Blade - Blog Posts

Ive watched a historical film and wanted to draw a duel so much!!!!

EATING THIS UP SO GOOD RN DROOLING LICKING MY SCREEN FUDUJSIFJSKJRKS

FANTASMAS ゜・BLADE NSFW

"solo miro fantasmas están dentro de ti." - fantasmas (twin tribes) continuation of roommate au kind of part 2 to both ain't shit see here for some basic designs for them male reader warnings: male reader, amab reader, porn with plot, bottom reader, band au, blade's kinda obsessive, he's also in denial for like half the fic wc: 6.9k (unintentional)

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

With the piercing light of day shining upon this nondescript building, it resembles every other office in the vicinity: cold grey facade, nauseatingly plain decor, and workers that look like they’d rather be anywhere but here. But as the sun kisses the horizon and the stars scatter across the fabric blanketing the world, the infamous ‘underground’ opens—a venue beloved by local bands and those looking to drink until dawn.

It’s no surprise that Kafka’s there tonight; she’s lounging at the back with her magenta irises fixed right on the stage while her maraschino pout sips at her cocktail. The dim hall hosts dozens of people, if not about a hundred—all eagerly waiting for the arrival of the Trailblazers, bodies pressed against bodies and barely anyone sitting at the pushed-back tables near the walls. That’s why it’s perfect that she’s here and not at the front—otherwise, she’s sure the pretty flame-haired Trailblazer’s manager will notice her and give her that glare. She doesn’t want to get on her bad side, not today. 

She’s mildly astonished that Blade tagged along to scout them out of his own volition; the only member he knows for sure is Dan Heng, and anyone and everyone with a brain knows how tense things are between them. Well, it’s not entirely accurate to say he knows only one of the members behind their varied masks—there’s still you, but she doubts he’s figured it out for himself that you’re the guitarist in particular. 

The man next to her might appear relaxed—body pressed against the back of the cherry-red seating, legs spread with fingers tapping languidly on his thighs—but Kafka likes to think she can read people a lot better than that. He’s as… naive, she’d like to put it, as ever—thinking he can hide his feelings as though he doesn’t wear his pulsating, visceral heart on his sleeve for everyone to look at. 

There’s a simmering anger lying beneath his milky dermis; like his eyes, it is red-hot and coils his body inwards with a thick tension. She doesn’t know what happened these past few days, but she knows for sure he’s gotten worse—pupils honed in right on the platform in the front and not a swill taken from the liquor on the table. 

(Wine flows—the man who does not partake will sorely regret what he sees sober, she later comments in her journal.)

It’s not like you’re any better; a good mood stretched your lips into a smile as bright and messy as yolk when you saw her a few days ago. Still, any explanation for Blade’s bad mood was encapsulated in one neat, cruel word: payback. 

Several meanings can be attached to this—and these have been duly noted in the journal she keeps on the side. 

The clearest red thread she can find in this investigation is that this has something to do with you, and maybe the bassist currently setting up on stage with a delicate, draconic mask perched across his features—judging by the way Blade’s fingers dig right into the plush of his thighs. 

Oh, her mouth suppresses a bloodied smile—this is interesting. 

She doesn’t watch you in your Venetian mask—a fragile one that spans three-quarters of your face, a Phantom of the Opera style she does appreciate. 

No, actually, she glances at the revealing top you’re wearing and makes out several bite marks and bruises in the strobe lighting—putting two and two together quite quickly. Ah. No wonder he’s pissed. 

She then, very efficiently, decides it will be far more amusing to watch Blade’s expression surreptitiously as he slowly figures it out. 

Just who exactly is that guitarist?

It weighs on his mind—heavy, uncomfortable. He loathes Dan Heng, and the rest of the Trailblazers by proxy; even without the ongoing feud, he’d hate them regardless. While he did come to the performance to clear his head and remind him of exactly who he’s up against, he can’t help but gaze at the person currently plugging in his guitar. 

Stop. 

Pungent copper warmth spills into his mouth as he bites hard into his cheek; bleeding sanguine replaces the lingering caress of whiskey on his taste buds. 

Yet still—as the strobe dies down and a haunting, ghostly incandescence shimmers over the band—his eyes continue to trace his figure. 

His flimsy shirt rides up his stomach as he loops the guitar around his neck, and Blade can feel his mouth go dry. Damn you—he can’t stop thinking about that scene he almost walked in a few days ago, and now that small patch of skin is making him imagine what it would be like with a guy. 

This venue is for the amateurish bands—ones that won’t ever make it big but still have a loyal base of dedicated followers. Very technically speaking, the Trailblazers are popular and rightfully so: skill macerates itself into their songs. Yet, he can’t help the dislike that taints his perception of their music. 

The vocalist’s voice is well suited to this genre—long grey hair framing a golden mask while she sings, but he’s more focused on the melody accompanying it. There’s several embellishments on the guitar chords accompanying it that his ears pick up: too used to your irritating playing to ignore them. Nothing too wild, just some flair he begrudgingly appreciates. 

He can only focus on the guitarist, not even sparing a glare at the bassist close to them. 

It’s in the second song you finally have a solo: a long riff that appears to be a crowd favourite, stirring a hitched breath from him. 

Familiar, it somehow seems—something along your style but he’d be damned if he ever heard this from you. 

He loses track of the minutes that turn into well over an hour. 

The atmosphere in the club has shifted significantly—expectant. It appears to be one of the last songs; and Blade’s ashamed that the time passed quickly for him. 

Too busy staring at the guitarist, he can hear future Kafka tease, and he clenches his fists in his lap.

“Kiss me with amaranthine on your lips,” 

You’ve done nothing but play the electric guitar, which is why he widens his eyes in surprise as your mouth opens and you lean into the vocalist’s mic. A melancholy synth accompanies the bittersweet song—with a deeper voice that makes your face flash in his mind. 

Can’t be. 

“Arsenic on your tongue.”

Involuntarily, that scene of you with Dan Heng’s lips against yours takes up the space in his mind—all-consuming, fury-inducing. 

“Frankly, dear, you could send me to the tomb,”

He downs the hard liquor that’s been sitting on the table for the past hour. God, he sounds perfect: making his dick twitch in his pants as he imagines this voice in his headphones. 

“Pressing your hands to my frigid cadaver,”

His breathing becomes slightly more shallow as he notices how the flimsy shirt finally sticks in a way that half-exposes the guitarist’s chest—a prominent bite-mark just peeking out from the side.

“One live pulse and the other lifeless,”

The lighting shifts to illuminate you more, and he can suddenly see the slight discolouration against his slicked collarbone and sweat-soaked neck—bruises which feel slightly off, in the sense that Blade’s stomach grows tight and his heart pounds fast and hard against his lungs. 

“And still I’d wait, Styx cradling me in its miasma—”

His eyes sweep across the room and land directly on Blade’s, and there’s something so familiar in that gaze that he can’t look away. 

“Is my apostasy enough for you?”

It’s past one in the morning when he leaves the venue—cold air nipping at his arms as Kafka waves him goodbye and he drives home with the icy street lamps lighting his way. In the privacy of his car, he finds the specific song online—letting the guitarist’s honey-rich voice sweep over him, before his heart begins thrumming uncontrollably.

He’s onto something—a specific line of thinking that feels so ludicrous he can’t help but scoff at himself as he parks. 

Ridiculous, he thinks. Perhaps it’s simply human nature to deny that which brings discomfort. 

Cognitive dissonance. 

But there’s no one at the apartment. Not a dim slit of light on the wall opposite your door—where it’s almost a daily occurrence at the young hours of the night. In fact, your slightly open door (and here his heart pangs at the thought of that day) indicates not a soul currently inhabits the empty room. He stands there for a long time, staring. 

You can’t…

Tongue leaden, he makes his way to the living room: sinking into the couch while his rubine eyes fix themselves on the door. He loosens the buttons of his shirt, running his tired hands through his inky spills of hair. He’s good at the waiting game; the minutes may drag out infinitely, but he wills himself to sit in silence. 

It’s far past two when you finally stumble in—a long coat bundled over casual clothes that make the tension in his shoulders dissipate slightly. There’s a bag clutched in your hands but no signs of a guitar case. 

Why does he feel so relieved?

You finally notice him: locking eyes, yet not saying anything. His lips press together, then part suddenly.

“Where were you?” It sounds accusatory, and he supposes it is. Don’t tell me what I’m thinking is true. 

“Out,” you reply shortly. His fingers clench around one of the pillows next to him. 

You won’t answer. There’s no point in asking anymore; with gritted teeth, he knows the taste of futility. It seeps bitter in his mouth as he lights the small amber lamp on the coffee table—attempting to numb his mind through the tried-and-true method of reading upon the principles of cement and composites. 

As he hears the steady stream of the shower, his plans go awry. Those same words he’s memorised blur in his vision when his mind conjures you. 

Don’t. 

Where were you?

He’s sliding his book back onto the shelf as your soft footsteps pad out of the bathroom. When his head turns, you’re wearing only a towel: steam still rising from your warm body as you don’t spare him a glance. 

Perhaps it’s fate. 

Perhaps it’s his own fault for getting his hopes up. 

You pass by him—too close, he thinks, you’re much too close—and your bare torso is right there. 

As is the bite-mark that caught his eye earlier. 

When those chromatic eyes trace the expanse of your trapezius muscles, each and every bruise matches the practical constellation he saw littering the guitarist’s body. The dips in your arms, the specific shade of tinted lips you’d sported, each valley and plane of the guitarist’s body—all pointed to the two being one and the same. 

