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dzamie-oc · 3 years ago

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05 - Space

Space prompt, eh? A good a time as ever for some hammer-space dragon! Featuring Sylvia, the loveliest little gold dragoness in the Dragonslayer Guild Hall.

Length: 2200 words Rating: M (noncon vore. Not sexual, but it’s still noncon and vore) Summary: Victoria, a dragonslayer in training, learns an unforgettable lesson about how hammerspace dragons work, and perhaps about assuming mundane explanations around fantastical creatures.

Minors DNI with this particular story. I am hella uncomfortable with the idea of y’all openly interacting with vore.

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“Hey, Sylvia, any chance I could borrow a gold coin? Need to test the magical affinity of this thing to some elements, and gold’ll do just fine,” the cheetah asked the little golden dragon perched on his shoulder. “Y’know, before I permanently affix the actual part.”

“Yeah, gimme a second. Hand, please.”

Behind them, Victoria watched the pair work - or, well, she watched Dzamie work, while Sylvia mostly just watched him from closer. She had initially stopped by to ask the katul about one of his swordwork lessons, but he seemed busy, so she was fine waiting... for ten minutes longer, maybe. A bit more if she thought she’d get to cuddle the adorable little dragoness. Yes, time and time again, Dzamie himself had repeated that every dragon can kill an incautious slayer, and it was almost always in reference to Sylvia, but the woman found it hard to take it seriously. Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Even if it turned out not to be true, Sylvia seemed to take pride in her rumored “danger,” and Victoria liked the little lady too much to rain on her parade.

A loud hiss filled the air, then Dzamie waved a gold coin in his hand back and forth, steam rising up from his paw and the coin. “What’s he doing that does that?” the human asked herself, aloud.

Dzamie, however, was the one to respond, without looking up. “Oh, fire spells come easy to me, so I use ‘em to quickly dry off stuff Sylvia gives me. Gives the workshop a certain smell, but it’s not really enough drool to bother humans.” His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked over his work, then nodded and spoke up again. “Yeah, that’ll work. But, yeah, if you ever catch me after a swim, I do the same thing to myself - just, with a silencing spell when there’s people around.”

Having been unofficially invited into the conversation, Victoria walked closer. The katul was working on what looked an awful lot like a gun from a video game. “Huh, forgot you did cosplay,” she remarked, “and, wait, why would what she gave you be wet?”

Two pairs of eyes swung to look at her, one tiny and yellow, one more her size and, well, also yellow, but with a purple aura around them that soon cleared. “I trust him to return items from my hoard,” Sylvia said, “and, naturally, anything I don’t bag up for protection gets wet.”

Victoria looked around, trying to find where the little dragoness might have put a hoard that she could somehow reach from Dzamie’s shoulder, to no avail. Luckily for her, Sylvia easily read the human’s face, smiled, swished her tail, and said, “Hmm, tell you what. You’re nice enough to me, good enough pets and all that.”

“Oh, is she the other one who’s been giving you strawberries?” Dzamie asked. He was looking back at the prop again, where a finger wreathed in green fire poked at a floating spell circle of the same color.

Sylvia huffed. “Anyway! Would you like to see my hoard, Victoria?” The golden dragoness sat up as tall as she could to deliver her next line, “just be aware that if you try to steal from me, your life is forfeit.”

Any tiny, intimidating effect she might have had was immediately discarded as her furry, feline perch moved his arm and sent her tumbling onto the table. In spite of herself, Victoria laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” she said, “it’s just, the timing. I would love to see your hoard, Sylvia. Assuming it’s not just that coin. Uh, no offense, you’re just, well, you-sized.”

Dzamie interrupted again, muttering “alright, let’s see if this doesn’t explode this time” as he picked up his project in one hand. “And Victoria, pop quiz! Zero percent of your grade. What species of dragon is this adorable golden derg?”

“Don’t call me a derg.”

“Adorable golden dragon,” the cheetah amended. The device in his hand whirred and glowed with his green magic, and successfully failed to explode, at which he gave a satisfied “heh.”

Victoria leaned against one of the other tables, trying to recall. “She’s a... hammer-something. Not hammerhead, hammer... hammerspace!” she said with a confident smile.

Dzamie nodded. “Fantacular. Just making sure you might know what you’re in for.” He turned to Sylvia. “I’m gonna go test this out proper. Back in a few.”

The dragoness on the table walked over to the edge and sat down, facing Victoria. “Okay, then, just set your sword... somewhere and give me your hands.” As she did so, unsheathing the weapon and laying it flat, Sylvia continued, “I never figured out whether it’s easier for you if I go slow or fast, but I like slow, so I’m gonna go slow.”

“Oh, and you’ll want to ditch the rest of your armor,” Dzamie added, gesturing to her with the toy gun, “trust me on this, it’s uncomfortable and then you just have to clean it unnecessarily.”

Victoria glared at him. “Sure, Teach, let me just strip down right in front of a male katul all alone in this room.”

Dzamie passed his prop to his other hand, then held up his fingers as he counted off, “okay, one, Sylvia’s here with us; two, just because I fit the stereotype doesn’t mean you should use it; and three-” he lifted his project, “- the only reason I’m coming back here in the next half hour is if this thing explodes on teleport. ...which you better not,” he muttered at the prop. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

For a solid minute, Victoria stared at the spot he’d vanished, almost daring him to teleport back in. Sylvia coughed to get her attention. “He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know about armor maintenance, but usually people prefer to be in comfortable clothes.” The little dragoness turned her head away and flicked her tail back and forth. “If, uh, if they wear any, but people like that are few and far between. Look, it is pretty cramped on the way to my hoard, but I’d be an awful friend if I insisted you get rid of things that aren’t weapons.”

“Things that aren’t weapons?”

The golden dragon gave her a flat look. “Can you really blame me, a dragon, for not trusting dragonslayers with weapons?”

“Fair point.” Victoria sighed. After a moment more of internal debate, she started to remove her armor. She asked Sylvia for some help, and before long, she stood before the hammerspace dragon in a sports bra and athletic shorts, glad that her friend was a dragon and not a katul, or a human.

Sylvia looked her up and down; Victoria jokingly asked if she thought she was hiding knives or something. “I... already checked, actually. Just thought dragonslayers wore something more underneath. Laundry day?”

The human grimaced. “It’s done, just... I wasn’t thinking earlier. Er, so, hands?”

“Hands!”

Victoria tentatively held her hands out in front of Sylvia, who pressed them together with her little paws. She brought her muzzle right next to the woman’s fingers, then looked up and said, “just so you know, I’m not letting you back down from this.” Before Victoria could ask what she meant by that, the dragoness opened her jaws and lunged forward.

She could hardly believe her eyes. Her arms looked just fine all the way down to her wrists, but there... they simply weren’t. Sylvia’s snout started, and her arms stopped. Her hands were surrounded by something warm, squishy, and wet, and when she tried to move them or pull them apart, they were pressed back in on each other. Then, a wave of pressure rolled down the hidden hands, and Victoria watched as more of her forearms also shared her hands’ plight. She wiggled her hands more, but there was no change. It took a few seconds for her mind to finally piece it all together: Sylvia was eating her. Somehow.

Another swallow pulled her elbows in, locking her arms out straight. In the back of her head, Victoria knew that she really ought to be panicking, that being eaten by a dragon was something she should not be going calmly into. But still, even as she bent over to the table, leaning down towards the dragon’s tiny body, it was hard to really take it seriously. After all, if she turned her head, she could see that not one of Sylvia’s scales were out of place, so CLEARLY the tiny dragon couldn’t be swallowing her.

A moment later, and she no longer had that problem. Her head was buried deep in somewhere dark pink, surrounded by hot, wet flesh, and any time she moved her arms or twisted her head, all she heard was wet “shlrk”s and squishes as she was guided back into position. The dragoness’s next swallow came more quickly, as though anticipating the human’s reaction:

Now that her eyes were no longer trying to tell her she wasn’t being eaten, Victoria came to the obvious conclusion: her friend had betrayed her trust for a meal. However, she found that she wasn’t scared, or terrified. Be it her own natural inclinations, or her, admittedly incomplete, training as a dragonslayer, Victoria instead found rage. With a primal yell, she twisted and turned, thrashing her arms to try to choke or even gag Sylvia, and she kicked one knee up, trying to feel her way into slamming into the tiny trickster. Unfortunately, the next thing she felt was her knee pinned against her belly, joining the rest of her upper body in the tight, slimy tunnel. Dragon drool got in her mouth, so she spat and sputtered as her hips, shorts, and other thigh were engulfed by the irrationally long throat. Between the heat, the steady, almost soothing noises of wet throatflesh squishing against her skin, the humid, heavy air, and simple exertion, Victoria soon found the fight slip away from her. Ankle-deep in what she thought was a very small dragon, the human sighed and let Sylvia close her jaws after her foot without a struggle.

When her head pressed against the ring of muscle, Victoria had resigned herself to her fate as dragon food. After all, the only person who knew where she was was Dzamie, and that katul would probably demand something-

Her head ran into something solid, and a clattering sound entered her ears, rather than just the constant squelching of wet flesh. Victoria opened her eyes, then sat up and- well, sat up, brushed her hair and Sylvia’s drool from her eyes, and then really opened them to see...

A pile of assorted coins, gold, silver, bronze, and more, bars of precious metals, gems of many colors, piled up nearly as tall as Victoria, herself! A trio of abstract sculptures - possibly part of a set, Victoria reasoned, though one could never really tell with that much abstraction. And, for some reason-

“So, how is it? I’m glad you calmed down eventually,” came Sylvia’s voice from all around.

“There’s... a train engine...” was all Victoria could say.

The little dragoness laughed. “Haha, yeah! One of my earlier additions, actually. I bet every hammerspace dragon does one of those, ‘okay, but CAN I eat that?’ things; I just decided to keep mine for a while, as a trophy, and over time, well, it’s a bit sentimental now.”

“You ATE and KEPT an ENTIRE TRAIN OUT OF THE-?!” the human shouted, dumbfounded, then faltered. “Uh, what’s it called, train house?”

Another laugh. “No, no, I ate a MOVING train - well, just pulling out, not that fast - and kept the engine car. The passenger car and all the delicious treats within are years gone.” There was a pause, and then. “Don’t worry, though. I’m much nicer these days, keep myself in the green zone.”

Victoria sighed, crawled over to the vehicle, and climbed into a seat. “Well, as far as places to die go, this place at least looks nicer than I expected.”

“Die? Who said anything about that? I’m not letting you stay in my stomach, you’ve got stuff to learn and I’ve got strawberries to eat, given only to dragons who DON’T have anyone stewing away in their bellies. ...willing meals notwithstanding.”

Another sigh, though this time of exasperation. “Sylvia... stomachs digest organic material. I am an organic material. I just hope I pass out before the pain gets to me too much.”

This time, there was raucous laughter, followed by a shriek and a swear. “Uh, sorry, fell off the table. You should attend more dragon biology lessons. And/or ask Dzamie for some notes, though if you do, prepare to have an entire encyclopedia dumped on you. Unabridged.”

“I’m safe?”

“You’re the biggest danger to yourself in there. Don’t smash yourself in the head with a sculpture and you’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s mind was still reeling. Nearly half a dozen earthshaking revelations in only a few minutes was not an easy thing to deal with. “And... you’ll let me out when I ask?”

“Or in half an hour. I want strawberries and that’s when there are strawberries. Oh, but make sure you aren’t holding anything when you come back up, or you WILL be eaten again, and it WON’T be to see all my shinies.”

This time, Victoria decided to take her threat seriously. And she had more reason to not “rain on her parade” about being a deadly maneater.

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imaginaryelle · 4 years ago

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Fic: Near Misses and Almost Kisses

AKA Five (plus one) Times Wangxian Could Have Kissed and Totally Fucking Did: A Retelling of CQL Through Missing Scene Kisses

Many thanks to @theflowergirl for initially prompting this fic ages and ages ago (pre-covid. wow.) and also to @morphia-writes for cheerleading and beta work while I struggled to get back into writing this past month. <3!

(this is ~6k and also available as a chaptered fic on AO3. Link coming soon)

[One: Gusu]

Lan Wangji was not looking for company on this journey, and he especially wasn’t looking for the loud, insistent and impossible-to-ignore company of Wei Ying of Yunmeng-Jiang. There have been enough rules broken, enough disruptions to the orderly patterns of his days and thoughts. Finding the other Yin Iron shards is a time-sensitive task with no room for flighty delays. He had, in fact, been looking forward to having some time to clear his head. Time to meditate, and reflect, and maybe dull down the memory of Wei Ying’s earnest, sincere promise, burning brighter in his mind than their Qixi lantern ever glowed against the sky. Time to wrap and re-wrap his sleeves, and maybe forget the winding, binding pull of his forehead ribbon around his wrist and the brush of Wei Ying’s knuckles against the back of his hand.

But instead Wei Ying is here. Talking. Loudly. Incessantly. Chattering about Yunmeng, and all the ways to eat lotus, and the best techniques to use when fighting water ghouls or a possessed alligator. Standing close enough that their elbows keep brushing. Jostling his shoulder and grinning at him like they’re sharing a joke and calling him Lan Zhan, like no one else in the world.

It should be annoying. Enraging that someone would so simply and carelessly step over so many boundaries.

Sometimes it is.

Sometimes it’s … not.

Lan Wangji does not tell him to leave. Not at the pier, not on the boat through the long, foggy afternoon. Not in the dwindling twilight as they make camp: clear the ground, set a ward, nurse a small cookfire. Not as they eat a simple meal of sesame qi zi rolls and tea and the loquats Wei Ying brought with him.

