#and the entire clan becomes his charge because he’s just. so worried. so worried for everyone in it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lost-girl-2021 · 1 year

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Hello there mate!

Can I please request more Adopted!Spider Human AU hc?

I really enjoyed the first part you write btw!

It's hella amazing!

Thanks so much! Here're some random ass ideas I had last night, lol. (Also, because I legit forgot that I decided this, he's twelve).

Back to the whole 'confrontation on the sinking boat thing', I think that it would be one of the hardest moments of Spider's life. Because, he has this family— a father —who raised him his entire life. Taught him to hunt, watched his first steps, kept track of his height. They'd done everything for him. Beyond a few wayward thoughts when it came to genetics, he'd barely even thought about his birth father before he was taken.

With Quaritch (and the recoms), he was treated differently. Sure, he still slept next to his birth father at night and the man prepared all of his MRE's using the little water-activated heater so Spider didn't burn himself. And he wasn't allowed any weapons, because he was still technically a prisoner.

But, he wasn't babied. With the Sully's, he was always the little brother, the fragile child. Everyone got worried when he got the tiniest scrapes or bruises. Anytime he climbed the big trees to get fruit like his siblings, someone was waiting at the bottom with a nervously lashing tail. It didn't matter how many times he proved he was capable, he was treated like he was Tuk's age, even though he was already twelve. At twelve, Neteyam was allowed to go into the forest by himself until sunset every day. Spider was barely allowed to use a knife (after an incident with almost losing a thumb).

He loved his family, but it was nice to be treated like he was capable. Sometimes, he was scared that he'd never be treated like an adult in the clan, since he'd be unable to bond with an Ikran, unable to prove he'd become a man.

It was kind of like a Na'vi equivalent of summer camp, at first. When they were making their way through the forest, away from the RDA and the mean general (and the truth). When they got their Ikrans, Spider watched it with a jealous pang. And then, he was sat in front of Quaritch, flying through the air.

And all he could think about was his mama. Taking him for long flights, just the two of them, whenever Spider was feeling down. When he had a nightmare that night, he woke up crying. Because, all he wanted was to be squished between his parents, safe and warm.

I think that after the whole village burnings, Spider would probably feel even worse. Because, he had started to actually believe Quaritch when he said he didn't want to hurt anyone, that he wouldn't hurt Spider.

In this version, Quaritch works to try and mend the sudden rift (caused by him being a complete asshole and trying to mass murder and shit). He lets Spider watch old Earth cartoons on his tablet until the battery is completely drained, he gives him candy for dinner (more than once) and even goes so far as to let Spider play in the sand of one of the empty beaches they fly past.

And, because Spider is twelve, it kind of works for a while. Until the next awful thing, the Tulkun hunt. This time, Quaritch actually makes an effort to keep Spider oblivious to it all. He lets Spider stay up late the night before they go hunting, then leaves him to sleep in. Of course, Spider wakes up and goes looking for someone he knows and finds his way above ground just as the chaos starts.

He sees two of his siblings and a Metkayina girl cuffed to the railing, sees Quaritch as the one leading the charge. I think instead of a casual conversation, Lo'ak would probably flip out. In this, that's not his friend, that's his younger brother,

"Spider? Spider! Are you hurt?" Lo'ak screamed, thrashing around even pinned to the ground.

Was Spider hurt? "I'm fine, bro. What— "

He tried to take a step forward, but two human soldiers grabbed him as Quaritch waved a hand. "Take him to the bridge."

"No, no— Lo'ak!" He yelped, straining as he was lifted up by the duo, dragged up the stairs.

Blah, blah, blah

Instead of Neteyam and Lo'ak rescuing Spider, they leave with out him. Ik they normally wouldn't, so maybe Neteyam did get shot, or Lo'ak did, just not fatally. So, they had to leave. The Sully family (minus Spider) meet up again and Lo'ak tells Jake that Spider's on board the ship.

Cue Neytiri and Jake going all 'crazy fight scene' intense and leaving to rescue Spider from the sinking ship. Neytiri goes one way, Jake goes the other, because they have no clue where he could be and limited time to search.

Jake ends up tracking down Spider just as Quaritch finds him too. This is where we get that little scene I wrote before, Imma clip it in rn and then add onto it.

“Spider, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, just take a breath.” Dad soothed, reaching towards him. Spider had missed his dad so much, had missed his voice and his hugs and—

“He said you lied.” Spider cried, all of the confusion of the past few months rushing to the surface. “He— he said Paz was a part of the RDA. That you killed her! He . . . he said he’s my real dad.”

“I’m your dad. I’m the one who taught you to walk and hunt and fish— “

“Because I never got the chance!” Quaritch shouted from Spider’s other side. Both of them were a mere arms length away, but neither made a move. “Your mother never got the chance.”

“Spider, we can talk about everything tomorrow, I promise. But, ‘Teyam’s hurt and your Mama needs you— I need you. You need to come home.”

“You left me.” He whimpered. “You left the forest.”

“We were always going to come for you— “

“They didn’t.” Quaritch snapped. “I was the one who protected you from the general. I was the one who took care of you— “

“He stole you. Tuk and your mama haven’t stopped crying since that day.” He insisted. "Your brother have been making you new arrows and we brought all of your things with. Norm and Max have barely even slept, they've been searching nonstop."

"I— " Spider blinked away tears, cheeks itchy and hot. "I don't know what to do."

"Come with me, Spider. We— we can ride the Ikrans as much as you want and you can have your own tablet— whatever you want, son."

"Baby, Spider-baby, come to me. Come to Dad, please." Dad's voice was gruff, but his eyes were wide the same way they were when Spider broke his arm two years ago. He was scared.

He lunged towards his dad, latching onto his leg. Quaritch roared behind them and suddenly his mama was there, pulling him from Dad and into the water. She pressed on the back of his head, making him hide his masked face in her shoulder as she latched onto a sea creature he had only seen in passing. She was whispering a million things in his ear, but none of it was loud enough to drown out the fighting behind them.

Spider is taken to safety, reunites (properly) with his siblings and meets Tsireya, who Lo'ak swears he does not like when Spider asks him later. And it's so good to be back with his family that it takes him a couple days to realize that Quaritch is dead. That his dad killed his father.

#avatar #spider avatar #miles spider socorro #avatar way of water #atwow spider #spider #atwow fanfiction #atwow #avatar fanfiction

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maki--na · 2 years

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Was there more than interest?

ok, cabe recalcar que uso traductor. And I think this is not the best title I've ever done. Asique, lo siento 😌😌😌

Here we go :v

As many must already understand, it was quite a surprise to see that in this version of Krang Rise. Krang is not just an individual running an entire colony.

Here are 3 brothers (the oldest, the sister, and the youngest)

You may have already read my theory that these three are cannibals and devoured most of their kind. Standing alone as the strongest.😶😶😶😶

Which leads me to wonder, how long have the three of them been together?

the most obvious will say, a thousand years.

BUT...

In those thousand years, half were busy killing each other. So how long did it take, until only the three of them were left?

What did they do after becoming the strongest, before being freed by the Foot Clan?

From several generations. We understand that Krang is not very 'nice' to his minions. Perhaps this is it, because there are many and help is not lacking.

But in this version, there is NO army, there are NO people.

Here are 3 Krangs that were considered as brothers.

I'm not sure if there was at any point in these thousand years. Where they were considered 'brothers', Krang is not well known for showing appreciation. And it's not because he doesn't want to, he just can't.

His species is not designed to express feelings like: love, compassion, or kindness, much less cry.

But that doesn't mean they don't show each other respect and concern in other ways. And some examples are shown as the film progresses.😎😎😎😎

When the portal opens, one might expect to see a door of freedom. EVERYONE would have been surprised.

But only the older Krang dared to come out, even when he was outside. He touched the surface of the ground carefully (probably making sure the ground is sustainable).

He then announces that he is finally free.

Only after making sure the place is safe and having removed the mystical power of the turtles. At that moment he announces that the place is safe, calling his sister and his younger brother.

Example 2, would be :

When the portal fails because Leo managed to steal the key, little Krang is thrown into the air. What would have been left to wait would have been for the older Krang to have dropped it to his fate. But instead, I catch it in the air.

Preventing you from getting hurt.

Little Krang is not very strong and much less resistant. And the older Krang knows it. Unlike his sister, he shows that she can take care of herself.

Example 3 is:

When Raph is being interrogated.

The sister was 'threatening (?)' Raph. Until the older Krang shows up, both the sister and younger brother bow down. Showing respect.

Elder Krang then says "forgive my sister, she has a bad temper." This is a sign of how well the older Krang knows his sister. He knows that he has a bad temper. And he trusts her to find her key.

Example 4.

It would be in the highest tower, the older Krang was in charge of protecting the little Krang from the shots (and probably ate the humans that were there)

Example 5:

When the sister loses an eye. It's easy to tell that the older Krang didn't seem to care.

But like I said, Krang CANNOT develop feelings of worry.

But the older Krang knows his sister and knows that she is fine. He knows she's strong and this detail doesn't seem to bother her and it's not going to stop her either, and they both know it.

And then there are the armor.

Doesn't it seem like quite a coincidence that EXACTLY, the older Krang saved two armors for his two brothers? It is clear that he is a self-centered guy and doesn't care who he has to beat to achieve his goal. And having kept two more armors, he just shows that he trusts his two other brothers.

It is possible that the trust of these 3 Krangs as brothers is not based on the "brotherly love" that we are used to.

They are based more on trust, respect and above all strength.

Again, this is my HC (really everything), and I may be wrong.

But I find it very interesting that these three have become brothers. Or rather, they HAVE DECLARED themselves brothers (when they killed the rest of their kind)

I like this version of Krang, and I would have liked to know what he is going to happen next (THAT IS WHY WATCH THE MOVIE LEGALLY)

Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read.😘😘😘😘😘

I hope you liked it, bye. 😁😁😁😁😁

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt krang #krang #rottmnt theory #rottmnt the movie #tmnt 2018 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #they are brothers because I say so #i like this krang version #rottmnt movie #Everyone is free to make theories I make mine.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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A prompt for you (though honestly I'll read anything you write because it is always excellent): Wen Ning never dies, but somehow still ends up becoming Wei Wuxian's most feared subordinate...

ao3

Untamed

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Cheng said, hurrying after the other man, who stopped and turned with a welcoming expression on his face even though Jiang Cheng knew he was in a hurry after everything they’d just planned. After Nie Mingjue had volunteered to go into the Nightless City himself, a reckless charge to try to kill Wen Ruohan, while the rest of them attacked directly - a final strike, if they could only manage it. “I just…”

He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

He didn’t even know what he was doing here.

Nie Mingjue didn’t call him out on it, though, only stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your support,” he said, voice a little gentler than usual. Like he was trying to comfort Jiang Cheng or something.

Like he wasn’t the one volunteering to go die.

(Just like Jiang Cheng’s mother, and father, and - )

Oh. That’s why he came here.

“I’ll be there,” Jiang Cheng said suddenly, and Nie Mingjue blinked. “At – at the Nightless City. After you kill him, after we take the city…I’ll come find you, to make sure you’re all right.”

That was stupid, he thought to himself as soon as he said it. Nie Mingjue had an entire sect, and friends, and all that – he didn’t need Jiang Cheng hounding him with his insecurities, his worries, his fear that Nie Mingjue would die, too, die and leave him behind just like all the others. Why should he be the exception?

But Nie Mingjue smiled. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed and nodded. “It’s a deal, then,” he said, and watched as Nie Mingjue strode away.

He promised himself that he’d do as he said he would.

Even if all he found was Nie Mingjue’s corpse.

It ended up not being Nie Mingjue who killed Wen Ruohan, but rather a combination of Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation style and Meng Yao, who’d apparently been working as a double agent or – something.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t really clear on the details.

He rushed over to Wei Wuxian’s side at once, checking him over as best as he could, yelling at him over…he wasn’t even sure what, it wasn’t really important. Recklessness, probably. Wei Wuxian seemed to understand what he meant, though, grinning at him with bloodless lips.

“You worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep for – a week. Maybe more. Let’s go back to camp, and I’ll do just that.”

Jiang Cheng was about to agree when he remembered his promise.

(Nie Mingjue hadn’t been there at the final fight, although Wen Ruohan hadn’t been at his full power, either. Had he sacrificed himself to wear down their enemy?)

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, noticing.

“Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng said. “I didn’t – see him.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “You think…? Oh, poor Nie Huaisang..!”

Jiang Cheng wondered for a moment why Wei Wuxian’s first thought was of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been there for all those months of working as Nie Mingjue’s lieutenants, him and Lan Wangji and even Jin Zixuan. He wouldn’t have that personal connection with the man, beyond the brief meeting they’d had with him before the indoctrination camp - he wouldn’t have experience with his reliable competence and his talented leadership, his compassion or the gruff praise that he gave sparingly but sincerely and which made Jiang Cheng feel for once in his life like he was every bit as good as Wei Wuxian.

“I want to…” He was going to sound dumb. No, he was a sect leader, as Nie Mingjue often (gently) reminded him; he had to decide for himself what he was going to do, and have faith that his decisions were the right ones - and act accordingly. “We’re not leaving yet. We’re going to go further in, see if we can find him. Do you think you can hold up a little longer?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, straightening up. “I’ll be fine for a while yet. Let’s go.”

“You’ll tell me if you –”

“Yes, Jiang Cheng. Stop nagging. Now are we going or not?”

Unexpectedly, Nie Mingjue was alive.

Alive, and also extremely pissed off.

“I’ll take him back,” Jiang Cheng said to Lan Xichen, who looked relieved: he was protecting Meng Yao from Nie Mingjue for some reason. “Better to go separately.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen said.

Jiang Cheng saluted and went over to Nie Mingjue, who was leaning on Wei Wuxian – a case of the injured helping the injured, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, and he glared at his disciples until they ran over to assist them both.

Wei Wuxian was frowning, he noted. “What is it?” he asked, and Wei Wuxian shook his head, refusing to talk and inclining his head meaningfully down towards Nie Mingjue, who looked more tired than anything else. Exhausted, injured, even half-dead…“We should go.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue croaked. “There are probably – prisoners.”

“It can wait until we’re back at camp, surely?” Jiang Cheng asked. “We lost a lot of people in that battle. We could get reinforcements, then come back and do a full sweep when we’re less exhausted.”

“They might be injured, though,” Wei Wuxian put in, though he looked tired, too. “It’d be a pity for any person to die in Wen Ruohan’s custody right after we finally defeated him.”

It was a good point, Jiang Cheng thought, and although he was pretty exhausted himself, he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go sweep the place, look for prisoners. But you two are going straight back to camp, okay? No exceptions, no heroism, nothing! If I get back and I hear that you two took a left turn and fell face-first off a cliff into a pile of magma because you thought there was a baby bird that needed rescuing, I will personally resurrect and stab you both!”

