who you don't have to look at his face, what more do you want? All the benefits of just putting a brown paper bag on their head but what if the bag looked cool. The rest of these were just obvious picks

I'm cutting the Ss in half just because it's a lot. These seemed like pretty clear cut picks all around. Shukuro Tsukishima was a tough decisions because he's basically just me without my glasses and a different location for the forehead scar, and I just don't love myself enough to think of him as hot. But he does have his weird moment toward the end where he has a little too much fun messing with people's memories and I'm about that energy. Shawlong is verymuch contingent on his cool monster scissorhands form.

Been meaning to go back and take stock of my "score" on the ongoing @bleach-smashorpass, I've grayed out anything where my personal pick didn't match the popular outcome, and left the ones where I fall into the majority vote in color.

Look, I'll be real, I'm not above monsterfuckery, even if I don't consider it ""my thing"" but I'd have voted smash on Ayon if he didn't have his weird secret muppet face. Also Aaroniero was an extremely light smash, i really had to flip flop on that one a few times before making a choice. I'll be honest, I liked original Chapter25 epilogue Aisslinger way more than what we got in the Arrancar Arc, and if I could split the vote I'd smash original and pass on final design for him.

Bambi is just such a boring design, and honestly Batsuunsai isn't much better, but the glasses are cute. She was really close to being a pass.

I was actually surprised that I had to stop and think about Choe but his giant chin and tiny bowl cut were not doing him any favors. Also as much as I like Cyan as a character, there is just something about hime cuts that are an automatic off switch for me. the rest of these felt fairly obvious.

not gonna lie, little hurt by the lack of D-Roy and Dordonii love

Confused that people were so lukewarm on Findor, although it was a close split. Also oddly I could have sworn I passed on Furofushi... I'm not really a fan of pigtails, with very few exceptions, but when I went to check the poll results it said I voted smash. Maybe I was thinking she was feeling Hiyori adjacent enough to count it at the time? I.... I don't remember voting smash on Entetsu...

i feel very scandalized by having voted unpopularly on all these old men... I'll be honest, Gremmy is a very lukewarm smash, and the potential of the Visionary power as a sex thing was very much the deciding factor.

boy bleach fans really don't like moustaches, huh? So funny enough it wasn't until the anime that I realized Hidetomo has his multiple earrings and somehow that changed his whole vibe for me, but prior to that it would have been an easy pass. I absolutely cannot abide characters whose whole thing is being someones dead wife/girlfriend, even if she otherwise looks exactly like Rukia, who'll be a smash for sure once we get to the Rs.

i figured i'd be on the wrong side of the fence with the kurosaki men but it's a real hard no on all the above. I'll be real, I'm kinda surprised Ikkaku was so popular. The rest of these felt obvious. Oh wait no there was like no love for Izumi Ishida. Boo to that.

okay so hear me out... Jugram is too blond. I know that sounds like nonsense, but like, he's too fundementally blond. Like most of Bleach's blond characters could have other generally light hair colors, and it wouldn't super change their image or aesthetic, but Jugram has to be blonde because the alternatives don'teel the same, and that's too much blond for me.

i know i voted pass on ichigo, which might make smash on kaien seem weird, but it's between the personality difference and the eyelashes. People not smashing on Kiyone is a catastrophe

and with that i'm all caught up with the letters where all the polls that have already closed. i'll be back to update these as the rest keep rolling along. I dunno why I really did this apart from the compulsion

[maxwell-grant]

Having asked your thoughts on designing Frankenstein's daemon, might I now ask your thoughts on bringing Count Dracula from the written word into illustration? (I'm definitely in favour of the 'Hairy Old Mountain Man of Horror pretending he's people' look from the original novel; one of the small tests too many Draculas fail to pass is an absolutely tragic lack of the Evil Beard and/or Wicked Moustache explicitly described by Mr Stoker).

Unlike with Frankenstein, where I think the design needs to be painstakingly thought out in order to achieve the best balance of the creature's traits for horror and tragedy alike, I think with Dracula you can actually just take an approach of "whatever works". Because as I mentioned before, I think much of the appeal and longevity of Dracula is how the character's both a layered villain as well as a shapeshifting narrative force that can be tailored to whatever you want to do with. Granted, there are bad or dissappointing Dracula designs, of course there are, but in regards to the leeway you get for reinterpretation, you get a lot more of it with Dracula than with other literary icons.

Like with Frankenstein, I'm gonna bring up how I'd tackle a less grim, more comedy-centric Dracula first, one that's less a force of horror and more of a charismatic villain, and I think to that end I definitely agree that people are sleeping a lot on the hairy old man barely-passing-off-as-humanoid of the original story. Despite very much loving these performers, I'm actually not a fan of takes that mold Dracula too closely to people who've portrayed him, like Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee, partially because I think it's a waste of an opportunity to create your own Dracula design. Since I can't draw (yet), I'll do what I usually do and make a board of images to try and convey some of my thoughts on one way I'd design Dracula.

(Pictured: Kiwi's design for Dracula, Hotel Transylvania concept art, Nandor, Castlevania Dracula, Charles Dance in Dracula Untold, Vladislav, a Transylvanian rug)

I used the images in my other Dracula post and I’ll post it here again because I absolutely adore @kiwibyrd's designs for Dracula and it's main heroes, in particular I love the way it strikes a good balance at making sure Dracula looks distinctly separate from the humans, but not too much that he couldn't conceivably operate in society as just a harmless old man. I also adore the mustache and bushy eyebrows and pointy ears and I think these three are wonderful features to keep on any Dracula design. I'm also very partial to the Hotel Transylvania concept art, even if it makes me incredibly depressed to look at all the great designs they had for Dracula that they threw in the trash because they somehow decided making him look like Adam Sandler was the idea to go with.

I deeply adore What We Do In The Shadows, both the movie and the show, and Jemaine Clement's Vladislav is one of my favorite (maybe even my actual favorite) on-screen Draculas. But I also enjoy Nandor just as much, and I think it's really great that as a character he's completely different from Vlad while also being ostensibly a take on Dracula, and in particular I bring up his Jersey look because "Dracula in common clothing" is a criminally underrated concept for a joke.

As a character, I'm very partial to comedy takes on Dracula that play him up as a decadent aristocratic supervillain, the kind that can get away with talking in third person. I also have this idea for a version of Dracula who dresses ostentatiously in finely-broidered Romanian or Transylvanian patterns, maybe even wearing a rug as a cape, claiming that he's carrying the legacy of his people on his back. And of course he's lying, he's not Vlad Tepes and he's not even Romanian, he is just a parasite pretending to have a history to be proud of, but good luck getting him to admit that. And finally, I'd like this version to be played by Charles Dance, and I consider it a tremendous crime against humanity that he has yet to play Dracula proper even despite being in a film with the character's name on the title.

So that's kinda how I would design a take on Dracula for something more comedic or more based around him as this guest character and personality on-set. Now, if we're talking a more serious version, I think the possibilities increase, and I won't be getting into all of them because I may prefer to keep them to myself, but I'll elaborate a few ideas.

For example, the edition of Dracula I personally own comes with these really scratchy, really creepy B&W illustrations related to the story, that I can't find scanned online so I'm uploading them here so you can look at. They don't necessarily depict the scenes but rather some of the story's moments, like Van Helsing staking Lucy, Renfield in a straightjacket, Dracula as a coachman, and they are more focused on conveying the horror of the concepts at play.

Dracula never looks the same way in any of the illustrations, in fact you kinda have to piece him out of them by trying to find teeth or capes or eyes or bat-features to see where he's hiding this time. In the first, it's the half-man half-bat, in the 2nd, he's the shrieking bat silhouette next to Renfield, and in the latter, he's the gaping jaws and eerily humanoid eyes in the wolf. The effect to me almost feels like if you were to look at a bunch of tv static and then see a humanoid shape form for a split second before everything went back to normal, something like you'd get from Slender Man or other modern creepypastas, and I’ve argued before that Dracula’s form of horror is a very modern one. 

In terms of illustrations of Dracula that keep up the original traits while still pulling off horror, I definitely have to hand it to the one at the left of the image above, drawn by regourso on Deviantart (account deleted at present). Going back to Castlevania’s many takes on Dracula, two in particular that stick out to me would be Castlevania: Judgment’s armored dress Dracula, who’s got this great twisted heart/rose motif going on in his outfit, and Dracula’s final form in SOTN where he just sits in his throne and his cape twists into all these monsters, particularly how it’s depicted by witnesstheabsurd’s depiction. 

I’m not particularly a fan of how Dracula’s “final form” in these games is usually just some big demon, and part of what I like about his final form in SOTN instead is that, while it’s not a particularly challenging final boss, I do find it interesting the idea of us never actually getting to see what Dracula’s true final form looks like, only an ever-shifting pitch-black torrent of teeth and claws and bloody veins pouring out because that’s ultimately what Dracula is and brings to the world.

On the flip-side of the rotten old monster, we have the charming seductor Dracula, and while I’m really not a fan of how various adaptations have convinced people that “the point” of Dracula is that he’s a seductive force and an allegory for Victorian xenophobia and I’m reeeally even less of a fan of adaptations that make Dracula some misunderstood tragic hero (and I think I’ve made rather violently clear my feelings on interpretations that play up a romance between him and Mina), that the seductive force part exists is impossible to deny, so conversely, while on one hand we can have Dracula as the gargantuan whirlwind of predatory violence, we can also go for Dracula as the tantalizing lover.

I’ve seen a lot of opinions proclaiming Frank Langella as the best Dracula because he was the best at actually being seductive while still playing Dracula, although I haven’t yet seen his performances. If I had to point at one picture I look at and do buy for a second the idea of Dracula as a romantic character, it would be that particular still of Raul Julia in the left of the above image. And it’s strange for me to think of Raul Julia as attractive because I mainly associate him with his brilliant comedy performance of M.Bison (I know it’s far from the highlight of his career but, look, I grew up with Street Fighter, I can’t help it) but those eyes are definitely looking pretty convincing to me, if nothing else. 

And I’ve included this still of Sebastian Stan in the right because, during a conversation between me, @krinsbez and @jcogginsa about who could be a good fit for Dracula, jcog suggested Sebastian Stan, partially because he’s Romanian, and I’ve learned recently that Stan was actually interested in playing the character in Blumhouse’s upcoming remake. And you’d think I’d hate this idea  considering how much I don’t care for tragic anti-hero Draculas, but who says that’s what he’d have to play? 

Do you have any idea how much actors, who are traditionally known for heroic or supporting roles, usually LOVE it when you give them a chance to cut loose as the main villain?

I’d want Sebastian Stan to put all of his charm, all of his talent, all of his good looks and etc, into playing the absolute most vicious, bloodthirsty and irredeemable Dracula put on screen. Someone who is exceedingly, eerily good at being a lovable protagonist, who’s all smiles and charming eyes and politeness mannerisms and maybe even a funny accent, and then it isn't as funny when he's flying through your window intent on kidnapping babies to feed to his brides, except he may take a moment or two to do so because he's feeling pretty hungry himself right now.

Now, admittedly this is kind of a lot to juggle in regards to a single character, which is why my answer for questions like these inevitably has to be “depends on what I’m going for”. That being said, if I was going to try and cast someone who I think could both look the part of Dracula, as well as respectively, play “cartoon aristocrat” Dracula, “mercurial embodiment of evil” Dracula, as well as realistically be an attractive, even seductive performer who can charm viewers even as the character descends into horrible villainy, and juggle these performances even?

I think I’d have to go with Mads Mikkelsen. Not specifically because of Hannibal (I actually haven’t watched it yet), although it’s definitely a factor, the thing that actually made me pick him specifically is, other than his looks, his voice, his reputation for playing sinister characters, the fact that he loves the role and wants to play it, or how many people are deeply in love with this man, or that people already joke that he looks like a vampire, was watching him in Another Round, and specifically that glorious final scene where he’s just dancing to his heart’s content and just, moving with such spring in his step and such joyful vitality even though he’s past his mid-fifties, and that was the moment where, in regards to how much you all love this man, I went

And now I am going to add “casting Mads Mikkelsen as a dancing Dracula” to The List of Reasons Why I Became a Filmmaker.

[bloodycassian]

COLD NIGHTS - Cassian x Azriel x Reader - Prompt: 

hi i love your work so much!!! I was thinking a cassian x azriel x reader (i just love them sm, why have one when you can have two ) where the reader is sister of a high lord maybe day or winter court, and reader goes missing (kinda angsty) and her brother (a high lord) panics and goes to the night court for help (bc if her two bat boys can’t find her who will)  and az and cassian go full on panic mode and search for the reader, i was also thinking a fluffy cute ending where reader is just cuddling with azriel and cassian while her wounds heal take as much time as you need to write this, don’t pressure yourself. Take care lovely

Kallis would never forget the screams. The terror and panic that rushed through him when he realised that you were gone.  He sent half the city to search for you. He called upon Helion to inspect the magic. He was frantic in finding you. But it was like you had just disappeared out of nowhere. No sign of struggle, not a drop of blood spilled. The offender was sloppy in their ways, but their magic was strong. Helion could sense it.  They had a deathwish from Kallis himself if he ever found them. +  The first thing you saw were your cracked and bloody hands. They were split open from the dry cold wind. Sea air drifted into the cave. The cold brutal howling outside mixed with the roar of waves breaking confirmed your nightmares. Cape Tragedy. 

The islands off the coast of winter were known for their unforgiving nature to ships. Hence their name, Cape Tragedy. Also known as the Tragic coast, no stories were ever heard of any survivors of those crashes. If they had managed to survive the churning water, then the false salvation of the islands would kill them. It happened often enough that there were lighthouses set atop many of the bigger islands for ships to avoid on stormy days.

You coughed from the dry air, earning a pair of yellow eyes to dart to you. One of the three lesser fae males noticed you were awake and clapped. "She wakes! We've been waiting for you, sweetheart." His green skin was pale in the overcast light streaming in from the mouth of the cave. Snow Bear pelts lay all around. A disgrace in your culture. No citizen of Winter court would do such a thing. You looked to the walls to find weapons, and strange markings along the stone. Sailors from far away lands. 

Not even sailors. Pirates. A chill ran through you.  

"We're going to get your weight in gold, pretty one." The scaled male curled a piece of your hair behind you ear. Your stomach turned, and you tried to scoot away. "My brother will kill you first. And he'll take a long time doing it." You promised, trying to make your voice sound strong. Terror had you by it's grip though, and it was hard to do anything other than panic

. "Your brother? The pretty one that shears the Elk?" The green one asked. You laughed, and then were hissing in pain when the scaled male yanked on your hair. "What's so funny?" 

"You think my brother is an elk herder?" You spat "You must be dumber than you look." The males glanced between each other, then to the one who hadn't said anything yet.

"Who ye think you are then?" The male holding your hair stammered, trying to keep his panic under wraps. 

"Kallis' sister." You said with deadly calm. "And the high lord does not negotiate." 

"If you're so noble why you got such a mouth on ye?" The third male finally spoke.

They laughed.

"Maybe we will see just how much of a mouth-" He started again. He didnt have a chance to finish his disgusting words. You kicked, bending an ice spear straight up from the rocky ice floor and through the third male's body. Then the beating from the other two came. 

They bound your wrists and ankles in rope and tar. Their hands shook when they did it. It gave you a small bit of satisfaction. The potion they gave you to knock you out was just barely strong enough. You fought it as best you could, but it won. You could only hear the faint sounds of arguing then a crash of glass, then the cold winds whipping around you. And when you woke, your body ached.  The cold bit into your limbs. Your fingers were pale. Far too pale to be healthy. You knew frostbite when you saw it. Your body refused to move under your own power. Your blood was frozen to the icy ground. They had used a potion and transported you to a peninsula, and you could only faintly hear the ocean below. You could feel the potion wearing off, but you knew you weren't healing. Not yet. You reached down into your own mind, picking up the fading tendrils of power. Of your bond to the two you knew could save you. And you pulled as hard as you could manage.  --- "Fuck." The roaring thought shook Cassian awake. Bleary eyed, he glanced about the room as if there was someone actually shouting at him.  Then he felt it. The weak tug that had been silent for so long. And he knew it was nothing good. Frenzied, he met Azriel at the dining area. Where they spent the rest of the night planning, deducing a probable reason for you to be calling so weakly. They sent their worries to Rhys, but they were shooed away. "I'm researching. Meet me in the library at dawn." The two males tried to comfort each other. But the worry pulsating through the bond was too much to focus on. So they waited. Kallis appeared that morning. He spat his story and begged for help, practically in tears as he spoke to the three Illyrians. Cassian and Az knew something was wrong the moment you were attacked. Court laws forbade them interfering on Winter Court territory though.  As soon as the approval was given, the brothers winnowed to the border of Winter and started flying. + You were coming to terms that you would die in the cold. You had imagined death differently. Battle was the primary way you thought you'd die. Or at the end of a High Lord's magic for being too much of an advisor. Smiling at the memory of putting Tamlin in his place, you gave another tug down the bonds to your mates. And like a snap, they both tugged back. Almost in unison. It was hard to tell. You closed your eyes, listening to the soft waves below. They lulled you into a cold sleep yet again.  + Despite the cold, the Illyrians flew as fast as they could. They could sense your light fading, and chased it for mile after mile. Their wings cut through the harsh winter winds, fueled by rage and desperation. Then they spotted the dark figure frozen to the snow below. Cassian landed first, a few feet away. The ice cracked beneath him. "Get us out of here." He growled to Azriel.  "We need to make sure she's okay before we move."  Cassian growled, but didn't protest. Azriel understood. He felt the anguish and frustration through the shared bond. Az's hands pressed gently to your neck, checking your pulse. He swore. "Baby, we need you to wake up for us. We're here. We got you." Cassian put a hand to your cheek and fought back the tears that threatened.  You groaned in response. They both sighed in relief, their breath making clouds in front of them. "I'm stuck..." You managed through your stiff jaw.  Cassian stroked a thumb over your cheek. "Stuck? Honey you're-"  "Cas..." Azriel nodded to your side, to the ice that crept its way up your damp clothes. Azriel could have taken a very very long time torturing the beasts that did this to his mate. The rage coiled in his gut at the sight of your injuries. The only reason you hadn't bled out was the blood and water mix turning your wounds to ice.  Cassian pulled at the ice web that encapsulated you. Under the heat of his rage it broke, and broke and broke. Azriel placed small patches of his shield over your frostbitten fingers. "We're gonna get you out of here. Just stay still." Azriel smoothed back your hair, and darkness swirled over you. The change from the harsh overcast light of Winter court to the soft sun of Night court was jarring.  Madja put her hands on you and you were asleep in an instant. Her warm hands were a blessing from the Mother.  +  "She's lucky she has that Winter blood in her or she'd be dead." Madja wiped her hands off and handed both the Illyrians a small vial. "That is the scrap from a poisoned sword that broke off in her shoulder. I got all the pieces out, but the poison lingers. It may heal slowly, but it should get better."  Anguish burned both of their stomachs. Azriel's throat tightened and he looked away, but gripped the vial tightly. Cassian stared at it, his eyes murderous. Madja left without another word. "She was almost killed. And we couldn't do anything." Cassians' voice was low, with violence dripping from it. "We need her here. In Velaris where we can... watch her." He didn't know what he was saying, but the instinct to protect was overriding every other logical thought he had. Anger burned and burned in his stomach, swallowing him with rage. He could feel Az mirroring the same feeling, but with a cold deadliness that begged to simmer out of him.  "You know she wont go for that. She loves her home too much. Her brother." Azriel whispered back. "We're her mates. She should be with us." Cassian was looking for a fight. All the tension and anger of the day had to be worked out. Azriel felt it too. His shadows ran anxiously through the room.

The wind outside howled. It shifted the dark clouds that covered the moon. It seemed to be a cold day in all of Prythian. A cold day in your mates hearts to the pirates that had taken you. They spoke their rage mind to mind, imagining the ways to torture the bastards. 