His chest is impossibly taut; only when you clear your throat does he realise he’s standing in the doorway. A fitting Cerebus to this household—if he could, he’d keep you here forever and not let anyone else in. 

“Do you have a problem?” you ask, and it’s the perfect, tired pitch that just about stirs his inky spills of hair and makes his eyes heavy with lust. 

“Maybe,” he accedes in his own low voice, too busy wondering how your songs would taste to notice you getting slightly closer. 

No, that’s a lie. He notices—feeling and seeing the small wisps of vapour still cling to you from your shower  (and now him). He inhales, slowly savouring the unique flavour of you: burnt sugar curling honey-sweet from your lips, the shower gel he knows you just randomly grabbed—it’s the one he uses too, the faint tendrils of sweat and steam and lotion that each have their own distinct tang. 

His nose is level with yours: he can feel the faint fan of particles that brush across him. It’s not that which causes his nails to dig into his palms, but rather the quirk of your brow as you ever-so-slightly raise it. 

“What—no girls to warm up your bed and cure your boredom?” 

It’s a question that could insinuate two meanings. First, that you’re simply mocking him and his previous activities. The second implies that he’s desperate enough to seek you out. 

“No fellow Trailblazer to warm yours?” he bites out. Question for a question—and perhaps he’s slightly sick for enjoying how your eyes widen in abrupt shock. 

“Does that matter?” It’s almost like a game at this point—defences and hackles raised, inching to total annihilation by inquiry. Maybe you’ve realised it’s futile to deny it; a frown settles on your face with a matching glare. After all, for the average student, coming across a member of the bands—Knights of Beauty, Galaxy Rangers, the Family (to name a few)—isn’t a big deal. 

But he’s not the average student. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It really does.”

Oh. Oh.

He watches as you piece it together—noting his connection to Kafka, the drumkit in his room, and his clear hostility towards Dan Heng. He watches as you accidentally take a step back into the large shelf, watches as you furrow your brows in the way he spots when you’re solving a particularly difficult problem. 

“You’re a damn headache, you know that.”

There’s no malice in your eyes, but he can feel you slipping from his fingers; he can hear the cogs in your brain turn with certainty as you look away with resolve. He’s going to move out—Blade realises, and it’s perhaps the second time in his life that he regrets letting his heart seep through his lips with that sort of confession. Suddenly, he’s stepping forward: hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, with less-than-bruising strength. 

Fuck. The back-and-forth from earlier reminds him exactly of the position he’s in: practically caging you against the wooden frame while you’re still warm and damp from the shower. He’s lucky he wore loose trousers out—and you’re too busy glancing at him in surprise to notice him straining against them. 

“Blade—”

“Yingxing.” He’s not quite sure why he interrupts. Like a gaping wound, he’s ripped past the scab and hit tender flesh. 

He can’t define where the firm line between you and him is. 

And maybe he’s your roommate and there’s a messy boundary constructed by both parties, but there’s something pressing his lungs tight against bone.

“—Yingxing,” you taste carefully: sampling the two characters in your poisonous mouth. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

The normally-collected engineering student has abandoned his wits—gazing at you like a man half-starved. 

“Making you stay,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to move out—don’t we work well together?”

I can treat you so right. His thigh cants against your legs, and he hears you inhale sharply. Fuck. 

Bringing your wrist to his face, he presses his lips to the skin—burning, as some would say, so utterly contrasting with his colder image that it brings about an effect of cognitive dissonance. What’s so good about Dan Heng?

“You’re such a prick,” you hiss, and he feels the words pierce right through him. He is. Objectively, he knows he’s a bastard—unapologetically, wholeheartedly—but you don’t make an effort to pull away. 

“I am,” he admits in a tired, low voice. He doesn’t know if it’s the steely look in your eyes, or the firm set of your mouth—yet he thinks you’ve rooted him in place instead of the opposite. 

Why? If he gets involved with his roommate of all people, it would turn blurry boundaries into cacophonous messes—and it’s not like he wants you to leave. It would be far simpler to let you move out; slice away the relationship cleanly before his heart tightens any further. 

“Do you find it fun fucking with people like this?” 

He looks at you. Really, he does. 

Guitarist. Physics student. Capable scholar. Then there’s that—Trailblazer. 

But there’s also that. 

My roommate. 

So many concepts to consider, when that’s only surface level. He’s never had to think so hard about someone before: preferring to not know them at all. 

“Hah.” You sound incredulous. “Are you this fucking indecisive with everyone?”

“No,” he finally replies. “Just you.”

It’s then that he releases your wrist. You’ll walk away. In line with his own predictions, he already knows you’ll barge past him—perhaps knocking a book or two off his shelf. 

But, no—

“Do you ever shut up?”

—you seem to defy his expectations each time. 

His eyes flicker to your mouth, and this time you take notice. 

Kiss me with amaranthine on your lips. How fitting. 

His eyes widen as you roughly grasp the front of his shirt: creasing the smooth fabric in your fist as you yank his face forward. It’s as if you’re about to punch him square in the jaw, yet for some reason his heart pounds faster and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. Delicately, yet he is anything but that. 

“Seriously, you’re so—”

The heat consuming him is sweltering and omnipotent. One that controls his limbs like a marionette; he’s already reaching to grasp your chin with his rough hand. You’re warm: exhaling in surprise as his mouth meets yours. 

“Mmh–” Hands worn from playing chords tonight slip from the front of his shirt and slide around his nape. He can feel your fingers entangle themselves in his inky hair, and for once he closes his eyes. You taste like the sweetest poison: traces of cherry syrup and the faint spice of liqueur. 

He should’ve done this sooner. 

Canting his head to the side, he deepens the kiss—tongue spilling into your mouth, twining with your gasps. He presses you against the shelf; his shirt’s becoming damp from the drops of water still clinging to you, but surprisingly, he’s not irritated. If it were anyone else—if it were anyone but you—he would be disgusted. But maybe because it’s you, he just wants to meld his body against yours. 

Perhaps that’s the first sign. 

Arsenic on your tongue. 

Something colourless, without taste. He certainly feels poisoned: heart racing uncontrollably, skin rosy with flush, pupils dilated until the sanguine in his eyes is just a sliver. He pulls back with breaths heavy against the still air. You’re wrapped around his neck, unmoving, and he can’t help but taste victory on his taste buds instead. 

“You’re still not forgiven,” you mutter callously.

“That’s fine.” A thin, sharp smile appears on his face as he leans his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder—practically branding you with the sear of his words against the expanse of your dermis. He’s smiling—grinning—ecstasy racing through his veins as he hears your groans when he presses his open mouth against the flesh. Bruises upon bruises will blossom later on your body; his pants strain at the very thought. 

You’re staying, and his mind goes hazy and numb when he thinks of how you’ll look in his arms come morning—all pretty and fucked-out just for him. 

It’s not like he likes you in that way—it’s simply the most opportune moment to steal you away from Dan Heng’s filthy hands. He saw how the bassist stared at you throughout your parts: heard how that bastard’s hands fumbled on the strings with the lines streaming from your lips. 

No, he doesn’t like his roommate like that. 

Frankly, dear, you could send me to the tomb. 

Why is his heart beating so fast then? When his hand trails to land on your scalding waist, pressing your almost-naked body against his—why does his own body burn?

(Why did he give you his name?)

“Fuck—” you groan as his mouth latches onto your chest: rebranding it on his own terms. He laps up the salt and sweat on your skin—too hazed out to fully take into consideration the effort he’s putting into this. Rather than a rough fuck with his peers, he wants you to enjoy yourself—wants to be acknowledged as better than his nemesis.

His fingers dig into the plush and muscle corded between the planes of hip and rib cage, wrapping until the tips of his hands reach the cobbled path of your spine. You’re so warm: so much so that he can’t stop clutching your body like a lifeline. 

“Wanna go further?” he murmurs against the fat of your chest, feeling the heavy thump–thump of your heart against his lips. 

He pulls back with the sheen of saliva on his lips, gazing up at you with a spoken and unspoken question. Aeons—when you stare back at him with those lowered eyelids and that grin on your lips; when you slither your hands so they entwine against his scalp in his murky locks; when you bring his mouth back to yours in a scorching, open-mouthed kiss—he can feel his body and soul crumble around him into an ashen heap. 

“Thought you didn’t like me.” You catch his lip with your canines, and the sour tang of blood fills his mouth and pools on his tongue. 

Pressing your hands against my frigid cadaver.

“I don’t,” he answers as he pushes you up against his bed—shucking the shirt worn over his tight top onto his floor—and letting your steaming flesh warm up his frigid muscles. 

“Yeah, I don’t like you either,” you reply exasperatedly, raking your nails against the contours of his back while he looks up at you: mouth still latched over where that man left those impressions as if to erase them. 

“So what the fuck are we doing?” you comment in wonder. He doesn’t reply—too busy stripping himself of his top so he can finally feel your bare skin on his like this, flesh squishing against flesh as he kisses you over and over. 

It’s like he’s laving your lips clean with his own, and there’s a trickling understanding somewhere in his subconscious. 

Why is he doing this? Why have you agreed to this?

The two questions ingrain themselves deeply in his troubled mind. 

But when he looks down on the sweat on your face, lips bitten to muffle the noises slipping from your lips, he doesn’t ever want to stop this. 

