#they shall be mourned by me and only me but sometimes that's enough

[uravictory]

in. in honor of bnha being over let me throw in my old old old olddd oldddddddd redesign concepts because i love you women. don't say i never did anything for you women. i'm sorry that you had to be in a manga written by a man, my dear dear women.

[talesofesther]

and still, you have me

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After everyone has left his side, you go find him.

A/N: A little something to heal our hearts from the finale. Here's a shameless plug of my ongoing series with Aemond, which has similar vibes to this story. <3

Masterlist

The night was late and quiet, tension high in the Keep as war loomed on the horizon. You'd been walking the lone hallways of the castle for a while now, smiling at each member of the king's guard who bowed their head at you.

You'd decided to leave your shared room with Aemond when the night stretched on and he was yet to show up. Having heard of his disagreement with his mother and sister earlier, you had a hunch he was keeping his distance, denying himself respite as he sometimes did.

However, it took you only a short while to find him. At times you thought he did it on purpose, that he wanted to be found, by the people who cared enough to look.

You pushed open the doors of the council chamber, which was now empty. The long table and stone walls softly highlighted by the golden glow of torches and candles. At the far end of the room, the doors that led to the balcony were open, and there, you found your Prince.

Leaning on the balustrade, Aemond overlooked the immensity of King's Landing under the clear night sky, his long silver hair softly moving with the wind.

You walked closer to him, quiet and careful, taking notice of his tense shoulders and head hanging low. If you had to guess, you'd say his talk with Helaena hadn't gone well.

Aemond straightened his back when he heard you approaching, you could almost feel part of his guard coming up again. Despite the way most people feared him, there was something delicate about him, you knew well. Under so many defenses, he protected a fragile heart.

The Prince took a deep breath in, he still refused to turn around and look at you. "Will you leave my side too, ñuha prūmia?" There was a crack in his voice as he spoke the last of his words.

"Only death could make me do such a thing, my love." You promised in the same breath.

Aemond turned around then, taking the remaining step that still separated the two of you. His eye shone bright under the moonlight, as did the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. He tried hard to keep his face impassive as he raised a hand to touch you but pulled away before he did so.

The turmoil was evident in how he softly furrowed his brows as if his thundering heart caused him pain, in how his lower lip wobbled, and how his eye quickly filled with new tears as he looked at the last person who stood by him. There was fear, guilt, and sorrow as he turned into the lonely young boy he once was before your eyes again.

"And what if-" Aemond stumbled in his words. He gulped, breathing through his nose, "What if the Stranger takes me before he does you? What then?" His voice was low and quiet, as if couldn't bring himself to utter the question any louder.

"Then I shall live the rest of my days in black, mourning the loss of the one I love," you spoke just as softly, gently taking one of Aemond's hands in yours. And he shuddered, you couldn't know if it was because of your touch or because of your words. "Yet glad that I got to share my time with you."

Aemond's lips parted, and the tear in his eye hung by his lashes when he blinked. There were suddenly no walls, he could crumble before you, just like that. His hand gripped yours tighter, and before his tear rolled down his cheek, he closed his eye, leaning forward so his forehead rested on yours. "Nyke ȳdra daor gūrogon ao."

You kissed the words, almost as an act of rebellion, your lips finding the edge of his with lingering affection. "Yn emā nyke mirre keskydoso." Devotion and love dripped from each syllable.

A low hum came from Aemond, and he followed after you once you pulled away, chasing your warmth.

"I will go with you," You spoke with ease, catching his gaze so he saw the sincerity in your eyes.

He kept quiet, with shallow and shaky breaths falling past his lips as he simply looked at you. Yet his hand held yours tight, refusing to let go.

"To Harrenhal. I will fly with you." You brought your free hand up, thumb brushing over Aemond's cheek and drying away the single tear that had fallen.

He closed his eye at your touch, and allowed himself to fall, for you were there to catch him. Aemond leaned his head on your shoulder, both arms coming to circle your waist and pull you against his body.

You held him back, squeezing him to you as your fingers buried in his hair. You could feel his tears dampening the fabric of your dress, could feel his nails digging into it with desperation as if you'd vanish if he didn't hold tight enough.

Aemond had refrained from asking you, because of how close you'd been with Rhaenyra once. Perhaps he lacked the courage to ask you to choose sides and risk losing you. Yet now, as you held his broken pieces together under the stars, he realized you'd chosen his side long ago.

If it would be you and him against the world, then so be it.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

High Valyrian translations: ñuha prūmia = my heart nyke ȳdra daor gūrogon ao = I don't deserve you yn emā nyke mirre keskydoso = but you have me all the same

Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[brynn-lear]

When Cuckoos Throw Ores [Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader]

Questionable Overview: After transmigrating to Teyvat, you and Jing Yuan had lived like family on your shared apartment as getting-by descenders. But, you made an error too grave. You hid the anonymous love letters you received from the person you should’ve trusted the most— and now you’ve got yourself a broken mind. [Fic written for May June]

CWs/tags: yandere themes, isekai, moments where you wish Jing Yuan just committed murder instead so it would hurt less, mentions of failed childbirth, nadia & vlad are adorable, implied hysteria, cute n' wholesome beginning w/ found family to "man... man.", gaslighting gatekeep is JY's passion.

"I'm an adult, Jing Yuan! I think I have the right to leave as I please."

Have you ever been so incredibly fascinated by such a mundane object that all worldly noise drowns?

"The right to trample on my heart? To leave me to drown in my despair while you obsess over a single ore without a single thought for me? I must say, it doesn’t seem very sound. Stay put while I call for Doctor Baizhu."

Have you ever had your hand reach out ever so slightly without you realizing such? For your fingers to curl— for you to seize a trinket as though you were compelled by an existence— an idea higher than any mortal comprehension? As though it was fate? As though it was a fruit you weren't meant to take a bite off?

But the most mundane of all…

"There’s no need! Because great General and Emanator of the Hunt Jing Yuan—"

Have you ever lamented a life that "never" happened?

"— I have the right to mourn the happy ending you took from me!"

Though those uninitiated will rehash the root of events in your arrival to the chasm, the most knowledgeable would start the accounts from your arrival to Teyvat.

You did not step foot alone.

When your worldline was destroyed, so, too, was Jing Yuan's. 

Lady Ningguang greeted you both with a good measure of skepticism. You were both "descenders.", though it was soon made evident that your origins are different. He was from "Xianzhou Loufu," and you were from "Earth."  Course, despite your shared tragic circumstances, not everything shall be handed on a silver platter for unfortunate souls. Ningguang was kind enough to provide you both with a shared apartment complex near the fishing port and since then, you and Jing Yuan had a bond not so dissimilar from siblings. He got a job as a general, and your current position is a little more flexible than your previous one.

Whatever principles and studies were available in the previous realms you lived in, they were carried over in Teyvat. Each word circulating about Jing Yuan’s undefeated sword and lance techniques makes you smile; he, in turn, would enthusiastically applaud your sold artworks and STEM innovations. It makes you wholly embarrassed every time he makes what is supposed to be a celebration of his mission’s success into a congratulatory speech for what you’ve done in the same timeframe. Didn’t matter how minute it was. His comrades had already considered the long-standing tradition as a not-so-private joke.

His lack of personal praise worries you sometimes…

There’s a stark difference in your approach to this new life. You mourned for yours being gone; while he doesn’t speak much about his.

“No rush,” he'd say. “All truths shall reveal itself in due time.”

You know about his world, though vaguely. He has a striking resemblance to the character from Honkai: Star Rail. Course, that implies he had gone through similar ordeals as the character. 

“I am an old man, there is nothing for me to grieve.” He told you once. “I have… already witnessed comrades pass, and then some. Have you encountered the phrase: there are fates worse than death?”

Jing Yuan closed his eyes.

“I… find it easier to assume that it might be the only way to put old conflicts to rest.” He shook his head and downed his final shot of baijiu. Yuan sighed, tasting the aftermath in his breath.

“It’s better to put a permanence in death than another forced rebirth.”

He poured you a shot.

"Some memories are better left forgotten. And that applies to you, too."

Whatever he said felt untranslatable to you, hence, you gave up on making more inquiries. If the day comes and he wishes to open up, you'll be there for him anyway.

Or so you thought.

“Heard you’re planning to add another medal to your jacket.” 

Jing Yuan nearly halted from tying his long hair up. You watched his shoulders tremble, likely from trying to compose himself.

“Ha! You've heard a half-truth, I wasn't scheming on anything, it was merely handed to me.” His tone was calm, but you heard the well-hidden smugness.

You shrugged and sipped your coffee nonchalantly. 

… You seriously wish his uniform didn't hug his form that good. Just staring at him makes the room feel degrees hotter. 

You cleared your throat.

“I didn't say anything about schemes, Jing Yuan. Suspicious.”

“Oh?” He hummed, almost sultry for your ears.

…Curse him and his damn beatific smiles.

This playful banter is as natural as the dawn of day. Rather than spending the early morning getting ready for the day, you've both grown accustomed to teasing the other person. He, in his finely ironed uniform, and you, in your comfy pajamas. 

“Since when have I besmirched my name by squandering time? Rude of you to imply that slothfulness rules over my life.” Jing Yuan joked before he moved another piece. “You wound me, dear (Y/n).”

Due to the nature of the conversation, you hadn't thought of your next move much as you continued to probe him. “And what exactly are you doing right now instead of reporting to the Qixing, General?”

He smirked. “I am on-duty, am I not?”

“By talking to me?”

“I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.”

You paused. 

Person of Interest…?

Might as well curse him and his fancy cursive way of implying something too. 

Your nose scrunched. “Are you saying I'M on the Qixing’s watchlist?!—”

“Not in a bad light; don’t worry your pretty head over such menial matters,” he ruffled your hair as he craned over, gazing at your disgruntled morning expression with a loving vigor. “They have an eye for your talent. No Ministry would ever obsess over a clean criminal record.”

You grumbled as you attempted to fix your hair, despite lacking any energy. “Thanks, that calms me down. Especially with the talks about criminal activity on the rise and all.”

He laughed at your snarkiness.

“Is this your best attempt at prying information? I must say, your current occupation suits you. I can now place a finger as to why the thought of Lady Ningguang hiring you as a profiler put me in tremendous unease.”

“Oh don’t be a prick, Yuan.” You chuckled heartily as you gave him a playful slap— which he no doubt avoided. “But seriously, can’t you tell me more about what’s happening?”

There were no further words needed. Such rumors had been on the forefront of the people’s minds: a group of rogue “mercenaries” had found new temptations in banditry— and had the nerve to stew misfortunes on the main harbor itself. As a newly enforced general, Jing Yuan had, of course, been subjected to handling this situation under the ever-watchful gaze of the Qixing. A challenge, as he likes to label it. Whatever helps him sleep at night, you’d reply.

Although, it would certainly soothe YOUR insomnia better if he were to divulge even a hair-sliver of detail in regards to how “safe” this mission truly was.

“(Y/n), there is no cause for concern.” He pulled back, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You know my repertoire— else I wouldn’t consider you a close friend.”

Your heart ached for a second.

In small snippets from the multiple conversations you’ve had with him, you knew he kept his list of close friends few. There’s always a hint of guilt in his voice when he talks about those named Baiheng, Jingliu, Yingxing, and Dan Feng in passing. 

“And I’m just worrying over you,” you lightheartedly glared and waved your hand dismissively. “You know, like a real close friend.”

You both grinned in unison as if telling each other that neither would back down from this “argument” any time soon. He snorted and messed your hair up more. Over the time you’ve spent in each other’s company, your near-telepathic way of conversing has become quite an eerie issue for other mutual friendships. 

Not that either of you minded this. It’s always nice to be understood. 

“I know that look in your eye. Don’t add a part two from last night’s horror stories, please.”

“Then, I’ll take my leave,” he buttoned his jacket. “Last reminder before I go: you have arranged a meeting with Nadia this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” you huffed. “But unlike you, I don’t sleep in and forget my schedule.”

You swore that even after the door was closed, you heard him chuckle yet again. After that, he was gone.

Honestly, with someone with a “life-loving” temperament like him, you’re unsure if he’s easy to please— or too damn good at faking it for his good.

You heard soft knocks against your window.

Slowly, a grin forms on your lips.

“Hello, little man…” You cooed as you stood up and opened for not only the fresh Liyue morning breeze to enter…

But for a diligent little cuckoo bird to deliver its very special package as well.

You’ve always had a soft spot for animals…

“Hmm?”

Your eyes softened as it dropped its parcel and leaned its body against you, warming itself by sitting cozily on your window ledge. This little bird is quite the skilled messenger— always dropping by as soon as Jing Yuan takes his leave. As to why it suspiciously arrives as soon as he is gone, you’re unsure. Such a sneaky creature; you can’t help but adore it.

That’s not to say its deliveries are not as equally charming.

You chuckled as you elegantly unwrapped the ribbon. The letter was elegantly written in a scrawl you’ve familiarized even with eyes closed for the past months, yet it still holds an intensity that makes your heart flutter. 

There it was. The two words that keep you going better than any coffee brew.

“My dearest, (Y/n),….”

“Another letter from Vlad, I’d hope?” You sneaked from behind.

Nadia yelped, hitting you almost immediately. The delay was surely from being on a lovelorn cloud-nine, but her Fatui training that earned her last name definitely should’ve made you double-think.

You shriveled at the pain and she awkwardly cradled you.

“Oh shucks— I’m so sorry, (Y/n)! I-I didn’t realize it was y-y— Don’t scare me like that!” 

“Sorry! Sorry!” You hissed, blaming only yourself for the stinging aftermath. “I-I’ll get over it.”

Nadia guided you to the empty seat beside her. As soon as you were seated, she wasted no time to spill.

“The contents were far too adorable for my heart, oh, dear Tsaritsa, you NEED to read this.” 

An eyebrow was raised. Saying you had a suspicion that something like this would happen would be an understatement— when it came to Nadia, it was more like routine. It had been regular for you and her to get together at least once a month to chat over letters that you both received. Nothing about the time you spent with her was dull. She's the reason you adapted to the Liyue way of life so well. As you were both foreign to the culture— you and Jing Yuan are admittedly the extreme cases— you and her were eager to recount experiences in times of distress. And times of pure unbridled lovesick joy, such as this.

“C’mon, pass it.” You tried to say cooly, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed your high school-like excitement.

“Same time.” Nadia huffed. "Can't have you gatekeeping your own letter!"

You pulled out yours from your purse.

Nadia wasn’t the only one with something to present to the class. This is just like a teacher forcing students to read their discreetly passed notes out loud. 

Nadia has her Vlad.

You have your Nay Jung I.

Instantly, you both suppressed a giggle in the abrupt exchange.

Nay Jung I. You know little about him, and that intrigue keeps the fire going. When you see a white cuckoo passing by the window, you immediately know it means well. A sight that makes your heart skip a beat. Instead of pushing eggs, it slips a love letter whenever Jing Yuan isn’t around. All coming from a man you can’t track down.

That’s right.

You have a secret admirer.

As you read through the middle of Vlad’s letter for Nadia, you heard your very-much-an-adult friend bite back a squeal in front of you. Nay Jung I may sound like a feminine name, but he was a man. You could’ve sworn you saw Xiangling laugh from the corner of your eye as Nadia tugged your sleeve around like a fool.

“Oh my God?! He wrote that?!” Her lips were akin to wobbly lines toddlers would draw when mimicking the sun’s rays. 

“I find myself constantly catching glimpses of you in my daydreams, my mind flooded with what could be— what should be. Forgive me for my selfishness, but I fear it won’t take long before I can no longer bear the thought of being without you… What?! That’s so SWEET?!” Nadia clutched your love letter tightly, eyes wide as though she was the recipient.

Xiangling, bless her soul, had to peek behind her.

“I wish I could have the courage to reveal myself to you. When I doubt myself, my thoughts turn to you… Aww… I wonder who Mister Nay is and what did you do to get him this in love?” Xiangling playfully pouted, which made Nadia grin wider, almost teasing her. “Geez. When will I get a boy to send me letters?”

“I’m sure you’re going to get one or two someday. A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?” Nadia shrugged as she folded the paper and hid it. “Plus, I fear you’re too young for this.”

“Careful, Dia, she’s the one preparing our food.” You joked.

Nadia has grown more friendly to locals for the better since you started sharing meals here. Everyone knows the feelings between her and Vlad were mutual— but neither of them was willing to confess. With Nadia hoping he initiates, and him densely hesitant on whether she reciprocates. One of them can end this phase should they abandon pride or cowardice.

But Nay Jung I?

You can’t find his records anywhere… And he had told you that it is a fake name by your fourth letter, much to your chagrin.

So, you’ve settled with this arrangement. For now, you are both friends, despite knowing he has feelings for you from the start.

“Mister Nay definitely has it bad for you, Mx. (Y/n).” She gave you a closed-eyed smile. “You need to write back immediately! The man’s probably starving for it!— Oh, right, the pot!!!”

As the chef rushed back after being distracted, you gave Nadia’s letter back to her.

“Any chance of rain?” You asked.

“Cloudy with negative one percent chance that I’ll run to Northland Bank and confess to Vlad.” Nadia spoke sheepish;y.

“That’s at least five percent higher than yesterday.”

“Well, this last letter was adorable.” She swooned.

“Mx. (Y/n), you seem incredibly free at the moment, care to have a chat?”

You turned to look at the new person who joined in.

Fur coat, a distinct mole placement, a sharp haircut, and eyes self-assured enough to conceal their need for urgent assistance, it has to be none other than—

“Miss Yelan,” you gave her a polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Nadia sat up straight, shifting to her work mode. “Is there some business you require from the Northland Bank?”

“I have no quarry with you, Madam Nadia, what I do want—” Yelan tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Is to speak to (Y/n) in private.”

You paused, recalling the conversation you had this morning.

‘I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.’

Maybe this is what Jing Yuan was warning you about this morning.

“Fine, I concede.” You sighed, swiftly snatching your letter from Nadia’s hands and tucking it inside the pockets of your inner jacket.

“Lead me to where you most need me.”

Over the years you’ve spent on Liyue, you’ve had another habit you’ve been nursing on the sidelines.

Epigraphy.

Better yet, it’s for the sole purpose of decoding ancient artifacts. Before you were transmigrated into Teyvat, you found that inspecting artifact descriptions and reading through lore strewn in notes and dialogues were a great part of what made playing Genshin Impact enjoyable. You devoured theories whether they were from YouTubers like Ashikai or other CCs who were eager to unravel and analyze myths from different civilizations. To be inside THE sandbox was the greatest treat. If your friends were here, you have no doubt you’d have plenty who’d look and try to pick apart Mister Zhongli’s brain.

Unfortunately, you never managed to catch his eye.

And the biggest misfortune of all, you caught Miss Yelan’s instead.

“It’ll take me a few weeks to decipher and solve this puzzle…” You told her hesitantly. “And I can’t guarantee anything either.”

Yelan only tilted her head. Strands of her hair hid her expression, and the only body language to be read was the way she played with the die on her fingers. You wondered if she was deciding your fate by giving it a roll…

You looked at the inscribed walls.