How to find them would be the first priority. Azriel kept circling back to that part. + The healer cleared his throat at the door. "She's asking for you." He nodded to Rhys' brothers. They left Rhys behind in unison, walking in perfect step with each other. Their minds hummed together over that bond they shared with you. "Protect protect protect." They both seemed to demand.  Azriel knocked softly, his heart flipping when he heard your voice again. "Get in here." You demanded, giving them a broad smile when they practically shoved each other out of the way. 

"Come keep me warm." You weakly folded the blanket back, exposing some of the bruising on your skin. 

They complied with enthusiasm. Azriel's hands were cold at first, but they got better when he reached around you to hold Cassian closer. They worked in tandem to keep you covered, making sure that you weren't too crowded or too warm. Azriel summoned his cool shadows when you got too warm and had to kick the blankets off. Cassian's warm breath would keep you warm when they became too much. You traced Azriel's cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw while falling alseep. Cassian's muscled forearms hugging you from behind were like a heavy pillow. 

"Rest now, we can have more fun later." Az winked, making your stomach flutter. Cassian groaned and pulled you further to his lap. You tried not to think of the hardness that pressed to you now.  "Goodnight." The shadowsinger kissed your forehead and like a light, you were out. Finally resting peacefully wrapped between your two mates and their warm bond you all shared. 

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 27

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 27 - This Venerable One Will Cook You A Bowl of Noodles

Chu Wanning felt completely faint.

He blamed himself for being so distracted and unsuspecting on Life-Death Peak. He didn't even notice someone come over.

What was going on? Where did this child come from? His last name was Mo, but Mo. . . what was is again. . . ? Mo Shao? Mo Zhu? Mo. . . Yu?

He composed himself and put on an expression that screamed: "get away". The surprise and panic in his phoenix eyes were quickly masked by his usual harsh and threatening demeanour.

"You—"

He raised his hand out of habit to discipline him, but something suddenly caught his wrist.

Chu Wanning was stunned.

He had been around for a while yet no one had ever dared grab his wrist so casually. For a while, he was frozen in place, not knowing what he should do.

Pull it away and give him a backhanded slap?

. . . It felt like a good word to describe that would be "indecent," like he was no different from a woman in this situation.

Then pull his hand away and not slap him?

. . . Wouldn't that seem like he was being too nice?

Chu Wanning hesitated for a long time and didn't move but the young man laughed: "What's this on your hand? It's pretty good-looking, do you teach how to make stuff like this? Everyone else has introduced themselves already but you haven't spoken yet. Which elder are you? Hey, do you have a headache?"

With so many questions thrown at him, while Chu Wanning's mind hadn't hurt before, now it did.

His mind felt like it was about to split in half. . .

As he got irritated, a golden light in his hand started to glow. When they saw that Tianwen was about to be summoned, the other elders were horrified and moved - Chu Wanning was crazy, right? He would even dare to whip Young Master Mo?

Then, Mo Ran was suddenly holding his hand.

Now Mo Ran had trapped both of his hands. Mo Ran didn't up on the danger of his situation. He pulled him closer and stood in front of him. He tilted his head and said with a smile: "My name is Mo Ran. I don't know anyone here, but just from looking at you, I like you the most. How about I worship you as my shizun, okay?"

This was completely unexpected. The people around them were even more horrified. Several elders gaped with mouths ajar.

Elder Xuanji: "Huh?"

Elder Pojun: "What!"

Elder Qisha: "Oh?"

Elder Jielu: "Uh. . ."

Elder Tanlang: "Hah, ridiculous."

Elder Lucun was the most feminine of the bunch with wavy hair and eyes flooded with peach blossoms: "Ah, this little boy is so bold. He's truly a courageous young man. He might even be so bold as to touch Elder Yuheng's ass."

". . . I beg you, can you not say something so repulsive?" Qisha said with disgust.

Lucun rolled his eyes gracefully and hummed: "Fine, let me put it more eloquently. He's truly a courageous young man. He might even be so bold as to touch Elder Yuheng's buttocks."

Qisha: ". . ." Just kill him and forget this ever happened.

The most popular of all the elders was the gentle and jade-like elder Xuanji. His techniques were easy to learn, and he was a modest gentleman. Most of the disciples on Life-Death Peak worshipped underneath him.

Chu Wanning originally thought that this Mo Ran would've been just like all the others. If not Elder Xuanji, then it should be the energetic Elder Pojun. It never should have been his turn

But Mo Ran was standing so close to him. His face showed a kind of intimacy and affection that was unfamiliar to him. He was like some clown that was just chosen. It was all so distressing for no reason.

Chu Wanning only knew how to deal with "awe", "fear" and "disgust". Something like "affection" was too complicated.

He didn't even have to think about it. He immediately rejected Mo Ran.

The young man froze. Hidden under his slender eyelashes, there was a sense of loneliness and unwillingness in his eyes. He lowered his head, thought for a second, and unreasonably muttered: "Anyways, I still choose you."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

The Lord was watching with great interest. He piped in with a smile:, "A-Ran, do you know who he is?"

"He didn't tell me, how would I?"

"Haha, since you don't know who he is, why would you pick him?"

Mo Ran was still tugging on Chu Wanning's hands. He turned his head, smiling and said to the Lord: "Because he looks the most gentle and easiest to talk to."

In the darkness, Chu Wanning's eyes snapped open, everything appearing fuzzy.

. . . That was one hell of a scene to see.

He didn't know what the hell was wrong with Mo Ran's eyes back then to actually think that he was gentle. Not to mention that all of Life-Death Peak heard about it. They all sent affectionate greetings to Young Master Mo Ran with looks that said "look at this foolish kid".

Chu Wanning lifted his hand to the corner of his faintly throbbing forehead.

His shoulder hurt, his mind was in turmoil, his stomach was hungry, and his head was spinning.

It seemed like he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon.

He fumed on the bed for a while. He sat up and was about to light a stick of incense to calm his mind when suddenly there was another knock on the door.

Mo Ran was outside.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

He didn't answer. He didn't say whether to stay or leave.

But this time, the door opened by itself.

Chu Wanning looked up gloomily. The lit match in his hand hovered in mid-air but never reached the stick of incense. After a while, it went out.

Chu Wanning said: "Get out."

Mo Ran strolled in.

He was holding a steaming bowl of noodles, fresh from the pot.

This time it was a bit simpler. The noodles weren't as fancy. The rich white noodle soup was garnished with chopped green onion and white sesame seeds, small spare ribs, bok choy, and a slightly browned poached egg.

Chu Wanning was incredibly hungry but he didn't let it show on his face. He glanced at the noodles, then at Mo Ran. He turned his face away and didn't say anything.

Mo Ran put the noodles on the table, and gently said: "I asked the inn's chef to make another bowl."

Chu Wanning lowered his eyes.

Sure enough, Mo Ran didn't make this dish himself.

"Eat some." Mo Ran said. "This bowl isn't spicy, has no beef, and no bean sprouts."

After speaking, he left and closed the door for Chu Wanning on his way out.

He apologized for Chu Wanning's injury.

But he could only do so much.

In the room, Chu Wanning leaned against the window, not knowing what to think. He crossed his arms and stared at the bowl of spare rib noodles from a distance until the heat of the noodles dissipated and they grew cold.

He finally walked over and sat down. He picked up the chopsticks, stirred up the cold and soggy noodles, and slowly ate them.

The case of the Chen family's haunting had been closed.

The next day, they picked up the black horses they had boarded from inside the stables and returned to the sect the same way they had arrived.

In the streets and alleys, tea stalls and rice shops, the people of Caidie Town were all talking about the Chen family's affairs.

The not-so-small town had broken out in scandal, one large enough for the townspeople to talk about it for a whole year.

"I didn't expect that Young Master Chen had been secretly married to Miss Luo for so long. Miss Luo is so pitiful."

"If you ask me, if the Chen family hadn't gotten rich, they wouldn't be able to survive this affair. Sure enough, men can't handle their money. Once they have money, only misfortune will await them."

One man was unhappy and said: "This wasn't Young Master Chen's fault. It's his parents' fault. Mr. Chen, that son of a bitch. His children and grandchildren should only give birth to children without assholes in the future."

Another said: "The dead are pitiful but what about the living? Look at Chen Yao, Yao Qianjin. She's the one who's truly been wronged. That black-hearted mother of the Chen family deceived her. Tell me, what should she do now?"

"Just get remarried."

The man rolled his eyes and sneered: "Remarried? Are you here to get married?"

The mud-coated man who was teased bared his teeth and picked at them, grinning: "If that woman at home agrees, I'd marry her. Ms. Yao looks so beautiful, I don't mind her being a widow."

"Bah, the toad wants to eat swan meat*."

(T/N: 癩蛤蟆想吃天鵝肉 - means having unrealistic wishes or expectations)

Mo Ran sat on the back of the horse, ears perked up, listening to all the conversations in high spirits. If it weren't for Chu Wanning's closed eyes, frown, and the words "extremely noisy" essentially spelled out on his forehead, Mo Ran might have wanted to go join the villagers.

They walked together and finally left the main city, arriving at the outskirts.

Shi Mei suddenly gasped and pointed to the distance: "Shizun, look over there."

In front of the ruined Master of Ceremonies Ghost's earthen temple, there was a large group of peasants in brown clothes and shorts. They were busy moving the bricks and stones. It seemed that they were planning to repair the damaged earthen temple and remould the golden body of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost.

Shi Mei said anxiously: "Shizun, the old Master of Ceremonies Ghost is gone but they've made a new one. Will this be cultivated into an immortal body again and do evil?"

Chu Wanning: "I don't know."

"Should we go and persuade them not to?"

Chu Wanning: "The custom of ghost marriages in Caidie Town has been around for several generations. How would you or I be able to persuade them in just a few words? Let's go."

As he spoke, dust flew up from the horse's hoof and he walked away.

It was already dusk when they returned to Life-Death Peak.

Chu Wanning said to the two disciples in front of the mountain gate: "You go to Danxin Hall and explain what happened. I'll go to the Court of Discipline."

Mo Ran looked puzzled: "Why would you go to the Court of Discipline?"

Shi Mei, on the other hand, looked worried: ". . ."

Chu Wanning nonchalantly said: "To receive my punishment."

Although it's said that an emperor commits the same crime as the common people, what emperor would actually have to go to jail for killing someone? The same goes for the cultivation world.

The elders who break the sect rules are as equally guilty as the disciples - in most sects, it's just empty talk.

In fact, if an elder breaks a rule, it was good enough just to write an apology letter. What fool would actually go to be punished with a willow vine or dozens of sticks?

So, after listening to Chu Wanning's explanation, Elder Jielu's complexion turned green.

"No, Elder Yuheng, did you really. . . did you really beat your client?"

Chu Wanning was indifferent: "Yes."

"You're so. . ."

Chu Wanning raised his stare and gave him a sullen look. Elder Jielu shut up.

"According to the law, for breaking this rule, the punishment is two hundred cane strikes, kneeling in Wushan Temple for seven days, and being forbidden from leaving the grounds for three months." Chu Wanning said. "I have no defence, and I voluntarily accept the punishment."

Elder Jielu: ". . ."

He looked around and hooked his fingers, and the door to the Court of Discipline closed with a clang. The surroundings fell silent, and it was only the two of them that stood opposite each other.

Chu Wanning: "What's the meaning of this?"

"Well, Elder Yuheng, it’s not that you don't understand the rules and their consequences, it's just that it shouldn't be something that you should be overly concerned with. This matter is finished. Let's forget it. If I beat you, won't the Lord be angry with me when he finds out?"

Chu Wanning didn't bother to talk such nonsense with him and simply said: "I hold people accountable according to the law, and I should also be held accountable myself according to the law."

Kneeling down in front of the hall, facing the plaque of sect rules, he said:

"Punish me."

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Winter In the Shade X

Part X

Sirius Black x Ravenclaw Reader

W.C. : 3216

Requested by @amourtentiaa : It is Sirius’ fifth year at Hogwarts, the same year he ran away from home and to the Potter’s. Soon, he discovers the unfamiliar sight of his brother Regulus smiling and looking truly happy, next to him a Ravenclaw girl who immediately captures his interest. What will happen when the Black family gets involved in their sons lives and the ones they hold close to their hearts?

Warnings: None. Let me know if there is something.

A/N: Small shoutout to @callmecherie, thank you for sharing Winter in the Shade. 💚

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Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The days turned gloomy after the last time Sirius saw you last. He was in constant search of you but it was like you had never existed, the Ravenclaw table lacked the certain presence he had grown used to having there and the halls were void of the sound of your voice. No one saw you and if they did he wouldn’t really be able to tell, he refused to ask around for you. But he did make an exception, finding the boy that appeared to be attached to you all alone at the library.

He was used to seeing you in the library, usually with the company of Regulus but taking in consideration it was still the winter break Regulus would be at home until the last day he could. Of course he would be.

Sirius shook his head and focused on the important. You were nowhere to be seen at the library, he had made sure to check at least a couple of times, sending Remus on his way to check on his behalf so it wouldn’t be obvious how out of place and lost Sirius looked. He had no luck. But still, Remus managed to gather the important fact that Félix, the boy that you took under your wing and that now was Remus’ shadow, was always there.

“He is brilliant.” Remus told Sirius one morning during breakfast, playing with the cup in his hand ��For a first year, he knows as much as you do.” he smirked, lifting his gaze from his coffee momentarily before he settled back on the dark liquid.

Sirius glared at him, running his tongue over his teeth as he clenched his fist where he supported his head, looking away from his friend. He is your way of finding the kid so you can find Y/N and apologize for being an idiot. He thought, pursing his lips in annoyance Maybe Moony has a point.

“Focus.” Sirius hissed, snapping his fingers to bring Remus attention to himself “What did uh-” he hesitated, Remus' look of annoyance making Sirius narrow his eyes with a tight smile.

“Félix.”

“Just checking we were talking about the same person.” he winked, leaning forward “What did he tell you?”

Remus stared at him, eyes void for a split second before he let out a long sigh “Nothing.” he admitted “He knows where she is but it’s not like he is just going to mention the place.”

Sirius groaned, falling back in his seat “Where is he?” he asked, looking over the few students currently having breakfast “You’re too soft, we need to push him.”

Remus pushed Sirius back onto his seat, his hand staying on his shoulder to force him to stay put “We don’t need to do anything.” he stated, leaving no room for discussion “And maybe you should just let her be. Didn’t you promise her that?”

“That was before I upset her.” he mumbled as he stayed put in his place, picking up the food from Remus’ plate “I just want to apologize, then I’ll leave her all alone.”

Remus gave him a knowing look, making Sirius stutter with his words before he lifted his hands in surrender “Promise.”

Remus shook his head, slapping Sirius’ hand as he kept on stealing his food “Quit eating my breakfast.” he ordered, taking the plate in front of him and filling it exactly like his “There. Eat that.”

Sirius looked down, taking a piece of the toast in front of him and making a face as soon as it touched his lips. “Yours is better.” he said, pushing the plate in Remus' direction and taking the half eaten plate from him.

“It’s really a wonder why Y/N’s avoiding you.” Remus muttered, downing the last sip of his coffee before he got up from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Sirius asked, his eyebrows furrowed in question as he followed Remus with his eyes.

“Peter is helping James with something at the Quidditch pitch.” he told him, pointing behind him towards the door “I’m going to make sure both of them make it to dinner.”

Sirius nodded, waving a hand in his direction. Remus left without another word, leaving Sirius to wonder in his own thoughts. What was he going to do?

*******

Avoiding was a very strong word.

You weren’t avoiding Sirius. Or not going to the library to not see Remus. You were certainly not avoiding the Quidditch pitch, specifically that hidden spot where you sat during Regulus’ training sessions, that specific spot where you could perfectly watch him and not be interrupted by other students there. You definitely were not avoiding the kitchens and midnight baking where you had come across Peter more than one time.

No. You were making very calculated decisions of what to and not to do. Avoiding was a completely different thing. You were certain.

The door to the Ravenclaw common room opened with a soft sound, the pages in your book changing as you lifted your gaze. The Castle had been welcoming the students back from the winter break slowly, the tables in the Great Hall getting fuller by the day.

Félix walked inside, the same gleaming look on his face as he had every day since the moment he started to sit at the same table that Remus took in the library.

“Why isn’t he a Ravenclaw?” he asked you with genuine curiosity, flopping down on the couch next to you.

“Hm?” you asked, closing your book and pretending you didn’t know who he was talking about.

“Remus.” he groaned, elongating his name “He is more Ravenclaw than you and I combined.”

You frowned, looking down at him “Hey!” you said defensively “That is a lot of Ravenclawness for one person.”

Félix shrugged, rolling his shoulders back as he lifted his head towards you “He is really tall.”

You narrowed your eyes, letting your body completely sink in the couch. You were both staring at the wall, biting the inside of your cheek as you pointed a lazy finger at him “That’s a good point.”

“He is still looking for you” Félix said after a long pause “Sirius, I mean.”

You chuckled darkly “I assumed you meant him.”

“Should I keep letting out very vague descriptions of your whereabouts or just let them assume you vanished?”

You turned to look at him confused, a pout on your lip as you considered him “I didn’t know you were doing that.” you mumbled, letting out a heavy sigh “You should hint them that I died.” you suggested, waving your hands in front of your faces “A real tragedy, you can come up with the details.”

“I don’t get it.” he told you, turning his head to you “Why are you avoiding him?”

“Ah,” you said, holding one finger up, “Not avoiding.”

“Calculated decisions.” you both said in unison.

“That,” he mumbled “So? He snapped at you, but you should know better than mentioning his brother to him. It’s like mentioning a mouse in front of a cat,” you scrunched up your nose, turning to him as he gave you a knowing look “The cat is gonna hiss.”

“Did you just compare Sirius Black to a cat?”

He clicked his tongue, nodding proudly at himself “And Regulus Black to a mouse.”

You bit your lip, stifling a laugh as you pushed his head softly “You’re unbelievable.”

*******

Three days. It took Sirius three days to finally cross paths with you.

You were sitting by the fountain, outside on the Courtyard with a bunch of letters piled in your lap and a few small flowers in your hand. You looked normal, like you had always been there and it was only Sirius who had failed to see you.

He was growing ever more nervous as he walked up to you, the words repeating inside his head, as he had practiced time and time again. I’m sorry for being an idiot. I know I overreacted, I shouldn’t have snapped at you the way I did but… No, there were no buts in his speech, just the apology. I’m sorry my attitude changed at the mention of my brother, at the mention of Regulus, should he say brother or Regulus? Same thing, right? I’m sorry I reacted the way I did at the mention of Regulus, at the mention of Regulus from you but how could I not? How could I not react in that way when all I want is for your eyes to light up at the mention of my name the way they light up at the mention of his, when all I want is for you to keep a picture of us tucked in the pages of your books to keep track of what you’ve read, when all I want is for you to hold onto my arm they way you do with his every time you walk together. How could I not react the way I did when I selfishly wish I could steal all the smiles you have ever shown him? That you could draw the smiles on my face the way you draw his?

Maybe he should stick with a plain apology.

You must have sensed his presence, not even five steps away from you you lazily lifted your head in his direction, not missing the way he was playing with his fingers. He dropped his hands and ran one through his hair before a small smile settled on his lips. “Hi.” he breathed out, lowering his gaze as he finally reached your side.

You nodded in his direction, moving your arms over all the letters in your lap “Hi.” you said back, leaning down so your elbows were resting on your knees.

Neither of you said anything, staring at one another for longer than it was considered comfortable.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you looked down at the flowers you were holding and noticing you had crushed them. The white of your knuckles making you open your hand immediately as the small pieces that used to make the flower fell to the water. You cursed under your breath, dusting your hand against your leg before you returned your gaze to Sirius, still standing there. Not avoiding, right? you told yourself. “Would you like to sit?” you asked as you moved your bag aside, making space for him.

