What was that, my sweet, sweet nothing? @ofmonstersandflowers - Tumblr Blog

help a girl out pls 😔

I want to reread rotmhs but the site got closed and the sky demon order translation doesn't sit right with me sometimes (especially with names and titles)... it makes it difficult for me to inmerse in the story

Anyone willing to share a site? 🤲

#return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #chung myung

Hands down best LOTM fanfic

With how little content there is, this is god send. It has 103 chapters as of now and it's an ONGOING MASTERPIECE. I've never been so invested in something so much. Like, Alice Blackwood (fmc) has grown into me, she's so funny and relatable sometimes. I love her your honor! And all her family is so likeable it's never boring when they appear, and their lore is still so mysterious I'm intrigued. The story begins 3 years before cannon starts and Alice has her own adventures, very Lotm-like, all the characters that appear are very well written (no ooc). GO READ IT NOW! It's in russian btw but the translation is completely understandable.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67930016/chapters/175671356

#lotm #lord of the mysteries #klein moretti #leonard mitchell #amon lotm #give it a chance #you won't regret it #lotm x reader #lotm x oc #x reader #x oc

I'm going crazy trying to find the fanfic but it's impossible I imagined that shit because it was SO GOOD DAMNIT😭 It starts as a Suguru Geto x OC, the girl is a year younger and a peer of Nanami and haibara. She gets a bit trained by Suguru and Satoru and she falls in love with Suguru, they are together until he goes on his famous killingspree and the higher ups want her gone (ecen though she had no involvement) because she was close to him and Satoru (who caught feelings in the meantime but never acted on it) was ordered to off her. Anyways she's alive by a complot of Shoko and Nanani so now she's an adult and... AND WHAT? WHAT FOLLOWS? I WANT TO KNOW THIS IS EATING ME ALIVE🙏 (i just remember it's in ao3 but no matter how low I go in my search I don't find it)

#jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto #satoru gojo #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x oc #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x oc #HELP ME FIND THIS

Blacksmith (PBSS!CM)

... of the strongest steel... (pt.2)

THE FALL.

You had always been fierce—unyielding, the embodiment of resilience. But now, in the quiet confinement of your quarters, you felt like a shadow of yourself. The walls in your room had become your prison, the weight of your broken dantian bearing down on you with each passing day. It was a brokenness that couldn’t be mended by simple healing techniques or meditation. A shattered foundation that left you powerless and raw.

The Elder who has overseen your isolation training had failed you—no one warned you of the risks, and now your body, the very source of strength, was crumbling and you could do nothing but watch your future as a martial artist die in the midst of enduring pain rooted deep in your bones.

No punishment came for the Elder’s negligence, just a slap on the wrist and a warning, no real consequence for the years of training that led to this.

You had nothing but silence, the cold indifference of a sect more concerned with appearances than with the welfare of its own disciples. You had been abandoned by the system that had once promised you the world.

Now, you’re confined to this lonely existence, a prisoner in your own body. You could barely hold your sword anymore, and even the simplest movements left you drained, your once unshakable body now a fragile shell.The fire that once burned in your eyes had dimer, replaced by something darker—something you didn’t even recognize in the mirror as you.

Chung Jun, ever the scholar drowned in scrolls and numbers, scoured the archives day and night, searching for any shred of hope, any mention of a remedy, a cure for a broken dantian. But he found nothing. A broken dantian was considered irreversible. To fix it was considered a near-impossibility. It was something beyond even the reach of the most accomplished masters.

No solution was found.

But Chung Myung refused to let you fade into the background. Every day, he would visit—annoying you with his insistence, forcing you to eat, to drink, to move. He wouldn’t let you lock yourself away completely. It was as if he was trying to remind you of what you had once been, of the fire you still had deep inside. To not give up.

But even his presence, ever the force of chaos and light, wasn’t enough to change the inevitable. Slowly, he saw the cracks form, the slow erosion of your strength. And no matter how many times he tried to push you, to keep you going, he could feel the pull of despair creeping up on you.

One day, as you stood outside, trying to practice, trying to force your body to do what it used to—what it has always done— your hold faltered. The sword slipped from your grasp, clattering to the ground with an echo that felt like it reverberated through your very soul.