A man with horns… and his partner wearing a long hanfu… His partner… Reminds you of a beautiful cuckoo bird.

You sighed.

When she bargained for a chat in “private”, the Chasm was the last location you had in mind. Even more, it did not occur to you that she aimed to use you as a translator. For a language you only learned a few years ago.

You knew you couldn’t exactly deny a member of the Qixing, especially with how much you carried a moral debt for Lady Ningguang, so you agreed under the condition that Yelan wouldn’t snitch to Jing Yuan.

He might just give you the silent treatment if he found out you were here.

But back on the walls and the puzzle mechanism in the middle of the room…

Both were seated under the shade of a tree… 

Each holding a cup of tea…

“Damn it, why me?” You cussed out loud.

You seriously want to tell her that she should’ve chosen Zhongli. 

Not that you’d know that Yanfei begged Yelan to hire you for the job.

Yelan made her dice vanish. “If you need further assistance, and by that I meant necessities such as food and water, call for Wenyuan or Shanghua. They’ll materialize right in front of you.”

On the next wall, the horned man tightly held his partner, with tears falling from his eyes… His tail was more apparent in this depiction, but there were crystallized ambers and statues all around…

Like they were running…

Away from him…

You faced Yelan.

“Yelan, can’t you call for someone else—”

You blinked.

She was gone.

You don’t like being here.

You don’t like this cave.

You’re not sure whether you liked the fact Yelan invited you here. On one hand, you were grateful for the opportunity, but at the same time, you thought yourself unqualified for whatever piece of ancient Liyuean history was waiting to bite you in the ass. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that whoever the drawn man was, he was a force to be reckoned with. You played enough Genshin to know that yakshas are not to be trifled. If this ended up as an Azhdaha scenario, you wouldn’t want to be the nameless NPC who died along the way.

Should’ve commissioned the traveler.

As you progressed in your decoding, the texts were beginning to gnaw you. 

“Have you heard the tale of Lady ███ ███?”

You trembled at the thought.

Curse Jing Yuan and his ghost stories.

The story wasn’t even that frightening.

What got you was how Jing Yuan sold them. He had preached it as though he had been a witness. It’s just a typical unnerving tale to keep children alert, but he had always been far more persuasive than you.

“When she and her husband were out exploring, her husband left her while she sired his heir. He left her there to die.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. You quietly applauded his commitment to the bit. Should you not know any better, you would’ve thought he hated that man more than anything.

Like he was seething with jealousy.

“Some claim he hid her there to fight for a war, some say it was out of love… In my eyes, it was an unforgivable neglect.”

Jing Yuan claims sharing ghost stories was a common occurrence from when he used to teach his disciple. But you’re not an idiot. You can sniff out a reason why he loves to bring these stupid tales.

“Days felt like a prison tally. She had forgotten what it felt to live in the sun.”

“She lived only by fulfilling basic needs. No matter how thick the mud was, no matter what was within the soil— all she could do was bitterly swallow what was to come. She bit her tongue on the ever-growing famine— and wished that her child would survive.”

Jing Yuan does not want you anywhere near the chasm.

“So when it was time to give birth, she had no assistance. She pushed her child out as hard as she could, and laid an empty egg.”

Before you could even ask why a human would lay an egg, Jing Yuan continued.

“But they both passed away.” 

“Legends say, that’s the reason why the lumenstone ore glows. It contains the watchful gaze of a scorned mother and unborn child…”

“And if you aren’t careful, you too—”

“Could be trapped inside it.” 

You scoffed.

Was the tale stupid? Depends on who you ask. Was it sad? Sorta. Was the thought of two ghosts— possibly more— watching you as you were forcibly dispatched to read through The Chasm’s secrets terrifying? Given the dark and brooding atmosphere, it was a quiet yes.

“Hmm? I— I solved it…?”

You blinked.

Maybe you still retained your skills as a Genshin player. Anything for a luxurious chest is what you would’ve said. And yet, it still baffled you that one did appear.

When you unlocked it, you saw no “primogem” like you quietly hoped (it would be funny if you unlocked a wish function, but that’s unlikely…)

Instead, you found a dusty ore.

“Great.” You muttered dryly. “Just what I needed.”

It was amber in color, same as the clothes the man wore in the wall paintings. You’re at a loss on how you should report this to Yelan.

“Better than nothing.” You spoke, laughing slightly. That sounded like something Diluc would say. You should buy a dandelion wine after this hard work.

Quickly, you fished out the gloves in your pockets. It was made of nitrile, which should protect the ore from possible oil and moisture from your hands. Yelan was very insistent you wear it.

But as soon as you touched the ore…

Your consciousness slipped away.

There was a man in front of you.

But you couldn’t see his face. 

“Dearest ███ ███…” The horned man smiled delicately as he sipped his tea. “It has been centuries since our first wedding ceremony. Do be honest with me, do you still hold the same passion as before.”

These memories appear to you in a blur.

“No, I do not.” You heard your voice say as the man’s shoulders slowly deflated. His amber eyes looked down, and his smile began to strain.

With two fingers, you lifted his chin.

“If anything, my love for you has grown stronger,” you spoke. “For you and I shall never let our draconic instincts dull, and our union will be the greatest treasure we shall hoard in this never-ending flow of time.”

“…/n…!”

One hand took his scaley hand and the other held his cheek, caressing softly.

“Promise you shall return?” You heard yourself mutter, this time weak and hopeless.

He leaned against your palm, purring as though it might be the last time he’ll savor your warmth.

“You know I do not make promises, ███ ███.” He spoke firmly. “What I keep are contracts. And I have vowed to make you happy, for as long as I live.”

“…(Y… (Y/n…. snap… out…!”

“Contracts normally sound so cold, but your honeyed voice makes it sound so romantic.”

“You know well, my love, in all my years, I’ve witnessed endless contracts and agreements. Whether it was tangible or verbal— each one was a significant chapter to someone’s life.”

The horned man softly detangled your fingers from his long brown hair and kissed your hand.

“But only one brought forth complete change. Our matrimonial agreement. The contract we signed gave me the most happiness. I’ve never signed a happier contract than this one.”

“And I share the same sentiment.” You cooed, almost cheeky. “And I hope our future child shall feel our love as well.”

He rested his head on your shoulder and sighed.

“The day shall come, my love.” He spoke. “Just wait for me, until I fulfilled what the Heavenly Principles desires.”

“Of course,” you hugged him back. 

“I shall wait for you, my dearest…

“(Y/N)!!!”

You flinched.

Suddenly, you’re not in the mountains. You’re not hiding under the shade of a tree with warm-hued leaves. You were…

You were sitting on a patch of grass, just outside the chasm.

And Jing Yuan is mad.

He had a cold unmerciful glare. His built frame towered above you, casting a large shadow. It was already nighttime. Normally, only the moonlight and the lamps from afar should be the only source of light here, but his golden eyes seemed to glow. As though it was ready to call forth an entity you were not prepared to face.

You know the depths of his anger. Years of living inseparable from him has made every communication almost telepathic and that hadn’t changed. You can read it in his breaths, in his stiff and tall posture, in his unnerving gaze.

He is threatening you to spill. Saying without words that:

There are fates worse than death.

But your pulse was steady. But your breathing was calm. But your expression was blank.

You weren’t terrified.

And you can read that deep down, that scared the General more.

“Nay Jung I…”

For a moment, Jing Yuan’s eyes widened— as though there was something he was the only one privy to knowing. His face had a mix of surprise and disbelief before he steeled himself.

“Nay Jung I?” He scoffed. 

“What of him?” Jing Yuan asked.

“He’s my soulmate.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, brief incoherent syllables sputtered out of his mouth. You evoked more emotions in him this time around. You saw flashes of shock, what seemed to be happiness, hope, and then utter confusion.

“...What?”

“I saw him.” You said, calm. “I saw him as soon as I touched that rock. My soulmate— he had long hair and eyes like a dragon— I think he was a dragon, and so was I. I think my soulmate is in Liyue and he’s hiding behind the name Nay Jung I.”

Jing Yuan opened his mouth, before thinning his lips.

This time, you were certain.

He was not only mad. Jing Yuan was sorely disappointed.

“I understand…” 

You know the expression on his face. You read him like a discipline you mastered in epigraphy. He thinks that… 

You have gone “cuckoo.”

He turned around, no longer facing you.

“I’m sorry then, (Y/n).” 

Jing Yuan does not sound sorry to you.

“What for?”

There was silence for a moment, before he spoke again, voice bitter and vile.

He was not sorry.

He was furious.

He was hurt.

He was jealous.

“Nay Jung I is the leader behind the past terrorist attacks.” He paused. “And I killed him.”

You haven’t recovered ever since.

Every medical “professional” you’ve encountered told you that you were hysterical. That you just hallucinated what you saw. It isn’t possible that the visions you saw were Nay Jung I anyway. 

Maybe they were right about the last part, you don’t want to believe it. 

It was in your instincts. That man had to be your husband in the past. Who cares if you came from another world? Maybe you were an Expy. You had to be. That person— the one who reminded you of a cuckoo bird in those walls— had to be you in another universe. 

It had to be.

Your real soulmate is out there.

And Nay Jung I isn’t dead.

But you’ve never been good at persuading others.

Soyourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveit—

“General Jing Yuan, is (Y/n)…?”

Outside the apartment, Mister Zhongli and Jing Yuan stood by the window, peaking at your form. You were so engrossed by your inner conflicts that you couldn’t hear them.

“They’ll… move on from you, eventually.” Jing Yuan spat back coldly. “I’m not the God of Contracts, but I keep promises that do not fail.”

Zhongli’s face crumpled in anguish.

“May I ask a question? Just to sate a bit of curiosity, of course.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. Zhongli took that as a yes.

“Are you Nay Jung I?” He asked. “I did not see his name on the list of the deceased criminals—”

“Yes, he and I are the same,” Jing Yuan silenced him. “Nay Jung I is an anagram of Jing Yuan. You can reorder the letters and confirm it for yourself.”

Originally, Jing Yuan had hoped to woo you with a romantic tale of an anonymous admirer. But, in your delirium, you had mistakenly believed that Nay Jung I was the same man in your visions. 

It was repulsive.

Never before had he wished to scream so loudly. He had not felt this much anger when he discovered the crimes his old friends had done. He had not felt as betrayed as when you claimed love for Nay Jung I, but it was not him.

He wanted to summon the Lightning Lord to destroy Liyue right then and there.

It was a frustration he had never felt before. Not when he was training with Jingliu. Not when he was scolding Yanqing. Not ever.

But Jing Yuan was not an impulsive man.

He prides his patience.

He prefers to scheme quietly rather than flashing bold moves.

Jing Yuan sucked in a breath between his teeth. 

“I suppose it’s my turn to ask.”

He shut the windows and Zhongli’s heart ached as he could no longer see you.

But then he turned to look at Jing Yuan.

And he knew…

Jing Yuan is much older and wiser than he looks.

“Tell me, Rex Lapis,” he spoke sharply. “Did you wed this world’s version of (Y/n) (L/n) and leave her and her child to die?”

…

…

…

That silence was enough.

Jing Yuan’s private investigations behind your back were right.

In the vast “multi-verse”, there is a version of you that married this dragon who descended from his Archon status.

“I... have wrought upon them great suffering. I am unworthy of their affections. Should a day come where (Y/n) enacts the fury of my wife and child on their behalf, it will be justly deserved.”

Zhongli did not further elaborate.

Whatever happened in the past, it still haunted him to this day. Lingering in the back of his mind, dulling his self-confidence and wits. Maybe it’s why Yanfei thought you should investigate the cave. Maybe she wanted the alternate version of ███ ███ to come back.

But she's gone.

Jing Yuan took a step closer.

“Your wife is dead, Rex Lapis. They are my (Y/n), not yours.”

“I-… I know.” Zhongli— no— Morax spoke, voice laced with grief. “I know she and (Y/n) are not the same, however, I…”

Another step.

“If you wish for their happiness, you will continue to not speak to them. You have done enough damage.”

Morax closed his eyes mournfully. “I am well aware of this”

Another step.

“Let me take care of (Y/n). Let me make them happy.”

And another.

Jing Yuan stared deep into Morax’s soul.

In all his years of living, it didn’t occur to Morax that he’d find another familiar cuckoo again.

But it wasn’t his wife.

Jing Yuan took another step.

This man in front of him was pushing and pushing…

“Let this conversation be a verbal contract,” he said. “That I, Jing Yuan, vow to make (Y/n) happy, and that you, Rex Lapis, shall step down as a final way to atone your sins of uxoricide and filicide. Do you accept?”

Like a cuckoo throwing an egg off the nest.

Forgive me, dearest ███ ███.

I am unworthy of you, let alone this alternate incarnation of yourself.

Morax inhaled deeply. He remains in his head, yet he can't escape the present. The more time he spent searching inside himself for solutions over his approximately 6000 years in Teyvat, the more evident it became what the sensible path of action was. With open eyes, Morax welcomed the return of the present. He observed the vivid hues of existence. In the vicinity, he heard Jing Yuan's pet cuckoo bird. But most of all, he felt his age.

Whatever time was appropriate to dream of a family— it had long passed him.

I am but an old man who deserves to fade away quietly.

And he…

Has the same vigor Morax once had.

That obsessed look.

That tight, suffocating hold.

Just like staring at a reflection of himself, centuries passed.

Jing Yuan, too, was a man depraved. Worse, he is a man who lost everything, clinging only to (Y/n) as his only solace in Teyvat.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan took a walk with you, with one arm draping around your shoulder to ward off those he deemed unwanted.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan brags about you with his men in each available opportunity, socially claiming you his.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan glares at someone who got too close when he thought you weren’t looking, pushing suitors away.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan rarely talks about his story and would rather talk about something you had done, making you a large part of himself.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan only cares about you, and not even a sliver for himself.

He would rather not see him destroy himself the way he had done long ago.

And just like that, the General got rid of his greatest rival— Liyue’s archon and your husband from another life.

He is out of the nest.

“I accept.”

May June can now message Jing Yuan

[lionlena]

I can't be everywhere (No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader) ANGST! Part 3

Summary: You knew Joel was a busy man, but you never thought that when you needed him most you would hear, "I can't be everywhere." As if your pain meant nothing. So you decided that you couldn't be everywhere either… You couldn't be in his heart anymore.

Warnings: NSFW, self-harm (something like that), rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, ANGST, miscarriage, misunderstanding, loss, mourning, broken heart, age gap (17 years), Joel is 45, depression, Joel tries hard, but… He can't show his true emotions…

Part 3

You thought being away from Joel, away from the place that reminded you of the loss of your baby, would help you, but it didn't. You felt like you were starting to get depressed, and living with your friend wasn't helping you at all. Maddie was sweet, but she tried too hard. You felt like she was taking on the role of your mother. She was worried that you weren't eating enough, that you weren't going out enough, and her attempts to talk to you about going to therapy only made you angry.

Deep down you knew she wanted good for you, but in your emotional state, you just had the desire to reject her. And that's exactly what you did. You found an apartment to rent and two weeks after you first entered her apartment, you moved out.

After finding a new apartment, you didn't feel any better. You tried to occupy your mind, find a new hobby, work more, but… You ended up sitting in the corner of your bedroom and crying. You processed thousands of scenarios in your head. Maybe you should have had an abortion? Then it would all be over before it began. Maybe not? Maybe you would suffer more and hate Joel more. Maybe you had a bad diet? You didn't take folic acid before pregnancy because… You weren't planning a pregnancy. Thousands of thoughts that did not allow you to sleep and function normally. Being able to work from home didn't make anything easier either, because you didn't have to go outside. You always had a tendency to overthink and get anxious, but when you were with Joel it was easier for you. He always knew how to put your mind at ease. He wrapped his strong arms around you and pulled you to his chest. He kissed your head and murmured sweet things. Joel wasn't a man of many words, but his embrace was enough. You felt then safe and surrounded by a protective cocoon of love. But you weren't sure if it would help you now. * Joel hated the emptiness that filled his house. The emptiness that reflected his interior. He slowly realized how much he should have changed in his life and himself. He didn't know if this would get you back, but he had to do something because he felt like he was going crazy. He started by renovating the house or rather building another room… A children's room. He decided to tear down the wall and enlarge the room that had once served as Sarah's dressing room and storage room for her toys. He knew it was crazy, and Tommy didn't hesitate to say it to his face when he visited to watch a game and drink beer.

"Are you crazy? Let me understand this correctly. You are building a children's room now, for a baby who…"

Joel grimaced. When he heard it out loud, he realized how stupid it was, but he was going to defend himself.

"No. Look, I'm not crazy, I know it won't bring this baby back to life, but… I should have started doing this as soon as I found out about Y/N's pregnancy. I know it seems crazy now, but… I have to do this and… It doesn't have to be the nursery. When Y/N comes back… If she comes back, she'll decide. It could be her office, guest room, home gym… Whatever."

Tommy took a sip of his beer and nodded.

"Okay… Now that sounds a little more reasonable. Shall I help you?"

Joel smiled a little. Sometimes his younger brother was very annoying, but he could always count on his support.

"Sure."

The younger Miller looked at him and asked quietly:

"Has Y/N spoken to you?"

Joel reached for another beer and shook his head.

"He replies to my text messages, but as briefly as possible. Usually, it's just a dry: okay, I'm fine, don't call…"

Tommy sighed and nodded.

"So for now, no chance of her coming back."

"No, but… If this is your way of trying to get out of helping me with the renovation, it's too late."

Tommy laughed softly.

"Not at all… I promised it, so I'll help you." * A month and a half had passed since you left and Joel was losing hope of any reconciliation with you. He felt lost and maybe a little disappointed. He just wanted a chance, one little chance. He was ready to do anything, to fall on his knees in front of you and beg for forgiveness. He would promise you everything.

When he got your text message with the address of the new apartment and the request to send your things, he felt his heart break once again, and then… He knew that what he wanted to do was crazy, that you would be furious, but it was his last hope. *

When you heard the doorbell, you were sure it was the courier with your things. From what Joel wrote, everything was fit into four boxes. You walked across the living room and kicked the pizza box under the couch. You didn't care that your hair was messy and you were wearing Joel's old t-shirt that you took before leaving him. You couldn't even explain why you were wearing it. You told yourself it was comfortable, but you knew it wasn't everything. You opened the door and your heart sank.

"What the fuck…"

That was the first thing you managed to say when you saw Joel with a bouquet, his hair slicked back and looking too good for your opinion.

Joel expected such a reaction, so he didn't lose his confidence and gently said:

"Hey, Y/N…" He looked you up and down. He saw that you didn't look your best. The fact that you were wearing his t-shirt made him feel both happy and melancholy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you hissed.

You wanted to slam the door, preferably to hit him in the nose, but you knew it was pointless. Joel would probably be banging on the door anyway. You would never think that he would take time off work and drive so many miles to see you. This seemed out of character for him. So he must have been desperate.

"I brought your things. I thought it would be better if I did it myself, just to… To make sure they reach you."