Both Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian were grinning at him in a suspiciously indulgent (and almost identical) sort of way, Jiang Cheng noticed, but they also agreed solemnly to make no detours, not even if it was the most heartrending of baby birds, and Jiang Cheng supposed he had to be happy with that.

They staggered off together as he turned to go further in, and as he did, he thought he heard Wei Wuxian say, “Tell me more about what Meng Yao said to you –”

“Sect Leader Jiang!” one of Jiang Cheng’s subordinates said, rushing over and saluting. “I found another cell!”

Jiang Cheng ran his hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more but to sleep. “Show me where,” he ordered instead.

He’d already dispatched one of his disciples to act as a runner to Lan Xichen, asking for him to send more disciples from his Lan sect and the Nie sect (which he’d been helping coordinate in Nie Mingjue’s absence) to help get all the prisoners out – there were so many of them, and many of them were, as predicted, in poor health. He would’ve preferred to ask someone else, since the Lan and Nie sects had suffered as many injuries as his Jiang sect, but the small sects were focused on themselves right now and the Jin sect…well, they’d done so little in the war up till now that he’d almost forgotten that they were an option until one of his subordinates had suggested them, and then he’d dismissed the suggestion, too.

If the Jin sect were here, he thought ungraciously, they were probably busy trying to find the treasury.

At least the Lan and Nie sects had managed to confiscate the Yin metal first.

At some point, they’d have to find a way to destroy it…

Distracted by thoughts of politics, Jiang Cheng followed his subordinate down a twisting hallway to yet another set of cells, dark and dank but not quite as close to the place where the Yin metal had been used to refine ghost puppets, and there were men and women chained to the wall here. Unrecognizable, most of them, beaten and starved. They were probably the scions of small cultivation clans…

“Wen Ning?” he blurted out, surprised to recognize the kind-looking face of one of them. To barely recognize: Wen Ning had circles under his eyes, bruises on his face, and his usually round cheeks were thin. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s been here for weeks and weeks,” one of the other prisoners said at once. “He’s not – one of those Wens.”

Wen Ning could still blush, Jiang Cheng noticed, and as much as he would have said he hated all those surnamed Wen – well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? Wen Ning had been there with Wen Qing, when they’d helped them. Jiang Cheng had rescued and released her, giving her that comb as a keepsake…it would be manifestly unjust to make the exception for one and not the other.

His disciples were looking at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Jiang Cheng snapped at them. “He’s a prisoner, he’s hurt. Treat him as you would any of the other prisoners we’ve rescued.”

That would be his story, he thought, if anyone later came knocking at his door to ask what he was thinking, letting a Wen go free.

Maybe it was his fault, Jiang Cheng reflected. He shouldn’t have thought ‘go free’.

Go free implied that Wen Ning would go somewhere else, rather than following him and Wei Wuxian around like an imprinted puppy. It only got worse when Wei Wuxian spontaneously declared that he would help him find Wen Qing to make sure she was safe – without asking Jiang Cheng first, which was unhelpful.

“We can’t be seen as being partial to the Wen sect,” he groaned, head in hands. “Not even the distant branches, but much less someone adopted by Sect Leader Wen himself…no offense meant, Wen Ning.”

“None taken,” Wen Ning said.

“But they helped us,” Wei Wuxian argued, clearly choosing to take the offense on Wen Ning’s part. “It would be unjust for us to turn on them now, when we have the power and they don’t, when they took risks on our behalf in the past.”

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “Is this related to your weird thing about Lianfeng-zun?” he asked. Wei Wuxian had taken a firm stance against the man recently, and had spoken of it incessantly.

“No! Or, I mean – I would’ve done it anyway, okay? Listen, I really don’t like that guy.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gasped dramatically. “You, Wei Wuxian, don’t like Lianfeng-zun? Wen Ning, did you hear that? Can you believe it?”

Wen Ning was hiding his face behind his sleeve – a Jiang sect outfit, one of Jiang Cheng’s own spares, since that was what they had, but the dark purple suited him rather well. Better than the red ever had.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Traitor,” Wei Wuxian told him.

“Sorry, Wei-gongzi!” Wen Ning giggled.

(Jiang Cheng did not think that Wen Ning was cute when he laughed, nor did he wish to see it happen again, to be the cause of it again. He was the leader of a sect, with an obligation to have heirs to carry on his parents’ legacy – he could think Wen Qing was pretty, even if she wasn’t exactly an advantageous match, but he was not allowed to think the same about Wen Ning.)

Wei Wuxian sighed and flopped down. “His conduct is questionable,” he grumbled. “Lan Zhan agrees with me…Anyway, why are we talking about Lianfeng-zun again? I thought we were talking about finding Wen Qing, and the rest of Wen Ning’s family?”

Jiang Cheng groaned again. “I can try to raise it at the meeting in Lanling,” he said, even though they’d all agreed that it made the most sense for the Jin sect to be the ones to resettle any prisoners of war, mostly on account of them having the money, the manpower, and the time, being the only sect that didn’t have significant work to do rebuilding after Wen sect aggression. “Provided you behave. Okay?”

Wei Wuxian, predictably, did not behave.

“Sect Leader Jiang?” Nie Mingjue unexpectedly said from the doorway to the room Jiang Cheng was staying in, and Jiang Cheng spun to stare at him in horror that someone was seeing him in this state. The other sect leader stepped inside, ignoring the mess of things on the floor from Jiang Cheng’s temper tantrum, and closed the door behind him. “Are you all right?”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to say something – something confident and self-assured, something that would help brush away Wei Wuxian’s atrocious behavior and his own as nothing to worry about, something befitting the sect leader of the Jiang sect – but the words stuck in his throat and, instead, to his absolute disgust, he burst into tears.

He expected Nie Mingjue to make a hasty exit at that point, appalled by the rampant display of emotionality, and that he’d have to apologize later for disgracing himself in such a fashion. That had been the way it had always gone with his parents, his father who hated sadness and his mother who hated weakness, and so he wasn’t expecting it at all when Nie Mingjue stepped forward and pulled him into his arms. Into a hug.

It was terrible: there was absolutely no way Jiang Cheng would be able to get ahold of himself now that he was feeling warm and protected and like someone gave one single damn about him.

Nie Mingjue didn’t let go of him, not even when he tearfully apologized for making a display – “It’s not wrong to have feelings, Jiang Wanyin, and it’s not harming me to be here while you let them out.” – or even when, in broken unfinished unpolitical sentences, Jiang Cheng started stuttering his way through…he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

Possibly a rendition of all the bitterness and resentment he’d ever had in his life.

When it was done, after he’d wept all the tears he’d hidden inside of him, Nie Mingjue said only: “Feeling better?”

Jiang Cheng swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “…yes,” he said, realizing that he did. “I’m sorry –”

“Do not apologize for having emotions like any other human being. Or for being a burden on me, which you are not.”

Jiang Cheng wished it didn’t feel so good when Nie Mingjue – stiff, stern, harsh Nie Mingjue, who rarely said kind words and never said anything just for the sake of saying it – said things like that. It would make it far easier to keep his dignity intact.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, instead. “It wasn’t to hear me talk about Wei Wuxian.”

At least, not the lifelong story of how Jiang Cheng had always been second to him even before he’d shown up – how his birthday was only a few days later, his skill a little bit less, his temperament inferior, his life inferior; how Jiang Cheng could ignore all of that if only Wei Wuxian were his brother the way he was his, the way he’d promised to be, and yet more and more nowadays it felt as if it were slipping out of reach.

“It was,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s been coming around rather a lot to discuss Lianfeng-zun. It was his vehemence on the issue that reassured me that I wasn’t overreacting to the unnecessary death of my sect cultivators at Lianfeng-zun’s hands –”

The what?

Maybe Jiang Cheng should have listed a bit more when Wei Wuxian started ranting about how untrustworthy he thought Lianfeng-zun was.

“– and you have always had the strongest confidence in his sense of righteousness, even after he switched over to using demonic cultivation. Based on that, I thought there might be some reason behind his actions.”

Wei Wuxian’s actions: kidnapping an entire cohort of Wen sect cultivators from a Jin sect resettlement camp, assaulting several guards, running away, bringing shame on the Jiang sect by association…

“If I knew anything, I would tell you,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “But that would require Wei Wuxian telling me. Anything. At all.”

Nie Mingjue nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think he acted maliciously?”

“What? No,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “Of course not.”

“Do you think his thinking was affected by his demonic cultivation?”

“I almost wish it was, but no. He’s always been – like this. Reckless and over-confident, never thinking of consequences.”

“So you still have faith in him?”

“Of course!”

“That’s good enough for me,” Nie Mingjue said, as if Jiang Cheng hadn’t spent half a shichen crying on his shoulder about how all of his problems and how he couldn’t do anything right. “Let’s go ask him.”

“What, now?”

“Are you doing anything else?”

Fair was fair, but politics were politics: “If you’d gone about it the right way, perhaps the Jin sect wouldn’t have a claim,” Nie Mingjue said, pacing around the Burial Mounds with a scowl. “But as it stands now, it’s your word against theirs – and yours will be considered impaired on account of your demonic cultivation.”

“What about the testimony of the victims?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Wen sect,” Jiang Cheng put in, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian glared at him. “It’s true! Like it or not, their surname is Wen, and for Wen Qing and Wen Ning in particular, they were Sect Leader Wen’s wards.”

“It was not our choice,” Wen Qing said. Her voice was cold, and she’d tried to return the comb to him, earlier, though he’d refused – why he refused he didn’t know, since her decision to approach Wei Wuxian to seek help in rescuing the rest of her family rather than him had cut off any hope of anything between them. Even if she eventually understood his perspective, or even apologized for judging him unfit or unwilling to help her, he didn’t think he could live the rest of his life with a woman who had picked Wei Wuxian first.

“That isn’t what’s important, though,” Wen Ning said unexpectedly, and they all looked at him. He ducked his head, picking at his sleeve. “It isn’t. Sect Leader Jiang’s right: our surname is Wen. It’s reasonable for people to assume that we’re loyal to the Wen sect, and to treat us accordingly.”

“We never fought against anyone! We’ve never –”

“It doesn’t matter what we did, jiejie,” Wen Ning said. “Whether or not we fought for our sect, we would’ve benefited if they won, right? You rise when your clan rises, and fall when it falls. Why should we be an exception?”

“Well said,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wen Ning abruptly turned bright red – Jiang Cheng shot him a sympathetic look; he entirely understood the issue there. “Your testimony will be deemed self-interested, and even asking for it will only undercut Wei Wuxian’s position. Not to mention the Jiang sect’s.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “Then just kick me out of the Jiang sect,” he said.

“What?” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and even Nie Mingjue looked startled. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not? Isn’t the whole point that the Jiang sect is being dragged down by me and my new cultivation? Kick me out, and the problem’s solved.”

“I could cut off your head, and that of everyone else here,” Nie Mingjue said. “That would also solve the problem, but for some reason I’m not suggesting it. Can anyone tell me why?”

“…because it’s a bad idea?” Wen Ning volunteered.

“Because it’s a stupid idea,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

“It is a stupid idea,” Jiang Cheng growled. “Even putting aside that I don’t want to cast you out, do you really think people will stop blaming the Jiang sect for your actions just because you’re formally not aligned with us?”

“There isn’t another option,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not giving up the Wen sect, I’m not changing my cultivation style, I’m not giving up the Tiger Seal – and I’m not dragging the Jiang sect down with me, not if I can help it.”

“Are they really calling me ‘Ghost General’?” Wen Ning asked on one of his visits to the Lotus Pier to pick up supplies for the Yiling Burial Mounds.

Since Wei Wuxian had been so set on splitting from the Jiang sect, they’d eventually reached a compromise, of sorts. Wei Wuxian’s actions in rescuing the Wen sect remnants was – not endorsed, per se, as it was clearly wrongful, but Nie Mingjue announced that he had examined the Wen in question and found evidence suggestive of malnutrition and abuse, which indicated at minimum some negligence on the part of the Jin sect in not supervising the guards better. Accordingly, the Wen sect would be removed from the Jin sect’s custody and permitted to set up camp in Yiling under Wei Wuxian, but as punishment for his reckless and unsanctioned behavior, Wei Wuxian was to be expelled from the Jiang sect.

Since the expulsion was mandated by external forces, rather than being a result of his own decision, Jiang Cheng was able to give Wei Wuxian a sizeable settlement as a gift for his separation – the cultivation world gossiped about it, but most people seemed to think he was just trying to get his own back at Nie Mingjue for supposedly forcing the decision to expel Wei Wuxian down his throat – and to set up something of a trade agreement to send them more, although exactly what the Jiang sect was getting out of their side of the ‘trade’ was still up in the air.

Despite these outward signs of remaining support, several small sects had made attempts on the Burial Mounds, growing more reckless once they realized that Jiang Cheng really hadn’t left any forces behind to protect it – stupid of them, of course, since the reason he hadn’t left anyone behind was because he didn’t need to.

Wei Wuxian could handle himself perfectly well.

As could Wen Ning, apparently – he was a truly excellent archer, it turned out, and capable of waiting in all sorts of strange places with perfect patience, even if sometimes he had strange ideas about painting his face with mud to better blend in. It’d been one of those incidents that had given rise to the rumor that he was actually dead, having been resurrected by Wei Wuxian…

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Sorry about that. I tried to tell them to stop, but…”

“It made it worse?”

“It made it so much worse,” Jiang Cheng sighed. “Anyway, would you like to drink?”

“…do you mean tea?”

“No.”

“Yes please,” Wen Ning said. “I have been – so stressed. You wouldn’t…actually, you probably would believe it.”

“I grew up with Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said grimly. “I believe anything.”

“It would be good to bring a representative of Yiling Wei sect to the conference, even if it can’t be Wei Wuxian himself,” Nie Mingjue remarked, looking down at the plans Jiang Cheng had laid out for the first discussion conference to be held in the Lotus Pier since the war. “You’re on good terms with Wen Qionglin, aren’t you? Ask him –”

“No!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, then realized he was being suspicious and cleared his throat. “Maybe someone else should invite them.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him over the table. “…has something happened?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng stared down at the plans and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Nothing important,” he said, and his voice cracked on the last sound – embarrassing.

Still not as embarrassing as that time he cried into Nie Mingjue’s arms, no, but still…embarrassing.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said. “You slept with him.”

“How can you tell?” Jiang Cheng hissed, mortified beyond all belief. “Is it – written on my face –”

“According to Huaisang, it’s always a safe guess,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Jiang Cheng gaped at him. “Either they admit that that’s the case, as you just did, or they get all up in arms and explain what it really was while denying it.”

“That’s –” Really useful and Jiang Cheng will have to put it into effect immediately. “– terrible.”

“Works, though. Why the embarrassment? I didn’t think the Jiang sect cared about cut sleeves.”

“We don’t,” Jiang Cheng said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “But I’m sect leader –”

“You had sex, it’s not like you got married.”

“I used to have a thing for his sister.”

