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multiples-fandomswontkillme · 3 years

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~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

#metal family #glam metal family #ches metal family #victoria metal family #chess metal family #dee metal family #heavy metal family #metal family glam #metal family victoria #metal family dee #metalfamily #metal family heavy

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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

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Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 7.4

Author’s Note: I believe I’ll be doing a LIVE pulling for Xiao tonight around 7:45 PST. Join me if you want to see me cry from happiness or from not pulling him LOL. The link is in one of my previous posts. Before, during, or after this chapter, listen to this song to get a feel of what’s happening! https://youtu.be/ifQ3JRS4gqc

.....................

The voices never truly left you alone after that. You were practically becoming unhinged by the endless whispers that plagued your ears, and the quiet of night only seemed to egg them on further. When you were blessed with their silence, you were plagued the physical pains of the karmic debt and your depression from joining the harbingers. Childe was obviously growing more and more concerned with each passing day; you were beginning to freak him out. The Tsaritsa and the other harbingers, however, found great amusement in your...condition. It was a blessing in disguise; they were manipulating you much easier now that you were exhausted from the sleepless nights.

And it wasn't like you were constantly needing medical care, though you wished they would give you some heavy pain killers. No; whatever damage your body was burdened with would be repaired by morning thanks to Xiao's blood. The pain wasn't nearly as dramatic as the first wave, but it was a constant dull aching that ate away at your bones. Slowly but surely, the pains grew over time.

Xiao made his presence known to you only twice more; he showed himself in the late evenings for brief periods of time to quell your aching heart and mind. At least when he was able to be with you, the dreadful screams would disperse if only temporarily. At least when he was with you, you were granted sleep. Small waves of peace would reclaim you as Xiao watched over your sleeping figure.

But once Liyue's festivities were underway, Xiao's visits became nonexistent and your mind was once again thrown into deeper chaos while he fought off more demons. It was the busiest time of the year for both the inhabitants and the demonic presences of Liyue; it was Xiao's task to fend the latter off since the festivities attracted their attention and strengthened their presence. He felt you slowly shattering, and it hurt him to know he couldn't be with you as often as he wanted to.

One day out of the blue, over a month after you joined the Fatui, Childe approached you with a grand smile across his face. "Ojou-chan! Why don't I show you around Snezhnaya? It's much better than sitting in your room all day."

"...Aren't you always saying we could freeze to death?" Your unamused expression failed to hinder Childe's enthusiasm. "Why would I want to go outside?" The bags under your eyes spoke volumes about your continuous sleepless nights.

"Come on, Mezzetin, it'll be good for you. You could use the exercise."

"Are you implying something?" You're eyes narrowed dangerously, but Childe's grin only widened when your normal quips shone through your broken character.

"Well, if you ever feel the need to put me in my place, I'm more than willing to oblige to a fight," he watched your expression lighten for a moment before urging you. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Sheer cold wasn't an issue for this winter wasteland like it was on Dragonspine, but it had to be at least five times colder here. Childe made sure you were bundled up in a large furry coat before guiding you out of the castle and leading you to a town square that was surprisingly bustling with people despite the frigid temperatures. Stalls lined the streets. People gathered around to buy the freshest local food that included some incredibly large seafood varieties. Others were in line to buy trinkets, house decor, and a variety of other items.

"...A farmer's market?" Your cold breath of a remark caught Childe's attention, and he turned to you.

"Of course! Go ahead and look around. If there's anything you want, I'll buy it for you."

He's trying to cheer me up? You examined Childe's earnest demeanor as he eyed the fish stall with stars in his eyes. Can he just pick a side already?! You rolled your eyes. Still, might as well bankrupt him if he insists. You broke away from him and continued down the rows of stalls for awhile, unaware that the harbinger had rejoined you.

You were busy examining a few intriguing necklaces made of materials you haven't heard of when the whispers of the damned regained their voices. You staggered a bit only to be steadied by Childe's hand on your shoulder.

Childe noted your glowing eyes. "Happening again?" His genuine concern made you relieved that he wasn't a complete monster like the other harbingers. "If you need a break, there's a café over there that we can sit in." Your strained nod prompted him to guide you with a hand at the back of your shoulders.

"Hm?" A strange sound reached your ears, and this time it wasn't from inside your head. Your feet came to a halt before the two of you reached the building, and you tilted your head towards the sound.

It was a light and effortless tune that floated through the open air from yet another building. The melody was slow to build, yet you hung onto its every note. It took you a moment to realize that it calmed the demonic voices from screams to hushed murmurs. You followed the path of the sounds until you found yourself in an extremely outdated music shop.

"Mezzetin?" Childe attempted to regain your attention as he followed after you. He caught onto the childlike wonder glistening in your teary eyes. "Care to explain?"

"The pain..." a tear fell. "It's subsiding." You continued to stare at the harpist that played her tune at the back of the shop, eyes never leaving the fingers that plucked the strings. The voices were gone, and now you were only overwhelmed with a sense of peace.

Childe watched you silently listen to the music for a long while. An idea struck him. "Have you ever played?"

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daze and wiped the tears away. "Um...Granny used to play a lot when I was little. I know a couple tunes, but--" Childe walked to the shop owner without letting you finish, pulling out a large sack of mora while he was at it. "H-hey! What're you doing?"

"If it brings you happiness, then I don't see the problem in buying it," Childe argued back after he had purchased the most expensive harp in the shop and left a considerate tip. The two of you were walking back to the palace now. He had ordered for his subordinates to take the instrument back with them.

"But I haven't played in years! And I said I only knew a few simple tunes--"

"--Then I will ensure you receive lessons." He was not going to budge on this, and he made it obvious with his firm gaze. "The rest of the harbingers made it clear that they do not care for your wellbeing, but I do. Think of this as a gift and a type of therapy. You've been down ever since Xiao left you--"

"I left him," you corrected. And I so regret my decision.

"I'm just trying to prove that you aren't in a prison anymore. If you want to see it as that, then by all means, continue to be depressed. But something tells me you want to see Xiao again and find a way with him, no?"

"...Right."

"Then at the very least accept my apology gift to you."

"Huh? Apology?" You gave him a questioning look, but he either didn't hear you or elected to ignore you.

......................................

Xiao was being as antisocial as ever, but it's not like he would ever turn down an invitation for tea from Rex Lapis himself. Here he was, sitting just outside of Wangshu Inn with his master in the bright of day. Aether probably put the archon up to the task considering how Xiao pushed him away what felt like ages ago, but the yaksha decided to give Zhongli the time of day only because of his deep respect for his savior.

"I've also brought more pain killers," Zhongli handed the yaksha a small jar of other-worldly medicines as he continued to fill him in on the upcoming Lantern Rite. He had yet to bring you into the conversation, most likely to avoid irritating the throbbing wound in Xiao's chest.

"Mm." Xiao gladly accepted the medication and set it aside. This ensured yet another lull in their conversations.

"Will you go this year?" Zhongli sipped at his tea. "To the Lantern Rite?"

"My presence would only hinder the festival. Besides, I'm not great with crowds." The yaksha had yet to meet the archon's eyes, and kept his gaze firm on the teacup in front of him. Truth be told, he would have gone this year...with you, since it was you who had asked him. But now that these circumstances have come to pass, why should he go? "It's just another excuse for humans to discard their trash into the ocean." Why should he go when it would only remind him of his failure to keep you at his side?

Zhongli narrowed his eyes as he pondered whether words of comfort would aid his yaksha. "It would be good for you to experience something new after all your years of living."

"I already have," Xiao clenched his jaw, signaling that the topic was beginning to walk on thin ice. "She--"

"--Is not dead," Zhongli reminded. "Do not mourn for a loss that has not occurred."

"But she's dying," he argued back, finally releasing the emotions he's pent up ever since they left you. Zhongli's look of confusion prompted him to continue. "She can feel the karmic debt bestowed upon me."

"When did this begin?" The archon's usual reserved composure faltered slightly while his eyes widened.

"A month ago. I visited her; she can hear the voices of the damned. She's been in physical and mental pain ever since."

"The bond..." Zhongli set his teacup down a bit abruptly as he thought to himself. "It appears these side effects grow stronger in the other's absence. How intriguing..."

"How do we discard them? Is there a way?"

"Have you not interpreted my words in Qingce Village all along? Or my words at the Dawn Winery? I've already given you the means to act, Xiao."

--Can feel your emotions...emotions cannot be permanently ignored...fall on deaf ears...early grave... Xiao scoffed and downed the rest of his tea before forcefully setting the cup back down onto the table. "You think admitting my alleged feelings for a mortal human would solve the problem?"

"She's done her part, now it is your turn," he straightened. "If you fail to do so, I fear she will perish from your karmic debt in no time at all. If what you say is true, it's a miracle she's still alive. Your admittance would seal the bond, as it would eliminate the side effects altogether."

Xiao's head whipped in the direction of the playing of an instrument note, but was only greeted with the joyful screams of children running around nearby. "Tch. How annoying," he played his mishearing off and returned to his normal sitting position. Another sound reached his ears, but he neglected to react to it. The notes are off.

Zhongli didn't question Xiao's sudden alertness, but that didn't take away from the fact that yet another side effect has revealed itself to the archon. It appeared as though the yaksha was already aware of this side effect.

And man, did this one annoy Xiao the most. He heard the most random of tunes and chords at the most random of times. It would even jolt him awake when he managed to fall asleep on rare nights. It wasn't all unpleasant though; there were times in which the melody struck all the right notes and the result was a beautiful thirty second song before it was gloriously ruined by the musician's hesitance or embarrassment.

He knew it was you. Your constant need to practice was as pestering as your old daily prayers before he revealed to you that he could hear them. At least he only sometimes heard the plucking of strings. As pesky and invasive as it was, your insistence upon playing what Xiao only assumed was a lyre somehow brought a bit of joy to his heart. It meant that you were doing better than the last time he saw you.

He just wished he could hear the end result and not your sloppy practice sessions.

........................

Only on the eve of the Lantern Rite, several days before the celebration, did he come to appreciate the hours of hard work you were putting into practicing the music.

You had locked yourself in your room again after watching the failed experiments Dottore had forced you to witness. How many did you see die today? Fifty? He clearly needed to adjust the ratio of your blood to whatever else he had in that serum he developed. What was worse was that you were beginning to become desensitized to the loss of human life; amused by it, even. Just as the Tsaritsa wanted. Sometime into the fortieth treatment, your pains grew stronger as did the voices of the slain daemons.

You retreated to your room, relieved that Childe had for once allowed you to be without his presence. You sat yourself next to the window and allowed for the evening light to illuminate the music sheets the harbinger had bought for you. Your fingers grazed lightly over the strings as the voices continued to grow louder, absently plucking one of them to ensure that you still had full control over your slightly twitching limbs. You had nearly snapped the strings last time the voices overwhelmed you--

There's no time nor need to reminisce those incidents. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and began to play, the smooth vibrations of the harp humming against your chest and shoulder as the strings were struck. Unlike your practice sessions, your hands glided over the strings from one position to the next like you had played for a thousand years. No hesitation could be felt from the chords. Finally, it seemed as though you mastered this song.

Xiao. I miss you...your warmth...your embrace... Your infested thoughts soon cleared as your mind drifted to an image of him. I wonder if he too finds comfort in music when the voices overwhelm him? For you knew that when the voices grew louder, he too, was subject to them. The music overcame the screaming daemons, and you were relieved with a sense of peace. Your fingers continued to play through the music and repeated the song for as many times as you felt fit. Your aching limbs continued to throb, but you didn't let that stop you from playing. Your mind now clear as water, you poured your longing for Xiao into your music. You hummed the melody as you played.

One day you'll find your way back to him, or him to you. Was it okay to allow yourself to believe in the possibility that he held the same feelings for you? Did he love you? No--Could he? It was already naïve enough to think he was capable of harboring such intimate feelings after living through hell for over two thousand years. And even if he did, it's not like you'd live as long as he has. Would he push me away again? You shoved that thought out of your mind with another series of chords.

You wouldn't be able to put an end to your feelings no matter what he did. He was too admirable, too strong, too strict, too beautiful. He was too kind, even if he put up a front. You loved him too much; perhaps that would end in your own downfall just as Childe predicted and beat into your head every day, but that was alright with you. If the voices were to eat away at you until all that remained were ashes, you were okay with being true to yourself until the very end. Even if he never thought of you as something more than a companion. And as you thought of him, the longing to be reunited swelled within your chest and overflowed into your fingers.

Your song was your unspoken prayer, your love and dedication were your offerings.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #xiao #xiao fanfiction #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao

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falsegoodnight · 4 years

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these are the fics I read (or reread) and loved this month!

*note: this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 1st to the 26th and any fics read after will be included in next month’s fic rec list because i don’t want this to be too long!

—

✰ you fold into me like a beating heart by @lil0 / theweightofmywords | 2k

He’s scrolling through his phone as this nervous energy consumes him. He feels like he’s on the edge of something. If he falls, he doesn’t think he’d ever make it back. He catches himself staring at his weather app. It’s sunny where his ex is.

It’s sunny here too.

(this was so lovely and well-written! i’m honestly impressed with how much development and characterization and emotion was packed into less than 2k words! also i don’t want to spoil anything but there’s an element in this fic that finally plays out in the final sentence and i ADORED that! the last few paragraphs in general are just so perfect!)

✰ no one to blame (but the drink) by @femstyles | 3k

Harry misses Louis. He knows Louis deserves better.

(this was so well-written and heart wrenching! i’m a sucker for fics where so much raw feeling is packed into smaller sizes and this is a perfect example! and exes to lovers, my kryptonite! it has more of an open ending but i loved it the little flicker of hope that it left the reader with!!)

✰ For You I’d Bleed Myself Dry by @allwaswell16 | 4k

After a public and humiliating breakup, Louis Tomlinson finds himself on his would-be honeymoon with his best friend, Niall. However, this St. Lucian paradise is not all that it seems. Louis may be particularly vulnerable to an unusually handsome predator.

(one of the many vampire harry fics i read this month to get in the mood for writing my own! this one was so addicting and alluring- the air of mystery had me on the edge of my seat the entire time and the ENDING! it was vague and mysterious and PERFECT for the story!!!)

✰ Sugar Cube by @zanniscaramouche | 5k

Louis is fine. He knew this would happen. He knows. The beat up laptop stuffed under his mattress can attest to how much porn he’s watched and hell, he’s been on his knees in a piss stained alley for a few tenners. He’s not some scared blushing virgin.

Except. He kind of is.

(THIS. FIC. i was engrossed from start to finish and i genuinely cannot wait to read the full fic when the blff rolls around. the writing in this was exquisite- it evoked so much imagery and feeling in the reader and gosh, that ENDING! i can’t wait to find out what happens next!)

✰ Click by @allwaswell16 | 5k

When Louis got assigned a roommate, he wasn’t exactly thrilled, but as far as roommates go Marcel was a pretty good one. That was until Marcel started clicking a counter everywhere he went...

(i haven’t read very many marcel fics but i gave this one a shot and loved it! short and sweet and well-written! i loved the aspect of clicking too! it added an extra layer to the story! and of course, one can never go wrong with roommates to lovers!!)

✰ take me to the stars by @lil0 / theweightofmywords | 6k

Staring at his darling daughter, in the middle of the pasta aisle, Louis found himself on the edge of a neurotic breakdown.

"It’s your birthday tomorrow! And your papa better not do anything to muck it up! Because your dada worked very hard to organise it! And all of your aunties and grannies and granddads and friends will be there!” Louis continued in a sweet sing-song voice that seemed to get increasingly frantic as he continued. “And if your papa is in rut, then what? What’ll we do, honey girl? Your dada will be too busy! And your papa will be too horn-”

“Louis,” Harry interrupted, touching Louis’ arm. “I’ll be okay. It’s probably not even my rut. I can appreciate you… all of you… even when I’m not in rut.”

Louis looked at him skeptically, imagining the shitshow that would be Harry in rut, surrounded by family and friends, at their child’s first birthday party. “I hope you’re right, H.”

(this fic was so adorable and soft! i had a smile on my face the entire time! i don’t read a lot of fics where h&l are parents that don’t include pre-pregnancy but this sounded so cute that i couldn’t resist and i’m glad i gave it a shot! it’s well-written and lovely just like all other of this writer’s fics!!)

✰ which is sweeter love or its loss by @doncasterkitten / patdkitten | 6k

After he catches his boyfriend cheating on him, Louis runs away from London and answers an ad to housesit an estate in the Yorkshire Moors while the mysterious owner is away. It's easy enough to forget about his problems when confronted with the routine that exists in a former abbey in the moors, when the only people around are a cat and the caretaker.

And then the mysterious owner returns.

(another vampire harry fic! i loved the writing and the atmosphere in this fic which felt so real and developed despite it being a shorter fic! i loved the louis and harry here and the added aspect of louis getting over being cheated on and trying to escape. the story had a very ambiguous/open ending that worked perfectly for the story!)

✰ shine a light upon your ground by @ashleyjohnsonfanaccount / louizsv | 9k

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

(this author’s writing style is always so immersive and evocative and this fic is no exception! i’m honestly floored by how she managed to write this wonderful story in ONE DAY! the smut was hot and although i definitely pictured H as Harry the entire time, i loved the aspect of mystery in his identity and that the reader could choose to imagine him as whoever they wanted!)

✰ kiss me in your chevrolet by @lougendarey / cinnamons | 12k

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

(i love roadtrip aus and this one was so cute and lovely! the * troubles - don’t want to spoil - added another layer of depth to the story and i really enjoyed that too! their relationship was so cute and i loved how supportive and lovely harry was to louis in this fic when he needed it :’) also the ENDING!! i’m a sucker for endings like that - again, don’t want to spoil - and this one was so cute, i had a giant smile on my face!!! remember to read tags!)

✰ A Vivid and Wistful Memory by @lwtisloved / MyEnglishRose | 13k

In which they are neighbours stuck at home and they happen to start talking through a wall with a piano, a violin, and a flute. They end up writing the soundtrack of their own love story.

(this was so adorable!!! i’ve been craving some more quarantine fics and this one delivered so well! i loved the aspect of violin and flute playing, writing songs together, the neighbors to friends to lovers, and of course i loved louis’ cat, Snowball <3 such a lovely story and so so heartwarming! highly recommend!)

