calliopetheos

[calliopetheos]

Fandom: The Untamed

Pairing: 3zun

Rating: T+ for language, heavy stuff (insomnia. sleep paralysis, percieved abandonment/neglect in romantic relationship, and percieved home invasion)

Length: 4k, oneshot

Some tags: insomnia, yearning, nightmares, sleep paralyisis, miscommunication, rship probs

Summary: A-yao's boyfriends are away and he can't sleep. Mostly hurt, little comfort because of how A-yao handles dependency/emotions and because of unresolved relationship problems. 

Content Warnings: poor coping with insomnia, detailed sleep paralysis episode, miscommunication/perceived abandonment or neglect in romantic relationship, percieved home invasion.

             It had been another one of those nights. When A-yao when to bed by himself on a king-sized mattress, drowned in silky grey sheets and a fluffy duvet that was too soft and light, not enough roughness or heaviness to it. No texture, just smoothness.

             And it had been cold, a delicate tremor racing up and down his body even through his borrowed sleep pants and oversized sweater. But he didn’t dare turn the temperature down, even if Mingjue was away on a business conference. But under the sheets and the duvet hadn’t been much warmer, either. This was the kind of chill that luxuries, lightweight, “keeps you cool” bedding wasn’t going to ease. He needed a heated blanket, or a space heater, or maybe a small fire.

             A-yao had laid in bed for what felt like hours, helplessly looking up at the white ceiling above him, a pattern of stars glowed on that ceiling from the warmly lit nightlight on the bedside table. It had been a while since he used it, claiming to only have it for sentimental reasons due to his late mother’s memory. But it was so not just for sentimental reasons. So not.

             The white mug felt cold and blank and dreadfully mass produced, but it held the fancy chai that Xichen bought for him when he had “bad dreams” or “couldn’t fall asleep easily.” It was much more than that, but A-yao was never able to dwell and indulge in the everything else of it when his boyfriends were home. He would lay between in them in bed for hours, comforted by weight and warmth and presence, usually. Sometimes smothered and forced into a claustrophobic panic because of it. Regardless of his pathetic reaction, he would stay.

             But when the boys were away, A-yao would play. And by play, he meant drink tea on the sofa while watching true crime at four in the morning when he would much rather be passed the fuck out on that giant, empty, cold bed. A-yao crammed himself into the corner between the back of the navy couch and the arm of it, dragging a grey throw over his shoulders as he watched a man being interviewed about his involvement in the murder of his own sister.

             The man’s face was blank, his eyes landing somewhere off to the side of the camera and away from the officer in front of him. His head was tilted a bit at an angle like it took too much effort to hold it upright, and he slouched a bit in his chair. The man was shellshocked. A-yao wasn’t shellshocked but he could relate to boneless slump. His head was just so heavy on his poor neck, his eyes burned with exhaustion, his stomach churned as nerves and desperation swelled in his gut, and his body flushed hot with anger.

             This was so fucking stupid.

             His hand was digging his phone out of the pocket of Mingjue’s borrowed sweats before he even realized he was doing it. He didn’t even know what he wanted. He wanted his boyfriends, but they would ask questions and demand answers, or they would just sigh at him in pity and tell him to try a thousand things that never helped him sleep.

             It wasn’t bad dreams that kept him up, though they sometimes woke him up and made it difficult to go back to sleep. They only kept him up if he’d had a bad one recently. And no amount of warm tea, white noise, cuddles, or weighted blankets was going to help. It would make him feel better in the moment. He would be approaching sleep with a better state of mind. But it wouldn’t actually help him sleep. He just wouldn’t be going to bed angry or scared or in desperate tears.

             But his thumb was pressing Xichen’s number anyways. It rang for a while and A-yao wasn’t sure Xichen would even pick up, knowing that it was probably nearing mid-day where Xichen was on the other side of the world doing his fancy study abroad programme.

             “A-yao?” came Xichen’s soft voice, floating over the waves and wrapping A-yao in blue-grey swaths of lightness. There was chattering and scraping, like furniture was being moved, in the background of Xichen’s end of the call.

             “Xichen,” A-yao said, not explaining further. He heard a sharp laugh and flinched at the sound of something shattering. Glass, ceramic, terracotta—

              “Is everything alright? It’s pretty late where you are, isn’t it?”

              “I—” A-yao’s words caught in his throat.

              What was he supposed to say? “I can’t sleep” would just get him a gentle lecture on sleep hygiene and a list of suggestions that would do nothing to help him. “Bad dream,” would earn him concerned coos and mild pressure to talk about it so he wouldn’t dwell on it when he tried to fall back to sleep later. So he settled for what he knew would get a good reaction and wouldn’t get him a lecture, and was also true.

              “I miss you,” tripped off his tongue.

              He missed both of his boys. The house was so much quieter without them, and he found himself yearning for the casual intimacy of leaning in for a hug when passing one of them in the hall, of a homemade lunch being delivered with a kiss to his forehead at work, knowing that anytime he wanted to be close that he was more often welcomed than not.

             “Oh, darling,” Xichen said, voice smiling. A-yao’s chest warmed in spite of his poor mood. “I miss you, too.”

             “Sure you’re not glad to be away from all the drama?” A-yao asked with a forced laugh, his question only half joking.

              “You two drive me crazy,” Xichen admitted. “But I wouldn’t trade either of you for anything.”