“Awkward, I suppose, but it never went anywhere, did it? One can hardly hold your past inclinations against you –”

“We were both thinking about you,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, and then promptly wanted to die. He could have just not said that. He could have said anything else but that. He could stab himself right now and maybe Nie Mingjue would be so distracted by the bleeding and screaming that he would just forget what Jiang Cheng had just said…

“You could always just ask,” Nie Mingjue said.

Jiang Cheng looked up through his fingers. “…are you serious?”

Nie Mingjue looked at him with arched eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’d be flattered by being propositioned by two extremely beautiful and deadly cultivators?”

“I wouldn’t rank those two as equally desirable traits in a lover,” Jiang Cheng said, and it was almost not a lie, “but…yes?”

He thought for a moment.

“If I did invite Wen Ning to the Discussion Conference…”

“Well,” Wen Ning said. “This wasn’t how I was expecting to end up.”

“Me, either,” Jiang Cheng said. He was staring up at the ceiling and thinking about not moving again for – possibly ever.

“Same for me,” Nie Mingjue, on his other side, agreed. “But I have no objections to how it worked out. There aren’t two other cultivators I’d rather be with.”

“There’d better not be,” Jiang Cheng said on automatic, then considered bashing his head in – luckily both Wen Ning and Nie Mingjue reached over and put their hands under his head so he couldn’t, which made him feel warm and happy in a way subtly different from the way the sex had. “I mean, who else would it be? Zewu-jun and Lianfeng-zun?”

“Wei-gongzi still thinks Lianfeng-zun is trying to kill you, you know,” Wen Ning said to Nie Mingjue, who looked long-suffering. “He’s got this idea –”

“He can’t be trying to kill me,” Nie Mingjue argued. “He’s just offered to help Xichen play calming music for me –”

“Wei-gongzi said that maybe he’s trying to kill you through the music –”

“I’m going to sleep,” Jiang Cheng announced. “When I wake up, we can discuss the political implications of letting there be rumors about us sleeping together, which will make it both convenient for us to do this again and also maybe using the potential threat of a Yiling Wei-Yunmeng Jiang-Qinghe Nie alliance to force the Jin sect to take action so we can figure out once and for all if Lianfeng-zun is actually planning to do something. But for the moment, I am going to sleep.”

“…seems fair,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Communication and straightforwardness is important in relationships like these.”

“Uh,” Wen Ning said, glancing at Jiang Cheng. “About that…if, theoretically, I were to know something about someone…”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #nie mingjue #wen ning #my fic #my fics #exception #lurkingcrow

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cafeinthemoon · 3 years

Text

The Home I Crave - Chapter XV

Chapter: 15/?

Wordcount: 2900

Title: Hand Signs

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: Tobirama Senju X reader

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14

Symbols: ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warning (s): none

N. A.: Yeah I think I owe you apologies for taking this long to post this chapter, but here it is, finally! I was feeling so upset and guilty for not writing as much as before, but it's simply because I haven't had time to sit down and work on my stories. These days have been rough 😣

You didn’t remember well how things happened after the man left your door. You only remembered seeing Tobirama turning to you and saying something, trying to raise his voice above the storm’s sounds, but it wouldn’t let you understand the exact words. You probably stood up and took the first clothes you could find, but you weren’t sure how; even less passable of an explanation was how your husband could find time to put his full armor before you two left the room, all your package except for the weapons being abandoned there as well as your hopes of having at least one pacific night before going back on your journey.

Somehow you reached the first floor, from where the people of the tea house were trying to leave as fast a possible. The ninjas you saw when you arrived at the place came to speak to you. They were in three.

You two turned to them and the one who seemed to be the leader of the group introduced himself:

- I am Yuuta from the Land of Wind– and turning aside to indicate his partners – These are my brothers, Yuji and Yoko. We understand that you two are shinobi like us. We’ve heard about the ditch and thought we could work together to help the people who live here.

There was no time to think about the strangeness of the situation or to have suspicions about the group. You felt a sort of regret for the bad impression you had of them at first, because they seemed to be honest people now that you paid close attention to them.

Apparently Tobirama had the same opinion, judging by his response when he spoke for you two.

- We are shinobi from the Leaf Village. I am Tobirama Senju and this is my wife, Y/n from the … clan. We are going to the village near this tea house to help the people there.

- I am used to work in rescuing missions and it would be of great help if some of you came with me – you completed.

Yoko, who was the only woman among them and seemed to be the youngest sibling, replied that she had experience in rescues too. You and the three ninjas had a quick conversation and it was decided that Yuuta and Yuji were going to help the people of the inn while you and Yoko were going to the village. However, when Yuuta asked Tobirama to stay at the inn with him and his brother, the Senju refused.

But it was the explanation given by him for such refusal that left everyone stunned.

- I will be more useful if I’d go with the women because I have a plan to stop the flood. However,I need to see the territory to make sure it will work.

The entire group stared at him in silence, but none of them dared laugh at him or question his attitude: it was clear that Tobirama was not joking, neither he was the type who needs to justify himself to others, even more if he just met them. That was not a man one wouldn’t take seriously. You yourself were caught in surprise, but you had the same reasons as the others to keep quiet as well.

In the end, Yuuta and the others nodded and the group was divided and you three were running toward the small village that was said to be near the tea house.

***

Now that you had some time to pay attention to your thoughts, you were running without talking, trying to process everything that was said during the conversation with the three shinobi of the Wind. So, Tobirama had a plan to help the villagers – perhaps a plan that started to take form when you were still in the inn’s room and your husband was talking to the man at your door – but whatever he wanted to do, it sounded absurd even to his standards. You started to think if all the Senju people were like him or if he was the one who differed from the rest of the clan.

Above these valid questions, an intrusive thought that you’ve been trying to suppress just took over your mind: you couldn’t forget the involuntary way in which you turned your head away from the group when you heard him introduce you as his wife. If that situation happened just a few days before you’d surely be irritated: he haven’t done anything that served as a proof that he acknowledged you as his spouse, so why would he call you his wife in front of those strangers? Well, after the things you’ve been through in that journey, it didn’t seem appropriate for you to just get angry. The truth was that you didn’t know how to feel about it.

If things stopped at this, you would be okay. Problem was that it didn’t: soon, you were remembering the dream you had just before the knocks on your door woke you up. The strangest part of it was that you weren’t sure of when exactly you fell asleep – was it before or after the… kiss? You firmly believed it was before. Just the diligent manner in which he left your side on the bed to answer the door showed that the kiss was not real. It couldn’t be.

But it felt so real. Almost as if you’ve been wanting it for days. Thinking of this made your face warm up despite the cold drops of rain falling on it.

Yoko’s voice brought you back to the present moment, among the sound of the raindrops on the trees above and the soaked soil swallowing your feet.

- Y/n-san, do you know this village? – she was asking – Any information about its geography can be useful for us to form a rescue plan!

You took a second to understand what she was saying under that storm, but once you did you tried as best as you could to explain that you’ve never been at the village.

- I’ve been in that tea house before, but I’ve never visited the village itself! I don’t know what we’re going to find there!

- So what now? – there was preoccupation implied in her tone.

- Supposing that the village’s territory is similar to the inn’s, with a flat ground and enough open space, things can be a bit easier – you knew it was a shot in the dark, but you wanted to avoid causing desperation in your new partner – It means that its people have a good chance to escape just by running. I’m a Doton user. I can stay behind and build barriers to delay the flood while you lead the way for them!

Fortunately for you, Yoko agreed with your suggestion.

- Right!

However, that was not the end of the conversation or your worries. The girl didn’t forget that Tobirama took a difficult – almost impossible –task for himself that would separate him from the rest of you, and decided to question him about it.

- And what about you, Tobirama-san? – she spoke to the man who was slightly ahead of you – What exactly are you going to do?

Tobirama replied your question as if the answer was something obvious.

- I am going to check the flood’s path and think of a way to stop it.

You opened your mouth and the storm drops that entered it almost made you gag.

- Listen, I know you are a master of Suiton, but I think that’s a bit extreme!

That time he looked at you while speaking.

- I do not plan to use mere Water Style to solve this, y/n-san. I will explain when we get there!

***

The village, just as the inn’s owner informed you, was so close to the tea house that you reached it in less than two minutes.

It was smaller than you imagined, though. It was formed by one large, main street that had its lines defined by groups of small, modest houses on both sides. These houses had their doors and windows all open, and the villagers were reunited outside them.You didn’t need to look for too long to see terror in their eyes. An old man was holding his cane so tight that his fingers were becoming pale; no so far from him, a woman was trying to calm down a child crying and asking what why was everybody so scared. Others were trying to run with packs on their backs, trying to reach the grove’s path. Among all those people there were some animals, faster than their owners in leaving the place to hide among the trees.

Tobirama, you and Yoko looked at each other but didn’t say anything. You just walked ahead and when the people noticed your presence, they opened the way for you without questioning your reasons to come. You knew what this reaction meant: it only showed how rare was for them to see shinobi in their territory.

Before any of you could ask who was in charge there, a man ran toward you, screaming:

- Who sent you three? The village is doomed! Soon this place is going to be under water!

You asked if anyone was missing.

- No, we are all here – the man replied – Except for Toji, who ran to the inn to alert the people there.

You were thinking of what to say in response when Tobirama took a step toward him and spoke in his commanding voice:

- We are shinobi from Konoha and we’re here to stop the flood! – and elevating his voice for the others to hear – All of you! My partners, y/n-san and Yoko-san, will guide you through the grove! Our other friends will meet your group in the middle of the way and help you! Do as they say and everyone will be safe!

You didn’t know it was possible for someone to obtain such power of influence on people they didn’t even know in so little time until you saw the people’s reaction to your husband’s words. Once they heard his voice, they gathered around him, their desperation soon replaced by a serious attention; they stopped pushing and stumbling on each other he gave his instructions. Their eyes turned to you then, and you did your best to calm them down: as your experiences in rescuing missions told you, that was the crucial moment when you had to make sure the victims would trust your leadership.

- Prioritize the women, the children and the elderly! Those ones who can carry children, do it! Do not take unnecessary weight with you! Follow the same direction and do not push each other! Yoko-san will go ahead of you, and I will be right behind you!

You pointed the grove’s path and felt relieved when you saw the people obeying your command. With words like “Do not look back” to the people, you went to the end of the line and saw Tobirama going to the end of the street, now empty. Instead of staying with the last people of the group, you followed him. You needed to ask what exactly he was going to do, because yes, you already knew he had an established plan, but you would feel safer if he shared its entirety with you.

Before you could say something, he turned and asked you:

- Y/n-san, do you have any Doton technique that is able to open a large crack or a ditch in the soil, one that could divide this ground from side to side?

You swallowed your surprise for receiving this very specific question and said that yes, you knew such technique. As well as its level of danger.

- Of course. But this is not a simple technique. It requires great quantity of chakra and might not work well if you’re not familiar with it. The ditch could end up not being deep or large enough.

Your reasons apparently were not enough to scare the Senju, however.

- Do not worry about it. This is exactly what I need right now. Tell me the signs.

You swallowed and told him the signs. His eyes followed your movements without blinking, and when you finished he thanked you with a nod. He made the signs of his Shadow Clone technique and created two other versions of him, each one with a pair of kunai that carried the mark of his Hiraishin. He also marked the Clones themselves with the seal.

As if he understood that you wouldn’t leave until he said something, he didn’t deny an explanation of his plan.

- Me and these two Clones are going to take positions at the points where the flood is going to pass. Each of us are going to use your jutsu to open ditches on the ground. They will contain part of the water and diminish its force. If it shows to not be enough to completely stop the flood, it will at least minimize the destruction in the village’s ground.

So he was really going to try what you suspected: to stop the water all by himself. Within the little time you had at the moment, you thought of it. If this have happened just a few days before, the first and only thing you’d think would be how ambitious, even pretentious of him to try such plan without help. But now that you’ve seen a bit more of Tobirama, something like that coming from him didn’t sound so absurd. No, it was exactly the kind of thing you should expect. You also remembered when he manifested an interest in seeing that village’s structure when you were talking to the inn’s owner. Of course: he lived in a village, one that he helped to build and worked to protect. It was only natural for him to be willing to do something for the people of this one when it was in his power to do it.

You stood for a moment.

- Tobirama.

That was the first time you called him by his name. It was enough to make him turn to you again; his Clones followed his move.

- If your plan doesn’t work as you expect, do not stay here.

There was no disdain for your preoccupation in his reply. Still, the respect for your worries didn’t stop him from exposing his belief in the plan’s success and reminding you that you didn’t know everything he could do. Not yet.

- It will work. Thanks to your technique.

And without waiting for a response from you, he turned to his Clones and sent them ahead. They used their kunai and teleported themselves to somewhere out of your sight.

***

When you went back to the group of villagers and explained your husband’s idea to Yoko, you sensed that she was as shocked with his plan as you were, but she was better than you in handling her surprise.

With the shock came the question you never felt you were ready to answer.

- Well, that’s an audacious thing to try. But do you trust him with this?

You nodded without thinking too much of your own fear. Yoko was not your only company; the villagers were there, looking at you – and you knew that in times like that, the wrong word could mess up with the best plans.

- I will go to the end of the line now. Just follow the plan!

The girl didn’t waste time with discussions or doubts.

- Right!

With these matters solved between you and her, you ran back to the end of the line.

But you wouldn’t stay with the people for too long. Patiently, you waited until the last villager entered the woods, far enough from the flood’s way, to go back to Yoko and talk to her apart from the folks.

- Listen. When you asked me if I trusted my husband’s plan, I said yes. And I really do. But I can’t go with you and leave him behind.

The woman’s reaction was nothing like you expected when you said that. Instead of minimizing your worries or suspecting from you, she put her hand on your shoulder, speaking in an assuring, whispered tone;

- Of course you can’t. Don’t worry. I’ve been living among men for a while. I know how stubborn they can be sometimes – she then looked over her shoulder, to a spot above, in a tree; there was a bird looking down at you, one of the species used to send messages – Besides, my brothers are close now. They can help me with the people.

You put your own hand on her shoulder to express your support and gratitude.

- Right. I’m leaving, then. Thank you.

She laughed.

- Just go!

You looked behind you, to the deep grove, eager to cross those trees again and terrified by what you could find after them. However, you were on a rescue mission, not only for the people of that village, but for him and yourself. You still had to leave that place and follow your journey; you still had to reach your family’s compound. And you wouldn’t do that if you stood there. The flood was coming. There was no time to waste.

You took a deep breath and forced your feet to move.

#tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju #tobirama fanfiction #tobirama fanfic

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no--envies · 3 years

Text

I've seen people suggest LXC is as guilty as everyone else for WWX's downfall and the murder of the Wen remnants, either because he knew they were just a bunch of weak and old people and didn't care, or because he was too naive and he should have gone to the Burial Mounds to investigate for himself.

With this post I aim to analyse the events leading to WWX's downfall from the point of view of characters who acted in good faith without having all the necessary information. I'm bringing LXC as an example because he's one of the less culpable in the whole matter, but similar considerations could be made about several other characters.