You fell to your knees, the weight of your failure crashing down on you in waves. Your fists struck the earth, nails digging into the dirt as you screamed your heart out—not just in pain, but in anger, in frustration, in helplessness. You had lost—lost everything you had worked so hard for, and now you didn’t know how to find your way back.

The tears came next, silent at first, then flowing freely as the rage and grief poured out of you. You didn’t care who saw. You didn’t care who heard. You just hurt.

The disciples maintained their distance, uneasy and afraid. They didn’t know how to help you, didn’t know how to confront the once proud and strong senior disciple, now crumbled in the dirt. It was too much for most—to see their fierce senior disciple reduced to this, your body broken beyond repair and spirit shattered. They turned away, leaving you to your misery, uncomfortable with what they couldn’t fix.

Chung Myung has never turned away from you, and now would not be the first time.

He had stood by, watching you for days, trying to get you to eat, to take some semblance of care of yourself, but now seeing you like this—broken— something inside him snapped. He didn’t think. He simply ran to you.

Kneeling beside you, he didn’t hesitate to dirty his uniform. He reached out to you, his hands finding your shaking, pulling you close. You struggled, thrashing against him, but he wouldn’t let you go. He could feel you shaking, the sobs wracking your body, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t the one in search of strength or guidance in you.

It was you that needed it, and he had to find a way to give it to you.

“You’re not alone. You don’t have to be alone in this.” I'm here. Let me help. Tell me something, anything. I’ll do anything you ask. His voice was raw, almost desperate as he held you.

You didn’t answer, face buried in his chest, the weight of your grief too heavy for words. But he held you anyway, tightening his grip, as though he could absorb your pain, as if he could carry it for you.

He would. You know he would if he could.

The disciples who once had admired you stood in the background, watching with a sense of loss. Their senior disciple, the one who had always been the epitome of strength and resolve, was slipping away, and they didn’t know how to stop the inevitable. They could only watch as Chung Myung did what they couldn’t—hold on to you, pull you from the edge.

Chung Myung had always been strong, the finest and sharpest sword of Mount Hua. But now, as he held you, he realized something that made his heart ache even more. You were the one who had ever walked by his side through the dark and light of life. And now he was losing you—not just to your broken body, but to a broken spirit, under the weight of a shattered future.

He couldn’t just watch you fade into nothing. Not now, not ever, not like this.

“Please,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice barely above a breath, “don’t give up.” I don’t want to lose you.

But even as the words left his mouth, he couldn’t help the crushing fear that gnawed at him—the fear that he was losing you, slowly but surely, like sand slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

His sword was rendered useless in front of your broken dantian.

THE VILLAGE.

The modest village where you settled in has become your sanctuary— a place where the past didn’t loom so heavily. It was a quiet community tucked away in the hills, full of simple, hard working people. Here, you ran the forge the late blacksmith left to you, hammering away at tools, horseshoes, and the occasional weapon when requested. You were no longer the rising martial artist of Mount Hua or the shadow of your former self. You were just the blacksmith, and that was enough.

The village was like an extended family, albeit a meddlesome and noisy one. The aunties were always gossiping and poking into everyone’s business. The kids, endlessly curious and full of energy, loved to watch you work, peppering you with questions about the sparks and the fire. The grannies often came by with too much food, insisting you eat because you’re “too thin for someone who works so hard”. The parents, exhausted from their own labor, often brought tools for you to mend, paying with goods or favors when coin was scarce.

The couple who ran the village inn, two robust foodies with an appreciation for hearty meals and a good drink, were always delighted whenever Chung Myung came to visit. He ate like a man starved and drank like there was no tomorrow, his lack of manners fitting perfectly with their rough-and-tumble style. They would slap his back, laugh at his jokes, and heap plates of food before him, declaring him the best guest they’d ever had.

“Your friend is a treasure!” the innkeeper’s wife would say. “You better not let him slip away!”

“Treasure? More like a pest,” you’d grumble in response, but the corners of your mouth would quirk upward in a reluctant smile.

