#lemme just say that's *checks* the SECOND time he's said those words so far. You're welcome

[kazeofthemagun]

@shiroi---kumo asked the summoner:

He's floating over to him with an odd look on his face. His hand is tightly closed around something, which is not unusual for the Cloud considering all the strange new foods he bring to the Wind but his face says it's something different.

The man of Black Wind's knows next to nothing about his culture so he's going to have to explain... and he's seen the reactions in the past so he knows this item will not cause harm in the same way anything coming from his Other would to him.

"Black Wind." He sounds shyly. "Give me your hand."

It's a warning to prepare the elder for the reach he's making for the Soil Mage's left and softly does the prince retrieve it by the wrist to hold his trembling right hand over the upturned palm of his other and in it he drops an item.

A small drop earring shaped like the sun. It's shimmering white in color and it almost looks like small clouds are caught within it's center.

"I don't know when your birthday is." He starts. "I like to give these for special occasions but the fact, you're still here with me and I'm still alive is special enough. "

His nervousness permeates his words as his cheeks flush out to a brilliant red.

"It is - I - I made it - from my Mist - for - for you. We - we - we - make them - them - forourlovedones- " His voice shakes as it blurs into a single word at the end when his speed increases in his embarrassment.

"Just - we've had too many close calls so just - just wear it okay?"

A head of crimson turned to allow the Hunter's blue eyes to meet a very uncomfortable looking jade. Pale skin was flushed, a traitorous shade of red creeping onto the Cloud's features. Well, now he knew something was off. Not that it would have been that hard to tell otherwise. His Other was a peculiar beast like that; He could pull off a coup twelve years in the making, but could not hide a single thing from the Wind.

It did not take the Dragon's special eyes to see the swordsman was an absolute mess, his right hand clenched as though his very life depended on it. But what was held in his grasp so tightly - so protectively, almost moreso than when he wielded the Maken?

It felt as though a whole minute has passed, just them staring - and the Misterican's face getting ever more red - before a request finally forced itself past misty lips.

Black Wind's brows rose slightly, in question - but he did give his hand, guarded as he was when performing such an act of trust. The urge to recoil was only natural, more subconscious than anything the Wind would perform by choice. Forewarned as he was, the gunman still flinched slightly when his wrist was taken.

And then - an item, dropped into his palm.

Such a small, unassuming thing. What was it? A piece of jewelry. An earring, to be exact. It was a work of art indeed, appearing as though carved of some pale crystal that gave off the faintest glow only the Wind's eyes could see. Like an alabaster sky, every shred of blue drowned out by a veil of milky white clouds.

It was shaped like the sun. In a distinct way - a pattern that stood out from other depictions. It was the three rays of the sun; The same ones used in savo lotahr, the Solar Triad. Which meant -

White Cloud designed it himself -

The realization struck before the explanation even had a chance to follow.

This was just like what he did. With Aura. When he shed his own crimson blood and said, remember that I was once a man.

The heart within the machine picked up its pace, thumping louder against the vial and in the summoner's ears. White Cloud did not merely design it, he made it. Of his own life's breath. This was not a simple gift. This was a memory, given form.

A memory in this form could also be a grave. It was believed in Windarian stories that an object to remember the departed prevented spirits from haunting the mind. After all, if the memory was only present within oneself, one would become a sealed crypt, and one's Soil would fester with bygone voices. That was why it was so important to offer shape to the spirits, to lay stone circles, to wear their syajhiri and share their stories with the fire.

Did.. White Cloud know this? Did he - did he know why he cast his blood in sap and had it slotted in a spiral pattern? Was it the same on Misterica? Only that instead of blood, they used Mist. Why else would jewelry be made of one's own body and soul?

The gunmage's hand closed, holding the earring tightly. It was smooth like polished crystal. The swordsman's words reached him, but the sound seemed strangely distant. Kaze snapped back to reality. "Hm? Ah."

He failed to speak as his sole hand moved to reach for his right ear. For quite some time now, he had been wearing nothing on that side, and so the flesh had completely healed over. In fact, the time he thought he had lost his blood earring, the puncture had sealed itself without a trace as well. That was one of the drawbacks of regenerative immortality, he supposed. Once the item was returned by Lisa, it did not take too much effort to simply push the metal through, forcibly. It only bled and ached for a short while.

And so he did just that. It was not a big issue, really.

A small trail of black trickled down, making its way along the pale sun's edges only to drip and disappear into dark fabric. Before long, the wound itself would disappear, too.

He reached down to pull at the rim of his collar, freeing his features and brushing wild locks behind his ears for the Cloud's better view. The blue that met jade orbs was the shade of the same practiced stoicism, a picture of Malatuur's calm seas - even if the younger of the Unlimited had never seen it, the spirit of the Ladnajredvi was reflected perfectly in his counter's eyes. It was impossible to gauge what went on behind that deep cerulean - precisely because the Wind made sure it would be that way. And that way, it would remain.

Once again did the gunslinger's tall collar cover the lower half of his face, and he stood up to busy himself with setting up camp. Avoidance? A lack of care, or plain confusion?

"Hey..." He started, suddenly - then paused just as abruptly. "White Cloud." The redhead's back certainly appeared mighty expressive, which was absolutely no help in gauging the elder's mood.