And after, still Wei Ying stays close, never more than three steps away, and sits even closer. Close enough that their knees just don’t quite touch. But instead of introducing some game, or talking more, he sighs, and closes his eyes, and … meditates.

One day, perhaps, he will run out of ways to surprise Lan Wangji. For now, they pass a quiet, peaceful stretch of time without any more pressing interruptions than the call of a hawk overhead and the rustle of small creatures moving through the underbrush.

Even after that, when Wei Ying starts moving again—rustling cloth and soft footsteps—he doesn’t speak. It’s unexpectedly thoughtful, as if he’s doing his best not to disturb Lan Wangji’s own meditations. Then come the familiar sounds and smells of ink grinding against stone, and the soft crinkle of paper. After a while Wei Ying starts humming, low and under his breath.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes to find Wei Ying backlit by the smoldering fire, a brush in his hand and his focus entirely on the strip of paper before him. To his left is a line of paper strips, fresh ink shining on each one. Talismans, Lan Wangji realizes. Each imbued with a touch of power. It’s not an invocation he’s seen before. He tries to get a better look, and Wei Ying looks up at him.

“Want to see?” he asks, grinning. Lan Wangji draws back, but Wei Ying picks up the driest of the talismans and holds it out to him for examination.

Scattered bursts of power, shaped and directed outward from the caster. A touch of fire. Enough intent and energy to damage a ward, distract a spirit, or leave minor burns on an enemy. He’s trying to make out the shape itself when Wei Ying draws the paper back and flicks it into the air.

Bright, fiery butterflies ascend into the space above their heads, trailing orange sparks until they wink out like distant stars.

“You can have one, if you like.” Lan Wangji slowly returns his gaze to his companion. “I know your sword work is very good,” Wei Ying is saying, “but everyone can use a bit of surprise on their side, right?”

Lan Wangji’s fingers itch. He’s never seen anyone use talismans the way Wei Ying does, and he does want to study this one further. And yet. “There’s no need,” he says.

“Even so.” Wei Ying smiles. He sorts through his papers, picking out two. “These are for you.” He holds them out for a moment, then sighs when Lan Wangji makes no move to take them. “Lan Zhan,” he says, “Are you one of those cultivators who thinks talismans are just toys for those with low spiritual power? Little party tricks for those not able to work a seal directly?”

Denial sticks in his throat. He has heard others voice such thoughts, and “toys” certainly describes how Wei Ying uses them, but it’s not a fair judgment to speak aloud.

“Why butterflies?” he asks instead.

“I like butterflies.” Wei Ying’s expression twists, perhaps wistful. “We have lots of them in Yunmeng.” This does not seem to require a response, but Lan Wangji must be missing something, because Wei Ying sighs and pulls the talismans back. “Do you not trust my gifts anymore? How about a trade then? I give you some talismans, and you give me something you think is a fair trade. Better?”

He looks—annoyed, but somehow Lan Wangji still feels like he’s being teased in some way; there’s some joke he’s not getting as Wei Ying sits just a handspan away, limned in firelight and offering him butterflies with an expectant expression and Lan Wangji wants—

It’s not a good kiss, Lan Wangji is certain, and it’s not really anything like the impulsive thoughts that have littered his waking hours over the last few days, but the touch of Wei Ying’s lips still steals the breath from his lungs and narrows his focus in a way meditation and sword forms never have. Wei Ying is softness and warmth and, for a moment, the orbital center of the Heavens, as far as Lan Wangji is concerned.

He leans back, his heart beating as fast as dragonfly wings. Wei Ying stares at him with wide, dark eyes.

“That was …” his hand rises, and he touches his fingertips to his lips. “That was my first kiss.”

Lan Wangji’s pulse thrums faster at that, if that’s possible. He’d been certain, certain that someone as brash and forward as Wei Ying would have been kissed before now.

“Mine also,” he admits, and the surprise in Wei Ying’s eyes would be comical if Lan Wangji had not so obviously spent his entire life distanced from his peers, if he had not so clearly displayed his disinterest in most companionship. He thinks Wei Ying must be making fun of him again, that perhaps he lied to elicit this confession and—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying protests, “My talismans aren’t worth your first kiss!”

Lan Wangji had forgotten about the talismans. They are not currently carrying any prominence in his thoughts.

“It was Wei Ying’s first kiss also,” he returns, daring him to deny it and reveal the ruse.

But he doesn’t. He just sort of stares for long enough that Lan Wangji looks away, shame rising in his throat. He had hoped—it doesn’t matter what he hoped. The kiss was obviously a misstep, and now he has achieved the dual consequences of pushing Wei Ying away while revealing his own weakness. Perhaps he should leave in the morning, before Wei Ying wakes. Perhaps by the time they see each other again this will be forgotten, or at least—at least—

“A second kiss,” Wei Ying says, sudden and much louder than necessary. Lan Wangji looks back at him and waits, hardening himself against further disappointments.

“Two first kisses is an even trade, right?” Wei Ying says. He’s wearing the same sort of eager, coaxing expression he’d had in the library, trying to explain once again how he couldn’t possibly be at fault for climbing over Cloud Recesses’ walls after curfew and drinking alcohol in front of the Wall of Discipline. “Your first kiss for my first kiss. But a second kiss could be… hm.” he frowns. “No this is...” He turns away, rummaging through his papers for a moment and then holds them out triumphantly—six of them. “Six talismans,” Wei Ying says, grinning, “for your second kiss?”

Lan Wangji looks from the talismans to his face, to his lips. Even with shame burning in his center it had felt—it had been—He should have more self-restraint than this. He has more self-restraint than this, with everyone, it seems, except Wei Ying.

He nods, hardly daring to breathe, and Wei Ying scoots closer on his knees. This time, Lan Wangji stays where he is and Wei Ying touches his face with careful fingertips, his expression hardly visible with his body blocking most of the firelight, and then he bends slightly and their lips touch. It is a slow, gentle kiss, more mixing of breath than lips, and the longer it goes on the more Lan Wangji’s fear that this will turn into a new opportunity at provocation melts away. He lifts his own hand to Wei Ying’s jaw and opens his mouth, and lets himself concentrate on only this: warm breath, and softly brushing lips, and the rush of Wei Ying’s heartbeat at his fingertips.

[Two: Qinghe]

By the time they make it to Qinghe, Lan Wangji has retreated so far into stoic silence that Wei Wuxian is a little surprised he’s not leaving a trail of frost wherever he goes. He looks cold enough for it. Frosty and aloof and unapproachable as a distant mountain, with glares so icy they could burn. Nothing like as soft and warm and close as he’d been when it was just the two of them traveling together, before Nie Huaisang joined them in Tanzhou, before Jiang Cheng found them on Dafan Mountain, before they met Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen and volunteered to haul Xue Yang all the way to the Unclean Realm for judgement. He’s barely spoken to anyone other than Nie Mingjue, the last few days. Barely looked at Wei Wuxian at all since they left the Chang Clan’s former residence.

There had been a moment, watching Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen walk away together, when Wei Wuxian’s old memories of his mother had slipped from his thoughts to make way for new memories—the brush of Lan Wangji’s fingers against his cheek, the touch of their lips meeting in the night and the thud of his own pulse threatening to overwhelm him.

He doesn’t know for sure that Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen have that, but sometimes he remembers those two figures walking together, one in black and one in white, and want is so heavy in his lungs it turns bitter in his mouth.

But that’s when the silence started, he thinks. Lan Wangji hadn’t said a single word to him all that long afternoon.

The point is, he’s pretty much resigned himself to never getting to kiss Lan Wangji again, because Lan Wangji has clearly remembered that he dislikes Wei Wuxian and also everyone else Wei Wuxian associates with and the concept of fun, in general. But Wei Wuxian is not giving up. He said they were going to be friends and so they’re going to be friends; Lan Wangji is too interesting a person to not be friends with, at a minimum. He’ll just have to work harder at it, and bide his time, and he’s sure Lan Wangji will come around. They could be the best of friends, and then maybe Wei Wuxian could bring it up—hey, remember that time you kissed me?—and if it goes poorly he can laugh it off. What a funny thing, why don’t more people know that you’re funny, Lan Zhan?

It’s a plan, anyway. A plan that gets entirely shattered to pieces when Lan Wangji steps out of his guest quarters, and looks at Wei Wuxian lying on the roof and babbling some nonsense about relative roof tile comfort, and jumps up to join him.

For a single breathless moment Wei Wuxian thinks Lan Wangji might draw his sword. That he’s pushed too far, this is it, all potential positive feelings towards himself have been erased in Lan Wangji’s mind, but no. No, instead Lan Wangji just sits next to him, inside the stretched curve of Wei Wuxian’s frame. Close enough to touch.

Everyone else is asleep. Wei Wuxian knows it, because it’s the entire reason he’s outside, drinking alone, instead of inside with jovial company and more wine.

Well. Not so alone, now.

Lan Wangji glows in the starlight, pale and luminous as anything gracing the heavens.

You look like the moon, Wei Wuxian wants to say, come drink with me, follow me, dance with me, but he doesn’t say that. That would be—too much, he thinks.

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says back. The ice is melting from Lan Wangji’s posture, slipping away until the space between them feels warm. Charged like lightning.

“I will return to Gusu,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian nods, his hand gripped tight around his bottle of wine.

“To help your brother,” he confirms. He raises the bottle and drinks, and wonders if he’s imagining the way Lan Wangji’s gaze follows the motion to linger on his mouth. He swallows. “I suppose we all have to go home eventually.”

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji is still watching him. He’s tempted to sit up. To reach out and tug on those pale robes and draw Lan Wangji even closer.

He sets the wine aside. Meets Lan Wangji’s gaze.

“Do you want—” he can’t finish the question. Lan Wangji moves fluidly, even now, far from any battle they might fight. He is so close now that Wei Wuxian can see nothing else but his eyes, his face, his mouth. His fingers curl around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, and Wei Wuxian leans into him, into the kiss that he’d thought he wouldn’t be getting.

This one is different. Deeper. Longer. Lan Wangji’s grip on his wrist is tight, his fingers on Wei Wuxian’s jaw firm and steady. Something golden and liquid is happening to Wei Wuxian’s spine as Lan Wangji’s tongue slips past his lips and it doesn’t have anything to do with the wine. He can’t stop the sound he makes, too genuine to be laughed away.

Lan Wangji draws back, draws his tongue back and his lips back and his hands back, and Wei Wuxian only barely catches himself from slipping flat onto the roof tiles.

“Lan Zhan …” Words slip away from him. All he wants is more touch. His body feels molten, edges disappearing from his awareness.

Lan Wangji’s lips are pink. He’s flushing to his ears. His hands are in his lap, curled into tight fists.

There’s something Wei Wuxian’s forgetting. Oh.

“I don’t have anything to give you this time,” he says. Lan Wangji won’t want whatever remains of his wine and this—for this kiss—he doesn’t know what he could possibly give in exchange.

Lan Wangji blinks, a hint of confusion in his face. Then it clears.

“Promise you will not be reckless,” he says, and Wei Wuxian huffs an incredulous laugh.

“I’m not reckless,” he protests, sitting up properly as if that will better support his point. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji simply looks at him. He’s looking less kissed with every second, which is a true shame.

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian allows. “I promise to not be reckless. But.” He leans across the small distance between them and presses another kiss to Lan Wangji’s lips. It’s longer than he means it to be, and when he pulls back his voice sounds strained and breathless in his own ears.

“You promise me too,” he says, half-whispered. “You don’t be reckless either.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, and there’s an actual smile drawn at the corners of his eyes. “I promise.”

[Three: Dusk Creek Mountain]

Lan Wangji has faced endurance trials before. Lan cultivation training is full to brimming with them, and where before he knew that such trials would bring him strength, and patience, and clarity in adverse circumstances, he is now deeply, terribly grateful for them.

If he must endure the uncertainty that clouds his brother’s fate, the danger that still clings to his uncle and his entire clan and sect, the open derision of the Wens and the pall of pain and death that haunts every step he takes on a broken leg—at least he has trained to do so, every day of his life. At least he has years of practice to keep him standing straight and tall and unbending, here in this place that smells of sulphur and smoke and stinks of power so tainted and warped that his skin crawls with it.

He has little such practice in enduring Wei Ying’s probing inquiries. Enduring his careful glances and fidgeting hands and the worry in his voice as he says Lan Wangji’s name, over and over, half-whispered.

He knows something must show in his face when they take his sword, from the change in that voice. The next morning, when Wei Ying recites the Lan rules instead of the Wen proverbs, he dearly wishes he could slip back in time, weeks ago, and kiss Wei Ying again, and again, as if, if he never left that rooftop in Qinghe, none of this would have happened.

He can’t speak. No matter what Wei Ying asks, he can’t speak. If he opens his mouth everything will spill out at once. Everything—the Yin iron, and his uncle and brother and sect and the fires that consumed hundreds of years of Lan history as he was dragged from his home—he won’t be able to stop it. There might even be tears involved. He’s stretched too thin, likely to break like porcelain with sharp edges to cut the unwary.

Their closeness is noticed. He can’t stop Wen Chao throwing Wei Ying in a dungeon that afternoon. The fears that haunt him until the next morning are not much soothed by the blood on Wei Ying’s robes when he returns, no matter how he smiles and chatters.

It can’t go on. He won’t bear it. Lan Wangji’s rebellions are small, and thus insignificant to Wen Chao, but they are still victories in self-restraint. He does not speak, and so no one will hear the fear and anger in his voice. He does not read the Wen Precepts, and so no one can ever say that he would replace the Lan’s, no matter what other claims the Wen make. He walks unaided, and so there will be no favors left unpaid. Even Wei Ying’s offer of help he pushes away. Better to cut such things off now, than to draw disaster down on him again.