The villagers had grown fond of Chung Myung in the way country folk did—accepting his eccentricities as charming rather than rude. Unlike the stiff and disciplined world of martial sects, they found his bluntness refreshing and his appetite endearing. To them, he was a little wild but ultimately harmless, and if his presence brightened your demeanor, then he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted.

The village, perhaps sensing your need for space, never pried too deeply into your past. They knew you had come to their grumpy blacksmith as a quiet, withdrawn young lad who talked little and kept your gaze low. Over time, though, you had softened, your once-gloomy presence brightened by years of honest work and the warmth of the village community.

Still, it was clear that the man from your past—Chung Myung—had an effect on you that no one else could replicate. Even if you argued with him or bantered with cutting remarks, you were undeniably happier whenever he was around.

“Did you see how they smiled at him today?” one of the aunties whispered to the innkeeper’s wife.

“That one is always smiling when he’s here,” the wife replied knowingly. “It’s good. They deserve to be happy.”

And that was enough for the village. They didn’t need to know the details of your life before you arrived at their doors. All that mattered was that you found a place among them, and that you seemed at peace—especially with your loud, troublemaking companion constantly barging into your life.

Though to you, constantly barging in was an understatement. “Do you ever work, Chung Myung? Or are you just here to freeload off the innkeepers’ generosity again?” you half teased as he leaned lazily against the forge.

“Work? I train! Training is work,” he shot back, grinning in that infuriating way of his. “But even a genius like me needs breaks, and where better to take one than where the food and company are good?”

“You mean where the food is good and you can be a nuisance.”

“Ah, admit it, you’d miss me if I stopped showing up.”

You rolled your eyes, but the lack of response and slight twitch of your lips gave you away. He didn’t press further, lest your hammer turns to him in retaliation. You two had all the time in the world, or so he hoped.

STRANGE COMFORT.

Chung Myung was here again, as he so often was these days, lounging in the corner of your forge with the kind of lazy entitlement only he could pull off. He was midway through his usual rant, his voice filling the small space as if it were his personal stage.

“I’m telling you, those brats have no respect! None! They think they can just talk back to me because I don’t beat them as often anymore. Do you known one of them laughed—actually laughed—when I was showing a technique? Said I looked like a drunken dancer!”

You snorted, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “Well, I can’t exactly blame them. You’re not exactly the image of grace when you’re trying hard to show off, Chung Myung.”

He whipped around to glare at you, though it was hard to take him seriously when he was still half-slouched against the wall. “And you’re supposed to be on my side! Do you know what I sacrificed to teach those brats? My valuable time! My energy! And for what? Mockery?”

“Yes, yes, what a tragedy,” you replied dryly, hammering at a blade as you spoke. The rhythmic clang of metal underscored your words. “Surely the greatest injustice Mount Hua has ever seen.”

“And Chung Jun!” he continued, ignoring your sarcasm entirely. “That useless bean sprout had the nerve to criticize my handwriting again! Again! I turned in the report on time, didn’t I? What more does he want?”

“Legibility, probably.”

“It was legible enough!” he shot back, crossing his arms. “Besides, it’s not like he’s one to talk. I’ve seen his handwriting—it looks like a chicken scratched it out after running through ink.”

“And yet, he still manages to get all the paperwork done for you, doesn’t he?”

Chung Myung huffed, muttering something under his breath before moving on to his next complain. “And don’t get me started with Chung Mun. Acting all cool and composed as Sect Leader, as if he doesn’t turn into a meddlesome old man the second we’re alone. ‘Chung Myung, don’t drink so much in front of the juniors.’ ‘Chung Myung, maybe set a better example.’ Honestly is like having a father who’s trying too hard to be impressive in front of the neighbours.”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh outright, the sound ringing through the forge. You set down the hammer and whipped your brown, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the responsible elder brother of the sect. The pillar of Mount Hua. Isn’t that what you keep telling everyone?”

“Pillar of Mount Hua, yes. Babysitter? No.”

“You sound like you’re one tantrum away from throwing yourself on the floor and screaming.”

“I’m close. I’m really close.”

You shook your head, still smiling as you returned to your work. “You’re hopeless.”

“And you’re too smug,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his words. Instead, there was something softer in his tone—something that always seemed to creep in when he was around you for too long.