He hesitantly took the space you made for him, thanking you in a whisper as he continued to look at you. His eyes immediately fell to the water behind them in the fountain, the flowers you held floating on the surface as they moved with the lightest wind that flowed around you. Sirius tilted his head to the side, confusion filling him entirely as you went back to reading whatever was on your lap. Letters, he assumed.

You didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest, in fact, you looked more at peace that he had ever seen you.

You blindly reached a hand to your bag, pulling a clear bag from inside and opening it without breaking your focus from the parchment in your other hand, joy lighting up your face. You popped a piece of what he could tell by the smell were cookies and managed a small laugh before you looked up to him, as if the thought of him being sitting right beside you had only registered in your mind.

“Would you like some?” you asked him, placing the bag between the two of you for him to grab some “I made them this morning.”

“Why are you being nice?” he asked suddenly, making whatever words you were about to say get stuck on your tongue.

You didn’t act surprised by his question, shaking your head with a nervous smile “Should I not be nice?” you asked, but he could tell you knew exactly what he meant.

“Don’t do that.” he asked tiredly, running a hand down his face “Don’t start pretending again.”

Sirius wanted you to show some anger, for you to cut his words sharply just like he had done, he wanted you to ignore him. Something. Anything. He felt even more the twist in his stomach now that you were just ignoring the entire thing.

“You always say I’m pretending.” you laughed, “Honestly, I’m not.” you lied. Of course you lied, but looking back maybe you had overreacted at his change of attitude. Now, you were just curious.

“Then stop ignoring the fact that I was rude to you.”

“You say that as if I’ve only been an angel to you.”

Sirius was taken aback by your words. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as he blankly stared at you. In his eyes you had been a perfect angel. Then again, James thought Lily was nothing but perfect to him and everyone else could see that, even if Lily did his best friend no harm, she wasn’t exactly nice.

“I asked something that was in no way of my concern and you had every right to react the way you did.” you said, leaving him speechless as you continued “I have no reason to not be nice to you. You are nothing but kind to me and I was just curious,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you registered you were rambling “Regulus is my best friend but he rarely talks of you, he is really private. Not that I blame him, I’m the same. But all this time I thought you were this mean older brother that tormented him and me, being his friend, I took the blind decision of not liking you. And then you went and started talking to me, Merlin only knows why, and you’re nice and I’m confused.” you finished, breathing out before you locked eyes with him, his slightly wide eyes looking back at you “...and curious.” you added hesitantly, realizing all that you said. Your hand covered your mouth, letting out a groan as you threw your head back.

Only the sound of a low chuckle brought you back from the slightly embarrassed feeling, making you lower your head with an almost pained look on your face.

“You’re adorable.” he said, his usual grin returning to his face.

Your blank stare at his words turned into one of fake annoyance as you faced your side “Right,” you huffed “You’ve told me that before.”

And I’ll keep reminding you. He thought, but restrained himself from actually saying it as he had more pressing matters in his mind.

“You said you were… Curious?” he asked, recalling your words with his own curiosity. “About what?”

You bit your lip lightly, lowering your eyes and folding the parchment on your lap, putting aside “You…” you admitted in a whisper “I mean, that night when we first met left me with thousands of questions but no answers.” you shared, taking a quick glance in his direction as you considered him. He really had been nothing but nice to you, annoying and a little insistent but still nice; maybe talking to him would do more good than harm.

“I asked Regulus about you.” you said, capturing his attention instantly “He reacted the same way you did, actually.” a breathy laugh escaped your lips as you remembered, shaking your head “He didn’t say much, just that you weren’t close.”

Sirius let out a bitter chuckle, moving to sit more comfortably “We used to be.” he said “Before I left, that is.”

“Left?”

He nodded, seeing your face remain the same. So Regulus really keeps to himself, even with you. “I left home.” he explained with the tilt of his head “Let’s just say that my mother and I didn’t agree with each other.”

Sirius almost wanted to laugh, saying he and Walburga Black didn’t agree with each other was putting it lightly. It felt like giving you the ocean and saying it only contained water, but how much water did the ocean hold inside it? What else hid in the depths that no one dared to explore?

“Is that why you said you and Regulus had different ideals?” you asked him, seeing his thoughts die inside his eyes as he came back to the present, back to you.

“He chose his side.” Sirius said with a nod “Still wrapped around my dear mother’s finger.”

You felt the knot in the stomach start to form, the words leaving Sirius’ mouth too vague and yet precise to be confused with anything else. You felt a thousand emotions cross your face, your mouth trying to form words but being too slow to keep up with the train of thought currently running inside your head. Ideals was a rare word to use in day to day conversations, but one that came up more considering the times and the current situation in the Wizarding World. There was a Dark wizard rising and everyone knew what his ideals were, his ideals were known and held highly among the families that stood next to him, supported him. Old families that thought themselves above the rest of the witches and wizards because of the blood flowing through their veins. A blood redder than the ones of Muggles. Purebloods. Purebloods just like the Noble House of Black.

You swallowed the fear rising inside you, forcing a smile to your face as you tried to come up with words but none came.

“I was surprised when you showed me how close you two are.” he continued, only making your stomach drop “Maybe he’s just scared.” he said, mostly to himself but you could hear him perfectly “He is the perfect son, you know?” The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, sadness laced in between his words “Made it to Slytherin, obbeys Mother, respects Father.” he paused, lowering his head “Hates his traitor brother.” he murmured.

Your eyes snapped at him, frozen in your spot as you stared at him. Your hand moved out of its own will, finding his clutching to the edge of the fountain. Gently, you placed your hand over his, the cold of your hand a shock with the warmth of his skin.

He forced his head up, his eyes following the feeling of your skin, turning his hand over to wrap his fingers around your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles in a slow motion.

“He isn’t like that.” you murmured, watching as he held your hand closer to him.

Whether you meant Regulus’ opinions on him or blood status, he didn’t care. Somehow, as selfish as he felt in that moment, he just cared that you had let him in, that you had reached for his hand. He wondered if you would have done the same if you weren’t alone, if Regulus wasn’t away; he wondered what would happen when everything went back to normal.

He let go of your hand, turning to his side to avoid the look in your face. He found he didn’t want to know if it was disappointment or relief what took over your features.

“Sirius.” you called, voice soft and gentle. “He isn’t like that.” you repeated.

He gave you a soft nod. Even if he didn’t believe it, he surprised himself by actually wanting to. For your sake, for himself.

“I really hope you’re right.”

TAGS

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Winter in the Shade

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Marauders

@destourtereaux

[bloomyagi]

bewitched (m)

summary: bakugou has always loved you.

pairings: bakugou katsuki x f!reader, hawks x f!reader (nsfw)

genre: characters are aged up, 20+, pro heroes au

warnings: allusions to cheating, angst, porn w/ lots of feelings, shower sex, kinda subby bakugou, he’s basically lovesick n soft for u, keigo is a good birdie, he would never do this irl

length: 3,518

notes: hello! my first bnha fic, please be kind <3 please let me know what you think! i’ve been so obsessed w/ jjk & bnha recently skdjkjf. send help 

.

.

.

It comes down softly at first. The droplets whispering against windshields, ghosting across bare arms, a trick of the light. Then a pause, like the darkening clouds are reconsidering their decisions. There is no wind, no anger in the way it pelts down, darkens the concrete. Like resignation, like relief. It soaks bone, sends most civilians packing as they duck under awnings and flee into shops in anticipation of a short-lived flare.

But it is summer, and the rain is welcome as a remedy against the oppressive heat. Many onlookers merely move their belongings closer to avoid the stream, gaze out glass windows longingly. Some find inspiration, others find peace.

You stand in the middle of it all, drenched and unmoving as you watch your lover wrap his arms around his secretary, and you wonder whose mood this pathetic fallacy is expected to reflect as you look across to meet familiar eyes.

He, too, mirrors your stance. Clothes sodden, yet the nature of its designs only lends to plaster themselves closer to his skin. His irises are that bright, burning red. He is not fizzling, heated against the affair before him. Instead, his gaze is trained on you.

There is no fury, no sadness, no emptiness. His gaze is not hollow, it is instead strangely warm. Your chest squeezes, tightening in the way you experience when you read a novel laced in tragedy, that welling feeling of anguish and sorrow.

His hands are shoved in his pockets, and though his eyes remain fastened to you, he makes no step to move closer.

The sky lightens, a thin streak of sun peering through in a solitary beam. The sounds seem to press close again, like a bubble popping in your ear.

The summer storm is tempered as quickly as it appeared, the sound of life—laughter, the splashing of sneakers drowning in newly formed puddles—and the lingering smell of renewed earth and the chirping of birds as they shake off their wings to take flight.

Water drips silently down the pair of gorgeous wings before you. They flutter briefly, flicking off the thin layer that pooled on its surface, before unfurling to fold over her. He pulls her closer, separating only every so often to breathe.

Shameless, is all you think plainly. And you are—ashamed. That feeling catches you by surprise, breath caught in your throat as the feeling expands, takes root in your lungs. It is that hindsight, that disappointment—at yourself—that has you lowering your eyes.

He is still looking at you, even as someone squeals and a crowd gathers, pushing and shoving to press close, stays rooted to his spot, watching you, even as the couple finally break apart, dishevelled—she adjusts her pencil skirt, re-buttons her blouse; he runs a hand through his golden locks, fixes his half-open shirt—and Hawks’ chuckle rings across the street, one arm braced around her waist as he signs autographs and takes photos. She is glowing beside him, all smiles and shrill laughter. Her nails, perfectly manicured and sharp, digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. He likes it.

You stifle a dry laugh. Turning on your heel, you disappear into the thickening crowd.

He himself is being pawed at, hands fawning at his exposed arms, clutching at him like he is fresh off the conveyer belt.

He waits until he can no longer discern your retreating figure before bearing a half-smile at the crowd. He takes the pen that is shoved into his face, and he begins signing autographs.

.

.

.

Time and experience have tempered his constitution. He has accepted his flaws, worked on them until he could proudly stand on the same stage as his—friends. Because that is what they are—these people that have helped him grow, comforted his trauma, stayed with him despite it all. What else could he call them but the very things they are—they are the pillar of his strength. Because of you, I learned I could be strong for the things I care about.

He is not number one. He has no need for such a title, no need for such a goal anymore. He is no longer the brash, easily angered teenager that charged for the strongest.

“I don’t care what they call me, what rank I am, or what they think of me. I only want the power to protect these people. That’s it.” He thinks back to your words.

You are not often solemn. You laughed a lot, the slow-appearing crinkles to the corner of your eyes a physical testament to your innate joy. You liked to take delight in the ordinary things. Perhaps that is what drew him to you—that strength. To shoulder the burden of your chosen role in this society, to have the bravery to smile amongst the suffering.

There was always an unbidden heat that surged in his chest when he thought of you. That odd feeling of a knot tying itself in his stomach when his skin brushed yours. When you fell from the height of a skyscraper, half-conscious from defeating a new breed of nomu, his heart stuttered and leapt in halting beats to throat as he split from his team, their screams for you ringing in his ears, the rush of badump-badump closing in rapidly, pushing his beaten body to its limits, faster, faster, faster—please! Who was he praying to at the time? He was begging anyone who was listening to give him that push—the gap was too big, you were too far, he was too tired, too useless, too broken—he slammed into you with enough force to compel blood up his throat.

He spat it to the side quickly, not bothering to wipe himself clean before he turned to you. The first thing he registered was warmth. You were limp in his hold, on the edge of passing out, exhaustion lining every curve of your face. Your lips quirked, eyes closed.

“Hurts like hell,” you slurred. “Falling from heaven.”

He stared at you, blinking the blood from his lashes.

And then he threw his back and laughed. It was a full-bodied, uproarish laughter. The type that rumbled from his chest. He shook, though he was careful not to jostle you, and you managed a quiet chuckle.

The adrenaline faded from his body, and he hiccupped as he slumped onto the concrete beam behind him. The ice receded from his veins.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured. It was a quiet plea. Don’t do that ever again, is what he really wanted to say, but how could he? This was the occupational hazard of your shared line of work. This was the risk. His eyes burned, half-lidded as he held you closer.

You couldn’t lift a single limb on your body, so you lean into him.

“No promises.”

It was enough. Your voice was raspy, drained, but there was a sincere lilt to it.

He wanted to say something more, then, but first responders arrived and whisked you separate ways before he could gather his thoughts.

He regrets it, to this day. Perhaps if he had said something then, said something sooner, the scene would have played out differently.

He does not have many regrets, have long resolved to move on from his past and mistakes. “What a useless emotion,” you once told him. “Don’t wallow. Mourn and move on. Do better. That’s what you owe. That is what you are owed.”

But this—this he will always regret.

.

.

.

He finds you on the roof of your penthouse.

“I like it. Being able to see everything from up here.” The first time he’d peered over the edge, he’d been enlisted for furniture rearranging. You handed him a beer, beckoning him over, jerking your head to the scenery below. And it was—breathtaking. You were breathtaking. He hadn’t even bothered to entertain a cursory glance. It was summer then, too, and the evening breeze was light as it brushed your locks back. Lights began to flicker as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. He briefly considered making a similar move.

But moving was a hassle, only further proven by the efforts of today, so he dismissed the thought quickly, taking another swig. He was sweaty, a layer of grime a film over his skin from the manual labour he’d been voluntold for most of the afternoon. It was petty work compared to his—their—day job, but it was still a strangely refreshing workout.

“What are you feeling?” His steps are muted, voice faint. It carries on the back of a shallow gust.

You don’t spare him a look, staring into the distance. You’re sitting, one leg thrown casually over the ledge, the other pulled to your stomach. He’d made an off-hand comment once about adding some railings, but you’d rolled your eyes and pushed him playfully.

Pussy, you called. He chuckled. Like we don’t experience enough life-threatening dangers on a regular basis, he snarked.

All the more reason, then, you shot back. He fell silent then, the pulsing in his throat returning.

He could never really read you. Eyes are the window to the soul. He scoffs internally. Whoever said that must’ve known it was a load of bullshit. Your eyes never said anything. But his—his said everything he couldn’t, and more.

You hum. “Would it be cliché if I said I wasn’t surprised, only disappointed?”

“No.”

“Then I’m disappointed. I had hoped, I suppose, that he would choose differently.”

He tastes the words that I would be enough between, and the sigh of to change him that escapes your lips.

“You knew who he was when you went into this,” he says quietly. No judgement—he is not reminding you of your poor decisions, rather striking a conversation in the same manner one would inquire about the weather.

Quant, you think. And a few years ago, you would have added out of character. But now it is not so—he has grown into himself well.

You tilt your head back. He leans against the wall, arms crossed across that well-built chest of his, shirt straining against the muscle. He’s so tall now—so much taller than anyone had expected him to be. That wild, unruly blond hair of his has remained the same, appearing spiky but soft to the touch. And his eyes—they are gentle but retain the ferocity he is well-known for.

“Yes,” you say after a while. “That is why I am not surprised. But these feelings won’t just disappear overnight because of this.”

He’s quiet for a while, those crimson orbs of his trailing over your expression. You don’t know what he finds, but he must understand your position because he nods.

“I’ll wait for you.”

This—this is a surprise. Somehow, he always manages to surprise you.

“After all this time?” You ask softly.

“Always,” he says quietly.

He leaves, and when you return to the house, you pick up the keys he left on your counter. Twirling them on one finger, you smile to yourself.

Thank you. You know he knows.

.

.

.

“I tried to be the person you wanted me to be,” he says.

“I tried, I really did. But this is who I am, who they made me. I can’t change. I’m sorry,” he says.

He says a lot more, you think, but you’ve long since stopped listening. He knows these are only flimsy barriers that excuse his behaviour. He knows he is not this person. He is not broken, he is worthy of much, much more. He just needs to believe it. They took everything from him. That is what he thinks, how he lives. Like he has no real purpose.

Instead, he is stopped, wings flaring as you reach for him. You smell familiar, and that ache in his heart deepens. He will forever regret losing you, but you deserve more. He is not good for you, and he is not your responsibility. His growth is his obligation. Perhaps, when he is ready, he will find you again.

But by then, he thinks, burying his face into your shoulder, you will have already chosen differently.

“I love you, baby bird. I will always love you,” he presses these words against your neck in a soft whisper, voice cracking, like a prayer, he tries to sear his truth into your skin. He tastes salt on his tongue.

And, between it all, he traces I’m sorry.

You squeeze him once.

You know.

.

.

.

“Hey.”

You’re uncharacteristically shy, cheeks puffing in that sweet smile of yours.

That sharp, familiar warmth blooms in his chest at the sight of you perched on the arm of his leather couch. You look comfortable, relaxed, like you—belonged here, his mind supplies helpfully.

He steps out of his boots, unbuckling his support items and setting them on the counter to clean later. He’s a little worse for wear tonight, shoulders tight from chasing rogue villains the past few hours. The tension seeps away steadily, though, the longer he drinks you in.

You look good. You always look good. Gorgeous, even more so when you’re tired and dirty, covered in blood and dust and debris. It’s been so long since you patrolled together, pulled to opposite ends of the city the past few months.

“Hey,” he says back.

“Shower?” You take his hand.

He trails behind you, nearly tripping over in his haste to follow, failing to register your words in time. This must be a dream, he decides. And he will play along, as he always does in these fits of delirium. He will hold you and have you and love you in ways he cannot begin to describe, and then he will lose you as dawn breaks and he wakes to an empty bed. But he falls anyway, does it over and over until he feels like he will go insane from the sheer longing. He is addicted to you.

You haven’t spoken, not really, since that night on the rooftop. So you, being here, without any prior warning, touching him, smiling at him, leading him to his fucking shower—this must be a dream, right?

You push open the door to his bathroom. It’s big, he’s always been meticulous about his health, and enjoys his fair share of long soaks and hot showers.

He realizes a beat too late that you’re undressing him. He exhales sharply when you tug his shirt off, but before he could say anything, you murmur, “You smell like caramel. You always do. It’s just a little stronger than usual.”

“Oh.” He sounds a little breathless, a little strangled. Unlike him, but he has never really been anything but himself with you. He’s still discovering new sides to himself, it seems.

Oddly enough, he’s the farthest thing from embarrassed as he steps out of his pants and boxers. He’s flushed, but the heat that floods his veins is nothing short of delicious. It makes his head spin, makes him lean into your touch.

You strip quickly, tossing your costume fabric aside his for laundry. He sucks in an audible breath at the sight of your nude body. Beautiful, he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat, and he reaches out with a shaky hand to thumb the smear of grease on your cheek.

You smile, pushing open the frosted glass doors and pull him inside.

The temperature is perfect. He likes it hot on days like today, muscles relaxing as the water washes away his fatigue.

“You know me so well,” he says.

You push him under the stream, water cascading between the two of you. His locks flatten under the pressure, falling over his eyes. You run a hand through his hair, pushing it back as you press yourself flush against him.

“Yes,” you answer. “I do.”

And then you kiss him. A low purring echoes through the space. Ah, it’s me, some part of him thinks absently. He opens his mouth instantly, tongue lapping at yours, arms coming around to hold you close. He can distinctly feel the way your perked nipples rub against his pectorals. He can taste you. And you are sweet, so sweet and the lewd sounds of your make out reverberating in the room so vividly he knows this is not, in fact, a mere conjuration of imagination after all.

He loathes to part from you, but he does. His fingers dig into your waist, anchoring him to reality. He looks at you searchingly, beseechingly. If you are here, you can only be here for one reason.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry, I know it must’ve been painful. I’m here now, I promise I’ll never leave again,” you say, cupping his cheek.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter shut.

“You promise?” He sounds so small, so weak. Vulnerable. He would’ve hated that, once, but he is no longer that person. Today, he can accept he is weak for you. Always has been. And that’s okay, he thinks. He doesn’t have to be strong all the time.

“Yes. I promise, Katsuki.” You press your forehead against him, standing on your tippy toes.