“Wouldn’t you have hurried up by now?” He doesn’t know what you’re referring to until he recalls how you heard him—and it bothers him how relaxed you sound, how nonplussed you seem, when he’s filled with a seething anger everytime he recalls what he saw when he stumbled on you with Dan Heng splayed bare over you. 

“Why? Want me to recreate the experience?” He won’t ever admit that those sorts of rough fucks aren’t suited for you—he wants to take it slow for once, wants to make you feel good until you completely lose yourself and forget all about that bastard. 

“No—ah,” you grip his hair as his tongue trails down the dips of your stomach, stopping only above the towel still tied above your waist. The hasty tug on his hair elicits a groan out of him; slowly, he can feel his face grow flushed once more at the knowledge that he’s making you lose control. There’s that strain against the fabric of the towel, one that definitely mirrors his own. 

Aeons. 

“Fuck— fuck—” you whine as he slips his hand under the towel, wrapping around your dick with a deftness that doesn’t belie his inexperience with men. He’s a quick study—watching every minute twitch in your expression as he strokes you to full hardness. 

Soft—you’re so pliable as you moan under him, eyes squeezed shut as he observes your face with his smile stretched taut on his face. 

He’s never felt this affectionate towards anyone, and perhaps that’s what he should focus his attention on. He wants to rob you of your breath with his lips, he wants to listen to you forever as he draws out pleasure upon pleasure from you. 

“Ngh–” you whimper as his thumb brushes over your leaking slit, crudely pressing it and letting the precum drip onto his fingers. The rough motions cause the towel to finally drop past your hips, and his breath hitches at the sight of you beneath him—finally, finally. This is the first time that he’s taken his mind off his own pleasure: practically entranced by how you squirm and bite down on your sounds. 

Aeons. Aeons. Aeons. His mind goes numb as you cant your hips into his hand, and his head dips down to capture your noisy mouth with his own. 

Fuck. He doesn’t think he can let you go like this. 

Your nails claw at his back—it only makes him more determined to wrack you with pleasure, to leave you glassy-eyed and mindless to anything but him. 

Forget about the Trailblazers, he wants to say as you arch your back to press yourself more fully against him. Think only about me, he conveys as he twists his hand—and you keen against him. 

He’s in far too deep. 

As you cry out, as thick rivulets of cum paint his skin and yours, as he continues pumping his hand so he can see those pretty tears leak from the sides of your eyes—he’s drunk on the scent of you, drunk on the taste of your moans and the salt of your skin. He laps up each cry you give him eagerly: tasting the complex emotions of blood, tears and that lingering taste of cherry liquor weakly underpinning it all. 

One live pulse and the other lifeless. 

“Ah— mmh—” you choke out, and his face blossoms into such a profound shade of crimson that he buries his face in your neck. He kisses the rhythmic echo of your heartbeat, right where the pulsepoint is situated and thrumming with desperation. 

He’s never felt this urge with any of his other hookups—this stupid willingness to hold your body close to his like this. 

His lips surge to yours once more as his finger slips in you, drinking in the gasp you let out: how your body freezes beneath his, how your body nestles into his closer as your spine reacts to the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he breathes as you practically suck him in. “You’re so tight.”

“Don’t do this—ah—often,” you answer through your wavering mouth. Good, he wants to say—but there’s something about commenting on what you just said that prickles him with ominous foreboding. Was it Dan Heng too? Like this, between your legs—drinking in each small mewl that leaves those swollen, bitten lips. 

 Your abdomen tenses and relaxes in short bursts, and he can feel himself stiffen even more against his bed. 

Fuck. 

Impulsively, he dips his head lower so he can suckle right on your mushroom tip. And immediately, your hands move from where they were still scratching up his back to his head—tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to keep yourself grounded. 

He groans around you, and it’s clear you won’t last much longer—not when he’s added another finger, not when he’s carefully taking you deeper down his throat. 

He’s never done this before—never considered doing this—but there’s something about you that makes him want to never think of anyone else but him. 

You’re salty on his tongue—slightly bitter from the residue of cum still dripping from the slit. He licks a long strip from base to tip: trying to accustom himself before he fully commits. It’s clear he’s doing something right; there’s a panting, needy quality to your moans. With his free hand, he strokes your balls to add more hellish stimulation—and suddenly you’re locking your legs around his head. 

His eyelids flutter slightly: busy suppressing the long whine that’s about to emerge from his larynx. Aeons, he should’ve done this sooner. If he could taste you, if he could feel the slick smell of sweat and cum still plastered on your inner thighs earlier like this, if he could be like this sooner—it would’ve been worth asking Kafka for a favour. 

“Ah—” your voice shakes as he slips yet another finger inside while finally taking you fully down his throat: even with you losing control, it’s clear you don’t want to hurt him as you don’t push his head down to deepthroat you. It’s strangely sweet—something caring that just makes him want you to be rougher instead. 

He moans lowly as you pull on his hair desperately again; this is the vibration that finally pushes you over the brink. You spill into his mouth, warm and salty and slightly metallic—and stupid wanting wracks his body. 

Blade swallows it all, continuing to suck you off until he can feel your body tremble beneath him—feel the crushing pressure of your thighs around his head. 

“Want you, fuck,” he murmurs after he pulls away; thin strings of cum still connect him from your tip, and he doesn’t think he’s ever unbuckled his belt so fast. He kisses you as though he’s a man starving: teeth clashing slightly against teeth as he tugs his trousers off. 

“Care— careful,” you breathe unsteadily as he lines himself up, sinking his sharp teeth into your shoulder lightly. “You wouldn’t want to give off the wrong impression that you actually like me now.”

And there’s something vulnerable in your tone: a small self-deprecation. He tries ignoring it. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, grasping your warm hand in his own calloused, frigid one. “Wouldn’t want that.”

But his tone is insincere, and he thinks you can tell. 

Somehow. 

Somehow. 

Maybe it’s futile to believe you understand him, yet your piercing eyes and annoyed glare as you look at him are always surface-level: angry but still not resolving to actually move out. You were the one who figured out his intentions from the beginning—irritating you until you simply left—while the other roommates just shivered and slammed the door behind them. 

You stayed. 

He’s been kissing you over and over and over—and he kisses you again now as he slowly sinks into the tight heat of your hole. Fuck. Perhaps if his head was clearer, he’d think about the implications of kissing you in particular when he hasn’t touched lips with anyone else for years. 

He whines lowly as he pushes in deeper. You’re so damn warm—so gorgeous like this: palms splayed against his shoulders, expression all hazy and fucked-out, lips so inviting he has to put his mouth on yours yet again. 

“Fuck,” you hiss into his lips as he bottoms out. It takes all his self-restraint to not cum immediately, adjusting to just how good you feel. 

You cant your hips so you’re rocking back onto him with a satisfied hum. The motion wrangles a moan out of him, but he desperately grips your waist with his strong fingers so you quit moving. 

“Hold on,” he slurs, rubbing small circles on the flesh with his thumbs. He’s throbbing, teeth caught on his lips to keep his mind clear. Shit. To be so close already makes him feel like a virgin again: sensitive at the slightest touch. You seem to be so damn full of surprises. 

“What, surprised it feels like this?” You sound amused, and he looks at you irritably. 

“Yeah,” he leans down and practically moans into your ear, rolling his hips against your plush ass. You shiver slightly, and his lips split wide in a mocking grin at the effect the sound had. 

“You feel so good,” he whines, deliberately dragging out the noise. “Taste so good too.”

“Mmh–” you cover your mouth as he begins moving properly now—yet still so teasingly slow. 

He catches your wrist with a firm hand, gripping it tightly against the bed so he can hear you properly.

“What’s wrong? Surprised—hah—it feels like this?” He throws your words back at you, but it’s not like he’s doing much better. It’s taking everything within him to not just fill you up: letting his cum drip out of you while he stuffs it back in. The thought darkens his red face even further. 

You don’t answer. It’s only natural that he moves agonisingly slow—probing for an answer while his fingers busy themselves by wrapping around your weeping cock, achingly rubbing from shaft to base with a sticky shick-shick noise. 

“I gave you an answer,” he mocks, ignoring the tightness in his stomach when gazing at your teary eyes. So pretty. 

Wordlessly, your free hand that isn’t pinned by Blade trails from his scalp to his nape—and you pull him into you so your lips meet his, scorchingly so. 

“Ngh–” he groans into the kiss, practically feeling his climax build up. He forces it down—too preoccupied in filling you up at the right time, not now. 

“Aeons,” he mutters as he pulls away, and there’s a grin on your lips he wants to wipe off. 

“Does that count?”

He lost this time, but the sight is worth it. 

With a greedy pang of his heart, he pulls his pelvis back until just his shaft remains hooked in your walls—your eyes widen, and this time it’s his turn to smile. 

He slams back in, and the long moan you let out is almost angelic. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you sob out as he drills into you over and over; tacky skin meets tacky skin with a perverted plap-plap, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so euphoric. 

He can feel it on his face: an adoring, almost fanatic look hazing his once-clear red eyes. 

And still I’d wait, Styx cradling me in its miasma.

He wants you.

The man twines his fingers with yours tightly. Possessively. 

“Blade—” you gasp out brokenly as he hits your prostate, kissing the tip right into the nerves with each thrust. His grip on your hand tightens, and you wince at the sudden pressure. 

“Yingxing,” he corrects, speeding up the jerking motions of his other hand. 

Why? Why does he so readily reveal to you what he hides for everyone else?

