#even though he’s probably a bit of a jaded bastard I just know he’d be the sweetest lover | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingssummit · 4 years ago

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Hi I just read you’re tsukishima story and it was so cute omg but I have an idea

Let’s say y/n has a huge crush on tsukishima since they were children right. But tsukishima never rlly liked y/n in that way. So he would always like be kinda aggressive but like not in the physical way, like he would be cold to her whenever y/n would constantly say something abt them dating. In reality he did like her but he didn’t realize it. Then suddenly a new guy shows up, he’s like really handsome and he’s in a small band, he plays the bass. Y/n actually listens to that band and she was so excited so the two of them click really easy, that’s when she starts being distant with tsukishima and stops the talks abt them dating, tsukishima starts to miss everything y/n would say to him and he wanted to get y/n back, but when he tries he sees y/n and the guy sharing a peck 😔‼️ sorry if this was longgggg ugh

a/n: ahhh! I’m glad you thought so, haha! don’t worry about the length, specifics are always welcome! <3 this is a really good idea! i think it ended up on the longer side, but yk, more content is good? i also ended up naming him, so it’s easier to refer to him. i keep holding on to highschool settings i’m sorry LMAO- i haven’t finished season 4 and i’m not reading the manga yet :( but anyways, here’s a bit of angst/unrequited love to balance out my recent fluff posts !

asks/requests: open !

word count: 2.6k

warnings?: some angst/unrequited love

worth a try.

- TSUKISHIMA KEI -

growing up with tsukishima had been a whirlwind of experiences. ever since you had moved and transferred to his school the last year of primary school, you’d been drawn to him. the tall, blonde kid with glasses. you found his pride in volleyball admirable, and you even found him to be so much cooler than you ever would be.

you originally didn’t know anybody when you first moved, but you fit right in with both tsukishima and his own friend. it was a strange combination, but it worked somehow. while tsukishima was rude, and yamaguchi timid, you were loud and energetic. you were lively. you challenged him just for the fun of it, you poked and prodded, just having fun being around him.

you were his self-declared best friend.

looking back on it, you probably always had feelings for tsukishima. back in those days when you tried to get into volleyball yourself. wanting to be like him, you tried your best, but you weren’t all that good. he would make fun of you for it, but you weren’t bothered by settling for being supportive of him and your freckled friend. You were just as passionate as they were about it.

you were even there when that passion jaded. watched as he stared at his brother from across the game.

it was when you started junior high, that you came to the conclusion that you were in love with your friend. but unlike most people, you did nothing to hide it. why would you? you were always open, always honest and straight to the point. you just weren’t one to hide that.

“go out with me, tsukki!” you poked his side with a cheeky grin, your eyes bright. your friend wasted no time in rejecting you.

“no.”

“aw, you sure?”

“i would never date somebody so stupidly annoying.” you shook off the blatant insult, laughing instead with your hand on your neck. a small thing you picked up from your other friend. yamaguchi.

“you’ll come around one day!”

“i doubt that.”

it went on like that all throughout your remaining years until high school. a constant back and forth that became a schedule at that point.

it was decided that tsukishima would be going to karasuno, as would yamaguchi. and so would you. you would go where they go, you’d never thought about leaving them both. you’d stay with them as long as possible, holding on to their friendship like it was your lifeline..

and holding onto tsukishima even more so.

you were there with them on the first day, when they joined volleyball club. that first practice match against aoba johsai.

you weren’t always watching their practices, since you had your own club duties to attend to of course. but you always made sure to stop by the clubroom while the boys were getting ready, just to say hi to everyone and to a certain someone.

“hey, hey!” you poked your head from around the door, waving a hand. the team greeted you cheerfully enough, minus tsukishima. who looked annoyed to no end.

“tsukki, wanna go grab something to eat after your practice? i know a really great spot!”

he didn’t even look at you, only giving you the middle finger.

you laughed, shrugging. “worth a try.”

the first time the team had witnessed your very forward approach to asking the extremely salty and crude boy out, they were surprised. the way he turned you down so effortlessly too, threw them off. the added shock of anybody even liking him was the cherry on top.

“is this normal?” sugawara asked, a chuckle falling from his lips. asahi was beside him, sweatdropping at the sight of your affectionate display, and tsukishima’s obvious lack of reciprocation.

yamaguchi smiled awkwardly, nodding. “well- yeah, actually. It’s been happening for years.”

“i’d kill to have somebody all over me like that! lucky bastard!” tanaka held his fist up dramatically, as if clenching his heart in it. he even had a tear in the corner of his eye.

“well then, i’ll be on my way! good practice, everyone!” you chirped, finally leaving them.

“l/n’s got some serious determination.” tanaka whistled.

“misplaced determination. they won’t shut up about dating, it’s annoying.” tsukishima didn’t sound as impressed as his loud senpai was.

yamaguchi tilted his head to the side. “really? i would’ve thought tha-”

“shut up.”

a small laugh. “sorry, tsukki.”

it would forever continue, it seemed like. you never thought you’d give it up, you always knew that you liked tsukishima. your heart would pound, your stomach would feel fluttery. but even though you’ve been with him since you were children, it didn’t seem like he’d grown to feel the same. it would get you down sometimes, his mean and harsh words whenever you’d bring it up. either casually, or intentionally.

you couldn’t help being so hopelessly whipped!

you were walking down the sidewalk with yamaguchi and tsukishima, humming along to a new song that had been dropped recently. you were so into it, strumming your fingers like you were the one playing in the recording. tsukishima watched you with critical eyes, but yamaguchi watched as if this was entertaining.

“new song, l/n?” yamaguchi asked you, and you paused the music. you nodded right away, grinning.

“yeah! there’s this kind of new band I found a bit ago, i think around the time you guys met nekoma for that first practice match? their music is so cool!” you could go on and on about them, to be honest. they may be small, and very underground, but you liked them anyways.

“wahh, they sound cool- right, tsukki?” yamaguchi and you both looked behind at him, faces expecting the same sentiment.

he only scoffed.

you roll your eyes playfully, sidling up to him for the first time today. “you want to go get some ice cream, tsukki?” you wished, hoped for him to just say yes for once. your heart was begging at this point.

“get out of my face, l/n.” he said coldly.

with a defeated sigh, you walked a few steps quicker, before unpausing the music. the humming resumed, and yamaguchi glanced back and forth between you both with a weary expression.

“you could try to be a bit nicer, tsukki-”

“they can’t take a damn hint, it’s not my job to be nice about it.” He said stubbornly.

yamaguchi sighed himself, nodding along. there wasn’t a point in continuing the topic; he always shut it down whenever yamaguchi brought it up. he’s never been so aggressive about something before.

interhigh had come, taking up your friend’s time with it. you were upset that they’d be so busy now, but with the new tournament coming, came a new student.

he was friendly, and cheerful, and honestly probably one of the most charming people you’ve ever met in your life. he even looked familiar to you, like you’ve seen him somewhere before. you couldn’t figure it out, so you just opted to the conclusion you must have just passed him down the street at some point. or some strange case of deja vu? either way, he was in your class now.

you were just coming back from the bathroom, your earbuds plugged into your ears like they usually were nowadays.

“l/n, please take your earbuds out, it’s class time.” iour teacher scolded you gently, and you pouted a little. It was just getting to a good part-

you had tugged on them a little too hard, and instead of just getting them out of your ears, they came out of the headphone jack completely.

you were embarrassed as your new favorite band’s music started blasting out of the phone’s speakers, and you hurried to turn it off. You were blushing, laughing at yourself as you went to go sit back down.

ahh, dang! everyone heard that! you were just laughing at yourself in your head now.

there was a tap on your desk, and you turned your face towards the hand. it was the new kid, and his face looked bright.

“you listen to my band’s music?” he whispered to you, his face beaming, and you gasped quietly.

“is this you?” you pointed at your pocket, where your phone rested. he nodded.

“that’s so- wow, i go to school with one of the people in my favo-”

“l/n, do you have something to say about the lecture?”

you shook your head violently, holding back a huge grin. “n-no, miss!” your teacher sighed, and continued past the interruption.

the looks you both shared didn’t go unnoticed by tsukishima.

everyday now, you were hanging around the new kid. you had come to learn his name, which was ishiwaka teruo. you both had hit it off instantly, it was like you guys had known each other forever, and not just a few weeks. it was almost like some crazy twist of fate, or luck. you guys were both alike in a lot of ways, held similar passions, too.

“see you, ishi!” you waved a hand, grinning as he waved a goodbye back. you guys didn’t take the same way home, so he ended up leaving the opposite direction, while you walked with tsukishima and yamaguchi. you were humming again, one of ishiwaka’s band’s songs.

“you seem pretty happy, l/n.” yamaguchi chuckled, watching as you danced a little.

“oh yeah, you bet! ishi actually invited me to sit in for one of his practices, isn’t that so cool? he plays the bass, and he even offered to teach me a few chords. i don’t really mess with instruments, but-”

“can you shut up about him? all you do is just yap on and on about this guy, hanging out with him isn’t enough for you? what’s so special anyways?” his tone was harsh, and condescending. “if you’re just going to talk about him all the time, i’m not walking with you guys anymore.” your eyes widened as soon as you heard what tsukishima had just said. your heart was pounding, like it had been caught in the act of something terrible. you even felt slightly ashamed.

“wow, nice, tsukki. sorry for being excited about something.” you muttered, clutching your bag straps tight. what did you expect at this point? he didn’t like you as much as you thought, if he was so ready to just leave you behind. yamaguchi sensed the tension between you both, which made him uncomfortable.

you were all quiet for the rest of the way home.

interhigh came and went, the loss against aoba johsai stung the volleyball team, leaving their spirits broken, and cracked. you hadn’t been to the game that day, busy with a certain band member. and your missing presence hadn’t been looked over.

“where were you?” tsukishima had confronted you in the hallways, while you were walking with ishiwaka to the water fountain. it was break, which meant he could freely talk to you now.

you looked away from him, a nervous air around you that wasn’t like you at all.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t make it, tsukki- i heard that you guys lost, and i’m really sorry i couldn’t have been there!” your words were careful and slow, like you were thinking on how to say the right thing to him.

the blonde closed his eyes, and looked off to the side. he didn’t look pleased in the slightest. “were you with your precious band member? like some kind of groupie.”

ishiwaka raised an eyebrow, and you just shook your head. tsukishima was really doing this right now? you said sorry, what else were you supposed to say?

“you know what, yeah. i was with him. it’s not like..it’s not like i have to be around you or yamaguchi every second of the day, okay?” you sighed. “look, i’ll make it to your next practice, and skip my club activities. is that fine?”

he hesitated, before giving you a curt nod. you smiled in relief. “great! i’ll see you then. now, about that specific measure-”

you had left him behind, and tsukishima had been hit with a realization.

you hadn’t mentioned going on a date at all. not today, not even within the past few weeks. was something wrong with you? he’d gotten so used to that, but now even that wasn’t a constant.

it was like you were slipping away from him, day by day.

and he realized that he didn’t like that.

as the days went on, thoughts about this ran rampant through his mind. it was maddening, he was trying to focus on school, and now, as he was walking to the clubroom, volleyball. he was scarily silent, and yamaguchi caught onto it right away.

“tsukki?” he asked quietly, not wanting to push. but he wanted to know. ever since tsukishima had come back from break that day, he’d been acting strange. he was even saltier, if that was possible.

“am i not enough for l/n?” he spit out the question, like it was a disease.

taken aback, the freckled boy could only blink. the two stopped walking, looking right at each other now. “what?”

tsukishima barked out a laugh, running a hand over his face in frustration. “you heard me, yamaguchi.”

yamaguchi’s jaw dropped. “do you miss them?” was he for real? was this jealousy actually coming from tsukishima?

“hell if i know.” he muttered. but he knew the answer, and that’s what upset him.

“i knew it. tsukki, why did it have to be now, though?” he shook his head in disbelief. at the utter obliviousness of this boy. yamaguchi knew himself that there was something there in tsukishima, something resembling feelings for you. but of course it was when you were no longer always around that he saw it.

“what?”

“l/n isn’t a puppy anymore, they’re not following after you. if you haven’t noticed, they’ve given up. you need to do this yourself, and fix it.” yamaguchi stated. he wouldn’t be lying if he said that he’d been frustrated with the back and forth between you both, it was so obvious to him, but apparently not obvious to tsukishima. or you, for that matter.

“i know that.” he muttered. he would have to confront you about this. was he stupid? why didn’t he get this before?

“then do something about it.”

tsukishima was quiet.

it was decided by him that he’d catch you outside of practice, since you said you’d be coming to watch. it was a quick, and impulsive decision from him, but he needed this to be figured out. his head was at it’s most unclear, and that was affecting him.

you were affecting him.

he looked around the outside of the gym, trying to see if he could spot you coming. it took a minute, before he saw a figure off to the side. it was you, he could tell by that bag anywhere. he stepped out, only to be met with the full picture.

you were with ishiwaka, and you were kissing him.

tsukishima hurried back into the gym with a stone-cold expression. oh. so this is where he stood now.

no longer at the top of your list, no longer important.

you walked into the gym, beaming. it angered tsukishima, more than he should have been. he yanked your arm, and held you by them with a vice grip. you looked up at your friend with nervous, maybe even scared eyes. you hadn’t seen tsukishima like this before.

“what is he to you?”

you blinked. “wh-what?”

“who is he to you? that little bass player.” his eyes were searching yours, for anything, anything that he could hold on to. you didn’t respond, only looking away from his intense stare.

your eyes didn’t hold that same look that they used to whenever you looked at him.

he had his answer. and he didn’t like it. so he let go of you, maybe for real this time. things had changed so much, right under his nose. and he had let it happen.

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #tsukishima x reader angst

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riotwritesthings · 4 years ago

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I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

#my fic #bucky/tony #winteriron #starkbucks #everybody loves vampire bucky AMIRIGHT #anywhooo HAPPYBIRFDAY 😘

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zintranslations · 4 years ago

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 3

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: Shameless Couple (2)

Ruan Nanzhu's stint as an actor was purely for fun, so nobody took the matter very seriously. But months later, as Ruan Nanzhu sat around bored at home with nothing to do, he got a call from Zhang Yiqing. The movie was premiering, and Zhang Yiqing sent him two free tickets for him to go have a look.

Tickets in hand, Ruan Nanzhu invited Lin Qiushi to go see the movie together. The two arrived happily at the theater, Lin Qiushi bought a bucket of popcorn, and they sat down in the audience.

The movie was a hundred minutes total; Lin Qiushi didn't have high expectations coming in, but afterwards, he was completely blown away. Though Zhang Yiqing had been an actor and had never gone through an official director’s program, he obviously had quite a lot of talent in the realm of directing. At least, the techniques he used to shoot this wuxia film that Ruan Nanzhu got a cameo in were good enough to provoke cheers and applause.

Ruan Nanzhu, playing the prince in the movie, was also exceptional.

But after they watched it, that was that. Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu went home without thinking too much on the matter, until the next day when Lin Qiushi opened up his social media and saw that Ruan Nanzhu's character was trending…He didn't understand such things very well. He clicked into the tag and found many people gushing about Ruan Nanzhu's acting and good looks, and asking how come they'd not seen this new actor before. No one thought that this new guy with so few lines would be so eye-catching.

Lin Qiushi woke the bleary-eyed Ruan Nanzhu and pushed the phone in front of his face.

"Nanzhu, are you famous?"

Ruan Nanzhu opened his eyes and peered once at the phone screen before pushing Lin Qiushi down into bed again. He kissed Lin Qiushi's chin and said, "forget about that…"

Lin Qiushi, "oh…"

Ruan Nanzhu had little actual concept of himself going viral, so when he was having lunch with Lin Qiushi one day, he was actually pretty irritated to get Zhang Yiqing's phone call.

"I'm just a minor side character," he said, "why should I go on your publicity tour? What? Blacklist me? Did you take the wrong meds this morning? I'm not even in the industry, blacklist me all you want—"

Lin Qiushi listened at the side and found it funny, but then Zhang Yiqing said something at the end, and Ruan Nanzhu actually stopped refusing. Brows furrowing, he looked up once at Lin Qiushi before agreeing to Zhang Yiqing's request to go on a publicity tour with him and the cast.

After hanging up, Ruan Nanzhu said that Zhang Yiqing wanted him to go do publicity for a bit of time.

"Go," Lin Qiushi said. "But if you really dislike it, don't force yourself. We lack for nothing."

"Mh." Ruan Nanzhu nodded, taking Lin Qiushi's words to heart.

After that, Lin Qiushi's projects got busy as well, and he didn't have the time to pay attention to developments around Ruan Nanzhu's movie. The point at which he realized Ruan Nanzhu was well and truly famous was when he discovered that a young employee had switched her desktop screensaver to a picture of Ruan Nanzhu. Lin Qiushi had even thought he'd been seeing things at first, pointing at the screensaver and asking the girl, "who's this?"

The girl turned to Lin Qiushi with an expression of excitement and began a fanatic recommendation of Ruan Nanzhu, saying how this was a super popular newcomer named Yu Qiuqiu, and not only was he good looking but is acting was also amazing!

Lin Qiushi, "…" Alright alright, enough already. I know exactly how amazing his acting is.

That night, Lin Qiushi stared thoughtfully at Ruan Nanzhu, who was in his pajamas in the kitchen, watching TV.

Ruan Nanzhu noticed Lin Qiushi's gaze. He turned around to ask, "what is it?"

Lin Qiushi, "Nanzhu…"

Ruan Nanzhu, "hm?"

Lin Qiushi, "are you famous?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "famous? What do you mean?"

Seeing his bewildered expression, Lin Qiushi had no choice but to change his wording: "Is Yu Qiuqiu famous?" And this bastard even debuted with his pseudonym.

Ruan Nanzhu slapped a hand to his thigh. "Yeah! Our Qiuqiu is super famous! Zhang Yiqing recommended me to his friends trying to make me the main character—"

Lin Qiushi, "isn't that a good thing?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "how is it a good thing? If I'm making movies I have to run around all the time. I can't keep you company like that."

Lin Qiushi thought about it.

"But you're just doing it for fun, so you don't have to worry about all that. You don't have to film if you don't want to. If you're tired you can just take a break." Other stars may have burdens, but Ruan Nanzhu didn't.

"Okay then," Ruan Nanzhu agreed. Then he seemed to recall something. "Right. The newcomer from Obsidian came to set a couple of times. I ignored him, but tell Ye Niao that if he keeps coming, I might not be able to handle it."

It took Lin Qiushi a long while to remember the existence of this person—it seemed to be the newcomer coveting Ruan Nanzhu for his good looks, who was under the impression that Lin Qiushi had taken Ruan Nanzhu by force.

He asked, "what do you mean by not being able to handle it?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "I might not be able to handle it and end up decking him, of course."

Lin Qiushi, "…"

The facts were, after being baptized by the doors, their bodies had all become stronger than those of normal people. This was the case for Lin Qiushi. He'd thought at first that he would be around Ruan Nanzhu's level, but then one evening, he’d discovered that he wasn't Ruan Nanzhu's opponent at all. Ruan Nanzhu, who'd wanted to try some fun little technique, restrained Lin Qiushi with ease; a single hand was all it took to pressed both of Lin Qiushi's above their heads. That hand that looked as pale and delicate as jade had felt just like a metal shackle, and no matter how Lin Qiushi struggled, it hadn’t budge an inch.

Also, every time he picked Lin Qiushi up to go wash, Ruan Nanzhu could lift him, a healthy grown adult male, in one arm.

Afterthis discovery, Lin Qiushi had laughed at himself for worrying about Ruan Nanzhu getting mistreated outside—Lin Qiushi counted all of them lucky that Ruan Nanzhu wasn’t mistreating people.

"Don't worry about it." For the above reasons, Lin Qiushi said as much. "If he really annoys you, do what you must."

Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

Just a few days after they'd discussed the matter, Lin Qiushi went to check in on Ruan Nanzhu at work. Ruan Nanzhu was filming a modern movie this time, and played a handsome serial killer in the script. Lin Qiushi thought this character setting rather suited Ruan Nanzhu.

He was waiting on the curbside at first. But then his ears caught onto a strange noise. It sounded like a person…keening. Lin Qiushi heard this, and his brows puckered. He turned and looked into a small, dark alley. The film was being shot in the studio backlot, which was complicated and filled with architecture of various styles. So naturally, there were plenty of out-of-the-way spots that the cameras can't capture.

Just as Lin Qiushi was wondering if he ought to take a look, he heard Ruan Nanzhu's voice.

And Ruan Nanzhu sounded a bit dark, a bit scratchy, when he said, "feels good?"

Lin Qiushi, "…"

He padded silently to the entrance of the alley and saw Ruan Nanzhu standing inside. There was another person kneeling in front of Ruan Nanzhu. Though it was dark enough that Lin Qiushi couldn't really make out the other person's face, the scene before him wasn't anywhere as raunchy as he'd imagined.

That person was lying on the ground like a dead dog. Ruan Nanzhu heard his footsteps and turned around, and when he saw Lin Qiushi, he hung a faint smile up where a cold expression had previously been. His motions were natural as he rolled down his sleeves, approaching Lin Qiushi.

"What brings you here?"

Lin Qiushi glanced at the man hanging on his last breath lying on the floor.

"He's not dead, is he?"

"Of course not, I know when to stop." Ruan Nanzhu came over, seeming like a sweet and adorable big kitty, as if the icy ruthlessness from before had all been an illusion. "We'll call him an ambulance. He'll be fine."

"I…I'm calling the cops…" The person's call from the ground was as faint as a mosquito's. "You…you hit me…"

It was only then that Lin Qiushi identified this person. Wasn't this the newcomer from Obsidian that Ruan Nanzhu had mentioned only a few days ago? Lin Qiushi hadn't expected the guy to still be harassing Ruan Nanzhu, and had apparently pissed Ruan Nanzhu off enough to get beaten up so badly that not even his own mother could recognize him.

Man, how complicated his feelings must have been when a single slap from Ruan Nanzhu, who’d seemed like nothing more than a little white bunny, was enough to take him down.

Lin Qiushi said, "if he still has the strength to threaten us, then we probably don't need to call an ambulance."

Ruan Nanzhu, "no need. I avoided all the vital areas—'tis all just flesh wounds."

Lin Qiushi nodded, fished out his phone, and gave Ye Niao a call. Ye Niao was furious. He said he was on his way and urged Lin Qiushi not to be angry.

After Lin Qiushi hung up he lifted Ruan Nanzhu's hand.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

"I am," Ruan Nanzhu pouted. "Look, it's injured."

Lin Qiushi searched the hand all over at this, and finally found a single patch of broken skin no bigger than his pinky. He looked back at the man beaten to a pulp beside them, then back at the wound on the back of Ruan Nanzhu's hand. Finally, he couldn't hold in his laughter anymore.

"You're so…"

Laughter also surfaced in Ruan Nanzhu's eyes.

Ye Niao came quickly and dragged that person off like he was dragging out the trash. Before he left he even apologized to Lin Qiushi for his poor judgment and for choosing such a person…

Lin Qiushi said, "don't worry about it. Everybody makes mistakes."

The matter pretty much ended there. Lin Qiushi never saw that person again, and no police ever came to bother them. Ye Niao took neat care of the matter.

"They didn't give you a hard time, did they?" This was what Lin Qiushi asked Ruan Nanzhu after they got home.

Ruan Nanzhu, in response, "who's they?"

Lin Qiushi, "the cast and crew, of course."

Ruan Nanzhu slid off in thought. "They think I'm being kept by some heavy hitter, and mess around with the mob…"

Lin Qiushi, "…"

Ruan Nanzhu, "so, they're actually pretty respectful?"

At this, Lin Qiushi didn't know for a moment whether he ought to laugh or cry. Ruan Nanzhu himself was the heaviest hitter—why would he possibly be the kept boy of one? But since he liked to act so much, there was no harm in Lin Qiushi playing along. They still had a long time together, after all. There were plenty of things for them to try.

Ruan Nanzhu scooted close to Lin Qiushi, setting his chin on Lin Qiushi's shoulder and mumbling something about being sleepy. Lin Qiushi stroked his hair like he was petting a giant cat. This animal, when tamed, seemed just like an overgrown kitty, but if you actually pissed him off, he was actually a ruthless beast.

But this was a beast that would never extend its claws at Lin Qiushi, was all.

Translator’s Note:

The term translated as “heavy hitter” here, 大佬, has actually appeared often in the text. It’s a slang term that kind of means “the big guy,” as in the boss, the one with the most experience, etc. RNZ gets called this a lot, especially in the Hako Onna door.