              A-yao knew the fighting was hard on Xichen. Whenever A-yao and Mingjue fought, Xichen would stand a few paces away from them and wring his hands, babbling at them to “please calm down” and “discuss this in a better way.” Their peacekeeper was always distraught by fights, but Mingjue and A-yao were fighters.

             Mingjue was quick to enrage and shout, the cords in his neck sticking out, his face turning red, his hands forming fists at his side. A-yao was a bit different. He used a cold voice, he jabbed with well-placed insults, he kept his expression flat and unmoved. But Xichen’s face would twist with worry on the sidelines.

             “A-yao?” Xichen said again. Then there was a rustling sound and Xichen’s voice was much more muffled as he said something foreign. And then there was another shuffling noise and Xichen’s voice came through clear again. “Sorry about that.”

             “Is everything okay?” A-yao asked, setting his tea on the glass coffee table and curling up in a tighter ball. “You sound busy.”

             “We’re just trying to seat all fifteen of my class at one table in a restaurant,” Xichen said, voice grinning again. “We found this wonderful place—it’s very open and airy, it only has two real walls so two sides are completely open to outside. You’d like it, it feels very spacious even though there’s a lot of tables and chairs. This place seems very popular. Oh, and the servers are very friendly. They speak to us like we’re long-lost relatives, and—”

              A-yao felt a soft smile turning the corners of his lips up as he listened to Xichen go into excited detail about the giant chalkboard above the bar that held the restaurant’s entire menu, and the live plants and flowers decorating the space, and the stray cats and pigeons that would wander in, and, and, and.

              It painted the picture of a warm, sunny, open, friendly place. And it made A-yao even colder.

              “I apologize,” Xichen said suddenly, sounding bashful. “I didn’t mean to ramble on. What was it you needed?”

              “Oh, nothing,” A-yao lied through his teeth. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

              “You’re so sweet,” Xichen said, almost a whisper and warm as the sun itself. “Please rest soon, though. I don’t want you staying up so late just to talk to me.”

               A-yao’s face dropped. Of course.

              “Of course,” A-yao said, voice carefully smooth and even. “I should be heading to bed now.”

              “A-yao, I—”

              “We should talk later, though,” A-yao said, too embarrassed to find the time to be nervous at interrupting so rudely. “I’m very tired all of the sudden; I think your gentle voice is putting me to sleep.”

              “Oh, I—yes, of course,” Xichen said, sounding flustered. “Rest well.”

               “Thank you,” A-yao said. “Enjoy your meal.”

               And then he was hanging up. And then guilt spread in his chest, icy and heavy. Xichen was having fun. He was somewhere nice with people he liked and A-yao was alone, and cold, and once again unable to sleep and just as helpless to do anything about it.

               A-yao turned off the TV, frustration welling up in his already tight chest and making his eyes sting. What kind of boyfriend was jealous that his loved one was enjoying himself? Xichen was so kind. He was so strong and good and loyal and selfless and sacrificing, and he deserved a break. They’d all talked about it, sitting on the couch and with plates of whatever delicious feast Mingjue had concocted that night. And they’d talked about it. About Xichen’s tentative excitement at studying abroad, at his fear and guilt at leaving them behind, at his concern that he’d miss them too much or they’d need him. And A-yao and Mingjue had shared a look and told Xichen that they wanted him to go and that they’d call if they need him.

              Mingjue had cried like a baby at the airport, but managed to keep it mostly together until Xichen had bordered and disappeared from their line of sight. A-yao had moved to comfort him, but was brushed off. And thus began one of the tensest living arrangements A-yao had lived in to date.

              He and Mingjue didn’t really talk any more. They gave the usual greetings and farewells, asking how the other’s day was, what the other wanted for dinner, etc. A-yao felt like an unwanted, barely tolerated flatmate on the best of days. In fact, Mingjue had been gone on his business trip for a whole day before A-yao noticed and sent a quick text asking if it was this week that the long business trip was. He’d got a one-word answer with no explanation: “yes.”

              No farewells, no “I’ll be back on such and such a day,” no “can you drop me off at the airport and pick me up when I get back,” no “call me if you need me,” no “I’ll miss you.” None of the things that Xichen said and A-yao needed. He was just gone. A-yao had panicked for a good half hour before he went hunting through the apartment for trace elements of his boyfriend’s presence. Sure enough, his family sword was still on the wall, the first picture Huaisang had drawn him was still framed in the living room, his fancy coffee maker was still in the kitchen. And, even though he knew it was just a trip, A-yao found himself still running his fingers over the sword’s hilt, the picture’s frame, the coffee maker’s digital screen for reassurance that they were real.

             Sighing, A-yao wandered back into the bedroom and slouched against the wall, staring at the bed. Sleep was the enemy. Bed was enemy. Pillows, too. Blankets were nice, though, when they weren’t cold and thin. A-yao padded across the room to the walk-in closet and pulled one of its shiny black doors open. Racks of clothes, rows of shoes, drawers of accessories all greeted him, but A-yao only had eyes for a grey storage cube sitting neatly under one of the lower shelves of shoes. He pulled it out and smiled down at the fluffy soft blankets, one in a light yellow and another in peachy tone. He dragged them out and picked up the soft stuffed bunny that lay under the blankets.

             These were his housewarming gifts from Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji. He wasn’t sure how the strange little trio knew his love of things like these, of his constant low temperature, or his preference to sleep with something small and soft in his arms. But they did. And Wangji had said “so you might rest well,” which was just about the sweetest thing anyone had said or done for him.

