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olinblogin · 18 days ago

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Nervously shuffling in (/silly)

Can I request Salo from Arcane x reader (gn or masc) where reader was basically like a right hand/assistant for him before the events of S2, and now they're by his side like 24/7? Basically just being the one to look after him the most and trying to get him to have a better attitude about life/himself following the accident that lead to him needing a wheelchair

˚✧༚ SELF LOVE ˚✧༚

˗ˏˋ♡ ~SALO X GN/M!READER~ ♡´ˎ˗

contents: sorta fluff, POSSIBLE S2 SPOILERS, slight angst???, PROBABLY OOC IM SORRY, brief mentions of gory stuff

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When you were accepted to work as an assistant for one of the Councilmen of the Piltover University, you were absolutely thrilled.

You were assigned to work for Salo, be by his side almost 24/7.

With the time you got to know him, you deduced that he was snippy, a bit arrogant… sort of stupid too— at least when he tried a bag of nuts to Torman Hoskei, to which he was allergic to…

Despite it all, he was kind to you… almost sweet.

But when you found him, legs mangled under rubble from an attack, it only seemed to go downhill from there. There was so much blood.

Salo was restrained to a wheelchair, needing your assistance to get around the Academy—with all the stairs and lack of disability aids, it’s was severely difficult.

He also grew colder, he’d snap at you easier… you’ve made progress on that and he doesn’t snap at you anymore. Cant say the same for the rest of the Councilmen.

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Pushing Salo’s wheelchair through the crowded streets of Piltover, you found yourself giving dirty glares to people who only moved out of the way last second and tripped up on Salo’s wheelchair.

“Such incompetence for those without able-bodies…” he muttered with a sneer.

You frowned and looked at him while maneuvering him over a pothole. “Yes… that’s true. Perhaps we need to have a meeting to install mobility aids—“

“No,” Salo quickly snapped back. “It isn’t necessary. At least not for the likes of me. As long as you’re here with me, I can get by just fine.” He mumbled, jostling about a little bit when the terrain changed.

Your face only saddened at his words. Ever since in this wheelchair, he’s been so self deprecating. It’s painful to see.

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Once at the building Salo had been visiting recently, you entered and dropped him off in the room he usually visits, waiting outside.

You watched as Lest walked by, smiling up at the tall, feline woman. “Evening, Lest.” You greeted with a kind smile.

“Good evening, [Y/N]… today’s appointment won’t take long. Only about 20 or so minutes.” Lest smiled and spoke kindly while opening the door, and leaving you in the hall.

You were so deathly curious as to why he came here so often. What he and Lest did… it made you realize how little you also knew of Lest. She was a kind, fair woman however… so you couldn’t complain.

Once Lest exited later on, you two shared your goodbyes.

Usually Salo would tell you to wait for a long time outside the room after Lest left and called you in… but… you needed to see.

As you opened the door you stiffened slightly at the sight before you: Salo lying on the couch in nothing but his briefs with a blissful expression, markings painted on his body in a faded purple hue.

“Salo?” You called out quietly and closed the door, locking it, so nobody could come in.

Salo lazily turned his head to you, his eyes clouded with bliss. “Mmh. Hey there, [Y/N]. I thought I told you to… stay out in the place-…” he mumbled and stumbled over his words, forgetting some.

“The hallway? Yeah, I know…” you hummed and crouched next to him by the couch. “Why are you doing this.” You glowered at him, eyebrows knitted with anger. “I thought you said you hated shimmer.”

Salo traced his finger along the linings of the couch seams. “I changed my mind… it helps—“

Salo’s head was suddenly snapped to the side, a slap echoing across the room as the back of your hand made contact with his cheek. That seemed to sober him up extremely fast.

You reeled back slightly with shock of what you had just done. “My apologies, sir…” you stepped back with a hint of timidness.

“No—“ Salo propped himself up on his elbow. “I..- you’re right.” His eyes lowered… before he quickly covered his lower body with the blanket draped across the top of the couch. “It makes me feel something for once. Especially in my legs.”

You frowned and hooked your arm around his legs and wrapped one around his waist too, pulling him into his wheelchair since he was still too inebriated to move on his own. “Let’s get you back home… and get you sobered up. We’ll talk when you’re in the right mind.” You sighed as he clumsily got into his clothes.

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Once you finally got Salo home, he was pretty sobered up alright, but you could tell there were still lingering effects of the shimmer.

As he was sat at his desk, doing his paperwork, he kept looking at you, his expression a bit insecure.

“Salo… what’s with that face. You only have that face when somethings eating you up.” You scolded knowingly.

It made him shy away slightly before leaning back and looking up at you. “Thank you…- for earlier, I mean. You made me come to my senses…” he muttered that last part, fingers slightly gliding over his cheek as he felt the sting of your slap.

He never realized how strong of a hand you had.

You came up close to him, your face close to his… “You act smart… but you’re such a dimwit.” You huffed. “Don’t do that shit again, because I’ll snack you upside the head next time.” You poked his forehead playfully.

The space between you two closed as your lips met. Salo wrapped his arms around your neck, while you carded through his gracious blonde hair.

You pulled away, your noses were pressed together at the bridges. “I won’t… you have my promise.” Salo mused quietly, enjoying your embrace.

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rallentando1011 · 7 months ago

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empathetic (emphasis on pathetic)

Hamato Donatello did not frequently feel fondness. Nor attraction. Nor much of anything, for that matter.

Feelings were like syrup: superficially sweet yet so easy to boil over, develop a sludgy, sticky mess of. Texturally, they were a resounding no.

And so he avoided them, ignored them at all costs, swept them under the rug then proceeded to incinerate said proverbial rug.

It worked like a charm, time and time and time again without fail.

Until it didn’t.

Somehow, this weird, warm, fuzzy sensation managed to infiltrate his nigh impenetrable defenses and make a muddle of things and his mind, i.e. he was struck by the L-word, i.e. he met you.

So quickly had the almighty fortress of his emotional front crumbled upon your arrival, so quickly had his resolve instinctively melted, so quickly had he caved.

It was terrifying.

He’d never quite seen the appeal in confiding in others. Sure, he had his brothers, father, April, but they were different, steadfast, reliable, family.

Letting new people into your life and mind and feelings was too vulnerable, too complicated, too messy.

Emotions: fickle, fleeting, forlorn, unlike the reliable cogs and circuits and familiarity of his lab and normal life. An anomaly in themselves.

It certainly was not intentional, letting you into his life, his lab, his affection; it was more of you simply waltzing in and staking claim and refusing not to occupy his thoughts at each and every waking hour.

The realization of the existence of his ill-fated infatuation dawned upon him nary a few months following your introduction as he recognized the textbook signs of it.

Feeling comfortable, at ease with you, longing to message and text and talk to you, experiencing restlessness nightly at the thought of you - he was certifiably done for.

If his fancies were unrequited, it may have been easier; just confess to the hopeless romanticism, get utterly rejected, accept the futility of love and how it was doomed from the start, go back to being your companion.