[Extra: Shameless Couple(1)] | [Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths(1)]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒

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dreary-rain · 3 years ago

Text

The Storm Protects (Ch.1)

Continuation of this post

Venti/Aether

Warnings: angst, violence, injuries (full tags on AO3)

Find the full story here

The sky was cloudless as Aether strolled through Mondstadt, Paimon floating at his side. He stopped by the Adventurer’s Guild and chatted with Katheryne about upcoming commissions. After waving hello to Donna, Aether slipped inside Angel’s Share. It was a bit too early for the regular crowd, but there were a few people scattered around.

“Diluc!” Aether greeted with a smile. The redhead glanced up from where he was cleaning a glass.

“Aether, good to see you. How are you?” Diluc asked and set the glass down.

“No greeting for Paimon?” Paimon asked and crossed her arms. Aether shook his head with a smile and sat down at the bar.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Diluc said with a smile. “How are you, Paimon?”

“Paimon is doing great! But it would be better if you had something to eat.”

“Of course,” Diluc said and reached under the bar, pulling out a plate of food. Paimon’s eyes lit up, and she turned her attention to eating.

“Thank you,” Aether glanced back at Diluc. “I’m feeling better. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

“I can imagine. What brings you here?”

“I just wanted to see you. Well, I did have a question and a request, but that can wait.”

“By all means, go ahead. I’ll listen.”

“Well, in that case…” Aether cleared his throat and looked down. “Do you know what happened to… to the… to the Fatui who…”

“Ah, them.” Diluc saved Aether from having to spell it out. Aether had faced a dragon, fought a Harbinger, and fallen from the Jade Chamber, but nothing had brought him closer to death than his slip-up with the Fatui agents. Even now, he had trouble believing he had almost been killed by mere Fatui. But there had been plenty of strange occurrences that day. Battle after battle in a relatively peaceful area in Liyue was rather unusual. It was almost like his day had been planned by someone else so that Aether would be too exhausted to fend off the Fatui.

But why? Aether didn’t want to consider the possibility that not only the attack itself, but the entire day was planned just to kidnap him.

“I’m surprised you aren’t already aware. They were found dead at the Stone Gate.”

“Dead?” Aether looked up in shock. “That’s the first I’ve heard. And right where I was ambushed…”

“Well, it’s been two weeks since it happened, but you were still on bed rest. We didn’t want to alarm you while you were healing.”

“I understand. But who…” Aether stopped. “Diluc, did you—?”

“No. It wasn’t me. Someone got to the bastards before I could,” Diluc said bitterly. “Don’t look so surprised. Half of Mondstadt would kill for you.”

Aether looked down and clasped his hands in his lap. He stole a glance at Paimon, but she was too engrossed in her food to be paying attention. Aether knew what Diluc said was true, but it was still unnerving. Why would they go to such lengths for Aether? He wasn’t from Teyvat. He was an outsider, an outlander, someone who didn’t belong. He didn’t deserve the kindness and protection of so many.

“You don’t need to go to such lengths.”

“There’s no necessity of it. We want to protect you, and anyone who lays a hand on you will suffer.” Diluc rested his palms on the bar and leaned forward. “Let’s say it were Venti who was almost killed. To what lengths would you go to keep him safe and hurt those who dared harm him?”

Unconsciously, Aether tensed. If someone harmed Venti… Aether would kill them. Morals aside, no one would touch Venti and live. In his mind’s eye, Aether saw La Signora plunging her hand into Venti’s chest, stealing his Gnosis and then kicking him aside like trash.

Aether didn’t trust himself to speak, but Diluc saw the murderous expression on his face. If Aether ever saw La Signora again, he would end her with his own two hands.

“Do you understand now?” Diluc asked, and Aether nodded, taking a breath to relax. He was safe, Venti was safe, and La Signora was nowhere near either of them.

Uncurling his hands, he rubbed his palms to soothe the crescents his nails had left. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make the mood so sullen.”

“No worries. Now, I hate to cut this short, but business will be picking up soon,” Diluc said with a glance at the door. Aether quickly stood.

“I won’t bother you much longer. But I did have a request. I’d like to purchase a bottle of dandelion wine.”

Diluc raised a brow. “You’re underage.”

Aether resisted the urge to facepalm. If only Diluc knew that he and his twin were older than everyone in Mondstadt combined.

“It’s not for me. I have a guest coming over tonight and I’d like to treat him.”

“That’s what they all say,” Diluc shook his head, but there was a smile on his lips as he opened the cabinet behind him.

“Come on, Paimon. Time to go.” Aether slid enough mora to Diluc and took the bottle of wine. Paimon thanked Diluc for the food, and then they went to leave.

“Say hello to Venti for me,” Diluc said as goodbye. “And tell him to pay his tab or I’ll stop serving him.”

“He’ll weasel free drinks from your patrons if that does occur,” Aether laughed. “But I’ll remind him.”

“Take care, Aether.”

The sun was nearing the horizon as Aether walked home. The shadows were long, but Aether made a point of avoiding them. He always made sure to make it home before dark.

In worlds past, it had always been Lumine who was afraid of the dark. Aether would tease her about it, but he’d always make sure to leave a light on at night. Now, the roles were reversed. Aether couldn’t stand the dark, not without being reminded of his near death experience. He wouldn’t travel at night anymore, making sure to be in a safe place before falling asleep.

Meanwhile, Lumine was at home in the darkness of the Abyss. Aether wondered if she ever thought of him, or if she was so dead set on her goals that he was an afterthought. Would Aether have ever seen her if he hadn’t traveled with Dain? Aether was tempted to track down the Abyss Herald just to see her again. He would brave the terror-inducing energy of the domain housing the inverted statue just to see her again. He would fall into the darkness of the Abyss just to find her again, to beg that she come home with him.

But if their roles were reversed, would Lumine do the same? Aether didn’t want to know the answer. The bitter sadness that was left from her abrupt departure was too much to sort through.

“Aether, cheer up! Paimon knows you’re thinking about your sister again, but it’ll be okay. We’ll find her again, don’t you worry,” Paimon broke Aether out of his thoughts.

“You’re right. It may take some time, but we’ll find her,” Aether said with a small smile. There was no use dwelling on Lumine now, not when Aether needed to get ready for his guest.

Ever since the incident three weeks ago, Aether had been staying in an apartment in Mondstadt. Even though he had his teapot, Aether felt safer in Mondstadt, surrounded by people he loved. He didn’t want to burden anyone by asking them to join him in his teapot realm, but he was too lonely by himself. He couldn’t bear being alone. What if something happened and he was all by himself again?

Diluc had offered Aether his city apartment for as long as he needed to recover, but Aether had initially turned down the offer. It wasn’t until he’d been cooking in his teapot mansion and accidentally cut himself chopping vegetables that he reconsidered the offer. The sudden sting of pain and the blood welling on his fingers had sent Aether into such a panic that Paimon had found him huddled on the ground in the kitchen minutes later. It was at Paimon’s firm suggestion that Aether moved into Diluc’s apartment.

Aether made it to the apartment, walking up the stairs to his door. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. That was cause for alarm. Aether always locked the door when he left.

But he was in the middle of Mondstadt, and it wasn’t even night yet. Besides, there were two others who had keys to the apartment. One being its owner, Diluc, and the other being…

“Ehe, hello Aether. I may have let myself in,” Venti said from beside the stove. He was cooking dinner. Aether heaved a sigh of relief. It was just Venti. While hanging up his cape and scarf, Aether noticed Venti’s hat on the coat rack and his shoes at the base.

“It’s no problem. I’m going to change into something more comfortable. I wasn’t expecting you this early,” Aether said while pulling his gloves off.

“I know, but I wanted to treat you with dinner tonight. My food is quite tasty when I cook it right.”

“Well, thank you. I brought you dandelion wine. Diluc says hello, but wants you to pay your tab or he’ll cut you off.” Aether placed the wine on the table while Paimon floated over to Venti to help with the food. Well, she probably just wanted to sneak some food from the bard.

“That Mister Diluc always threatens me, but he always serves me reluctantly.” Venti stirred the contents of the pot. “Thank you for the gift. Which reminds me, I brought you something, though it’s a bit makeshift. I’ll bring something adequate next time.”

“Don’t stress yourself out. I’ll appreciate anything you give me. Now, I’ll be back. Don’t burn the house down in the meantime.”

Venti clutched his shirt in mock hurt. “Aether, you wound me.”

Aether just smiled and closed his bedroom door. He summoned his sword and hung it on the wall, then rummaged through his dresser for more casual clothes. When he was done, he joined Venti at the table.

“One Archon special coming right up!” Venti placed a plate full of food in front of Aether and Paimon.

“Is it just Paimon or does this look like a Sweet Madame?”

“Ehe.” Venti rubbed the back of his head and sat across from Aether. “It’s one of the few recipes I can make myself.”

“Well, it’s better than Zhongli. I’m not sure he even knows how to cook rice,” Aether pointed out. “He’ll lecture you all day long on the proper way to prepare rice for different meals, but I bet he wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“He’d be stuck the moment he needs to buy ingredients. That blockhead never changes,” Venti agrees.

“For being the god of Mora, Zhongli never seems to have any. Ironic, isn’t it?” Paimon said, eliciting laughs from Aether and Venti.

“Jokes aside, this tastes really good, Venti,” Aether complimented sincerely.

“Why, thank you. I try.”

Aether washed their plates when they were done. The sun had gone down, the sky painted in shades of red and pink fading into blue.

“Paimon, could you make sure all of the candles are lit?”

“No need to fret. I lit them before we met,” Venti assured while pouring himself wine. “Come sit back down and I’ll give you your gift.”

Aether sat beside Venti, who placed a flower pot on the table.

“Flowers?”

“Dandelions!” Venti said, gesturing to the Anemo-colored puffs. “They grow where there is gentle wind, and in Mondstadt they grow without end. While freedom is our creed, I think these little ones will love it here.”

Aether stared at the dandelions, drawing the clay pot a bit closer to him.

“And, uh, also,” Venti said a bit nervously, “I thought they’d remind you of me, so that even when alone, I’ll be with you in memory.”

It was such a thoughtful gift, given the circumstances, that Aether felt unbearably happy. In lieu of a response, Aether leaned over and hugged Venti.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling as Venti’s arms wrapped snugly around Aether’s waist. After a moment, Aether leaned back, relishing in the way Venti’s hands lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll put them on my bedside table by the window. That way I’ll see the dandelions every time I wake up.”

Aether stood, grabbing the dandelion pot, and gestured for Venti to follow. Paimon stayed in the kitchen, munching on cookies Aether had bought earlier in the day.

After placing the dandelions beside his bed, Aether sat down and pulled the elaborate hair tie off and set it aside.

“Help me with my hair?”

“Of course!” Venti climbed onto the bed behind Aether, crossing his legs and grabbing the end of Aether’s braid. “Do you have a brush?”

“Behind you.”

Venti deftly sifted his fingers through Aether’s long, blond hair, carefully untangling any snarls. Aether swallowed, closing his eyes at the pleasant sensation.

It was moments like this that reminded Aether of his feelings for Venti. The care and kindness the god gave him made Aether feel special. Out of anyone in the world, Venti chose to spend his time with Aether. Before Aether had arrived in Teyvat, Venti hadn’t stayed in one place for too long. He had gone where the wind wanted to go, but after meeting Aether, the Archon was never out of reach.

“You like that, hmm?” Venti hummed as he combed through Aether’s hair.

“Mmhmm. You’re gentle. Lumine used to braid my hair, but she’d always pull too hard on the tangles.”

“I braid my own hair enough to know how to be gentle,” Venti said softly. Aether couldn’t see him, but he sounded like he was smiling. Fingers ran down the length of his hair. “Your hair is much longer. And softer.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were back there petting my hair,” Aether teased.

“Maybe I am. It’d be a waste not to.”

Aether opened one eye and turned his head slightly to look at Venti. He was surprised to see a serious look on Venti’s face. It was one full of contemplation.

“Venti?”

“Tell me, Aether, what do you think of me?”

Aether considered the question. The obvious answer was that he loved Venti, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. What if Venti didn’t love him back? It would ruin the friendship they’d built.

Except, when Aether thought about it, Venti didn’t treat Aether like another one of his friends. A mere friend wouldn’t come by Aether’s apartment every night, wouldn’t cook dinner and bring presents for no reason, and wouldn’t help Aether with his hair. An Archon wouldn’t abandon centuries of wandering to stay with Aether unless Aether meant something more to him. Venti hadn’t left his side since the incident with the Fatui, always checking in on him, protecting him.

Suddenly, Aether remembered his conversation with Diluc. The answer was obvious now.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Aether mumbled. He looked at Venti, at his gaze so full of love and kindness, and realized he’d been a fool. This whole time, Venti had harbored feelings beyond friendship. Aether had been too oblivious to see it until now.

“Venti, I…” Venti perked up. Aether fought the rising blush. “I love you.”

Venti’s eyes widened, but then his lips curled into a soft smile. Venti leaned forward, eyes flicking down to Aether’s lips. Aether’s face flushed red, but he closed his eyes. Less than a moment later, Venti’s lips met his.

It was a chaste, simple kiss, but it sent tingles down Aether’s spine. Venti brought his hand up to Aether’s cheek, pulling back enough to speak.

“If the kiss didn’t convey the sentiment, I love you, Aether,” Venti said, his breath hot against Aether’s lips. “This is a bit of an awkward position, with you twisting around like that.”

As soon as he’d said it, Venti shuffled around, swinging a leg over Aether’s hips. Venti settled on his knees over Aether’s lap, forcing Aether to tilt his head up to see him.

“That’s better,” Venti said with a satisfied hum, then captured Aether’s lips in another kiss. Venti cupped Aether’s face with his hands, his lips plump against Aether’s. Venti kissed with a passion, fervent and controlled at the same time.

His right hand trailed to the nape of Aether’s neck, then tangled into his hair. With a sharp tug, Venti pulled on Aether’s hair, tilting Aether’s head at an even sharper angle. A soft gasp escaped Aether’s throat, his hands flying to steady himself on Venti’s waist.

“It’s been so long,” Venti murmured against Aether’s skin as he trailed his kisses along Aether’s jaw, “since someone has made me feel this way.”

Venti mouthed over Aether’s exposed neck, tightening the hand in his hair.

“Venti…” Aether breathed as Venti nipped at the base of his throat. His fingers curled around Venti’s waist at the sensation. He vaguely noted how small Venti’s waist was, how well it fit into Aether’s hands.

Venti’s hand fell away from Aether’s face to rest on the topmost button of Aether’s shirt. Quickly, Aether grabbed his wrist.

“Kisses are enough for now,” Aether said breathlessly. He didn’t think he could handle much more. Venti nodded, removing his hand and pressing a kiss to Aether’s cheek.

“We’ll stop here, then.” Venti brushed a strand of hair from Aether’s face. Aether noted smugly that Venti’s lips were red and slick. He looked a mess, but Aether was sure he looked worse.

“I never said no more kisses,” Aether whined as Venti slipped off of his lap.

“I know, but I don’t think it would be easy to stop if we got ourselves too worked up,” Venti explained. “But, I’ll give you all the kisses you want when I visit tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Aether agreed with a blush and looked down. A finger tilted his chin upward.

“I love you,” Venti said with a wide smile. He giggled, kissing Aether on the forehead before walking to the bedroom door. “I’ve been waiting forever to say that.”

Aether stood to follow, a giddy smile on his own face. Venti loved him. It was as simple as that, and yet it made Aether’s heart swell with joy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aether promised as they walked through the kitchen. Paimon looked up from where she was sitting at the table, taking a break from floating.

She took one look at them before huffing, “Finally. Pining idiots.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aether asked incredulously. Paimon just shook her head and took a bite out of her chocolate chip cookie.

“Goodnight, Aether,” Venti said and adjusted his hat after slipping on his shoes. “I love you.”

“You’re going to say that every time you see me, aren’t you?” Aether joked, leaving against the door frame.

“I’m a bard. I’ll come up with poetic ways to express my love once my head clears up.” Venti stood outside on the stairs. “Thank you for tonight. I left the dandelion wine. I’ll drink more next time.”

“See you tomorrow, Venti.”

“Until tomorrow.” Venti started down the stairs, then paused. “Aether, you should wear your hair down more. You look beautiful in a braid, but in the presence of your unbound hair, the beauty of the heavens fades.”

Aether blushed, pressing his lips together in embarrassment. He absentmindedly twirled his hair.

“Too much?” Venti asked sheepishly.

“I’m flattered,” Aether said. “A little embarrassed, but very flattered.”

“Hmm…” Venti‘s eyes flicked up and down Aether, then settled on his eyes. “I’ll have to make a point of flattering you. That blush suits you.”

“Venti,” Aether whined. “My heart can’t take it.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll take my leave now before I give you a heart attack.”

“See you!” Aether waved as Venti left. Then he shut the door, locking both of the deadbolts. When he entered the kitchen, Paimon was asleep at the table.

“How does someone who floats and eats all day get tired so easily?” Aether shook his head, then picked Paimon up and laid her down on her bed. She had insisted on having her own bed in the apartment, so Aether had found a child sized bed for her and placed it in the corner of his bedroom.

“Goodnight, Paimon,” Aether said. He fumbled with his shirt, hand pausing on the top button with a blush. All in due time, he thought as he changed into sleep clothes.

Aether climbed into bed, glancing at the dandelions on the bedside, and put his finger to his lips. He could still taste the dandelion wine from Venti’s lips. With a smile, Aether fell into a peaceful sleep.

“Aether!” Paimon’s high pitched scream startled Aether awake. His eyes snapped open and he shot out of the bed. It took a moment to gather his bearings, but that was enough time to recognize the danger he was in.

A hulking silhouette stood in the doorway, holding a struggling Paimon by the throat.

“Aether,” she whimpered, and Aether shot forward, reaching for his sword on the wall. He didn’t make it.

The window shattered as a man leapt inside and collided with Aether. He fell backwards from the force, his head slamming against the bedside table. The pot of dandelions toppled over with a crash. Black spots danced across Aether’s vision, but he struggled to his feet.

In such close quarters, using his Palm Vortex wasn’t the best idea, but without a sword it was his only option. Before he could use it, a gust of Anemo snuffed out the candles in the room. In the sudden darkness, Aether could make out the purple glow of the electrohammer vanguard holding Paimon, and the green of the anemoboxer in front of Aether.

Fatui. A spike of fear shot through Aether.

That moment of hesitation was all the anemoboxer needed to rush Aether, knocking him to the ground. A hand pinned him to the ground, wrapping around his throat and crushing his windpipe. Aether scrabbled at the hand, kicking to no avail.

With one hand trying to alleviate the pressure on his throat, the other lifted toward the anemoboxer in an attempt to summon his Palm Vortex. Anticipating this, the anemoboxer grabbed Aether’s wrist and twisted.

A sickening crack echoed in the room. Aether screamed and dropped his hand to the side. Despite the pain, he weakly raised his other hand, but the anemoboxer brought something out of his pocket. There was a sharp pinch on Aether’s neck, and he watched as the anemoboxer pulled an empty syringe away.

Aether tried to summon his Anemo, but nothing happened. The hand on his neck was finally gone, but his body felt lethargic. He gasped, coughing from being strangled.

“Aether,” Paimon sobbed.

“Leave the pixie. La Signora just wants the boy,” the anemoboxer told his companion. Aether heard Paimon’s scream followed by a thud. It was quiet.

Aether couldn’t fight the drowsiness forcing his eyes closed. He couldn’t move despite the panic coursing through him at the mention of La Signora. The electrohammer vanguard picked up Aether’s limp body, and he couldn’t fight back.

Aether thought Mondstadt was safe. He caught a glimpse of the soil spilled around the broken pot, the dandelions standing tall despite it.

Aether’s last waking thought was of Venti.

#venti #aether #aether x venti #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin angst

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the-golden-ghost · 4 years ago

Note

Things you said prompt number 17? Feeling like reading a bit of Jigoe angst 😁

17. Things you said that I wish you hadn’t

A lot could change in two months.

Jigen had been living wild since Lupin’s last supposed death (drowning, no body discovered, all of them far too jaded with him now to believe he was truly gone). In Jigen’s case, he probably wouldn’t have believed it even with a body. He knew how conniving Lupin could be. But there’d been no word from him, nothing but rumors of his continued existence on the mortal plane, and now they’d been summoned to one of their most secluded hideouts - not by him, but by Fujiko.

Jigen damn well hoped she knew something he didn’t, because he wasn’t going to work for her. But because she really might know something - and because Jigen was a damned idiot who didn’t know what was good for him - he was here.

It was one of their nicest places, too. Small, on a lakeside, hidden behind some big grassy hills and surrounded for miles by woods. A good place to rest. When they’d been up here together last, Goemon had hung wind chimes and the four of them had planted a garden which was now, as Jigen could see, overrun with weeds, but the chimes were still singing.

He parked his car and sat for a minute. No idea who’d be inside. There were no other vehicles he could see but that didn’t mean the house was empty. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to face any of them.

Two months ago Jigen had gotten the news and buried his grief because at this point he was numb to it. Lupin liked to screw around like this - he was magnificent and selfish and saw his own life as a stageplay that the world watched with baited breath. When he died - truly died, he’d assured Jigen long ago - it would be spectacular, the kind of death that shook the world to its core and that people would immortalize in song and story for centuries upon centuries to come.

Drowning wasn’t it, so Lupin was coming back. Probably. Either way that wound had cauterized itself long ago, for Jigen. It wouldn’t do any good to grab Lupin by the throat and demand what he couldn’t give. It didn’t seem to matter that Jigen got shaken to the core every single fucking time but Jigen was just one man, and he didn’t know how to write stories. So on it went.

Goemon was different. After the news came they’d stood together with their bags packed, ready to separate for an uncertain amount of time, and Jigen, shaken, had turned to the one man he loved who he was certain was still breathing and offered himself. What did a samurai need with a partner? Apparently nothing, because Goemon had refused his service and left. And it was that simple refusal that had been grating on Jigen since they’d seen each other last, because somehow, in his infinite stupidity, he’d thought Goemon cared enough about him to want to stick together. Somehow he’d made that mistake.

But no. Jigen was a man who faltered without someone to ride beside, but Goemon worked just fine alone.

After two months living city to city in and out of dives and the seediest motels money could buy, it was strange to be in a place with wind chimes. It felt like a waking dream, like none of this was quite real, or maybe it was just the scotch messing with his head. Didn’t matter. The door was unlocked and Jigen walked in with a rush of apprehension.

Nobody. The place was clean and empty and abandoned.

“Fujiko?” he asked to no one. She’d called them, so she should be here. But apparently not. “Lupin?” he called, more hesistant now. If Lupin were to truly just show up like this, casually, as if Jigen’s life were just an intermission he could stroll into whenever he felt like it - Jigen would probably shoot him dead right there and just get the inevitable over with. But he was still gone.

“Goemon?” He wasn’t here either. That made it easier. He shuffled off to the kitchen to get himself another drink and then slumped on the couch for a nap. The drive up here had been way too long.

Jigen awoke with a start in the early evening to find that he was no longer alone, that there was a shadow hovering by the window. He scrambled up; taking in through his dazed and blurry vision who it was. “Goemon?” he asked.

“It’s me.”

In spite of the rage and bitterness that he’d been clinging to for the past two months in a desperate bid to keep from collapsing, Jigen’s heart still pulled towards Goemon. Soft as he was, he would have forgiven Goemon for that abandonment. He would have forgiven him for anything.

Anything except for what he did a moment later, which was to recoil when Jigen approached him. “Jigen? Where have you been living?”

“Around,” Jigen said, taken aback by the reaction, his anger slowly rising. Damn him, he didn’t even want to go through a proper greeting? Even now? “Why? Do you care?”

Goemon studied Jigen for a long moment before looking away. “You look terrible. I would not doubt you haven’t even been trying to take care of yourself. Why didn’t stay in one of the safe houses? Lupin would not have denied you that.”

In truth, Jigen hadn’t stayed because it would have been hell on earth. Living day to day, alone in one of those empty half-homes with way too many memories per square inch but no people in sight. He couldn’t take it. Jigen needed cites; that impersonal human contact where no one knew you from Adam and didn’t give a shit in hell about you but where you were never isolated, never cut off from the world. There was security in living like a rat in a wall.

He didn’t say any of that to Goemon, though. Instead he decided to opt for something much nastier. “Maybe I just like living in filth. Guess we can’t all be as honorable and perfect as you, can we? Where were you? Wait - I can guess - training yourself up so you can get a better gig and stop associating with mangy dogs like me.”

Goemon’s gaze flickered angrily but he kept calm. “I have been training,” he said coolly. “And you are drunk by the sound of it. Not that I’m surprised.”

Jigen’s rage flared up again, in full force. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You’re not surprised? What, you want to fight me? I’ll show you how fucking drunk I am.”