✰ until this blood runs cold by @soldouthaz | 14k

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

(amazing, perfect, wonderful as always! sarah’s writing is like a breath of fresh air and this story was truly incredible! i loved the atmosphere and the uniqueness of louis and harry’s jobs - never read anything like it, that’s for sure - and i’m just a sucker for vampire harry in general but sarah’s is perfect <333)

note: this fic is part of a series of vampire fics/drabbles (all of which are completely separate!) titled love bites which sarah and i are doing together so check it out!!!)

✰ UN(RE)SOLVED by @daddyharrie | 21k

The ghoul boys are back, but this time around there are some unresolved feelings involved. Harry is a skeptic, Louis is not. Watch them go on their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

Or, BuzzFeed Unsolved AU.

(i actually re-read this last month and forgot to talk about it - a TRAGEDY, I’M SORRY - but this is pretty much one of my favorite fics of this year and of all time, hands down. it’s not even that i’m a buzzfeed unsolved fan- this fic is just so??? good??? i’ve read it over five times and i never get tired of this version of harry and louis or the story or the humor. also jealous harry >>>)

✰ your eyes of blue, your kisses too by @loubellies | 22k

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

or the murder in the alleyway.

(so good!!! mar has really outdone herself with this one! historical au + mystery + detective harry is pretty much a recipe to win me over and this took all of those things and combined them perfectly! it’s fast paced and atmospheric - love the 1920s setting for this fic - and engrossing! and the smut was hot hot HOT!)

✰ Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 | 38k

Louis is a nonverbal omega who has accepted the fact that he will never find an alpha that will treat him as an equal. On the other hand, he’s never met anyone like Harry.

(this was so amazing and so heartwarming! i loved the relationship between louis and harry here and especially how supportive and wonderful harry was with louis and trying to learn how to communicate with him :’) reading this fic was so comforting, i can’t explain it. i just read it in one sitting while laying in bed and i had the dopiest smile on my face at some parts. i don’t normally read fics with no smut but this one was so worth it)

✰ Lidocaine and Palm Trees. by @daddyharrie | 45k

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

(i’ve already recced this fic on here a few months back but it’s recently been finished so i will be screaming about it again. another favorite of this year and favorite of all time. i’ve reread this fic over and over since it’s finished and i never get tired of it. i love these characters and this storyline (which is so unique and refreshing, honestly) so much. the setting also makes me feel nostalgic in the best way)

✰ Since I’ve Found You by @all-these-larrythings / Rearviewdreamer | 74k

Louis woke up on the morning he was meant to volunteer at the Feed the Homeless program at St. Mary's church hoping for an opportunity to give back a little to a city that has given him everything he could ever want. Little did he know, there was one more great thing waiting there for him; a boy with radiant green eyes in a weathered jacket and a beat-up backpack slung over his shoulders.

(THIS. FIC. it was so cute and amazing! i don’t get the chance to read a lot of longer fics as much as i want to but i somehow read this in one afternoon because i couldn’t put it down. it was so heartwarming and i loved the progression of their relationship and louis was so lovely and so was harry and ugh, it was so good! the ending made me emotional too <3)

If you read any of these beautiful works of art, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

#fic recs #my fic recs #august 2020 recs #28th appreciation #august recs #2020 recs #scheduled

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hankwritten · 3 years

Text

Plein Air

Demoman/Soldier, 1k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 7: Pride

“Let’s get this one thing clear, maggot: I am proud of who I am.

I am proud to be an American! I am proud to be BLU! I am proud of my ability to practice law in thirty-eight of the forty-nine states! Never in my life have I bowed to the cowardly condition of self-pity, not when I have so much to feel accomplished about. So then! When I tell you this you will not mistake it for me asking for your blessing, your sympathy, or any of that granny-gumming nonsense that you may want to spit in my direction!”

“I get it Jane,” Tavish insisted. “It’s been eleven minutes. Please just tell me what you wanted to say.”

The sheets, which had somehow gotten tangled around me in my (several minute long) speech, prevented me from kicking him in retaliation. Instead, I tried to take a steadying breath, reminding myself that I didn’t need to gasconade in front of Tavish, that all my posturing was unearned after everything else we’d revealed to each other. But, despite knowing that logically, it did not make this any easier. I didn’t make a habit of talking about it to partners. Not to partners, not to friends, not even to Medic who didn’t care much now that the “fun” part was over.

But Tavish…Tavish was different. Or at least, I wanted what we’d made together to be different.

I cleared my throat. “I…was weird. As a kid. Wanted to play war games, didn’t do well with the other girls.” Immediately, I cringed away from the words I’d been avoiding for decades, and looked to Tavish for the flinch of recognition I was sure was coming. But he still had that mix of concern and confusion muddling his face, so I went on, “was just blissfully unaware of it, until I had to leave home over what was brewing. Joined up.”

At least Tavish already knew that part of the story. “Aye, I remember,” he said. “Don’t get what you mean by ‘unaware’, though?”

“I am getting there, maggot!” I huffed. “I’d get confused. Didn’t even remember why people were calling me a woman in the first place. Just kept roaming through Poland until I ran into Medic, and he dropped all his quack medical terms on me. And then he…fixed me up.”

Cured, was what it always felt like. Like everything in my life up until then had been moving through a fever dream, and after Medic had stepped in, it finally broke.

Tavish raised an eyebrow. “That can mean a lot of things when it comes to Medic.”

“He helped with the body I have.” That I wasn’t ashamed to admit. I’d worked hard on getting to where I was, and I was damn proud of it. “Hormones, surgery, the rest.”

“Oh,” Tavish said, brow furrowing.

“Oh? What does ‘oh’ mean, maggot?” I demanded. “If you’ve got something to say then say it!”

At that moment, I was terrified he would—that after all the time working up the nerve, after deciding I loved him enough to do this, it’d turn out that he didn’t want the truth from me.

He saw my expression flash like steel and immediately reached for my hand. “Not that Jane, nothing like that,” he soothed, squeezing my palm tight. “I love you, and I’m glad you felt good enough to tell me all this.”

My racing heart slowed a few beats, a horse tripping over the finish line and coming to a steady trot. I breathed out, and linked my fingers with his.

“I suppose I am a bit puzzled…” he went on. “Getting Medic involved, surgery…it all sounds like a lot of work. Why didn’t you just ask Merasmus?”

Now, the true answer to that question is I didn’t meet that useless old wizard until years after I’d transitioned, but something about the way Tavish had phrased that question left me flabbergasted.

“Merasmus?” I demanded.

“Aye, he can magic bodies around willy-nilly,” Tavish explained. “That’s what he did for me.”

“…WHAT.”

“Did I never tell you that?” Tavish asked, scratching the back of his head. “Ah, well I met him as a kid, I asked him if he could do that, and he was all ‘DO NOT QUESTION WHAT THE GREAT MERASMUS CAN AND CANNOT DO BLAH BLAH BLAH,’ ‘n long story short, he turned me into a laddie.”

There was a deep pause in the mansion’s master bedroom.

“Tavish DeGroot,” I fumed with mounting indignation. “Did you just let me spout goosey gibberish for nearly twenty minutes just to tell me you are also transgender??”

“Er, sorry,” Tavish said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal? Not that your isn’t, obviously, if you feel it is, but er…I suppose, yeah.”

“You-”

“Keep your voice down, lad,” Tavish hushed. “You know Mum will have our hides if we wake her up fighting again.”

“That was only because we broke the dining room table. Yelling is not nearly as loud as that,” I complained, but lowered my voice anyway. Despite my initial frustration, the wave of anger crested and died, and I was left with a warm sense of relief. Relief, and new camaraderie. “You are full of cheeks, you know that?”

“Are you trying to call me ‘cheeky’?”

“I do not have time for your Britishisms! And stop trying to teach me.”

He smiled, knowing by the playfulness in my voice that I wasn’t truly mad at him, not really. “Fine, on my word, I’ll never try to make you talk properly again.”

“Apology accepted,” I replied.

“If we’re good on confessions for the night, you ready to turn in?”

We slid under the sheets, only halfway into bed when I’d stopped our nightly routine. At the moment, it’d felt like the most important thing in the world, to be authentic with Tavish now that we’d given up so much for each other. Curling against him, I realized I hadn’t even guessed how he’d react—nor known that things could be even better between us.

#dnadprideweek2021 #demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 16

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: The Jiang siblings visit the Burial Mounds. Feels are had.

Warning: Involves bugs as food. For Notes, see end.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

------------------

Lan Wangji is unsurprised, and somewhat relieved, when Wen Qing takes one look at Wei Ying upon their return to the Burial Mounds and tells him to go take a nap with A-Yuan.

His husband had already been swaying dangerously in the Yiling market when they had bought supplies, and had tried to insist Jiang Yanli ride in the cart while he walk, though he had quickly been overruled when Wen Ning, of all people, pointed out they could both ride comfortably if someone had a qiankun pouch for their purchases. Jiang Wanyin had pulled one from his sleeve, one that seemed oddly full, and Wen Ning helped place their purchases in it.

“Get in the damn cart, moron,” the Jiang sect leader said when Wei Ying hesitated.

“A-Xian, come ride with me,” Jiang Yanli coaxed, taking his arm and steering him to it herself.

Wei Ying was exhausted enough to fall asleep on her shoulder, despite the bumpy ride, on the way back, A-Yuan snuggled in his sister’s arms. He doesn’t look particularly refreshed when they have to wake him.

Despite his exhaustion, Wei Ying still tries to argue against a nap, eying his siblings, clearly considering their visit more important than his health. Lan Wangji finds his disregard for his own well-being concerning, but is well aware it isn’t unusual, just something they need to break him of.

“I told them,” he says. “In town. I bet they have questions, and—”

“I can answer their questions, Wei Wuxian!” she cuts in. “I performed the surgery, after all. You’re delegating the task to me and going to take a nap before I bring out the needles—don’t think I won’t knock you out.”

The mention of her needles clearly cows him, but he still seems hesitant.

“It’s our turn to take care of things,” Jiang Wanyin says, not looking at him. “You’ve done enough, Wei Wuxian.”

“More than enough,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, and reaches forward to pull him into a gentle hug. “Let us take care of our A-Xian, hm?”

Wei Ying seems frozen for a moment in the embrace, but relaxes into it. Lan Wangji can see him tremble as he hugs her back, and he knows, for the moment, they’ve won. It’s a small triumph, but at this point he’ll take it.

“Okay, shijie,” he says finally. “Xianxian will take a nap with Yuanyuan.”

She lets him go and pats his cheek in a way that reminds Lan Wangji of his mother when he was very young.

A-Yuan insists on giving his guma a hug before he lets Wei Ying take his hand and lead him toward the cave.

“Go with him,” Wen Qing insists, to his surprise.

It must show somehow, because she sighs.

“I told you when you came: you take care of him. That’s your job. I’ll take care of this—I wrote Jiang-guniang, after all.”

Lan Wangji nods, privately relieved his presence isn’t required for this conversation. He bows to each of them before leaving, including Wen Qing as a thank you even though it makes her huff in embarrassment.

As he takes longer strides to catch up with Wei Ying, he can hear Jiang Yanli speak to Wen Qing in a sweet voice that is likely terrifying up close in how it utterly fails to hide her ferocious protectiveness of her beloved adoptive brother—he mentally wishes Wen Qing luck.

He picks up A-Yuan and gets a startled glance from Wei Ying, who is not quite to the point of barely standing, but close enough that Lan Wangji wraps his free arm around him to steady him as they make their way to the cave.

A-Yuan babbles sleepily about having a new aunt and uncle, having been largely unaffected by the tension in town, and before long they’re both tucked in. Wei Ying doesn’t bother removing his boots, so Lan Wangji does it for him.

Before he can rise, Wei Ying reaches out for him, his eyes half-lidded as he’s already being pulled toward sleep, in what Lan Wangji recognizes as a plea for him to stay, to sit on the bed and let him be close as he sleeps. After the stress of the afternoon on his husband, he is happy to oblige, happy Wei Ying would ask, even silently, for his support.

“I will stay,” he tells him, settling beside him on the bed, letting Wei Ying tuck close and use his thigh as a pillow.

Not to be left out, A-Yuan clambers over them and settles curled between them against Wei Ying’s stomach, his face pressed into the front of his robe as he falls asleep. Lan Wangji draws the blanket up over both of them.

He has used the table near the bed both as a desk and to play the guqin, so it is no trouble to carefully stack the papers next to the bed and slide the inkstone back so he can pull out Wangji.

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh, the tension leaving his body, as he starts ‘WuJi.’ The song has been a comfort to his husband, he knows, when he himself failed to be, and he hopes to soon work on a new song, something that will capture the joy he finds in their marriage. The circumstances in which they and the people Wei Ying rescued live are less than ideal, and he wishes he could take him from this place of darkness and the memories of the horror he still cannot speak of, but they are together, and that is much preferable to being alone in the Cloud Recesses.

Before long, Wei Ying is asleep, and he segues into songs of cleansing and healing. Without a golden core, without Wen Qing’s needles, the latter has little impact—but little isn’t none, and he is still recovering. Every little bit helps, and after the stress of the day, he helps the only way he can, aside from serving as Wei Ying’s pillow.

He loses himself in the music, coming close to a meditative state as he plays. Time passes like sand through fingers before he hears hesitant steps enter the cave.

Lan Wangji pauses in his playing, recognizing two sets of footsteps, one the shuffling gait of Wen Ning, and the other softer. He is unsurprised when Jiang Yanli is the second set.

He is also unsurprised to see her face wet with tears.

Wen Ning offers her a short bow, then hefts the bathtub from their alcove as he does daily, kindly bringing fresh water and herbs for Wei Ying to use at night. He nods to him in thanks.

Jiang Yanli returns Wen Ning’s bow, and his esteem of her rises—many failed to give that respect to him in life, and more would likely refuse to now that he is a corpse, spiritual conscious or not. But Wei Ying’s sister recognizes him as he is: family.

Though the reverberation of the strings has ceased, the motion of stilling them is a comfort to Lan Wangji as he waits for her to speak. She watches her brother sleep for a while.

“Wen-guniang… She said he’s in pain,” she finally says.

Lan Wangji nods to confirm.

“That he’s been in pain since— since the war, and we didn’t…”

More tears spill down her cheeks, and he knows if Wei Ying were awake he would spring to comfort her.

“He hid it,” he tells her softly. “You could not have known.”

She makes a sound that is almost pained.

“I raised him. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t—“

Jiang Yanli presses her fist against her mouth.

“I led him to believe I disdained him and wished for him to be punished,” Lan Wangji says.

His failure to communicate had led to the strain of their relationship, to the point where Wei Ying had questioned whether he was still his zhiji, and he will forever regret letting him walk away into the darkness and rain even after that. He empathizes with her completely.

She is silent for a while before she nods.

“Wen-guniang has an idea,” she says. “She said Zewu-Jun pointed out that there is a life debt among our generation. The six of us, A-Xuan, and Nie Huaisang. An auspicious eight. Swearing brotherhood… It could protect A-Xian, and the people here.”

Xiongzhang had hinted at it, and Lan Wangji is glad Wen Qing is furthering the possibility.

“It would tie together the four sects, and the remnants of the Dafan Wen,” he adds, thinking aloud.

“A-Cheng pointed out that the lotus blossom has eight petals,” she says, smiling wistfully. “He and A-Xian used to talk about being the Twin Prides of Yunmeng. It seems almost like a sign.”

Lan Wangji is struck silent at the idea; the eight auspicious signs are almost sacred, and the imagery would be iconic. The imagery was prevalent at temples—the eternal wheel of life, the endless knot, the conch, the parasol, the lotus…

The noble eightfold path, an expansion of the threefold way.

Almost implying an expansion of the Venerated Triad, and associating Wei Ying with the noble path regardless of his cultivation.

“Apt,” he says when he finally finds his voice.

“I’ll talk to A-Xuan,” she says, her voice distant. “I know he and A-Xian didn’t get off on the right foot, but he knows I love my didi.”

“Xiongzhang is bringing Chifeng-Zun and Nie Huaisang to see the settlement after your wedding,” Lan Wangji tells her. “I am certain Wen Qing will broach the topic of a sworn brotherhood with them then.”

Jiang Yanli sways slightly, and he panics for a moment; if he needs to move to catch her, it will jostle and wake Wei Ying, and he needs the rest. But she steadies herself, and he is able to gesture to a chair instead, and she takes a seat.

“Hanguang-Jun, since you are my brother’s husband, I wondered if I might call you A-Zhan.”

The request to use his birth name surprises him—xiongzhang had only requested to call Wei Ying by his courtesy name—but she seems earnest about wanting to welcome him to the family.

“Of course. May I call you… A-Li?”

A smile blossoms across her face, and she nods, looking pleased.

Then Wei Ying murmurs in his sleep and their attention snaps to him. Lan Wangji strokes his hair gently, letting his fingers brush his scalp in a way he knows soothes him. He settles almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations.

Jiang Yanli, when he next looks up, is watching with a bittersweet look on her face.

“I used to do that for him,” she says softly, “when he had nightmares. Until he started hiding them.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say, so only nods. He understands her sense of helplessness, knowing Wei Ying is adept at hiding his pain, would still be hiding it if not for having pulled his wrist away a second too late.

“I wish he was coming to my wedding,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “He belongs there. But they’d try to kill him.”

He cannot disagree with either statement. Wei Ying should be there, as one of her last remaining family members, even if he did not share her blood, but it would never be permitted. Not now. Not until the plan xiongzhang implied to Wen Qing is put into motion.

But by then she will be married, the wedding over, and Wei Ying will not have been permitted to attend.

“You have done what you can to include him,” he tells her, hoping to soothe her. “He did not expect this much.”

It seems to have the opposite effect, tears lining her cheeks again.

“He never expects anything of us,” she whispers. “Mother made him feel undeserving, like he should feel grateful for any scrap. I try not to hate her for it, but…”

Lan Wangji can understand how she feels, has seen the marks from Zidian on Wei Ying, still healing when he gave his core to his brother, something he has probably hidden from his sister even through everything. And he knows Wei Ying feels he deserves those marks, believing the fall of Lotus Pier to be of his doing. The emotional damage goes far deeper.

“We can only assure him he deserves more,” he says after a moment. “And be sure to give it to him.”

He has been trying to do so, but it never feels like enough to make up for abandoning him at Qiongqi Path, for failing to join him on the righteous path, even if it is the single-plank one, for making his zhiji believe he reviled him. He understands how Jiang Yanli feels—though perhaps she feels it more deeply, or at least differently, as the person who basically raised him.