But no, you just had to complicate things further.

Your reciprocated affections, your incessant presence at his side, an accidental I love you or two - it was unbearable.

So he ditched it. Ditched you. Poured himself into his work and holed himself up in the lab.

Was it the coward’s way out: leaning into the easiest option without consideration for the alternative of not being an emotional recluse? Certainly.

Would that hinder him from doing so in the slightest?

Negatory.

He would rather get the situation dealt with earlier on than encourage the muck of emotions between you two to grow, fester, rot.

No chance he’d ever given for a relationship resulted in anything but failure, pain, anger - giving it another shot could only end in a repeat.

So maybe it was for the best that he pushed you away; better to focus on something sturdy, tangible, real rather than whatever blend of oxytocin and endorphins and serotonin and dopamine was convincing your mind that you loved him.

Those hormones, and consequently those feelings, would fade with time.

You’d get over it.

And he would too.

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fishareglorious · 3 months ago

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i do a light chuckle once i remember hofmann and semmelweis are friends but then i remember semmelweis and marcus' suitcase interaction where they talk about her and i am once again inconsolable about this old woman's death

#reverse 1999 #semmelweis #greta hofmann #certified storm moments #i miss hofmann so bad i know ill start sobbing when someone brings her up again in chapter 7 #r1999 shitpost #i still think their canon ages are bullshit and theyre both older than canon in my head but yeah semmelweis is half hofmann's age (19 to 38 #bluepoch i prommy you won't start profusely bleeding income if you make a character older than their mid twenties. i promise you that #nothing more but hofweis rambling after this you have been warned #anyways you mightve seen me here or there mention that i ship these two and. yes the age gap is a central theme to how i percieve them #semmelweis lived the dream (see how i say this in past tense) she bagged that old woman </3 #the inherent angst of your partner being so much younger than you and close to death thanks to a terminal illness yet in the end #its actually you that dies first. and she ends up finding a cure to illness and ending up immortal. something something 'i will never see #how old age looks on you. you are breaking my heart.' and how it applies to both of their perspective towards the other #one went to vienna to (unknowingly) die and the other went there to live #koshka-sova said it best its a pair that dances round life and death. and can't forget about the inherent workplace yuri #also its funny thinking of marcus unwittingly finding out through either her arcane skill or some other method her mentor's coworker-friend #got it on with her. like i think the two start bonding because of hofmann but then one day marcus approaches her with haunted eyes and #shakily goes 'd...did you. did you and madam hofmann..? my arcane skill said. that you and. did you two......?'

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scorpsik · 1 year ago

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FIC: STARTING OVER AGAIN

Emily and JJ talk en route to Paris.

Expect a bucket of lovely ANGST xx

Starting Over Again

#fanfic #angst fanfic #emily prentiss #emily whump #jennifer jareau #criminal minds #did I mention angst?

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pastafossa · 3 months ago

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"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings for this fic: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)

It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you into a peaceful sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed.

“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.”

Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off from the rain when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their family business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had actually wanted this. You knew he'd had different plans when he'd finally gotten out of prison, plans of a quieter, more peaceful life. But he was a loyal man, one who was endlessly devoted to his family, and that loyalty, that devotion was something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of.

You had thoughts on her, too, but much like your night's rest, it would also have to wait.

“We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said to him, and…”

Some nights, nights much like these, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath the weight of expectation and grim responsibility. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, even as it became clear he was destined to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met that beautiful, quiet man in a small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form, line by line. Over time, as he'd gradually begun to let you in, you’d discovered far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath his fractured armor. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done in the past, had only pried open that door further until he sought you out with regularity, just as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits revolved closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inescapably in the pull of each other’s gravity.

Neither of you had named what this was between you. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it.

“Just… be gentle with him, dear.”

Somehow, even the quiet knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the warm hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the pouring rain and a gust of chilled, bitter wind.

“Oh, Michael,” you whispered.

He was soaked down to the bone, his dark hair plastered against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and his hands, with more of it leaking steadily from a ragged split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he realized you didn’t buy the act, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and limp on your doorstep.

“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for dark humor and missing by miles.

“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his sleeve and tugged him forward until you could shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness.

“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said distantly. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, drained of all energy as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head slowly, staring down at the growing puddle of rainwater on the floor, his face twisting through an unreadable expression. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”

“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was still standing shivering in the hall, curled into himself as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”

He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet your eye, a sign of just how bad things had gone for him. Some of the blood on his clothes and skin had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a tinted, rusty pink. And that only seemed to make him feel worse, as it seeped into the grooves and lines between each tile, staining it. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”

You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the front door. He went stiff and rigid, closed off the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops. You had to make it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of warm whiskey and leather, of gun oil and fresh rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your voice, his arms still locked between you, a barrier you knew he needed help to break down. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”

He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his arms tentatively unwinding so his hands could find their way around your waist. Almost as if he were still convinced his touch, his need for comfort would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ to give ya. To give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”

“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath rattled out of him, more of his tears rolling down your throat until he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I open the door because I just need you, exactly as you are. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.”

That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked, ragged sobs, the sounds of someone who hadn't been able to let go for some time. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, comforting whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and back up through his hair as he let fall every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world.

It took time for that cresting wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat into something slower and gentler. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, setting him down on the side of the tub so you could clean him up. He accepted the care in silence, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready—and besides, people had demanded enough out of him tonight without you adding to it—so you let the quiet have its place as you bandaged him up, cleaning the blood from his hands and drying him off without so much as a hint of judgment. Whenever his breath grew a little shaky again, you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to remind him he was safe.

You left him alone just long enough for him to change, and you were grateful you'd both decided he should keep a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, this knowledge that your home was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed and he stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes immediately seeking you out, you tipped your head in a request he follow you before heading towards the bedroom.

He hesitated, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.

It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. So far, it only seemed to happen on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed the other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against waves of grief or bloodied hurt. Until now, however, those moments had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all and well, it was late, wasn't it? It was expected. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed.

That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate as he considered you, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to the open doorway in thought. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge, driven by adrenaline or alcohol or just a quiet moment when you both seemed to be drawn into it. But there was no alcohol now, no mistaking the shift in the air. There’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply good friends.

After a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow.

The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you.

Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him.

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” he murmured, his breath slowly easing down into something like peace, like contentment. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them stole your breath away, filled with tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the bottom and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am again, yer there to bring me back. I just… I feel real when I’m with ya. I…”

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair as his lips finally met yours.

Your first kiss with him was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, skin chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a growing confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, his beard a pleasant scrape against your skin. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed in as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as he just... breathed with you. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though he didn't seem ready to open them just yet. “Wanted ta do that for a while, now,” he admitted. “Since not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing wider.

“Can I take ya to breakfast tomorrow?”

You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for.

“I’d love that.”

And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.