Fuck. He needs you, so so so badly. 

Your abdomen is taut and quivering, and he knows you’re not far off from climaxing again. Like this, with teary eyes and the impression of petrichor on your rainy lips, he thinks you’ve never looked more captivating. 

Perhaps it’s a fleeting attraction, but in his very bones he can feel his entire existence enrapture himself by you and only you. 

And just like that, your expression changes minutely and he already knows just how close you are to that haunting precipice. 

He twists his hand just so. As expected, you pliantly move your body against his with broken moans: arching into his touch while you tighten around him. You’re shaking—and he’s so close too, just like you. You’ve brought him to the brink so easily, but it’s not the sopping heat of your walls that finally catalyses his sweet downfall. 

“Yingxing,” you breathe. He almost doesn’t catch it, but then you say it again.

“Yingxing.” And this time the sound is so light, so affectionate as you spill all over his abdomen and your own—so airy. It’s enough to push him to that brink; hot ropes of cum spurt deep inside you, and you gasp almost immediately at the intense feeling. 

“Ah—fuck,” you moan out as he rocks into you to ride out his orgasm, something so intense he bites down into your trapezius muscle to keep himself sane. 

It’s indescribable—mind finally going blank as he litters his bites everywhere, prolonging the movement of his hips against yours for as long as he can. And you milk him for all he’s worth; he’s already feeling that relief and exhaustion wash over him even though it’s only been one round. 

He finally lets himself go: practically smothering you with his body as he lies on top of you, still nestled deep within you. 

“I should go,” you say awkwardly, but there’s that tiniest trace of hesitation he can read in your voice that makes him wrap his arms tight around you instead. 

“No.” His own voice is muffled from where his mouth is connected to the bitten flesh of the juncture between shoulder and neck. 

“Fuck do you mean no?” you grumble, but the way you thread a lazy finger through his hair and work through the tangles in his locks makes his heart beat in a way it hadn’t just now. 

What the hell? 

That damn flush on his face is still there—and still, that lovelorn look in his eyes hasn’t faded either. 

“Just stay with me tonight,” he presses kiss after kiss to your shoulder as if to convince you. 

“Hah,” you sigh. There’s a glare trained on the crown of his head—he can feel it without even looking at you. Is that not proof he knows you this well? Can’t you see that? He furrows his brow. 

Is my apostasy enough for you?

“Yingxing—” His heart beats wildly at his name leaving your lips, and he knows he’s screwed. “—you don’t need to keep it up after we’ve already fucked.”

There’s a distraught hesitation in his pulse—it takes him far too long to clock just how he feels about you. 

“Keep what up?” His tone is neutral. Perfectly polite. Ironic, considering his naked form covering yours currently—bathed in a mess of sweat, scratch marks, and cum.

Who is he not to indulge in you?

“This act of affection.” Jet hair flutters back to fan out on his back when you let the strands go. Much like sand in an hourglass, he can feel you slipping away as though you were time itself. “I don’t need it, and I’d prefer you save it for someone you actually like.”

His heart skips a beat, and he sits up, startled. 

“Hit a nerve there, didn’t I,” you mutter, but he barely hears you. Those senseless thoughts—the constant stream of panic and anger and despair—are beginning to emerge from their lairs. In your presence, they always seem to recede: as though you were the salvation he’s been trying to reach in his own myth of Sisyphus. 

You’re leaving after all.

All because of him and his incompetence.

His fingers clasp your own in a softer mirror of before. Whatever you might’ve said lies forever discarded—words resting just within your mouth, not a single syllable crossing the threshold of your lips. You don’t leave, simply gazing at him from where you lie: bare skin of your side pressing against his own naked thigh. 

Don’t you know he sees you and only you?

“Look at me.” For once, the arrogant cadence he wears like a second skin fades as he pleads. “Look at me.”

In the dim amber lighting that sweeps over his cluttered room, it seeps into all four corners and lands on his drum kit sequestered in the corner: the very thing that got him into this mess in the first place. There’s stacks upon stacks of engineering manuals and textbooks organised neatly on his shelves—a passion that you understand, one that you live and breathe with in the same way he does. 

Do you see him?

Do you see him as he sees you?

And finally, the incandescence traces the outlines of him and you. You, peering up at him—eyes lucid and clear despite it being the young hours of the night. Him, gazing down at you—eyes so desperate that he’s reverted back to Yingxing. No longer Blade, but the man beneath the frigid exoshell. 

He raises your joined hands, pressing fragile kiss upon kiss to your fingers and the slight raise of veins on the back of yours. All the while, his eyes don’t waver from yours. 

Your brows twitch; judging by the press of your lips, you’re holding back something along the lines of wow, Yingxing, never took you for a romantic. 

He’s not. 

“Oh,” you breathe. You’re smart; connecting the dots isn’t particularly difficult with a mind as sharply analytical as yours. Constantly questioning, constantly evaluating everything (not limited to the domain of your physics major only) including the human psyche. 

He raises your hand even further, and presses it against his cheek. Scalding skin against boreal dermis. 

You sit up. Expectantly, he waits for you to twist out of his grasp and leave. You’re still naked after all, and he’s talking about feelings right after a hookup. If it was anyone he’d bought home, he’d have kicked them out right there and then. 

But before he can process it, your lips are gently touching his own: about as tender as a flesh wound, raw and throbbing. He makes a surprised sound into your mouth—something between a gasp and a hum, two very conflicting actions that make you smile against his lips. And then you’re kissing him properly, nothing like the lust-driven actions of earlier. 

“Yingxing,” you murmur into his mouth. 

“Yes,” he answers instantaneously.

“You’re still a prick for those stunts you pulled with those drums.”

It’s nighttime, but he’s never felt so at ease as he does tonight. He’s got his head planted firmly on your chest listening to the steady beat of your heart, as you finally slumber in his arms.  

And when the day finally dawns, you will have stayed.

PROMISCUOUS BOY

prompt: your next-door neighbour keeps bringing hookups one night after other disturbing your precious sleep. exhausted, you decide to write a letter venting all your frustrations — not expecting that in the middle of all this it would reach it recipient.

pairing: blade, jing yuan x fem! reader

cw: scenario format, modern au, slightly ooc to fit the plot, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, flirt, not beta-read

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Dear apt 502’ neighbour, I understand that starting a letter with "dear" may sound a bit old-fashioned and ridiculous when I don't even know you, but I hope you take in consideration my romantic spirit as a passionate literature student and will overlook this fact. That said, the reason why we’ve never met is mainly based on the times when I leave and get home. You see, I'm in my last year of a master's degree and the university has been charging all my time and dedication, so I barely have time to take care of myself other than to fall into bed and sleep. But lately, in the late hours of the night, I’ve had my rest interrupted at the only moment when my mind should find peace. And I swear, I've tried to use all possible methods to prevent the noise from affecting me but it has been increasingly difficult. Far be it for me to look for trouble because of someone else sex' life, no. I'd rather say good for you instead. But would it be nice of you to fuck your bitches without breaking my wall in the process? I can deal with their horrible moans, but definitely not with my damaged apartment. Be that as it may, I wish you the best intentions. Your apt 503’ neighbour

Blade

Oh, how you hated your neighbour. You hated him so much.

There were few people who achieved such a feat since you were the most patient and easygoing person to ever exist. Not even your Languages ​​and Cultures II’ partner who was extremely irresponsible or your idiot ex-boyfriend who still didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word break-up were able to get out of you a feeling as negative as hate. But, well, for everything in this life there was a first time, and your not-so-dear-neighbour was getting the upper hand.

When you wrote the letter on one of the dozens of nights in which his nocturnal activities seemed to be more important than other people's rest, you didn't expect a few days later for it to disappear from your desk where it belonged, much less for your friendly doorman to confirm your worst nightmare: all the mail for the week had already been sent.

What was supposed to be a joke turned into more days and nights of stress and you even considered writing him a second letter explaining that it was all just a misunderstanding and that the cracks in your wall weren't that important after all. However, when a week passed and your next-door neighbour's sexual activities began to last until the next morning, you understood that he was deliberately mocking you and, consequently, declaring war.

Now take a good look. You were a person known for your poise and calmness in overcoming challenges despite so much pressure, so it was expected that it’d be no different this time. Except it was. Because not even the calm and composure that the gods gave you could help you ignore the terrible moans in the next room, and the investment you put into that apartment was too high to let it go unnoticed.

And so, at 7:05 am on a Sunday morning, you found yourself in front of apartment 502' door knocking continuously on it as you waited not so patiently the willingness of your neighbour to finish his fuck and attend you. How a person managed to have so much sex drive was beyond your understanding, but perhaps this was due to the fact that your neighbour was an old and lonely man who must have found pleasure in the company of women only at night. Yes, that was a plausible reason.

In the end, you spent at least five minutes abusing the door’s wood without stopping. And just as you prepared to knock once more, it suddenly opened and the man who had tormented you all your nights had finally revealed himself.

Your impressions: Well, old he certainly was. Lonely? Hard to say. Now, unfairly hot and attractive? Unexpectedly yes.

When you came to your senses, you and the half-naked man spent a long time staring at each other in silence, absorbing each other's characteristics. You were clearly affected by his beauty and he was clearly irritated by your presence.

"Are you going to stare at me all the way, or are you going to say what you want?"

You blinked once, twice, three times until his words hit you, making you visibly red with embarrassment. How rude!

