#would he be able to forgive himself for adding the blood of yet another child to his hands? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omiscurls · 3 years

Note

Diluc, zhongli and childe reaction to their s/o breaking up with them after something they said, maybe after a week or so after they argument they think the s/o forgave them but they break up instead? I WANT THE ANGST

consequences

plot: reader decides to break up with the character after not speaking to them

contains: diluc, zhongli, tartaglia (idk how am i going to do this to my special boy but ill try my best)

warnings: angst, breakups, implied past toxic behavior

a/n: OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO HARD- I DONT HAVE THE HEART TO BREAKUP WITH PEOPLE

diluc

hopeless thoughts ran through your head as you fought with yourself about wether to enter angel’s share or not, hand halfway through to the doorknob. your mind hadn’t been made up just yet, you were still in between two very different scenarios - the urge to forgive him for his hurtful words growing stronger each day, as anger and other emotions subdued to loneliness and the feeling of a part of you missing, ever since the two of you stopped talking.

your mind flashed back to the exact moment when you looked into diluc’s eyes, always so soft and calm for you, forming a way of anger he never expressed towards you before. to the feeling you got right then and there that this man is not the same one you’ve met and fell in love with.

the process of coming to terms with that conclusion was as painful as the first strike of his angry glare, and even though he seemed to have realized the weight of his words right after saying them out loud, no matter how hard you tried, you could not erase them from your memory.

one strike of that pain, one memory of that night was enough to make you go through with your plan, door to the bar opening with a little screech.

it was like just another late afternoon, with charles tending the bar, knights and townsfolk filling the hot room, and the smell of alcohol traveling through the air.

“hi” you said to the bartender “is master diluc around?”

charles, busy with his work, quickly replied that he’s out back, opening a barrel. you nodded and went where his directions guided, pushing open yet another door to see the back of the man you loved, looking just as always from this angle, working over said chore. he didn’t even seem to mind the fact that someone walked in on him working.

“diluc” you said with a sigh, and he almost immediately turned around, tools falling from his hands and onto the ground.

“darling, hi” he replied quietly, walking over to you but stopping half way, eyes set to analyze your expression, figure out what was going on in your mind. “i’m glad you’re here safely, i haven’t heard from you in over a week” he added cautiously, as if weighing every word before deciding to say it out loud.

“well” you sighed again, once again going over wether you should actually break things off right then, mind taking pity on his troubled expression, tired eyes, on the obvious eyebags that were much more apparent than before, a sign that he didn’t catch too much sleep. “i had to come to terms with what i’m about to say”

he wanted to tell you he was sorry, he really did, but words didn’t seem to come out of his throat. obviously he was sorry, it was a bad day and he meant none of what he said, but you knew that, right? you knew he always cared for you and loved you… right?

he wasn’t the best with words, hence, the idea of apologizing with a gesture after you were done teaching him his lesson came to mind. a brilliant idea, one could never go wrong with a thoughtful deed for their significant other, just give him one more chance.

“and my conclusion is, we need to take a step back and… reevaluate things in our lives. i’m not saying this is the ultimate end, but what you’ve said, and how you’ve said it made me realize…”

you were making a good point. you were talking about your feelings. he should listen, but the only thing he heard was the blood pumping through his veins, and the two single words

the end

so there won’t be another chance? he won’t be able to prove himself? what do you mean, the end? the best thing that ever happened to him in his sad life was coming to an end because of him? but he was so careful, he treated you like his treasure, because that’s how he truly felt, like his lifeline, something he could never lose…

and all it took was one sentence too much, one glare too intense. for the first time in what, six, maybe seven years, his eyes began to water, as he blinked the tears back at a rapid pace.

“… and that was a shitty thing to do. i hope you know that. i don’t know if i had anything else i wanted to say, perhaps i did, but… that’s all. see you around, i guess” you mumbled, loosing confidence in what you were saying, taking one last glance at his lost eyes before turning around.

turning around from him, from the love of your life, was perhaps the hardest thing you ever had to do, and yet you did do it.

before you could reach the door again, though, a cold hand caught your forearm. your eyes met his, with just a glimmer of hope that he would magically say all the right words and somehow make you stay, you didn’t want to leave, yet knew you had to. if you wanted to preserve the respect you had for yourself, you had to leave.

why were you giving him time to say something?

his helpless gaze seemed to speak with a thousand words, begging, pleading you to not leave through that door, but as much as his lips did part, not a single word left.

he couldn’t say anything to hold you back, and you ripped away from his grip, turned, and walked away.

and just like that,

he was all alone, again.

he was gonna need a drink.

zhongli

tears flooded your vision, blurring every details of zhongli’s face, causing you to only see a pale color palette, instead of your favorite person, ever. maybe it was for the best, maybe it would make it easier, you thought, but that was a foolish thing to hope for.

even through the salty tears, you could make out his eyes, it’s glow never failing to guide you, and comfort you, now seeming to burn their way through you, through your body and soul.

“you’re stuck in another love, zhongli, we both know that!” you exhaled a bit louder than you intended to, the outcome sounding more like an accusation than a fact. “how can you ever say you love me, when it’s so obvious, and so apparent, that every time you look at me, you see someone else? you HOPE for someone else?”

you could only wish the words you spoke didn’t come out as a complete mess, because of those tears you were constantly choking on. desperation seeped through your voice, as the feeling of helplessness rose every time you looked at your lover and at the anguish, and confusion he presented.

how could he make this so hard? it’s not like you’ve presented some statement he didn’t know already, right?

you hoped your eyes would say all the things you didn’t trust your voice to. you hoped he’d somehow hear how all you ever wanted was to be enough, was to meet his standard, how it tore you open that every time he said <i love you> his eyes wandered everywhere but onto yours, how all his touches seemed absent, how all his compliments were truly about some other face, some other smile, some other kind soul.

the worst part was, how could you blame him? how can anyone, ever, blame someone for being in love, of all things? love was something beautiful, and once you’ve experienced it, you’re drowned in it forever, and don’t even want to see the surface again.

love is beautiful. when you’re the one who’s receiving it. love was beautiful, to you, too, when you loved how his wisdom flew through his words, how his kindness hugged your spirit, how his aura brought you comfort. you loved his eyes, you loved his cheeks, his lips, every single detail of his skin.

the love you felt made you complete, made you warm, until you finally realize the thing you should’ve seen much sooner.

that you were merely a mirror for him to look at someone else, someone long gone.

suddenly all the warmth you felt was directed back at you, burning you inside, making you wish you never felt it in the first place.

“aren’t you gonna say something?” you whispered.

his long fingers found their way to your hand, but you snatched it away.

if you fell onto his charms now, you wouldn’t be able to get out once more.

his breath hitched as he gathered himself to speak

“i want nothing more than to love you” he said, although quietly, it rang through your ears like the loudest of screams.

you scoffed.

“we both would’ve wanted that, then”

“and i’m sure i can, if you just—“

now, laughter was all that you were capable of letting out.

“zhongli, you can’t train yourself to love someone. and even if you could, then how do you think that would make me feel? like i’m so unlovable you had to force yourself through it to grow accustomed to a feeling similar to love?”

“that’s not what i—“

“that’s what it means! let it go, please, please just… let me go” you sighed, standing up from the bench over at liyue harbor that you were sitting on. the sun has begun to set on the other side of the sea, and you couldn’t help but notice, it would’ve been the perfect date.

“i do sincerely hope you’ll find someone who’ll love you just the same” he finally stated, as he gave up on trying to make you stay.

“why?” you chuckled “so i could make them suffer the same way you made me?”

tartaglia

(archons give me strength)

you found nothing but guilt, looking into the endless ocean trapped in his eyes. for the first time in forever, they glistened, but not with a spark of joy, like you always hoped they would, they shone a sickly shine, caused by a thin layer of tears, that didn’t dear to spill over his porcelain cheeks, almost as if afraid of making contact with the ruthless face of the number eleven of the fatui harbingers.

he could’ve easily been crying if only he let himself go. he would’ve been in tears, sniffing and coughing, but he just… wasn’t. he held those tears in the gates of his eyes, as if his life depended on it.

the guilt you found inside them, wasn’t his, but yours. you felt guilty, watching this composed, confident man fall into pieces right before you, crumbling before your sight. why were you doing this? you seemed to forget all those terrible things you’ve heard just from the way his irises begged for forgiveness and brows furrowed in inexplicable sadness.

but you couldn’t, no, this time you couldn’t.

“my word” you swore on dear life you’d burst into tears if your voice shook right now “my word is final. we’re over. and that’s… that’s it. you need to understand that there won’t be another chance.”

the moment his lips parted, you knew you were lost.

“i have told you so many times already, but i will say this as much as i need to, it will never happen again! i swear, on everything i love and everything that i am, i swear on life itself, i won’t ever let that happen again! you know i won’t! come on, i promise you, if there’s anything you can say about me is i do keep my promises, don’t i? darling, please…”

“promise yourself to heal and become better, first” you stated coldly, watching faith disappearing slowly from his fixed look.

“im sorry, you know i am, im sorry, im sorry, im so fucking sorry!” a scream left his throat as desperation took over both reason and self-respect.

“sorry isn’t gonna cut it”

“then what will? i’ll do anything, anything in the world, anything to prove myself to you. i get that you can’t love me, i understand that, but please, let me win your trust again.”

he said unnaturally calmly, compared to what he did before, and you got concerned immediately.

i understand that you can’t love me, his words rang through your head. oh god, what were you doing? guilt stroke again, right at where you felt your heart to be.

right when you wanted to turn around and leave, he must’ve sensed that, and pulled you into a tight embrace. not suffocating, as they often describe it, not toxic and desperate, but… as loving as every other hug you’ve ever received from him. as calming and grounding, even though you could feel his heart racing. he didn’t refuse for you to leave, he didn’t trap you.

you understood after a while,

he was saying goodbye. all the love trapped inside his heart seeped out onto you, all his feelings surrounding and engulfing you.

“let me promise you this” he whispered, voice shaking painfully “the next time i’ll see you, i’ll be a better man. someone you will be able to be proud of, someone worthy of both your trust, and love. i won’t stop until i’ll be enough for you to look at me without the disgust and fear you have now. i promise. i’ll be better.”

“until then, then.” was the only thing you were capable of saying before leaving.

as soon as the door shut behind you, you rested against a wall and covered your mouth with a hand, unable to hold your tears any longer.

you heard a cry through the door. so he does have some feelings left, after all

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#genshin angst #genshin impact #diluc angst #zhongli angst #childe angst #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #gender neutral reader

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jingyismom · 3 years

Text

Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him.

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

#my fic #mdzsnet #the untamed fanfic #theuntameddaily #bottom lan wangji #that tag just...has to go there bc i know people actually find things through it #on tumblr??? you ask #yes my friends evidently #anyway here's...this #angst that morphs suddenly into the MOST indulgent of fix-its #does it have a consistent tone??? is it Good??? who knows. unimportant #is it not enough to simply tweet 9 thousand words in 3 days and then yeet it at your tumblr followers too #this isn't FOR a literary award....it's for melodrmatic wangxian Feels and nothing else #i hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

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stem-and-chill · 3 years

Text

Village Of Shadows & Yearning For Dark Shadows

– A Closer Look

At the end of the game, it is clear that the folktale story “Village of Shadows” told in the very beginning was about Mother Miranda and the Four Lords all along. Even though the characters in the folktale are different in appearance and behaviour, the key features of the legend stay the same.

The girl in the folktale is presumed to be Rose, the four monsters she encounters represent the Four Lords and the Witch is supposed to be Mother Miranda. The mirror in which the girl has been trapped in by the Witch could represent the four flasks Rose’s body has been sealed in.

This gets confirmed by the revealing of the folktale’s ending, where the father shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices his life to save his daughter. The concept artwork also confirms that the family in the folktale is based on the Winters family:

However, there are certain things happening in the folktale that are incompatible with the actual role Rose has in the game’s story.

Rose and Ethan:

The problem is that Rose has a completely passive role in the story, since she is a baby and defenseless. She can’t think for herself and is in need of protection, she is the one that needs to be saved.

But the girl in the folktale is an active character who decides her actions. This is more similar to the active role of Ethan in the game’s story. Ethan meets and fights the Four Lords, in the same order as the girl meets the monsters in the folktale:

1. The Bat Lord = Alcina Dimitrescu

2. The Dark Weaver = Donna Beneviento

3. The Fish King = Salvatore Moreau

4. The Iron Steed = Karl Heisenberg

In the folktale, the Bat Lord, the Dark Weaver and the Fish King all willingly give gifts to the girl, in order to save her or to help her endure her harsh environment. The Iron Steed though, is the only one that does not give a gift to her.

Instead, the girl apparently has become greedy and starts to take things for granted. She takes something from the Iron Steed what she thought was supposed to be another gift for her. This action in turn angers the Iron Steed:

Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.

The creature said nothing as the girl approached

and snatched what she thought was another gift.

The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.

This is also testified by the Witch saying to the girl:

“Gifts we gave, but more you took,” she snarled. “So more, in turn, is due.”

The narrator of the folktale and the Witch claim that the girl has become greedy. In the credit song “Yearning for Dark Shadows”, which is told from the girl’s POV, she confirms this:

Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,

and I grabbed what I thought was mine.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

The repercussion and punishment of the girl’s actions and greediness is to be trapped inside a mirror. This could be taken as a classical lesson that folktales sometimes try to teach children: Do not stray away from your parents. Do not trust strangers. Do not assume that everyone you meet will give you something for free.

Assuming that the active role of the girl represents Ethan, then his interactions with the Lords is in contrast to girl’s interactions with the monsters. The first three Lords did not give Ethan a gift (Rose Jar) willingly, like their counterparts in the folktale do. The only one who gives Ethan a Rose Jar back willingly is Heisenberg (even though not without further work), whose counterpart in the folktale was the only one to not give a gift.

The gift giving of the Lords is reversed in the game’s story. The same goes for their behaviour, as their folktale counterparts seem to be worried about the girl’s condition, while in the actual story neither of them cares about Ethan or Rose.

The girl in the folktale represents on one hand the passive role of Rose’s situation in the game (getting trapped by the Witch in the mirror = getting trapped by Mother Miranda in jars). But on the other hand the girl also represents the active role of Ethan throughout the game’s story (meeting and fighting the Four Lords Lords in the same order; the reversed gift giving situation).

At the end of the folktale, Ethan’s active role of the girl is now given to the father’s role, who shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices himself:

- But the Witch was strong and Father yelled, “Save our daughter!”

- Even now, the burnt forest is a grim reminder of Father’s sacrifice.

Rose fully takes now over the role of the girl, who has been freed from the mirror (jars). This also means that the active role her father had before is now passed on to her. This is confirmed by the last sentence appearing:

- The father’s story is now done.

In the “Yearning for Dark Shadows” song, new lines are added to the folktale story and to the POV of the girl:

Hello, my tears, because of you, I am who I am.

Hello, sorrow, because of you, I am who I am.

Long, long, ago I did not know who I was.

And in the deepness, I was lost and now...

These lines are fitting for both Rose and Ethan. The girl talks about her journey seen through her own eyes, which could allude to Ethan talking about how he met and fought the Four Lords. The lines of the chorus specifically could be an expression of his emotions, the moment he found out about his true nature (having died and turned into a Molded).

Because Miranda’s discovery of the Megamycete, her studies and experiments in the village are ultimately the source for everything that happened to Ethan during the Baker Family Incident and the reason why he is no longer a normal human.

From Rose’s POV the lines could allude to her feelings about her father and also about the troubles of her own origins, as it is shown in the post-credit scene.

The gifts of the Four Lords:

However, there is an interesting note to make on the gift giving situation of the four monsters in the folktale. It is a big focus there and the turning point of the folktale’s story. The Iron Steed stands out compared to its companions, because it does not give a gift to the girl and is the one to cause her entrapment.

The same goes for Heisenberg’s role in the game’s story. Like the Iron Steed, his role in the game stands out from the other Lords, because he is the only one of them who reaches out to Ethan and honestly wants to team up with him. His backstory and motives are also different to them, since he is the only one to have seen through Miranda’s manipulation and schemes, and wants to be freed of her.

The other Lords are loyal to Miranda, fully believe in her and take actions to get her approval and love. Some time ago, Miranda approached the Four Lords, took them in as their children and infected them with the Cadou. This action is seen by Alcina, Donna and Moreau as a form of gift or recognition.

Alcina believes that she must be Miranda’s favourite child due to her generousness:

“She gave me this castle, obedient daughters, everlasting life, did she not?

Am I not her favorite? Am I not special?” - Alcina Dimitrescu’s Diary

Donna is happy to be able to make her doll come to life, thanks to the Cadou infection and is excited about the effects of the flowers, that she probably received from Miranda first:

“Mistress Donna seems happy. It might be my imagination, but I feel like her doll Angie is even more lively than before. [...] We had a mighty fine conversation.

Something about receiving a gift of power from Mother? [...] I mentioned this to Donna and she seemed thrilled by it.” - Gardener’s Diary

Moreau still utterly believes in Miranda and seems to see her as his actual mother. Even though he is ashamed of his mutated appearance, for which she is the source of, and despite himself noting that Miranda seems to not really care about him. But the thought of her abandoning him still frightens him:

“But if Mother does then... what will happen to me?

I'm not her real child... Would she abandon me?

No! I don't want that!” - Moreau’s Diary

The only one who does not see his powers as a gift is Heisenberg:

“We’re merely a bunch of failed Cadou experiments to her. [...]

What a joke. I’ll never forgive her for what she did to me. [...]

Miranda just didn’t change my body, she took my dignity.” - Heisenberg’s Diary

The four monsters in the folktale, who give a gift to the girl could be a representation of Mother Miranda, handing over the Cadou to the Four Lords and with that their future powers. Each Lord’s unique power is already depicted in the form of the folktale monster. The girl in that moment, could be a stand-in of each one of the Lords, thankfully accepting the gift:

- “So, she clothed herself and smiled with joy.”

- “So, the girl ate and smiled with joy once more.”

Village of Shadows:

Then the Bat Lord appeared! He greeted her warmly and bit his own wing.

“Come, child. Quench your thirst,” he said.

So, she drank the thick, dark blood and smiled with joy.

Yearning for Dark Shadows:

Within the darkness, cold and silent,

A voice called out to me:

“Hello, lost child, come quench your thirst and drink this pint, to bring you joy”.

It’s interesting that the Bat Lord exactly suggests what Alcina has to do, in order to control her mutation and due to her blood disease. She needs to drink blood; the girl in the folktale does the same:

The girl also gets called “child” by the monsters, which is what Mother Miranda calls the Four Lords.

Again, the part that stands out is the role of the Iron Steed aka Heisenberg:

Village of Shadows:

Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.

The creature said nothing as the girl approached,

and snatched what she thought was another gift.

The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.