You huffed and looked at him disapprovingly. It was such a pathetic excuse.

"Yeah, of course."

Joel lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck.

"I wanted to see you." He said contritely. "Call me an idiot, an asshole… A motherfucker, but… I miss you."

Something about his voice and attitude made you soften. This wasn't the same Joel who hurt you in the hospital. It didn't mean you forgave him, but… You missed him too. You missed his body, the grip of his hands on your hips. You felt yourself getting warm. You had this sudden need to replace your emotional pain with a moment of oblivion. You grabbed Joel by his shirt and dragged him inside. You grabbed the flowers he was holding for you and tossed them aside.

"I missed…" You growled and started to undo his belt. "…for this."

Joel's eyes widened and he gasped in surprise. His hands were shaking as he grabbed yours and tried to stop you from what you were doing.

"Y/N what are you doing… I… That's not what I came for."

You felt like laughing. You knew perfectly well that he wasn't here to have sex. Joel might be an asshole sometimes, but he would never do something like this. You didn't care, you were going to push him over the edge. Use him like a fucking toy.

"I want you to fuck me! Hard, fast, rough… So I can feel it in next day…"

Joel's face turned red and he swallowed hard.

"But… I… I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't give a damn what you want!"

Joel swallowed. Part of him wanted to push you away, beg you to come back to your senses. He didn't come to make love to you. He wanted to talk to you and beg for forgiveness, but on the way to you, he promised himself that he would do whatever you wanted. And you wanted rough sex. So he put aside morality and common sense and turned on his animal instincts. He thought it was too simple, but the truth was that you always turned him on, even in his stretched-out t-shirt. He grabbed your buttocks and picked you up onto the kitchen counter. You smirked. You had him exactly where you wanted him. You saw the bulge in his pants. Joel grabbed your thighs and said:

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He didn't need more, he took off your shorts and panties in one move. His hand went to your pussy, but before he could touch your clit, you grabbed his hand.

"No… Without preparation."

Joel looked at you with dark eyes and growled.

"I won't fuck you when you are dry! You want me to hurt you. I'll do it the way you want… Hard… Rough, but…" He sighed and his gaze became pleading. "Please."

You wanted to continue arguing with him, but you knew he was right. He was capable of fucking you so hard that you would feel it the next day, even if he prepared you. You nodded, and his thumb immediately began rubbing rhythmic circles on your clit. His free hand reached for his cock, which was already half-hard.

You tilted your head back and moaned softly as you felt him insert one finger into you.

He too made a few grunts as he stroked his cock, which was already standing proudly.

When you felt yourself getting closer to climax, you grabbed his wrist and growled:

"Enough! I'm ready…"

He looked at you in surprise and grimaced. You knew what he meant. He was a master at preparing you, and he never stopped stretching you with just one finger.

"Are you… Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Joel sighed and shook his head, but he was already aroused and saw that there was no point in arguing with you. He pulled away for a moment and lowered his pants and boxers. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and went to pull out a condom, but you stopped him again. This time there was anger in his eyes.

"Y/N…" he growled warningly.

But you weren't going to take a step back.

"I'm not making you finish inside me… You'll take out before you come."

You saw the moment he gave up. He simply didn't have the energy to fight you as his erect cock twitched with anticipation, wanting to feel your warm core.

"All right."

He grabbed your hips and pulled you to the edge of the kitchen counter. You felt his cock head against your pussy. You bit your lip and nodded slightly at him. You knew it would hurt, but you wanted it.

Joel pushed into you with one brutal thrust, causing the air to escape from your lungs. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gasped. Joel moved closer to you. His lips were on your neck as he growled,

"This is what you wanted…" And then, more gently, he added, "Should I stop?"

"NO." You hissed.

And that was it. He figured you got a chance earlier to back out. He wanted you in that animalistic way, even though he knew how wrong it was. He gripped your hips tightly and that was his only warning before he started pounding into you.

He didn't even give you a moment to adjust to his thrusts. You held onto him tightly, completely at his mercy. You had no control over the speed or force of his thrusts. You screamed as the pain mixed with pleasure.

Joel got lost in your body and he couldn't think straight. He finally felt your warm body, and your scent, and heard your voice. For a few seconds, he could forget everything that had happened. He could pretend you never broke up.

He just came home from work and you greeted him in his t-shirt and soaked panties and offered him your pussy instead of dinner. So he accepted it happily and took you here and now.

You moaned louder and louder as you felt your climax getting closer. Your thighs were trembling, your breathing quick and shallow.

"Jooo… I…"

You dug your nails deeper into his flesh as you climaxed. Joel grunted as he felt your vaginal muscles tighten around his cock. He knew he had to get out of you… Quick.

You hissed in pain when he pulled out of you without warning and with a decisive movement. He leaned back and grabbed his dick. A few movements of his hand were enough for him to come. His cum landed on your thighs and the kitchen counter.

Joel pulled up his boxers and pants. He moved closer to you and rested his head on your shoulder, breathing heavily.

You raised your hand, wanting to do what you always did, which was to run your hand through his hair, but in the end, you stopped yourself.

After a few moments, Joel controlled his breathing and pulled away, and then… He grabbed you and held you in his arms. You didn't expect this. He carried you to the couch and carefully laid you down.

"Bathroom?"

"In the hall on the right…" you muttered.

Joel nodded and when he was gone you closed your eyes and sighed. You still felt the pain from his strong thrusts, but it finally made your mind go blank. There were no unnecessary thoughts, just a feeling of fulfillment and pain mixed with pleasure.

You didn't even notice when Joel came back. When you felt the wet, warm towel between your thighs, you yelped in surprise and jumped. Joel immediately placed his hand on your belly and said soothingly:

"I'm just going to clean you up… How are you feeling?"

You blinked in surprise. It's not that Joel was never tender and caring, and yet… He was never that caring. You cleared your throat and muttered:

"I'm okay…"

Joel nodded and placed a soft kiss on your thigh.

"Do you need anything? Water? A painkiller? A warm compress?"

You frowned and shook your head.

"No… I just want to take a nap."

"Of course."

Joel immediately got up and lay down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. Well… that's not what you wanted. But when you felt his warm, strong body pressing against your body, you gave up. When you felt him kiss your head, you allowed yourself to relax. You haven't slept well in weeks. Before you thought twice, you fell into a deep sleep. * In the morning you woke up in bed. You slowly sat up and blinked in surprise. You looked around confused, thinking maybe it was all a dream, but then you moved your hips and felt yourself sore. You looked at your watch and realized that you had slept for over twelve hours. Your eyes widened in surprise. What added to the shock was the fact that there was a glass of water and Advil on the bedside table. After a while, you heard a noise coming from the kitchen. You carefully got out of bed and put on a clean T-shirt and shorts. You slowly moved towards the kitchen. You smelled food, which made you feel hungry. You noticed boxes of your things in the living room. And then Joel standing at the kitchen stove caught your attention. His back was turned to you and you could admire his broad shoulders and muscular back.

Joel turned around and smiled warmly when he saw you.

"Hey… Did you sleep well?"

You frowned, wondering if maybe you were sleeping. You ignored his question and sat down at the kitchen table.

"What happened?"

Joel sighed, the smile disappearing from his face when he noticed that you weren't happy at all.

"You fell asleep… You slept so soundly that my attempts to wake you up were useless. I moved you to the bedroom, brought your things, slept on the couch, and… Now I'm making you breakfast."

You snorted, wondering if he was serious.

"You're making me breakfast? Wow. Where did you get the idea that I wanted that? Where did you get the idea that I wanted you to stay here for the night."

Joel cocked his head to the side as if he didn't even understand what you were saying.

"But… I thought that… We… You…"

You felt irritation rising within you.

"That what? That I forgave you because you fucked me? No, Joel… I just needed it, that's all."

Joel felt like you hit him in the chest with something heavy. Yes, he knew he deserved it. He nodded and looked at you sadly.

"Do you want me to…"

"To come back to Texas. Now."

You were a little afraid that Joel would start arguing with you, that maybe he would say something that would hurt you, but… He just walked to the couch, gathered his things, put on his jacket, and then walked up to you and kissed your head. He took you completely by surprise and you couldn't even push him away.

"Let me know if you need anything, I'll fly to you… And remember that I'm waiting for you. And I will wait as long as you need."

When he left, you realized you had been holding your breath the whole time. You took a shaky breath and felt tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn't move. You looked at the cup of coffee and cheese toast that Joel had left on the counter. You wrapped your arms around yourself and allowed yourself more tears. *

A/N 1) Before you comment, please bear in mind that I want to show that depression sometimes comes in many forms. Depressed people are prone to dangerous behavior, such as sex with strangers. Unfortunately, I myself found out in the past that physical pain brought me relief from mental pain. If some people are dissatisfied with the reader's behavior, I'm sorry, but no one is forcing you to continue reading.

2) I watched scenes from episode 6 hundreds of times and concluded that Joel is an emotional orphan. Joel cannot express his own feelings, so he adapts to the feelings of others. In the first conversation with Tommy (the one in the bar), Tommy is a bit pushy, tense, and rough, and… Joel reacts with exactly the same emotions. In their second conversation, Tommy shows much more empathy, compassion, and calm, he is more open, so Joel opens up to him. In turn, in a conversation with Ellie, who attacks him (which, by the way, is normal for teenagers), Joel obviously takes on her emotions. And that's why when Y/N throws herself at him and encourages him to have rough sex, he naturally picks up on her lack of control and unbalanced attitude.

Part 2

Part 4

Tag list: @fahemzzz @picketniffler @elliaze @txtattoostark @this--is--music @anavatazes @simplyreading96 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @southernbe @sarahhxx03 @noisynightmarepoetry @jasminedragoon @pedromousposts @joeldjarin

Permanentny tag list: @harriedandharassed

[minsarasarahair]

Its actually illegal to me that no one recommend Liu Yao when you love Mo Dao Zu Shi. Both stories highlight the blurry line between demonic cultivation and righteous cultivation. It also have sect siblings found family story (Yunmeng Shuangjie, Fuyao Sect) you'll cry for. Honestly, both of them have these bittersweet story that will linger around you. Sure, WangXian and MingQian ended up together but its not a flawless good ending especially for other characters.

In the beginning, you'll see Cheng Qian already questioning why people ended up using demonic cultivation to his master that reminds me of Wei Wuxian's scene with Lan Qiren suggesting his ghost cultivation idea.

The ML, Yan Zhengming is like a fusion of Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji. Instead of only mourning his dead childhood sweetheart and taking care of what he left behind, he also have the responsibility as the eldest sect brother to protect their Fuyao sect and later become the sect leader. He's literally a teenager when he took over. He might be annoying in the beginning because of his laziness and spoiled behavior but you'll love his character development. Whenever his ugly emotions resurfaces, its so good!! Such as him being scared not meeting other's expectations, strong self-hate, being a coward and narcissist at the same time, wishing to die but has responsibility as sect leader so he can't die yet so he's like a walking dead man etc. He's not a bad guy, okay? It just sometimes he's mentally unstable and his qi deviation because of the weight of his responsibility. Without Cheng Qian to calm him down who don't fear changes, he's alone shouldering his sect.

Han Yuan reminds me of Wei Wuxian. A former beggar child who find his home in Fuyao sect but ended up in unorthodox path just because he's not lucky enough. He's not a genius cultivator or good looking unlike Wei Wuxian but has low cultivation. He's not competitive and love cheering for his sect brothers achievements. He don't have that privilege to be a genius but he really care deeply about his Fuyao sect and blame himself for what happened.

As for romance, Liu Yao is closer to MDZS donghua s1 where the 1st half of story heavily focus in sect siblings than romance. Liu Yao took a while before romance but tbh what do you expect? We have two people occupied by responsibilities (one is a sect leader, other is obsessed in becoming stronger to protect the sect) so they only realized their feelings when one of them died but don't worry, he shall return after 100 years. Just imagine WangXian from WWX's perspective because he's occupied by Wen Remnants and Yunmeng Jiang sect so no time for romance with LWJ until his resurrection lol. That's MingQian. Unlike WangXian tho, you will not probably ship MingQian because they have romantic feelings for each other but because they are literally the pillar of their Fuyao sect. The mom and dad of their sect. They pull each other up because there's no adult to rely on so they have to be the adult. Like I can see the sect collapsing if something bad happened to these two. Even if they are not in romance stage yet, MingQian is aleady behaving like married couple. If LWJ's reaction to WWX's return is take him back to Gusu to protect him, YZM's reaction is he's blaming himself for being incompetent leader that he didn't do a better job protecting his sect siblings. YZM's obsession to CQ is like TGCF's Hua Cheng without worship but exchange it with regret of being not good enough for your husband where you'll see him drawing his beloved but destroy it when the face don't satisfy him lol. He's also as needy and babygirl as Luo Binghe. And yeah, both Lan Wangji and Yan Zhengming are beautiful-looking gong with white robes. Young MingQian has the special bond Young WangXian has in the flashback that I really love. Sparring, classroom-like antics, getting in trouble together, their teamwork in battle as they get closer etc. If that's what you love in MDZS, you'll love Liu Yao.

[gliphyartfan]

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

Howdy Howdy! Boy this one should have been posted a few days ago! Sadly I got rather sick and then how to deal with a few other things. I'm good-ish now!

But it's here! And I shall be taking a victory nap as a reward!

This one ran away from me. Did not expect it to follow the path it did. But it happened and I accepted my fate.

(Note to self: Never write about deities, they take full control of the majority of the story, making me write more than planned while they take center stage 😤)

-

-

-

What He saw was the sight of battle.

What He smelled was the scent of blood.

What He heard was the sounds of combat. 

What He felt was the ground rumble below Him and the shifting of the winds. 

Felt the scent of smoke and blood fill His lungs and escape. 

Before Him, beasts that cried for flesh. 

Behind Him, He sensed terror, caution, and pain. 

He did not need to look around to know why He was released. 

Unrestrained beasts that needed to be culled.

The Young Vessel's desire for their deaths urged him forward. 

Yes. He understood well His purpose for being called. 

He raised His sword, uncaring of the sight of beasts instinctively cowering before him. 

It was not an unusual sight for Him.

It was only natural that the weak kneel before Strength.  

It was the way of War. 

The weak bow to the blade. 

But foolishness comes to the weak sooner or later, shown as one of the beasts became brazen enough to charge forward, it's allies even more so as they followed suit.

He hefted His blade above His head. 

And the hoards quickly fell to His might.

—

—

There is a eternal repetition in battle. Repetition in war. 

Use your weapon. Kill your enemy. Move on to the next. 

The methods that war is waged may change as eras pass, but remove all the ideologies that each side has, and the bare bones of it all is the same as the very first war to ever be waged. 

There are the Victors, and there are the Defeated.

 All of them have blood on their hands. 

Gods are no different from mortals in that aspect. Despite what many, divine included, may say otherwise. 

If it were not so, the Fierce Deity would have no need to exist. Perhaps he would have long been granted the Fine Rest all souls earn inevitably. 

Imprisonment within the mask did not mean death of who He was. Even within the wooden cage, the Drums of War called to Him constantly. 

Battle urged Him to come. To lay waste against those He would claim as enemies. 

Having a hand in Majora's death was a satisfying return to the mortal plane. 

But to bond with the young vessel that He laid claim to. A soul that could hold His power without risk of corruption. It lead much change for Him.

He sensed the Soul long before he ever step foot in that place of mourning and memories. Sensed the touch of divinity that coated his soul. (A touch that displeased him, though he had not yet known why) 

A seemingly fragile shell with a Soul that wielded such uncanny Strength. 

The boy had been far from his reach when he had first been made aware of it's presence, yet the boy's soul strongly reached for Him, as if it had known Him longer than the mortal shell had lived.

Many times the connection they held, fragile as it was, would strengthen without warning, then weaken after some time. 

The sense of Divinity would ting within those moments. 

The soul echoed it's emotions to Him when their connection grew during those times. 

What emotions they were. 

The force of them all pulled at His attention, left Him unable to return to the silence that his prison wrapped Him in. 

Turbulent. Like a raging storm. 

Yet at some point, it dulled. Repressed itself deep within. Yet with focus He could feel the raging force within longing to be released upon those that had wronged it's shell. 

 The urge would sometimes overtake the boy.

When it did, the feeling of loss would overwhelm them both. It was an agony that He felt through his incorporeal being every single moment until the connection would fade back to fragility.

Soon the connection no longer fluctuated in strength. 

But it did grow closer. 

and with it's nearing, it was inevitable that He would come to learn the reason behind the turmoil he perceived within it.

—

—

Young, weary yet hardened eyes took in the lands that held his prison. 

Lands that did, yet did not, exist.  

Still, those same eyes took in the life in this world, saw it with familiarity that one his age should not have. 

He was a shell that was Weak. 

Or so He had thought. In the beginning, at the very least. 

He had not meant to speak to the boy when he sent foot within the land of timeless death, merely choosing to speak into the silence, aware that any answer would not be made. 

Yet He had not been displeased when the boy answered Him back without a moment of hesitation. Even less displeased when the boy was unbothered by His return to silence.

He watched how those eyes remained dulled and unfeeling as the cycle of repetition continued. 

 They did not waver even when He spoke to the boy.

And still He watched. Witnessed the cycles repeating themselves, over and over again in this Timeless land.

The boy collected the masks, assisted every person that he could, and with each mask granted to him, their connection strengthened. 

A question asked by Him for every moment the child Fell to the First Day. 

The child would answer without fear or question. 

The child who opened his very soul to Him.

It was...interesting...to watch this strange boy, to be allowed to witness all that made him who he was. 

To see the vessel grown to match the strength of his Soul, to sense His claim over him within those memories despite never having claimed him before. 

To witness the battles that had Once been fought by his hand. 

To see others with souls as strong as his. Hardened through trials that no mere warrior could face without becoming corrupted.

To see them all slowly soften within the presence of a mere mortal girl. 

She was a curiosity at most. Though an ignorable presence at minimum. 

A being from another reality all together. One that does not have active gods nor active magic. 

The world may have arose from Chaos but magic has always rested against the surface of the lands. To know of a world that exists without such foundations...that was what caught His eye. 

He supposed the girl had a way with words and actions. Easily able to ease the sorrows of His Vessel and his companions with well meaning acts of kindness. 

A maternal hand. Perhaps a touch uncommon for a woman of her age without young ones, but not out of the ordinary for someone to be naturally caring. 

She was a curiosity. But a dull one. 

In the beginning. 

Yet he watched the memories that may as well also be His as His Vessel sharpened his blade and slaughtered all those that dare endanger her. 

How he and his companions nearly tore one another apart in a bid to claim a place within the one who's heart they desired to protect and cherish. 

It was then He began to focus on who the woman was.

This woman was knowledgeable as a royal scholar, wise with words in a way that even the most experienced ambassadors could not best. 

A heart that opened itself to those that had good souls yet a steel gaze that was ready to pierce anyone who would dare to fool her. 

In a way, all that was lacking was physical strength. 

It was utterly fascinating to witness. 