Wei Ying walks by his side regardless. Brings him water. Stays in the terrible cave Wen Chao sealed them in, when escape is well within his reach.

Touches his forehead ribbon, entirely ignorant of its meaning. Tends his wounds.

He can’t keep his silence any longer. Wei Ying is injured, and in pain, and never thinks of himself first. He needs taking care of, too. They are alone. If he breaks now only Wei Ying will see, and Wei Ying will never tell.

“You promised to not be reckless,” Lan Wangji says when the medicine is used up.

“I’m not reckless,” Wei Ying insists, shaking out his overrobe near their tiny fire so it will dry faster. “Lan Zhan,” he pouts, then winces as the brand on his chest pains him again. “When was I reckless?”

“Drawing attention,” Lan Wangji tells him. “Reciting the Lan Precepts. Insulting Wen Chao.” He gestures at Wei Ying’s wound. “Taking an attack meant for another without deflection.”

“That’s not recklessness, that’s righteousness,” Wei Ying asserts. He grins. “I would have thought that Lan Clan would know the difference. And besides, Lan Zhan, you promised me, too, and I saw you step in front of Mianmian. If I was reckless so were you.”

Lan Wangji looks away.

“She’s pretty,” Wei Ying says. There’s a questioning edge to the words that sends cold plummeting through Lan Wangji’s gut. Wei Ying just looks at him, all earnestness in his eyes. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Lan Zhan?”

He hadn’t noticed, really. She was protective of her sect’s heir, and decently eloquent. Perhaps too free with gossip, as it had been her question that eventually sparked Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan’s fight at Cloud Recesses, months and months ago now.

“She did not deserve to be killed for bait,” he says.

“Or branded either,” Wei Ying is saying. “It’d be a shame, a pretty girl like that with a scar on her face for the rest of her life.”

Lan Wangji stares at him. At the smile he is somehow still wearing. The cold reaches into Lan Wangji’s lungs. His ribs. The fire brings him no warmth.

“It is not better for you to carry the scar instead,” he points out.

“But it’s not on my face,” Wei Ying counters. “Besides, it’s different for men. A man should get a few scars in his life, anyway.”

It is possibly the stupidest thing Lan Wangji has ever heard him say. If this is among the teachings of the Yunmeng-Jiang Sect, he thinks it might go some way towards explaining Jiang Wanyin. But Wei Ying is still talking.

“Even if I do have to carry it forever, it marks that I once protected a girl who will never forget me her whole life! That’s sort of beautiful, don’t you think?”

Lan Wangji has no idea what’s supposed to be beautiful about it. He feels a bit like the ground has slipped out from underneath his feet, the foundation he built himself on crumbling on all sides and now a handhold he hadn’t realized he was gripping so tightly is also turning to sand beneath his fingers.

“So you know she’ll never forget you,” he says, the words like acid on his tongue, and Wei Ying startles.

“Why are you mad?” he asks, as if he cannot even guess. Lan Wangji stares at the fire and wishes he were anywhere else. Wishes he had never kissed Wei Ying even once. Even that first time.

“If you don’t mean it,” he says, forcing the words over his teeth as ice rises in his throat, “you shouldn’t flirt with anyone.”

“I—what—”

Wei Ying is silent for a long time. When Lan Wangji looks at him he’s frowning.

“Saving someone isn’t flirting,” he says finally. “And if it’s flirting with you you’re worried about you can just say so. I’ll stop if you say so.”

“Don’t,” Lan Wangji blurts, almost before the sentence is done. And Wei Ying … smiles. A real smile, that reaches his eyes and makes his whole face scrunch up a bit. A smile Lan Wangji hasn’t seen in weeks, that warms him like sunlight.

“Okay,” Wei Ying agrees. “I won’t then.” And then, because he is utterly shameless, he says, “I think my robe is dry now. Are you cold? You look cold, I could cover you with it,” and he leans close to do so without waiting for an answer.

Lan Wangji lets him. He’s too tired to move away, and he doesn’t really want to. He grabs Wei Ying’s wrist, caught between them, and tugs him closer.

“Wei Ying should be warm also,” he says to the questioning look that earns him, and Wei Ying smiles again and sighs. His body is a line of heat against Lan Wangji’s side.

“Alright Lan Zhan,” he says, and his voice is low and soft and close, intimate as a secret.

If he speaks again, Lan Wangji doesn’t hear it. Instead he wakes hours later to find that Wei Ying has returned his forehead ribbon to its rightful place, and explored the wretched pond in the bottom of this cave, and is once again drying himself out.

They are trapped. It will likely be days before they can be rescued. They could die of starvation first, or be killed when the Wens return.

Or they could die fighting.

For luck, Wei Ying says, his voice bright and dancing like butterflies through the telepathy spell. He cups his hand around the back of Lan Wangji’s neck and kisses him, a quick brush of heat, and then he steps away, towards the pond, and there are far more immediate things to think about.

The battle is one of the fiercest of Lan Wangji’s life, but it is clear, afterwards, that Wei Ying sacrificed more than Lan Wangji guessed he would to see the Xuanwu slain. He is clearly unwell, so unwell as to be bad at hiding it, cold and clammy as fever rises through his blood. His breath comes in gasps, his speech slowed and confused.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, through teeth stained with blood, “I didn’t really think I would survive this.”

“You must,” Lan Wangji tells him. He begins passing spiritual energy into Wei Ying’s wrist, everything he can spare. Some he probably can’t. But anything Wei Ying needs, he will give. Spiritual energy. Physical warmth.

A song, though this is far from his idle daydreams of its debut.

They cannot last long like this. Wei Ying slips into dreams from which he can’t be woken, and Lan Wangji draws him close and cradles him carefully as exhaustion settles into his own bones and sinew.

He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead, salt sweat stinging at his dry, cracked lips.

“You must live,” he rasps, his voice all but gone now. “Promise me you’ll live, Wei Ying.”

[Four: Qishan]

Many things are different, after Wen Chao throws Wei Wuxian into the Mass Graves. Most things. The whole course of his life, taking a turn onto a new path. And really, Wei Wuxian is fine with that. He is. He still has Shijie and Jiang Cheng and he’s still friends with Nie Huaisang, even if he has to keep them all a bit more distant than before and even if they can tell something’s wrong, and he has food and a bed with an actual mattress, and even power. Power no one else can claim.

That power makes up for a lot of things, and it and Jiang Cheng’s barely-there smile and continued efforts at rebuilding the Yunmeng-Jiang Sect leave him with no regrets whatsoever, though he was pretty sure he’d had no regrets before, anyway.

Well. Only one regret.

Lan Wangji is avoiding him.

Okay, no, that’s not true. Not anymore, anyway. The weeks-stretching-to-months of the Sunshot Campaign were a particular kind of torture that Wei Wuxian knows he can only blame himself for, but now … now, Lan Wangji wants to help him, and is spending a great deal of time at his guqin. On the other side of the room. Telling Wei Wuxian to “be quiet” and “concentrate” as if that was going to help anything.

His face when he’d come in—Wei Wuxian couldn’t look at him, could hardly stand to sit on the bed with his hands under his thighs and mouth clamped shut in the face of that—that—whatever emotion it was that made Lan Wangji’s eyes so soft, made his lips part and the tension in his shoulders drop so suddenly. And then Shijie had left them alone and—

Well. For a moment there Wei Wuxian expected he was going to be kissed. Lan Wangji had obviously been worried, and visiting often, and ….

But that didn’t happen. No kisses for Wei Wuxian, apparently. Not since the Xuanwu cave, and that barely counted. No kisses since he still had a golden core.

Just guqin music. And meditation.

He tries. He does. He can still benefit from meditation and he knows it, and Lan Wangj’s skill at the guqin is never unpleasant to listen to and so he tries.

For about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. That picture of Lan Wangji’s face keeps painting itself on the back of his eyelids. He can’t sit still any longer. He stands.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, “I’m fine.”

Lan Wangji is not convinced. Every movement as he approaches shows it. He is stern and straight-backed and righteous.

“Three more days are needed,” he insists.

“Three days!” Wei Wuxian won’t survive three days of sitting on opposite sides of a room, meditating to music. He won’t. Although …

“Lan Zhan,” he pouts. Entirely for effect, despite the way it makes Lan Wangji go even stiffer and more righteous instead of softening in indulgence the way Shijie does. “Three days is so long. Aren’t you even going to offer me a kiss, asking for so much time?”

Lan Wangji’s entire demeanor changes. The soft eyes and parted lips are back, and his fingers curl in his sleeves. Wei Wuxian risks a step closer.

“One kiss?” he asks. Another step.

“A kiss per day? A kiss per hour?” He grins, close enough now to reach out and touch. Or be touched.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, “Would you kiss me after every song you play? Or every minute? Every—”

Lan Wangji’s hands are on his face, his thumbs pressed against Wei Wuxian’s cheekbones and his fingers cupping Wei Wuxian’s ears. His mouth is hot, his tongue is hot, and in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and it is taking a lot of effort for Wei Wuxian to stay on his feet. He thinks his knees might have melted, somehow. It would hardly be the strangest thing that’s ever happened to him and he doesn’t really care. Lan Wangji’s lips and tongue and breath are more than enough to fill the moment in its entirety.

When Lan Wangji pulls back, Wei Wuxian is holding onto his wrists. Nearly hanging from them.

“Kiss me again,” he whispers. “Again, Lan Zhan.”

For a moment, Lan Wangji’s eyes are liquid with want and his mouth is soft and pink and so very close. And then he steps back, and lets go of Wei Wuxian’s face, and shakes Wei Wuxian’s grip from his sleeves.

“Meditation first,” he insists.

[Five: Yiling]

Every part of this meeting has been unsettling. Lan Wangji had passed through Yiling for several reasons—rumors of nearby disturbances, it is the largest town near to where his most recent night hunt ended, and the road to Gusu goes through it—but all of these lead to Wei Ying. Even crying children in the street lead to Wei Ying.

The golden swell of hope that was growing under his ribs during their shared meal has long since withdrawn, pulled back and away like the tide by the stark reality of Wei Ying’s circumstances. There will be no convincing him to leave these people now. He has done the impossible, in Wen Qionglin’s resurrection, and he is obviously fond of both Wen Qing and Wen Yuan, but the true issue is that any goals he has for this settlement, its people, or his own life’s path are being smothered by the very real absence of necessary protections, money, food, and medicine.

No tea for guests. No hope that he will see his sister’s wedding. Resentment on all sides, from the restless dead within the mountain and the determined gossips without.

Lan Wangji finds he cannot look at Wen Qionglin for any reasonable length of time. His presence is a prickly burr against the background fog of corruption the Mass Graves generate, at odds with his deferential bows and careful presentation of what poor hospitality this place can offer.

Lan Wangji does not drink the water. He thinks his stomach would not tolerate it, and he shies away from the thought. Water from the hands of a corpse, sourced, undoubtedly, from this land that has been poisoned with resentment for generations. No one should live here. It is only one of many things that should not happen, but is happening anyway.

Wen Qionglin and his sister do not linger long. There is little to say, and even basic formalities cannot be observed without the right supplies. They greet him, formally, with careful bows, and welcome him, and melt back and away, leaving him once again alone with Wei Ying in a cave that smells only slightly better than the one they killed the Xuanwu in.

He will ask once more. He must.

“Wei Ying—”

Further speech is impeded by Wei Ying’s lips on his, the kiss soft and beseeching. Need in the rigid press of Wei Ying’s fingers on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Do me a favor, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs against his mouth, pressing more kisses to his skin like wet ink to paper, and Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to soak him in, draw him up and keep him.

Wei Ying presses their faces together, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

“Don’t ask again,” he murmurs, and kisses the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth, and steps away.

For a single, wild moment, Lan Wangji considers staying here. Staying with Wei Ying, and these fugitives he has thrown himself in with, and offering any aid he can: the small handful of coins he still carries, the strength of his arms and back, whatever healing his spiritual energy and music can offer.

The impulse slips away quickly. Wei Ying is clearly shepherding him away from the cave, away from the settlement. Beyond the gates. He keeps his movements perfectly contained. Distanced. Separate. Always a respectable space kept between them as they walk, even as he asks—can anyone give me a nice, favorable choice?—the strain of the question clear in his voice.

Even as he says thank you, for a visit Lan Wangji is almost certain has only brought him pain.

It’s Wen Yuan who interrupts them before Lan Wangji can sort out the words he wants. Wen Yuan who asks him to stay.

Wei Ying, who takes the child in his arms and tells him Lan Wangji must leave.

Lan Wangji looks at Wen Yuan’s tiny hand, held securely in Wei Ying’s careful grip. He watches Wei Ying’s face. There is resignation there, but determination, too.

There is nothing left to say.

Another set of hands is also another mouth to feed. He can be of more use to Wei Ying as he is now: separated by distance, but not intent. He is the son of a great sect, the brother of a sect leader, and he has reputation of his own to call on. Somehow, he will find a way to bring Wei Ying back into the world.

Someday, he’ll be back with better news.

[+1: The Jingshi]

Sixteen years.

Wei Wuxian would be tempted to write that number off as an elaborate joke if it weren’t for Jin Ling, so obviously grown up and full of pride. Cloud Recesses doesn’t show the passage of time, either from the time he’s been dead or the damage it suffered before that. He could almost believe, here in this room, that no time has passed at all. Here he is in Cloud Recesses, which looks and sounds and smells just the same as it always has in his memories of that summer before the war. Here he is, convalescing in bed, and there is Lan Wangji on the other side of the room at his guqin, just as they were after it.