First of all, as far as we know LXC didn't personally take part in the first siege of the Burial Mounds, since the novel states that the Lan Sect was led by LQR.

Back then, during the first siege of Burial Mound, Jin GuangShan led the LanlingJin Sect, while Jiang Cheng led the YunmengJiang Sect; Lan QiRen led the GusuLan Sect, while Nie MingJue led the QingheNie Sect. The former two were the main forces, the latter two could’ve gone without.

(Chapter 68)

The other three main sects were led by their respective leaders, so why was the Lan Sect the only one that was led by someone else? My own interpretation is that LXC wanted to stay with his brother while he was recovering from his injuries and he didn't want to be an active participant in the siege that would kill his brother's beloved, despite personally disapproving of WWX's actions. One could argue that letting LQR lead the Lan Sect in the siege still meant giving his tacit approval, which is not wrong, but what should be considered is that the cultivation world didn't plan a siege against WWX because he had taken a bunch of prisoners of war and sheltered them in the Burial Mounds, but because he had killed hundreds of cultivators at Qiongqi Path and a lot more at Nightless City.

Before WN lost control and killed thirty people at Koi Tower - the time he and WQ had gone to turn themselves in - the situation wasn't so dire for WWX yet. The Wen siblings' sentence was still being discussed by the sects. WN mentions that LWJ spoke up for him and his sister back then (chapter 89), which suggests the Lan Sect as a whole hadn't taken an antagonistic stance against WWX yet. LWJ probably tried to bring what he had seen of the Wen remnants and their peaceful settlement as proof that they hadn't done anything to deserve being sentenced to death.

Unfortunately, after that WN lost control of himself and attacked the cultivators who were present at the discussion, which gave even the Lan and Nie Sects a reason to hold a grudge against WWX, since some of the victims were from their Sects as well.

“The Ghost General really is fierce… Said he was there to give himself in, but then he suddenly flipped out. He slaughtered again, this time in Koi Tower.”

[...]

“Wei Ying, though, he shouldn’t have made him if he can’t control it. Created a mad dog and he didn’t leash it. Sooner or later, he’s gonna be faced with a qi deviation. With the way things have been, I doubt the day is that far away.”

[...]

“How unfortunate for the LanlingJin Sect.”

“Things were even worse for the GusuLan Sect! Over half of the thirty-or-so people were from their sect. They were clearly only there to help calm things down.”

(Chapter 77)

A few of the QingheNie Sect’s disciples died in the hands of Wen Ning as well. Nie MingJue spoke coldly, “What arrogance.”

(Chapter 78)

The text explicitly states that the cultivators from the Lan Sect who were present at Koi Tower were only there to "help calm things down", which means they weren't trying to accuse WWX and the Wen remnants. At the time, the Lan Sect's general stance about WWX appeared to be mostly neutral (the same could be said of the Nie Sect). LWJ's own attitude toward the Burial Mounds settlement could be considered mostly neutral as well, at least until WN and WQ (and then WWX) really needed his help.

An argument I’ve seen brought up often is that, if everyone had known the Wen remnants were just farming and living as ordinary peasants, a lot more people would have chosen to help them. However, the main issue wasn't how they were living in the Burial Mounds (which nobody knew except JC, LWJ and maybe LXC), but their role in the war. Not only were they all cultivators from the Wen Clan, despite being very weak, but WQ was favored by WRH, which made her involvement in her sect's crimes even more likely despite her good reputation. Nobody had heard of her killing anyone, but how could they be sure? Besides, the Lan Sect didn't owe any debt of gratitude to the Wen siblings. The Wen Sect had burned the Cloud Recesses and killed LXC and LWJ's father. NMJ held a personal grudge against the Wen Sect because WRH had killed his father, plus his own black-and-white morality made him judge WQ for not opposing WRH in any way. LXC and NMJ had no reason to go out of their way to help WWX and the Wen remnants, but before the bloodbath of Nightless City they didn't do anything to harm them, either.

We also have to take into consideration the world MDZS is set in; that is, a fantasy version of ancient China where revenge is absolutely justified and is considered an act of justice. Even wiping out entire Sects in revenge isn't necessarily condemned, since JGY did that for the alleged murder of his son and nobody criticized him for it until they learned of all the crimes he had commited and realized those people had most likely been framed by him. Xue Yang was obviously despised by everyone for what he did to the Chang Clan because his revenge was considered exceedingly disproportionate to Chang Cian's offense. Xiao Xingchen illustrates society's point of view on the matter very well when he says cutting Chang Cian's finger or even his entire arm would have been entirely reasonable.

So, as long as it was deemed proportionate to the offense, revenge was justified. Putting all the Wen survivors who had taken part in the war into a labor camp was considered a justified punishment in universe. The sects refused to admit the guards had actually abused the prisoners, suggesting that was going too far, but taking revenge against them by putting them in labor camps was totally accepted. Even WWX - who the novel portrays as morally correct most of the time - doesn’t condemn it. He himself used very cruel and ruthless methods to take revenge against his enemies during the Sunshot Campaign, so it would be kind of hypocritical if he opposed their punishment post-war. He does point out that people consider every Wen cultivator guilty by association just for being part of the Wen Clan, without really caring about the actual crimes they have committed, but he only rescues the cultivators from WN's branch, who he knows didn't take part in the atrocities committed by the Wen Sect.

Murdering the Wen remnants settled in the Burial Mounds was wrong even in universe because they were innocent. They hadn't killed anyone during the war and the Wen siblings' help was absolutely essential for WWX and JC when they were on the run. Without them the Jiang Sect wouldn't even exist anymore. This was a huge deal considering the importance of debts in universe and could have swayed public opinion in their favor. NMJ criticized WQ for not doing anything to actively oppose WRH during the war, but the thing is that she had. She had sheltered the Jiang Sect's heir and head disciple, the same people who contributed to the Sunshot Campaign as one of the main forces.

The problem is that no one knew about this except WWX and JC themselves. JC, who had the authority and credibility to defend what WWX had done in the prison camp, didn't show much conviction the one time he tried to speak up for him, so the other sects probably assumed he was just trying to excuse his right-hand man's inexcusable actions and that WWX had become too corrupted by his demonic cultivation and was too unpredictable and dangerous. When JC went to investigate what WWX was actually doing in the Burial Mounds, he came back saying WWX had defected from the Jiang Sect and was an enemy to the cultivation world (chapter 73), apparently confirming WWX had finally lost it because of all the resentful energies he used and was a potential threat to them all.

However, a really important thing to consider is that the cultivation world waited two years to besiege WWX. They didn't immediately charge to attack him or believe all the rumors about WWX. The sects definitely behaved like sheep, but they weren't that stupid. They knew most of the things that were said were probably exaggerated rumors, so they were just observing the situation and waiting to see what he would do. LXC, NMJ and the other cultivators who weren't in bad faith (those who weren't driven by their greed, ambition, resentment or jealousy) were all part of this general category. They had no reason to doubt JC's words, who was a fellow sect leader and WWX's close friend, and many of them had seen for themselves how threatening WWX had acted during the banquet at Koi Tower, when he said nobody could stop him if he wanted to kill someone, so they had no reason to believe WWX's reputation was being unfairly tarnished.

During the two years WWX spent in the Burial Mounds and nobody really knew what he was up to, a lot of rumors were spread about him. Some people thought he was trying to build an army of fierce corpses with their consciousness awakened like WN; others suggested he wanted to found his own sect of demonic cultivators and even took disciples, like the banners in Yiling seemed to indicate. They considered WWX a potential threat, but not enough to actually take action against him. The fact that LWJ waited months before going to check the situation in the Burial Mounds is very telling. He knew the cultivation world was at a standstill with WWX, so despite being worried for WWX he knew there wasn't any immediate danger for him. He might have been too busy with his own sect matters and going wherever the chaos was, but we've seen how LWJ behaves when he thinks WWX is in grave and immediate danger. The way he acted during the night of the bloodbath of Nightless City shows it very well: LWJ did his best to help as many people as he could, but WWX was his priority.

Of course, having only partial information doesn't excuse the sects for everything. They definitely had their faults regardless of how much they knew. They should have given WWX a chance to explain himself about the ambush at Qiongqi Path and the incident at Koi Tower instead of deciding to besiege him. They didn't even care if he was actually guilty or not of cursing Jin Zixun, or that he was the one who had been ambushed on the way to his nephew's full-month celebration. All that mattered to them was that he had lost control and killed hundreds of cultivators, including the Jin heir. They took this as proof of how dangerous and uncontrollable he was, which wasn't completely unfounded. He was dangerous when he wanted to be and he did lose control. Taking this information without all the context we as an audience are aware of - that he was only trying to repay a debt and didn't want to harm anyone, that Jin Zixun provoked him so much it was almost inevitable for him to lose control - doesn't look good at all.

Again, the sects did behave like sheep. The novel portrays WWX as the hero and his decision to rescue the Wen remnants as morally correct. Most of the cultivators who contributed to WWX's downfall were a bunch of hypocrites who couldn't see past their own self-righteousness. But characters like NMJ and LQR are portrayed as generally righteous people, so the fact that they took part in the siege proves not everyone was in bad faith. Nobody really knew why WWX had rescued the Wen remnants and his reasons for wanting to protect them, or why he had invented demonic cultivation in the first place. They just knew he did very questionable things like digging up graves during the war, that he acted arrogantly all the time and even started killing their own people. We as an audience know why he did all these things, but they didn't.

Also, after the bloodbath of Nightless City it was objectively hard to defend WWX's actions. He wasn't clear-headed at all that night and when he activated the Tiger Seal he was already in a half-unconscious state. His overall situation was too much for anyone to be able to stand it, but this doesn't mean what he did was right. The fact that he destroyed the Tiger Seal after returning to the Burial Mounds suggests not even he was proud of all the people he killed that night. WWX isn't infallible and makes mistakes because he's human like anyone else, despite being an overall heroic and selfless person. Even LWJ, who was the only one that still trusted WWX's heart and morals, couldn't really justify what he did at Nightless City. He only told LXC that no matter right or wrong, he was willing to face all the consequences with WWX anyway (chapter 99), because he understood his true nature and knew his outlook and values were the same as his own. But most people didn't know him as well as LWJ did. From the sects’ point of view, the bloodbath of Nightless City was the ultimate proof that WWX was the scourge of the cultivation world.

I'm not trying to say LXC is perfect or that he couldn't have done more, but we should take his own point of view into consideration when we judge his actions (or non-actions). LWJ didn't do much more than him during WWX's first life and what he did ultimately wasn't enough to save WWX (I don’t think it’s his fault, he was in an objectively difficult position), but the fandom doesn’t criticize him as much as they do with LXC, because after WWX came back LWJ's support for him was flawless. But LXC wasn't in love with WWX. He hadn't observed him since he was a teenager like LWJ had done because of his huge crush on him. We shouldn't underestimate the importance of debts in universe and how information in general can affect people's perceptions. Even LWJ stayed mostly still during WWX’s first life because he didn't have all the information and didn't know why WWX had left the bright broad road to start cultivating with resentful energies.

WWX is the protagonist, the hero of the story and the character whose point of view most of the novel is narrated from, so it's easy for the audience to empathize with him and understand his perspective. It's really interesting that even WWX has a good opinion of LXC and NMJ (and mostly respects LQR) despite their role in his downfall. It's not just because of his forgiving nature, since we see him criticize the hypocrisy of the sects a lot of times, but because he recognizes they were in good faith and they had their reasons for behaving like they did, despite the mistakes they might have made.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #wei wuxian #lan xichen #nie mingjue #lan wangji

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shofics · 3 years

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So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space.

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

#my post #answered #prompt fill #my writing #knifemartin #rqg #rqg fic #rusty quill gaming #rqgaming #sasha rackett #zolf smith #rqg wilde #wilde rqg #rqg earhart #earhart rqg

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guqin-and-flute · 3 years

Text

In Your Hands--Ch. 3 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

“...A-Jie?”

“Mm?” Yanli opens her eyes, going from the deep red-orange of the sun on her eyelids to the fresh blue of the world. She cranes her neck around to look over at A-Cheng.

And finds that he’s no longer basking beside her and is instead sitting up, elbows on his knees, hands fiddling with something on the ground in front of him.

It had taken some convincing to get him to actually lay down in the grass with her as A-Xian and A-Yao man the kites for target practice below them in the waterfall grotto--he is so concerned with being proper and respectable that he hardly lets himself relax anymore. He isn’t even relaxing now. While his gaze is on the disciples playing and training below their bluff-top vantage point, his lips are tight, his face troubled. Sitting up, she scoots closer to him and nudges her shoulder up against him, playfully. “What is it, A-di?”

The wind dances over the dewy spots the sun-warmed grass had left on her robes, lifting up the fresh and living scent of plants and water as she waits for his jaw to work over the words before they come out. For all that he blurts out whatever he wants about (or at) Xianxian, he is always careful when it comes to something regarding her. So she waits, gentling her energy and leaning closer to rest her temple against his hunched shoulder, rubbing her thumb along the tough leather of his bracer.

“Are you...happy?”

She smiles, even though he can’t see it. “Of course I am, A-Cheng. It’s a beautiful day and we’re spending time together. Why?”

“I mean, are you happy...in general? With….” As he pauses, she follows his still stuck gaze and finds it on A-Yao in the shade holding a kite string, listening to something a shimei is saying with a patient smile. “I didn’t...we didn’t force you, did we? You really seemed to like that peac--well, you know. Wei Wuxian and I were wondering…” He looks back to his hands, twisting grass between them fitfully, but she sees his gaze dart to her sideways from underneath his eyebrows. “Are you happy?”

Sweet, romantic boys; the ones who had planned her wedding in full when they were only 8. Both still haunted by the wounds left by her parents’ relationship in their own way. Who had both been more than unimpressed with Jin Guangshan’s attempt at what he clearly saw was a hand-me-down marriage--a marriage they were apparently forgetting that, had she not insisted on for the good of the Clan, wouldn’t have even happened. “With you all taking such good care of me, how could I be anything but?” she teases, but his anxiety stays on his face, so she pets down his hair.

As for Jin Zixuan…. Yanli hadn’t flinched when A-Cheng had said his name, but that familiar drain had opened up in her chest, pulling her down and in until she’s a little smaller, a little sadder, a little...less. Yes. She had wanted to become worthy of that match, for her Clan, for her mother, who had promised her to it since she was just a girl. She had tried.

She just hadn’t been enough.

“Is he good to you?”

Yanli shakes herself from her thoughts and sits up. She laces her fingers together and cushions her chin on the back of them with a faux thoughtful air. “Hmmm, is he good to me? Well, let’s see. I think I’ve received about 4 more gifts from him this week alone and he practically waits on me hand and foot.” She grins despite herself, that familiar giddy curling in her belly. “I would certainly say so.”

At this easy reply, he slants a curious, self conscious look that fits the round faced child she can still remember better than a would-be-stern Clan Leader and hesitantly asks, “Are you...in love?” while waggling his finger back and forth, as if indicating the space between her and her husband.