He kisses you again, swallows your dreamy sigh, one hand on the back of your head, the other crushing your body against his. He wants you close, needs you close. Needs to feel you, this is real, right?

“Yes,” you whisper, and he realizes belatedly that he spoke aloud. “This is real. I’m here. I’m right in front of you.” You take his hand and press it against your upper rib cage, where your heart beats. Fast, like the wings of a hummingbird.

He can’t help it. He takes you against the wall, so pent up from years of pining he can hardly think, rutting into you like a teenager in heat, feeling like he’s a virgin again, every trace of your skin so new, he maps them out first with his eyes, then his hands and mouth. He slows down when you call his name in a haze of pleasure, takes the time to worship you, find what makes you tick, watches your expression raptly as he rolls his hips, as he tweaks your nipples, palms your ass, litters a necklace of freshly bloomed violets on your collarbone.

He’s panting your name, you’re murmuring praises in his ear, tugging at his locks and biting down on his shoulder and he cums so hard his vision whitens.

The two of you slide down, his legs giving out in the aftershocks, until he’s sitting on the floor of his shower and you’re curled up on his lap.

The water is—miraculously—still hot.

You lay there for a while, and he catches his breath between lazy kisses, enjoying the way your hands roam his chest languidly.

Finally, he stands, letting you down reluctantly to actually clean yourselves. You giggle at the pout that forms when your feet touch the ground once more.

You wash his hair, massaging methodically as he dips his head back to let the foam drain. He takes great pleasure in this, at the way you spread a generous amount of body wash on your palms and begin scrubbing the grime from his skin.

He jolts forward, letting out a low groan as you squeeze his flaccid cock teasingly. He glances away, eyes half-lidded, at the heated look you give him when his cock hardens immediately.

“You underestimate how easily you turn me on,” he says plainly. Not a hint of embarrassment. And why should he be? You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love it,” you murmur.

You rinse him off before turning. His length presses against your ass, but he makes no move to seek anything further, focused on washing you.

Satisfied, he turns off the water.

You step out, toweling each other off. He pulls you to him, inhaling deeply. He likes that you smell like him now.

.

.

.

Afterwards, you are tucked in close, covers pulled up and he’s buried his face in your chest, bare legs tangled.

Perhaps it’s the novelty, the feeling of finally, but you can’t get enough of one another. You wake each other multiple times throughout the night, clawing at each other, ripping his boxers and your—his—shirt from each other until you were pressed tightly together, bare, a thin sheen of sweet already coating your bodies.

A thin strip of moonlight peeks through the cream curtains. He gazes up at you, thinks everything in his life has been leading up to this moment. That warmth swelling again, as it always does, so intense it has him arching his back. You touch his cheek, smiling. Something lands on the side of his pillow. Ah. You lean down, lips warm as they kiss away his tears.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He closes his eyes.

Thank you.

[viking-raider]

A Raw Heart - *Sensitive! READ THE WARNINGS!*

Summary: You tell Henry about the worst tragedy in your life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,863

Rating: Mature -  Serious Angst, Tragedy, Anguish, Grief, Loss, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Possible triggers

Inspiration: I’ve thought about this story for a long time, and it’s a bit personal.

Author’s Note: Read the Warnings!

You and Henry had been seeing each other for several months, having met at the auditions for Night Hunter. It was the first time Henry had been in your place, over for a nice night in, you left him in your living room long enough to get you both some wine. While you did that, Henry looked around, peeking at stuff, but not invading your privacy, checking out the books you had on your shelves and the photos you had on display around.

He noticed a small Russian doll-like thing on one of your shelves and picked it up, admiring it.

“Henry.” You called, standing on the other side of the room from him, stiff as a board. “Put it down.” You almost hissed at him. “Don't touch it.” You told him, trembling and your voice unsteady. “Please.” You added, your throat tight and tears threatening.

“I'm sorry.” Henry squeaked, putting it back where it was on the shelf. “I was just admiring it. It's really beautiful.” He babbled, nervously. “Where did you get it?” He asked, looking over at you and was caught off guard by the tears dripping down your face.

“It's my son.” You mumbled, struggling to gulp down your tears and emotions.

Henry blinked and his whole body jerked, shocked by your words. “What?” He pushed out, his own throat tight.

“Oh god.” You mewled, realizing what you had said. “Please, leave.” You whimpered, then rushed down the hall to your room, slamming the door behind you and barreling into your bathroom, to drop to your knees in front of the toilet bowl, wrenching violently into it.

Henry carefully opened your bedroom door, hearing your dry heaves, and followed the sound of it. “Hey.” He whispered, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back, his face showing his deep concern for you.

“I as-asked you t-to leave.” You wheezed, panting into the bowl, your heavy tears dripping into it.

“I know you did.” Henry sighed, still rubbing your back in a reassuring way. “But, I can't just leave you like this.” He said, getting up and finding a wash cloth hanging on the towel rack and ran it under the sink faucet. “I never meant to upset you.” He whispered, gently wiping the cool cloth over your temples, forehead and cheeks, even pressing it to the back of your neck for a moment.

“You didn't know.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Only a few people know what that is.”

Henry gulped, a pit in his stomach and bit his lip for a moment. “You said...” He took a deep breath. “You said, it was your son.” He said, chewing his bottom lip to bits.

“I did.” You whimpered, sitting down and pressing your back to the side of the cold tub. “When I was twenty, I was dating a guy, but we broke it off. Two months later, I found out I was pregnant with his baby. I told him and he wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby. Shocker of the century.” You chuckled, but whined at how sore your throat was.

“What happened?” Henry frowned, resting back against the vanity, and drawing his knees up.

“Well, I had the usual three options.” You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Have the baby and give it up for adopting, keep him or the other option.” You said, glancing at him for a moment, to get the point across. “I wasn't going to the latter thing, wasn't something I could live with. So, over the next eight and a half months, I tossed back and forth between adoption or keeping him. I thought, just before labor happened, that I was going to put him up for adoption. I was twenty, still living at home and had a shit job. What life could I give him, a struggling mother and an absent father.”

You paused for a moment, lost in a memory.

“But, when I finally gave birth to him, and I saw him in all his bloody, messy and screaming glory, I was enamored by him. He was beautiful and perfect, but importantly, he was mine. My son. I made him.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “With a little help, I suppose. But, I made him, with my body, my blood and flesh, inside me for months. It was like, I already knew him and he already knew me.”

“Pals for the ages.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, tears dripping down your cheeks, as you recalled his little face, the warmth and weight of his teeny body in your arms, his smooth and downy skin against your chest. Hearing him coo at you, just before he latched onto your breast and fed, or how he squirmed as you bathed him. You would stay awake for hours, not caring how absolutely wrecked and exhausted you were from the day, to watch him sleep in the little cradle that attached you to the side of your bed. Remembering the first time he laughed, you blew a raspberry on his tummy as you changed his pamper and he became hysterical, filling your ears with that absolutely magical baby laugh, that no matter how horrible your day was going and how shitty you felt, you couldn't help but laugh along too; blowing more and more raspberries against his squirmy body and flailing arms and legs, his face bright with a face splitting grin.

“What happened?” Henry whispered, his voice weak and stomach clenching.

You choked suddenly as the horrible memory strangled you, like it had over the long years. “My boss made me work late one night, so I left him with my mother, she babysat him all the time, he was her first grand-baby and she was almost as wild about him as I was. I was a few hours into my shift, when my mom called, and I knew, instantly, something was wrong. She always called me before she put him to sleep, so I could talk to him and hear his little noises; and she had already done that.”

“Two hours before.”

“She had gone into check on him, and..” You froze, your breathing faltering and gripped the rug beneath you, tearing at it as your grief slammed into you. “He wasn't breathing and wouldn't respond. She called medical services, then called me, while they tried to save him.”

Henry's chin hit his chest, a tight bubble of grief in him. “I'm so sorry.” He whimpered, crushed for you, realizing what he had picked up was indeed your son, his urn. “I'm sorry.” He choked, moving over to you and hugging you against his body, letting you sob into his chest, soaking his shirt with your anguished tears, your heart splitting wails crushing him, like a factory of bricks.

“My boy.” You howled, clinging onto Henry, twisting your hands up in the back of his sweater. “My baby boy.”

“I know.” Henry choked and held you tight, tears dripping from his scruffy jaw and into your hair, rocking both of you. “I know, love. I know.”

“I miss him, Henry.” You sighed and sniffled, looking up at him. “I miss him, with every fiber of my soul and life.”

Henry smiled softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face. “I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do. But, he's still with you. He will always be with you, darling. In your heart and in your soul. Because you made him, with your body, your blood and your flesh, inside of you for months, and he's still in your body, blood and flesh, here and now, forever and always.” He told you, cupping your face in his shaking hands.

“Nothing and no one can ever take that, or him, from you. Even if he's not here with you, physically.”

You looked into Henry's baby blue, bloody shot and teary eyes, sucking your wobbling lip between your teeth, chin shaking as your body was wracked with a wave of new tears and emotions. No one had ever said something like that to you before. Everyone that knew about your son told you to move on, that the pain would pass and lessen, but it only grew worse over the years. Missing out on his first tooth coming in or losing one and sneaking money under his pillow for the tooth fairy, his first steps and word. His first day of school, his first crush on someone, watching him grow tall and do some many things you saw other kids doing. Your mother even suggested finding a guy and having another kid, but that thought horrified you, afraid that the same thing would happen all over again.

But, Henry's words had instilled something in your sore and cracked heart, like putting a plaster on it. He was right, your son might not be here physically anymore, but you had created him with your own body, nestled in your womb, his DNA was yours and it was still alive, so he was still alive, in that way.

“His name,” You said softly, letting go of your trembling lip. “was Julian.”

Henry smiled at you. “It's a beautiful name.” He replied, gently.

It was then, that it struck you, something you had only just realized as you shared a devastating, raw and such a personal moment that you have never shared with anyone else, or even talked about with the people that did, that you tried to avoid thinking about. You had freely given Henry the information about Julian, you had never told any of the guys you previously saw or dated, a few asked about the small, silver and blue urn, but you always changed the subject.

Why had you told Henry about him, so freely, letting down all the thick walls you had built around yourself over the years? You had known him for two months and been only four or five dates, but you felt safe with him; loved, understood and listened to.

Henry wrapped his arms around you and stood you both back up, guiding you back into the living room, sitting you down on the couch, then went into the kitchen, finding two glasses and two bottles of wine on the kitchen counter, obviously you had come into the living room as he picked up Julian's urn to ask which bottle he wanted. He just grabbed one, pulled the cork out of the neck and poured you both a glass, before bringing it out to you; sitting on the couch with you tucked into his warm and protective side. Neither of you said anything, sitting quietly on the couch, sipping your glasses of wine, in silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice still hoarse from all your crying. “I've been hanging onto that for so long.”

“Of course.” He whispered back, gently kissing your temple. “I'll always be here, if you need to talk it out, or cry it out.” He told you, giving you a tender expression, before hugging you snugly.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 16 part one

(Masterpost of All the Recaps)  (Canary’s Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes

All righty, this one is going to be a laff riot...not. Let's do it.

The first half of this episode is like a beautifully executed standalone tragedy, while also threading together all sorts of themes and paying off all sorts of relationship building that's happened in the previous episodes. My hat is off to the writers, while I also shake a fist at them for making me cry an unreasonable amount.

We’re Sailing on a Strange Boat

The episode starts right off absolutely DESTROYING me with the Yunmeng brothers holding hands, fingers interlaced, in the first of many hand-touching moments that punctuate the episode.

Jiang Cheng has to be pretty far gone to accept this degree of comfort and tenderness. I think, from their positions, he is also holding Yanli's hand out of the camera's view. 

Zidian finally lets the trio go, and they immediately turn the boat around and head back to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian gets the clever idea to turn the benches into makeshift oars but nobody gets the clever idea to use magic to push the boat like they do literally every other time they are in a boat. 

Their emotional need to go back to Lotus Pier is understandable, but they are being disobedient and irresponsible by doing it. Jiang Cheng is the future of the clan, and should not risk his life, particularly after his mother chose to sacrifice herself to protect him and after both of his parents told him to go hide with his sister and personal bodyguard brother. 

On the other hand, Jiang Fengmian, as clan leader, probably had a duty to go into hiding himself rather than go home to die romantically, so his authority is questionable at this point. Anyway, this is the Jiang Clan, they get to kind of do what they want, except when that pisses Jiang Cheng off.

Lotus Pier Massacre

Back at Lotus Pier, the Wens are kicking Jiang ass. The fight choreography is pretty good, taking full advantage of walkways, railings, pools, and other features of the environment. 

Using the set this way always makes fights feel more kinetic and real, as opposed to simply sparring in an open area. 

(more after the cut)

Yu Ziyuan is fighting adequately with a sword, having given her preferred weapon to her son.  She's clearly been at it for a while, and is tiring; the Wen soldiers are starting to land more and more sword blows but no critical hits yet.

Wen Zhuliu is kicking ass and possibly melting cores, although we don't see him do it to anybody yet. Later we'll hear from Jiang Cheng that he crushed the cores of his parents, but it's not clear when that happens.

Sixth young master replays Jiang Fengmian's entire archery lesson in his head while he waits, and waits, for Wen Zhuliu to finish strangling a dude the right moment to shoot an arrow at Wen Zhuliu. 

Homicidal tart Wang Lingjiao notices him lining up a shot, strolls over, and stabs him in the back while he's still thinking about what Jiang Fengmian said. One could wish that JFM's archery lessons weren't quite so wordy. 

Wang Linjao normally doesn't carry a sword because of her low spiritual power, but apparently can use one just fine when she's killing kids.

If you start feeling like this episode is unreasonably painful, just think of it as building up calluses so you can handle Yi City when the time comes.

Jiang Fengmian to the Rescue

Jiang Fengmian shows up very far past the nick of time, although he is not actually useful, so it's questionable whether arriving earlier would have helped. But his wife is glad to see him.

Netflix subtitles say that Jiang Fengmian calls Yu Ziyuan "My Lady!" which sounds courtly and romantic in English. His actual words are "San Niangzi" which hunxi-gullai breaks out here.  I might render this as "lady wife!" rather than "my lady" but I don't think English really has a perfect equivalent.

Jiang Fengmian sails across the courtyard, knocking down a few Wen soldiers and becoming a young, slender man in the process.

I mean, come on, that stunt double does not look like a boxy middle-aged man from any angle.

The Dying Bit

The episode splits up the big death scene for dramatic effect but I'm recapping it all together to keep things simple.

Within moments of arriving, Jiang Fengmian gets shanked by Wen Zhuliu like Scatman Crothers in The Shining (or Groundskeeper Willie in The Shinning).

Wen Zhuliu stops a Wen soldier from finishing JFM off, just so that a different Wen soldier can deliver the killing blow from the back, which is kinda harsh. With all this spin-fighting there is probably not an implication of cowardice when someone dies from a stab in the back, but still. Too rude, Wen Zhuliu.

Yu Ziyuan sees Jiang Fengmian fall, and after having a moment of sorrow and despair, she stabs herself in the heart, falls down, crawls to him and interlaces her hand with his. He revives just enough to give her hand a squeeze and say "San Niangzi" one last time before dying. 

She dies next, with a smile on her face at the end. The soundtrack plays that amazing "horribly emotional death scene" music that isn't one of the tracks available on the OST, argh. This same music appears at the end of Xue Yang's story.  

Of the many things I love about the Untamed, the complexity of all the minor characters is possibly my favorite. These two people suck at parenting, and suck at being married, and ultimately suck at protecting and leading their clan, making stupid, selfish choices at every step of the building conflict. 

And then they have this incredibly romantic death scene, in which they both face the inevitability of failure, and find comfort in failing together. Yet their death scene is totally in keeping with who we know them to be, and who they are to each other; the drama doesn't cheat by making them ideal lovers or great people at the end. But they have a great, great moment.

Jiang Yanli, waiting in the woods while her brothers are presumably running toward Lotus Pier, drops her lotus pendant, which is made of the loudest jade ever discovered, and it breaks with a crash.  

Yanli, who is a well educated young lady, knows a moment of doomy symbolism when she sees it.

Jiang Yanli: Who put a giant rock out here in the woods? What are the odds I’d drop my pendant directly on it? 

It’s all Over Except for the Crying, Running and Choking

The brothers climb up on the roof and are shocked to see nothing but Wen soldiers and piled up Jiang corpses... 

...including one child who is either about to become a zombie or who is being played by a young actor who can't control their curiosity, judging by the way this eye is sneakily opened while the camera is running.

There's a moment where Jiang Cheng is saying they must have spared his parents, they must be okay, where Wei Wuxian's face is just...wow. You can see right here the gulf in life experience between these two. 

Wen Zhuliu roams around looking troubled while searching for more people to kill. He’s an interesting villain; someone who believes his loyalty to his boss makes him a good guy, but knows his boss is a bad guy. 

Then we are treated to a hell of a camera move, where it tracks over Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian together on the floor, heroic in death and still holding hands, and then sweeps up to show their killers sitting on the lotus throne. 

The dead couple were at odds for their whole lives together, while the evil people who killed them are acting like devoted lovebirds. It's a stunning shot and a terrific thematic contrast. When Wei Wuxian eventually comes to take his vengeance, he will spend some time turning Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao against each other, before ending them. 

The camera shows us JC's reaction, then shows his mother, then WWX’s reaction, then JF; each reacting to the death of the person who loved them. Some folks may feel that Jiang Fengmian actually did love Jiang Cheng but was just bad at showing it. But Jiang Cheng doesn't think so, and I don't think it's a given that parents love their children.

Side note: Macroexpression king Wang Zhuocheng is able to open his eyes so far that a giant strip of white shows above his irises, and keep them like that, which is quite a trick. Try it yourself.

Meanwhile Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao gossip about YZY and JFM's bad marriage. Wen Chao admires YZY's beauty, and Wang Lingjiao insults her character, and announces that she's going to stab YZY's body a few extra times. Jiang Cheng briefly faints at this, taking a page from Wei Wuxian's book, and rolls off the roof. 

Run Run Away

Both young men run, and run, and run away from Lotus Pier while Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao mistreat the bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan 

The stabbing happens off camera, because it's ok to stab a live child on camera, but not a dead adult. (As always, there are cultural reasons for "what's ok" in any country, and I'm not saying anybody's wrong about these choices). 

Wen Chao follows this up with pouring a cup of wine across their faces. He does this in the style of a libation for the dead, but as a desecration, combining mistreatment of bodies with profaning a ceremonial rite. In a world where ghosts are real and have sharp fingernails, this is deeply, deeply stupid.

Yu Ziyuan’s actress Zhang Jingtong is able to have liquid poured INTO HER EAR without flinching. Mad props.

The brothers eventually finish running and arrive in a field with an extreme purple photo filter on it. Which I've done my best to remove for these gifs, with variable results. 

Jiang Cheng wants to turn around and go back to Lotus Pier. He says he wants to retrieve his parents’ bodies and to take revenge, but he's devastated and it seems likely he just wants to die with everyone else.  

Wei Wuxian pleads with Jiang Cheng to calm down and stay safe, while Jiang Cheng gives himself over to anger and shock as the brothers shout at each other.

Punching and running ensues, and Wei Wuxian tries to hold his brother back, grabbing him around the shoulders him in a gesture that painfully echoes the many hugs he's given over the years. 

This time Jiang Cheng doesn't just push him off. He turns around and chokes his brother for nearly a full minute, while screaming at him and blaming him. 

Just as when Madame Yu beat him, Wei Wuxian doesn't fight back; he pulls on Jiang Cheng's wrists but doesn't hit him or try to break his hold.

Finally Jiang Cheng lets him go, and cries out for everyone he's lost, while Wei Wuxian weeps silently next to him. Eventually they fall asleep in the grass together, their bodies curled up in the form of a heart. 

Damn, this episode really brings it.