There are still differences. He has never seen Lan Wangji this quietly at home in a place. So settled. So comfortable. His hair half-down should make him look younger, but Wei Wuxian can see his jaw is sharper now, his shoulders somehow broader, like he’s grown to fit his bones in a way that’s not quite physical. There are new lines in his face, faint as they are. Around his eyes, mostly. The touch of a life, extended.

His skill at the guqin has improved. Or perhaps it’s just that Wei Wuxian himself is a more appreciative audience now, here on the other side of confusion and tragedy and death. He’d like to think he’s learned something from the experience, even if he doesn’t really remember a lot of it.

He watches Lan Wangji’s fingers, over the strings. Watches his face, clear as a still pond.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. He swallows past the tightness in his throat. “Do you remember the last time you played for me?”

The hands still.

“Yes.” There is still something of that soft-eyed look in his eyes, even with the year, and the new lines. Something familiar in the tightening of his lips, an echo of the last kiss they shared.

Lan Wangji stands, and crosses the dark floorboards between them. He sits at the edge of the bed, quiet and composed and every inch the cultivator Wei Wuxian always knew he would be, too good to end anywhere else, too principled to let his steps go astray. The silence between them is warm, now. Knowing.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, trying for levity and ending somewhere far too low-voiced and genuine. “You’re too good to me. How will I thank you?”

Lan Wangi watches him, dark-eyed and intent. “A favor,” he says, and reaches up between them, presses his thumb to the corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “A promise,” as the touch sweeps across Wei Wuxian’s lips.

Wei Wuxian swallows again. He doesn’t know what he might do, if he allows himself to move, so he doesn’t move at all.

Lan Wangji’s hand falls away. He folds his sleeve carefully to the side and raises his eyes once more.

“Stay,” he says, hardly even a whisper.

Wei Wuxian laughs. It spills out of him, surprise and joy and rushing thrill strumming through him.

“Of course!” He shifts closer, onto his knees, and takes Lan Wangji’s hand in both of his own. “Of course I’ll stay, Lan Zhan,” he says, and he seals the promise with a kiss.

#wangxian #wangxian fic #the untamed #chen qing ling #cql #kissing #that's it just kissing really #alex writes

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Parralel Lines || Park Jimin (BTS Imagine)

"You’re from The Upside. I’m from The Downside. We’re not meant to be.”

Words: 4k ish?

Genre: sci-fi ish? romance, drama

Might have a part two if I feel inspired. Also warning that this is sad.

-----

She always came at six from The Downside.

He knew that only because he’d glanced at the shadows cast by the sun dropping into the horizon whenever he caught a glimpse of her face. The first time she’d appeared, he had only stared and wondered where she had come from, looking like the spitting image of all the women from his Side that he’d almost believed she was from the same place, until the softest ripples separating their dimension had shivered in warning when he got too close. Jimin liked spending time in his place, his special place, as he’d named it. Except it wasn’t all that special anymore since she’d made an appearance. It wasn’t much, just a huge cluster of rocks a few miles from his hometown, settled atop a high cliff that overlooked the horizon and where Jimin spent all his days admiring the way the sun settled into the sky before night crawled in, blossoming into a purple bruise dotted with stars.

The first time he saw her though, he remembered that he’d missed the sun set, just because he’d been taken aback by her existence.

“Who are you?” he asked, going to straight to the point.

The girl shrugged, “who are you?”

“I asked you first,” he said, a bit miffed that she’d used his words against him.

“The Downside,” she motioned towards herself and while Jimin only saw a reflection of his own landscape, the air shimmered when she moved her arm, giving way to a dark, deep blue sky and a place swamped by night.

“Is it always dark? Where you come from?” “Answer my question first,” the girl said. “I’m from the Upside.” “That’s impossible. We can’t see the sides we’re not from.” Jimin shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

Silently settling herself a few feet away from him, she gazed out in the same direction as he was and he felt a strange sense of companionship with the mystery girl even though they were practically strangers. Was it illegal to talk to someone from the Downside? He didn’t think so.

But it felt nice, for she wasn’t talkative and kept to herself, as though she was constantly in a whirlwind of her own thoughts. Just like he was.

“What’s your name?” he dared ask the second day when he spotted her figure once more, crouched and staring before her. The air shimmered between them, a clear warning that they should respect their boundaries.

“Hae,” a pause, “you?” “Jimin.” “Jimin,” she murmured to herself, almost like an afterthought, and he decided that he quite enjoyed the way his name rolled off her lips.

“What are you looking at?”

From his angle, he could trace the golden glow bathing her features in a warm light. But that was merely a reflection of what only he could see from his side of the world. He couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to be in The Downside. “It’s dark.” “Is there no light? Where you come from?” “Light?” she asked, “what’s that?” “Nevermind.”

The second time, he was early and the sky was almost a dark constellation of stars before she appeared, looking breathless and as though she’d just run to get to her side of the cliff. Her breaths caused the air to shimmer as it hit the border.

But Jimin only stared back up at the stars, biting back the endless questions that were dangling off the tip of his tongue. He feared that being too curious would just drive her away and instead, just kept his silence.

“What’s it like on your Side?”

He turned, startled that she even initiated conversation.

“It’s bright,” Jimin glanced over and saw the slightest bruising next to her left eye, though as always, she avoided his gaze. He hurriedly turned back to the night sky, “always sunny. How is it on yours?” “Dark. Always dark, except for a few minutes of sun,” she toyed with the small rocks before her, “Are the people happy? Where you come from?” “I guess so. Why? Aren’t your people happy?” he noticed that there was a sort of sadness lingering at the border of her eyes, like a permanent ink stain that wouldn’t wash away no matter how many times one cried to get rid of it.

She shrugged once more, but decidedly stayed quiet. She was like that a lot, asking the most random questions and then lingering off in her own silence. The next day, Jimin noticed that she was wearing a shirt with its collar turned upwards so that the bruise wasn’t as visible if one didn’t know better. She didn’t bother looking over at him when he settled down onto the rock, a little closer to the edge this time, with his feet dangling off the edges. The air rippled in warning like heat rising off the road on a scorching summer day, but that did nothing to deter the young man. Jimin kept his eyes locked on her profile, hand reaching out to wave just over the invisible barrier.

When it shimmered once more with his movement, he caught a glimpse of the lingering darkness from her side of the world.

As wrong as it was for him to be so curious, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the girl with such a mysterious look in her eyes and with the bruises that she was trying so hard to hide. So Jimin was patient, spending every day at her side and asking questions only when she seemed willing to give the right answers. Even then, it was hard to discern whether she was telling the truth or whether these were straight-up lies, too scared to actually tell Jimin what was going on in The Downside.

So he talked, told her about his adventures chasing the sun and told her stories they shared across the kitchen table during dinner time, the only moment they spent as a family. He recounted the times that he and his group of friends were up to no good in the nearby alleys and would play outside till dark, so that the next day he could barely open his eyes during his classes.

“If there was one place you could visit, where would it be?” Jimin asked. Hae pushed back a strand of hair from her face, “I don’t know, but I do know what your answer would be.” “What’s that?” “The Downside.” He grinned at her, “you got me.”

Another time, he asked her whether there was more to it than just a barrier.

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” he raised his hand up to the air panel that heated up his palm. If he could just move a little further, he could touch her shoulder, mere millimetres from where he sat, “why would they make it in the first place?” “It’s like everyone says. To keep our worlds apart,” she responded, though there was definitely a slither of doubt in her soprano, “they did it to stop us from fighting.” “Yeah but that was eons ago. Why can’t they break down the barrier now? It’s not fair. I want to know what the Downside’s like and you want to visit the Upside. Plus, if we break the barrier, that means you might get more sunlight and I’ll be able to see the stars more frequently.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, toying with her fingers that settled in her lap as she contemplated his words. Jimin felt the warmth retract from his figure and he knew without a glance that the sun was now gone, like it did every day to give rise to the stars for a few minutes, before taking its place back where it belonged.

Usually, he’d be focused on the entirety of the situation, eyes glued to the horizon until the sun was back and blazing in the sky. It was mere minutes of pure heaven to Jimin’s eyes, one that he never wanted to miss for the world.

But he found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the girl before him. She had his attention just like a flower drawing in a bee, a moth drawn to a flame.

He wanted to know her, traced her features like she was a painting he couldn’t help but admire, wondered what she hid behind that faceless expression that would crack every once in a while to give way to genuine emotion. And Jimin lived for these reactions, found that they were a treasure buried under silence.

“I want to know what The Upside looks like,” came her reply, so soft that if he hadn’t been paying attention he would’ve missed the way her words were blown away by the wind.

She turned and in her eyes he caught sight of a softness swirling in the depths of her maroon orbs, one that made his breath catch in his throat as she continued, “I’ve always wanted to know how it feels, to dance in the sun.”

Slowly but surely, Hae opened up to him as much as he did, drawing her out of her shell with tentative steps. She had two younger sisters and spent most of her time reading, diving nose-deep into novels so that she could lose herself in imaginative worlds. When he asked her how she managed to live life in eternal darkness, with the only exception of a few minutes of sunlight, Hae had only shrugged and murmured that all families were meant to make their own candles, since electricity was a resource that wasn’t readily available. They had used up most of their resources already.

“Woah, you make your own candles?” Jimin’s eyes went wide at the idea. He’d never actually heard of people making them before, and the fascination probably showed across his face, for her lips cracked into a small smile that he would’ve missed if he hadn’t paid so much attention to her.

“I’d love to spend a day in The Downside,” Jimin noticed how the sunset glow from The Upside gently caressed the softest planes of her features, though she probably couldn’t see it from where she sat.

“You know that’s not possible,” she brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if she was suddenly cold, “people die if they go to the Sides that they weren’t born into.” Jimin suddenly jumped up, “what if that’s just a story? What if that’s not actually true?” “Don’t be silly, Jimin.” “I’m not. Just think about it. What if there’s actually nothing that happens once we cross over to the Other Side?” Hae quickly straightened up from her crouched position, eyes whipping over to his with an alertness that he had seldom seen before. She looked terrified at the idea and adrenaline spiked through his veins. “Don’t,” her voice held a tinge of warning as Jimin slowly scrambled to his feet before reaching out towards the invisible barrier with his hand, “Jimin. Don’t— What are you—Stop—Stop it Jimin!”

Jimin’s hand was mere millimetres from the surface now. He felt a sort of heat simmering underneath his fingertips, the air pulsating more violently than he’d ever seen it before, a clear warning that he should step back and return from where he came from.

But Jimin was someone that, once curious, couldn’t help but investigate no matter how risky it was. He loved the thrill of it, loved feeling the rush of excitement spreading through him and causing his heart to drop to his stomach as though he was going on a rollercoaster ride.

So he pressed on, hand pushing through the barrier. It resisted for a few seconds.

And then, caved in.

Jimin stumbled. His body jolted forward. He fell.

Right into The Downside.

“What are you—What are you doing?!”

He could hear her. Her voice was lighter without the muffled barrier, as light as a river flowing through his ears. Jimin scrambled up only to come face to face with Hae’s maroon orbs flickering with a mixture of worry and panic. There she stood, right before him and as real as the soft pounding of his heart against his chest.

Hae’s face flitted with surprise, eyes widening as she gazed, and kept gazing at him in silence. Both were too transfixed by the other to say anything.

“Wh—“ the words wouldn’t make it out of her mouth and died halfway up her throat.

Her eyes, they were a lighter shade of brown than he’d imagined, clear and presently flickering with panic. Her hair was darker than midnight, gently billowing over her face as a cold breeze picked up, cheeks presently flushed from emotion.

And while she was smaller than he was, her limbs were rounder, softer now that she stood before him in real life, all creamy skin and gentle curves. She wasn’t knobbly, but from the way her cheekbones slightly sunk in her face, he guessed it was all due to the fact that they didn’t have much food in abundance.

He hadn’t realized that his hand had reached up to touch her face before it actually did, and didn’t miss the way she flinched back when his thumb brushed lightly along her cheek.

“You are real,” he marvelled, unable to tear his gaze away no matter how much he tried.

“And you’re out of your goddamn mind,” she lashed back with a ferocity that made him flinch despite knowing that it was only her panic talking. Her hands fluttered over his shoulders before she pushed him back, “you need to go back, you need to go back now—“ “Hae—“ “Now, Jimin. I don’t want to be responsible when you drop dead. Now go!” “Hae, wait—“ Jimin made a grab for her arms, hands slipping to the back of her elbows as he held her in place. His head tilted down so that their eyes met, catching a glimpse of the naked fear swimming in her dark pools of maroon, “just wait, will you?”

And so they waited. Their chests heaved, breathless.

The wind blew softly in a gentle caress. The midnight sky glowed with stars, the moonlight dancing across the planes of their faces.

It was a long moment filled with silence before Jimin finally got the courage so to speak.

“See?” he murmured softly, as though talking louder would only disrupt the fragility of their hold onto each other. Unlike what he’d imagined, her skin was warm under his touch, a sign that she was just as real as he was. Warmth trickled through his chest to squeeze his heart in barely restrained happiness.

“I’m fine,” Jimin continued on softly, “I’m fine, Hae.”

“You—“ she bit her lip and averted her eyes, “you really should go back. It’s not safe, what you’re doing.”

