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lacystar · 3 years

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When Tommy died, it was void. It was the flaring, heated hurt all over his body and nothingness. Unable to see, unable to feel anything but pain. Screaming and getting nothing back; not even an echo. Feeling Wilbur and the cards in his hand, and the feeling of the other moving around him, and hearing him painfully close, but being unable to see him. Alone yet trapped.

When Wilbur died, he was shoved rudely off a metro and into a station. He paced it up and down for years, yet the stairs to the outside were firmly blocked off. Trains would pass, but none stopped. Only when Schlatt visited, which wasn't often, and only that time when Tommy came. And only when it came to take him back, of course. But it was close to agony to be passed by so many times. Alone. The world moving without him. His world moving without him.

Schlatt... has no idea what's going on. He's in the gym, but he's corporeal enough for Quackity to visit him. Sometimes he goes to see Wilbur, Sometimes he catches glimpses of the outside. He really, truly has no fucking idea what's up with him and why Wilbur is stuck in a whole other realm while's stuck all Ghostbusters'-future-victim. He knows it hurts though; heart palpitations, killer headaches... his voice has gone so rough on some days he sounds like a scratching record. His lungs are full of lead, and if he doesn't want Quackity to bring him back for the chance to taste power again, he at the very least wants it so he can stop feeling the burn in his throat.

When Ranboo dies...

When Ranboo dies he's dunked in water that's freezing, yet still burns his skin to the point of peeling in a terrible icy-hot hell. The ocean stretches to never-ending horizons without land in sight, and below him the ocean stretches to void, and all he sees is a thousand eyes staring up at him, almost unblinking. Expecting. Their stares burn almost more than the water, and his fear to keep his head above the waves to avoid seeing them is more compelling than the yell of his limbs to quit swimming, accept the burn, and sink. But after enough years... where is he? Why is he swimming? Why does he bother? Who is he, anyways?

When Tubbo dies, he wakes up in a yellow concrete box. It's not quite pitch black, but the walls give him no chance to move as his arms are pressed close to his sides. There isn't room enough to sit or do much more than turn around in place, and he can hear nothing but his own frantic, shallowed breaths as he gulps in air he feels as if he's constantly losing. He spends a few years wondering if this is his coffin and they didn't realize he was still alive when they buried him.

When Sam dies, he wakes up in an obsidian prison cell he's walked past one too many times. Theres a lectern, a clock, a pot of water, and occasionally potatoes drop down for him to eat. He stares at the wall of lava, praying for a visitor, and almost dares to empathize with the man he imprisoned when none arrive. He wonders for years if he regrets building the prison, and can never come up with an answer that doesn't make him feel ashamed of himself.

When Bad dies, he wakes up with his limbs wrapped in red vines, restraining him in a way he used to find comforting but now sees only as the torture it is as thorns dig into his skin. His vision is tinted blood red. Occasionally, a flash of blue teases his vision, but when he turns to call its name, it vanishes. He takes up swearing again; there's nobody there to hear, anyways.

When Eret dies, they wake up in their castle and left to wander the halls. Wander, but barely more than a few minutes at a time; the crown on their head weighs more than the world on Atlas' shoulders, so heavy that they often must return to their throne just to get the chance to rest their head back and let the weight off their shoulders. They wonder if the sacrifice was worth the weight.

When Niki dies, she wakes up in a crowd of people whose faces she can't quite make out. A sea of people, most taller than her, that stretches out for miles. Most smile and laugh, and she's relieved she's not alone. But when she taps on one of them and politely asks for directions to where she can get help, they stare through her. She isn't a ghost; they bump into her all the time as they shove her to walk past, but they don't see her. They don't hear. She screams and not a single head turns. When she collapses against an unlucky stranger to sob, they flick her off like she's a fly. There's not even an excuse she can tell herself to say she's alone.

When Quackity dies he finds himself falling. There is no ground in sight, only sky and clouds as his wings refuse to work and he plummets constantly into nothing. He reflects on the casino and L'manberg and El Rapids and wanting more. His stomach gets used to the lurching as the cold wind burns his cheeks. Maybe his ambition was a little pointless. Maybe he flew too close to the sun.

When Karl dies he awakes to colors that hurt his eyes and a million doorways, each in different shapes and angles. He spends years pacing and stepping through doors he hopes might lead home, that ultimately lead to only more doors. Some are too high up to reach and he stares at them and cries at the fact that he'll never know what's behind them (despite knowing its probably nothing). He doesn't remember everything; just enough to know that anywhere is better than being lost here.

When Phil dies it's a long time coming. Cursed with only one life, the universe goes easy on him. There's a field of rich grass and flowers and trees and skies that beg to be flown through. If only his wings worked. If only he could show Wilbur.

When Puffy dies she finds herself in an endless graveyard. She paces through it for seemingly decades, reading the engravings of her closest friends on each one and spending no less than year knelt at each in mourning, apologizing for her shortcomings. Maybe if she'd been a touch stronger, this wouldn't have happened. Worst of all is when the headstones are blank and she doesn't know who she's mourning at all, forever unsure of the poor soul she let down.

When Hannah dies she awakes to a world rotted away, the air polluted with smog and the seas full of plastic and sludge. Sometimes she sees a rosebush or sapling, tiny and thriving in the distance. Yet whenever she rushes over to coddle and nurture, it dies underneath her fingers. The ground wilts and cracks wherever she steps. She feels as if she's wilting with it.

When Sapnap dies, he wakes up in some sort of cage. A zoo. Figures come and stare at him and laugh as birds pick at his skin until he bleeds, wolves sink teeth into his calves to hit bone, and cows crush his ribs beneath powerful hooves. Each day a new round of animals come to have their way with him. And yeah, he thinks, that's probably fair.

When Dream dies, he's almost relieved to wake up in his SMP. Great, he can get back to business, he thinks. But the more he walks, the more he notices... how quiet it is. It doesn't take him long into his afterlife to realize the people have all disappeared. Vanished. Leaving him alone. No animals or Monsters even appear. Not a friend nor foe, not even a silverfish. The world is his to do anything with without repercussion, yet all he can do for years is sit at an old bench at a cliffside and play discs over and over until the melody burns into his head and makes him want to tear his hair out. All that over a stupid disc. He laughs until he cries.

When George dies... well, it might as well be like any other dream, he supposes.

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solomonish · 3 years

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The prompt: having a secret signal for parties that means “Let’s go home now”

With Solomon and/or Lucifer! Your choice!

Ficlet Requests!

I got a little carried away so this is like 1.1k BUT......you love it it's fine. Also I would like to take a moment to acknowledge how amazing the implication of Lucifer being a bit introverted in his Color Night devilgram is.....I eat this stuff up like and all you can eat buffet

Having a secret signal that means "Let's go home now." - Lucifer

It wasn't until the night of Diavolo's surprise color party that you realized - Lucifer was surprisingly introverted.

He was a man of duty first and foremost, always standing near the future king with his face set in a practiced, impassive gaze and his posture impeccable yet relaxed. Even as Diavolo ventured into crazier themes, ones where it might suit the both of them for Lucifer to ease up, he remained straight-laced and unmoving. Any time you approached him and tried to urge him to enjoy the party a little more, he only gave you a small smile and insisted he was fine, urging you to enjoy yourself. Sometimes you stayed, sometimes you were dragged away by the others, as they were always hungry for your attention. When he thought you had disappeared into the crowd, Lucifer's smile slipped immediately.

You used to think he was taking on the role of a strict chaperone despite nobody asking him to. But then you realized - Lucifer was a wallflower.

The realization didn't come with a stroke of genius, and for a while you just sat with the information tugging at your brain every time you were at a party. It wasn't until one night, when you had accidentally eaten some Devildom plant that would leave you in bed the next day, that you found yourself with a plan.

Lucifer had been the one to take you back home, though he did protest for a few minutes when Diavolo first suggested it. He was tucking you into bed now, forehead creased as he scolded you for your lapse in caution, his hands gently smoothing the blanket over you saying something else entirely - something sweeter.

Somewhere, behind the worry and exasperation, you could see relief.

"Why don't you tell anyone when you want to leave the party?" You asked, interrupting Lucifer in the middle of him telling you about the bin he set next to your bed. He did falter, but not without giving you an unamused side-eye.

"I don't know what you think you know, but my presence is mandatory."

"Is it?" Before you could give him a chance to get offended at your poor wording, you added, "I mean, you plan things so well that nothing will go wrong, and Barbatos is more than capable of taking care of Diavolo. Plus, you're here now."

Lucifer sighed. "This was an emergency."

"Yeah, and you're in need of some emergency lovin'."

With the slightest breath of a chuckle, he patted you on the head and walked towards the door. "I'll be close by if you need anything, MC." There was finality in his tone, but there was fondness, too. Your stomach was twisting too much to put up a fight. But, as you both knew, there would always be more parties.

The next party of Diavolo's was more outlandish than the color party. The crumbling ruins around you seemed to pulse with an energy they hadn't experienced in millennia, and you hoped there was not some sort of burial ground around the are because you were sure there'd be skeletons rattling in their coffins. Lucifer seemed as displeased with the idea as you thought, his lips drawn into a tight line.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asked Diavolo once he was able to get a moment of his time. Diavolo, ever the carefree spirit, only laughed and moved his arms in an approximation of a dance.

"Well, I heard there was something special about throwing a party somewhere secret where there shouldn't be one, so I tried it out!"

"In the ruins of the old mortuary?" Involuntarily, you shivered. Though you weren't entirely sure what significance it held for demons, the brief mention of the place in your Introductory to Devildom History class left little desire to learn more.

"What? Nobody's been near this place for a long time!"

"Yes, I believe that was the idea." Ignoring Lucifer's obvious chagrin, Diavolo instead let somebody else steal his attention and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, Lucifer sighed, deep and tired. Then he flashed that same, fake smile at you. "Don't miss out on your fun on my account."

You knew him too well to believe he was fine, but you also knew he wouldn't admit the truth so easily. So you gave him a scrutinizing look before nodding, circling around the room to check on his brothers while glancing at Lucifer every so often. He alternated between idly chatting and standing with a watchful eye, looking as composed as ever. But you knew better. When you looked over at him again and caught your eye, you noticed raised your eyebrows twice. Clearly, Lucifer wasn't getting the message, so you glanced over in the direction of the exit. Considering you were a building so beyond disrepair it was practically an outdoor venue, you subtly tilted your head for good measure. He didn't nod, but his shoulders relaxed at the hint, so you stopped Mammon mid-sentence, handed him your cup, and made your way over to him. Diavolo had the same idea, because he was headed towards Lucifer, too.

"Ah, I should have known you two lovebirds would find each other again. So, how are you enjoying yourselves?"

Before Lucifer could bitterly say he was fine, you spoke up for him. "Actually, Diavolo, I was hoping I could convince Lucifer to leave with me again."

Diavolo's face fell. "What? Have you fallen ill again?"

Always at the side of his master, Barbatos added, "I am quite certain the food was entirely human safe to avoid the predicament we had last time."

"No, nothing like that. It's just…" You gestured around and smiled. "A party in the crumbling remains of what was probably an arena for human suffering has sapped a lot of my energy."

Quickly, Diavolo apologized for the venue, clearly bashful over having made such an oversight. You assured him it was alright, but then grabbed Lucifer's sleeve and asked for his approval of your departure. Maybe it was the subtle guilt trip you laid, but Diavolo was agreeing and sending you his well wishes.

On the way back home, Lucifer thanked you and reached for your hand. You could still feel the thumping of the music in your chest, a phantom sensation yet still a reminder of how uncomfortable the experience had been.

"You know, if you ever need to leave a party, just give me the signal."

"Oh? Is that our signal?" When you nodded, he tried to tsk in displeasure, yet he made no effort to hide his grin. "I believe the eyebrows are overkill."

"Well, you have to do them or I won't know what you mean."

Instead of rolling his eyes fondly, he brought your hand up to place a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "You know me better than that."

#you know in the sims 4 when your friends invite you to a rave at that one haunted place?#that's what this last party is based off of lol #ALSO: yes Lucifer does the eyebrows as part of the signal dw #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me swd #swd obey me #swd lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #swd lucifer x reader #mine

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wicked-mind · 4 years

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Betrayed: Chapter Three

Summary: Everybody thought Steve’s sister had passed away decades ago. But when you show up at the facility and try to attack Bucky, there are questions to be answered.

Word count: 5.2k

Warning: A bit of violence, talk of kidnapping and torture, talk of surgery, a hint of PTSD

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NOTE: I would like to thank everybody for your support. As I previously said, this is the first time posting any sort of creative writing on any platform. As a thank you, I'll be releasing two chapters today (3/19/21). Again, any feedback is appreciated. Enjoy (:

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CHAPTER THREE- The Truth

It had been about 6 months since Y/N arrived at at the facility. She liked it here. She was able to get to know who her brother was now, hearing about his stories. He was careful to try and leave Bucky out of it as much as possible, but sometimes he would come up. The more Steve talked about Bucky, the less Y/N would flinch at his name. It’s like Steve was replacing that bad memory of him taking her with new ones about how Bucky had redeemed himself, sacrificing everything to help protect the universe from Thanos.

“I always imagined you like this, Steve.” Y/N had said to him one day, gesturing at him as she listened to his stories, “Even though you were five foot, four inches and weighed nothing, I always knew this was the real you.” She smiled, at him, to which Steve laughed and replied, “I’m glad someone saw passed my height.”

Y/N trained with Clint and Wanda. Although Y/N and Clint had a bit of a rough start with the arrow thing as well as calling her a vampire, they became friends quickly. Joking at one another often, especially during training. He had nicknamed her ‘Little Vampire’. Her abilities began to hone in, and she hadn’t had an outburst of violence since the night she arrived. Besides her brother, Wanda was the person Y/N was closest with. They even shared a bedroom now, and others in the neighboring bedrooms often heard laughing throughout the night coming from the bedroom. They did almost everything together. Train, eat, watch movies, occasionally go shopping. Wanda even taught Y/N how to drive, testing out the fast cars on the long stretch of road leading to the facility.

There was still one problem though. Bucky. Y/N couldn’t be in the same room as Bucky, which everybody noticed. For the first few months, when Bucky entered a room that Y/N was in or vice versa, the room would get quiet. It was like there was a stare down between the two. Y/N would tense up, her red eyes locking on Bucky. Out of respect and guilt, Bucky always left the room, even if he was there first. He caused her enough pain for a lifetime, he didn’t want to be a constant reminder of the worst time of her life. He owed her that much. At least he could hear her laugh with Wanda. Sometimes he would stay awake at night, either laying in his bed or standing outside her door and listening to her laugh. He missed Y/N’s laugh so much. He used to hear it almost everyday growing up, watching her smile. Her joy was always infections to others, especially him. He often wondered when the last time she laughed was. He was sure she didn’t laugh until she came here and met Wanda. The first time he heard her laugh while Y/N has been here, he smiled, standing around a corner as he listened to Wanda and Y/N watch the cheesy Captain America movie. Bucky wished more than anything he could join in the laughter. He wanted to feel the warmth that Y/N always brought him, but knew he wasn’t what she needed or wanted right now.

After about 4 months, they were able to be in the same room. Bucky had been sitting at the kitchen bar, talking to Steve about how he could fix things and help Y/N. When speak of the devil, she walked in alone. Usually her and Wanda were always together, but this time she was alone. She paused when she entered, staring at Bucky who was looking back to her. She then moved to the fridge, grabbing out some grape juice. Her favorite. Wanda made sure it was on the list every week just for her, and if she forgot to put it on the list, Bucky would scribble it down. She grabbed a glass out of a cupboard. She was facing Bucky, but not looking at him. She was focused on her task of getting juice. As she poured, her eyes flicker to meet his gaze. She quickly looked back down until her glass was full. She put the grape juice back in its spot in the fridge, picking up her glass. Her eyes flickered between Steve and Bucky. She gave a soft smile but it faded quickly as she left back the way she came, returning to her room.

Once Steve was sure she was out of earshot, he turned to Bucky, raising his eyebrows, “Progress.” He said with a smile. It was nothing compared to how much Bucky was grinning. This was the first time he had been able to get her to actually look at him, not stare him down or glare like he was her enemy. She even smiled a little bit, probably at Steve, but Bucky was taking it as a win. For the first time in the last four months, he felt hope in being able to be Y/N’s friend again. But he wouldn’t push it, he would wait for her.