             Shaking himself out of memory lane, A-yao wrapped the yellow blanket around his shoulders and hugged the peach one and the toy bunny to his chest as he made his way back to the bed. He was aware that he was leaving a bit of a mess, the mug on the coffee table, the spilled tea on the counter, the bin in the middle of the closet, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t know what it meant for him, someone so worried about things being right, to suddenly not care.

             With a huff, A-yao plopped onto the bed and squirmed until he was roughly in its center, curling up in a soft ball of pinks and yellows and soft things, closing his eyes. It didn’t make him fall asleep. His boyfriends’ voices and arms around him, soft blankets, warm tea, none of that actually made him fall asleep. But sometimes they helped.

             He was reminded of this when he woke in a blind panic

~~~~~

            This was surely the night that would never end. Because A-yao was jerking up, having lost track of time and not really knowing what was going on. And then he noticed there was someone in his room.

            A-yao had gone to sleep alone because one boyfriend was studying abroad and the other was on a business trip, and that meant A-yao was alone. Was supposed to be alone. But there was a tall figure standing in the shadows just staring at him. Not moving, not even seeming to breath. Just staring. A-yao could imagine all kinds of awful things to happen. The man could pounce on him with a blade in hand, he could raise a gun, he could turn and walk out of the room, there could be another man standing on the other side of the room behind A-yao’s back waiting for a signal to attack.

            A-yao’s thoughts screeched to a halt when the man started moving closer. A-yao threw his body into action, rising from the bed in a flailing of limbs that sent the covers flying. Only that’s not what happened. A-yao didn’t move. His limbs had locked, completely stiff and froze and not moving. But the man was advancing and there was no telling what was going to happen and A-yao needed to move. Remembering that he had neighbors, he opened his mouth and let out a glass-shattering scream that ripped through his vocal cords, shredding them raw. Except he didn’t. His jaw was clenched shut and he made a desperate little whine in the back of his throat.

           This was how he died. His death was going to be plastered over the front of local newspapers and gossiped about on news channels: Local Man Stabbed to Death in His Own Bed While His Partners Were Away. How tragic. Xichen would be beside himself. Mingjue would probably be a bit miffed. How tragic. But it wasn’t like A-yao made the world spin around. It wasn’t like his presence was serving some great purpose. Humanity wouldn’t grieve or suffer because of his death. Nothing would stop or change or fall apart. It would just make a throuple a couple and his father would have one less bastard to worry about.

           Maybe this was planned by his father. Maybe his father was worried that A-yao and his half siblings would rise up against him, tell their story to the tabloids, take over his powerful empire. But there was no way to warn those siblings, now. He didn’t even have contact info, for most of them.

            A-yao’s ears buzzed, his heart clanging in his chest, his body unresponsive but straining nonetheless to move as the man stepped up to the side of the bed, craning downward at A-yao. The man’s body bent strangely, like he was boneless and completely flexible, his neck stretching too far to the side to be comfortable. It was eerie and disturbing and gross. But his face was generic. It wasn’t anyone A-yao recognized, and it wasn’t anyone he would be able to describe to law enforcement, if he survived the encounter.

            A finger twitched.

            Triumph and relief battled as they flooded A-yao’s mind, and he forced that finger to keep twitching. The man towering above was still unmoving as two fingers joined in the twitching. Great, maybe he could politely ask the man to bend down so A-yao could poke him to death. He couldn’t even move his eyes away as the man just stared at him with coal black eyes and a blank expression. A-yao also couldn’t seem to form any linear thoughts, anymore. It was all primal fear. A desperation to flee.

            And then he was gone.

            A-yao blinked, scanning the room with an unmoving head. There was no man. Unless the man was behind him. But he didn’t want to check. Couldn’t check. Couldn’t move.

            And then, all of he sudden, he could. He curled into himself like a spasm, chest heaving as he squeezed the stuffed bunny in his arms. He strained his ears for any evidence of the intruder’s presence but could only hear shaky breaths and dry sobs. Which he then realized were coming from himself.

            He had to call Mingjue. He didn’t know what Mingjue could possibly do for him when he was a few hundred miles away and probably sleeping, but he had to call Mingjue.

             A-yao didn’t want to move, fear pulsing through his body, but he pulled the pink blanket over his head and reached under his pillow for his phone, quickly pulling it into the safety of his blanket and dialing with trembling fingers.

             He didn’t want Mingjue to pick up. Because then he’d have to explain and he’d sounds stupid, and he’d be bothering Mingjue who only barely sort of liked him in the first place. But also, he needed Mingjue to pick up. Needed it like he needed air to breath because this apartment wasn’t safe anymore, security was breeched, there was someone in the house somewhere and Mingjue was strong and could fight and would probably be able to do something to fix it.

             “Hello?” came a grumbly, sleep-heavy voice. A-yao startled, dropping he phone. Then he panicked and quickly picked it up again before Mingjue hung up.

             “H-hi,” he said uselessly. The words sounded more like a puff of breath, or a little sob.

             “A-yao?” Mingjue asked, recognition bringing some sharpness to his slurring voice. “What’s wrong?” A-yao’s heart melted, throbbed, and then started racing.