Kaze's silence was like the bird's flight, or the forest's rustling whispers. It just was, as an inseparable part of his nature, woven into his being. It just was, and so, hearing it break could either be the most terrifying or most beautiful thing.

"...Thank you."

Hearing that silence part with such words, however - was the rarest gift of all.

[sunflowershouto]

if they hurt your feelings - headcanon (iwaizumi, oikawa)

𝐚/𝐧: here's some headcanons! lemme know if you want a part 2 with different/more characters cause these were super fun -leo

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, no warnings other than the boys accidentally being buttfaces

my haikyuu masterlist

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈

✰ Iwa is a fairly blunt person who doesn't mince words.

✰ That's not to say that he doesn't have a filter, but if he thinks something needs to be said, then he's going to say it.

✰ You were discussing plans for what to do after highschool, and Hajime said something that implied that he thought you were being naive.

✰ "You need to be more realistic about your plans for the future. Not everything is a fairy tale like you think it is."

✰ You understood his point, but the way that he said it was undeniably hurtful, and you reacted negatively almost immediately.

✰ You've always been worried that he sees you as being immature, and this really struck a nerve. After all, Iwa has always been calm and collected when it comes to making plans, he always seems to have it together.

✰ All of those little insecurities start to bubble up, and before you know it, there's a lump in your throat and your eyes are watering.

✰ The second you start to reply, and he hears the way your voice breaks, Hajime realizes that he's screwed up.

✰ "I-I know I'm not as good at this stuff as you are, Haji, but I'm not- I'm not an idiot. I just wanted to be optimistic."

✰ Hearing you say that breaks his heart a little bit.

✰ "Hey, hey, don't cry," he mumbles, and brings up a hand to the side of your face. He feels absolutely awful—all he wants to do is help you and make sure you're prepared, and instead he's made you feel like he doesn't trust your judgement. "I didn't mean that, not the way that I said it."

✰ He's stroking your cheek and trying to stay calm, but he's sort of panicking on the inside, because he can tell that there's something deeper that he's struck on and he doesn't know how to approach it.

✰ "I know how hard you're trying, baby. I know you're taking your future seriously, and I don't think badly of you for being optimistic. I'm sorry, I just want things to go well for you."

✰ He's just as straightforward about comforting you as he is about everything else, and that really helps.

✰ When he sees that your eyes are still watering, he pulls you to his chest and holds you tight. He presses his lips to your forehead and holds you there for a moment.

✰ You're starting to feel better as he addresses some of the root of the problem, and you sink further into his hold. Iwa always gives the best hugs, and it's hard not to feel better when he's holding you so lovingly.

✰ "I'm so sorry if I've ever made you feel like I don't believe in you," he murmurs. You can tell in his voice that guilt is eating him alive.

✰ The two of you stand there like that, with Hajime holding you and whispering reassurances, and just trying to fix any damage he might have just done.

✰ In the aftermath of it happening, he'd be a little extra sweet, take you on a nice date and just try to make up for it, and give you more reminders of how amazing he thinks you are.

✰ He's extra affectionate that evening too, and holds you close as you both fall asleep, as if he's still trying to apologize in his own way.

✰ Long term though, I see him wanting to have another discussion about why you might have those insecurities, because the idea of you thinking that he sees you as anything less that brilliant kills him a little inside.

✰ He loves you so much, and going forward he's much more careful of how he says things, and you guys have a much healthier, much more communicative relationship.

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀

✰ As much as we all love him, it's no secret that Tooru can be a little bit of a dick sometimes, even to people he cares about, and even when he doesn't mean to.

✰ He's really good at reading people on the court, but sometimes misses things when it comes to other people's emotions, especially subtle things.

✰ It's not that he doesn't care, but Oikawa is a hard worker who gets really caught up in his own routines and goals, which means he doesn't always stop and think about someone else's perspective.

✰ It happens over something that he sees as small, but something much more meaningful to you.

✰ You'd stayed up late preparing food last night, knowing that Tooru had an interview with a professional team the next day. You put a lot of effort into preparing a meal for him, wanting to give him a little extra motivation and support, even if you couldn't be there with him in person.

✰ It was a lot of cooking, but more than that, it was something that you had poured a lot of love into, and you were really proud to give it to him the next morning.

✰ "Sweetheart, I made you a bento last night to take with you; it's got all your favorites in it!"

✰ Tooru is shuffling around the apartment, finding his coat, keys, wallet, making sure he has everything he needs with him. He's preoccupied, and doesn't really stop to process what you've said.

✰ "That's okay, babe. I'm gonna eat out today," he calls as he gets to the front door. "I'll be home for dinner, love~!"

✰ And just like that, you hear the door shut, and Tooru is gone.

✰ You try not to feel too defeated, but the longer you stare at the tupperware on the counter and replay Oikawa's careless response in your head, the more frustrated you become.

✰ You'd stayed up all night just to make a stupid meal for him, and he didn't even say 'thank you' or 'sorry' for turning it down. Hell, you'd barely even gotten a goodbye out of him.

✰ You headed to work and tried to carry on with your day, trying to tell yourself not to overreact or be selfish. After all, it was a big day for him, and you were worrying about a stupid lunchbox.

✰ Trying to get over what had happened, you send Tooru a text at around lunchtime.

✰ hi love, how's it going so far?