#tuna-tober 2024 #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #kin #fic #fanfic #reader #reader insert #x reader #angst #fluff #emotional hurt/comfort #tw: blood #or mentions of it anyway #in which we all just want to give him a hug and hold him and tell him he can just be loved for a while #i hope i did this right like i am N E R V O U S about writing him for the first time #he was very cooperative and was just seemingly happy to have some attention which is great cause i adore him #10/10 would be his mob wife

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maximumkillshot · 1 year ago

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I Can't Lose You-Part 2

Warnings: Ok...Cursing, pain,(IF YOU WANT IT TO BE KEPT A SURPRISE QUICK SHIELD YOUR EYES!!),medical emergency, Emergency medical procedures, mentions of blood, anger outburts, a lot of pain, DID I MENTION PAIN?!, mentions of panic attacks I believe.

Pairing: BangchanxReader

Characters: All of the Stray Kids, Reader

A/N: Stay family y'all came in droves, I've had so much fun writing for SKZ so far and whatever you guys want to see, send it in an ask and I'll see when I can get to it, if the muses allow. There will be a Stray Kids Masterlist soon. I would always appreciate any feedback! And if you like Supernatural as well here's my masterlist!

Overall Masterlist- Click Here

I Can't Lose You Masterlist-Click Here

ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE.

ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

Where we left off:

“Bin” Chan tried to say something but Changbin cut him off.

“NO! YOU DON’T GET A SAY HERE, CHRIS! YOU FUCKED UP ROYALLY AND NOW YOU DESTROYED YOUR FAMILY!” Bin was visibly shaking with rage as he walked up to Chan. Tears were starting to form in his eyes.

LeeKnow looked visibly confused as he looked to Bin, “What are you talking about?”

Bin threw the content of the card at Chan’s feet.

Chan looked at what the card had in it, it was unmistakable.

Bin sounded broken as he responded, “Y/N is pregnant.”.

NOW:

Changbin's blood was boiling and yet he felt like collapsing. His lip twitched as he yelled, “You promised you’d protect her! That you’d do NOTHING to hurt her!”

Felix stared at Changbin. He has never seen him like this. He could see the conflict. Stuck between the need to comfort and protect you and the want and need to beat the pulp out of Chris.

He continued, his voice cracking,his brow knitted and lips twitching as he said, “ I told you that I love her, that you better take care of her. And you said that you’d NEVER hurt her.” His anger was winning as he shouted, “You didn’t just hurt her, you DESTROYED HER and ALL CHANCES of that child having a life where their mom & dad are still together!”

He couldn’t decide whether to say it gently or smack him with the truth as he saw the honest ramifications of his friend’s actions. He chose the latter, “And let’s be honest, Chan. That’s if the baby makes it through this! With the amount of pain that Y/N/N feels right now. Not to mention that she put in months upon months of work planning YOUR anniversary celebration only to be stood up. Only to come home to see HER HUSBAND & HER BEST FRIEND in the bed that she sleeps in every night, having sex & talking about how INADEQUATE she is!”

Chan picked up the sonogram and said “I’ve got to fix this.”

Bin huffed, “There’s no fixing this Chris. She doesn’t tolerate assholes like you. You cheated and threw everything away! Now, I am going to take her to a hospital to check on the baby, YOU are going to stay the FUCK away from her! Is that clear?!”

While Bin was chewing Chris out, Han was packing everything he could think of. He had a feeling but he couldn’t put a name to it. Being the youngest in his family, he never really knew what being protective felt like. For some reason, from the second you came stumbling out of that room, he only had one objective, keep you safe. The drive to protect you so instinctual it wasn’t even a thought in his brain as much as it was an impulse.

Maybe it was that you both think so similarly. You had met the boys because of a photoshoot in New York. You were a photographer that was hired to do some promotional shots of them in the bustling Times Square.

Han had a panic attack due to the massive amount of people and you took him aside and grounded him, got him to calm down and breathe. He didn’t know at the time but you yourself have extreme social anxiety and anxiety overall. That was when you and Han exchanged numbers. “Rain or shine, I’m here for you always,” you told him after the shoot was done.

That was when Han told Chris why he was even able to complete the shoot and Chris really liked your shots, so he got your number as well. That eventually led to the boys begging you to become their personal photographer full time. Then you moved to South Korea to work with them, because taking a plane every few weeks was just too much.

Han was wondering how such a beautiful beginning ended up like this. How something so horrible could happen to someone so rare, talented, and sweet. When he was done packing, he ran to the car with 3 overnight bags, yours, Han’s, and Bin’s. He knows that they aren’t coming back for a while, knowing that you’ll need support more than anything.

Not to mention Han can’t even look at Chan right now. Too many questions race through his head, but one look at you and all of it disappears, his Noona needs him. His niece or nephew needs him. That’s what matters.

Han told Innah to go back inside and tell Bin that you’re ready to go.

Bin shoved Chan out of the way and left the house. He was expecting you to be in the front seat but you were actually in the back with Hannie. You were crying on his shoulder as he tried to talk you through your deep breathing exercises. When you finally made it to the hospital, you were terrified.

You had tried to stay as calm as possible for the baby but seeing what you saw, realizing what he did & what you gave up for him. Then the reality of him doing this… and saying those things about you, it was all too much.

Now that you were registered, Han and Bin had time to register the heartbreak they felt for you. They were completely in the dark about all of it. Probably because they would’ve beaten the crap out of Chan for even contemplating doing that to you, let alone following through with it. You are so sweet, kind, beautiful, and intelligent, all the members admired you so much. So, to see Chris doing this. It’s no wonder why they were seeing red right now.

But they needed to put that anger aside and check on the baby and yourself. The wait was nerve-racking, especially at almost 2 hours staring at a clock and waiting.

Bin only had time to think, and think he did. He couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair it was for you, how he would’ve never dreamed of cheating on you. He would’ve spoiled you and made love to you every single day. He would’ve cried and spun you around seeing that positive pregnancy test. It made his heart hurt at the fact that you didn’t experience that.

His anger was quickly replaced with regret. He regretted not telling you his feelings. He regretted letting Chan anywhere near you. He also regretted the pang of hope in his heart at the possibility of having a chance with you. Thinking momentarily that it was wrong to even hope that you don’t reconcile, afterall you’re married, why put such negative thoughts into the universe, let alone feel hope at that thought? It was something he couldn’t help.

If anything, in his mind, he’d love to raise this baby with you and that truly scared him. Even more than the possibility of Chan fixing things. That meant that he was ready to sacrifice everything for you. And if he were to be honest with himself, he would’ve recognized that’s always been the case.

Meanwhile, Chan had been blowing up Han and Bin’s phones non-stop, wanting updates, if his wife and child were okay. Are there any signs of stress? It got to a point that Bin excused himself just to personally tell him to fuck off.

“What do you want?” Bin snapped.

“I want to know how my wife and child are.” Chan sounded terrified, but Bin couldn't care less, after all, it was his fault any of this happened. As a matter of fact, it only made his anger worse. Hearing him say, my wife and child. Like you were something to be owned.