"First, good morning to you too," you said venomously, "Second, didn’t you read the letter, no? What part of not breaking the wall didn’t you get?"

The man seemed to take your words into consideration for a few seconds before a sneer appeared on his lips and his eyes narrowed in amusement. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his bare, scarred chest, making him more attractive than he already was.

"I don't see how this is up to you alone. After all, the wall is as much yours as it’s mine," he says and you open your mouth in shock.

"Excuse me? How can I not when it’s my side that is being damaged the most!"

"Then you better start looking for a bricklayer."

Gods, this man was impossible! You already knew that you hated him for a very insignificant reason, but now you were sure that he was more detestable than he let on. And the fact that he counts your arguments with that purposeful blank expression infuriated you even more.

"Unbelievable. Not only can't I keep my apartment intact, but I also have to spend sleepless nights because of the noise too."

"If the noise bothers you so much you can always come and join in," your neighbour offers with a small smirk, but the devilish glow that radiated from his crimson iris didn’t hide the true meaning behind his words.

Too embarrassed and disconcerted to continue the argument with the man, you angrily return to your house, slamming the door aggressively and containing the scream of frustration that bubbled in your chest.

Yingxing in turn couldn't help but think that you had a nice ass, and that annoy you was even better than he thought.

Jing Yuan

Two whole days looking for the letter all over your apartment took you to the most advanced stage of despair. Even though you had already ransacked your living room from floor to ceiling more times you could remember, messing up your kitchen and bedroom in the process, you still hadn't found a single trace of the piece of paper. And even though a part of you already knew that there was a high chance that the letter had been mixed in with the other correspondences and had been forwarded to its intended recipient, you'd rather have a hole in the ground swallow you than consider the only plausible option.

Even so, now here you found yourself: in front of the apartment 502’ door with a courage and pride that wasn't yours, sweat running down your spine and the dread of finally coming face to face with the man who not only ruined your last nights sleep, but who could very well ruin your social life too. God, just thinking that he could be a troublemaker and report you to the police, tarnishing your criminal record and your reputation as a good neighbor made you sick to your stomach.

But there was no other alternative. You had to make sure he hadn't opened the letter, or, in the worst case, consider not bringing this humiliation to the public.

So, minutes after knocking on the door, you were finally greeted by the resident of apartment 502 who, for much your surprise (or much delight) was wearing nothing but a bath towel with the steam's traces still emanating from his pale, wet skin. It suddenly became very clear to you why all those dozens of women made sure to scream “Oh, Jing Yuan!” every time they reached an orgasm.

"May I help you?"

Yeah. Fucking kill me, you wanted to answer.

The words you had practiced so much seemed to have escaped your brain and a familiar heat burned your cheeks. The embarrassment was huge, but you had already come this far and there was no going back. You only wished your neighbour wasn't this attractive, though.

"Hi. Good evening, sir. I’m your nextdoor neighbour and I wanted to know if by any chance you received a letter signed in my name", you stuttered so fast that you feared you’d have to repeat the sentence all over again since Jing Yuan didn’t seem to express any reaction for a few seconds. 

As the realization hit him, though, a faint gleam of amusement crossed his golden irises and mortification hit you like a bolt of lightning.

Oh shit. He had read the letter.

"Just a moment, my lady", Jing Yuan said with a playful smile on his lips and entered his apartment for a few seconds, returning shortly afterwards with the well-known envelope in hand.

He held out the letter and you trembled as you finally picked it.

"I can tell that this was not a letter intended to be sent, right?"

"No, it wasn't. And I'm so sorry for causing you so much trouble! God, what a humiliation! Now would be a great time to die", you pleaded into the void and your handsome neighbour laughed in response.

"It’s alright. You know, it's the first time I've received a letter from such a beautiful lady, although the content was definitely not what I expected", he said contemplatively crossing his huge arms on his huge chest. You looked away feeling more embarrassed, "Nevertheless, I also apologize for my lack of attention. I’ll be more considerate from now on."

If only it could get any worse. Here he was apologizing for having a healthy sex life when you should probably be doing the same. Having sex not apologizing, of course. 

Fearing that if you said anything else your words would come out more clumsy than the erratic beating of your heart, you forced a smile to your neighbour who was now looking at you intensely in slight amusement. And realizing that if you stared back at the man for too long your role as a fool would only get worse, you came up with a quick excuse to escape from there and back to your apartment. Maybe your next letter would be a goodbye to the world because you refuse to leave your home from now on.

"Thank you for your attention and again I apologize for the confusion, Mr. Jing Yuan. It was great meeting you, really, but I need to go so have a good night and don’t mind me anymore," you bow quickly and respectfully as your face burned in red, and stumble on wobbly legs back to your door.

However, before you could enter your house due to fumbling with the wrong keys for the lock, Jing Yuan let out a light laugh and replied: “It was my pleasure to meet you, Miss Neighbour. Although, I must say that I would like to keep hearing more from you from now. This time, in person, of course."

Needless to say you entered your apartment at lightning speed vowing never to exit it again, leaving behind a very good-humored Jing Yuan.

How delightful to know that you already knew his name before he even needed to introduce himself, huh.

”But blade wouldn’t be a good comforter 🥺🥺🥺”

HE CAN LISTEN. GIMME MY COMFORT/FLUFFY BLADE FICS PLS IM DESPERATE FOR FLUFFY BLADE FICS. I’ve been searching for so long man 🥹🥹🥹

hello......... we meet again...........clown to clown communication............... youve infected me so bad with your yandere blade thoughts please i have to be euthanizeddd.......... please i need to know more of your thoughts on the matter so bad /nf

Hello again :) So I ended up turning a bunch of mini thoughts into a mini story, if you don't mind. If you want more just brainrot thoughts lmk and I can get those out of my brain as well

Originally I was going to publish it in one part however, it's getting a bit too long (6775 words) and I don't like having such long posts.

This is a lot of the leadup portion Part 2 will probably focus more on the Yandere although it starts to lean on that a bit in the end.

TW: Yandere, violence, manipulation, drugging all that kind of stuff.

Also spoilers for Blade and High Cloud Quintet's identity (I don't know exactly which quests I spoiled)

I think the big question first off is how do you even get Blade interested in you?

It could be the classic, knowing Blade in the past, being his lover or friend before he became mara struck. Maybe even being his rival, someone that loved to challenge him, and ended advocating for him to be allowed to die an honorable death out of admiration for your opponent. Either way he'd have lingering feelings for you.

But I like to think you met him by chance on the Xianzhou Luofu when he returned as Blade. Maybe you were a healer, that not only helped but put people out of their misery, peacefully. You were someone who specialized in working with mara struck, finding ways to suppress and calm it, staying by your patients side as they slowly lost their mind, and making sure they didn't hurt anyone. You were trained well in the ways of combat, after all you had to be in order to deal with mara.

Your goal was to help them come to terms with their death and once they had you would hand them off to the Ten Lords Commission. If they weren't ready, that was okay they could stick around. Either way when they'd fully transformed into a mara struck, you killed them. Only once they'd fully transformed would you be able to, otherwise they'd regenerate.

One day, you'd been wandering about when you found a curious person. Someone you knew well because their face was on countless wanted posters. You'd never done much research into the Stellaron Hunters but were surprised to see one of their members was afflicted with mara.

You weren't cruel. Instead you grabbed some medication and approached him, cautiously like how one would approach a stray cat. A few seconds after you'd begun walking toward him, he reached you. Tip of a blade pointed at your neck, grazing it, cool metal pressed against warm skin, it shook ever so slightly each movement threatening to draw blood. He was barely restraining himself, you weren't sure why he was even trying. But you did know that your head would be on the floor if he really wanted it there.

"Let me help?" Your tone was friendly, and you held up the bag of medicine in your hand. Your words didn't register with him, you doubted he could even see your lips moving. But the most important thing was to have a nonthreatening presence.

For mara struck you could strangely talk your way out of it. You were surrounded by mara while working, to the point you stunk of it. For some reason mara struck soldiers never attacked you unprovoked, it was a strange phenomena and that was the only reason you could think of.

Unfortunately, it didn't work for you this time, and you quickly found yourself trying to outrun one of the most dangerous men alive. Oopsie? At least it was kind of fun! This exhilaration was really nice, you should get in near death experiences more often! You felt the wind whip around you as the hunter was hot on your trail.

You wouldn't be able to outrun him much longer, the only reason you'd gotten this far was because he'd been in the middle of swinging his sword at you. So your only option was to unconsensually drug him. That sounded really bad. But your life was at risk! You slipped one of the pills into your hand, it was one of the heavier ones that would cause the patient to pass out. There were some cases where even your medicine couldn't comfort, then the best thing would be sleep.

With a minor turn of your ankle you swung around and placed your hand in his mouth, opening it, and getting the medicine in. He bit your hand near immediately, but you kept it still, even though his teeth would sharp as fuck you could feel them even inside your hand clenching down. You felt the warmth of blood, and waited a moment looking into his eyes.

You wouldn't hold it against him, he was mara struck. This was how they acted toward most people, not normally you, but it felt good to be treated like most people for once. You were normal. It was nice. Then he fell off your hand, tumbling straight backwards, and hitting the ground with a painful thud.

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt," You muttered, not entirely sympathetic to the man that just tried to kill you. But he was an interesting person. A Stellaron Hunter with mara, huh?

Maybe you didn't know as much about them as you thought. You slipped off the cloth bag around your shoulder and fixed it over his face. Then you grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him, his clothes dirtying upon the street floor, back to your little apothecary. Heavy.