She covers an unlady-like snort of laughter that threatens to escape before she bites her lip against its persistent aftershocks and lowers the hand. “Why do you ask that like you’re going to get in trouble?” Something about the way he asks it just seems so young.

Flushing, he squirms and looks back down the bluff, but she sees the smile trying to fight its way onto his compressed lips. “I’m just curious!” When she continues to grin, he shoots her a look of reproach and complains, “A-jie, don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not, I would never!” She laughs and rubs his shoulder to lessen the sting of the tease. “You’re so funny. But...I think...I don’t honestly know. I love talking with him and learning about him; I love...making him happy and seeing him smile. I get excited to spend time with him. I was always under the impression that being in love is something huge and earth shaking--from all the legends and epics--and when you know you know, but…” Yanli takes a deep breath of the clean, full air and looks back down, catching her eyes on the lovely, now-familiar shape of A-Yao in profile. Now, he’s looking up at the kites while shading his eyes, a small smile still on his lips. “But I’m just...happy. It’s lovely, with him, and honestly, I would be completely content if this is all it is.” It would be enough.

She searches this thought, a little, pushing at its edges. For a family? For children? To want? The answer within herself doesn’t feel nearly as urgent as it used to when it comes back with ‘Maybe. There’s no rush.’ She marvels a little at how much she actually believes it.

Watching her watch A-Yao, A-Cheng smiles tentatively in the side of her vision. “That sounds really nice, A-jie.”

“It really is. He’s very...doting.”

At this, A-Cheng snorts. “Unsurprising, considering how he was with Nie-xiong.”

“Oh? Were they close, A-Yao and Nie-er-gongzi?”

“He definitely was devastated when Jin-xiong was kicked out of the Unclean Realm. I always got the feeling that he was something in between a shixiong and a babysitter, but they always got along well, from what I saw. Actually,” he furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully, tilting his head as he watches the disciples milling about, joyful fragments of shouts drifting up with the breeze. “Come to think of it, I don’t know that he’s seen him since….They weren’t in contact during the Sunshot Campaign, we know that much. Maybe they got to talk at the banquet?” His face darkens at the memory--where Jin Zixuan had officially called off the engagement, but he doesn’t speak on it. “I wonder what Nie-xiong thinks of him being here.” His scowl lightens to mere irritation and he scoffs, voice testy, now, as he adds, “Hasn’t bothered to visit.”

Hmm. She plucks this blossoming idea like a little flower to keep for later. Perhaps this is something else she could give her husband.

And oh, that distant past, when she had first seen A-Yao in the classroom of the Cloud Recesses, standing humbly beside Nie Huaisang with his head down. A whole lifetime ago, when her family and Clan still lived and her biggest worry was Jin Zixuan’s aversion; it felt like an entire version of her had lived and died since. If she set herself to it, she could even remember the specifics, like how she had been impressed by his eloquence and the competence of his bearing--even when his parentage had been publicly mocked. In truth, she had been more focused on Wei Wuxian behaving at the time--to her shame. She had known it was wrong even while it happened, could have said something, anything at all.

At least she would, now.

Turning to smooth her hand down his cheek to soothe his ruffled feathers over Nie Huaisang’s neglect and difficult memories, she catches sight of A-Xian charging up the hill with fiendish purpose under the rolling shadow of a cloud. He canons into A-Cheng like a vaguely sweaty firework without slowing.

A-Cheng squawks in disgust as it bowls them both over into the grass and the two of them begin to scuffle about it. A-Xian pants, “Shijie, I don’t think your husband has ever shot a bow before! Ow! You shit!”

A-Cheng sits, grinning and triumphant, on the back of Xianxian’s shoulders, digging his brother’s face into the grass and dirt. But just for a second or two, before he is flipped off and pinned, until he is shoved over and on and on, growling insults and play threats at each other like wrestling puppies. Eventually, laughing, Yanli stands and tugs A-Xian’s arm from the writhing pile, more of a hint than actually physically intervening. But he obediently heaves himself up, sweating, panting, and grinning, all harder than before. A-Cheng gives him a faux-surly punch in the side in retaliation and it very nearly starts the whole thing over again until Yanli firmly puts herself between them with a grin, brushing grass clumps from their hair and clothes. “Honestly, you two! I don’t envy the laundry women, just look what you’ve done to your robes. I should make you two clean them!” A-Cheng at least pretends to look halfway chastised while smiling, but A-Xian just looks proud. That is, until she continues, “And I hope you didn’t embarrass A-Yao about it. You know he wasn’t raised with the same training we were.”

At this, he cocks her an half pout, tucking his chin down and sticking his lip out. “Shijieee, all I said was that he must be worried he couldn’t beat our youngest shidi because he wouldn’t even try. Then he started ignoring me!”

A-Cheng rolls his eyes and tuts, loudly, before saying, “You asshole,” just as Yanli sighs.

Shaking her head, she tilts it in gentle scolding. “Maybe because you compared him to an 8 year old? Xianxian. You have to be careful; you know what people say about him. He needs to be safe, here. Where did you leave him?”

“Oh, he’s still down there, organizing clean up. He wasn’t offended--unlike some people,” here, he shoves at A-Cheng’s shoulder, who elbows him back. “Just the usual smiley Lianfang-zun. You know how he is, shijie, he doesn’t get upset over stuff like that.”

He’s always smiling, that doesn’t mean anything, Xianxian. You of all people would understand that. Yanli raises an eyebrow, gentle but not smiling. His childish act mellows behind his dirt smudged face and he looks away, pouting for real and rubbing his nose. “Sorry, shijie,” he mutters.

“Mm, it’s not me you have to apologize to, A-Xian. It’s about time for you to organize cleanup now, don’t you think?”

He heaves a dramatic sigh, but grudgingly nods before perching on the edge of the bluff, shouting down through cupped hands. “Jin-gege-e-e, your wife wants you!” When he turns around, he points at A-Cheng nonchalantly. “You’re helping.”

“Oh, am I?” A-Cheng smirks, folding his arms and puffing up, very clearly preparing to pull rank.

“Uh, yeah, if you want this back!” Suddenly, A-Xian spins and sprints down the hill, holding his fist up over his shoulder.

“Wei Wuxian! What’d you take?! Hey! Stop!”

As he pelts down the hill after him, Yanli has to laugh because, in the second before he had run, A-Xian had had nothing in his hands at all. For a moment, in this new peace, she closes her eyes and folds her hands over her belly, savoring the sun shining warm--almost hot--on the top of her head and the playful shouts of her brothers and the disciples below. Then, she hears footsteps. When she opens her eyes, she sees A-Yao making his steady way up the hill, his face pleasantly blank. The closer he gets, however, his eyes warm and the edges of him soften until he is here, reaching out and taking her hands. “A-Li? What do you need?” He smells like grass and water and sun.

“Was A-Xian being terrible again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no, he’s just being Wei Wuxian. You look flushed--shall I walk you back?”

But day by day she is learning each of his little lies and she recognizes this as one of them. Strangely, as the weeks go by, the masks he wears have been bothering her less and less; partially because she is beginning to understand that they are protection for him. Like armor or clothing--he would feel naked without them. If she can still tell what he wants, if she can still peek under them, she is more than happy not to pry them from him when he still needs their safety. (Of course she wishes he didn’t feel like he needs them in their home, with the people who would be his family, if he let them. But, like growing seeds or proving dough, these things take time and that, they certainly have.) He is becoming less of an impenetrable fortress and more of a foreign land that she can more easily navigate as she learns the language. It allows her to leave these smiles hung up like beautiful paintings she can name. Underneath this, he is tense and displeased; his smile-curved eyes opaque, his jaw holding tension. This one is Humiliation.

Twining her arms around his trim waist, she thrills in that wanted way she does every time he lets her hold him before she tucks her cheek to his to murmur, “I told him not to tease like that. I know it hurts you.” While she may have become more inclined to leave him his shields when he puts them up against her, she can’t help but talk around it, just a little. She cares less about the hiding and more about the fact that he suffers.

“...It’s fine.” He says nothing more, but his hands move to hold her back, one smoothing up between her shoulder blades as his face tips down against her neck, nose and eyelashes pressing. Not a talking problem, then. So she rocks, a bit, from her ankles to her hips, swaying them both slowly together in the rustling breeze with something like playfulness and something like comfort. “What are you doing, this afternoon?” She asks the air behind him, eyes cast to the wisping clouds passing slowly across the sky.

“Mm, I had planned to organize a list of new merchants in the area for Jiang Wanyin. Is there something you need me to do instead?"

"Is it urgent?"

"Not that I saw. Why, A-Li?"

"I was going to make dumplings tonight and I would love it if you joined me. If you want," she adds, diffidently. “I made the dough this morning.”

He startles, a little, and draws back, looking genuinely surprised. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then smiles warmly. “I’d be delighted.”

The sincerity of that smile makes her grin and she bounces a little on her toes--and he laughs. Clearly, he's pleased she wants to spend time with him. And she's pleased that he's pleased. And he seems to be pleased that she's pleased that he's pleased and around and around they go--it might have been embarrassing if it weren’t so fun.

It turns out that he’s as quick a study at being a kitchen hand as he is at anything else he does; he absorbs her instructions thoughtfully and works diligently, his noon-sky blue sleeves patterned with little whirls of teal tied back with a simple strip of cloth as he chops up the chives and garlic and ginger. His knife strokes are as rhythmic and sure as the kitchen is hot, with little wisps of breeze edging around the wet billows of spices and green and cooking pork. “You are so much easier to work with than Xianxian,” she tells him from down the smooth, sunbathed counter where she’s perched on a stool, rolling out the rounds of dough. “I love him dearly, but he tries to put absolutely everything in his mouth, even now.”

A tiny smile picks at the corner of his concentration tight lips. Then, with a flick of an eye to see if she’s watching, he wordlessly pops a little shred of ginger into his mouth from the neat pile he has made. “You!” Yanli gasps in delighted outrage at his audacity and leans over to ineffectually tap at the counter near his elbow--she can’t quite reach him, sitting down.

At this, he laughs outright and offers his wrist out, knife blade carefully angled away . She gives the back of his wrist a playful little swipe with her fingertips, leaving streaks of flour. “I thought I would make it a little more familiar for you,” he says, by way of excuse. “More what you’re used to.”

“Absolutely incorrigible,” she replies, fondly, righting herself again.

Here in the kitchen, where she has history and proficiency--where she is master--it’s as easy as anything to tease and tend with absolutely no worry at all. She isn’t agonizing if she is providing enough or saying the right things, because she knows exactly what must be done when, and he is masterful at following directions the very first time she gives them. Conversation is light and inconsequential around her instructions, and she is able to conserve her energy staying seated on the stool, maneuvering him about the kitchen as her arms with little guilt at all.

In what feels like no time, they sit beside each other at the floured, bowl littered counter; bowls of filling, of water, of flour. Their shoulders brush. “So you wet the edge like this, because the dough isn’t completely fresh anymore--”

“Mn.”

“And you spoon in about this much--not much more or it will burst in the pan.”

“This much?”

“A little more, I think. Perfect! Then, like this. Then you fold the sides.”

“Too much?”

“Mmn, next time it can be a little tighter, but that’s good for your first one! Pinch it and--beautiful!” She pauses a moment to savor the look of her husband with flour speckling his quick, capable hands and lean forearms, seriously contemplating the dumpling. “You’re a natural.”

The withdrawing he had done behind his shields that morning is nowhere in sight when he looks over at her with unmistakable pride in his bright eyes. “Well, I have a wonderful teacher.”

She bites her grin back and waves the compliments away, laying out the next wrapper in front of her. “Oh, you.”

“Where did you learn the art of food?”

“Liu-popo, one of our cooks! I think I first got interested because I was sick for a lot of my childhood and she always made me the most wonderful meals. And when we found out about my heart and my health...well….” Mother stopped pushing once she realized Yanli would never be able to keep up with the training of the other disciples because there was no way for her to improve. No way for her to contribute to the Clan in a meaningful way. “I had a lot more free time. My room was by the kitchens, and I have always loved the smells and the bustle of it all. The more I was there, the more Liu-popo would let me mix things, tell me how they worked and what flavors went together. At dinner, seeing people eat what I made...knowing I did that, knowing I made them happy and full…it felt good.” She gives a little smile and glances at him. “And there's so many things you can do once you understand the basics, too. You can experiment and make new dishes!”

He wets the edge of his next dough wrapper and says, conversationally, “Like Wei Wuxian and his talisman inventions.”

This startles a laugh out of her and sparks from her dangling earrings in the sun dance off the warm gold glow reflected from their bodies onto the wall around the window. “Oh, no, it’s nothing special.”

“Really? I think it’s very similar. You’re perfecting something and helping people. Bringing them together and taking care of them, feeding their bodies and keeping them strong? That’s just as important.”

She hesitates and looks out the window. She never thought of it that way. The lotuses are pearly and bobbing in the bright breeze, their heady scent sneaking in light and fragrant under the punch of the spices. Their brilliance under the sun leaves dazzling green after images when she blinks. “Do you think so?” Assigning that much importance to it seems borderline ridiculous--what she does and what her brothers do is hardly comparable at all. She struggles to make herself useful while they blaze their way through the world, changing it with their will and sword edges. They are proper cultivators, proper warriors.

There is a pause, then a gentle hand lays over her wrist, slightly gritty from the flour coating his palm. “If you had asked me what I would have preferred when I was in the Scorching Sun Palace--a talisman or a warm meal from someone who--” it feels like he swallows a word back here, smoothly substituting, “cares, I know which I would have chosen. Without question.”

Even this feels like a kind exaggeration designed to make her feel better--soup instead of life saving magic? But this little rare little bauble of personal experience he was handing her was something more important than soothing her pride, so she smiles over at him. “You’re very sweet. But what about you? You’re a natural! Did your niang teach you how to cook?”

At this, his face slides from serious earnest to pleasant veneer and, with a spike of cold anxiety, she fears she has put her hand on a door that she thought she was being invited into, only to find it forbidden. But he merely turns back to spooning in the pork filling and says, lightly. “I’m sure she knew how--she was well educated in most things. But we didn’t tend to frequent the kitchens.” There is a silence she fears is the end of this particularly enticing thread. But then, eyes still on the pre-dumpling, he says, “She taught me other things, though. How to read and write. Proper etiquette. The basics of a guqin….”

There is a pause, and this feels almost uncertain, him tilting on his toes on the precipice of a step she desperately wants him to take, so she hazards, “Like Lan-zongzhu.”

A smile, small and fond, before he forces it brighter at his hands, efficiently twisting the little peaks. “Just like. He’s had more formal training, of course, but she was able to play quite well.”

Yanli knows some of this, of course. His mother had been famous for how educated she was despite her occupation--the refined courtesan of Yunping. But that’s not who she had been to A-Yao. She had been his mother. “She was a very talented woman.”

“Yes.”

“You loved her very much.”