Yearning for Dark Shadows:

Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,

and I grabbed what I thought was mine.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

As explained above, the girl has gotten greedy and now assumes something that was not yet given to her, which marks the first step into her entrapment. The growing greediness of the girl could be an allusion to Mother Miranda herself. Just like the girl, she has become greedier and more selfish over time.

In her pursuit, she took in Heisenberg as another one of her children and experimented on him. His anger and hate for her stem from this trauma and is the origin of his antagonizing side towards her. Just as the girl took something from the Iron Steed without asking, and how its anger towards her is the result of her action.

The line about the Iron Steed summoning the other monsters may be interpreted as a hint to Heisenberg’s Soldats that he creates in his factory to fight against Miranda’s lycans.

Ultimately, everything leads to Miranda still not stopping there, but taking away yet another child (Rose), tearing her body apart and sealing her in jars. She abandons an entire village that was dedicated to her, and people who were loyal to her, only to get what she is truly after. She also calls Rose “her daughter” throughout the game, and even at the end she believes that Rose is Eva Reborn.

Conclusion:

The girl and the monsters of the folktale may represent more than just one side of the story. Or they can be a metaphor for more than just one character.

Everyone’s side of the story in the game is assembled in the characters of the folktale. Together they all represent the themes of “family” and “greed”.

I am most certainly overanalyzing things, as I do not believe myself that this much thought was put into the folktale story or the song lyrics.

But who knows...

#Karl Heisenberg #Alcina Dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #Rosemary Winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #Donna Beneviento #Salvatore Moreau #resident evil #resident evil meta #Mother Miranda

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yanderemommabean · 3 years

Note

A Yiga attacks you, drawing blood. A mighty roar sounds in the distance, and not even a minute later, a feral Sidon emerges from the water, enraged and ready to kill. With a few well-placed snaps of his powerful jaws, Sidon has ripped the Yiga to shreds. When you get back to the Domain, Sidon is livid with you, berating you for trying to run away.

Tears run down your face uncontrollably as the Zora prince begins screaming at you, angry and ballistic as his stance makes you feel small and pathetic. You honestly weren’t trying to do anything! All of this started because of a misunderstanding and he won’t even take a second to listen to you!

Words are stuck in your throat as he sighs and turns around, too angry to look at you. You’re always starting trouble! Always ignoring his warnings! Why is it so hard for you to listen?!

“Sidon please I wasn’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“If you would just listen to me-“

“I SAID I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT!” He snaps, eyes turned to slits as he glared at you, mouth formed into a snarl “I don’t want to hear another word from you. You’ve deliberately disobeyed me and nearly gotten yourself killed! Unless the next words from you are an apology you can keep quiet for the rest of the day”.

You clench your fists, his words hurting and making you feel like a child being scolded. “If I knew you would treat me like a fucking child I would’ve let the Yiga kill me. I’m so tired of you acting like I can’t take care of myself. Fine. You want silence? Have it”.

Dramatic theatrics always pissed you off, and Sidon having the gall and audacity to act like he was scolding you out of love was asinine and grating on your nerves. Perhaps you should have been the one shredded by his teeth, at least then he’d actually do you a favor.

Not being allowed to go anywhere, be allowed to do anything, or even be allowed to speak your mind was absolute hell! You’re so fucking tired of it! If he wants to play games and be emotional then you can too.

Childish? Yeah but nothing about this situation was mature or on a level of calm and collected.

Hours go by, and you’re examining the bruises left by the attack as you sit by the waterfall. Another Zora guard is by your side, and he seems to want to say something but only nervously rocks on his feet as you stare down at the waters below.

“...He’s just looking out for you...you know?”.

You make a noise, looking up at the pale green Zora as he clears his throat and looks away. “The prince. He’s not doing it in the best way but...he just really cares about you and your well-being”.

You shake your head, not believing a word the fish said. “He’s got a funny way of showing it. That’s for fuckin’ sure” you bite out, looking up where the prince was pacing back and forth in the throne room. He still seemed livid and feral, but there was a hint of remorse behind those usually kind eyes.

With a sigh, the guard nods his head, toying with the shaft of his spear “The prince has had many hardships that he had no control over. You’re the closest person he’s been able to have in centuries. He doesn’t want to lose someone important again. I know he goes about it in a strange way, but you must know it comes from a good place”.

Sure. A good place. Right.

What’s so good about being treated like an incompetent child? Or being blamed for something you had zero control over? No, Sidon is just being cruel and controlling. Nothing sweet about it.

The Zora could tell you were hard set on brooding and frowing. Understandable given your circumstances. However he felt the need to try and cheer you up, even if just a little.

“Perhaps now that things have calmed down...you two could try to talk again? I’m sure even if you have choice words to say, it’s better than giving him the silent treatment”.

“HE’S THE ONE WHO WANTED ONE!” You spit, splashing the water slightly with the gesture you made with your hands. You huff, seeing the look on the guards face and turning to face the waterfalls again. “He won’t listen anyway. He’s mad at me and I’m tired of him. He only cares about how he feels, not about how I feel”.

“That’s not true, my pearl” a familiar, deep voice replied. You stiffen, turning to face the larger, more colorful Zora. Even now his eyes still held anger, but not for you. No he was angry with himself for letting his emotions take over, allowing instinct to muddle what he was truly trying to say.

He hurt you, and he can’t forgive himself. He swore to protect you and all he has done is smother the light you used to shine.

“...” you say nothing, turning back around and trying your best to stay silent. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shrug your shoulders as the only attempt at communication. Sidon nibbles his lips as he plays with his fingers nervously, debating on how to apologize and approach you.

He too stayed silent, giving a head tilt towards the guard to leave his post. Once the other left, he sat down in the waters beside you, drumming his fingers on the floor as his lips pout in thought. The sky was turning into a beautiful twilight, and the moons light casting upon you only made you look even more stunning. He could see the bruises made on you, and his chest ached knowing you were hurt.

You had defensive signs all over you. Signs that you didn’t go with the Yiga warrior willingly. Marks that proved you were scared and needing his protection and all he offered in return was anger and blame.

“...I’m sorry...” he said softly, eyes lowered “I...I thought you and the yiga...I...well-“

You cut him off, not looking in his direction as you finish what he was struggling to say “You assumed I was teaming with the enemy. I know” you bitterly state, fingers clenching your elbows as your arms were folded over, cradling yourself as a form of comfort. “Shows how much you trust me....”you weakly added, voice cracking.

Guilt was bubbling inside of him. He’s known you for so long yet he let his insecurities taint his image of you. And look where that’s gotten him! Your warmth was dying out because he can’t seem to realize that you aren’t like the others. Sidon knows you aren’t fragile and that you’ll always be by his side, but time and time again he ignores these facts over his emotion.

It goes silent again, the crickets chirping in the distance being the only noise for a while as he watches your face glimmer in the starlight. Amazing and breath taking as ever. His hand reaches over towards you, gently laying ontop of your own, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“I can’t take back what I did. But I can say that it’s eating me alive and that I hate how it even left my mouth. And...I want you to know I do care about you. I know I’m controlling and intense and unreasonable...and the fact you haven’t tried to kill me yet is amazing “ he jokes, smiling when he sees the little bit of amusement etched into your face.

You squeeze his hand and give half a smirk “well...you make up for it when you let me get away with stealing snacks from the store...so I’d say it’s even”.

Both of you share a soft laugh, and you swing your feet over the falls as you clear your throat. “I-I know you’re just worried about me but...Sidon, I’m not some fragile toy. I’m not some bad guy either. I wouldn’t ever do anything dangerous and despicable like join the Yiga...or leave you”.

Sidon lowers his head, pressing it against Yours as he holds your clasped hands to his chest. “I know...I know and I’m such a fool for thinking otherwise. I’ll make this up to you darling, anyway you want! Just say the word and it’s yours!”.

You gently kiss his cheek, and give a soft breath in thought. “Anything?”.

He nods in affirmation “Anything.”

You grunt, standing up to maneuver onto his lap “Well...for now just hold me. I’ll think of something extravagant later. Deal?”.

He laughs, holding you closer and nodding his head “Deal”.

-Mommabean (was this ok???)

#yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #Yandere prince Sidon #Yandere fluff #Yandere breath of the wild #Yandere legend of Zelda #yandere exophilia #technically #Yandere botw #Yandere princes are pretty great #Mommabean #Zora bean #Yandere Liz

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ibuki-loves-you · 3 years

Text

Killed for a Hopeful Future (Nagito Komaeda x Reader)

Warnings: Angst, mentions of suicide, domestic stuff, detailed descriptions of murder, mentions of v/mit, potential spoilers???

Mod Ibuki: Another piece me and @call-me-ko worked on together! Execution based off this fan-made one! I hope you enjoy!

Sobs were all that could be heard throughout the small cottage.

Heavy, distraught sobs.

Nagito sat in his bed, the bed Y/N often accompanied him in. Heavy sobs racked his body. He doesn't think he's cried this hard in his entire life.

His love, his world, was gone.

It was like they were taken right out from under him.

One gunshot wound to the chest and bruises around their neck. Their leg looked broken, probably from the fall.

Y/N's body was hung from the door of strawberry house and dropped all the way to grape house's floor. Blood was everywhere due to the gunshot wound.

When Nagito saw, he thought he was going to die himself. No one told him that they were the victim. They just said they didn't know who it was yet.

He didn't get to say goodbye

He didn't get to tell them that he loved them.

He didn't-

"Nagito!" Fuyuhiko yelled. Nagito swung his head around, glaring at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nagito stated. Fuyuhiko stayed quiet. "Simple question. Is it really that hard to answer?" He snapped. Fuyuhiko didn't say anything. Kazuichi shakily sighed. "W-We didn't want to make you panic."

Nagito scoffed. "A little late for that, isn't it?"

Nagito investigated your body himself. He didn't trust anyone. You were loved by everyone here, and yet you still died. It didn't add up.

Bing Bong Bing Bong

"Nagito... it's time for the trial." Hajime mumbled apologetically. Nagito nodded slowly.

"Give me a minute..." He responded. "Of course." Hajime said softly, moving to the elevator.

Nagito dropped to his knees in front of them. Tears started streaming down his face.

"Who did this? Angel...who did this to you?" He mumbled, stroking Y/N's head. "I promise...your killer will get what they deserve." Nagito placed a kiss on their forehead.

He began making his way towards the elevator.

Justice would be served

"The murder occurred at around 5:30 am." Hajime started.

"The murder weapon was a noose found at the scene, but they also had a wound in their chest. I think a gunshot. That could be the cause of death as well." Chiaki added.

"It was the cause of death." Nagito interrupted. "How else could they have fallen?"

"Fallen...?" Chiaki asked. Nagito scoffed.

"I'm not looking to play games this trial. I want to know the blackened as soon as I possibly can so let me tell you this so you can put everything together." Nagito said angrily.

"Strawberry house and grape house are connected. It's an elevator. Y/N died beforehand via gunshot. That means the killer went to the Final Dead Room. I would know because I went there. The elevator won't move if a living thing is detected. It moved because they were dead already. The killer tied a noose around their neck and tied the other end to the doorknob. Then, they activated the elevator. Eventually, Y/N would fall because that's how gravity works. Now, figure out who killed them." Nagito snapped. He explained the murder in perfect detail, no flaw.

With Nagito's explanation, soon enough they found the killer.

"Gundham...why did you do it?" Hajime asked, a solemn expression painted onto his features.

Gundham stood silent. After a moment, he took a breath.

"We had a plan." He muttered. "Please explain." Hajime requested, taking a few glances at a fuming Nagito.

"Y/N and I agreed that we would allow all of you to escape at the expense of our lives. I completed the Final Dead Room, and we planned the murder from there." Gundham started.

"We wanted you to survive. Y/N didn't go down without a fight, nor did I. I request you remember that." Gundham looked towards Nagito. He dug through his pocket and pulled out a key. He walked over to Nagito and held it out.

"It is the key to their cottage. I didn't know if you had one or not, either or I assumed they'd want you to have it." Nagito took the key silently.

"I don't expect forgiveness, nor do I want it. But one thing I want you all to carry from mine and Y/N's demise is that you must always fight. Do not go down without one."

With that, Gundham was dragged to his execution.

And that's how he ended up in his room clutching a piece of your clothing while he bawled his eyes out.

Bing Bong Bing Bong

"Please make your way to Jabberwock Park! Not attending will result in immediate death! See you soon! Puhuhuhuhu~"

Nagito looked at the monitor. Should he even attend? He didn't care whether he died or not.

After contemplation he decided to go. He dried his eyes and placed your belonging neatly on his bed. Nagito made his way out the door and to Jabberwock Park.

Upon arrival, everyone gave him pitied stares. He looked horrible, worse than he usually did, and he knew that.

"Are you alright?" Chiaki spoke. Nagito looked at her and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"No, not really. But you shouldn't worry! I'll be fine." That was a lie, even he didn't believe it.

"Allow me to introduce the new motive. Future visions!" Monokuma announced. Everyone rolled their eyes.

"We aren't gonna do that shit!" Fuyuhiko screamed. "Yeah, like we'd believe it!" Nekomaru hollered after. Nagito stayed silent.

Future visions? He didn't believe in any of that, but it's worth a look, right?

When everyone left Jabberwock Park, mainly out of anger towards Monokuma, Nagito looked at the vision motive.

A character select button appeared on a screen that seemingly came out of nowhere. He selected himself. A video began to load.

"Alright, let's go see baba." Nagito cooed. He took his daughter's hands and gently pulled her to her feet. The baby giggled in response.

"Ready? One step at a time." Nagito looked up at Y/N. They sat on the other side of the living room, smiling at the two. Nagito gave them a bright smile. With small steps of his own, he guided their daughter in Y/N's direction.

Their child shook their hands from Nagito's. Nagito let go and smiled, keeping close behind her.

Y/N opened their arms and their daughter stumbled into them. Nagito hurried over with a wide smile.

"You did it, baby! I'm so proud of you!" Nagito cheered. His daughter crawled out of Y/N's arms and into his. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"And you say she isn't a daddy's girl." Y/N teased. Nagito smiled and kissed his daughter's cheek over and over, earning a giggle in response.

"Yeah, I guess I see where you're coming from." Nagito leaned forward and gave you a kiss.

"I love you, angel." "I love you too, Nagi."

Nagito stared at the screen with a mix of horror and awe. He moved his hands towards his pale face and rubbed his temples. He took his hand and selected Y/N’s character.

“Daddy! Higher!” His daughter giggled, gripping the chains of the swing. Nagito chuckled

“A little higher, okay?” Nagito compromised. She giggled and nodded. “Okay daddy!”

Y/N smiled from next to Nagito, watching as he booped her nose every time the swing came towards him.

“Baba! Look how high I’m going!” Their daughter called. Y/N giggled and nodded.

“I see! You’re almost as tall as me and daddy from up there!” Y/N said, a smile gracing their features. Nagito nodded in agreement, a huge smile on his face. He turned his head to face his lover.

“Look how happy she is.” He mumbled, chuckling everytime she giggled.

“Daddy keep pushing me!” She said when he stopped for a moment. Nagito laughed and continued pushing the swing.

“She really is such a happy kid.” Y/N smiled throughout their sentence. Nagito wrapped one arm around Y/N’s waist and used the other to push the swing.

That was his future? Or would’ve been?

Nagito put his forehead against the screen and started crying again.

He couldn’t help but feel selfish because he wanted that more than anything.

Soon enough his tears turned to crazed wheezes, laughter shaking his body.

Hope and despair mixed in his eyes once again. He had nothing to lose…

So why not get himself killed? Or better yet get them killed. It's all their fault after all, Y/N did nothing to them yet they had to die.

Bing Bong Bing Bong

“A body has been discovered! Please make your way to the warehouse on the fifth island!”

Everyone dropped what they were doing and made their way to the warehouse next to the factory while Nagito took his time. Everything went according to plan. Now all he had to do was wait. Whether he survived the trial or not didn’t matter much to him, since one way or another he would die.

Suicide or execution was the question now.

“The victim is Nekomaru Nidai, the Ultimate Team Manager. The murder weapon is unknown, but definitely a tool of some sorts as he was taken apart.” Hajime started.

“Trip wire was found at the scene.” Kazuichi added. “So we can assume that was definitely used, especially since he has scratched on his ankles. Well, as scratched as metal can be.”

“Killer probably pressed the power button after using the trip wire, right?” Fuyuhiko questioned. Hajime nodded. “Most likely.”

Sonia put a finger to her chin. “So what you are saying is the killer used tripwire, and then powered Nekomaru off?” Hajime nodded again.

“Who would want to kill Nekomaru? He was so kind to us all.” Akane muttered. “I can’t answer that, I wish I could. But for now all we can do is find his killer.” And with that the trial was officially underway.

“So this is how it happened.” Hajime started. “Nekomaru was lured to the factory’s warehouse by an anonymous letter. He assumed whoever it was he would be able to handle, so he expected a fight. What he didn’t expect was tripwire a few feet away from the door. With his height, I wouldn’t expect him to see it either. Nor would I expect it myself. After Nekomaru fell into the tripwire, his head slammed into the floor, causing him to be weakened for a moment. It may not have been a long moment, but it was enough for the killer to rush into action and press his power button on the back of his neck. When the power button was pressed and Nekomaru was officially powered off, the killer took him apart using a variety of tools found at the market. This explains the mess of oil we found. The killer scattered his parts all around the warehouse and factory, thus leading to us having to find the parts and put them together for investigation.”

Hajime turned to the podium across from his.

“Isn’t that right, Nagito Komaeda? The Ultimate Lucky Student…”

Nagito smiled that crazed grin of his. His eyes were swirling with hope and despair once again.

“Yep! You are absolutely right!” He laughed. Hajime winced while Akane banged on her podium in sheer anger.

“Why, Nagito?” Hajime asked. Nagito continued to laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I wanted to die!” He said as if it was nothing. Akane growled. “So why didn’t you kill yourself!?” Nagito’s laughs died down, his emotions doing a complete 180.

“Because I wanted to kill you all as well.” He said simply. Everyone looked as if they’d seen a ghost.

“W-What?” Hajime whispered. “Did I stutter? You guys were the reason Y/N died! Y-You took them away from me!” Nagito screamed. He dropped to his knees behind his podium, sobs beginning to consume him once again.

“I-I could’ve had a life with them...We w-would’ve been happy a-and I w-would’ve had a d-daughter.” Nagito mumbled weakly. “I just want Y/N...I-I want to see Y/N. P-Please just kill me already.” He pleaded.

Everyone looked at him with a mixture of sadness, pity, and fear.

“Who am I to disobey?” Monokuma said. “W-Wait, we need to talk more! We have more questions, bastard!” Fuyuhiko cursed. Monokuma ignored him. Nagito continued sobbing and clutching his podium.

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got! It’s punishment time!”

Nagito was set up straight, strapped to a wheel similar to one you’d see on a gameshow. Every section other than him was either Monomi or Monokuma.

Monokuma spun the wheel, causing him to start spinning with it.