The souls of the Hylian Lands, they grew too used to peace. Rarely was war fought unless the Demon heir rose to bring it forth. The souls here preferring to stay in their ignorant comfort as the Goddess sent her Chosen Sacrifice of the era to do her bidding. 

Yet this one soul, one without magic nor blessings... 

Yes...He longed to see how much this woman's strength grew. 

This woman was not as fragile as He first assumed. 

He wondered, how she would take to the blade. 

Perhaps a spear? Nothing so fragile as a Bow nor dagger. No, this woman would not be pleased fighting at a distance. 

He wondered what expression she would show as she felled her enemies? 

What gaze would pierce her dying foes as she cut into their flesh? 

She was truly an...enigma...

Fragile yet strong. 

Heart of kindness yet a heart willing to steel itself in the face of adversity and manipulation. 

The only true reason His Vessel and his brothers succeeded in hiding the actions they committed, was simply because she saw no reason to suspect them. 

They would not have done so well, had she viewed them as adversaries. 

Indeed, The being that He once was, in a time no longer existent, had assumed too hastily.

 She was a match for Him and His. More so than any of the Goddess' blood. 

A soul worthy of His blessing and protection. 

It would indeed take a strong soul to attract the hearts of those who the Goddess of the Hylian land would dare claim as Hers.

A sense of peace was instant her presence, one that His Vessel had never held before. 

A peace that spread amongst those His Vessel eventually claimed as Sword Brothers. 

Yet...even the Deity of War knew such peace was always at risk of being ripped from mortals who were not cautious. 

And inevitably, the woman was stolen from them. (From Him.) 

His Vessel and his brothers broken by her absence. (His immense displeasure at their failings) 

Then...power. Much of it. Colliding and mixing in ways such differences each power held should not. 

And then...His Vessel woke again. Body once more that of a child. 

Awakening just as He took notice of the sudden connection that they shared. 

One that should not have existed, yet had always been there.

It seemed the Vessel was as aware of their connection as He was. Perhaps that familiarity was enough for his mind,unbalanced as it was, to hold on. 

He supposed His being had been used for worse purposes before. He saw no shame in a fellow warrior finding a semblance of grounding within the presence of a comrade. 

When the moment came that his wooden prison was placed in his Vessel's hand, their connection solidified instantly. 

Odd it was, to feel such a...sense of rightness. 

This...was His Vessel. 

How the boy relaxed upon wielding His mask. His power, His Being, coursing through his mortal veins, as the young Vessel's form adapted to house His soul. 

As it was always meant to. 

( When He returns to His prison at the end of their battle with Majora, He ponders what thoughts would fill the Great Ones of the Beyond. Should they ever learn of the Goddesses' actions? What would the Great Ones think of the Divine Maidens, sending infants to fight Their wars?)

—

—

He recognized the souls approaching Him from His Vessel's memory.

Where the other warriors treaded cautiously around Him, these souls walked without fear nor arrogance. 

His Vessel was not pleased by their presence. 

(his hurt echoing through Him at the sight of them.) 

'Leave.' His Vessel's presence echoed within him. 

Leave?

His Vessel? Unwilling to face them? Those that his heart claims as his own? 

Unwilling to face the possibility that they would view him with unfamiliar eyes? 

(Such an strong yet vulnerable soul His Vessel was.)

It was rather humorous to note. 

The two warriors drew near and stopped before Him. Each standing a bit further away as if in respect of His Presence.

Murmurs from the surrounding troops gradually spread out over the temporary encampment.  Easily ignored, He did not care for any attention paid His way.

He awaited their next action, silent as he was gazed upon by those that may or may not know Him and His well. 

The two sides stared at one another, His mind immediately noted similarities between the two men and his Vessel.

Both possessed powerful souls, His Vessel's own soul calling out to it's brethren. 

Their bodies relaxed, their hands visible. As if to assure him that they mean no harm. 

But their eyes, such gazes hid many intentions. Yet they were clear to Him with ease. 

...No, it was not that He was able to see their their facade. It was that they were not bothering to hide it from Him. 

They sought Him-sought out His Vessel whilst playing the part of oblivious men. 

And the intimidated men surrounding them, all were blind by such a weak farce.  

It seemed they were done with their inspection of Him as He was with them. 

The younger one took a step forward but was stopped by the elder one's arm. 

The elder one ('Captain' His Vessel's thought echoed through Him.), stepped forward, closing the space between then til he was naught by a few feet away. 

"May your sword never dull." The warrior greeted him, the corner of his lips turning upward in a faint smirk. 

"Though if it must dull, May it dull after your enemies are long since slain." 

It seems His Vessel saw fit to teach them proper greetings. Curious. (As was the surprising echoing from His Vessel.) 

"Captain," one of the men in the crowd whispered toward the elder warrior, "He's dangerous! Ally or no, we can't risk antagonizing him!"

Without a hint of regarded to the whispered warning, the captain pressed his sword hand horizontally across his abdomen, bowing deeply to Him. 

"We are honored by your presence, Great Deity, and your assistance in winning this battle." The captain spoke, voice calm and respectful "May we prove ourselves worthy of your continued favor in this war."

"...You speak well." Amusement sparked within Him as the men surrounding them jumped at His voice. 

Yet His Vessel's brethren were not phased. 

"I am honored by your acknowledgement." The captain replied smoothly, "I was taught well by a most trusted comrade." 

His Vessel had indeed taught him well. Not many would greet Him with such respect and sincerity. 

Even if His vessel was still displeased with the situation at hand. The urge to leave pulsing through their connection. 

...He naturally chose to ignore it. (The annoyance that pulsed soon after indicated that His Vessel was very aware of his intentional ignorance.) 

He observed the captain, noting His Vessel's emotions as he watched the man straightened. 

 Peace mixed with quiet joy. Yet also anxiousness and frustration. 

Truly was His Vessel willing to hide away in order to avoid facing what troubles him? 

Always so childish when it comes to matters of heart and soul. 

No matter to Him, He had no wish to linger amongst solders who could not muster the courage to look Him in the eyes. 

'I've faced my share of battles today.' He spoke to His Vessel, pulses of confusion and sudden panic swept through Him as He reached up and covered His face with His hand.

'Now you face yours.' And He released His hold on His Vessel, His power being pulled back into His wooden prison. 

---

---

Warriors watched as a bright flash of light consumed the surrounding area, exclamations filled the air yet the light faded as quickly as it appeared. 

Where the Fierce Deity once stood, now the men saw- 

"Is that a child?" 

The young boy, perhaps a bit younger than the Hero of Winds, stood there, mask in hand. 

Bafflement clear on his face as he stared straight at the Captain. 

"Hello Hero of Time." Warriors greeted him, a hand resting on his hip, his words inciting more whispers. 

Time blinked repeatedly, lowering his gaze to the mask in his hand. 

Slowly, his gaping mouth twisted into a scowl, and without a moment of hesitation, he threw the deity's mask to the ground before him. 

"Damned God!" He exclaimed angrily, even as the surrounding men because to quickly step back, faces rapidly paling at the young hero's actions. "A devil more like! Always putting me on the spot when I least want his damned input!" 

Warriors chuckled, which slowly turned into a laugh. 

Wind behind him, biting his bottom lip and trying to stay silent despite his shoulders shaking from his own laughter. 

---

---

"Oh, I haven't laughed like that in ages!" Warriors commented, still chuckling as they settled in a isolated corner of the encampment. 

It had taken some time to calm his men, but eventually he had managed to guide Wind and Time away with him. 

"They all looked like you insulted their mother." Wind snickered, legs kicking against the crate he sat on. "Then again, they'd probably look less insulted if you had." 

"Moments like this makes me wonder why I let that one put me in the spotlight." Time grumbled, sitting on the ground and resting against the crate Wind sat on. 

"Well, it seems he simply wanted you to stop trying to hide away." Warriors suggested, reaching behind him and unclasping the waterskin from his belt and holding it put to Time.

"Here, I doubt all that fighting in this soot filled air has done your tongue any favors." 

Time eyed the hand before accepting the waterskin and taking a drink. 

Silence reigned in their small corner.

Wind humming quietly as Time stared at the ground at his feet. 

"...How have you been, my sword brother?" Warriors asked watching as Time set the waterskin aside as he shifted slightly against the crate.

"...I suppose I could be worse." Time replied.  "I've been better, considering I don't feel quite as alone anymore."

"It's a nice feeling." Warriors agreed,  smiling at his brother fondly.

"Mn."

Another silence reigned as Time stared at the ground.

"…Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" Time said, "I woke in a body I had long thought I would never be forced to wear again. Forced to see the faces of my allies look at me with unfamiliarity. To bow my head towards the Goddess' heir.  To journey again through places I never wished to traverse again." Time spoke through his teeth, his breath escaping in a hiss. 

"All while trying to differentiate between truth and fiction within the confines of my own mind." He laughed bitterly. 

"No, I don't have much going on in my life." 

"Well pardon me for assuming you've been struggling." Warriors commented sarcastically. 

He expected no answer to that but instead received only a scoffed laugh as Time leaned back against the crates once more. "Of course not. It would just be foolish on my part to assume otherwise, when the last time I was faced with the reality of a future that does not exist."

Warriors fell silent.

"But...you know it happened." Wind piped up. "We both remember it too, three for three. So that means the others must remember too." 

That earned an agreeing hum from Time who didn't utter anything else.

"But why didn't you find us?" Warrior continued, "Why not find us so you could share your burden with ones who knows what it feels like?"

"Because I... couldn't burden you with something as trivial as-" He cut himself off, "-I mean-" 

Time sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his expression was solemn, his youthful face contrasting with such an old expression.

"I'm...nowhere near the end of this curse." 

"Time-" 

"How long will it be for you both, before we are all united once again." He asked, "One? Two? A few years at most?" 

Wind and Warriors stayed silent. 

"But what about me? Trapped in a child's body once again, and every aspect that comes with such a curse." 

"Pardon if this may sound offending, but is it truly as bad as you say?" Warriors questioned.

"You are not the one who must wait decades to reunite with everyone." Time snapped, turning his gaze away from them to glare up at the darkening sky.

"I logically thought of all the benefits that came with this circumstance of renewal. What I could improve from my previous path. What I could change." Time left out a quiet laugh, face twisting into a weak smile before it return to the frown it had.

"I tried to see everything from the perspective of someone who could return to our goddess with strength and wealth that would benefit her and her happiness." He shook his head, eyes closing. 

"But it was not returning to my past that hurt. Nor was it that all my efforts in the previous life was erased like wind blowing away words written in sand. To be looked at with pitying eyes who only see a child, no matter the efforts I do to prove otherwise." He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners and threatening to fall. 

"What truly hurts is the length of time that I must wait to return to you all. Not to even bring up the length until we reunite with our beloved." 

His eyes burned as the two other men stayed silent and patient.

(He hadn't even realized he had started shedding tears until Wind's hand gently rested on his shoulder and squeezed it tight.)

"I..."

His voice broke as he spoke, though he swallowed down the emotion before letting out another sob.

"There's nothing I want more than for us all to be reunited again, even moreso being reunited with our beloved." He whispered, "Yet I can barely handle it. The pain, knowing I'll spend decades waiting for my comrades to come together once more. In a way, seeing you both now is like salt on the wound, a wound that is then grind down by one's heel." 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly, as a choked laugh escaped his throat.

"I'm sure you heard of the failed assault against the sorceress' forces? The one led by the Lieutenant General Doza?"

"He tried to lead an assault through the Palace of Twilight, right?" Wind  stated, "And failed half way through, along with the slaughter of most of his men. . After that, he sent a message requesting for rescue and stating that the sorceress' forces are stronger than ever."

"Which they now are, thanks to his disregard of the warnings they received." Time spat,  eyes opening wide as his tone went sharp and cold.

"He also claimed that he was 'caught unawares', and that if he had be 'properly forewarned', he would have succeeded."

"Something tells me he had been forewarned." Warriors remarked calmly.

"He was," Time answered, "By me." 

"...What?" Warrior frowned.

"Before he neared the palace, I had crossed paths with him. I recalled you mentioning last time how the previous assault also failed and I had approached him with 'advice.'" He explained with a scowl. "He laughed at me and told me little children should not play at being a soldier. He ordered some of his men to escort me to safety while he marched his men forward." 

"That arrogant-" Warriors pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "Seems the death of his captain took the last of his senses. I lent him some of my men. The very same ones who lost their lives there."

"The attack failed against the sorceress, as expected. The only reason there were any soldiers left to save was because I requested reinforcements after I was shoved to one of the far bases." Time continued.

"Didn't really stick around to see if they came in time, left as soon as I sent the message." 

"That explains why I was praised for my foresight in the rescue." Warriors muttered. 

"I knew how to make it seem like you wrote it, so I took advantage of that." Time sighed. 

"Lives lost due to arrogance and overconfidence in one's position. Worst part? He'll never admit to it. Even if I had been an adult." 

"Men like him never want someone else to order them around." Wind commented. "Is that why you've been sticking as the Deity?" 

"He's imposing enough to make sure no one tries to treat me like a child." Time answered smoothly. 

"Yet you were hoping that you could use him to bypass speaking to us." Warriors placed his hands on his hips, Time looked away. 

"I already told you why." 

"Yes, but why didn't you try talking to us sooner?" Warriors demanded. "The failed assault happened two weeks prior, where were you?" 

"Does it even matter?" Time asked tiredly. 

"Not particularly, but I'd still prefer if you would at least tell us why." Warriors said.

Silence reigned for awhile.

Finally, a sigh left Time's lips.

"I was scared." He admitted.

"..Scared?"

"Don't tell me neither of you were scared at the possible idea none of us remembered." Time scoffed. 

Silence descended upon them once more.

"I was terrified." He confessed quietly, "I was petrified of facing you both, of seeing your faces look at me with unfamiliarity." 

He rubbed his cheek with his hand, "I could barely stomach returning to my child's body. But seeing you both look at me with unfamiliar eyes? That would have broken me." 

"But we do remember." Warriors quietly stated, taking a step forward. 

"But I didn't know that yet, did I?" Time smirked weakly at him. 

"Believe me, hearing you greet the deity as you did and knowing you could only do so if you remembered." He sighed calmly, "It lit my heart with so much joy." 

"But then I suppose I became a coward in the time we have been apart. Here I was, willing to hide away so you would not see me like this." He motioned to himself. 

"So I attempted the coward's way out of speaking to you." He snorted softly. "And you saw how that turned out." 

Warriors took a step forward, then another. Slowly making his way to Time and kneeling before him. 

"I'm sorry my sword brother." Warriors said softly, making Time look at him. 

"Why are you sorry?"  He frowned, looking away again.

"If I'd known it meant you this much pain, I might have stopped and thought things through better." He shook his head.

"No..I-" Warriors sighed, "I'm sorry that out of all of us, you suffer the burden of years. Something no sword can defeat. That you would be left alone in your era with no true support. With no one who could hear your words and know it to be true." 

"I don't deserve such understanding, or apologies." His hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white and turning almost translucent under the strain. "None of us do for our arrogance." 

"None of us do," Warriors repeated in agreement, "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be forgiven. Or rather, cared enough about, to forgive ourselves."

"You-" 

"We...have much to atone for. For trying to trap our beloved in a cage of our own making." He continued, "And for not being able to see it until it was too late."

He reached out slowly, taking hold of Time's shaking hands, and gave them both a gentle squeeze, Wind's hand never having left Time's shoulder. 

"But we are here. For each other. And we will stand beside you, until it is time for us to part once more." He slowly leaned his head down, pressing his forehead against Time's. 

"And when we reunite once again. We will stand by you, always. Just as you would always stand by us." 

Time stared at Warriors, mouth slightly agape.

His eyes shone bright with unshed tears 

Time blinked rapidly, the tears spilling freely. Warriors reached up and pulled him, and Wind, into a hug, letting Time bury his head in his chest and hold on tight.

"Let me go. Please." He said through his tears.

"Never."

"Please Captain-"

"Let us have this." Warriors pleaded softly to him. 

"We won't let you go." Wind agreed firmly, burying his own face against Time's shoulder. "We don't want to, not when you need this as much as we do." 

They felt Time shudder against them, and soon, he nodded. 

 They held him closer, silent as they soon heard his sobs grow louder and louder.

"I'm sorry." He sobbed, pressing his face against Warriors' tunic. "I'm sorry." 

"We're here." Was all that was said in reply. 

Time said nothing more as he continued to cry. 

Allowing himself to finally let go within the arms of the few who had his complete trust.

[colormepurplex2]

Did It Hurt? | Prologue: The Fall

↳ FallenAngel!Taehyung x LostSoul!f.Reader ⤜ Fallen Angel AU, Strangers to Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 880 ⚠️ Violence, injury, judgement and punishment

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Taehyung, Sometime around the end of the 20th century, in the Divine Chamber of Justice, Heaven

“Why are we even bothering with this trial?” Phanuel asks, crossing his arms and giving his Brother a pitying look. “Is it fair to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the ones we protect?”

Amitiel harrumphs softly. “Of course we are to hold ourselves to a higher standard. We are Divine Protectors of the Heavens, pointedly above those we protect.”

“I think what Phanuel is trying to say,” comments Mitzrael, “is that there is nothing in the Doctrine about what Brother Taehyung did being unforgivable. If those we protect can be forgiven through Grace, shouldn’t we afford our Brother that same Grace?”

“I say we hand him over to our Fallen Brothers in Hell,” mutters Kushiel, ever the rigid purveyor of punishment.

Gabriel shifts where he sits at the pinnacle of the Judgement dias. “The spilling of one’s Holy Seed is different from that of a mortal’s seed. We all are aware of this. The creation of Nephilim has been strictly forbidden since the fall of Lucifer. Therefore, the act that can potentially create such a monstrosity should be punished to the fullest extent. After all, Taehyung may not have created a Nephilim, but to even act in pleasures of the flesh where that is a possibility is worthy enough of our ire. Imagine the destruction he would have wrought, untold devastation.”

There is a quiet murmur around the chamber, soft echoes of fear and agreement, Sarathiel loudest of them all.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Brother Taehyung?” Zadkiel asks, speaking over the hushed clamor.

Taehyung prostrates himself before his gathered Brothers, pressing his forehead to the smooth surface of the floor, wings splayed out behind him. Holding the position for a few precious moments, he gathers his thoughts before looking up and meeting all their gazes one by one until he’s focused on Gabriel. His Brother might not be the Angel of Judgement, but he’s the Leader of all Angels, which Taehyung knows holds far more sway over all the others than anyone else; he’s a leader for a reason.

“Brothers,” he begins, “I would not ask for forgiveness for such an unforgivable act. As Brother Gabriel has stated, what I did was careless, not just to myself but to all others. I endangered all that we hold Divine and Holy here. I endangered our home. But I would ask for your leniency, your guidance and deliverance. Treat me as one of the flock. Let me seek righteousness and serve a penance for my disgrace. Do not cast me into oblivion. Let me prove myself worthy.”

“We shall take that into consideration.” Sarathiel eyes Taehyung with a cold appraisal. Fear and pain burn hot in Taehyung’s chest. The few stolen moments he sought with–he can’t even think of their name without wanting to wail in mourning–have proven to be what might be his downfall; literally.