You managed to lift him for a few moments to put him on a cot, before placing your hands on your knees, and taking a moment to catch your breath. You prepared some medicine in case if he was still mara struck and a glass of water. He woke up in only an hour, you were lucky to have enough time to finish bandaging your hand. Normally, it'd keep people out for six hours. The farther along they were the less productive it was. By all accounts he shouldn't be able to have a single moment of sanity.

Yet when he got up from the bed he seemed normal. Eerily so. You remained poise in a seat near his bed which he hadn't noticed. His eyes rested on the pills before looking around the rest of the room and reaching you. He reached for his blade, moving his hand next to his side and grabbing at empty air. Thankfully, you'd already removed the blade from this room, he was probably more deadly when he had his wits about him.

You chuckled at his response, feeling your nerves heighten as you resisted the urge to run away. Maybe this was a bad idea. "Hello there, good sir!" You greeted chipperly, "I saw you passed out on the side walk and dragged you back to my humble abode! Is there anything I can do for you?" You kept on your 'being yelled at by a 500 year old Xianzhou long life mother whose kid had just been told they couldn't throw stuff at people' smile.

He remained quiet for a moment, assessing to see whether or not you were a threat moving his eyes up and down, "...My sword?"

"What sword?" You replied back innocently. No way were you giving that back.

He let out a sigh, getting up from the bed, and heading to the door. The good news was he didn't try to attack you, the bad news was that the most fascinating mara struck victim was leaving. You couldn't let that happen.

You raced in front of him, putting your hands and waving them defenselessly. He looked down at you, red eye glaring down at you as if you were obsolete. You laughed again, "Well, uh, good sir, as someone that helped you can I at least know the name of uh--"

"Get out of my way -- knowing me won't do any good." He was definitely going to kill you if you didn't move. But you couldn't just let him leave!

Your smile grew even further, holding your cheeks up painfully, "Well-- you see-- you're so beautiful!" You said desperately, "I was taken by you-- love at first sight, you see? Right? You're just-- so wonderful!" You stammered out, voice shaking, "Can I at least know the name of the breath taking soul who stole my heart!"

The long blue haired man froze in his path, hair swaying to a halt behind him. No fucking way that got him. He seemed befuddled, glancing further away from you, eyes focused on a small portion of the floor. "Blade." IT WORKED?!

Blade remained quiet for a moment longer before turning his head back to you, "Now move." Of course it didn't work, if it worked you would've been in a relationship by now.

He side stepped you easily, leaving you to stare at his broad back, clothes tight around his muscles. Now wasn't the time to think about that. "You have mara right? I can cure it." It was a bold claim. You'd never done anything like that before, and his case was more severe than others.

He stopped in his steps, "What?" One deadly word made you almost want to take back everything you said but you couldn't. Blade experienced mara differently than others, that was clear. If you had the chance to work alongside him then maybe... you could figure something out?

Even though you portrayed yourself as undisturbed by your job getting to know so many people and then watching them turn into monsters was horrifying. Blade was interesting, you'd hate to call him a test subject but, if he consented he'd likely end up helping your understanding of mara. You just needed a reason for him to stay.

"I work with mara stricken citizens and soldiers. I've researched it for my whole life and I use this knowledge to aid others, helping alleviate their pain, calm themselves, or sleep when mara takes them," That was convincing enough, right?

He appeared skeptical, still poised to attack even without his sword. But as you continued smiling, a hopeful yet scared look in your eyes he let out a sigh.

"Can you kill them?"

You paused a bit, understanding his intention, "Only when they're fully taken by the mara." Otherwise they'd only heal, "I can alleviate your pain until then." You were shocked at how self assured you sounded, as if you could genuinely help him rather than just use him for discoveries.

Blade remained quiet and unmoving, a statue with the first rays of sunlight hitting it and breaking it free from darkness, "Okay." His voice was quieter than it'd been this entire time, you thought you'd misheard him.

"Okay?" You repeated, as if what you'd heard was a dream.

"Keep your distance." He stepped out of the sun and toward your door frame before pausing glancing back for such a short time you thought you'd imagined it, "I will return, if it's what you want."

It was strange, Blade had a peaceful sleep unplagued by dreams of dying and pain. If there was a chance it was because of you and you really wanted to meet him again, then he shouldn't resist too hard, right?

You felt a smile grow on your face lifting up its corners as the swordsman continued to walk away, "Yes! That's wonderful!" Then you paused realization sinking in, "Oh, Blade!" You called out, hoping he wouldn't kill you for this, "Your sword's by the door!"

You saw him glare at you and instinctively shut your eyes preparing for a sword to be lodged between your eyes. But when you opened them neither he or his sword were to be found.

Part of you expected him to never return and he didn't tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow he didn't come back. You wanted to give up hope. It made sense and was likely better for your safety but, Blade was the breakthrough you were looking for.

You smiled at the elderly Xianzhou long life that you were walking with through one of the fake gardens on the ship. They continued to rattle on about their great granddaughter and how hard she'd been training to be a cloud knight. To care about someone's progress, such that the smallest milestones mean as much to you as they do to them-- that must be love right? You were a bit envious. You wanted to love like this old soul. Someone who had nearly lost their mind the other day to mara but could continue going on, loving, and hoping.

That day was the day they left, agreeing to be taken away by the Ten Lords Commission. It was bittersweet, as it always was and you were alone, again. That was alright though.

What wasn't alright was being woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps. Someone had broken in. They weren't well, they sounded limp, as if they were dragging one leg. But since you hadn't heard the door being broken down, they'd likely come in through the window you tended to leave open. Look-- people on the Luofu don't normally resort to these matters and if they did then they wouldn't go after you.

It meant whoever came was both highly skilled and injured. With careful steps, putting your feet down gently and slowly one in front of the other, you approached the trespasser.

You smelled the blood first, the faint irony scent that made your noise scrunch up momentarily as your mouth imitated the taste of blood. Then you saw it. The small dark red trail that gleamed in the moonlight. Then him.

You felt rather satisfied, even in a state where he was taken over by mara Blade had somehow made it back here, "I knew you'd come back," You spoke playfully.

At the sight of agony in his eyes, a pang of guilt struck your heart. It really wasn't the time to be joking around. Perhaps there was some sanity still left in him, as his whole body shook, shaking even more as you approached closer and closer. Part of him must want to attack you, to kill you, to rip you apart until you were nothing, but he wasn't.

"Good," You commended him, as you stood in front of him and knelt down, aside from the shaking Blade remained still. He looked like he wanted to scream, hurt himself, kill himself, rip himself apart until nothing remained. Did he want to die more than he wanted to hurt you? Was experiencing mara that painful? You'd never know.

"I just need you to do one small thing for me okay," You spoke gently, even though you knew he likely couldn't hear your voice at all.

You thumbed through the few medications you always kept handy in your pouch, and picked one for pain relief. Last time you'd needed him to sleep or you'd die, this time you could see the effect of what they did. You moved the pill into his mouth and saw him struggle to swallow, you weren't moving your hands close to his face though for some reason you had a feeling he might bite them off-- like a dog would.

He was a lot more like a dog than you expected. The medicine had been able to work, body instantly relaxing, to your surprise. The more surprising thing was what happened after. Blade visited you, more often out of his own free will, not just when he was mara struck.

Blade was an awkward companion, terrible at small talk, and you couldn't take care of patients when he was near for fear they might see the Stellaron Hunter. Sometimes he would mumble under his breath about a price, or bring you small things, little trinkets, food, a severed hand-- A SEVERED HAND?!

"Why are you giving me this?" You looked down at the bloody hand he was holding onto, your eyebrow twitching slightly. You were used to blood and all but this was unnecessary.

He looked up at you, partially confused and disgruntled at your obvious disapproval, "He bothered you?" His statement came out more as a question.

Oh. It was him-- You let out an aggravated sigh, "You didn't get caught right?"

You noticed Blade perk up ever so slightly as if he thought what he did was right, "No."

That was good at least. "Don't do that again." What was he a dog? Or maybe a cat was better, bringing you pieces of their hunt. Now that you think about it, where did he get those trinkets from? It was probably best not to think about. "Go put that away," You said dismissively, moving your hand up to touch your forehead lightly.

You were going to regret this weren't you? Well, that was a problem for future you. You weren't sure exactly where Blade put the severed hand but as long as it was away from you it didn't matter. For a moment you considered asking him for help, to maybe capture a mara struck so you could test to see if anything would work on it. But that was too far, wasn't it?

The days carried on and so did Blade visiting you. He'd come to you for medications that alleviated his pain or helped him sleep without his memories tormenting them and you obliged monitoring him all the while. Then one day he started to request it.

"Kill me," He'd spoke suddenly, as you were leaning over some finely grounded herbs trying to come up with something new to keep stronger pain at bay. Your medicine's effectiveness was starting to wear off on Blade.

You flinched spilling the small specks to the ground and staring at him in the eyes, "Excuse me?"

You didn't think he'd hated spending time with you that much! Sure, you were kind of using him, and you got upset at him whenever he brought you something drenched in blood but who wouldn't?! You thought the two of you were getting along just fine! You'd even consider him a friend... A strong word for a Stellaron Hunter. You knew he'd have to leave the Xianzhou Luofu eventually too.

"You can do it," There was a slimmer of affection in his voice it made you almost think you misheard the part about you killing him, "If anyone can, you can." It was oddly affectionate. You kind of despised how he spoke, as if he would never speak to you again.