It was a strange kind of comfort, this back-and-forth between you two. A dynamic that had once been natural and easy, lost for years, and somehow rediscovered in the modest forge of a tiny village. You teased him mercilessly, and Chung Myung, for all his bluster, always came back for more.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed a small, cheshire-like smile.

“Because you’d be bored out of your mind without me and your little escapades to this little corner of the world,” you replied smoothly.

And he didn’t deny it.

THE HOLD.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering in through the small window. It illuminated the edges of the room, casting long shadows across the floor. The quiet of the night was heavy, almost suffocating. And in that silence, you sat, knees drawn to your chest, body curled into itself like a protective shell. Your face was hidden, thoughts as tangled as your emotions.

Chung Myung stood outside the circle of light, watching you, but he made no sound. For once, he remained silent, his usual bravado absent. It was the weight of the past between you, the things unsaid, the tension that hummed in the air like a pulled string. He had always been impulsive, always charging headfirst into situations without meditating much, but now… now, he didn’t know what to say, what to do.

He could feel the distance between the two, feel the way it stretched like a chasm, and the thought of how you’ve drifted apart hurt more than he was willing to admit. He had searched for you for so long, only to be met with feigned indifference, and yet… there you were, alone in the dark, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he could bridge the gap between.

He took a tentative step forward, and then another. Each movement seemed careful, deliberate, as though he were walking on fragile ground, unknown soil, afraid to break something delicate.

Finally, he sat beside you. The bed creaked under his weight, but he didn’t break the silence. He merely sat there, the air thick with unspoken words, both of you lost in each one's thoughts. You didn’t look at him; you kept your head hidden against your knees, as if shielding from the world, from him.

But you didn’t push him away either. He took that as an opening.

His hand reached for your face, his touch tentative at first, almost as if he was afraid you might flinch or pull away. But instead, you remained still, body frozen, allowing him the rare access. He cupped your face gently, lifting your chin so that your eyes met him.

The softness in your gaze, the vulnerability you allowed him to see, made his chest tighten. He had never seen you like this— not in the years you’ve spent together in Mount Hua, not after everything that had happened. And now, in this quiet moment, the weight of it all hit him.

Your eyes were tired, weary, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place— something deeper than anger and resentment. There was something raw in them, something that reflected the scars you carried, both physical and emotional.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the word coming out before he could stop them. “For everything.”

You didn’t respond immediately. You couldn’t, still processing the alien words. And apology from the one who didn’t break you, the only one who tried to mend you. Your gaze lingered on him, searching, perhaps trying to decide whether to let him in, or push him away.

But your breath caught in your throat as his thumb gently brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, it was as if the world outside ceased to exist.

The tension between, the distance that has been built over long, seemed to vanish in the simple act of a gentle touch. And you… you let him.

You’ve never one to show weakness, never one to let your guard down. But in this moment, with his warmth so close, you felt yourself unravel. All the walls you had so carefully built around your heart, all the defences you’ve put up to keep the world at bay, began to crumble.

Chung Myung didn’t need to say anything more. He simply shifted, his body moving in a way that allowed him to gather you into his arms. There was hesitance in you, a quiet resistance at first, but it was fleeting. The moment he pulled you close, your body seemed to melt into his, like metal softening under extreme heat.

You didn’t fight it.

You didn’t pull away.

And in that instant, it was as though time stood still. There were no words, no grand gestures— just the simple act of him holding you, of you leaning into him, letting go of all the pain and exhaustion you’ve carried for so long.

Chung Myung held you tighter, his hand stroking your back, feeling the rise and fall of your breath against his chest. He could feel the heat of your skin, the softness of your body against him. It wasn’t just about physical closeness; it was the quiet surrender of years of bitterness and hurt, of longing that neither of the two had acknowledged until now.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and a bit rough, like he had been holding such words back for far too long.

You didn’t respond, but the way your body seemed to relax against him, the way you melted even deeper into his embrace, was enough. He didn’t need you to say it back. This, right here, was enough.

In the quiet room, with the world outside forgotten, Chung Myung realized that he had waited too long to reach out to you. He had let the distance grow, fester, thinking you would come back, but in the end, it was him who had to cross the line, who had to be the one to close the gap.