Softer, smile greying; “Yes.”

A silence stretches, a bird outside trilling to accentuate it, so she says, quietly. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about her, A-Yao. I didn’t mean to pry.”

That smile hikes wider and he looks over at her, where she can see in full the raw tension that hides just barely underneath and she wants to shower him with praise and thanks for the gift that it is. “You’re my wife, A-Li. There’s no prying; you can ask me anything you want to know.”

Mmhm, she thinks, I can ask, but you won't necessarily answer. What clever wording; sneaky. No need to push. Just like with A-Xian, she will let him take the time he needs to tell her what's wrong. As long as he knows she is always there to listen. “Well, I love hearing about her….” Then shyly, she adds. “Would she have liked me?

When his face softens completely, there is something in the corners of his mouth that makes her think of tears, though there’s no trace of it anywhere else. His voice is low when he says, “She would have adored you.”

She reaches out and touches his cheek with her flour coated hand, crumbling a swath of white up to his cheekbone. The way he’s looking at her is almost like yearning in his eyes, searching and wanting, even though she is right here, right with him, staying. A warmth rushes in her chest. “I would have loved to have met her, A-Yao. She must have been amazing--and you honor her so well.” It's truth. Nothing but.

Little lines pierce where his dimples should lie and he swallows, blinks. “...I try,” he says in a voice she has never heard from him before; it’s small. Clotted and uncertain. His eyes widen and he stiffens, and she feels him tightening, receding--so she pretends she doesn’t see it, pretends that she doesn’t know that that had been a slip of vulnerability that scares him.

She takes away all pressure--her hand from his cheek, her gaze from his face--and turns away to fuss over another circle of dough. Sprinkling more flour on the counter, arranging everything just so in front of her as she smiles. “Well, you’ve proven to be a wonderful kitchen hand, so you should help me make dumplings for all the holidays, since you’re so good at it. New Years and Dongzhi and--oh, I should teach you the dances we do for the Dragon Boat Festival! I perform one every year for Lotus Pier, when I can. Or,” she straightens with realization. “Oh!” When she turns to him, he’s considering the dumpling he’s pinching with far more concentration than is warranted. “Oh, you grew up in Yunping! Do you know any?”

He clears his throat without looking up, smile uncomfortable. “I know a few. Quite a few. My mother taught me to dance because she didn’t know any martial arts to prepare me for cultivation outside some of the books she managed to find. But she knew starting me in a physical discipline young would help. I’m...adequate.”

Even more corners of her life she could tuck him into! More things she could share with him! A way to draw him from the shell he’s desperately trying to retreat back into! Excitedly, she twists on her stool, swiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, show me, please, I want to see!”

The tips of his ears redden adorably, and he winces. “I don’t...A-Li--”

There are not many things she will push him on, except on matters where he paints himself as unworthy, but this! This she absolutely has to see, here, just them, sharing the things that make them who they are under the kitchen counter in private. “Please, oh, please! I’ll even dance with you, if you don’t want to do it alone! We’ll go together!” She stands and shrugs her shoulders to free her arms some mobility from where her apron captures the joining of her sleeves, letting her hands rest on the air in delicate anticipation.

He’s startled into looking up at her, eyebrows pinching. His face is colored in embarrassed alarm. “I only ever performed alone, my partner dances aren’t--”

Performed! She could crow. And she will get that story in time, oh yes she will. “Then you choose! Whatever you want, I’ll follow you! Whatever you want, whatever!”

At this insistence, reluctantly, slowly, he stands, dusting off his hands before untying the cloth that keeps his sleeves back. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, to her utter rising delight he shrugs out of his heavier blue outer robe entirely to drape over the edge of the rack of unpeeled vegetables. It leaves him in 2 lighter, tighter layers of shades of plum and navy. The lack of patterns on the fabric simplifies his lines, rendering him limber and neat as he places his feet just so.

Immediately it is clear that he is not merely adequate, as he claimed. When he lifts his hands, the intent behind them shows someone who has had control of their body’s movements from a very young age and knows where every square inch of it is at all times--no less talented or powerful than those lifelong cultivators that she knows. He is watching her. She glows with the trust of it all and follows his first step.

There is no music, and so she sees his quick tempo and meets it with a wordless, half remembered song, all ‘da da’s and breathless notes as they move. And they dance, wheeling tight in the modest space of the kitchen floor. The dance he chooses is, as he said, not usually a couple dance, but she knows it and mirrors him, light and lilting, stepping quick and smooth. Some of the sweeps of his arms and legs are the masculinized version of what she knows, so she reflects in compliment when she can--when the counters and bulbs of hanging garlic and strings of peppers don’t block her path. It’s amazing, it’s easy, it’s fun.

She watches his face flash pass during a turn--once, concentration; twice, surprise; thrice, realization. When he faces front, he looks tentatively pleased.

She arches her back and kicks up her foot in a sharp arc in improvisation, grinning cheekily and that real, crooked grin of his is back, with something different, something--is that teasing? Arms spread like wings for balance, he responds in kind, but the arc of it is wider, higher, until, for a single moment, the billow of his robes is a flower blossom on the impossibly straight line of his legs, up and down. She whoops in undignified awe in the middle of a measure, abandoning the tune.

In the end, she bumps the corner table with her hip and teeters a moment, arms wheeling for balance even as she laughs. When he catches her wrist and pulls her back, Yanli collapses onto him, arms around his neck as she giggles, helplessly elated. Struggling back upright, she grabs his face in her palms and plants a quick, hard kiss on his lips.

His fast breath tastes like ginger.

They are both flushed and panting in the heat of the kitchen, wisps of humidity frazzled hair escaping their respective guan and pin. And they are both grinning. “You must perform with me,” she wheezes.

Breathlessly, he lets out a short laugh, smile going wryer but not disappearing. “Ah, I doubt anyone wants to see me.”

“I do!”

Again, he chuckles. “Then I’ll dance for you.”

He’ll dance for her! That golden bubbling is back in her chest, permeating the whole of her until she feels like sunlight. “Think about it at least?”

With an air of extreme indulgence that tells her that he has thought and has already decided, he nods, one dimple pressed in deep. She lets it go. Oh well, next year.

He helps her sit because her lungs are tight and her legs going to jelly, but she is so helplessly pleased by him and the gifts he keeps giving her. So she kisses him again, because she likes to and she can, and feels his palms press her closer by her shoulder blades and feels so very very wanted.

#my fic #my stuff #peony to lotus #AT LAST. I CAN WRITE. Hopefully I'm going to write more tonight

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

Text

Quiet

Summary: Following Grace’s death, Tommy shuts himself off from the rest of the world, dealing with all of the noise in his head alone. But Y/N Shelby will be damned if she doesn’t try to help her brother...

Word Count: 3158

A/N: This has unexpectedly become my 200 follower celebration fic, so thank you again!! I was getting my doctor-prescribed daily dose of Cillian Murphy the other day watching his video about the rise of Tommy Shelby, and the part where he talks about Tommy being burdened by his intelligence for some reason made me think of Matilda. So, the song ‘Quiet’ from Matilda the Musical (which I love btw, I’m a massive musical theatre nerd) became the inspiration for this fic. Hope you enjoy it!!

Y/N Shelby was always a source of amazement to the rest of her family. Being the second youngest of the Shelby clan, it had come as a shock to her three elder brothers that she could be quite as ruthless as them when it came to business and enemies who threatened her family. However, it wasn't just that which truly surprised them: it was the fact that she still managed to retain her heart of gold. This was largely reserved for her family and, despite the violence and atrocities committed by them in front of her very eyes, she loved them unconditionally (even if they were a pain in the arse sometimes).

When Tommy bought Arrow House, he also acquired the little cottage on the estate. Knowing that Y/N was getting restless at the prospect of still living with her family as she approached her twenties, Tommy had given the place to her to do with as she wished. This arrangement pleased both siblings immensely. Tommy and Y/N had always had an incredibly close relationship, despite the large age gap, and the cottage's location meant that Y/N got the independence that she so desperately wanted, whilst also being close enough for them to see each other as often as they wished.

(As well as this, it gave Tommy peace of mind that the only way to access the cottage was to cross the grounds which lay in front of Arrow House. This meant that any enemies would have to go past the blinders stationed in front of his house, then through Tommy himself, and finally deal with the blinders outside of Y/N's cottage in order to get to her. Oh, and he always knew when she dared to bring a boy back with her.)

Everything was going perfectly, and Tommy and Y/N were, for once, happy with their lives.

And then Grace died.

For two weeks after the funeral, Tommy spent most of his time riding around the estate, thinking by himself. He didn't want to see anyone apart from his son. Sometimes, depending on where he stopped at night, Y/N could see her brother at a distance from her living room. She longed to run to him, not to tell him that she was sorry and offer her condolences because she knew he'd be sick of that already. Y/N just wanted Tommy to know that he didn't have to fight every battle alone.

Then, out of the blue, there came a point when he stopped doing that. Instead, Tommy chose to throw himself into his work, providing a different type of isolation. He barely left the house, locking himself away in his office, and when he did go out on business he hardly told a soul. According to Mary (who secretly phoned Y/N every week to let her know how Tommy was doing) he seemed lifeless now, as if he were the one that died, not his wife. Her employer was even quieter than he usually was, and Y/N knew that that was when his brain got the loudest.

Y/N refused to sit by and let him destroy himself for any longer...and she knew just the trick to bring her brother back to life.

***

The phone on Tommy's desk seemed to ring even louder than usual, adding to his pounding headache. He hadn't left the house in three days, not that he'd noticed it, and was more on-edge than ever. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver.

"Tom?" Despite the million thoughts that clogged up his brain, he couldn't help the flicker of a smile that passed over his face upon hearing his little sister's light voice, something he'd gotten so used to when she'd lived with him. But that calm didn't last long before his brain went into overdrive again.

"You alright?" He had tried his best to keep any tones of alarm and worry at bay, but knew that he had failed when his voice faltered on the last word.

"I'm fine, I just need to you pop over and help me move a bookcase."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tommy replied steadily, "Y/N, I'm waiting on about three different phone calls and I have a business to run. Why don't you ask -" He paused, looking at the list in front of him, "Ben or Harry to help you, eh?" (They were in charge of guarding Y/N's house during the daytime this week, according to the rota.)

"I mean I would do, but I've given them the weekend off, and quite frankly you're the closest other person, Tom."

The man in question froze. "You've sent Ben and Harry away?"

"Yes."

"For an entire weekend?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me about it?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at Y/N?" Tommy was shouting now, furious that his sister would be this stupid. "I thought you had more sense than this!"

"Actually, Thomas, I think in this case I've got more sense than you. They've been outside this house for two, nearly three, weeks now because you haven't stood them down and you won't let me do it myself. How do you expect them to do their job properly if they're dead on their feet?"

Tommy fell silent, his heart beating at a mile a minute, worry taking over from his anger. What if someone took advantage of this moment? What if they used this opportunity to take his sister from him, like they took his wife? He was terrified, and the worst part was that it would be entirely his fault: he should never have let this fuck up happen, he should've kept a closer eye on his sister. Y/N lived on his grounds, anyone that came for Tommy would inevitably go for her as well.

He didn't even bother to try and conceal the tremor in his voice when he finally spoke again. "Okay, I'm coming over. Do not, I repeat, do not leave your house, alright? Don’t open the door to anyone but me, either. Have you got a gun with you?"

"Tom, you made sure that an entire armoury was installed here before I even set foot in the place, yes I have a gun."

"Good. Keep it with you, make sure it's loaded. I'm on my way."

Tommy hadn't even put the receiver down before he was on his feet, scrambling to get ready. Guilt and worry consuming him, Tommy made another phone call to get some more men stationed outside Arrow House, went up to the nursery and kissed Charlie goodbye, and then told Mary of his plan. Tommy would be staying with his sister until Monday morning – he was taking his sister's safety into his own hands this time.

It was common knowledge that the patriarch of the Shelby family didn't give a toss about religion any more, but as his pace quickened down the drive of Arrow House that Saturday morning, he sent a prayer up to anyone who was listening that he wouldn't be too late.

***

Livid. That's the only way to describe how Tommy felt upon turning the corner to his sister's cottage. For there she was, stood in the open doorway, clearly waiting for him. As he got closer, Tommy noticed that Y/N was wearing one of his old shirts under her worn grey cardigan, with a gun tucked into the top of her rolled up, oversized trousers. She also had a gentle smile on her face, the one that was reserved only for her family members.

Shaking a stern finger at his sister as he marched over to her, Tommy stated in a dangerous tone "I told you to stay indoors."

Y/N's smile moulded into a smirk. "Yeah, and I told you that Ben and Harry had the weekend off, not that there was no one guarding the house. Eddie and Will took their place last night."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, whether out of relief or frustration, neither of the siblings knew. "You are in so much trouble." His tone was far from teasing, and anyone else would be quaking at the knees. But not Y/N.

"I thought I would be, but you can shout at me as we walk." Y/N grabbed a large basket from inside the door before locking it. "Come on!"

"You're not going fucking anywhere until -"

"You know, Thomas, the further away I get the less I'll be able to hear of you telling me off." Y/N hadn't even turned around or stopped to say it, she just kept walking.

"For fuck's sake," Tommy muttered angrily under his breath and then started moving to try and catch up with her.

***

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for making you panic so much." Tommy had only just caught up to Y/N, and had opened his mouth to continue speaking when she cut him off. "I knew you wouldn't leave the house unless I made you think that I was in danger. You were always too good of a big brother to risk that."

Tommy was rendered speechless by her words. He had neglected her for over a month, barely speaking to her and never visiting – how could she still claim that he was a good brother?

As if she could hear his thoughts, Y/N continued to speak. "You're grieving, Tom. I didn't expect anything from you, no matter how much I wanted to see you. Although you haven't been checking that the blinders change over, that part of my call was true. But I've been taking care of it, so I've been safe the entire time. Don't go blaming yourself for anything else."

"We thought that Grace was safe." That was the first thing that Tommy had said in minutes, and his anger at being lured into his sister's trap lay forgotten for the time being. Y/N simply placed her free hand into the crook of Tommy's arm and squeezed it.

"You probably think I'm so selfish for doing this, but I promise I'm not just doing it for me." She paused, almost reluctant to put her next question out into the open. "Everything's getting loud again, isn't it?"

Tommy stared at the ground as they kept walking further and further away from either of their houses, wordlessly confirming her suspicions. He let out a small chuckle. "You always know, don't you, sweetheart? For someone so young, you don't miss much."

Y/N breathed out a laugh. "When you grow up with John and his bloody booby traps all over the house, you do tend to notice everything and more."

That was enough to bring out the first proper smile that Tommy had produced since his wife's death. He had forgotten what a tonic his sister could be – just her presence and gentle voice was enough to soothe him and ease some of his pain. Tommy brought his free hand up to rest on top of her small one, still nestled into the crook of his arm, and she responded by leaning her head against his shoulder contentedly.