You let out a small laugh, "Shut up Blade." Drop the conversation topic.

But he kept pushing, "Find a way to kill me." Blade took a step closer to you, and for the first time since you met him, you felt in danger.

"And what if I said no? Remember, I'm uh... head over heels for you," You said lightheartedly referencing to your excuse when you'd first met him. "I wouldn't be able to bare it if you died!" You smiled up at him, squinting your eyes.

Normally, you'd be a bit peeved that your sample had been knocked over but right now you were unnerved, and much worse, worried.

It looked like he was more in pain from your words with the way he grimaced at them. "Please." It was wholly desperate and vulnerable, a statue split open to reveal a bleeding heart which begged to be free from its misery. If you stabbed it the statue and everything around it would crumble. Not that there was much around it to begin with but-- there was you.

But Blade was your friend, in a very odd way you'd started to care for the strange man, "I'll try." He was in pain, it'd be wrong to let him just suffer, right?

Plus, you'd already collected enough data... You knew when medicines would stop being effective on the normal mara struck Xianzhou long lives and what to swap to. You hadn't found a solution but you'd found something that could better keep their sanity while they were in that state, even if it required the rare, Vidyhara bone marrow. You'd begun to find something that could supplement that as well, although you'd only heard of it in books you had to find Scalegorge Water Scape.

It was okay. You had all the information from Blade you needed. This was fine. This friendship always had an expiration date. His smile made it all worth it anyway. It was really the first time you'd seen him smile and for once he looked relieved, completely relaxed.

"Thank you," Foreign words from him, "When the mara strikes... It's no longer me." But what if you could fix that?

If you helped him keep his sanity then you couldn't use the pills to keep away the pain, or the ones to sleep. They couldn't clash. Maybe you had to figure out how to make it so multiple could be taken? Your mind raced for a different solution but in the end all you could do is smile back. Blade smiling was a beautiful sight. One you thought you'd never be able to see.

That night you cried. You hadn't seen Blade happy before. So why was he only happy at the idea of death? But you were a doctor you would remain stony cold and do the best you could.

It didn't work. Of course, it didn't. Why would it? You could've sworn his heart stopped for a bit, a few minutes after passing out after swallowing your "medicine." Was it really medicine if it killed someone? But he lived and he woke up coughing blood.

Blade wasn't happy but at the same time he seemed rather relieved..? You hated it. Someone too used to dying by the hands of a sword, by the strokes they were used to performing, that poison was a soothing way to die. You absolutely despised Blade. But you smiled and told him you'd try harder. You just didn't know what to do.

A few days after your promise Blade came back with a strange gift for you, a book titled Views of the Universe From a Starskiff. At the time he brought it, he'd been in pain, grunting, and making too much noise for you to have any patients over. You'd stopped taking patients recently anyway. Instead only selling medicine promising you'd been on the edge of a break through and needed more time.

His memory had been scattered and he didn't recognize you. He'd swung his sword at you only to stop a moment before it hit you. You were right. When you'd originally met him, if he wanted you dead he could've killed you. You could still feel the air sweep by your head, and the cool blade on your skin. He didn't remember why he brought the book to you and when he returned to a better state of mind, you decided not to ask.

Instead you did some research on your own, and it lead you to an interesting person. Someone you really didn't want to talk to.

You shifted uncomfortably under the amber gaze of the general, "Do what do I owe the pleasure General?" Your voice was stiff, and shoulders tense as he only smiled in response.

"General is a temporary title, you can just call me Jing Yuan." You smiled in response, corner of your lip twitching a bit.

"Right, so what do I owe the pleasure, Jing Yuan?" Your smile strained further but all he did was laugh causing your smile to shift into a scowl.

Jing Yuan smiled down at you, not the least imposing, "Relax, I was just curious about some activity around this area." Did Blade kill someone without you knowing?

Throughout the whole conversation you remained tense as the general idly brought up his younger days as part of the High-Cloud Quintet. He was clearly just talking about this sort of stuff to get you to let down your guard! You looked at him warily, paying special attention to every individual word looking for hidden meaning. Eventually you found the hidden meaning. He was helping you.

The author of the book you'd been researching, Views of the Universe From a Starskiff was named Baiheng. "You knew this whole time," You muttered, a bit peeved, you'd thought you'd done a good job hiding Blade's presence and yet this old man somehow managed to figure it out.

The General simply smiled in response as you tried to clarify the situation further, "So Yingxing is--"

He stood up from his seat, "It matters not. The past is the past." Yeah, you probably shouldn't talk about this. You stood up as well.

"I'll walk you out," You spoke, still wary of the man but if he wanted to hurt or expose you, he would've done so already. "...Is it really your place to tell me this though?"

Jing Yuan paused as if in contemplation, still smiling, it was eerie how he could smile after everything. He was an unbreakable monument dedicated to the Xianzhou Luofu, "Who else could?" No one else would remember nor be able to share, so was that why he decided to step forward?

You opened the door for him, feeling the sun greet you again. "I hope it brings you peace." Your voice was sudden, as you looked at the man with new found appreciation. Even the hardiest statues still had bleeding hearts.

You would kill Blade. If it was the last thing you did.

You grinned rushing over to the blue haired man, the scent of iron around him. You told him that if he made anyone bleed before coming to visit you that he should bathe. You'd have to check if he was bleeding. "Blade!" You greeted him cheerfully, rushing over, and grabbing onto his arm. He stiffened.

You dragged him over to your work station moving your hand gradually down his forearm and to his wrist to be able to pull him better. His hand reached out for yours, and latched onto your wrist instead. The two of you were friends. Killing him was the right thing to do. But if he didn't want to die, you wouldn't mind Blade sticking around. You would take care of him as you would a patient.

"Do you still want to die?" You might as well check, there was no harm in it, maybe he'd stay after all.

To your dismay, he nodded, it was cold and steady. Your smile stiffened but remained on your face, this was fine. It was what you expected.

"I'll still do my best to help you," You promised him, truly meaning your words. It was just, you didn't have any idea of how to proceed. Maybe, the mara struck would have an answer but even you weren't foolish enough to wander into their hordes. Sure, you were lucky that the mara struck seemed not to attack you normally but luck couldn't be all you relied on. "But, in order to do so I need to observe mara stricken more up close," You admitted, that was your best bet, "Could you help me with that?"

Blade was strong. You'd seen the way his muscles flexed and tensed under his shirt whenever he made a swing with his blade. This would be easy work for him. The selfish part of you was happy you could spend more time with him too.

That started the third phase of your friendship with Blade. The first being the initial visits, the second being your attempt to kill him, and the third being yielding him as if he was a blade. It made you feel kind of guilty. Speaking commands beneath your voice of who you needed restrained, looking down at abominations as you tested new pills on them to see the effects. They'd writhe as Blade held them on and you watched onward apathetically. They were monsters, you shouldn't care about their pain.

Then you'd try to kill Blade. Again and again. Seeing him cough up blood and lay motionless on one of your cots. Or seeing wounds reopen over his body, blooming as if they were flowers. It was sickening. You didn't know how many times you did it nor how many times you could continue trying to do it. He would bare his teeth, biting down on cloths, letting out whimpers, blood slowly covering everything close to him.

"I can't do it." Maybe if you were competent it would be okay, you could give Blade the freedom he deserved away from the pain and mara and biting harsh memories. But you weren't a competent enough doctor. Nor were you a good enough friend to tell Blade to the face.

It had been a cold night on the Xianzhou Luofu when you decided to leave. There'd been a lot of commotion recently, the Ambrosial Arbor had risen and fallen again. Blade had been more distant, visiting less often, as if there was something he was keeping from you. How he made your heart ache.

You loved him. That was why you had to do this. You stopped by the divination commission on your way out, a letter from Jing Yuan in your hand. You'd never met Master Diviner Fu Xuan before nor were you looking forward to doing so. If she could see your memories that would mean Blade would be at risk. But you had to know if this would lead you down the path where Blade died.

But you didn't end up meeting Master Diviner Fu Xuan at all. Instead you met a much taller, purple haired woman, with hazy eyes. She greeted you as if you were a friend, and you approached her with caution smiling in response. "I know you," your voice was laced in excitement, "Kafka, the Stellaron Hunter! A bounty of 10 billion, right?" Why did she have to show up now?

You held your hand out with a smile, "I've heard wonderful things about you, you're even more beautiful in real life than on the poster!" Your heart raced trapped in your ribcage, thrumming against it nervously. This certainly complicated your plan.

"Hi, Y/N. I've been meaning to meet you," Her voice was sultry yet teasing, which was more menacing than if it'd been cold and harsh like Blade's. She knew your name too, that must not be a good sign.

She remained back against a wall, small smile on her face as if she was toying with you. You dropped your hand back down to your side. "Is there anything I can do for the esteemed Stellaron Hunter?" You really just wanted this to be over with.

"Not for me," She pushed herself off the door frame and you could see into the battered room. Blade was slouched over, eyes stapled shut, the small shakes his tense body let out were barely noticeable.

You were by his side in an instant, kneeling before him before you could even think, hand resting gently on his chin. Since when had you begun to care so much for him? Was it when he'd gotten slashed in the arm by a mara stricken soldier due to your negligence? Or had you cared for him before you ever met him?

You had half the medicine on you, half back at your place in case he ever returned in search of relief. The half on you was for research but it would be better used for something like this wouldn't it? You glanced behind you feeling eyes stare into your back, and Kafka simply smiled as her eyes met yours.