It landed on Monomi.

Monokuma spun the wheel again. A wave of nausea hitting Nagito like a truck as his head began pounding.

It landed on Monokuma.

The wheel was spun once again. Nagito laid cursing his luck as he began throwing up in his mouth from the constant motion sickness.

The torture continued for nearly 15 minutes. A vicious cycle of spinning and choking on his own vomit.

Monokuma spun one last time, the wheel finally landing on Nagito. He smiled, elated that the torture was finally over.

Before he could blink, copious amounts of spears fired towards him. Out of many, only three struck him.

Two in each of his legs, and one in his chest.

As he slowly bled to death, all he could think about was one thing.

He was going to see them again.

#danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #sdr2 #nagito komaeda x reader #nagito komaeda #mod ibuki writes!

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

Prompt : Memories with Mando

Memories can be so sweet, and yet so bitter...

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked ahead, unsure if his eyes were working properly or deceiving him. Maybe this wasn’t reality but a wicked day dream...

Suddenly he was taken out of the crowded, dingy, dirty cantina and back to years ago. Years ago when his shoulders didn’t feel so heavy, back to when the weight of the world wasn’t constantly over his head, back to when he wasn’t constantly on the run from trouble. Back to when he was younger, and while not carefree, less worried about everything. Back to when he wasn’t just The Mandalorian. Back to when he was Din - your Din.

It had been what? Days, weeks, months, years? A decade. Over a decade. He remembered that last day vividly, every single word clear in his ears, and your face, sweet and gentle and tear stained burned into his mind. He regretted that afternoon, as soon as he had walked, as well as every other single day since.

It had been 11 years, 2 months, and 5 days ago. Yeah - he had kept count.

At first he hadn’t meant to; not habitually anyway, but after a while it had become such an ingrained habit that he didn’t even have to think about. Another day, another little tick mark in the small beat up journal he kept stashed away in the cockpit of the Crest.

He had been positive that he was making the right decision, at least back then, despite how hard you had cried and begged him to stay. And he almost did. Almost. But he knew you deserved better, believed you deserved better than he could ever offer. After all, what did you see in him? He was just a Mandalorian and you...you were everything. A beautiful golden sunrise in a terrible, cruel world. And he was just lucky enough to be in orbit for the precious time he had been.

But now, looking at you from across the crowded space, he immediately realized he had made the very wrong decision. You were just as beautiful now as you had been back then, if not more so. The same dazzling smile graced your features and he was sure he’d heard a glimpse of that laugh that always set his soul aflame. How was it possible after all this time you still managed to take his breath away with just the most minute of glances?

Nothing but memories, the happy ones, the ones he really treasured flooded his mind. The first time he’d kissed you, under the cover of night after he’d eagerly stripped off his helmet, needing to kiss you and taste you after months of longing and falling in love. The first time you told him you loved him, after a long evening together mumbled into his ear while you were still half asleep and his hands traced aimless shapes onto your bare skin. The time you planned your future together - a wedding and everything. The time you had told him you’d missed your cycle and thought you might be with child...all of it.

But ultimately that’s what had led to him leaving. He just...it was all too much and he knew he would never be enough. Never enough to be a good husband to you, never enough to be a father to any child you would give him. He would just never be enough.

He had often wondered...wondered if you’d actually had a child, if you ever even thought about him anymore. He still thought of you, almost every day. He’d just never expected to see you again. But none of the past mattered now as he drank in the sight of you, ready to come up and bare his soul to you. He didn’t expect you to remember him, to forgive him, or anything really. He just wanted to apologize, and see your face up close, even if it was just one more time. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.

Just as he steadied himself, ready to speak to you, you turned around and headed for the exit. In the crowd of people and creatures, he blended in well and was able to follow after you. He whispered your name quietly, but naturally you didn’t hear. But as he was about to call after you, louder and with more urgency, his heart dropped and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Mumma!” a young boy called excitedly to you from a nearby stall. He watched as your smile grew and you went over to him, immediately throwing your arms around him and ruffling his hair. Din’s heart snapped and something in him broke as he looked at the boy.

He was beautiful, his young face taking on some of your best features, and the rest? The rest was all Din - the same messy chocolate curls, the soft brown eyes, and the pouty lips. He was an almost spiting image. Din wasn’t even aware of the fact that tears had rolled down his cheeks as he watched the two of you, his breathing coming in shaky inhales and stunted exhales.

His son - this was his son. Your son. A son borne out of nothing but love...and yet...he had never known him. He hadn’t experienced watching you grow with his child, to bring a such a life into this world, a life he helped create. He had never known him out of his own trepidation and foolishness. He would never forgive himself for his. Never. But at least. now he would have the chance to make it up to you.

You put your arm around the boy before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head and his heart just stopped and twisted.

“Come on,” you told him softly, “we’ve got to get going. There’s a lot to do at home.”

“Okay Mumma,” he agreed eagerly as he took your hand and fell into step with you, “can I help with dessert?”

“Of course, adi’ka,” you promised him as Din’s heart melted a little more. You still remembered some of the Mando’a he had taught you.

As you walked by him, Din panicked and wasn’t able to properly form a single sentence, but he did manage to fumble out your name. As soon as you heard it, you paused and turned back, giving him a curious look. Din’s heart raced as you looked him up and down, your features visibly shifted in confusion. For a moment he was sure you knew exactly who he was but then...nothing.

“I’m sorry...” you tilted your head to the side, “do I know you?”

“I...” if it was possible for his heart to break anymore, then it did. It would have shattered into a million little pieces, “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I knew.”

“It’s no mind,” you offered him a sweet smile before turning back to your - his - son and squeezing his hand, “come on, Din. We don’t want to be late.”

Din’s chest constricted and felt tight, so tight and heavy and overwhelming as you walked away. Din. His own son that he had never known carried his name. Din. This whole time another Din Djarin existed; his Din. His own flesh and blood, his ade. And he never even spoken a word to him.

The Mandalorian struggled to breathe as he watched you walk away, not even looking back once. You didn’t even recognize him; you didn’t remember his voice. Nothing.

It was like you had never even known him. The only evidence that you ever had was the young boy at your side.

And he would never forgive himself for that.

For leaving you.

For leaving his son.

For being weak and making the biggest mistake of his life.

You asked him to stay.

He should have. He knew back then and he knew now.

But you didn’t even remember him.

And that left him - broken.

Ruined.

Done.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x fem!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #november prompts #fem reader

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dingdongitsbees · 3 years

Text

BLACK-EYED SUSAN | LEVI X READER HUNGER GAMES AU

Chapter 13: Rinse and Repeat

Previous - Next

Tw: PTSD, implied suicidal ideation, alcoholism

WC: 5.4k Ao3 link Ask to be added to the taglist! It will be updated weekly on Saturdays

First person version can be found here

Master List

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful, it was always just red.” – Kait Rokowski

It had been a few years since your world had gotten simultaneously a million times better and also gone to shit. It hadn’t really hit you two until you had spent a few days back in the homes that had been provided for you. You each had your own house as per usual for victors, but you didn’t need a second. You had spent your life together in a borderline shack, it would feel weird to have the other sleep across the street. But it had been in that gifted house that it finally came crashing down.

All you could see was their faces, all you could feel was that knife in your hand, all you could hear was that goddamn canon. You were sitting on a velvet couch paid for in blood. Now having more than enough food on the table was exchanged for lives. Being able to still exist in the world meant twenty-two people had been ripped from the world.

Levi had been next to you, so he just held you, his shoulders shuddering just as bad as yours, and you cried. You just cried. There’s nothing you can do or say or think to make anything like that better. Only time can help, and to be honest it isn’t very good at its job.

The trip to each district took what was left out of you two. Combined you had killed tributes of five districts out of the other eleven. Almost fucking half. Most of their families just glared at you on their platforms as their child’s face was displayed behind them as you recited propaganda scripts.

District Ten was hard for you. They had surprised you to be honest, neither of Sasha’s nor Connie’s family looked at you with any disdain. All you could feel was pity radiating off of them, especially from Sasha’s father. She told you how he had taught her how to shoot, you almost deviated off script to say how you learnt vicariously through his daughter, how kind she and funny she was.

Connie’s siblings hurt to look at. They looked at you with such big eyes. They should have hated you, they really fucking should have. Their brother died in one of the most horrific ways possible yet they stared at you as if you were one of their sisters. The normal people in front of the stage only copied their looks, none of them hated you for taking away two souls. It didn’t make any fucking sense. It would have been better if they had just heckled you. Just yelled at you and screamed at you, taking the brunt of their words was the least you could do for exchanging your life for one their own.

District Eleven wasn’t so kind to Levi. Kaya’s family looked like they were two seconds from breaking on to the main stage and choking him to death right there. He might have let them. Niccolo’s family was confusing. There was obviously no forgiveness for how Levi killed their son, a wild animal in a spree of rage, but they didn’t look angry. Levi had told you he had just said a few words over Niccolo before coming back, maybe those words were enough remorse for them to not want his head on a spike.

However, the civilians in the crowd didn’t agree. They had to be restrained from climbing up, yelling threats and taunts, about how he could kill a little girl without a second glance, how he took pleasure in killing Niccolo. Levi kept his head down, his undercut blinding his view, but his hand shook in yours. You did the speech on behalf of the both of you.

The districts from Nine to Five didn’t give two shits about you, maybe only some had mild curiosity. Their glazed-over eyes just stared, clearly bored as you were from the fuckery spilling from your lips. Some of the families glared only because their child wasn’t standing up there instead of you, but you couldn’t blame them for that.

One was…weird to say the least. Neither of you had many interactions with either Annie or Bertolt, but you two lead them to their deaths. Levi may have killed Annie directly but Bertolt’s murder was just cruel, you knew that, but you had thrown that rock anyway. Both of their families just looked devoid of any emotion, the crowd didn’t seem to care, that’s One for you, but their parents just looked empty. The speech went smoothly.

Three was strange as well, you never met nor saw their girl, but Falco you certainly had, but you also hadn’t killed him, in reality your relationship him was positive. They didn’t seem to hate you, quite the opposite really, they seemed to be happy you were there. Three was no stranger to careers betraying and killing their tributes so they were probably just happy Reiner didn’t win and it had been because of your own hands. Still, it was strange. Falco’s older brother, the one you had seen in the reaping recording, had looked on the brink of tears but he stayed strong, his back straight and head up high. They probably wouldn’t have looked at you the same if Falco had gone with you. Someone would have needed to kill him at some point anyway, it just so happened it wasn’t you.

Two was painful. Instead of two separate families standing on their respective platforms it was just one. There was confliction in their eyes for sure, you were surprised they could even stand to be around each other, their sister or bother’s son killing their child. But they stood together. Staring at you with a mix of hate and affection. Levi had to do the speech that time.

Four was hard once again, but only because of one person, specifically Marcel’s younger brother. He flew daggers from his eyes, pure fury ran through his veins. He probably would have killed you both if he had the chance, probably would have been good at it too. You could only begin to imagine the anger he had stored up since you had sliced his brother’s throat.

You recognised him in the reaping for the next game.

He used his anger well.

At the end of the trip you had to go to the Capitol once again for the Presidents party. You nearly preferred the arena.

Floch was sweating buckets under Zeke’s gaze the entire time and drank himself into a stupor, avoiding you both at every turn which you were glad for. People reached for you like you were statues, brushing your hair and clothes and bodies like you were pets. Nick was the only thing stopping you from cursing everyone in the vicinity, Levi came close. Zeke watched from his balcony, eyes narrowed and sipping on champagne waiting for one of you to misstep so he could order a bullet into your heads.

When you got home you two didn’t know what to do. You both fucked around for a year, bought anything that caught your eyes at the hub no matter if it was an ugly piece of pottery or a toy. You bought a lot of liquor too and drank most in one go. The burning in your throats let you forget the inferno in your brains. A small price to pay for some peace and quiet between neurons.

You two were rarely sober for the first few months. You’d wake up and have whiskey for breakfast, you’d walk around town, maybe sneak through the fence, and have some gin, and if it was a particularly bad day you’d opt for tequila as your bedtime stories.

People in the streets knew to leave you alone, just to let you wallow a bit, they hadn’t seen many victors, but they could guess that starting up conversations with people on the knife’s edge was a good way to get punched. Hannes talked to you two occasionally, usually at the hub, cheering your bottles with his flask. He didn’t ask about the game, he saw enough anyway, he just pretended you were those troublemaker kids you had been when you left.

It was Hanji of all people that got you out of it, though she wasn’t one to talk when it came to the number of empty bottles in your living room, but she at least cut the number down a bit or swapped out the drinks for something weaker much to your slurred complaints.

The months after that were hard, letting the built-up trauma hit you like a train. You both started getting nightmares.

One of you would wake up already screaming or crying or be entirely frozen still and unable to move as their body quaked. The other would hold on to them until their tremors ceased and their breath evened again. Then you’d just rinse and repeat the next night.

Rinse and repeat.

Flinch at a raised voice, go numb at the sight of blood, start hyperventilating when you were sure you had seen another tribute in the crowd.

Try not to let yourself die.

Rinse and repeat.

Then the next game came around. You both offered to go as mentors, to let Hanji take a backseat from the role after her isolating years, she came to make sure you didn’t say something stupid, but she just got to hang around without much of a care.

The two kids that you got weren’t good. You knew the second that their names were called that they were goners. Wouldn’t make it in the bloodbath, and even if they ran, they probably wouldn’t live past the first day. You learnt to push their names away. It didn’t help any to hang on to them.

The kids weren’t dumb, they knew that too.

There was a little bit of hope when they looked at you however, a hope that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Porco had sliced both of their throats open within the first minute. Porco won the title of victor in only three days with a kill count of eight. They never had a chance.

You think that was the last time you cried.

When mentors go to the Capitol and watch the feed, they sit in a room together connected to an ongoing party that never stops until the games do, infested with sponsors and government officials. Only mentors are allowed in that room, not even titan servants. You just needed a room to be in to be able to grieve only with people that understood.

They always looked after the new mentors, it didn’t matter the districts or even if their tribute killed yours, they’d hold you, get you a glass of water or usually something stronger, just let you get everything out and topped up makeup on your red rimmed eyes before you got ambushed by press outside the door. Sometimes the career districts were prickly, but only the ones that truly cared about the kids became mentors anyway, so they weren’t ones to give you shit.

It just sort of numbed you after that. You’re not sure if you could even remember all the kids you sent to their deaths. No, you definitely couldn’t, and you didn’t plan to.

Without fail every year they always got killed in the bloodbath, and every year without fail you’d drill into them to just run away, but they just wouldn’t listen, or the careers just didn’t let them leave. You both spent most of your time in the Capitol just flicking off the tops of third bottles and taking quiet bets on who was going to win or who’d kill who. Levi was always right.

It was actually Erwin’s idea to do something back at Twelve, to find something to pour yourselves into. So, after the 70th Hunger Games you went back and pushed your ludicrous amount of money to builders to create an orphanage. The one on your side of Twelve was shit and didn’t have the funding nor space, it was the reason you two had never gone to it yourselves, so you gave them some of your load too so they could get food on the table for once.

Kids started trickling in, you didn’t run the place yourselves, you didn’t have the emotional range to do something like that anymore and you’d probably do more harm than good as their caretakers, they didn’t need a pair of fucked up twenty-year-olds to lead them through life. But you visited, making sure everything was up to scratch and there was no complaints or concerns from the kids about the people you had employed or the quality of their beds and food or if they needed some more toys to play with.

Levi always made sure the place was meticulous, and it was kinda funny how he used cleaning as his way to bond with the kids. They always complained but they never said no when he asked for their help. You helped kids with schoolwork and funded whatever type of skill they wanted to learn.

“You wanna paint? Here’s an easel and some paints from the Capitol that my designer friend sent over.”

It was hard to smile but at least you could help them to.

One day, when you two had dropped in to visit before you went to stock up on vodka, a boy came up to you with big emerald eyes, with a black-haired girl trailing after him. He asked a question that got everyone surrounding you looking up from their sandwiches.

“Can you teach us how to fight?”

And so you did. Twelve had always been at a disadvantage, nothing in your district aided you for the Games, the closet you’d had was learning about mines and explosions or having the physical strength to lift a pickaxe but that was only available when you worked in the mineshafts at eighteen, the last year qualifying for the reaping, and eighteen-years-olds were never picked.

So usually any kid that went in was utterly fucked.

Unless you tried changing that.

You started small. Learning how to throw a proper punch or kick, things you had learnt on the streets stirring up trouble. How to balance yourself in a proper stance so a gust of wind or a shove from a career wouldn’t send you stumbling.

You taught them the things you learnt in the Capitol and in the training room; what foods were safe, how to set a trap, how to treat a wound, how to conduct an interview, how to form an alliance, who to avoid.

It was a long time before you held a blade again.

They had begged you for months to just teach them how to knife fight, but the idea still shook you. You hadn’t held a throwing knife in your hand for years, but it still melded uncomfortably comfortable into your palm. You could still throw it and hit it dead on centre. You knew if the throw was hard enough to go through someone’s skull. You knew how long it would take for their body to hit the ground if it were a clean shot, and how long it would take if it wasn’t. You knew how many milliseconds it would take for the canon to fire.

Picking up a knife again, only if to teach, was a torturous process, but you didn’t let them know that. You would just drink a little more that night.

“Eren keep your arms up! Try and copy Mikasa’s form!” you barked.

They all stood in a line, throwing knives into hay bales, some making it, most missing. Mikasa was unsurprisingly the former, Eren was unsurprisingly the latter. The two were always the hardest at work though it seemed it was usually driven by Eren’s ambition. The kid wasn’t gifted with natural talent but he was stubborn enough to try and make up for it. They had come to the orphanage after Mikasa’s parents were murdered over some debt they couldn’t pay and Eren lost his mum to a mine explosion and then his father caught something bad from his own patient.

It was always them begging you (well Eren at least, Mikasa would just ask nicely) for more lessons and whatever advice they could squeeze out of you. It frightened you a little, Eren’s enthusiasm, you had seen that face before.

It was an unspoken truth that they were your favourites of the bunch, the others didn’t take offence to it, it was just those two were always coming up to you two whenever they got the chance, though you were scared it was because they reminded you of an overconfident kid and the one trying to take care of them. You tried to pretend you didn’t see Gabi and Falco when you looked at them.

“I’m trying but my arm’s starting to feel heavy!” Eren said, not even bothering to turn his head.

“You brats don’t have time to get tired when you’re in there so just get used to it,” Levi replied.

He walked behind them, arms crossed as he analysed each of them, you tried not to make a joke that Eren and Mikasa were taller than him now. He muttered out tips to those who needed it, and compliments to those who deserved it, you had tried to get him to coddle them just a little bit but then he said overestimating yourself just gets your killed and you couldn’t say anything to that. When he got to the end of the line of kids, he wandered back over to you and you gave a crooked smile.