“You lost the privilege of calling her that, Chris.”

“I made a mistake, Bin. A mistake that I want to take back so please tell me where she is.” Bin could feel the anger rolling off of himself. This isn’t a mistake. A mistake is leaving the oven on, or forgetting your wallet at home.

There are so many steps before having sex, the courting, taking every layer of clothing off. At the very least when going out 5 pieces of clothing need to come off. That’s just on him, not to mention she still has to undress. Then there’s getting into the bed,the foreplay, the kissing, the teasing, prepping her, then you have to get over her. All of this is before penetration is even in the mix.

All of these chances to stop, look at a photo of his gorgeous wife and realize that everything Chris could possibly want, he already has. All of this is racing in Bin’s head as his blood continues to boil.

“We are still trying to calm her down and you think that I am going to let you anywhere near her? You’re out of your fucking mind.” Bin spat at him. “Every time you call, she starts to sob, you know why? Because she knows that the person she trusted, that she loved, that very same person is the same one that degraded, disrespected, and destroyed not only her but her child’s life. He also won’t get the FUCKING HINT that she needs to focus on HERSELF and HER CHILD! You are only making it worse.”

Bin’s voice was so loud that every time the doors separating himself from you were even slightly ajar, you could hear Bin chewing Chan out.

“Bin, you have every right to be angry…” It was then that Bin could hear the phone being snatched and Minho was on the other end.

“We told him NOT TO CALL AND TO LEAVE HER ALONE! Two simple instructions Chan! You’re only going to stress her out more! You’ve done enough! Hey Changbin-ah, sorry. I’m going to call you on my phone and I’m taking his phone away now.”

“Thank you,” it was all he could say. At least he was getting some form of reprimand, given Bin would’ve loved to beat the crap out of him. But his thought was that Chris being verbally chewed out would have to do for now.

A few seconds later Bin’s phone rang, “Hey”.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Minho asked, “And Hannie?”

Bin’s face fell as he looked back at the equivalent of his younger brother being so strong for you.

“We are holding on. It’s hard not to cry with her, hyung.” Bin exhaled as he paced.

“Chan shut the fuck up! You’re the whole reason why she’s in this mess so shut it and sit down!” he heard Minho barking at Chan.

At that point, Bin heard a blood-chilling scream, and he shouted your name. When he busted through the doors he found you gripping your stomach. Your gray sweatpants now taking a bright red hue.

“Bin? Changbin-ah!” he heard Minho but he couldn’t answer. His body was on autopilot as he ran to you.

You screamed for him, “Binnie..no no!” He handed the phone to Han as he started to yell for help.

You held onto his hand as if he was your lifeline. It felt like something was ripping apart your insides, worse than any period that you have ever had.

Han put his ear to the phone once he registered that Minho was screaming on the other end of the line, “Minho.” Han was near tears. He knew exactly what this meant.

“Hannie what’s happening?” the alert in Minho’s voice was haunting. Somewhere in his mind he was hoping to hear “False alarm, everything’s fine!” What he actually heard gave him goosebumps as his heart dropped.

“I’ve gotta go.” That was all Han said as he hung up and went to you.

“Hannie! No, no the baby Hannie.” She clutched onto him, praying, begging. Meanwhile, Bin tried to get help. She kept staring at her lap and Han tilted her head up.

“Focus on me, Y/N look at me, okay, keep breathing.” Han kept his voice even as he took his jacket off and put it on your lap, to block your view. “You just need to look at me and breathe.”

You clutched your stomach harder as you heard Bin arguing with the staff and the only thing Han heard was “Please wait.”

Han is not confrontational, but seeing you like this, he screamed “We can’t wait, she's bleeding and pregnant!” Han checked under the jacket, what was a patch of red was now dominating the gray… something was wrong. He looked at your face to find the color draining. He screamed to Bin, “Bin she’s bleeding out!”

Changbin ran to you and looked. He immediately asked you if you could walk. The minute you shook your head he gave Han the jacket and scooped you up. Now that he picked you up he noticed that you lost all rigidity in your body, you couldn’t even wrap your arms around his neck. When he looked down at you, your eyelids were fluttering as your free arm dangled.

Before this, he thought he knew what fear was… the sense of dread that filled him as he held you, that was fear. It felt as if he was the only person in the world who knew that the world was going to end. His world was going to end if you…

“Han get the door,” Bin ordered as he walked to the door that led to the patient beds, nurses, and doctors. As soon as the door opened Bin went through.

Bin shouted as loud as he could, “I have a pregnant woman that’s bleeding out. Can we get some help here?!”

Immediately 3 nurses rushed to Bin and led him to a bed. “Y/N stay awake c’mon stay up,” He kept trying to keep you up the entire way to the gurney.

He didn’t notice it but blood was being trailed behind him. The only one who seemingly noticed was Han.

As soon as Bin laid you on the gurney the nurses immediately started cutting off your pants while a doctor asked for a summation of what happened, your name, and anything else Han or Bin may have known.

Bin immediately gave the doctor any information that he could find useful. You held onto Han and Bin with whatever strength you had. The nurses asked Han to move so they could get an IV in and he repositioned himself at your head to pet your hair back. The doctor draped a privacy sheet over your legs so that you could feel a little more comfortable.

A few seconds into the exam the doctor yelled “Get anesthesia down here now! We need an epidural.” He looked at one of the nurses and said, “Prep for a D&C”. Then he said, “Get a vial for blood type testing and rush it, a transfusion set ready, IV open wide,” to everyone else in the room, the nurses rushed around them and the doctor said, “Ok Y/N can you hear me?”

You nodded, then screamed as your body involuntarily bore down.

Both Han and Bin tried to comfort you as much as they could.

The doctor said, “There is going to be a lot going on here in a few minutes okay? You’re going to get a nerve block because what’s going to happen is going to be uncomfortable.”

You looked at Bin and Han and begged them to stay. Both of them looked at the doctor and said that whatever was happening, they weren't leaving. The doctor could see that you really needed them and as long as they were not in the way, it didn’t matter whether they were here or not.

After the nerve block and the procedure, the doctor cleaned you up and draped a warm blanket over you, while the nurses hooked up a transfusion and closely monitored you. The doctor asked for Bin in the hall while Han went right back to your hand without the IV in it, so he could hold it properly.

Bin tried to ignore it during the procedure but the look that the doctor had on his face when he was doing the preliminary exam was haunting. Whatever he was called out here for… it wasn’t good.

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generalsdiary · 3 months ago

Text

the spice will warm me from the inside

Jiaoqiu x Moze

warnings: description of injuries, mentions of the 2.5 events, Jiaoqiu’s history, Moze’s history, nightmares, anxiety, breakdowns, knives/weapons mentioned, one swear word, assassination attempt (dw)

word count: 5.5k

description: a hurt/comfort fic, angst & fluff, life after the events of 2.5, kinda found family trope as well. Jiaoqiu's life with his newfound trauma and disability, Jiaoqiu and Moze living life and communicating in healthy ways. As much as it goes over their "angsty" pasts and traumas it is very healing and focused on moving forward and learning to find a way to go on even when all has gone dark (pun not intended). Feixiao shows up a few times, Sushang comes to visit. As much as it is hurt/comfort, dw as soon as it hurts you, you will be comforted. One has to process through their past traumas and everything they have been through in order to start moving on. A realistic approach.