They continued to walk in silence before Tommy realised that, for once, he had no clue what they were doing. When he asked, his sister's answer made him stop in his tracks.

"Nothing?"

"Yep." Y/N smiled at him proudly. "Absolutely nothing."

"Y/N, I don’t have time to -"

"Everyone has the time to do nothing, Tommy, even you." Her brother sighed in defeat, knowing that there was no point in starting an argument over it (the look that Y/N was giving him was enough to tell him that he'd lost it before it had even begun).

"Alright, fine. But how am I supposed to do nothing and clear my head at the same time, eh?" His tone boarded on impatient.

"You'll figure it out soon enough." Y/N responded, calmly.

***

She was right, of course. They had laid down the blankets that had been tucked away in Y/N's basket and for a while they simply watched the clouds dancing across the sky, bringing back fond memories for Tommy: he had done this countless times with his mother before she passed, and afterwards he used to take a much younger Y/N out to do the same before the war took over. Tommy let the rustling of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds melt away the endless stream of thoughts in his head. His sister had also been clever enough to bring them so far out into the Warwickshire countryside that he knew that no-one would find them, causing a feeling of safety and freedom to wash over him for the first time in years.

Tommy reached over and held Y/N's hand in his, and whispered "Thank you, bug," just loudly enough for her to hear.

Y/N turned her head to smile at him and squeezed his hand. But then she frowned at her brother, causing him to mirror her expression. "Tom, you've got some grey hairs coming. Seriously, I can see them now, just at the side."

His lips parted in shock as her expression turned into one of mirth. "You cheeky fucker." Tommy's tone was deadly serious; however, Y/N knew her brother well enough to know what was coming next. She just managed to roll out of the way before Tommy's hand reached out to tickle her stomach.

Before they both knew it, Y/N was running like her life depended on it and Tommy was following in hot pursuit, uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from both of them.

***

A few hours later and night had fallen. Tommy had built a fire some time ago, and Y/N was sat by it, reading. He realised that, whilst the scene wasn't too dissimilar to the one he created every night in the weeks following Grace's funeral, it was also entirely different. Before, he had only focused on the thoughts constantly whizzing around in his brain, not noticing anything else going on around him.

But now, everything was quiet. Not silent, for that would surely send all of the noise flooding back into his head. The sounds of the pages turning steadily in his sister's book provided that nice sort of quiet which meant that that noise just...stopped. Y/N hadn't actually tried to distract him from his grief or his thoughts, either, or tried to get him to talk about it as so many other people had done; all Y/N did was bring him physically away from everything and been there, a strong presence without pressure. For that, he loved her more than ever.

Tommy looked up as Y/N released a long sigh, having just finished her last chapter. He noticed her shiver slightly when a cool breeze brushed over the field, and fished another blanket out of the basket as she walked over to sit next to him. Tommy wrapped the soft material tightly around her and placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a one-armed hug.

Breaking the silence, Y/N looked up and said "The stars are so much brighter out here than in Small Heath."

Tommy hummed in agreement. "When you were little and we were on the road with mum, I used to point out all the different constellations to you."

"I don't remember that."

"Well, you were always about half asleep."

"Do you still remember them?"

"I do."

"Would you show me them again?"

The question was asked with such innocence that Tommy glanced down at his sister, and saw her bright blue eyes staring back up at him, eyes that had him wrapped around her little finger. He laid down, patting the space next to him, encouraging her to do the same. "Let's have a look then, shall we?"

He was rewarded with a big, beaming smile.

***

When Y/N started to yawn and her eyelids began to droop, lulled by the warmth and her brother's steady voice, Tommy decided that it was time for them to head back. He bundled everything back into the basket bar one blanket, which he layered on top of the other one covering his sister once they started walking away from the dying fire (despite Y/N's apparent annoyance at his fussing).

Tommy was still set on staying in his sister's spare room for the weekend, wanting to make up for lost time. Part of him also still worried that she would be taken away from him, and knew that there wasn't much chance of him sleeping if he returned to his own bed. After all that she had done for him today, Tommy couldn't bear to leave her just yet.

He carried the basket in one hand, and Y/N had wrapped both of her arms around his other arm, revelling in the chance to be so close to her brother again, and not just physically. Y/N wasn't naïve in her view of Tommy: he was cold, brutal, rude and relentless, and she knew that. But she had also never wavered in her belief that parts of the Tommy that she knew before the war were still there; they were simply buried deep within, so much so that it was slowly becoming more and more difficult to bring them to the surface.

However, looking up and noting the absence of a crease between Tommy's brows, she couldn't help but feel that she could afford herself a small victory this time.

"I'm always here for you, Tom," Y/N mumbled, seemingly out of the blue. "When you need some quiet, and remember that I always know when you do, I'll never get bored of things like this."

Tommy was silent, and Y/N wondered if she'd ruined it and pushed it too far. But then she heard him clear his throat and quietly reply "That sounds perfect, sweetheart," and her worries washed away in an instant.

***

As the siblings stepped over the threshold of the cottage, exhaustion hit both of them. Y/N headed to the kitchen and Tommy made his way towards the living room. Upon his arrival, however, he stopped in the doorway and simply stared in...

"Y/N?" He called, confusion seeping into his voice.

The woman in question appeared behind him, and peered over her brother's shoulder at the bookcase abandoned in the middle of the room. "Fuck, I'd forgotten about that. Well, you can move it out of the way while I make tea – it's what I called you here to do anyway." Y/N began to wander back towards the kitchen, ignoring the befuddled, yet amused, expression on her brother's face. "Thanks Tom, love you!"

"Love you too, darling," Tommy murmured, not loud enough for her to hear, a full and genuine smile gracing his features.

Yep, he thought, his sister was definitely one of a kind, but he wouldn't change her for the world; and no matter what else he did, he refused to fail Y/N again.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #shelby sister #shelby sis #shelby!sister #shelby!reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders sister #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x sister reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine

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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Chapter 20

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE WAR ROOM

Carefully unrolling the parchment in his hands, Arngeir spread a large weathered map across the table as his companions took their place in the war room, ready to discuss the upcoming assault. Sigurd, Styrbjorn, and Eivor all waited patiently in silence, watching the jarl finish his preparations as they filled their predecessors’ roles.

It felt strange to Eivor, seeing Sigurd standing in Ulfar’s position. Even though he knew the old raider wasn’t coming back from the dead, it still made his head spin to see someone else in his shoes. It was no more than a simple changing of the guard, and yet, to the Wolf-Kissed, it felt like witnessing his entire world shift.

Though, he had to admit, there was something about the king that caught his attention too. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but Styrbjorn seemed... different today. More... composed. Dignified. As if the life in him had suddenly been reignited. His appearance radiated a noble presence, and his expression looked free of the fatigue that so stubbornly clung onto his eyes. Eivor guessed he finally took Sigurd’s advice to heart.

“Alright,” the jarl said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “We’re all here. Good.” He stepped forward a bit, resting his palms on the table’s surface. “Now, I understand that you’re eager to put this battle in motion, but before we start devising a plan, I believe the king has something he wants to say first.”

“Indeed,” Styrbjorn replied, linking his hands behind his back. “I have declared Gorm’s judgement, and I thought it would be necessary to inform the rest of you.”

That caught Eivor’s interest. “What’s to become of our prisoner, my lord?”

“For now, I’ve made the decision to keep Gorm alive. He has knowledge about Kjotve that could prove to be useful later on, so I will not dispose of him just yet. Once this war is finished, however...” the king exchanged glances with the prince, “...he will be executed. Publicly. Sigurd and I have agreed to grant him a merciful death as repayment for his cooperation, but he is to be beheaded on Bjornheimr soil.”

Arngeir paused. “Bjornheimr? Does this mean you won’t be taking Gorm back to Fornburg, my lord? Normally, when the king passes judgement on a criminal, it is he who swings the axe.”

“True, but seeing as how Gorm wronged your people more than anyone else, I’ve decided to leave his fate in your hands. It seems only fitting to me.”

The jarl was satisfied with that. “...Very well. I agree to these terms.”

“Then it’s settled. Gorm will be kept here as our prisoner for the remainder of the war. As soon as his father is killed, he will follow in his footsteps. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Then I won’t hinder this plan’s development any further.” Styrbjorn turned to his son. “Sigurd, you said you had new information pertaining to Kjotve’s whereabouts?”

“I do.” the prince confirmed. He walked up to the war table and leaned over it, pointing to an island on the western side of the map.

“According to what Gorm told me, Kjotve should have arrived on an island by now known as Thrymr’s Tomb. He’ll be making use of an abandoned fort located in its northern half.”

Eivor took note of the island’s name. “Thrymr? King of the jötnar? Is there a reason for that name?”

“Ah, it’s connected to a local tale, nothing more. Due to the island’s peculiar shape, the folk in that region believe it was once a fragment of Thrymr’s skull. They say it flew off his head when Thor struck him with Mjölnir, and landed in the ocean. Thus, its name.”

“And what of Kjotve’s defenses?” Arngeir asked. “What can we expect when we arrive?”

“The fort itself was built a long time ago, so its defenses should be nothing that we haven’t seen already. Plus, it’s been deserted for ages now. Its walls are feeble and decrepit. We should be able to break through the gates rather swiftly. The biggest challenge we’ll face -- is reaching them.”

“Why is that?”

Sigurd slid his finger down the map. “Because the island has no trees.”

That took everyone by surprise.

“What?” Styrbjorn blurted out. “How can that be?”

“Whoever the fort’s original occupant was, they chopped down all the trees on the island so that their foes wouldn’t have anywhere to hide. This means we’ll have no cover, and no way to approach it discreetly. We’ll be forced to launch a head-on assault.”

Eivor began growing concerned. “And how simple do you think that’s going to be?”

Sigurd furrowed his brow. “I won’t lie to you all. It’s not going to be easy. There’s a river that separates the island into two halves. The fort is on the northern half. We’ll be on the southern half. And the only way to reach the gates... is by crossing the bridge.”

Arngeir paced around the room, stroking his beard in thought. “The bridge will have us all cornered into one spot. We’ll be nothing but walking targets for Kjotve’s archers. They’ll slaughter us before we can even knock on his front door...!”

The Wolf-Kissed wasn’t so sure. “...Maybe. Or maybe there’s something else we could do.”

Sigurd’s curiosity took hold. “You have an idea, Eivor?”

The younger man thought for a moment. “...What if we formed a shield wall? We could protect ourselves from oncoming arrows, and move forward during the time between the onslaughts. It would be slow, but much safer than charging to the gate.”

“A solid idea,” the prince conceded, “but how would it work in this case? Don’t forget, we still need a way to break down the gate. How could we transport a battering ram across the bridge, and maintain a shield wall at the same time?”

“We could create a wall around the ram.” Eivor suggested.

“Around it?”

“Yes. As you said, we’ll need to bring a battering ram in order to get through the gates. But if our men are going to be moving something as big as that, they won’t have any hands free to lift a shield. So that’s why... we’ll protect them in the process. We’ll form a shield wall around them, and keep them safe from any arrows.”

Sigurd played out the method in his head. “...Hmm. It’s damned risky, but I’m afraid it’s the only option we have. The battlements are too tall for us too climb, and there’s no way we could cross the river by foot. We could swim, theoretically speaking, but it’s such a dangerous path that it’s not even worth considering.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, first of all, it’s freezing. The water would probably kill us before Kjotve could. And secondly, the river’s current is so strong that we would most likely be whisked away, or even drowned. Trust me, we’re better off taking our chances with the bridge.”

“Hm. Makes sense.”

The king posed another question. “Alright. So we’ve decided on a way in? We’ll dock our ships on the southern half of the island, and cross the bridge using a shield wall. In the meantime, the rest of our warriors will focus on moving the battering ram to the fort’s gates. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Sigurd confirmed.

“Very well, then. What happens once we’re inside?”

“Then, we find Kjotve. And put an end to this miserable war.”

Eivor felt a sense of worry flare in his chest. “But what if he escapes a second time? What guarantee do we have that he won’t flee again?”

A grim look hovered over the prince’s gaze. “Our guarantee is Dag’s death. He was Kjotve’s ally, and the reason our previous assault ended in failure. He told the man to flee before we could reach his shores, but this time, he won’t be around to warn anybody.”

Arngeir raised a point. “Of course, however, it is worth nothing that Kjotve might have taken precautions already. After all, I think it’s safe to say he’s probably aware of Gorm’s imprisonment by now. He will be anticipating an assault, now that his own son has been subjected to interrogation.

“Indeed,” Sigurd conceded. “So we’d do well not to let our guard down, no matter how much of an advantage we have.”

Eivor was pleased with that. “Sounds good.”

Styrbjorn jumped back in. “Then, have we agreed on a plan? I believe our current strategy will be our best option, and unlike other battles, we won’t have much time to adjust it. So if anyone has any concerns or objections, now is the time to speak up.”

There was a unanimous silence.

“Very well. I will inform my clan of our discussion today, and prepare them for the battle ahead.” The king turned to the jarl. “Arngeir, I think it’s best if you do the same.”

The other man displayed a slight bow. “Of course, my lord. I’ll start making preparations right away.”

“As for you two,” Styrbjorn faced Eivor and Sigurd, “try to get some rest. Both of you will have a long day tomorrow. The journey to Thrymr’s Tomb will take quite some time, and there’s no saying what will happen during the fight itself. I need you to be sharp.”

The prince nodded assuredly. “Understood.”

“Good. Then this meeting is concluded. Take care of any unfinished business you may have, and prepare yourselves for war. This will be the battle that shapes the future of the entire kingdom. Defeat is something we cannot afford. Stay vigilant. All of you.”

Stepping away from the map, both Styrbjorn and Arngeir made a swift exit from the war room as they headed out to the village, determined to turn their plan into a reality. The torches’ flames flickered in their wake as they strode through the archway, and settled down with a series of soft quivers once they were gone.

In the meantime, Sigurd and Eivor remained at the war table and simply stood there in silence, drowning in the sea of worries that plagued their thoughts. Both of them had plenty of risks to consider in the upcoming battle, but one fear in particular kept shaking the prince’s mettle.

“I can’t believe it...” Eivor whispered, staring at the map, “...after all these years. After everything we’ve lost. We finally have a chance to take Kjotve down for good. We have his son as a prisoner, and he no longer has any allies amongst our people.” An inspiring spark glimmered in his eye. “What if this is it, Sigurd? This could be the victory we’ve been waiting for.”

The older man crossed his arms. “...Perhaps.”

It didn’t take long for Eivor to pick up on his tone. “Is... something wrong, Sigurd?

The prince leaned against a wall and sighed, unable to conceal the sorrow he carried.

“...You do understand that if everything goes according to plan tomorrow, and Kjotve dies, my clan will leave Bjornheimr permanently?”

The realization struck Eivor like a club, and he found himself quickly being drained of the hope that had just settled in.

“...Oh.” He murmured. “Right.”