Goemon didn’t move, nor did he make a motion to draw his sword. “I did not come here to fight anyone, least of all you. I came here because Fujiko sent for me.”

“Yeah? Well fuck Fujiko. Fuck her and fuck you. I’m out.”

He made it twenty miles back towards where he’d come from before he realized he hadn’t put gas in the car, ran out, toyed briefly with sleeping in the ditch on the side of the road, thought better of it, and began the long hike back to the house. He made it in by 1 am and collapsed onto the couch, too exhausted for words.

In the morning Jigen wasn’t mad anymore. Mostly because he felt like he’d been run over by a truck. Just didn’t have the energy, but more than that, he felt guilty about taking his losses out on Goemon. It wasn’t Goemon’s fault Jigen couldn’t survive two measly months flying solo without having a complete breakdown. Goemon had tucked himself away in the bedroom and wasn’t coming out. Fujiko was nowhere to be seen, still, and Lupin... who knew.

Jigen sat around for a while and smoked and wished he hadn’t come. But he had come, and he’d screwed things up, so. Over to the bedroom door he went, and knocked.

“Hey,” he asked hoarsely, opening the door a little. “You still mad?”

There was no reply, which meant the answer was probably yes.

“Cause... look, man, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about every stupid half-assed thing I said to you last night. And I didn’t mean a word of it. I just wanted to fight somebody and you were the only one here.”

Still silence.

“But that doesn’t make it right.”

No response.

“I’m comin’ in,” Jigen said finally. He wasn’t immediately sliced in half, so that was a good sign at least. Goemon was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, deathly still and silent. “Goemon? Please look at me.”

Goemon did not. For all that, Jigen might have been invisible.

He took a step closer. “Look, I don’t care what you say to me,” he said between shaking breaths. “I don’t friggin’ care, Goemon. You can cuss me out if you want. You can say whatever you want to me - you can call me the lowest, dirtiest, most pathetic damn bastard you’ve ever met in your entire life. I don’t give a shit, I know what I am, I just - “ he broke off, pleading. “Just hold me, Goemon, for fuck’s sake I just need you right now, and -”

The words struck home. Goemon turned, looking startled, and reached out to Jigen. For a long while they clung to each other, squeezing tight, Jigen burying his face against Goemon’s neck, twining his fingers through his hair, and Goemon gripping Jigen around the waist and running a hand down his back, over and over.

“Did I hurt you? Bad?” Jigen asked finally, settling down on the bed next to Goemon, who, by some miracle, didn’t pull away, even when Jigen leaned against his shoulder.

“Nothing that I cannot survive. I’ve been training, remember,” Goemon said softly. “And you’re sure you’re all right? You don’t look well.”

“I feel like shit, but it’s just part of the territory. I’ll get better,” Jigen said.

“Good. I was worried about you, you know. While I was alone I was able to improve myself - I hope to be strong enough now to keep you and Fujiko safe at all costs. But I knew that the price was that I had to leave you alone for that time.”

“Well, I’ve been alone before,” Jigen said nonchalantly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it. It was kind of fun not having to do the dishes or listen to Lupin’s chatter.”

“I miss Lupin’s chatter,” Goemon replied.

“Yeah,” Jigen said sadly. “I do too.” They sat for a moment, united in loss. “Hey, Goemon?” Jigen asked after a minute. “Can we forget about yesterday? I’d rather just start over.”

Goemon sighed. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

The rest could come later. Fujiko’s plan, Lupin’s revival. For now, the two of them simply rested, side by side, for the remainder of the morning. They had a lot of catching up to do.

#Lupin III #my writing #me: this'll be short #it: isn't #anyway sometimes I think about how Lupin's penchant for treating his own life like a Grand Performance #leads to him inadvertently using his friends as unwilling extras and how that's going to affect them #I touched on that here but that's also not really what this is about I just think it's fucked up but in an Intriguing way #anyway I hope this passes inspection! you said you wanted angst so I went for it #Jigen and Goemon sometimes badly miscommunicate. they're rather guarded emotionally (but who's NOT on this damn show)#but they're also pretty willing to forgive and understand each other #so I gave them a softer ending

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jhoudiey · 4 years ago

Text

It’s almost debutante ball time!!! Before that however, Yoru gotta clown on Azul a bit because he deserves it ehehehe. I think so far this may be my favourite Yoru Floyd friendship stuff I’ve written. Full fic under the cut, no warnings, 2330 words

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Azul glared at Yoru and Floyd from across his desk. He’d been angry, though not surprised, when he returned to it after cleaning up their mess and found that they’d left. He’d been foolish to expect either of them to willingly take their punishment. “You two could have caused irreparable damage to the reputation of the lounge the other night, luckily I was able to smooth it over with our classmates in Savanaclaw.” Floyd grinned, swaying slightly on the spot where he stood “So whats the problem then? If there was no damage done we didn’t do anything wrong”

Yoru crossed her arms and grinned “exactly, I don’t know why you’re so mad about it”. Azul stared at the pair of them, having trouble believing that neither of them saw anything wrong with attacking a group of students because Yoru had gotten insulted. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath before speaking “Because of your actions, you still need to bear the consequences. Yoru. You will be taking a short break from waitressing until the chatter from your birthday interview dies down. Floyd, your shifts will be doubled until you pay back the cost of the broken tablewear” Yoru chuckled and stretched her arms out in front of her “So you’re saying every time I attack someone I’m going to get a break? I can live with that” she grinned at Azul who frowned “Hey! That’s no fair!” Floyd complained, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks. “If Fugu-chan gets time off, I want time off too!” Azul smiled at them both and laughed quietly “Ahhh, I’m afraid I must not have been very clear, Yoru-san. This isn’t a break, merely a break from being here in person. With VDC coming up I need you to do some research for me...” She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to get to the point. “I want information on all the students of NRC… and of RSA and the villagers, if you can get it. There will be many people visiting campus during the event, and I want to know how to maximize our profits with the guests. You’ll use your unique magic and watch what and when everyone is eating and drinking.” Yoru rubbed her eyes, knowing she was in for what guaranteed to be an incredibly boring week. “Anything else? Want me to tell you when and where they’re using the washroom too? When they’re sleeping? Every time they complain about the Octopus bastard asking for completely unreasonable things?” She scowled at him. He tented his fingers in front of his face as he leaned forward and beamed at her. “The more information you can get me, the better. You can go. Floyd, I believe the kitchen needs scrubbing, best you get started” They slumped from the room, both of them muttering about how they got the worse end of the deal. Yoru laughed quietly knowing that Azul didn’t know the extent of what he had asked for, Floyd looked at her curiously “Hey Floyd… how many people do you think are on this island…?” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged at Yoru grinning at him. “I think I can see the whole thing… Azul is going to be pissed” She laughed as she left the lounge. Be careful what you wish for, Azul.

Three days later she returned to the lounge, research under her arm and a grin plastered on her face. She had to avoid Jade and Floyds inquisitive looks at her, knowing if she met their gaze she’d burst out laughing and ruin the effect she hoped to have by surprising Azul while he was busy. As she approached the VIP room she noticed the twins trailing behind her, Jade stepping forward to open the door with them both following behind her to watch Azul’s reaction. He didn’t glance up as she entered, her feet clicking on the floor, a giveaway of who his visitor was. She slammed the papers down on his desk in front of him, breaking his concentration. “Yo-Yoru-san...what the hell is this?” He stared at the messy stack of papers she’d slapped down in front of him. She was having a hard time hiding her amusement “It’s what you asked for. What and when everyone on the island eats or drinks. Hope this is enough!” She smiled at him, waiting for him to break. “...Yoru-san… there must be 1000 pages here…” He deflated before her, rifling through the pages each one full of her tiny cramped writing. “Closer to 1300, actually. It’s been a long 3 days” She struggled to keep her smile genuine, her resolve cracking as Floyd and Jade started laughing. “Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to go through all of this?” He looked at her, starting to sound unhinged. She yawned and stretched “I’m sure you’ll have to tell me later. I really should sleep, I made sure to stay awake so I didn’t miss a SINGLE detail” She waved as he began to sputter, Floyd and Jade finally giving themselves over to gales of hysterics. She was just crawling into bed when Floyd climbed in through her window. “Fugu-chan you missed the best part. Azul tried to get some of the other students to organize the information, but Jade told him they’d probably miss important details and he should do it himself to make sure it was done right. I think he started crying, it was really funny”. She curled her arms around her pillow and smiled at him through half closed eyes “Sad I missed it, but I guess I can always make him cry sometime again later” she said through a yawn, settling herself in for a much needed rest.

“Hey Fugu-chan, you never told me what you were going to wear to that dance at your school. You said we should match, but you never showed me what you got” he said, hopping into bed beside her, helping himself to her other pillow and some of her blanket. Yoru pulled her face out of her pillow and looked at him through tired eyes. She’d completely forgotten about the Debutante Ball and sighed, not remembering that she’d even invited him. “Forget about it, I don’t wanna go anymore...fuck I’ll need to tell Floyd too before I forget” she groaned, pulling herself out of bed, dragging herself to her desk to look for her phone. Floyd sat up in her bed, watching her curiously “Uhhh you just told me? What are you doing over there?” Yoru waved him off “Not you, Floyd Durer from RSA, he was my date last year, I forgot to tell him I didn’t want to go this year” She struggled with her phone for a few moments, not realizing Floyd had gotten out of her bed and was watching her attempt to text from over her shoulder. He snatched the phone out of her hands, enjoying her clumsy attempts to grab it back, tired Yoru wasn’t graceful at all, it was quite endearing. “Well I wanna go to this ball. Jade and Azul are both going so I wanna go too.” Yoru stared up at him, her brain barely processing the conversation, arguing with Floyd without sleep was more difficult than she expected. “I said I don’t want to. I bought my dress last year when I was normal, now I’ll just look stupid in it and there’s no time to get anything else” Floyd squinted at her and crossed his arms. “Hmmmm Fugu-chan you don’t seem like the type to wear a dress. I wanna see!” He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards her closet. “Get dressed! Show me, show me!” He pushed her into the closet and retreated to sit down at the head of her head, bouncing slightly in place. She leaned in the door frame of the closet trying to debate with herself if he’d let her sleep sooner if she just agreed. “Fugu-chaaaaaaan hurry up just waiting is getting borrrrriiinnnggggg, do you need help?” She heard Floyd whine from across the room. She sighed, retreating into the closet knowing it would just be easier to cave to his demands.

She slipped the dress on and shook her head, trying to wake herself up. She had bought it when she looked completely human, and had been excited to show off her new body to anyone she could. It was bright teal, sparkly, and had a deep V neckline that nearly reached her navel with two high slits in the skirt that reached to her hips. It was a dress made for a human, not a bird that wanted to be one. She stared at herself in the full length mirror in the back of the closet, it was all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to have the wings jutting from her back. Wasn’t supposed to have sharp and black hands. Wasn’t supposed to have ugly bird feet sprouting from the bottom where her talons clacked against any hard surface they met. The shoes she’d bought to match lay untouched in their box on the shelf to her left. The colour was supposed to draw attention to how human she was… not make the contrast of her hands, feet, and wings all the more stark. “What’s taking so long, did you get stuck?” Floyd complained, popping his head into the closet, finding her lost in the mirror. He frowned and walked up behind her, unsure of what she had been complaining about “heeeeh? Why were you worried, this is fine… though I don’t know how you’re going to dance in this thing without your tits falling out” He said casually, checking her out in the mirror in front of them. She shook her head a little in an attempt to clear it to process what he had said. “I look stupid, my hands and feet stand out too much, nothing matches. It’s like someone shoved a crow into a bag and called it a dress” Floyd rolled his eyes and looked back at her “Match what? You’re not wearing anything else, what is there to match?” she gestured at herself “my feet? My hands? My wings? I bought this expecting to be normal and now I look like a dumb bird pretending everything is fine. I wasn’t supposed to look like this when I bought it!” she was nearly shouting from frustration and exhaustion “Wah wah, always complaining about everything” Floyd mocked, stepping in front of her to block her view from the mirror while simultaneously looking down at her to try and see what she meant about the color clash.

He sighed and grabbed his magical pen from his jacket pocket, using it to change the colour of her dress. “There, now it blends in better, so stop being so whiny about it Fugu-chan. I’ll make sure to come get you, so don’t run away anywhere. I wanna meet the other Floyd!” He smiled at her before skipping from her closet. She followed him out, incredulous, where the hell did he get the confidence to order her around like that? She turned back into the closet and looked at herself in her dress, Floyd had changed it from it’s bright single colour to a darker teal ombre. The colour it had been was still visible at her neck, but it was nearly black by the time it reached her feet, blending in perfectly with the bird legs she hated so much. She sighed and pulled the dress off, hanging it up carefully before making her way back to bed and collapsing in it, falling asleep immediately. Floyd had checked in on her a few times over the next day and a half making sure she didn’t try and run away before the ball, each time finding she’d barely moved, he was beginning to wonder if she’d even wake up in time. The day of the ball Floyd crawled through the window more carefully than normal, making sure to not mess up his suit before they even arrived. She was finally awake, and from the sounds of it in the shower. He laid down in her bed, waiting for her to be finished, wishing that the dorm beds were as big as hers, it was nice to have all the space to stretch into. He wondered if Jade would mind if he got a bigger bed, even if it would take up half their room. Yoru sighed when she left the bathroom and saw Floyd sprawled out in her bed reading her journal. “Fugu-chaaaaan, hurry up and get dressed, I’m almost done reading this and then I’ll be bored so we should go” She wandered towards her closet drying her hair, Floyd really didn’t understand the concept of privacy. The first time she’d spent the night at Idias she’d tried to take off her shirt before bed and he almost passed out explaining that she had to wear pajamas if she was going to stay over, whereas with Floyd he’d broken into her room while she was nude on several occasions and never batted an eye. She assumed it must have been a side effect from growing up somewhere where no one wore clothes and wondered what that adjustment had been like for all of them when they first came to land. “Nah, we’ll know when it’s time to go...trust me” Floyd raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed, throwing the towel she was using on her hair to the floor before getting dressed. She stared at herself in her dress again, not nearly as confident as she hoped she’d be and slumped her way back to the bathroom to fight with her makeup.

“Nuggeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeettttttttttttttttttttttt” Crowleys voice rang up the stairs “Let us go have fun at your schoooooool!” Yoru prayed for patience and glanced to Floyd, now sitting up in her bed, loosening his tie with a grimace. “That’s what I meant, I guess it’s time to go”.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #yoru crowley #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #twisute oc #twst oc fic

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vegalocity · 4 years ago

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The cliffside duel

More of The Princess Bride AU, This part has a bit more of the casting down because it took me FOR FUCKING EVER to decide on who i was okay with being Vizzini

I settled on the Spider Queen

“If the Monkey King were at full power right now, he wouldn't be clinging to the cliffside and attempting to climb.” Her boss chuckled, the gentle click-clack of her spider legs against the stone grated on Xiaojiao's ears. “Stay back here, Ms. Long. If the Great Sage has fallen so low he cannot even summon his cloud nor bound to the top of the cliffside without fear of falling he may be weak enough to be killed.”

Xiaojiao held back a shudder as her boss patted her shoulder and approached the bound prince. “And as for you, highness, try to run and it seems like the only one who will come after you is that simian fool clinging to the stone below.”

“Let him come!” The prince growled, “I have unfinished business with that monkey! Remove these bindings and I'll take care of that bastard FOR you lot-” He seemed to try and summon his flames, but the cuffs on either wrist that restrained him flashed gold and the prince yelped in pain as his own fire magic was blown back onto him.

“Now If I did that you'd certainly run away little calf.” her arachnid boss pet at the prince's head. “And it was such a pain to get you in our custody in the first place, I'm half tempted to demand a raise in pay from your 'betrothed' when we're done dumping your body in a river in his enemy's territory.

Xiaojiao rolled her eyes, and she felt Sandy at her side's exasperation in his tired sounding sigh. The things you do when no one else will hire you...

“Ms. Long? I expect you to not keep us waiting for too long.” The Spider Queen finally huffed before making a vague 'follow me' gesture. “Come along boys, we have quite some ground to cover without that monkey on our backs.”

Sandy looked back at her as he slowly headed for the prince. “Good luck.” he muttered quietly, and Xiaojiao smiled at him with all the confidence she could muster.

“Thanks.” It was just the Monkey King after all, just the trickster stone monkey who caused havoc in heaven and turned the whole court upside down. Just the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. No big deal no big deal.

Sandy hefted the immobile prince over his shoulder as he followed behind the Spider Queen, and Xiaojiao was alone with him.

There was some time of quiet, interrupted only when Xiaojiao herself grew bored and took out the Jade Sword to get a little practice in.

But eventually that grew boring as well and she peered over the side of the cliff again.

The Monkey King had barely moved from where he'd narrowly escaped falling into the water below.

“You doing okay, Monkey King?” it would be so disappointing if such an impressive figure were to die by something so simple as falling from the cliffside and drowning...

“I'm fine.”

“I only ask because when you get to the top I have to try and kill you!” And honestly the idea was becoming less and less appealing the further away her supposed boss was getting.

“That does spoil things a bit...” The Monkey King fired back, shaking his covered head, dark furred tail curling around his own leg.

Wait... Didn't the Monkey King have golden fur? Eh whatever, people probably just made that up so he'd sound more impressive in the stories.

“I can throw the rest of the rope down and help you up!” Honestly at this point she'd just rather get on with it.

“I can't exactly trust you wouldn't just drop me the second I put any weight on the rope.”

“I promise I will NOT try to kill you until you reach the top~” She singsonged, the Monkey King looked up and made a face at her.

“Very comforting. Sorry guess you'll just have to wait.” He shifted his position a bit before crawling a magnificent inch higher than he was a moment ago.

It would be HOURS before he was done. By then The Spider Queen would already have the prince in position and she'd make SANDY kill him. And that wouldn't be good at all. Sandy would cry and that was not allowed to happen.

“I can't afford to wait...I can give you my word as a dragon?”

“I beat up... like all the dragon lords in my prime, can't trust that.” Damn...

“Is there ANYTHING I can promise by to make you trust I'm being sincere?” She HAD to catch up with them. Now that that idea was in her head it wasn't getting out, and her protective friend instincts were overriding what little patience Xiaojiao had left.

“Don't think so, no.” The Monkey King answered unhelpfully. Then an idea hit her.

“On the soul of my father, Patriarch Long, you will make it to the top of this cliff alive.”

The Monkey King closed his eyes and sighed, his forehead hitting the rock. “Throw me the rope.” Xiaojiao chirped in delight as she quickly unspooled enough of the rope to lower down while still leaving enough anchored by the rock to keep the Monkey King from falling to his watery grave.

She even gave the rope a few extra pulls as the Monkey King began to ascend, to give him that extra push, and soon enough her future opponent was on even ground beside her.

He huffed and puffed with an exertion she wouldn't have expected of someone with such a fine and long track record of... physical activities involving hacking and slashing and jabbing and crushing and-

The monkey sneezed and a cloud of dust came off of him before he muttered a small 'thank you' and began to take his staff from off of his back-wait didn't he hide it in his ear or something?

“Wait, hold on. You're out of breath and exhausted, that's not a fair fight. Catch your breath THEN we can fight.”

“...Well, thank you again.” The Monkey King sat a few paces away from her on a large boulder and began to take off one of his shoes to clean it of sand and stone, and Xiaojiao was able to take in his appearance a little better.

Unlike the stories the Great Sage Equal to Heaven wasn't wearing armor or warpaint, or carrying around flags with his title emblazoned onto them. He was wearing a simple lithe outfit, made for speed and stealth, had a black headscarf and equally black mask obscuring most of his face.

She could see he only had the one set of ears, and the timeline wouldn't have matched up anyway... still, She wondered-

“Do you happen to know any macaques with an... unusual amount of ears?”

The Monkey King's expression flattened as he looked up at her. “Do you always start your death matches like this?”

“Sorry to pry just...” If it got any information... “My father was killed by a six eared macaque.” She'd been so barren of any leads for years now, she'd been on the verge of despair when the Spider Queen had offered her work, if the Monkey King knew who she was talking about-

“I'm... sorry to hear that. I remember talk of a six eared macaque but I don't remember ever meeting them.” Damn...

“Oh...” Well now the Monkey King was looking at her in pity and that wasn't allowed whatsoever. “It's fine. I promised justice for my father, and I can't leave any stone un-turned.”

“You're a loyal daughter, Miss....?”

“Long Xiaojiao. And you're the Monkey King, yes?”

“My reputation proceeds me.” the Monkey King confirmed with a small shrug. “Tell me about this macaque, when you lose I'll keep an eye out for him.” There was a teasing lit in his voice, it... made him sound younger than such an immortal being should. He sounded close to her age when he spoke like that.

“Well when you lose I'll appreciate being allowed to tell someone about it I suppose.” She teased back. The Monkey King grinned crookedly at her.

“I was just a girl at the time, I had only barely begun to brush with adolescence when the Six Eared Macaque came to our family's door. He seemed so humble, he spoke only with the greatest respect. He told us that he was a former criminal, but his life was spared by a Bodhisattva on the condition that he convert and learn from all manner of creatures. That he'd already studied under the fish and the foxes and he'd like to learn the ways of the dragons next.

“My father had trusted him and he'd taken him on as an apprentice... But he was a liar. Once he'd learned enough from us he'd stolen my father's power over the river we resided in right from under him and slaughtered him to assert his newfound ability. I'd tried to avenge my father right then.” She took out the jade sword. “The sword has been in our family for generations, but when I first wielded it that day I was only barely able to lift the point off the ground. The macaque just laughed at me.” The Monkey King was listening with rapt attention, and though this part was a little embarrassing to recount, she felt like the story would be incomplete without it.

“Gave me this to remember him by and banished me from my own river.” she pulled down the collar of her shirt a bit to reveal a scar on her left shoulder. “By the time I was trained and ready to face the macaque he'd grown bored of my home and had long left, so I plan on finding him. And when I do... Oh do I have everything planned.”

She looked at the Monkey King and this time held his gaze, her chest puffed up and her shoulders squared. “I will say to him: 'Hello, my name is Long Xiaojiao. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'”

The Monkey King looked suitably impressed now. Not a trace of the pity left in what little she could see of his face. “You know my old master would say something about how revenge doesn't help anything and brings naught but misery or something, but I left that useless bag of sutras behind ages ago, so good on you Miss Long. Should I decide to spare your life by the end of this I believe you will get your revenge.”

She smiled back at him. “You seem a decent fellow, I'd hate to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow, I'd hate to die.” But then they were out of things to talk about. Xiaojiao lifted her sword up again, and the Monkey King drew his staff.

#Qi Xiaotian #Long Xiaojiao #Monkie Kid #LMK #Lego monkie kid #vega writes stories too #The Spider Queen #MK Sandy #MK Red Son #Red Groom AU

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notapaladin · 3 years ago

Text

they say before you start a war (you'd better know what you're fighting for) (redux)

“I will just expand Acatl’s part a bit,” I said. “I’m not totally thrilled with the ending,” I said. “This will be a quick project,” I said.

FIVE THOUSAND WORDS LATER...y’all get this. Tizoc successfully executes Acatl during Harbinger of the Storm, and Teomitl will do anything to bring him back. Including hand over his own soul.

Original version here.

Also on AO3.

His knees hurt, and the stone under them was cold. It was an absurd detail to focus on when he was bound hand and foot with the executioner looping a garrote around two meaty fists next to him, but that was what stuck in Acatl’s mind. He was going to die, and his knees hurt. And, to add insult to injury, he was going to go to his death with his hair badly in need of a wash and something stuck in his back teeth. He prodded it with his tongue. It didn’t help at all.

He took one deep breath. Another. Any one could be his last. He was careful to keep them deep and even; he would not die sobbing and hyperventilating, begging for mercy. Though it be jade, it is crushed; though it be precious gold, it crumbles. For we do not live forever on this earth, but only for a little while.

A hand in his hair yanked his head up, and the cord came to rest loosely around his neck. He took another breath. Mihmatini. Teomitl. I’m sorry.

If only he’d had more time. His siblings would mourn him, he knew, but they knew he loved them. He’d said all he needed to say there. Teomitl was a different story. When he’d first agreed to teach him the magic of living blood, he’d never expected to feel so strongly for him. True, he’d grown fond of him quickly, but that had been very nearly against his will. His heart had been locked up so tightly for so long that the first crack in the stone had felt like the walls of the Sacred Precinct crumbling around him. At first, it had been terrifying. Over the past year, however...

Well. He didn’t think he could rightly call his feelings fondness anymore. Teomitl was stubborn as a rock and prickly as a cactus, but more and more Acatl had felt something soften like wax in his chest whenever he looked at him. Pride? Affection? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it made his heart beat faster. That Teomitl’s radiant smile always brought an answering one to his own face. That when Teomitl looked even the slightest bit disappointed, the urge to pull him into his arms was near-overwhelming. That Teomitl was the most beautiful young man he’d ever seen. And now it would forever be a mystery. Now he would die, and Teomitl would never know that he might...he might...