             “I don’t—I don’t know,” he admitted. The air under the blanket felt hot and stale but there was no way he was lifting the corner of it for even a sip of cool, fresh air.

             “What do you mean? Did something happen?” there was a rustling and A-yao imagined his boyfriend rising so he sat upright in bed. A-yao curled in a smaller ball, desperately wishing he had a dog or a third boyfriend or even a roommate.

             “I was, er, I saw. . .”

             “Did something happen?” Mingjue asked, voice sharper. It was his “I’ve got this, just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it” voice. It sounded a lot like his angry voice, but A-yao was learning to tell the difference.

             “There’s someone in the house,” A-yao whispered, afraid the intruder would hear his voice.

             “What?” Mingjue demanded, and A-yao could hear him rummaging around wherever he was. He was probably getting dressed, probably about to take the next flight home but A-yao would no doubt be dead by then.

             “I think he had a knife,” A-yao babbled, wheezing through a sob as his voice pitched higher than he thought it could go.

             “You saw him?”

             “He was in our room, he was—he was leaning right over me and I . . . I couldn’t move.”

             “Did you see him leave?” Mingjue asked, suddenly stopping his rummaging and shuffling on the other end of the line.

             “N-no, he sort of just disappeared?” A-yao flushed with embarrassment. He knew how it sounded, but that was what happened. And he had no way to convince his boyfriend of that fact.

             “Did you scare him away or something?”

             “No, I completely froze, I couldn’t do anything, and he was just staring down at me, and I couldn’t even scream and I—”

             “A-yao, A-yao, breath,” Mingjue said in a low voice, like he was soothing a startled animal. And A-yao guessed that was what he was. “If you’re sure someone’s in the house, you need to call 911.”

             “What do you mean ‘if I’m sure’ of course I’m—” A-yao cut himself off.

             A-yao was an idiot. An absolute idiot because every time this happened, he got so wrapped up in his fear and panic and in how real it was that he forgot. Sleep paralysis.

             “I-I . . .”

             “A-yao, are you okay?”

             “I think I was dreaming,” A-yao finished lamely. Because how else was he supposed to explain that he sometimes woke up hallucinating images and sounds and was also physically paralyzed and unable to moved when that happened?

             “You had a bad dream?” Mingjue asked softly. There was none of that irritation that A-yao expected, no annoyance or frustration or anything of the sort. Just softness. Just concern. “Do you want to—”

             “I’m sorry,” A-yao blurted out. “I—it was just a very realistic dream, and I woke up scared and not thinking straight and I—”

             “A-yao, it’s okay,” Mingjue said. His voice was warm and soothing.

             “But I disturbed your sleep. And it wasn’t even something real—”

             “It was real to you,” Mingjue said. “I’m glad you called, I—I miss you.” A-yao’s heart swelled, something inside him settling, falling into balance.

             “I miss you, too.”

             “I’m sorry I can’t be there,” Mingjue said with a sigh. “I hate that I had to leave. Sorry if I left a mess behind, by the way. I sort of packed in a rush. I was dreading this trip so much, I forgot about it until about an hour before my flight was scheduled.”

             “Is that why you didn’t say goodbye?” A-yao asked woozily, focus drifting now that there wasn’t immediate danger. He wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night; he never did, after a bout of sleep paral.

             Then he realized what he’d said and slapped a hand over his mouth as if that would take the words back.

            “Oh, A-yao,” Mingjue said with a weary sigh. “I forgot to say goodbye, didn’t I?”

             A-yao hummed in agreement, not completely sure why tears were spilling down his cheeks or why his chest was aching.

            “I’m so sorry,” Mingjue whispered, pain clear in his voice. “I’m so sorry, I was running late for my flight and I just. . . I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

             A-yao shook his head, hand still clamped tightly over his mouth even as tears trickled down over his fingers.

            “A-yao, please say something,” Mingjue pleaded. “Are you angry? Are you mad at me? It’s okay if you are.”

             A-yao shuddered, choking back a sob.

            “Are you crying?” came Mingjue’s heartbroken voice over the phone.

            “I’m sorry,” A-yao gasped raggedly.

            “Don’t apologize for crying,” Mingjue said, voice a bit sharper this time. “Never apologize for crying. Especially if it’s to me and you’re crying because I’ve hurt you.”

             A-yao wasn’t sure what had happened to Mingjue to make him talk like this to A-yao. He spoke in this gentle, understanding, comforting way with Xichen and Huaisang, but that was about it. If A-yao was seriously hurt, he’d probably break out the comfort voice, but never at something so trivial and infantile as a bad dream. A-yao briefly reflected that they should have all of their conversations in the middle of the night when they were both half asleep.

            “Do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?” Mingjue offered, sounded absolutely shot through with exhaustion.

            “No,” A-yao said immediately, wincing at how numb and congested his voice sounded. “No, that’s okay. I’ll go . . . have some tea and find the weighted blanket.”

            “Okay, but please let me know if you need anything,” Mingjue said, sounding unsure.

            “It’s the middle of the night, I’m not going to call you for a second time just because. . .” A-yao wanted him to reject that idea. Wanted Mingjue to tell him “no, if something happens, you call me” or “I’m worried about you because I love you, please let me help.” But Mingjue didn’t take the bait.

            “Well, if it makes you feel better, you can call Xichen. It should be sometime during the day for him, right?”

             A-yao’s mouth went dry and something ached in his chest. And he swallowed.