Footsteps approach from the cave entrance, Wen Ning with the tub filled with fresh water, something he has insisted upon doing since it was purchased. At some point during each day, he cleans and fills it, even preparing a fresh sachet of herbs to help Wei Ying recover. Truthfully, even with Lan Wangji’s arm strength he doubts he could lift it as easily as the fierce corpse is able, and he is grateful for his thoughtfulness.

“Than—thank you for waiting, Jiang-guniang,” he says after setting it down. “Popo is waiting to help us in the k-kitchen with preparing dinner.”

Jiang Yanli favors him with a smile.

“Thank you, Wen-gongzi.”

“Ah, you c-can just call me Wen Ning,” he says, looking flustered as he often does when people offer respect to him.

“Then you must call me Jiang Yanli.”

Wen Ning looks like he might protest, but she turns to Lan Wangji before he can, dipping into a proper and respectful bow.

“A-Zhan, thank you for taking care of A-Xian. It is…”

Her voice cracks, emotions nearly overcoming her again. It takes her a moment to recover.

“It is a relief to know someone else is here for him when I cannot be. I entrust him to your care.”

The formality, Lan Wangji realizes, is her approval of their union. Warmth spreads through him at her acceptance.

“However,” she says, a slight smile on her face that is also somehow fierce. “I think you will agree with me that A-Xian deserves a real wedding, at Lotus Pier, as soon as it is possible.”

The image of Wei Ying sitting on a bed in Nightless City in his red underrobes, the joy of his waking mixing with the wish they were wedding robes… that Jiang Yanli wants to ensure they receive that, that their union can be celebrated, if belatedly, in the way Wei Ying deserves to be honored.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I agree.”

She nods, clearly pleased.

“It will happen, A-Zhan; I’ll make sure of it.”

Lan Wangji has absolutely no doubt she will.

She leaves with Wen Ning, and he remembers her intention to cool the soup Wei Ying so loves for the settlement. It will be a welcome meal for them all.

Though he could resume playing, Lan Wangji opts to sink into a meditative state instead, waiting. He doesn’t need to wait long, as footsteps that are almost stomps approach and enter the cave.

He is ready to stare at Jiang Wanyin disapprovingly, but the steps hesitate, becoming uncertain, on the way to the alcove.

“He’s still resting,” Lan Wangji says before he can speak.

Jiang Wanyin’s face does something strange, going soft for a moment as he gazes at his brother and nephew, the top of A-Yuan’s head just visible poking out from beneath the blanket. Then his expression shutters.

“He needs the rest, then?” he asks.

“Mn. He is recovering. He also was giving most of his food to A-Yuan before I arrived. He is finally eating properly.”

The muscles in the Jiang sect leader’s jaw clench, working as though he’s stopping himself from saying something—or, more likely, yelling.

“He always gives too much,” Jiang Wanyin says finally.

Lan Wangji nods; he agrees with that assessment.

“I want to bring him back to Lotus Pier.”

The announcement is unexpected, and he reconsiders his assessment of the man.

“He will not leave these people.”

“I know that. The Wens too, of course.”

“They do not wish to be known as Wens,” Lan Wangji tells him, and watches Wei Ying sleep for a moment to be certain he won’t hear before continuing. “I believe they hope to take on Wei as a family name. They have not broached the subject with Wei Ying yet.”

Jiang Wanyin sits heavily in the chair his sister vacated, sighing.

“He’ll do that thing. Where he belittles himself,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s like he believes all the awful things a-niang said about him.”

Because he does believe them, Lan Wangji is well aware. His anger at a dead woman is unbecoming, but it will likely never fade. She trained Wei Ying to see himself as worthless, as a charity case, when he was one of the best cultivators of their generation. Even without his core, he was still inventing tools to help the cultivation world that slanders and wishes him dead.

“Not that I’m much better. He’s my brother and I fucking abandoned him,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. “And I accused him of abandoning me, on top of it. When—when he left a big piece of himself with me to protect me.”

It occurs to Lan Wangji that perhaps both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli suffered their own childhood traumas associated with bad parenting, that this is perhaps just a variation of that which has led Wei Ying down his path of self-destruction through giving too much, through not valuing himself. His own troubled upbringing led him to value his clan and the Lan rules over his zhiji, to believe his identity must be tied up in being a perceived paragon of Lan virtue above all else. Theirs led to Wei Ying’s isolation as well.

“You had no way of knowing,” he says. “Now that you know, you are trying to help him.”

What they do now does not absolve them of their wrongs, but it is a start.

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw clenches again, then releases when he sighs.

“I can’t undo the shitty stuff I said to him. You’ll come to Lotus Pier with him, right?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, surprised that’s in question. “He’s my husband.”

He receives a nod in response.

“He’ll need bigger quarters, then, for you and A-Yuan. I could give him a-niang’s old quarters, but I don’t know if he’d want to live where she did. He deserves them as my head disciple, so maybe if I remodel them…”

Jiang Wanyin seems to be thinking out loud.

“Wei Ying is still your head disciple?” he asks, having not realized.

“Yeah,” Jiang Wanyin says, then grimaces. “I never took him off the register. Kicking him out was for show, because he insisted. He never stopped being head disciple, but he probably doesn’t realize that.”

He likely doesn’t, knowing Wei Ying. Wei Ying, who still believes himself responsible for the fall of Lotus Pier, for the deaths that were a part of it. Even being head disciple, there will be much he cannot do, lacking a golden core.

“I can help with his duties,” Lan Wangji offers impulsively.

Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, startled, then smiles in a way that makes him look painfully young.

“Appreciated. He’ll… Well, he’ll need help with some of it. At least until Wen Qing figures out a way to help him.”

Lan Wangji realizes the Jiang sect leader is still hoping there’s a solution, that Wei Ying will again achieve the impossible.

“She’s going to make a list of things she’ll need to get started,” Jiang Wanyin continues. “And I’ll work to get ahold of them.”

A-Yuan stirs before Lan Wangji can reply.

“Loud,” he murmurs. “A-Die sleeping, shhhh.”

He wriggles his way out from under the blanket, somehow managing not to disturb Wei Ying as he does, then crawls off the bed.

“Jiang-shushu loud.”

His voice is pitched in an almost theatrical whisper, and Jiang Wanyin snorts in amusement.

“Okay,” he whispers back, also theatrical. “Let’s leave your a-die to sleep and go find guma, then.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wei Ying, then at Lan Wangji, who nods encouragingly. Then he turns back to Jiang Wanyin and holds his arms up expectantly.

Jiang Wanyin stands, pulling A-Yuan into his arms as he does.

“I’ll watch the kid. It looks like everyone else is busy right now.”

Lan Wangji simply nods in response. A-Yuan chatters softly to his uncle as they make their way out of the cave, leaving him alone with Wei Ying.

Jiang Wanyin’s absence is a relief. He finds it difficult still not to resent him for his choice to abandon Wei Ying, for the fact that Wei Ying’s core now rests within him, even for his desperate hope that his brother will somehow heal enough to form a new one. In far too many ways, it’s not enough, just as anything Lan Wangji does now cannot make up for his own failures.

He reminds him of Wei Ying’s mortality, as unfair as that may be.

Resentment will help nothing, may even be exacerbated now by the Burial Mounds, so Lan Wangji works to focus instead on the sensation of Wei Ying’s hair against his fingers, the weight of his head on his thigh, his soft breaths, and he is eventually able to fall into a sort of meditation until Wen Qing comes to fetch them.

“Jiang-zongzhu set up the tablets for the adoption rites, so we can start with those,” she tells Wei Ying once he’s awake.

Wei Ying stares at her blearily for a moment.

“Adopting A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji prompts gently.

Wen Qing gives him a disapproving look.

“He’s very excited, and your siblings can serve as witnesses.”

“Right. Sorry. Been a long day,” Wei Ying murmurs, then glances at Lan Wangji. “It’s still today, right?”

Lan Wangji brushes a lock of hair back from his face.

“Mm. You slept only a few hours.”

Wei Ying melts into his touch, and he leans forward to brush his lips against his forehead. Wen Qing clears her throat and drops a bundle on the bed.

“Your sister also made Jiang-zongzhu go back into town and buy nice clothing for you and A-Yuan for the adoption rites.”

She indicates the bundle.

“So hurry up and get changed. She cooked up a feast, and everyone’s hungry. I think she’s determined to give you a proper wedding banquet.”

Wen Qing, ever brusque, turns on her heel and leaves before either of them can respond.

Wei Ying opens the bundle on the bed, blinking at the high quality clothing. The fabric, at a glance, looks black, but has threadwork in a deep blue and purple. It sends a message from Jiang Wanyin: Wei Ying is of the Jiang sect still. A red underrobe, new zhong yi, a red silk hair ribbon embroidered with little pink lotuses, and even new boots complete the package.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng… How can I wear these?”

“You were not removed from the sect registry. He insists you are still his head disciple.

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes, taking a heavy seat on the bed, clearly overwhelmed.

Lan Wangji wonders if he should tell Wei Ying the rest—that Jiang Wanyin intends to bring everyone at Burial Mounds to Lotus Pier permanently when it is feasible. But he will leave that to the Jiang sect leader.

Instead he opens his qiankun pouch and pulls out the light blue robes he arrived wearing, which he hasn’t worn in days. If dinner is in part for them, he should dress appropriately, as well.

Changing takes little time, though Lan Wangji has Wei Ying sit for his hair to be combed and put back in its crown, as it came loose as he slept.

The entire settlement is waiting for them in the hall when they enter, and though only Wen Qing has seen an official adoption rite, she demurs from describing it.

“It was Wen Zhuliu’s, so it feels like bad luck to copy it,” she says when pressed.

None of them argue.

“We should have seen an adoption rite,” Jiang Wanyin mutters.

Wei Ying seems not to have heard, focused on A-Yuan. He takes the child’s hand and leads him to the space where someone has set up an altar with his parents’ tablets, complete with sticks of incense and food offerings: three cups holding tea, water, and Jifu’s fruit wine, plates with small stacks of oranges and sweets. A fire burns in a small brazier in front of the altar, a stack of joss paper set nearby.

For a moment, Wei Ying is completely silent, looking at the altar as though struck.

Jiang Yanli breaks the silence.

“You’ve never been able to venerate them,” she murmurs.

Lan Wangji understands suddenly: there was no place set for Wei Ying’s parents’ tablets at Lotus Pier, and so his husband has never been able to properly pay them respects—cruel, given their bodies were never found to begin with.

“Thank you, shijie.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, and he kneels and gestures to A-Yuan to do the same.

Wei Ying keeps it simple, first apologizing for being unable to do his filial duty for them, kowtowing before them. A-Yuan copies him dutifully, and this receives smiles from the others.

“A-Die, a-niang, I want to introduce my son to you, Wei Yuan. He may not share my blood, but he is your sunzi. I ask you to help me protect and guide him, if you are able. This one will do a better job honoring you in the future.”

He murmurs something to A-Yuan, who bows as best he can.

“Wei Yuan greets yeye and nainai. A-Yuan will burn joss and incense and clean your altar. A-Yuan promises to be filial.”

They light the incense using the brazier, then burn joss together, letting the paper fall into the flame piece by piece.

Lan Wangji longs to join them, to thank Wei Ying’s parents for bringing him into the world, and Wei Ying turns to him as though hearing those thoughts. When his husband gestures, he steps forward to take his place kneeling beside him.

“A-Die, a-niang, I also want to introduce you to my husband,” Wei Ying says, blushing as though they’ve not been wed over a week. “We completed our bows, but not before your tablets.”

They bow together, three times again.

“Fuqin, muqin, thank you for Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, bowing one last time alone. “I promise to honor him, and to protect him and Wei Yuan.”

They burn the remaining joss together, as a family, before standing.

Jiang Yanli rushes forward to hug Wei Ying, who pulls Lan Wangji and A-Yuan into it. There’s a warmth to it that he isn’t used to, his own family reserved, and it surprises him as much as xiongzhang’s hug did.

“Ah, I have a new didi and an adorable zizhi!” she says happily, then pulls at their arms as she releases them from the embrace. “We prepared a nice meal to celebrate, come!”

The tables are covered in dishes, the serving bowls and platters clearly heated by talismans to keep the food at an ideal temperature.

“The guests of honor fill their plates first,” popo says insistently, clicking her tongue when Wei Ying gestures for her to go ahead. “A-Xian is still too thin!”

Wei Ying startles at the affectionate address and she smiles and pats his arm.

Lan Wangji steps forward first, recognizing the futility of refusing popo’s demand. There is a bowl with chili sauce on the table, likely Wei Ying’s favorite kind. The dishes range from the familiar—the lotus root and pork rib soup he was introduced to earlier in a huge tureen, braised pork belly with mushrooms and bok choy, tea eggs, fried radish cakes, baozi, cucumber salad, sautéed dock root and millet with Sichuan peppercorns that would make his mouth numb—to the unfamiliar. He recognizes noodles cooked with what looks like water spinach and shaved carrot, mixed with, upon closer look, crisp-fried silkworm pupae.

He doesn’t realize Wei Ying is beside him until he makes an intrigued noise.

“Where did we get those? Shijie, did you bring them?”

“A-Ning found a copse of mulberry a few nights ago,” Wen Qing tells them. “He brought the silkworm cocoons to the aunties to unwind so we can sell the silk. He harvested the berries, too.”

“We—we cooked them with d-dessert,” Wen Ning adds.

Though he is aware that silkworm pupae are commonly sold at market when silk is harvested, Lan Wangji has never had occasion to try them. Despite the fact that silk is harvested by the GusuLan weavers and used in robes for the clan, the production is kept out of the Cloud Recesses because the cocoons are boiled to extract the intact silk, killing the pupae in the process, and killing any creature, even an insect, is prohibited within the bounds of the Cloud Recesses. Presumably the pupae are sold in Caiyi, but meat is not a staple in his home.

But he was raised not to be a picky eater, and insects are a viable source of protein, something sorely needed by the people living here. Wei Ying seems content to serve himself and A-Yuan a large helping, so Lan Wangji does the same, placing a wide variety of dishes on his own plate to sample, but avoiding the chili sauce for the sake of his palate.

“I put in fewer peppercorns than I usually do,” Jiang Yanli murmurs to him. “I know you like milder dishes.”

He nods his thanks, and lets her press a bowl of soup into his free hand.

She follows him with two more to place before Wei Ying and A-Yuan, then pinches her brother’s cheek as though he’s a child.

“Eat the whole plate, Xianxian, and then you’ll get dessert.”

He is quietly pleased when Wei Ying plays along with a bright smile.

“But what if Xianxian wants more?”

She leans forward and kisses his brow like a mother might.

“Xianxian can have as much as he wants. Popo and Wen Ning helped me cook plenty. And dessert is mulberry millet pudding sweetened with honey, so I know you’ll like it.”

Then she turns to A-Yuan and favors him with the same treatment.

“You too. Eat plenty so you can grow big and strong.”

“A-Die plants me with the radishes so I will!” A-Yuan says proudly, and those within earshot laugh.

Jiang Yanli’s laughter is not unlike the gentle ringing of the bells the Jiang sect wears at their belts. She turns to him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“A-Zhan as well. Your strength is important. More than three bowls if you want.”

The reference to the rules of the Cloud Recesses is nostalgic, but not in a painful way. It is more a reminder that he will now uphold the rules as he sees fit, now that his home is Wei Ying.

They are surrounded by familiar chatter, the smell of food of a more quality fare than any at the Burial Mounds have had in some time, and the warmth of family.

He hopes this can be the sort of happiness that awaits them for some time.

----------------

In my culture, generally we don’t eat insects/bugs and often find it intrinsically disgusting. I’ve never eaten insects/bugs. However, my biases are not applicable to the culture I am writing into. My understanding from friends is that there are many insects and arachnids commonly eaten in China. A close friend of mine has eaten ant eggs, grasshoppers, and other insects. Another has mentioned tacos that involve insects as a common ingredient in Mexico. In China, markets often have fried scorpions on a stick, grasshoppers, and many other insects as street food for purchase.

Given life on the Burial Mounds involves a lot of scraping by, I’d imagine some of their meals involve insects, which culturally wouldn’t be unusual. Likely if there were insects in the Burial Mounds, eating them helped Wei Wuxian survive them. They’d be an important source of protein.

While silkworm pupae are often fried in peanut oil and eaten on skewers or like nuts, from my research, my friend believed the dish I concocted in here was believable. (I also researched what the taste and texture is, but decided not to include it.) She also said the dessert of mulberry millet pudding is something eaten in southern China, which I didn’t know—I just knew it sounded like it’d be delicious.

In terms of the millet, meta discussions of MDZS have involved the fact that millet was likely more common (and less expensive) than rice at rough time of the setting, so I included that.

My friend was kind enough to read for cultural sensitivity regarding the auspicious eight, adoption rites, and ancestor veneration, so I hope they read well. This is a chapter I was particularly worried about because of the cultural aspects, and I hope it reads well.

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The marriage pact - Pinky promise

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 16 | Part 17 Pinky promise | Part 18 >

Disclaimer: a tiny bit naughty *shrugs*

Author’s note: Merry Sunday!

Word count: 1.820

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

Guess who’s back? Once again? Chocolate cake’s back. Tell a friend.

Alright. Let’s stop it right there and come to the unfortunate conclusion that mixing rap lyrics and word quirks is not really my thing. What is my thing however, is writing a daily blog about my life. So here goes; I am terribly excited, dear readers. The winter seems to look a little less bleak as today I will not only pick up my chocolate cake, but I also may or may not have found a potential new home.

Close to my parents home, walking distance from the beach, a tiny balcony for my herbs and just enough space for a kitchen table for four. I kid you not; it is perfect! But, let us not get ahead of ourselves and sell the skin, before the bear has been caught. If it is meant to be, it will be. Same goes for chocolate cake.

Oh..yes..chocolate cake, I hope you are ready for me, dear cake, because I just read your label and it said: “eat me” *winks awkwardly*

Alright, now we must come to the even more unfortunate conclusion that I cannot even write a proper blog post anymore, so let us just wrap this up.

I bid you all a wonderful day,

Your ever excited,

Ali

Two long weeks. Two very long weeks of video chatting, phone calls and cute little text messages. All, despite our best efforts, mere futile attempts to fill the real void that is left behind when you are apart.

Standing on the muted grey tiles of the airport, I had nearly zoned out when finally people started to walk out into the arrivals hall. The large empty space echoed with the sound of tiny suitcase wheels reeling in and people greeting their loved ones with excited squeals, my eyes carefully looking before finally noticing a familiar face. Or snout actually. Kal.