Two months later, present time, it was time to answer the hard questions. Steve sat down on his sister’s bed beside her. Wanda had some idea of what happened, as Y/N talked about the trauma to her most. That and the fact Wanda could see inside her head, but only ever did it with Y/N’s permission.

“Y/N, tell us everything you remember.” Steve said, looking at his sister. He needed to know what was done to her, where, and if there were any remaining Hydra agents. He needed to know if there were anymore enhanced humans Hydra could have made.

Y/N looked at her brother, then to Wanda, then to the floor letting out a sigh. She had been dreading. She put her face in her hands, then slowly ran them up through her blonde hair. She hated talking about it, but knew Steve had given her enough time to process her new home.

“Bucky sent me a letter, saying he was coming home from deployment. He set up a date and where to meet. I was so excited to keep our promise.” Y/N swallowed hard, “When we met, he greeted me. He smiled, but there was no emotion in his eyes. I figured it was from the war, you know, needing to adjust. I was just happy he was safe. We talked for a moment, before walking down the street. It was dark, the street lamps were out which I thought was odd. Then suddenly, he grabbed me, pulling me into the trunk of a car. I was in that trunk for what felt like days,” She paused, pushing past the pain it was causing her, “Then, we were outside this bunker. It was snowing, cold. I didn’t know where we were. He took my hood off, holding my arm as he lead me through the doors. I was watched by all these men, wearing a red octopus with a skull on their uniforms. He handed me to them, practically throwing me into their grasp. I looked back at him, pleading for help. He ignored me and followed as the men took me to this medical chamber and strapped me down on a cold table. I could see the medical instruments on a tray. They had these syringes filled with red liquid. I screamed for Bucky to help me, for anybody to help me. Nobody did.. They gagged me and began. I couldn’t tell you what they did, I closed my eyes until I passed out from pain, after seeing Bucky leave the room. I do remember though before I passed out, up in the gallery that overlooked the room, red eyes staring at me.” Y/N said softly, looking at Steve.

“The rest of it is a little blurry. I think I’ve blocked it out of my mind after I was made into this, knowing I wouldn’t want to remember. Then, after a few years, something happened. I remember I was called back to that bunker. There were two others with red eyes. They put us in these steel coffin type things.” Y/N paused, before chuckling a little bit which shocked Steve, “Don’t tell Clint that, it’ll just make the vampire thing a little too real for him.” She joked for a moment, but not hearing any laughter she sighed and continued, “They put us to sleep. When I woke up, seven months ago, it took days of punching that steel coffin until I was able to get it open.” She traced the silver scars on her knuckles, remembering blood, although there wasn’t much pain, “But that wasn’t the end of the it. Wherever they put me, I was buried. I had to claw my way through dirt, grass, and two feet of snow until I saw grey skies. It was snowing. I fled to the nearest city, hiding in an abandoned building. I could feel something in my brain, trying to tell me to go back and sleep. I itched at the spot until I could feel my skull and stole a drill from a nearby family. I drilled out the spot of my skull, then pried the chip out with my fingers. I left it in that building.” Y/N was now staring at the wall as she spoke, her face emotionless. She knew Wanda was watching her memories vividly, wincing as she watched the process of taking the chip out, “It didn’t take long after that for me to see your face everywhere, and the face of the Avengers. I had to find you and I did. You know the rest from there.”

It was silent in the room for a minute. Steve was holding back some tears hearing about his sister’s torture with Hydra, not wanting her to see. Wanda had the saddest look on her face, feeling like she was there herself through Y/N’s memories. Steve broke the silence, “Thank you for telling me,” He said, putting a hand on his sister’s back. He didn’t want to make her relive this, but he got the information him and the team needed. There were more of these red-eyes buried somewhere, just waiting to escape.

What they didn’t know, is Bucky was outside the door, listening to every word Y/N said. He felt nauseous hearing her stories. The sweet woman he knew.. She had been taken and forced into this traumatic life. Taken by his own hand. A tear ran down his cheek which he quickly wiped away. When she was done talking, he stood up and went back to his own room before they could catch him eavesdropping. He felt full of rage at Hydra but more importantly at himself. No wonder she tried to kill him. Half of him wishes she did, he deserved it and maybe it would’ve brought her more peace. But the other half of him was glad she did save him, wanting to prove himself to her that he wasn’t that person and that he was the same Bucky Y/N remembered from watching their sunrise.

After Steve had shared the information for the team, they decided to mobilize and search out this base. It would be at most a week they were gone. Everybody was going, besides Y/N, Bucky, and Clint who had promised his family not to go into any more dangerous missions unless absolutely necessary. Y/N pleaded with Steve not to go, or at least leave Wanda behind with her. But Steve had told his sister they needed to go, make sure everything was safe, and Wanda needed to go as well as she had seen the bunker and its layout in her head. Reluctantly, Y/N agreed.

Two days into the longest week of her life since she had been back, Y/N sat on her bed, missing her friends and her brother. She had skipped training with Clint, mostly staying in her room and listening to music Wanda had showed her. It made her happy listening to music. Sometimes Wanda and Y/N would blast the music in their room, dancing together and laughing. They were some of her happiest moments since she’s been at the facility.

On the third night, Y/N went out into the kitchen to have herself some leftover soup. She waited as it heated in the microwave, freezing when she heard another person enter the room. She slowly turned, only to lock eyes with blue eyes she had hated for so long. Bucky stopped and looked at her, before speaking softly to break the silence, “Sorry.. I’ll come back later.” He said, turning to leave, breaking their eye contact. Then a miracle happened.

“It’s fine, I’m almost done..” Y/N said softly, turning back to watch the timer on the microwave. Bucky stood there staring at her. This is the first thing she had said to him since she healed the bite on his neck. His heart leaped in his chest, hearing her acknowledge him. It was just adding to the hope that one day they could be back to friends again. Her voice was like soft music to his ears, so sweet. He didn’t approach her, just took a seat. He didn’t want to get too close to her and make her uncomfortable and take back this progress of her speaking to him. He thought of her like a scared animal. If he moved the progress too fast then she would run. He watched as she grabbed the bowl from the microwave, a spoon, and a napkin. Then Y/N retreated back to her room, not saying another word. She shut the door behind her.

Bucky smiled to himself, “Progress.” He said softly, making himself a sandwich and heading back to his room. He felt accomplished. She had actually spoken to him, directly to him. Alone. She didn’t run, or attack him. Bucky viewed this as a big step towards reaching his goal of having Y/N trust him again.

In the early morning hours, Y/N had a nightmare. A bad one. She was seeing the faces of those she hurt, those she killed. Then it changed to her punching herself out of that metal coffin, screaming to be free, digging through the rough earth trying to find air. She tossed and turned, sweating, before letting out a scream. The scream woke Clint and Bucky up, who now stood outside her door in the hallway looking at each other as they heard her whimpering and screaming from the other side.

“Okay, you go in.” Clint said, looking at Bucky.

Bucky looked at Clint in disbelief, “Are you kidding? She hates me. Well, I think we are one level down from hate because she talked to me, but still. At least she likes you, you go in.” He countered

Clint shook his head, “Nope. Nu-uh. After hearing about the coffin thing, I’m still not convinced she isn’t a vampire.” He whispered softly, “Vampire beats human every time. You got the superhuman stuff, if she bites you at least we know what happens. If she bites me, I may die quicker than she’s willing to give me her blood.” He said, “Plus you're stronger and she scares me a little.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by another muffled scream. He glared at Clint before opening the door. If this took back the new progress he had just made with Y/N, he wouldn’t know what to do. He peeked in her room, seeing Y/N laying on the bed, clutching her pillow so hard that it starting spitting feathers out of the seams. It pained him to see her like this. He could see tears down her visible cheek, the pain on her face.

“Y/N?” He asked softly, not wanting to touch her yet, just wanting to wake her gently. It didn’t work though, she didn’t wake. Bucky slowly moved to the side of her bed, sitting at the edge next to her. He slowly reached his hand out to touch her and paused, wondering if he should. But then he heard Y/N whimper again, letting out a half sob half scream. His instincts took over and he grabbed her quickly, pulling her into his chest and holding her tight. She gripped onto his shirt, her nails ripping through and digging into his chest. Bucky winced, but it was worth it to hold her, trying to calm her, “I got you, Y/N. You’re safe… It’s all over, I got you.” He whispered towards her ear, noting the scar behind her left ear. He knew exactly what it was from. The sobbing stopped, as did the screaming. He looked down at her face to see the red eyes staring at him. He paused, wondering what was going to happen. Would she attack him? Push him away? He wouldn’t blame her for either of those options. He just wanted to be there for Y/N, let her know she was safe.

Y/N stayed silent for quite a while, just staring at Bucky’s eyes. The way he looked at her was familiar. His eyes weren’t emotionless. She saw his sadness, worry, guilt.

“Bucky..” She whispered finally, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s heart melted, listening to her say his name without rage in her voice. She said his name like she did before he left for deployment, but with a little more sadness in her voice. Then she curled into him more, which made his heart melt again. He willingly pulled her closer, “I got you, Doll,” He said as he ran his hand through her hair, “You’re safe. You never have to do those things again.” He knew exactly what she was dreaming about when it came to the faces. He had the same nightmares for a long time, unable to sleep for months because of it. He held her until she was asleep, gently placing her back into bed and pulling the covers over her body. He sat on Wanda’s bed, watching her all night. Every couple hours, Y/N would wake up and look over at him as if to make sure Bucky was still there, before going back to sleep, pressing her face into her pillow.

In the morning, Clint called Bucky into the briefing room to get an update from the rest of the team. They had to break down the steel doors to the bunker to get in, but didn’t find any evidence of any survivors or the remaining red-eyes. They were going to search the area a little more before heading back home. They also wanted to try and find the chip that Y/N had clawed out of her brain seven months ago to try and see if they could get any information off that.

As the sun hit her face, Y/N’s eyes opened slowly, looking around the room. She was alone. She started to wonder if it was all just a dream that Bucky was there, holding her, keeping an eye on her. It had felt too real to be a dream. She sat up slowly, noticing the feathers on her sheets. Definitely not a dream, she concluded. She dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom to shower.

Y/N stood still as the warm water hit her back. Her mind racing a million miles per hour as she thought about last night with Bucky. He came in to help her, and she accepted it. She shook her head, bringing her hands to her face. She couldn’t believe she did that. She let him in, giving him a chance. Her traumatic time with Hydra had made her hate him. But Y/N knew that somewhere, inside herself, she knew the truth that he was still the Bucky she remembered. She didn’t want to trust him, to let him in. It was easier if she didn’t because then he couldn’t betray her trust again. She sunk to the floor of the shower, pushing her back against the tile wall, and cried.

After about a half hour of crying in the shower, she finished washing her hair and herself and finally stepped out, wrapping the towel around herself. She stared at herself in the mirror as she ran the brush through her hair. Looking around the bathroom, she cursed under her breath as she realized she forgot a change of clothes. She would have to scurry back to her room with the towel wrapped around her.

She opened the door and started to walk back to her room, but stopped as she saw Bucky at the end of the hallway, looking at her with those damn blue eyes. Y/N looked down, turning and disappearing into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Bucky stood there, he had looked her over as she stood frozen for a moment. Noting all the small silver scars across her pale body that he could see. She had many on her shoulders and legs. Some of them looked like scars of bites, like someone had bit her over and over again. They were along her shoulders also ran up her legs until they disappeared under the towel secured around her body. It made him sad to see her like that. He remembered she only had a few scars when they were younger, from dumb instances like falling off a bike or falling when she ran to keep up with him. But now, she was covered in scars. He sighed as she left without a sound to him, wondering if the progress they had made disappeared.

The next few days, Y/N stayed in her room, only coming out to train with Clint and get food. The rest of the time she sat on her bed, reading or listening to music. The team were supposed to be back tomorrow and Y/N couldn’t wait to see Wanda and her brother. It felt like she hadn’t seen them in months. She had gotten so used to them being around all the time that she didn’t know she would miss them this much when they were gone on a mission. There weren’t many phone calls, just quick check-ins with Clint.

She finally pulled herself out of bed, throwing on some black leggings and a dark blue shirt. She brushed her hair and teeth in the bathroom, before making her way to the kitchen. She grabbed herself a bowl of cereal and moved to the living room, turning on the tv to watch some dumb reality show that filled the silence around her. She noticed Bucky and Clint walk into the kitchen, they must’ve been training. They were both discussing who won their sparring as they grabbed water bottles out of the fridge.

“I see you...”

The sound made Y/N jump. It sounded like it was right in her ear. She looked around, looked behind her to see Bucky and Clint still talking. She put her bowl on the coffee table, turning off the tv. She stood, looking around slowly, her forehead wrinkles in frustration and focus as she tried to figure out where the voice came from. She wondered around, looking down hallways.

“Y/N...”

The voice came again, singing her name in a soft whisper. Y/N jumped and turned, but nobody was there. She didn’t even notice Bucky and Clint were now watching her, confused by her movements.

The voice softly started humming, the sound felt like someone was right in her ears.

“Little Vampy, you okay?” Clint called from the kitchen, his brow furrowed as he watched what was unfolding. Both Clint and Bucky had started moving towards her.

“Little Vampy, huh?” The voice came again, whispering right in her ear. It was deep, a male’s voice. It almost sounded like it was teasing her, “Idiot.” It chuckled and resumed humming.

Y/N turned quickly again at the whisper only to find nobody standing there, her eyes confused but also panicked. She listened to the humming, slowly walking passed Bucky and Clint. She pushed passed Bucky, her arm brushing against his but she didn’t seem to notice. She stopped at a window, staring out it as the humming continued.

“Y/N.” Bucky said, breaking the silence, curious and concerned of what was going on with her. It was like she was almost in a trance.

Y/N silently looked out the window for a moment, the voice that was humming slowly disappearing. She turned and looked at Bucky, her red eyes panicked, “Somethings here..” She said softly, almost a whisper.

Bucky and Clint immediately went on the defense, pulling up motion trackers of the facility but finding nothing except themselves. They searched the whole facility, every nook and cranny, but found nothing. Y/N hid in her room, the curtains shut. The humming had gone away, and she was left with her own thoughts. She sat silently in the room, curled up in one of the corners behind a chair. It was like she was hiding from whatever she was hearing even though it was now gone.

Bucky and Clint entered her room, confused seeing nothing at first which made them panic a little. Bucky scanned the room, tense. Where had she gone? Was she taken? He shouldn’t have left her alone.. But then he saw the red eyes peer out from behind the chair at him and gave a sigh of relief.

“We couldn’t find anything, Y/N.” Clint said, folding his arms, “Why would you think something is here?” He questioned, confused on why him and Bucky just went on an empty scavenger hunt.

Y/N’s eyes flickered from Bucky to Clint as he spoke, not leaving the safety of the corner on the floor, “I heard him. He’s here.. somewhere.”

“Heard him? Heard who?” Bucky asks, moving to sit on the edge of Y/N’s bed, trying to make her more comfortable by letting her know he was here for her.

“I don’t know who.” She said, staring Bucky in the eyes, “It was familiar, his voice. He said my name, was listening to your conversation in the kitchen. He knew where we were and what we were doing. He was right in my ears…” Y/N moved her hands back to grip the sides of her head, “Whispering…” She mutters, then looked up at Clint, “He called you an idiot.”

“Well, I already don’t like him.” He said, folding his arms, “We will keep an eye on the motion sensors, do checks of the facility throughout the day just to be sure. I’ll send an update to the rest of the team. They should be back soon with the chip.” Clint informed, leaving the room promptly.

Bucky stayed in the room, sitting there silently. He wanted to ask Y/N if there was anything she needed, but he was cautious. He didn’t want to get too close. He didn’t want to push Y/N. They sat there in silence for what felt like hours, but was really only one. Y/N picked herself up off the floor, looking at Bucky, then looking around the room as if to make sure it was safe. She could feel Bucky’s eyes on her, watching her closely to try and get a read on how she was doing.

“I’m fine, Bucky..” Y/N finally said, her eyes eyes locking with his, before exiting her own bedroom. She went back to grab her bowl of now soggy cereal from the coffee table. She took it to the sink, pouring it down the drain and turning the disposal on for a moment to shred the cereal. She washed her bowl and spoon, then set them on a towel to dry. Y/N placed her hands on the edge of the counter, staring at the granite. What was she hearing inside her head? Who was it and why did it sound so familiar? She had clawed that chip out of her brain over half a year ago, she shouldn’t be hearing the voices. She wondered if she was slowly going insane, if it was the voices of those she killed catching up to her.