His heart hammered against its prison of ribs, twisting nauseatingly as the realization struck. I might be in love. And I can never tell him.

Now his eyes were burning with unshed tears, and he forced them back with pure effort of will. This was a good thing. Teomitl was his student, a dozen years his junior, and courting his sister. There was no way he’d react well to learning his teacher had conceived a passion for him. He would die before he could be tempted to reveal what he’d learned and ruin the relationship they’d so painstakingly built. Teomitl would never be burdened with that knowledge. If he survived this, he would marry Mihmatini without guilt, and they would have a dozen children. Acatl could picture them now.

“And so the traitor falls.”

Oh, Duality preserve him. Instead of trying to fill his mind with calming thoughts of his family or his god, he was going to spend his last moments on earth listening to Tizoc gloat. Of all the indignities heaped upon him, this was one he knew he didn’t deserve. Somehow, he found words enough to snarl, “Hurry up.” It came out as a slurred rasp.

Tizoc smirked at him. He shut his eyes, but he could still hear the smug glee in his voice. It made him want to be sick. Throwing up on Tizoc’s sandals would even be satisfying; too bad the bastard was out of the likely splash zone. “And which of us is on his knees, priest? Which of us has betrayed the Mexica Empire with his words and deeds? It surely isn’t me; you know I’ve always worked for the good of Tenochtitlan, despite your efforts to obstruct my path. I do hope you’ll find an ample reward for your pains in the hereafter.”

There was more after that, but Acatl wasn’t paying attention. The cord was starting to draw tight. One more breath. Another. The darkness behind his eyelids was starting to flash. Another breath—no—he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t breathe. He bucked and jolted instinctively, eyes fluttering open in time to catch blurred images of Quenami and the She-Snake watching him; if he’d had his hands free, he knew he would be clawing his fingers to ribbons against the tough cord.

I can’t—

He needed air. He needed air and there wasn’t any, he was choking, he was going to die—

It wouldn’t be Tlalocan that awaited him, he knew, despite the manner of his death. A High Priest could go no other place than the realm of their patron. After this, he rather thought it would be a relief. At least in Mictlan, he could rest. Lord Death was always fair. Lord Death would let him fade the way his body was stubbornly refusing to.

No. It’s over. It’s over. I’m—only hurting myself—

His eyes snapped open as a twist of the cord sliced into his throat, feeling the sting and the trickle of upwelling blood. The sun blazed down, bathing the courtyard in light. For a moment, he could focus—there was Tizoc smirking, and there was Quenami with a twist to his mouth—but then the darkness flooded his vision again, and though he kept his eyes open he saw nothing.

This was it, then. He thought he should probably be afraid; maybe it was the lack of air that was making it so difficult for him to struggle. His limbs felt like stones, the hammering of his heart echoing like a drum through his ribcage.

The cord bit deep, but it no longer hurt.

He couldn’t feel his own limbs or heartbeat anymore. Soon, he couldn’t feel the cord either. Here at the end, there were no prayers to Lord Death he could offer. But then, he’d be seeing Him soon enough. He hoped Ichtaca wouldn’t be too overworked.

As he faded, he thought he heard the ahuitzotls’ song. And then...

Darkness.

Acatl’s knives burned at Teomitl’s hips, sending bile up into his throat and frozen emptiness down into his stomach, but they hadn’t yet damaged Huitzilopochtli’s wards woven over his skin and so he welcomed the pain. It was agony, but it spurred him onwards. He couldn’t afford to slow down or lose his focus, not even for an instant. Even that much of a delay would be too much time in which Acatl was in mortal danger. If he was late...

He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was late. Part of him cursed Nezahual; if he hadn’t run out of power merely getting them out and finding them a boat, they’d have Quetzalcoatl’s magic to speed them on their way. Southern Hummingbird blind him, they’d probably even be safe by now. He could at this instant have been on a boat to safety in Tlacopan or Texcoco or gods, anywhere in the sea-ringed world as long as Acatl was in his arms. Instead there was only him and the ahuitzotls, who were still fast on land but not fast enough. He wished desperately that he’d been blessed by Mixcoatl instead, Lord of the Hunt, but there was no helping that now.

Instead, he prayed to them all, hoping desperately that fervor would make up for not daring to stop and offer his own blood. Gods, please. Please, I’ll build so many temples, I’ll cover you in gold, the blood of eagles, the hearts of jaguars—just let me save him.

They didn’t answer. He kept running. Down the corridor, through one room and another, turning when the sparks of Acatl’s knives sang close, close, and then he was bursting through the entrance curtain and for a heartstopping second he couldn’t move.

There was his brother, smug grin slipping into surprise as he registered the interruption. There was Quenami, backing away with his empty hands raised as though that would save him. There was the swirl of a black cloak around the far corner—the She-Snake, fleeing like a coward. There were even a few guards, looking panicked as they drew their weapons. And in the center of the courtyard was the executioner loosening his garrote to let Acatl fall bonelessly to the ground, eyes blank and unseeing. Dead. Dead. He didn’t need the rattling chill of the knives to tell him that.

No. No. Nonononono—

Teomitl’s mind was a whirlwind of horror and pain, but he’d been in enough campaigns now that his body knew exactly what to do. He couldn’t feel his hands, but that didn’t matter.

He drew his sword and opened himself to Chalchiuhtlicue’s power.

It felt like being at the bottom of the lake; it always did, but this time the water numbed him. He saw the world through lake water, through the eddying rush of a streambed. His heart pulsed like ripples on the shore. When he breathed, he tasted algae; inside his head, the ahuitzotls’ song rose in a chorus, threatening to drown out his thoughts.

In Tlalocan, the Verdant Land, we hunt In Tlalocan, the Verdant Land, we consume...

He sucked in a hard, painful breath and wrestled them back into submission. It had been harder since Axayacatl’s death, when his world had tilted; now that it was entirely inside-out, shattered irreparably, it was nearly impossible. He might not have managed it if he hadn’t given them their favorite command. Kill. Kill them.

They leapt to obey. He was only vaguely aware of their rush forward; the executioners and guards screamed as his beasts descended on them in a flood of snapping teeth and grasping claws, but he didn’t bother pitching in. The ahuitzotls had them well in hand. He tasted blood in his own mouth, felt the slick red heat of flesh tearing under his own claws—no, hands. He had hands, and they held a sword. And he had a job to do. The rabble didn’t matter. Even when one took a swing at him, he parried it without looking; all his attention was on Tizoc.

Tizoc, who had just slain Acatl. Tizoc, who was unarmed. Tizoc, who was trying to speak, as though anything he said could possibly bring Acatl back, could undo what he’d done.

“So you have betrayed me!” It sounded like it was coming from underwater.

It was just possible that, if he’d been contrite, he might have earned a few more seconds of life. Unlikely, but possible. But this? This—vindication, as though he was saying he’d been right, and he’d die being right? Teomitl inhaled sharply, feeling it scorch his lungs. “No.”

And then he swung his sword in an upward arc, feeling it cleave flesh and bone; something snapped off in Tizoc’s sternum on the way to the heart, but that was alright. He’d fix it later. Hot blood sprayed his face as Tizoc screamed and screamed and screamed, and some knot in his chest eased. Now I’ve betrayed you. It would take him a good, long time to die.

He turned away, lifting his head. The executioner and both guards were down, ahuitzotls feasting messily and adding the stench of entrails to the heavy odor of blood. They’d left a space around...around Acatl, and ice threatened to flood his veins. I’ve failed. Acatl, I’ve failed you. He wanted to crumple in on himself, wanted to curl around Acatl’s corpse and weep like a child. If he’d been minutes earlier, Acatl would still be alive. Avenging him, killing Tizoc—he knew, deep in his soul, that Acatl would have urged him not to. He would have urged him to consider the strength of the Mexica Empire and his own safety. Now he never would again. Grief rose like knives in his throat.

But he couldn’t give in to it, not yet; there was one foe in the courtyard he hadn’t yet accounted for. He could just make out Quenami huddling frozen and wide-eyed half behind a pillar, frantically trying to trace a glyph on the ground. He recognized the words of a spell on his lips, but that didn’t deter him. It would never be cast. He remembered the sight of a blade at Acatl’s throat with a sharp, sick swell of rage. Quenami had had the nerve to smile when dragging Acatl to his death. Teomitl would carve that smile from his face.

Water flowed around him even this far from the lake, washing Tizoc’s blood from his skin and lending him speed as he charged, sword raised. Quenami was frozen in fear, he could simply cleave his head from his shoulders and that would end it—

Again, he was too late. The strike slammed against glittering golden wards raised in the nick of time; as they spiderwebbed, a wordless scream tore its way free of his throat. His ahuitzotls screamed with him, abandoning their meals to circle this new target. He swung again, and the wards broke.

Quenami’s voice wavered—rank terror, not the ripples of Jade Skirt’s magic in his ears. If Tizoc’s death throes hadn’t died down to gurgling whimpers, he might not have heard it. “My lord...Teomitl-tzin, please!”

Please, he says. Rage threatened to choke him. Only his own self-control kept his hand steady, but the obsidian edge of his macuahuitl was pressed into Quenami’s neck just shy of drawing blood and it was extremely tempting to press harder. He wasn’t sure why he hesitated.

No, that was a lie. He knew why. Because Acatl, damn him, would have cautioned him against reckless slaughter. Would have warned him about the boundaries, about the safety of the Fifth World, about the godsdamned star demons trying to devour them all. If Coyolxauhqui truly was controlling them somehow, they would need the High Priest of Huitzilopochtli no matter what he’d done. But Acatl wasn’t here anymore to gainsay him, was he?

Would you have listened if Acatl had begged for his life? If he had asked to be spared, before you slew him? “Why? Why should I let you live?” His hand was still steady, but his voice shook. He would not cry in front of this bastard, this dog’s son who had torn his heart from him. He would not. Acatl is dead. He is dead, and it’s because of you. I will carve out your heart for his funeral pyre.

Quenami swallowed hard, meeting his eyes. Blood trickled down his neck from where the edge of the sword bit into his flesh. There was fear in his face, yes, but also a stone-hard resolve. “I can bring him back.”

He took an unconscious step backwards, feeling the edges of his grief crumble under the first light touch of hope. If he’s telling the truth. If...I could have Acatl back...

“...Speak.”

Quenami spoke. Indeed, once he was no longer in immediate danger it was difficult to get him to stop. There was a ritual, apparently; a secret passed down through Huitzilopochtli’s clergy from one High Priest to the next. Often it involved making a body of maize and amaranth dough, but given that Acatl’s remains were all in one piece they would be able to dispense with that step. All they would need to do—a trifle, really—was go down into Mictlan and convince Lord Death to relinquish Acatl’s soul. The hardest part would be opening the way, for which Quenami ordinarily required the other High Priests. Given the present circumstances, Ichtaca and the Guardian of the Duality would need to stand in for Acatl—Ichtaca for his connection to the underworld, and Mihmatini for raw power.

Mihmatini. Thinking of her brought another pang to Teomitl’s heart. They’d made plans to send her away for her own safety, but she hadn’t left for Popocatepetl yet. She would have to be informed of her brother’s death and the part she would play in his resurrection. Teomitl doubted it would comfort her much. It certainly wasn’t comforting him.

Acatl was dead. Teomitl had slashed the bonds around his cold limbs and closed his sightless eyes with shaking hands, cursing himself all the while that this was the tenderest touch he could offer, here where it no longer mattered. He should have spoken up when he had the chance, but what had he done instead? Picked stupid fights, clung blindly to his faith in the older brother who had once been admirable, failed to see the kind of man Tizoc was until it was far too late. If this works, he thought, I will lay the full truth of my heart at your feet and beg for your forgiveness.

Other people handled the cleanup after the slaughter, but that wasn’t Teomitl’s concern. He stood on the sidelines and watched as they gathered up the bodies and cleaned up the blood. There were questions. The She-Snake and the rest of the council showed up to answer them, with many sidelong glances in his direction. He hadn’t yet bothered to wash the blood from his skin. It seemed unnecessary.

Eventually Nezahual strode in, directing his warriors to place themselves at Tenochtitlan’s disposal. As he strode over to Teomitl’s darkened corner, Teomitl looked up from his idle study of the tops of his sandals to meet his eyes. Certainty filtered through the numbness. If he gives his condolences, I’m going to stab him.

“Teomitl.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t.” Not that he’d had enough bloodshed—Acatl was dead, he could float the city on a lake of blood and it still wouldn’t be enough—but if this worked, Acatl would probably be upset with him for maiming an allied Revered Speaker. Even if it was terribly, terribly tempting.

“I wasn’t going to.” But the way Nezahual’s eyes widened suggested he’d been thinking it.

“Good.”

Unfortunately, Teomitl’s curtness didn’t make the little bastard leave. No, instead he took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Is it true what I’m hearing? That Quenami can restore him to life?”

His heart gave a hard, painful lurch in his chest. He’d been trying not to think about that. Quenami had sounded so certain, but what if that was only self-preservation? What if he was only telling Teomitl what he wanted to hear? No, he thought finally. He wasn’t desperate enough for that. At least, not after Teomitl had taken the sword away from his throat. “He says it is.”

“Hmm. Hmmm.” Nezahual glanced away, stroking his chin. Teomitl forbore mentioning that it was an incredibly stupid-looking gesture on a youth who couldn’t grow a proper beard yet. Finally, he looked back at him and in a quiet, serious voice asked, “Can I help?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?” You had your chance, and your strength ran out when you might have prevented this. Do you think I’ll let you fuck it up again? Somehow, he managed to keep that behind his teeth.

Nezahual hesitated. “...I confess to feeling...somewhat responsible for Acatl’s current situation. I would not have this drive a wedge between us.”

Teomitl sucked in a hard breath. “No.”

“No?” He tilted his head like a snake, eyes just as cold.

Maybe it was stupid of him to rebuff him. No, he knew it was stupid, and he didn’t care. He could apologize later when his chest wasn’t full of knives. Right now, the idea of spending any more time in Nezahual’s presence made him want to kill something. Mihmatini and the priests would be strong enough. They’d pull Acatl’s soul out of Mictlan themselves. “You’ve done enough,” he spat.

Before it could deteriorate further, he spun on his heel and stalked away. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He picked up the pace, almost running through the palace. Servants and nobles alike took one look at him and nearly dove out of his way—a good thing, because he wasn’t stopping. Anger and grief turned a tight whirlpool in his chest, keeping him on his feet. If he stopped to dwell on it, he would fall apart. He couldn’t do that yet. When Acatl is alive, he thought. When he breathes again, I’ll let myself remember this day.

Mihmatini waited for him in the Duality House. He was struck by how normal she looked, surrounded by slaves and underlings. The sun shone down upon her, clear and bright—it was a beautiful day, when there should be storms to match the one in his heart—and she wore a sleeveless blouse embroidered with flowers. Looking at her, he might almost think the world was alright again.

“I...” he began, and stopped. Just that one word was already bringing tears to his eyes.

She got to her feet, searching his face for something she didn’t find. Her own expression crumbled, but her voice was shockingly steady as she asked, “Acatl?”

He shook his head mutely.

“...So it’s true,” she whispered, and threw herself into his arms.

He held her tightly enough that it had to hurt, but she only wrapped her arms around him and shook silently, without tears. Somehow that made it worse; if she’d sobbed, he might have been able to wipe them away and feel a little more useful. Instead he buried his face in her hair, shut his eyes, and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In again. Slowly. No hyperventilating, or he would be the one weeping. And if he started, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Again he reminded himself, Not yet.

Finally she sucked in a noisy breath and released him, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. I should have taken Tizoc apart piece by piece. Out loud, he said, “We need to talk.” Her entire body jolted, and he belatedly thought he could have phrased that better. “It’s not bad. It’s about—him.” He still couldn’t manage Acatl’s name.

She inhaled slowly and nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’ll take you to a private chamber. Follow me.”

He followed.

The room she led him to was bare and impersonal, with a colorful pattern on the wall he was far too unfocused to make out. The only thing that mattered was the expression on Mihmatini’s face—grief-tight, with eyes like flint. He couldn’t find words at first; when he did, he was surprised at how steady he sounded. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. “Quenami says he can be brought back. There’s a ritual. To—to pull his soul out of Mictlan and place it back in his body again. We need you.”

She stared at the floor. He saw her fists clench, knuckles going white in the folds of her skirt. “And you trust him?”

“No.” Not even as far as I can throw him. He took a breath and continued, “But it’s all we have. I...I was too late to save him, Mihmatini, I saw him fall.” Then his voice did break, and he shut his mouth before it could turn into a sob. Acatl’s skin had been so cold.

Mihmatini closed her eyes. “How...?”

He saw it again in his mind’s eye, that horrible ring around Acatl’s throat. The words floated up from far away. “...The flower garland.”

She took a slow, deep breath. He felt the magic of the Duality pulse within her, the thread connecting them flaring up like a line of fire. “Acatl wouldn’t want anyone to go through that. But if this fails...if it’s some sort of trap...I’m twisting the rope around Quenami’s neck myself.”

Some things never changed. He found he could breathe a little easier. “It won’t fail. It can’t. But if it does, you’ll have to. I killed the executioner.”

“And your brother.”

There was no judgment in that voice, but he felt something twist in his chest anyway. His nails bit into his palms as he snarled, “Acatl died of Tizoc’s—of his paranoia and incompetence! He killed him, as surely as if he’d done it with his own two hands. I’d do it over and over and be glad about it!” The emotion was too much. He had to shut his mouth, chest heaving. I wish I’d taken my time about it. See how many parts I could remove before he died.

Mihmatini was watching him, eyes shrewd. “You love my brother, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

For a shameful heartbeat, he thought of lying. Like a brother, he could say. Or, Of course, he’s my honored teacher. But he knew there was no use—Mihmatini’s words and tone had made it all too clear that she’d looked at him and seen straight to the core of his heart. He couldn’t deny it. Not when Acatl was dead and she was here, waiting for him to speak truthfully. He could give her nothing else.

Dropping his gaze to the mat and feeling his face catch fire, he whispered, “...I do. I’m sorry.”

She frowned at him. “For what?”

The question was so unexpected that for a moment all he could do was gape at her. Horror. Anger. A broken heart. He’d expected any one of those reactions. There was simply no good way to tell the woman you might marry that you were in love with her brother, not and still keep her in your life. And he liked Mihmatini—as a friend, if nothing else. He’d been looking forward to marriage and raising their children together, even though the secret he’d harbored would surely tear them apart if he let it slip. But she’d neither struck at him nor burst into tears, and so—at a loss for words—he spluttered, “I—you—he’s your brother—”

She sat back. Whatever she saw in his expression made her face relax into something less precarious than it had been. “I can share. If you think you can make him happy.”

“...I can try.” The wise thing would probably be to reassure her that she would always have the first place in his heart, but he wasn’t sure if that had ever been true. A sizeable chunk, certainly. But the first place had been reserved for Acatl since the moment the man had first bandaged his wounds after a lesson, hands cool and gentle, and he couldn’t see that changing. Acatl made him want to be stronger. More patient. Better. The least he could do in response would be to gladden the man’s heart. Once it beats again.

The frown was back. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I. Uh.” The vow he’d sworn suddenly felt like a much more uncertain thing. There’s no way he feels the same. Does he? What if he hates me for it? But Mihmatini knows her brother; she wouldn’t suggest if she thought it would bring him pain... He chewed hard on the inside of his gold lip plug, but for once the action didn’t help.

By the way she looked at him, his distress was obvious, but her voice held no pity or scorn. Thank the gods. “You should.”

He squared his shoulders and met her eyes. “I will.” They would bring Acatl back. He would breathe again, smile again, walk under the sun with his family again. And Teomitl would lay his heart at his feet, and if he was fortunate—please the Duality, let him be fortunate!—Acatl would pick it up. He refused to favor the idea of any other outcome with so much as a passing thought.

“Good.” Now she was almost smiling, and some pain-tightened corner of his heart relaxed. “He deserves that. He deserves...so much.” For a terrifying second her voice sounded watery, but then she squared her chin and added, “But you’ll do.”

It took a moment for him to register it as a dry attempt at humor, and the chuckle that came out had more in common with a sob. Oh, Mihmatini. What would we do without you?

She took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. “Take me to Quenami. Whatever this ritual needs, I’ll do it.” After a moment she added, “And please don’t let me kill him until after we’re done.”

That settled it. If she’d still have him after all this, he was definitely marrying her.

The ritual needed a great many things. Acatl’s corpse needed to be washed and laid out—straight, not curled for a burial—and a suitable space prepared. Mictlantecuhtli’s temple handled that, watched over by a gray-faced and nearly silent Ichtaca in full regalia. Not Acatl’s, thank the gods, but something with almost as many owl feathers and clicking bone beads. Slaves brought the beasts they would need to sacrifice; Quenami moved gingerly among them, tallying cages of owls and hummingbirds and a huge, ill-tempered heron. Mihmatini carried armfuls of flowers for the Duality, the orange of marigolds and the red blossoms of plumeria the only color in the room.

Teomitl had never been in the temple’s innermost sanctum before, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about his surroundings when a single wrong move might put Acatl beyond his reach forever. He stood by, forcing himself not to fidget as the fog of centuries of Mictlan’s magic sizzled against his skin. It very much did not care for the residue of Huitzilopochtli’s wards, even though those had been ritually removed to make his job easier. Across the room stood Neutemoc, who hadn’t spoken a word since arriving with Mihmatini nearly an hour ago. At least there was one other person who would much rather be fighting a dozen star demons at once than standing here waiting. There was very little he could do; it was up to Quenami to sacrifice the hummingbirds and trace the glyph for Four Jaguar while Acamapichtli did the same with the heron and the glyphs for Four Water and Four Rain. Ichtaca, knife in hand, took care of the owls and Four Wind. Four glyphs for the worlds that had come before, and living blood to bind them all into the spell. Finally Mihmatini stepped forward, slashed her earlobes, and added her blood and the flowers to their work.

Quenami had the job of cutting a circle into the floor to enclose the space. He paused, gaze sweeping the room—how dare he, they couldn’t afford to waste time—and lighting on Teomitl’s face, heedless of his furious glare. Someone had bandaged the cut on his neck. “Only one of you can go into Mictlan. This is not my realm, and I cannot widen the path. It can’t be Ichtaca; he needs to hold the way for us here.”

Teomitl didn’t need to think about it. “I’ll go.”

Another voice echoed his; confused, he looked up to see Neutemoc take a step forward, face set with grim determination. He met Teomitl’s eyes as he continued, “He’s my little brother.”

“He’s my—” Friend seemed inadequate, teacher too base. Beloved was something he couldn’t allow himself to think lest he break. It was easier, safer, to reach for other justifications, and they came easily to him in the memory of Mazatl’s curious hands and Ollin’s gummy smile. “What of your children, if this fails? Will you leave them orphans? Stay here, and let me bring Acatl-tzin back.”

Neutemoc studied him for a long moment, searching for something in his face. Eventually he seemed to find it and stepped back with a satisfied nod. “You’d better.”

As Quenami knelt to close the circle, Teomitl moved to take his prescribed position kneeling by Acatl’s head. He didn’t look down. He couldn’t bear to see that face waxy and still, not now.

A dog’s throat was slit, and the hymns began. He let the words wash over him; as the chants rolled on, the world around him started to fall away. Mindful of instructions, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the temperature drop. The air took on the stale smell of a thousand years of dust and the reek of decay, acidic emptiness scouring the back of his throat. He had a moment to be glad he hadn’t eaten anything, and then his head was swimming too much for him to think. The only thing anchoring him to life was his heartbeat, steady and strong.

Beat.

Beat. He was weightless, floating.

Beat.

A cold, wet nose nudged his palm, and he opened his eyes to a field of black stone, gray dust, and a sky precisely one shade lighter. The dog that had been sacrificed was sitting in front of him, tail sending up little clouds every time it thumped. There was wet crimson blood in its yellow fur, colors leaching to gray in light that seemed to come from nowhere and cast indifferent shadows.

It trotted off. He followed.

He very quickly lost track of how long he’d been walking. There were no landmarks here; he was walking the same path Acatl’s soul had walked at the moment of his death, and a High Priest didn’t have to contend with the rivers of blood and plain of knives that the common rabble did. Part of him was disappointed, for at least it would have been some measure of progress. The rest of him knew he wouldn’t have made it through so much as an overly deep puddle. He’d thought carrying Acatl’s knives was bad, but it was nothing to actually walking through Lord Death’s realm.