✰ He didn't open it right away, but you assumed he was just busy, and didn't think anything of it.

✰ You finished your shift, and when you checked your phone. . . Nothing.

✰ Tooru was busy, yes, but he normally always found time to text you back. In fact, it was usually him blowing up your phone while you were at work.

✰ You just sighed and headed back to the apartment and decided to wait for him.

✰ By the time he got back, his dinner was cold and you had already eaten, and were now sitting on the sofa, watching reruns on TV.

✰ "There's my girl!" he chirps like nothing's the matter, and stops dead in his tracks when you cast him a cold stare over your shoulder before looking back at the TV.

✰ "Oh..." He sets his things down on the table and rubs the back of his neck, unsure of what to do. "I did something, didn't I?"

✰ "You think so?" you mutter, though you can't help but feel like you're reacting a bit too harshly. But even when the anger subsides, the hurt is still leftover, simmering.

✰ He slowly sits down next to you, and pokes your cheek, knowing full well that you're not in the mood. "C'mon," he chides, his voice light and playful even though he's clearly worried. "Are you gonna keep pouting or are you gonna tell me what's the matter?"

✰ You resist for a moment, but melt as he continues to stare at you. Finally, you groan and turn to face him. "This morning, Tooru. I spent hours last night making you that lunch, and you didn't even care. You barely said goodbye, and you didn't tell me you'd be home late tonight, either."

✰ "Ah... Crap."

✰ He's quiet for a minute, and you're not sure what he's thinking, and then you realize that he looks like he's about to cry. He starts apologizing profusely, and pulls you into a hug so tight that you think your lungs might have deflated.

✰ "I promise I'll eat everything you cook for the next million billion years! And I'll say goodbye to you every morning for the rest of forever!"

✰ You can't help but smile now. "Tooru, I don't think we'll be alive that lon-"

✰ "Don't say that! The rest of forever! Goodbye kisses!"

✰ Oikawa is nothing if not theatrical, but the emotion is genuine, and you're reminded why you love him so much.

✰ The rest of the night he might as well be glued to you because he literally does not leave your side. You're loading the dishwasher and he's hanging off of you like a giant whiny koala and kissing all over your face.

✰ And you know what, you love it :,)

[xpao-bearx]

Part 1 HERE

NOTE: OMG I really wasn't expecting for the previous first part of Heavenly Sins to blow up as it did, but I just wanted to give a huuuge THANK YOU to all of you amazing folks!! 🥰🥰🥰 Your support truly means so fooken much to trashy ol' meh and y'all are the reason I am writing this story series in the first place :')

I do have my ideas, but I still don't know much yet of what to do or even how long (or short) this story will get. So, if you would continue to give me your mindblowing support, it would seriously mean the W O R L D.

I do, however, very much enjoy writing Negan in particular so far. He's one of my absolute fave characters ever and JEFFREY DEAN FUCKIN' MORGAN NEED I SAY MOAR?!? 🥵💕💕

But this second part will be focusing a bit more on our beloved sheriff Ricky boi! Of course, Daryl will also get some much deserved love and attention tho I think he will appear in the story a lil later on.

Also, if you ever feel compelled, you are more than welcome to take some inspo from this story and make your own imagines and such! I'd love to see 'em, so please tag me 😁

P.S. There won't always be long ass notes like this, only if I wanna say something or bring up whatever is important. Also, if you wanna be tagged on any new/future story parts, then just tell moi and I will dedicate the latest one to the people who wanted to be tagged!

DEDICATED TO: The wonderful @buttercandy16 💖

"Heavenly Sins"

Part 2

After your little spiel, you haven't spoken to Negan since then. But on the way home after church, you passed by his house and found him tinkering away on his motorcycle (which you previously learned he interestingly named Lucille) in the garage. Not being able to help yourself, you paused in your tracks and just curiously watched him for a while.

His leather jacket was off, revealing a plain white t-shirt. The shirt was quite tight, and you noted how it perfectly hugged the taut muscles of his chest. Your eyes then slowly trailed to his toned arms, adorned by tattoos you wished you had a better look at. He stopped briefly, placing his tools down before grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping the sweat on his forehead.

You didn't even think twice as your eyes dropped, hyperfocused on his abs. He wasn't the buffest guy out there, but he was lean and fit and--to put it bluntly--hot. A part of you screamed bloody murder to get a grip on yourself, to just turn your stiff body around and proceed on home. But another part completely squashed down those protests without even a fight; as if your pathetic excuse of a resolve wasn't even meant in the first place.

"Take a goddamn picture, darlin'. It'll last longer."

Your head snapped up, meeting the tantalizing hazel stare of Negan. His lips were curled in a smug smirk, and nevermore in your entire life have you wanted to both slap and kiss someone so badly.

But you only clicked your tongue, shooting him a sharp glare before (at last!) turning and walking away as you hid your blush. In the distance, his amused chuckle begrudgingly sounded like the sweetest fucking music to your ears.

♡♡♡

You woke up at 7:05 a.m. like you typically did the next morning, Monday. It was the dawn of a new week, and while most people dreaded it you actually didn't mind it so much. You had your job to thank for that.

Sure, it wasn't always easy, but it was worth it in the end. You loved teaching and spending time with the children, and you were even more ecstatic since you knew Judith was going to be at the daycare.