Jiaoqiu's fingers pressed against the smooth surface of the window. Cold, smooth, glossy. Traveling between the ships of the Luofu wasn't something new to him, but the experience felt different. The darkness, the shadow didn't move no matter how wide he opened his eyes, hoping for light to seep in, for a picture to form. It was hopeless, the poison took its toll.

“Moze.” his voice was gentle as ever, trying his best to hide the tremble in it. The fear as every space feels unfamiliar. The small tremor in his hands that hasn't left since he was... rescued.

“Yes?” a deep-toned voice beside him makes his ears perk up, trying to pinpoint the location, to naturally turn to the man as he usually would. With the way he could before. He turns, hopefully towards Moze. A small crinkle in his eyes as he recalls how March corrected him twice because he wasn't facing her nor the others. Jiaoqiu expected his hearing to be better, to be a better aid, especially as a foxian.

“Describe the room for me. Please.” there's a small pause. A silence. The shadow guard was incredibly quiet, not even a rustle of his clothes.

“It is the same as the last time. Small room, red velvet seats, three across three, sliding glass door, warm light from the headlight, grey floors. The regular transportation.”

Jiaoqiu nods, bringing his fan out, hiding half his face and gently moving it creating a small whiff of air. He remembers some of it... such a mundane thing, he never paid it too much attention. It hurts. Leaning his head back against the soft seat he closes his eyes. They are straining him. an unfamiliar feeling this early in the day.

“Mhm, thank you, Moze... and. General Feixiao, where is she?”

“Arranging a private port for us three to exit at. to avoid crowds.” Moze keeps his answer concise.

The trio is still greeted by guards and some of the general’s usual caretakers. They have received the news, and a man eagerly approaches the trio. His hand is quickly gripping Jiaoqiu’s forearm, making him lose his balance, making him stumble. He desperately uses his tail to balance and tug his arm back. The irritation barely hidden in his voice, “You do not take my arm- one does not simply drag a blind man with them.”

Commotion. Calming words of the general. And a voice that cuts through the multiple voices talking. A low tone, beside him. “I’m on your right, half a step in front of you.” being taller than Jiaoqiu, Moze’s soothing voice is heard easily, mouth so near the foxian’s fluffy ears.

Jiaoqiu takes a calming breath. Another one. This is fine. No. It is not fine. He just has to get home. Home. Yes. Everything will be fine when he gets home.

His hand reaches out into the unknown, the rough fabric meets his fingertips, he gently rests his arm tucked into Moze’s and then grips his forearm. “Thank you. Please. ..Slowly. I can’t.-“ Jiaoqiu’s voice breaks, why did it- no he is fine. He is not breaking down in public. It has been years since has was able to cry. Not after he served in the military. Those tears have long dried up.

You don’t need to cry to break down. To feel the pain engulfing you. The war took most of his ability to taste away. The once lover of subtle, bland flavors, now chased the spiciest, hottest meals- no matter how much it burned his tongue or hurt his throat. It made him feel alive. The spice burned inside him, warming him up when all he could feel was an icy cold throughout his bones.

The familiar crack of the wooden floor beneath his feet lets him know he is finally home. Jiaoqiu immediately took his shoes off and let go of Moze. Stretching out his arms, feeling the smooth texture of the walls in his home. Navigating to his bedroom. Through many dark nights, he could move around his house effortlessly- but this wasn’t a dark night. No moonlight. No lamp. No candle. No soft lights coming off the electronics. He bumps into the couch, and a cabinet, until he finally sits down on the soft bed. Opening his eyes. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Nothing? Jiaoqiu wants to rage, to throw furniture around. Hasn’t he done enough? Given enough? Deep breaths. He will not succumb to the anger that wants to drown him. Mindlessly caressing the cotton sheets beneath him.

“G-give me a scarf.”

Silence. Jiaoqiu cannot hear him. Moze was always someone he could see, even in his shadow form, he could always SEE him. he could not even smell him. the clean man. Not a single scent.

A fabric touches his hands, soft, strange patterns swirling on it. He drags his fingers across it. Deep breaths. Calm down. He folds it neatly and brings it over his eyes. Tying it up around his head.

“Why?” Moze asked quietly. The sound seems to be coming from below. He is… kneeling beside the bed?

“Every time I open my eyes I hope they will heal. That… that something maybe changed. And every single fucking time that hope is crushed. And I-“ his voice wavers, “I cannot deal with that. I cannot bear another time of my heart getting broken by my inability to see. … with this, I won’t be able to open them. Just. Just… until I get used to… things.”

“I can order a cane for you.”

“No,” Jiaoqiu says a bit too harshly. “I will not. I can’t. I… just. Please, I.” he stumbles over his words like he is falling down the stairs. Shaking his head. Hands trembling. Moze’s habit of not speaking is upsetting at this moment. The bed squeaks under the weight of the other man, strong arms encircle him. Firm chest pressed against the foxian’s back. Calm breathing on his shoulder and a strong steady heart beating against his own works wonders. Making him ground his own breathing in the pace he feels the other’s ribs expand and contract. Heartbeat soon enough coming into sync with Moze’s. A comfortable silence. Although to Jiaoqiu it isn’t a silence. The inhale, exhale, a reassuring sound in this abyss.

Jiaoqiu’s fingers gripped the peeled onion a bit too roughly. He worried it might roll away. Just have to tuck in his fingers, and it is okay. Chop, chop, chop.

Cooking is a big part of him. and his situation will not take it away from him. The last thing that makes him feel like himself. His hand hovers above the deep pan, warmth seeping in. It is hot enough. He chops more veggies and meat and puts it all on a low simmer. Doors open and close, and as per usual he turns towards the sound. It has to be Moze or Feixiao. A burglar wouldn’t enter that casually, right? These thoughts don’t ease his life. The constant worrying and anxiety-

“It’s me.” he doubts he is able to recognize everyone’s voice. Humanoid hearing is simply not suited for it. Expect that it is Moze. Jiaoqiu can recognize his voice. “I have brought you something” With a quick step he is beside him, warm hands holding his and handing him something… smooth. “You said no cane. This is a walking stick. Older people use it- I know, you maybe don’t want it, and it may cause more trouble. Simply put, at least it’s here to help you not fall. okay?”

That’s a lot of words for the shadow guard who prefers to stay silent. Jiaoqiu feels out the walking stick, tapping the ground with it a bit. “I appreciate the thought, I will. I will keep it near.” With that, he sets it against the kitchen counter and stirs the food. Sour and spicy notes hit his nose. Home. Breathing it in like smoke. Wishing it could take him back.