The air sapped all joy and hope from his soul, leaving only the grim certainty that he had to keep going. Even anger was too much effort; the heat of it was simply no match for the gnawing emptiness in his chest and the tremor in his limbs. Tears welled in his eyes, but he was too listless to blink and let them fall. Cold seeped through his veins and slowed his heart.

At least he could still feel it beating. He could take some comfort in that. Acatl, wait for me. I’m coming for you.

The dog seemed to know where it was going. Though obsidian shards bit through his sandals and bloodied his feet, they left no marks on its paws. He kept walking, one foot in front of the other; blood was a small price to pay for Acatl’s soul. He would offer his heart if he thought it would help. There was nothing else he could do for him now.

But oh, he was so cold. He was cold, and shivering sounded like too much work. Maybe he should rest for a while—yes, that sounded like a wonderful idea. There was a rock up ahead that had twisted itself into something vaguely like a tree, perfect to lean on.

He staggered towards it, slipping in his own blood, and fell facedown in the dust. It hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to care; the relief of letting the earth support his body was too great. Acatl could wait a little longer, surely. Surely...

Teeth fastened in his wrist, pain jangling up his arm. His eyes snapped open on instinct, free hand going for the sword he wasn’t wearing before he realized it was the dog tugging pointedly at his forearm with a growl that seemed to say, If you aren’t going to walk to Lord Death’s throne, then I will drag you there. It let him pull his arm free and stand up, but kept up its low, discontented rumble.

He felt like growling himself. Fool that I am, how could I have forgotten? I can rest later.

They walked on. His wrist throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, tethering him to the world and to his mission. He would not fail. The road stretched on before him, and all he had to do was keep walking. One step. Another. Another. His sandals were soaked with blood, making him slip; annoyed, he kicked them off and continued on. He’d walk forever if he had to.

And then the ground shifted, warped, folded, and he stood before a dais made of bones where the world was filled with rot and ashes.

Somehow, he’d expected a temple; instead, Mictlantecuhtli’s and Mictecacihuatl’s thrones looked as though they’d grown out of the ground. Bundles of femurs formed the low arms, and the seats were made of a collection of pelvises bound with curved jawbones. Lord and Lady Death lounged side by side, watching him with an expression of amused indulgence on their sunken, skeletal faces. Like I’m a dog that might be taught to perform clever tricks, he thought without much heat. He knew he should probably bow. He couldn’t make his knees bend.

Mictecacihuatl tilted Her head, studying him. “Well, well. What brings you to Our throne, little mortal?”

He’d never been good at speeches. It was something he’d been meaning to study, especially if he meant to move up through the ranks, but now there was no time. Besides, if They were like Acatl, They’d appreciate plain language more. “Acatl-tzin. Your High Priest. Where is he?”

“Ah.” She met Her husband’s eyes, and they shared a long look. She settled back on her throne, a fan of scapulas sprouting up behind Her, and said, “We have taken him into Our home, as is Our right and privilege. He has assumed his proper place at the foot of Our throne.” She gestured expansively, and he followed the movement to something he hadn’t noticed before.

There, just in front of and between the two thrones, was a tiny, fluttering moth under a thin dome of dust and air. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Acatl.” A wild thought seized him—grab him and run—but he knew he wouldn’t get far in Mictlantecuhtli’s domain. He’d be lucky even to feel the brush of wings against his skin.

He spun back to meet the gods’ gazes. “My Lady, My Lord, please reconsider. The Fifth World needs him back. We can’t—” The star demons. The boundaries. My empire. “We’ll fall without him.”

“Worlds have fallen before.” Mictlantecuhtli drummed His fingers on the arm of His throne, bone clattering on bone. “We have endured. We will always endure. Why should We give up such a loyal and well-beloved High Priest only to run the risk of him being killed again?”

Because I won’t let it happen again. Ever. He blinked dry eyes, feeling them prickle with dust. His eyes darted to where Lord and Lady Death sat on Their thrones, desiccated fingers almost touching. Even in their most formal attitudes, They leaned ever so slightly towards each other. Slowly, the words came to him. “Of all the gods, You know love best. My Lord...if My Lady were taken from You...”

“All existence would know My wrath until She was returned.” Mictlantecuhtli’s voice had all the finality of the grave, and Teomitl watched as His hand moved to cover His wife’s. “And is this why you are here, begging for Our priest’s life to be restored? For love?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I never got to tell him.” It came out in a breath, barely audible over the breeze.

The gods shared another long look. Teomitl didn’t dare move. He willed his heart to beat quieter, lest it disturb them. The gulf in his chest howled.

Finally, Mictlantecuhtli spoke. “We will release him into your care.” Teomitl thought His skull face was attempting a smile. It was a terrible thing to see on a face that was mostly bone and dried skin. “But there will be a price for you.”

“I’ll pay it.” Here, at last, there was no room for doubt or hesitation. Whatever You want of me. Anything. My heart? My body? My life? It will be Yours. Just let me walk with Acatl out of here, let me set him back in his body and tell him how I love him.

“Brave boy.” The ash rose, nearly blinding him; when it cleared, the little moth was fluttering gently in front of his face. “You may take Our High Priest’s soul, and settle it back in his living flesh, and it will be like he never died. But upon your death, though you may die in glorious battle, you will take his place here.”

He cupped his hands around Acatl’s soul, feeling its tiny feet alight on his fingers. His heart felt full to bursting. He is here. He’s here. We did it. “As you wish, My Lord—my Lady.”

Mictecacihuatl snorted, waving Her hand. “You have what you came for. Be off with you, feather of the Hummingbird.”

Feather of the—? “Wait,” he began, but before he could even formulate a question there was a quincunx shimmering into being under his feet. For a long moment he knew nothing, was nothing, and then he was falling through ash again and back into the temple sanctum.

Beat.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he was present in his own skin. It felt too warm and too tight after his sojourn in Mictlan, breath rasping through his lungs, but he was kneeling by Acatl’s head and holding his soul in his hands so nothing else mattered. He could die immediately, and still nothing else would matter.

No, that wasn’t true. He still had to tell Acatl how he felt.

“Did it—?“

“Teomitl!”

He ignored the outcry around him. Instead he lowered his hands to Acatl’s mouth, letting the moth fly out to brush against Acatl’s lips where it disappeared in a brief, soundless burst of air. For an excruciating moment nothing happened, and despair threatened to drag him under. Is there more? Have we failed after all?

And then life flooded Acatl’s skin, and he took a slow, shallow breath.

Teomitl wanted to cheer. He wanted to sob. He wanted to curl up around Acatl and go to sleep for a month. He did none of those things. Acatl’s face was practically in his lap, filling him with so much tenderness he thought he might die of it; before he could even think to remember his audience, he reached down and cupped Acatl’s cheek, revelling in the warmth of living blood under his hands.

Thank the gods. Thank you, Lord and Lady Death, for this gift of Acatl’s life.

Things started to move quickly after that. Acatl was borne on a stretcher to recuperate in the palace, where the She-Snake had arranged for a team of Patecatl’s priests to meet him. Teomitl wondered if they’d be any use or if they’d just stand around making concerned noises; being brought back from the dead was surely not common enough to warrant a page in their codices. He supposed that if nothing else, they could do something about what promised to be some truly spectacular bruising on his throat. He wanted to go with him—surely he couldn’t be expected to leave Acatl alone, no matter that Mihmatini refused to leave his side—but when he tried to stand up he almost fell over, and Neutemoc had to help him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he muttered, face burning.

Neutemoc squeezed his shoulder, a brotherly gesture he’d never gotten from his own brothers. His eyes were suspiciously wet. “You brought my brother back. I should be thanking you.”

There were still too many people around. He couldn’t fall to pieces yet. “I won’t accept it. Anyone would have done the same.”

Neutemoc gave him a dry look so reminiscent of Acatl that he felt his throat close up. Before he could do or say anything else emotional, he shrugged off his hand and left. Star demons or no, he needed to be out in the sunlight. He needed to remind himself that he was alive, that they’d won at least this small victory.

The sun fell across his shoulders like a warm blanket, and he soaked it in with his eyes closed for a long, blissful moment. Here, there were no star demons. Here, there was no yawning chasm of power in the Mexica Empire. Here, he didn’t need to worry about consequences or the things he had left to do. Tizoc was dead, and Acatl was alive. The sun woke answering warmth in his blood. He could pretend he was free.

Then he opened his eyes and stared up at the blue sky. The clear blue sky, with not a single errant star piercing through the fabric of the heavens. His mind went blank in shock. We don’t have a Revered Speaker. Nobody should be channeling the Southern Hummingbird’s power in the Fifth World right now. This shouldn’t be happening.

He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes, and took a second look. The sky remained clear. He squinted, trying to see if the tiny pale speck was a star or—no, it was just a cloud. The sky was still clear, and now his temples throbbed with the beginnings of a headache.

Footsteps behind him announced Quenami’s presence before the man spoke. “Well. Congratulations, my lord.”

He resisted the urge to whirl around and strangle the man with his bare hands. There’d be no point to it now that Acatl was alive. “Mn?” He didn’t mean to make it a question, but even for him Quenami was being obsequious.

Quenami chose his words with the air of a man picking his way through a field of obsidian knives. “Acatl has been restored to life thanks to you, and it...appears...that Huitzilopochtli has taken a liking to your bravery in walking into His enemy’s domain. Allow me to be the first to greet my new Revered Speaker-in-waiting.”

Oh. He stared down at his hands, seeing for the first time the faint tracery of gold glimmering over his skin, the warmth that he’d thought had just been the sun. In a manner of speaking, he’d been right. The Southern Hummingbird’s blessing. Is this what Mictecacihuatl meant? As he turned the idea over in his mind, his fists clenched. If the gods were choosing him for the office, then he would be worthy of it.

He would start by being honest. With himself, with Acatl, and with those less deserving.

“If you ever again address Acatl-tzin with less than full respect, Quenami, I will cut out your tongue.”

Darkness.

Pain.

It was the first thing that greeted Acatl as he swam up from the depths of unconsciousness. Everything hurt. His joints throbbed, his skin tingled, and his back ached. And his throat...his throat was the worst. It felt as though it had been squeezed shut, so sore and swollen that even breathing was agony. He lay flat on his back, staring at the inside of his closed lids, and tried to remember why that should be. The last thing he could recall with any certainty was the sham of a trial Tizoc and Quenami had put him through, where he’d been unable to mount even a few words in his own defense without drooling like an imbecile. And then...

The verdict. The flower garland. The courtyard. The ahuitzotls singing to him.

Teomitl.

He tried to stir, but at first his limbs refused to obey him. Alright then, he thought, small steps. Though it felt like moving an entire mountain, he could wiggle his toes. His fingers were next. His arms and legs felt constrained by something, but as he shifted he realized why. Instead of his own thin reed mat, he was laying on at least two thick new ones, and someone had covered him with a light cotton blanket like an invalid. He should have been sweating in the summer heat, but there was a chill sunken into his bones. The last thing he remembered was the garrote cutting off his breath. Swallowing brought a spasm of pain, a dry clicking noise, and the realization that he was desperately thirsty. “Mngh...”

“My lady? He’s waking.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Mihmatini. She was safe, then. Whatever Tizoc had done, it hadn’t touched her. He thought she must be close by; he could hear the rustle of her skirts and smell the faint piney scent of copal incense. The small hand laid on his forehead was reassuringly warm. “Acatl, can you speak? How do you feel?”

“Grmngh.” He swallowed again. With another monumental effort, he wedged his eyes open. Mihmatini’s face swam into focus above him, pinched with worry but blessedly not bearing any injuries he could see. She’d braided her hair at some point, but now the simple plait was in disarray. The dark circles under her eyes looked bruised in the dim afternoon light, and there was fresh blood beading at her earlobes. I must be in terrible shape. “Sore,” he croaked, and then, “Water...?”

Water was brought, mixed with fresh-tasting medicinal herbs. He tried to push himself up and failed; his muscles were like softened rubber trying to move the cold, solid rock of his own flesh. Mihmatini’s hand at his back molded him into a more or less upright position so that he could drain the cup offered by a slave he recognized as Oyahuaca, ignoring both women’s concerned glances until he was hydrated enough to speak without feeling like he was gargling knives. It helped a little. Not much—gods help him, he was still so damnably weak, and his throat was in agony—but a little. He could think now, and with thought came questions. “What...what happened? Where’s Teomitl?” The ahuitzotls were singing. I know I heard them. Where they are, Teomitl wouldn’t be far behind.

Mihmatini shot a sharp look at Oyahuaca. “Fetch the Revered Speaker while I fill my brother in on what he’s missed.”

He heard the words, but they seemed to be slow in assembling themselves into a coherent sentence. The Revered Speaker? What did that have to do with Teomitl? Gods, he prayed they hadn’t elected Tizoc while he was indisposed. He couldn’t see that going well for anyone, not with that man’s paranoia given free reign. And Teomitl would surely be furious if that was the case, which wouldn’t improve the situation. He’d been in enough of a temper recently that Acatl really didn’t want to see what it looked like if it got worse. That wasn’t even mentioning the star demons. Was Tizoc even capable of channeling the Southern Hummingbird’s power? Somehow he doubted it, Master of the House of Darts or no. It would be just my luck to survive a garroting and immediately have my soul eaten by a star demon, he thought sourly.

It wasn’t until Oyahuaca rose and left at a pace that wasn’t quite a run that he managed to say anything. “Mihmatini.”

She took a deep breath, staring down at her hands. “Do you remember the courtyard? The—the flower garland?”

He nodded dully. It wasn’t likely he’d ever forget. His knees throbbed, a sense-memory of cold stone and naked fear. Of searing pain and darkness and the knowledge that he would die with things left unsaid. Knowing that he now had the chance to say them didn’t bring him any comfort. It wasn’t as though he realistically could, not if he expected a favorable outcome. “There were ahuitzotls.” And then there’d been nothing else. He’d blacked out, probably.

“Well.” She took another breath, hands clenching into fists. “The ahuitzotls were too late. You...” Oh no. There were tears in her eyes. “Teomitl arrived in time to see you die.”

No. His chest felt suddenly too tight, his hammering heart the only thing he could focus on. As if in a dream, he looked down at his hands and knew she was telling the truth. If he engaged his priestly senses, he could see the ghostly tendons and bones under his skin. The dry, cold, acidic emptiness of Mictlan gnawed sharp and vicious at his stomach, too close to the surface. He felt colder than ever. “I...”

I died. I died, and yet I am here. He sucked in a slow breath, tasting ash and herbs and cold water. Another breath brought the sour stench of the sickroom. He’d died. He’d died, and somehow he’d been brought back. Somehow he was here with a pounding heart and aches in all his bones, the pain further proof that he yet lived. Mihmatini sat close enough that he could feel her warmth; when he sniffed, the mingled scents of her perfume and a distant kitchen filled his nostrils. Someone was roasting chilies, and it made his stomach growl lightly. Alive.

Mihmatini was still talking, and he struggled to keep up with it. “He killed Tizoc on the spot. He would have killed Quenami, too, if that dog’s son hadn’t led the ritual to bring your soul back from Mictlan. After...after that, apparently the Southern Hummingbird made it known in no uncertain terms who He was choosing to wield His powers in the Fifth World, so the rest of the council elected to instate Teomitl as Revered Speaker.” She swallowed. “You’ve...you’ve been unconscious for a week. You missed his coronation.”

What?!

Teomitl was Revered Speaker? That was... Acatl shook his head in disbelief. He’s too young was his first thought, but immediately he knew that was wrong. He certainly wasn’t too young to take prisoners in battle, to be personally chosen by Huitzilopochtli. To be the man Acatl realized, with a sinking heart, that he was definitely still in love with, because the idea of Teomitl wearing the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown and still calling him Acatl-tzin, still looking to him for guidance, was doing something very strange to his emotions. He thought he might laugh. Or cry. Either was a distinct possibility.

It was too much. Mind spinning, he grabbed one thing out of the swarm of questions thronging his mind to focus on. He couldn’t handle politics now, not in the state he was in, but the workings of even the most esoteric magical rituals were refreshingly familiar. Even if they involved—ugh—Quenami. “Lord Death should not have released me. So...how...?”

A faint smile crossed Mihmatini’s face. “You should ask Teomitl about that when he arrives. He’s been very worried about you, no matter how many of us tell him that you’re recovering well. If it wasn’t for his coronation, I really don’t think he’d ever leave your side.”

He felt himself blush. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

She snorted and gently shoved at his shoulder, shaking her head. “I’m sure I’m not! He loves you more than he does me.”

He couldn’t possibly have heard that right. He sat in silence for a moment, willing the words to make sense. Mihmatini had to have said something else—meant something else. When she didn’t follow up with any sort of clarification and he realized she was looking at him for a reaction, he found his voice cracking in shock. “He—what?!”

“You heard me.” And now she was unmistakably smiling. For the first time in his life, Acatl wanted a cup with something significantly stronger than water.

It didn’t seem likely that he’d get it. She was still looking at him, seemingly happy as anything, and she’d just told him that the man she was courting was in love with him. He didn’t need to pinch himself—he was in quite enough pain that he knew perfectly well he had to be alive and conscious, thank you very much—but it still didn’t seem real. He couldn’t be that fortunate. He’d made his peace, hadn’t he? He’d determined already that he would go to the grave with his feelings rather than ruin the relationship Teomitl and Mihmatini were building.

Except he had gone to the grave. And somehow—he was not giving Quenami all the credit, he flatly refused, a man had to have some limits—he’d been pulled out of it. And now Mihmatini was telling him that Teomitl had been worried about him. That it had taken the long, painstakingly involved rituals of a royal coronation to pull him away from Acatl’s sickbed. That he loved him. “But you...he...” At a complete loss for words, he gestured in the air between them.

She shrugged carelessly. “Oh, the wedding is still on. We were waiting for you to wake. But I’m not first in his heart, and that suits me fine.”

He swallowed, another grinding flash of pain. Belatedly he remembered his water, and took a long gulp before answering. “...If you’re happy.” Regardless of whether she was the Guardian of the Duality or Teomitl’s wife, she’d always be his little sister. Her happiness was far, far more important to him than his own heart. Even if it seemed, amazingly, that he had nothing to fear.

“I am.” Her grin made her whole face glow. “And you?”

“What about me?” She didn’t know. He was entirely sure she didn’t know, not when he’d only realized it himself moments before he died.

She swatted him again. “Tizoc is dead, you’re alive, and you very definitely have the favor of our new Revered Speaker. The boundaries are safe. The star demons aren’t a threat anymore. I’d say that’s plenty enough to be happy about.”

He had to sit with that for a moment, still clutching his empty cup in both hands. She was right, of course. He was alive. They were safe. Teomitl was Emperor now, and he was no paranoid coward like his brother had been. No, instead he was brave and strong and whip-smart and he...Mihmatini said he might... Gods, he thought dizzily. He had thought there was no chance. He had died thinking there was no chance.

Mihmatini was looking at him. He choked out a grunt. It was the closest he could get to an actual response.

Someone was sprinting down the hallway outside. It was all the warning he got before the entrance curtain was yanked aside so roughly that it nearly came off its hanging rod; the cacophony of bells that announced the intrusion nearly drowned out the cry of, “Acatl-tzin!” that accompanied it. Teomitl stood in the doorway for a moment, relief plain on his face and the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown equally plain on his head.

Acatl couldn’t look away. He’s been crowned. He is my Emperor now. And he still...he still calls me Acatl-tzin. He wanted to laugh for the sheer joy of it.

Mihmatini rose gracefully, but the smile she turned on Teomitl had an edge to it. “I’ll leave you to talk.”

After Mihmatini left, all Acatl could do was stare at Teomitl. Absurdly, he thought, He looks the same. The same lean, solidly muscled build, the same nose and eyes, the same little scar on one elbow where a training sword had caught him as a child. True, his cloak and sandals were rich turquoise, his earrings and lip plug were jade and gold, and there was a slender emerald rod piercing his nose, but his face hadn’t changed. It was still open and guileless, every emotion writ clear. He loves you, Mihmatini had said. Acatl thought he could believe it.

Slowly, carefully, Teomitl sank down next to his mat. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Acatl’s face; for a moment Acatl thought he was going to reach for him, but he seemed to think better of it. “I...how are you feeling?”

How am I feeling, he asks. Again he thought he could laugh, but there was no joy in it; under his skin, dry dust rustled like paper. His bones still ached. Even with the blanket over him, there was a chill clinging to his skin. The words were out before he could stop them, more acidic than he’d intended. “...I’ve just been dead, Teomitl. How do you think?”

Teomitl jerked back, glaring at him with more hurt than anger. “It’s a valid concern!” He swallowed once, visibly, and added in a softer voice, “We weren’t sure when you’d wake.”

There was a tremor to the words Acatl really didn’t like, and Mihmatini’s words crossed his mind again. She’d never answered the question of how he’d returned. Part of him didn’t want to know. He was alive, wasn’t he? Let the details rest. But if Teomitl had done something...ill-advised to bring him back, then it was his responsibility to help fix it. Even now that Teomitl was Revered Speaker, it was still his responsibility. He took a deep breath. It didn’t hurt so much anymore. “I’m just glad to be able to wake at all. Mihmatini told me that Quenami provided the magic, but how...?”

Teomitl dropped his gaze, but his voice was firm; his shoulders rolled as though he was preparing for a fight. “...Someone had to go into Mictlan. I volunteered.”

What. The words crystallized in his mind, horror slicing like swords. It’s one thing for me to go—I am Lord Death’s servant! But Teomitl, sworn to the Southern Hummingbird and Jade Skirt, walking through enemy territory—for me—

“Lord Death was...willing to release your soul to me.”

He forced himself to breathe. Mictlan gives up nothing without a price. Mictlan gives up nothing without a price. For Teomitl to walk back to the Fifth World with my soul... With dread gripping his heart in eagle claws, he forced out, “What did He want in exchange?”

Silence. Teomitl closed his eyes on a long exhale.

“What did He want, Teomitl?!”

“Mine!” Teomitl’s eyes snapped open, filled with an anguished emotion Acatl couldn’t even begin to unravel. His fists clenched, white-knuckled, as he caught Acatl’s gaze and held it; he was stunned to see tears in his eyes. For all that, his voice held steady with barely a waver. “I offered Him my soul in exchange for yours, and He accepted. When I die...I’ll go to Mictlan. And it will be worth it, Acatl-tzin, do you understand?” He raised his voice right over the feeble noise that escaped Acatl’s lips. “It will! Because I lied to Tizoc, you’re mine, and I couldn’t let you die!”

Horror—he did that for me, gave up all hope of the Sun’s Heaven for me—almost threatened to swamp him. Teomitl was a warrior. He was the Emperor. He deserved an eternity by the side of the Sun, and he’d thrown it all away for him. For a poor priest from a family of peasants.

“I’m what,” he choked out. “Teomitl, what were you thinking?!”

“You heard me!” Teomitl snapped, making a furious stabbing motion with his hand.

His heart felt as though it had, impossibly, migrated up into his throat. He could barely speak around it. “But I...but...” Your soul. The place in the heavens you deserve. Even Tizoc might go there, if he died with a weapon in his hand. And you never will.

Teomitl had clearly decided there was no room for remorse or second-guessing himself. He raised his voice to a snarl. “No buts!” He jerked his head to one side, eyes shutting too slowly to stop the trickle of tears down his face. Acatl felt his heart crack in two at the sight. It was worse when Teomitl scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand, made a horribly wet throat-clearing noise, and bit out, “You’re the most important person in the world to me, Acatl-tzin.”

Helpless, he reached for him—and stopped. No matter how much he wanted to pull Teomitl into his arms, he had a feeling it wouldn’t go over well. “I’m not—” He stopped. Started again. “I’m just—”

Teomitl looked up, glaring at him through reddened eyes. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Your life is worth more to me than anything else.”

Including your brother. He didn’t say that. His own eyes burned. “Mihmatini told me Tizoc-tzin is dead.”

“He is.” Teomitl’s voice was striving for neutrality, but there was too much bitter fury still lingering in it for it to ring true. That, and he still sounded close to tears.

Acatl had to swallow tears of his own and wished for more water. “By your hand?” He found he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Yes, brothers should stand by brothers, and unquestionably that precluded murder. On the other hand...well. He could admit to a certain petty vindictiveness. Tizoc had executed him for a crime he hadn’t even committed. That certainly deserved death in return.

“I had to,” Teomitl said simply. Now he sounded steady, but his knuckles had gone white where he’d grabbed a fistful of his jade-beaded cloak.

“...Why?” But even as he asked, he knew the answer. The knot in his chest started to loosen, and he found he could breathe.

Teomitl recoiled, staring at him incredulously. “For you, you fool!” It came out ragged, raw. He had to take a breath before continuing, “I saw you and—Tizoc tore my heart from my chest when he killed you, Acatl-tzin. I returned the favor.”