He bumped his shoulder into yours before turning around and standing next to you, you both falling into your usual silence as you just watched.

“There’s more of them than usual,” Levi noted and you nodded absentmindedly.

“It’s today, it makes them nervous.”

“Zeke never picks them though.”

That was true, when you had first started up the orphanage, you had expected Zeke to jump at the opportunity, there was no way he wasn’t privy to your every movement let alone something that required legal documents to be signed, so how he hadn’t rigged the reaping to pull one of your kids was honestly getting a little unnerving.

But each year a pair of kids were picked that you didn’t recognise, and you’d breathe a sigh of relief; it’s much easier to forget strangers.

You realised that the games were rigged at the 71st games, you had noticed that all the slips of paper you could see, even though they were folded in half, would all start with the same letter, it peeking out, and then the name called out would match. You asked Hanji afterwards, cause there was no way she hadn’t noticed, and she just laughed in your face.

“It’s a show, of course they choose their cast.”

You leant your head on his shoulder as you watched, he leant his head too. His arms untangled themselves from each other and he let one fall, letting his pinkie interlock with your waiting one. You both still being there was a constant surprise and an unspoken threat, because someday, when Zeke got tired, or you did something to piss him off, that fact might not be so true anymore.

But Levi’s there now, maybe not tomorrow, but today at least, and you could only hope that the trend remained.

“Cut it out dude!”

You both whipped your heads around, finding two kids wrestling on the ground. They panted as they tried to get the advantage, dust billowing around them as the other kids stared. Neither of you could be bothered to move. Eventually one straddled the other, pinning him to the dirt.

Levi’s pinkie tightened.

The boy on the ground whined while the other grinned in victory before joining his empty hands together and sending them down onto the boy’s chest.

Levi stiffened beneath you and alarm bells blared in your head.

The boy started pretending to stab him.

“Die! Die! Die!”

The kids around them laughed.

The boy beneath told him to stop.

Levi’s breath shortened.

You were at the kids in a second, pulling them off one another.

“That’s enough.”

They went silent, the boys looking down to the ground in shame, though they didn’t know why you were trying so hard not to glare.

“Time to pack up anyway, you guys need to get ready for the reaping,” you said, you were just greeted with whinges, “Put the knives in the tub you lot. Now.”

They instantly shut up, knowing that tone of yours was not to be messed with under any circumstances. They all shuffled off, throwing the knives in, you always counted them all in case one of them took one, but they were good kids.

Levi nodded at them as they filed back inside the building, jaw still tight. As soon as they were all gone, Eren and Mikasa waving goodbye at the end of the line, you sprinted back over, running your hands through his hair as you brought his face to your shoulder.

“Shh it’s okay it’s okay.”

A shudder whipped through him.

You kissed his temple. “You’re not in the arena, you’re in Twelve. I’m not about to die and neither are you. No one is dying and no one is going to. Just breathe, just focus on my voice and breathe.”

Eventually he stilled again, air flowing through his lungs like normal. It didn’t happen as much anymore, but it still happened. It probably didn’t help that he was about to meet two dead kids.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

He nodded into your shoulder before finally raising his head, sliding over his façade again. You two of all people had to be the strong ones today, you couldn’t show fear, you weren’t allowed to anymore.

The walk home was silent, most people were inside or rushing home to get ready. You dropped past the hub quickly and you bought some bottles from your usual, Levi didn’t say a word, just stared into space. You passed the town square, the camera crews were nearly all set up, the barriers were getting placed. Hannes was testing the mic on the stage, he sent you a nod that you sent back.

The Victor’s village was always weird to see, after passing smog polluted houses with windows that are barely transparent anymore with walls that are starting to tilt, you come to a pristine gate. The separation pissed you off like it was saying you were better than them, but Nick would have your head if you even suggested taking it down. The houses were beautiful too. Maybe it was just an average house for a Capitol citizen, maybe a little nicer, but it looked like a goddamn king’s estate compared to everywhere else in Twelve.

People would say you deserved it, to have a nice home. It made you want to puke.

You could see Hanji through her window, lounging on a couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. Seemed like a plan.

You squeezed Levi’s hand as you unlocked the door and led him inside. You shed your jackets and shoes and put away your bottles, leaving one out. You glanced to him, he was still sort of out of it, he needed quietness, maybe a bath. Yeah a bath would do, those always calmed him down.

You trekked up the stairs, on the landing you let yourself take a little run up and slide across the wooden floorboards on your socks towards the bathroom door. Silly shit helped sometimes.

You reached out and grabbed the handle and turned it, pushing forward on the door. It let out an ungodly and far too familiar screech.

You gasped and slammed your back into the wall.

Fuck.

Your breath was getting quicker, not letting your lungs get enough oxygen before taking another gulp.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You crouched down, elbows on your knees as you pressed your palms into your eyes at a sad attempt to get your brain to stop.

You could only see him, or in more exact terms, you could only see his melted remains.

Fuck.

Rapid thumps came from the stairwell, you didn’t look up as arms enveloped you.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed your head before holding you tighter. Your need to talk to communicate was even less than it used to be ever since the Games. There were things you two didn’t need to speak about, you just acted on, knowing exactly what to do.

Though there were moments you didn’t want to talk about, and you didn’t plan to talk about them either. He didn’t mention finding you sobbing on the bathroom floor surrounded by spilled sleeping pills and you didn’t mention waking up alone in bed and finding him completely out of it on the roof of the orphanage. You didn’t talk about it, but you held each other a little tighter just as you did both of those nights.

“I’ll get some oil for it when we get back,” Levi whispered.

You nodded into his chest.

“Bath?” he asked.

You nodded again.

Warm water has magical powers you swore, it really shouldn’t be able to make someone feel so good, to be able to relax and almost drift away forgetting about the possibility of drowning. What a lame way to go out, though it was much nicer than the ways you’d seen.

You laid on Levi’s chest as the water rippled around your little movements. He played with your pruned fingers, touching the fingertips with his own like it was an interactive museum exhibit. You watched, fascinated by his fascination, blinking slowly as the bath bled out all of your stress.

Moments like that were nice, but it had to be broken today. You couldn’t stay in that warm heaven forever, though it was quite tempting, you wouldn’t exactly be missing out on the adventure of a lifetime.

You ruffled the towel through your hair as you sipped the vodka. The burn and taste were barely noticeable, even the effect had begun to wear off or maybe you had just gotten better at being under the influence.

“Catch.”

You threw the bottle to Levi on the couch who caught it without a second glance, immediately taking a few gulps of it himself.

“Hello you two.”

You both looked to the door, sending tight smiles to your usual guest, though to be honest your home was hers and hers was yours at that point.

She walked behind Levi’s couch and took the bottle that he already had extended to her, taking a gulp before placing it on a side table.

“Ready to send children to die?”

The reaping went as usual. Hanji welcomed everyone to the 74th Hunger Games, two kids got reaped, one fifteen-year-old and one thirteen-year-old, you couldn’t remember which was which. You waited in the train, neither of them came up to talk to you and just ate up all the food they could before passing out on the nicest bed they would ever sleep in. You didn’t bother them, one look and you knew they were a lost cause.

The process went on.

Neither were that charismatic, they were only memorable because they were last and that was pushing it as is. They both got low scores, a four and a six. The thirteen-year-old cried himself to sleep the night before, or he might have, you wouldn’t know, you slept through it.

That morning you went up to the roof with them, got in the mentor’s hovercraft and just twiddled your thumbs, wondering who was going to win that year or what the arena was going to look like. You went in, sitting in the back of a cart, going through the maze of corridors beneath the grand stage, not bothering to focus in your eyes to see your surroundings. It was just grey walls anyway.

You yawned when you got to the centre, scratching the back of your neck as you tried to find your tributes amongst all of the shaking teenagers.

A finger tapped you on the shoulder. You spun around to see the girl from…Seven? She grinned, her eyes crinkling.

“I just wanted to say I think you’re really cool, I really admire what you and Levi did in your games.”

You blinked.

“Oh, is that so? Good luck then I guess.”

She smiled even wider before running off with a wave. You dragged a hand over your face before heading over to your tribute waiting for you.

It was a forest arena, nothing too special.

The games had long since started when you got back to main city of the Capitol and went into the sponsor party, both of you immediately beelined for the mentor room. You watched as replays showed one getting killed in the bloodbath the other getting hunted down by none other than the careers. You just stared at their slow-mo screaming faces and sighed.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t even blink. You did the first time but after that it’s just been shut away. Thankfully there was no new mentors that year, you didn’t have to deal with sobbing messes. You were too exhausted to care for someone anymore. Compassion doesn’t come cheap.

The mentor room was filled with pain as always, most were just trying to unlearn two names as quickly as possible, drowning their neurons in liquor so they could pretend that two faces weren’t burnt into their brains. It won’t be enough, it never is. You knew that too now.

Some of the others in the room weren’t mentors but they were victors all the same, having just grabbed a free trip to the Capitol so they could bum off some high-class booze. Couldn’t blame them. They were lucky though, the other districts, having more than three victors meant they had the option of just staying home and just ignoring the screen. They didn’t have to know the kids.

You two spent the rest of your time in silence, going back up to the penthouse to sleep before coming back, hoping the whole ordeal would be over soon.

The girl that talked to you before it started, a girl from Eight you had learned, was still alive though, and you couldn’t help but cheer for her a little bit. She started an alliance with a girl from Six, both doing well against the attempted threats on their lives by the careers. Soon they had made it to the last few with only a few scratches to show the world, much better than your leg to say the least. It still ached every once in a while.

But you were still surprised when her little duo alliance were the last ones left. Their mentors were on the edges of their seats, hands covering their noses and mouths like a prayer, eyes glued to the screen.

Then the girl from Eight did something fucking stupid, something that made everyone’s breath hitch around the country.

She brought out some poisonous berries. They had killed a career with them, not needing to get into a fight, but then they held grenades in the form of blueberries in their blood-stained hands.

They brought it to their mouths as the room cursed in unison, people rose from their seats, you could hear people yelling outside the door. They both hesitated for a second as they counted down but plopped them in their mouths anyway.

Two canons fired in quick succession.

The transmission was as silent as the room. No one knew what to do. You stared at the screen with two dead kids. There wasn’t going to be a victor. There wasn’t going to be a victor because they copied you.

“I really admire what you and Levi did in your games.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The room slowly turned to you two as your heart hammered in your chest, Levi’s hand fumbled for yours.

You were fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

a/n: sorry this chapter was late! this was mainly just summary but we’ll really get into it next chapter

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b1ancastar · 3 years

Note

Hey hey it’s lap anon again so first of all bi squad assemble! Also here to send in another request because I have nothing else to do *bites lip* anyways could I get Muichiro post regaining memories having someone confess to him

yesyes, and please forgive me for making this depressing. (I had to rewrite this sm times.)

❦Those memories ❦ Muichiro X Reader (TW-Gore

❦

Muichiro found himself awakening in a bed. Sunlight shining in the windows of the room he was in. He didn’t feel the pain his body was in, though when he saw bandages he knew it was bad. Soon the people of the butterfly estate came in and told him to lay back so they could ask questions.

They kept asking until they hit memory, his memory was blank asides his name and job, and some people. He saw a look of worry and pain went over some of their faces. He didn’t understand why but asked if he could go home. They didn’t agree at first but let him.

❦

He got lost a few times but figured the way home. He found himself passing a garden along the way. He approached a bench and for a second saw someone sitting there, though that person was gone as soon as he blinked. He sighed, did not think much of it and looked at the clouds. Then he heard a voice shout out behind him,

“Muichiro, you’re awake now.”

“Oh yeah I guess.”

“You were out for a few weeks, nobody knew if you’d wake up.”

“Oh well, I’m going home now, bye.”

He walked off before the person could say anything else.

❦

When he walked into his home he saw a shrine for someone he didn’t know, or so he thought. On it there were two letters and a haori and some other things. He found himself picking up one of the letters, the most worn out one. He felt his eyes follow the neat handwriting,

“Dear Mui,

I do hope it’s ok I call you that. We just had a mission and I thought this was the best way to thank you for helping me. It truly means a lot that you saved me from the demon and helped me get proper help afterwards. I really hope to repay you one day. Maybe we can watch the clouds and birds in a garden I like to sit at.

Anyways my name is (y/n) I was just informed you have a bad memory. I promise to do my best to maybe help it get better. I heard sometimes items can trigger memories, I’m not to sure though. Maybe one day we can find out. Though if you ever need me you can find me at the garden.

With kindness, (y/n)”

❦

Mui looked up, finding himself at the garden from earlier. He was confused as his body moved on it’s own to the bench. It was like he was waiting for someone. He glanced down and saw the letter still in hand, though it looked nicer, neater.

“Mui! You came! I was worried I’d have to come get you.”

“Oh hello, are you (y/n)? I got this letter and it said I’d find you here.”

“Yep, that’s me, are you doing ok, I know a few herbs that can help ease pain.”

“I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt that much anyways.”

“Well, that's good.”

Then a crow was heard flying to them saying the other had a mission.

“Oh my, well it was good officially meeting you Mui! See you around!”

He found himself watching as the figure faded, a feeling forming in his chest. Soon he made his way home. Letter in hand.

❦

Soon Mui found himself shaking off that memory, still not understanding what was going on. Though the letter seemed lighter. Out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw the girl sitting at the table. He walked to the table, it seemed cold. He didn’t plan on eating but felt an urge to, like someone was nagging him to.

❦

The next morning Mui found himself standing at the shrine. The first letter neatly placed back. He knew this person was dead, but why did he have a shrine placed for them. As he reached to pick the letter he saw a crow that wasn’t his at the window. He saw it to be the one from the memory. It had a small rock in its feet. It ignored him and placed it on the shrine. On top of the first letter.

Soon the crow left, he decided it would be best he didn’t though the commotion seemed to misplace the second letter. He ended up picking it up and started to read it.

“Dearest Mui,

I just wanted to say these few weeks have been amazing to get to know you. You’ve helped me change my perspective on everything. You’ve helped me learn to feel feelings again. That’s something I never thought would happen. I hope you liked the treats I had my crow drop off along with this letter.

But please meet me by the garden bench today. I have something to ask of you.

With love, (y/n)”

❦

Mui looked up and was back at the garden. Sitting on the bench. The sun was setting clouds in the sky, it seemed like a cheesy romance movie setting. Then he felt two hands grab his shoulders with a laugh.

“Mui! I’m so glad you made it. I really wanted to tell you this for a while.”

“Go on (y/n), I’m listening”

“So I’ve liked you for a while, I like liked you. I don’t know how to say this without being really straight forward but, I love you Mui, romantically, I understand if you don’t feel the same.”

Before he could respond the figure of them was faded out and gone. He was fast forward to a date setting and saw himself gift them a haori, the one at the shrine. As the stood and spun with it.

“Thank you so much Mui! I’ll wear it forever.”

❦

Mui found himself on the floor. The window cracked open letting fresh air in. Just what he needed. As he stood by the crow had returned, another rock. He watched silently as it put another rock on the letter. It was like the crow knew these memories had returned. He pondered about how he had a lover, yet forgot about them.

It felt like he was having someone hug him. He started to wonder if their spirit was with him, begging for him to remember like they promised he would. Soon he saw some of the pillars come up. He planned on acting like he was asleep so they would leave. Soon he truly feel asleep

❦

It’s been days and he still hadn’t touched the haori. Not wanting it to show a memory. He tried his best to figure out who it was but whenever he asked he’d get a pitiful look. Soon he decided that it was time to go and try fixing it.

❦

He held the haori in hand, there was tears, rough sewing jobs, and it showed wear. Soon he turned it over and he got dizzy, this wasn’t like the other memories he had returned. It felt like he was under water. He felt himself fall back but before he hit the ground he felt two hands support the back of his head.

❦

Soon he found himself walking next to the person, a small jump in their step, along with holding their hand. Chatting about the demon they were sent to kill. It managed to kill almost every slayer before them. The ones who came back never talked about it so the both of you got sent in.

❦

Soon the duo reached a village, if you could call it that. Some homes burned down, others in pieces. Then they heard a child crying in the distance, but something seemed off. Mui found himself looking at (y/n)’s face as they tried putting two and two together. It wasn’t adding up. They both decided to near the voice but stay hidden, out of view from it.

It was good they did, in place of the child was a demon. It seemed to be weaker. They watched as it got frustrated and mumbled to itself, then it mocked another voice, one of the slayers that was never found. Mui looked over to his partner's hiding spot, they knew the voice. They knew that the demon had killed them. As they looked over at Mui they gave a signal to not work together no matter what.

Then out of nowhere the demon attacked the area (y/n) was in. Mui watched horrified as their body flew into a wall, unmoving. He watched as the demon licked their blood, a wicked smile growing onto its face. Then it mocked their voice, trying to lure anyone else out, saying sweet lies that they were ok, and the demon was gone. Mui wanted to go, but his body wouldn’t move. Soon as always in these memories it moved on its own.

He used his breathing style to confuse the demon, so it couldn’t pinpoint him. Then a mock started to happen,

“What are you doing, the demon isn’t dead yet!”

“We need to work together! Come on!’’

Mui pinpointed the demon and slayed it, the mist barrier falling as the head did. Mui watched as the demon processed it lost. The tear falling that it wasn’t able to win. Then how it looked at Mui caring for his partner. The demon wished hers was like that. She remembered that her partner was nearby. She wanted to warn them but couldn’t because the two were gone and so was she. When she opened her eyes she was united with her true love, saying they’d go to hell if that means they could be together.

❦

Soon Mui found himself helping his partner walk, they managed to break a bone or two in the damage. He never knew of the eyes that watched them stroll past at night. The eyes filled with hatred. Not until it was too late. Not until they were attacked that night four weeks ago.

To his eyes it happened too fast. He found himself stuck, unable to move; it happened in slow motion his own breathing style used to kill the one he loved most. Another pillar came in and took over, he rushed to his lovers side and helped them. He didn’t know how injured he was, he just saw theirs. Soon everything went dark.

❦

Mui awoke back in a bed. He panicked wanting to know everything. The memories are still fresh in his mind. He rushed into the hallway looking for someone. Once he was able to catch up with them he said he needed to talk to someone soon. He was told he needed to go back to sleep but ignored and kept going, he needed answers. He knew he’d find them at home.

Once he opened the door what was there shocked him. The shrine stood, three rocks. One on each item and a final letter.

“Dear Mui,

If you have gotten this it means I have passed on. Please don’t wait for me, don’t hold a grudge. I know I left too soon for us but it’s what fate has planned. Maybe in another life we'll be together again. I promise no matter what I’ll be watching over. Just take care of yourself.