As you finished eating breakfast and preparing for the day, you grabbed your bag then went out the door. You opted to walk again today, the weather far too beautiful to miss plus the daycare really wasn't that far away.

Eventually arriving at your destination, you approached the daycare building's doors with a little spring in your step. Once inside, a young woman with her blonde hair high in a ponytail smiled and waved.

"Hi, Y/N! Goodmorning!" Beth Greene greeted energetically.

"Morning, Beth." You chuckled, the girl's radiant smile infectious. You've known Beth for some time now, especially since the Greenes were one of the oldest families in Alexandria and they were well respected. But you got along best with Beth, you thought she was the friendliest and she was also the latest hire of the daycare.

Stashing your bag away in your personal locker, you fixed yourself up a bit before getting your nametag and sticking it on your top. Looking up at the wall clock, you read that it was 7:50 a.m. Perfect, just in time for the kids' drop-offs.

You waited outside with Beth and the rest of the daycare workers, until finally the parents started rolling in. It was the usual; some of the children were wailing, snot snivelling down their nose as their embarrassed parents tried to tug them away from clinging onto their legs. You could only offer a sympathetic smile as you tried to help, while other children were much more relaxed and didn't even spare a second glance at their parents as they were dropped off.

"Well, that's about all of them." Beth piped up.

"Wait, we're still waiting for Judith." You said, searching for the toddler. "Rick said she'd be here."

Beth checked her watch, her brows creasing a little in worry. "That's odd. Sheriff Grimes is never late when he's dropping Judith off."

Just as she said that, there was a honk that disrupted the peace. You and Beth both spotted a crying Judith being held by Lori, the woman appearing utterly exhausted before her eyes locked with yours and didn't waste another second dashing towards you.

"Please don't run when you're holding Judith. Also, no honking is allowed on the premises." It was hard for you to keep the malice out of your voice, but you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back since you miraculously managed to not make it sound the worst it could get.

Lori raised a brow at you, but only handed Judith over to you. Judith immediately quieted down when she saw it was you, you cooing gently at her as she giggled and snuggled up comfortably against your chest.

"Rick will be picking her up later." Was all Lori said, pressing a quick peck on Judith's curly little head before parting ways. As Lori rushed back to the car, you saw Shane in the driver's seat shamelessly attack her neck with fervent kisses and you couldn't restrain an eyeroll.

"Fucking bitch..." You grumbled.

"Uh-oh. Bad!" Judith giggled again, clapping her hands gleefully.

"Right, right. Bad. Don't copy me, okay?" You laughed, completely forgetting about your aggravation as you rubbed your nose with Judith's and went inside.

♡♡♡

The rest of the day rolled along splendidly. No one threw a tantrum and for the most part, all the kids properly shared the wide assortment of toys and even did their activities orderly and on time. So, you decided to indulge them with a small yet much sought after reward.

Painting.

When it comes down to children, painting can be utter chaos. But you figured since they were being so good, you'd allow it. At the daycare you worked in, painting was quite a rare occurrence and that only solidified how much the kids adored it.

Once the materials were set out, it was a dizzying flurry of excited hands grabbing anything it could latch on to. As the kids went about doing their creative business, you found Judith all alone sitting in the corner playing around with some blocks.

"Whatcha doin' there, Judi?" You asked, sweetly calling out her nickname. "You don't wanna paint?"

"I wanna, but not with papers." She replied, shaking her head.

"Oh? Then where do you wanna paint?"

"I wanna paint on faces, but no one wants me to!"

"If that's the case, then I'd be more than happy to let you paint my face." You smiled.

"Really?!" Judith's whole face lit up, jumping up and wrapping her tiny arms around you as tightly as she could. "Thank youuu!"

You chuckled, ruffling her hair and watching as she happily gathered some paint and brushes.

♡♡♡

It was finally the end of a long day, and your face felt a bit itchy from the paint Judith put on you. But it didn't matter; as long as the little girl was happy, it was the best damn day ever.

You were holding Judith's hand as you waited outside for Rick to pick her up, and once he came up with his car Judith beamed.

"Daddy!"

"Hello, sweetheart. Did you have a nice day?" His face looked tired, his greying beard making him appear slightly older than he really was, but his smile was genuine as he carried Judith in his strong arms.

"The bestest! Y/N lemme paint her face!"

"She did, huh? What did you pai--oh my god."

You bursted into laughter at his reaction, flashing him a toothy grin. "In the words of Judi: You're a pretty tiger! Grr!"

"Now that you mention it, I can see it." Rick joined in your laughter, nodding his head. "Looks like we've got a talented lil artist in our hands!"

"Daddy, I wanna paint your face next! You can be daddy tiger and Y/N can be mommy!" Judith proclaimed.

You and Rick flushed pink at the same exact time, but Rick was quick to clear his throat and change the topic. "A-Anyways, Y/N, how 'bout me and the kids give you a ride? Thank you for today, by the way."

"No problem, and sure! Thanks so much."

As you settled in the passenger's seat, two hands covered your eyes from behind. "Guess who~?"

"Hmm..." You hummed, making a show of thinking. "Are you an elf?"

"No!" The hands were removed, Carl popping his head out from the backseat to look at you as he laughed. "It's me!"