And as he held you there, in that rare, precious moment, he understood something fundamental— this was what it meant to love. To hold on, even when it seemed like everything had been lost. To give and take, to be vulnerable, and to allow the other person to heal, just as they healed you.

And for once, the past didn’t matter. All that mattered was the present— this moment, this embrace— and whatever came after.

As the night stretched on, you didn’t pull away, and Chung Myung didn’t let go. In each other’s arms, they found the peace they had both been searching for.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

YALL I WAS STRESSING, I didn't expect the incoming likes on the first part. Every like and comment asking for more were stones thrown at me, and you've won in pushing my procrastinator self to the edge and made me work (I rushed a bit for it, hope you like it nonetheless). Every section was written with no chronologic order so tell me if it's confusing... also I realised I first published it without putting this is PBSS and nearly died from embarassment cuz it didn't make any sense lmao. I hope there's less typos, but still I get second hand embarassment reading my own writing... the anxiety I had looking for more recent fics and seeing mine pop up first made me want to go out and touch grass. Thank you for reading!

#chung myung #cheong myeong #chung myung x reader #cheon myeong x reader #return of the blossoming blade #return of the mount hua sect #rotmhs #rotbb

Blacksmith [PBSS!CM]

Blacksmith, blacksmith, forge me a blade...

THE DEPARTURE.

You were at the gates of Mount Hua, your belongings packed into a simple bundle, the crowd or early risen disciples watching in complete silence. They watched as you walk with quiet dignity, forcing your expression to be unreadable.

Chung Myung broke through the crowd, his anger momentarily melting into desperation. "You don't have to go."

You shook your head, your calm demeanor masking the pain in your eyes. "Yes, I do."

"You're just going to let them do this?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Don't let them win, don't let them trample over you.

You're stronger than this.

"It's not about letting them," you respond softly, as if anything else would make him burn brightly and unforgivingly. "It's about what's best for everyone. Staying will only make things harder—for you, for me, for the sect."

Chung Myung reached out, gripping your arm. "This isn't right."

His gritted teeth made a sizzing sound, like a snake's curse.

"I know," you say, appeasing, your voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, we have to accept what we can't change."

But it could've been prevented. This is a mistake, and you're the scapegoat. This isn't fair. He bites his lips until all he tastes is metallic taste.

He lets go, his hands falling to his sides and you step past him.

As you disappeared down the mountain path, the disciples stood in stunned silence, their hearts heavy with unspoken protests.

A PURPOSE.

Your departure from Mount Hua has left you untethered, wandering with no clear destination. The sting of your expulsion still lingered, but the ache of uncertainty was worse. You needed a purpose, a way to life instead of becoming a mourning ghost.

Your wandering eventually led you to a small, unassuming village nestled between two rugged hills. The sound of hammering drew you to the outskirts, where a blacksmith's forge stood, smoke curling lazily into the sky.

You paused at the threschold, your gaze drawn to the man within. His movements were deliberate, his hands steady despite the bandages covering his eyes. He worked as if the metal were an extension of himself, each strike of the hammer resounding with purpose.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you have something to say?" his voice rang out, startling you. A raspy heavy sound, as if he hadn't talked to someone in ages.

"I'm looking for work." You are sincere and curt.

Without seeing, he seems to scrutiny you.

"And what does a young lad like you know about smithing?"

"Nothing," you admit. "But I learn quickly." Because there is nothing else waiting for you. Because one always starts from a scratch, or nothing.

He chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "Quick learning won't fix a blade or temper steel, but I could use an extra pair of eyes. Seems mine have given up on me." He gestured to a spare room at the back of the forge. "You won't find anything close by to stay. Food, a roof, and payment if you're useful."

"I won't disappoint," you say firmly.

You threw yourself into the work with the desperation of someone grasping at straws. You start with simple tasks: fetching water, stoking the forge, organizing the tools. Your eyes never stray far from the blacksmiths form, you observed him work closely, noting the rythm of his movement, the way his hands seemed to see what his eyes could not.