‘KAL!’ I exclaimed, immediately getting noticed by the large “service” dog at work, his poor owner needing to put all his weight in his heels to not to be dragged off and haul over a bunch of grannies. With wide smiles I met that all familiar, though this time unshaven, face of one very happy Henry.

‘Hey babe.’ He cooed after a few rushed steps to get in my vicinity. ‘Hi.’ I breathed, looking up into those tender blues of his. Like a stormy ocean, the speckle of brown in them a desolate island or perhaps an autumn leaf that has fallen from its mother branch. Drifting. Lost. Though in Henry’s case not entirely. He was back home.

‘I missed you so much.’ He murmured, quickly wrapping me in his large arms, not heeding any mind to people taking pictures of him. Of us. ‘I missed you too.’ I whispered, petting Kal’s head that was desperately trying to squeeze in between our moulded together bodies. ‘Hmm.’ Henry smiled into my neck, feeling the eager dog pressing into his thigh. ‘That makes two.’

‘Or three.’ I laughed, leaning back a little to get another good look at him. Even unshaven and travel weary he was one hell of a handsome man to behold. Sharp cheeks, chocolate curls - was his hair growing out? He looked back at me with equally studious and sweet loving eyes, one hand now travelling up to cup my cheek, his other quite deftly holding on to both an excited Akita and a bag that was hung over his left shoulder.

Henry too, enjoyed traveling light.

He sighed, visibly relaxing as he leaned in, lips caressing mine and beard burning on my skin. And much to soon the kiss was broken again, his hand now moving to push a bit of hair back behind my ear. ‘Hello love.’ He whispered, remaining close enough for his voice to only reach my ears. I smiled, almost a bit stupidly and practically threw myself back in his arms, hiding my face in the crook of his neck, my nose eagerly sniffing up that scent that I had missed so.

‘Hmmmmm.’ I hummed, enjoying every moment of it. That was until Kal started to whine. Henry chuckled. ‘Alright. Looks like someone needs a tree. Now!’

With wide laughs we quickly ran out of the airport, the nearest square foot of greenery having to do the trick for poor Kal.

—

‘Hey and I saw that Charlie’s back as well.’ I said, looking out over the road, my hand on the steering wheel of my mom’s car, Henry on the shotgun seat and Kal panting in our necks. It was not a particularly large car. More the size of: “Honey, I’m going to get groceries, but if you want more than two crates of beer you’ll have to fetch it yourself.”. In fact, it was a tiny car, really. And it sure looked funny to see these two large bears folded over in their seats, Henry having to keep his head slightly tilted to not hit the roof.

‘Yea. We’re working on a new project actually, through Promethean Productions. And he hadn’t seen mom and dad in months, so, decided to combine the two.’

‘Family first, hmm?’

‘Always.’ He sighed, turning his head to watch the wintery coast line, the beaches now deserted as ice cold winds rushed through the dune grass. ‘It’s good to be back.’ He said, more to himself, than to me.

‘It’s good to have you back.’ I agreed, keeping my eyes on the road, the houses of both our parents now slowly coming into view.

—

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?’ He had managed to squeeze himself out of my mom’s car again, Kal already happily sniffing through his parents front yard. ‘Really Hen. I am more than capable of checking out that apartment myself. See you tonight…babe.’ I winked, gesturing him to close his door. He laughed and shook his head, refusing to close the door and instead manoeuvring back inside to press another longing kiss on my lips.

‘Well make sure I can fit in there. Because this car..’ He widened his eyes in exasperation. I laughed. ‘Gotcha gotcha. Superman’s buns of steel need ROOM hahahah. See you tonight.’ - ‘See you soon love.’ He rested his forehead for the slightest moment against mine. As if wishing to imprint my scent and the warmth of my body in his memory.

I’d better make sure I’d to the same. But that would be a good mission for tonight. First things first; the apartment.

—

‘It even has enough room for a big bed!’ I giggled, feeling his beard scratch my belly from beneath the sheets. ‘Mhmm.’ He rumbled, nodding his head in such a way that his scruff was tickling me even more. I jolted and squirmed, but nonetheless continued my story: ‘And ..HAHHAHAA..oh gods..And..eh..a bath. Henry. Stop HAHAHA It has a bathtub. A very nice…HENN..bathtub.’

‘Mhm.’ He smiled, crawling back up and poking his head out from underneath the sheets. ‘YOU!’ I warned, making him quirk up a challenging eyebrow. ‘Whatcha gonna do about it, princess?’

I bit my lip and slowly shook my head. ‘Two and a half months and you are already teasing me like this? That is no way to treat a la..-‘ He flipped us over, my surprised mouth halting mid-sentence as I was now suddenly straddling him. ‘Very well, I’m listening.’ He wrapped both his arms behind his head, giving me a smug smile, the vision of his large, popping muscles obviously making simple things like speaking full sentences just about impossible.

‘UGH..’ I sighed, letting my hands fall on his hairy pecs. ‘So mean.’ I pouted playfully. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. ‘I’m not doing ANYTHING, dear. Please continue. The bathtub.’

Suddenly the mere thought of a bathtub made me think of all kinds of things unholy. Two weeks without Henry sure had made me a itsy bitsy bit crazy in the nether regions, because simply no toy or self loving session could quite calm me down like he could. I sighed again in utter defeat and slumped down on his gym honed god physique, my head resting on his chest and my ear picking up on the excited drum of heart.

Which meant that it wasn’t just me who was a little bit excited. In fact, I could feel some.. things.. that definitely implied he was very..very happy to see me.

‘Hen, I think, for the sanity of the both of us, we really should start looking into eh..the distance issue. Okay? I mean. This is two weeks. Two weeks!’ I shifted my hip slightly, making my point even more valid. He inhaled sharply, suppressing a moan and quickly lowered his arms, wrapping them carefully around my lower back and booty.

‘What are you trying to say Ali?’ He said, his voice a bit unsure.

I felt his unease quite immediately, propping myself up on my arms so I could look in his eyes, my legs still straddling him. ‘I mean that I just have to be with you. Could we please look into this? Find out how we can make it so?’ I said, seeing his worried face relax again. I sighed a tender smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you get away from me this time. RAWR!’ I growled, leaning down and sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, tugging it playfully.

‘Mmwwkey.’ He mumbled, his lip still caught between mine, until finally another one of his million dollar smiles broke through, his whole chest rumbling with mirth. ‘Give me your right hand.’

I leaned back up again and licked my lip, quirking my head a bit in confusion by his request. ‘Are you going to eat it? Be honest now Cavill. I see that look in your eyes.’ I warned him, with a teasing glint in my otherwise serious expression. He laughed aloud. ‘Please no, Ali. There’s other things I could eat..out..but that will have to wait. Give me your hand.’

Hesitantly I offered him my hand, waiting for him to do his worst. But, he didn’t. Instead he reached his own right hand in between our chests, then looped his pinky around mine.

‘I hereby solemnly pinky swear that I will do the best I can to make sure we will be apart as little as possible.’

I blinked, looking down at our interlinked pinkies, before the whole dorkiness of the situation caught up to me, my whole body convulsing as I started to laugh. ‘HAHAHAHHA. Oh Cavill. You are..hahah..by far..the worst..pirate…-‘

‘YARRRR.’ He laughed, rolling us back over again, his right hand staying interlocked with my pinky. ‘Now before I come to claim my booty. Do you solemnly swear, too, fair lady?’

‘Ye—HAHAHHAa HEN-‘ He brushed his beard hair into my neck, lathering a few wet kisses on the sensitive part of my skin. ‘Ye—yess. Okay. I swear. I swear. HAHAHHAAHa.’

‘Good.’ He grinned, disappearing below the blankets again. Ready to claim his prize.

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iggyalfi2319 · 4 years

Text

Hoodie and rag doll

Warning: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, mention of self-harm, mention of dead characters, mention of dysphoria and misuse of pronouns. Small deaging.

If I forget to mention anything else that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me.

Janus waited for the others to leave.

Again, they hadn't been invited for the video.

At this point they were getting used to it, so that wasn't the main reason of why they were holding back their tears and trying very hard to quiet their sobs.

Hearing the others trash talking about them didn't trigger it either but it made it worse.

How the Hell Remus took all the insults and simply brush them off when he first time showed up?

"Take it easy guys, girls and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!"

Thomas's catchphrase pulled Janus out of their thoughts.

"Another video who went wonderfully well!" Roman said proudly. "And no one to bother us!"

At that Virgil snorted in satisfaction while Patton nodded happily.

Logan remained stoic as usual, but Janus picked up the slight frown on his face.

The snake Side quickly ducked in the corner when the bespectacled man looked in their direction.

*oh no... He saw me....he saw me... He-*

"Now this is over, I suggest we go ingest necessary nutrients." Logan said, adjusting his glasses.

"Let's make a famILY lunch together!" Patton said happily.

Everyone went to the kitchen.

Janus sighed in relief.

When Logan came out.

Again the deceitful Side stiffened.

The Logic Side placed a plate with a couple of apples on the coffee table before leaving again.

Janus blinked.

Apple was their favorite treat, but why Logan would -

The kitchen's door locked with an audible click.

"..."

Janus came out of their hiding spot and went to the plate of apples.

Pink ladies, Golden, Granny Smith...

They smiled softly and picked up the plate, before going to the sunny spot offered by the big window.

They quietly sat down on the floor, enjoying the sunlight, thinking about what happened earlier.

Despite Remus's pleas to stop, Janus went into Virgil's old room. Again.

They put on his old hoodie, feeling the weight of nostalgia and regret crushing them even more everytime they did.

They lingered in the room, the heavy afterglow of Anxiety still affecting them.

"Please, Janus. Stop punishing yourself like that. It won't make him come back and you know that more than anyone else." Remus sighed. "He made his choice. This isn't your fault in any way."

Janus hissed at him, curling up inside the hoodie.

Whoever Virgil liked it or not, he and Janus were sharing similarities.

That included the hissing, stubbornness and short temper, despite Janus denying it.

"Leave me alone..." The snake Side muttered, not bothering to lie.

"You're only hurting yourself... I'm really worried about you..." Remus said with genuine concern.

"I miss the old times..." Janus hugged themself

"So do I." The Duke rubbed their back. "But you need to move on..."

Janus curled more, the hoodie practically swallowing them.

After a few minutes,

"I need some sun..." They mumbled.

"indeed you do." Remus stood up. "But you know how it will end up if the others catch you, especially Virgil..."

Janus sulked.

Remus sighed.

"I... I have something for you..."

Heterochromatic eyes looked at him.

Before widening at the sight of said "thing".

"you..." Janus' breath itched. "You had it all this time..."

"well, it was very hard to find substitute for the missing pieces..." Remus looked away for a second before handing it with a sad smile. "I fixed it the best I could."

The snake Side snatched it and hugged it tightly, their body shaken by their loud sobs.

"I miss him! I miss them! I miss everyone!"

"I know you do, Jay-Jay." Remus hugged them. "I know..."

He let them cry for a while.

Before gently pulling away.

"geez, thanks to you I'm all snotty covered. Mind doing the same on my back?"

Janus hissed at him, really embarrassed.

Remus wiped their face with his sleeve.

"Careful, you don't wanna stain his hoodie, do you?"

"thanks..." Janus hiccuped softly.

"Don't mention it." Remus grinned.

He looked at the clock.

"now now, it's almost lunch. Maybe you'll have a few minutes of sunlight if you're careful."

Janus nodded before hastily leaving.

*a lot happened since you left, Emo...* Remus thought sadly. *And some things remain unchanged...*

Janus finished the last apple from the plate, before yawning.

When was the last time they did that?

That silly habit of always eating an apple before napping.

The others used to tease them about it.

N-apple-ing Remus dubbed it.

The sunlight was nice.

And the hoodie so warm.

A small nap wouldn't hurt... Right?

Janus lied on the floor and curled up, making themself smaller than they already were.

Soon lunch time was over.

"thanks for the meal, Padre!" Roman exclaimed. "Now, who's up for a Disney marathon?"

With the lack of negative answers, he headed to the living room, followed by the others.

Then, Virgil stopped short.

Roman looked in the same direction.

"isn't that your old hoodie?" Patton said, after looking too.

"I was sure I got rid of it..." Virgil growled.

Roman slowly approached it, about to unsheathe his sword.

Before he could make his next move, octopus tentacles suddenly wrapped around him and his mouth, as well as around Virgil and Patton.

Logan remained unphased, as if he knew it would happen.

"I'm sorry but I cannot let you disturb Jay Jay." Remus said, lifting up the struggling Sides as he snatched his brother's sword.

Logan approached the "hoodie".

"May I?" He asked the Duke.

"as long as you don't wake them up." Remus said. "Thanks for the apples by the way. Looks like Janus appreciated them."

Patton shot a look of betrayal at Logan while Roman and Virgil glared at him.

Said logic Side ignored them and picked up the plate.

He pulled out a tissue and gently wiped Janus' mouth.

"They'll never change." Remus said nostalgically yet with his usual IDGAF tone.

"how did you called that again?" Logan asked.

"Apple napping. N-apple-ing." The green Side grinned.

The other three stopped struggling at that. Especially Virgil.

Wearing his hoodie? Eating apples before a nap?

Wait...

If Janus is sound asleep right now, that would mean...

"Yes, they still have "it"." Remus said, uncharacteristically sad.

He slowly put them down.

"you wake them, I'll kill you." He warned.

He let them go before going to Logan.

"I don't see anything new." The logic Side said, checking Janus' arms and extra arms, who were hugging themself.

Roman, Virgil and Patton were confused.

"well, for one, they wear their gloves all the time after I threatened to tape them permanently, and for two, they will do nothing while wearing the Emo's hoodie." Remus said.

"why is that?" Logan asked. "I thought it was hurting them more than anything else?"

"mentally and emotionally, it's wearing them out." Remus sighed. "But that's the only way to keep them from clawing themselves. Because they didn't want to stain it with blood and washing it would meant washing Virge's smell away."

Virgil had a double take.

Not only he just learned that Janus self harmed, but they were also holding onto his... Smell?

He looked at the sleeping Side.

They looked so sad and yet so peaceful.

He shook his head, blocking the flow of memories.

"What is that thing?" Roman asked, pointing at the said thing that Janus had been hugging tightly.

"isn't he so cute all sleepy like that?" Patton cooed.

"Shhhh!" Remus shushed. "And it's they/them!"

"Thomas use he/him as well as everyone one else here, so I don't see why it would be different for him." Virgil huffed, pointing at Janus.

Remus gritted his teeth, seething.

The reason behind Janus' self harm wasn't only blaming themself for making Virgil leave.

They actually hated themself.

Their appearance, their gender, who they were.

They didn't know who they are supposed to be.

They wanted to help Thomas but being labelled as the bad guy made them feel really conflicted.

Remus immediately supported them when they said they were looking for the person they would like to be and use they/them in the meantime.

Logan pretty much respected their choice.

He had quickly learned to tolerate Janus as a fellow Side.

That Light and Dark labelling was irrelevant as they were all part of Thomas. And so, Logan should care about their well-being as much as the others.

Sadly, when it came to the others, it was easier said than done. Roman's sorting out everything in "Good" or "Evil". Patton wasn't really different. And Virgil being extremely vigilant of not too much.

The arguing went on.

When everyone covered their mouths.

Janus slowly sat up, rubbing their eyes with a sleeve too big for them.

Patton wanted to gush at how adorable they looked, Roman and Virgil trying to resist, the later wondering if his old hoodie was that oversized or if Janus...had shrank down...

"Wemus, I'm sweepy..." They whined softly, hugging the "thing".

"is that...a rag doll?" Patton asked, once the silent spell was gone.

"not any rag doll..." Virgil muttered. "It's Chimera..."

"Chimera ?" Roman and Patton asked.

Janus hugged it more tightly, as they kept looking smaller...and younger.

"I do believe that doll is a collection of pieces of fabric from every Sides?" Logan theorized.

"Ding ding!" Remus said. "Even though some pieces aren't the original anymore. I had to find substitute to fix the missing pieces."

Virgil froze at that.

Missing pieces? Janus was too careful to damage Chimera, and there was no way Remus would rough play with it. Meaning...

"a lot happened since you left."

They were all shocked to see Janus, looking like around 10-12 yo. Minus Remus.

"Jay Jay, you did it again. I think you should stop wearing the hoodie..."

"no!" Janus pouted.

"what happened to the others?..." Virge dared to ask.

The snake Side held up the doll.

With a swift move, it had vanished to thin air.

"Just like that. The ones after the others." Janus said monotonously.

they slowly stood up.

"I suppose you want your hoodie back?" They asked, while shifting back to normal.

Virgil didn't answer.

"hum... Janus ?" Patton asked slowly. "What's up with the ... age thing?"

They really didn't want to tell him but it was better to rip off the band-aid anyway.

"happens when I reminisce about the good times." Janus hissed. "I guess I really haven't moved on..."

They sank down.

"So much for a sun nap." Remus shook his head.

"keep me informed of their situation." Logan ordered.

"Will do, nerdy wolverine." Remus rolled his eyes and sank down.

"what the hell was all of this..." Roman groaned

"oh, I forgot!" Remus popped back, making the others jump out of their skins (a little jolt from Logan)

"what is it this time?" Roman sighed sharply.

"you'll thank me later ~" Remus threw a picture at Patton like a shuriken.

Said fatherly Side yelped and struggled to catch it.

Remus was gone before Roman could even deal with him.

They looked at the picture.

It's was child Janus sleeping peacefully, curled up inside the hoodie while hugging the rag doll.

Patton couldn't stop squealing and awwwing

Roman was raging because he couldn't find a nickname for someone supposed evil, looking this adorable.

Virgil...

Virgil was absolutely distraught.

He thought leaving the "Dark Sides" would be for the best.

He had just swept the eggshells under his bed.

He hated that feeling.

Just because of his old hoodie and that stupid rag doll.