Side Note: during their argument, Wei Wuxian says, among other things, that "revenge is a dish best served cold," according to subtitles. It's a French saying from the 1800s so it's probably not precisely what Wei Wuxian is saying. More importantly, as a longtime Star Trek fan I can't help but hear James Kirk yelling "KHAN!!!!!" whenever I encounter that phrase.

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

When they wake up in the morning, Jiang Cheng is still in his feelings, but now his feelings have moved along to despair, from anger.

I feel bad for noticing how handsome they both look in this scene. Let's all feel bad about this together.

Jiang Cheng is free to have this level of emotional breakdown because Wei Wuxian is there keeping his own shit together and focusing on what matters.

When Jiang Cheng refuses to get up, Wei Wuxian reminds him, very, very gently, that they have a sister, who has waited all night to know what happened.

At this, Jiang Cheng gets up, but won't look at Wei Wuxian, continuing to blame him for everybody else's actions, as he walks onward to find Yanli.

Wei Wuxian follows, hurt and bereft, as he gets to work internalizing everything that he's being accused of. This is good practice for his future as a widely reviled bogeyman.

Part two will be slightly less awful! Coming soon!

[magnhild]

Nora Valkyrie, Identity, and Purpose

Hey everyone, Blaire here, and almost exactly a year ago, I made this mess of a post where I laid out all of my thoughts on Nora and what I thought the show could have in store for her.

And honestly, most of my ideas were way off, and not at all correct. Also, the post kind of flopped.

Thankfully, Volume 8 has given me a chance to redeem myself, and write another, more coherent, essay about my favourite RWBY character; where this Volume seems to be taking her character, and what it means to me, personally.

Buckle up.

To the vast majority of people in the RWBY fandom, Nora is the least-developed character, and the one most lacking in dimension. Most of her character seems to be defined by two things; her energy and love for fighting, and her relationship on Ren.

Volume 8 took note of these conceptions, and addressed them head-on.

Of course, any keen-eyed viewer will have noted Nora’s hidden depths even before this volume, which I noticed in last year’s post. She is perhaps the most perceptive of the main cast, at least, when it comes to people’s feelings and relaionships. She was the only one to really comment on Pyrrha’s crush on jaune, and the first to bring up Blake and Yang’s growing relationship. It was also her level-headedness that resolved RNJR’s argument in Volume 4, Chapter 9.

Volume 7 also showed us her innate desire to protect the weak, and her disdain to those who have the power to help, but refuse. I personally get the feeling that this was her driving motivation in becoming a Huntress; to protect people who cannot protect themselves, perhaps because she doesn’t want anyone to have to grow up as she did. Nora’s fury at Ironwood in V7C7 is esepcially signifigant, because it’s the angriest we’ve ever seen her before, even more so in that this anger is directed at someone with much more authority than her.

But these little details were only the tip of the iceberg. These were traits she already had, and while they help to add layers to her character, they’ve done very little in terms of her actual development. 

This is where Volume 8 came in stronger than any other.

Volume 7 hinted to us that Ren and Nora’s relationship was beginning to get more complicated, between their bickering, Ren’s dismissiveness at Nora, and their kiss in V7C6. By the end of the volume, it was clear that they were still struggling, despite their clear love for each other. Volume 8 carried this thread along, having them split into different parties, and Nora giving Ren a bit of attitude we’ve not really seen her direct at him before. 

She’s frustrated with him, and disappointed that he can’t see what she sees. But despite her tough front, V8C2 then hints that she’s sadder about the split than she’s letting on, after May brings up Nora’s ‘friends’. C3 then brings this to a head, where we get a conversation that sees Nora opening up to Blake and Yang, and revealing a deeply sad truth about herself- that she has no idea who she is without Ren, because she’s spent so much of her life with him and him alone, and her feelings for him have shaped so much of who she thinks she is. We’ve never seen her so hopeless and lost, especially after she reveals that, as far as she’s concerned, all she’s good for is hitting stuff.

Right in these few minutes, the show takes how the audience percieves Nora, and reveals to us that those two core traits are the gateways to a far deeper insight of her character. She’s known for her relationship with Ren, but wait- what about when he’s not there with her? She’s known for hitting stuff, but wait- that’s all she thinks she’s good for. 

It’s revealed to us that, not only is this how most of the audience percievs Nora, but it’s how she percieves herself. And for all her energy and upbeat attitude, deep down, she thinks incredibely lowly of herself. For all her confidence in her fighting abilities, she lacks confidence in herself as a person. 

Surprisingly enough, the ‘who am I?’ character arc is one that was hardly explored at all up until this point, despite it being one of the most common and signifgant character arcs in fictional media. And I don’t think many of us at all could have imagined that Nora would be the one to get that arc, when she’s always seemed so self-assured on the surface.

And then, when Penny is in need of help, Nora takes Weiss’ advice to heart, and does the one thing she believes she’s capable of- being strong, and hitting stuff.

Nora overcharging her Semblance to take down the wall is seen by a lot of the fandom as some kind of win for Nora; as her ‘big moment’. But while it’s certainly a really cool and badass scene, it was far from a triumph for her.

This was Nora at perhaps her lowest point so far in the series. This was Nora figuring ‘well, if this is all I’m good for, I’ll do it to the extreme’. This was Nora thinking her only purpose was to greatly endanger herself for the sake of others, because she figured she was the only one who could. And she almsot got herself killed for it. 

While certainly a defining moment, it was far from triumphant. It wasn’t a win. It was a self-destrcutive act that reflected how little she thinks of herself; that she’s not worth anything unless she’s pushing herself to the limit doing the one thing she thinks she’s good at.

And to drive the knife in harder, it backfires horribly. 

Because now she’s bedridden and critically injured, with scars that are probably permanent; a reminder of her lowest point, forever marked on her body. She can’t fight now, can’t help at all, and Salem has launched her attack on Atlas.

And in her half-unconsious state in V8C7, she realizes this, delivering an absolutely heartbreaking line:

As far as she’s concerned, her last attempt at doing what she thinks only she can do- what she thinks is all she can do- has prevented her from doing anything of worth at all. She lost one half of herself when she split from Ren, and now she’s lost the other half too. The two things that she defines herself by are gone. And the worst part is, we don’t know if she’s awar of the fact Salem has begun her attack. We could very well see her fully wake up, only to realize that the world has begun ending while she was unconsious, and she can’t do anything about it.

Now, this scene, and Nora’s struggle in this Volume as a whole, hit home for me in particular.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’re probably aware that Nora is only of my hightest- and only- kins. And I’ve only been able to relate to her more and more after what we’ve got of her in this Volume.

I am chronically disabled. I have a connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which fucks up my body in a multitude of different ways, but signifigantly affects the joints. For me, it hits worst in my back, ankles, and my fingers. The fingers are my main problem. To make matters worse, I’ve also been victim to intense pains in my shoulder, which came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and have only gotten worse since. The slightest movement aggrevates it. As any follower of mine would know, I am both an artist and a writer. I create both for fun, and I’ve studied writing as a profession. It is these things I’m known for being good at, and not much else. 

Thanks to my disability and my shoulder though, I have to do these things less. Even on perscription pain medication, it still hurts. It hurts to write this even now; my shoulder feels like it’s burning up from the inside. It will only get worse over time.

So, I’m finding myself in Nora’s position. I can’t do what I’m good at anymore, and I don’t know what to do with myself as a result. Not doing these things makes me feel lazy and unproductive, and makes me feel that the people around me will abandon me so long as i can’t keep providing them content. And I’ve gotta say, it hurts a lot, and I don’t just mean physically. 

Because of what I’m going through, it’s especially important to see my favourite RWBY character just so happening to be dealing with the same problem; the same loss of idenity and purpose. We don’t know who we are or what we’re good for without the things we think define us.

While I’m unsure of my own future though, I find comfort in knowing that Nora’s problem will be tackled and addressed; that her friends will help her to rediscover herself and find her true worth. And while we’ve got a while to go until we’ll be able to see the Volume continue, I’m incredibely excited to see where Nora’s arc goes, especially if we can get some backstory along the way. I find myself wondering if her life before Ren is part of why she thinks so little of herself without him- was it the way she was raised to think? Is this the fault of her childood circumstances? Or is this just something she developed on her own, after becoming too dependant on Ren for comfort?

Whatever answers we get, I have faith that Nora’s story will be told well, and I’m very sure that it’s only just beginning. Even if she finds her worth before the end of the volume, her story won’t be over yet, not when we’ve still likely got at least four more volumes to go after this one.

In just seven episodes, Nora Valkyrie has gone from one of the least developed characters, to one of the most interesting and relatable, at least, in my eyes. There is so much more depth to her character than having a crush on Ren, and being the strong girl who hits stuff. There’s a layer of tragedy to her character that we’re touching upon now, and I’m excited to dive into it.

Thank you all for reading!

[thgreatestblue]

false god [part I]

➜ pairing: kokushibou x fem!reader ➜ warnings: mentions of torture, blood, prostitution. ➜ words: 4,7k ➜ a/n: hello everyone! I decided to split this fic in two parts or else it was going to be too much. I was so excited with this idea that I got carried away (as always). I even thought about only posting the ending, but i figured if i was really writing this concept, then I would commit to it! i hope you enjoy it! ➜ ao3

➜ false god [part II] summary: Turning a blind eye was easier when the money was enough to not send you to a brothel ever again, even if it meant looking away when blood was shed. Head above water and you will never drown. The mantra kept you safe for 3 years, but then six eyes pinned you down, and you found yourself swimming in an ocean you swore you weren’t ever diving in.

I.  

If it wasn't for the long and heavy curtains, the house would have been a really pretty and enjoyable place. However, you highly suspected that if it wasn't for the appearances, the house wouldn't even have windows to start with, so you weren't complaining. Although it was hard to see with only a small candle in your hands — the flame barely illuminating the few steps in front of you — you had grown used to the darkness by now. The last 3 years had taught you enough, and you knew the place like the palm of your hand. 

But what you didn't know was where Muzan’s daughter had hidden this time. It was a fairly common game you two played when her father wasn't home, one that allowed the poor girl to run free through the corridors with no fear of running into her father — that in the last few weeks has been more violent and angry than you've ever seen. If it was scary for you, that knew what Muzan truly was; you couldn't imagine what the girl felt seeing her father losing the facade; teeths becoming sharper at each smile, eyes glowing redder at each glance. 

You didn't know what had happened for the so composed and cold-hearted Muzan to start falling apart at the seams, as far as you knew, he never acted that way before; even the rest of the servants had started to gossip about his weird composure. Now, more often than not, you could hear screams filling the hallways like whispers from ghosts, haunting the poor souls that were still lucky to be alive in a place like this. It would give all your body goosebumps, a weird aftertaste that was bitter than any drink you could swallow down. 

You turn another corner, still trying to find the little girl. She was a sweet and well mannered girl, so easy to look after that you didn't think it was normal. How her eyes were always looking around, her tongue never daring to say more than the necessary, so quiet that most of the time you forget she was still in the room; her mother was the same. 

Two beautiful things that over time started to look more like paintings than real human beings, for society to appreciate, portraying a family that was as perfect as the colors Muzan chooses to show. And for their safety, you hoped they would stay just like that. Everybody at the house knew she wasn't really his daughter — you didn't want to think what happened to the real father, then. 

For the sake of their sanity, they didn't know what Muzan really was. Many of the servants didn't know either. And for some time, you wondered if it would have been a blessing being ignorant like that, not knowing what really took place in a house like this. Behind closed doors things could get even more terrifying, that even you couldn't imagine — no that you wanted, anyway. 

Turning a blind eye to the situation was something you had struggled with in the first year; the amount of blood and organs you had to clean was alarming, the unspoken fear that would be in the tip of everyone’s tongue but never daring to escape; it was heavy the air every time he walked in, but for most of the servants the fear was inexplicable. Not for you though, always going to sleep with the fear that your blood would be the next staining the floor of his office. 

It wasn't as if you had had a choice, neither Daki nor Muzan gave you one. It was keeping a secret or dying with it — and you wanted to live enough to see yourself out of this place, far away from these atrocities. Although it wasn't the best opinion, definitely wasn't the worst. Anything other than going back to the brothels of Yoshiwara; to the hands of strangers; to the dark nights where all you could do was scrub your skin until it was burning red. 

It was a time of your life you didn't like to revisit; it was locked away in the deepest of your mind, but somehow the key would always find its way back to your hand. It was inevitable to think about those years you spent on your knees, selling your body so you could eat the next day. Though, now that you worked for Muzan, those thoughts that haunted you as you laid your head on the pillow were replaced by blood, screams of agony and guts - you’re not sure which was worse. 

The candle burns quickly in your hand, you were running out of time to find the small girl. Although you had come up with a few rules to turn this game a little bit easier — like not entering any room, not hiding inside any closet — the child still put up a challenge; and again, you didn't want to think why she was so good at hiding.

“Ah! There you are!” You could see, even with the thin light, a silhouette that you were very familiar with by now. The dark hair almost blends with the background; she is gripping the candle with both hands, not looking at you even when you call her name, “I think this time you outdone your…”

As soon as you reach the little girl, you can feel the atmosphere change. There’s a dense feeling settling in your chest that spreads throughout your body like fire, almost pulling you down to your knees. The hair on the back of your neck stands up almost instantly, and you don't need to see what it is causing to know exactly what it is. The fear on the girl's face is enough to tell you that she had seen a Demon. 

“Stay behind me, honey.” You whisper as you put your body in front of her’s, eyes trying to focus on the figure by the end of the corridor. The little girl immediately grabs your leg, hiding behind it, you can feel her small body shaking against you. 

Not so far away, you catch a glimpse of a big silhouette walking towards you, it’s so massive that you can’t help but take a step back. It wasn't everyday you saw another Demon walking in those hallways, if ever. Besides Muzan, you only knew Daki by name; she has been the one who brought you to this place, after all. 

In the back of your mind you kept telling yourself if anything went wrong, it was still midday. You could open the curtains and stand in the sun; though you didn't know if you would be fast enough to avoid a tragedy. 

As the Demon stepped closer, the fragile flame from your candle trembles, even the fire was nervous at the change of events. The silence is maddening, all your instincts are screaming run! run! but you can’t move a foot. It takes only a few more steps for the figure to finally be illuminated by the light, the anticipation making your heart beat furiously against your ribcage. 

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn't the man in front of you. His face is the first thing that the light reaches — and if you could hear the sound of your heart beating just a second ago, now it goes completely silent. 

His face is a shade so light that for a moment you thought it was transparent; so pale, but it looked soft to the touch. There’s a red mark that reminds you of flames covering half of the right side of his forehead, and another one on the left side of his cheeks, that goes down to his neck. However, what was more unsettling about him was his eyes. There are six of them, bright yellow irises surrounded in scarlet bloody sclera, staring directly at you. 

With only the candle light to illuminate the hallway, the scenario you found yourself in should’ve been a nightmare, but there was something about the Demon in front of you that made it tolerable. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, a polished posture you don't really see very often. How he didn't look like he was about to rip you apart - or maybe that was worse, because you didn't know what to expect from him.

It made you wonder who he was when still human. His hair was a shade darker than the shadows, perfectly framing his face; the ponytail was tied up on the top of his head, the rest of it falling graciously on his back, long and smooth. He was a very beautiful and elegant man; but even with the whole picture, those eyes were still unsettling, 

“I’m looking for Muzan-sama.” His voice is strong and heavy, cutting through the silence of the hallway like a thunder cuts through the night to announce the upcoming rain. The little girl yelps, gripping your thigh even harder. 

You immediately bow, prefering to stare at his feet than to stay under his intense gaze, “I’m afraid he’s not at home right now...My lord.” You decide to refer to him in a polite way, and he seems pleased by it. 

Not only was he a Demon, but he seemed important, more important than Daki for the looks of it. He wore a black and purple kimono; the material, even in the thin light, looked expensive. However, what made him hold such a powerful presence, was the katana attached to his waist. And if his six eyes weren't enough, there were more of them carving the handle of the sword. 

“And who are you?” The Demon asks, voice low and firm, making you shiver slightly. His eyes are fixed on your face, making you feel even more uneasy under his stare. He takes a few steps closer, the overpowering aura paralysing you right in the spot for a second. 

“I’m Y/N,” You answer, trying your best not to sound too scared. And quickly adds, not daring making him wait, “And this is Muzan-sama’s daughter.”

You put your hand at the top of the little girl’s head, her shakiness is palpable even from far away, and you can’t blame her. Despite living among Demons, you had wished she would grow up oblivious to what went down in this household. Apparently, an illusion can never last forever, only the truth remains untouched in eternity. You try your best to calm her down by running your fingers through her hair. Even though the wax of the candle burns your hand, you can stop gripping it, anything to help you stay calm. 

As if he was in a trance, he stops. Slowly catching your movements with his eyes, “Are you his wife?” 

The question takes you by surprise, and you have to blink a few times, raising your eyebrows in the process. Thank Gods I'm not, it’s the first thing that crosses your mind. However, the hesitation in his voice is concerning; and you have a hard time trying to swallow down what that could possibly imply. 

“No, I’m just a servant… My lord.” Telling him the truth was the only thing you could do right now.

If he decided to kill you because you weren't important, it was your fault for not trying to escape sooner. You had hoped this wasn't going to be the way you would end, but perhaps you had sold your fate on the day you saw Daki eating another girl.

The demon nods, and takes a few more steps closer. You involuntarily flinch, feeling his presence and intimidating aura hitting you like a train. Your breath gets caught on your throat as you watch his hand moving closer to your face. The nails of the little girl on your thing were definitely drawing blood right now. 

But instead of ripping your head off, he touches your cheek.

You didn't notice you had closed your eyes, but they snap open at the gentle touch. Your eyes grow wide at each suffocating second his fingers hover over your skin. Goosebumps spread all over your body as his strong fingers wrap around your chin, forcing you to look at him, at his six eyes. They seem to be studying you, hovering around your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth. 

It feels like you’re on display all over again. When men would come to the brothel and choose the girl they were going to use just by her looks; if she still had teeths, if they were still tight enough, if their good reputation was still intact. It made you want to choke each one of them, making them swallow down each word they had ever said until they were suffocating with their own nastiness. Right now, though, you just fell silent, letting him analyse your face as much as he wanted. You knew you would be dreaming with those yellow orbs from now on. 

“Tell him I’ll be waiting in his office.” He says, slowly easing the grip, giving your face one last look before finally letting go of your chin, and you averts your eyes as soon as his touch isn't on you anymore. 

The only movement your body manages to do is nod, all the rest goes numb with the tension that settles in your bones. Your breathing becomes shallow, body too paralized to function properly. There’s a growing pain on your jaw from clenching your teeth too hard. You and the little girl stay frozen in place as you watch him turning away, walking back from the direction he had come. 

A cold sensation settles on the pitch of your stomach as you watch the Demon walk away. If you were to trust your guts, this definitely wasn't the last time you would be seeing him. And for better or for worse, your guts were never wrong. 

II.

Walking through the hallways of Muzan’s house was different since the day you encountered that Demon. Each time turning a corner, you would hold your breath, take a double look at the shadows, looking for any sign of the man; as if he would appear from the dark and drag you to join him — no one was going to miss you anyway. Even after weeks, you could still feel his gaze hovering around your skin, the feeling of having so many eyes on you was maddening. But the worst was his touch, still managing to linger on your chin, ghostly haunting your days, and mostly your nights. 

Muzan’s daughter seemed to have forgotten the encounter; she didn't say a single thing about it, even after you took her to the kitchen to give her some tea. She was shaking so much you were afraid she would pass out. However, when you asked her about, she just shook her head, saying she was afraid because the man was intimidating. You wondered if her mind had just erased the few important details or if she was pretending that nothing was wrong for her own sanity. Either way, your heart aches for the little girl, but there was nothing you could do. 