“Why are there green peppers in the trash? They appear fine.” Moze questions. Jiaoqiu exhales, his throat tightens. Opening his mouth to explain but the strain stops him from voicing anything. Why are they in the trash can? A perfectly good ingredient, still fresh, he is never wasteful. The everpresent tremble is his new companion, his imagination makes him feel the finger that pressed against his back causing immense pain so he may give away secrets about Feixiao. The claws that ripped his clothes apart and left rough textured scars- still wounds, they have yet to heal to become scars. The makeup that ran down his face. The tugged hair. Flashes of scent induced fear. The last thing he ever saw was that monster. Hoolay. Green peppers. No. It isn’t something he can see- … it isn’t something he can smell, eat, or feel again.

Moze quietly observes the way Jiaoqiu grips the counter, the way his breathing becomes shallow, the silence piercing his ears, worry coloring Moze’s face now that he doesn’t have to conceal his expressions anymore. “I will take the trash out.”

“Please, thank you.” Jiaoqiu answers in a shaky, broken voice. The voice one sounds like right before they will break down. With swift movements, Moze ties the bag and takes the trash out.

With a slow step and one hand on the walking stick, he carries the food to the table. Plate by plate. Chopsticks, spoons. Beverages. If it were any other normal day he’d carry the pan to the table. But it isn’t any other normal day. This is the new normal. And carrying a heavy, soup-filled pan is risky. Finally satisfied, he sits down and smiles gently. Like he used to. Small wins, little joys.

Moze returns and wishes to say how he could’ve helped. Those words die down in his throat. Would it be more condescending than helpful? Would he even care for his words? Moze lost his voice, his will to speak, from his “second family”. Where no one cared for what he said. He convinces himself that this time he isn’t speaking because it might be rude.

“Would you text the trailblazer for me?” Jiaoqiu inquires during the meal, once Moze returns from washing his hands.

“Now?”

“No, no. after we eat. And could you switch the settings to voice commands and audio-specific notifications?”

“Consider it done.”

Technology is another thing Moze has a great understanding of. Updating the phone and other digital items in their home poses no issue. “When I call you in the future, or anyone whose number you have saved this is how it will sound” Moze calls Jiaoqiu’s phone, and instead of making a pleasant melody, a robotic voice starts talking ‘Moze Moze Moze Moze…’ Jiaoqiu nods with a small smile. “That is helpful, I appreciate it.” “And you can text the trailblazer by giving voice commands to the phone. You don’t need my assistance.” Moze sounds proud, showing Jiaoqiu that he is perfectly capable of doing it alone, just a bit differently than what he is used to.

“I’m going to meet Suyi. You can take the time to clean, Moze” Jiaoqiu takes his cane and exits their home. Hopefully, by giving him obligations and keeping clear of the area, it will make Moze not follow him.

It has been a few weeks. He took an orientation and mobility class. Learning how to use an actual cane. It felt easier to exist. Jiaoqiu was once again mobile, he could go to the market, buy fresh produce, and go out to meet old friends. Tap tap taping his way to the café. Jiaoqiu had a preference for a nonfoldable cane. The subtle vibrations carried through much better. And concrete felt like hell so he tried to stick to the pavement the best he could. The Yaoqing, sadly, had no pathways adjusted to those with impaired vision. Tap tap tap. Jiaoqiu made do with what he had. Walking in public with his cane made him feel free again, akin to feeling in control again. There is a lingering hope in it. Reminiscent of a small candle’s light, not too strong, yet it may illuminate a whole room.

Another assassination attempt failed. Moze groans. The general suggested asking for advice from others, and the trailblazer, the first person he asked, had nothing useful to say in that regard. The silver shine of the knife glistened in the artificial sun. Like sharpening it will make the attempts successful. Feixiao killed his entire family. His family. His close ones, they healed him, gave him a roof over his head, they fed him… poisons under the claim he will live forever with it, his words ever only falling on deaf ears, mantras shoved down his throat like rose spikes. Intoxicating his insides even after he knew of the evil those same words caused. Not to mention the first family that abandoned him, the village that left him to die.

Is this what you call a family? Moze asks himself as the sharp blade lingers above Feixiao’s throat. There he stands. About to succeed. To win his freedom. Is he not already free tho? No, no, she killed his family. This was the agreement and the rightful vengeance. Moze outdid her. Snuck into her home, he won. Yet his hand is frozen. It stands still in the dead of the night. Unmoving. Static. Immobile. Eyes observing the resting face of the woman who saved him. Educated him, showed him kindness, and actual warmth. And in his adult years, she is the one who introduced him to his current partner. Be that as it may, what becomes of him if he let go of it all now? What is his worth? This was his goal, all this time. The driving force of his medically adjusted body. Is this what you call a family? Is this who has been his family all along? The general and the healer? The borisin and the foxian. The air is deathly still. His hand is calm, free from tremors. His brow furrows deeper, thinking through all of it. Until he comes to a decision.

“Feixiao.” Moze says in a normal tone. The knife was still against her neck. The general stirs awake, eyes widening at the surprise, however she makes no move to shove him away. Feixiao knows if he wanted to do something, it would have been done.

“I have won. … I shall remain your guard, General. Death will have to walk through me to get you.” in the blink of an eye he is gone. Feixiao exhales and returns to her sleep with a smile on his face. Moze finally, slowly, started to move on. Decades later, he managed to take small steps toward acceptance.

A few minutes later he is holding his partner in his arms. “Jiaoqiu” Moze whispers into the soft ear. The foxian stirs, “hm?” “I have succeeded in my revenge.” Small shuffle and a sharp inhale, Jiaoqiu turns towards him, “Hm?” sleep-driven hum. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. She is my family. I cannot. I would never bring harm upon the ones I care about. Never.” Moze speaks his vow aloud and nuzzles his head into Jiaoqiu’s neck. Nothing more had to be said, in his opinion, time to sleep. A gentle hand caresses his hair, “Good.” Jiaoqiu leaves a feathery kiss on the grey hair after which he continues sleeping.

Misty rain soaked his clothes and the small boat rocked along the smooth surface of the Rainsoar lake. Jiaoqiu used to come here often. Alone he’d collect herbs and fruit in the herbal basket on his back.

“You didn’t have to come with me, one of the locals could’ve taken me.”

“It is not a problem for me, Jiaoqiu. I’m glad to be in your company, we see each other less… and it brings me joy to be beside you.” Feixiao answers, slowly rowing the boat through the lake covered with heart-shaped foliage, blossoms, water chestnuts, and the occasional fish jumping out. A beautiful sight, a tranquil atmosphere surrounding the two.

Jiaoqiu reaches out beyond the small boat, dipping his fingers into the icy cold water to collect the lotus flowers and floating heart plants. An old tradition for him, one he did even before he joined the army as a doctor. The cold fingers pluck a wild rice stem and open it up. Bringing the fresh rice to his mouth.