♥️ 🔄 💬

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curiosity-killed · 4 years

Text

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

Nerves tumble through him, all delighted energy racing in his veins in place of blood. His robes are new, a surprise from Wen Qing, Granny, and two of the aunties. Ink-dark clouds bloom over rich blue silk the color of the first bruising brush of night, a deep red robe rustling underneath. Running his fingertips down along the neat folds, he bites back a shaking smile. He’s going to meet his nephew. He’s going to see shijie and Jiang Cheng and he’s finally going to meet his first baby nephew. If excitement were an animal, his would be a hundred gilded canaries flocking and whirling behind his ribs. He’s inundated, suffused. Joy is such a vibrant rush that it blots out all else. Under the sun-white glow of it, he can think of little else but the excitement of the day. There is no room for his worries: whether the sects will ever let the Wens go in peace to a new home; how Uncle Four and Granny are going to get through the worst days of winter; what it means that the back of his hip keeps going funny lately, like the threads holding it in place are slowly unraveling. Sliding a small wooden box into his robes over his heart, he steps outside. Wen Qing’s waiting, clearly pretending she’s not by studying the lotus pond like it holds some secret message. By her side, Wen Ning holds a-Yuan on his lap, listening seriously as the boy chatters and waves one of his spinning toys through the air. Wen Qing straightens first. “How do I look?” Wei Wuxian asks with a grin.

Pursing her lips, Wen Qing studies him with a sharp eye and her hands on her hips. “Like a nuisance,” she says and reaches over to tug a strand of hair into place. “Hey!” Wei Wuxian yelps, only a little faked. Wen Qing pulls back to fold her hands at her waist. Her expression goes a little soft, the way it sometimes does when she looks over all of them gathered for dinner in the firelight. Wen Ning has stood and come to stand at her shoulder now, and he manages a tremulous smile. He’s worked hard over this year, to get back his emotions. He can’t blush or cry anymore, but he’s gotten the hang of inflection again, and he can pull up these little smiles. In another year or two, perhaps, he’ll be able to grin and laugh once more. “Behave for your sister,” Wen Qing says and holds out a small pouch of silver, “and pick out something nice for your nephew.” He can’t help the way his smile goes soft and a little sappy. Wen Qing looks skyward as if for patience, but before either can say more, there’s an insistent tug on his skirts. “Xian-gege,” a-Yuan says, frowning like a Yunmeng thunderstorm, “why do you have to go to the baby?” His voice is so petulant, so full of little kid frustration with the wide world. Wei Wuxian fights back a laugh. “Ah, a-Yuan, don’t you want to meet my shijie’s baby?” he asks. “He can be your little cousin a-Ling.” “Don’t want a little cousin,” a-Yuan pouts. “Xian-gege promised older brothers and sisters.” He pauses and tilts his head to look up at Wei Wuxian sideways through his lashes, rubbing his nose with one finger. It is a preposterous expression on a four-year-old face, and Wei Wuxian has to bite his lips to keep in his laughter. “Maybe we can sell him with the radishes?” His voice is so hopeful, the question so absurd — Wei Wuxian lets his laughter peal out of him and swoops down to scoop him up in his arms. His back twinges, briefly, but he ignores it. A-Yuan’s eyes brighten as if he thinks he’s getting his way. “A-Yuan, so cruel!” he scolds, delighted. “How could we sell my very first nephew?” “We could trade him,” a-Yuan suggests solemnly, “and plant a big brother instead.” It’s too cute; too much happiness is flooding him all at once, and Wei Wuxian squeezes him close even as he pinches his cheek. “Ai, truly the son of the dread Yiling laozu,” he teases before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And so cute!” Shaking her head, Wen Qing tries to stifle a smile, but it’s still there in the corners of her mouth as she reaches out and plucks a-Yuan from his arms. He looks briefly disappointed, but he laughs in surprise when Wei Wuxian chucks his chin gently and ruffles his hair. “Go on,” Wen Qing says, nodding toward the path down the mountain. “You don’t want to be late.” Grinning, Wei Wuxian waves an idle goodbye as he starts down the trail with Wen Ning at his side. Granny and Auntie Three tell him to take care when they pass, and Uncle Six wishes them safe travels as he returns from gathering water. Wei Wuxian could nearly skip all the way to Lanling with the way joy bubbles effervescent in his veins, but he settles for spinning Chenqing between his fingers and humming along to a song he half-remembers from childhood. They’ve left with enough time to fly to and from Lanling twice with rest on either end, but then, Wei Wuxian’s not flying anywhere. Suibian sits propped on a shelf in his cave, where it’s lain since they arrived. He cleans the blade as he has to, out of respect to the spirit that still thrums through it and to the bond he once shared with the sword, but otherwise, he pretends he cannot see it lying there. He doesn’t regret it. There is no world in which he could ever wish he’d made another choice, but—

He’d told Wen Qing he understood the consequences. That he knew the risks and the weight of giving up his golden core. He would forever be mediocre, destined to live out a shorter life and to never fulfill the great dreams he’d had in his adolescence. Such broad declarations could not fathom the painful prick of everyday loss. He no longer reaches for spiritual energy that isn’t there, but sometimes he dreams, and he still knows that familiar river-rush song of power at his center. It still feels right, still feels like the song his soul has known since he was twelve and he felt a seed of something strong and glowing deep within him. He wakes bereft, empty-handed, hollowed. It’s not even the dreams he misses most — those grand heroics were always stories, and his home has been in Lotus Pier alongside his duty for most of his remembered life. It’s the little things, the things he had taken for granted: being able to help when someone was ill or injured, being able to soar up on Suibian and see the tumbling world splayed out before him. He will never regret his choice. If anything, he’s been proven right over and over in how Jiang Cheng has led Yunmeng Jiang through the war and into this new reconstruction. Lotus Pier needed its leader, and Jiang Cheng has always been destined for that mantle. So, no, he will never regret his decision. But, sometimes, he grieves. It’s a selfish sorrow, to lie with his hand flat on his chest in the night-quiet and feel the resounding hollowness echo through him. There’s still spiritual energy lingering in him, enough to power a talisman or a weak spell, but it diminishes day by day, eaten away by the resentment hooking claws into his bones. Guilt does its best to drown the grief. He has no right to feel sorrow for a sacrifice willingly made. If he does not regret the decision, what reason is there for hurt? He should just be able to set it aside and move forward, onward. He tries. It works most days. They stop in Yiling to pick up a token with the money Wen Qing sent, and Wei Wuxian eyes the whole supply, running his fingers along the jade, weighing the heft of them in his palm. It’s only adornment, a small trinket to accompany his real gift, but he wants it to be perfect, too. Outside, Wen Ning waits patiently. He’s dressed in his best as well, neat black robes that don’t mark him as any sect but are carefully pleated and tied. Wei Wuxian grins and holds out the tassel for examination. “What do you think?” he asks. “It is very pretty, Master Wei,” Wen Ning affirms. “Is this your gift for young Jin Rulan?” Wei Wuxian scoffs and reaches into the folds of his robe to pull out the lacquered box. As if he would give his nephew something so small as a tassel and say that was sufficient. He passes the box to Wen Ning, who cradles it in his hands like a bird’s egg. Wei Wuxian waits, trying carefully not to preen, as he lifts the lid to examine the gift. “It’s warded,” he blurts out anyway, because he’s never been very good at bottling up excitement. “Low level ghosts and monsters won’t be able to come near him as long as my nephew wears it.” “I can feel it,” Wen Ning says, his hand hovering carefully away from the beads. The bracelet has taken hours of work and planning, the kind of mental challenge that is at once exhilarating and exhausting; he loves the strain of it, the puzzle in how to determine the right characters and imbue it with the proper strength, but it also required more planning and detail work than comes naturally. He can’t count the number of times he checked and re-checked his work to make sure he didn’t miss something tiny and vital. Wen Ning moves to touch the bracelet, and panic flashes through Wei Wuxian as he half-lunges to stop him. “Ah don’t touch it!” he yelps. He manages to reign himself back in as Wen Ning stops short and turns to him with something like alarm. “I’m not sure what it’ll do.” He tries not to wince as he says it; he hadn’t wanted to point it out at all. Despite his placid face, Wen Ning’s shoulders stoop a little, and Wei Wuxian’s heart squeezes painfully. He shouldn’t have to worry about this, shouldn’t have to think about how he’s been made into a monster. It’s not his fault, not something he had any say in, and guilt sours deep in Wei Wuxian’s belly at the way that he still has to carry the burden even when it was forced upon him in the first place. “Come on,” Wei Wuxian says, clapping Wen Ning on the shoulder once the box is stowed once more. He gives a smile of reassurance, apology, and Wen Ning quirks up his lips in his own smile. “Of course, Wei-gongzi,” he says. It’s a long walk to Koi Tower. Wei Wuxian almost wishes they had chosen to split up the trip between two days, but it’s not like they would have been able to afford an inn and a bath if they had. He spends the walk teasing Wen Ning and chattering. Wen Ning’s still a little demure, but he’s gotten better at teasing and understanding when Wei Wuxian is joking over the year. It’s nice in a way few things are anymore; Wen Ning knows, like Wen Qing, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to pretend around him. He cradled Wei Wuxian’s head as his sister pulled out the thrumming golden core at his heart, kept his shoulders pinned to the ground as he screamed. He understands in a way shijie or Jiang Cheng or Lan Zhan never can. They have done terrible violence to each other for the sake of their siblings, and they can laugh and talk and tease in the sunlight. It’s the kind of light that falls through cracks in ancient ruins, that illuminates and softens the ragged edges of history. They plan to pause and rest on the far side of Qiongqi Pass, Wen Ning’s enforcement of his sister’s order. “It would make Lady Jiang upset if you overexerted yourself before the celebrations,” Wen Ning says. That is certainly not how Wen Qing phrased it. Wei Wuxian accepts it with only a little complaining, to keep up appearances. It can’t get out that he can be persuaded so easily after all; his reputation would never survive.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #untamed fic #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #my writing #and the sads being

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

Self-Promo Sunday: “The Simplest Touch”

This little one shot fits right into show canon during episode 3x18, and more than being divergent or AU, it’s missing moments in a way - or at least, it’s the thoughts and feelings behind some of the quieter, tiny moments we saw onscreen. I was attempting some stylistic things in this, and to switch from Emma to Killian’s point of view at various moments in that episode. I still think the result turned out pretty well. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Can also be found on AO3 or ff.net

"The Simplest Touch"

by: @snowbellewells

He acts as though he is cursed.

Emma Swan doesn't understand what has changed in the pirate captain, but something is different. His eyes haven't twinkled mischievously at her these last few days, and she suddenly realizes how much she liked the playful attention, how it made her cheeks flush and her heart beat fast, even as she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. His innuendos are missing from their most recent interactions, and though Emma did nothing to encourage his outrageous attentions when he was lobbing them at her constantly, she feels strangely bereft now that they are gone. When he does toss her a line now, it feels empty without the lascivious heat and intent, and she comes close to begging Hook to tell her what is wrong, what has changed…why he no longer seems to want her.

Thinking back over the past week, Emma cannot come up with any new disagreements they have had, insults or slights directed at Hook. There is no way for her to question him the way she wants without revealing just how much she really cares, how much he does mean to her. Instead, she practices her magic, making sure she can protect him – and all of those she loves – prompts and playfully needles him while trying not to let his blackened mood and purposeful distance sting…and she hopefully watches and waits.

^^^00000000000000000000000000000000000^^^^

She touches his stump as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

It nearly steals his breath, heat rising unbidden within him at the sensation of her fingers lightly gripping the leather that covers his violently truncated wrist. So many years – literal ages – have passed since anyone made to hold what was once his left hand, and the sensation of warmth and comfort would risk bringing him to his knees if he were not already seated at Regina's table. Most avoid getting anywhere near his left arm, and especially the prosthetic hook and brace, but his Swan has surprised him once again and claimed even more of his affection.

Killian Jones, notorious pirate captain and erstwhile villain of the realms, is holding his breath at the mere pressure of a lost princess's fingers, but he cannot help the reaction. For one horrified second, he had wanted to shy away from her, pull his arm from her grasp for fear she would make contact with the amputated limb and show disgust, but he had held himself steady, and now he is praying that she doesn't let go. Emma prompts inexplicable reactions within him: thaws parts of him long frozen in hatred and anger and makes him want to feel. Her simplest touch can do things to him that the most powerful magician surely could not accomplish. This though, is new and even more intimate. Her gentle clasp around his brace, that he swears he can feel completely even through the heavy leather, shows no fear, no horror or repulsion, and speaks to him of nothing more than pure, blessed acceptance. His devotion to her swells even higher – when he could have sworn he would never be able to love her more than he already did.

Her fingers clasp just a bit tighter, holding on that tiniest bit more firmly, almost as though she wants to stroke his skin. Her eyes lift from where they have followed her fingers' movements to meet his gaze. She gives him a wavering half-smile, in spite of the chaos and dead witch summoning about to begin, nods to him slightly, and he simply knows. They are in this together now, and they will be from now on…

^^^^0000000000000000000000000000^^^^

He had nearly guided her down the stairs with a hand at the small of her back.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath at the tingling sensation he causes with his good hand wavering just shy of touching her until he snatches it away. Whatever has been troubling Hook is still present; he retreats just before making physical contact, and it has the effect of making Emma feel starved for his touch. She doesn't understand the reversal that seems to have taken place; her following him, being drawn to him, and Hook pulling away from her, but he seems to have decided he is some sort of poison – a threat – the way he so studiously avoids contact when always before he has been creeping into her personal space.

They are preparing to leave Regina's after the failed séance, to make another patrol seeking signs of the Wicked Witch. She wants to pull him after her, drag him off into the woods where they can find some true privacy, not be overheard, and she can demand that he explain what is troubling him. The near-touch was tantalizing enough in its assumed closeness and almost possessive nature. The pirate captain, for all his dangerous rebel tendencies, is an old-fashioned gentleman when all is said and done. The chivalry in his nature still sometimes steals the breath of a formerly unwanted, ignored, orphan Lost Girl. Moments like this one, where they are about to go out seeking danger again, show her anew that he is right here at her back, intending to guard it with all that he has.

She brushes her hair back impatiently from her face, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder at Hook before turning again to precede him down the steps. There are too many words she wants to say to him for the company they have and the task they are attempting, but she wants him to know that she is onto him, she sees what he is doing, and she wants to help. He wouldn't allow her to be alone in a world of lies, and so now she won't let him drown in whatever lie he is determinedly keeping.

Her skin burns with longing for the touch he almost gave unthinkingly, and then robbed them both of. She is not accustomed to letting someone else take care of her; it is a concession, a weakness that has always made her distinctly uncomfortable. Wanting to allow him so much of her now is both frightening and a long-awaited relief. They will fix whatever has been marred – she will not leave him alone until he tells her his secret – so that she has the chance to experience how good letting him in could be.

^^^^0000000000000000000000000^^^

Killian knows that he has been cursed.

If he had thought there was any loophole, any way to lessen the pain for what has been lost, he sees now that those were vain hopes.

He watches Emma darkly as he broods in his seat at one of the booths in Granny's Diner. She seems so light, so happy, since she has just made a mug of cocoa with cinnamon appear before her at the counter, and he wants to smile, to chuckle along with her, and celebrate her unparalleled brilliance when she magically makes it disappear and reappear in front of him. He does not wish to darken her mood or spoil her moment, but he cannot bring much joy to the surface either.

Cringing at himself, Killian wants to stab his hook into his own chest when he snaps at her for playfully stealing the weapon with her powers. The mischievous light in her eyes flickers fitfully, and she stops teasing him, lowering into the other bench at his claimed table. She starts to reach out, to take his hand, and he wants so badly to meet her halfway, to pull her close, to rain kisses all over her face and tell her everything. Knowing that he can do neither seems almost too cruel to bear, but he cannot give in. The risk is too great; he will not have anyone else he loves hurt because he fails them.

Something in Emma's expression makes him think she knows, or has guessed, more than he realized, and he lets himself dare to hope that she understands his fear. She cocks her head, raising an eyebrow at him curiously and blowing out a tense breath. Finally, she comes out and asks him beseechingly what is wrong. He leans forward, literally biting his tongue so as not to let it all pour from him in a rush.

Then Belle is there interrupting breathlessly, and Emma snaps back to attention, a true leader through and through. He cannot help watching her in awe, drawn to stay near her; despite the pain it causes, he cannot separate from her. He watches her make up her mind and stand from the table. Following her, he cannot help believing in this tough, street smart princess, and hoping that there may still be a cure for Killian Jones – a chance for redemption at the touch of Emma Swan.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @effulgentcolors @let-it-raines @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @snidgetsafan @shireness-says @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda

#self promo sunday #cs one shot #cs missing moments ff #post ouat 3x18 ff #the simplest touch #cs angst #cs pining

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pilyarquitect · 4 years

Text

War for Genius - 25-Reunited at last… wait what?

Hello everyone! I’ve the new chapter here! Right now we’re returning to the point where the plane crashed so… yeah, you know what it means, right? Time to find out how will the family do to rescue Huey. Also, in this chapter you’ll get the answer to a long way question made. How did the alarm be turned on. I hope you’ll like the answer. Anyways, I hope I’ll like the chapter 😉

As always, I’d like to thank Empro-8 for helping me editing this story. Honestly, without her help this wouldn’t be as good as it is, so thank you very much Empro-8 you’re amazing!

Welp, I’ll stop talking and let you read the chapter, enjoy it! 😉

*****************************************

When the plane crashed, he thought they were all going to die before even seeing Huey. He should have known that something like this would happen with Launchpad McQuack at the controls. Oh, how different it was to fly when it was his sister who was piloting! She was indeed a real pilot. Avoiding storms that could destroy the plane, doing aerobatics with such mastery that you felt no risk of losing your life, but, above all, she landed so smoothly that you hardly noticed that you had done so.

McQuack instead, seemed to be the opposite. If he saw a storm, instead of avoiding it, he would fly directly towards it. His aerobatic skills were conspicuous by its absence. And each landing, if it could even be called that, was carried out with the almost certain probability of breaking one or more body parts.

To be honest, he didn't understand why Uncle Scrooge allowed the kids to fly with him. More than that, he didn't understand how his Uncle Scrooge would… well, actually, he could expect anything from his uncle, even hiring the worst pilot in history for the sake of being cheap.

Anyway, this wasn’t the time to complain about it. They were there to fulfill a mission. He couldn’t let a new reason for discussion with his uncle distract him from the important task at hand.

Getting up from where he had fallen when the plane crashed, Donald's first thought was to check how the children were and see if they had been hurt:

"Are you all okay?"

"Yes, we’re fine Uncle Donald." Dewey replied being the first of the children to get up. Louie soon followed his example and stood up saying:

"Yes, I think this landing has been a fairly smooth landing, considering the ones we’ve experienced so far."

Donald’s eyes widened in surprise at those words and before he could hold back, exclaimed:

"What?!"

His uncle, who was also sitting up, hastened to calm his upset nephew by saying:

"Donald, don't be upset. Now’s not the time."