Head above water and you will never drown. It has become your mantra since the first time you sold your body, since the first time you laid your eyes on a Demon - when you sold your soul to stay alive. It sure makes the food you eat taste bitter and the pillow on which you lay your head feels like a stone; but at least you are alive, right? 

You could only hope that the Demon Slayers were going to put an end to this, sooner or later. If the rumors were true, then things finally started to move, and by Muzan’s temper getting worse by each day, they were making some progress.

You just had to control your emotions, and pray that Muzan wasn't going to lash any of his anger on you; living with him for a few years made you realize that even the best servants could suffer a tragic destiny, no one was safe here. No one was ever safe around a Demon, after all. 

“Muzan-sama, do you need anything else?” 

It was still morning outside; a very pretty day from the glimpse you caught as you passed a slightly open curtain. As much as you wanted to leave the house and enjoy the sun, mornings like those were the worst for Muzan; where the small amount of light would make him so angry that you had lost account of how many times you had to clean his office after some unfortunate soul left a tiny ray of light enter the room. 

Muzan seemed to be in a good mood today; a rarity nowadays. He was wearing that same dangerous smile from the day he met you, plotting something in his mind and letting it show through his face; and if you were to guess, it wasn't a good sign. He had called for you, asked to pour him a drink — at this point you knew it was blood, just in some fancy bottle — and now was staring at you. 

“I heard you meet Kokushibou, Y/N… What do you think about him?”

“Who?” 

There’s a nagging feeling growing in the back of your mind as you watch Muzan dangerously smile at you. You had never heard that name before, but somehow your mind pictured the Demon from the other day straight away. If this conversation was about him, then you were definitely with a few problems. 

“Tall, long hair, six eyes… Does it ring a bell?” Muzan’s tone is playful, swinging the glass in his hand.

“He seems...” You hesitate, remembering his six eyes fixed on your face, his strong hand gripping your chin, and the intense threatening aura exhaling from him. You swallow down, but your throat feels dry, “...Strong.” 

“Always so observant,” He laughs, drinking a sip from the glass, “Of course he’s strong. He’s the upper moon one, stupid human.”

Wrong answer. Your mind screams, ready to push the alert button as soon as his features change in the slightest. The first time you encountered him you couldn't even speak, couldn't even breathe. The intensity of his threatening aura was so strong that you wanted to puke, scream, run away; but your feet never moved. It took you a long time to even manage to move a muscle when in his presence — all the time he acted amused, and you didn't expect less from a monster savouring the distress of a mere human.

You knew the Demon… Kokushibou was powerful just by his presence, but everything made sense now; the authoritarian semblance of dominance each of his movements seemed to carry, how different his aura was from Daki; even though she was powerful, she still acted like a self absorbed teenager. 

“But I’m asking about your first impression,” If he was angry, you couldn't tell, the way Muzan quickly changed emotions was scary, but most of the time, dangerous, “What do you really think about him?”

“He seems to be respectful and polite…” It wasn't a complete lie; Kokushibou did look like he was someone important in his other life, his clothes were clean and tidy. And not trying to kill you that day was a bonus, “And definitely more civil than Daki.”

Muzan laughs again, showing off his teeth, but seeming content with your answer. He studies you while drinking another sip from the glass, and you try to do your best by staying still, but under his gaze no one could ever remain calm, or sane. Your heart beats fast in your chest as the minutes drag by. It’s agonizing, staying in the same room as him for longer than necessary. 

“Well, I called you here to say that I don't need your services anymore.” He finally drops the bomb on your lap, and you can’t do much then stare at the explosion forming on your hands. 

“Did I do something wrong, Muzan-sama?” You ask, but your voice is weak. 

Panic starts to settle on your stomach, did you say something you shouldn't? Have you done something that he didn't like? Did he see through your facade and now was going to kill you? A torrent of thoughts starts to flood your mind as anxiety settles under your skin, making you sweat. 

“No, actually you're more than perfect.” Muzan says, rather uninterested “But i don't care about that child anymore, so i don't see why keep pretending”

A cold shiver runs down your spine as he says those words as if he was getting rid of trash. Somehow, in the back of your mind, you knew this moment was going to happen. It was a matter of time until Muzan decided to drop the act and move on as if nothing happened. 

He didn't care about anyone but himself. You could only hope he was merciful enough to kill them quickly, heart breaking with the thought of that little girl seeing him as the monster he truly was in her final moments before her death. What a nightmare, what twisted fucking world. 

“You've been great. It's a shame you don't want to become a demon, could be one of the best and easily one of my favorites.”

“It is an honor to hear that, Muzan-sama.” You don’t sound like yourself; you can’t even process what he’s saying while you think about mother and daughter, years trying their best to please Muzan only to find death by his own hands. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes but you hold them as much as you can, it would only piss him off seeing you being emotive, caring about someone. 

“Then why don't you want to turn into one?” 

When you don't answer, he sighs loudly, closing the book he was reading. The sound takes you out of your thoughts, making you jump; heartbeat on your ears. He murmurs something under his breath, you’re so lucky you don’t have any idea, before getting up. With his back to you, he studies the painting on the wall of his office. It’s a strange combination of flowers and blood, but it strangely suits him.

“Since you've a good reputation, I’ve already guaranteed another job for you.” Muzan turns his head, 

“Thank you so much…” You try to say between the cacophony of thoughts swinging around your head. It’s hard to keep the tears from falling down, it’s hard to think about anything else than the poor family being torn apart for his amusement. 

“Pack your things, you're going to work for Kokushibou now.”

There’s a painful pause on your heart, and you could swear you were going to collapse right in the moment. Your mind goes blank, fear crossing your eyes as you remember his touch on your chin, the cold yet burning feeling of his stare on each part of your face. 

“You just said you think he’s respectful, do you have a problem with him that you didn't tell me about it?” Muzan turns his head, red eyes glowing in the thin light of the room; it’s deadly.

“I don't, Muzan-sama. It’s going to be a honor.” You lie, because that’s the only thing you can do right now. 

“Well then, you're dismissed.”

You don’t know how you made it to your room, how you packed your things and cleaned the room you called home for years, one last time. It felt like you were numb to everything, still not being able to process what was happening, where you were going, and who you were going to be working for. At some point your cheeks were thick with tears but you didn't feel sad for yourself, not entirely, it was how abrupt the world was. How abrupt things changed and you couldn't have a single say about it. 

That’s why you never got attached to anyone, that’s why you never let your guard down. And even when you didn’t have any type of attachment, the world still manages to pull the rug beneath your feet. You don't even try to look for the little girl — not that you had the opportunity, either way. 

As you stare at the view from the window of the train, you can at least relax for the first time in years. Not being surrounded by the overpowering aura that Muzan always carried with himself was so relieving that you could feel yourself taking a few deep breaths, smelling the air of the mountains. Trying to enjoy the ride as much as you could, you didn't want to think about what kind of place Kokushibou lived, or how your life would be once you step in. 

It was night when you arrived at the designed station, it was far away from the city, and you were already missing the noise and the traffic, but maybe changing scenarios was something good - you had to keep telling yourself to be positive about this. It couldn't be worse than living with Muzan, right? Right.

You were welcomed by an old lady, she was waiting for you at the platform, waving at you as you got off the train. Since you didn't have many belongings, you only brought a small suitcase with you. 

“You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” She gently says, smiling at you. 

“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you too.” You bow in respect. The old lady pats your head and you immediately feel safer. If the rest of the servants were like her, then maybe Kokushibou was indeed a respectful man.

The tension building up on your body slowly started to calm down as the servant explained what you would have to do. It was easy and simple, washing the bed sheets, cleaning the house, taking care of the garden. You never imagined yourself working under such a mundade setting like this; it was going to be interesting, to say the least. 

However, the odd feeling that something was wrong still lingered — your gut still poking you with worries and alerts — and you couldn't just ignore it, but for now, you tucked it underneath your hopes, wishing it was enough to keep them at bay. 

The wagon stopped in front of an elegant archway, and as you helped the old lady get down from it, you studied the beautiful front yard, with a colorful garden and a variety of trees. There was a pathway of cobblestones that led to the house; witch was big and very tradicional. 

Walking in silence towards the house, your eyes flew around, trying to enjoy each glimpse of nature. It has been so long since you have seen so many different colors, vibrant even under the moonlight. You touch a few flowers, fingers brushing against the delicate petals; the smell of them cleans your mind, making a tiny smile tug on the corner of your lips.

However, as soon as your eyes drifted back to the house, the tiny smile died on your lips, sending you back to reality. Kokushibou was standing right in front of the porch, his hand was resting on his sword. You held your breath as you finally arrived at the house, bowing as soon as you were introduced. 

Kokushibou studied you for a long moment before saying “Welcome, Y/N.” 

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

to see the sun again i’d give anything

A/N: if you couldn’t already tell, the dream smp has definitely taken over my thoughts lately. also hello and welcome to my "c!philza needs to process losing his son and his wings in the span of ten minutes instead of deflecting with laughter and destruction" agenda. title is from Bird With A Broken Wing by Owl City! enjoy!

Warnings: past character death, trauma, past injury, emotional repression, flashbacks, crying, minor violence, emotional hurt/comfort, teasing/banter, hugs

Summary: Phil tries to get some work done around Techno's house. The only problem with that is that his mind ends up wandering into darker thoughts than he'd like, leaving Phil to shatter. But luckily, someone is there to pick up the pieces.

-

Beware the Angel of Death, who cackles while cities burn. That was what they said about him, that was what everyone expected of him. That or they expected wisdom and fatherly care from the man whose wings died with his son. But the truth was that the great Philza Minecraft was neither of those things. Well… to be fair, the moniker “Angel of Death” was well deserved, the rubble of L’Manburg made that fact absolutely certain. But Phil didn’t want that to be who he was. He wanted to be safe and at home with no war or fighting, preening his wings while Wilbur’s music drifted through the house- but he had ruined all of that on his own, hadn’t he?

Phil squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. He was in the middle of checking over the bee farm, why were all of these thoughts hitting him now? Maybe it was because the yellow of the bees made him think of Wilbur’s sweater, their buzzing resonating at a frequency similar to the sizzling of TNT-

Okay. Maybe Phil should leave the bee farm for later. There were other things he could do… like gathering supplies for the Syndicate! Yes, that would be good, having something monotonous to work on always helped. With that plan in mind, Phil spun on his heel to head to Techno’s house to check and see what they needed- and smacked right into Ranboo. The two stumbled away from each other, Phil ending up falling onto his back- and therefore onto his permanently damaged wings. Phil hissed in pain as the fragile, half-there feathers made crushing contact with the snow and cold ground beneath it, and Ranboo’s expression twisted in a mix of guilt and sympathy.

“I’m sorry! I thought you knew I was there,” Ranboo said, holding out his hand to help Phil up. He took the offered hand and shook the snow from his wings once he stood up.

“It’s alright mate, I was just… lost in thought, I guess,” Phil said, trying for his usual smile. Ranboo didn’t seem to buy it, if the worried frown was anything to go by, but he didn’t directly comment on it.

“Oh. Okay! How’s the uh, bee farm?” he asked, clearly trying to keep things casual, which Phil was grateful for (even if it was painfully awkward).

“Giving me difficulty, I keep getting… frustrated. Think I’m gonna deal with it later,” Phil replied with a shrug.

“I can do it!” Ranboo blurted. Phil startled a bit at the outburst from the usually mellow teen, blinking in surprise.

“I, uh- thanks mate, but…”

“Really, I can do it! You showed me how to take care of them once, and I put down what you said to do in my memory book! I can handle it, promise,” he said, pulling out his memory book and flipping through the pages. Phil smiled, a true smile this time, at Ranboo’s eagerness to help.

“I- thank you. You let me know the minute you need help though, okay?” Phil insisted, tone leaving no room for argument. So of course, Ranboo argued against it.

“I think I can handle taking care of some bees, Phil,” he scoffed with a grin. For a split second, the snarky reply felt so reminiscent of Wilbur. If things had been different, would Wilbur be there with them? Phil could practically see the alternate reality play out in front of him- Wilbur helping out with the farms, getting into snowball fights with Ranboo and then egging on Techno and Phil to join them, or sitting on the porch and strumming his guitar and humming half-worked out melodies. A bittersweet smile came to Phil’s face, and he blinked away the sudden mistiness in his eyes.

“If you say so, mate,” he said softly, then walked away from the bee farm and to Techno’s house.

Once up the stairs and safely inside, Phil let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His wings sagged, their damaged tips lightly brushing against the floor. Saving face in front of Ranboo… that took more energy than he had thought. That combined with how much he had seemed like Wilbur for a moment… well, Phil wasn’t exactly in the mood for gathering supplies anymore. But he didn’t want to be idle either. Being idle meant being alone with your thoughts, and Phil’s thoughts often weren’t that kind to him. They’d be filled with accusations of him being a terrible father for killing his son, for letting Wilbur twist and become such a darker version of the bright young musician Phil once knew, for destroying the thing his son had built to rid himself of the memories of Wilbur’s screams begging Phil to kill him-

Before he realized it, Phil crumpled to the ground, knocking something over as he went, hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his sobs. What on earth was he doing? He had to get up. He had to stop crying. Wilbur, his wings, and L’Manburg- those tragedies were in the past. He should be over it now. Right?

Phil’s feeble reassurances to himself did nothing, as he remained on the floor with his wings shielding him like a fragile cocoon and shoulders shaking with sobs he was stubbornly trying to hold back. He was so lost in his sorrow and denial that he hadn’t realized that someone heard something crash in the house, and now had come inside to investigate. They tried to get his attention, but upon garnering no response, they put a gentle hand on Phil’s back, right between his wings.

The touch, no matter how gentle or well-meaning, caused something inside Phil to snap. Some strange, almost primal instinct took over and replaced the mournful sorrow. No one touched him anywhere near his wings and lived. He shot up from his curled up position on the floor, drawing his sword in the same motion and lunged at the person behind him. He tackled them to the ground, sword edge at their throat- and froze. Because he saw eyes wide with fear and shock, and for a moment all he could see was Wilbur. Then he blinked, and registered the heterochromic red and green eyes of the person he just attacked- Ranboo. He broke eye contact and scrambled away from Ranboo like he had been burned, tossing his sword aside and hardly registering the clatter it made over the thundering of his heart.

“Ranboo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, you clearly didn’t realize I was there or who I even was, it’s not your fault and I’m not hurt anyway,” Ranboo said, voice low and soothing as he shifted into more of a sitting position on the ground, not standing up quite yet. Phil felt way out of his depth. Not only had he been caught crying by a teenager, but his immediate reaction to said teenager trying to comfort him was to kill him. Some father figure he was.

“I-I-”

“You don’t have to talk about what’s bothering you if you don’t want to, but… something tells me that this is something you’ve been keeping to yourself for a while. And trust me, I know that bottling things up is never good. So when you’re ready to talk about it… I’m here,” Ranboo said softly. Phil let out a sigh.

“Ranboo, you’re just a kid. I can’t be putting all my problems onto you,” Phil said, his voice a hollow echo of the cheerful kindness it usually held. A mildly irritated expression crossed Ranboo’s face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this server is full of kids and people who are basically kids to you anyhow. So who exactly else would you be able to talk to about this?” he said, a bit more blunt than he probably meant to, but beating around the bush certainly wouldn’t help things either.

“I don’t need to talk to anyone about anything,” Phil huffed, sounding a bit like a stubborn child.

“Uh huh. Says the guy who made a loud crash when having a mental breakdown, and then startled so bad that he instinctively attacked someone. You’re right! You don’t need to talk to anyone about this at all,” Ranboo said flatly. Phil winced, and let out another sigh.

“I… you’re right. I shouldn’t be keeping this all bottled up. It’s just that everyone here is so young and already has had so much struggle and heartbreak. I couldn’t bear to add to that,” Phil said softly.

“Misery loves company,” Ranboo pointed out with a smile. Phil couldn’t help but smile back.

“I suppose so,” he said. Ranboo’s smile grew wider, and he stood up, then offered a hand to Phil to help him up (again).

“I’m capable of standing up on my own, y’know,” Phil chuckled, but took the offered hand anyway.

“And yet I’ve found you on the ground twice today, old man,” Ranboo teased. A surprised laugh burst from Phil’s lips.

“Oh you little shit, I thought you were trying to comfort me,” he said, still laughing.

“Okay hold on, first: there is nothing ‘little’ about me, I’m a lot taller than you. Second: I got you to laugh, didn’t I? Seems like the comfort is working pretty well,” Ranboo said, sounding unreasonably smug. And yet again, Ranboo reminded him of Wilbur. It was strange- upon first meeting the half enderman, Phil saw so many similarities to Technoblade in him. But now, the more he got to know him, the more he noticed a remarkable similarity to Wilbur as well.

“Maybe so,” Phil sighed. Ranboo squinted at him suspiciously, and Phil kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“You keep getting that wistful tone in your voice and a faraway look in your eyes. Do you… wanna talk about that?” Ranboo asked, fidgeting with his sleeves and looking otherwise unsure of what to do with his hands. A smile tinged with bittersweet memories came to Phil’s face.

“I suppose I should. Let’s sit down by the fire, this isn’t a conversation I want to have standing or feeling cold,” Phil said, taking a seat in front of the fireplace with Ranboo quickly following his lead. One of Techno’s dogs, who somehow had stayed snoozing by the fireplace throughout Phil’s mental breakdown, instantly perked up and trotted over to sit in Phil’s lap.

“Dogs are good for comfort too,” Ranboo pointed out. Phil agreed with a chuckle, gently running a hand through the dog’s fur. After a deep breath to calm himself, Phil delved into the story of his son, his wings, and L’Manburg. Ranboo listened with a patient and understanding expression, reaching out every once and a while to put a comforting hand on Phil’s arm whenever his voice wavered.

“And that’s it, I guess. I’ve tried to put my focus into working on farms here or gathering supplies to keep my mind off of it… but as you can tell, that hasn’t entirely worked,” Phil said after he finished his story. Ranboo was quiet for a few moments, taking in what Phil had said.

“In theory, I guess trying to distract yourself isn’t the worst idea, but… you haven’t really given yourself time to… process anything, have you?” Ranboo finally asked. Phil laughed bitterly.

“Unless you count what happened earlier? Not really,” Phil replied, keeping his eyes on the dog dozing in his lap.

“Phil,” Ranboo said reproachfully.

“Oh, because you’re the champion of processing emotions?” Phil shot back. Ranboo winced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Phil immediately felt guilty.

“To be honest, I don’t really remember many things to process them anyway,” he said, voice low. Phil sighed, and reached out to put a hand on Ranboo’s arm, much like Ranboo had done for him earlier.

“It’s alright mate, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You were just… entirely correct, and I didn’t want to admit it,” Phil said with a soft, apologetic smile.

“Hey, if I were in your shoes, I probably would have lashed out too,” Ranboo said, smiling back and affectionately nudging Phil’s shoulder with his own. Once again, Phil was reminded of Wilbur. He had always been so dependent on touch- things like shoulder bumps, hair ruffles, playful punches on the arm, hugs- and it seemed Ranboo was the same way, albeit a bit shyer about it. Phil must have had that “faraway look” as Ranboo put it, as the half-enderman was regarding him with a puzzled expression.

“There’s… probably something else I should explain to you. But I don’t want it to affect who you are as a person, and I don’t want you to think that anything you do makes me feel… bad,” Phil explained, internally wincing at the way his words came out. “Uh… okay? Gonna admit, you’re scaring me a bit there,” Ranboo said with a nervous laugh, looking a bit startled. Phil took a deep breath, then reached out to take Ranboo’s hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

“When I first met you, you reminded me so much of Technoblade. A little standoffish, skeptical of everything and everyone, and a bit stubborn. But the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more you make me think of Wilbur. You have this snark to you like Will, but at the same time you have the capacity for cheerful optimism like he did. Sometimes your mannerisms even remind you of him! So that’s why I get a little… wistful, every now and then,” Phil explained. Ranboo’s expression brightened at the comparison to Techno, but the Wilbur comparison clearly threw him off a bit.