The Counsel gathers, cloistering themselves behind a hazy wall of silence. All Taehyung can do is watch them, trying to discern what words lips are forming and what the emotions flashing across his Brothers’ faces mean. Gabriel and Sarathiel seem to be leading the conversation. He can only hope they both remember their love for him in their hearts.

It could be hours, or just minutes, before the shield falls and noise eases back into the chamber, sounding far too loud after the silence. Taehyung thinks he might sickup on the floor if that’s even something Angels can do; he’s seemingly forgotten how to function at all.

The Angel of Justice, his Brother, Raquel, steps forward and gives Taehyung a sad, soft smile before beginning, “It is with heavy hearts that we, the Council of Grace and Purity, hereby sentence you, Brother Taehyung, to one hundred years of exile for breaking your Oath of Holy Divinity by seeking pleasures of the flesh and spilling Holy Seed. At the end of your one hundred years, if and only if you have found a soul seeking absolution and deliver them unto a path of justice and redemption, will you be granted back within the sanctity of this Kingdom and your wings restored. If you fail in your penance, you will feel the wrath of Divine Smite. May the Lord have mercy on your everlasting soul.”

Always so regal and poised, Michael steps forward, the tip of his great sword trailing just a breath above the floor. Taehyung couldn’t bear to look his brother in the eye for fear of seeing the disappointment there.

“Let it be known,” Michael whispers over Taehyung’s bowed head, “I take no pleasure in this, Brother.” With one felling sweep of Michael’s blade, Taehyung is rendered incomplete, severed from his proper form. White feathers fill the air, softening the cry that rips itself from Taehyung’s throat.

His Brothers watch as he plummets from the Heavens, entering a fiery free fall into an existence none of them envy. If only he had the Grace to keep his hands to himself. Though not all Angels are meant for the Heavens, that much is clear. They can only hope Taehyung finds his way once again, or Lucifer damn him, they’ll lose another to the darkness.

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[cozage]

hii!

idk if you are willing to write angst. If you are can you please write breaking up with zoro and sanji comforting you? Thank you and have a good day/night!❤

Made for Two

A/N: I DO WRITE ANGST AND I LOVE THIS PROMPT!!! THANK YOUUUUUU

Characters: gn reader x Sanji

Cw: some slightly suggestive content for a second but nothing crazy. Angst (obviously) and some great fluff/care

Total word count: 3.2k Brief Summary: You thought Zoro was the only person for you, but after a bad breakup, a certain cook attempts to cheer you up. Prologue | > Part Three | Masterlist

Set for Two

The worst thing about a breakup was the distance. Not that he was too far away, but that you were so damn close. You were trapped on a ship with your ex, and the only place you could be certain you wouldn’t see his face was your own room. 

You didn’t want Zoro to know how hard you were taking the breakup. He could make an educated guess if he cared to, since you hadn’t left your room in two and a half days. But the walls were made of Adam wood, so at least the rooms were soundproof. You got some solace in knowing that he couldn’t hear you crying yourself to sleep every night, missing his presence in your bed that seemed too large for one person. 

The rest of the crew occasionally checked in on you. Courtesy checks of awkward and base level questions. You could tell they cared, but there wasn’t really anything they could do. You just wanted to lay in bed and mourn your loss for a few days, and then you would pick yourself up and be ready to face everyone. They tried to help in the best way they could, but you just wanted to be alone. Thankfully most of them understood that.

Sanji was different though. He brought you meals, snacks, and plenty of refreshments throughout the day. He would knock twice on your door to let you know something was waiting for you, and then leave a covered tray near your room for you to grab at your convenience. Sometimes you ate it, other times you didn’t touch it. He never commented on it, he just gave you a soft double knock to know he was there. 

On the evening of the third day, it was different though. The knock came twice, waited a beat, and then it came again. 

“Go away,” your voice was hoarse, raised just loud enough for it to go through the wooden door. 

“It’s me.” Sanji’s velvet voice came from the other side. It was the first time he spoke to you since he had started bringing you food, and you found yourself curious at the change in pattern from the cook. 

“Oh.” You paused, not sure what else to say. “You can come in, I guess.”

The door softly clicked open, and Sanji clicked on the light in your room so he could see better. You squinted against the harsh brightness and ducked under a blanket. You could hear a rolling cart of sorts being moved into your room and the soft click of Sanji’s shoes walking towards you. 

“Y/N,” Sanji spoke softly, now next to you. “Let’s get up, shall we? Let’s have dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.” You mumbled. 

“You didn’t eat lunch or your afternoon snack, so I know that’s a lie.”

As if on cue, your stomach betrayed you by emitting a groan of hunger. You peeked out of the covers slightly, trying to see what dish he had prepared tonight for you. But all you could see was him. 

Sanji smirked at you, knowing his point was proven. “Come on, shower before dinner. I still have to prepare it, so go get ready.”

“But-”

“I’m going to lock that stupid marimo in his training room. So go grab some fresh clothes, I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.”

He didn’t give you a chance to object. As soon as he was finished with his statement, he ran out the door, leaving you alone again. It had been a while since you had been in your room with the light on. As you looked around, you remembered why. Some of Zoro’s things were still strewn around the room. His tank tops, a random plant you bought him to see if he could actually take care of a living thing, a few resistance stretch bands for training. After your breakup you had locked yourself in here. There hadn’t been time for him to gather his stuff, and you hadn’t returned it yet. Your heart tightens seeing the remnants of your all's love here, so minor yet so obvious that you two are together. Were together. 

You tried to push the pain out of your mind, and walked over to your dresser to grab some new clothes. You were going to opt for more pajamas, but something told you to pick out something a little less depressing. You shuffled through your drawer, settling on a casual tank top and some comfortable shorts instead. You could still lay in bed with this outfit after, but it made you look a bit more presentable then you were currently. 

A two-rapped knock came from the door, and you gathered your clothes and your bath towel. Your stomach tangled into knots at the thought of seeing anyone right now, let alone walking through the entire ship up to the bathhouse. Just the thought made you feel so vulnerable, so exposed. So alone. 

The knock came again, and you were reminded that you weren’t alone. You had Sanji. You opened the door to see the blonde leaning against the door frame, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. 

He looked at you expectantly. “You ready?”

“Can I have a drag before I go?” You’re already reaching up for his cigarette, and you can see your question shocks him. You grab it before it falls from his mouth, and you put it to your lips. You inhale long and deep, letting the smoke fill your lungs. It soothes you in a way, and you understand why Sanji smokes so often. You exhale, giving a small cough as the smoke passes through your lips into the air between the two of you. Returning the cigarette to Sanji, you start towards the door without another word. Your heart clenches as you step out onto the deck, nervous of what you’ll find when you reach the outdoors. 

You hear Sanji’s footsteps behind you, and you relax a little knowing that he’s close behind. As you walk out, your eyes glance up to the crow's nest instinctually. There’s a chain wrapped around the entire outside of the building, which must be Sanji’s work. You can’t see Zoro, but you can hear music blasting from the area, which is enough proof that he’s in there training. That’s all he ever seemed to care about these days. There wasn’t a single thing or a single person that was more important than-

“Come on.” Sanji gently grabs your arm, nudging you to turn away from the crow’s nest. You hadn’t realized you had stopped to stare, and you’re thankful for his gentle guidance to bring you back to reality. Your cheeks flush, and you pray that Zoro wasn’t near a window to see you staring. 

Sanji looped his arms through yours and walked you up the stairs. He could sense your rigid muscles, tense with anxiety. “It was just for a second,” He muttered to you. “I’m sure nobody even noticed.” 

You glance around the ship, and see that he’s right. Most of the crew hadn’t even noticed you emerging from your room, let alone saw you gawking up at the crow’s nest. You saw Nami do a double take when she realized it was you as you ascended the stairs, but she went back to her work quickly, trying to appear normal. The rest of the crew were either oblivious or not on the deck.

You had arrived at the bath house, and Sanji pulled away from you. “Will you be okay returning to your room on your own, or should I wait here?” 

“I’ll be okay, thank you though.” With a nod, he departed, leaving you alone outside the door to the bath house. 

The water burned against your skin, breathing life back into your bones. You tried to focus on the now as your washed your body clean from the past few days of despair. But your shampoo didn’t smell right without the mixture of his. The water pressure felt harsh without his body next to yours. You could feel the tears starting to form, and you were thankful for the water washing away your tears, because you didn’t have the energy to wipe them yourself. 

You stood there until the water stopped scalding your skin, and then you stood there some more. It felt like you were frozen in time, incapable of moving away from these feelings. They were as deep and dark as the ocean, and you were sure you were going to drown. And then two knocks came from the other side of the door, bringing you back to the present once again. Sanji.  

“Everything okay?” His voice snapped you into action, and you quickly turned off the shower.

“Fine!” Your voice cracked as you called out, and you prayed he didn’t notice. You quickly dried yourself off and changed into your fresh pair of clothes as fast as possible. You looked at yourself in the mirror, wiping at your swollen eyes and combing through your half washed hair. It was the best you were going to get, so you put on a half-attempted smile and opened the door to meet him. 

If Sanji noticed your messy appearance, he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t mention how long you had stayed in the shower, or that he had to come get you. He simply smiled when he saw you, and held his arm out for you to take. You took it, and resisted the urge to glance back up at Zoro’s training room again. 

The deck was eerily quiet for it being such a lovely night, and you could see the sun was setting over the horizon. You paused for a moment, watching the colors shift and change with every second. 

“Do you want to stay and watch it?” Sanji’s looking at you, but you shake your head and turn away from the view to continue walking. Watching the sunset used to be something you and Zoro would do, a small moment that you had forced him to carve out in his training routine for you. Thinking about it now made you bitter; you always had to beg for his attention and his affection. You were never at the forefront of Zoro’s mind like he was at yours. 

As you arrive at your room, you can feel Sanji start to tense with nervous energy. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, opening the door. “I tidied up a bit.”

Tidy was an understatement. Soft, twinkling lights now lined your ceiling. It was calming, much more manageable than your fluorescent overhead lights. Zoro’s things that had been scattered across the room were all gone from sight. Your bed sheets had been changed out for fresh linens. And in the corner of the room was a low dining table with two cushions and a small candelabra in the center of it.

You’re not sure how Sanji was able to do so much in such a little time. You’re about to ask him, but Sanji ushers you over to the table to sit you down, and then begins to serve you a spread of all of your favorite dishes. Some of the food you had never even commented on how much you loved it, and yet Sanji knew what you loved. Tears began to well up, overwhelmed with the sentiment he was showing you. 

“Thank you,” you gasped out, and you had to put a hand over your mouth to stifle a sob. Your reaction startled the cook, and he bent down to be at face level with you. 

“Hey, hey,” he rubbed your back, trying to get you to calm down. “Talk to me, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” you reassured him, wiping at your eyes. The tears were still flowing, and you felt a little embarrassed at your surge of emotion. “This is just so perfect. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He laughed softly, relieved that you were okay. “You haven’t even tried the food yet, Y/N.”

Once he had placed the spread of food in front of you, he took his place at the seat across from you. You were about to take a bite when you realized his side of the table was empty. 

He noticed you looking at him. “This is just for you,” he clarified. “I already ate.”

“It’s a table made for two. Eat with me,” you begged. “Please?”

He couldn’t refuse your request, so he grabbed a small plate and picked a few small portions off one of the trays to nibble on while you ate. 

Every bite you had was better than the last. You let out a soft moan of pleasure with every bite. “God Sanji, you have to teach me how to cook like this.”

You see a flash of surprise cross his face at your comment. “I didn’t know you were interested in cooking.”

You laughed. It was the first time you had laughed in a few days, and it felt nice to have it come so naturally. “I used to do it all the time! I loved to cook before I joined the Sunny. Not all the time, and I wasn’t exceptionally good at it, but I could follow a recipe pretty well!”

“I’d love to have you in the kitchen whenever you want to join,” Sanji smiles at you, and you can tell he’s being genuine in his offer. 

Zoro never wanted you in the training room with him. You were always some kind of distraction for him. Even when you sat silently in the corner, you always felt like you were in the way. Even if Sanji was being genuine now, you weren’t sure he would feel that way once you actually were in his space with him. 

Sanji could see you slipping back into the past, and he speaks up again, trying to bring you back to him. “We can learn whatever recipe you want. I’ll write it down and we can follow it step by step.”

You look at him, surprised by his insistence on the topic. “Maybe we can start out with a dessert?” You offer. Those usually took less time than a full meal, so it would be easier for him to kick you out if he was having a bad time. 

“I have a great macaron recipe! We should do that!”

You scoff. “Aren’t those really advanced and difficult?”

He nods, with a grin still on his face and excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m certain you can do it! If not, then we can always try something else and work our way up to it.”

You nod and finish eating the spread he’s laid out for you. A bit of hope swirls inside you, mixing with the despair and sadness that lingered over the past few days. You always wrote Sanji off as a pervert cook, and now you were wondering how much of that ideology came from Zoro’s snide comments and disdain towards the man. Sanji was kind. He was attentive, and he cared about his crew. Him and Zoro were so alike and yet so different in the strangest of ways.

“Y/N,” he says, calling your attention back to him. He always knew when you were starting to slip away. “You deserve to be treated like royalty, you know.”

Your face must’ve held a shocked expression, because his face flushed red. “I’m not saying that person needs to be me.” His words tumbled quickly out of his mouth, rushing to explain. “But you do deserve it from someone.”

He begins to pick up the plates from in front of you, ignoring the glassy look in your eyes. You furiously wipe at your face, willing your eyes to dry. You’ve cried enough today, and yet you can't will yourself to stop. 

Sanji silently pours you a cup of tea - vanilla and chamomile, your favorite before bed. He sets it in front of you, and begins to take his leave. As he reaches the door, he looks back at you, still sitting where he left you. 

“Sleep well, my dear.” 

“Sanji?” You call to him. You’re still staring at the wall, your back to him. He can’t see your face, but he can hear your voice tremble slightly. 

“Hm?”

“Can you stay here tonight?” Your face is burning and you’re thankful that you're facing away from him. “I mean, can you lay with me until I fall asleep?”

Sanji hesitates for a moment. “I can stay all night - if you’d like me to.”

“I would.”

“Let me go put these dishes away and clean up, and then I’ll be right back here. Is that all right?”

You nod in response, and pick up the teacup in front of you to take a drink. The temperature is perfect, and it’s a perfect ending to the meal you’ve just eaten. You’d expect nothing less from Sanji. 

You suspect that even the teacup had been selected specifically for you, a decision that Sanji probably spent a half an hour on. He gave so much effort to show you how much he cared. It was such a foreign concept, you felt a little nauseous thinking about it. You deserve to be treated like royalty. The words rang in your ears still. Zoro had never given much effort in your relationship, but neither had you. Maybe if you had put in the effort that Sanji put in, maybe if you had been more understanding towards Zoro, then everything would have ended differently. You could feel tears spilling out of your eyes again, and you were ashamed that you were already crying again. 

Sanji didn’t bother to knock on the door before he entered this time, and he found you still staring at the wall, tears streaming down your face. The half-drank tea was still in front of you, cold now. You furiously wiped the tears from your eyes again, trying to act like nothing happened. Sanji looked down at you with a frown, but he didn’t comment on your current state. 

“Are you ready for bed?” He offered a hand to you as he asked. 

You took his hand and stood, walking to your bed. He pulled back the covers, motioning for you to get in, and you followed his silent instructions. 

He hesitates for a second at the edge of the bed, glancing around your room. “Are you sure you want my company? I don’t want…”

“Please.” You can’t hide the desperation that seeps out of your voice. You don’t want to be alone again.

He gingerly gets into bed next to you, giving you ample space to get comfortable. You close the gap between the two of you quickly, curling up into his side. You wrap your arms around his torso, eager for the warmth of another person’s body again. Your bed was made for two, and you feel more relaxed with him next to you. 

Sanji doesn’t comment when he feels his shirt grow wet with your tears. He just silently rubs your back and holds you until you fall asleep, feeling your breathing finally slow and become even. He keeps you close through the night, silently cursing that stupid Marimo for hurting you, and vowing that he’ll do everything he can to prevent you from feeling this pain ever again. 

[im-not-corrupted]

A short DBD fic about grief and mourning and dealing with loss after Niko's death.

------

He’s never had to grieve, not for anybody other than himself.

Even when it came to himself, he didn’t have much chance to do so. He was alive and then he died and then he was in Hell. There wasn’t much room for grief in Hell; there was only pain and terror that found its roots so deep he sometimes thinks he’ll never rid himself of it. Each time they close a case, aid some other ghost into taking Death’s hand, that fear takes him again.

I don’t want to go back, Edwin thinks each time, desperate to get as far away as he can. Who he pleads to, he doesn’t know. Death herself, perhaps, or some other force of the universe. Don’t send me back.

The fear has been easier to manage these days. Mostly, this is a product of Charles’s presence in his life. He will not go back because he will evade Death’s eyes and Charles will evade her too, and they are together.

They will be together. Will be for the rest of their afterlives, as Charles says to him.

It helps. He still gets that fear, that instinctual reaction that grips him when the air shifts and he can hear the beating of wings, distant but coming steadily closer. But then Charles is there and they are running and it is enough to shake that fear away.

But he has never had to grieve, is the point. When he was alive, his family were wealthy and did not have to deal with the horrors of his day as those who were…less well off had. His family were healthy, and then he was dead and his only friend after spending seventy three years in hell was Charles, and Charles has been dead since they met. (And when he realised he would be unable to return to the life he had after escaping Hell, well, it didn’t matter. He never had the greatest relationship with his family, and he found Charles almost immediately. It soothed whatever grief he felt to know he had somebody, that he was no longer alone.)

It is not the same now. Now, they know people who are alive.

At least, they know Crystal. And they knew Niko, who is no longer alive.

Hence the grief.

Edwin has not had somebody die in defence of him before. He never even considered the idea that somebody would go to such lengths for him; never wanted it. This didn’t matter, for Niko still died attempting to save him from the witch’s torture device, and now she is gone.

And without her, he is left feeling…hollow. There are feelings there, sorrow at the loss and anger at the circumstances, but they seem to be locked away.

He only really feels them when he considers finding Niko so she might expose him to more modern-day pop culture, or so they might simply spend time in one another’s company. Truthfully, he never considered the idea that he might enjoy the company of somebody who is alive—he and Crystal did not get along well initially, though Edwin is wise enough to be able to admit that this was due to no fault of here but rather a product of his aversion to change—but those moments spent with Niko were precious to him.

They remain so now, treasured memories he stores away so he does not have to look at them too closely. Yet they continue to haunt him and sometimes, when his mind drifts, he forgets, and it aches.

This is one of those moments. He stands, triumph making his day just that little bit brighter after solving a particularly difficult case, and he says, “I shall go and find N—“

And then he freezes. Her name is on the tip of his tongue but he holds it back with barely-there self control and thinks that if he had a body capable of sustaining injury then there would be an open wound over his chest and he would bleed out all over the lovely wooden floors of the Dead Boy Detectives Agency.