“Y/N,” It was Bucky’s voice behind her, but she didn’t move from where she stood, still staring at the granite, “I know you would prefer to talk to Wanda or Steve…. but you can talk to me while they’re not here…” He said softly, wanting to understand what was going on in her head. He wanted to help her.

“I feel like I’m going insane…” Y/N said, eyes still studying the granite as she kept her back to him, “Or being haunted. I feel like my mind isn’t safe.”

Bucky nodded slowly, “It’s the guilt, Y/N. You were forced to do terrible things to people. It wasn’t you. You’d never do that.” He said, moving closer to her.

Y/N shook her head, scoffing at his words, “I would do that. I bit you. I threw Steve. I am capable of violence, I was trained for it.” Her hands gripped the edge of the counter harder, it was starting to crack under her strength. Pieces of fractured granite pierced into her palms, causing droplets of her blood to run down the cupboards to the floor.

Bucky quickly moved when he heard the splintering granite and seeing the blood, pulling Y/N away from the counter, forcing her to look him in the face as his arms held hers, “Y/N. You were trained, yes. You did awful things, yes. But it wasn’t you. You are Y/N Rogers. The girl who loves dancing, adores sunflowers, and hates coffee.” He reminded, “You are letting yourself feel the guilt for something you had no control over. You wouldn’t have done those things if you had a choice. You need to take all that sadness, frustration, and guilt and let it go.” He urged. He knew what she was going through. He dealt with the emotions for a long time, his ghosts haunting him ruthlessly. But he had come to accept the things he couldn’t change, and work to make up for his mistakes everyday.

Y/N stared at him, allowing him to hold her arms, listening to his words. He was the only one who knew what it was like to do the things she had done without having control of yourself. She finally spoke, sadness in her eyes, “I may still love the same things, but I don’t feel like the same person.” She told him, moving away from his grasp and retreating back to her bedroom.

Bucky cleaned up the blood and the splinters of granite on the floor for her after she was gone. He was hoping she would think about his words, accepting them eventually. She couldn’t keep torturing herself and needed to come to terms with what happened to her. She needed to accept and move on into a better life like he had. He had faith she could do it.

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @the-ayo-lit @daddysfavoritesexkitten @springsoulofengland @tcc-gizmachine @taina-eny @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

If I left out anybody on the taglist, I’m sorry. Just send me a quick reminder and I’ll add you right away (:

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #the avengers x reader #avergers x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

Note

So I don't know if you've answered this before, but how does Carlisle react if Edward is killed by the Volturi? I've seen you alluding to a terribly awkward phone call between Aro and Carlisle and the final nail in the coffin of their friendship but I'm wondering if you could go more into detail.

Not well.

Edward is very dear to Carlisle and is in many ways his fondest companion. Edward was the one to first give Carlisle hope that vampires could care about and cherish human life in a way beyond the Volturi. Edward left the diet for years, living as most vampires do, yet came back anyway and I think that means the world to Carlisle. No one in his life had done that before Edward: to come try the diet again even after knowing what he’s missing.

Now, Carlisle has no idea what Edward’s really like nor how deep his contempt for humanity runs. Well, Edward’s feelings on humanity in general are complicated, nuanced, and sometimes contradictory. He both holds them aloft as a lofty ideal he’ll never be worthy of and condemns them as mortal mayflies whose thoughts are pedantic and lowly. Edward gets weird about humanity.

Regardless, I think Edward has done a very good job of hiding his worst features from Carlisle, and Carlisle (without very firm evidence) would never suspect Edward or his family in general for being a little less than altruistic (some less altruistic than others).

What I’m getting at is, in the canon timeline, to Carlisle, Edward is a very noble soul. He’s young, proud, over emotional, and very much a teenager in love, and this does cause Carlisle... significant concern, but he rationalizes much of it away. He’s initially not on board at all with the wooing Bella thing but then eventually comes to realize Bella’s good for Edward, she appears to change him and the family at large for the better.

As much as I think Edward wants to play the role of Son, and was probably the first to take up that position, Carlisle does see him as a son of sorts.

Then New Moon happens.

Edward is more despondent than he has ever been before. He actually leaves the family again, the first time he’s done so since he left to eat people all those years ago. The family hears nothing from him for months.

Then, out of the blue, Carlisle gets the phone call.

Aro, his old friend, has to break the news that Edward came to Volterra for assisted suicide and, when Aro declined, deliberately forced his hand.

And Carlisle has to realize, miles away, that Edward is gone. Just like that, he’s dead, and Carlisle didn’t know. He will never see Edward again.

I imagine he’ll go through extreme grief. He’ll at first be in denial, then he’ll be extremely angry at Aro for letting this happen in the first place, and eventually he’ll come to accept it.

I think he’ll ultimately accept why Aro had to do what he did. I believe that Carlisle believes in and respects the secret for the consequences of a world where it does not exist. More, Edward deliberately broke the law in order to force their hand, and as this is before Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, Carlisle will have no reason to think Aro’s lying in any way about this (and Alice will undoubtedly confirm the story).

However, I don’t think things would ever be the same between them. Edward’s blood will always be on Aro’s hands and I don’t think Carlisle will ever truly be able to move past that.

He’ll remain cordially polite to Aro, but the depth of their friendship will quietly fade and never be what it was.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #aro #the volturi #meta #headcanon #opinion

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sporadicerratic · 4 years

Text

Reach Out and Touch Someone

This is my very first fic I have ever posted anywhere. For KingDings week 2021. This is prompt #2, “Heartache” I’ll come back and name it something serious later I swear I hope y’all like it pls be kind ty

Pit. Pat.

Only the quietest of sounds echoed in the dark space as the king carefully wiped the surface of a small stone coffin with a soft, damp cloth. Careful to catch the inside edges of small, green heart embossed into the center, he diligently scrubbed every inch of the surface; the sussurus of each pass punctuated by his occasional sniffles.

Once all dust had been eradicated from the top of the coffin, the king leaned close to the heart and gave it a soft touch, one that could even be considered tender. “I’m sorry,’ he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Pit. Pat.

Cloth into the bucket, swirled around and wrung out. The fur on his hands was soaked through, and the water was making it’s way down his forearm, but he hadn’t brought another towel to dry the coffins, or himself. There was work to be done, and a small coffin with a light blue heart that had gathered dust.

Had he not been so focused on his task, King Asgore might have noticed the faintest flickering in the corner behind the coffin with the purple heart on it. The darkness trembled and shivered, as did the figure peering through it to watch the king performing his sorrowful task.

Gaster knew that he didn’t have the strength to do more than pierce the void today, but how he wished with all of his might that he could be there to comfort his dearest companion through this, one of his most difficult duties as king. Before he had fallen into his creation, he had urged Asgore to let someone; ANYONE else tend to the coffins, but Asgore had refused. The corners of his eyes had crinkled up and his brow had furrowed in the way that made Gaster want to take him into his arms and never let go, despite the fact that he could only hug one side of his mountain of a goat. “Thank you, Dings,’ he had sighed, “but it was my own brash actions that put those poor children into those coffins. I could never,” here he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers, “I could never ask anyone else to have anything to do with them. This is my responsibility.” He looked up, eyes glassy. “But, I thank you, my dearest friend. Come. It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we walk in the garden, while the sun is shining?”

Gaster’s hand practically disappeared into that of the towering king of the Underground, but his grip was gentle and his fur was soft, oh, so soft. If Gaster closed his eyes, he could almost remember the way it warmed the bones of his hollow hand, and the way that warmth spread to make his quivering, fractured soul feel almost whole again. Asgore was so full of love that he generously showered upon all of his subjects, and Gaster felt privileged to be a common recipient of what he secretly hoped was a little more, or should he say, a little different than that he showed to everyone else. He only wished that he could share some of the burden that the king refused to ever let drop from those massive shoulders.

Pit. Pat.

Gaster was gently brought out of his reverie and back to the present as the king moved to the last coffin; the one with the purple heart. That human hadn’t offered much resistance; throwing the one item they had managed to bring into the underground; a simple notebook, and fleeing into a cavern in Waterfall. Every day that Asgore had to fulfill his promise to the monsters of the underground was a true test of his resolve. He always held it together until he made it back to the throne room; smiling and waving to the cheers of his subjects who saw the flickering soul cupped gently in his hands as nothing more than a sign of hope; not as the last surviving piece of a living being.

It was Gaster who took the soul from his hands as he collapsed, sobbing, into the flowers. It was Gaster who quietly encased it in a glass cylinder, and eased the broken body of the human from Asgore’s grip. It was Gaster who sat with him for hours; days; sometimes weeks, rubbing his back, holding his head in his lap, whispering gentle words of encouragement and love, making sure that he ate, and keeping him warm through the night when he refused to move from the spot where he fell.

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pit. Pat.

Asgore’s tears fell upon the last coffin, and as he tried in vain to wipe them from it’s surface, his will finally broke, as did the silence. He collapsed with an ugly sob onto the little coffin, arms wide enough to hold the entire thing in his embrace. “I, I’m s-so, I’m, s-so so sssso so ss-so sorrr-ry, little one,” he gurgled into the wet stone; smearing snot and tears with his ineffectual soaked cloth, and then his bare hands.

Something in Gaster snapped. He had spent months gathering enough energy to even open this portal, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to be by his king’s side when he needed him, even if he couldn’t manage a corporeal form. He shoved what little he was composed of against the taut membrane of the barrier between the void and reality, gasping as it sizzled and burned around the tips of his ghostly phalanges. Passing through even with a body was painful, but without one? He struggled to keep himself coalescent as pure fire danced along every part of that was slowly oozing through the gateway between realms. His head swam as the searing pain consumed his mind, but he forced his eyes open and fixated on the sound of Asgore’s heart-wrenching sobs; of those quavering shoulders that he ached to embrace.

With a terrible modulating scream and a pop he erupted from the void, only to stumble directly through the coffin, the king, and halfway into the back wall. A form. He had made it through, but without any kind of physical form. The barrier had consumed too much of the energy he had worked so hard and so long to gather.

“My king,” Gaster spoke aloud. Asgore’s shoulders continued to shake as he rained tears upon the coffin, though his sobs were slowing. He showed no signs of having heard Gaster at all. Gaster’s face fell, and then slipped slightly as the damned DT in his system asserted itself. Well, if it was going to make itself known, he was going to make use of it, damn it. He was determined to give his dear Asgore SOME sort of comfort.

“GOREY!” he practically shouted, doing everything he could to wrap his arms around Asgore’s back, and phasing slightly into his body. It was warm. Oh, it was so warm.

Asgore sniffled and looked up with a start. “Dings?” he whispered into the darkness, whipping his head around, and then spinning his entire body so his back was to the small coffin. Gaster inhaled sharply as the king’s face passed, unseeing, through his own. After glancing around a bit more, Asgore slumped, his face in his hands. “Of course,” he rasped in a forlorn tone that melted Gaster a bit more, “Of course he’s not here. I’m losing it. I’m losing it.”

“I’M HERE, MY KING! I’M HERE!!” Gaster carefully moved so that, if he had had any kind of solidity, his forehead would be pressing against Asgore’s. He pushed with every bit of will that existed within him, forcing it into the words. If he cannot feel me, at least, at least let him hear my voice, he thought.

“Ahhh Gaster, god damn it. I miss you so, so much. Why did you have to go and leave me like that, Dings? Why did you have to go away?”

Asgore’s voice trailed off as he laughed through fresh tears that coursed through the fur on his face to gather in his beard.

If Gaster had had any sort of form at all, he would have been crying as well. The most he could manage was to melt further against Asgore’s body; the determination he felt reducing him to half of his normal stature. “I’m sorry, Gorey. I’m sorry, I’m here, I swear it. You aren’t alone. You aren’t alone.” His blob of a hand passed through Asgore’s giant paw again and again as Gaster struggled in vain to manifest.

Asgore leaned his head back and wiped his eyes. “Dings,” he whispered, “if you were here, you would tell me that this defies all logic, and that I’m being absurd again, and that I probably need to eat something, but I could swear that you’re in this room with me right now. And, I, I could really, really stand for you to be in this room right now, Dings, I really could. So, I’m gonna talk to you anyway.”

Gaster’s face froze, and then a wide grin spread across his features. “I would like that, your majesty,” he whispered back. “I would like that very much.”

Hours later, Asgore’s gentle snoring filled the tiny room. He had spoken of love, and loss, and longing; of family and friends, and the many, many things he felt were so far out of his reach, and Gaster had heard it all. As his king had become more and more weary, Gaster spread his loose form over him in an embrace that he put every ounce of whatever determination he had left into making warm, and then fell asleep himself.

Had Asgore been awake, and had he squinted really hard, and had he even thought to look, he might have been able to make out the barest, glitching outline of ghostly, hollow skeletal hand resting on top of his palm.

#kingdings #kingdingsweek #gaster #asgore #undertale

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sirowsky · 4 years

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Warnings: Language

Link to Masterlist

Comment: Hint to what the title is all about, and plenty of Máma Moreno.

Chapter 6

The house was a mess, to say the least. You had left in a hurry that evening, after things had taken a very sharp turn towards very bad, shortly after your dinner. You’d been glad that you had only eaten a light pea soup, when it came back up again some ten minutes later. You’d only just made it to the bathroom, but after the food had been coughed up, a large amount of fresh blood had followed, and you knew you were in trouble. Why you hadn’t called for that ambulance was anyone’s guess, but then, you had never liked being a bother, and you had been perfectly capable of walking out to the cab. It was just that, in the twenty minutes that the drive had taken, you’d gotten significantly worse. Your whole body had started hurting, you’d begun bleeding from the nose and ears, and just as you got to the hospital, you had begun to get spasms and cramps in your spine and legs. When you staggered into that emergency-room, you did it truly convinced that you’d leave it in a coffin.

You shuddered slightly with the memory, as you walked through the house, opening all the blinds and pulling all of the curtains back again. It was already late, and thus dark outside, but you wanted to wake up to a house that bathed in sunlight in the morning. The kitchen was probably the worst, in terms of the amount of cleaning that would need to be done. The remnants of your cooking that evening where still on the counter and in the dishes, and the amount of mold that was growing in there was somewhat disturbing. You couldn’t leave that for the morning, you’d lose every ounce of appetite waking up to that crap. So, you set about throwing away everything that had been left out on the counters and in the sink, and quickly scrubbed all the open surfaces clean, before handwashing some of the glasses, plates, mugs and cutlery, that had gotten dusty even sitting in the cabinets, in the four months you’d been gone. Once the kitchen felt usable again, you went to the bathroom to check what state that was in. It wasn’t too bad. You flushed all the pipes and let the water run in the sink and the shower for a good half-hour to clean them out, and begin to work away the smell of stagnated water. The toilet needed a decent scrub too, but it could wait until morning. It was after midnight when you’d finally changed the sheaths in the bed and settled in for the night.

A sharp rapping on your door woke you after what seemed like mere seconds. But the sun was up, so you looked at your wrist-watch – 06:15 – and sighed. Who the fuck would be there at that hour? Grumbling into your pillow, you turned over and decided that whoever it was would have to come back at a more decent hour.

“Come on now, mujer, I don’t have all day.”

You physically jumped at the sound of Anita Moreno raising her voice behind your front door. She wasn’t shouting, just applying a good amount of force to her voice. Just enough to make you feel a size smaller than usual. You scrambled out of bed and grabbed a robe which you put on whilst walking towards the door. You had no idea what you looked like, but you hoped there was an air of scarecrow to you. You’d found her intriguing when you first met her the day before, but she was little more than a damned annoyance right now. You were not a morning person, and especially not today when your body was tired and sore from the tests.

“I’m not gonna ask if you know what time it is, because you obviously do, and you obviously don’t care, so don’t beat around the bush and just tell me what the hell you want so I can go back to bed and finish waking up.”

“You always this cheerful in the morning?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll be sure to let Marcus know.”

“What does my morning mood have to do with Marcus?”

“Nothing. Yet…”

What? No, no, don’t let her distract you, idiot.

“What do you want, Mrs. Moreno?”

“Tell me, what kind of flowers do you like?”