"Watch the color of the metal," he told you one day, his voice calm as he hammered a piece of glowing steel. "That'll tell you if the heat is right. Too bright, it's ruined. Too dull, it won't take shape."

You nodded, focusing intently on the changing hues of the metal in the fire. Under his guidance, you began assisting with smaller tasks, getting closer to the goal: holding pieces steady, filing edgees, even shaping simple tools.

Your progress surprised him, looking at you favourably. "You weren't lying about learning quickly," he said one evening as they sat by the forge.

"Maybe I've hidden from you the messes I made."

He snorted. His blindness made him notice more than those who depend on sight. There isn't a thing that escapes him. He knows of your screw ups, but that's a part of learning. Making less mistakes reveals determination to improve.

THE FLAME.

"You're not just any blacksmith, are you?" you ventured one day, as you watched him shape an intricately curved dagger.

He puffed his chest a bit. "I have a knack for the unusual. People come to me when the ordinary won't do."

"Why did you take me in?" you press on. He could've had more than you. Maybe there were people wanting to learn from him more qualified than you. "Surely there were others more skilled."

The blacksmith paused, his hands stilling over the anvil. "Skill can be taught. Determination can't. You walked in here with fire in your voice, with a purpose in mind. That's worth more than knowing how to swing a hammer."

That was the closest thing he ever said to admiting your presence was welcomed company, drowning any voice in your head that made you feel like an intruder.

You became indispensable. Your sharp eyes and steady hands complemented the blacksmith's expertise, allowing them to tackle commissions that would have been impossible for him alone.

You learned to read blueprints, measure with presicion, and even design your own modifications. Customers began to notice the improvements in the forge's work, praising the flawless details and ingenious designs.

The blacksmith, for all his gruffness, seemed proud. "You've got a good head for this," he said one evening over a simple meal. "Keep at is, and you'll surpass me one day."

You laughed a bit breathless. Compliments were as scarce as water in a desert from him. "I doubt that," and it rang true, you were full of shortcomings in front of his lifetime of experience. You learn from him, you calk his work and make it yours slowly. That's enough.

You have time. What more can you ask?

The spare bedroom was modest but comfortablee, and the meals were simple and filling. The payment wasn't much, but it was enough to buy new clothes and save a little. For the first time in months, you feel a sense of stability.

You miss Mount Hua like you'd miss a limb, but the forge has given you a new purpose to not lose yourself and wallow in misery. Each strike of the hammer, each piece of metal brought to life, was a step forward—a way to prove yourself that you're more than what you've left behind.

And perhaps, you thought, watching the blacksmith expertly guide you through another project, you'd found a place where you can belong.

You only hope it won't be ripped from you again.

Another time would definetly kill you. One can only be so strong.

THE COMMISSION.

It was a quiet morning in the forge when a new commission arrived, brought by a courier who left as quickly as he'd come.

You took the note, scanning through the details: a sword with a handle carved to resemble plum blossoms.

Your breath caught. Your hands trembled slightly as you placed the paper on the workbench. You hear your heart beat boiling on your ears. You didn't have to ask who it was for—there was only one person who would request something so symbolic, only one who would go so far as to find you in such remote place.

You made him sweat a bit, didn't you? He is such a fool... that unrelenting force of nature he embodied. Ah, trouble knocks again.

The blacksmith, sitting nearby, seemed to sense your unease. His sightless eyes turned towards you, his expression unreadable. "A special commission, is it?" his tone casual but probing.

From a speacial someone. A part from a not far off past is catching up to you. Will you welcome him or hammer him into the ground?

"Yes. I'll handle it," your voice tight.

Before you could steel youself further, the door creaked open.

Damn you, what was the courtier for, if you were never one to be patient? You're a Taoist unable to meditate... learn some patience!

The air shifted as a figure stepped into the forge, his presence filling the space like an uninvited storm. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You had memorized his footsteps, the way his energy seemed to draw attention effortlessly. For better or worse. Normally for worse.

... Chung Myung.

"Excuse me," the voice came, familiar and sharp, thought tinged with something softer. "I'm here about a sword."