Your lover, (y/n)”

#muichiro x reader #kny muichiro #kny x reader #kny headcanons #kny hashira

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

noncon-anon🔪🔪🔪...2!: Regardless of how much jealousy he holds toward his half brother, Meng Yao never expected or wanted to have Jin Zixuan on his knees before him. Certainly not like this, at least (his half-brother wrapped in chains, in the middle of the Sun Palace’s main hall, with Wen Ruohan and who knows how many other people watching) but he hadn’t been expecting Jin Zixuan to get captured either, and if this is what he has to do to remain in the Chief Cultivator’s favor, then so be it; may the gods forgive him for this violation of his kin (...and maybe if he puts on a good enough show, Wen Ruohan will let him keep his half-brother alive).

ao3

warning for adult content (full warnings on ao3)

Meng Yao had spent years not thinking of Jin Zixuan as anything other than an obstacle in the way of his ultimate goal – his father’s recognition, himself as the heir and eventual master of Lanling Jin – and he bitterly resented Wen Ruohan for trashing all that effort.

It was impossible to keep the image of Jin Zixuan that he’d had in his mind before: the spoiled, arrogant princeling in the same make as Wen Chao, less a human being than a statute of gilded gold, all fancy clothing and flawless appearance.

There was nothing of that now.

There was nothing arrogant about the frightened young man on his knees in front of him, chains carved with suppression arrays wrapped around his body – they’d been designed for a much stronger cultivator than he, Wen Ruohan’s mind lingering too often on his chief-most enemy in the war, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Zixuan was as helpless beneath them as a lamb, shivering in blind terror at being taken away from all he knew dear. His retainers had all been taken off to the Fire Palace or killed where they knelt, their corpses dragged off leaving smears of blood on the ground, and only he remained.

Meng Yao’s envy.

His brother.

His mother had always wanted to give him a brother, he abruptly recalled, and hated Wen Ruohan all the more for making him remember it. Her womb had closed after him, such that she couldn’t try for another even if she’d wanted to, but she’d day-dreamed about him making friends with the legitimate sons her sect leader – that was how she always called him, her sect leader – would undoubtedly have, pointlessly giving him advice on how to make friends with them, impress them, make them like him.

Not – this.

Never anything like this.

“Look at the gift I got for you, Meng Yao,” Wen Ruohan said, smiling. “A twin from another womb, born on the same day as you, but unlike you planted in the legitimate belly and so hoarded like a treasure – I would wager that you wish you could peeling his skin off and wrap yourself in it, wear it back to Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao smiled. “Sect Leader Wen does me too much honor. This lowly one does not deserve such a gift.”

We may be born on the same day, but I’m three years older than him, and my mother isn’t a disgusting vicious old hag like Madame Jin. How dare you compared them.

“And yet I have chosen to give it,” Wen Ruohan said, brooking no disagreement as always. “You do such fine work in my Fire Palace, Meng Yao, with strangers who have never looked at you twice – I cannot wait to see what marvels you will accomplish with a target that you actually abhor. Which of your fine instruments will we try on him first? Should we break his spirit by removing his sword hand, or cut off Jin Guangshan’s hopes along with his balls?”

He laughed, endlessly amused by himself.

Meng Yao smiled along – mother wanted me to be his friend – and mentally ran through his options as fast as he could. He couldn’t risk angering Wen Ruohan, not when the other man held the entirety of the Nightless City in the palm of his hand, not when the only thing keeping Meng Yao himself out of the Fire Palace and strung up on his own instruments of torture was the quality of his service.

“I will of course not disappoint the Sect Leader,” he says smoothly, and pretended to ignore the way Jin Zixuan flinched, with his face so similar to his own, to the face his mother had loved so foolishly. “Only…”

“Only?”

Meng Yao ducked his head bashfully. “Sect Leader is too generous to me, it makes me go beyond myself; I start to think of things I should not. When I was young…ah, but it does not matter.”

“Don’t equivocate,” Wen Ruohan ordered, but his attention was caught, as Meng Yao had intended. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s only that when I was young, my mother would tell me stores of Lanling Jin,” Meng Yao said, and hated, hated, hated Wen Ruohan for making him have to share such things. “Her hope was that my father would accept me as his recognized son, but failing that, she had always assumed he would take me at least as – as a servant for the one he already had.”

He didn’t need more than that: Wen Ruohan got it right away. “And so once you were rejected you dreamed of the opposite, is that it?”

“It would satisfy this lowly one’s most fervent dream, Sect Leader.”

Wen Ruohan smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile – it was full of hidden dangers. “Ah, Meng Yao, you dare to dream so high! There’s only one problem with your suggestion that I see. This well-born child, this treasure of Lanling, what possible servant could he make? His hands are so clean and soft, he would not be able to do manual labor nor even sweep your floor. What possible use could you make of him?”

The answer came to Meng Yao at once, and he hated himself this time even as he responded with a pleasant smile: “Well, Sect Leader, in the absence of any other use, I could always have him serve me in bed.”

Wen Ruohan burst out laughing, caught by surprise.

He loved the idea, of course, as Meng Yao knew he would. Wen Ruohan was a man with esoteric tastes; he enjoyed torturing and humiliating his enemies, and the prouder the man the more he longed to ruin them. Even within the time Meng Yao had worked in his Fire Palace, he had seen Wen Ruohan offer a brother his family’s freedom if only he would forcefully take his sister’s purity, which the unfortunate man had done, weeping piteously all the while.

Yes, Wen Ruohan loved the idea, and because of that, Meng Yao had a chance of saving Jin Zixuan’s miserable life that he’d only need to later end, if he was to truly achieve all of his desires.

He would, too. He wouldn’t hesitate to end Jin Zixuan’s life if it served his ends.

Just not - like this.

My mother wanted us to be friends.

“Very well,” Wen Ruohan said, waving his hand. “You may have him as your bedwarmer.” Meng Yao had not even begun to salute in thanks when he added, “But before you accept such a gift, you should try it out.”

Meng Yao was not so foolish as to let his smile freeze. “Here, Sect Leader?”

“Why not here? It may as well be witnessed.”

Like a marriage, he meant, and Meng Yao hated him.

“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, and this time he completed the salute, bowing deeply, and made his way over to his hapless younger brother who was shaking like a leaf, just as unable to flee.

Meng Yao knelt before him and began to open his clothing, taking a moment to lean forward and hiss in his ear, “Keep your mouth shut. Play along and you will live; resist and you will die.”

It was neither threat nor reassurance but merely fact, but Jin Zixuan clearly needed the words – needed to think that there was someone here on his side, however illusionary the sensation was.

Whatever he was thinking, it worked.

Jin Zixuan stopped trying to fight and submitted as best as he could, even if he couldn’t help but flinch any time a new piece of flesh was exposed.

He was quivering like a quail, and Meng Yao sighed and reached for his half-brother’s cock, making him squeak in an undignified fashion as he started stroking it.

“Is that entirely necessary?” Wen Ruohan asked, sounding bored.

“I intend to get plenty of use out of him, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao replied, his tone equally bored as if this were merely a chore even as Jin Zixuan’s cock unwillingly started swelling up beneath his palm. “If I tear him up the first time I bed him, I’d have to stitch him up and wait for him to heal before I can take him again, lest I want to risk his death. And there’s only one legitimate heir, isn’t there?”

Wen Ruohan chuckled. “I suppose so.”

“Besides,” Meng Yao continued, because he knew he had to keep Wen Ruohan’s interest. “There’s some fun in this as well: look how responsive he is, getting hard for me already. He’s tied up in chains and bared for half the world to see, and all he cares about is his dick.”

“Reasonable, for a son of a pleasure-lover like Jin Guangshan,” Wen Ruohan agreed, and he sounded much less bored now. “Your shared father.”

“Our shared father,” Meng Yao agreed, and reached down with his free hand to open his own robes, pulling out his own cock. “Would you like to see how similar we are?”

He lined himself up next to Jin Zixuan – they really were similar, in both look and size, and Wen Ruohan laughed as Meng Yao shifted over to pleasuring them both at the same time. Jin Zixuan had his lips pressed tightly together, but he couldn’t help the little whimpers and mewls that broke free now and again, nor the way his hips bucked up under Meng Yao’s skillful work. He wasn’t the first man Meng Yao had pleasured like this, and, if anything, he seemed almost unexpectedly inexperienced.

Meng Yao would have assumed that Jin Zixuan, as Jin Guangshan’s son, would have had his fill of brothels by this age, have fucked every hole in every way that whores offered for sale and then some, but perhaps his jealous bitch of a mother wouldn’t let him.

Certainly it didn’t take very long before he was coming helplessly in Meng Yao’s hands.

“Did you like that, brother?” Meng Yao asked him, and Jin Zixuan looked at him in betrayal. “You came so quickly – you liked having your brother’s hands on you, didn’t you? The same blood as yours. They say mine is less pure on account of your mother being born in a palace and mine in a brothel, but in the end it seems that you’re the one that turned out the whore.”

Jin Zixuan’s face was red and flushed, but he didn’t say a word, didn’t resist as Meng Yao pushed him down and spread his legs, merely grunted when Meng Yao slid fingers slicked up with his own come into him one a time.

“You’re tight here, which is to be expected,” Meng Yao continued, aware of their audience – the one on the throne being the only one that mattered, although there were plenty of guards watching avidly as well. “I doubt anyone’s ever made use of you before, unless our shared father has even more interesting tastes than I thought…”

Jin Zixuan flushed even redder and shook his head furiously.

“No? Then let your older brother be the first.” Jin Zixuan’s body was involuntarily relaxed after his orgasm, and Meng Yao was in a hurry, knowing that he couldn’t draw this out too long lest Wen Ruohan grow bored – he stretched him roughly, making as much space as best as he could, then put his cock at his entrance. Before he did anything more, he reached over and grabbed Jin Zixuan by the hair, forcing him to bend forward so that he could see Meng Yao’s cock about to breach him. “At the brothel, they say a woman always remembers her first man. They say it’s because her body shapes itself to him, molding the inside to accommodate him, never to be the way it was before – making her the perfect fit for his cock and no one else’s, no matter how many others she might one day take. I’ve heard the same is true for men. What do you think, little brother? Are you ready to take me into you? Are you ready to watch as I turn you into something fit only for me?”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t tear his tear-filled eyes away.

Meng Yao pushed in, and Jin Zixuan whined, high and loud, pathetic. It didn’t stop Meng Yao at all, pushing in inexorably – Jin Zixuan was hot and tight, about what he’d thought he’d be, same as anyone else. There wasn’t any magic to incest, no matter how much it got Wen Ruohan off.

(It got Meng Yao off, too. But he’d be a very poor whore’s son indeed if he didn’t know how to separate business and pleasure - and this was a performance. Would he say such ridiculous words, words that no one would believe if their dicks weren’t hard, otherwise?)

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, because he knew Wen Ruohan liked to hear it, and maybe also because he liked the way it made Jin Zixuan have to turn his face away in shame. “You really were a virgin, weren’t you? Look at you, giving yourself to me like a bride on her wedding night, taking me all inside of you. What a good little bedwarmer you’re going to be.”

He settled in all the way, hips pressed against warm flesh, and enjoyed the sensation of Jin Zixuan futilely clenching around him in an attempt to get him out.

“I’ll teach you all the tricks to please me,” he said, starting to rock back and forth, moving in and out. “Every morning you’ll present yourself to me to use; every evening too, and if I get bored during the middle of the day I’ll use your mouth. Once I’ve gotten you properly broken in, I’ll rent you out to anyone who asks – I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make you the good little whore and me the master, make you earn on your back that gold you’ve always worn as if you deserved it.”

He was thrusting in earnest now, Jin Zixuan’s legs around his waist, and to his amusement it looked like Jin Zixuan was getting hard again. It wasn’t really a surprise, a natural reaction to the strange and confusing sensations he was enduring, none of which said anything as to whether or not he was enjoying himself at all, but Meng Yao dropped his hand onto Jin Zixuan’s cock yet again.

“See, you’re halfway to a whore already,” he mocked. “Getting hard on big brother’s cock like a good boy. Good and obedient – you’re going to come with my cock inside of you, and belong to me forever.”

Jin Zixuan was whimpering, tears streaming down his face, but it still didn’t take long for him to come.

Meng Yao finished shortly after.

He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the sensation, and then pulled out, pulling Jin Zixuan’s leg up so that Wen Ruohan could see the come dripping out of his abused hole.

“Well done,” Wen Ruohan said, clapping. His eyes were avid. “Well done indeed. As always, Meng Yao, your craftsmanship is exquisite. You may keep him – although perhaps another show might be in order, soon enough.”

“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, and snapped his fingers for a guard to take Jin Zixuan to his room. Sad and miserable and pathetic, but still alive – just as he’d promised.

Naturally, the situation of keeping Jin Zixuan as his personal pet wasn’t tenable in the long run, and so it was only a few days later when Meng Yao kneeled in front of Wen Ruohan and said, “Sect Leader, I have an idea for something we can do with Jin Zixuan.”

“I’m listening,” Wen Ruohan said lazily. “What do you have in mind?”

“I have left him alone and isolated in my bedchamber these past few days, growing increasingly nervous and paranoid,” Meng Yao said. “I propose to allow him to ‘escape’ with some information to deliver to Sect Leader Lan, who will believe his peer well above he might believe some anonymous sender of notes. And he, in turn, will pass the information along to Sect Leader Nie…”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes lit up in immediate interest, as Meng Yao had expected. He was always keen to hear any word about Nie Mingjue.

“I believe this mechanism will allow us to lure Sect Leader Nie into a trap,” Meng Yao said. “And then…”

He let his eyes drift over to the chains that had so recently housed Jin Zixuan.

“Do as you suggest,” Wen Ruohan ordered at once. What did one little Jin Zixuan matter to him, next to the possibility of gaining a Nie Mingjue?

Meng Yao saluted and left. It was settled, then – Jin Zixuan would be let go and make his way back to the Great Sect’s side of the war, they would both put this unfortunate incident out of their heads, and life would carry on as if nothing had happened.

(Years later, when Jiang Yanli coaxed Jin Guangyao into a bedroom where Jin Zixuan waited, shivering in a completely different way, it finally occurred to him that he hadn’t told Jin Zixuan that that was the plan, and also perhaps that the other man lacked his own talent for compartmentalization – but in the end it all turned out all right anyway, even if it did mean he’d need to revamp his plans for conquering the Jin sect to find a way to keep his new pet alive in the long run.

Damn Wen Ruohan. It was all his fault!)

#mdzs #jin guangyao #meng yao #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #gilded gold #proving all those people who said I was the chocolate box right I guess #Anonymous

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the-crows-typist · 3 years

Text

Finally, we arrive at the fifth and final installment of our Valentine’s Event and closing with Cater Diamond paired with the word ‘Sunset’ which was requested by my good friend @twistinghearts. Please enjoy this, albeit, very late gift.

CW: Slow burn, OOC, minor mention of forced labor themes (in passing), minor mention of death (in flashbacks), mentions of blood, and Angst and Comfort under the cut. Please proceed with caution.

Word count: 6384

Other works: Chocolates Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd, Kiss Feat Vil, Flowers Feat. Kalim

A Heart From Me To You

A Diamond shines in different angles, in different light. It was sought after and cherished by those around him. Like the jewel his family was named after, Cater Diamond was one such person sought after by many. His skin smooth as silk, eyes teasing and bright like emeralds, and hair the shined in the sun like amber. He was a beautiful man.

“My diamond, come here.”

His lips pressed into a straight line in a moment, hesitant but readied. His green eyes look up to the aristocrat with a smile, the red birthmark on his cheek brushed by oiled fingers made a shiver rise up his spine.

“Look at me, darling. Smile at me.”

Cater waited for the disgust to leave and his eyes to flutter closed. What should have been a shared kiss became the swift plunge of a sword through the back, its tip barely grazing the beauty's skin with red droplets.

The clank of metal, the barking of orders; knights and guards rampaged the room in droves with arms taking him and pulling him down to the ground onto his knees. “Halt.” Came the voice of the attacker, your blade oozing at the tip as the fallen aristocrat crumples to the floor with labored breath.

Heavy footsteps come along, your eyes scanning the area of any more potential threats. Your step on the dying aristocrat on your way in yet you never regarded them with an apology, instead opting to look to the doll, to Cater.

“State your name.” You say, voice oozing with authority “What is your affiliation with this pig?” And like the namesake, the aristocrat squealed under your heavy foot. Even with the air of authority, your voice brought him a sense of calm. Freedom.

“Cater Diamond…”

There were murmurs, whispers, and looks towards him in awe, in surprise…In pity.

“Diamond?” Whispered one of the guards to another. “A jewel family?”

“That poor thing, I can’t bear to think about what has happened to those before him.”

“We can’t leave him here.” Said one of your comrades, Sebek. “This is no place for him to stay.”

“Bring him with us.” You turned to leave the room, sheathing your bloodied blade and making sure to step over the dying socialite again on your way out.

"And the pig?" Asked one of the knights who lightly kicked them in the face with a steel-toed boot.

“Do what is needed.” A cruel line brought on cruel laughter, Cater was pushed away from the room sparing him the cruelty of the knights in question. Though deep down, the diamond would have loved to see every second of it.

The trumpets sound in song at the return of the knights; Malleus Draconia, the ruling monarch, descended from his throne, and just as you had been taught and trained you knelt before him. "Your highness, we have returned safely.”

“Stand up dear one, remove your helmet.” Said the king whose fingers delicately held your helmet like a father giving affection to his child. You do so under his command, removing it to reveal your battle-torn face and with a flick of his finger and gentle caress, your wounds disappeared like dust to the wind.

“I do not doubt your abilities one bit,” He says, holding your chin and inspecting your face for any scratches he may have missed. All your life, you were taught to be the kingdom’s shield, its protector, its hero no matter what the task may be. Yet, when the Draconia family took to the throne things had become more different. “But you must be less careless.”

“It is only right that I do what I am told.”

Under a veiled sigh, he commanded you with the tone of a king. “Tell me what has been done.”

“We have eradicated one of the North’s primary figureheads and dealt surrounding the kingdom, they will no longer be a threat to us,” There was a moment of hesitation in your voice, remembering what might have been had you come in a second too late. Malleus’s eyes that shined with life could have cracked and dulled right in front of you. “We also found a doll and was able to safely remove them with no resistance.”

There was a time when those in power cast a reign of fear and greed on those they were meant to protect and a sick practice was born out of the treacherous tar of corruption.

It made Malleus’ stomach crawl knowing how many families were separated and made to kowtow to the needs and of those in power, forced to take up precious jewels as their names as a way to strip them of their identity, their humanity, their being.

“And what of the scoundrel?”

"Squealed like a pig and died like one."

A cruel punishment meant for a cruel creature, the king nods his head sagely. “Good. And what of the doll?”

“He is currently resting in the private quarters we have provided. His name is Cater, born from the Diamond family.”

“Diamond…” His heart sinks and eyes closed, your eyes looking down to your feet when the air changed. Malleus shook his head “To think they still exist, those poor souls.”

His hand rests on your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “Rest easy, dear one. I will request for your audience soon.”