"Well, Bladie's never been so obedient," She replied simply at your questioning look, causing your shoulders to tense.

You turned your attention back to the patient in question only to be met with a red eye gazing into yours, his face much closer than you remembered it being. You stood your ground looking into his eyes with a harsh look, did he really have to always go and get himself hurt? You could smell the blood on him.

"Who... are you?" Sometimes symptoms of mara included memory loss so you weren't surprised by the question but it still hurt. But it surely didn't hurt as much as Blade was hurting right now, you could see his wince as he accidentally glanced at the light behind you.

You slipped a pill between your fingers, "It doesn't matter, I'm here to help you," You replied simply, lifting your hand up to his mouth, "Now open."

Once Blade became more docile around you during his mara episodes you'd started to deliver his medicine this way. Originally, you hadn't done so since you valued your fingers. He opened his mouth without a second thought, albeit he looked rather confused as to why he complied.

You glanced down at his faint pink lips a sheen covering them, he really was beautiful. If only he could experience the beauty of the world at full. The pill was placed between two of your fingers and you brought it up to his lips, pushing past them, and his teeth leaving the pill in a good place for him to swallow. This was how it always was.

You felt his tongue move as he swallowed it without a second thought and you removed your fingers like normal, except. You glared at him, keeping your hand still. Apparently you still had to worry about him biting your fingers off. "Blade," You spoke warningly feeling the teeth pressed threateningly into your index finger, the other finger escaping freely.

He didn't respond and you swore you heard a laugh behind you which only further irked you. He wasn't biting down hard enough to hurt or draw blood but you knew the second you tried to move it he would. Instead of responding by letting go Blade only looked up at you like a dejected puppy. His bandaged hand reached up and grabbed yours, you could see faint blood stains near the edge of where it reached his wrist and disappeared beneath his sleeves.

"Don't bite me," Your voice was stern as you looked down at the blue haired man, only growing more remorseful by the moment. It was strange behavior, a kind he hadn't exhibited before, but he hadn't forgotten you before either.

This time his teeth let go of your finger, leaving it slightly warm and wet in his hand's hold as he clutched onto desperately as if he was afraid you'd disappear before his eyes. It should only take ten minutes for the medicine to leave him vulnerable and helpless, yet he was already so docile. You had to wonder if he knew you were planning on leaving.

You let out a quiet sigh, keeping your voice low as these words were only for Blade and you. Your hand reached to brush his hair off to the side, resting along his jawline near his ear. You moved close enough so that he could feel even the slightest inhale and exhale against his ear, "I'm doing this because I love you."

It was a shitty excuse but it was closest to the truth wasn't it? Maybe if Jing Yuan hadn't told you the truth then you wouldn't be so determined to help Blade. Maybe you would've cried to Blade that you couldn't keep failing to kill him because you didn't even want him dead in the first place. You wanted Blade by your side.

"I'll figure it all out, I promise." It was the most loving your voice had ever been yet when you met his eyes again you didn't see a subdued look instead a more panicked one took its place. It didn't take long for you to be entrapped completely, arms holding and rooting you in place, leaving you unable to move.

It was as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one. So you'd never be apart again. Your nose resting above his shoulder as the rest of you was pressed into him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you closer and tightening. It hurt a bit. They continued to squeeze you, hands pressed against your sides gripping onto them.

"Gentle," You reminded him, voice tickling his ear, and as he eased his hold, Blade's head collapsed against your shoulder, hot breath hitting your neck. It took you a few moments to realize he was crying. That the sudden small burn against your skin was tears.

He spoke in a broken voice, "Who are you?" You began to cry too, wrapping your arms around him with equal need.

"It doesn't matter, I'm going to help you." Your voice must've sounded ugly as well, off pitch from emotion.

"You... can't leave." They weren't words you expected, but you noticed his grip loosen on you anymore as time continued onward.

You couldn't reply. You had to leave right now, the answers you were searching for weren't here. They lay with Yaoshi and the lands Yaoshi had touched. If you could journey to those and research the people and mara there... you would be able to kill Blade. You didn't want to kill him. But to leave him in this agony was more painful for the both of you.

"You..." Blade looked up at you, head tilted, agony in his eyes, "don't... ...leave." You smiled down at him, unable to find the words and instead moved your lips to press against his tearstained cheek.

At your lack of response you felt his head tilt and his breath hit your shoulder. Then he bit. It didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. You thought his aim would be to tear through your skin and take your flesh with him, leaving a bloody hole in his wake. But instead it was a persistent gentle movement, desperate to leave an imprint, to keep you here, to convince you. The both of you knew he'd pass out in a minute or two, the decision would be up to you after that. So he pressed his teeth into your skin, removing them for a second and pressing again, hot tongue licking your skin in between the pattern. You really shouldn't be feeling these sorts of things at a time like this but you couldn't help the heat rising to your face.

There... wasn't any harm in this right? "...You're beautiful," You muttered, only able to see his long hair you rested a hand on it. You moved your hand through it slowly, untangling any knots you came across. "Really," His body collapsed into yours, completely devoid of any strength, "I love you," You couldn't help but smile despite the tears.

It was hard to hold his body up by yourself. You were strong but Blade with all his muscle mass was heavy, either way you placed him back down on the seat without aggravating any injuries further.

Then you stood up and turned your back, ignoring the minor twitching and hand reaching out for your warmth that came from his subdued body. Kafka, had turned her back to the two of you, instead looking outside as if she was searching for someone.

"All done?" She asked, voice playful when you joined her outside. Yet you felt some type of understanding from her.

You nodded and handed her the pouch of medicine, "I am, instructions are in the bag," you said you'd brought it along for research but hadn't that just been an excuse? If you'd seen Blade again you could've given it to him. "There's some more at where I stayed."

She looked back at Blade, lying motionlessly, "Well, you have made my job a lot easier."

"Take good care of him," You replied, beginning to walk off.

"Bladie will be awfully sad to hear you left," Kafka called out, her voice carried its usual lilt but you sensed a strange seriousness to it.

If anyone had ever told you you'd fall in love with a Stellaron Hunter you probably would've believed them. If they told you, you'd be trying to kill the person you were in love with, you would've hated yourself. "I know, but this is the way I show my love." But... wasn't this the best solution?

You decided to not go see Master Diviner Fu Xuan, having run into the Stellaron Hunters so recently probably would make it easier for her to see them in her divination. At least you assumed so, you didn't know much about divination. The night was quiet and dark aside from one gray haired individual walking toward where you'd just been, looking around anxiously with each step. When you reached the starskiff you didn't look back.

Kafka played with the small pouch in her fingers, letting out a slight sigh. Everything was going as planned, albeit she couldn't help but feel a bit bad for Bladie. Her eyes darted to the source of sudden footsteps, finally, the Trailblazer was here. She couldn't interfere with what happened anyway it was best not to dwell on it.

You were part of the script. The ending Elio had promised, the one where Blade died.

Lots of notes here:

OKAY GUYS IDEA SO LIKE BLADE X READER BUT ALSO YAOSHI X READER (why do I simp for Yaoshi so much)

Like dude Yaoshi would love the way that reader treats the life they've curated and grown. While Yaoshi lets it grow without regard and only cares for the abundance they have to admit the life you cater to comes out more beautifully.

SCREAMS

Also sorry for the wait but I wasn't doing super okay mentally past week so I didn't write much, thank you guys for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing this, I know it really isn't thoughts or anything but I like having a story play out :D

And I also wanted the romance to seem organic and more natural even though it's yandere I wanted it to make sense. So I hope I managed to accomplish that even though I feel like it considerably lengthened this (especially nonyandere portion)

Was originally going to edit this but it turned out way too fucking long.

is that xiao pfp or am i tweaking

It's bladieee~

Two halves that together complete wholeness

Commission for TheAlmostDERP on FA.

Commission for Rhoken on FA

Ald at his homeworld. He oppose someone non-friendly from his family and other troubles. He spent a lot of time, learning about his world and it's secrets and thanks to that he can infiltrate unseen everywhere.

I finally finished fullheight artwork of my anthro form. Result is very good and accurate to my vision. This art also introduces my weapon. Magical sword with blade made of pure energy, that can cut any material like hot knife through butter.

HSR fan art

Just did a request from a friend to draw her oc Blade. My friend has been trying out a new style (she usually draws cats) so she wanted to draw her cat oc to a human one. I was bored so she asked me to draw blade. My friend posts some pretty cool things so go follow her on twitter her username is eowynpine she will have a bunch of plague tale stuff there so give her a follow! She also draws some pretty cool cats! So yeah! Also btw if you want to draw her characters or mine just ask or tag us !

commission

A few design ideas I had for Blade as a cat.

Blade/Eric Brooks

Here is an old design I made of Blade as a cat about a year ago. I have a few newer design ideas that I plan to post once I finish them later.

Day 4-14!

Kaaru's on guard watch, undercover watching over her Oijia's Weapon and playing Dune Crusher on her phone, bored while music play

do you think whenever dan heng hears the numbers 3 and 5 in the same sentence together he gets war flashbacks

New Mom, who dis?

Hesha The Blade Dancer

Started a side campaign with this precious jewel! She’s a Goliath/Kalashtar blade dancer (homebrew class) and I’m very excited for the next sessions!

another history making marvel post I never see anyone talk about is “so is nobody helping blade kill all those vampires”