Nope. You’re not doing this, whatever it is, you’re not doing it at 6 fucking 15 in the morning.

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Moreno.”

As you went to close the door, she simply barged right in, straight past you, and completely unbothered walked into your kitchen while you scrambled after her, shocked and abruptly furious.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Don’t you cuss at me, mujer.”

“If you want me to treat you politely, then don’t fucking barge into my house uninvited.”

“Calm down, I’m not staying for breakfast. I just want you to answer a few questions.”

Unbelievable.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“I’m old, mujer, I don’t have time for intermissions. Now, tell me, what kind of flowers do you like?”

You were fuming, but this woman was a super. She wasn’t leaving until she decided to leave. So, you took a breath.

“Dahlias.”

“Interesting choice. Why?”

“What does it matter? What do you want from me?”

“Do you know the origin of Dahlias?”

“Why? Am I to expect a pop-quiz banging on my door tomorrow?”

“The Dahlia came from my ancestors, the Aztecs, they called it The War Flower. Nowadays, it’s known as the King of summer flowers, because of its wide range of shapes, sizes and colours. It has something of a demanding presence, you never walk past a Dahlia without seeing it. And yet, it doesn’t ask you for much.”

“Do you have a point, or is this becoming a lecture on the mythology of flora? Because I will go back to bed and ignore you until you leave.”

“It’s an observation. What’s your opinion on supers?”

“Are you serious? Ugh, forget it, of course you are. Fine. I have nothing against them, but I don’t adore or idolize them. They’re flawed just like the rest of us.”

“What’s Marcus’ flaws?”

“He’s… too kind for his own good sometimes. He let’s people walk all over him if he thinks that it’ll keep the peace. And he… tries to carry the whole world by himself if you let him.”

She smiled.

“Good. You’re hired. I expect you at Heroics HQ at 7 am tomorrow morning.”

…what THE FUCK…?!

She walked back towards the door, while you stood dumbstruck just staring after her. She had reached the door by the time you unfroze and ran out to the hallway.

“Wait, what the hell are you talking about? Hired for what? I didn’t ask you for a job.”

“No, you didn’t. But you need one, and I’ve got one. Take it or leave it, if you’re not there by 7, I’ll know what you chose.”

You stood in the door, watching her disappear into a black SUV, and drive off.

Did that actually just happen? It must have, there was no way in hell you’d ever even dream something like that. You shook your head, and decided that there was no point in going back to bed now, your head was buzzing, so you might as well have breakfast and get the cleaning going. As you went to the bathroom you caught your reflection in the mirror, and smiled to yourself. There was definitely an air of scarecrow. You turned the TV on while you made tea, and tried not to think about what had just transpired in your kitchen. You had always loved coffee before, never started the day without it ever since you were 16. But your body seemed to have become oversensitive to it after your cellular breakdown. You’d had your first cup about a month ago, and it had really done a number on you. You’d been hyperactive for hours with uncontrollable twitches and insistent trembling in your hands. You’d given it a second try a week later, but even just half of a small cup had resulted in the same outcome, so you had accepted that your coffee-days were over. You were actually really starting to like tea, especially the spicier types.

The news showed a highlight reel from the Heroics latest outing, and you found yourself glancing at the footage, looking for a glimpse of Marcus. You saw him flash by as he fought someone, or something, you weren’t sure, and then again when the fighting was over. He looked confident and strong when he was out there. When he had an enemy in front of him, and a clear task. It was enticing to watch. Oh, who were you kidding – it was fucking hot! You shook your head and turned the TV off as you finished your breakfast. There was a lot to do to get the house in order, and you had a plan to get it all done. The problem was that a certain uninvited guest kept popping into your head, distracting you with thoughts about flowers and what the hell that job was all about? So, by lunchtime, you weren’t anywhere close to where you’d hoped to be. You’d managed to wipe down all the surfaces where dust accumulated, and the vacuuming was done. But you’d hoped to have washed the floors and beaten the carpets and cleaned the refrigerator and freezer by then.

Oh, well. Rome and all that.

You decided to have pizza for lunch and called in an order. But later, as you were eating said pizza, you had something of a lightning moment. You didn’t need to sit there and just fidget and wonder and worry about what you were gonna do tomorrow. You could just go back to HQ and talk to Marcus. He’d only be happy to see you, he’d said as much when you went to find him to say goodbye. It hadn’t been a very long exchange, since you’d been eager to get going, knowing there’d be things you’d have to do before going to bed. But he had said that he’d miss you and that you’d always be welcome to visit them. So, why not? If anyone could tell you what Máma Moreno was up to, it’d be her son.

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight

@farfromjustordinary

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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unpeumacabre · 3 years

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soaring dragon dancing phoenix - 龙飞凤舞: prologue

Yunmeng is no longer home for Wei Wuxian, for he is no longer welcome. And so when he visits he can always count on Jiang Cheng descending upon his head with the full strength of heaven's fury, to chase him out. But one day when he sneaks into Yunmeng again, days go by without Jiang Cheng making an appearance. Something has happened to Wei Wuxian's prickly shi-di, something that - once they reunite - they will find is far greater than they could ever have anticipated. Accompanied also by Wei Wuxian's dear friend (?) Lan Zhan and a Lan Xichen who has only just reluctantly left isolation, the four of them set out on a journey that will bring them across the greater part of China to the mystical Kunlun mountains of mythology - and more importantly, may bring them love, healing, and reconciliation.

If only Wei Wuxian could take his head out of his oblivious arse and start putting himself in other people's shoes for once...

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Wangxian, Xicheng, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 1.5k

next ->

One year after the events of the Guanyin Temple, and the death of former Chief Cultivator Lianfang-zun.

Lan Zhan!

I agree with what you said about Sect Leader Yao, that old fart. He wouldn’t know a good idea if it bit him on the arse. If I were you I’d have snuck into his room at night and shaved off his eyebrows – but then again, you’re Chief Cultivator, and you have to follow boring things like rules and protocol. Don’t worry, the next time I’m in Pingyang I’ll … It’s a secret! Look forward to the next time you have a discussion conference with that pig-headed old fool.

I’ve finally reached Yunmeng. Little Apple took such a long time to get started from the inn in Jiangling. I think he had a crush on one of the serving girls, to be honest. Even apples didn’t work to drag him away from her. I had to conjure a mirage of her all the way from Jiangling to Yunmeng to get him going – can you imagine that? One of these days I’ll have to find a nice little female ass to keep his little Little Apple happy … Hahaha! I can practically see you rolling your eyes at me now, Lan Zhan. You still can’t take a dirty joke after all.

Anyway, I digress. It’s nice to be back in Yunmeng and be able to pick all the lotus pods I want and to flirt with all the pretty Yunmeng girls, although none of them are as pretty as you are, of course. You’d make a big stir if you came to Yunmeng – you should visit with me one of these days when you’re free! Although I know of course you have responsibilities as Chief Cultivator etc etc but I promise you it’ll be fun! One of these days I’ll come kidnap you. Then Lan Qiren, that old man, would really have an aneurysm, ha! I’d kidnap you just to see his reaction.

Don’t worry about me, I’m talking nonsense as usual. I wouldn’t really kidnap you, unless I was really bored. And Jiang Cheng would probably beat my ass for trying. Honestly, it surprises me that I haven’t had the honour of Jiang Cheng’s company yet. Somehow, he always knows the moment I step into Yunmeng – it’s like he has a spell set up to go off whenever I’m in the vicinity??? And he never fails to turns up for an hour or two just to shout at me, thrash Zidian around a bit and tell me to go back to Gusu. Then he storms off somewhere to drink tea or something. I swear he’s going to die of high blood pressure one of these days.

Well, I expect I’ll see him around. He’s bound to turn up sometime or other. Looking forward to your reply, and counting every one of your twenty words,

Wei Wuxian

***

Lan Zhan!

Thank you for expressing your concern for Little Apple’s wellbeing. He’s eating well (as usual) and living happily in the city stables where I left him. He has a new crush on the stable boy though, but I’m not worried about that – it seems like his affections are as transient as floating smoke and passing clouds. He seems to be like his former master in the sense of being indiscriminate with regards to his choice of partner, which makes me wonder why he’s taken such an intense aversion to me. I guess it’s just the same old story with me and animals all over again.

It’s my third day in Yunmeng, and still no sign of Jiang Cheng anywhere. Perhaps he’s simply busy with some night hunt or other and can’t be bothered to whip my ass into shape. I’ve been visiting his favourite haunts the past few days but no luck – it seems like he’s really busy this time. I’m starting to worry, and although I never thought I’d ever say this, I miss his grumpy ass. It’s been the longest I’ve gone without hearing him call me a fucking idiot, haha!

Anyway I have a funny story to tell! Yesterday I went to investigate rumours of walking corpses at the base of Yunmeng Mountain. Apparently some farmers came across them and ran away but one of them was caught and eaten.

But guess what, Lan Zhan? Actually, it was nothing more than a group of hermits who’d come down from Yunmeng Mountain five days ago after meditating in seclusion for three years, and they were doing their Bagua ritual circle walk around one of the dove trees at the base of the mountain. They hadn’t bathed once in those three years, and so when the farmers came upon them and saw them chanting and moaning and pacing around the tree they were mistaken for walking corpses! Hahahaha how ridiculous is that??? Anyway I cleared up the misunderstanding. The farmer who was apparently eaten fell down a cliff when he was trying to escape from the “corpses” and broke his leg, so the hermits rescued him and patched him up. He was perfectly fine. I talked to them and they seemed like a pretty normal bunch to me – they were quite a big group when they came down the mountain at first apparently but then most of them decided to go down south and back home instead of lingering in Yunmeng. That’s about all the excitement I’ve had so far, I think.

Well, anyway, thank you for the twenty-one words you used in your reply. You have gotten quite adept at teasing me, haven’t you? Looking forward to how else you may surprise me next,

Wei Wuxian

***

Lan Zhan,

No, I don’t think Jiang Cheng fell off a cliff too. As much as you might wish for it to happen, he’s still my brother an important sect leader, you know! Anyway I already checked all the cliffs around the mountain before I received your letter so it couldn’t possibly be so.

Besides, I went to Lotus Pier earlier today – just to check on how things are going, you know, in case they need my help or something, nothing to do with Jiang Cheng. I just stayed outside the gates because I thought Jiang Cheng would probably descend from the heavens on a cloud and break my legs the moment I stepped foot into Lotus Pier, but some of the disciples spotted me and asked me what I was doing there. They said there have been people disappearing just outside Yunmeng, to the southwest and twenty li outside the main city, and when some of the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators went to investigate a few days ago some of them disappeared. So Jiang Cheng decided to take a few more of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples and investigate himself.

Since I have some free time, I’ve decided to help them out. They’ve been gone for four days already – the beast must truly be a handful indeed. It might be fun to go and help, although I think Jiang Cheng might spontaneously explode when he sees my face. Well, maybe the explosion will end up killing the monster, who knows.

It’s quite odd, though; some of the disciples who escaped even said they saw the spectre of Jin Guangyao, that wily old fox, hanging around the cave where they were attacked. Although of course that is impossible, for he is probably still trapped in Nie Mingjue’s coffin, fighting a battle till the end of time. Well, I guess I’ll see for myself if what they saw was true or not.

I had not known that you were capable of silk embroidery. Your skill is indeed fine – as expected of the esteemed Second Master Lan! I shall treasure your gift until the end of time. The cherry blossoms flowered today, and they made me think of you. I wonder if you still remember visiting Tanzhou with me when we were looking for the remaining pieces of the Yin metal? Was it your first time attending such a festival? You looked so surprised by the petals raining down on you then! I miss those times.

I will write to you again tomorrow when I have rescued Jiang Cheng from the human-eating monster. I will make sure to give you a good account of his face when he sees me there to interfere with his night hunt, ha!

***

Dear Lan Wangji Hanguang-jun Mr Chief Cultivator Sir,

I am writing this letter to you because I know you to be a good friend of Wei Wuxian. Just today, I visited Lotus Pier and found that my uncle has been missing for a week, and Wei Wuxian with him for two of those days. They have apparently gone in pursuit of a human-eating monster twenty li southwest of the main city limits of Yunmeng. It must have been a fierce creature indeed to have ensnared both my uncle and Wei Wuxian

Unfortunately, as I am currently extremely and regrettably tied up in Lanling Jin sect matters, this humble person would like to humbly request for your help in locating and possibly rescuing them. Thank you.

Best regards, yours sincerely and most humbly,

Sect Leader Jin Ling, Lanling Jin sect

#wangxian #xicheng #upm works #upm #cql #wwx #lwj #jiang cheng #lxc #jc #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #wei wuxian x lan wangji #jiang cheng x lan xichen #wei wuxian #the untamed #lan wangji #lan xichen

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crimson-cring-art · 3 years

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Monster?

One Shot 1

Credit to @dannydarzuski for commissioning my story.

It was bigger than the pictures showed, and when she visited it with the realtor it was pretty good for its price...although it was a fixer upper. So once the payment was given and the deed was signed Ming Yue packed up a moving van full of her things and was on her way home.

Yup she had a home, something to call her own, hang her hat, a place that was permanent...although...dirty…

She ran her fingers over the wall and cringed. Well it was an old temple that had been repurposed into a home. It was good enough for her, and probably a roommate some day.

Walking back in from the linen closet she had her hair under a cloth, and her sleeves rolled up. With a bucket in one hand, and a mop in the other she began to pull up the bamboo board and wash underneath. Patting the boards which were full of so much dust. Spraying them down, and then began washing the walls, and windows. Grabbing a broom she pulled down the cobwebs and smiled at her work.

That was when she noticed a door. She immediately thought it might just be a closet, but a look at the blueprints told her it was the basement. Oh she would need to be able to go down there if something busted in the winter and there was supposed to be a few hook ups.

She thought nothing of it, and turned the knob.

Nothing happened…

The door wouldn’t budge. It was locked, she reached into her pocket pulling out the gaggle of keys.

One right after the other she tried each and every one of the keys. She sighed, she’d have to figure out a way to open it.

Her stomach growled loudly and she jumped up looking down at the accusing feature.

“Oh fine! I’ll go to the store.” She said to her stomach. She did need to go grocery shopping. There was literally nothing in the fridge. She pulled down her hoodie sleeves and pulled the cloth from her hair.

“Yes!” She picked up her purse on the way out.

The store luckily wasn’t too far away and the walk there felt a bit rushed since the sky looked as if it were about to spill buckets of water everywhere. There was a light rumble off in the distance too, adding to the momentary threat.

The door gave a soft ding as she walked inside. The cashiers gave a soft welcome as she walked inside.

“No one saw his face!” The woman said as she unloaded the cart onto the belt. “But my cousin Madi said she saw him in the trees laughing before he flew off with a woman.” Walking through the meat it wasn’t hard to hear the ladies. They didn’t try to make it hard to hear them. They were loudly chatting. Almost like they wanted her to hear it.

“Did they ever find out who it was?” Ming Yue could hear them as she walked through the veggies. Picking up an onion, pepper, and garlic.

“It was one of the school teachers! She had been turning on the sprinklers when he snatched her up.” The woman looked through her purse and handed money to the woman as Ming Yue tried to listen.

“That's horrible. Stay in doors, that's for sure Yona. It isn’t safe at night.” The cashier called out as the woman waved. Ming Yue picked up a small bag of rice.

The cashier looked back up from her phone as Ming Yue walked back up to the front of the store.

“You should be careful too. You are about the age he’s looking for?” The woman said as she started to ring up her things. Ming Yue looked twice as confused about this as she did about some monster running off with school teachers.

“The vampire.” She whispered as she looked around as if he would jump out of nowhere to grab her. Ming Yue wanted to laugh, she didn’t believe in monsters. It was fantasies used for movies and nothing more. At best it was a hungry demon.

“Oh! Yes, the one you two were talking about when I walked in. I’ll be careful.” The woman nodded as she handed the two small bags to her.

With the small bag of veggies, and rice she walked back into her house and into her neatly cleaned kitchen. Sitting down she began to cut up the onions, peppers, chicken, and put the rice in the cooker.

Turning to throw away the peals there was a splintering noise and down her foot went through the floorboards. It hurt like hell, and she couldn’t pull her foot out too well so she began to pull at the floor itself.

Ming Yue pulled out her foot and the small section of flooring so she could fix it when she was done eating.