But she made no move to step away. Nor did he. Her eyes flickered from right to left, before finally looking up to meet his gaze that was gazing at her with such an intensity it made her heart stutter through her chest. His eyebrows were scrunched up in a slight frown, the edges of his lips pinched, as though she was an image he was trying so hard to memorize in great detail.

Hae felt warm and tingly all over. Jimin just had a way about him that made her feel giddy, as though her insides were twisted and coiled together whenever he looked at her that way, the way that he was doing presently. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it definitely made her feel slightly on edge.

Once Jimin had experienced the Downside, he couldn’t get enough of it. It wasn’t just the fact that he got to experience night in a way that was totally unlike the Upside, but the fact that he could touch Hae, feel her physical presence next to him, was something that made his entire soul sing with joy ad his body light up in happiness. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met before, and it wasn’t just because she came from The Downside.

He enjoyed spending time just sitting there, with her head on his shoulder as they recounted stories of their past and talked about their dreams of the future. He learnt that Hae didn’t have the greatest relationship with her father, and while she didn’t divulge into any specifics, he easily added two and two together, figuring out that there was more than just verbal abuse involved. It hurt him to think about Hae getting beaten up just because she was within reach, but there wasn’t much he could do if the girl wasn’t ready to tell him. And plus, these were only suspicions, conclusions that he’d drawn himself.

There was no evidence that she was being physically taken advantage of or abused.

They didn’t have all the time in the world though. At some point, the border would shiver and warm up with heat, a clear warning that it was time for Jimin to go back. So every night, once the barrier would deem that enough was enough, the said young man would bid Hae goodnight before walking right over to the Upside.

Jimin was so lost in his own happiness that he thought, for a while, that he’d be able to keep doing this forever.

So imagine his surprise when he climbed up the cliff one day only to be met with two armed men standing at the borders, rifles in hand and gazing down at him with knowing looks that spoke more than any excuse ever would. Jimin’s mouth fell open as he stared up at them, his brain suddenly scrambling to find any sort of excuse.

“Y-Yes?” Jimin stuttered out when he finally found his voice. “What’s your name, boy?” one of the men — the one with the flat nose and wide, square-shaped face that looked like he had seen better days — spoke gruffly, a hand casually resting against his rifle like it was the most normal thing to be doing. “Jimin.” “Jimin,” the man’s flat nose scrunched up and the latter wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or not, “we’ve received a few warnings from the Border. We saw that it was warming up at an increasingly fast pace, suggesting that someone was trying to force his way through.”

Jimin tried his best to keep his face impassive, feeling his partner’s stare pin him down with narrowed eyes that seemed like they wouldn’t miss a thing and wouldn’t hesitate to call him out if he ever lied.

“Would you perhaps know anything of it?” the square-faced man asked.

Jimin shook his head in what he hoped seem to be a confused manner, frowning for good measure, “no.” “Do you come here often?” “I came here last week,” Jimin lied through his teeth before lifting his shoulder into a one-armed shrug. He didn’t fail to miss the flash of suspicion darting through his partner’s face. “Alright, Jimin. Thank you. I suggest you scram along now. No need for you to stay here. This area is probably going to be secured off for the time being, until we manage to catch the culprit.”

Jimin nodded, turned around to make his way back to his house as he tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest he felt as though someone had grabbed his organ and was squeezing it so tight he couldn’t breathe.

This was risky, too risky. He easy could’ve put Hae’s life in danger and was well aware of the consequences of breaching the rules. Once they found out that Jimin had been trespassing on a daily basis, he’d definitely be condemned to prison, and that was just the happiest end of the stick. For all he knew, he could get his head cut off as soon as they found out.

For a full week, Jimin decided to stay away to keep Hae and himself safe from the hands of the guards. He kept a close watch from afar, noticing how the guards took turns patrolling around the said area, and though his chest ached with the desire to see Hae’s face, to check up and ensure that she was safe and sound wherever she was, it seemed like fat had other plans.

The next few weeks were a blur between work and tending to the smaller children in the orphanage. They provided him with great distraction, but even they couldn’t replace the hole of worry in his chest every time he caught himself thinking of Hae’s face and the bruises that scattered across her skin like blossoming purple flowers, except they weren’t beautiful in the least.

It was only when the patrols died down that Jimin mustered up the courage to climb back up the hill at exactly six in the evening, heart shifting unsurely in his chest, tugging in nervousness as he focused on clamping his hands over the wall and hoisting his body onto the rock hard surface.

The slight, rational part of him that was left nagged that she was obviously not going to risk it, that she had been chased away by the guards’ presence and that he’d probably never see her again in his lifetime.

But when his head finally peaked over the smooth rock and his eyes landed on a pale figure sitting on the edge of the Downside, his heart leapt through his chest.

He took his time finding his balance before he walked over softly, slowly, making sure to make his presence known. The girl didn’t glance his way though, not once, as he settled himself onto the edge of the Upside, legs dangling out into nothingness.

Before him was the sun, as bright as an orange ball, glowing like wildfire and causing the back of his neck to break out into sweat. Though he wasn’t sure whether that was from the heat or from the fact that he was in Hae’s presence.

“You came,” he murmured before sparing her a glance. Still, she kept her gaze forward, her chin set and her jaw clenched as though there was a simmering anger brewing within her.

Jimin swallowed anxiously, “I didn’t know whether you’d come.”

A silence lingered for a long moment. Then:

“You told them?”

Jimin’s head shot up to look at her. Her eyes were blazing in anger, mouth pursed in a tense line.

“You told them about what we did? About—“ her words broke halfway through her throat, “about us?”

“No,” Jimin’s face hardened, “no, no. I’d never do that. There was a warning, that the border was warming up or something. But I didn’t want them to get suspicious of me so I decided that it was best that I stayed away for a while.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he noticed how the anger simmered down, face slowly relaxing as she took in his words. Hae let out a soft sigh, before turning her head back towards the horizon. He took this as his chance to admire the soft splatter of freckles on her cheeks, before his eyes suddenly landed on a darker patch of skin, barely noticeable in the curve of her jaw.

Before he knew it, he’d made a grab for her chin, not caring whether his hand had plunged through the Border. It sizzled in response, burned him like an itch that got under his skin.

“Hae, who’s doing this to you?” Jimin asked.

Hae’s fingers closed around his wrist to pull him away, “Jimin, the border—“ “I don’t give a fuck about the border,” he spat, leaning closer, “who’s doing this to you? It’s your dad isn’t it?” Her silence was enough to confirm his suspicions. Jimin drew in a soft breath as his hand fell to his side. The border shimmered in protest, before it flattened out again as if nothing had ever happened. “That’s—That’s not right,” Jimin murmured as his hand clenched into a tight fist in his lap, “you know that’s not right.” “I have no choice.” “You always have a choice,” he snapped, head jerking towards hers, “he’s not allowed to lay a hand on you, Hae, you—“ “What do you expect me to do? Run away and leave my sisters behind so that he can hurt them then?!” it was almost like the last of Hae’s resolve had snapped, her nostrils flaring as he eyes flashed in a mixture of anger and pain, “you think I don’t want to leave him? You think i haven’t thought of it a thousand times over?!”

Jimin opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted when something hit the back of his neck. Pain suddenly flashed through his muscles, causing a dull throb to echo throughout his body. He fell to the side, knocked to the ground as a soft scream — Hae’s scream — rang through his ears.

He couldn’t move couldn’t do anything else apart from gaze at the scene unfolding before his eyes. Arms hauled him upwards before he was dragged back. Someone was shouting at Hae, who had scrambled to her feet on the other side with tears streaming down her face.

“No, don’t hurt him. Please, it—it was my fault! I seduced him! Please, please don’t—“

And that was the last thing that resonated through Jimin’s brain as he slowly succumbed to the darkness.

-----

Unsure whether I should make a part 2 out of this or just leave things as they are hehehe. Let me know what you think! It’s a bit darker than the usual stories I write but I hope you like it nevertheless.

Love you all!

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 44 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 40 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Chapter 15: Old Crab

Kurin got to ride on a catamaran sailboat as she was taken to the Gathering rafts. She watched everything with interest from leaving the Dark Dragon to arrival at the docking area. As she was lifted up to the raft deck, Kurin realized that most of the ship booths were taken down and stowed. Only the food booths and a few others were left.

The crowd around Marad’s booth showed that he still had his flair for dealing with the public.

“Let’s go to Marad’s for some food!” said Kurin enthusiastically.

Tousling Kurin’s hair, Sula replied, “You go eat. I have to make my report to the Council.” She strode off to the Council Pavilion. Kurin, supported by Doctor Worran and Seve, a deck-hand from the Dark Dragon, made her way to Marad’s and food.

Most people, seeing that it took two people to support her, stayed back and left Kurin alone. She could hear the whispers, though.

“I heard that she lived through Ord poisoning.”

“Not what I heard. Someone told me that they faked …” that one ended in a thud and a scuffle, with a “You take that back!”

“Weak as a new hatched bird, poor thing!”

And one that got her interest, “Get Roper, he’s got her trade chits!”

Kurin steered through the crowd and entered Marad’s booth, needing both Doctor Worran and Seve to keep her on her feet. Marad brought out a chair, when he saw her coming. “Good grief! Dragon Hair, it’s good to see you! You look like bird breath smells!” He paused in seating Kurin, to stare. Kurin followed his eye and grinned.

“Doctor Worran, meet Marad, one of the best cooks around. Marad, this is Doctor Worran, from the Dark Dragon. She saved my life. This good man is Seve, he’s from the Dark Dragon, too.”

“Now you’ve done me in, Kurin. I’ll always feed you to pay you back for that tutoring, but you’ve gone and brought an exotic beauty and a friend as well. If I don’t feed you all, I couldn’t live with myself, and there goes all of my profit.”

Belying his words, busy helpers bustled about his small kitchen, serving the hungry crowd. “Now what can I get you fine people?”

“Do you have any crab or lobster left?” asked Kurin without much hope.

“No live ones, Kurin, but I have some steamed crab cakes, made from flake blocks. They’re just about to come out. There’s sweet or tart dipping sauces to go with ‘em.”

They were just tucking into the crab cakes, when Sula came striding up. Her business with the Council was done for now. Marad saw her coming and had a crab cake waiting.

“This looks like it was a good place to come,” Sula said, eying her crab cake like a hungry sea bird. She joined the group, and Kurin introduced her to Marad.

“I wish that we could have these on the way home,” Doctor Worran said wistfully. She was industriously cleaning every bit of crab off the Strong Skin board that it had been steamed on. “Unfortunately, crab just doesn’t keep very long.”

Kurin and Marad looked at each other, nodding slowly. He said, “That crab was over a Gathering old and nowhere near the end of its shelf life.”

Sula pounced on that, “How do you manage that, or is it Ship’s Business?”

“It is,” said Marad leaning on the counter and displaying a waxy looking block, a little bigger than a man’s hand, “but it’s Captain’s Discretion. We were hoping to sell the process. I can sell you up to two hundred of these one pound crab blocks that are surplus in our pantry. We have a few tons in one of the holds, too, but I have no authority over them. If folk in this fleet know that they are eating old crab or fish, they won’t touch it. It doesn’t sell, and we need the pantry space. You can put up almost any edible fish or other food the same way. Keeps good for two to three Gatherings.”

Just then Roper came proudly up to Kurin. The grown folk paused and watched as the young ones did business. “I sold all of your toys, and got good prices, too. I saved the chits for you, cause I was sure that you’d come back.” He dumped a whole pouch of trade scrip in her lap. “There’s thirty four skins, twenty two blocks and eighteen bits.”

Kurin, eyes wide, looked into the pouch, “And you put away my booth. I saw. You have been busy, Roper.” She was counting from the pouch.

“Master Juris showed me how to fold it and where to put everything.”

“Then you have earned this,” said Kurin, handing him scrip.

His eyes grew wide in turn. “Five whole skins and five blocks! This is the most I’ve ever got! I’ll go to Alor and put it in my account right away.” he scampered off.

Sula said, “I see why you trusted him with your booth.”

Just then, Captain Mord emerged from the Council Pavilion and Kurin, without thinking, tried to stand up and wave. She did call, “Captain! Over here at Marad’s!” Sula and Doctor Worran caught her as her big muscles went lax, and eased her back into her chair.

Captain Mord, seeing her slump, came at a run. “Are you OK, Kurin?” he asked in concern.

Before Kurin could pull words together, Sula answered for her. “She’s fine, Captain Mord. She is recovering nicely. I’ve been Ord poisoned twice, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“We owe you thanks, Captain Sula,” he said, crouching in front of Kurin and looking her over to be sure the she really was there and OK. He looked over her shoulder at Sula and said warmly, “Your account of her navigational ability in unfamiliar waters, turned the tide. They were going to close the school and make us pay refunds because they thought she was too sick.”

“Were — — what do they want now?” asked Doctor Worran, curiosity alight in her eyes.

“Only to buy a master chart of the Naral - Cliftos current system — — Bottom and all — — Dragon Sea to Equator.” He was grinning as he waited for his bombshell to go off.

Sula was the first to realize the magnitude of the task. Eyes shocked to wide green pools, she asked, “How many ship-Gatherings are they going to pay for?”

“Two, up front. If they like the initial results, up to four more. In total, a minimum of 50,000 skins and as high as 250,000 skins. We will conduct the school as we make the chart. That is a separate income.”

Kurin, dancing in her chair with excitement, said, “Captain, if you grin any wider your teeth will show behind you!”

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Sula. “It’s enough to build a ship like mine!” As she thought, she gazed at a long winged Sea Hawk soaring overhead, its shadow causing other, smaller, birds to panic into flight or swarm under awnings for protection.

“You might even have some left over. It makes my business with you seem small.”