Your grip on the workbench tightened. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Chung Myung stood in the doorway, his usual confident smirk dimmed by exhaustion. His clothes even if pristine, were travel worn, his face slightly gaunt, but his eyes burning with the same fire. When he saw you, his expression faltered, a flicker of relief breaking through his guarded demeanor.

"I've finally found you," he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You'll have none of that.

"Are you getting dumber by the day? What, you sent a courtier asking for a sword and you enter less than five minutes after? Not even the best blacksmith can create a sword out of damn thin air. Get out."

When you get nervous or caught off guard you ramble and you bristle like an angry cat.

What angers you more is that his whole body relaxes like falling into a well known familiar routine. No, no, no.

"Get. Out." you repeat forcefully.

"I've walked a lot to..."

"Go walk a bit more. Outside."

"Not even a cup of tea?"

"As if you'd know the taste of tea, you raging alcoholic. Out. Now." Please, you need to compose yourself, damnit!

His smile is infuriating. You hear the little jumps he does out of sight, the lively rythm his steps have.

He makes you lose your temper so fast that... you look back at the blacksmith. He is definetly holding back his laughter.

"You're rougher with your loverboy than when moulding metal."

"Wh—he is not...!" you gulp down another anger-nervous-induced ramble.

"And he listens better to you than the steel does your hammer. Go to him, go discuss... the sword." He nudges you to the door and disappears inside with surprising speed for a bling man.

Was this old man hidding such a side all this time? I feel more drained now than after a rigurous spar. Ugh...

THE CONFRONTATION.

You crossed your arms, your face a mask of calm despite the storm raging inside you. For your own sanity, just forget the slip up you made when seeing him for the first time. You can't let youself fall into the familiar banter and let yourself be dragged by his flow. "You shouldn't be here."

Chung Myung stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. "I've been looking for you. You didn't make it easy."

"Didn't it cross your mind that maybe I didn't want to be found?"

"Couple times. Yet, here I am." His voice firm but not unkind.

"Ignoring the voice of reason. Do you even have it?" A jape. To hide your inner turmoil more than anything. He doesn't look pleased.

"Do you have any idea how far I've traveled? How many villages I've searched? How many dead ends I've hit?" Bordering desperation, his voice tinged with a silent plea. What if I didn't find you?

You looked away, jaw tightening. "You didn't have to look for me. I'm doing just fine. I've found a place here."

"Do you really believe that?" his question a tad softer, a tad incredulous. He didn't buy it. "Or are you just telling yourself that because it's easier than facing the truth?"

You turned back to him, your eyes flashing dangerously. "And pray tell me, what truth is that?"

"That you belong with us. With me." At Mount Hua.

The words hung in the air. What a selfish prick he is. As if leaving was easy, as if you truly had a choice in the matter, as if you hadn't left behind all you've worked for. Home. You lost home once, you are trying to make another here.

His timing is a terrible form of a joke.

You shook your head, your body trembling with barely restrained anger slipping through the cracks. "I was expelled. Cast out like I was nothing. You can't just pretend that didn't happen. Nothing can go back as it was."

You wish. You hope. It's a cruel fantasy, one you won't be indulging in anymore.

"I'm not pretending," he said, stepping closer. "You didn't deserve that. None of us agreed with it. The Elders made a mistake."

"A mistake that cost me everything," you spitted bitterly. "I'm rebuilding my life here. I'm learning a craft, getting better everyday, I'm contributing. What more do you want from me?"

It felt like your heart was rippen out. What more can you give? You are surviving everyday by a hair's breath by not looking back, by not giving in to nostalgia.

"I want you to stop running," his voice rising slightly; the heat of the moment was getting to him too. "You think this place will give you peace, but I know you. You will never be satisfied with this. You running only gives them the power to decide your worth."

"And what; have everyday all I ever wanted to be, all I could achieve at arm's reach to never quite close the distance? That's a fool's form of torture. I will not put myself through this."

"You're stronger than any of us."

"I was stronger. They turned me into a scapegoat and now I am broken." Your defenses wavered, but you stood firm. Even if your voice cracked.

I won't go back. It was clear in your eyes. That would be dying everyday. Here you die slowly and ultimately, as a natural development. Like an old ache growing impossible to ignore.