The sailor-dressed duck glared at his uncle for a few moments. But soon his features softened and trying to breathe calmly, he said:

"Right, right… so what we have to do-"

Dewey suddenly cut him off saying excitedly:

"What we have to do is burst through the doors showing fear and kick Beaks-"

Again, Donald's eyes widened in horror as he listened to his nephew's plan. No! If they did that, Beaks would quickly find out and run away, probably taking Huey with him before they could find them. What Dewey was proposing wasn’t an option. Donald cut the boy off and said instead:

"No! If that parrot discovers that we are going after him, he could either escape or use Huey against us. We’ve got to be smarter.”

Beakley nodded and looking at Scrooge said:

"I agree with Donald, we cannot simply attack, we must figure out a plan."

The superhero who had come with them, approached the rest of the group and joined the conversation:

"I agree with that, from what I saw, before discovering the children on board and before 'landing', this building here is very similar… rather identical to the Waddle building in Duckburg, so if I'm right, this can be very useful to us.”

And with that said, from the inside of his suit he took out a paper of considerable dimensions. How could he fit it in there? Gizmoduck unfolded that paper and it turned out to be…

"Is this a map of the building?" Webby asked, and Dewey added:

"Where did you get it?"

Looking at the two children, Gizmoduck replied in a slightly embarrassed voice:

"I got it when I was still working for Beaks, before… well, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Now let's focus on what's important." Louie said, and honestly, Donald wasn't surprised that he was the one to say that. He knew the youngest of the triplets was one of the most practical children he had ever met. He didn’t say it out of father's pride, but because it was the truth.

The robotic superhero nodded and unfolded the map for all to see. After a brief inspection, Beakley finally straightened up saying:

"From what I see the building has only two exits. it isn’t a very good design, actually."

Webby also got up and looking at Scrooge's housekeeper, asked her puzzled:

"Why not granny?"

The spy woman looked at her granddaughter and answered:

"Strategically speaking, if they were attacked, they would be quickly cornered if the attackers managed to control both exits. Those in the interior would have no escape. Unless, they had a secret exit that doesn’t appear on this map. But I doubt that that is the case.”

Donald frowned and determinedly said:

"That is precisely what we’ll do."

"How? What do you suggest we do lad?” Scrooge asked, arching an eyebrow. Donald looked at him determinate and then explained:

"We’ll divide into two groups and attack the building from both sides. Doing it in that way, Beaks won’t be able to escape and we’ll have a better chance of rescuing Huey."

His uncle Scrooge seemed to agree with the idea because he smiled slightly and crossing his arms said:

"Perfect lad. How should we divide?"

Before Donald could answer the question, Dewey spoke instead:

"I guess now you’ll say that we stay here, won’t you?"

Donald looked at his nephew, and Webby and with a soft smile. He replied to the adults’ great surprise:

"No, actually I think the best thing is for you kids to come too. As for the way to divide, I think the best thing would be for one group to be formed by Uncle Scrooge, Gizmoduck, and Webby and the second group will be formed by Beakley, the boys, and myself.”

Immediately after say that, Launchpad spoke for the first time since landing. He asked:

"And what do I do, Mr. D.?"

Donald looked at him with wide eyes. Honestly… he had forgotten about the pilot. But, on the other hand, there was a mission that only McQuack could carry out. Donald said:

"Launchpad, I think the best thing would be for you to stay watching over the plane and have it ready for when we return with Huey."

Out of the corner of his eye, the sailor-dressed duck saw Beakley smile and, while folding his arms, said:

"Well thought Donald."

Donald turned to her and answered honestly:

"Thank you."

Then he looked at the others and speaking in a determined voice, said:

"Now if we all agree, let's go for Huey!"

"YES!" they all cheered raising their fists.

*********************************************

Entering the building had been easy. There weren’t guards, nor closed doors, which made their work much easier. It seemed they had stolen some good luck from Gladstone. In Donald’s group, Beakley had decided to take the lead, given his experience in combat. Donald took the decision to put himself in the rear, so that the boys would be protected by both adults.

Beakley was very determined to prevent them from being discovered. She constantly signaled to others by telling them where there were cameras and where they had to go to avoid being caught. It almost seemed she had a sixth sense for detecting cameras. It was amazing!

As they advanced, Donald was constantly looking at his boys, just to make sure they were there and they hadn't… disappeared, too. The sailor-dressed duck knew perfectly well Huey's kidnapping had been planned and executed only against him. But despite knowing it, he could still feel in his heart, the constant fear of losing his other boys, and wasn’t willing to allow that happen again. Not on his guard.

Donald was so deep in thought that he almost jumped when after turning a corner, roughly halfway down the hall, a door opened, revealing Graves was coming out of it. The hawk was surprised to see the intruders there, a few meters from him. He quickly overcame his surprise and faced them.

Beakley had stopped protectively in front of everyone, while Donald ran ahead of his nephews so they were both protected by two adults. Donald wasn’t willing to allow the bird in front of them to harm his boys.

With a smirk on his face, Graves suddenly said:

"Wow, what a surprise. You must be that boy's family."

Donald growled dangerously. His patience was at that moment a very thin line that could be snapped at any moment. To make things worse, the petulant attitude that this… muscular bird showed, did nothing to contain what little patience the adult duck still had. Taking a step forward, Donald said harshly:

"Where's my nephew?! I know it was you who kidnapped him!”

The hawk put a puzzled face at first, like he didn't know what they were talking about, or maybe… maybe he didn't understand what Donald had just asked him… probably the latter. After a few moments, the hawk smiled again and replied:

"Where is he? To be honest, I don’t know. Although I doubt there’s much left of him to rescue."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the adult duck with a mixture of horror and fury in his voice. It wasn’t necessary to look at his other nephews to know that they were most likely feeling the same way he was feeling with what the hawk had just said.

Widening his smile, Graves continued:

"That boy is truly pathetic. Trying for days to cling to the hope someone would come to rescue him at any moment."

Then he laughed out loud and added:

"It was fun to gradually destroy that hope and turn it into fear and hatred towards his family."

Donald narrowed his eyes and speaking in a dangerous voice began to ask:

"How dare you…?"

"We did our best to find our brother, we were… we are very worried for him." said Dewey, stepping forward.

The hawk stared at the children – at his boys – and after giving a snort of amusement, he said:

"Do my ears betray me? You are worried for him? Don't make me laugh, you had a lot of time to find him, and you didn't even know how to do it. Or maybe… you didn't want to do it.”

That was it. That hawk had just signed his death sentence. Donald felt his body tremble with fury, his clenched hands were clenched even tighter, and he knew it wasn't long before there was an explosion. Beakley turned to him and began to say:

"He’s trying to make us mad, Donald, we have to be smarter than him, also, at first glance it seems that this hawk is an expert fighter, I think it would be better if you let me-"

Too late

"AQWQWAUQWQHNAUHQWOOANHGAUGHUKKKAHFAU!" The sailor-clad duck suddenly screamed, and instantly adopted his classic fighting stance (maybe he should patent it). After a few small jumps, Donald charged straight for the hawk, who probably didn't expect someone of such a smaller size to start literally spinning around him at full speed, punching him in the head, pulling his beak, kicking him here and there incessantly… and not giving him time to fight back.

In the midst of his fight, he could hear Beakley start to say:

"Wow, I guess Falcon…"

"Didn't take into account Uncle Donald's legendary fury." Dewey finished.

Although he couldn't see it, he imagined Louie had his hands in his sweatshirt’s pockets while saying:

"Yes… I almost feel sorry for him."

Beakley and Dewey should’ve looked at him, because shortly after saying that, Louie added:

"What? Just almost."

During his fight, Donald struck Graves hard. The hawk stumbled backwards, hitting the wall and falling unconscious to the ground. Everything would have been great if it wasn't for hitting the wall, Falcon collided right into a control panel, hitting just one button that triggered a loud and noisy alarm.

Oh phooey

His infamous bad luck had struck again.

"Oh, oh, this isn’t good." said Dewey covering his ears, something the others had also done. That alarm would surely set Beaks in motion, Donald looked at the others and said alarmedly:

"Let's hurry up! We’ve got to find Huey!”

And without wasting time they all started running down the corridors, knowing that it was absurd to kept a low profile. Donald didn't know how long they had actually been running, seconds? Minutes? It was difficult to determine with his heart beating a thousand times an hour in fear of how his nephew would be when they finally found him. Suddenly, as he ran, a screaming voice suddenly reached his ears:

"That's a lie! Huey would never want to be with you!”

That was Webby's voice! It didn't sound far. Did that mean they had found Huey? The idea that they could have found his nephew urged him to run faster. And apparently, he wasn't the only one who believed it. The other members of his group were soon running as fast as he was.

Donald took the lead this time. The mere thought of seeing his missing nephew again, made him quicken his pace and become increasingly separated from Beakley and the children. The sailor-dressed duck turned a corner and, in the distance, he could see Huey. The poor boy had one hand on his head and another on his chest, both clenched tightly, as if he felt pain in both places.

Looking at him a little more closely, the adult duck saw that his nephew was breathing very fast, it seemed like… as if… he was having a panic attack! No! He had to calm him down as soon as possible! Suddenly, the red-dressed duckling fell to his knees.

No, no, no, no!

"HUEY!" shouted Donald, speeding up his run. His nephew needed him! He needed him now!

The older triplet then fell to the ground. Donald saw how his eyes looked at him momentarily and there seemed to be a spark of recognition in them. Huey had seen him! Almost instantly afterward, his eyelids closed and the boy seemed unconscious. What had happened to his nephew to end up in that state? Donald sped up even more if that was possible. He had to get to his nephew, check how he was doing- he had to make sure his boy was fine!

Everything else disappeared around Donald. The only thing the sailor-dressed duck could see was the unconscious figure of his nephew on the ground. The adult duck was almost there. He had almost reached his boy! Just by extending his arm he could-

A pair of gray feathered hands suddenly entered his field of vision surrounding Huey's small body. The appearance of those unexpected limbs made Donald stop short. Especially when he realized that his nephew was being lifted off the ground easily, as if he weighed nothing. In fact, from his appearance, Huey's weight it must be much less than would correspond to a child his age. What kind of monster deprived a growing age boy of food? The poor duckling seemed to be practically in his bones… well, maybe saying that was an exaggeration. But really Huey was much thinner than he should be and was close to looking like he was going to starve.

Seeing his nephew like that, Donald had one clear thing. Beaks was going to pay for everything he had done to Huey, that was a promise!

Donald shook his head; this wasn’t the time to think about what he would do to Beaks. The priority at those moments was to get that parrot to release Huey. Looking up to see the brain behind the kidnapping of his nephew, behind all the pain, suffering and despair the boy had suffered during his imprisonment.

There, before his eyes was Mark Beaks with one of his arms surrounding Huey's abdomen while, with his free hand, he was holding a mobile phone near the unconscious duckling's head. The gray parrot looked at them all with evident fury and suddenly screamed:

"Not one more step if you don't want the boy to die!"

***********************************************

Okay, I think someone said it was Graves who activated the alarm. To this person, yes, that was the right answer, but I think no one expected Graves activated it by accident after being had hit like he was by Donald. Did you like it? Was it funny? I thought that by adding a little bit of humor in the story would help a little to everyone’s mind.

Okay, after say that, I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I also would like to thank to all the people who’d read this story, the ones who commented, those who reblogged it and: @mysteriouswriter72 @elianemariane17 @araminakilla20 @hakuneki07 @i-cant-find-any-creative-name @gizmovi @some-dum-wizard-bitch @infamousquack @margaretnobbs @alphatheplant @sugerheart @squackcrowquack @nsbfenro @marshmeadow12 @ohgeeeznotagain @constellations1 @isabellanajera @you-big-palooka @deathcat003 @dragonsareawesome123 @via15 @wellshit333 @ninjawarrior100 @your-salty-dorito @rowan-npg @thesuperepicawesomefireninja @duckworth-is-love @worldsbesteagle @shaz231 @cherriesandpoison @softlemonboi @rosebu-uds @mulaneysnl @ihavenonamehalp @drummergirl231 @narnour-momo-007 @via15 @trash-queen-fahey @gamerfansims389 @lesbianz4glomgoldje @jessie-00 @maclove54north @northofanvi @maditheanimaniacuwu @gabrielpainterfest-blog @Variousfandompage @whiteeyesandtina @official-toebeans @r6sedust @gabrielpainterfest

And if I’ve forgot someone, I’m sorry

See you in the next chapter 😉

#ducktales2017 #war for genius #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #bentina beakley #GizmoDuck #launchpad mcquack #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Webby Vanderquack #falcon graves #mark beaks #Huey Duck

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iriswc1995 · 3 years

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Ash’s Diary Of Distortion 1: ‘Family Christmas’

What follows are excerpts from the diary Ash keeps on Cygnus’ data storage files about the various Distortions and Distortion-like effects that she encounters on her excursions into Ordina. They are brief glimpses into the inner workings of the city and the kinds of horrors that can be found there, and by extension, snapshots of Ash’s usual routine as an explorer/mercenary-for-hire. They do not fit into the continuity of the main story and can be perused in any order. Ash keeps these records for the purposes of learning more about the Distortion’s possible behaviors so that she can be as prepared as possible. Perhaps one day they will help you, as well.

-----

Once a year, at the stroke of midnight on December 25th, there is magic in the air. Even for the dogged and downtrodden citizens of Ordina, there are those who cannot help but feel joy bursting in their hearts during the holiday season. And no holiday with quite the peculiar fervor or saturation of Christmas’ alien greens and bright reds.

The Schmidt family were one such unit. Despite the many compromises of modern life, they were a clan who remained staunchly loyal to the traditions of the old days. Family values. A clean house. A love of the Christian God. They were a large family of three generations and splitting branches in their grand tree. Trees; a forgotten luxury of the upper-class, were almost sacred to the Schmidts; they are the Family, they are the Hearth-Fire, they are what every member of their bloodline gather around once a year on Christmas Day.

“Don’t crowd each other, kids!” Annamarie Schmidt, the mother of the house, called out to the dining room. While certainly a modest home - there existed no other kind for those of their wealth level - nearly their whole family would cheerfully crowd around the dinner tables. Brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins galore. Seating was arranged in a strict hierarchy based on age and importance, which Annamarie took great pains to ensure would not offend any of her lovely guests. Granny Taylor sat at the head of the table, the oldest among them at age 66. She smiled and spread her arms as everyone clustered into their chairs, rubbing elbows and adjusting plates. From the next room, a radiant light shone into the kitchen from the artificial glass star atop the plastic tree.

“Ah, it’s just so wonderful to see all of you, on this blessed day…! To see how much you’ve all grown up like little sprouts!”

“Meanwhile you’ve aged like a steamed grape!” Said Aunt Helen, the promiscuous one.

A chorus of hollow chuckles preceded the Granny’s measured response. “Grapes turn into fine wine too, don’t you forget.”

“Let’s pray that we all be as wise as you one day, mother,” Annamarie said dutifully.

One of the young ones, Ryan, bounced in his seat. “Can we say grace yet? I wanna eat!” His mother smiled and chuckled with the others, but would of course punish him harshly once they returned home.

“Wait, but where’s Leo?” Mary said. She was the oldest of the children, allowed to sit at the adult’s table for the first time this year. Several other people echoed her words in eerie unison, looking around the room as if he would suddenly appear at the mere mention of his name.

“Oh,” Anna said, pursing her lips. There was a painful pause as she fidgeted with a cloth. “You know how our Leo is. Cooped up in his room, again. No matter what I try, he just can’t seem to get in the Christmas spirit. To think, he’s nearly old enough to sit at the adult’s table himself!”

“Ah, well,” said her sister May, putting a hand on her arm. “Don’t blame yourself, dear! Kids these days just don’t value family like they used to.” May smiled, scathing judgement behind her eyes. A vein bulged in Anna’s forehead. How dare that miserable boy embarrass her like this. Perhaps physical punishment would be the only way to get through to her problem child.

“I wanna eat! I wanna eat!” Came another cry from the kid’s table.

“Hehe, alright then~” Anna said, finally taking her own place at the table. “But prayer comes first, of course!”

Silently, the children filed over to the main table so that they could all hold hands in one large circle. Granny Taylor began a sincere, thoughtful speech to their heavenly father.

The table in the center, save for the plates and silverware that Anna had set down, was completely empty.

“Amen~” said Granny Taylor, dead skin falling from her hair.

Annamarie smiled. “Time to dig in, Family~ I hope you all enjoy it!”

Two of the uncles grabbed Mary’s arms and shoved her onto the table, flat on her back. For a fraction of a second, she looked confused, but then her eyes went limp in their sockets, the same soulless smile of the other Schmidts attaching itself to her face. Knives flashed.

Red began to cake the dining room walls. Limbs were sawed, extremities cut, organs scooped with bare hands. The Schmidts continued conversing among themselves in the hollow manner of most families; with the women talking about the unseasonable weather and the men discussing how business had been. Mary, too, would join in now and then, oblivious to her ongoing destruction, and the adults would laugh at the delicious whimsy of a not-quite-adult but far-from-child beginning to learn the ways of the Elder. They spoke without pause even as they stuffed their faces with her meat in the manner of ravenous wild animals; choking, spitting, and vomiting as their airways required. They continued even as the flesh dwindled and they began forcing their teeth through her bones. There was nothing left of Mary to continue speaking, yet now and then they would chuckle as though they could hear her all the same.

And they could. For the cabinets around the room would open and close, the very walls of the house would groan and shudder in the rhythm of Family. Afterwards, only rarely would the Schmidts refer to the one they consumed each year; always with the presumption they were still alive and well. But the house groaned in response all the same. Was it the people who hungered, or the house itself? No, perhaps not the building but the gathering - was it possible for even a time of year to lose its mind?

Long into the night and even to the next morning, the Schmidts mindlessly feasted, until not even the stains on their clothes remained.

Finally, only silence filled the home save for the sound of quiet weeping. Leo, hiding under the bed as he did every year, knew he would never see cousin Mary again.

------

𝔸𝕤𝕙’𝕤 ‘𝔻𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕆𝕗 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟’ 𝔼𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝟛𝟡: ‘Family Christmas’

𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕆𝕗 𝔼𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪: December 26th, 2164

𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝: Probably Green, I think? It’s definitely dangerous, but it seems completely localized to the one family. I hope I don’t see any more of it, at least.

This one is a unique case of a Dissonance occurring on a seemingly regular period while remaining in a kind of ‘dormant’ state for most of the year. On top of that, it seems to only affect the Schmidt family, at least from what I’ve found so far. I guess this is proof that tips from Harvesters about ‘blood in the air’ aren’t total bullshit all the time.