“Do you need to sell or buy?” asked Mord, instantly curious and guarded.

“To buy. Both provisions and a process covered by your Ship’s Business. I am told that it is available at your discretion.

“We have just become aware of your block preservation process for fish and other food. We want to buy all of the block preserved food that you can spare, and the process itself.”

“What do you offer for all of that?” asked Mord, carefully neutral, preparing to haggle.

“I have the entire prepared hide of a nine tonne Hag. It is already stretched and dried. I will sign a non-revelation agreement for the nearby fleets, so long as it does allow us to reveal the process to the Winternight, Corlis and Barant fleets.”

Mord was shaken by the magnitude of the offer. It was enough to equip five ships with the best of distillation equipment, kitchen fireboxes and the array of special pots needed for cooking over flame, and specialized fire boxes for their boat-shops as well. Mord said, “You must want this very badly, to offer so much. If the hide passes Master Juris�� examination, you have a deal.” He shook her hand, and sent for Alor to draw up the necessary agreements.

Turning to Marad, Captain Mord leaned on the counter and asked, “You set this up, didn’t you?”

“Well, Sir, what I did was give them some crab cakes, and then show them a block. After that, I told them that I could sell them some provisions but you had to sell them the process and goods in the hold.”

“You did well, and there will be a bonus for you, as well as shares for the whole crew. Now, would you please get Master Murel so that he can explain the process and demonstrate the equipment? Also, he needs to set someone to sorting which blocks we can sell, including the ones in the cargo hold.”

Turning back to Sula, he asked, “Why do you want this so badly?”

The circling bird became an object of extreme interest. Sula, watching it, felt past pain and tears well up again. Her voice shook as she answered, “There were twenty seven reasons on my ship alone in the last two wars. Three of those reasons were children.” She sat heavily and braced her arms on the table. Her voice broke and she began to cry.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 44 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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damaless · 5 years ago

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To All The Skaters I've Loved Before

Chapter Thirty-One: Second Best

Warning: The angst is still running pretty high in this chapter, and they still haven't worked things out by the end of it. If that's going to genuinely upset you then please wait for the next update, which will be soon!

But if you enjoy torturing yourself through the struggles of fictional characters, by all means, read on!

Phichit heads back to his room, leading Yuuri by the hand. Yuuri is shaking badly, and Phichit can’t really blame him. Normally, he’d lean towards confronting a person before jumping to any conclusions, but the conversation they’d overheard had sounded… pretty bad. And the fact that Victor and Chris had gone somewhere secluded to have it didn’t help at all.

He shuffles Yuuri into his room and moves inside, beelining the cupboards in search of a glass. He returns with a glass of water for Yuuri, who is standing just inside the room, looking dazed.

Yuuri takes the glass and lets Phichit guide him to sit on the bed. He blinks, and meets Phichit’s eyes. Phichit sits down beside him, close enough to lean on if that's what Yuuri wants.

“What the fuck was that, Phichit?” he whispers.

Phichit shrugs helplessly, grimacing. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not being crazy, right? This isn’t just me catastrophizing? I can’t…” Yuuri takes in a shuddering breath. “I can’t think of a good explanation.”

Phichit nudges the bottom of the glass up towards Yuuri’s face, and he takes a sip. “You’re not being crazy,” he says, quietly. “It sounded bad to me, too.”

Yuuri sips at the water mechanically.

Phichit taps a finger against his lips. “Would it help to brainstorm?” He's acted as a sounding board for Yuuri before, where an anxiety-ridden Yuuri spouts whatever ideas come to mind, no matter how outlandish or ridiculous, and Phichit tells him whether they seem reasonable or not. It can help to have access to the perspective of someone whose brain isn't behaving like his own enemy.

At the least, getting him to put everything into words usually helps keep him calm. Well, maybe not calm, but not completely falling apart.

“Was the whole thing just some… fucked up game?” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair. “Like, ‘Look at the idiot who came last at the Grand Prix Final and got shitfaced at the banquet, what sort of fun can we have with him’?”

Phichit hums skeptically. “That theory seems… less sane. That would be, like sociopath-level fuckery.”

Yuuri sighs, and nods. “What if… when I brought up the idea of a real relationship, he jumped on the opportunity to make things more convincing for Chris? And accepting— saying that we were engaged was a final attempt at getting through to him.” His face crumples. “And it worked.”

“Ehhh.” Phichit tilts his head back and forth. “That still seems a little extreme to me. Like, that's super manipulative of him, even if everything had initially come from you.”

Yuuri pulls off his glasses and swipes at his eyes. “Maybe V-Victor was just having fun living in the moment and I took everything too seriously. And he didn’t know how to let me down easy, so he just went along with it?”

Phichit nudges the water again, but Yuuri shakes his head. “I can’t — I feel like I’m going to be sick at any moment.”

He takes the water glass back from Yuuri, who wraps his arms around himself and hunches in on himself.

Phichit thinks back to the interactions he'd witnessed between Victor and Yuuri. “I don't know, Yuuri. Unless Victor is a world class actor, he really did seem to care a lot about you.” He purses his lips. “Even with what we just heard, he was saying something about trying to be fair to you. Would he do that if he was just using you as some boy toy until Chris came to his senses?”

Yuuri rests his elbows on his knees and tangles his hands into his hair. His breaths are coming in harsh gasps.

“I think this one—” Yuuri shudders, radiating misery. “This one seems like it makes actual sense. That I've just… always been second choice, second best. Maybe Chris did reject him in Beijing before I came back to the room. And he was ready to settle for me as a backup plan until—” he covers his mouth, not quite stifling a sob. “Until his first choice became an option again.”

Phichit presses his lips together. Yuuri is right. That does seem plausible.

“I'm so fucking stupid, Phichit,” Yuuri says, pressing his hands over his face. “We've only been together for real for like, a month. Obviously that wouldn't hold up against the possibility of reconciling with his partner of five years.”

Yuuri leans against him, and Phichit puts an arm around him. “Maybe he really thought he was over him,” Phichit says, gently. “Maybe he really did want to move on with you, until Chris approached him, and then he realized.”

“I really love him, Phichit,” Yuuri wails, and Phichit gives his shoulder a squeeze.

Yuuri’s whole body shakes with sobs. Phichit's heart aches for him. To have this happen after finally letting himself be vulnerable with someone… how's Yuuri ever going to get over this?

Phichit's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he maneuvers to retrieve it. It’s a DM on insta — a quick profile check shows it's Yuuri’s sister.

marikat: Victor is texting me asking if I know where Yuuri is

marikat: is he with you?

If Yuuri’s sister is worried, he should probably tell her, so she doesn’t start wondering if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.

phichit+chu: yeah, he's with me

phichit+chu: but…

phichit+chu: he's not doing super great right now

marikat: because of the competition? what happened?

Yeah… that’s a lot to explain over text. Even over the phone would be difficult.

phichit+chu: long story

phichit+chu: bottom line is i’m not sure about sending Victor this way

marikat: oh…

marikat: maybe you shoulda led with that

marikat: I kinda already told him

Shit. It won’t take long for Victor to figure out where to find them; Yuri Plisetsky had spotted him leaving his room earlier, so Victor could easily just ask him.

marikat: should I head over there? I might be a bit, I’m not at the hotel

marikat: what's your room number?

Maybe it would be good to get the insight of someone who has been living in the same house as Victor and Yuuri this whole time. Phichit’s encounters with Victor have always been brief, but Yuuri’s sister would have a connection of her own with Victor.

She might know what to say to help Yuuri. And if not— Well. It can’t hurt to have another set of willing hands available to help hide a body.

Read the rest of the chapter on Ao3

Read from the beginning

#long post #my writing #my stuff #my fics #victuuri #yuri on ice #to all the skaters i've loved before #to all the boys i've loved before #yoi au #tatbilb au #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #phichit chulanont #angst

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kaneowldust · 6 years ago

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Report 14: Uninteresting Fathoms Below

Real talk I don’t remember anything from the last time I went to Celestia. Well almost nothing. Really the only things that ever stuck with me were that it took almost four hours to download (with all the crafting some monster updates plus the Astral Spells), there were underwater levels, and these really annoying robot things that I for some reason remember them having spherical heads. But that is just about it. Unlike the first five worlds, Celestia never stuck in my memory and there was a LOT I could recall from even Grizzleheim and Wisteria more than seven years ago. I don’t know. You’d think exploring what is essentially the game’s version of Atlantis would be an interesting world to explore.

I think one of the problems is that it cribs a LOT from Dragonspyre; a dead and abandoned world overrun by wilder creatures and ghosts, connections to being doomed by a Titan, and mostly speculation about the kind of world it used to be. The biggest difference, of course, is that it IS being explored by the Marleybonians who inadvertently have opened the door to evil. Because of course that is something that would happen. Guess they didn’t really learn from Krokotopia, huh?

Admittedly I kinda did this a bit backwards. See, before the big update two dungeons became available in short succession of each other: Briskbreeze Tower and the Spiral Geographic Society Archives. You were supposed to be sent to Balthazar who was testing out new equipment to receive signals. You get a mysterious coded message and need to get the Mazzaroth Stone to translate it. Basically it is an SOS from an expedition party in Celestia and that they were under attack from someone named ‘Mor’. From there you are sent to the Marleybone Royal Museum to get the key to the door. Or course it is stuck at the top of the archive tower and you must fight your way through four party enemies until you face an insectoid sorcerer who breaks the key upon defeat. Balthazar says he can fix the key and that is when you waited for the new world update. This isn’t anything new. They usually would send out minor dungeons to give players something to do and possibly get some good gear in preparation of the new world. I still hate tower dungeons.

Of course in this particular world they give you three new Schools of magic to toy with called the Astral spells: Sun, Moon, and Star magic. Sun magic boosts individual spells. Star magic is an all-around boost that generally last for about 4 turns. Moon lets you transform into various creatures that have their own special moves and playstyles. So as you can see you can really mix things up and add a bit more individuality to your own playstyle which is pretty cool. My only real issue is that the Celestian Codex trainers are scattered through the world and some are in dungeons as opposed to the main seven (with the exception of Balance) that are generally all in one spot. It’s honestly a real pain if you want to train unless there is a much more streamlined training system I am not aware of yet. Then again I have seen many spells from helpers I’ve never seen before. Oh and I did finally get Snow Angel and Mammoth. Mammoth was surprisingly a LOT easier than getting the snow angel though I have gotten much more use out of Snow Angel then Mammoth of recent. Funny how they both have times to Grizzleheim.

I think one of the things that hurts this world is there really isn’t any story per see. Sure you have the overall background mission of find Thurston Plunkett who sent you the SOS signal initially, but otherwise each area is more “hey figure out this mystery for us” or “go and fix the problem we initially caused because we keep walking up dead civilizations that were dead for a reason”. I suppose I should give them SOME slack as they are technically explorers and scientists and not fighters but really guys. Come to think of it, I don’t remember ever having to go against a canine enemy yet. Pretty amusing as you fight Marleybonians quite early on in Pirate101. Granted to my knowledge none of them are magic users (or the voodoo class in Pirate101). I would like to see SOME dog enemies at some point just to make things fair. I mean, Mooshu had a pretty varied assortment of enemies. Back to base, there just wasn’t anything to get me invested in this world especially when compared to outside Malistaire arc worlds like Grizzleheim and Wisteria. Granted, from this point onwards all the worlds will be very new to me though I have heard there had been changes to some of the worlds since their initial launch. That’ll be fun.

On topic of the environment itself, it is a least a LOT more varied than Marleybone though I couldn’t tell you exactly what area is what. Half the place is underwater while the rest is vacant hallways that kind of an alien water look to them. Granted the Celestians do look like modified versions of those common bug eyed big head little green men, though I suppose that was the point. From what I had gathered from the Tomes quest and various other side quests where you have to read something in a dungeon as part of the main quest, the Celestians were a very enlightened race that came under attack because they would not give away the secrets to Astral magic to Morganthe. Morganthe attacks with an army of insectoid wizards and human soldiers and neither side was budging. In a last ditch effort they called upon the Storm Titan for help and the Titan did help them…by dragging the entirely of the civilization under the sea and drawoning everyone. This is kinda what I meant by it copies a LOT from Dragonspyre though granted the Celestian doom was not brought about by their own hubris as the Dragonspyre empire was. Then again it also reinforces what the Titans are real pricks and should never be trusted. But we also had you dealing with the offspring who are more of a chaotic neutral then anything else. As long as it benefits them in some form they’ll help you.

It is kinda funny the crab enemies call it the Crustacean Empire and claim they built it themselves when they’re just using the ruins of Celestia. Rather both cute and condescending when Plunkett says it’s not much but at least they’re trying. You also deal with Sharks, Angler Fish, and palette swapped Dragonspyre ghosts. Also the Sharks and Fish people are being used by Morganthe to keep the crabs distracted for…some reason. No really, I don’t know what her plan was. You needed the three pieces to activate the Trial of Spheres to get to the innermost secrets (BTW I hate that dungeon though it is not as patience dragging as the Waterworks). You only really see her just once and that is before the last boss of the Crustacean Empire segment where you fight a shark of all things. But this might also be a preview.

I don’t know at this point because it has been seven years and if I keep saying that I should just wear green and dye my hair blonde because Bartleby almighty. Huh, how come there hasn’t been a Time school yet now that I think about it. Weird.

Anyway got some mysterious Krokotopian ruins to explore and maybe get the heart of a helephant…or FINALLY beat that cursed Buckingham Palace segment… *sigh* Take to the sky my friends!