Oh. Oh. Mihmatini was right. By the Duality, she was right. And so was Teomitl; he was a fool, because he’d thought he could possibly have hidden how he felt. There would be no hiding this. His heart was hammering so fiercely he could feel it in his fingertips. He was still exhausted, still sore from his encounter with death, but that didn’t matter next to the cataclysm of emotion swirling through him. It was for me. He went into Mictlan for me, slew his own brother for me. Because...

It still didn’t seem possible. He was no great warrior or dazzling beauty. He would bring no glory to his clan. He could only hope to be a good man, to serve the gods and the empire well. And yet somehow, he’d earned a place in Teomitl’s heart.

“...Teomitl.” It seemed to be the only word in his reeling mind. He realized he was leaning closer, that it would be so easy for him to close the distance between them, and only just stopped himself in time.

Teomitl swallowed convulsively, dropping his gaze. Even in the dim light afforded to them, it was easy to see him turn a dull, dark red. “I—” His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Acatl’s and squeezing tight. “Acatl-tzin. Acatl.”

He’d never heard his name like that before—harsh and desperate, unspoken emotion ringing through it like bells. It made his heart skip a beat, and for a moment he could barely breathe. “Are you not...?” The Revered Speaker, he wanted to say, as far above me as the sun in the sky. But the words lodged in his throat and stuck there; helpless, he gestured to Teomitl’s turquoise adornments with his free hand. The other one was still held firmly in Teomitl’s grasp, making it easy for him to tangle their fingers together. Whether you are or not, I’m yours.

It must have been the right thing to do, because Teomitl was looking at him again. “Yes. But...” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Acatl’s focus followed it. “To you, I want to be Teomitl.”

He wasn’t cold anymore. Warmth pulsed through him like another heart, and Mictlan’s chill had never felt farther away. “And...” The words were out before he could call them back; maybe it was a stupid question, but he had to know. He had to be sure, before he did something he might regret. There were many different ways to love, and it was entirely possible that what Teomitl had said and what Mihmatini had heard were two entirely different things than the emotion coursing through him now. “Is that all you want from me?” Please say it isn’t, he thought desperately. Please say I’m not the only one willing to follow anywhere this leads.

Teomitl’s thumb smoothed over Acatl’s fingers, very nearly distracting him from his words. “No,” he said simply.

Now he knew he wasn’t breathing. Teomitl’s hand on his was his greatest anchor to the earth. “Ngh?”

Teomitl smiled, brief and radiant, as his gaze drifted pointedly to Acatl’s mouth. “When you are well enough, I’m going to kiss you.”

It was a simple statement of fact—the sky is blue, Grandmother Earth is hungry, I am going to kiss you. Acatl took a moment to breathe, feeling the foundations of his world lift and resettle themselves to account for this new version of reality. His limbs still felt too heavy and his throat was a dull-edged sword of pain, but none of that mattered. Teomitl had brought him back to life, saved the Fifth World, loved him.

He tilted his head and leaned in, the clearest invitation he could give. “...I’m well enough now.”

Teomitl closed the distance.

He’d thought about what kissing Teomitl might be like. He’d been ashamed, yes, but Teomitl was an attractive youth who smiled easily and his vow of celibacy didn’t make him a eunuch. He’d imagined something rough and passionate, maybe a little clumsy in his eagerness. He’d imagined more teeth. He hadn’t imagined soft, gentle lips pressed to his, coaxing his mouth open. He loves me. It was the easiest thing in the world to relax into it, letting the arm Teomitl slid around him take his weight as he kissed back.

From there it was only natural to pull him close in return. Acatl rested a hand at his waist, revelling in the heat of the smooth skin there and the small, soft noise Teomitl made into his mouth. It almost sounded surprised, and he couldn’t help but smile. Did you not think I wanted to touch you? Oh, but it was too difficult to kiss someone when you were smiling, and soon he had to pull away. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“Acatl.” Teomitl was smiling too; they bumped noses, and Acatl had to suppress a little bubble of laughter. “You don’t know how happy I am right now.”

“I think I can guess.” He ran his fingers lightly over Teomitl’s side—too lightly, evidently, because it startled a squeaky, adorable giggle out of him. He hadn’t realized Teomitl could laugh like that. He certainly hadn’t realized the man was ticklish. Now there was no use suppressing his delight, nor the grin that threatened to split his face.

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed warily, but without any real heat. “Do not. I swear to the Duality, I’ll take back everything I just said.”

He decided to be merciful, smoothing his hand over the skin instead and watching the delicate little shiver that resulted. “You won’t. You never break your word.” He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Teomitl loves me. I love him in return. That will never change, not in this world.

“Mm.” Teomitl kissed him again, brief and sweet. “No, but I wouldn’t mind the chance to say it again properly.”

“Properly?” He’d done an excellent job of expressing his feelings as far as Acatl was concerned. There was surely no chance of him misunderstanding kisses like that, not when they were still making his skin tingle.

But apparently Teomitl disagreed. He blushed again, averting his gaze. “This isn’t how I wanted to say...any of that,” he muttered. “I had plans. And besides, I was hardly sure you were going to listen!”

He felt like he’d been stabbed. How long? How long was he carrying this? And I was blind. I didn’t even realize what was in my own heart until the last moment. Duality curse him, he’d been a prize idiot. “Teomitl...” he murmured.

Teomitl glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. There was the faintest hint of a rueful smile on his face. “I thought for sure it was doomed,” he muttered. “That I’d have to take it to my grave. I thought I didn’t have a chance.”

Acatl was already shaking his head. Or rather, he shook his head once; continuing the motion reminded him he’d been recently strangled, and his neck muscles had opinions on that. “You thought wrong. I...” But he stumbled over the words, flustered.

“Hm?” He was acutely aware of the way Teomitl froze, watching him.

Well, there was no stopping it now. And it was the truth, besides. “I love you,” he blurted out.

Teomitl went spectacularly crimson, but Acatl didn’t have much time to admire the view because then they were kissing again. It was still slow and careful, but this time Teomitl shifted to lay them both onto the mat and that turned out to be considerably easier on his sore muscles, not to mention giving him an excellent chance to skim a palm all the way down the exposed skin of Teomitl’s side. Teomitl hummed into his mouth, an intoxicating noise. “Mmm...”

Even when he broke the kiss, he didn’t go far. He didn’t want to. “Does that mean you believe me?”

Teomitl’s smile was like a sun rising. “You’re right. Mictlan might have my soul, Acatl, but my heart is yours.”

He’d almost forgotten. He’d almost forgotten. He closed his eyes, unwillingly assaulted with far too vivid memories of the cold and the darkness and the dust. But he still tasted Teomitl’s mouth on his when he licked his lips, and that helped to banish it a little. “I still cannot believe you did that,” he muttered.

Teomitl held him tighter, huffing out an annoyed-sounding breath. “I had nothing else to give. Oblivion is worth it as long as I can spend my life with you.”

He inhaled sharply. “Oh, Teomitl.”

There was nothing for it but to draw Teomitl in for another kiss, this one deeper; as hands found his hair, his own dug into Teomitl’s skin. After a second’s worth of surprise, Teomitl returned the fervor with a growl. There were the teeth he’d been wondering about, and he welcomed them. If he’d had the energy—if the Revered Speaker could be assured of any privacy at all—he would have allowed himself to crave more. Since they couldn’t, he settled for catching Teomitl’s lower lip lightly between his teeth and thrilling in the soft gasp before he pulled away just far enough to breathe, “Then I hope we die on the same day, in the same hour. I won’t let you walk through Mictlan alone.” Not again, at any rate.

Teomitl grinned at him. “It will be a good journey.”

Upon their deaths, they would both dissolve into dust at the foot of Lord Death’s throne. But here and now, they were alive. Acatl found he was looking forward to that.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #mihmitl #quenami #tizoc #paladin writes stuff

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pinktatertots99 · 4 years ago

Note

🔥 Feelings on the canon ships of Homestuck?

Send Me a 🔥+ a Topic, and I’ll Tell You My Honest Opinion About It

god am i gonna need to go with the sequals too? just og or all ships that’re considered canon by the end? whatever i’ll just go in order in what might be the ‘canon’ ships from all three of these categories. this is gonna be fucking long so anything and everything is under the cut. also i’m SO not gonna add hiveswap that can be its own separate ask. so:

roxygen: it’s a cute ship...but the sequal vers is garbage considering how inconsiderate roxy is to john’s feelings and his house burning down like damn rox this is the guy who sat with ya as ya mourned doom rose’s death give the guy some fuckin time himself.

rosemary: also cute ship...sequal versions are fuckin godawful tho. their barely a thing in meat from wha i can gather and then there’s candy...oh CANDY kanaya deserves better fuck this sense of her sayin she’s over it idc if it was off screen, even then half the cast ate stupid pills during that time so WHY must i be surprised that this is wha happens?

dave/kat: i dun like it. in either universe. meat is just perfect gay bois who have occasional deep talks and literally do nothing else while candy they split up thanks to jade which, geez ya guys must’ve been shit to tell her to fuck off like come on. og hs wise i barely consider them canon if we only get pictures and them just being on equal footing on quadrant talk. not to mention dave implied to be crushing on jade and JOHN not karkat, idk where this couple even came from other then love triangle situation with terezi but like, that’s barely much of a reason to become canon. i’d go with em bein pale/moirails more.

jadedave: i’m guessing candy and meat i thought meat implied they were dating but may aswell. so....it sucks but thats because candy and meat suck, meat dave’s basically cheating on her i didnt hear any implication they broke up and she’s like...chill??? and then there’s candy where she literally forced him and kar to break up and dated after dirk apparently died, i do not like the implications of this whole thing. course candy dave is dead and a robot now so...anyways canon wise dave had a crush on her and if jade does like him i’d hope it’s not cause of davesprite cause despite both being dave’s they were different. it’s cute otherwise.

davepetajade: it’s...cute? i guess? idk i kinda found davepeta a bit...idk overwhelmingly overrated? like i know where their popularity came from but readin the series now after all that hype i dont really see it anyways tho it’s basically davespritejade with nepeta in the mix. and idk nothin implied much of nepeta liking jade, or talkin to her much. and davepetasprite is a mesh of both so idk. it’s a ship with cute fanon works of em hanging with outfits but that’s bout it.

janejake: i hate it. legit. this is disgusting and completely throws out jane’s character. like even in the fixed timeline the talk she had with dirk probably still happened on the god bed’s and how she acknowledged wha she thought was wrong on wantin jake’s kids and so on trickster still happened and how she also realized she might’ve overhyped jake. but lets throw it ALL out the window to force jake in an unhappy marriage in both universes and possibly force him to stay in candy due to having tavvy if i’m reading the implications right. even then jake isn’t good for jane either both got their own needs this ship would’ve been sunked in canon and WAS but the sequals are beyond it so maybe that explains it but it disgusts me.

roseterezi: guess in meat specifically. yeah i kinda dont...care for it, like i still cant tell if rose and kanaya broke up or if she just fucked off without breaking up either one is fucked up on kan’s behalf. even then i just dont care for their kismesis it got brought up once and that was it.

jaderose: candy wise i guess even tho it was a fling. it disgusts me still mostly because of kan’s behalf on bein fucked over and both goin through a ‘surrogation’ process without her notice. like fuck this shit the jaderose fans deserve better.

roxycallie: idk if this one’s canon but it’s heavily implied callie lives with roxy least in candy. it’s cute, cant deny it even in og it was pretty cute, dont really care for candy vers tho but then again maybe their not a couple in it idk what’s canon couples anymore.

johnterezi: literally fucked in meat universe and john has kismesis feelings for her in canon. it’s...interesting, idk tho i feel like it’s one sided on john’s side.

ms paint/spade slick: i cant deny it’s cute, he’d least know how to treat a lady but god i’d hope it wouldnt be his only defining trait with her. also want ms paint to call his bullshit out pls and thanks.

dirkjake: honestly i cant tell if their STILL canon in og or not god forbid the sequals. in general though...i dont. i honestly dont really like em together much. they seem like the type to least stay friends but idk bout another relationship would be a good idea for em. maybe later down the line but otherwise canon wise they need a break.

and now for the canon one timer ships this involves any ships implied, uncomfirmed, ex-relationships, crushes, etc:

arasol: it’s cute, best ship. their quadrant was never confirmed but regardless their cute. sol tho in the sequals deserved better then to get abandoned by aradia goddamn.

fefsol: also cute, i live for both of em bein ass’s together.

erisol: oh boi this one...this was...yeah i cant even deny they wouldnt be too healthy, i like lookin at fanon ways tho for em. canon wise tho yeaaaah no these guys definietly wouldnt work.

gamtav: it’s...cute but boi gamzee needs some help i think.

gamsol: -sollux did imply he either wanted a kismesis or matesprit with him in one of the flashes- again same as gamtav.

aradia/equius: BIG NOPE nope nope nope equi that’s weird wha ya did never do it again thank fuck aradia hasnt been around him since.

karterezi: their actually kinda cute, looking back on em they could’ve worked. stupid doomed timeline bullshit.

daverezi: also kinda cute, idk tho if i got flushed for em tho i get more pale vibes but it was semi-a thing.

kanvris: it’s baaaaad kanaya deserves much better and vriska never seemed much the type for cementing into a relationship.

vristav: even worse, like i’d like to thank fuck tav one up-ed her in the end cause fuck wha he had to go through.

karmeenah: it...could be cute? maybe? only iffy part is the ages, i thought the dancestors were like sixteen tho since the kids said they were teenagers even tho they were at the time about fourteen? idk tho if eighteen is considered an adult in alternia or not tho it’s kinda implied to be? anyways tho it’s just off puttin maybe a bit tho.

meenahvris: it’s kinda cute, it was atleast, idk lookin back it does feel more unhealthy.

rufidama: baaaaaad i love rufi but he’s got some bullshit he needs worked out and damara deserves someone better.

rufihorr: just as bad as above, both deserve someone better or atleast horrus does with some therapy on it rufioh i think should just chill on relationships but it’s so obvious their not meant to be.

mitula: it’s cuuuuuute i cant deny it, ...okay fanon vers is canon is barely anything and tula does give more pale implications for tuna but with how protective she was over damara near him it’s sweet, but god do i wish canon tuna gave more feelings for tula.

kantula: it’s...creepy. like it’s so obvious the vantas bois cant communicate well but kankri’s crush feels almost pressuring on tula when he kept goin about them and goin “oh but we’re totally friends and i’m celibate so it’s okay its whatevs” like kan go to a corner give tula some air to breath.

crotuna: BIG NOPE cronus needs to learn fuckin boundaries thirsty fish bastard.

should i even add cro//eri due to the fact he literally asked an eridan out? regardless gross, ew, no, i’ll take the fanon ampora brothers anyday canon i didnt fuckin need that thx.

porrnea: it was implied to be more of a fling. idk considerin aranea’s track record i cant really say i’d trust her in many flushed quads. and porrim seems the type to have hers open and not a closed off thing so idk they got different cases.

aranea/jake: i cant deny it’s fuckin cute, i’d would’ve loved if they tried to do somethin but aranea was definietly uhhh not a good choice for jake. least she backed off when he didnt wanna be kissed but man yeah, it was cute while it lasted.

kurmeu: i cant deny the idea kur forced himself quiet due to hurting meu hurts me in a sweet way but as of rn them bein ‘pale’ and him mind controllin her when we dunno if she’s alright with this or not is...disturbing.

vristerezi: i am HIGHLY doubtful this is canon considering everything but i guess i gotta cement this. i dont see em as canon in og or sequal wise since vris is still gone in both, even then i dont like, see it, i see it but idk man i like em more pale then pail.

erifef: honestly no. both are much too different for a relationship, kinda glad they uh...got cut short cause honestly even their moirailship wasnt healthy what’s to say a matespritship would? on BOTH sides mind you.

rosejohn: thank karkat’s shipping board. anyways, i think their cute cause fuck it rose is a bi-con to me, canon wise probably wouldnt work but i’ll take fanon.

vriseri: kinda glad they got cut short of their kismesis cause boi eridan deserves a better one with how shit vriska was in breaking up with him.

johnvris: it was cute, i cant deny i’m soft over how the two talked things about vriska’s life and john’s it’s just kinda cute. it’s obvious tho canon wise with wha john went through it wont work out. would’ve loved if they became moirails tho but o well canon is god i guess.

spadePM: i dont like much of their implications, would be an unhealthy relationship regardless considerin spade’s flushed and PM’s pitch, they deserve some therapy and other people.

dadbert/momlonde: their cute i like the implications of em, sad they died though, it was cute while it lasted.

meowrails: may aswell count moirails in this shipping mess. anyways their cute, they gimmie sibling vibes course equius early into it was so...not a good moirail.

kurtuna: i guess it might be cute moirails? idk tho with kurloz’s implications it concerns me.

gamkar: as moirails...karkat was fuckin shit at his job i cant sugarcoat it. i get where it’s from he’s not gam’s lusus and shouldn’t be forced to check on him during his time of gettin high and such, i get they were kids, but god gam kinda deserved a better moirail. and then later on in the series it gets more fucked up between kar gettin stabbed by him and both in a pretty unhealthy moirailationship to the fixed timeline where gamzee is just shut into a fridge and kar doesnt fuckin care, like dude, wow. gamzee was bad yeah but damn, harsh a tad.

terezigam: as a kismesis it’s almost disgustingly unhealthy to me and honestly terezi deserved better and gamzee maaaaybe shouldn’t get a kismesis, ever, unless he can sort his shit out -the sequals tho wont do that lol-

minorly gonna count johndave in this: idk if i can see john reciprocating for dave so dave’s crush on him almost kinda hurts, especially since fixed timeline dave’s john is well, dead and our john is probably still different from his john, has angst but man i kinda dont mind it as a one sides crush it’s nice confirmation of dave bein bi atleast.

nepetajasper/jasprose: i cant see it, it’s disturbing i guess. i like em more as friends but jasprose is probably more creepy bout it.

signless/diciple: i think considerin the implications they were fuckin adorable and deserved the best.

summoner/mindfang: it’s kinda sad considerin its implied mindfang’s love for him might’ve been one sided, they could’ve been cute tho.

orphanor/mindfang: probably sounded like the best kismesis’s until he murdered dolorosa.

dolorosa/mindfang: BIG NOPE i dun like the implications.

condence/orphaner: since it’s implied orphaner had a crush on her, gonna say tho big nope considerin condence is a bitch.

condence/lord english: its hard to decipher their relationship in canon, but to cover all my bases it’s big nope to me somethin bout it makes me uncomfy despite both bein bastards.

#home stuck #hs #the pink one speaks

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blindtaleteller · 4 years ago

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GROUNDED: Favorite (ouch) exerpts : Ch. 5 - Youth

“ Something, happened. “

“ Question is what.. “ from Clint was in business mode and leaned in closer behind him to try and keep it between them. Not that it would last long, with the crowd. “ ..isn’t that his doctor? The one that met us at the bridge? “ That, took Tony’s eyes further back down the great hall; and her appearance drew his brows together on his own face. Skirts up in her hands and running; straight for Thor when she saw him. Completely unlike Eir. Distraught. Almost a little panicked and, nearly out of breath: as though she had run all the way from Loki’s halls. “ Uhm.. maybe we should head over. “ from Natasha as the noise of the crowd picked up from that end. Sending the creeping feeling that much more securely up his spine.

“ ...yeah. “ wasn’t even fully out of his mouth before Thor and not just one; but every honor guard in the room started making the way she’d come at a similar run: and Eir raised her hand spotting them “ Anthony! “ she had to breathe, between after the run. “ It’s Loki! “ putting a stop on his heart and a thundering explosion of conversation to a start around him. He was moving without the need for another word. “Just him! We’re trying but.. “ and he was past her, making a full sprint for his Jaded Hall. He knew she was trying to be right behind him after that. Heard the sound of her footsteps as heavy on the tiles as his were, but faltering a bit.. Likely from the tire of the run just prior.

His head was in the worst possible places when he came down it. Passing not just his usual guard but the presence of most of Odin’s personal guard as well. Buzzing by twice the extra faces, spears and shields. The door to Lolo’s bedroom feeling too far away as he saw through the doors that had been left open and almost into the one beyond it, where one guard was leaning, trying to get a view of whatever was in there.

He had to slow down once he got to the sitting room door, he knew: if he wasn’t going to bowl past it and into the bed or anyone else inside. As it was, he very nearly ran straight into Iona; spooking her a little out of a look to somber for him to like it at all. “ How is he? “ the first thing breathed hard out of his mouth from the run. Tony knew it sounded more demand than question, and took a few more breaths before taking her shoulders, forcing himself to be gentle with the freckled brunette and starting to move her aside. “ I’m sorry.. Sorry, Iona. Just.. I can’t take this roller coaster right now okay? Just tell me. “ He could hear other footsteps, a little slower, a little less quick, from the hall. A glance: Eir had fallen behind. “ Ser, I.. you must be quiet, please.. “

That didn’t help, and she snatched his arms; careful but firm. Caught his eyes from the turn they were making into that bedroom. “ He sleeps. “ okay and that calmed him for a moment until she said “ Again. “ in that particular way. With that particular look. “ My lady will.. Ser. Go in. My lady will explain what she can, when she joins you. “

He felt like the floor was crumbling out from under him. More so as he turned that way, and she the other; probably with the intent to meet Eir there in the foyer. It was quiet, but and as he came in, he could hear Thor’s tones. His eyes were stuck on that bed though. On the man who, had just the day before yesterday been smiling at and joking with him. He had, still looked frail in his sleep. Frail, but well; yes, beautiful. Still did right then. If not for the differences in stillness he’d come to recognize and even fear a little he might have expected him to just turn his head and yawn before sitting up. Dark hair against ivory pillows, against the near shade of his skin. The weight he’d lost though it didn’t seem as much when he was animated? That much more noticeable. “ ...you must have known how he would react, father; why? Why would press this, now ; when you know he is not fully recovered? Eir, and Iona, and every healer from the waters had warned us. You knew-- “

“ I thought I might reach through to him with reason. “ Fingers laid out over the quilt on either side. The monitor slipped back into place at the end of one. “ That perhaps, he might see the futility of such attachments, where they lie now. “ Futility..? “ That he would take even into better consideration his own health, for that matter. Take the offer; to mend his place here, with us. “ The place you sent him out from not even in chains, but with chains in him? “ With his family; his own people. I was wrong. “

“ Didn’t stop though, did you. “ was the sentence that made it out of his mouth. “ You pressed. Kept pressing. Didn’t you? Because the king’s got to have his way; whether it hurts or kills the people around him in the worst of ways; isn’t that right? “ His eyes tore up the space between where he was on that bed, and where Thor and his father stood, nearer the window. Thor… actually surprised him a little in that he had a hold of his father’s coat at the front, was letting go of the bunching, white knuckled grip when he did. “ He said something once, about the last time you lost your temper at him; really lost it. It hit me just now; that’s what the feeling is I get from you. That’s what feels so wrong, about you. That he felt that every word and look told him things he should’ve seen coming a few ages later. That he was happy and found it elsewhere, so you would not be until that happiness was in ashes if it wasn’t in your hands. “

“ Stark, you do not know what-- “

“ Thor, leave us. “ cut thunder britches short. “ And take the guard with you. To the hall proper. “ allowed no interruption in the staring contest they were having, or for argument. “ I needs have words , with young Anthony. Tell others; until such a time as the King leaves his son’s hall: none but Eir and her apprentice are to set foot within. “

“ Father, Tony does not-- “

“ Do I: make myself, clear? “ was almost growled at him, breaking briefly from his daggered gaze at Tony to ask Thor as a warning. “ Or, is there need to call Rorkin into these rooms to take you in hand: rather than vice versa? “

And that was that. Just the slightest hesitation, and Thor was on his way out without another word; the weight of his admonishment and more dragging behind him. Kicked puppy, just didn’t cover it. “ Close the doors, on your way out. “ just as stony, though; as the old goat started to consider a seat on the windowsill, he did have the forethought to gentle it a bit. “ I’ve no want for our conversation to become a public affair. “

The door shut. Tony heard a conversation. Eir. Asking the big guy to go out with Iona,find their friends. To take them aside and explain what had happened. Odin met his eyes with the one he had left. Up through his brow and all but expressionless. He wondered briefly, if he could see the seething cold hate that was splintering up in him; while they waited for the blast radius to clear. There wasn’t another word for it. And he was tempted; really, terribly, frighteningly tempted: to forget about the repulsors. Jolt forward. And shove the twisted old bastard back first out the open window behind him with his own two hands.