"Oh, sorry! You're just so short, I thought you were an elf." You teased good naturedly.

Carl huffed, sticking his tongue out at you. "Y'know, in a few years, I'll be way taller than you!"

Once Rick was done buckling Judith into her carseat, he took his place in the driver's seat and drove out of the premises. You just talked about anything that came to mind: work, the weather, Alexandria's local shops, etc. To anyone else, maybe it seemed like regular boring conversation. But speaking with Rick was truly one of the highlights of any of your days. He was extremely easy to talk to, and he never failed to cheer you up. And it was obvious Rick was the same. He was allowed to simply be himself around you; to loosen up, momentarily forget about the stress and sometimes even the woes that came along with being the town's upstanding sheriff.

As you were nearing your home, Carl decided to cut in.

"Y/N, can we stay at your house? It's been a while since we had a sleepover." Carl asked, his baby blue eyes identical to Rick's alight with hope.

It wouldn't be the first time Rick and the kids would be staying over. You were very close to the Grimes family, sometimes even almost considering them as your own. You didn't mind it. Since you lived alone, it can get pretty lonely. And having people around surely brightened up the house and made you keep your sanity.

"I don't mind, but you gotta ask your dad." You chuckled.

Carl turned to Rick, pouting and giving his best puppy dog eyes. Rick rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress an inkling of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. But let me drop you and Judith off with Y/N first. I'll be back, I just need to get some extra clothes and essentials."

"YAY!" Carl cheered, Judith following suit as they both raised their arms and hollered.

"You're so whipped for them." You laughed, shaking your head as you looked at Rick.

"I ain't denying that." He sighed dramatically, grinning.

[somepinkthing]

@angstymdzsthoughts because tumblr still won't lemme reblog correctly

---

"He was such a tiny baby. Almost a month early and had trouble breathing. He was nearly half a year old before we felt safe letting him breathe the cold, mountain air for more than a few minutes at a time. I hated how my parents all paid him so much mind and I hated how he could break all our hearts in one fell swoop. They had already had one stillborn, I didn't think their hearts could take another dead child. So I swaddled him and prayed for him, and, lo and behold, he lived. He made it past his first year, then his second. And before I knew it, I was a man grown and he was a healthy brat with no breathing troubles to speak of and playing in the snow right where you're kneeling."

Nie Mingjue had never been a man of words. Jin Guangyao hadn't known he had this kind of eloquence in him, especially given the smell of alcohol permeating the room.

It felt like a funeral rite coming from the man seated above him.

Jin Guangyao swallowed nervously and shifted on his knees, not daring to move from his prostrate position on the ground. He had no doubt in his mind that he was no match for his eldest brother, however inebriated the man may be. Escape was futile, begging for mercy was his only hope. Slim hope that it was.

Suddenly, something heavy pressed down on Jin Guangyao's lowered head. Nie Mingjue's boot. Lan Xichen made an aborted move to help before squaring his features and stepping down.

"DaGe, we need him," was all the protest Lan Xichen put up. Guangyao felt his heart and eyes sting at the indifference from the First Jade.

The boot pressed heavier against the back of Guangyao's head, grinding his forehead into the ground hard. He grit his teeth against the pain and bore it in silence, not wanting his pathetic whimpers to set the man off. Nie Mingjue's emotions were already on high alert. Not that he could be blamed, Guangyao supposed. Even with Lan Xichen playing Clarity for two and a half weeks for him non-stop, there was a lot of damage to undo if he did say so himself. And besides that...

Nie Mingjue picked up where he left off.

"He was still so tiny when I became his guardian. He hugged me at the funeral and told me he wasn't gonna let me go too. I told him that I'd be around to watch out for him."

Nie Mingjue stopped short and choked on his breath. The body standing on Guangyao shook and trembled--yet another display of emotion Jin Guangyao hadn't previously believed Nie Mingjue to be capable of.

"He was still so tiny when I buried him..."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Er-Ge step over, presumably to provide comfort and stable qi, to soothe the overflow of grief. It didn't work.

"I am the oldest!" Nie Mingjue roared with a sob, shaking Xichen off, "I am the oldest son, I was-was the older brother! I am larger and stronger and I was meant to use that to protect my sect, my family, my brother! So, Jin Guangyao!"

Guangyao couldn't help the scream of pain when the boot lifted up only to come crashing back down on his head, stomping him into the unforgiving Qinghe dirt.

"Tell me why I am here alone! Tell me why I am the last Nie! Tell me why I am alive and Huaisang is dead!"

With every demand, he stomped down harder and harder until Jin Guangyao was certain his face had made a true imprint in the semi-frozen ground.

"Tell me why I heard my brother wheeze out his dying breath when he stopped having breathing problems when he was five."

Jin Guangyao could only whimper, face too far into the ground to give a proper reply. This was unfair! What did this monster expect him to say?! He already knew all the answers, why torture him? He knew for whom Guangyao had done this, it wasn't like it was all his fault!

"Tell me why I'm here and he's not."

Finally, Nie Mingjue picked his foot up and stepped back. Guangyao couldn't help it--he whipped his head up, forgoing decorum, and took in large gulps of air while cursing Nie Mingjue's brute force out in the safety of his own mind.

Lan Xichen watched as Jin Guangyao became angrier and angrier. Er-Ge watched his twisted face judgementally, as if he knew what he was thinking and it disgusted him.