There is no blood. Of course there is not. He is dead, and ghosts do not bleed. They do not even have bodies, not in the real sense of the world.

As it turns out, being unable to feel the pages of another book between his fingers as he researches for one of their cases, of being unable to feel the warmth of Charles’s palms when he places them upon Edwin’s shoulders, does not make it impossible for him to feel the way the unfinished sentence stabs into his chest. It freezes him in place and his eyes sting with what suspiciously feels like tears, and he clenches his hands into fists in an effort to keep it at bay.

Before him, Charles’s lips draw tight. His eyes shine with sorrow of his own. Edwin wishes suddenly that he had not slipped up and made such an awful, easy mistake, if only because it hurts a part of him to see his friend in such pain.

“I miss her,” Charles says. The words are terribly soft. It buries the knife in his chest only deeper. “It’s okay if you do too.”

Charles has only ever been kind with him, despite Edwin’s own reticence and tendency to take charge, and he appreciates that a great deal more than he believes himself capable of expressing out loud. Here and now, though, he wishes that tenderness was not there. It makes it too easy to notice the absence that seems to follow them around that should fit Niko, to notice the tide rising up inside him, ready to drown him.

He does miss her. He misses being able to walk into her room above Jenny’s butcher shop and having her show him TV shows she enjoyed. It was never about what they did together, he simply…enjoyed being in her company, in a way he cannot recall having with anybody but Charles.

It was different than that, but similar enough. He enjoyed her company. He wishes their friendship was not so brutally cut short.

Edwin has always believed silence speaks for itself and this theory proves true now, for Charles rises from the chair he sits in and places a hand on his shoulder. They are ghosts and cannot feel such touches, but sometimes he fools himself into believing he can feel the warmth of his friend’s hand through his blazer and shirt.

Wishful thinking, always. But it does not hurt, and so he makes no effort to stop himself, not as he does with the other far more dangerous things he tends to imagine when his brain wanders more than he would typically allow. (His feelings for Charles are out in the open now, yet still he fears them sometimes. They have yet to talk about it properly, and the questioning is…driving him a little bit insane, but he won’t push. It is a miracle Charles continues to tolerate him now that he knows.)

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” his oldest, dearest friend tells him. It is honest, and Edwin is glad for it. “But I’m here if you ever want to.”

He nods stiffly, the best he can manage. There’s a tangle of feelings in his chest and they seem far too difficult to make sense of, and talking of them seems impossible, like tearing open barely healed wounds to bleed out all over again.

“I will…keep that in mind,” he says, and hopes his tone conveys his appreciation even if his words do not. “Thank you, Charles.”

“Anytime, mate. I mean that.”

The truth of those words ache. Charles went to Hell for him. There is very little he would not do, and that Edwin believes wholeheartedly. He does not know what to do with it all.

So for now, he does not. There is nothing he can do here and now, anyway.

He steps from Charles’s reach, immediately missing the phantom warmth. “I will find something to read,” he declares, and Charles nods.

He misses Niko. She would know what to say about this, or would help him somehow.

He has not had to miss somebody before, not like this. He hopes, perhaps foolishly, that it will get easier with time.

[cromulentreader]

Tail's POV of Taryn's Inquest

@viivdle I don't remember why I wrote this, but I remember I wrote it for you. --

Jude is here! I curl to Master’s side in celebration. 

After spending most of our existence hidden, I’m finally let out for all to hold and behold. Well, not "to hold" per se– unless you’re Jude. Unfortunately, she’s here under the guise of being her lesser mirror.

“Your Majesty,” our Queen says after 5 months away from her court and her most adoring subject - me. The imbecile who exiled her tries to pinch me into place.

“We recognise your grief,” the grief of burying the memory of having a husband in the first place perhaps, “We would not disturb your mourning were it not for questions over the cause of your husband’s death.”

Nicasia, the sea creature who liked to swat me away starts wondering about Taryn’s sadness. “Did you kill Locke yourself?” she asks. “Or did you get your sister to do it for you?”

I twitch as I fantasise about wrapping myself very tightly around the mermaid’s neck.

“Jude is in exile,” True enough, “And I’ve never hurt Locke.” 

“No?” Master says, leaning forward on our throne. Ha! If only she were a faerie and the word enough would be bursting out of her tongue.

“I lov …” Our queen plows through with a sob, “I loved him.”

“Sometimes I believed that you did, yes,” Master digresses into our jealous days, “But you could well be lying. I am going to put a glamour on you. All it will do is force you to tell us the truth.” If the geas fails. I suppose the words are true enough.

“Now,” The jester in charge curves his hand, “Tell me only the truth. What is your name?”

“Taryn Duarte,” The liar lies beautifully. Oh, how I miss her. Then proceeds to remind Master she’s well educated.

“Did you murder Locke?” Master silences the Folk in attendance with a single question.

“No,” Jude says with a glare in the mermaid’s direction. “Nor did I orchestrate his death. Perhaps we ought to look to the sea, where he was found.”

The mermaid talks a lot, yet says very little. I lash quickly in annoyance. Not as annoyed as our Queen when reminded she’s supposedly in exile. 

“Perhaps it is only Court gossip, but there is a popular tale about you, your sister, and Locke,” Lady Not-Our-Real-Mother starts gabbing, “She loved him, but he chose you. Some sisters cannot bear to see the other happy.” 

The sheer embarrassment of being related to this creature. Although her tail is not too bad to talk to.

“Jude never loved Locke.” Our Queen informs. “She loved someone else.He’s the one she’d want dead.” I quickly hide behind the thorny throne. 

“Enough,” my scared Master says. “I have heard all I care to on this subject—”

“No!” The gall on that mermaid. I go back to the front to lash some more. “Taryn could have a charm on her, something that makes her resistant to glamours.”

Master’s anger turns into bright hope, “I suppose she’ll have to be searched.”

With all the authority of the Queen that she is, Jude tells the court in posh wording that they shall not receive the gift of seeing her undress tonight. 

As Master’s contentment rises, I calmly wag up in the air. “As you wish. Then I suppose I will have to examine you alone in my chambers."

[atopvisenyashill]

elia sand, queen of (what’s left of) the seven kingdoms

HEAR ME OUT.

probably the biggest and most important question after you accept “king bran in harrenhal” into your life, is but bran can’t have kids. that’s correct. or well, it’s potentially correct - everyone in universe seems to think he won’t be physically capable of having a child because of his paralysis. BUT. that doesn’t mean he won’t marry nor does that mean that there isn’t a potential benefit to him not being able to have children.

now, there have been several marriages made to bring peace after conflict - dorne is involved in several of thess with the matches of maron & daenerys as well as daeron & myriah. the marriages of robert & cersei and jaehaera and aegon iii were…less successful attempts at this. so even if bran isn’t expected to have kids, it’s possible that a marriage for him would see prudent as a way of brokering peace in some symbolic way. what better candidate than dorne, really, given the similarities between their people and what dorne & the north have lost (in differing colors for formatting reasons)-

"I promise." Promise me, Ned, Lyanna's voice echoed. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. "As children Elia and I were inseparable, much like your own brother and sister."

That was his curse. Robert would swear undying love and forget them before evenfall, but Ned Stark kept his vows. He thought of the promises he'd made Lyanna as she lay dying, and the price he'd paid to keep them. "If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells," he promised.

Archmaester Brude, who was born and raised in the shadow city that huddles beneath the crumbling walls of Sunspear, once famously observed that Dorne has more in common with the distant North than either does with the realms that lie between them.

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" "Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father." "The boy has never wronged us."

but why justify elia sand specifically though? well-

Robb bristled at that. "The Westerlings are better blood than the Freys. They're an ancient line, descended from the First Men. The Kings of the Rock sometimes wed Westerlings before the Conquest, and there was another Jeyne Westerling who was queen to King Maegor three hundred years ago."

Arianne read the letter thrice, then rolled it up and tucked it back into her sleeve. A dragon has returned to Westeros, but not the dragon my father was expecting...Fire and blood was what Jon Connington (if indeed it was him) was offering as well. Or was it? "He comes with sellswords, but no dragons," Prince Doran had told her, the night the raven came… “Elia's son... I would weep for joy if some part of my sister had survived, but what proof do we have that this is Aegon?"

wild Elia Sand, a maid of ten-and-four.

Five yards from the gates Elia Sand came flying from the cloud of dust behind them to rush past both of them on her black filly. “Are you half horse, child?" Valena asked, laughing, in the yard. "Princess, did you bring a stable girl?" “I'm Elia," the girl announced. "Lady Lance."

Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.

When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying, 'Teach your squires honor, that shall be ransom enough.' Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armor were returned. And so the little crannogman's prayer was answered.

"Rise. Tell me, who is Lyanna Mormont?" "One of Lady Maege's daughters, Sire. The youngest. She was named for my lord father's sister."

so two joust loving, sassy 14 year old girls are rolling up to A Targaryen Prince who is about to be TESTED by all his Promised Princeliness. Elia Sand, named after Elia, Rhaegar’s wife, and Lyanna, who has a living namesake in Lyanna Mormont. robb justifies his marriage to jeyne by saying kings have married westerlings before…and if elia and aegon elope like some other Unruly 14 Year Old/Targaryen Prince, he has the power to legitimize her, and this excuse could be used again.

As everyone decides what should be done about Bran’s marriage, Elia Sand is pressed forward - she’s around his age (only four years older), she has been legitimized (is perhaps even going by Elia Martell), she is, like jeyne westerling, a crownless little queen without a princely son or a living kingly husband. And as people start to grumble about her baseborn heritage, Arianne will point out that no one is expecting Bran to have children, and it’s merely symbolic - a way of giving Dorne a say in rebuilding Westeros, and if attempting to reunite what’s left of the kingdoms.

[spoiledleaff]

✿ been thinking about mountain and his flower nicknames he gives everyone… my love for victorian flower language haunts me. anyways, buckle up. it’s another leaf hyperfixation :)

aether: “my little jonquil” which means ‘i desire a return of affection’, because mountain thinks that aether doesn’t bother him nearly enough or as much as the rest of the ghouls do and he wants to be bothered, damnit! also, the yellow hues complement aether’s eyes nicely, mountain thinks.

rain: “my little blue bell” (‘i will be constant’ in flower language), because mountain wants rain to know that even though he is one of the younger ghouls, their little pack would simply not be the same without him, no matter what his insecurities and awkwardness might try to tell him. this name in particular never fails to leave rain a perfectly blushing mess. also, the bulbs of this flower reminds mountain of rain’s nose.

swiss: “my sweet geranium” and “my little ivy” for geranium ivy. mountain likes to divide this nickname up, but make no mistake! it’s in reference to the same flower (meaning ‘your hand for the next dance’), and it references both swiss and mountain’s places next to each on stage and their sometimes shared shenanigans. also, the shape of this flower’s petals reminds mountain of swiss’ vape, as the slight curve and stretch of the petals remind mountain of how the fumes from swiss’ vape somehow always find him; always reaching for mountain’s lungs.

dewdrop: this one was a bit tricky, as mountain has tried numerous names in the past that dewdrop has immediately shut down, the dastardly fire ghoul somehow knowing a good deal of flower language, and the embarrassing softness behind mountain’s nicknames (perhaps from his time as a water ghoul? did he once have an interest in these things?). but, regardless, mountain has found two names that he’s been allowed to use repeatedly. “my scorched mulberry” (‘scorched’ is intended to take the place of ‘black’, so a black mulberry which means ‘i will not survive you’) and “my dear mignonette” (this one means ‘your qualities surpass your charms’), amongst some other names that dewdrop allows like “fire lily”. although that one doesn’t have much meaning besides the obvious. also, both the reaching structures of mulberry flowers and mignonette stalks remind mountain of dewdrop; always reaching towards the sun. whatever that might mean.

cirrus: “my sweet heliotrope” (meaning ‘devotion’) because no matter the height difference, mountain will always be there to willingly drop to his knees and worship the earth with which cirrus simply breathes. just as she deserves. also, the sometimes complicated scent of the heliotrope flower reminds mountain of cirrus’ own scent; complex with floral smells, but also balsamic with sweet notes.

cumulus: a personal favorite nickname of mountain’s, he adores calling her “my lovely, lovely juniper” (meaning ‘asylum; shelter’ in flower language), and it’s in reference to how much of a motherly figure/safe space cumulus is — not only for mountain — but for the rest of their polycule as well. also, the soft blue/white colors of the juniper flower reminds mountain of how cumulus’ hair shimmers underneath the moonlight.

sunshine: mountain likes to alternate between “my sweet cedar” and “my darling little maiden’s blush” (meaning ‘i live for thee’ and ‘if you do love me, you shall find me out’, respectively)the last one is certainly a mouthful, and mountain typically saves it for some very special occasions. both nicknames are in reference to their elements connections, and how the earth quite literally needs the sun in order to victoriously flourish and thrive. also, the way sunshine’s hair is so curly and vibrant in color reminds mountain of the intricate curves and structure of the maiden’s blush rose. how sweet.

copia: mountain called him “my sweet cypress” (meaning ‘mourning’, and ‘despair’) when they first met, and it’s in reference to when his brothers had been killed. now, he calls copia “my little locust” (meaning ‘affection beyond the grave’) not just for his lost brothers, but to remind copia of his forever place in the ghoul polycule. also, the fact that the tree is called a black locust, and yet it blooms a white flower reminds mountain of him. specifically his papal paint.

[xelasrecords]

All That Is Lost

Han Jumin x MC

Jumin is dying from cancer and there is nothing else you can do but wait. Featuring a minor appearance from Jihyun.

CW: Anticipatory grief

Words: 5.5k

Masterlist Read on AO3

When she was young, she used to think grief was reserved for death. And in the period of mourning, joy would not exist. Sorrow would engulf her whole and she would waste away alone in eternal darkness and nothing else would matter. However, time had revealed to her that nothing was ever as simple.

She was grieving for her living husband. Living, but dying. Jumin was behind the hospital door that she teetered in front of. It would lead her to a private patient room surrounded by beige walls and ivory curtains, and she would see Jumin putting on his best smile even as the lung cancer drained his strength. More often now, his best was a single tight smile that took him a lot of effort to manage.

She was always gripped by fear when she came here, wondering how much Jumin's health had deteriorated in the brief absence Jihyun switched with her to stay over. They had tried everything they could to treat him, but there was never any good news.

Time was not on their side.

Clutching her overnight bag, she straightened her posture and pushed the door open—and found that Jumin had been waiting for her. He was propped up on the bed and outstretched his hand when she crossed the threshold, reaching for her as he always did. In the warm hospital glow, she caught the weak smile on his pallid face and picked up her pace to clasp his free hand, one without an IV line attached. His slender fingers were always stiff and cold now, but a tiny relief fluttered in her chest when they finally touched.

She set her bag down beside the couch and kissed his cheek, careful not to knock the nasal cannula strung beneath his nose askew. "Jihyun isn't here? I thought he was with you when I called."

Jumin lifted his brows, but the humour in his sharp grey eyes betrayed his serious expression. "I see you care more about another man when I am right here."

"Only because you're here and he's not," she said lovingly. Though there were deep crevices around his eyes and his sunken cheeks had left a sharp edge to his jaw and cheekbones, he was still handsome to her, his thinning black hair falling just past his ears.

"As it should be," Jumin declared. There was a permanent rasp in his voice that appeared as his illness worsened. "He would have passed out from starvation if I didn't send him away. I never expected him to be so adamant about staying by my side. I was always the one who worried about him, not the other way around."

"He is stubborn," she reminded. She slid her fingers down to the inside of his wrist to feel his pulse. It confirmed what she sometimes feared her sight was fooling her—that he was already gone. "He's so much like you in that regard."

"Perhaps I should have let him stay. Having a roommate would not be so bad. We could even recreate the sleepovers we had as children." There was a certain melancholy in Jumin's eyes, one that often appeared when he talked about his friendship with Jihyun. "I don't know why we ever stopped. We used to stay over at each other's houses all the time."

"You grew up," she said, and squeezed his hand. It felt more brittle than she remembered. "But that change isn't permanent. You've been recreating it these days. Look at how he sleeps here when I can't. Thanks to me, of course," she added. "I graciously spared my precious time with you for him. You're welcome."

Jumin smiled and stared at her with deep, tender attention as if he wished to preserve and immortalise this exact moment before he left. She was familiar with that look. She watched him the same way when he was not looking. She knew all memories faded eventually, but perhaps she could keep some for herself if she tried hard enough. "What a noble sacrifice," he said. "I shall make sure he shows gratitude for your kindness."

She smiled back, trying to keep exhaustion from showing. "It's nothing. I just want to make you happy."

But nothing slipped past Jumin. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles and frowned. "Did you not sleep well?" he asked, unable to keep distraught from his voice. He studied her with the same intensity that never dimmed despite the illness. All these years, those eyes like dark storms that had been nothing but loving to her, were still loving her now. How safe and grounded she always felt looking into them.

"You think I look rubbish," she joked. It twisted her heart that Jumin still put her well-being before his.

"I think you look like someone who did not have a good night's sleep," he stated, and then it dawned on him. "You had been crying."

She nodded. It was not a question and she would not lie. After the first diagnosis, she had anticipated an intense, unstoppable streak of wallowing, but her reality was quite different. In the first few days when she was caught up in the whirlwind of trips to the emergency room and doctor appointments and looking after mundane matters, her emotions had taken a back seat. Only after Jihyun swept in to help that she could find the space to cry.

Even the tears came on intermittently. She was fine on some days, perfectly capable of executing her daily routine with a strength that stunned her. But in the moments she least expected, she would break down and find herself bargaining for more months, weeks, days with Jumin, begging on her knees while knowing there was no one out there who could, that there was no magical cure. She had put Jumin's spell book away and learned to tuck herself into a bed that was too empty for one.

Last night, she noticed that their housekeeper Sunja had placed one of Jumin's ties at a ten-degree angle in the drawer. She straightened it because surely it would irritate him and then it hit her that there was no point, he would never come home and open this drawer again, she would never get another chance to tie his tie before work and soon she would have to refer to this house as hers instead of theirs. He would go. He would go first. She slid down the glass cupboard and crumpled into herself, unable to stop the chest-heaving sobs breaking out of her.

In the morning, Sunja found her asleep on the cold granite floor clutching the blue-striped tie. It was Jumin's favourite tie from her for his first birthday that they celebrated together. It matched his eyes, she had told him. He loved to recount this story to anyone who would listen.

Sunja then guided her to the dining room while she followed in a dazed state. She brewed her a cup of tea and cooked her a light meal, which promptly brought forth another wave of tears. It was not Sunja's job to cook for her, she knew. Altruistic kindness from people who did not want anything from her was rare, yet here it was, served to her when she had not done anything to deserve it.

But she was not in the mood to tell Jumin the long tale of her breakdown, so she sat on the couch beside his bed and wiggled her eyebrows. "My sleeping problem could be solved if someone wants to sleep with me. Right now. I might even cry from ecstasy instead."