Cygnus helped me get in the house, and I could tell there was a Dissonance pretty much immediately. Red ghosts were lined up around the house like they were in a marching order, almost. All of them were facing the wall and smiling weirdly. The family itself seemed to be in a weird zoned-out state too, which as I can tell now is essentially the Dissonance’s ‘honeymoon period’ where it puts everybody in this weird trance and alters their memories. Creepy, but helpful.

Most of what I know comes from Leo. Poor fucking kid. I doubt he’s ever gonna get out of that hospital I dropped him off at. Even then, I only know the vague details about certain things. No idea how many years this has been happening… but it definitely happens every Christmas. The eldest child is killed and eaten by the adults, who seem to have no idea what they’re actually doing, just treating it like a normal Christmas dinner. And yes Cygnus, it’s disgusting, even for me. They treat the kid like they’re alive for a while after that before sort of just forgetting them and moving on to the next one. It also seems like the Dissonance, or the eating itself, somehow extends the lifespan of all the adults, which explains why the matriarch was so damn old. I also have no idea how exactly this started, since it seems like either Leo’s memories were fucked with as well, or he’s just too traumatized to even remember. The only clue is the family’s weird traditionalist mindset about stuff, but I’ll hold myself back from going on a rant about it here.

Anyway, the Schmidts are gone now except for the kid. I burned the house down just in case it had something to do with it. Happy holidays, I fucking guess.

#writersontumblr writing cyberpunk horror gore trauma

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xiolaperry · 4 years

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The Piano - Chapter 2

Notes: My Camp NaNoWriMo Project for April 2020. A Rumbelling of the 1993 movie ‘The Piano’. Has 14 chapters, all are written. I’ll post one every few days. Some dialogue is taken directly from the film and from ‘Once Upon a Time’. No copyright infringement intended - I’m just having fun. The film is gorgeous, if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend that you watch it.

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume. Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated…

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence in future chapters)

Also available on AO3

---

Things were not progressing the way Gaston had pictured in his head.

“You have a good many boxes and trunks. I'd like to know what's in them. How about this one,” he asked, pointing at a box.

Belle gestured to the writing on the side: Crockery and Pots.

“Oh. Yes. Pots.” Gaston wiped at his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. “And this? This is huge. What's in it? A bed frame or something?” He hit the crate with his fist for emphasis. The piano inside produced a reverberating echo from being struck. Belle spread her arms across the top protectively.

Tilly spoke to her step-father for the first time. “It's my mother's piano.”

“A piano. And these trunks?” He rapped against the side of the closest one with his axe. Belle flinched.

“Those are books.”

Gaston turned away. “Gold. Tell the men to carry the boxes and suitcases.” Gold spoke to the group and gave them instructions. The Maori divided up the cargo.

Belle took the small notepad and pencil from the silver case she wore around her neck. She wrote some brief words on the paper. She brought it to Gaston, Tilly following close behind.

“The piano? The books?” he read aloud.

“No. They can't come now.” He crumpled the note.

“They must!” Tilly was her mother's voice. She knew what these things meant to her. “She wants them to come.”

“I understand. But there aren't enough of us to carry everything.” He looked at Belle. “TOO HEAVY,” he added in a louder tone, enunciating the words.

Belle felt the first stirrings of fear. She hadn't been scared when she realized she was pregnant. She hadn't been frightened when her father told her of the arranged marriage, or during the storm at sea. But this was too much. She wrote another note. He had to understand. “I NEED them. Please.”

“You'd rather have them than your kitchenware or your clothing?”

Belle signed to Tilly. “We can't leave the piano or the books. I don't care about the rest.”

Gaston stood straighter, assuming an air of authority. “We cannot waste time discussing this.” He began a prepared speech. “I'm pleased you've arrived safely-”

“Mother wants to know if we can come back for them...”

Gaston's eyes widened. Had a child interrupted him? He ignored her and continued to speak to Belle. “I would like to apologize for the unavoidable delay that led to your spending the night on the beach-”

As he spoke Belle signed, her fingers flying like angry bees.

“Can we return for them after they have delivered the other things? She must have them.”

Gaston's mouth hung open. Interrupted again?

Gold was impressed. He had never seen Gaston control his temper so well. This just kept getting more interesting.

One of the Maori, Kamira, noticed his distress and found it hilarious. He laughed, and brought Granny over to enjoy the scene. Gaston didn't understand what they were saying, but he never took laughter (other than his own) as a good sign.

“The matter is closed. The trunks and piano will remain here. Prepare yourselves for a difficult journey. The mud is very deep in places.”

Gaston clenched his jaw and walked away. He could not believe two females challenged him. Two small females, at that. The piano and books were unneeded. His authority as a man and head of the house must stand. What an odd girl. Choosing books and a piano over clothes and household goods? Over useful things? It made no sense.

“What do you think of her?” he asked Gold. “Odd, isn't she? She'll learn who’s boss.”

“She looks tired. It was a long voyage, with a major disappointment at the end.”

“Oh, she'll get over it. What does a woman need books for anyway?” he replied, not understanding the implication that he was the disappointment. “I'll go on ahead and lead the way. Have them bring up the rear.”

Boxes and valises collected, the party set their backs to the ocean and walked toward the cliffs. Gaston did not speak to Belle, nor did he look at her. He strode ahead, confident they would follow. What other option did they have?

Belle had no choice. Straightening her spine, she took Tilly’s hand. She did not look back. She told herself she wouldn't.

However, after climbing the hill they reached a point on the cliff where there was a sudden view down onto the beach. The mist from the ocean gave her piano and books a surreal haze. They were forlorn, stark against the pale sand. It was almost more than Belle could bear, seeing them abandoned and alone, and she could not look away.

Gold saw the depth of emotion in her eyes. There was more to this than just a woman insisting on her own way. It was important. But what could he do? He couldn't very well carry the piano on his back. Even the trunks of books would be too much for him with his leg. Sympathetic, he waited a few minutes and then cleared his throat.

Belle took a deep breath. She could do this. But she would return and retrieve these pieces of her life. The sound of the crashing waves receded behind them.

---

Ferns and moss abounded in the humid climate. A jumble of trees, vines, leaves and roots passed before her eyes. Through it all she heard the confident voice of Mr. Gold. Gaston might think he was the leader, but it was obvious who was in charge.

Adrenaline and residual anger, the only things keeping her going during the first half of the journey, had worn off. Now she was weary to her bones. Exhaustion kept her curious nature in check. Her overwhelming impression of this new land was mud. It stained her skirts and sucked at her boots. Tilly, resilient as children are, tromped along with good humor. She was happy to be off the ship, with a change of scenery after the monotony of the ocean. Granny noticed her enthusiasm and pointed things out to her, giving her their names: the enormous kauri trees, harakeke plants covered in korimako birds, and edible white flowered maikaika lilies. Belle was glad that at least her daughter was enjoying herself.

As he whacked at the underbrush, Gaston's good humor returned. He reassured himself that Belle was beautiful. This was important for a man as handsome as he. He had assumed she would be biddable, full of gratitude that a man like him would want to marry her despite her muteness and an illegitimate child. He would be firm but patient, and their relationship would grow in time.

When it began to rain, Belle despaired of ever reaching her new home. Her dress, soaked from the storm, grew heavier. Would they march forever in circles, trapped in an infinite forest from Tilly's stories?

At last, they arrived at a large clearing with a wooden house. Gaston was proud of what he had built. He had fought back the bush using a slash and burn technique. He envisioned manicured lawns and gardens, land transformed and subdued to his will. All Belle saw was a barren graveyard of mud. She was too tired to care.

Gaston paid the men. Boxes and suitcases lay in a jumble on the covered porch. Mr. Gold left with Kamira and Granny. The three of them were alone for the first time.

“Here are the bedrooms,” he said, opening the doors. “Tomorrow I will show you my property. Please make yourselves at home. I have a few chores to tend to, excuse me.” He left them to poke around for themselves.

Belle put their things in the smaller room. She would share a bed with Tilly. She was not ready to share one with a stranger and was grateful it did not seem that he would insist she do so. He might not be the prince from a fairy-tale, but at least for the moment he was not the villain. They slipped off their muddy clothes and collapsed into the bed.

#my fic #rumbelle fic #the piano

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a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

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The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs/au: modern #mdzs/au: uni #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #nieyao #xicheng #wangxian

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dandelliongirl · 3 years

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What a year

2020 was..

The last time I wrote anything it was April, and now it is the 23rd of December and I’m about to go spend Christmas with my family. My last failed attempt at christmas bread is in the oven (for some reason it didn’t proof at all, I guess I put too much flour in..) and I’m cooking up some Christmas porridge on the stove. Watch me burn that in a moment too.. For some reason this whole autumn has been a very stressful disaster. I am still working from home and just logged myself off of work until the 7th of January 2021. Maybe because I’ve been working from home it feels difficult to get into holiday mode. At least we got some snow today so it looks beautiful.

Spring and summer 2020 were an absolute dream! With no responsibilities and the possibility to work from anywhere I got to spend so much time with my family and at our summer house away from the stress of the real world. I could not have dreamt of a better summer, and apart from strawberry picking (at an actual farm, not just from my own strawberry plants) I got to finish off my summer’s to-do list. I even made a cute little summer video with my old Canon EOS 100D (yes - I have a new Canon EOS 90D now!). Endless days of exploration, swimming, biking, sauna, gardening, having lunch with the midsummer roses, baking rhubarb galettes with my own rhubarb from the garden, biking to the ice cream van, SUP-boarding with dad and spending so much time outdoors made me happier than I could ever be. I cannot believe how many beautiful things COVID has given me despite it’s awful impact on the world.

The start of the autumn semester was chaotic to say the least. Practically all of our system integrations are behind one developer, and he happened to be on vacation when everything went down, and study rights did not transfer correctly. This lead to an insane rush of support requests across the board, and lots of extra stress. I was exhausted and scared after last autumn’s disasters and definitely didn’t need another one to start the new semester. I’m starting to seriously fear August... Other universities have tens of people in their technical support, and we have TWO (sometimes 3). In more positive news I was given a permanent job contract starting August, which was amazing, and makes me so grateful especially during a year when many lose their jobs and get laid off. I guess that also contributes to my levels of stress as I cannot hide behind “I just work here for another few months”, but I have to actually take responsibility and ownership as a permanent team member.

Basically a lot of things escalated at work this autumn because our entire staff is way over burdened with COVID changes and the systems not working in an ideal fashion. Because our organisation does not have clear and defined process ownerships many changes come alongside the implementation of new systems, which puts me as a system admin (and not a process expert) in an awkward position. Hopefully our organisation will be able to develop and reconfigure responsibilities with some outside help, but for some reason my hopes aren’t very high.. All in all the anger and frustration of the organisation has been reflecting on the way people treat us and each other and as an empath it has been very exhausting. Luckily my new team is amazing and I’m having so much fun working with them - even though we aren’t physically working together at the office. I cannot imagine how it would be if my previous colleague hadn’t left. I hope she is happy and thriving as well!

All in all what got me through the autumn was the fact that I got to work from home. Being able to take a 10-15 minute nap when things got overwhelming pretty much saved me. Also the fact that I can wear whatever, make tea or snacks whenever I need to and don’t have to spend time moving from one location to the other. My guy got his own computer desk and a proper chair, and we’ve both been working from our very crammed but cozy livingroom. Even though our hobbies have been on and off I’ve gotten a few moments to myself and have also gotten used to doing my thing even though he is always here. No big relationship drama apart from the occasional little argument.

Ballet and body combat got to continue in person for most of the season. The last couple of weeks of ballet classes were on Teams, and the last body combat class was on Facebook with the season ending a couple of weeks early, but other than that having hobbies outside the house definitely helped. I have also loved having my ballet friend stay home instead of studying abroad. Obviously it sucks for her because it has meant a lot of changes to her plans, but I’ve needed her so much, and enjoyed our walks, hanging out together, going to ballet and the hours we spent outside talking on our way back. Ballet classes have been pretty easy as we only go to pointe and adult classes, but at least we are having fun together, and I like to somewhat maintain my skills even though I am not improving by miles. It’s also easier for the body as I’m definitely no longer a teenager. Starting next year we’ll have a fancy new studio!

After the relaxing summer it has definitely felt like I don’t have enough hours in a day or days in a week to do everything I need to. I cannot believe how I used to do all this and so much more pre-COVID but I guess it’s all because Animal Crossing didn’t take anywhere between 30 minutes to 5-8 hours a day. Oops. Needless to say I have been loving ACNH even though the Halloween and Turkey Day events were a bit too easy compared to New Leaf. I have high hopes for Toy Day tomorrow (YIKES! TOMORROW?) even though I haven’t had to go through the usual process of noting down all my villagers’ wishes, which I definitely miss. I am sad the diy recipe RNG has been so bad though. I’ve spent a couple of days spawning balloons on my beach, and never got the big Christmas tree diy in time. Maybe I’ll get it tonight but it’s definitely too late for this year.. Maybe next year then. I didn’t struggle this much with the maple and mush series diys..

So yeah, last summer me and my friend finished our old photography project and I edited the last sets of photos to give the finished book for her as a Christmas present. I love the project a lot because the learning curve is so apparent between photoshoots, and I found my “style” throughout the process. My EOS 100D started to get weird electronical bugs and definitely wasn’t running very well anymore, so after insane amounts of research I decided to get the EOS 90D from a Black Friday sale. I still need a memory card and a new camera bag for it since it’s so much bigger, but I’ve already planned out some future photoshoots and the theme of the new project, which can be described as “Adventure”, “Expedition” or “Discovery”. I just hope my friend will have time to model for me because I’m yearning to go try my new camera out.

My boyfriend and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary with a friend couple who started dating a week after we did. We took an extended weekend trip to a national park, a spa and a rental cabin. It was so much fun and a very special way to celebrate 10 years together. Especially with an exceptional year like this one has been.

Yesterday me and mum went to granny and grandpa’s place to help with the last of their Christmas preparations, take over some food and sing Christmas songs. I took our old piano book with me and mum played the piano while we sang. Grandpa got teary eyed during a special song and it was so incredibly bittersweet. I don’t want to lose my grandparents but I know it won’t be long since they are both approaching 100 years. I am so thankful for them, and for the time I’ve gotten to spend with them. I just wish I could remember more of it. It seems so unfair that we never have enough time with all our loved ones, and there are so many childhood memories other people remember that I don’t. I wish I could go back in time and observe myself spending time with my grandparents to memorise everything. If I ever have children I’m going to take so many photos and videos to preserve as much as I can for them.

In my post from April I wrote that I had been looking at houses and vacant lots. Well, the house of a childhood friend of mine is listed and I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve arranged my mortgage and left an offer. The sellers didn’t accept my first offer so now I’m going to see the house again on the 30th to see if it’s wort raising my offer. I like the house but it’s definitely a bit inconvenient as it is a 3 storey house and way too big and expensive for our current needs. I just really like the area and it is one of the best houses in that neighborhood. I’m going to let things progress naturally though, and if I end up with the house then it was meant to be. If someone else makes a higher offer I won’t be upset either since we have no immediate need to move. It’s just a bit crammed in our current apartment and I would definitely like to have an actual office for my photography equipment, and a sewing machine/crafting space.

Looks like my christmas bread cracked pretty badly but at least it rose a little in the oven.. Hopefully it is edible. At least the one I made for granny and grandpa turned out better.. Time to go scarf down the last of my porridge (which I didn’t burn by the way!) and then try to get all my stuff over to mum and dad’s place. Christmas preparations this year have been crazy busy and I definitely regret not being able to enjoy the season enough but hopefully I’ll get more in the spirit tonight. I’m really happy with the gifts I got mum, dad and my guy this year (online and early in October/November to avoid the rush).

I’m hoping to make a new year’s post on here as well either before 2021 or during the first week. I just like writing things down so that I can look back on where I’ve been. :)

Happy holidays whether you’re spending them with your loved ones (in real life or through a video call) or alone.

#personal #diary #December2020

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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The Wife [11/?]

The Wife || Ch 11 ~ 5k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: 1. Very slight mentions of Killian/Milah and Killian/Eloise 2. Mentions of drug use. 3. Once again there is a possible trigger in this chapter - nothing graphic, only vague mentions - that is also a bit of a spoiler, so you can check the notes at the end, if you wanna be prepared. Otherwise, this is a definite E for extreme emotions.

He wakes slowly with dulled senses and the knowledge that he indulged too much the night before. Nothing will get done today, it is the price he has been paying for these short and sporadic benders for years. It’s probably for the best. If his body could stand it, he would’ve been much too tempted to push it to its limits when Alice wasn’t around.

Killian swallows on a dry throat and grimaces at the taste in his mouth. Some strong tea to face the day, perhaps some coffee, if they had it. It takes half a dozen blinks for his eyes to open completely and he faces the morning light with indifference. It’s later than he has woken in months – ever since Alice came home – but Alice isn’t home anymore. He closes his eyes again and shakes his head. Emma is, however, and it is still early enough that she might just be going down to—

The movement on his left makes his heart seize in his chest, his head swivels to the side despite the heaviness and nausea, his vision blurring for a moment before he focuses on the form beside him. With a sharp intake his whole body wakes up and he feels the ache in his head and the ache in his left arm and the ache in his chest and the light weight of her small hand on his stomach. In the next second, he is on his feet, stumbling out of the tangle of blankets and almost falling on his ass, blinking wildly at the sleeping woman in his bed.

He doesn’t know how she found herself here. Again. He is not even clear on how he got here. Again. The world blurs a little at the edges and Killian tries to cling to the here and now. But the here and now is not all that reassuring.

It’s Emma, he repeats in his mind. Her golden waves are unmistakable, as is the curve of her cheek visible under them, somehow even the almost foreign touch of her hand felt unmistakable. It’s Emma, it’s Emma, it’s Emma.

Emma would never.

Yet, she is in his bed, where he does not remember bringing her, she is in his room, where he has never invited her, and she is in her nightgown and—

He looks down and he would probably sigh in relief at his rumpled but fully dressed state – he would, if there was space for a sigh between the unceasing breaths his chest seems to be consuming at an alarming speed. As grateful as he is for the clothes on his back, he wants little more than to tear them off along with his burning skin. He needs to breathe, he needs to get out of this room that he cannot remember entering, that he cannot remember ever seeing Emma inside.

Why would she—

“Killian?”