Years before it had a wonderful sweet and refreshing taste. His taste changed after he came back from war. Jiaoqiu’s taste buds were the price he paid in the war. A renowned chef, and healer, lost his delicate sense of taste. The gaze of an Aeon who looked down upon the thousand-year war, and their choice to end it, burned everyone involved. Jiaoqiu’s tongue was the price he paid for running into the white light to save the young kid. Feixiao. The cold region was something he got accustomed to. Nonetheless, when the almighty power sliced down the battlefield, Jiaoqiu felt a cold unlike any other. Freezing him from the inside. With the leftover survivors, he decided to cook a stew. A warm flame. Some spice. More spice. Chili peppers. Not enough. All the spice he had in his pouch. Until he finally felt a taste on his tongue. A burning sensation. The last flavor he can actually taste. For it made him feel alive despite everything that happened, everything around him, the cold air, the cold insides, the tasteless tongue. And the heat… it sent a jitter down his body. So alive. … the sensation bordered on pain. As spice tolerance grows, surely his grew as well. And he might today very well be dancing with pain every bite. After he returned from the war the rice stems tasted too bland. No flavor to them. He reaped the consequences of his actions. Of choosing to save the girl. His scars from the war.

Years later, at the same lake, with the woman he saved during the war, the boat rocks with her movements. The second time he saved her he paid with his sight. Jiaoqiu never blamed her, why would he? It was his choice the whole way and his goal. The jump to save her from the Aeon. To drink… Tumbledust. To give everyone a fighting chance and to heal Feixiao’s moon rage. Jiaoqiu is an adult and he made his decisions to the best of his judgment in the circumstances that were given to him.

The wild rice lands on his tongue. For a sacred moment, he feels a tinge of sweetness, however, it is only for one moment. And gone with the wind. Even so, for one moment it was there. Is it because he lost his vision that his other senses have enhanced the tiniest bit giving him a single second, less than a second of something that used to bring him joy? The foxian could cry at that moment if his eyes had not dried from any tears while he was still in the army. A moment is still a moment. It is enough. Enough to give him more hope. To keep him moving forward. To have faith in the future. To even dare to look into the future.

For a man to willingly drink poison, deadly poison, he had to give up all hope. Any faith toward the future, any life he thought he had left. Jiaoqiu had to make peace with the fact that no one was coming to recuse him- that he would not be saved. So what was the last thing he could do? After Hoolay drained him of any secrets about the general, humiliated him, treated him less than the ground they walk on, and broke his ego and pride by allowing him to walk around knowing he will “always return to his master”. The only thing he could do was give the others a fighting chance, somehow use the knowledge he acquired; to save Feixiao and sacrifice himself.

The sweet flavor of rice on his tongue. A small flame of a candle, a hope. Hope for the future, he gets to live in. as he slowly finds his self-worth again, his self-respect, and his hopefulness for the oncoming days.

“We may return. I got what I came for.”

“Hm- I’m still-“ Feixiao speaks with her mouth full and Jiaoqiu angles his head a bit analyzing the sound, and a chuckle is ready to part his lips. “You are eating?”

“-mh, hey the water chestnuts are really good!” Feixiao probably has her mouth full of food. The general likely got bored and hungry. Jiaoqiu’s warm laugh cuts the silence of the lake. He hasn’t laughed in a long time. It makes his tummy hurt and he has to stop to not make the boat flip over. Feixiao laughs with him… after she chews down the food in her mouth.

How does one make noise when one walks? A question Moze never thought he’d ask himself. Hence, doing his best, it sounds like a child purposefully stomping the heel of their feet onto the floor. Heavy steps. It is ridiculous. Moze finds himself hilarious, ironic even. His stoic front breaks down when he hears his partner laughing from the couch. The sole reason why he is doing this. To fill the void Jiaoqiu sees. Moze will not move like a shadow in their home. He shall make noise. Even if it sounds like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum.

“I’m trying!” Moze voices between bursts of laughter.

“Ooh, I can hear that indeed~” Jiaoqiu nods and giggles.

A knock on the door interrupts their conversation. Jiaoqiu stands up, slowly making his way to the door, while Moze opens it.

A girl with a cloud knight uniform on and long dark brown hair with a big bright smile stands in the doorway. “Hello!” she says cheerfully, “It has been so long, I thought I’d come to visit, how are you, Uncle J?”

Jiaoqiu angles his head a bit, the voice not ringing any bells. “I’m sorry, you-“ Moze quickly buts in, “It is Sushang.” “Yeah, and I brought a gift!” Sushang happily stretches out her hands, handing Jiaoqiu a small box. There’s a few seconds of silence. Moze once again says, “She is handing you a small box, approximately the size of a human head, and by the looks of it not too heavy.”

“Ah, thank you, Sushang. Your presence is unexpected but I’m glad you came over, are you hungry?” Jiaoqiu carefully takes the gift in his hands and smiles. “I mean, I could never say no to your cooking Uncle J! Also... I’m sorry, you are..?” Moze sighs. This is the third time he has seen her and she fails to remember him. The shadow guard, proficient in remaining hidden, wonders why she never remembers him. Jiaoqiu speaks in his stead as he slowly walks to the kitchen, “This is Moze, my partner.” “oh! Hi there, Uncle Moze!” Sushang flashes him a bright smile and moves past him to sit at the kitchen island, ready to yap a whole storm about her life and catch her uncle up with it all. Starting with her best friend, Guinaifen. Once she finishes her stories, Sushang is more than happy to sit in a slump position, stuff her face full of dumplings while Jiaoqiu shares some new stories of his life (the happy ones). In her eyes, he tells them better than the storyteller at Sleepless Earl.

“You know I care about your thoughts, opinions, even random comments with not a single thought behind them, right?” Jiaoqiu’s hand effortlessly treaded through Moze’s silver hair, facing him on the couch. “I will try. I have learned differently and… despite it being a bad habit, those are even harder to let go of.” Moze’s eyes are closed, melting under his lover’s touch. Jiaoqiu’s voice is smooth like butter, continuing, “I know, Moze. When it gets hard, just remember that I care about you and what you have to say. I always have. I love you.” Moze leans forward, pressing his forehead against Jiaoqiu’s, “I love you too. I will do my best.” Moze softly kisses the bridge of his nose, where the cotton scarf lays across his eyes.

Jiaoqiu reached behind his head, untangling the scarf. Weeks, months have passed since he started wearing it. Taking it off only when he bathes or sleeps. He opens his eyes. “I missed seeing them. Such beautiful golden glow, Jiaoqiu.” Moze muses, enjoying the view of bright orange eyes. “Thank you. I feel finally… strong enough mentally to exist and move without it. I have gathered… hope and mental strength.” Jiaoqiu nods, the darkness beyond his eyes unchanged. “They still look beautiful to you, Tumbledust didn’t affect them?” “Even if it did, the fact would not change. To answer your question your eyes are unchanged. They cannot meet mine, but I was never big on eye contact.” The simplicity and honesty in his answer made Jiaoqiu feel secure and loved. The foxian smiles, and their home feels warm. So warm with them together, kind, loving, patient. Healing through their traumas and pain. One thoughtful word at a time.