Jumin's stare lingered on her. She was aware he could see through her, but he only let out a defeated sigh. "Believe me, I want to," he played along. "I would bed you properly if I could, but my doctor has barred me from doing rigorous activities."

"Well, I can only imagine the horror if your heart stopped mid-act," she said. "Like, what would your tombstone say? 'He came so hard he literally saw heaven'?"

Jumin laughed. She took in his quirked brows, the impish glint in his eyes, and the rasp in his laughter and committed them to memory. "He might not find heaven to his liking and decide to come back down," he said.

"The press would have a field day during your burial. Your reputation would be ruined. Legacy, over."

"It's fortunate—"

But Jumin doubled over with violent coughs that rattled his frail frame before he could finish his sentence. She jumped on her feet and rubbed his back repeatedly, feeling powerless to do anything else. His shoulder blades were sharp through the thin hospital gown, and his arms and calves had barely any muscle left, skin clinging to limbs desperately. She thought she had more time. His change had seemed slow and gradual, but now she saw how much the illness had taken away from him.

Jumin brought his hand away from his mouth, revealing an alarming amount of blood. He tensed and she willed herself to swallow her panic. Quickly, she snatched a handful of tissues from the nightstand and wiped his trembling hand. Though Jumin was silent, she could feel his helplessness rolling off him as he watched her clean his blood-stained mouth. It was not the first time he had coughed up blood, but it had never been this much.

Jumin attempted a weak smile. "It's fortunate I won't be here to see my downfall."

"No, not fortunate." She closed her eyes and steadied her breath. "Because your downfall would be mine."

"My love." His fingers encircled her wrist, but his hold was so fragile. "I am sorry to have brought so much pain upon you. I wish I could ease it somehow."

She tossed the tissues aside and fixed her gaze on him. "And what of yours?" she demanded. "You just coughed blood, Jumin."

"My suffering will not last long, but yours will. It is my most desperate hope that it won't last forever." He shook his head when she started to refute. "You're shouldering this unfair burden of taking care of me while I am simply lying here, useless to be of any help. I feel myself tearing apart from the inside knowing that I am the cause of your tears."

"Let me cry for you. It's the evidence of my love, nothing unfair or burdensome in that."

"Do you remember my vow at our wedding? I promised to be there with you every step of the way, to never leave you when you are struggling." His face twisted in agony that sent a sharp pang into her heart. "But it appears that I have become your problem."

"I'd rather you be my problem than cease to be my anything," she said fiercely. "But as it happens, you're not. I worry because I care. I stay here because sleeping on this couch and waking up with a stiff back is better than losing sleep alone in our bedroom. That's our home, Jumin. You should be there with me to make it feel like one, and if you can't, then I'll go wherever you are. Don't be sorry that I love you. I chose you too, way back then, and I still choose you now."

The look Jumin gave her was haunted and unseeing. She had the sensation that he was peering into the years that stretched out behind them. "I never thought there would be a day where I'm completely reliant on you without the ability to give you anything in return. I never thought it would be so soon."

"You can do nothing and I will still love you." She sat on the bed and tucked a thin strand of hair behind his ear. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same for me."

"I can't." Jumin groaned in despair. "God, I can't. Even as my life is coming to a close, you still show me how wonderful you are." He buried his face into the dip between her neck and collarbone and held her tightly, as tight as his weakening body could muster. She put her arms carefully around him and laid her chin on the side of his head. This was her love, her love that she was losing. He no longer smelled like the expensive cedar cologne he sprayed on every morning before work. This Jumin was covered with a stinging antiseptic scent and it was terrifying. He was changing at a rate that she could not keep up. "How can I ever leave you?" he whispered, his voice caught.

Jumin sounded so broken it almost broke her. "I don't want you to leave either," she murmured. "I wish I could follow you instead of being here alone."

Jumin withdrew and held her at arm's length. "Don't you dare entertain that thought. You have a life here." His face grew stricken when she was silent. "You will not throw it away for me. I will not ever forgive you if you do."

She made a choking sound. "My life has no meaning without you, Jumin." She knew she was speaking out of hysterical delusion, that her real life was more than a single love, but he was the love she lived with, that lived in her. She knew the pattern of his breathing like her own, knew what cunning retorts would come out of him before he could speak them. How would she live without him? What would there be to live for once the person who put sense into her life was gone? "You've changed my life with your presence alone," she said. "I've always looked to you for peace and comfort. My highest happiness is amplified because you're here to share my joy, and my deepest sadness is pacified because you sit with me through it all. I hear your voice every day. I see your face every day. How do you expect me to lose all that? I don't want to learn to be alone, not yet."

Jumin held her face in the palm of his hand. "You won't be alone. Jihyun is still here. He will accompany you—"

"But he's not you!" she shouted. "Every day I'm grateful that he's here and I know how much he means to you, but he is not you. I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you. He's my friend, but you're my husband. You're irreplaceable, you hear me?"

To her surprise, there were tears in Jumin's eyes. "But you will survive. I know you. You have a tenacious soul that persists in the face of adversity, and you will have a good friend to lean on. I can think of no one better suited for emotional support than Jihyun. You will not be alone. That fact itself placates my heart more than anything."

She rested her forehead against his. His skin was so cold. "You always say you'll give me anything I ask from you. I have one now: stay a little longer. Your birthday is only a few months away. Stay until then." Her voice cracked. "Please."

Jumin looked at her with great sadness. "That is the one thing I cannot control."

At that, her emotions broke through. She wept and wept and wept and it was Jumin's turn to reach for the tissue and dabbed it across her face. She had not wanted to cry in front of him for the guilt it would induce in him. It felt cruel to seek comfort from him when he was in the most pain, but it was Jumin she thought of telling whenever she was hurt. It was Jumin she went to for everything good and bad. Years of habit could not be unravelled in an instance, but beyond that was the familiarity and trust that she could find in nobody else. He knew her so well and so intuitively that she knew that when he left, he would carve out something crucial of herself and take her with him.

Jumin laid her head on his chest and pulled her into the bed with him. In the haze of her crying, she was aware that she should not put her entire weight on him, that he already had enough difficulty breathing as he was, and she cried harder. She tightened her arm around his waist, relishing in the realness of him, dreading the day she could no longer feel the warmth of his embrace. But when she felt his tears falling on the top of her head, she knew that whatever illness that would separate them would not truly sever their bond. Together they mourned for the loss of their planned future, for the life Jumin would never have, for the loneliness that would come for her in the days without him.

"Do you know what my worst fear is?" Jumin asked hoarsely.

She lifted her head and wiped the tears from his face. She imagined her eyes were as red as his. "That I'm only pretending to be sad when I actually can't wait to inherit your wealth after you go?"

A small smile played on his lips. "Now don't you instil more fears in me." Jumin poked her nose without any real offence. If he noticed that she had been avoiding the word "die", he didn't let on. "I fear losing my possessions and everything I deem important. I know nothing is absolute in this world, but I harbour an irrational hope that I could protect them with the power I have accumulated." He gazed at her with adoration so deep that her heart could have cracked in half. "You are on top of that list."

She caressed his face, and he leaned into her touch. "You're not losing me now."

"I know, and I'm grateful for it. I can see with clarity that my worst fear will not come true, for you have never left me." Jumin took her hand and splayed it against his heart. She could barely feel it beating beneath her palm, but it was there. It had not stopped beating. That was enough. "You stand by me through my endless treatments. You don't recoil from me after witnessing me in my worst state. I know you love me. You don't have to say it to make it true. But..." He sounded constricted as he tried to get the words out. "I'm sorry you are going to lose me."

"You're still thinking about me. You still worry how I will fare without you." She bit back fresh tears that threatened to fall, hearing Jumin's concern beneath his words. She could not yet bring herself to imagine a life without him, preferring to hold on to the slightest hope that he might get better no matter how impossible, but it hurt her more to see him fearing for her. "I can't promise I'd cope well, but I'm never really going to lose you," she said. "I keep you close in my heart. You are my heart. You will always be alive in me."

A sad chuckle escaped from Jumin. "I laugh the most with you, did you know that?"

She blinked. "I know I'm moderately funny, but I don't see the connection with what I just said."

"You make me happy. You have made me so happy this whole time, love," said Jumin softly. "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me."

The memories from the past pierced through her like an arrow. She remembered the first time she came to Jumin's penthouse and he was quiet for a beat too long before saying, Sorry, I just stared into your eyes. Even then he had seen the truth she held for him. She remembered the day she was seasick on Jumin's private yacht so he sat with her in the cabin for the rest of the journey, holding her while she curled in his arms instead of enjoying the breeze. She remembered the park under the rain where they were salvaging their ruined picnic and a kid came over and told her she was very pretty and Jumin had flashed him a proud smile and praised him for being an excellent judge of beauty while suggesting him to find his own match in the same breath. Jumin had been very pleased for the rest of the day. He was the only person she wanted and would ever want. If she could not have him forever, then she would have no one at all.

"You deserve it, my darling. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done." She pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. They might be chapped, but they were more familiar to her than her own.

Jumin smiled against her mouth. His eyelids were fluttering close, but his fingers were tracing over her brows, her cheekbones, her ears as if he was trying to remember her. He mumbled a quiet I love you and she said it back, silently begging this would not be the last time they proclaimed it to each other. She was beginning to learn how resilient a heart was. How it could break and break yet never really shatter. How hers had been made invincible by the love she had for him and the love he returned tenfold.

Before she looked up, she already knew that Jumin had fallen asleep. His breathing was slowing to a steady but harsh, heavy rhythm. It frightened her. What should be effortless was painful to him, yet he never complained. She untangled herself from his arms, covered him with his blanket, walked towards the door, and paused. She turned around and gave him one last glance, in case it was the last time she could see him. It was a habit she had adopted since Jumin was admitted to the hospital.

Jumin's quiet presence used to have a strong, charismatic quality that pulled everyone's attention to him. Now her husband was a ghost of someone he used to be, a copy made by a printer running out of ink. The essence of what made him Jumin had not disappeared, but his defining marks had blurred. His calming confidence and childlike excitement felt out of reach. She could see them in her periphery, but she could not quite reconcile those traits and shape Jumin into the person he was, back when the fear of losing him was merely conceptual.

She also knew she would see Jihyun sitting outside the room because that was what he did. What they all did. They gave each other time with one another because there was never enough time.

Jihyun turned to her as she slid into the seat next to him and offered her a smile, but she did not miss the dark crescents under his dulled green eyes. Even his teal hair seemed unattended.

"Jumin's taking a nap," she informed.

Jihyun nodded and laced his fingers together on his lap. "He sleeps a lot now."

"That's good, right?" she said. "He should get as much rest as he can."

Jihyun stayed quiet and looked down at his hands.

She averted her gaze. There was not much time left. She was not so deep in denial as not to see it. "I know the signs of someone going away. I know."

She felt they were hurtling down the dark unknown faster than they were ready for. No matter how hard they resisted, they could not win. There were times when Jumin would seem better and a tiny hope flared between her and Jihyun, that perhaps they might not lose him after all. A chance of recovery was all they needed, but it never lasted long. By next week he would be worse than they ever imagined, and they would sit in fear and silence after discussing possible solutions with the doctors and among themselves and hitting another dead end. What else was there to do except to hope that he would not go so soon?

"I admire your strength and faith in his health," Jihyun finally said. "I feel as if we have switched roles. I used to do whatever I could to save the people I care about, but now that we have tried everything and will still lose him..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I feel lost. I'd like to be more like you if I could."

She put her arms around herself. She was not sure if it was the cold hospital air or more likely, how much she needed to feel less alone in her own acute helplessness. "It's cowardice. I can't bear to accept the reality," she said. "If I stay hopeful, I don't have to move on to the next phase. I don't have to picture a life without him. I feel like vomiting every time I receive an update from the doctors. We've never got any good news since the first diagnosis."

Jihyun nodded slowly with the lethargy that always seemed to hang above him. What enthusiasm he used to have had faded. With a renewed cold dread she realised that in denying herself the acceptance of losing Jumin, she had failed to see that she was losing her friend as well.

"I regret not being more present for him," Jihyun said. "I travelled the world to search for my reasons to live, but it was right here all along. I lost count of the times Jumin had asked me to catch up with him over wine and I foolishly postponed them. I thought there would be a next time. He's the steady fixture in my ever-changing life, so I thought…" He shook his head. "I wasted so much time, and what was it all for?"

"You live for a lot of things," she said, making her voice as gentle as she could. "Your friendship is only one part of it. Jumin is glad that you found yourself through those travels. You know him. He doesn't think physically being there for him is the most important thing. You care about him even when you're not here, and now you've been trying to stay by his side every day. He notices that. There is nothing but gratitude and admiration whenever he speaks of you."

"Jumin is such a good person." Jihyun looked over at her, ocean-green eyes glazed with tears. "I cannot believe someone like him exists, and I'm even more amazed he chose me to be his best friend all those years ago."

"He's always had faith in you a great deal." She smiled. "That's one of the best things about him. He believes in the good of the people he loves."

"He believes in me when I cannot believe in myself. When I forget how to," he said in wonderment. "He has always done it for me and I didn't even know it."

When she thought about Jumin and Jihyun, she saw two men whose lives were so deeply entangled since they were boys that to be separated meant losing half a story that defined them as who they were. There was no part of their history that did not include one another in some way. When Jumin recounted their childhood stories and brought Jihyun up in conversations, he always spoke with a fondness that she had never heard for anyone else except her. Jihyun, she noticed, spoke with the same gentleness.

They were fortunate in a way that most people were not. She had seen one's whole face light up when the other visited, had noticed how Jumin sometimes would have something on his mind and relaxed after he talked to Jihyun. They never had enough time together. She hurt for them, for the time they had lost and could never get back, but was also relieved that Jumin was not as alone as he might think. He had someone who worried about him as much as he would if it was the other way around.

"Jumin made a request to me," Jihyun began.

"Awfully demanding even when sick, isn't he?" she interrupted with a laugh, but it sounded miserable coming out of her mouth.

"It's for you," he said. "He made me promise to be there for you after—after he's gone. I think he's trying to help by creating worst-case scenarios and backup plans. He is afraid you won't handle the loss well." He stared at the wall. "And that I would run off the cliff from madness if I don't do anything of help."

She locked the love in Jumin's plea away in her chest, a precious memory to recall when she missed him, and nudged Jihyun playfully. "'Run off the cliff'? Sometimes I can't tell whether you are repeating his dramatics or if it comes out right out of your head."

A flicker of amusement passed across his face. For one second, the past livelier Jihyun resurfaced. "It might have been both."

"I shouldn't have expected any less." She chuckled and sighed. "It sounds like he was tying up loose ends before he goes. I wish he wouldn't. He's in enough pain as it is. When was the last time he could walk more than a few steps without assistance? He can't visit his vineyard anymore. He can't hold the stitching needle without his fingers trembling. He hasn't met Elizabeth the Third for a while. She misses him." Her voice shook. "I'd bear all his suffering for him if I could."

Jihyun's arms came around her, and she let herself sink into them. "I'm sorry. Your misery must be greater than mine. Your life was upended when his was. It can't have been easy to get used to these extreme changes. You have built a life together, but now you lost everything that's been your normal for years."

"I wish I could go back to the person I was," she admitted, tears spilling over. "I miss loving him without the threat of death looming over us, when I could sleep and not think about how today might be the last time I see him. We were so happy—we are still happy, but this happiness is tainted with anxiety. We feel it even if we pretend not to notice."

"You can be sad for yourself," Jihyun said. "You lost that innocence, that peaceful ignorance of simply living when the thought of either of you dying is far-fetched. It didn't seem like it could catch up to Jumin when he's probably the most health-conscious person on earth. No one could have expected this."

Time did not heal all wounds. Every second of it pricked at her skin, a reminder that she could not save the person she loved the most. No matter how hard she steeled herself against the loss yet to come, nothing could prepare her for it. Last night she had a dream where she and Jumin sat side by side at a secluded beach on a quiet morning and they looked at each other's wrinkled faces and smiled, amazed that time had never worn out their love as their bodies had been. But Jumin's hair would always be black while hers would turn grey now.

"I will miss him so much," she whispered, and pulled back to wipe her tears. She used to wonder how people could cry and make a scene in hospitals without shame. She understood now. Shame did not matter in the face of loss. She would gladly make a fool out of herself if it meant she could save Jumin.

"So will I," said Jihyun quietly.

She thought of her nightly strolls with Jumin along their city that lit up in the dark, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, steady bright lights guiding them home. Of the wine they spilt on their white carpet because Elizabeth the Third had jumped on them and Jumin chuckled because she must be jealous of his undivided attention for his wife. Of Jumin's pure, undistilled laughter that carried her through her darkest days. She would have to live with these memories alone.

She did not want the torturous waiting to end, no matter how exhausting it was. The pain was a reminder that she loved him, that he was real and still here. She was not a child anymore. She had grown into a capable adult, a loving and grieving woman, a wife soon to be without a husband.

This was grief, she thought. This. They wouldn't go back to how they used to be and Jumin wouldn't get to live out the rest of his life. This was it. The rest of his life was so short.

She held fast to Jihyun's hand and listened to the clock ticking.

-

Footnotes:

-I've seen a lot of fics about Jumin receiving the news that MC is rushed to the hospital or diagnosed with a terminal illness or his reaction to MC's death, so I wanted to focus on the aftermath of the panic. What happens when the drama dies down and the hopelessness of knowing someone you love won't be alive for long rises, and the things you do and feel when you're forced to sit in the quiet.

-I didn't plan to include Jihyun since I thought it'd be sadder if MC had no one left after Jumin died, but it didn't feel right for this story. Jumin's character has a best friend who has greatly influenced his life, and I wanted to show how grief is handled outside the dying person and the main loved one. I think it's important to have a support system when you're grieving. It's even better if you can talk to someone who understands how you feel because you're both losing the same person, even if the form of that love isn't exactly the same.

-And yet the loneliness is still there because, at the end of the day, you still go back to an empty home.

-I noticed that all my fics so far have the inherent optimism of everything may be shit but there is love and you've done your best so that's good enough including my breakup fics, so I gave this a twist of what if there is love and everyone has done everything right but it's still not enough?

-Mentioned Sunja Kim the housekeeper guest from the game because realistically if they could afford to hire one, Jumin definitely would. It would lessen MC's burden who's going through a hard time and still has to hold down the fort. It's also my personal experience that when I'm going through something horrible, the glimmers of hope that I get that perhaps life isn't all bad are when strangers randomly show me kindness. This is for them.

-But really I could only write this story because of my best friends' encouragement. One who inspired Jumin and Jihyun's friendship in The Love We Live For and one who inspired MC's friendship with Jihyun here. Mostly, I think of the latter when writing the waiting room scene. If you're reading this (and you will because I will force you and point it out if you skip this), thank you.

-MC saying "I love him in an entirely different way from how I love you." about Jihyun is probably the most unrelatable line that I've ever written btw. I love him in a very un-platonic way.

-I added the canon line by Jumin "Sorry, I just stared into your eyes" in later edits so it was a fun surprise when it connected with the previous line "I can see myself through your eyes. I see how much I am loved. Thank you for loving me." Then I quickly reworked the paragraphs to make them flow.