You bow your head, sweaty soaked hair framing your face. “Thank you, your highness.”

As he gazed from the window of the small room, Cater's hands pressed against the warm glass while the sun began to set on the horizon casting an orange hue towards him. In his old room, the windows were small and high above him, only ever depositing rain or frost.

Here, however, he sees everything. From the bustling streets below to the laughs of children and adults alike. This world was warm as the orange hues of the setting sun, he liked it. His hand slid down the glass with a squeak, his mind going back to you the moment you killed the aristocrat that was coming onto him.

Even if the conversation was brief, your voice was gentle and soft, unlike the barking guards the encompassed you and held him down. If it were possible, he wanted to meet you, to speak to you again, to thank you for what you did.

A soft knock on the door and a small man emerged from behind the heavy door, his uneven hair revealed bits and pieces of magenta red that matched his playful yet worn eyes.

“Greetings, your name is Cater Diamond correct?”

“Yes, um. Who are you?”

“Ah,” The smaller mind held a hand to his chest. “My apologies, dear one. I am Lilia Vanrouge, the royal advisor to the king.”

Cater’s body froze as scrambled to get to his knees. “F-forgive me, I—!”

“There is no need for that. A polite curtsey will do next time.”

“I came here to discuss something with you, Mr. Diamond. Please, stand up and sit on a proper chair. Though the weather is pleasant, the night brings a very bad chill to the floor, you might freeze if you continue like that!" Lilia pats his shoulder and lets out his hand for the beautiful man to take and hold.

When Cater sits down on the bed, Lilia pulls out a chair and begins to speak not long after he is seated comfortably. “As you know, the kingdom you once knew as home—.”

“That place is not my home.”

Eyes of fuchsia widen at his sudden outburst. “It was a prison and I don’t want to go back there. Ever.” His hands ball in his lap through the small giggling fits of the advisor “Then that settles one concern, on to the next.” Lilia says with a laugh, his hands on his hips and eyes narrowed to a teasing glance. “Tell me, Cater, where do you want to live from now on?”

With grunts, you hurled your ax over a block of wood and easily split it in half, adding itself to a large pile. It had been days since your last conversation with the King and you were only biding your time until your next assignment.

Your home was a comfortably small cottage near the foot of the forest isolated from the townspeople with a nice dining room that bled into the living room and the second floor being a neat storage of items to the cellar where you kept your food. Life within it was slow and boring, and you were fine with that.

You wouldn’t call your life boring nor would call your life adventurous either. It was all about duty, you were trained to be a knight, fought like a knight, and bore the pain of being so. As extreme as it may sound, you knew you deserved this life. You were born for it.

Out of habit, you pull your gloves tighter against your fingers.

Tightening your grip against the handle, you pulled it out with a huff and inspecting the sharp edge for any damage.

“It seems that you are stocked to the brim.”

Silver stands before you in comfortable attire, he had been a sort of brother-classmate as you grew together. He stood up for you as you did for him, he meant a lot to you despite the long time you were apart. "The nights get colder each passing day." You say, setting the ax down onto the ground. "I just want to be ready."

“Do you need some help carrying this inside?" Inquired the silver-haired man.

“Please.”

Inside the cottage, Silver nodded off against the warmth of the fireplace even after you set a mug of tea next to him. "Any reason you came to visit me, Silver?" The charred wood crackled against the flames that cast a comfortable orange into the room, like warm miniature sunset. In a few minutes, Silver regained his bearings; shaking his head to rid himself of the sleeping spell put over him.

Even years after he was hit by it, there had been no progress to remove it.

“I heard you came back from the North." He said. "I just wanted to know if you were doing alright. That place…" He drawled off, eyes hanging halfway down. "That place hasn't changed one bit." You say, holding the warm mug to your hand. "The winters are still perilous and the frost remains where it last sat on."

Silver hums, head lolling about, and with a sigh you stand up from your seat. Taking a blanket, you drape it over the Silver to allow him to get comfortable. Sitting back down, you try to focus on the sound of crackling fire against the cold winds that blew against your window.

By the time you awoke, Silver was already gone and the warm rays of the morning sun seeped through frosted windows, the fire long put out and now cold from water and sand. Pushing yourself off the chair, the blanket slipped off your body.

Opening the door, you were met by a world unhindered by snow. Green spread where frost would bite, birds would sing where the wind would whistle, and warmth where the unforgiving cold would settle. A carriage would soon stumble on the horizon, the royal family's insignia shining like gold. Malleus and Lilia disembark, their feet protected with layers of flowers and dewed grass.

“Your Majesty.” You say as you bow.

“It is good to see you, dear one.” The king stated, regarding you with a smile. “Lift your head for me.”

Behind him, Lilia helps down another person from the cart. Hair as bright as amber, eyes twinkling like emeralds, and lips as pink as rose quartz. Cater Diamond stood behind the royal advisor unsure of what to do but admire the scenery before him, his bare feet fiddling with the grass under him.

“What brings his majesty to this part of the kingdom?” Malleus’ hand touches your head, like a father consoling his child.

“Your final assignment.”

You didn’t know what to feel even after Malleus dropped off Cater at your home. All your life, you were taught to be a knight…And yet,

"You've done many great things for this kingdom, dear one. You are a great knight and a great leader, I am prideful of that…”

You could still feel the weight of his hand atop your head.

“But it is time that you finally found peace and through this final assignment, I hope to see that to fruition. Take care of Cater for he has chosen you as his home.”

Even with the kind words spoken onto you by the King, you feel as though you have failed in your duties as a knight. It was no wonder Silver decided to visit you, he was coming to see if you were ready for what was to come.

That one, really, ever a worrywart for his friends.

“Um, I’ll set my things here.”

Cater’s footsteps were tittering, gentle and unsure as he set a single sketchbook and pencil down onto the table. “Feel free.” You say and sit down near the fireplace. His grumbling stomach cut your thoughts, his fingers fumbling and then it hit you; your pantry was empty after you’ve been away for so long. Grimacing, you let out a sigh and starched the back of your head. You weren’t able to go on a supply run…

“…There’s a bakery not too far from here,” You say suddenly. “I can get something for you there so please make yourself at—.”

“Can I go with you?”

You didn’t answer for a moment prompting Cater to further explain with fidgeting fingers. “I was never allowed to roam outside of my room s-so I want to see the world, the Valley of Thorns! At least to an extent I can copy.” Cater holds up his sketchbook again, a warm yet sheepish smile on his lips.

Something within you popped like warm water against ice, fizzling through your body and without another word, you nodded your head at his request. “I’ll lend you my shoes, the dirt path is painful to walk on.”

You set some treats on the counter before you while Cater sat and watched the activity from a bench outside. “Oh, you’re usually alone when visiting. Who’s he?” Asked the shopkeeper, collecting the coins you set from your satchel.

"He's…Someone I've begun living with."

“Oho, I see. Well, you look like you’re in the age to begin that stage of life.”

“What, no. I—.”

Chatter echoed from beyond the glass door, a sizeable crowd gathering to Cater as he sketches the face of a woman before him. “No need to be shy about it, dear one.” He sets a few more bags of bread yet declines the offer for more coins.

“You have been a good customer since your arrival here and it doesn’t hurt to buy something extra. Besides, I’ve been wanting to try this combination out. Stewed meat in bread sounds pretty good, don’t you think?”

His smile wrinkled his face in glee against the sounds of amazement as he showed the portrait to her.

“I’ll be sure to let him taste it. Thank you very much, shopkeeper.”

“Anytime.” He winked, “You got yourself a keeper, there, dear one! Don’t let him run away.”

Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and see Cater smiling at the crowd with his sketchpad to his chest. You think back to when you first found him, how dreary he looked before he was brought to the valley.

He looked beautiful.

“Cater, let’s go.”

Emerald eyes look your way and his smile grew even larger as he got up from his seat. “Okay!” He bid farewell to his following, walking with you side by side.

“You leave the fire going through the night?” Cater asked, munching on some bread lined with melted goat’s cheese. “The valley gets cold so it’s best to keep warm as much as possible.” You add more wood to the fire and settle on the chair adjacent to it with Cater sitting across from you.

“The people here are very nice.” He said, setting down the bread on his lap. “A curious bunch, those lot.” You say while fishing out some foods from your satchel and stumbling upon the special wrapped bread handed to you by the shopkeeper. “It’s not every day they get to see someone new.”

“Is the valley that inaccessible?”

“For now, at least. His Majesty is looking for ways to open the kingdom by constructing roads leading out. Though it will take some time before it can be finished and used.” Taking it out of its packaging, you set the special bread on a heating pan above the fire carefully with a pair of long tongs.

“What’s that?” The doll asked, eyes twinkling in curiosity. “It smells good.”

“It’s a special bread from the shop. Give me a few minutes to properly warm it.”

He nods his head and waits patiently as you set the heated bread onto a plate and handing it to him. "I get to eat all of it?" He asked and you nodded your head still poised at looking into his green eyes that shined with life. "The shopkeeper wanted you to have it."

A moment of hesitance and Cater took a bite, what could only be described as pure happiness came rushing down his face in a flurry of pleased sounds as he began to eat more than his cheeks could hold. In your state of panic, you quickly got up from your seat and quick to run for a mug of water.

“Slowly now,” You say. “You’ll choke yourself if you eat so quickly.”

He drank his fill, cheek tinted red from choking and glee. Upon returning the mug, Cater wiped his lips that were swollen from the spice of the meat. "It's good." He says, holding the bread up to eat. "It's very good. Try it!"

The bread was shoved into your mouth, the spice of chili made your insides churn with burning flames. The diamond laughs at your reaction, his hair framing his face and the looming fire casting a glow of yellow as if under the light of a looming sunset.

“Do you ever explore the forest around your home?”

The fire was no longer lit and the two of you opted to spend the day out in an empty brush of grass where you continued to chop wood until your hands began to ache. "It's only when I look for herbs that I do." You reply, Cater's hand fiddling with a charcoal pencil and old-looking parchment.

It had only been a few days and this assignment was proving to be difficult for you to adjust to. Given Cater’s disposition to being isolated for long, he had the yearning to walk around and explore his new world while you would rather chop wood and wait for time to pass.

The both of you were total opposites.

“Oh,”

His eyes were downcast, pencil poking dots onto the paper absentmindedly. You look to your ax then to the large pile of wood you had created…Perhaps this will last you through a few nights. “There is one place I like to go to. It will take a few minutes to find.”

“What is it?”

You offer your hand for him to take, lifting him from his sitting position. “You will find out when we get there.” You say and with a few adjustments to your comfortable clothes, the both of you set off towards the forest clearing near your cottage. “Do we have to hold hands?” Cater asked and for a moment, your grip faltered almost to loosening.

“You’re not accustomed to the forest so I thought it was best to do so as a precaution.”

Cater smiles, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m teasing. It’s nice to hold hands.”

The silence lasts a few but long seconds and you keep going. Past a fork and through the logs, Cater’s hold on your hands never left nor did his presence disappear. A pang of indescribable warmth settles on your chest, you look to Cater again whose eyes look the canvas of green over with wonder.

“There aren’t many trees like this back there. You’ll only see a blanket of white. Does it snow here?”

“Only a few flakes if we’re lucky. The snow gathers more north of the valley.” The both of you ascend towards your destination, the ground acting like stairs. “Perhaps, when it’s possible to acquire a horse for personal use I can take you there.”

Cater’s hand tightens against your gloved ones.

“…I’d like that.”

With one last step, the warm winds of the valley blow against you as you approach a cliff bearing down the landscape of your home and Cater’s. When the wind had settled, you begin to speak. “I come here to get some peace and quiet whenever the town’s noise gets too much for me to handle.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You let Cater move on his own, taking a few steps to look at the sea of green and bright pastel before him. He turns to you, a blush of excitement on his face. “Can I draw this? “

“You don’t need to ask, just do whatever you like.”

Blades clashed, labored breathes, the smell of death lingers through the cold. Your armor feels heavy and your hands are worn. Your opponent attempts to swing at you yet your movements are precise, your blade quick and deadly as it pierced and plunged through the armor like melted butter.

Your body burned against the cold and frost did little to cool your warm and labored breathing. The horns of a distant song blast softly into your ears, the roar of a dragon whose flames green like envy never quelled against the permafrost.

Horses rounded the perimeter, the horns of a tall man come into view. Malleus’ glowing eyes looked to yours in a glance, his royal guards outnumber you easily and push you to your knees and arms spread out.

“Your majesty.” Said one of the guards, Silver hair peeking from his helmet. “Their hand…”’

The winds beyond the cliff became a comfortable breeze and the afternoon sun began its descent into the earth, the trees hiss like rain and branches groan softly. Cater’s sleeping form lay motionless next to you, his sketchbook set between you.

Curiosity peaked and you took it into your hands, flipping through sketch after sketch. From sketches of the townsfolk to the cliff beyond…

“Hm?”

But one stood out. A sketch of you, your face is worn and sweat dripping from your chin. Your body was hunched as if you had been delivered a blow from above yet it was the eyes that hit you the most. It held meaning, a sort of peace. ‘The King Knight’ it was titled.

“Do you like it? “

Cater pushed himself up, yawning and stretching his limbs. “You had a good pose while you were chopping wood so…”

“Is this how you see me, Cater? As kind?”

"Well, you rescued me, didn't you? I think that's enough to say that you are kind."

You give him back his sketchbook and stand up. You help Cater up, his leg going limp. “Ahaha…My leg fell asleep, how embarrassing.” Your actions were sudden, going to your knees for him to hop onto your back. “O-oh, um…I might be heavy.”

“I’ve carried many people while in full armor. It’s alright.”

And soon, the both of you descent the steps carefully with Cater resting on your back and arms wrapped around your neck. “I was just doing the right thing. Anyone would have helped you in that situation.”

“And many people opt not to. You’re kind, knight. You really are.”

The sun sets over the horizon, allowing the dark colors of the night to seep through on your way back to the cottage.

The horse-drawn carriage stopped within the lush greenery of the Vanrouge estate, Lilia smiling as you and Cater disembark with the help of the horseman.

“Welcome, both of you.”

“This place is huge!” the former doll exclaims, his voice echoing through the large hallway. “Is this the treatment of the King’s favorite?” He turns to you suddenly, wrapping his arm around your neck and your eyes go wide in embarrassment. “N-no, it’s just…”

Over the months since Cater came under your care, the two of you grew closer and closer each passing day. What was once a very shy and confused doll became lively and bright, like the sunset the both of you came to enjoy together by each other’s side.

He had become important to you, very important.

“My son used to be in the same class as them in the past, they have remained connected long after," Lilia explains, walking up to them while Cater greets with a curtsy.

You couldn't say much about your own growth but you were sure that Cater was adjusting greatly to life within the valley. Being able to see the sunsets with him after a day’s worth of shopping was enough for you.

You tug at your gloves out of habit.

"Your son?" Cater wondered Lilia's magenta eyes narrowed in the same teasing glance. “Oh, you think I’m not a father Mr. Diamond? I’m older than I look, you know.”

Cater shrinks back earning a biting laugh from him.

“I merely jest, dear one. Silver is not my son by blood, I found him as a babe a decade ago during my own excursion in the North.” The royal advisor opened the large mahogany door with ease as if it were made of clay. “He’s been living with me ever since.”

“…Was he a doll too?”

Lilia was silent at that moment, stopping just short of where his son was sleeping comfortably on a chair that sat before an intricate-looking coffee table. Cater gulped, opening his mouth to apologize only for Lilia to chuckle with eyes distant in remembrance.

“From the Goshenite family. Not that it matters now, though. Silver is my own and he always will be.”

The small man walks over to his son, shaking him awake sleeping spell. A discolored mark shows itself against Silver’s neck, the birthmark of a doll. Silver stutters awake, looking at Lilia who smiles at him from above.

Cater touched his cheek, feeling for the mark against his fingers. “Goshenite…How come I’ve never seen him.”

“Some dolls were not kept in castles but put in battlefields.” You explain while Silver slowly stood up, rubbing his eyes while Lilia holds his arm to steady him. “Silver was rescued before he was put out but they couldn’t easily break what he had already learned.”

Cater watches Silver smile, the warm morning sunlight highlighting his features almost making him and his birthmark glow.

“So he was made a guard here, in the estate? In hopes that it would break the teachings.”

Father and son hold hands, Silver’s eyes rising upon seeing you. A friend he came to cherish. You tug your gloves before Silver embraces you.

The picnic by the pond was both boring and contently, you and Silver staying behind on the mat while Lilia and Silver had their fun by the water. “He seems to be having fun.” Said the former doll, his eyes slowly blinking. In your hand was a sweet drink, the citrusy aftertaste bringing a sigh of relief to your warm body.

“He is.”

The long hours spent at your leisure was something you had to slowly get used to, from going shopping with Cater to enjoying the sunsets with him just outside your small cottage. You hear Cater laugh when Lilia splashed some water at his son, soaking his hair into a messy mop. “What about you?”

Tugging your gloves, you look to the horizon of lush green fields tended by Lilia’s help. “I can’t say much. It has been a time since I’ve held a shield, much less a sword. To just hold a drink like this feels so different to me but…It feels good to just sit down, I think.”

Cater huffs a small laugh, leaning onto your shoulder. “You’re so talkative now.” A hand is brought to his hair, his form melting to yours when you massaged his scalp. “I always talk to you.”

“But this is different.”

You hear a scream of thrill on the horizon, Lilia had been pulled to the ground soaked with water. The worrying attendants ready with towels but hesitant to approach in fear Lilia would pull them in as well.

Slowly, your hands intertwine with his as he rests against your shoulder, comfortable to take a nap. The sun’s afternoon rays make Cater shine, his emerald eyes shine brilliantly as he looks to you hiding beneath the shade, his birthmark a stark red against his cheek. He was beautiful. A pang of heat burned in your chest, a heat you could not describe.

While Lilia and Silver changed out of their wet attire and Silver had collapsed back into the couch because of his sleeping spell, you stood by the door of the estate and watched the sun turn orange as it descended the sky.

“There you are, and here I thought you left without saying goodbye.”

Lilia joined you in your leisure gazing towards the sky, from within his oversized coat he pulled out a pack of cigars, offering you one until you refuse. “Cater never leaves your side at all, does he?”

You tug at your gloves again. "Cater enjoys being outside so having him visit this place is a treat for him. He enjoys you and Silver’s company, even if he doesn’t show it.”

“I don’t doubt his sincerity, Cater is lively and a treat to be around. It’s a vast difference from when we first met all those months ago.” The cigar is lit and the general takes a whiff, letting smoke puff from his mouth. He offers you one which you decline politely.

"I will be honest with you, dear one, I did not expect you to accept Malleus' assignment." The cigar hung off his fingers, the ash falling to the ground little by little. "Then again, I never thought I'd be taking care of a child with all that I've done."

You tug at your gloves just as he takes another whiff. “Dear one, does Cater know?”

“No.”