"You don't think this is your fault," he accused, "You truly believe you're a victim, don't you?"

Jin Guanyao's heart dropped at the tone Lan Xichen took.

"Er-Ge, if you could just hear me out--"

"I cannot. I have heard enough out of you these past few weeks. All we are here to do is ask one question, was your father involved? Did he sanction this?"

Jin Guangyao nodded eagerly. This was what he needed! An opening to explain!

"Yes! It was all my father! I was but a tool! Please, my brothers, you have to believe me!"

Lan Xichen closed his eyes and sighed. Disappointment was painful thing to see marring his features.

"You plan on dying like a lying dog, huh? Not even going to spare some dignity in death?"

Nie Mingjue drew Baxia and began stalking towards his two sworn brothers as he spoke. "We know your moronic father couldn't have come up with this intricate of a plan. We know you've been playing with Qi since the day Xichen taught you that song! We checked the damage to my core and estimated the timeframe!"

Nie Mingjue stopped right in front of Jin Guangyao.

"Tell the truth. Did your father get involved?" His grip on Baxia tightened.

"Y-yes. He knew and-and he encouraged it," Guangyao choked out. If he couldn't lie his way out compeltely then he could at least make sure his father took equal heat. His sworn brothers were righteous men, they'd never be able to justify killing him if there was another who commited the same crime. That would be unfair!

"And has he done other things in the same vein?" Nie Mingjue demanded.

Jin Guangyao bit his lip. His hesitation pissed Nie Mingjue off.

"SPEAK!"

Jin Guangyao jumped in fright.

"Of all of all the times to decide to protect others, it's now?!" Nie Mingjue growled, rolling his eyes, "Do you have any idea how fast and how gleefully your father sold you to me?!"

Jin Guangyao's blood ran cold. "W-what?"

Nie Mingjue scoffed and replied, "You're just Meng Yao again technically. Tomorrow your father said he intends to strip you of your name officially and have you striken from the records."

"He's all yours, the evil lout. Do as you wish, take your vengeance," Nie Mingjue said in a poor imitation of Jin Guangshan, distaste for the man rolling off of him in waves. Meng Yao suddenly felt sick.

"My father sanctioned everything," Meng Yao stated. Little by little the whole story came out. His father's ambitions, his lies, his machinations, his work camps the truth about Wei Wuxian and the siege, and how he had his willing, naive son doing all the heavylifting. Meng Yao carefully skimmed around the parts where he, technically, came up with some of the ideas and crafted those plans. These two... they wouldn't understand his reasons. They wouldn't understand how much his father's spproval meant to someone as lowly as him. He couldn't risk telling them the whole truth. But the sneer on Nie Mingjue's face and the bitter dissappointment on Lan Xichen's whenever his story hit a purposeful hole made him feel that perhaps they could somehow see through him now.

When Meng Yao finished his tale, he looked up just in time to see the other two share a nod. Then, to his shock, Nie Mingjue sheathed his saber and handed him a glass of water.

"Drink it."

Meng Yao did so obediently . He felt his body start tingling with mild numbness immediately. Since when did Nie Mingjue drug people?!

"Xichen insisted, to help you stay alive. I would have just snapped them and let you suffer all the pain of it."

Perhaps it was the drugs but Meng Yao could swear he was missing something important. Before he could try to figure it out, Shuoyue's sheath slip between his lips.

"Bite down," Lan Xichen commanded sounding resolute but... sad?

It wasn't until Nie Mingjue grabbed his lower leg and started twisting experimentally that Meng Yao began to understand.

"We need you to help us get your father," Lan Xichen said, grabbing Meng Yao as he started to struggle, " But we can't trust you. You cannot be allowed to run free after what you've done.... We'll need to take an arm too. You're too dangerous."

"This is for Huaisang, for my baby brother who I'll never see walk again. I hope the medicine hasn't kicked in completely, Meng Yao. I want you to remember this."

"Wait! Please!"

SNAP

[buckyreaderrecs]

A Toast to Whiskey: Chapter 1 / 2

Summary: You work in an old bar hidden away from the modern world. It's almost charming, but not quite. That's probably why Bucky likes it.

Words: 2,325 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with part 2, brief mention of Nazis, mental health will be prominent part of part 2

Note: Find this fic and others on A03 - click here. And follow this Tumblr! I post lists of Bucky/Reader fic writers and reblog all my favs. I’ve just started it, so would love the support! xo Rhi

Dedicated to: @browngirlmagic for the conversation. The next chapter is the Lush one!

A Toast to Whiskey Chapter 1 / 2

There were a lot of things in the dusty, old bar that made the man's jaw clench in annoyance, distaste, or anger. You were compiling a list of these things, doing your best to minimise their occurrences. There was one you couldn't avoid though, and it was almost amusing that it bothered him at all. Each time someone ordered a drink - beer, cocktail, shot, whatever - a clean glass was given. The man didn't like it. Was it not like that in his time?

If James Buchanan Barnes thought he'd gone unnoticed in the hole-in-the-wall bar you worked at, he was mistaken. Not entirely, to be fair; the baseball cap and quiet stopped the other patrons from even giving him a second glance. 'Patrons' might have been too civilised of a word to call them. They were old, sickly, local men that had been drinking the same beer from those same taps forever. Harmless, mostly. Unobservant, entirely. Not you though. The first day Bucky walked in and taken a barstool on the very corner, closest to the door, you knew exactly who he was.