-Considered including a scene between Jumin and Jihyun but scrapped it due to length and POV constraints.

-The feeling of drowning in grief is what I went for in the header. The ocean-to-sky ratio is slightly off from the traditional rule of thirds to evoke an overwhelming feeling while also making it seem like it's about to engulf the "this was her love" line, the love being the sky.

-For the longest time, I didn't want to understand grief.

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[resurrection-of-soul]

Flashback | PSYCHOBREAK 15

Writer: Akira (日日日)

Characters: Koga, Adonis

Kaoru: It’s been quite a while since you last called me “Playboy.” I never mentioned it, but I don’t actually dislike that nickname or anything. In fact, hearing you politely call me “senpai” is, like, kinda gross~

[ For the best viewing experience, please read directly on my blog! ♪ ]

Kaoru: Okay, okay, settle down~♪ You don’t wanna appear all flustered and uncool, right, you two?

Koga: …!? Hakaze-senpai!

Adonis: Is that you, senpai? I mean, are you two the real deal?

Kaoru: Yup. Sorry we’re late. We heard HELLSING was going on a national tour, but, geez! You kept getting further and further away from ES. Catching up was like, super hard. Right, Rei-kun?

Rei: Indeed. Furthermore, there were other pressing matters demanding our attention, so I was quite concerned we would not arrive in time.

Koga: Even Sakuma-senpai is… Wh-what’re you doing here? Don’t you guys have your own shit to deal with, like those silly variety shows!?

Rei: Naturally, we've already taken care of those matters. We are not prone to such oversight, after all. We anticipated this situation and prepared accordingly, making arrangements with the staff and other performers to record a considerable amount of footage in advance. Thus, there is no great hurry for us to return at the moment.

Adonis: How very like you, Sakuma-senpai. How much of this did you predict?

Rei: Kukuku. I can only foresee a small fraction of what is to come, but even that small piece can sometimes be enough to determine one’s fate. 'Tis for that reason I always ensure my preparations are in order. It is as straightforward as that. No longer do I hate the world, shutting myself away from it within my coffin. To avoid falling into mourning once more, I shall learn from thy example, Adonis, and give my utmost.

Koga: That’s right. Get to work, ya Vampire Bastard~ Don’t just spend all yer time dozin’ off without a care.

Koga: I mean, seriously, man… Ya always make me so damn worried. Because ya hardly move at all, I start worryin’ ya might have gone off n’ died!

Rei: I shan’t die. Being alive is enjoyable, you see. Furthermore, I have come to recognize that you are individuals possessed of rare and noble character who shall not rely solely upon me, but rather attempt to overcome difficulties on your own― Nay, I already knew. I have known it from the very first time UNDEAD stood on stage, and that conviction hath only grown day by day. Therefore, I can rest assured. So long as I am with you all, I am certain I shall never feel that being alive is tedious. That certainty is truly appreciated. I’ve been saved.

Kaoru: Ah geez, as usual, everything Rei-kun says is, like, totally cryptic, so let me give you a concrete explanation. And Rei-kun, in the future, instead of just making vague philosophical statements, you have to make sure to explain things clearly, okay?

Rei: Sure thing, mom.

Kaoru: You just stepped on a landmine on purpose, didn’t you?

Rei: Because I am quite certain you all shall love and accept me no matter what, I can make such jokes with confidence.

Kaoru: I’m gonna kick you. …Anyway, we’re in the middle of a live performance, so I’ll keep things short. Rei-kun and I returned to the dream world. In that dream of the past, we found the mastermind behind this incident…and defeated him. That’s why our fakes are bugging out and on the verge of shutting down, see? The person controlling them was neutralized, so they’ve lost control.

Koga: Huh? What? The hell��re ya talkin’ about, Playboy!?

Kaoru: It’s been quite a while since you last called me “Playboy.” I never mentioned it, but I don’t actually dislike that nickname or anything. In fact, hearing you politely call me “senpai” is, like, kinda gross~ And it makes me feel a bit lonely since it feels so distant. On top of all that, seeing the unruly Koga-kun acting like a good kid is totally off-putting~

Koga: Oh shit, my bad. I’ve been callin’ the fakes “Vampire Bastard~” n’ “Playboy,” so it just kinda slipped out.

Kaoru: Like I just said, it’s fine. Anyways, what’s the problem? Do you have any questions?

Koga: I ain’t got nothin’ but questions…! The hell do you mean, ya defeated the mastermind!? Who even was the mastermind!? We didn’t know jack shit about their identity up ‘til now! This ain’t some cancelled manga! Ya can’t just suddenly defeat some powerful villain off-screen!

Rei: The mastermind ‘twas not truly all that grand of a villain. You see, the culprit behind this incident was just the sort of trivial, insignificant person one can find anywhere. Seeing as he called himself a “vampire,” I shall simply refer to the mastermind as “Dracula-kun” for the time being.

Koga: Not that it really matters what they’re called, but… “Vampire”? That name came up a bunch in our past― or rather, in that dream we had, right?

Rei: Aye. We knew no groups by that name in truth. It is a name which only appears in that distorted retelling of history. I suspected that the mastermind behind this incident would also be the one at the root of that distortion. After all, I rather doubted that the culprit’s only goal was to show us amusing dreams. He must have had dreams ― desires ― of his own. There must have been something he hoped to accomplish with all this.

Adonis: You honed in on the culprit by uncovering his motives?

Rei: Indeed. ‘Tis the backbone of any mystery novel, no? Who caused the incident, why, and how? Analyze each piece of evidence, speculate as to the answers, and deduce the truth. Fortunately, the culprit in this particular incident was somewhat careless. He left behind plenty of evidence, making the deduction rather straightforward. Firstly, we identified who committed the crime, and it was none other than one of my former devotees, like those “vampires” from our dream. In other words, he was one of the delinquents who was exterminated by us in that past incident. He idolized me, worshiped me without my consent, and sought to become my successor… But was ultimately crushed by the student council and lost to history as just another one of Yumenosaki’s corrupt students.

Rei: The culprit, “Dracula-kun,” was sacrificed as one of the cornerstones of the student council's revolution. Yet, despite being handed such a harsh judgment, he showed no remorse. Without repentance, he repeated his mistakes.

Koga: ……

Rei: He refused to accept it. He could not understand why he had been subjected to such suffering. He simply felt it was unfair. Frustrated and dissatisfied, he convinced himself that the current situation, that history itself, was wrong… …And so he attempted to rewrite history, setting it upon the “correct” course. In his mind, he envisioned an ideal, righteous world where he was my closest companion, my friend, disciple, and loyal subject — someone loved by me above all else.

Kaoru: This might sound kinda flippant but isn’t that like, basically just us?

Rei: Indeed. The culprit behind this incident was a pitiful ghost who longed for immortality, but was unable to achieve it. Frankly speaking, it is quite probable that he wished to become a part of "UNDEAD."

[ ☆ ]

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[sam-glade]

Shopping Trip

Exactly a month ago @writernopal reminded me of its existence here. Well, it needed a full rewrite, because my style's changed so much, but here it is. 100% saccharine fluff, you have been warned. Literally, just fluff.

Context: In the middle of book 2 of Days of Dusk, Lissan gets 'adopted' into a noble house due to Anthea's machinations. Neither of them is happy about it, but they both agree it was a reasonable choice. Ianim takes this opportunity to get Lissan an outfit befitting a young nobleman. WC: 1660 CW: -

Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-hole @iced-ginger-tea @poetinprose

Lissan admitted to himself – and later to Ianim, too – that he reacted badly to the suggestion. And so, the next time they were supposed to meet up with the rest of the guys in a pub, he arrived early. As predicted, Ianim was already there, nursing a light beer and watching the patrons from a corner table for six. He accepted Lissan's apologies, and yes, he was delighted to take Lissan to a tailor and offer advice.

And pay for it. This was the part Lissan had been most opposed to initially. It took Ianim assuring him that the costs were going to be covered by the First Prince's personal wealth, not the state treasury, for Lissan to get over it – after all, it was Anthea who wanted him in this role, and taking her up on the offer had a certain appeal.

"Oh, stop fretting," Ianim said in response to his second concern, amusement tinting his tone. "I promise, no silks, no metallic threads, nothing like that."

"Nothing that would make me stand out," Lissan corrected. The oddly specific list seemed prone to loopholes.

Ianim smiled at him, his eyes twinkling.

"You don't need expensive clothes to do that." Ianim looked him over one more time, a small smile playing on his lips.

Lissan smiled back and reminded himself that this outing was in part for Ianim's enjoyment.

And so, on an overcast Saturday morning, they made their way across Otterly River, and delved into the civilian quarters.

Compared to the brick and iron of the Army buildings on the Western bank, this part of the city was a whirlwind of colours, patterns, and styles. Every time Lissan made his way there, he wished he did it more often, since he'd inevitably discover another little square or alley to explore. The buildings were plastered in light colours, which just about managed to stand up to the accumulated grime from coal smoke well enough. Lissan and Ianim passed more than one facade in the process of being scrubbed clean, in anticipation of lighter, warmer days. And sure, it was much more disorderly than the military sectors, but Lissan found it organic. Charming.

Ianim hooked a hand around his elbow and pulled him in the opposite direction to where Lissan was looking.

"I swear, you've got the attention span of a squirrel at times," he muttered.

Lissan snorted, but followed his lead. They stood out, in their ashen uniforms and with Swords at their sides, but they were far from only Swords in the crowd – and they passed at least a couple people in mourning, wearing a similar shade of grey. Otherwise, the outfits were even more vibrant than the houses. Lissan gave into curiosity and paid attention to jackets men wore – often striped, sometimes embroidered on the cuffs and tails. They looked less durable or practical than the uniform but he could see himself in something like that, brown or green–

"Shall we find you a kontush first, then a less formal ensemble?" Ianim asked lightly.

Lissan stumbled and bit his tongue before a word of protest could escape him.

"I'm still getting over the fact that I'm expected to wear one," he said instead.

Master Claren's lessons in etiquette had been honestly interesting, but it occurred to him that he was treating them as purely theoretical up until now. And he got jitters.

It was fine though, because for most of the first meeting with the tailor, Ianim did the talking. He clearly knew the tailor – a stout woman who to Lissan looked like she was about three hundred years old, which probably meant she was at least twice that, knowing how long people seemed to live in the city. Ianim slipped some half-truths into the smalltalk, letting the tailor fill in false details by herself. A comment about ‘unexpected inheritance’ combined with Lissan’s age, led her to believe that his older relatives had passed away suddenly, and he’d inherited the title of a lord. It set his teeth on edge, but he didn’t interrupt.

She took his measurements as she talked to Ianim, arranging him to stand straighter, lift his arms, then drop them. It didn’t take long.

“As for the fabrics,” the tailor said, pointing him towards a table with samples laid out. “We’re looking for forest green over brass, is that correct, my lord?”

She looked at Ianim, not Lissan, and Ianim nodded in a reflex. Lissan couldn’t decide if he was glad or offended by being left out. He crossed his arms and watched Ianim lean over the table.

Ianim wore blue. He always did when he was out of uniform. It suited him, Lissan decided, looking over his slim figure. It made his eyes look so much brighter, and brought out the blush on his cheeks. However, the question was what colours he would wear, and it was something he’d never had to consider – back in Beetletun, the choices were limited by what was currently at hand. Marta cared so much more about her outfits, and so she got the first choice of colours. He didn’t mind; the same colours suited them both.

"Lissan?" Ianim urged him to come closer.

He just nodded along while Ianim suggested a shiny yellowish fabric with a faint rhombus pattern. Then Ianim pointed at a plain green material, and his breath caught. He knew this colour. It took him back to the Eternal Woods, where it had surrounded him at all sides, thrumming with life. And while the trip overall was less than successful, the memory of that place was something he cherished dearly.

"Yeah, that looks good," he confirmed sheepishly.

Ianim flashed him a smile.

"And for the ensemble, my lord?" This time the tailor addressed him for once.

"A similar green, if you have something like that, please?" Lissan said quickly. Ianim cast him a look, but Lissan didn't let him interrupt. "The stripy one looks nice," he decided, pointing at a fabric the tailor was bringing over.

The stripes were alternating glossy and matte, quite cleverly woven, though he couldn't imagine how it was made... Right, factories. Ianim had mentioned that the engineers employed by the ones in Redguard were racing to develop new machinery for the textile industry. He ran his fingers over the material; it was smooth to the touch though he felt the pattern faintly. Yes, he liked that.

Ianim chatted to the tailor a while longer, under the guise of choosing the colours for the underlayers, and finalising some finer details. Lissan let his voice wash over him. He seemed to be having fun. Every now and then, he'd glance at Lissan with that crooked smile of his, then go back to discussing fashion. 

Lissan still looked away in embarrassment as he paid the deposit. He was glad to be out of the shop. 

"You seem to have enjoyed yourself," he observed on the way. There certainly was more spring in Ianim's step now.

"Ah, yes." Ianim's smile faltered.

"I'm guessing Gullin didn't let you dress him up like that?" Lissan said quickly, before Ianim could ask about his feelings. It wasn't the smoothest segue, but it had to do.

To his surprise, Ianim snorted, then laughed unabashedly. Lissan relaxed.

"Oh, Elements, no. He made it very clear I'd have to drag him kicking and screaming to a tailor's. I think he's wearing that ratty old jacket whenever we meet up at the pub as payback for the mere suggestion."

Yeah, all right, Gullin would totally do that. He smiled and let Ianim lead him to a shoemaker.

#

It took them a month to find another morning when they could both get away from their duties. They rushed to the tailor's shop to escape the wet wind, and rubbed warmth into their hands urgently.

The outfits weren't finished, but the tailor wanted Lissan to try them on for fit. And they fit well, much better than the uniform. He smoothed out the waistcoat, running his fingers over the simple monochrome embroidery in the pattern of oak leaves and acorns. Less formal, Ianim said. This was still a masterwork he'd not thought he'd ever wear. Still, since the First Prince was paying…

Ianim arranged a linen cravat around his collar with practised movements, his eyes fixed intently on his own hands, a small frown creasing his forehead. Lissan studied his features as he waited.

To Lissan, Ianim was the perfect example of what a nobleman looked like – slim, with delicate hands and smooth cheeks. Gorgeous, yes, but unattainable. Next to him, Lissan appeared stocky, with hands roughened by working in fields and orchards for the second half of his childhood. Never before had he felt so self-conscious about the pockmarks and the little scar on his jaw, from when he fell off a tree as a teenager. There was nothing to be done about that though.

Ianim helped him shrug on the jacket and straightened his collar. A warm gleam caught Lissan's attention. Ianim got a little pin from his pocket, with an amber the size, shape, and colour of a hazelnut, framed in a simple brass setting. Lissan didn't manage to get a good look at it, before Ianim fastened it to the cravat.

"A gift," he said simply, and stepped back.

Lissan swallowed and turned to the full-length mirror. And froze.

He looked good. Very much like himself, just as Ianim had promised, but the colours matched his complexion, and the cut did wonders to highlight his physique. He didn't think that there was a way for clothes to show off the muscles he'd build up with manual work and training. He was glad to be proven wrong. And the pin from Ianim matched his eyes. His cheeks flushed at the realisation how much thought Ianim had put into it. He caught Ianim's eyes in the mirror and grinned.

"What do you think?" Ianim sounded smug. He had never sounded this smug before. Lissan's grin spread.

He smoothed down the jacket and spun around, his heels clicking on the wooden floor.

"I see the appeal. Especially if your sister is paying."

[bansept]

Well since you so gracefully extended your invitation to me I shall ask Mudad with 3 <3

3 - Angst Mudad

Well of course! Since it's not just a ship prompt list, I was kinda eager to write some mudad too hehe

I decided to curse you with some angst, because I can hehe

---

Giorno was packing his bag, the few clothes and belongings he wanted to take with him barely filling the dark leather bag. His room did have a dresser filled to the brim with expensive suits made exclusively to be worn on special occasions, as well as more common but still expensive clothes. Shoes, accessories, memories taking the dust in his bedroom, untouched during the years of his training, ever since his father had decided he was no longer a child.

His father, Dio.

Growing up, oh how he had admired him, his strength and charismatic presence, commanding any and all people. He was a god-like creature for the small boy, shining brighter than the sun he was hiding from. Teaching him English, Japanese, and Italian. Awakening his stand to raise him as his only worthy son. Grooming him into a stern, cold-headed right hand.

Dio, who had stolen his father's body and cursed the Joestar bloodline.

The monster who viewed human life like nothing more than cattle to feed on, sometimes indulge in, and servants for the few he found useful. The tyrant who suppressed anyone opposing him. The cruel impostor who made him believe he loved Giorno as his son when he was simply using him as his pawn to do his bidding.

Giorno placed the small wallet in the bag with a sigh before zipping the bag shut. He gripped the handle, straightening his back while looking at his childhood room one last time. He remembered the night when sleep had escaped him, and he spent hours wondering how to be stronger to please father. When the hits received in the training with father would hurt him so bad he became delirious with fever, but it wasn't enough yet.

When, a long time ago, his father would gently pat him on the back and chuckle with him.

Giorno felt his brows furrow. Those times were over now. The influence and lies were over.

He didn't turn back when he left the room, walking down the stairs with resolution. The stares of shock and sadness from the servants around him didn't phase him. Giorno only felt disgusted at those people who weren't capable of standing their ground and leaving this place.

"Master Giorno... Please reconsider..." An elderly woman begged, her black eyes shivering with unshed tears.

Giorno didn't look at her, didn't pretend to be sad to leave as she'd maybe hoped to see him. He only blinked. The muttering and whining of the servants immediately stopped, a cold and dry breeze stealing their breath away. Giorno knew.

Dio was standing in front of him.

The young man looked up at the man, without any trace of fear or surprise, determination crystal clear on his face. The giant in front of him quietly mocked him, his mouth turned in disgust.

"If you choose to walk out of this door, Giorno, there will be no turning back."

The words were pronounced with a deathly finality, the usual joking tint of voice Dio used with Giorno gone, just like the warmth the father rarely gave his son. Giorno closed his eyes for a moment, bowing his head.

"Your hold on me ends today, Dio." He proclaimed, voice harder than it ever was, his eyes opening to glare at the man. Never, in all the years after he'd been rescued and raised, had Giorno called him by his name. Why would he, if he was his father? But the truth was, he wasn't. Not any more than his stepfather.

Dio remained silent, examining the 15-year-old. Did he regret anything? Did his mind wonder back in the days, when he had found the strength to be kind and loving to a little boy? Did he hope to see Giorno wobble on his legs and crash down, asking for forgiveness? Did Giorno's face, pasted with an unshakable resolution, remind him of Jonathan, whom he had stolen everything?

"How useless."

Giorno didn't turn to witness his father mourn his departure, the sadness apparent in his orange eyes. No, he wouldn't go back to Dio and his darkness.

He was a Joestar. And he belonged under the sun, with his real family, while the man who had raised him would become his sworn enemy.