He had to look away, just thinking it. If he did that; he couldn’t say who he was with certainty if, he did. And if he couldn’t.. He didn’t know who Lolo would wake to; but it wouldn’t be the same. For that, for him and for everyone else who mattered in his life.. The satisfaction wouldn’t be had. Focus on the man he’d come here for. Kept, coming here for.

He was alive. There was that. But they’d had that conversation too, him and Eir. The possibilities and examples of how long, he could be like this. “ You just.. Couldn’t leave it be. Could you? “ snapped out the moment he heard the deeper in double click.The outermost door closing behind Odin’s blooded son.

“ You don’t know him as I do. Nor will you ever, truly. He may, recover.. largely in part because of you. Especially you; Anthony. “ Tony thought he heard a sound at the door, but ignored it in favor of trying not, to give into the back and forth pulse of rage. “ But in the end; if I let him go: if he lived out this fantasy, what then? “

“ How we’re connected, is more than a fantasy. And you know it. If it weren’t; you wouldn’t be nearly as threatened by how close we are now. “

“ You’re right. “ Pulled Tony’s head back a little, maybe more so for the repeat in a much more gentle tone. “ You are, right. “ surprised him, just a little. But he was weary enough of Odin by now not to let his guard down. And the firmness in his words was back, though the softer tones were weaving into them with what Odin said next. “ A very smart man.. and yet you miss the point. You are what.. forty? Fifty at most? Charging, towards the beginning of the end of your prime. While, at thirty or forty times your years; Loki, has barely begun the first steps into his. “

“ Thirty five point seven, actually. “ raised the old man’s brow. “ Times, my age. So. This is where it came from. “

“ I beg your pardon? “ It wasn’t funny, how the old man had just; pulled that almost-fistfight right back up in Tony’s mind, clear as day. Fresh as if it had been yesterday.

“ When we came to collect your other kid? His girlfriend, and you know: stop the-- “ a hand waved off towards the ceiling. “ --elves? I got stuck sitting in on a very similar argument between brothers. I didn’t agree with it then. Broke my heart hearing it, actually. Here he was, this guy; alive as he was, all the joy --even as twisted-sweet as it’d turned out-- all , the joy to give when he.. doesn’t even try? And you what? Thumped into his head the idea that .. because some lives are shorter than yours, he should ignore them? Not cherish what he gets while he’s got it? “

And okay. All right, so that rage was.. Flipping into something else. And even though he had finally caught his breath after that dead run: it felt like it was still coming up short. “ How dare you. “ He opened his mouth, and Tony had to drive it in again. “ How, fucking dare you ; sir. “

“ You would rather that light were snuffed out watching you die? “ did, put a little skip to his thoughts. “ Mm. Yes. That. Even if you do not, die in battle; what. You would have him watch you wither, and age, and fall into weakness before death? “ He had nothing to that. How could he still have nothing for that? “ And, you know him yes? His passion. His greed too I think, keeping hold of everything he decides is his. Tell me, Anthony.. what would he turn to, before allowing that to happen? “

And … wasn’t that a thought. But worse was that he was able to pick out the immediate next in Tony’s. “ I think young man, that even those outside might be able to guess that the better question would be; what wouldn’t he , do? “

“ Nothing. “ Nothing, except: looking over at him right then? He couldn’t buy it. “ There’s not a damned thing, he wouldn’t do to keep what’s his, on his own. Not when it comes to what matters ; but? “ Odin’s eye almost narrowed on him. He took a deep breath, and just .. let it go. Looked right back. Made sure he saw it. “ He’s not on his own. Not any more. “

Eir chose that silent challenging moment to come in; closing the door quietly behind her. “ I suppose, not. Lady Eir. “

And Tony needed to know, in the interim. “ How’s he doing? “

But the thing was; she didn’t answer. At all. His eyes had shifted back to Loki; when Odin had addressed her. The quiet though; pulled his head her way at a slow tug. More for the warning bells going off. Most men in a relationship know the kind. Well probably at least some women too, he thought. The ones where, you can’t see it; but feel the risings of a person’s temper so sharply once it’s in the room that, you just know when you look, that at least half of actual hell is about to break loose, and you’re pretty much dead if you get in it’s way? Yeah. That kind of warning bell.

And when he did look? If he thought the stare-down between him and the old goat had been bad? Nah, no comparison..

And that, was when Tony realized he was pretty much still in the ‘dead zone.’ And almost immediately took a step back, and then to the side. Because and hells if he didn’t have the experience; it was the nice, classy, and kind ones that saved it all up for a proper nuclear explosion when they got really pissed.

“ Well? How is, he? “ was, not what he was expecting the same. Especially not from Loki’s physician? “ The boy can see for himself. “

“ Mm! I have eyes in my head as well. I know very well how I left this room; and this was not, out of all things what I expected to return to. “ only sort of confused Stark a little more...

Read All of Chapter Five on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158483/chapters/64297735

#thinking about this one today #tony mad #Mixology #Lokiverse #GROUNDED #tony stark #frostiron #loki #loki x tony #tony x loki #frostiron fanfiction #pansexual characters #bisexual characters #angst

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flashfuture · 4 years ago

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It’s like Barry was such a symbol in the JLA that they all miss his light and expect Wally to take over where Barry left off, even if he’s his own person. And probably doesn’t make him feel any less like a fraud, due to his own insecurities. Also What Im hearing is that Gathet and Kyle LOWKEY had to become the HR/PR department dor the green lantern corps. Kyle Rayner has a perfect customer service voice, change my mind. Ugh, Kyle’s brotherly bond with Hal is so good, but you reminded me that John and Guy’s are equally important as well, he’s carrying their legacies too your absolutely right like Kyle had a lot on his shoulders. I think it’s Amazing he doesn’t let it show more sometimes. And Conn...he deserves all good things, he carried that legacy so well, though I can’t believe Kyle deadass said that, god how did these bastards not start dating. (Slowly, tbh your blog is turning me into a connerkyle stan, it’s gonna join WallyLinda in the ships I care about but DC doesnt.)

Franklin being adamant on Art school no matter any passive aggressive comments he gets from anyone. He is accepted to every school he applies too and goes to his favorite; the only sad thing about is that he skip into space and get lost with classes to attend so in all honesty Reed and Sue bless that so much. KYLE COMES TO HIS FIRST GALLERY, he wouldn’t let something as silly as “threatening the multiverse” get in the way of seeing this landmark. Franklin is terrified, of course, he’s still a kid and this is a big moment and idk it would be heartwarming if Reed talks to him and tells him he was scared before his first presentation as a kid too, he might not get art but he is proud of him and people are going to love his work because it’s magnificent and Franklin just hits him and thanks him for being around. Alicia teaching him sculpting tho...!! He must spend a lot of time at the Grim’s learning how to do it.

CONNER CROSSING THE COUNTRY TO SEE KYLES GALLERY, I can’t tell if this is canon (and I’m a brick head who forgets basic facts) or not because it’s so in character. If it’s not canon, I bet Kyle mentioned it off the cuff and expects his mam will be there and he’s excited about it and Conn is like “can I have the date?” And shows up unannounced, surprising him and I think Conn thinks his work is really good too not even crush tinted glasses at work. Kyle is so shocked but delighted and he drags him around the whole gallery and Conn was so determined to get there on time he never thought of where he was gonna stay and it’s the first time he stays with Kyle, or something. Years later, Roy is like “you traveled cross Country to surprise him and you expected us all not to think you weren’t dating?” Sorry I rambled.

Everyone would be so fucking supportive of Franklin’s first gallery. And the Avengers are on stand by to make sure no one tries a fucking thing at the gallery. Though Doctor Doom does show up but they figure that’s fine... probably.

I don’t know if Kyle does much sculpting you know outside his ring so there would be a new cool thing Franklin could show him and it would be adorable. Also would love for Kyle to join them on an adventure to the micro or macro universe because I think he’d love that. And Kyle would absolutely draw the shit out of Johnny. Like he’s seen fire powers but Johnny is fire.

Also lol yes Kyle has perfected diplomacy which is a bit redundant when Guy Gardner becomes his partner but hey it works. Kyle and Ganthet took the smoldering ashes of the Corps and built it back up brighter and shinier than it ever had been. Like Kyle to me was always a White Lantern, the Lantern of Life. It just took him some time to you know get the title. When he was Ion he reforged a bunch of rings to restart to corps, gave Jade back her powers, and brought the other Guardians Hal slaughtered back to life.

Glad I’m dragging you over to my ConnorKyle agenda it’s everything me. And the art show is very much canon. Conn used the JLA teleport thingy. In Green Lantern vol 3 #117

look at them also Conn went back to his Ashram which is why his head is shaved but that shirt I swear the boy dressed to impress look at that skin lol.

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neon-ufo · 5 years ago

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Answering some OC asks

cool-human-98 said:

Since there's not much info about Ness, I'm really interested in what he's like. What do you have on him so far? Of course I'm asking about things that are not spoilers

Ness is 17, which makes him the youngest character in the entire story, and he acts like it too. He’s very careless, loud and free-spirited, with a good sense of what’s right and wrong.

He absolutely doesn’t know when it’s not the right time to have a big mouth and can get himself in trouble by talking too much, or not following directions.

He’s very eager to meet new people, because he didn’t have many chances to do so in the past due to reasons I don’t want to disclose yet.

He makes very quick judgements and will often make a decision in the spur of a moment, not really thinking about the consequences of it. He’s very much led by his heart more than his brain.

He loves comics and power metal, and I think the fact that Gloryhammer is his favourite band says quite a bit about him.

My friend once said he's a personification of the Ultra Pink Monster Energy drink and that’s a pretty good summary of him (thought I’d say he’s more of the Pipeline Punch flavour).

behold-a-bastard-in-this-house said:

Are there any details on Ciril's curse, maybe? As in, how he gained it and when? Thank you much!

Without spoiling too much of the core conflict of the story, Ciril’s curse was basically caused by him being too curious and going to places he shouldn’t have gone to. I am not fully set on the timeline of how long ago he’s been cursed, because it has to be lined up with events regarding some other characters (Mario and Ren), and I haven’t really sat down and properly match it up yet, but he’s been cursed for a couple of years at this point.

The curse slowly saps his energy, making him physically extremely weak; there are times when he can’t even get out of bed, and some days he can only move around with a wheelchair. He’s only 32 years old but looks much older.

While the process of the curse is slow, living with it at this point is terrible, as he’s not just weak, but he also can’t taste food, he’s constantly cold, his overall feelings feel very numb. It’s clearly out to kill him, and he has no idea how to lift it. Because death is his biggest fear, and he feels like he’s running out of time, he’s very desperate to save himself by any means necessary.

Anonymous said:

Does Vivid have a favorite meme?

Dabbing & Minecraft, no questions about it.

blacksheep28 said:

What's Vivid's big dream in life?

He’s not really a person with any big plans for the future, he keeps his options open! One thing he definitely wants is to make things that bring joy to people.

In the current time, he’s an actor in a community theater. Sometimes he plays guitar and sings on the streets and then gives his earnings to those in need, since he loves to perform, but he doesn’t really need any additional income, so he just does what he can to bring some overall good vibes to his community. If any bars have an open stage, you know he’s there.

He can play a guitar and piano, however he doesn’t want an actual career as a musician, or an actor, as he’d find that restricting. Basically, he’s just vibin’

bayygel said:

Who is most likely to cry when surprise punched in the face? Who is least likely to cry? I hope this question is up to your standards, Jim :) because I for one am very curious!

Vivid is a HUGE weenie when it comes to pain, his pain tolerance is non-existent. He will cower at any threat of pain, despite being pretty muscular and big. Being an actor, he’s able to put up an intimidating charade if necessary, but if his bluff is called he immediately retreats to avoid any further confrontation.

As for least likely.. About half the characters are pretty damn tough. Mario and Barbi would be hard to push to crying through pain (Barbi would cry from frustration sooner than from pain), and Ren is stone-cold. However, Otto is a clear ‘winner’ here, as life got him to a point where he’s too jaded to really care about much anymore, and that includes pain (which he has an extremely high tolerance for, he could probably lose a limb and not care)

Anonymous said:

I don't have a particular question but I'd love to hear more about ren! i guess if you need something more specific then maybe something about her sibling kind of relationship with mario?

Mario and Ren started off on pretty rough terms which caused her to be wary of him for a while. On the other side, Mario felt extremely bad about it and did everything he could to make her realize she’s safe and can trust him. Eventually, she came around and they’ve been really close ever since; he was the first person she ever felt calm with and he helped her a lot when it came to basically learning how to socialize, despite him being a total extrovert and her a total introvert.

Mario is an only child who always wanted a younger sibling, so meeting Ren filled that void for him and he protects and spoils her like a little sister, he’s willing to listen to her talk about her interests even if he doesn’t get it, he takes her out shopping, plays basketball with her, etc.

Ren is very aware of this and deeply appreciates Mario for it. He’s constantly supportive of her, and while Ren is the kind of inexpressive and quiet person that might come across ungrateful to an outsider, Mario knows better than that and knows that this means a lot to her.

Anonymous said:

On a scale of 1 to 10, how huggable are each of your characters?

Ciril: Not huggable - bony and thin, will greatly oppose to hugs. Em: Somewhat huggable - might oppose at first, but it’s very possible for his motherly instincts to kick in and a gentle hug will be returned. Mario: Huggable - but your bones will be crushed Otto: Possibly huggable? Might not know what’s going on. Alternatively, he might think you’re upset and try to awkwardly pat your back. Ren: Not huggable, will flinch. Barbi: Only huggable for friends, otherwise she will headbutt you in the face Vivid: Extremely huggable. Possibly the most huggable. Will always hug back. King: Not huggable. Will not like it. Ness: Huggable. Will be happy to receive a hug and might spin you around.

Anonymous said:

Did Jojo inspire your characters designs? If so, are there any specific characters who inspired the designs? And on the topic of design, who is your favorite and why?

Araki’s work influenced me in general, not just when it comes to character designs, it basically changed how I look at art altogether. A lot of the characters are directly inspired by stylistic choices, rather than specific characters;

- Crop tops. - While Em was not inspired by Kakyoin directly, he was inspired by how I decided to stylize Kakyoin when I drew him. - Barbi’s hair is inspired by Araki’s rigid style of drawing hair which I love a lot - King’s hair was inspired by Diavolo’s hair, because I interpreted Diavolo’s hair as having a leopard pattern, and that gave me idea for King’s zebra pattern - Similar as with Em, this isn’t a DIRECT inspiration from JoJo, but the way I draw Mario is slightly based on the way I stylized DIO - Ciril’s two-tone hair was inspired by my initial interpretation of Abbacchio’s headband being differently coloured hair on top of his head. - Ren’s pitch black no-shine eyes were inspired by Mista, and her spiky hair is a mixture of Narancia and that 2000s scene style where everyone gelled the hair at the back of their head - The ‘holes’ between the strands of Ness’ hair were inspired by how Reimi’s hair was drawn, I thought that was really cool.

As for my favourite, I’m fond of all of them since I worked on streamlining their designs a lot, but if I had to pick, I think King is generally the one I like drawing the most for some reason. I’m very happy with how Inverness turned out too, and Em being kind of a fashionista is fun to design outfits for.

Anonymous said:

Do any of your OCs watch anime? If so what type?

Ren is a bonafide weeb. Kuroshitsuji is her favourite anime because she loves Sebastian. Her favourite genres are supernatural mystery anime and slice-of-life anime. She prefers older shows and doesn’t really dig the hype of the seasonal shows, though she will occasionally check them out. She generally doesn’t like the Shounen genre. She likes Dragon Maid too, Fafnir being her favourite (as you can see she has a type). She uses Picrew to make her avatars.

Anonymous said:

Who of your OCs is the least athletic? Who's the most athletic?

Due to his current predicament, Ciril is by far the least athletic one, as sometimes he can barely walk. Before the curse, however, he was a traveller, meaning he was in a pretty good condition.

If we don’t count Ciril due to his curse, then Em would be the least athletic one. He’s slim and elegant and makes sure to stay that way, but any work out he does isn’t really preparing him for any serious conditions, he’ll be the first to lose breath if everyone ran a race (not counting Ciril who, frankly, can’t run.)

On the other side, Otto doesn’t look like it and doesn’t live like it, but he’s pretty much peak condition among my characters. He actively works out as a way to cope with the mess that is his life and had military training in the past.

(Mario is also a good competitor for this, being a fitness bro, but he doesn’t have nearly as much experience as Otto, and despite their difference in size, Otto could absolutely take him down.)

Anonymous said:

ideas on how any of your original characters would deal with self isolation/quarantine?

#oc #ocs #text #long post

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alecmagnuslwb · 4 years ago

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Cause the Memories Keep Flooding My Mind, Baby I Can’t Stop It

Writer’s Month 2020 Day Sixteen

Read on AO3

John runs a hand through his hair and sighs looking down at Zee. She looks peaceful, just like she’s getting some well-deserved sleep.

The facts are that even though a mix of magic and modern science has purged the rot that had seeped into her from her veins she’s still swimming in it in her mind and there’s nothing they can do but wait while she rides it out.

There’s nothing he can do to save her from this particular temporary hell. As usual he feels like he’s failing her.

He reaches out holding her soft, cold hands in his rubbing his thumb along her knuckles where her fishnet gloves have torn. He brushes her bangs from her eyes with his other hand praying to gods he doesn’t believe in and that sure as shit don’t believe in him for her to wake up whole.

She’s strong his Zatanna, but that doesn’t mean seeing her lying on the ground with black sludge bleeding from her eyes and lips hadn’t scared the hell out of him.

“What is she to you?” Abby asks quietly from where she’s still watching over them in the shadowed corner, she’s still groggy and purging the rot from Zee hadn’t helped her shaky tracks of memory.

It’s a loaded question. It shouldn’t be, but with their history spanning years and continents, lives ruined, bloodshed it’s not easy to answer.

Girlfriend would have been an appropriate answer once upon a time, even though it always felt like a trite term to describe her, to describe them. Calling a powerful, goddess of a woman with enough magical know how behind her to level cities, worlds even with a few simple words his girlfriend always felt silly.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend!” he’d shouted as a pair of bloodsucking bastards had dared lay hands on her years ago.

They’d fought them off easily the magic between them weaving naturally even in those simpler days near the beginning when things were still bright and hopeful. When he wasn’t so goddamn jaded and she looked at him with eyes of love, not eyes of love and sadness swirling together.

“I can’t believe you just called me your girlfriend,” she said tangling their fingers together pulling him out of the wet, cobbled alleyway.

He just shrugged, pulling her in close by their joined hands.

“Well that’s what you are right?” he said pulling his cigarettes from his pocket attempting to light one one-handed.

She stopped them at the edge of the alley letting out a quick ‘erif’ under her breath, lighting the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips for him then pulling the pack and lighter from his hand.

“I guess so,” she said slipping the lighter into the near empty pack and then putting both in his pocket. “I guess it just feels so young, so high school. I feel like we’re more than that.”

She hadn’t elaborated, but he understood it. That feeling that even then they’d been through too much to use such simple terms as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Plus, it’s not like she’s been anything quite resembling his romantic partner in that way for a while now. Girlfriend has implications, implications that he hasn’t lived up to for far too long.

Partner could almost fit. Working side by side, partners in whatever the hell the world threw at them next. But partner also implied they were steady, solid. Thanks to him they’ve never been solid or steady for long.

Lover would just piss Zee off.

“Lover should only be said when the words veggie or meat are before it and it’s referring to a pizza,” she’d said scrunching up her nose in disgust when Felix Faust had once referred to her as John’s lover to her face.

They were strung upside down from the ceiling back to back and damn near death in the moment, but John couldn’t help but laugh at her response.

He contemplates saying it now just to see if the offending phrase would wake her right up out of this mess she’s in.

Friend would be bullshit, even to say best friend after all these years would be. Maybe when they first met for a moment in time they’d been something akin to friends, but from the moment he’d seen her on that stage, the magical woman of his dreams, he knew they could never just be friends. He’d always want more.

“So much for just friends,” she said her breathing still a little heavy, head turning on the pillow to look at him.

They were both sweaty and sated the moonlight pouring in over the dips and edges of her soft skin and light bumps of his scars. Ten months without seeing each other, two days working a job together as “just friends” and there they’d landed in bed together without even bothering to turn on the lights too busy pressing hands and lips to every bit of each other’s skin they could.

John had just chuckled flipping onto his side to meet her eyes. He reached out trailing his fingers along her bare stomach gently.

She closed her eyes humming contently at the touch of his rough hands.

“Well, I’ve never been very good at making friends,” he said.

There’s a million words he could use to answer Abby’s question. Companion? Too generic. His heart? too dramatic. His world? Too much for anyone but Zee to hear. His constant, his touchstone? Only a sliver of it. His salvation? Probably, but he’ll never be truly saved.

He’s not sure how long he’s sitting there passing words through his mind, memories of all she is and will always be to him going by in flashes. It could be seconds or hours, he’s really not certain. It’s so quiet in the room he thinks he might be alone now, just the beeping sound of the monitor that tells him Zee’s hearts still beating making any sort of noise.

There’s a chance Abby’s given up on a response by the time he even looks up from where Zee’s eyes have begun to move at a rapid pace behind her closed eyelids.

Finally though he turns his head to find her still standing there watching them and settles on an answer.

“She’s my light,” he says before turning back and warming her hand between both of his. It’s a simple word, but it’s the only one he can think of that feels all encompassing, that feels right. Every corner of him is darkness and damnation, but she’s the light that always brings him back, guides him out.

“I’ve walked in darkness my entire life. And I’ve been at home there. But you, Zee? You’ve always been my light,” he said to her once on a bright morning while she lay exhausted beside him tangled in sheets after another night of saving his ass from damnation what seems like a lifetime ago. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him at first, but she had her body shifting closer to his in bed.

In a lot of ways to this day he thinks it’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

#my fic #writersmonth2020 #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara

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luckymacgregor · 5 years ago

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Yavin IV, The Middle of the Night

TW: Allusion to sexual abuse Mara Jade Skywalker sat bolt upright out of a dead sleep. She felt the old familiar pain in her stomach, as if she had been sucker punched in the gut, and struggled to catch her breath.

The Emperor was long dead. Gods, did she know that. But there was always that thought in the back of her mind, the one that had her constantly wondering when he was going to come back for her. How she'd escape this time. If he was finally going to kill her. Mara blinked a few times, then looked around the room she was in. It was an old habit of hers, scanning the room and bracing herself for any possible danger. She'd woken up in some very strange, often unsafe, places in the past and often had little or no time to defend herself.

In her rational mind – that's what the Mind Healers called it – she was safe. She was sleeping with the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy for kriff's sake. One who'd defend her to the death if need be. But, as the old saying went, old habits died hard.

The bedroom was dark, save for a few blinking lights on R2-D2's dome. The little astromech droid, upon hearing Mara coughing and sputtering, woke up. He let out a series of concerned chirps directed at his mistress.

"I'm fine, Artoo," she croaked once her diaphragm cooperated with the rest of her body and she was able to take a breath. "Just a dream."

Artoo chirped a few more times before letting out a soft woo sound.

"Yes, buddy, I'm sure."

Artoo let out another short chirp that Mara swore translated roughly to "bantha shit."

Ignoring the sassy droid's latest quip, Mara looked over at the chrono glowing on the nightstand beside the bed. Upon realizing the time, she let out a quiet groan. Only a few more hours until training at dawn. Too late to take something to help her sleep. Instead, she reached over to grab her datapad, hoping a few episodes of Married with Ewoks would relax her enough to let her at least get another couple hours' rest.

Luke, her husband of about one year, stirred in the spot beside her. He turned to face her, half asleep, his face etched with concern.

"Mara," he asked, his voice still sleepy. "Another nightmare?"

"Mmm, yeah."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nah. Get your rest. One of us should."

Luke sighed. He felt the emotions rippling off of his wife through the Force. Pain, fear, suffering. Mara's past wasn't something she liked to talk much about. He'd figured out bits and pieces over their friendship, though. He'd feel the fear she felt every time she had one of her nightmares, and saw how she flinched if he touched her in a certain way. He knew how fiercely protective she was of their little niece, Jaina – even almost throttling the boy who made the mistake of touching her chest once. It was only with Luke and another couple of strong Jedi masters physically holding Mara back that the boy managed to make it out of that one alive.

From there, Luke was able to put the pieces together.

The Jedi in him didn't want to give in to his darker emotions. But the husband and uncle and older brother in him hated that sick bastard Palpatine for what he did to Mara and probably countless other little girls across the galaxy. He felt a bubble of anger rise up within him, but he quickly swallowed it, being careful to shield his emotions from the young Jedi sleeping in the dormitories down the hall.

"Mara...you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I'm fine. Go to sleep."

"Come on. I know you better than that."

"Drop it, Skywalker," she replied, a touch of anger in her voice.