When she looked into the small area she spotted a black box, and purple finish. She picked it up and looked over it. How odd to hide something so intricate in such an odd place.

She wiggled the box, it made a soft rattling noise. Opening the box she saw a littering purple key. No instructions, no letter, and no marks. She shrugged as she put the box down.

“We’ll see if you fit into the basement door key.” She told no one. There was a light click from the rice cooker. She stood up to throw away the fallen items before turning back to the stove and cooking the veggies.

Going down toward the basement, Ming Yue found that she was a little bit scared. The sky had begun to rumble louder as she ate dinner. It was rumbling so loud now that it would shake and rattle the house. She was afraid that it would blow away the temple.

Inching toward the basement door, flinching when the power flickered and caused her to back pattle a bit looking around at the windows to see that the other people down the hills power was flicking too.

“Stick together. I just bought you.” She patted the door frame before pulling out the small ornate box. Within housing the odd key.

Pulling it out and lightly pushing it into the keyhole. At least it fit, that was a good sign. Especially as it turned pretty easily.

There was a soft click, Ming Yue was amazed by this and opened the door. She had to push past a web, which wasn’t unusual seeing as the room hadn’t been opened in centuries or so she thought. Seeing as they didn’t have a key and she found it under a floorboard in the kitchen. The first thing she spotted was a bookshelf with old dusty books. They weren’t dusty like the door was. Actually they looked well taken care of, and was that a manga, a lot of national geographics, and oh no...not Twilight? She turned around and jumped, seeing a large onyx box, with amethysts all around it. Its black glaze, and purple jewels caused it to glisten in the light left by the door.

There was a soft click and the coffin opened with a soft snap.

Ming Yue couldn’t help but stare at the handsome face within. It was a coffin...there was a dead guy inside. Probably the former owner of the temple. She had heard this happens sometimes, the owners being buried on their land, but she never heard of it under the house.

She slowly backed up away from the pale face of the dark furred monkey. She could just make out the fanged teeth over his bottom lip. Oh geez, was that blood on his shirt? Her heartbeat quickened as she turned to run but slammed right into the book shelf. She bent down to pick up the books on impulse because that's what one does when they mess something up. They fix or clean it. But in her bumbling she just knocked down more books.

There was a chuckle from behind her, her blood turning to a puddle of ice as she stood there. Her heart was freezing cold, and almost all of the fur on the back of her neck was standing on end.

She slowly turned around to see the smile along the vampire's features.

“Why, what's a little snack like you doing down here in my shadowy basement?” He leaned in looking over her features.

“Who...Who are you? What are you?” She asked, obviously ignoring the question he threw at her. He chuckled sniffing the air, she smelled like the rains outside.

“Names Macaque.” He ran his finger over his tongue and smiled at her. “Six-Eared Macaque.” She wasn’t sure what he meant by six eared. Did he have...she gasped seeing the ears and she blushed looking down.

“Come on beautiful, how about you and I have a bit of fun?” He smiled showing his fangs. It was obvious now what he was and what he implied.

“No, No. I just want to go home.” She backed away looking up into his eyes.

His purple eyes looked as if he were pulling her into his soul. She wasn’t aware of him moving in, until she felt the pain of his teeth, and the soft caress of his lips around the bite mark. She wanted to push him away, but she was afraid his teeth would rip out her throat if she did. So she did the one thing she could. She grabbed hold of his shirt and held it. Almost pleading with him to not do just that. She liked her neck not ripped out thank you.

She felt her whole body beginning to grow numb. The fangs began to pull out and he licked her for a little while. Being weak she couldn’t do much about it. But there was blood on her shoulder, and fresh blood on his chin.

He picked her up and walked toward the coffin. He planned on taking her in there with him? Oh hell no!

Ming Yue pushed at him, grabbing at his fur, even biting at him to try and get him to stop. It was for not as he lay her down and held her into place as he climbed in. The lid slowly closed on them with a soft click locking Ming Yue within.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #monkei kid oc #six eared macaque #ming yue #macaque #vampire

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watch-grok-brainrot · 4 years

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Wei Wuxian and Chinese Virtues of 忠孝仁义

There’s a lot of conversation about Wei Wuxian and how he struck out on his path without a concern for the Jiangs; about how he’s reckless and not giving a sh*t about his role within his society; about how he had a family and siblings and threw it all away for his sense of right and wrong. But the way I read his actions is within the context of the virtues of 忠孝仁义 (and how the virtues, especially 义, is ingrained in him via the Jiang sect motto). WWX’s major decisions can all be read as him acting in accordance with one or more of these virtues. Even when WWX is being his most irreverent self (and yes he’s rude and bring about a lot of second hand shame) he still remembers the we-self (to borrow from baoshan-sanren’s post) context as the head disciple of the Jiang Sect. Even when he seems to abandon everything, he didn’t abandon his understanding of these virtues.

First of all, let’s talk about 忠. 忠 (zhōng) is loyalty, devotion, fidelity. I usually associate the concept with loyalty towards your country but it can be applied to other units too. In the case of CQL where we don’t see an Emperor or country, it would only make sense that this concept be applied to either a person (e.g. SuShe at JGY) or a sect.

Tangent, feel free to skip: An (maybe THE) embodiment of this virtue is 岳飞 (Yue Fei), one of THE MOST famous Chinese generals. Yue Fei lived during the second half of the Song dynasty. He loved his country so much, he wrote poetry about drinking his enemy’s blood and eating their flesh (壮志饥餐胡虏肉，笑谈渴饮匈奴血) and taking back his country’s lands and saving the two previous emperors from being POWs. He is famous for the tattoo of the words “尽忠报国” (exhausting all loyalties to replay country aka i will be loyal and fight for my country until i die) on his back bestowed by his mother before he left home. When he was unjustly executed for treason, the executioners saw that on his back and the people knew a great man was wronged.

(if anyone wants a translation of the poem and a rambly share about some of my favorite Yue Fei related facts/stories, let me know. Otherwise, i’m gonna get back to our favorite necromancer)

So back to WWX. His loyalties are very much with the Jiang sect. After JFM and YZY dies, within the structure of 忠, Jiang Cheng is effectively who he needs to be loyal to because Jiang Cheng is the sect leader and essentially the symbol of the sect. The act of giving up his core to JC, then, embodies the idea of loyalty within the context of 忠. (I’ve seen memes about how WWX gave consent, WQ gave consent, but JC didn’t. drwcn has a great post about consent. For this post, i’m not going to go into it because this is outside my defined scope.) Furthermore, 忠 compels WWX to protect the Jiangs. I’ve read meta that thinks WWX was trying to get himself killed based on the crossing of his hanfu and his mouthing off at Wen Chao. I’m inclined to believe that reading because if dying means JC would never find out, so be it. And as long as WWX is dead, there will be no evidence of the core transfer so JC would never lose face before other cultivators. It would mean the Jiang sect can be rebuilt to its old status without being tainted by WWX’s sacrifice.

Ok, next is 孝. 孝 (xiào) is most often translated as filial piety. I don’t think there is a good sense of it in western culture. In chinese culture, it is the expected deference younger generations need to display to elders in their direct lineage. [Note: i use lineage because you can be 孝 towards your biological parents and grandparents, your kungfu master and their master, your adopted/honor bound parents, etc but not to everyone who is in a higher generation. It’s very family/lineage based.] 孝 is complicated because it’s ingrained into Chinese kids at a really young age. Go pour your grandparents tea. Go give your grandparents a back rub. Listen to your parents. When your parents get old, you’ll take care of them. Respect your elders. Even if your elders are wrong, don’t talk back. It’s a set of emotions that tie you to your ancestry. To turn your back on it feels like turning your back on your culture and identity.

Tangent, feel free to skip: Ok, this is really cool and I had to share. In looking up 孝 in the online xinhua dictionary, it says about the etymology: “形声。从老省，从子。” This is so cool! We have two characters: 老 (old, as in Yiling Laozu) and 子 (child). You’ll notice 孝 is a character where to top part of 老 is taken and 子 essentially follows. This character is a style of character where the meaning comes from the structure of the character. So 孝 is where the children follow the old, often blindly and with disregard of their own needs.

WWX, as an orphan, can only direct his 孝 towards Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan. 1) No matter how awful they were as parents, JFM and YZY raised WWX. 2) WWX is the head disciple. That means JFM is his shifu. [He calls JC his shidi and JYL his shijie for that reason.] That teacher-disciple relation is often described as “一日为师,终生为父” (a teacher for one day should be treated like a father for life). Both 1 and 2 bind WWX to the Jiangs regardless of his adoption status. So, when on the boat YZY and JFM tell WWX to take care of JC and JYL, it’s the order of an elder in his direct lineage. To not listen, to not defer to that order would not be 孝. Considering they perished at Lotus Pier, WWX was obligated to execute those orders to their fullest whatever the price (i.e. golden core).

Along those same lines, out of 孝 (and human decency, tbh) WWX and JC had to retrieve JFM and YZY’s bodies. Wen Ning helping them out in that situation is a HUGE favor. Not to mention all the other things WN and Wen Qing does for them. I will get to the favors and their ramifications later.

Ok, moving on to 仁. 仁 (rén) is most often translated as benevolence or humanity. (I want to say I find the translation of humanity very interesting from a bilingual child’s perspective because the chinese character for person/human is 人 which is also rén. I got the concept confused a LOT.) 仁 is found in the love and kindness shown towards fellow humans. Ctext often translates it as virtue, which is a bit too broad, IMO. I think this line from Confucian Analects explain the concept succinctly:

樊遲問仁。子曰：”愛人”

Fan Chi asked about benevolence [仁]. Confucius said, "It is to love all men."

WWX embodies this love better than everyone else in the story (except maybe LSZ but LSZ probably gets it from WWX). WWX meets stuttering WN and acknowledges him, offers to give advice, and truly sees the younger man. He treats WN with kindness and friendship (and yes, he takes advantage of WN’s willingness to push him around in a turnip wagon but that’s more shenanigans). WWX also sees the Wens at Phoenix Mountain as human and steps out of line to help them. His blindfolded five arrow show stems out of his 仁. His saving Mianmian is also an expression of his 仁. So many of WWX’s actions stem from 仁. A lot of the fandom see it as his empathy and I agree! It is that! But it can also be viewed as his internalization of the virtue to love humanity.

Finally, 义. 义 (義,yì) is actually the reason this ENTIRE post came to be. 义 is the same 义 as Yi City. I offer the traditional version of the character above so you can see how it compares to the stone on the way to Yi City. You will recall when WWX says Yi City, LWJ asks, “Yi, which means chivalrous?” And WWX explains same character but for coffin/mortuary in this case.

Actually, 义 is used in a lot of words:

正义- correct/rigit + 义 = righteousness

意义 - ideal + 义 = meaning

侠义 - knight -errant + 义 = chivalry

义气 - 义 + air = personal loyalty; code of brotherhood

名义- name + 义 = nominal

义父 - 义 + father = sworn father (this is a difficult to translate idea that sometimes i translate as godfather for simplification and cultural parallelism. it’s a parent figure that you acknowledge via vows. If the character for father is replaced with brother, then it’s the relationship that the 3zun have. And OMG i want to talk about the 3zun and romance of 3 kingdoms and how much of a awful un-义 person JGY is… but also holy out of scope batman)

In the case of virtues/morality, we’re looking at 义气 - the 义 that means loyalty to people and a code of brotherhood. The Jiang Sect ancestor is described as a 游侠 (yóu xiá, wandering hero). The ancestor’s identity as a 侠 (xiá), which indicates a highly skilled martial artist/fighter who will defends others (à la wuXIA and xianXIA), places him within the world of 江湖 (jiāng hú, sometimes translated as rivers and lakes or “pugilistic world” in some wuxia subtitles). In 江湖, 义 is the most important virtue. Based on 义, you help those in need. You stand out and do what is right. You are an outlaw that follows a strict moral code. 义 is the foundation of the Jiang Sect’s motto. Furthermore, the idea of 义气 can in some ways be viewed as currency. You do me a favor, I owe you one. You treat me with decency, I return the favor. You DO NOT return kindness with ill intent. It is taboo.

WWX exemplifies 义. 义 is part of what makes him so lovable and reckless. For 义 , he sticks out his neck for LWJ during Wen Summer Camp. For 义, he follows LWJ to search for the Yin Iron. Under 义 , he is free to be the hero who lends a hand whenever it’s needed. Oftentimes, 仁 and 义 go hand in hand because to stand up and stand out for other requires love of others and seeing their humanity.

So let’s get back to the Wen remnants: for 义, WWX must protect WN and WQ. As I mentioned before, WN and WQ had done WWX and JC (and thus the Jiang Sect as a whole) MULTIPLE HUGE FAVORS. 1) saving JC from Wen Chao at Lotus Pier. 2) retrieving JFM and YZY’s bodies. 3) transferring the golden core against WQ’s best judgement. All of these actions are so vital to the survival or the reputation of the Jiang Sect. WWX knows it. I’m positive JC knows it. To turn their backs on WN and WQ would be 不仁不义 (neither 仁 nor 义). Really, the ONLY thing they should be doing from the perspective of 义 is helping the Wens to repay their kindness. But WWX knows, as the head disciple, that JC cannot afford to align the Jiang Sect in sympathy with the Wens because it’s political suicide. The Jiang Sect WILL NOT SURVIVE if Nie, Jin, and Lan all turn against them. Even if Lan stood neutral, Nie and Jin would still be able to wipe out barely rebuilt Jiang.

So what does WWX do? He has already painted himself as a rebel, as rude, as ill bred. And from an outsider looking in, WWX is in alignment with his slippery descend into darkness. WWX knows if he steps just a little more out of line, he can accomplish everything else his morality dictates. (We could talk about WHY WWX feels like it’s ok for him to give up everything and analyze WWX’s self worth and what not. But that’s also outside the scope of this post and i’m pretty sure other people have done a better job of it than I could.)

Save the Wens, run away to the Burial Mounds, and defecting are all aligned with WWX’s morals. Defecting protects JC and the Jiangs sect in an act of loyalty (忠). Defecting also protects JC and JYL, thus fulfilling the filial piety toward YZY and JFM’s instructions (孝). Saving the Wens returns the debt of 义 that JC and WWX owe to WN and WQ. Saving the Wens also appeal to WWX’s sense of 仁 towards the non-cultivators. Lastly, protecting the Wens means JC does not end up 不仁不义. From WWX’s perspective his actions are the only option for him to really have no regrets when he asks his heart.

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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Reluctant hurt/comfort? Why yes!

Both Tim and Jon have a bad time after the Buried.

cw fever, illness, vomit mention, suicidal ideation, grief. Also as a note, the night I wrote this was a hard one, and the day after was worse and this might reflect that. I don't think this is one I can go back through and comb for more cws, so hopefully that is warning enough. Stay safe, and enjoy something that was very cathartic to write.

The day after the Buried, it doesn’t even occur to Tim that he should be hungry. He hasn’t needed to eat in so long that he simply forgets. Just downs glass after glass of water in the break room after a shower that lasts far longer than the meager supply of hot water. He can’t be fucked that Daisy and Jon still need to wash the muck off. At least Daisy has somewhere to go, Basira is hovering around, ready to ferry her out of this hell archive.

Of course, it’s his own fault that he doesn’t have a flat.

He supposes he owes Jon. Or something.

He doesn’t care.

He’s still angry. And tired and filthy and depressed. The only thing the buried did was keep him from dying. Hell of a suicide watch to be on.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes down there, he could believe it was Jon or Martin lying on him. Keeping his fingers from itching to do harm… Well, almost, anyhow.

After that, he sleeps. And sleeps.

And, well, after that. He feels like shit.

Complete shit.

When he was a teen with soup for brains, Danny got sick. A bad flu, but he couldn’t keep anything down for three days. Three days of foisting broths and lucozade on his brother with little success. Should have been taken to hospital, by all rights, but their mother didn’t really believe in the whole modern medicine thing, and well. Dad was away, so Tim couldn’t even get Danny to an adult who could help, even if he didn’t give a damn. It had been awful.

He really thought his little brother was dying. Cracked and dry lips, fever so high that he wasn’t coherent. Three days he sat vigil. Praying to a god he barely believed in.

A fever that scooped out his brother until he was praying for a breathing corpse. Giving oblations of thin liquid.

On the third day, his eyes opened and he stroked Tim’s hand, as Tim shook with exhaustion by his bedside. He had to be propped up to sip at his broth, but it was far better than trickling it down his unconscious baby brother’s throat.