             “That’s a good idea, I think it’s a little after noon for him,” A-yao said, forcing his voice to be a bit steadier.

             “Ah, that’s good then,” Mingjue said. Then there was a pause. “Is there anything else I can do?”

             “Oh,” A-yao said, shaking himself. Mingjue was politely asking to get off the phone. “No, no. Thank you for talking to me. And for explaining.”

             “No problem,” Mingjue said, clearing his throat. “Well, try to get some sleep, okay?”

             “Okay. You too.”

             “Will do. Goodnight.”

             “Goodnight.”

             And then there was the click of the conversation being cut off on Mingjue’s end.

             A-yao didn’t come out from under his blanket until he saw the sun peeking through it.

[calliopetheos]

Dish, Line, and Wait

Latest chapter of Dish, Line, and Wait (my 3zun Waiter!Xichen, Linecook!Mingjue and Dishwasher!A-yao fic) is up as of a few days ago! It gets quite angsty so prepare yourselves. 

Chapter 11:

             “You want to know my tragic backstory?” A-yao asked, slotting the last book in the stack in his arms and squatting to move onto the row below.

             “In a sense,” Xichen said, not rising to the bait. He had a little brother, after all, he was probably used to antics like this.

             “I’m one of three illegitimate, and one legitimate, children of a very wealthy, very powerful man,” A-yao said, the words rolling off his tongue without much thought. “My mother worked in a brothel, and I stayed with her until she died. The men there were. . . unkind. So were the kids who lived nearby. There was always someone beating me up or using me or what have you.”

             He moved to organize the next shelf. Images of himself surrounded by older boys with strong fists and being laughed at by strange men with weird requests flashed through his head.

             “After my mom died, I found my birth father and paid him a visit. Thought he might want me or something, I don’t know,” A-yao snorted at himself, as he shelved one of his own books roughly. “Of course, he didn’t. He wouldn’t have abandoned me and my mom if he had.”

             “What happened?” Mingjue asked warily when A-yao paused for a few minutes.

             “He kicked me out of his house,” A-yao said lightly, squinting at the title of one of the books in his hand. “He was so pissed when I cracked his precious marble stairs with my thick skull. Mother always said I was hardheaded.”

             “My stubborn A-yao,” she would say, stroking a hand through his hair and gently rapping her knuckles against his head. “Such a strong mind you have.”

             “He kicked you down the—” Xichen began to ask incredulously before coughing softly. “I’m so sorry.”

             “I’m not,” A-yao said. “I was more upset about my half-siblings. I have two brothers—one is my age, actually, the legitimate one—plus an older sister, as far as I know. They all sort of know each other but don’t spend time together, or anything. They don’t want to know me, either.”

             “I— sorry, A-yao, I’m sorry but please, please stop,” Mingjue said in a tight voice. His hands were clenching the material of his pants on his thighs. “Please stop.”

             A-yao watched Mingjue breath raggedly like he’d been running for a long time. He watched Xichen swallow hard like he was about to vomit. And he smiled.

             “Sorry,” he said pleasantly. Mingjue and Xichen whipped their heads up to look at him. “I’m being dramatic. Thoughtless.”

[calliopetheos]

No Loss: Sneak Peek

Sneak peek at Chapter 7 of my Wangxian Bisclavret story: No Loss! I’ve done my best, but writing violence from an animal’s pov is so hard plz send help :(((

Only through chapter 4 has been posted because editing is hard, but here’s a peek of what’s to come:

           Wei Wuxian burst through the partially opened door, ripping through fabric and splitting the flexible bamboo frame as he tackled the intruder down onto his back. The man let out a horrified gasp and Wei Wuxian was momentarily taken aback at how small he was. He was probably no older than a teenager, but that made him no less deadly than a fully grown man. When an arm was thrown up to block Wei Wuxian’s teeth, his human half barely restrained a sardonic laugh at how surprisingly weak this foolish attacker was. He thought his willow branch of an arm was going to be a match for Wei Wuxian’s bone-cracking jaw? His stone piercing teeth?

             Around them, Wei Wuxian was distantly aware of high-pitched shrieks and the sounds of running feet, the desperate shouts for someone to “get his majesty!” but no hands dared to pull an attack wolf off its prey. So Wei Wuxian continued to tower over the fallen young man and tightened his jaw around the arm between his teeth. The tang of copper hit his tongue, the smell of salt met his nose. His heart was hammering, the growling in the back of his throat was the guttural warning snarl of an entire pack. If the intruder survived this wolf’s bite, Wei Wuxian decided, it was not going to be without bearing a forever mark to remind him of his mistake. One does not cross a wolf and hurt its pack and expect to make it out unharmed.

[calliopetheos]

can y’all just… like or reblog if y’all are polyam-safe blogs

[calliopetheos]

Fandom: The Untamed 

Pairing: Wei Wuxian / Lan Wangji

Rating: T+ for language, heavy stuff (abandonment, kidnapping sort of, etc.)

Length: ongoing, no clue

Some tags: slow burn, misunderstandings, cuddling & snuggling, Wei Wuxian needs a hug, Lan Wangji is stressed and doing his best, A-Yuan saves the day, Medieval AU, inspired by Bisclavret

Summary:  After being forced to remain stuck in his wolf form by Madam Yu, Wei Wuxian conforms to her wishes of making it appear that he's runaway from home by doing just that. When he's God knows how far from home and manages to get captured by the knights of a king he's only heard rumors of, Wei Wuxian expects to be killed or imprisoned as the king's personal attack dog. He doesn't expect to move from "exotic pet" to "closest friend" within only weeks of his stay at the king's side. This story is inspired by Bisclavret.

Chapter 1 excerpt:

  A shudder ran through Wei Wuxian’s tightly coiled body and he lowered onto his belly, snout burrowing between his paws. He swore he’d be by his brother’s now cold and lonely side no matter what. He and shijie may have never made promises like that together, but their “forever” was implied with every homemade meal and warm embrace. But the bond between blood sister and blood brother was something Wei Wuxian couldn’t compete with. And even if Madam Yu was all cutting insults, loveless barbs, angry snarls and even if Jiang Fengmian was coolly dismissive, flatly unimpressed, carefully distant, they still needed their children to carry on the line of power, if nothing else.

             But Wei Wuxian was no loss. Wie Wuxian wasn’t built for family, he was built for the forest.

             He was built for long runs down dusty paths, mossy forest grounds, grassy fields, dodging hunters and their weapons and their horses, zipping between the trees and leaping over bushes, splashing through streams and climbing over rocks. He was built for early mornings when the sun barely shown its first ray down like a blessing, and he was built for late nights when the stars gently illuminated the night like a candle peeking through the holes of a lantern. He was built for running, he was built for waking, he was built for survival. And what’s one more thing to survive.

[calliopetheos]

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: none, just Jaskier and the witchers platonic family feels

Rating: T+ for language, anxiety, strong emotional themes (feelings of abandonment, being a burden, heavy stuff like that)

Length: ongoing, expected to be 40k+

Summary: Jaskier runs a blog called Ms. Connect the Dots where he helps writers connect plot points, among other things, and our witchers are writers who come to him for help. Indulgent, slowburn (potentially medium-burn?) found fam fic full of making connections ft. writer witchers and writer+blogger Jaskier. All things are platonic. Also there's a coffee shop.

Recent chapter excerpt: Ch19

             “Jaskier, you know we love you.”

             Jaskier’s heart stopped. The overwhelming burning sensation in his chest cooled and he turned to look at Lambert.

             “You knew that, right?”

             Jaskier felt his lower jaw jut out a bit, brow furrowing so hard it was hurting his head.

             “Jask,” Lambert said in a heartbroken voice. He set a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and stretched the whole arm across Jaskier’s shoulders when he was shaken off. “Jask, you didn’t know?”

             Jaskier looked down at Lambert’s jean clad legs. A gentle tug had him tumbling against Lambert’s side, his head coming to rest on a shoulder of soft cotton.

             “We adore you, Jaskier,” Lambert said, his breath ruffling Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier reached up to grip on the edge of Lambert’s shirt. “You can accept our help, you know. That’s not the same as using. Because if we needed you, you’d be there for us. And you aren’t a burden. We like you. We like talking to you, we like being around you, we like helping you.”

             “I love you guys, too,” Jaskier said. “I want to be there for you guys, too, but it seems like you’re always the ones there for me.”

             “That’s okay. Because the day we need you, you’ll be there. And, besides, you helped us out when we met you. You help writers all the time, but you help creators. Like, you give people what they need to keep doing what they love. And a lot of time that’s confidence and strength and stuff like that. Not just advice and whatever else you do.”

             “That was grossly sappy,” Jaskier said with a wet laugh.

             “Yeah, I know,” Lambert said proudly, resting his cheek on Jaskier’s head. “I practiced.”

             “It was really good, it helped,” Jaskier said honestly, burrowing closer and pulling his knees up to curl his legs to his chest. The arm around him tightened.

[calliopetheos]

Dish, Line, and Wait- Chapter 3

Dish, Line, and Wait- Chapter 3

Fandom: The Untamed

Pairing: 3zun

Rating: T+ for language, some adult themes, mild violence

Fun lil excerpt:

              “Come on, I’m not carrying you,” Mingjue grunted as he slammed the driver’s side door shut and opened A-yao’s door.

              “Carry me,” A-yao demanded, reaching grabby hands toward Mingjue because he knew it would annoy him. Instead of telling A-yao to fuck off and leaving him to get up the three flights of stairs by himself, Mingjue unbuckled A-yao and grabbed his legs, pulling him closer to the edge of seat so they hung out of the car at the knees. Then he gripped A-yao under his arms and heaved him up into a sitting position.

              “Do you really need to be carried or are you taking the piss?” Mingjue asked. Because the man had zero ability to spot a lie, Huaisang being evidence of that, all A-yao had to do was pout pitifully up at him. “The things I do for you.”

              “What do you do for me?” A-yao demanded, offended. He did everything for himself. He didn’t need help. Like, right now, he didn’t need help. He was just an asshole using Mingjue’s kindness.

              “Silly me, how could I think I’ve done anything for you?” Mingjue said in a dry voice. He pulled A-yao up close so they were chest to chest with A-yao’s arms thrown over his shoulders. “I never nursed you back to health when you got food poisoning twice, I never helped you with the dishes during closing, I never—”

              “Yeah, yeah,” A-yao muttered, feeling a strong arm come to rest under his bottom like a seat, and another push against his back to keep him steady. He sighed, burying his face in Mingjue’s neck. He smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat and grilled meat, but A-yao didn’t mind it so much anymore.

              “You still with me?” Mingjue asked. A-yao didn’t answer, too exhausted to bother speaking. The rocking motion of Mingjue walking was soothing, and though going up the stairs was a bit more of a bumpy ride, Mingjue was comfortable enough to make the journey an easy one. At least for A-yao.

              “Don’t tell me you passed out already,” Mingjue said in a quieter voice, like he was speaking more to himself than A-yao. “Such a kid.”

              A-yao almost retaliated at that, but clenched his jaw shut when Mingjue kept talking in that low, soft voice.