Deciding that probing was going to do more harm than good, and result in an argument that would definitely wake up his students, Luke kept quiet.

Instead, he reached out to touch his wife, his organic hand resting on her cool, clammy temple and his cybernetic hand putting gentle pressure on her hip. Mara needed her rest, and he had just the thing to help her – an old Jedi relaxation trick he often used on Leia's children when they were younger and fighting their sleep. He closed his eyes and concentrated as he began rubbing her temple in a circular motion.

Mara put up a good defense for a few seconds, her annoyance clearly felt through their Force bond. Then, just as Luke anticipated he would, he broke through her walls and felt her begin to succumb to slumber.

"Don't think you can use that trick on me, Farmboy," she said blearily, her eyelids suddenly feeling a lot heavier. She let out a yawn and nestled herself into Luke's chest. "I'm...not a...baby."

The last thing Mara remembered was Luke's lips on the back of her head, his nose buried in her messy auburn waves.

"Goodnight, beautiful," he whispered before settling back into slumber himself.

#star wars fanfiction #Mara Jade #Luke Skywalker

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obaewankenope · 4 years ago

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The Second Life of Sandu Shengshou, chapter 2

[Ao3]

Getting to Cloud Recesses earlier than the guest lectures that had been the beginning of a whole lot of fucking drama is, Jiang Cheng accepts, easier than he expected only because his parents seem inclined to grant him any wish now he’s not dead anymore.

Apparently, there’s rumours that the son of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan either a) never really died and eloped with some rogue Cultivator (he’s twelve, what the fuck?) who then spurned him, b) is a fierce corpse that decided to just act like nothing was wrong at all (that’s not how fierce corpses even work, and Jiang Cheng would know since his brother is the Yiling fucking Patriarch) or, c) is a doppelganger with the exact same ability to be absolutely murderously protective of his siblings, going so far as to threaten his own parents if they so much as looked at his shixiong wrong.

The rumours are, naturally, a little bit right and a whole lot wrong. Well, one of them sort of is which is honestly better than he expects of people who know fuck all about him. Jiang Cheng isn’t a doppelganger of course—isn’t he though; it’s not like he’s the same twelve-year-old who died an ignoble death on a night-hunt because he’d been insistent that he could handle it, shut up Wei Wuxian!—but he is absolutely willing to throw down with anyone who bad mouths his brother; including his mother.

His mother, the purple spider who still terrifies him because she’s his mother, but who stops and looks at her son with wide eyes and an honest sort of pride at his very fierce desire to fight her. Gaining some outward display of approval from his mother apparently is as simple as growing a backbone. Who knew?

His mother’s behaviour toward Wei Ying has definitely changed for the better since Jiang Cheng has taken it upon himself to make it very fucking clear that no-one is permitted to hurt him. As much as Yu Ziyuan is the Madam of Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng is the Sect Heir and he’s lived as a Sect Leader during shitty times, peaceful times, and absolutely soul-destroying times. His mother respects the fact that her son can stop Zidian without being its master.

Jiang Cheng is going to have to address that too because he sort of misses Zidian even if he’s okay with only Sandu right now. He’s thrashed Wei Ying half a dozen times since he “came back” with moves that he knows his brother won’t learn for another year. It’s had the added bonus of encouraging his brother to really go all in for studying how to beat him again, and made his parents look actually sort of proud of him.

The fact that he and Wei Ying both team up to encourage A-Jie to improve her own sword work draws surprise from many because everyone knows A-Jie is going to marry the peacock and will just be an ornament in Koi Tower rather than an actual fighter. Jiang Cheng and his shixiong both resolve to make sure A-Jie is more than what others expect her to be because no. Jiang Cheng lost both his siblings because of others expectations and biases of them. Fuck that.

A-Jie doesn’t thank them in the beginning because she has spent years accepting the fact that her cultivation isn’t high enough, but Jiang Cheng knows that a core can be strengthened through a variety of ways. A-Jie needs to be passably good with a sword for focus reasons, and also because sometimes having a sword helps stave off danger because no one likes a sword pointed at them, but the primary tools Jiang Cheng and A-Ying agree A-Jie should learn are talismans and arrays.

Talismans are useful for any cultivator, especially when the cultivator knows someone as insanely creative as A-Ying or someone with an unfair advantage like Jiang Cheng. He definitely isn’t smug about “coming up” with new talismans that are definitely ones A-Ying would have thought of eventually. He really isn’t.

Gusu Lan invites the Sect Heir of Yunmeng Jiang to Cloud Recesses two months after he makes the request of them. He politely informs Lan Qiren—acting in the place of his secluded brother until his eldest son can take his place—that A-Jie and A-Xian will be accompanying him. The fact that he doesn’t word it as a request for Lan Qiren to extend the invitation to his siblings is irrelevant because Jiang Cheng refuses to leave them in Lotus Pier without him there to make sure they’re safe.

Sect Leader Lan responds that the siblings of Jiang Wanyin are welcome also to Cloud Recesses.

How wise of him.

Of course, Jiang Cheng is well-aware that Lan Qiren will regret allowing A-Xian to enter Cloud Recesses and get anywhere near his precious second nephew, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t care about how Lan Qiren will feel about it when he knows Wei Ying will be happy with Lan Wangji.

After Jiang Cheng has a chat with Wei Ying about teasing and flirting and how they’re one-in-the-fucking-same when it comes to a certain Lan. He’s well-aware the conversation is going to be excruciatingly awkward for them both but Jiang Cheng raised a nephew alone and rebuilt a Sect; he watched the world change and grow and helped it do so. He can tell his brother that when he talks about how nice a certain cultivator’s eyes are, his ears, his fucking nose that Wei Ying wants to marry said cultivator even if they happen to be made out of fucking jade and have no facial expressions to speak of!

Wei Ying is very confused and assumes Jiang Cheng has a crush.

He pushes him in the river and leaves him to swim to shore, shouting at A-Xian that he’s an idiot who won’t know love when it literally ties them together with a white ribbon in a damned cave.

Yeah, Jiang Cheng learnt about that little event thirty-seven-years after it happened! He’s still a little sore about not being told his brother had gotten married at fifteen.

Just a little, mind.

* * * *

Acting Sect Leader Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen greet Jiang Cheng and his siblings when they are presented in the Welcoming Hall of Cloud Recess. Lan Wangji is standing off to the side, near his brother but further back, clearly showing that he is there because it is his duty and not because he cares about Yunmeng Jiang invading Cloud Recess.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t really care about how Lan Wangji feels about their arrival disrupting the Second Jade’s seclusion. He’s more interested in shoving Lan Wangji and his brother at each other while also possibly dropping as many hints as he can that Wen Ruohan wants to destroy Cloud Recesses because he’s an evil bastard who needs to die, die, die.

Just a normal day for Jiang Cheng.

“Welcome, Jiang-gongzi, Wei-gongzi and Jiang-guniang,” Lan Qiren says and he sounds mostly sincere about the welcoming. Jiang Cheng knows that won’t last the moment A-Xian opens his mouth. “I hope your stay at Cloud Recess will be peaceful and beneficial to you.”

Jiang Cheng and his siblings bow in unison, a practised move that he roped A-Jie into who then roped A-Xian into by giving him that look of hers neither of them can resist.

“Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Yanli are honoured by your hosting of us at Cloud Recess,” Jiang Cheng replies, still bowing, and he’s pretty pleased that he doesn’t mess up the words or sound unnecessarily aggressive. Decades of playing politics makes interactions that would have once had him a nervous mess at twelve seem like a breeze.

He could probably even talk to Wen Ruohan without cursing in the bastards face. Jiang Cheng straightens from his bow. No, no he couldn’t, actually. Wen Ruohan is too much even for Jiang Cheng to handle without attempting murder outright.

Sect Conferences are going to be a challenge.

Rooms have been prepared for them and they are directed to them by Lan Wangji who, Jiang Cheng notices, keeps an exceptionally tight grip of his sword. A grip that seems to tighten even more whenever Wei Ying smiles or laughs with his Shijie. It’s almost nauseating to realise that Lan Wangji was interested in Wei Ying from the start.

Jiang Cheng is appalled. It’s not romantic. Nope. Not at all.

His brother is horrifyingly oblivious if he didn’t notice this about Lan Wangji. Even now, three years before they would have originally met, Lan Wangji seems interested in Wei Ying in a way the Second Jade obviously isn’t in Jiang Cheng or A-Jie

Jiang Cheng sighs.

Why does Jiang Cheng have to suffer having such an oblivious genius for a shixiong?

He’s going to have to include A-Jie in his scheming for shoving Lan Wangji and Wei Ying together. His sister, Jiang Cheng knows, will assist without hesitation. A-Jie has always gone above and beyond for her XianXian. So much so, she died for him.

That will not be allowed to happen again.

First things first, Jiang Cheng needs to figure out a way to talk to Lan Xichen and build up some sort of rapport with the soon to be Sect Leader. One of the biggest issues he faced in his first life was the way Yunmeng Jiang was isolated from the other elite sects; partly due to Jiang Cheng being Jiang Cheng but also due to scheming bastards who he will not allow the chance to start scheming this time around.

That means he needs to engage with Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun, First Jade of Lan, and not make a fucking fool of himself. Easy.

It is not easy.

Getting the chance to talk to Lan Xichen is easy but the chance to talk to him alone without Lan Qiren or Lan fucking Wangji following and joining in and talking—well, Lan Qiren joins in, Lan Wangji just stands there like an ice sculpture that someone didn’t even bother trying to make look human—is next to impossible.

In the end, Jiang Cheng employs both of his siblings as distractions just so he can at least say five damned words to Lan Xichen without one of his relatives lurking.

He doesn’t want to know how A-Xian keeps Lan Wangji distracted, he doesn’t, but A-Jie at least will distract Lan Qiren with discussions on the running of a sect. Bless his sister. Also bless his brother, but silently; A-Ying’s ego is big enough as it is.

Lan Xichen is, at least, pleasantly polite about talking with Jiang Cheng alone which is nice. Nice and with the expression on Zewu-Jun’s face, apparently alarming. What does he think Jiang Cheng is going to do; attack him in Cloud Recess?

Jiang Cheng is an angry twelve-year-old with a lifetime of experiences. He’s not stupid, just rash sometimes.

“I assume Zewu-Jun is aware,” Jiang Cheng says with all the seriousness a twelve-year-old can muster; a lot when that twelve-year-old is a scowling ex-sect leader, “of the rumours surrounding my being alive.” Lan Xichen nods. “They’re wrong. Mostly.”

“Your request to visit Cloud Recess was intriguing young master Jiang,” Lan Xichen says with that bland smile of his that absolutely screams discomfort at the topic but a stubborn refusal to admit discomfort. Jiang Cheng had seen it a lot in relation to Jin Guangyao in those later years. “Sect Leader Jiang informed us of your death and your return. It has caused some discussion among the Elders.”

Some discussion is probably Lan-code for quiet shouting about wicked sorcery to bring him back to life or something equally fucking stupid from them. Jiang Cheng doesn’t roll his eyes but he wants to.

“I have no idea how I came back,” he tells Lan Xichen because it’s true, he doesn’t. “I remember dying and then waking in a forest clearing with a fierce corpse trying to eat my face.” Lan Xichen doesn’t grimace at the mental image like A-Ying had, but there’s still a flicker of horror.

“That must have been an unexpected surprise,” Lan Xichen says with all the tact of a Lan.

“Bigger surprise was my own parents taking turns trying to kill me,” Jiang Cheng replies with a shrug and that makes Lan Xichen grimace a little.

Jiang Cheng finds the expressiveness of this still-teenaged Lan Xichen to be very fascinating. In an academic sort of way. Lan Wangji, even as a teenager, is more like a wall of ice whilst his older brother has more emotional nuance. It’s interesting.

“That’s not the important thing,” Jiang Cheng continues, ignoring how Lan Xichen’s expression very much says that is the important thing. It’s not, but he can understand how Lan Xichen thinks it is.

Parents trying to kill their child is sort of a big deal, but Jiang Cheng honestly is just pleasantly pleased that he has parents still. It’s almost novel.

“What, then, is the important thing, Jiang-gongzi?”

There’s a little note of frustration in Lan Xichen’s words that makes Jiang Cheng want to smirk at the other. It’s a reminder of dull Sect Conferences where Jiang Cheng got to watch Lan Xichen become steadily more and more annoyed with people. He finds it somewhat reassuring to know that the Sect Leader Jiang Cheng came to know in a distant acquaintance sort of way isn’t all that different from this young Sect Leader now. Well, Sect Heir, still, but Jiang Cheng knows that’s not going to last much longer.

“The important thing is that I’m a lot older than twelve and have been for a long, long time,” Jiang Cheng says, holding up a hand when Lan Xichen frowns at him. “My mother attacked me with Zidian which protects against possession, so no, I’m not possessed. I’m still me, just not the me who died on a fucking night-hunt I shouldn’t have actually snook out to join.”

Jiang Cheng watches Lan Xichen closely. The First Jade isn’t reaching for his sword, or liebing, but also doesn’t seem to be reacting at all to Jiang Cheng’s words.

Maybe he’s in shock?

“I became Sect Leader at seventeen, after Lotus Pier was attacked and my Sect was decimated. Only my brother and sister and I escaped because of my mother.” Jiang Cheng’s voice doesn’t break or tremble as he says this out loud for the first time. It doesn’t. It just gets a little... Just a little.

“I lost my core and my brother, the idiot, gave me his and I went to war. We won but my brother paid the price for fear and hatred, and I didn’t save him. I lost him” Jiang Cheng confesses, quietly. “I lost them both.”

There’s tears in his eyes and the Jiang Cheng of ten, twenty years ago would have wiped them away angrily, denying that he was crying at all. But Jiang Cheng had died an old man who suffered so much and learnt to value the happiness he seldom had.

He doesn’t wipe away the tears.

He lets Lan Xichen see them.

He's earned the right to be unashamed of feeling.

“I came back and I don’t know why but they’re alive and they’re safe and I need your help to keep them that way,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Xichen with more seriousness than he’d ever possessed as a twelve-year-old. “I need you help to protect everyone.”

Lan Xichen finally speaks. “From what?”

Jiang Cheng scowls. He knows there’s a hatred in his eyes, he can’t and won’t hide it. “Wen Ruohan,” he spits the name like he’s coughing up poisoned blood. “He tried to take over the cultivation world. Attacked Cloud Recess and Lotus Pier. Your brother was captured in the attack here.” Lan Xichen looks at Jiang Cheng with the horror of an older brother who is tasked with the care of a younger.

“He survived the war,” Jiang Cheng tells him, because Lan Xichen was many things in Jiang Cheng’s life, but right now in this time, Lan Xichen is an older brother who hasn’t done anything against Jiang Cheng or those he loves. He can be kind.

The relief on Lan Xichen’s face reminds Jiang Cheng of the relief he felt after those three months. It stings.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lan Xichen asks. “What do you believe I can do?”

Jiang Cheng is silent. The question of what he wants Lan Xichen to do is difficult to answer. It’s not that he wants Zewu-Jun to do anything specifically; Jiang Cheng is well aware that Lan Xichen has obligations and duties here at Cloud Recess. He doesn’t want to ask Lan Xichen to help him kill Wen Ruohan before the bastard starts a war, but he sort of does because help would be nice.

Really, what Jiang Cheng wants Lan Xichen to do boils down to don’t fall for a lunatic with a chip on his shoulder just because he’s the son of a whore, and don’t let said lunatic kill one of the only decent people who has some fucking integrity as well as, maybe, don’t just sit by and let an entire people be wiped fucking out in an outright act of genocide. Also, support your brother and be happy for him being with A-Ying without being biased against my brother.

He can’t actually tell Lan Xichen any of that, of course, because Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to.

He’s silent long enough that Lan Xichen finally speaks again.

“Jiang-gongzi?”

“Protect Cloud Recess from attack,” Jiang Cheng blurts, saying something at least. He wants to tell Lan Xichen more, he needs to tell someone but Zewu-Jun isn’t who he wants to actually talk to about all this.

His siblings are.

“Ward it, protect your treasures better, your library,” Jiang Cheng bites out. “Don’t ignore your responsibilities even when you’re grieving. Don’t let your brother suffer for being righteous. Don’t let my brother suffer for doing the right fucking thing! Just- just don’t fuck up.”

Jiang Cheng stands quickly. Lan Xichen rises also; he looks distressed. Or worried.

“Thank you for your time, Sect Leader Lan.” Jiang Cheng bows. His body feels like he’s jumped into the cold pool that he knows exists at Cloud Recess. There’s a sharp ache in his chest and his lower dantian burns. “I must go.”

Lan Xichen isn’t finished with his own bow before Jiang Cheng is rushing out the room.

A-Jie and A-Ying aren’t in the guest rooms they’ve been given for their visit. Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity presented by this to throw himself into their shared room and slam the door behind him. His knees fold of their own accord and Jiang Cheng ends up leaning against the wall by the door, knees tucked to his chest as he tries to just breathe.

Thinking about what he needs to do is one thing, saying it out loud is something different. Lan Xichen had asked him what Jiang Cheng wanted him to do.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even know what he wants to do.

Writing to Cloud Recess and arranging his brothers introduction to Lan Wangji was something Jiang Cheng did because he wants his brother happy. Lan Wangji makes A-Ying happy. He’s planning on dragging Jin Zixuan to Lotus Pier at some point for A-Jie, but that requires more planning than a letter to Cloud Recesses did.

Jiang Cheng has lived an entire life where he ended up almost entirely alone. He had only a nephew for sixteen years and a Sect he had to rebuild in a place that was burnt to the ground. A-Ying came back and it still took Jiang Cheng so, so long to accept his brother again and not drive him away with his anger and inability to communicate.

Things are better now, in this second life, but the first has left Jiang Cheng wounded in ways he can’t explain.

Before everything went wrong, the three of them were inseparable. The Twin Prides of Yunmeng who were wrangled by their beloved A-Jie. Jiang Cheng has already endeavoured to improve A-Jie’s cultivation, with A-Ying’s help, and he is determined for them to be known as a trio rather than a pair.

The only people Jiang Cheng can really talk to about what he has lived through are the two people he loves more than he has ever loved anyone else besides his nephew.

A-Jie, Jiang Cheng knows, will handle what he tells her better than A-Ying. A-Ying will learn of how he was an excuse to destroy their Sect and how he, Jiang Cheng, blamed him for years for things A-Ying was tricked into.

Jiang Cheng is terrified he will drive his brother away with the truth.

But Jiang Cheng knows A-Ying deserves to know.

He just hopes A-Jie will be willing to wrangle them both a little longer and keep A-Ying from fleeing out of misplaced guilt.

Jiang Cheng let’s out a choked laugh, wiping at his face with his sleeve. Who is he kidding, A-Jie can wrangle them both with a look; Jiang Cheng knows A-Jie will be able to keep A-Ying from running from them.

Jiang Cheng will help.

He lost his brother once before, he will never let that happen again. Never.

* * * *

Jiang Cheng is introduced to the Elders of the Lan Sect and decides, almost immediately, that he hates them. They’re stuffy, obnoxious, and make him long for the days when being angry and intimidating made up the majority of his tools for interacting with other Sects.

Unfortunately, he’s twelve.

The Elders expect Jiang Cheng to answer their questions and don’t like it when he does because there are no records of any cultivator having returned to a previous time in their life, it is not possible!

Jiang Cheng, personally, doesn’t really care if they think its possible or not because he’s living proof that it is.

There’s very little he can do to convince them so, in a burst of temper, Jiang Cheng snaps at the Elder currently denying his existence.

“The late Madam Lan didn’t die until Lan Wangji was six.”

The Elders fall silent. Lan Qiren is in the room and he goes pale at Jiang Cheng’s words.

Another Elder, not the one who drove Jiang Cheng to snap, asks him: “how do you know this?”

“Lan Wangji told my brother and I about her after drinking a cup of wine that had been mistakenly placed in front of him at an Inn we were staying at,” Jiang Cheng answers. “He did not recall the conversation in the morning and my brother and I decided not to mention it to him because it clearly distressed Hanguang-Jun even fifty years later.”

“Fifty years...” Lan Qiren says softly, staring at Jiang Cheng.

“Summon Lan Wangji.” The Elder who had been denying Jiang Cheng’s existence as someone who had died and returned to his life ordered. “I do not believe this fantasy. Let us ask Lan Wangji if he has informed Jiang-gongzi of his mother.”

The way the Elder says ‘mother’ has Jiang Cheng wishing he could give the man a tongue lashing that’d make his mother weep with pride. So much disdain for one who is gone.

How un-Lan-like of that Elder.

Lan Wangji arrives quickly and comes to stand near to Jiang Cheng. He’s close enough that Jiang Cheng can see the tension in the Second Jade at this unexpected summoning.

Lan Wangji has—this time—done nothing wrong and whatever he’s expecting of the Elders, the order to discuss his mother is definitely not something he ever expected judging by the actual emotion Jiang Cheng witnesses cross Lan Wangji’s face. There’s a raw sort of pain in his expression that Jiang Cheng understands on a level he doesn’t think any of these fucking Elders have ever experienced.

Losing a parent hurts. Losing one that loves you hurts worse.

“When did you drink alcohol with Jiang-gongzi?” That same Elder demands of Lan Wangji, not mentioning Jiang Cheng’s brother.

“Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recess,” Lan Wangji replies. The Elder scowls at him.

“When, Lan Wangji, did you drink with Wei Wuxian? ” The Elder presses and Jiang Cheng really doesn’t like the way he says A-Ying’s name. “When did you act so shamefully?”

“Lan Wangji has not drank alcohol at all,” Lan Wangji replies. “Not with Jiang Wanyin. Not with Wei Ying.”

If there’s one thing Jiang Cheng will take from this clusterfuck of a meeting with the Lan Elders, it will be hearing Lan Wangji call his brother Wei Ying.

“Lan Wangji does not lie, Elder Yu,” Lan Qiren says, before Elder Yu—Jiang Cheng will remember him—can say anything. “It is a well known fact that my nephew has never lied.”

“This is true, Lan Qiren,” another Elder says, her expression serene. “If it is true that Lan Wangji had not drank alcohol with either Jiang-gongzi or Wei-gongzi, then we must accept Jiang-gongzi’s word as truth. Just because such an event has never been recorded before in the history of cultivation does not mean it has no happened, or is impossible.”

Jiang Cheng decides that he likes this particular Lan Elder. They have a brain, that’s nice to know.

“If Jiang-qianbei is willing,” the Elder continues, “then his wisdom will be welcomed.”

Oh, Jiang Cheng definitely likes this Elder.

Lan Wangji is dismissed and Jiang Cheng, having thought on it in his room before his siblings returned after his talk with Lan Xichen, keeps what he shares with them both vague and informational enough to have them curious and eventually respectful.

Except Elder Yu. He seems to just dislike everything Jiang Cheng has to say. Fortunately, the other Elders are more interested in hearing about Jiang Cheng living an entire life, dying and then waking up as a twelve-year-old.

He doesn’t mention the Sunshot Campaign or what happened to his brother and family. He does mention his Sect being attacked and his becoming Sect Leader, but he doesn’t tell them the when, who, or how of it all. The Elders seem more interested in the academic aspect of his return.

Jiang Cheng can use that.

The Lan Elders are, since they’re Lans, pretty well respected across the cultivation world. Their belief and interest in his circumstances will help him in the long-run.

Jiang Cheng learnt the hard way that sometimes you have to set a plan in motion years in advance. This time, however, he’s the one setting the plan and he’s not going to fuck it up.

The Sunshot Campaign will happen, it has to; the Wen are too powerful even without Wen Ruohan in charge and his heirs are fucking nightmares. Jiang Cheng will have to fight a war and see his disciples die in it. He will see his siblings fear for him and for each other. All of it, for a second time.

But the end result will be different, Jiang Cheng is determined to make it different. The Wen were powerful and not all of them deserved their fates. The Jin cannot be allowed to steal political power in the vacuum that the obliteration of the Wen, the destruction of the Jiang, and the decimation of the Lan allowed them to take. The Nie cannot be harmed by the violent death of their Leader.

So many things need to be taken care of early on.

One of those things is the payment for a prostitute to be freed. Another is a child to be collected by a Jiang disciple before another can set them down a dark path.

Jiang Cheng has more than just his hope that things will be better in this second life; he has a century’s worth of experience, knowledge, and skill and the stubborn will and determination to make the impossible a reality.

Fate and destiny will not rule him. They will not rule those he loves.

Jiang Cheng will fight the world for those he loves. The world will learn to back down because, this time, Jiang Cheng won’t.

#The Untamed #Jiang Cheng #Sandu Shengshou #Jiang Yanli #Wei Wuxian #Lan Xichen #Lan Wangji #Lan Qiren #MMDZS #My writing #Kat writes

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