Pure helplessness. Both in empathy for his brother, who was probably having a worse time than Tim, and because he was next to useless.

Three days and Tim can’t keep down food. Gave up trying. Just shivers on the cot, gazing nearly sightlessly at the ceiling, muscles too wasted to move. He doesn’t know if anyone notices that he’s gone. He hasn’t heard any word from Martin. Basira and Daisy fucked off days ago, as far as Tim can reckon. Then again, he doesn’t have so much as a working phone. He doesn’t even know if it’s been three days or thirty.

His skin feels hot and tight. Like the Buried is taking a new approach to suffocating him. A dreadful thirst clawing at him, but he doesn’t have the strength to stand and get water anymore. Barely could limp his way there before the lack of food and probable fever stole what little he had left.

Is this just some divine punishment for prodding too hard at the forces of evil in the universe?

He’d finally come to terms with the abstract and incidental nature of these things, but he can’t help the hazy imagining that he deserves this.

Failed to keep his brother safe, for all his bedside bargaining and promises made to the wind on long walks after his brother disappeared. All the broken promises betwixt his savior and himself. Bitter words corroding promises that could have been harder than diamond.

It was his fault. Couldn’t hold up his end, and he deserves this dreadful heat and the foul desert of his mouth. His body generating his own funeral pyre.

He wishes he could bring himself to care. But all he’s known since Jon betrayed him has been anger and dissent disinterest.

There is an ache at his very core.

He lies there, on the cot. Tangled in the sheets. Bone dry. Dry as parched soil. For he has no moisture to spare for sweat. His own body out of anything that could bring his temperature down.

Finding Tim isn’t easy. Jon’s body betrays him after the Buried. Months of uneasy sleep, and days of pressure on all the wrong parts of him leave him poorly put together and his joints slipping apart at the slightest provocation. He spends days on the floor of his office, in too much pain to move, too dizzy to stand, and running a fever from the pain in his squashed and shitty joints.

His own fault, but a small price to pay for Tim and Daisy.

He would have stayed there if it meant getting them back.

One less monster.

Of course the Eye doesn’t let him die. Aren’t humans supposed to die if they don’t drink water for three days?

He spends most of his time passing out when he tries to stand.

And he can’t bring himself to care. He’s so tired. Too tired.

He didn’t expect anyone to come after him. Certainly not Tim. Not after everything.

Well maybe he hoped.

(He did).

(Damn his… well it isn’t optimism. Damn his longing for someone to give a shit if he vanishes for days. He should know by now that no one is coming. No one ever does.)

Groggy and foggy and battered.

He’s tired. He needs a proper mattress for just one night, but he can’t even get off the floor. Just lays in the remnants of mud, waiting to whither like the corpse he is, one just hasn’t stopped breathing yet (again).

But something draws him upright, more or less. Clinging to the walls, bracing his stilted journey on aching limbs.

It’s probably the Eye. Probably the Eye, or maybe Jon’s piercing curiosity, control slackened by fever, peering though a hairline fracture in the door of his mind.

He all but crawls to the cot, securing a half empty water bottle from somewhere he probably should be worried about, but he arrives to find Tim burning away before him as his own vision swims dangerously.

A face in front of his. Features obscure and unreadable. He can read the worry in those eyes. Even in the half light.

Tim couldn’t hear Jon in the Buried. His hearing aids long since ran out of life. All for the best, for the singing of the coffin in the rain will haunt his dreams (not only in a spooky way) for the rest of his life.

Only knew it was Jon by Jon guiding his (Tim’s) hand with too thin and gentle and burned fingers to his (Jon’s) mouth. So Tim could read his lips by feel. An imprecise thing, but better than nothing.

Filthy fingers against dry and dusty lips. Almost like a kiss. Perhaps more intimate.

The face hovers closer. Thin and careful fingers soothing his brow.

Pressing water to his lips. Mouthing words that are lost to Tim. And even if they reached him, he knows he wouldn’t understand them.

Is this Danny before him? Would he know his own brother? After all these years? After the Stranger chewed him up and regurgitated …whatever. Is he lost as much as Sasha had been? Like she’d been?

And what good would knowing that do? He would rather keep the memories he has, doesn’t want to know the creeping uncertainties that plague him when he closes his eyes.

He supposes that the advantage of the Buried is that it keeps the mind off things that aren’t the slow process of returning stone to stone in a way that obliterates everything in between. Everything but fear.

Not Danny, but Jon, Tim discovers. Pulled awake by uneasy stomach, and panicked breath, to find Jon fluttering out of consciousness by his side.

He wants to be put out that they are flush with each other, but …but they were closer still in the choking darkness with air thick with the soil that Tim swears he can feel coating his internal organs.

He’s drifting off again when he hears Jon gasp awake, looking nearly as unwell as Tim feels.

The small figure curled at his back is not his brother. But he feels as warm and as fragile as Danny did when he sat his vigil. Counting the seconds between breaths. His heart stuttering when they lagged and caught in his raw throat in the muted hours between sunset and sunrise. The hours that Tim feared if he stopped willing the next breath to happen, they wouldn’t.

But Jon is hardly human. His pulse is jittery and uneven. Each breath just a little more strained than they should be. Likely matching Tim’s own.

Some distant part of him… the distant part that can feel Jon’s pulse when the rest of him is floating away, untethered to a body too light and empty without topsoil and rich loam to brace him into and against the earth… worries that his own furnace of a temperature is too high and will roast Jon.

Another equally distant part of him is annoyed that Jon dares to share this pyre of internal heat with him. …If this is how he goes out, he wishes he saw the stars when he still had any strength.

Tim wakes again to cool water against his tongue.

Jon is mumbling to himself fervently. And Tim can recognize that look. That fear. That determination. The will of someone breathing for someone else. Holding their life-force steady in the mind. Knowing to let it faulter is a death sentence. With wild certainty that is bounded in something beyond reason, for when you are willing another person to breathe, you are often beyond the reach of science.

And Tim wonders who Jon could possibly be breathing for, because there is no universe in the extensive multiverse that Jon would ever will the life into someone who has spewed such hateful things and led another fragile being he swore to protect to his death.

And yet…

Tim exhales deeply. Sliding into what looks to be a restful sleep for the first time in uncounted months. Watching the rise and fall of his chest look more natural and less like an afterthought, what little strength Jon had found, abandons him. And he curls himself around Tim. A small and fragile and dusty shield. And is asleep in an instant. Knowing without a doubt that Tim will sleep comfortably through the night, and if anything changes, Jon will know. Both in body and from beyond the waterlogged door in his mind.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #hoh tim #pots jon #eds jon #tw sucidal ideation #alex dont look #cw nausea

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lia-jones · 3 years

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Growing Together - Chapter Twenty- Three - Goodbye is a Silent Word (Part Two)

I woke up the following morning, my sleeping son curled against me. The book I had been reading to him was neatly placed on the nightstand, and a warm comforter covered me. My heart grew warm with the thought that my husband had come to check up on us, as he would normally do before all of this had happened.

The truth was, I barely saw Victor ever since the piano incident. He had locked himself inside the study, writing the eulogy, and didn’t even bother answering me when I had come to ask if he was hungry. It was evident that he wanted to be left alone, so, as a good doting wife, I complied. Even if it hurt me. Even if my heart wrung itself with agony.

Owen stirred by my side, probably sensing that I was awake. His big brown eyes stared at me expectantly, as if to gauge my mood. It had been a weird couple of days, so it was no surprise that the boy felt somewhat unstable. I gave him my best reassuring smile.

“Good morning, sleepy bug.” I playfully poked his nose. “Did you sleep well?”

“You slept here?” He frowned. "Where's Dad?”

I had no idea where he was or how he was. I also had no idea of what to say, so the only solution I had was to lie.

“You know him, he's probably busy with the funeral.”

The boy stared at me in a very familiar way, his gaze very similar to the one his father used to give me when he felt something was off. After a moment, he seemed to shrug it off, smiling at me instead.

“I’m hungry. Can we go have breakfast?”

“Sure can!” I got up and offered my back for him to climb, which he happily did. “Come on, my hungry caterpillar. Let’s get you showered and fed so you may become a butterfly.”

“Did you know that monarch caterpillars eat about twenty milkweed leaves in one day?”

“That’s probably why they are so chubby and cute! Just like my little bug!”

“I’m not chubby!” He complained, giggling. “Just cute.”

The house smelled like flowers and candle wax, and had a more solemn feel to it. It was easy to assume Mina’s body had returned from the morgue and was already in the house. I walked with Owen to the kitchen, hearing the clinking of silverware and glasses.

“There you are, good morning!” Terry greeted. “Sit and eat, Susan just made some eggs. Do you like eggs, Owen?”

“Yes, I’d like some, please.” He sat down, folding his hands in his lap, waiting to be served.

As soon as I saw that he was happily eating, I turned to Terry.

“Where’s Victor?” I whispered.

“In the living room.” She answered with a nod. “Spent all night in there. I told him to go to bed, but he didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“Will you-”

“I’ll take care of Owen. Go see if you can convince him to have some breakfast.”

I entered the living room like it was a church, and for a moment I thought I heard an echo of my footsteps. Victor was sitting in the chair next to the coffin, lost in thought. His eyes showed the familiar traces of a night spent awake.

I stood in place for a moment, not knowing what to do, when the realization hit me. For the first time in years, I was afraid to get closer to him. It was like we had gone back to the days when he was simply a CEO, and I an intern, and all the steps we had made to get to where we were before had magically vanished. I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t know him anymore and he didn’t want me anymore.

My mind scolded my heart for having such thoughts. I was being selfish, getting my feelings in the way of what I should do as a wife. I had married that man, all of him, the good and the bad. Would I be the kind of person who cowers when things get rough? Hell no.

I sat beside him, expecting to be sent away, but I wouldn’t let that deter me. Wanting me there or not, my husband would know I would always be there for him. I couldn’t promise to be perfect, but I did vow to be loyal.

“Did you spend the night in here?” I tried.

He blinked, as if he was emerging from his thoughts, and by his expression, they were very painful ones.

“I did.” He paused for a moment. “Did… you and Owen sleep well?”

Maybe he was overly emotional, or simply exhausted, but I could feel him letting his guard down for a second. He reminded me of a wounded animal somehow, too afraid to ask for help, suspicious of the world that hurt him in the first place. I would have to tread lightly.

“Yes.” I nodded. “If you want to, I can be with her for a moment, while you get something to eat. You skipped dinner.”

I grimaced internally as I saw his poker face return. I had spoken too much, called out on his fragility, and God forbid Victor would admit he wasn’t doing well in any way.

“No need.” He dismissed me. “I’m fine.”

“At least let me-” I motioned to take Victor’s hand, words failing me as I saw him pull his hand away.

I knew the cold version of Victor, the one with all the walls, feelings kept inside hidden, away from the world. But the walls he had built had cracks, and the light seeping through those cracks was exactly what made me fall in love with him. It showed me that, even though he did his best to conceal his loving and sensitive spark, it was there and it was very bright. It was just a defense mechanism, because when Victor felt, he felt very strongly and very deeply. I had never seen him like this, the walls so thick no light would show. And it was starting to become clear he had no intention of letting me in.

“Victor...” I felt my eyes sting.

“I can’t.” His voice was merely a whisper.

It seemed to be a thing of ours now, letting unspoken words fall heavy on us. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to, anyway. I walked out of the living room, my mind doing its best to numb itself. It felt too painful to think or to feel.

I became fully alert when I heard Terry speak from the kitchen.

“I beg of you, now is not the time.”

"Do I need to remind you this place used to belong to me? That I let you live here for free? Is that how you thank me?” I heard him chastise his sister.

God, no. It had been almost a year since I had last seen him.

I opened the door slowly, hoping I had heard wrong. But there he was, in his expensive fur coat, the same expression of someone who doesn’t have time to bother with anything but himself. Terry was pale as a ghost, leaning against the wall, while my son sat at the table, seemingly confused with the interaction.

"Since my son won’t bother to call his own father, I thought I would see him here. He has always been fond of the housekeeper, for some reason.”

“What do you want, Gregory?” I spoke, protectively resting my hand on Owen’s shoulder.

“Finally, someone who can be of use.” He turned to me with a condescending look, like I was one of his servants. “Where 's my son?”

Oh, no, you won’t.

“What do you want with Victor?” I challenged. “I’m sure it isn’t to apologize for the way you behaved at our wedding.”

“Children should honor their parents, not the opposite.” He looked at my side, to my son, with an amused smile. “Speaking of which, I see you brought your stray.”

I was suddenly blinded by rage, ready to go for his throat if he dared to speak another word. How dared he insult my son? I wasn’t a violent person, but I suddenly became thirsty for blood, eager to put that bitch of a sperm donor in his place. I was stopped by Victor’s icy voice, coming from behind me.

“Leave.”

Victor didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked calm and composed, and if someone saw this scene from afar, they would probably mistake it for an amicable interaction. However, everyone in the room could feel Victor’s menacing aura, like he was a dangerous beast ready to attack, only waiting for the right moment. I instinctively pulled Owen behind me, expecting bloodshed.

“I will not be told what-”

“I said. Leave.” Victor’s voice was contained, but menacing. “You will not disrespect my family.”

He was laser-focused, in full control of his body, his eyes full of danger yet his expression cold and detached. Every muscle, every breath, every thought was now aimed at his father, and it was clear he wouldn’t hesitate to shred him to pieces if he felt the need. I didn’t know this Victor at all, and to be honest, I didn’t want to see him again. I knew I couldn’t possibly imagine the things he was capable of.

Gregory apparently could, or at least recognized the real danger of the situation, as he cleared his throat and gave a discreet step back.

“Probably for the best. I’ll leave you to mourn the housekeeper.”

Josh had told me all that had happened between Gregory and Victor right before our wedding, and how close the old man was to get his nose broken by his son, so it was surprising to see that he was still trying to provoke him. I braced myself for a stormy reaction from Victor. None came. Victor kept his steely eyes and cold demeanor, not moving one inch.

“I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

Terry and I watched Victor in awe, surprised the old man would live to see another day. The hot tension in the kitchen lingered, as Victor kept his eyes focused on his father, watching him slowly walk away.

“Who was that man?” Owen peeked from behind me.

Victor turned to his son, the tension from the previous interaction not fully gone.

“You are not to listen to a single word that bastard says, do you understand me?” His authoritative, icy tone made Owen flinch.

“Yes, Sir.”

I wasn’t sure if Victor had heard Owen’s answer, as he returned to the living room without another word.

The funeral was simple and tasteful, with very few people, including me and Victor. It was odd, knowing Mina, that the funeral would have such low attendance. She was such a loving and caring woman, it would be expected that the world would honor her existence. As it sometimes happens with the purest things in life, Mina’s death seemed to be ignored.

However, all present paid respects to the deceased, either by saying a few words or reading a passage of some book they liked. Until it was Victor’s turn.

He got up quietly, steadily, like he would when he was in a business meeting. But I could see the twitch of his fingers, the sad look in his eyes. It was clear that, although seemingly composed, Victor had a raging war inside him. He took a piece of paper from his suit jacket’s pocket and started reading.

“Whillemina Jordan was born on October 11th, 1949, in Loveland. Her dream was to become an actress, but when her father fell ill with a mysterious bone disease, she had to work to feed the family, so her mother could take care of her siblings. During her life...”

Victor paused for a moment, staring at the paper. He folded it back in, putting it in his pocket. For some reason, he had decided to speak from the heart.

“Mina was a loving and caring woman. She was forgiving, never entertaining a single negative feeling in her heart. But most of all, she was wise. She had the kind of wisdom that cannot be attained through education, but only through the course of a painful life. And yet, she had nothing but love and joy to give. Mina.” Victor paused again, his voice faltering almost inaudibly. “You will be missed.”

I could see it perfectly. In that small pause existed the silent goodbye that Victor wasn’t yet able to say. It entailed sweet childhood memories and caring moments, the ones only shared between a mother and her child. It entailed all of the moments that were yet to come, when Victor would need a mother figure, and miss her. It also entailed the hug that Victor wanted to give her, the words he meant to say to her, the moments that never came to be. I could feel Victor’s sorrow deep in my heart, so I moved to the piano, letting it spill all over the piano keys.

