#I still want to know how Wanli became demon

[sweet-shinobi-fangirl]

The story between Shuixian Xueling and Wanli is so sad. Wanli loved Shuixian but she loved Xueling 🥺

[hoodoo12]

The Ties That Bind (And How To Follow Them) 1/?

Heave ho, here we go!

@werwulfy @rainingpaint @bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @mel-time @heresathreebee @sweetcat-666 @turtlepated @infptarius

Pate was dreaming, and this time she knew it.

For weeks she had been checking her reflection in mirrors, examining her hands to make sure they were normal, asking herself while awake “Am I dreaming?”, all in preparation for when she was actually dreaming.

“I am dreaming,” she told herself matter-of-factly.

In the months since her encounters with the demons Beetlejuice and his brother Rigel, Pate had apparently had many, deeply unpleasant dreams from what Beetlejuice told her afterwards; moaning and tossing in her sleep, desperate to escape something. She never remembered when she woke, which might be a blessing but was mostly annoying.

Now she had developed the ability to take control.

“I am dreaming,” she repeated to herself in the same, flat tone.

She looked around herself to see where she was. In her mind’s eye, she was standing amidst the hazy impression of a coniferous forest, the sky overhead gray like it was threatening rain. The road she stood on (and she felt sure it was a road, it was hard underfoot) was a rainbow of colors all splotched and running together like an impressionist painting.

Everything was slightly fuzzy around the edges, as though it was all out of focus and if she could just tune in her mental binoculars she could see it clearly. But already the dream was beginning to unravel and she felt herself waking up. She opened her eyes, finding herself reclining on a squashy pleather couch where she’d lain down to fall asleep. With a sigh, she sat up.

“Did you see anything?” asked the older woman sitting in a worn wingback chair across from her. Pate nodded and relayed the muddled details of the rainbow road in the watercolor woods. “Don’t forget to write it down,” she advised. Pate had begun keeping a dream journal for the purposes of trying to remember as much as she could from her dreams, carrying it with her to add details if and when they came back to her.

“It’s been the same pieces and fragments for weeks now,” Pate griped. “And I don’t know what any of it means.”

“You will,” assured her mentor, shrugging absently. “Or you won’t. It might not mean anything. The important thing is learning how to take control of what’s inside your head.” Pate grumbled, her face in her hands, but privately acknowledged that maybe the other woman had a point.

It was sheer happenstance, or maybe fate, that had brought Pate into Lillian Borden’s second-hand shop. She liked antique stores and sometimes used goods stores had interesting or rare finds. Pate had probably passed the shop a hundred times without ever going in, but Mrs. Borden had recognized something in her from the moment they met. Whatever Pate had, Lillian Borden had it, too.

At Beetlejuice’s urging, Pate had asked Mrs. Borden to teach her how to manage her . . . whatever it was she was having. Psychic episodes? Recurring nightmares? Visions? Either way, his concern had prodded her to seek outside help and Lillian had agreed to do what she could.

“Try to go back to it,” Lillian was saying. “See if you can make anything else out.”

With a sigh Pate shut her eyes and willed her mind to revisit her dream. It was overcast but not raining, and as she focused the irregular splotches of color on the rainbow road became brighter, the details of the surrounding woods more defined. They were definitely cone bearing trees.

The beginnings of a headache were making their appearance behind her eyes and in her temples and Pate checked the time. They’d been in the back room of Lillian’s shop for over an hour, and she still had to do something about dinner and get ready for work tomorrow.

“I guess we’d better call it a night,” she said.

Lillian hummed noncommittally, then said, “You burn that sage I gave you?”

Pate hesitated, only for the briefest second because, no, she hadn’t used the smudging tools. “Yeah,” she lied, hoping it was more convincing than it felt. Lillian’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didn’t believe her.

“There’s a presence around you, girl,” she said. “A dark presence, a powerful presence. The smart thing to do would be to get rid of it.” Pate nodded her understanding, but immediately dismissed the idea.

There was only one dark, powerful presence she knew of that would be around her, and she had no intention of sending him away. In fact, he would be waiting on her to come home.

⁂

Puttering around Pate’s apartment, Beetlejuice couldn’t find a thing to do. He’d already read ad nauseum the graphic novels Pate had gotten from the library for him. She’d expressly forbidden him to shove any dirty kitchen towels back into the drawer he found them in; he was permitted to use them--her nose had wrinkled at the word “used”--but if one was “used”, she made him promise to wash it. The birds on the birdfeeder were just dumb sparrows and starlings, nothing fun like crows or vultures. He had the brilliant idea to put scraps of meat out to attract them which worked to draw in the acceptable alternative of raccoons, until Pate got a letter from the landlord that made her yell because it threatened eviction, so raw meat outside was even less allowed than using the towels to wipe his junk and putting them back where they belonged.