“Will you tell him?” Your gloves cut into the skin between your fingers in one sharp pull.

“…He doesn’t need to know.”

Through his nose, Lilia sighed the smoke out. “Then perhaps I should do that same. It took a long time for Silver to finally calm down, I do not want to see him suffer.” The sunset shines a bright orange over the horizon and you knew well that Cater would be watching.

Lilia’s damp hair rustled when the wind picked up, his nose taking in the fresh breeze. Magenta eyes look down to the ground. “I cannot help but think I have awoken a flame that will continue to burn me for as long as I live.”

He smiles at you suddenly, broken and vulnerable. “Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your burns, dear one.”

“I’m not burning.”

Lilia continued to smile, taking a swig of a cigar and enjoying the sunset in silence by your side.

The fire crackled yet you couldn't sleep, the wind had ceased and the bitter winter turned into a breeze of the evening air. Cater slept peacefully across you, his hair pushed behind his ear carefully by your fingers; leather against soft skin. You stare at his birthmark for a moment, noticing how pale it had become since his arrival.

“Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your own flames, dear one.”

You sit back, allowing yourself warmth against the fire next to you. It had only been months since you took up the assignment given to you personally by the king, yet you felt as if you lived your whole life with Cater. It was peaceful, so different from the day you met.

You remember the path you took and the fights that needed to be fought to achieve your mission. You remember the soldiers who blocked your path, the birthmarks on their skin.

White iridescent, Opal.

Cloudy green, Jade.

Dull and vibrant browns and black, Rutile.

You remember a young soldier, their movements sloppy and readable. Their breath labored and hold soft, it was an easy battle.

“Padparadscha…”

They whispered before crumpling to the ground, their wounds far too great to be healed or ignored. Their helmet loosened, a round blue birthmark on the back of their neck. Sapphire.

“Padparadscha…!” A hand holds your ankle, a bloody hand reaching out to you.

How long had it been since you were called that?

Your moment of hesitance was cut by another sword that put the poor soldier out of their misery. Sebek looked to you, taking your hand. “We have a mission to finish. We can’t stop here.” And you were pulled away quickly.

The fire crackled next to you, the flames licking at your skin. You wonder if that doll had a family waiting for them to come home, you wondered if all of them did…Even Cater. Even dolls had people to return to, had people they cherished. Had promises, had love, maybe even a twisted sense of happiness…

And you destroyed that; a pain hit you from the bottom up threatening to release itself from your throat. You discard your gloves into the fire, the marks against worn hands popping out the more you look.

Cater's murmurs rang through you, his hand reaches over for yours. He was gentle with you no matter what. He brings your hand closer to his face, the presence of you close brought him peace. The heat from below began to bubble again, molten against your skin.

With all you’ve done, with all you’ve killed…Why did he choose to stay with you?

“I’m burning.” You lean close to Cater, throat hoarse from silenced sobs. “I’m burning.”

Cater once thought he could never sleep an entire night through, not with the sounds his ears could hear nor the silhouettes those perceptive eyes of his picked up in the night. He never thought he could walk around his room nor see beyond the high window that only brought in rain or frost.

He never thought he would see the world before him with someone by his side. From the rise in the east and its fall in the west. He spent every peaceful second with you, and he enjoyed it. He loved it. He loved…You.

“Where are you?”

Getting off his resting place, Cater opened the door to an empty space, and with feet tickled by grass he ran; ran through the forest with wind wild against his hair. The frost wasn’t there to mist against his mouth nor was the snow a detractor for his speed.

The trees filed past like green walls and the sun peaked through the cracks, acting as a compass. You were his freedom, his life.

He loved you.

“Where are you?”

In a flurry of leaves and wind, Cater’s breath stilled at the vast stretch of land that bore green and brown. The valley of thorns’ domain was a nest of life, a warmth from the cold. The wind picks up, the flurry of birds rising higher with the wind current.

“Cater?”

In the flurry of feathers, Cater’s green eyes stared into yours, swollen and red. He bound towards you, pulling you into an embrace and sighing into your shoulder; your hands come up around his waist returning the embrace. “What are you doing out here? It’s too early.”

“You weren’t in the cottage.”

“You could have waited.”

He tightened his hug, burying his head into your neck while rubbing smooth circles around his back. The wind blew wildly at your faces. "Why did you choose me, Cater? Of all the places to choose as your home.”

“You’re kind.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Cater,”

“Stop lying to yourself.” He begged. “If you weren’t kind, you wouldn’t have helped me.”

You sigh, pulling away. “Do you really think a person like me can be kind after what I’ve done?” You raise your hands, your birthmark a bright red against your skin; like a bloodstain that will never go away. "I am a doll of the battlefield, Cater. I was born to do it. I am a doll born to take lives, I am Padparadscha.”

“I don’t care!” He leans his weight on you, your back thumping against a tree trunk. “I don’t care what jewel you are, you’re my home!!”

He pushes you again, thumping the wood “I don’t care what you did before, you were forced to do it, you didn’t like any of it and shows!”

“You’re not a doll anymore, you’re human, you’re my home.”

Fingers loosely pull your clothes, Cater’s nose on your shoulder with breath shaky. “…I know it is because when I look at you, I can feel. It—.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in. “And—and when I look at you, I’m home.”

“Please, I don’t want that to go away Padparadscha.”

Your hands move again, raising to card through Cater's amber hair. "…Would you like to stay here a while longer and watch the sunset?"

Cater nods his head, the both of you sliding down and let time do its course, the sun slowly inching down towards the earth with the sky bleeding yellow and purple. His thumb brushes over your birthmark and your fingers intertwine.

“Cater?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He nuzzled into you, his beautiful features highlighted against the sun. No matter where he was, his beauty resonated with you. The beautiful man leaned in, lips brushing to yours in a kiss.

“Thank you.”

#works from the typewriter #disney twisted wonderland #twsited wonderland #cater diamond x reader #gn reader #g/n reader #cater x reader

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hb-writes · 4 years

Text

A Little Raven

Written in response to Hauntober prompt #15: Raven.

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe! A chat between sisters-in-law followed by a chat between Lizzie and Tommy. This is a bit long and self-indulgent and might not be particularly consistent with canon but oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Characters Featured: Lizzie Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Tommy Shelby

—–

“Frances said you wanted me first?”

Lizzie turned from the window, allowing the passage of a brief smile as she glanced at her sister-in-law. Like her husband, Lizzie still saw a couple of kids when she looked at Clara and Finn, still saw the little girl who passed her time with books and papers while sitting on the stoop at Watery Lane, still saw the boy with a keen eye for mischief and a disposition towards unsanctioned sweets. She supposed those visions still held true. None of them were so different to be unrecognizable through the years. Some traits endured the transition to adulthood, no matter what transpired in the interim.

Clara stripped out of her coat, placing it over the back of the chair before following Lizzie’s gaze out to the yard where Ruby and Charles played with the nanny, their squeals and laughter sharp and clear through the pane of the closed window.

Clara sat in one of the armchairs, pulling her feet up and working on untying her boot laces while she waited. She was used to the reticent moments, used to people taking their time in revealing why she’d been summoned somewhere in the first place. She found it a pleasant change for Lizzie to be inviting her to the drawing-room for a visit rather than Tommy summoning her to his office for one of his chats, even if her sister-in-law was very clearly preoccupied.

The thud of Clara’s shoes hitting the floor as she slipped them off her feet pulled Lizzie’s eyes towards her for a moment before she settled them on the girl’s discarded boots, understated but still expensive, something Tommy had probably paid for.

Lizzie wasn’t ignoring her on purpose, Clara knew that. She was just distracted, caught up in her own thoughts, turning something over in her mind. Clara just wasn’t certain how she fit into those thoughts.

“Lizzie?” Clara said.

“Mmm?” Lizzie hummed, finally fixing her eyes on Clara.

“You did ask for me, right?” Clara said.

“I suppose you’d prefer to go be with the children,” Lizzie mused. “Or to go say hello to your brother?”

“Is he home already?” Clara asked, glancing down at the small watch on her wrist as she adjusted the clock face. It was barely past five.

Lizzie scoffed, gave a single shake of her head. Tommy was eternally late in coming home, and habitually premature in leaving it.

“Well, that leaves more time for us to catch up, then,” Clara offered, absently kneading the arch of her foot. “I came home to be with all of you, Lizzie.”

“Right, all of us,” Lizzie answered, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “When’s the last time you saw all of us here, Clara? When’s the last time he graced us with his presence at a decent hour?”

It was the previous Sunday, Clara remembered, and he’d come out of his office just before dinner, played with Charles and Ruby a bit before eating with Clara, Lizzie, and the kids, but Clara had the feeling Lizzie didn’t want to be reminded of that.

“Did you talk to him?” Clara asked.

Lizzie took a deep breath and nearly gagged, feeling as though she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from conjuring up the contents of her latest meal, the sick feeling in her stomach beyond the typical bout of morning sickness, more of a nauseating dread which had settled in the pit of her stomach.

The last time she’d been here, in this condition, Lizzie had been optimistic. Nearly five years later, she felt anything but. And despite all the strength she’d decided on summoning, despite deciding to stay, to accept Tommy and his faults, to balance her head against her heart, she hadn’t planned on this as a part of the deal.

‘A little you and me,’ she’d offered Tommy when she’d told him of the first baby growing inside of her, a smile on her face, a bit of hope in her heart.

She had little hope this time, little positivity about the life prospects for yet another child of Thomas Shelby, a little boy nonetheless, a little raven-haired boy who would have his parents’ blue eyes, his father’s strong jaw, the unmistakable markings of a Shelby.

If Tommy had kept all of his promises, if he’d done right and put a proper stop to the sport for anyone named Shelby. If he’d kept Finn and Clara away from the life, Lizzie might have thought differently. She might have felt nothing but happiness at the prospect of another child with a little tuft of raven hair and bright blue eyes, but in half a decade, Tommy had dealt her plenty of empty assurances.

She feared enough for the children already. Her Ruby was a different child around her father, a bit nervous, a bit quiet. The girl didn’t know the same Tommy that Clara and Finn knew, nor the father Charlie had had for a time, at least while he was young.

This baby would never know that version of Tommy either, not really. Her children would spend their lives distant from the man they called dad, and there was part of Lizzie that didn’t think it to be a terrible thing.

Clara reached out to clasp Lizzie’s hand. “Lizz--”

“Polly says it’s a boy.”

“Oh,” Clara answered, pulling her hand back. “That’s--”

Lizzie cleared her throat and continued. “A little raven-haired boy named James.” She opened her cigarette case, placed the fag between her lips. “Jamie,” she added. “And no, I haven’t told your brother.”

Clara frowned. She was tired of holding the secret she’d accidentally overheard when Lizzie confided in Polly. She was tired of pretending with her brother, tired of avoiding him. It wasn’t easy work, withholding information from him because, despite the best of Clara’s efforts, Tommy possessed an uncanny ability to know when his sister was keeping something from him.

“He loves being a father, Lizzie. He’ll be--”

“Happy?” she suggested. “I’m less worried about your brother being happy than I am worried for all of you kids.”

“All of us?”

Lizzie lit the cigarette, puffing before she pointed it at Clara.

“Yes, you and Finn are included.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Lizzie.”

“Right, with Finn running around getting himself shot and you--”

“What about me?”

“Neither one of you kids has a healthy sense of self-preservation, always pushing when you haven’t a need, and you’ve passed it right on to those two. Maybe it’s in the blood, an inherited recklessness that--”

“Is that really what you’re worried about? That I’ve taught the kids to stand up for themselves and I’ll teach the baby the same?” Clara asked.

Lizzie glanced out the window again, the things she was truly scared about swirling in her mind while she watched Ruby and Charles holding hands as they went round in circles.

“It’s a bad omen, a raven,” she said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clara answered. “A baby can’t be a bad omen.”

Lizzie was beginning to believe that the Shelby name was a curse and that despite her husband’s promises, not one of the kids would live a life unmarred by it, not Finn, not Clara, not Charles nor Ruby, and not the unborn son growing in her womb. And despite knowing Thomas Shelby loved the children, she feared what she already knew to be true, that loving a person wasn’t always enough.

These days, Tommy’s moments of softness were harder to come by. The types of moments Clara held on to when her brother was difficult, the moments that reminded her through the tough spots that he did much of what he did out of love, for protection or survival. Lizzie didn’t know her children would have that, didn’t know that a raven-haired boy looking just like his father could ever garner as much care as he’d deserve from the man, enough of the affection that he would need to someday to get through the tough spots.

“He’s not how he once was with you,” Lizzie said.

“He’s not been like that for a long while, Lizzie, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them.”

“I know he loves them, loves all of you, but I worry someday they won’t have memories enough to forgive him as you do.”

“I don’t forgive him because of the memories, Lizzie,” Clara answered. “I forgive him because he’s nearly my father and because I know he cares for me as much as I care for him. Ruby and Charles know that. Jamie will, too.”

Clara joined Lizzie on the couch. “And regardless, you care for us all well enough whether that fool joins us for dinner or not.”

Lizzie set her cigarette down in the tray and accepted Clara’s offered hug, allowing herself to release a breath of relief with the girl in her arms.

“Well, that may be, but it doesn’t settle my nerves about you and Finn,” Lizzie said as she pulled away.

Clara rolled her eyes. “You’ve not--”

“Glad I’m not the only one concerned.”

Clara glanced at her watch again before looking at Tommy where he stood by the door. “You’ve actually come early?”

He nodded. “Someone had Adam make it very clear in my diary that I was meant to be home at a respectable hour today.”

Clara hummed, feigning an impressed surprise, as though she hadn’t begged Tommy’s personal secretary at the commons to adjust his schedule to accommodate him being back in Warwickshire so early on a Friday evening.

“Right. I think I’ll leave you two and go say hello to Charlie and Ruby while we wait on Finn,” Clara offered, slipping past Tommy on her way to the door.

“Forgetting something, Clara?”

Clara turned back to him, snatching the forgotten boots from his outstretched hand.

“When our brother gets in, we can have a talk about your excursion in London on Tuesday evening, eh?”

Clara sighed. “I think we’re a bit old for a lecture, Tommy. It was nothing.”

“Seems like you two idiots’ll never be too old for a lecture,” he answered. “But go on. Go see the kids. I’m sure they’ve been asking after you all day.”

Tommy watched his sister leave before taking the seat beside his wife. “Now, while we wait for Finn, you and I can have a talk about that baby you’ve got growing inside you, eh Lizzie?”

Lizzie scoffed. "Polly told you then? Or was it Clara?”

Tommy shook his head. Of course, his sister knew. He cleared his throat.

“It was actually you, Lizzie,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Been eating honey on everything. Last time you did that was when you were pregnant with our Ruby.”

Lizzie nodded, looked out at the kids again, saw Clara had joined Ruby and Charles, and the three of them were laughing like a set of maniacs as they ran about the lawn.

“You’re worried,” Tommy offered, guiding his wife’s face to his. “Let me into that head of yours, Lizzie.”

She leaned into his touch as he cupped her cheek, allowed herself that comfort.

“To clear it out?” she mumbled.

Tommy nodded. “To clear it out. Just like we agreed.”

Lizzie placed her hand on top of his.

“Ruby’ll be asking after another sister.”

“Well, she’ll be disappointed then,” Lizzie answered. “It’s a boy.”

Tommy nodded. There was a time when he thought it mattered, back when boys became blinders and girls were considered liabilities but Tommy had stopped thinking that way, started thinking that Lizzie was right. And Grace had been right. There was only one way to keep them all safe.

“Either way,” he answered. “Another little you and me, eh?”

Lizzie nodded and Tommy pulled his eyes away at the approaching footsteps and laughter as Ruby and Charlie piled into the room.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“And what have you lot been up to, eh?” Tommy asked, pulling Ruby into his lap as Charlie came to sit beside them.

“We’ve been playing, daddy!” Ruby said.

“Dad, Aunt Clara said she and Uncle Finn are ready for a shouting at whenever you are,” Charlie said. “They went to your office.”

Tommy shook his head, glanced quickly at Lizzie before he looked back to his boy.

“What are you going to shout at them for, daddy?” Ruby asked, turning her head to look up at him.

“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart,” Tommy answered.

“He’s gonna shout because they’ve been naughty,” Charles said to his sister.

“Don’t shout very much, daddy,” Ruby answered. “It’ll ruin our supper.”

“I’m not going to shout. We’re just going to have a talk about them setting a better example for you kids.”

“And then we’ll have supper?” Ruby asked.

“Then supper, Ruby,” he said. “I had Frances ask chef to make a special honey cake for dessert.”

“For mummy?” Ruby asked. “Mummy loves honey cake.”

“And for your baby brother,” Lizzie answered, pulling Ruby’s hand to rest on her stomach. “The one growing in my belly.”

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

#Hauntober #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #lizzie shelby #tommy shelby #Shelby!Sister #little lady blinder #clara shelby #lizzie stark #ruby shelby #charles shelby #tommy x lizzie

177 notes · View notes

awritingtree · 4 years

Text

A Chance

Draco Malfoy x reader

Summary: Draco left Y/N heartbroken, absolutely crushed it. So what does she do when he shows up at her doorstep, five years past since the last time she saw him? Will she find it in her heart to forgive him?

@fic-writer-heaven‘s October Event writing challenge: Angst prompt 10. “One of the cruelest things you can do to another person is pretend to care more about them than you really do.” and fluff prompt 5. “You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.” The prompts have been bolded :) I had loads of fun writing this.

Words: ~2.3k

Warnings: angst, a bit of fluff. Comment please if you think there are any other warnings to be added :)

A/N: DID SOMEONE SAY DRACO MALFOY? Hehe xD I was really going to debating on whether to have a sad or happy ending. But then I remembered my plans for another Draco fic and I thought that our boy deserved a bit of happiness :) I hope you like this xx

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

You never thought you’d see him again. But yet here he was, standing on your front porch. He looked different, a bit older of course; it had been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts. His white blond hair was shorter than you remembered. He wore black jeans, and a black peacoat over a green Slytherin jumper. He had gained a bit of weight; no longer sickly thin and pale. His grey eyes seemed brighter, happier. You couldn’t deny that he had aged well. He looked handsome; he always did look handsome. Nobody could deny it, especially not you.

“H- hi,” he stuttered.

You stared at him, your e/c eyes not wavering from his form.

Draco cleared his throat, “Can we talk?” He paused before adding a “please.”

“You weren’t so willing to talk last time.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“One of the cruelest things you can do to another person is to pretend to care more about them than you really do.”

Your mother had told you this at a young age. At the time you had disagreed. Surely it was better to have someone pretend to care rather than have no one at all? You never really understood how wrong you had been until this precise moment where you stood in front of the boy that broke your heart, balancing tears, willing them not to fall.

“We can work this out, Draco. Talk to me, please.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Y/N,” said Draco coldly.

“There has to be something I can do. I can fix it, whatever it is, please. Just give me a chance. I can’t lose you,” you begged. You sounded desperate but you didn’t care. You loved Draco; you have since you were in your 4th year.