In the peaceful moment, Jiaoqiu caresses Moze’s cheek and leans in to kiss him. One of the moments where darkness is welcomed… because of the way Moze makes him feel during the kiss, it makes Jiaoqiu feel like he can taste colors.

“The divine traces of Abundance shall heal your body... quick. Drink this...” Moze’s body was covered with sweat, his breathing was shallow. Hooded figures surrounded him.

“I don’t… don’t make drink… no…no” he mumbles helplessly, the thick liquid forced down his throat again. Goosebumps rose on his skin, “Drink child. You will… immortal… save… others…” Moze’s throat closed up, drowning on dry land and his mind disconnected from his body in an all too familiar way. Dying and fighting in the same breath. Half a second away from a silent scream or spitting the medicine back out. “Please… please… I…” his voice trembled, powerless against any of them. Once more his voice is ignored. His yelps and pleading for help, his begging for mercy shushed, ignored… put aside. Nothing more than a good test subject, convinced this is what family does. This is how it must be. Others live like this too, right? This is completely normal, right? He is cared for and nourished here, right? He will survive this, right? I will survive this…right?

A hushed voice hummed in the distance. The worn down building, cold and exposed cement his everyday environment, and the sound he didn’t recognize. “shh, shh, shh.” Rhythmical, paced… soothing? No one ever soothed him. Then he feels it. A delicate tender touch. Fingers brushing his hair. Moze’s breathing sped up as his surroundings changed, he inhaled sharply, his vision going black, all sound stopping into a painful echo of silence, a deafening sound, his lungs moving up and down with irregular breathing until there was none of him left. Abyss. Darkness. Black dots of midnight oil. A window. A window? Moonlight vaguely illuminated the space. A bed. And… “shh, shh, shh. There you go… back with me.”

Moze’s face felt wet, his vision blurry and his eyelashes stuck together, a salty taste on his lips. The sight of his partner holding him so carefully, gingerly, and taking care of him… Moze had no words. The nightmare swallowed him up again. He hated the feeling. Immediately he turns to press himself fully into his partner, to hide his face away from the shadows in the room, “Jiaoqiu” he whispers. “Yes, my precious. I’m here. You’re here. In our home. In our bed. Safe. With me.” For the next few minutes, Jiaoqiu keeps murmuring comforting words and hushed hums until Moze grounds himself in the present moment.

“I hate them. I hate my nightmares.”

“May I offer my healing abilities? A nine-squared grid hotpot will surely have a pleasurable effect on this, and help out.”

“I… that sounds good. If you say it will help, then I’ll take it.”

Jiaoqiu starts sitting up, “Very well.”

“Wait,” Moze utters, squinting his eyes to look at the clock, “it is 3 am, you don’t have to cook now.”

“Then when am I supposed to cook, Moze?” Jiaoqiu replies with a smile, “It isn’t hard. It doesn’t bother me.” He stands up and faces somewhat in the direction of the bed. “I’m happy to take care of you, Moze.” Jiaoqiu sits back on the bed and finds his partner’s face, cupping it in his hands. The texture of Moze’s unshaven face against his fingers feels rough but familiar, and in that familiarity, he feels safe. His home. He presses his lips against the younger man’s forehead and stands back up, already on his way to the kitchen.

Approximately half an hour later, a freshly bathed Moze sits across Jiaoqiu for a late night or an early morning meal. The warm liquid filled with various vegetables and spices feels good as it goes down his throat. It isn’t poison. It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t a threat.

“Thank you, Jiaoqiu. It tastes amazing.”

“Always a pleasure.” He answers with an all-knowing smile. “I could add a little more chili oil next time…”

“eh- I… it is spicy enough, darling.” Moze voices his thoughts hesitantly, which makes Jiaoqiu softly laugh and add a few drops of chili pepper flakes to his own bowl.

On the other hand, Jiaoqiu’s nightmares didn’t stop. Many nights he wakes up in fear of where he is. Is he still captive? Still kidnapped? Still surrounded by borisin and under the effect of lupitoxin? Jiaoqiu wakes up with heavy breathing every time, sitting up quickly, feeling the space around him- more often than not, waking Moze in his desperate attempt to gather where he is whether he is home or there. There’s a phantom pain where Hoolay pressed his finger onto his back to drain information from him. An itch on his chest where the wounds will form into dark pink scar tissue. In the beginning, it was every night. Every night for weeks, months. Jiaoqiu started relying on afternoon naps. Time has passed but his nightmares are still often. On the rare nights when Moze isn’t in bed, he has a good sleep schedule- most likely went to drink some water, Jiaoqiu is quick to spiral and clumsily get out of bed. Moze usually finds him kneeling on the floor, hanging onto the wall, mumbling, “No, no, no, no, no, no. I am not. This is home. This is home. It is. My walls. M-moze…Moze”

The curse of a doctor, a healer, they cannot heal themselves. The trauma he has been through, the scars from it that he carries still with him, most of them not even visible, it isn’t something that passes overnight. Healing is a long and slow process. It will take time. Sometimes he has no nightmares for weeks, only for them to torment his peaceful night’s rest for days on end. Some days, Jiaoqiu will have a bit more anxiety while walking around. What if everyone and anyone he talks to once again is under a guarantee of a death filled with fangs and claws?

Hence, he takes it slowly. When the world feels like it is crushing him, he takes a deep breath and eats spicy food. He grounds himself in his environment. Reminds himself that he is safe, Hoolay is dead, the borisin are under control, he isn’t being targeted, and everything is fine. Everything is fine. He will be fine. With time. One deep breath at a time.

The tremor in his hands never left him.

A breeze rustled various branches and leaves, providing a lovely melody of an artificial autumn on the Yaoqing. The scent of cooked apples dipped in caramel and baked cinnamon rolls filled the air.

“I see no threat in my retainers. The man you cannot see is my guard, and the foxian is my personal doctor. Surely, we don’t pose a problem?” Feixiao questioned the men in front of her, attempting to enter a highly secure space, on a very important and very secret mission.

Moze appears by her side, “I shall leave all my weapons with you.” he takes his time to slowly strip himself of his hidden knives and make a full scene out of it.

Jiaoqiu stands still with a small smile and his cane in his hands. “I do not carry weapons. I am a healer, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” If at all possible, his smile widens subtly with the honey-dripped words that coat the actual truth. “Moreover, I am retired. I’m here on the general’s command to accompany her to this… wonderful occasion.”

Rustling, murmuring, quiet chats, “…what could a blind man do…” “…the guard left all of his weapons…” “….yeah, we can let them through..” “You may come.”

Feixiao slowly walks towards the entrance with a confident stride, Jiaoqiu steadily taps his cane following her with the same smirk on his face, Moze soundlessly steps last, with at least, still 32 weapons on him.

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