              “You stress me out more than Huaisang does, you know? You’re like, what, 5’5 and 100 pounds soaking? And you’re in the dish pit of all places? One of these days you’re gonna have an accident like this and—” Mingjue cut off, clearing his throat. “I’m not always around to carry you home, so you gotta start taking care of yourself. When Huaisang goes off to college, I’ll be around more because he’ll be off doing his own thing, but you have to stop doing stuff like this til then, okay?”

[calliopetheos]

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Pairings: Keith/Lance, Adam/Shiro

Rating: T+ for violence and sensitive content

Length: ongoing, final will be around 40k

The vibe: found family, slow burn romance, injuries/caretaking, homophobia, weapons/weapon use, crime fighting, anxiety, vigilantes & cops

Summary: Officers Kogane and Shirogane meet vigilantes Adam and Lance, who are doing their best to stop and prevent crime in their city. The two pairs come to discover that they are on the same side, fighting for the same thing, and can learn to work together. Full of caring for each other, coming together as a family, and falling in love!

TWs:  violence caused/stopped by cops, potential insensitive handling of heavy topics (I do my best, but can always improve. I'm opening to hearing how I can make this fic more appropriate) homophobia/internalized homophobia, bombs/guns (minimal/temporary damage but big build up), descriptions of prison

AN:  I didn't realize the racial implications of Lance+Adam (who are darker-skinned) being vigilantes, and Shiro+Keith (light-skinned) being cops. I chose their roles purely off characteristics/personalities, but I know that does little to make people feel better so if this makes you too uncomfortable, please do not read.

[calliopetheos]

Pull it Together

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T+ for language

Wordcount: 1.5k+

The vibe: Hurt/comfort, finding hope, and getting together

           Geralt grit his teeth as “Watermelon Sugar” played over the grocery store’s speakers for the fifth time that day. It was nine in the morning and he had only been at work for a few hours, but he was already about to hurl. The lights glared harshly down on Geralt, who was getting a headache from squinting. He shelved yet another 32-oz can of Boya black beans and grunted when the next can didn’t fit on the shelf. He had four more cans carefully balanced in his arms and none of them were going to fit, meaning his backstock was four cans of beans bigger.

           Feeling his face heat up like fire, Geralt forced himself to take a deep breath. He had wanted to call in sick, but it was truck day. And if he didn’t stock everything from truck day, he’d have to do it the next day. But that was order day, so he’d have to stay late and his nine or ten hour days were already long enough. He really didn’t need to make them twelve hour days. Geralt huffed, a lump rising in his throat as he grabbed ten little bottles of hot sauce and began pushing them onto the shelf in as neat a row as he could with the time constraint he was under.

           The day after order day was truck day again, but that was late day. He could be at work well into the wee hours of early morning, coming in around 3 in the afternoon and going until he was told he had to leave. And if he didn’t finish, he’d have to come in on his off day. It was bullshit, but he couldn’t leave the work until his next order day because that would mean leaving backstock over the weekend and bossman was definitely not going to allow that. He grabbed a few cans of pinto beans and reached up to line them up on a shelf that was high above his head.

           And the day after that— Geralt startled when he heard a clunking sound. A can on the shelf of pinto beans must have fallen off the one it was stacked on top of. He sighed, continuing to stack cans, standing on his tiptoes to reach the ones in back so he could stack some on top.

           “Look out!” came a shout splitting through the quiet store. Geralt looked up to see a blur of colour colliding with him, shoving him onto his back on the shiny white floor. Geralt squirmed away from the pressure laying on top of him, scrambling like he was being attacked. The floor was hard and cold under his knees, and he felt bruises raising on his bruises.

           “Woah, sorry, hun!” came the same voice that had shouted before. Geralt looked over his shoulder and pulled himself to his feet. A man with messy brown hair and a jean jacket heavily embroidered with colourful flowers stood in front of him with his hands raised in surrender.

           “I. . . what?” Geralt muttered intelligently, crossing his arms as he leaned back.

           “I saw the can fall and didn’t think you noticed,” the man said, Bambi eyes wide and apologetic as he pointed down to a can of chickpeas that was rolling innocently away from them.

           “Oh, uh, thank you,” Geralt said, letting out a shuddery breath.

           “Hey, are you okay?” the man asked, stepping closer with an arm hesitantly extended. Geralt watched the man’s hand settled gently on Geralt’s elbow.

           And then it started happening again. The lump swelled in his throat, his face burned, his eyes stung, he wanted to be on his couch with his big mutt named Roach and his brothers heckling each other and his father cooking dinner and—

           “Woah, honey, alright, come here,” the man said in a low, soft voice like a lullaby. Geralt allowed the man to drag him through the store by the elbow and didn’t even flinch when the man’s other hand rested softly, warmly, supportively on Geralt’s lower back.

           Geralt was pulled past the checkout area, past the sliding double doors, and out into the fresh air where he was pushed down onto a bench. Taking deep breaths, he closed his eyes tightly. He only opened them when he felt warmth on his knees and found the man kneeling in front of him, looking up at him with warm, honey-brown eyes.

           “Hey, so, my name’s Jaskier,” the man said awkwardly. “Uh, what’s yours?”

           “Geralt,” Geralt grunted through tightly grit teeth. He was going to get behind on his truck. He was going to have to stay late and he was going to be miserable and frustrated and the next day he was going to be exhausted— Geralt frowned when his thoughts were interrupted.