“You don’t get it, do you? I don’t care about you.”

You shook your head in denial, “That’s not true.”

“I never cared about you,” Draco spoke as if explaining something to a child. “You were nothing but something to pass my time with, something to experience.”

You felt your heart drop to the bottom of your stomach at his words. That couldn’t be true. He had to be lying.

“You’re lying. I know you are. You have to be,” you pressed on, hoping to break him out of whatever- out of what? You didn’t know. But you knew Draco, this was not your Draco.

“Listen to me. I have never loved you, I never will. I pretended to because I was merely bored. Did you really think I’d love a filthy half-blood like you?” he sneered.

You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer; they fell, streaming down your face. It did nothing to falter Draco. His cold, empty eyes glared at you. That’s when you realized the Draco you knew and loved, who swore to hurt anyone who ever made you cry back in 5th year, was gone. Replaced by the cold monster staring down at you.

You took a deep breath and stepped away from the love of your life. You walked away from him, suppressing your sobs. You refused to show him how much he affected you.

That day you promised yourself that no one would ever have the opportunity to break your heart again, like Draco Malfoy did.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“I know,” Draco mumbled shamefully.

Draco raked his brain for a way to get you to listen to him. He didn’t know what to do or say that’d convince you to hear him out. “I can’t take back what I’ve done but please just give me a chance to explain, to set things straight. If after that you don’t want to talk to me or see me, I swear you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

You stared at the man in front of you. He looked desperate, probably as desperate as you had that unfortunate day when everything changed for you. Knowing you would somehow come to regret this, you sighed and moved aside, widening the entrance to invite him in.

Draco sighed in relief. He didn’t know what he would have done if you hadn’t agreed. He followed you down a hall. The walls were decorated with so many pictures; pictures of you alone, with your friends from back in Hogwarts and recently, pictures with and of your family. He noticed there were no pictures with anyone that looked like a partner which gave him a bit of hope.

You led him into the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. Draco looked around smiling, this is exactly what he would’ve imagined your house and kitchen to look like. There were a few plants - no doubt some herbs - growing near the windowsill. Everything was organized in the wooden and glass cupboards, the white marble countertop spotless except for a few fruits in a basket. Handing him a cup of peppermint tea, you sat down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen. Taking a sip from your cup of lemon ginger tea, you watched him hang his coat on the back of the chair before taking a seat across from you. You continued to watch him for a while. When he asked you for a chance to explain, you expected there to be more, well, talking. But it seemed as though he was pretty content sitting there in your kitchen, drinking your tea in silence. You internally rolled your eyes, already frustrated.

Draco took a sip of his hot peppermint tea and sighed, pleased with the warmth that spread through his body. He knew you were waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t know where to begin. Every time he believed he’d found a way to start the conversation, his mind would chastise him.

“Well get to it, won’t you?” you said irritated, finally getting tired of waiting for him to say anything. Draco pursed his lips together and decided to just wing it.

“I didn’t know what else to do. The times were getting darker, my father was in Azkaban and with the pressure on me. You were not safe around me; you were not safe around a Death Eater. I was scared; for you and for myself. If any of them found out about us,” he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to get rid of the horrid images his mind was coming up with. His hands gripping the cup of tea so tightly, he was surprised it didn’t shatter. “I don’t know what they would’ve done to you. I didn’t want to find out.”

“Did you ever think maybe I didn’t care what could’ve happened to me? I would’ve gone to all lengths for you, Draco.”

“I didn’t want you to,” he shook his head lightly. “I couldn’t let you sacrifice everything for me. I couldn’t be selfish, not when it had to do with you. I had to protect you in the only way I knew how. You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought. I love you, Y/N. I always have, I always will.”

Even though you hadn’t and don’t agree with what he’d done, you could understand where he was coming. He was doing what he thought was best for you.

“I love you too,” you replied quietly, flustered by his last words. Draco beamed; maybe there really was hope after all.

“I want to forgive you, Draco. I really do. But what you did, what you said,” you trailed off, taking a moment to gather yourself and your words.

“You hurt me, Draco. What you said, no matter the reason, I can’t just forget it because of an apology. I can’t do that to myself again. I won’t.” You felt proud of yourself for being able to resist him. Though, you knew that it wouldn’t be long before you gave in.

Draco moved forward, reached out and took your hand in both of his and brought it close to him.

“I know what I did was wrong. There were other ways to handle the situation, instead I acted like an arse. But please, Y/N,” he pleaded as he placed a small kiss on your knuckles. “Just give me a chance. I will spend however long it takes to make this right, to make us right. I will do whatever it takes, just tell me what I can do.”

You couldn’t lie, you were a bit shocked. You never thought you’d see the day that the Draco Malfoy would be in your house, in your kitchen, begging and pleading with you to give him another chance because he was wrong.

After that unfortunate day, you’d thrown yourself into work. Excelling at every subject, making head girl in your 7th year when you returned to Hogwarts after the war. You were a Y/H and you would be damned if you let anyone, least of all a boy, get in the way of your education and goals. You graduated top of the class, went out into the real world and built a good name for yourself. All the hard work had paid off; everyone believed you had the potential become one of the best healers the wizarding community had ever seen, once you completed your training.

You’d promised yourself that no one would have the opportunity to break your heart again. But as you gazed at the man in front of you. You felt your resolve break. The clear desperation and tears welling up in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings. You knew you’d break the promise made to yourself almost seven years ago, over and over again for the man in front of you.

Draco could see the hurt he’d caused you years ago swimming in your eyes. He made a promise to himself at that moment, he’d do whatever it took and however long it’d take for that hurt to go away. And maybe, hopefully, it’d be replaced by something else, something more if it all worked out in the end.

You sighed, hating yourself for giving in so easily.

“Alright. I will give you a chance to make this right, but you have to earn the forgiveness,” you said softly. “Don’t make me regret this, Draco. Show me you deserve to be forgiven.”

Draco nodded, a wide smile taking over his face. Even after all these years, it knocked the breath out of you. You’d always loved his smile; it had been one of your favourite things about him.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Draco said, placing butterfly kisses on your knuckles, overcome with a type of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he made you walk away that unfortunate day seven years ago. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

‘I really hope so,’ you thought.

Draco let go off your hand, sitting back down, thanking Merlin that you had such a forgiving heart. If it was him in your position, he wouldn’t’ve let you in the house. Honestly, he would’ve slammed the front door on your face. For a moment back there, he thought you were going to.

But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. Because even after years, even after all that he put you through, somehow, you still loved him. You hated yourself for it. But one can’t help who they love; you can’t control who you fall in love with.

You both stared at each other, a new energy that wasn’t there before, when you opened the door today thinking it’d be Ron or Luna dropping by.

“Can I kiss you?” Draco whispered nervously. Was he overstepping? ‘Salazar, I shouldn’t have said anything. I should just be grateful that she’s giving me another chance,’ he thought, berating himself.

You hesitated for a bit. Did you want him to kiss you? Did you want to kiss him? ‘Of course, you do,’ you mentally scoffed at yourself.

You nodded timidly, looking down at the table. You heard the chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.

Draco made his way towards you, sweating with nerves. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself down. He leaned down on his knees beside you, lifting a shaky hand to the side of your face, bringing you to face him. He scanned your face, looking into your eyes, for any hesitation that would tell him he needed to back off. But he didn’t find any. He softly caressed your cheek with his thumb, gazing at you in awe. He thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

Draco slowly leaned in, his lips brushing against yours giving you a chance to pull back. When you didn’t, he pressed his lips against yours, relishing in the feeling that spread through his entire being. Your lips moved softly against his as your hands wrapped themselves around his neck, playing with the chain that lay under his jumper. Draco moved his other hand to the back of your neck winding up in your hair, pulling you closer to him. The kiss was gentle and tender, both of you savouring the feeling of the other in their arms after all these years.

You slowly pulled away when the need for oxygen became too great to ignore. But before you could put some distance between the two of you, Draco pulled you into a sudden hug. His arms wrapped around your waist, burying his face into your hair whilst your face buried itself into the crook of his neck.

Draco felt a small smile spread across your face against his skin.

‘Maybe it’ll all be okay,’ he thought.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Don’t Pray (aka Vader is the menace he was always meant to be during ‘the Purge’ oneshot)

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan whispered quietly; eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out the world.

The only sound was that of his own hammering heartbeats, hands clasped in a desperate prayer as he kept his head low; curled up in a tight ball with his legs to his chest in the cramped stowaway space behind the ventilator of his former master’s beat up space vessel. When he had docked on Illuna, he had expected the possible company of fellow runaway Jedi apprentices. Instead, he found the embrace of the Dark Side.

The presence that had greeted him so graciously was still palpable, still drawing ever nearer. The dark it brought with it like a sickness, like a plague shutting out any connections to the untainted living Force. Consuming its flame. The light flickering before the tendrils of darkness snuffed it out; successfully smothering it. Swallowing hard; a faint noise penetrated through the steady pulse ringing in his ears.

Artificial, mechanical. Periodic breathing. In, and out.

He felt like a caged animal; trapped as bait; prey left out for the predator approaching. He had been fooled, and now he was paying with his life. Naive, in his desire for company - his longing to be alone no more. He crept further back against the durasteel confines, his side pressed to the outer wall. As far from the tiny hatch to the hidden crawlspace as possible, making himself impossibly small.

Once again, he hoped to reach out with his mind; for help or guidance, he wouldn’t know. Yet, the only thing he could sense as a potential response was the thrumming of that inescapable darkness; an empty void of agony, threatening to grab hold of him and drag him asunder if he failed to stay alert. He toed the line, standing just at the threshold. Just shy of allowing the ill intent to devour him.

The padawan had been under the care of the Jedi Order on Coruscant for as long as he could remember, had been a promising padawan as his master had proudly proclaimed many times. It seemed like a lifetime ago. As if the happy days were but the fading remnants of a fever dream, as if the Empire and its rule was all there had ever been.

The Empire, and Vader.

Every Jedi he knew was either dead, captured, or lost. Missing without a trace. In hiding, some said. Perished, others whispered. At the hand of Vader, was the common consensus among fast travelling underground sources. The padawan had tried his best to hide, to keep out of sight, to cover up his tracks. For three years, he had been successful. For three years, he had managed to avoid the Jedi killer, and the relentlessness with which the Empire seemed to hunt down and destroy Force users. Align, disappear or die.

He was running out of time.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” he mouthed wordlessly, desperate to mask his hitching breaths and half sobs.

It was freezing.

He remembered the ice cold desert nights, accompanying his master on a week long endeavour hunting for a ancient Jedi artifact. Where had it taken them? Tatooine? Jakku? Geonosis? He couldn’t remember, every desert planet looked the same. Only endless sand dunes, and blistering blood red sun come day. Only starry deep blue skies, and cold nipping at any exposed skin come night.

He’d never forgotten the numbness of his fingers, his breath coming in heated puffs of condensation. He’d never forgotten the uncomfortable prickle of his skin, the chill of his weary, aching bones. How it seeped so deep into his core, that not even the scalding heat of first sunlight promising fire and brimstone could dissolve it.

The breathing.

Steady.

The predator toying with its prey, like a rancor enjoying the chase and dragging it out before pouncing and going in for the kill. Vader must know where he was hidden, must be able to sense his tangible Force signature. His terror.

The paralyzing feeling of torment Vader’s aura radiated rolled off of the man in thick waves; like the tide coming in, like the eye of the storm. Without mercy, without pardon. A force of nature, uncontrollable, unstoppable. Hands trembling, the padawan pressed them to his lips as he continued to mouth the same payer like mantra.

It would be in vain, yet it was the only link that remained to his master. The woman who had been gunned down in cold blood by her own troops, sending him off in a solitary escape pod towards fates unknown before sacrificing herself. She’d taught him the prayer, something to cling to in times of need. In times of fear, of hopelessness. He remembered her gentle brown eyes, her warm smile.

Footsteps.

Heavy, booted footfalls against the durasteel floor. Stalking in a slow, deliberate manner. The temperature seemed to drop for each one, as death traveled on swift wings ever faster.

The padawan could feel the stinging heat of salty tears behind his eyes, could feel them welling up at the corners of his eyes. Could taste their salt, smell his own fear. Shame accompanied the terror. His master’s act of self sacrifice had landed him stranded on an outer rim scrap station, only vaguely directed towards hostile but life sustaining planets where more Jedi may be in hiding; aided by a good natured sympathizer. Planets he’d never even heard of. People whose faces he would never know again, whose faces he had already forfotten as they blurred together. He had found none, no one to help him. No one to guide him, no one to come to his rescue now. He was alone, and he would die alone.

Only then did it truly sink in that he wasn’t going to leave this ship alive.

“I can sense you, child.”

A deep, booming voice.

Filtered through a vocabulator, it came off eerie and uncanny. Devoid of any scrap of human emotion; monotone and matter of fact. Loud, direct, and frank. Short and concise. How many others like him had met such a fate, the padawan wondered. How many others had perished at the hand of Vader? How many more would there be? Were there even any Force wielders left in the Galaxy for Vader to sniff out and execute? The age of the order was gone, why keep exterminating the few stragglers left behind? They could do no harm, make little noise.

“I can sense your fear,” the voice added after a moment's pause; and despite the same inhuman diction, there seemed to be something spiteful to the words.

The padawan had never known evil.

He and his master had taken down wild beasts, droid armies; they had even faced off against a stray misled Dark Side user. The droids had been man made machines, little more than gun fodder. The animals had followed only their hunger and ravenous nature, desperate to eat or be eaten. Lylacs, loth-wolves, rancors engineered to hunt. The Dark Side user had been conflicted, led astray by corrupt practices, as his master had put it.

This was different.

Vader appeared to be content, in a sense. No, perhaps not quite content as there seemed to be little joy or excitement to find in his Force signature. It was empty, a nothingness. Like a hole in the fabric of the Force itself, like someone had cut a piece out of a tapestry where only cold, and suffering could prevail.

Suffering; so unadulterated that it made the padawan’s body flinch and twitch with its shared torment. Vader was like a phantom, like a wraith; like a dead man walking. His aura revealed that he had nothing to lose, nothing to gain. No compassion, no forgiveness. No use in pleading, no use in begging.

A tear escaped the corner of the padawan’s eyes, rolling red hot down his stricken, pale face. The suffocating feeling of Vader’s presence sucked the air out of his lungs, making him feel lightheaded and short of breath. The steps slowed, calculating their path meticulously until they came to a sudden halt mere inches away from the trapdoor and its hatch. There came a protesting creaking of durasteel, of metal giving way to an unseen, powerful hand. A metallic shriek, a cringe and a whine as it began to bend to Vader’s will. The first beams of bright, fluorescent lights spilled in flickering patterns through the cracks torn open before the trapdoor was unceremoniously ripped off its hinges and flung across the cramped space of the vessel’s interior.

The padawan daredn’t open his eyes - the mechanic breathing was no longer muffled by a thin wall of durasteel; the thick aura of the Dark Side crashing over him like, biting and stinging at his nerve endings. Drowning him, as they left him overwhelmed, vulnerable and pitiful.

It hurt to breathe; hurt to think, his stomach churning and his throat constricting no matter how much air he attempted to gulp down. His lips moved on autopilot, still wording that same pathetic prayer but his voice had long since been silenced. There was no one to save him. No one to take his hand.

The tendrils of a twisted, warped, subjugated shadow of the Force the padawan knew as his ally burnt as they pierced his skin; invisible but unyielding. Like a million icy daggers, like sharp needles or broken glass. Another warm tear fell from his eyes, this time leaving a searing trail in its wake against his frost bitten cheek. He trembled when it dripped off his chin.

“You cannot hide from me, child. Your path ends here. There is no escape,” said the voice, so void of sympathy and remorse that it seemed inconceivable.

Were it not for the Dark Side, and the tainted, perverted use of the Force that Vader was guilty of; the padawan would have thought him to be fully inhuman. Rumours said Vader was once a man, now cloaked in a tar black suit of armour. Some said Vader was the creation of a malicious Sith Lord, calling upon mystical powers to build the perfect, loyal servant. Others said Vader may have once been a Jedi; a Jedi who’d fallen to the Dark Side in pursuit of power, and riches. How could a figure whose very existence seemed to serve as a harbringer of death ever have been live? How could a presence such as Vader’s ever have belonged to anything but a ruthless monster?

The padawan’s master had called many animals and creatures ‘monsters’. Some would deem Vader a savage beast, desperate for blood to quench his own thirst while they cowered in fear at the very whisper of his name. As if acknowledging his existence might conjure him. Yet, an animal would only follow its own basal needs and instincts; like the krayt dragons, or the lylaks, or the rancors. They were not monsters, they were simply part of the natural order. Predators necessary in a symbiotic cycle with their prey. Likening them to Vader was no fair comparison. Vader was sentient, aware of his actions, and committing heinous acts nonetheless. Purposefully, knowingly.

Animals were no monsters.

Vader was.

His eyes were still stubbornly clenched shut, perhaps seized up with terror as the frightened padawan cowered.

Still, they began to twitch little by little, opening as if that unseen hand guided by the Force was prying them open bit by bit. As if they were being peeled back, his resolute power of will beginning to wane. The padawan desperately attempted to keep them closed, to fight back. It was futile, as his watery eyes were uncovered against his will. Unable to blink, unable to stay blissfully unaware of the exterior that accompanied the foreboding phantom. His executioner.

In a snapping, jerking motion - the boy’s head was rapidly twisted sideways by the same invisible pull. The hold on his lithe, malnourished body was so strong, that the motion tossed him like a rag-doll as he was yanked out of the tiny crawlspace. He cried out in pain when his knee was torn open, by the jutting edges of one of the ventilator system’s metallic fans. Warm blood wet through the fabric of the padawan’s pants, the tang of iron stinging in his nostrils. Nauseating.

Tumbling haphazardly across the narrow walkway, the padawan whimpered as he momentum had him rolling around until he slammed forcibly into nearest cabinet. A nightmare come to life, he wrapped his uncooperative arms around himself to shield himself from the bitter cold, from the hatred, the rage, the ire.

It did him no favours, the sharp pinpoints and tendrils of the Dark Side burrowing into his chest like the fangs of a loth-wolf. Despite the struggle, the padawan found himself crawling to his knees, ignoring the searing pain of his gashed knee as if compelled to do so by some sort of beckon, taunting and mesmerizing in its lethal promise. For a brief moment, he thought he could hear his master’s familiar voice calling him.

The abyss lay ahead.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan croaked in a broken act of defiance.

“Your prayers are of no use.”

Then, he raised his head and his glassy eyes were set upon Vader. Frozen in place, as if fixed by the phantom’s own stare concealed behind the lenses of a black mask. Death in the flesh. Unkind. Unjust. Promising pain everlasting, overpowering.

Overwhelming, unbearable.

Inevitable.

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