Going back is a violent death, one you'll relive in every corner. Once is enough.

Chung Myung's shoulders slumped a bit, and he looked up at the sky, searching for an answer to fall in his hands. The sky is silent. His determination is waning. You are more stubborn or maybe he's always been softer when it's you.

"Then I'll stay." Chung Myung smiled faintly, a bit resigned and not quite satisfied with the outcome, but showing the first real sign of warmth since he arrived.

"Don't you dare. I'll grow sick of you."

"Aren't you already? How tolerant you've become. I'll linger a bit longer just to test your limits."

THE SWORD.

The silence between the two was broken only by the soft crackle of the forge's fire. You looked at the sword commission sitting on the workbench, the plum blossom design sketched out in careful detail.

"You knew I was here when you sent this request, didn't you?"

Chung Myung shrugged, his smirk returning. "It was the best way to draw you out. You don't exactly have a low profile."

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. So he already knew about your wereabouts and still put up a scene with the courtier, his ragged looks. So dramatic. "You're infutiating."

"Maybe," he drawled, his tone light. "But I'm also right."

You exhaled deeply, the weight of your conversation settling in your chest. You picked the note, holding it tighly. "If I make this sword for you, will you leave me alone?"

Chung Myung tilted his head, his eyes narrowing and softening at the same time. "If that's what you really want... but I don't think you wish for it."

Cunning bastard... you didn't respond, your eyes loud enough. His smile widened and you turned back to the forge and lighting the fire. As the flames roared to life, you silently resolved to face your past—no matter what it meant for the future. No more running.

Chung Myung had too many things on his mind. You're surprised by his capability to stay quiet for once. He changed a bit too. People never stay as frozen as memories in one's head. He waited all day, watching as you worked, the broken bridge that became your bond growing stronger with every strike of the hammer.

This is enough for now.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

DON'T ask me what this is. I also don't know. I've never published anything I've written until know because I am my worst critic. English is not my first language and I know I messed something, but I am not going to read it because this feels like eating whatever I've thrown up. I made this in one go for whoever is starving and wants more content. If there's something weird is maybe because I've written this with an OC of mine (I can't draw for shit so they life rentfree on my mind) and I just changed "her" to "you" to make it gender neutral too. God please give me a signal if you want to see more of this or anything else, appreciaton makes me feel less shitty and conscious of my own skin, ty

#chung myung #cheong myeong #chung myung x reader #cheong myeong x reader #return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #rotmhs #rotbb

I've just read 'Miracle Magician' Merlin for a couple chapters, but if anyone says anything bad about him I will doxx them and pray to The Fool to send some hounds of fulgrim to bite their ankles non-stop.

#lord of the mysteries #lotm #klein moretti #merlin hermes #i love this crackhead #little walking chaos #i wish for him to be real

I still have no clue what's going on on beyonder fights (shameful)

#lord of the mysteries #lotm #klein moretti #deep dark secret #past 1000 chaps and in the dark #i literally read the same paragraph ten times and feel dumber each #what is going on the house of commons

I NEED HELP FINDING A FIC

I don't remember if ir was on quotev or somewhere else. It's a x reader I think? The girl gets sent to blue lock in her brother's place cuz he's injured or something but her brother and father are cool (surprisingly normal dynamic lol) and she is somewhat a cheerleader? Is a fan of Anri and a bit misandric and knows jackshit about football, I remember on the game of tack she hid in a locker and came out after it ended lmao💀

APRECIATE ANY HELPING HAND PLS🙏

#blue lock x reader #gorgeous writing that's why I gotta find it again👹#the reader dissing boys right and left I loved her #anri as a literal cheerleader goddess? i'm sold #PLEASE HELP MY POOR ASS

HANDS DOWN THE BEST LOOKISM X READER FIC EVER WRITTEN: A Heart With Teeth by mahiverse on ao3 🗣‼️

#lookism x reader #lookism #go check it out rn or you'll regret it

Klein thinking of the believers in the Storm as "irascible bros" will never not be funny

Why is Alger the only sane out of the bunch💀

#lord of the mysteries #klein moretti #lotm #chapter 752

Danitz will NEVER beat the maid allegations‼️