*****

If she didn’t still marvel at these moment of all-encompassing warmth, she would feel almost stifled under the blankets. As it is, she pays them little mind when her half-opened eyes notice and try to focus on the figure standing beside the bed. Her mind is foggy with sleep but her heart is waking up rested and content and she feels her lips start to pull up in a pleased little smile as he turns to face her.

And then she is wide awake in seconds, her heart coming to a sudden halt – immediately on edge as to what might have caused the horror on its beloved’s face. It takes him stepping back, his eyes glued to her as if he is seeing her for the first time, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side, his stance rigid and defensive, and his eyes still fixed on her – it takes all that for Emma’s heart to realize that it’s her.

She put that look on his face.

“Killian, I—“ she rises to a sitting position, bringing the blanket with her though she is hardly indecent under it and he has seen her so before. “I’m sorry, I—“

The door is left wide open after him, his bare feet slapping against the hallway floor. The burst of cold air makes her shiver and the single wet trail cools on her cheek.

*****

Killian stumbles down the stairs and turns into his study, hoping beyond hope that he doesn’t run into anyone before he gets inside. He digs out the change of clothes he keeps there, fumbling with his socks and shoes and tearing his shirt off, cursing like the sailor he used to be.

His lip curls a little as he puts his thumb against one of the jarred scars on his left side. He runs it down – armpit to hip and encounters five more along the way. The skin around the straps of his brace is an angry pink and the end of his forearm aches worse than it did after his last journey but he is still grateful that he kept it on during the night, if she spent it with him.

She did. Emma slept in his bed, whether he remembers it or not. It’s the non-remembering that makes his eyes sting and his teeth grind against each other and, against all logic, he pulls the buckles tighter around his damaged arm.

His eyes fall on the bottle and glass on the small table before the fireplace, grey with the ashes of the night before. The sound of glass against brick is not satisfying, it makes him flinch and Killian curses his shot nerves and throbbing head and every other part of him.

He picks up the clear decanter but it has less than two mouthfuls of water inside and he resigns himself to the fact that he will have to venture into the kitchen, if he doesn’t wish to suffer from dehydration on top of everything else battling for the right to torture him.

*****

The bed goes cold laughably fast once he is gone, her body seemingly not enough to retain any of the warmth that was trapped inside. She should get up. She should get up and get out and never set foot inside this room again but she is not yet sure her legs will obey her, if she attempts it.

Eventually, when Killian’s door has been gaping open for half an hour, Emma manages to slip her legs onto the cold floor and then into the slippers she finds at the end of the bed. She takes her shawl and shuffles into her own bed chamber.

She doesn’t want to be here. She wants to find out where he is, she wants to explain, to apologize, to do whatever she has to to make sure Killian never looks at her like that again. The way she might have looked at him, if he was someone else – if he was a man who bought himself a pretty wife to show off at dinners and balls, if he was a man who bought himself a used wife to abuse any way he liked, if he was a man who dragged his wife in his bed without carrying whether she wanted to be there or not. She was prepared for that before she knew Killian, before she found out that she has choices and freedom.

She supposes he was not prepared for someone to violate his and it makes her feel even more wretched.

So, like she has done for the last half hour – like she should have done last night – she ignores what she wants and gives him the only things she can beside apologies and excuses – time and space. She dresses slowly and methodically, choosing a simple grey dress without ornaments and brushing her hair carefully, letting it flow down her back. When she is done, she sits in front of her mirror a little longer, making sure she can control the trembling of her chin and the twitching of her eyebrows and the tears that seem to lie in wait in the corners of her eyes.

If she believed in anything or anyone, she might have prayed now. Prayed that she hasn’t destroyed her happiness the way no one else ever could.

*****

He knows it’s her. His second order of business, after drinking half a jug of water and pouring the other half over his head, was to tell Peter to take Granny and Ruby to town and have the day to themselves.

So he watches the door open slowly and he breathes deeply and tells himself to sit where he is and try to smile at her – nod, if he can’t – and apologize and wave it all off – cite a nightmare or the effects of drink, and tell her all was fine and he does not wish to talk about it.

He tells himself all that and then some but the moment he sees her face it all slips out of his sole hand. Her effort is admirable but he can still see all under her fragile mask – the anxiety and the regret and the guilt and the questions.

It makes him jump to his feet and walk out into the biting autumn air before she can even finish uttering his name and if he feels like the biggest fool for fleeing from a woman – from his wife, then it is just one more thing for him to feel like a fool about.

*****

She thinks she would have let him go. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s given him all the time she can find it in herself to stay away. If it wasn’t for the flash of guilt on his face that has no place there. If it wasn’t for the fact that he stalked outside in his damn shirt sleeves.

*****

It doesn’t take her long to find him. Truly, if he wanted to run, he should have mounted Roger an hour ago. But there is no point in running from Emma – not when he knows he doesn’t really want to stay away and has almost accepted that she does not want him to stay away either. He knows now that he has to tell her and that it will never be any easier to do so, it will never be the right time and, if anything, after all she has entrusted him with, he should have done it already. Come what may.

What comes is her step crunching the leaves that have already yellowed and fallen to the ground. She drags her feet, making more noise than her light built usually will, and he snorts and smiles mirthlessly. It’s the way one approaches a scared, wounded animal and, considering the situation, he can’t blame her for the caution.

The stone bench is cold under him and he almost regrets purposefully avoiding the swing in the back but it felt much too poetic to go there for this. So the coat that appears in his line of vision before she does is a welcome sight, if a surprising one.

He follows the elegant curve of her arm and passes the hair curling over her shoulder to find an entreating expression. In the pale sunshine, among the dying greenery, with profound sadness and tenderness he cannot deny in her eyes, she looks like the daughter of the sun and moon herself – made of equal parts blazing light and soft shadows.

“Please.”

She urges the coat toward him, bringing him out of his daze, and he is grieved to see that she thinks he might refuse it just because she is the one offering. So he takes it, carefully avoiding her white fingers, and shrugs into it with a slight wince, the pain in his arm not quite numbed from the cold.

She stands there as if she has come before a court and he has no words of reassurance and he hates it. He is trying to convince his right hand to release its tight grip on the hard stone under him and reach for her when she moves forward. There is enough space for her on the bench and he steels himself for the nearness of her, focuses on calming his galloping heart so intently that he almost misses her knees bending and settling over the dried leaves. His eyes widen as she sits back on her heels and lifts her gaze to meet his own – more penitent than she has any reason to be, her hand fluttering close to his knee and his hand before she seems to think better of it and lets it drop in her lap.

“Killian, forgive me, I didn’t mean— I never should have—“

It’s the hitch in her breathing, the way she struggles to take air in for a moment, that breaks through all the rest. He only ever wanted to spare this woman anguish, never to be the cause of it.

He slips forward and lowers his own knees to the ground, holding her gaze until they are on the same lever. The grass and foliage are slightly damp, no cooler than the stone he was sitting on, though certainly cool enough to chill Emma, and he reaches to pull her woolen shawl tighter around her almost on instinct.

This time she doesn’t hesitate and her hand grabs onto his and clutches it almost painfully, as if she is trying to physically pass the truth of her words into him.

“It’s alright,” he hears himself saying and her eyes widen, her head moving back and forth almost frantically.

“It’s not. God, it’s not. I shouldn’t have—“

“Perhaps not. But this had nothing to do with you, Emma. I don’t… I didn’t think you… I just… Bloody hell,” he hangs his head, then tosses it back angrily.

The sky above them is grey. Not the grey of coming rain or the grey of late day but the grey of a world that is shedding its life and preparing for winter. It brings him little peace and no hope so he looks back into her green eyes – bright and alive, and then he looks back at the sky because he is a coward and doesn’t want to see the emotions in them transform with his words.

“When you go to war with someone… people say they become like brothers to you but that’s not… I’ve never loved a single one of the men I served with like I love my brother. It’s not that. They don’t become someone loved, they become you. Their blood mixes with your blood – sometimes literally,” he chances a glance at her to make sure he is not going too far but her face is open and unflinching and he feels the responsibility of choosing his words carefully even more acutely because not one will pass by her unnoticed. “They become a part of you. So – much like yourself – you don’t love them purely and without judgement, but you cannot deny them.”

“And Arthur never failed to ask when he knew he wouldn’t be refused,” he shakes his head and chuckles darkly – he hasn’t seen the man in near 20 years and yet Arthur was probably one of the people who determined how Killian spent those very years. “His first wife ran away with his childhood friend and, after that, I don’t think he really knew how to recognize affection or— no, I think he purposefully didn’t look for it. But pomp – pomp he liked, and entertainment. And so did his second wife, perhaps even more than he did. Their parties were—“

He cuts off and looks to the side and he can almost see all the bodies – ladies wearing as much jewels as their thin necks could support, the gentlemen trying to balance two glasses and two cigars between their ten fingers – five, if one hand was already around a woman’s waist, he can smell those overstuffed and unaired rooms, the wine and whiskey that you could almost taste without drinking it, the clouds of smoke that made it hard to know who you were talking to for a second. Society’s jungle, full to the brim.

Killian almost flinches from the light touch to his cheek. Her hand is cold and her eyes fill with regret as she goes to withdraw it, but she is still holding his right hand and he doesn’t have another with which to show her that her touch was like always – not unwanted, just unexpected.

“They were popular. Within a certain set. I wasn’t… I wasn’t truly part of it. Not that I’m trying to...” he grits his teeth and moves on. “Arthur’s wife loved making matches and she had plenty to match – a whole group of women that I knew nothing about at the time. I suppose they knew enough about me for one of them to take a fancy to me.”

He looks down and recalls the little thrill of manly pride he felt a lifetime ago whenever a woman would seek his acquaintance and favour – whether he sought hers or not.

“But I was already… I’d made promises to Milah and I was—“

His jaw works until he feels her hand applying some pressure against his. He doesn’t know if he can tell her. He has barely begun and he—

“You don’t have to.”

His eyes fly to Emma’s and the look on her face makes him want to just drop his head to her lap and hide from this, from everything.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I do, Emma. You deserve—“

“No,” she shakes her head and shuffles closer, her knees fitting between his, trapping the dampness between her skirts and his pants. “I didn’t tell you about my past because you deserved to know, even though you did. I told you when I felt that I could and I—“

She lowers her eyes and he marvels at her, at how she can be both so soft and iron strong in her convictions and her every little action.

“I want to know everything there is to know about you, but I don’t want you to—“

“I do trust you, love. I do feel like I can and I… I need you to know.”

“Even after… after today?”

He takes a deep breath and leans forward, pressing his lips above her brow before he drops his forehead to hers and nudges her to look at him again.

“Especially after today,” he takes a moment to gather himself before he goes on. “I’d pledged myself to Milah and I wanted to be faithful to her. I was there on the invitation of a friend, not to meet women. I’d chosen the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Something flashes in Emma’s eyes but he is too damn apprehensive of what he might find, if he observes her too closely, to think about it.

“The booze and the cigars, and the less than gentlemanly conversation I partook in, but the women and opiates I refused.”

Her innocent shock puts the first tiny bit of amusement on his face but it doesn’t last for long, his eyes straying to the side again.

“I didn’t know a lot of things back then. Some I learnt from Arthur later, some I learnt... in stride. Arthur’s wife and the woman that became my wife – Eloise Gardner, and their friends were the closest thing to experts Storybrooke and the county had seen in the ways of opiates and the like. When I— When I woke up beside her, I couldn’t recall doing more than talking to her over a stiff drink. I wasn’t sure… I couldn’t rightly accuse a woman I’d obviously… bedded of—”

He swallows roughly and focuses his gaze on her skirt. He can see the green stain the damp grass has left on the dull grey and he pulls his hand away to rub at it as he continues, suppressing the urge to look up and gauge her reaction – the fact that she hasn’t scoffed or laughed or left is enough for now.

“Later Arthur revealed that… it was their practice to offer opiates to men they’d set their sights on and, if they were to refuse – which they rarely did I was told, they found other ways to give them the stuff anyway. As you can imagine, no self-respected gentleman, let alone military man, thought to… take an issue with being…”

He exhales on a bitter laugh and slumps back against the bench, feeling as exhausted as if he’d been riding all day to a destination he didn’t actually want to reach.

“She told me she was with child a month later,” he continues matter-of-factly, his voice cold and detached even to his own ears. “My relationship with Milah was already— It had already taken a toll but I still… I thought I could just pay her off and take the child. She obviously had no means and no desire to raise it. But…”

Selfishly, he takes comfort in the fact that Emma’s fingers have woven their way back between his own and he runs his thumb over her soft skin experimentally, testing to see if the motion will bring her back to the present and make her pull away. She doesn’t.

“But?” she prompts and he nods, agreeing to tell her as much as he has strength for.

“But I’d heard enough about her by then. I knew she couldn’t be trusted, if left to carry the child on her own. I had to… I had to take care of her, if I wanted to take care of my child. It was the only time I kept her away from her friends and took away all her toys – her vials and powders and god knows what that she would have given my daughter if—“

Killian is as shocked as he is horrified by the sound that comes from his throat and only slightly less so at the one he makes when Emma reaches for him, her arms winding around his shoulders and his forehead falling heavily right under her collarbone as he sheds a weight he has been carrying around for half his life.

She smells like lavender and the cold air and her dress is almost as soft as her hand running through his hair and he realizes with unexpected clarity and startling calmness that she will hold his fealty and gratitude in that same hand for the rest of his life.

*****

Emma thought she knew what it was like to hate someone. When she was young enough to hold onto every grudge, she thought she hated Regina. When she lay shivering in her empty bed, feeling emptier still, she was certain she hated Neal Cassidy.

Now she knows she has never hated anyone other than Eloise Gardner. She has never wanted to bring someone back from the beyond, just to hurt them with her own hands. But she tries to will the rage and bile away, tries to focus on the man in her arms – the man who is hers now and will never be Eloise’s ever again.

She wants to tell him how sorry she is all of this happened to him, how sorry she is that all his plans, his love was derailed, that he had to make all the decisions and sacrifices for his child alone, that he had to marry, to live with that horrid woman. Selfishly, most of all, she wants to tell him how sorry she is her own actions made him relive all of that.

And all her apologies get stuck in her throat – inadequate and useless, so she just tries to hold him even closer, tries to tell him without telling him.

“I’m sorry.”

And she thinks the words must have snuck past her lips all the same until she realizes that they came from him and she pulls back as far as she can without letting him go.

“Why would you— Killian, I’m sorry I made you think—“

“You didn’t.”

She feels his arm run tentatively up and down her back and she is torn between the comfort of it and the horror at the thought that he is the one trying to comfort her right now.

“No man should react that way to finding his beautiful, young wife in his bed—“

“That you did not invite me into.”

He shakes his head.

“You are my wife. You shouldn’t need at invitation—“

“And yet you have never even entered my room without one.”

Killian looks torn between his attempts to excuse her and the irrefutable truth of her statement and Emma smiles sadly as she slips her arms off his shoulders and drops her hands to his knees – unable to sever all contact.

“I can’t take it back but I swear to you I’ll never do anything against your will.“

“I know,” he says and she takes comfort in the fact that he is the one who takes her hand now. “Emma, I trust you. I want you here. I’m just not sure I can give you everything I should.”

*****

That’s a lie. He knows he can’t give her everything he should. Some of it she can surely see for herself – the parts he lacks on the outside, others she can only begin to guess – the intimate parts – his bed and his heart that he hasn’t really let a woman in since he said goodbye to Milah.

He feels like an utter fool for not predicting this but he could never imagine that she would actually want to touch those parts of him. He barely believes it even now as he stares into her eyes and feels her hand in his, as she remains before him after all he has revealed to her.

“I don’t need anything else. Just—“

She swallows and looks down, slipping each of her fingers between his own as her right hand takes his left one as well.

It’s those things – those things she says and does, that make Killian think there are yet other parts of him – unknown, undiscovered, ones only Emma Jones might be capable of uncovering.

*****

“I never meant for us to be…”

He shakes his head and she hunches forward instinctively, trying to curl her ribs around her heart for protection, pointless as it might prove.

“And now… now you mean so much.”

Her eyes widen – tentatively hopeful, cautiously happy, and she leans forward, questioning, glancing at his lips but not daring to take that little leap so soon after stumbling so hard, not willing to push for more than—

But Killian’s smile is finally free of bitterness and anguish, it is knowing and almost teasing and his hand releases hers to slip along her back and Emma can swear he is about to pull her into him, when she feels a shiver pass through her whole body.

He tugs lightly on the ends of her hair and then urges her up, their knees knocking into each other as they get to their feet. Killian’s jaw clenches and he lets her go to rub his knuckles over his left arm, her hand instinctively following his example – emboldened when he looks up with surprise but doesn’t immediately pull away.

“Perhaps we should have these conversations before a fire and with some tea in the future.”

She hums and nods and runs her palm up and down his arm one more time before she turns toward the house, knowing that – as much as she wants to get inside – she can’t fully hide her disappointment at the interrupted moment.

“Emma.”

She turns around and has only a moment to realizes how close he is before she feels his hand cradling the back of her neck and his mouth is on hers.

This is different than tentative kisses in the glow of the fire. This is as clear as the crisp air around them, as solid as the ground they sat way too long on. His lips wet and warm hers as his hand burns at her neck and she feels her fingers flex in the rough fabric of his coat as she tries to pull him closer. Her exhale turns into a little gasp when she feels the gentle slide of his tongue over her bottom lip and she is only slightly ashamed of the way she chases and tries to capture it. He indulges her and, for a moment that feels frustratingly short, she explores the possibilities of his open mouth and willing tongue. Then he pulls away before coming back once and then again, his lips barely brushing hers until she thinks she might growl at him and bite at his lip to keep him in place.

“Come,” he says and leads her toward the back door, his twinkling eyes telling her that he probably knows exactly what she is thinking. “As master of the house, I made the extremely foolish decision of releasing our staff for the day, so I’m taking it upon myself to draw you a bath and you should be so kind as to not tell me, if I do it poorly.”

Emma just shakes her head and looks at him, trying to keep her lips from twitching and failing spectacularly.

“What?”

She swallows the first sentence that comes to her lips and smiles tenderly.

“You are a very nice man, Killian Jones.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it abruptly, leaning his head to the side as if he is weighing her statement or judging the sincerity on her face.

“I try,” he concedes and Emma feels rather proud of herself for making him do so.

Now just to convince him to take a bath as well and then ransack the pantry with her.

A/N: Vague mentions of non-consensual sex.

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