It dawned on me later that, even not being able to make a family of her own, she did have a family: except for Victor, there wasn’t a dry face in that funeral. Mina did have loved ones, we were right there, crying for her. And she had a son, who gave up on control momentarily to honor her, who carried her casket and stayed behind until the very end, when most people had left the cemetery.

We drove straight home, in silence, Owen drifting off in the back. The reality of our situation came rushing back as we got closer to Loveland. The lawsuit, our fight, all of that filled the silence between us, and it became impossible to breathe. We walked into the apartment without a word, and i took our son straight to his bedroom to put him in bed.

“Isn’t Dad going to kiss me goodnight?” There was a deep sadness in the boy’s voice.

I looked at the door behind me, waiting for Victor to come and lean on the doorframe, like he did every night. The doorframe remained painfully lonely.

“Dad is probably tired, he must have gone to bed already.” I downplayed it with a forced smile. “You’ll talk to him in the morning.”

“Dad would never go to bed without kissing me goodnight.” Owen spat at me. “You won’t tell me, but I know he’s mad at me. Whatever I did, it wasn’t on purpose!”

I held my son’s face between my hands, staring deeply at the desperation in his eyes.

“Listen to me, Bug.” I spoke to his pain, wanting to send it away. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Your father is sad, and he doesn’t know how to express it. It’s not your fault.”

Big brown eyes stared at me, and I felt him relax.

“Go to bed, get some sleep.” I pecked his forehead. “You have school tomorrow.”

“Ok.” He buried himself in the comforter. “Goodnight Mom.”

“Goodnight, my little bug.”

I closed the door to Owen’s room slowly, trying to placate myself. This had gone too far. I could accept that Victor was hurting, I could accept that he was angry at me and I probably deserved the punishment he was giving me, I could even accept that he kept me at bay. But hurting my son? I would not accept that.

I went to the bedroom, only to find it empty. When I reached the main hallway, I saw the light in the study was on. He was probably in there, drinking. Disregarding our son. Disregarding me. It was getting harder and harder for me to keep calm. I opened the study door unceremoniously. As I expected, he had taken his tie and suit jacket off and was helping himself with some whiskey.

“You’re drinking?” I gave him an accusatory look. “Your son is in bed, worrying about why his father didn’t even bother to kiss him goodnight, and you are here drinking?”

“Not now, Andrea.” He sighed in annoyance. And then I saw the exhaustion in his eyes.

Victor was shutting me out, putting on a brave face, but this was the man that carried his mother’s casket. This was the man that lost the one person that held him through it all his whole life and was also at risk of losing his son. This was the man whose father only wanted to hurt, and not to comfort. And although I was right there, he probably couldn’t help but feel lonely. I took a deep breath to calm myself down.

“Look, I know this is a very hard day for you, and I understand, I really do.” I looked at him earnestly, waiting for him to meet my gaze. “I know who you lost. But our son needs you.”

Victor turned away, deciding to ignore me.

“Look, I know we had a fight and I know you are angry at me. But we can sort this out. I’m right here, talk to me.”

“Are you?” He asked with a bitter voice. “Are you really? Because two days ago you weren’t even sure you wanted to keep our son. Are you sure you want to keep us?”

“Oh no, you don’t get to make accusations like that!” I raised my voice, the rage coming full force now. “I am not the one running away to lick my wounds, ostracizing my child in the process! You do not get to tell me I’m abandoning my family!”

“Right.” He gave me a bitter chuckle.

“Look, I know you haven’t had it easy these last two days, but guess what? Neither have I! I let you take it out on me, endured all the times you gave me the cold shoulder, smiled and reassured our son when you ignored him, I was there for my family!” The words poured out of me, raw and sharp, and I found I couldn’t stop them. “I understand you are hurting, and I am sorry! I’m sorry your mother left you, I am sorry that your father is a narcissistic prick, and I am sorry that the woman that practically raised you died. Hell, I’m even sorry that I didn’t meet your impossible standards, but that does not give you the right to ignore our son and break his heart! You are acting just like your father!”

I covered my mouth with a gasp, appalled with the words that had just come out of my mouth. Of all the blows, this one was the cheapest. And also the deadliest. I watched Victor freeze in place, his eyes on the ground, fully aware that the moment he would look up, I would see the rage in them.

“Leave.” His tone was monotonous, yet sharp as a knife.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s just-”

“I said LEAVE!” He roared. “NOW!

I jumped when I heard the loud crash right beside me, unable to register what it was. Until I saw the glass in shards on the floor, the wall behind me dripping with whiskey. His outburst triggered something in me, and I bolted out of the study. I leaned against the bedroom wing’s wall, trying hard to steady my shaking body and catch a breath, when I saw Owen next to me.

“What happened?” He looked at me with tears in his eyes. I immediately forgot my own fright and went straight to comforting mode.

“It’s ok, my sleepy bug, everything is alright.” I said, after quickly wiping my tears. “Go to bed, it’s late.”

“Did he hurt you?” He sobbed.

“No, he wouldn’t do that.” I reassured the boy. “He’s just upset, that’s all.”

“Can you sleep with me tonight? I’m scared.” He begged.

“Just for tonight, agreed? Ok, off to bed we go, tomorrow you have to be up bright and early.”

As Owen climbed into bed, I shut myself in his bathroom for a moment. All of this was surreal. This wasn’t Victor. Victor would never do that, he would never act like that, he would never be violent, or turn his back on the people he loved or shatter a glass against a wall, no matter how dire things were… Would he?

I quickly took a hand towel from a drawer and stuffed it in my mouth, trying to conceal the wrenching sobs I could no longer keep in, as I considered a second option. Maybe Victor hadn’t changed, the circumstances did. Maybe he found it easy to turn his back on me because our fight the day before had been the last blow in our relationship. My husband could be that unforgiving if pushed hard enough. I let myself slide to the ground, unable to keep myself up, the anguish taking full force. I had lost him. I was losing it all. Owen and Victor. My whole life. All the reasons to be happy.

I left the bathroom a while later, empty of tears. Owen had fallen asleep in the meantime, but I laid next to him anyway. I wanted to make the best of these moments, even if they were bittersweet, because I would probably no longer have them. I hugged my sleeping boy tight, burying my nose in his curls, treasuring him the best I could.

When people pass away, we feel sad that we didn’t get to say goodbye, like goodbye is something that needs to be heard to be acknowledged. That’s a lie. Goodbyes can be a mere hesitation. Goodbyes can be a glass shattered against a wall. And even though they aren’t voiced, even when they are silent, they can still hold an ocean of words in them, and mean the end of a marriage.

#victor mldd #angsty victor #mlqc victor #love and producer fanfic #li zeyan #Growing Pains - Series #growingtogether #victor x oc

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

Looking through a paperman's eyes, Xiao Xingchen can suddenly see again.

See Chengmei's face.

Xue Yang's face...

His mind split between multiple papermen, Xingchen fractures.

Xue Yang breaks with him.

E - Xuexiao - Read on AO3! - Head the tags! ; ) The art here is only tonally appropriate for this chapter... Chapter 2

Chapter 1 of 2

They walk for an hour and a half, cross-country. Rumor of a new threat had found its way to their corner of Yi City. Disappearing people, strange sightings, the usual, except there have been none of the normal signs of demonic activity.

Chengmei, impatient as always, had wanted to fly, but Xiao Xingchen had insisted they get some exercise.

“The weather is nice, and there’s no need to rush home,” he says. “A-Qing has gone off again.” Every few months, A-Qing’s restlessness resurfaces and she disappears for a few days, making Xiao Xingchen worry until he hears the tap-tap-tap of her stick on the stone of the courtyard.

“She’ll be fine,” Chengmei says. “She was on her own her whole life.”

“I know, but…”

“She was doing better than you were, my friend.” Chengmei laughs, touching his elbow, sending a little spark up Xingchen’s arm. “I still can’t believe you gave her your coin purse.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, if you’d asked me—”

Xiao Xingchen smiles in anticipation of whatever he’s going to say, but Chengmei breaks off abruptly with a low whistle.

“We’re here. A burial mound. Or rather, a mass grave.”

Xiao Xingchen’s sword is already out. “The resentful energy is quite strong.”

Chengmei snorts, something Xiao Xingchen has learned is his way of rolling his eyes so Xiao Xingchen can hear. Xingchen smiles to himself. He does this on purpose sometimes, winds Chengmei up, ruffles him. He delights in how expressive Chengmei’s voice is, how he wears his emotions on his sleeve, good or bad.

“‘Quite strong’?” Chengmei teases. “It almost bowled me the fu—the hell—no that doesn’t work—”

Now Xiao Xingchen does laugh. He can’t see Chengmei’s face, but hears the smile in his voice.

“Bowled me the fig over,” Chengmei finishes.

“A good save.”

“I know, right?” A creak of leather as Chengmei crouches. “There’s a stone headstone type thing here. I can’t quite make it out in this light.” Another creak as he seats himself on what seems to be a small cenotaph. "Probably from the war."

Xiao Xingchen frowns at him.

“How did you know I sat on it?” Chengmei shuffles his feet in the grass as if he’s risen, but he remains seated on the cenotaph.

“I know you too well, I suppose.”

Chengmei laughs. “You really are something else, daozhang.”

Xiao Xingchen waits for him to expand on that. He’s long since learned that Chengmei does that sometimes, throws out a non sequitur or random statement, sometimes to get a reaction, sometimes to change the subject, without really thinking it through.

Xiao Xingchen likes it, usually. Keeps things interesting. Often just by his remaining silent, as if uninterested, Chengmei will immediately follow up with something even wilder.

Tonight, however, his companion is silent, as if lost in thought.

“Get up, Chengmei, please. Let’s at least try not to anger malevolent spirits this time.”

A creak as Chengmei rises. “Still mad about what happened last week, I see.”

“That ghost almost killed you, all because you had to make fun of her fingernails, of all things!”

“You should have seen them. Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t be well-groomed.”

“Chengmei…” He sighs, but he can’t contain a smile. “Describe what’s around us. What are we looking at? …You looking at,” he corrects himself before Chengmei can.

“Bones, all over the place. Scattered over the burial mound. Rather homey.”

“Human bones?”

“Human and animal, by the look of things. This reminds me of the time at this little inn in Bianzhuang, where the soup had the most suspicious-looking pieces of—”

A bellowing sound cuts him off. “On your left!” he hisses, but Shuanghua is already up.

A crashing of underbrush, a foul stench of rotting meat, a rattle of displaced bones. The earth shakes beneath the creature’s hooves, he hears the rush of air around a supernaturally huge monster, but there’s not a hint of demonic energy, and for the first time since he lost his eyes, Xiao Xingchen is afraid.

Chengmei is reckless—

He lashes out, aiming at the sound. He hits something solid, and the beast roars, enraged. A cry from Chengmei and Xingchen is flung out of the way, tumbling to the rocky ground, out of the path of the charging beast.

The all-too-familiar sound of something piercing flesh. The scent of blood.

Xiao Xingchen slashes at the smell, aiming far enough away from the sound to avoid striking Chengmei. Shuanghua strikes flesh, hits bone, and is almost jerked out of his hands by the bucking creature. It turns and charges at him, dragging Chengmei along with it, by the sound of his tangled curses—

He ducks out of the way at the last moment. A crash as it thunders through the underbrush, turns again—

Chengmei’s voice, raised, half-choked: “Fuck you, stay away from him—” A stabbing sound, an angry cry, and something strikes him hard in the midriff, sending him slamming into a rock.

Blood again

His blood—

A bellow of pain. Distant, echoing. Chengmei’s shout, the whistle of a blade through the air.

A stabbing sound.

More blood, blooming thickly on the warm night air.

Xiao Xingchen passes out.

* * * *

At first, the only way he knows he’s alive is the blinding pain in his skull.

Blinding pain. Ha. That’s funny. Something Chengmei would have teased him for saying—

Memory rushes back to him. Patting around for his sword, he tries to get up but falls out of bed.

He’s safe at home in the Coffin House, on the floor beside Chengmei’s bed. He recognizes the creak of floorboard, the scent of the drying herbs strung from the rafters, the melancholy whistle of wind through the gaps in the walls.

“Daozhang!” A hand at his elbow, guiding him back into bed. “You’re awake!”

“What happened?”

“You saved my life. The usual.”

“What was it?”

“Hell if I know. Some kind of boar monster. Take more than some pig to kill me, though.”

“What time is it?”

“Still night.”

Xiao Xingchen struggles to marshal his thoughts. “You almost died.”

He can almost feel Chengmei’s shrug. “Not the first time, and it won’t be the last time. Well, the ‘almost’ part might be the last time; I might actually bite it next time.”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t bother trying to parse that one out. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing serious.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns. “Come here.”

“Come…”

“I can’t get up. Come here.”

Hesitating, Chengmei crawls into bed beside him.

“Take off your clothes.”

Normally this would elicit an off-color joke that would have Xiao Xingchen frowning at him and blushing, but now Chengmei hesitates again.

“I…well…”

“You are hurt!” Xiao Xingchen pats him down, forgetting his headache in the sudden flurry of panic. He should have reacted faster last night, should have killed the beast with his first blow, should have protected Chengmei—

Bandages beneath his fingertips, bare skin, a slight stickiness.

“The tusks!”

“Ruined a good robe, having to cut it off,” Chengmei says, back to his usual casual, flippant self. “Not sure even you can sew it back up. The robes, I mean, not my side.”

Xiao Xingchen’s heart is beating so fast he feels dizzy. “You almost died, Chengmei—”

“So did you.”

Xiao Xingchen pinches his temples. “You shouldn’t have shoved me out of the way. The boar—the boar gored you—”

“Just a flesh wound.”

“We—we should go back to its lair when we’re better, bury the bones—”

Chengmei snickers. “ ‘Lair’?”

“As soon as you’re stronger, we’ll go back.”

“I’m fine now.”

“How many stitches did you need?” An inane question, but something simple he can use to ground himself. It’s starting to sink in now, his mind fully clearing: his blindness in the face of the beast, the boar’s agonized bellow, the fear in Chengmei’s voice—

He had almost lost him tonight. All because Xingchen had insisted on going night-hunting, continuing to push his own egotistical agenda on Chengmei despite the fact that he couldn’t see, selfishly endangering everyone around him. What had he expected to happen?

“Didn’t exactly stitch myself up,” Chengmei says. Lost in his own thoughts, Xingchen had almost forgotten his own question. “I sealed up my meridians, so it’s just pain, and I can handle pain.”

Xiao Xingchen reaches out again, touching Chengmei’s arm, and Chengmei inhales sharply.

“Your arm!”

He imagines Chengmei wrinkling his nose. “Well, the boar did a poor job of killing me, but an excellent job of shattering my arm. You know how it is.”

“I certainly don’t know how it is!”

“Left arm,” says Chengmei, as if that makes it better.

Xiao Xingchen is not a hugger, but he has a sudden overwhelming urge to fold Chengmei in his arms, hold him till Chengmei understands that this is not a normal way to react to grievous bodily injury.

“Not the first time it’s happened, and not the last,” Chengmei says, and Xiao Xingchen reaches out to take his good hand.

“I’m going to set your arm and stitch you up,” he says, “and then you are going to eat and go to sleep.”

“Fine, have it your way,” says Chengmei, teasing, but Xiao Xingchen does not smile.

He does not smile as he fashions a splint for Chengmei’s arm, or mops the blood from Chengmei’s torso, stitches the deep gashes in Chengmei’s side, or as he fastens the bandages around Chengmei’s middle.

“—nasty-looking bugger; I think it was some kind of boar crossed with a wolf, twisted and bloated by some kind of magic—it was powerful enough to mask its energy; that’s probably why Shuanghua didn’t sense it—”

Xiao Xingchen barely hears him. His heart is beating fast, and he’s so distracted by the fact that Chengmei almost died trying to save his life that he reaches up to adjust his blindfold and leaves a smear of wetness across his cheek.

The last of his clean blindfolds.

Another inane thought.

He’ll have to wash it out in the morning—

“All done? It was nothing, really.” Chengmei’s hand is on his arm. He’s very close to Xiao Xingchen as they sit on the edge of the bed, so close Xiao Xingchen can feel the brush of his shoulder against his. He radiates warmth, and Xiao Xingchen, perpetually cold, is seized again by a fierce desire to wrap him in his arms, curl into his heat, whisper to him that of course it matters if his arm is broken—

“You need to be more careful,” is all that comes out.