Like a lot of people that came and went from the establishment, Bucky's seeking of anonymity was granted. You pretended to not recognise him. You were kind to him, a little more gentle than you were to others, but mostly just a good bartender. And in time, you grew accustomed to the charade. He came in a couple of afternoons a week, but never during the nights when it would be busy. Eventually, he even started to speak more than a couple words to you.

"New cap?" you greeted Bucky with a grin, putting the only drink he ever ordered down in front of him.

Bucky wrapped his right hand around the glass of whiskey. He glanced at you, smiled and shrugged.

"Speaking of new, can I ask you something?" you asked.

The expression on Bucky's face was guarded, but definitely one of concern. You realised you should have just asked, rather than let his mind spiral.

"What’s your problem with clean glasses?"

He looked surprised. Surprised was an experience Bucky wasn't particularly used to or fond of. He wouldn't hold it against you though.

"How do ya know I got a problem?" he asked back, genuinely curious.

Shrugging, you looked around casually. "Guess I notice a lot of things about people,"

"Right," he said slowly, knowingly. "I don't know… Just seems wasteful… Is it the law?"

"That we have to use clean glasses?" you asked with a laugh. "I don't know… probably not. I mean, it's more hygienic. Probably makes the drink taste cleaner or whatever. Board of Health might have a problem with us if we didn't… Not that I've seen one of them in here in years."

Bucky picked up his glass and finished the whiskey. "Fill her up," he quipped. He'd made a half-joke, and you appreciated the effort.

"Yes, sir. Lemme know if you, you know, what anything else," you told him, topping him up, knocking your knuckles on the bar top, and walking away.

…

Bucky Barnes certainly wasn't the most chatty person you'd met. It was better to ask questions if you wanted to pass time with conversations. Easy conversation was one of your special skills, being a bartender and all. However, it was incredibly difficult to do this when you were purposefully avoiding topics that would put Bucky in a position to have to, you know, admit his identity and all that. So, things stayed superficial.

No, Bucky didn't watch the game.

Yes, the weather's been insane.

No, he doesn't want any nut mix.

Okay, maybe yes to pretzels.

Yes, he can see your hair has changed colour.

Yes, he likes it.

For as long as it had taken to get to the point of superficial conversation, it didn't take any time at all to run out of things to say. As it turned out, neither you nor Bucky had lived, or were living, shallow enough lives to sustain it. There were questions you were begging to ask, and if he was honest with himself, Bucky was kinda just counting down until you finally spoke up.

…

"So, I got a question,"

"Mmm. You have a lot of questions," Bucky said, smirking then taking another sip of his whisky.

"You could ask me somethin' if you want a change of pace, pal."

It was a joke. Just banter. But a dark expression flashes across Bucky's face for only a split second. You didn't catch it.

"What's your question, Y/N?"

He knew your name?

Of course he knew your name. He was The Winter fucking Soldier. He probably knew everything about everyone that worked and frequented the bar. How had you not thought of that before? Suddenly, it seemed risky to ask what you had planned to.

Bucky watched you hesitate. He sighed and looked around at the empty room. It was a Monday afternoon and it was just before the regulars showed up to knock beer bottles together and catcall you across the bar. It was just you and him.

"Ask," he said softly, taking his cap off and setting it down on the barstool next to him. You watched Bucky run his hands through his hair, tucking some of it behind his ear.

"Why do you drink whiskey?"

Bucky laughed. Like, a proper heartfelt laugh. "What?" he said, nose still scrunched up in amusement.

"What?"

"Why do I drink whiskey?" he repeated.

"Yeah… I mean… It's disgusting… and, like, you… can't get drunk, right?"

There it was. You did it. Admitted you knew him. Which he figured out. So none of what was happening was really a big deal. But it sure as fuck felt like it.

"Right. I can’t- Well, I can, but it takes a lot,"

"Asgardian mead a lot?"

Bucky grinned and tipped his glass towards you. "How do you know about Asgardian mead?"

You snorted. "Everyone does. Everyone knows everything these days,"

"That's what we want you to think," he said, not skipping a beat.

It made you laugh. It was already better talking to him without false pretences. "So, whisky?"

"Ah… Guess it's that everything's different now… An' that's mostly good. But… You know."

No. No, you didn't know. How could you even begin to understand? "Yeah," you said, your voice far more quiet than you meant it to be.

"Whiskey's still whiskey,"

"It tastes the same?" you asked.

"Almost. Not exactly. Close enough,"

"Makes sense… But why here? S'not like this bar been here since the 40s or anything."

Bucky was visibly trying not to smile. Or make eye contact. "Ah… Not sure how to answer that without… offending ya,"

"Huh? ... Oh, I don't own the joint or anything,"

"You don't?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"No? You think I did? Why?"

"You're…" but he shrugged, still guarded. "I don't know," he lied. "But, ah, I was just lookin' for somewhere…"

"Pretty much stuck in the 40s or thereabouts?"

He nodded, smiling. "But without the Nazis,"

"Mmm… I mean… Have you watched the news lately?" you very quickly said.

"I try to avoid it," he admitted solemnly.