           “I’m gonna pull it together. Talk me down until I get better. You know, I’m gonna pull it together—"

           “What?” Geralt said, looking up when he realized the man—Jaskier—was singing.

           “Uh, sorry, they play a lot here so it’s always stuck in my head, but it’s got a good message,” Jaskier said with an awkward laugh.

           “You can sit up here, you know,” Geralt said, not knowing what else to say. He patted the spot next to him on the bench without looking at Jaskier.

           “Cool, cool,” Jaskier said plopping down on the seat, so they were touching in a warm line from thighs to shoulders. “So. Rough day?”

           “Yeah,” Geralt said with a tired laugh. He dragged a hand down his face and slouched back into the bench.

           “Stressful job?” Jaskier asked, reaching over to pick at a thread on Geralt’s shirt.

           “Very,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier’s distracted picking with fascination.

           “Grocery stocker, right? My uncle did that for a while. Tough stuff. Heavy loads, long days, feeling trapped, I get it.” Geralt’s face must’ve looked pretty bad because Jaskier latched onto his arm and started talking faster. “I just mean that I know your job probably sucks and I’m sorry. If it helps, my uncle owns his own store, now—little mom and pop place, you know? You could work there! They probably pay much better than here, and everyone there is really nice.”

           “You talk a lot,” Geralt said lowly, the dizzy-sick feeling leaving his stomach a bit.

           “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Jaskier said, scratching the back of his head. His other hand was still grasping tightly on Geralt’s arm.

           “Your uncle’s really hiring?” Geralt asked.

           “Yeah, his last guy was temporary and had to go back to school once the semester started again. Well, he has another guy but he likes to have two because, you know, he’s been there. Working this type of thing on your own sucks. So, you won’t be alone, is what I’m saying.”

           “Ah, that’s good,” Geralt said, watching a pair of bluebirds fly around each other in a little circle before disappearing out of his line of sight. “So, is this what you usually do?”

           Jaskier let out a questioning hum, rubbing his thumb against Geralt’s arm in a way that made the lump in Geralt’s throat go down.

           “You go around recruiting people for your family business?”

           “Oh, it’s not my family business, I’m disowned,” Jaskier corrected matter-of-factly. “I’m a musician, I usually play for mostly queer crowds.”

           “Your family disowned you?” Geralt repeated. “Shit. Why?”

           “Because I’m a musician and I usually play for mostly queer crowds, Geralt.”

           “Ah, I see,” Geralt said with a slow nod, slightly hypnotized by Jaskier’s freckles. “Um. Thanks. For getting me a job. Or an interview? Whatever you just got me.”

           ��An interview,” Jaskier said, looping his arm through Geralt’s and pulling out his phone. He typed away at it for a minute before looking up. “Does 6:30 pm next Tuesday work? That’s not the day you work nights, is it?”

           “No, night truck is on Fridays— wait, you just got me an interview?”

           “Yeah, sugar, you’re as good as hired,” Jaskier said, bumping his shoulder with Geralt’s. “Welcome to the family, Ger.”

           “Don’t call me Ger.”

           “You look like you need a hug, Ger,” Jaskier said. “Do you want a hug before you go back in there and tell everyone you’re leaving?”

           “I have to put in my 2-weeks—”

           “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jaskier said. “Now come in for that hug.”

           “Uh, I don’t need— oh, you’re. . . you’re hugging me.” Jaskier had his arms wrapped tightly around Geralt’s chest, and Geralt’s arms hung awkwardly in the air.

           The pressure was nice. Geralt didn’t like when people touched him. He didn’t hate it. He wouldn’t blow off a hug or a handshake, but he didn’t actively seek it. But this was nice. The tightness was solid and grounding. He felt his breath slow and his face cool. He lowered his arms to wrap around Jaskier’s shoulders, shuddered, and then pushed his face into Jaskier’s neck.

           “Are you always this touchy and friendly with people you just meet?”

           “Oh, well, to an extent. I don’t go offering jobs and hugs to everyone though. Only the people who look like shit.”

           “Wow, thanks,” Geralt said with a laugh, pulling away. “I probably should get going though. I have to get back to work.”

           “Can I follow you around? You know, like those customers who just won’t stop talking and asking questions and sharing their entire life story?”

           “Dear God,” Geralt said with a sigh. “You’re gonna do that every day until my last day, aren’t you?”

           “Unless I get kicked out or arrested!” Jaskier confirmed with a cheeky grin. “But I can always just get a disguise or something.”

           “You’re ridiculous.”

           “Yeah. Now come on, Ger, let’s go pull it together!” Jaskier whooped, jumping into the air and skipping off to the store’s entrance. Geralt shook his head and pulled himself off the bench.

[calliopetheos]

Dish, Line, and Wait

From my AO3- eb4life

Pairing: 3zun

Rating: T+ for language, some adult themes, mild violence

Length: ongoing, final will be 40k+

Mentionable tags: hurt/comfort, cuddling&snuggling, miscommunication, jealousy, slow burn, excessive descriptions of being a dishwasher, always thank dishwashers, rich boy gets his first jobs, doting older brothers, A-yao is mistreated in every universe

Summary: A-yao and Nice Mingjue have been working at a local restaurant as dishwasher and line cook, respectively, for a few years. When Lan Xichen joins the staff as a waiter, dynamics change, drama crops up, and angst ensues. We've got work related injures! We've got jealousy and miscommunication! We've got "one bed" scenarios and subsequent cuddles!

AN: This lil fic comes from a friend's descriptions of her terrible, terrible, job of being a dishwasher and my ability to find the angst, comfort, and 3zun in any scenario.