“So… I remind you of the power-hungry revolutionary leader who is now a bizarrely cheerful ghost?” Ranboo asked, head cocked to the side in confusion. Ranboo’s puzzlement startled a laugh out of Phil, and he shook his head fondly.

“I forgot that you never knew the real Wilbur- I don’t know if anyone in this server ever really knew the real Wilbur. Maybe some of the original people of L’Manburg did, but creating that nation… it corrupted him. He was so far from the person I raised… I should have gotten here sooner. Maybe things would be different now,” Phil said, voice soft and tinged with regret.

“Well… I think you did the best you could, considering what you had to deal with when you arrived. And if what you say is true, about no one really knowing the true Wilbur… I don’t know if coming sooner would have helped anything. But I guess none of that really matters, all we can do now is focus on our present actions,” Ranboo replied, sounding much older than he actually was.

“Pretty wise words for someone your age,” Phil said, unable to keep the impressed tone from his voice. Ranboo’s eyes widened, and an awed smile came to his face.

“Huh… yeah, I guess so. And for what it’s worth- I think Wilbur sounds like he was a pretty neat guy. I would’ve liked to know him, the real him,” Ranboo said, squeezing Phil’s hand before letting go of it again.

“I think you two would have gotten along well,” Phil said, finding himself a bit misty-eyed. He wiped at his eyes quickly before any tears could fall, and Ranboo frowned sympathetically. He scooted closer to Phil, then slowly and cautiously leaned his head on Phil’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around him in a half hug. Phil initially stiffened at the contact, but quickly melted into the touch, his arm going around Ranboo’s shoulder while his fragile wing gently covered the hybrid like a cocoon.

The two of them stayed by the fire like that for a while, leaning against each other with Techno’s dog in Phil’s lap. Neither one said a word- not that they really needed to. It felt so nice to be the one being comforted for once, to not be looked to for answers, or to be looked upon with fear. Sure, he was the Angel of Death, the great Philza Minecraft, and a fatherly figure that those could rely on for guidance- but for once, it was nice to just be Phil.

[egelantier]

Tian Guan Ci Fu

where is it and what is it

it’s a chinese webnovel by mxtx, the same author who did untamed; it exists as a webnovel, finished and kindly translated here, the manhwa, the donghua (animated adaptation) happening right now, and there’s a live action adaptation in plans, directed by the same guy who did untamed. the donghua is gorgeous, the adaptation i’m unsure about but prepared to be hopeful, the manhwa seems to be very pretty. but all the adaptations only cover the very beginning of the novel for now, so i went ahead and read the novel, and i have no regrets. it helps that the translation is very good - not without awkward translatorese, but it has consistent and engaging flow and style, and it’s also pretty good at conveying mxtx’s humor without awkwardness. it reads pretty well.

what’s it about?

the world is split into two parts: mortals and various ghosts and demons and entities share the land, while ‘heaven officials’, aka gods, live in the heavenly kingdom in the sky. pretty much anybody can become a god if they do something really heroic or memorable and/or cultivate (meditation, training, virtuous behavior) really hard. when above, the gods rule their domains and fulfill their believers’ wishes; they work sort of like pratchettian gods, dependent on their followers’ beliefs and getting influenced by them. heavens are strictly hierarchical, with their own economy and pecking order, and the gods aren’t particularly sinless or benevolent; mostly it’s a question of scale.

our hero, xie lian, is a prince of a prosperous kingdom who’s been on a fast track to ascension for most of his very short life; he’s talented, he’s virtuous, he’s kind, he’s strong, and his only peculiar flaw is (somehow naive, but well-meaning) obsession with equality and value of human lives and so on. he becomes a god, unexpectedly, at seventeen, after slaying one especially dangerous god, and rises in heaven at the peak of his faith, influence and happiness.

…and then he finds out about drought and incipient trouble in his own kingdom, and, being a young and righteous god too close to his mortality, eschews heavens and returns to save everybody. it, to put it lightly, does not go well. at all. in fact, it goes catastrophically wrong, and, having lost everything, xie lian ascends again, only to get into a fight with the heavenly emperor, and get banished again, this time for good. he roams the mortal lands for next eight hundred of very lonely, luckless and hard years, technically immortal but not invincible, with his powers and his luck stripped away, and leans to make do, eking out a living as a scrap collector. his temples are desecrated, his name is forgotten, his kingdom is long gone, and - well. so it goes.

so it goes! until one day, to everybody’s great surprise, he ascends once again: a humble, gentle, immune to embarrassment, unflappable man, an embarrassment to heavens, a 'laughingstock of three realms’ who just wants to be left well enough alone. he’s Tired.

instead of rest, he gets sent to investigate a dangerous ghost stealing brides who pass through its mountain, and there, during the course of the interrogation, has his first (he thinks) meeting with a terrifying, old-powerful and vengeful ghost king named hua cheng, who likes to terrorize heavens from time to time. but said ghost king seems to be very benevolent and very interested in helping xie lian, and xie lian is pretty instantly smitten… with knowing what’s the cause of such interest.

…and meanwhile, in the beginning, there'was an unlucky boy, born under the worst stars, whom xie lian saved from falling once, while still mortal, and promptly lost track of. a lot of things happened to this boy, who wanted to be the most devoted worshipper to xie lian the god of the sword and the flower. as one does, you know.

that’s the beginning! from there on: investigations, heavenly secrets, old friends and enemies and acquaintances, thematic parallels, old tragedies, more pining than you can shake a stick at, grand acts of love.

is it good?

it’s very, very good. it’s the first fantasy cnovel i read (aside from the hilarious one about a guy traveling back in his own timeline and becoming a sugar baby to a mafia boss, which was in a very different league), so i don’t know which things are baseline and which things are unique, but it had a very solid foundation: ambitious multilevel, multi-timeline plot coming together in the end both events- and emotions-wise, beautifully iddy main relationship, maybe multifaceted characters who change and grow and clash together in fun ways, a clear and heartfelt understanding of its own core themes.

it’s also, unexpectedly, very funny, in this visual, slapsticky, begs-to-be-adapted way - i found myself laughing out loud over it a lot of times, and it possesses this gift of swerve between understated but earnest emotions and all-out jokes that i associate with… a bit of prattchett and a bit of gintama, honestly. take it as you will.

(oh my god the mecha. i will laugh over this one until i die.)

it also made me cry several times; granted, it’s not like it’s this time, but those were very heartfelt tears.

and the main duo?

first let me say that xie lian was lifted out, wholesale, out of my deepest character preferences. he fell really, really far, and did some bad things, and some very horrible things were done to him, and by the time we meet him he went through everything and achieved this effortless kind of traumatized, humble, accepting, wryly self-deprecating, utterly competent chill that makes a character incredibly appealing to me. he’s kind, and he’s sweet, and he’s gotten any possible embarrassment at least a couple of centuries ago, and he kinda made peace with himself and kinda didn’t. i love him.

and, thankfully for me, hua cheng, the ghost king, loves him a whole damn lot, a ridiculous amount, an epic, over-the-lifetimes, life-shattering amount, and he’s a terrifying presence to everybody else and a shy, protective, sweet dork to xie lian, and every time they’re together on page my entire heart is just. it’s AMAZING. he’s a great combination of playing the obsessive protective yandere stalker-lover trope straight and putting it on its head, by making hua cheng not just revere but respect xie lian, in all his good and bad decisions.

they are just so - good for each other, holy shit. they get each other so well. they’re the best ever power team. i love them.

(the rest of canon is various character reenacting “really? in front of my salad?” meme at them. it’s hysterical, and it’s the best. everybody teams up to tell xie lian that his boyfriend is Problematic way, way before xie lian clues into the fact that he does have a boyfriend, and he’s having none of it. i love it.)

and the themes?

okay, so. roughly half of this novel is ridiculous iddy pining, and a fourth of it is various tropes (off the top of my head: soulbond, sex pollen, body switch, de-age, various shades of identity porn… crossdressing…) played very shamelessly. but it also really benefits from having an overarching set of ethical questions, and while it deals with them a bit shounen-style, it still deals with them, and it makes the whole text fresh, and sweet, and bold.

is it possible to save everybody? should you try to save everybody? if you lack the powers to back your convictions, does it make you complicit? when is it possible to stop the cycle of suffering, what can you do if you want to but can’t? if you tried and people you failed turned on you, whose fault it is, where does the blame stop?

Detailed spoilers begin from here, and i would REALLY advise to stay unspoiled, because the domino reveals are very fun

i loved the various ways the novel sets all those pieces up and then overturns them and then returns to them. xie lian wanted to save everybody and it was arrogant naivete of an untried, untested, privileged young man who never had a real challenge before; his presence made things escalate quicker, and yet everybody around him pretended it was his attempt to make things better that ruined everything, and not a combination of factors outside of his control. and yet he accepts the blame, because it dovetails with his shame at not having enough powers to back his intent up; and yet his triumph over bai wuxian is that he doesn’t, after all, renege on his initial drive to help people.

my most favorite part of this novel is that its turning point, the lynchpin of the whole novel, the moment that keeps xie lian’s soul and safety intact, is not his personal purity and drive; it’s not even hua cheng’s devotion and sacrificial love. it’s just a moment of little, grudging, human kindness from a little, petty, rude man whom the history will sweep away soon. the bamboo hat in the rain. the rest of the plot keeps twisting and turning and coming back to itself, but this? this was unquestionably, beautifully clear, and i loved it. it’s never about the gods, it’s all down to - fallen human is human, ascended human is human, and human is not some state, virtuous or sinful, you get stuck with - it’s a multitude of choices, and there’s never a final one.

and incoherent spoilery screaming for people who read it already

oh my god i had SO MUCH FUN. i’ve been flailing on meme for days, because somebody just finished reading there too, and i’m still bursting with ALL THE FEELS. ruoye origins oh my god! that hat! jin wu’s backstory and ultimate end! e-ming’s praise kink! pei ming’s little shippery 'hoho’! hua cheng’s horribly handwritten stick and poke tattoo of xie lian’s name! the lanteeeeeeeeeeeeerns. feng xin and mu qing on the bridge, making up with each other and with xie lian! hua cheng trying to explain to xie lian that his habit of using himself as bait and pincushion at any given moment is deeply emotionally upsetting to him, and succeeding! banyue’s learning from xie lian to be a truly horrible cook! the entire deal with shi qingxuan and he xuan and the wind fan in the end. THE CAVE. THE GIANT MECHA. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and i am beset, beset by feelings. come scream with me.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 20

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 20 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story (Part 2)

Early the next morning, the members of the Chen family walked back from their relatives and saw that the orange tree in their courtyard had fallen down and the oranges were spread all over the ground. There weren't many other residents around here. They were only close with the Luo family. When they thought of how Luo Xianxian drooled over those oranges every day, the Chen family were sure——

The oranges must have been stolen by that bastard child, Luo Xianxian!

Not only did she steal them but she got jealous and chopped down their orange tree!

The Chen family immediately went to Luo Shusheng to complain. Luo Shusheng couldn't bear such humiliation. He immediately called his daughter over and asked her angrily if she stole the oranges.

Luo Xianxian cried and said no.

He asked if she had cut the tree down.

Again, Luo Xianxian said no.

He asked her if she had eaten the oranges.

Luo Xianxian couldn't lie so she had to admit that she did.

Before she could explain, her furious father ordered her to kneel down. She was beaten with a ruler in front of the Chen family. While he beat her, he said: "Raising a daughter is much worse than raising a sun! At such a young age, how could you do such a thing? Shame on you! You disgraced your father! As punishment, you won't have anything to eat today and you'll face the wall for three days. Think about your mistakes and repent--"

"Dad, it wasn't me! It really wasn't me!"

"How dare you talk back to me!"

No one believed her. Although the Lower Cultivation World was in chaos Caidie Town was an exception. The town had always been simple and honest, no one locked their door. What was she supposed to say; that a bloody lunatic ran in in the middle of the night? Who would believe it?

Luo Xianxian's small hands were split open from the beating.

The members of the Chen family looked at her coldly. Only the oldest boy among them, pulling at the corner of his mother's clothes, hesitated to speak.

His mother ignored him and there was nothing he could do about it. The boy's small face scrunched up. He couldn't bear it, and he stood off to the side, unwilling to look anymore.

At night, Luo Xianxian didn't dare go back to her room, squatting under the eaves of her house, standing pitifully.

Her father was a scholar and couldn't tolerate stealing. Moreover, he had a rotten and sour aura, and he was stubborn, unwilling to listen to explanations.

Luo Xianxian's head was dizzy after a day with no food. Suddenly someone whispered to her: "Miss Luo."

Luo Xianxian turned his head and saw a well-groomed head protruding from the edge of the dirt wall. It was Chen Bohuan, the eldest son of the Chen family who tried to help her plead her case earlier.

Chen Bohuan did a couple checks over the dirt wall to make sure no one was watching. He was carrying a hot steamed bun in his arms, and without saying a word, he shoved it into her hand.

"I know you've been standing by the wall all day and haven't eaten anything. Here's a steamed bun. Hurry up and eat it."

"I..." Luo Xianxian had always been shy. She had lived here for several months and had never spoken to her neighbour's son. Now, they were so close together that she inadvertently took a few steps back and banged her head against the wall. Still, she stammered out: "I couldn't. . . Dad won't let me. . . He said. . ."

She was incoherent and couldn't even form a complete sentence.

Chen Bohuan said: "Oh, your father's watching you at all times? What do you care what he's doing? If you're hungry, don't starve yourself. Eat it. If you don't, it'll get cold."

The steamed bun was soft and white, looking so enticing, steam rising from it.

Luo Xianxian looked down and stared for a while, taking a large gulp.

She was so hungry, too. Regardless of whether she was supposed to be a gentleman or not, she grabbed the steamed bun and inhaled it, gobbling it up in no time.

After eating it, she raised her round eyes and rushed to explain to Chen Bohuan: "I didn't cut down the orange tree, and I try to steal any."

Chen Bohuan was taken aback, and slowly smiled: "Okay."

"But they don't believe me. . ." With such an emotional gaze, Luo Xianxian's heart slowly opened, her anger melting away like snow. She wailed, her mouth wide open. She wiped her tears and wept loudly: "None of them believe me. . . I didn't steal. . . I didn't. . ."

Chen Bohuan patted her back: "I know you didn't steal it. Like come on, you stand under the tree and stare at it every day yet you never took an orange. You would've stolen some a long time ago. . ."

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" Her crying became more fierce, tears and snot rolling on her face.

Chen Bohuan consoled her: "You didn't do it, you didn't do it."

The two children got to know each other very well.

Later, there was a murder in a neighbouring village. A few nights ago, a bandit covered in blood entered a family's home and wanted to borrow the family's bedroom to sleep. When the man did not agree, the bandit stabbed the family to death. Then, in the room full of corpses, he slept peacefully and leisurely left the next day during the daylight. He left and even left a message written in blood on the wall. He wrote out a large message, detailing everything he had done to make sure the world knew that an evil individual like him existed.

This tragedy immediately spread like wildfire, and soon reached Caidie Town. That was the night Luo Xianxian admitted she had met "Mr. Madman".

Luo Shusheng and the Chen family were speechless.

After the misunderstanding was cleared up, the two families were in much closer contact. The Chen family saw that Luo Xianxian was cute hardworking little beauty. They thought that, based on their current situation, it would be difficult to find a daughter-in-law, so they quickly arranged the marriage of Chen Bohuan and Luo Xianxian. Once they reached adulthood, they would officially be wed.

When Luo Shusheng saw his daughter and Chen Bohuan were good childhood friends, so he readily agreed.

As the days passed, if it weren't for Luo Shusheng's love of elegance and fragrance, then the Chen and Luo families would live lives of poverty and tranquillity as they had originally expected.

Unfortunately, Luo Shusheng accidentally made the "Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder".

Although the scent of the powder was nothing special and it wasn't much different from the typical powders in town, it had a benefit that ordinary powders didn't——

It could last for a hundred days with a neverending afterglow.

Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder lasted for a long time and it didn't wear off easily. It was exactly what everyday people were looking for in terms of good quality and low price.

Luo Shusheng, Mr. "Everything is inferior; the only excellence is in academia." Even though he made the powder, he didn't want to sell it, thinking that he "would lose his identity."

If he didn't sell it, naturally others will worry about it.

Madam Chen repeatedly tried to get the recipe out of him and urged Luo Shusheng to open a shop, but she was always rejected. After going back and forth, Madam Chen got embarrassed, so she stopped bringing it up, but she silently always kept it in mind.

The year Luo Xianxian reached adulthood, the opportunity came. Luo Shusheng's sickly body had contracted tuberculosis. He suffered for a few days then died. As Luo Xianxian's in-laws, even though she wasn't officially their daughter-in-law yet, they were still close friends, so they got busy helping her arrange the funeral.

Luo Xianxian burst into tears of gratitude. What she didn't know was that Madam Chen had a plan to quietly walk away with the secret powder recipe while she packed up Luo Shusheng's things.

That night, Madam Chen, under the light of a soybean oil lamp, was full of excitement, ready to read the recipe. After only one glance, she was at a loss.

Luo Shusheng's words danced across the page, calligraphy that typically would be considered elegant and unrestrained. She stared at it for a long time, but she couldn't understand half of the words.

She had no choice but to return the recipe quietly.

A few months later, after Luo Xianxian had a chance to grieve, she invited the girl over to their house for dinner and "inadvertently" mentioned the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder in a passing conversation.

Luo Xianxian thought to herself there was no point in keeping the recipe at home. Her mother-in-law treated herself so well. If she wanted it, she'd give it to her.

So she found it her father's things and helped Madam Chen to distinguish the individual characters and sort out the precise recipe.

Madam Chen was ecstatic. When she got the recipe, she and her husband opened a perfume shop together.

Of course, she was still very fond of her gentle and sensible prospective daughter-in-law. The more Luo Xianxian grew, the more beautiful she became. Although her family was unfortunate, her looks were some of the best in town and many young people in the town began to pay attention to her.

A long night is filled with dreams*, Madam Chen thought to herself. They'd need to hurry and secure the marriage.

*(T/N: 夜长梦多 - means that the longer something is put off, the more likely something will happen before you're able to do it)

However, Luo Xianxian just lost his father. According to the custom of Caidie Town, she couldn't get married for three years after the death of her parent.

How could Madam Chen wait for three years? She deliberated and thought of a way--

One day, Luo Xianxian was braiding the hair of the Chen's family young daughter. She had a very good relationship with the youngest Chen daughter. Luo Xianxian pulled the hair over and under and the braid trailed down her back.

Madam Chen walked into the courtyard and called Luo Xianxian to the inner hall. She said to her: "Xianxian, you and Bohuan were childhood sweethearts and had a marriage arranged. Now that your father is gone, you must be lonely. It can't be easy living by yourself. You should be getting married this year. But we have the three-year mourning period, so you can't get married, so I got thinking: if you wait for three years, how old are you going to be?

Luo Xianxian lowered her head. She didn't say anything but she was clever and could guess what Madam Chen was insinuating. Her cheeks grew slightly red.

Sure enough, Madam Chen went on to say:

"Living alone must be so difficult and tiring. How about this - you two get married behind closed doors. No one needs to know. If anyone asks, just say that you're living with your auntie to help care for her and preparing to be her daughter-in-law. This will not only complete the wedding rituals without the worry of being criticized, but also give your father some peace in the underworld. After the three-year period is up, we'll have a beautiful proper wedding for you two, alright?"

Her remarks sounded like she cared about Luo Xianxian. Luo Xianxian was a person who always saw the best in others and would never think badly about someone else so she agreed.

Later, the Chen family made a fortune by selling the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder. They moved out of their old house, bought a large piece of land in the town, built a mansion on it, and became a powerful family.

Luo Xianxian had become a shadow among the many figures of the large household, an infrequent presence.