As people started to wander in, the conversation waned. Bucky watched you serve cold beer and pour bags of crisps into bowls. He listened to the worst songs being picked on the jukebox and he sat truly shocked you weren't even at least the daughter of the owner. Despite what you may have thought, he hadn't bothered to investigate you at all and finding his assumptions to be wrong was unsettling.

See, Bucky was a little bit smitten with you. He thought you were smart and sassy and timelessly beautiful. You were the ultimate perk of randomly picking this as his hideaway from the world. But, he figured you were only here because it was a family business. Why was someone smart, sassy and beautiful working strange hours at a shitty bar?

It was hard to say which of you was more curious about the other.

…

Something about what Bucky said had stuck in your head. Whiskey, his drink of choice, was the closest thing to his own time he could find. You could do better than that though.

About a year into working at the bar, you were finally allowed to venture into the cellar to clean it up. There were boxes of shit from forever ago down there and you just wanted it sorted, gone, and the space put to better use. Most of what lived beneath the floor was trash, but every hour or so you'd find something cool. A few vintage beer signs. Empty bottles of collector edition Coke. That kind of stuff. But, there was one thing you had found that you now wanted to stumble across again.

Nobody could remember where it had got to.

It took two days of searching to find it.

The bottle of whiskey was shoved under a bunch of paperwork in the office's bottom drawer desk. Not exactly where you'd store something worth a lot of money, but hey - the barely-there owners of the bar were eccentric, to put it nicely. You didn't recognise the brewing company on the peeling label, but that wasn't the point. The date on the bottle quite clearly read 1940.

When Bucky took his usual spot that afternoon, you bounced over to him with a grin on your face. He looked up at you, keeping his cap.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm so happy?" you said, elbows on the bar and head in your hands.

Bucky smiled a little. He seemed sad. Sadder than usual. Good timing.

"Why are you so happy?"

"'Cause I found something that's gonna make you real fuckin' happy. Check this out!"

You produced the bottle from where you had it stashed under the bar and handed it to Bucky.

Bucky's lips parted slightly and his eyes went all glossy. He read the label carefully, probably trying to place the brand you couldn't. He handled it so carefully, even more than you in your fear of dropping it.

"This is real," he finally said.

"Yeah. I found it in the basement ages ago and just remembered it. 1940, so I figure it's like, first or second batch after Prohibition, yeah?"

Bucky nods. "I guess…" he replied, smiling, remembering Prohibition. "And before all the distilleries had to stop again,"

"For what?" you asked.

"The war," he said so matter-of-factly that it hurt a little. He looked up then, saw your confusion. "Dunno if it was law or if they just did it, but most places stopped making drinking alcohol and started making stuff to help win the war. And ah, whiskey stopped being made because it took up too much crops. I don't know. Something like that."

Something like that. Like he hadn't lived history.

"I didn’t know that. That's…" Not 'cool.' "That makes sense… Anyway. Open it," you ordered, getting out two clean glasses.

Bucky put the bottle on the bar and looked at you seriously. "Y/N, that's gotta be worth… a lot… Can't open it for no reason,"

"Nobody here cares about it. And besides, it's not really no reason, is it?" He didn't move or say anything. "Bucky." He flinched at his name, glanced around to make sure nobody heard. They hadn't. "I think you kinda earned this one, yeah? Now do me the honours."

Why was everyone in Bucky's life so goddamn stubborn?

He sighed and opened the bottle silently. You nodded in encouragement, letting him pour.

"A toast," you posed, holding your glass up. Bucky mimicked your action. "A toast to…" Everything in your head sounded either very cliché or very sad.

"Whiskey," Bucky finished.

"Whiskey," you agreed.

Drinking at the same time, Bucky swallowed in two gulps while you struggled with a sip.

"Jesus fucking Christ it tastes like cat piss now and it did then," you whined, pouring the liquid left in your glass into Bucky's. He laughed at you.

After drinking that down quickly, Bucky reached across the bar and took your hand in his. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

A toast to finding things that make us less homesick.

…

After the 1940 whiskey, Bucky came in more regularly. He stayed longer, despite the place filling with people. He even began to talk to the other regulars when they sat at the bar and argued with you about politics, the news, and kids these days. You watched him play devil's advocate, siding with the old men, sarcastically poking fun at you with a quick comment every now and then.

You weren't sure when it happened, but you realised Bucky had grown to be comfortable in the space. And there was something about that that made you ridiculously happy. Like, sunbeams bouncing around on the inside of you making you all hot and tingly and full of joy whenever he was there kind of happy. It was gross.

Bucky would walk in, sit, place his cap down and grin at you with his cute little teeth and sparkly blue eyes. It made your day without exception, and you started to notice more little things about him and how they made you feel. When he hooked his hand behind his ear it would make your stomach flip.

One time, when he was telling you a story about carnival rides and baby Steve throwing up, a loose strand of hair fell across his face and you immediately and unconsciously leant across the bar and folded it gently behind his ear for him. Bucky froze, and you went to apologise, but he spoke first. "Thanks," he said softly, with more meaning than the situation called for, then continued on with his story.

It was like that for just over a month. Then he stopped coming in. There was nothing in his final visit to indicate he wasn't coming back. Bucky just disappeared.

CLICK TO READ PART 2/2