#wizard101 #celestia #w101 #kane owldust #wizard 101 celestia

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believerindaydreams · 4 years ago

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So this is where Colonel Autumn's legacy ends; in the kitchen of a shack in Megaton.

Arcade turns over a holotape marked "Enclave logs" which are nothing of the sort, not really. It's Autumn's personal diary, left on a shelf in a secret room hidden behind a cabinet.

"Never knew any of this stuff was here," Boone says, piling boxes of Snack Lads into a milk crate. "I mean, if I had I would have taken that rug, I like it. Ties the room together."

"Do you want to listen to these? They might talk about you."

"No. Especially not if they are." He opens the fridge, takes out a stash of purified water. "I'm having second thoughts about your Doc Henry's cure, even."

"Are you kidding?" It'd been his first and only sure instinct, to contact his Remnant family for help- and Daisy will never let him hear the last of it, but she'd come through, bringing Judah and Orion a little more quickly than Veronica's train. Johnson and Henry had refused, one because "I'll be damned if I get dragged back again, Daisy," but the other for reason of having vital Mutant research to do in New Vegas.

Memory research. The vials sit in his doctor's bag, as yet untouched.

"Manny keeps hinting. Says I'll remember things maybe I'd rather not- I'm not you," Boone says, dragging a coffee table into a corner. "I know how to shoot and use my blood-sight, that's all I need to get by. Carla's gonna take it, she can tell me what she thinks."

"Maybe she won't know- I confess," Arcade says, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. "The vague thought that the treatment might backfire so badly I need confinement to a room with padded walls is almost an incentive, given...present circumstances." There are two Enclave guards in Hellfire armor outside his door. They're expecting him to go to Raven Rock next, and he's running short on excuses not to do it.

"See, and you trust this doctor. I've never heard of Henry."

"Trust me, if anyone could do this, it's him. He regards medical conundrums as puzzles for his amusement."

"Maybe I don't like being lumped in with his Super Mutants," Boone says, tucking two face wraps around the carpet roll.

"Technically, you are a mutant."

"Doesn't mean I want to think about it."

Arcade sighs, weighs the holotape in his hands. "Which brings me back to this. I'll take it downstairs and come back when I'm done. It might take a while."

"Fine. I have some sniper mods to mess with."

Arcade nods and pulls the cabinet close behind him before descending, to the painfully stark room so reminiscent of the one Autumn had at Raven Rock. A work bench, ammo containers, a stiff metal chair.

He sits down in it and listens. Autumn's initial confusion and vague frustration at being handed a set of house keys. I did only what anyone unfettered by the town's absurd superstitions could have done- that ridiculous Moira Brown could have done it, if she ever bothered to leave her shop. Generations of children exposed to radiation for what? Chanted mysticism? Arrant nonsense.

The tape leaves off and picks up again at odd intervals- it's hard to gauge the passage of time, though the growing list of favors owed the Lone Wanderer means this must be a record over considerable time. Thirty Quantum sodas for a weapons schematic is hardly the worst bargain I've been offered, but the collection will take some effort. I could simply requisition the amount from stores, but even Sierra might sense a rat- or more likely, simply demand access to my supply. The Lone Wanderer's supplies and equipment must be reasonably available within the wasteland- I place Raven Rock in enough jeopardy on these fact-finding trips without taking stupid risks.

...killed the Raiders, unfortunately not in time to save the prospector or his dog. He licked my hand as he died-

never mind. A Lone Wanderer with a companion would be a contradiction in terms.

... brought the child to Raven Rock, thoroughly relieved to be rid of his incessant chatter. He did, at least, seem to comprehend the necessity of holding his tongue regarding Little Lamplight- clean populations are too few and far in between, for the Enclave to charge in and risk the deaths of what may be a valuable genetic pool.

...these rumors about a living man-tree would appear to be nothing but wild scavenger tales. A Vertibird could settle the point once and for all, but I can think of better uses.

...staring death in the face- no more ammo, bleeding out, and the Deathclaw raising its hand for a last swipe.

And then it was blasted out of the sky, by this stranger who won't tell me his intentions, his trainers, or even his first name. Which I suppose makes us a fair match.

I've hired him with the offer of this house, on the same hire terms Moira offered. He accepted and took my bed upstairs, as if he already owns the place.

...nobody should be better with my own gun than I am. If he hadn't already had abundant opportunities to kill me I might think twice.

...there is no purpose that could be served by taking the ferryboat to Point Lookout, given its isolation and lack of habitation, and yet- I could point out to Eden that the concentration camp there merits investigation, though he'll doubtless balk at a three-month absence.

...stopped by Underworld again- the ghouls can't be faulted for their knowledge of medical supplies and liquor, given their need for both- I did not care for Ahzrukhal hinting that a new sobriquet might be in order. But his vodka is better than Carol's.

...beaten to the punch, or rather the shot, yet again. Sierra seemed quite unconcerned by the death of her would-be paramour, saying that anyone who would hold her back her plans for home-brewed Nuka-Cola was doing the world a disservice. My companion reloaded his rifle and said nothing.

The parallels are both noted and undesirable.

...damn it! Damn him. From Father's description Boone must have seen this Tranquility Lane distress message- the Eyebot itself must have generated it, because Gannon certainly did not. If Whitley wasn't supplying my navigational data I'd blast him across the Potomac, but the researcher has made himself indispensable. Adams needs to be brought under firmer control.

But Boone isn't talking about it, I may finally have let my double life slip despite all precaution; and this isn't his usual reticence, because he practically blathers now. Usually about his wife.

Damn her too. Although if that's the price for his silence, so be it.

...everything that could have gone wrong going wrong. I ought to have been on hand at Raven Rock, making sure the three of them were settling in- failing that, I should have arranged to have them brought to Project Purity. There would have been more than enough time, all the tedious arrangements for my father showing off his worthless toy to the wasteland.

But it would have meant exposing my own weakness to the whole of the Purity team, and so I trusted to luck. Which gave them a Vertibird and the means to use it, apparently.

I never would have expected mistrust of the Enclave to run so deep at Rivet City- they're using practically the same anti-mutation standards, the Purity team has worked there for years- but Bannon has sent no uncertain word that Doctor Li's team is banned for life. Three half-dead escapees and the Enclave's best prospect for local recruitment is up in smoke. Two-faced, syncophant cowards of a city council!

And I...should have been at Raven Rock. For the three of them. Particularly Boone.

Damn you, Father.

...so much for removing everything incriminating from the house; I've run enough risks to chance leaving this last one.

If you are listening to this, Boone, I would like you to know-

Arcade stops the playback there, absently wipes his eyes. There are too many things in the account that chime with him, for good and for ill; he's going to have to take Henry's cure now, just to be clear in his own mind what's empathy and what's phantom memory.

It's never occurred to him that even if Mark had the best of intentions, his survival could still have led on to ends this catastrophic.

He buries the holotape deep in his makeshift Followers coat, goes back upstairs to find Boone listening to the radio and eating a whole caravan lunch.

"Waste of time?"

"Not exactly. I think it was very insightful about what kind of state of mind I need to be careful not to fall into."

"Hmm?"

"Such as letting my fear be stronger than my loves," Arcade says simply; and hugs Boone until the sniper splutters and reciprocates.

"You're not gonna make me listen, are you?"

"Well- the whole thing was intended for you, I think. But there's a part at the end you really should."

"Burn it," Boone says easily. "Decided what I'm going to do, move on. Start clean, no bad memories."

"Okay. I'll keep your dose anyway." He opens the doctor's bag, uncorks an inexplicably purple potion. Drinks it down.

Fifteen seconds later, everything comes back to him.

The part that floats above the rest, while he's retching and Boone is jamming stimpaks into his system, is that the chance he accidentally gave the leader of the Enclave an infectious mutation is the most murderous irony imaginable.

#ttw draft

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imagine-darksiders · 7 years ago

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Forgive this thing omg it’s a mess I wrote in like an hour..

I just wanted to explore how an early friendship with Death might function. Like, you’ve known him barely a week and you’re both still getting the hang of each other’s personalities. You are missing your friends, you’re getting touch-starved and frustrated looking at everything that’s happened to humanity. So, naturally, you take out your anger on the only person available to witness your anguish.

---

“I hate you.”

Death, who had never heard a hostile thing from you in the few weeks since you came crashing down into his world, looks up in bemusement.

Still, he supposed it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses, although he couldn't say the sting he felt at those words didn't cut through him as sharp as any blade.

But so often had he heard, or rather, felt the words in the past, that Death can only huff at you and returns to running the whetstone over Harvester's already razor-sharp edge.

“Join the club,” the horseman states quietly.

There's a deep, hot sigh from the human in his company and the distinctive sound of a stone being booted spitefully over the side of a rocky crevice, at the bottom of which it's swallowed by a thick blanket of fog.

“Not you,” is your biting retort, “Well...Not exactly.”

When the horseman doesn't respond, you spin around to frown at the side of his head and scrub at the skin beneath your eyes, surprised to find wetness there. “I mean, you. Nephilim. Angels. Demons. The Charred Council and every other flipping creature who seems to have it in for my species!”

Brushing your hands roughly through your hair, you clench your fists tightly into the locks and begin to pace up and down in front of Death.

“Why does everybody in this damn universe seem to have a say in humanity's fate? Everybody except for humans!?”

The whetstone is placed delicately to the side as the horseman leans forwards and plants a hand on each of his knees. Peering at you through narrowed eyes, he asks, “Are you truly so self important as to believe that you know more than the powers that be?”

A lone demon's roar of outrage reaches your ears from somewhere in the city, far from your little campsite but you think it adequately portrays how Death's words made you feel. Whirling on him you snarl raggedly, but you're devastated when it comes out sounding no more intimidating than a kitten's mewl. “No, I don't think I know better than them, you know I don't think anything of the sort! That wasn't fair, Death.”

'You're right, of course,' he gripes to himself in private. That wasn't a fair thing to say, but he's curious to know the heart of the issue and pushing you seems to be the best way to find out.

Death racks his brains quickly for the best way to try and help you to understand the order of things. “Humanity is a young species,” he at last explains softly, “There are things that will happen – have happened to you that seem without reason or justness. The End-War was always going to occur-” he grimaces, “-just not as soon as it did.”

Your hands are trembling now, though something else has joined your anger. “To Hell with you, we're not toys that you get to break when you're done playing with us! Why is it, that whenever the cosmic shit hits the fan, somehow it's always Earth that takes the beating?”

Humming, Death offers, “Earth is the easiest target?”

“This is serious, Death!” you cry with frustration lacing your tone.

He holds up hand placatingly, “Balance, Y/n. It must be maintained.”

“But we were progressing so much!” you argue. “How is it fair to just cut us down when we're in our prime and set us all the way back to square one!? All of those thousands upon thousands of years just gone because of your 'balance'.”

The tail-end of your loud rant echoes off into the night and you're left panting and clenching your teeth against an onslaught of tears. Silence settles over the camp, whilst Death's ears twitch to listen for any approaching demon that might have strayed too close after hearing you yell.

The horseman observes you quietly with a thoughtful glimmer behind his burning eyes whereas you allow your whole body to slouch from sudden, overwhelming exhaustion. The quiet stretches on for a long time before it's broken.

“What happened to us?” The whisper is quieter than a breath, softer than Death had ever heard you speak. “We used to be great. We cultivated half of the planet to suit our needs. We looked at the boundaries we were given and thought, 'you know what? That can't be it. There has to be more than this.'” A smile tugs at your lips fondly. “We walked on the moon and still it wasn't enough. We reached even further, to the stars and then beyond to where we dreamed our destinies lay. We may have had our heads buried in the sand from time to time, but we always looked back up to the stars.” A single tear escapes the confines of your eyelid and trickles steadily down to your chin. Death watches it's journey with mild curiosity, wondering what it must feel like to be so vulnerable.

“And now look at us.” Your smile falls sharply when you gesture with a sweep of your arm out to the wasteland of a city and shake your head despairingly. “All of that development, evolution and improvement. All those good people, just..... Gone.”

The tear you'd cried is abruptly followed by several more.

“Death, we didn't deserve this. Some of us might have, sure, but not all. Most of the people on Earth did not deserve to die. Not down here....Not like this.”

It isn't long before your heart feels too heavy to hold up and suddenly, the concrete where Death is sitting looks as comfortable as anywhere else in the camp.

Sniffing, you sidle up to the horseman and collapse to the ground with a thud, aware of Death's blazing gaze on you the entire time. You've given up the battle to stop the tears from pouring down your face, uncaring of something so pointless anymore. If he sees you cry, so be it.

A stale wind blows over the city and lifts with it the stench of decay and rust. Copper on the breeze is no longer an unfamiliar scent, especially having been around Death for a few weeks now, but it still isn't pleasant.

The horseman beside you tears his gaze from your prone form to raise Harvester into the air and tilt it this way and that, inspecting the curve of the scythe closely. Bright moonlight glints off the sharp edges and illuminates the now clean blade. With a hum of satisfaction, Death places the scythe on the ground in front of his feet and leans back, putting his weight on both arms and turning his head up to the stars. Slowly blinking back tears, you follow his gaze.

“Funny things, aren't they? The stars,” you begin, voice a little unsteady from crying.

Grunting, the horseman acknowledges your statement but doesn't respond otherwise.

“I mean, they're just big balls of hydrogen gas and other weird elements I can't remember, but we find so much meaning in them.”

A rumble of soft laughter interrupts your lamenting.

“Humans finding meaning in the meaningless,” Death chuckles, “Someone had better inform the scribes.”

That, at least, pulls a tired giggle out of you. “Stop the presses,” you translate for yourself.