Seeming to realize that a bored Beetlejuice was a potentially destructive one, she did concede to purchase the streaming Disney channel. He spent some of the time she was gone flipping from The Muppet Show and documentaries about animals. He promised not to watch WandaVision without her. Sometimes she allowed him to go to work with her, if she knew no one else would be there. During her visits to Lillian’s, however, he was not invited. “I have to concentrate,” she told him, “and you hanging around distracts me.” She didn’t say it, but one time he’d chased a pesky minor poltergeist out of a chest of drawers in the older woman’s antique shop. It caused a racket and broke the drawers, and he knew that was more likely the reason he wasn’t to go back. He lazed around and watched TV and practiced card tricks in front of her mirror. He didn’t need to practice card tricks; he had his own sleight of hand better than any stage magician, but it gave him something to do to fill the time. Like a dog, he was tuned to when Pate returned. In a quick movement he made the deck he was holding disappear faster than humanly possible, and was beside the door waiting for her to open it the next second. Tonight was taco night! He took the bags of food the moment she was in the door. It was a move more greedy than gracious, but she didn’t seem to mind because she asked him how his day was and told him not to eat the raw ingredients in the same breath as she hung up her jacket. The specter waited for her to come into the kitchen before hugging her. “You look tired, baby,” he announced, eyeing her critically. “Are you sure Lillian is helping you? It seems like she’s just making everything worse.” He wanted Pate well and whole, but wasn’t pleased that although Pate had faith in this woman, it didn’t seem to be doing much good. He had to admit, however, that nothing he’d done had been able to help alleviate her nightmares either.

⁂

Having never had a live-in partner before, Pate had never given much thought to what it would be like to actually have someone waiting for her at home. But she found that she liked it. For the most part, anyway.

Despite the few hiccups like the incident with the racoons and the time he’d ruined her good skillet melting marbles in it on the stovetop, they had a pretty good thing going she thought. The way he always appeared at the door the second she walked in, like an overlarge, excitable, slightly moldy golden retriever never failed to make her smile. Tonight was no exception.

Pate gratefully allowed him to take her bags through to the kitchen while she deposited her keys and purse and jacket in their usual spots, following him and sighing contentedly as he wrapped her in his arms. She smiled against his chest, wishing she could simply live there and not have to worry about work or training or anything else. At his proclamation, she drew back enough to look him in the eye, smiling wanly.

“I kinda am tired, Beej,” she admitted. It had been some time since she’d gotten a decent night’s sleep, the dreams and nightmares taking turns with a general sense of unease and restlessness that kept her awake.

“The dreams may not be getting better, but she’s helped me enough that I can remember them when I wake up. Maybe that’s the key to figuring out what they’re all about. And if I keep practicing the lucid dreaming thing, maybe I could even stop them myself.”

Raising herself on tip-toe to press a quick peck on his lips, Pate then set his destructive proclivities to chopping up the tomatoes and jalapenos and other toppings while she browned and seasoned the meat for their tacos. It filled her with a cozy, domestic feeling as Beetlejuice jabbered absently about whatever had come into his head, interspersed with the ambiance of sizzling hamburger and the clacking of the knife against the cutting board.

She considered telling him about Lillian’s insistence that she cleanse her apartment and dismiss him, but she had a good idea how he’d respond to that and didn’t want to upset him. Besides, if she had anything to say about it he wasn’t going anywhere he didn’t want to. He was here because they both wanted him to be, and that was the end of it.

Instead she removed the pan from the burner, turned off the eye and moved to stand beside him at the island and the heaps of thoroughly massacred vegetables. “What’re we watching tonight?” she asked, opening the taco shells and arranging them on the plates.

⁂

She made him use a knife--knife tricks! He should practice knife tricks!--on the tomatoes since on the first taco night he’d simply crushed them to pulp, but she did say it was okay to rip the lettuce with his hands. Beej did that with relish, managing to fling bits into the air. Like he was imparting a secret, he told Pate that they recorded the noise of breaking lettuce and celery to substitute for bones breaking in movies.

Pate reminded him he told her that every time they had tacos, but softened her chiding with a kiss.