“I give you my solemn word that next time we go night-hunting, I won’t let you get knocked out again.”

Xiao Xingchen isn’t sure if he’s baiting him on purpose or if he genuinely means it. “I mean you need to take care of yourself.”

“Bathe more often. Got it.”

“Can’t you be serious for once?” Xiao Xingchen's voice is sharper than he intends, but it’s too late to take that back now. “If you were to be killed, I—”

“—would have one less mouth to feed.”

Xiao Xingchen grips Chengmei’s good wrist. “Chengmei—”

Chengmei laughs, bending his head slightly, his silky hair sliding over the gap in Xiao Xingchen’s open inner robe, tickling his chest.

“Chengmei, please be serious for once. If you were to be—”

“You look so pretty with blood on your face,” Chengmei interrupts, and that does something to Xingchen, sends a quivery rush of heat through his body. Chengmei slides to the floor, kneeling before him, trembling good hand resting lightly on his knee.

“I—”

Cheingmei's hand moves up his leg, finds Xingchen's hand gripping the blankets on the edge of the bed, strokes it gently, fingertip sliding over the sensitive skin between his fingers, over his palm.

Xiao Xingchen swallows hard. He’s trembling too now, heart pounding, the warmth flowing through his limbs gathering to pulse gently in one confusing, embarrassing place.

“Ever done this before?” Chengmei asks, almost murmurs. His voice is a mere shadow of its usual blunt, teasing self.

Xingchen twists at the sheets with his free hand, trying to keep his voice steady. He must be mistaken. Concussed, perhaps. Hallucinating. The pulse between his legs has become a throb, and that’s not helping his perception of things, either. “No, it’s not something I…get…get up, Chengmei, we were having a serious conversation. If you were to be seriously hurt, I don’t know what I’d—”

Again Chengmei cuts him off before he can finish. “You almost died tonight, daozhang. Let me take care of you.”

“That’s not what—” He gasps slightly as Chengmei’s hand moves back to his leg, creeps over his inner thigh, just grazing the half-hard flesh he wishes he could somehow hide.

Heat rises in his cheeks. He wants to pull away, cover it before Chengmei notices, but there’s a brush of fabric, a whisper of warmth breath, and then his half-hard—his half-hard cock is plunged in wet heat.

“I’m—I’m not—”

The wet heat disappears. “Is that a no?”

“It’s—” And suddenly all he wants is a return of the wet heat. Proof that Chengmei is still alive, still warm. “I’ll tell you when to stop,” he says. Trying to compensate for his inexperience, it comes out more commandingly than intended, but Chengmei gives a little whine and eases Xiao Xingchen’s knees farther apart, his bad arm wrapped around one leg, good hand wandering, slipping underneath him, brushing the soft, sensitive spot he’s never thought of touching before, fondling his—

“Not there,” he wants to say, but all that comes out is a little whimper that sets a flush of shame rising in his already-hot cheeks. Reflexively he digs his fingers in Chengmei’s hair, tugging it slightly, and Chengmei gives a little moan that sends vibrations over his painfully hard cock.

Chengmei’s head is moving now, up and down, tongue gliding along the sides of his cock, sucking hard on the sensitive nerve bundle beneath the tip, taking him deep into his throat. Xiao Xingchen forgets to breathe as he digs his finger deeper in his hair, tugging it again, and Chengmei full-on gasps, throat clenching around Xiao Xingchen in rhythmic convulsions.

Xiao Xingchen comes, spilling deep into Chengmei’s throat. Chengmei swallows, an embarrassingly filthy wet choking sound, and Xiao Xingchen pulls his head off of his cock.

“I’m so sorry—” he starts, but then he’s on his back on the bed, and Chengmei is kissing a string of bruises into his throat, branding Xiao Xingchen.

“Good thing A-Qing isn’t home,” Chengmei whispers, and Xiao Xingchen laughs, shame gone.

“Let me try it,” he whispers. He feels like his bones have been ripped out, limbs calm and relaxed, but his heart is still fluttering.

The kisses stop. “Try what?”

“Lie down.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

“You want to?”

Xiao Xingchen’s heart thuds against his bruised ribcage. His hands are shaking slightly, and he hopes Chengmei doesn’t notice. “Yes.”

“I…”

“Let me try.”

And then Chengmei is on his back, and Xiao Xingchen is trailing his lips down his bruised chest, down his naval, working himself up to do the thing he’s afraid of wanting as much as he does.

A tinge of shame returns. To want to do something like this—

But Chengmei is warm, Chengmei is alive, Chengmei is his.

He takes Chengmei’s cock in his hand, squeezing it gently, examining it with his fingers, rubbing his fingers along the hot, firm sides, smearing it with the little pearls of moisture leaking from the tip. He’s never been so close to another man’s cock before. A new pulse rises between his legs, prickles over his legs, clouds his thoughts with renewed need—

And then Chengmei’s cock is in Xiao Xingchen’s mouth, a living thing, silk-smooth and pulsing with life.

It fills more of his mouth than he’d expected. Thicker, hotter. Heavy on his tongue, pressing up against the back of his throat, making his eyes tear up and jaws ache.

“You don’t have to—” Chengmei whispers, fingers of his good hand tracing the top of Xiao Xingchen’s blindfold, thumb stroking the bridge of his nose, and Xiao Xingchen makes a little humming sound to let him know that it’s all right, that he wants to do this—

Chengmei pulls him off his cock moments before he comes, ejaculating into his own hand.

A flash of disappointment, as if he’d wanted to take Chengmei deeper into him, swallow him down, ingest him, absorb him.

Bind him to him.

He bends down to lap at the wetness slicking Chengmei’s cock, cleaning it with his tongue. Chengmei gives a little whimper but doesn’t push him away. Xiao Xingchen licks at the cum, thoroughly cleaning him before turning to Chengmei’s hand.

Chengmei, who has been lying very still, breath coming in soft little starts, suddenly comes to life. “Don’t—”

“It’s fine.”

“But—”

“Shhh. I want to.”

Carefully, Xiao Xingchen runs his tongue over Chengmei’s palm. It tastes of blood and the salty tang of his cum. He cleans the palm, between the fingers, taking two fingers into his mouth when he’s done. He likes the feel of having Chengmei inside him again, even just his fingers. Warm, alive —

Chengmei raises his legs slightly, framing Xiao Xingchen between his thighs. He tilts his knee, sliding his foot under Xiao Xingchen’s groin. He moves his finger inside Xingchen’s mouth, sliding over Xiao Xingchen’s tongue, soft and slow. Xiao Xingchen sucks harder, rolling his hips into Chengmei’s ankle, one hand on his knee, the other on his hip.

He doesn’t quite come, not so soon after his last climax, but the friction feels good against his groin, Chengmei’s legs solid against his sides, the pain of his bruises reminding him of how fortunate he is to have Chengmei here, Chengmei beneath him.

He releases Chengmei’s finger and inches up to lie beside him. Chengmei rolls into him, nuzzling his throat with his nose.

“If your body is shattered in six places, we can’t do that again,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs into his hair. Chengmei’s heart, pounding against his chest, beats faster, but Chengmei’s tone is his usual flippant one as he asks, “Again?”

“If you promise to take better care of yourself. No more stunts.”

“I promise. Word of honor.”

“That’s what you said when you swore you’d stop teasing A-Qing.”

Chengmei laughs, the vibrations soothing Xiao Xingchen’s aching ribs. “Yeah, but I actually mean it this time.”

Shaking his head, but smiling to himself, Xiao Xingchen pulls him closer.

* * * *

Chengmei is up before him that afternoon. He’s prepared a meal of eggplant and rice he just saves from scorching, something he only manages about half the time. Xiao Xingchen isn’t sure what there is in the Coffin House to get diverted by, but Chengmei is easily distracted.

“And then I have a surprise for you,” he tells Xiao Xingchen. He rocks back and forth on his chair the whole meal—he’s never been good at sitting still—and jumps up to clear the dishes when Xiao Xingchen has finished eating.

Xiao Xingchen sits and lets him despite Chengmei’s broken arm, afraid of mentioning the injury and bringing up what had happened the night before. Everything is all so—so normal, and he’s afraid that if he so much as asks Chengmei how he’s feeling, the spell will break, or worse yet, last night will have been revealed to have been a dream.

“I brought you this,” Chengmei says when he’s finished, setting something down on the table. He takes Xiao Xingchen’s hand and lays it on the pouch set down on the table, then pulls his hand away quickly, as if the touch of Xingchen’s skin is something forbidden.

An awkward silence. The warmth of Chengmei’s touch lingers on Xiao Xingchen’s hand—

Xiao Xingchen reaches up, lays the hand on Chengmei’s elbow, and the awkwardness is dispelled as if it had never been there. Chengmei leans over his shoulder, reaching around him. His cheek grazes Xingchen’s, as warm as his hand had been.

“I removed the beast’s core last night,” he says. “It was a spirit beast, the first I’ve seen in years. The core is strong. You can—you know, take it, use it to make spiritual tools or whatever…” He pulls away, and Xiao Xingchen quickly turns to glance sightlessly up at him over his shoulder.

"A real core?"

"As real as they come."

It’s an impressive gift, the core. The spirit beast’s magical essence, it can be used in elixirs and spiritual tools. Xingchen has never encountered a beast with a core potent enough to do more than make healing draughts and powders, but he can sense the thrum of power clean through the containing pouch.

Instinctively he knows that this is more than a mere gift. That for someone like Chengmei—a survivor, a forager, a scrounger, a child of the streets—to give up such an advantage, something that he could use—

He rises, pouch in hand, and lays the other on Chengmei’s shoulder.

“Thank you, A-Mei,” he says.

He has nothing to give Chengmei in return except for that—“A-Mei”—but it seems to be enough.

Silence. And then, “Well, I’d best be letting you play with your new toy,” says Chengmei. “Be careful with it. It’s got more malevolent energy than I’ve seen anywhere for a while. You wouldn’t want a corrupted spiritual tool killing you in your sleep, would you?”

“Could that actually happen?”

“I wouldn’t let it happen,” says Chengmei, a bit too emphatically, and he slips out of the house as if he’s said too much.

Xiao Xingchen sits back down. He wants to rush out after Chengmei, plead with him to be careful, to not exert himself with his wounded side and broken arm, but instead he smiles fondly after him, hoping he’s looking over his shoulder, and turns to the pouch.

After a moment he rises, rummages through Chengmei’s small store of things. Normally he would never look through his things—(“Look.” Ha. What would Chengmei have to say to that?) but this is going to be a gift for Chengmei, as he’s not so presumptuous to think a pet name is much of a gift.

But this will help him keep Chengmei safe, and he would do anything to keep Chengmei safe.

Carefully, he cuts a paperman out of Chengmei’s talisman paper and lays it flat on his hand.

He’d only done this once before, under Shifu’s supervision, and it had drained his spiritual powers for a week afterward.

He’s stronger now than he was then, but he still knows the dangers of being trapped outside his body, of fracturing his mind between two loci, of the damage to his psyche if the paperman is harmed while he’s still in it.

He hasn’t dared risk anything like this since losing his eyes. He’s relied too heavily on his spiritual energy to find his way around and defend himself to risk losing it for a week. Had no one to protect his body while he was in the paperman, keep him from the thousand dangers of the road.

But he has a home now, and he can rely on Chengmei to look after him if he drains his powers for a few days. And he doesn’t think he will drain them—the beauty of the core is that it will provide an alternate source of power for the consciousness transfer.

Or rather, consciousness splitting.

If all goes well, he can split his consciousness between his body and the paperman on night-hunts, seeing through the paperman’s eyes, being able to see threats, monsters, demons, beasts, defend himself and Chengmei, so that last night’s events will never be repeated.

And—he can’t help but blush at the thought—he’ll finally get to see what Chengmei looks like. It’s not as if it matters to him. Chengmei is Chengmei. He’s his, no matter what. He already knows he’s good looking, going by overheard scraps of conversation, but that had meant nothing to him as a blind man, and he knows it will mean nothing even after he sees his face.

But to be able to gaze upon his face as he lies next to him in bed, look across the table at him at dinner, see the light catching in his eye as he laughs, finally see the smile that sounds so very infectious—

It’s worth the risk involved in splitting his consciousness between his body and the paperman.

And the risk in using the malevolent core. Chengmei was right—there’s a strong dark energy in the deceptively bright and golden core.

But he can handle it. Use the light, leave the darkness in the pouch.

He wonders how long he has till Chengmei returns. He checks the shelf—so he took a basket with him, that must mean he was going to the market. Not something he should be doing in his state, but at least it gives Xiao Xingchen a bit more time before he’s expected back.

He sits cross-legged on the mediation mat beside his old coffin—they really ought to move that out, make more room in the house—what will they tell A-Qing?—he’ll leave that up to Chengmei—he doesn’t think she’ll care much, but they’ll have to swear to secrecy; he can’t imagine the neighbors will like having two cut-sleeves in their town—

He takes a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts, but for once they refuse to be calmed.

Is he a cut-sleeve? Is that what this is? Outside friendship, he'd never had so much as a flicker of interest in anyone before, man or woman, but he’d taken an innate interest in women for granted. He should go back and examine the last ten years of his life, recontextualize the last fifteen years of his life, see if there were signs, revisit his time with Song Lan—

Another deep breath. None of this matters now. What matters is that Chengmei will be home soon, and Xiao Xingchen wants to surprise him. And how now Xingchen willl be able to examine last night’s stitches, make sure the splint is in correctly place, ensure that Chengmei heals properly.

Eat dinner on the porch, watching the sunset together.

See the moon.

Lie on his back, looking up at the stars....

Best not think about that. Best not get his hopes up in case he fails—

He does not fail.

It’s like a red-hot razor is slicing slivers from his brain, carving it in half. He’s about to cry out when the agonizing pain is gone and only the heat remains.

His own face looks down at him, its wide mouth hanging open slightly, eyebrows raised above the blood-streaked blindfold.

He drops the paperman in shock, and the room dips and whirls around him. Dizzied by the sense of motion despite being still, he immediately bends down to snatch at the fluttering paperman, stop its fall. It eludes him as, nausesous, he watches his giant hand snatch at his paperman face like an enormous white hawk grasping at its prey—

He slams his head into the table and falls off his chair.

Sitting on the floor with the paperman tucked safely in his robe, queasy with motion sickness, he laughs to himself at his own clumsiness.

He can see.

Xingchen is about to rise, look around, examine every nook and cranny of his suddenly-new home, when he hears off-key whistling from outside.

His pulse quickens. Chengmei is home, sooner than expected—

Chengmei steps over the threshold.

“I’m back, daozhang!” he calls. “Where are you hiding? I bought you some fresh apples; I thought we could cook them in honey or something, maybe add some sweet wine—”

Xiao Xingchen gazes at him in mute horror through the paperman’s eyes.

It’s him.

That’s Chengmei’s voice. His familiar cheerful, irreverent voice.

But the face—

Xiao Xingchen leaps to his feet, stumbling backwards over the chair and falling in a tangle of limbs to the floor.

Chengmei—not Chengmei—the imposter—is beside him in a moment, apples rolling across the floor and smashed egg oozing from the dropped basket.

“Daozhang!” He lifts him to his feet with his customary combination of gentleness and roughness. “I knew I shouldn’t leave you alone with your head injury!”

Xiao Xingchen’s knees give way. “I’m—I’m—you—”

Chengmei—the imposter—Xue Yang’s—eyes are wide. “What is it?”

“I—you—”

“Lean on me, daozhang. I’ll help you to bed.” Looping Xiao Xingchen’s arm over his shoulder, Xue Yang half-carries him to bed. The paperman is nestled inside Xingchen’s robe, vibrating against his skin. “You just lie there, and I’ll peel you some apples. Perk you up a little. Maybe don’t go to sleep for a bit, I once half-cracked my skull, and I passed out in a ditch, and when I woke up I—”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t hear the rest of his story. Weak with horror, he stares at Xue Yang as he slices apples at the table, holding the fruit steady with the elbow of his bad arm.

Bad arm. The arm with the hand that—that—

He hadn’t felt the glove the night before. Xue Yang must have taken it off.

Taken it off when they had—

He rolls over on his side and vomits into the water jug.

* * *

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#xiao xingchen #xue yang #xuexiao #yi city #you look so pretty with blood on your face #lotus writes #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfic

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