The horseman casts a secret glance down at your face and when he sees the smile growing there, he feels an odd sense of pride at the accomplishment. He's thankful that the mask hiding his face also hides his own gentle smile when you tilt your head up at him.

Your eyes drop to the horseman's hand that rests by your own and you find yourself thinking about the last time one of your friends had hugged you. For some, frustrating reason, you could not begin to recall the person you'd hugged last.

It's funny. What you're about to do feels harder than any battle you'd faced yet...

“Death?” you ask timidly without taking your eyes off his bandaged-wrapped hand. He examines you intently and waits for you to finish your thought.

“C-could I...maybe.....” You swallow thickly and choke back a sob that threatens to burst from your throat. Bravely, you finally throw your eyes up and force them to lock with his far more intimidating ones, gazing imploringly into their depths. “Please. I-I'd like to touch your hand, if that's okay? Just to have someone to hold onto. Can I?”

The very moment the request leaves your lips, you wish you could swallow it back up and pretend you'd never asked. It sounded so childish. So needy.

Death meanwhile, could not be more surprised. His eyes widen comically and his jaw actually drops fractionally before he remembers himself and snaps it shut. This is the first time you'd asked if you could willingly touch him. Until this point, he'd picked you up, nudged you in a specific direction or helped you up when you fell, of course. But now you've just insinuated that you want to initiate physical contact with him. It's not a regular occurrence for the being that people would usually, actively avoid.

But he supposes that given the state you're in and the harmlessness of such an action, not to mention the very minimal threat you'd pose if you were to try anything, he could allow the small comfort you clearly so desperately need.

Slowly and more than a little unsure, for once, Death nods down at you and remains still as your face relaxes in momentary relief. You can't allow yourself time to be nervous though, so you stretch your hand out towards Death's.

Before you can touch it however, the horseman shifts. For an awful moment, you think he must have changed his mind. But he simply turns his hand over so that the palm is facing skyward, inviting you to lay yours in his. The generosity and level of trust behind Death's gesture is not lost on you. You know he's not fond of even good friends laying their hands on him, so this is monumentally meaningful.

Once again, your hand resumes its journey towards the pale, corpse-like appendage resting on the ground beside you until your fingers slide delicately, reverently over the palm before coming to a stop. You allow yourself to release the breath you'd been holding, only to lose it again when the horseman's hand ever so slowly starts to close over yours. The tips of his clawed fingers meet your skin and he ends up engulfing your relatively tiny hand entirely in his own.

Apparently, that simple, easy point of contact means more than either of you had initially anticipated. Without warning, a cry of anguish erupts out of you and actually startles the eldest horseman, who's hand clenches over yours tightly for a brief second. In an automatic response, you squeeze your thumb beneath his palm and cling to him desperately.

“I'm s-so sorry!” you whimper. “I don't know what's wrong! I just needed to-to-”

With an internal sigh, Death gives your arm a tug and rises to his feet, pulling you with him. When you're standing upright in front of the horseman, he jerks you towards his body brusquely but invitingly. You hesitate, but in reality, it only takes a heartbeat before you're colliding headfirst with his wiry, sinewy chest.

Death merely blinks at the unexpected suddenness of the motion, but otherwise remains perfectly still.

You both stand like that for a long while.

After what honestly must have been close to a half hour of crying against the horseman's cold, grey skin, you finally heave out one last sigh and move your arms from their position at Death's stomach. Instead, they rise to drape themselves around his neck. He tenses at the movement, but then settles once more. You decide that you'll feel embarrassed about all this in the morning. But for now, you raise your head from his chest and peer up at the horseman apologetically. “Thanks for letting me get that out in the open, buddy,” you say softly, “Sorry for using you as an emotional punching-bag.”

His eyes find yours and they seem so full of understanding, you briefly consider the possibility that you'd fallen asleep against him and this is simply a dream. “So does that mean you don't hate me?”

Your mouth falls open slightly and you wince, “Oh, God. I didn't mean that, Death. Please don't think I hate you, I really don't.”

Faint laughter rumbles from behind Death's mask as he waves your apology away with a hand. “It's fine, young one. Believe me when I say it wouldn't be the first time somebody has said such a thing.”

Your expression softens, “See now, there's another injustice I just don't understand. How could anyone hate you?”

“You haven't known me for long. Give it time,” he grumbles.

He's right. You really haven't know the horseman for long at all. But you know enough to recognise that you certainly don't hate him. Far from it. You were just....angry. But looking at his bright, orange eyes that cast themselves up to the moon and seem so full of melancholy and millennia of regrets, you can't find it in yourself to harbour any ill-will for your bizarre new friend.

“Well, I don’t think I will ever hate you,” you conclude.

He scoffs sceptically and folds his arms over his chest.

“You’re naive and foolish. But don’t worry, even you might see, in the end.....”

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #imagine darksiders #death #reader

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bloojayoolie · 5 years ago

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Beautiful, Cats, and Children: Dolley Id 62409, 5 Yrs. 44 Ibs., Dreaming of Happiness at Manhattan ACc TO BE KILLED 6/22/19 Dolly is a playgroup helper dog! A volunteer writes: “I wonder what Dolly's life was like before arriving at the care center? We will likely never know. Well, what's really important now is to find her a new home and a loving family able to put a smile on her face while getting in return a great pet! Dolly is a little black orchid found in a forest rather than in a florist shop. She is genuine, untamed and everything seems new to her here in our premises. She goes here and there, runs, jumps for treats or when called, wags her tail a lot, looses herself briefly in a caretaker's arms, sits at times and seems puzzled by toys and balls. Her kennel is not her favorite place and I doubt she was ever confined. Dolly is a blank canvas open to writing a whole new book with a new owner who will teach her all about love and being loved, good manners and achieving a perfect match! Dolly is quite endearing and the promise of a beautiful relationship in savvy, caring and loving hands. Come and meet her soon at the Manhattan Care Center!” A Staff Member Notes: Dolly is a playgroup helper dog! Dolly is sweet and social. Volunteer Evelyne Cumps Notes: Dolly is very sweet, playful, affectionate, good with other dogs and healthy beside her URI. She is LEVEL 1 rated! and a little more hyper as she is so craving for love and attention. MY MOVIES Dolly and Sunny in Playgroup https://youtu.be/_KdnXl5AIHc Playful Dolly https://youtu.be/KdzeDutJNPY Django and Dolly in Playgroup https://youtu.be/qZk5jBPUExI DOLLY, ID# 62409, 5 yrs old, 44 lbs, Unaltered Female Manhattan ACC, Large Mixed Breed, Charcoal / White I came into the shelter as a aco impound on 5/9/2019. Shelter Assessment Rating: LEVEL 1 Medical Behavior Rating: MEDICAL NOTES Dolly has had two seizure episodes, over a month apart. She is now on medication for the seizures. Behavior History: Allowed all tasks on in take, friendly. Date of Intake: 5/9/2019 Spay/Neuter Status: Unknown Basic Information:: Stray dog found in Queens NY friendly. Previously lived with:: Unknown How is this dog around strangers?: Friendly allowed handling. How is this dog around children?: unknown. How is this dog around other dogs?: Unknown. How is this dog around cats?: Unknown. Resource guarding:: Unknown. Bite history:: NONE Housetrained:: Unknown Energy level/descriptors:: High Other Notes:: Friendly. Medical Notes: Caller stated dog had three seizers while he had dog for 5hrs. For a New Family to Know: Friendly Behavior Assessment Date of intake:: 5/9/2019 Spay/Neuter status:: No Means of surrender (length of time in previous home):: Stray Date of assessment:: 5/12/2019 Summary:: Leash Walking Strength and pulling: Moderate Reactivity to humans: None Reactivity to dogs: None Leash walking comments: None Sociability Loose in room (15-20 seconds): Distracted, does not approach Call over: Approaches With coxing Sociability comments: Body soft, sniffs room Handling Soft handling: Seeks contact Exuberant handling: Seeks contact Comments: Body soft, leaning into pets Arousal Jog: Follows (loose) Arousal comments: None Knock: Approaches (loose) Knock Comments: None Toy: Grips, relinquishes Toy comments: Body soft Summary:: *HELPER DOG* Dolly has demonstrated most compatibility with other dogs who are playful and social. 5/14: When introduced off leash to a male greeter dog, Dolly is soft and social, attempting to solicit play. 5/15: Dolly engages in exuberant play with male and female dogs. 6/4-PRESENT: Dolly is highly playful and social. Date of intake:: 5/9/2019 Summary:: friendly, allowed all handling Date of initial:: 5/10/2019 Summary:: Relaxed, jumped up, allowed handling ENERGY LEVEL:: We have no history on Dolly so we cannot be certain of her behavior in a home environment. At the care center, she displays a high level of activity. We recommend long-lasting chews, food puzzles, and hide-and-seek games, in additional to physical exercise, to positively direct her energy and enthusiasm. IN SHELTER OBSERVATIONS:: Dolly has been highly social with her human caretakers in the shelter environment. She has been soft and social throughout all her interactions with staff and volunteers, as well as with her four-legged friends. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: Level 1 My medical notes are... Weight: 51 lbs 5/10/2019 MC (-), FI, appx 1-3y Reported by field to have had three seizure like episodes after finding the animal as a stray Some possible dermatitis/allergies noted (between toes have alopecia and inflamed dry skin) Good body condition otherwise Very energetic and easily aroused--limited to visual exam and vaccines, placed into medical for observation overnight 6/18/2019 As per Dr 1657, ran CBC/chem/t4 and uploaded results to vet documents. Vet Notes 5/10/2019 [DVM Intake] DVM Intake Exam Estimated age:4-5y Microchip noted on Intake?no Microchip Number (If Applicable): History :stray dog. Reported to have 3 seizures in 5 hours with finder Subjective:BAR Observed Behavior -relaxed and wagging tail, trying to jump up. Allowed all handling Evidence of Cruelty seen -no Evidence of Trauma seen -no Objective T = P =100 R =panting BCS 5/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam:dental calculus 3/5 PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupnic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: female no evidence of spay sca MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, papules present over ventrum, moist dermatitis ventral neck CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Rectal:nomal on external Assessment: seizures pyoderma Prognosis: fair Plan: seizure watch cbc/chemistry cefpodoxime 100mg 1.5 sid x7d medicated bath SURGERY: Temporary waiver due to skin infection 5/10/2019 Mild hyperbilirubinemia otherwise nsa P: continue to monitor for further seizure activity 5/15/2019 S/O pt BAR EENT – marked serous nasal dis-charge, no ocular discharge, mild nasal congestion, intermittent sniffling Assessment - Suspected CIRDC “typical kennel cough” Plan - + Move to isolation + Enrofloxacin 10 mg/kg SID for 14 days + Cerenia 2mg/kg PO SID for 4 days + Proviable x 5 days SID PO + Recheck in 7 days for resolvement and return to general population PROGNOSIS EXCELLENT 5/22/2019 SO: 7 day CIRDC recheck BAR, barking and seen at front of kennel reported to be eating still has mucoid nasal d/c and coughing A: CIRDC P: continue enrofloxacin restart cerenia 60mg 1/2 sid PO x4d 5/25/2019 5/25/2019 - 5/25/2019 S: CIRDC recheck, BAR, euhydrated, reported to be eating O: EENT: continued mild mucopurulent discharge from left nares, eyes clear, mild cough heard upon observation A: CIRDC P: continue enrofloxacin and recheck in 3 days entered by intern, reviewed by 1516 5/26/2019 SO P in ISO EN -- sneezing, coughing repeatedly. Serous nasal discharge. no mucous seen A CIRDC P doxycycline 100mg tablet -- give 1.25tablet PO q24h x 10 days 6/1/2019 EENT - Moderate clear nasal discharge and sneezing still present Recheck in 48 hours 6/3/2019 Hx: Has had CIRDC like signs; doing well bar eating EENT- no nasal dc; no congestion A) resolving CIRDC P) move out of ISO 6/18/2019 Hx: Had seizure like event yesterday bar h pink 1 sec hl- 120hr reg nm ss fp c and e abd- relaxed A) seizures r/o epilepsy P) cbc chem t4 Phenobarb- 100mg sig: 1/4 tab q 12 hrs 6/18/2019 BLOOD WORK RESULTS: CHEM CBC T4- NSF *** TO FOSTER OR ADOPT *** HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! *PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! ** STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://newhope.shelterbuddy.com/Animal/List Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account \ Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU *CANNOT* GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications.

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ask-de-writer · 6 years ago

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 44

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Chapter 15: Old Crab

The crowd around Marad’s booth showed that he still had his flair for dealing with the public.

“Let’s go to Marad’s for some food!” said Kurin enthusiastically.

Most people, seeing that it took two people to support her, stayed back and left Kurin alone. She could hear the whispers, though.

“I heard that she lived through Ord poisoning.”

“Not what I heard. Someone told me that they faked ...” that one ended in a thud and a scuffle, with a “You take that back!”

“Weak as a new hatched bird, poor thing!”

And one that got her interest, “Get Roper, he’s got her trade chits!”

“Doctor Worran, meet Marad, one of the best cooks around. Marad, this is Doctor Worran, from the Dark Dragon. She saved my life. This good man is Seve, he’s from the Dark Dragon, too.”

Belying his words, busy helpers bustled about his small kitchen, serving the hungry crowd. “Now what can I get you fine people?”

“Do you have any crab or lobster left?” asked Kurin without much hope.

“No live ones, Kurin, but I have some steamed crab cakes, made from flake blocks. They're just about to come out. There’s sweet or tart dipping sauces to go with ‘em.”