There was a Nicolas Cage movie he was interested in seeing, Color Out of Space, but maybe that wasn’t Pate’s idea of a good time. It was Friday, so the decision was easy: what was with the recasting of Pietro? Did it mean there was finally going to be a connection between the X-men and the Avengers? They settled on the couch to catch up on the latest episode of WandaVision. For the entirety of the show, with the exception of once or twice having to rewind because it was hard to hear over the crunch of the taco shells, they ate without interruptions. Once it was over, the dishes had been cleared, and Pate changed into pajamas, Beetlejuice escorted her back to the couch. Sometimes she had emails to answer from work or simple tasks to complete from Lillian, but tonight she seemed more tired than normal, so he held her while she told him about her day. She said something about wanting to . . . Beetlejuice waited a moment for the rest of the sentence, but Pate had dozed off without completing it. Despite what they’d been through, he still marveled at how easily she gave her trust to someone like him. It would be easy enough to get her into her bed, but he liked being her pillow, so he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over them, and turned that Nic Cage movie on low to watch it while she slept. Maybe it was the different location, maybe it was because she had just had a lesson with Lillian--maybe it was Nic Cage!--but Pate didn’t stir while they were on the couch. Smiling and hopeful that maybe her nighttime dreams were getting under control, Beetlejuice carried her to bed. It was in the darkest part of the night that she kicked and cried out against him, lost in her head. ⁂

Pate sat bolt upright with a gasp, chest heaving and heart racing. After taking a moment to orient herself, she buried her face in her hands. The same dream, the same tantalizing images, the same mounting sense of dread that grew worse and worse as the dream wore on, pressing between her shoulder blades and against her breastbone, constricting her chest.

The scenes flashes behind her eyelids again: standing on the rainbow road in the middle of the misty forest; the strange red brick tower that stood like a transplanted European castle turret on top of a hill; the sound of rushing water; and standing the in center of a round room with no roof, the starry sky overhead, surrounded by figures that all looked exactly like her.

And the overwhelming notion that something was coming, something unfathomable and indescribable, something powerful and ravenous, drawing closer and closer.

Sighing into her fingers, Pate dropped her hands, sure that she must’ve roused Beej from his restive state, but before she could turn to him another figure appeared in her periphery. Standing by the side of the bed was a strange woman, tumbles of auburn waves falling over her shoulders, her eyes glinting like a cat’s in the darkness.

“Hello, dear,” she purred at Pate, a friendly yet unsettling smile on her pretty heart-shaped face. “You have something I want.”

Without taking her eyes off the intruder, Pate fumbled behind her for Beetlejuice, to wake him, to warn him, but her hand found only empty air. Jolted by this realization, Pate turned to find his place in the bed vacant. Jerking back around to face the smiling woman with her strange eyes, panic surged through Pate’s chest and propelled her heart into her throat.

“Where is he?” she demanded, somehow knowing the woman was responsible for her vanished demon lover.

“Where he belongs,” the woman responded, her smile widening into a predatory grin that froze Pate’s blood in her veins. The terrible foreboding she felt quickly grew into abject terror that she would never see him again.

Then, blessedly, her eyes snapped open to find herself wrapped in Beetlejuice’s arms as he cooed and whispered into her hair that everything was okay, she was just dreaming. Shaking, she clung to him to assure herself that he really was there, feeling the wetness of tears on her cheeks.

“You were gone!” she croaked against him. “There was this woman, her eyes were wrong and she took you!”

She said this with the certainty that comes with dreams, where you simply know something to be true. That certainty told her that something, be it the strange red-haired woman with the glowing eyes or the unknowable presence that stalked ever nearer in her nightmares, was going to try and take him from her. She couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let it happen.

⁂

His lover’s abrupt startle awake after twisting and turning and being unable to be roused made him feel worse. What use was he if he couldn’t help her? During her struggles he held her as best he could and soothed her, even though he wasn’t sure Pate even heard him. The tears weren’t uncommon, but specifics about what her mind conjured up were. Beej brushed it off as simple lingering fear, and assured her he wasn’t going anywhere and there was no woman. A weak joke that if she wanted to invite another woman in he wouldn’t object was summarily chewed up and spit out by the rational portion of his brain, the one that had a slightly better understanding of what may and may not be appropriate. It was small, but getting larger. It also nixed allowing him to say, “I guess Nic Cage isn’t the answer.” So he continued to whisper to her and let her cling to him, and because she’d requested it before, asked open-ended questions to help her try and recall as much of the dream as possible. He didn’t understand why that seemed to be important to her mentor, but it was easy and maybe if Pate talked through it, she’d be less frightened.

Mostly he hoped she would just be able to go back to sleep, and vowed to let her stay in bed as long as she would like the next morning.

tbc . . .