People in the town thought that Luo Xianxian had been taken in by Madam Chen, so she lived in the Chen house. They didn't know that she was actually married to Chen Bohuan.

Although it wasn't perfect, Luo Xianxian thought that her mother-in-law was doing this for her own good so that people didn't gossip, so she didn't complain. In addition, Chen Bohuan was dear to her, the couple living a sweet and fulfilling life. They only need to wait for the three-year period to pass then everything would return to normal.

But Luo Xianxian didn't wait for the day of the official wedding.

The Chen family business was growing larger and larger. In addition, Chen Bohuan was handsome. Not just in Caidie Town but even the daughters of the big families in the surrounding towns had begun to play with the idea of marrying Young Master Chen. With this development, Madam Chen's mind was racing.

Back then, she decided to secure Luo Xianxian because she thought she wouldn't be able to find a good daughter-in-law when they were nothing but a farming family.

Who would have thought that the heavens would bless the Chen family and allow them to soar into high society? Now, when she looked back at Luo Xianxian, she felt that the girl was not good-looking enough and she wasn't intelligent enough. Like her dead father, she was unpleasant to look at.

She regretted it a bit.

The appearance of Yao Qianjin turned her "a bit" into "a lot".

Yao Qianjin is the daughter of the county magistrate. She loved men in positions. One day she returned from hunting on a horse. She passed by an incense shop and picked out a few fragrance powders. It didn't matter what fragrances she picked out, but she caught a glimpse of the busy handsome young man in the hall.

The gentleman was no other than Luo Xianxian's husband, Chen Bohuan.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[caffernnn]

Ok but imagine haru with the rage of achilles if something really did happened to makoto. Haru ripping through the waters desperate to finish his heat, winning race after race without thinking about actually winning but catching after a hand that's supposed to be reaching out to him at the end, only to realize that there will be no one waiting for him at the starting block; hurrying up to finish his events and racing to arrive home yelling "tadaima" only to realize no one to call him back with "okaeri"; the meaning of swimming lost to him as he only wishes to crush anybody before him, because he is achilles who lost his patroclus, his better half, the one who reminds him who he really is, and he races like there is no tomorrow because he doesn't have anything to lose because his everything has already been lost.

Haru who exhausts himself to death because the only voice of reason he really listens to is no longer to be heard; refusing to sleep because the memories of a face he gazed at since forever haunting him whenever he closes his eyes, too close yet too far only to remind him he can no longer see that face once he opens his eyes; haru who longs for yet despises the smell of chlorine, the smell of someone so etched in his memory that he cannot intake ever again. He refuses to sleep in a bed too wide for his slender build, too cold without the embrace of a warm furnace that envelops his entire figure, him feeling like a puzzle with a missing piece slotting into plqce with his.

Haru as achilles without his patroclus who keeps him human. Haru without makoto who he will return to, to share a bath and late night swims with, who reminds him that swimming is not about the competition but the fun of being together in the water. Haru as achilles, whose only goal is to defeat anyone and everyone, and longing to be with someone who no longer exists. Haru as achilles who wishes to be with his patroclus, and nothing else matters as long as they're not together. Haru with the rage of achilles, an entity with no reminder of the human he once was.

Fuck this greek mythology brainrot I've been rereading the illiad over and over again with my favorite gay couple and with the new trailer I really can't help but correlate patrochilles with makoharu and think of an impending tragedy for our swimming soulmates since birth.

Oh this one hurts! It’d be like what we saw with Rin when he lost himself before/during season one — feeling steeped in grief and isolated from that ineffable thing that makes swimming more than just a means to an end for him. There are so many aspects of this that make me ache because trying to do any sort of healing would involve some of the hardest conversations.

Haru beating himself up in confusion because he always said he swam for his friends, and he did, for all of them, he swears. His swimming heart has been split and stored for safekeeping with his friends and teammates as he’s rediscovered and reinvented his motivation/dream over the past few years. He tried so hard to protect himself in subtle ways from his worst fear, giving himself a whole family to rely on no matter what… so why does not having Makoto by his side make him feel like he’s drowning?

Arguing with Azuma because he thought Haru was going to prove him wrong and not fall into hopelessness like he did. Haru argues in his rage that he’s being strong and “not quitting like you did,” and it doesn’t take long for Ryuuji and everyone else remotely close to Haru to see that this is almost worse than if he’d just quit or taken a break.

His friends are scared because they aren’t used to Haru falling into rage. Friends like Rin were always the ones to ignite in their despair, and friends like Sousuke kept trudging on in denial and/or spite of the problems. Haru was one who drew into himself anytime the world got too scary, isolating from people and water. Something in him must’ve broke this time around, because he isn’t looking at the world like it’s this overwhelming thing to hide away from — Haru wants to fight.

The situation sucks because Haru would have to be the one to ultimately pull himself together enough to stop punishing himself with racing/training/etc, but I wonder which friends would be crucial in keeping him afloat. Makoto’s position in all of this hurts because this isn’t just something that could happen with him dying; I can imagine Haru falling into this grief if something happened that made Makoto have to leave Tokyo and/or put his college career on hold indefinitely while he heals. It would break Makoto to hear about it all secondhand while stuck in Iwatobi, trying not to feel like it’s his fault when Haru’s shutting out the world again and insisting he’s fine on the few phone calls he answers. The Tokyo guys (Asahi, Ikuya, etc.) would be important because they’re the ones witnessing it all firsthand, who are close enough to see Haru and try to reach out face-to-face. I honestly think it’d have to be Rin and Sousuke who try to help him through it all, though — the rage mirrors too many of the emotions they both went through in the early stages of knowing about and struggling with Sousuke’s shoulder injury. I just know sitting Haru down long enough for them to talk about their old emotions and work through Haru’s fresh and confusing ones would suuuuck.

It hurts because even though the reaction is violent and confusing at first, it goes back to that self-sacrificing and punishing way makoharu deals with the impending tragedies they find themselves stuck in in so many universes. It’s this beautiful relationship because there are so many ways in that it feels seamless and soothing, but that stems from a lifetime of working to stay close and learning how to love each other. Their bond is built on an intensity that beckons despair because they’ve built each other so high up that you just know losing each other in any way would make them fall hard.

I hate the idea of anything actually happening to Makoto in the movies, I really do, but I’m still morbidly curious to see what Haru would do in the wake of it all: implode, or explode.

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

101 Open MHA Gen Prompts

I had a very long ask game where people gave me fake titles and I came up with fic ideas to go with them.  Multiple people asked to use some of them as prompts, and some of my friends have lately maligned the lack of gen prompts out there, so I decided to compile them all into a single post.  Almost all of these are gen, aka not shipping, but you can do what you want I’m not your boss.  Everything is free and open to use WITH CREDIT, so have fun with my word vomit.

1. In Dreams I Had the Sun - Being the number one hero isn’t all it’a cracked up to be, Toshinori realizes early on

2. The Chainlink Fence that Held the Ocean - In his new book post-retirement, All Might opens up about his regrets, struggles with mental health, and his issues with the hero system as a whole.  The backlash is swift and intense.

3. Welcome to the Loud Silence - After an injury, Izuku is rendered deaf.

4. Water Since Turned Red - After a villain attack nearly kills All Might, the beach where Izuku used to go to find comfort now feels tainted.

5. all scrap left untouched is bound together - A group hero students who failed the provincial license exam for the third time, effectively ending their careers before they start, get together to take revenge on UA’s first years who beat them out.

6. You’ve saved more more times than you know - Times All Might saved people without his powers, just by being a cool, nice dude.

7. No Amount of Tragedy Can Justify Your Actions - A dying All for One tries to justify his centuries of cruelty to an uncaring Toshinori.

8. To Leave a Cage Locked - One for All is conscious and has a will of its own, one that doesn’t always line up with Izuku’s wellbeing.

9. Okay, who let in the Kraken? - Izuku is the reincarnation of an ancient eldritch horror.

10. keep us alive up above - Izuku and Shigaraki get trapped together somewhere.  Izuku knows he needs the villain’s help to survive and escape, but the other would rather they both die.

11. The world will revolve around me neither less - The ebbs and flows of AFO’s influence over the years.

12. More Roulette, Not Russian - Kids get their quirks swapped.

13. Patron Saints - Toshinori teaches a class about pre-quirk superhero comic characters and their influence.

14. Don't Come Back - Touya Todoroki’s first few weeks after a severe injury resulted in his father abandoning him.

15. The Blessed and the Fool - Toshinori meets up with a few of his ua classmates after retiring.

16. Not Your Sacrifice - Some of the other kids have started adopting some of Izuku’s self sacrificing habits and the teachers are concerned.

17. Break in the Storm - Villains use a power outage as an opening to break into ua.

18. One Day Those Consequences Will Finally Catch Up - Even though the teachers don’t take her concerns seriously, Inko saves every piece of evidence regarding people hurting her son.

19. a garden in their eyes - Izuku meets a fan who got injured after trying to step into a villain fight, just like he did, and it makes him question some things.

20. what could have been, if not for you - After Inko divorces him, Hisashi’s goes to the press to say All Might stole his wife and son.

21. Promised Misery - All Might finds out the severity of Bakugou’s bullying, and warns him he’s on thin ice with him.

22. Fly Up Higher, Blossom Brighter - Izuku has to write a paper for middle school about being positive, intercut with all the bullshit he has to deal with.

23. Libre Me from Hell - One of Izuku’s new quirks is spiral related.

24. No One to Blame but Yourself - Izuku’s kindness doesn’t extend to murderers, tragic backstory or not.

25. At Its Finest - Izuku accidentally gets involved in a hero commission coverup.

26. A Rising Issue - Izuku starts developing more severe side effects of his injuries.  He’s convinced he’s under the influence of a quirk, while the adults thing he’s finally gone too far hurting himself.

27. What you are in the Dark - Izuku usually keeps most of his anger to himself until he can’t.

28. nowhere to go - Inko moves into UA after their home was destroyed.

29. Something Without - My theory about the 2 OFA vestiges that are blurred out is they don’t approve of izuku as a successor.  Izuku tries to figure out why. 

30. Walking with a Ghost - Toshinori joins the OFA dreams while he’s in a coma.  He gets to reunite with nana, and is more open to Izuku about his past and feelings.  Part of his starts to wonder if it’s worth waking up, since he will die and join the others eventually.

31. Death By Crying - Izuku is affected by a quirk that will suffocate him if he expresses any emotion.

32. Justice is Subjective - The hero commission gets to Shigaraki before AFO does.  

33. Undo / Underdog - Death loop fic.  Izuku keeps reliving the day he met all might after being killed by the sludge villain.  he has to find a way to break the loop and survive, but he gets s little weaker every time he restarts.

34. Like Wildfire - A rumor that Izuku is All Might’s bio son picks up steam, and the characters have to decide whether to deny it but risk suspicion or play along and add a new layer to the lies protecting one for all.

35. Once Upon A December - All Might and Inko actually met in the past trope.

36. Some Legends Are Told - All Might’s first interview post-retirement.

37. Will The Real Mentor Please Stand Up - Aizawa considers himself the better teacher, but a lot of the kids seem to like All Might more.

38. I don't want the cure, I want the POISON! - Inko is killed in a hit and run, and Izuku becomes desperate to find the killer.

39. I will kill my heart before I dance on stage for these bigots - Izuku is interviewed as a rising star of UA, and the interviewer brings in some of his old bullies because they claimed to be his friends from middle school.  Izuku does not play along.

40. Split Ends - A quirk gives Izuku brief visions of what would have happened if he made different decisions.

41. Dreamless Sleep - A One for All dream leaves Izuku with a cryptic half-warning, and he desperately experiments to try and figure out how to trigger the visions to get the rest of it.

42. toxic flowers and pretty blades - Young Inko escapes the constricting life of her cruel wealthy family by becoming a vigilante.

43. The Suns we Orbit - Some of the other teachers believe Izuku is too codependent on Toshinori, and separate them for a time.

44. Submerged - Similar to those buried alive fics only someone’s in a box at the bottom of the ocean.

45. Deprive - Izuku also loses his stomach to an injury, and struggles to adjust to the necessary lifestyle changes.

46. The ashes fall like snow - Post Kamino cleanup.

47. Home will always be here - Inko cares for Izuku after he’s sent home due to “trouble at work study” but he refuses to clarify what that means.

48. Playing Favorites - A look at several times where Izuku was punished, while Bakugou got off scot free.

49. Elusive Dreams - Some kind of training or issue forces the kids to stay away for several consecutive day, and they start losing it.

50. Fracture - Izuku struggles through physical therapy after a severe injury that leaves his hero career in question.

51. Starlight, Starbright - Space cadet au

52. Someone in Your Corner - Gran Torino looking after Nana, Toshi, and finally Izuku through the years.

53. I cast magic missile into the darkness - Generic “the gang plays d&d” fic.

54. One Month At A Time - Izuku breaks a limb, and has to let in heal naturally over the course of several months.

55. Head Above Water - Izuku runs out of his pain meds and can’t get access to more doses for a while, so he has to endure not only the pain, but the withdrawal symptoms.

56. Are you going to leave a path to trace - All Might uses a new strategy to try and get Izuku to be less self sacrificial: what about all the young kids who are going to look up to him?

57. The View from Halfway Down - Izuku realizes that a risky move has just landed him with a potentially life threatening injury, but the fight it still going.

58. The Dust Bites Back - A villain All Might defeated early in his career is back and out for revenge.

59. The Absence of your Worth - Nighteye thinks he’s put together a rock solid case for why izuku isn’t worthy of One for All.  All Might’s response is to ask if he has something against quirkless people.

60. Behind the Screens Nobody is Afraid - All Might explains some of the context of his most popular hero videos to Izuku.  They are much more tragic than the media has spun them in hindsight.

61. Under the Light of the Moon - Someone gets turned into a werewolf.  And I ain’t talking the wattpad piss shit.  I’m talking full-on back-breaking monstrous transformations into a bloodthirsty abomination set to Bad Moon Rising.

62. some dreams were made to be broken - Bakugou crosses a line and finally gets expelled.

63. You Say You're Into Closure - Izuku finally beats Bakugou in a one on one fight fair and square, but Bakugou is a sore loser.

64. Something or Someone Missing - AU’s memories of Izuku get wiped, but those closest to him can’t help but feel an absence.

65. Too Little Too Late - Izuku’s father returns to find he’s been replaced.

66. Collecting Dust - Inko goes through the stuff Izuku didn’t take to the dorms.

67. Where the souls of wanderers go - Toshi meets up with a retired hero support group.

68. Fragility of Trust - Suspected traitor au

69. no one answered - Izuku is trapped in a cell in a building that’s collapsing in slow motion due to a quirk.

70. Eye of the Storm - One of the other kids has a panic attack for the first time between public appearances.  izuku has never seen from from the outside.

71. To Whom It May Concern - The kids find a mysterious collection of letters from previous students hidden in the ceiling of the classroom.  Some are ominous, some are incomprehensible.  Aizawa has no answers.  They enthusiastically go to try and solve the mystery within, but that excitement quickly diminishes the more they find out.

72. Of Popsicles and Ponytails - All Might gets in a discussion with the other teachers about whether the Clark Kent glasses thing would actually work.  All Might bets them it does, so he goes around town with no disguise other than his hair being up, and no one bats an eye.

73. All Men are Not Born Equal - Word gets out to the public that izuku used to be quirkless.  Everyone finds out just how deep anti-quirkless sentiments run when some begin to question whether a quirkless kid should be at ua, regardless of whether or not he has a quirk now.

74. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies - Something about encountering death in person for the first time being the dividing line between child and adult.

75. Sins of the Father - All for One has had many children over the centuries, and has made numerous attempts to groom them into the ideal heir with several different methods.  None of them worked though.

76. Where The Dead Come To Rest - The kids come home after a long, grueling mission where they saw some shit, and are too tired to process what they went through.  They take off their gear for plain clothes, then sit in the common room in silence long into the night, not wanting to open themselves up but also not wanting to be alone.

77. Rivalry - Nighteye tries to pit Izuku and Mirio against one another.  It goes right over Mirio’s head, but Izuku becomes convinced the other boy is in on Nighteye’s plan to wear him down until he gives up One for All.

78. A Subtle Language - All Might and Nana never said out loud that they loved each other, but little things told them that they did.  All Might hopes to pass a similar love down to his own successor.  But Izuku is very different than himself as a kid, and he needs to learn a new subtle language of affection.

79. It’s Gone - One for All stops working one day.

80. A Sight For Sore Eyes - All Might looking after Izuku in the aftermath of the second movie.

81. Loose Lips (sink ships) - Bakugou blurts out something about One for All during a rage, so the rest of the class jump on him and Izuku for answers.

82. No Expectations - Word gets out that All Might is going to choose a successor.  None of the theories or speculation online resemble Izuku in the slightest.

83. Eden was Only a Garden - Izuku gets hit with a quirk that erases some of his most traumatic memories, but in doing so loses part of who he is.

84. Run it Down - With all Izuku’s new quirks and his incredible skill, some of the other students with similar powers (Iida, Sero, Uraraka) start to feel like izuku is upstaging them.  And it affects their friendship.

85. Fool's Gold - Bakugou grows even more jealous of Izuku having One for All, and his relationship with All Might.  He thinks that if he could just prove himself to be more worthy, All Might would change his mind and name him his successor.  But in reality, he ends up jeopardizing the relationship they already have.

86. somewhere down the road - The final deadline for Nighteye’s predictions passes, and All Might lives.  He debates telling Izuku, as even though it would be a weight off the boy’s mind, he doesn’t want to jinx it.  He will still die eventually after all.

87. Just For You - All Might has certain rules and boundaries for fan interactions that he completely ignores for Izuku.

88. if these walls could talk (their whispers would be maddening) - Montage of training accidents in a ‘cursed’ ua gym

89. If Only I Could... - Nighteye tells Mirio about One for All, including that he thinks he’s more deserving than Izuku and he plans to pressure him into giving it up.  Mirio struggles with the knowledge that his mentor, someone he respected more than anything, only saw him as a replacement for All Might, meanwhile watching Izuku strain under the pressure of that mentor’s impossible expectations.

90. This is a Test Designed to Provoke an Emotional Response - shameless Blade Runner AU

91. Once and for All - Retelling of the Superman story “What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice, and the American Way?” with All Might.  Some new heroes use much more aggressive and violent tactics against villains while also upstaging All Might.  That, and there general approval from the public cause All Might to question his moral code.

92. Sitting In The Rain - Tsuyu likes to just sit out in the rain sometimes.  Not do anything, just sit there.  Some friends decide to join her.

93. At Sundown - Mysterious creatures start attacking ua every night.  The gang works tirelessly during the day to find the cause and a solution, while defending their school and each other at night.

94. The 1000th time's the charm - Uraraka has been practicing a new move in secret but they just can’t get it right.  She wants it to be perfect before showing it off.  But one attempt gets her seriously hurt while training alone at night in one of the gyms, and she’s too hurt to get up to the phone to call for help.

95. Sunflower Seeds - All Might attempts to start a garden as a new hobby.

96. What It Means To Be Human - Sun god Toshi starts living among people.

97. Eyes on Me - All Might teaches Izuku some unarmed fighting moves to defend himself from bullies.

98. one remains - Izuku has developed all but one of the quirks he’s slated to, and he has no idea what it will be.  Anxiety ensues.

99. Come Back Home - Izuku vanishes from campus and everyone assumes he was kidnapped, but in reality he ran away to try and clear his head after a depressive spiral.  He goes by train as far away as he can until he comes to his senses and calls the others.

100. I Won - Izuku accidentally managed to kill Shigaraki during a skirmish, and while everyone around him praises his heroics, he struggles to deal with the fact that he killed someone.

101. Ivory Tower - All Might grapples with how much izuku suffered as a quirkless person, how he could have done more for quirkless rights in his time as a hero, and how now people may not care as much because he’s retired.

Reminder to credit me if you use any of these prompts, and a special thanks to everyone who submitted titles!