Sigurd gave him an apologetic look. “Forgive me, love. I know it’s an unpleasant thought, but it’s the reality. If we win this war, I’ll return to Fornburg... forever. And I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to come back.”

Eivor shrugged. “So, what are you saying? You don’t want us to win?”

“No, of course not. It’s just...” the prince pushed himself off the wall, “...I’m going to miss you dearly, Eivor. It’ll be difficult adapting to a life without you.”

The younger man’s head drooped. “...I understand. I’ll miss you too.”

Sigurd approached his partner. “My offer still stands, you know. There’s a place for you on my longship if you wish to join us. You’re more than welcome.”

Eivor drifted off into silence for a moment, pondering the decision.

“As much as I’d love to go with you, I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t know if you can? What do you mean?”

The Wolf-Kissed glanced upward at his companion. “Don’t forget, Sigurd, you’re still a married man. Up until this point, it’s been easy for us to hide our relationship since everyone’s been so focused on the war. But the minute it comes to an end... their attention will be back on you. And if someone finds out...”

Sigurd took Eivor’s hands into his own. “They won’t. We would just be friends in the public eye. And even then, we could do so many things together -- hunting, fishing, sailing, drinking, you name it. I could show you around Fornburg, take you to places unlike anything you’d ever seen; places where we’d be alone. No one would suspect a thing.”

“Are you sure? No one would find it odd that, in addition to your new wife, you also decided to bring her brother? Think about this, Sigurd.”

“I have,” the prince insisted, “and I want you at my side, Eivor. I love you. You know this. Damn what anyone else says.”

Eivor let out a breath. “I love you too, but...” he pushed Sigurd’s hands away, “...I. Just. Can’t. I’m sorry.”

The older man grew concerned. “Why not, though? You and I have been hiding this for weeks already. This is nothing new. Is there something else that’s bothering you?”

The Wolf-Kissed let his gaze sink to the floor, feeling terribly guilty about the heartache he was causing his partner.

“I wouldn’t be able to handle the pain, Sigurd.”

The response earned him a puzzled look. “Pain? What pain?”

“The pain of seeing you with someone else. You and I may be lovers in private, but to everyone else, we’d have to be friends. You’d have to maintain your image as husband-and-wife with Randvi, and I’d be forced to watch it from the side. I don’t know if I could handle that, Sigurd.”

A shadow of harsh understanding dimmed the prince’s passion, and he finally began to realize the source of his lover’s hesitance.

“...Ah. I see.”

“And besides,” Eivor continued, “I can’t leave my father behind. He’s already lost Thora to this war. If he had to say goodbye to me and Randvi as well, I don’t think he...”

“It’s okay, Eivor.” Sigurd reassured, in spite of his disappointment. “You don’t have to explain. I... understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I may not be happy with it, but I understand. I can’t ask you to keep this charade going forever, especially amongst a clan you’ve never known. It... wouldn’t be fair. And you have a father here who needs you. I can’t take you away from him. No matter how much I may want you.”

Eivor felt a tad more relieved. “...Thank you, Sigurd. I know it’s not the outcome either of us were hoping for, but it’s what we’ll have to live with once this war is over. If we survive long enough to see it through, that is.”

Sigurd stepped back a bit, allowing his companion some space. “...Of course. You’re right. This war is bigger than the both of us. We’ll need to prioritize our duties above all else if we’re going to make this alliance work.”

He paused for a short while, attempting to distract himself from the disheartening news. It was clear that he was trying to prevent his emotions from breaking through the surface, but even then, Eivor could see that the man was heartbroken.

“...Anyway,” Sigurd said, clearing his throat, “I should get going. There are many things I need to take care of before we set off. I’ll be in my chambers if you need me.”

“And I’ll be at the temple if you need me.”

The prince found himself intrigued. “The temple? Are you planning on making an offering?”

“Not exactly. There’s someone I wanted to speak with before the battle. I saw them praying at the temple earlier while I was walking to the longhouse.”

“Who, Ingrida?”

Eivor shook his head. “No. Randvi.”

The answer took Sigurd by surprise. “Randvi?”

“Yes,” he replied in remorse. “I haven’t been a good brother to her lately. I’ve practically deserted her ever since your clan arrived. I didn’t even talk to her after Thora died. She’s been dealing with all this grief in complete solitude, and I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Sigurd nodded empathetically. “Of course. Go. See your sister. You and I can talk later.”

“Take care of yourself tomorrow, love.” Eivor said, caressing the man’s cheek before he took his leave. “I don’t want to return home without you.”

The prince gripped his hand securely, looking him straight in the eye. “I won’t let myself fall to Kjotve’s axe. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

THE TEMPLE

Pushing through the hills of snow that lounged on the earthy terrain, Eivor sauntered towards the temple as a gust of wind fluttered across the land, shaking the chimes that lined the path. A series of scattered clinks decorated the air in the breeze’s wake, and up ahead, Eivor could see the statues of the gods rising into view.

They remained as adamant as ever, despite the mayhem thriving around them. They guarded the village with an unwavering iron gaze, and towered over the worshippers who knelt at the base of their feet.

It was a sight that would’ve brought Eivor a sense of peace in the past. He often came here when he needed guidance from the gods, or comfort from the seeress’ words, but now... all he could think about were the sacrifices they’d made.

Thora, Ulfar, Eirik, Dag... the list grew longer everyday. Their village seemed to be occupied by more ghosts than people at this point, and returning to the temple did nothing but remind Eivor of the times when he had the luxury of taking his loved ones’ company for granted.

What if this was the last time he’d ever see Bjornheimr? What if something happened tomorrow? He was hopeful that he’d finally be able to corner Kjotve after this insufferable chase, but really, he had no guarantee.

It was entirely possible that Eivor could’ve ended up sharing his father’s fate once this war was over. There was nothing else to secure their victory other than the sheer will of their raiders, and ultimately, he had to remind himself that he was just another man.

If Eivor fell tomorrow... there was no coming back. He’d simply be gone forever, and his soul would be taken by whichever god claimed him first.

His legacy in this world would be no more than a warrior who died chasing an impossible dream, and to the Wolf-Kissed, that was a fate far more frightening than death. A fate where he would only be remembered for his failures.

“Randvi?” Eivor called out, searching for his sister. He got no response from the woman in the moments to follow, but eventually found her sitting on a bench positioned before Freya’s statue. Her head was hanging low between her shoulders like an anchor, and her elbows rested gently on her knees.

“Randvi.” Eivor repeated, trying to get her attention.

Still, she offered no answer.

“Hey,” the young man said again, kneeling in front of her. “It’s me. Eivor.”

Randvi’s stone-cold stare inched towards his face at the sound of his name, revealing nothing but a pair of dead orbs sitting in her sockets.

She looked even worse than Arngeir did. Despite his grief, the jarl still seemed to have some fight in him at least. It may have been an act to preserve his clans morale, but even then, he had proven he was capable of leading a battle. Randvi, on the other hand, appeared as if she had joined Thora’s side already.

Her temperament was entirely devoid of any signs of life. She sat on the bench like a frail plant withering in the sun, and the way she peered through Eivor made him wonder if she truly knew he was even there.

“...We should’ve listened to her.” Randvi whispered at last.

Her brother shook his head in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

“We should’ve listened to her. She knew all of this would happen.”

Eivor glanced back at the temple. “...You mean Ingrida?”

“Yes. Do you not remember? The day the Raven Clan arrived, she warned us of a vision. Freya’s statue had just fallen, and the gods entrusted her with a dream of the path ahead. A dream of Tyr.” Randvi frowned. “...Ingrida told us about the treachery we’d face. She told us to turn the Raven Clan away, but we refused to listen. We dismissed her fears because we didn’t want to insult King Styrbjorn. And now look where we are.”

She gazed upwards at Freya’s idol. “...What if we had called off the alliance? What if we never went through with this marriage? Would we still be where we are now? Would Thora and Ulfar be alive?”

Eivor took a seat beside Randvi, sharing her anguish. “I don’t know, sister. I really don’t. The gods have been difficult to predict lately.”

The woman scoffed. “Forget the gods. Our prayers have proven to be all but useless. Thora and Ulfar both spent their entire lives following a code of honor, and yet, the Nornir still let them die. Meanwhile, men like Kjotve get to roam free, causing nothing but suffering and death everywhere they go. As far as I’m concerned, I’d be a fool to rely on the gods for protection. I don’t need them. What I need is you.”

Randvi turned to her brother. “Where have you been, Eivor? These past few weeks, you’ve made yourself scarce. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. I understand we’re in the middle of a war, but...”

Eivor’s tone sunk with guilt. “...I know, Randvi. I know I haven’t been a good brother to you.” He paused for a second. “I’m... I’m sorry.”

A fatigued breath escaped from the woman’s lips. “Well, to be honest, you aren’t the only one who’s deserted me. It seems like all my friends have either died or disappeared. You, Sigurd, Thora, Ulfar... even father keeps to himself these days. The only company I really have anymore is Ingrida, and she’s almost gone completely mute ever since Eirik’s death.”

Randvi stood up from the bench and crossed her arms in thought, taking in the view of Freya’s statue.

“I just miss Thora so much. I see her in my dreams every night. She was always there for you and me, keeping us safe in a world that wanted to leave us behind. She knew how to make people laugh too.” Randvi’s shoulders slouched. “...And Ulfar. I’ll never forget the times when he held me as a child, calming me down after I woke up from a nightmare. He may not have been our real father, but I loved him like one.”

Eivor nodded. “Me too. He was always there to keep me company after Kjotve killed my parents. I can’t imagine what my childhood would’ve been like without him.”

Randvi peered at the clouds gliding above the temple, almost as if she were looking into Valhalla itself.

“I suppose the best thing we can do for them now is to make sure that their deaths weren’t in vain. Knowing Thora and Ulfar, they wouldn’t have wanted us to be consumed by our grief. They would’ve wanted us to push on, no matter the cost. I just wish it were that easy.”

Eivor rose to his feet, joining stepping next to his sister. “It won’t be. But we’re so close to the end, Randvi. Just one more battle, and we can finally put all this tragedy to rest. We only need to fight for a little longer.”

The woman didn’t appear reassured by that. “That’s easy for you to say. If we win, you’ll get to go back home and celebrate your victory. But me? I’ll be forced to travel to Fornburg with Sigurd, and live in a clan full of unfamiliar faces. I’ll have to start an entirely new life far away from here, and spend the rest of it with a husband who hardly even cares about me.”

Randvi shut her eyes in frustration and took a deep breath, attempting to ease her nerves. A bottle of boiling rage sat corked in her chest, and without even meaning to, she had smashed it open due to seeing Eivor’s face again.

He was one of the only people she trusted, after all. With her older sister gone, Randvi no longer knew who she could confide in. She had kept all this pain locked inside her mind, and until now, she never realized how severely it was hindering her.

“...I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to be so curt. I’m sure you have your own burdens to bear. I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

��No, I understand,” Eivor assured. “The stress of this war has taken a toll on all of us. And let’s face it -- I haven’t exactly done my job as a brother. I should’ve checked on you more often.”

Randvi shrugged in curiosity. “Is that why you came today? Because you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, actually. I saw you while I was walking to the longhouse. I was occupied with matters concerning tomorrow’s battle, but I still wanted to speak with you.”

A hint of warmth radiated from the woman’s gaze. It was clear that Randvi was surprised by the gesture, but grateful for it nonetheless.

“...Thank you, Eivor. Even though you and I haven’t spoken much recently, I am glad to see you again. I missed having your company.”

A loving grin spread across the man’s face. “I missed you too.”

Randvi slowly approached Eivor, placing her hands on the sides of his arms. “Please, be careful tomorrow, brother. I know you aren’t the type to sit by and watch a battle unfold, but it’s been difficult enough dealing with Thora’s death. Don’t make me bury you too.”

He held Randvi’s hand in a comforting manner, speaking with sincerity.

“I’ll do everything in my power to return unharmed. But I can’t let Kjotve go.”

“I know. And I don’t expect you to. Just remember what matters. Even if you survive this war, losing yourself to revenge can be a death in itself. I don’t want to see that happen. Can you promise me it won’t?”

“Of course. You have my word.”

Randvi didn’t press any further than that. “...Then I suppose it’ll have to do for now. The thought of coming back home to your corpse terrifies me, but I understand how much Varin’s honor means to you. I won’t deny you that.”

“Thank you, Randvi.”

The woman stepped back from Eivor and turned towards the temple’s entrance, ready to get some rest before charging into the storm ahead. Her mood seemed to have lifted somewhat ever since her brother arrived at the temple, but the perturbed nature she carried made it evident that she wasn’t free from her fears just yet.

“Good luck, Eivor. Even though I have faith that you and I will see this war to its end, I’m aware that anything could happen. Fight well tomorrow. If I don’t get to bring you home... then I pray that the Valkyries will.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #male eivor #eivor varinsson #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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the-writers-bookshelf · 3 years

Text

Happy Fab Friday!

Happy Fab Friday Aubrey! Hope you are doing well. It’s getting insanely cold here, but unfortunately no snow at all…anyway, I want to share some stories about the Iksan dynasty today. It’s not a canon, but still an important background for the main story and I’ve been spending way too much time on this.

The ruling clan is called ‘Iksa’ and currently the fifth ruler, Zayyar is in charge of governance. He is an ambitious guy, taking an expansionist approach. He covertly attempts to reform the religious institutions, too, so that he can centralise his power. I haven’t come up with anything further, so I’m gonna talk about the founder of the kingdom. Zayyar is related to the first ruler by blood.

The first queen Svedra has dark rich hair, bronze skin, burning big copper eyes (you can literally see passion and madness sparkling in her eyes), and thick eyebrows. She is tall, well-built (she was skinny when she was a child, though, She built her strength through relentless wars and occasional poisoning!) She is the sort of person you can never forget. Good at horse riding. Loves wine (even after she was nearly killed by poisoned wine. Wine is her weakness). Whoever sees her golden helm at battlefield must run for life - if she sets an eye on you, there’s no way you can escape. She is very determined, charismatic, bold and confident. Her personality changes a lot over the course of time, though. As a young girl, she was very expressive, frank, a bit reckless and stubborn but also compassionate and occasionally overwhelmed by emotions. She was sympathetic towards those whose freedom was taken away. However, as she gets older, she becomes more calculative and cautious.

Svedra was born as the eldest daughter of the chief of Iksa. At that time, the Iksans had to submit to several overloads. Her father was weak-willed and could not resist unreasonable orders from the overlords. He prioritised his status over anything else. He turned away his eldest son, Svayan, who was Svedra’s older brother. She hated that her gentle-hearted brother was mistreated. Svayan was locked up in isolation as he ‘disgraced’ his father. Finally, Svedra made her move. She killed Merikh (the worst overlord) at a humiliating feast when she was in her teens. To her dismay, there were fewer supporters within the clan as she put her entire clan at risk. However, help came from other oppressed clans. She united those clans. Eventually, the Iksans were moved by her passion and impressed by her victories. (but it took a long time and she was nearly assassinated by her own people). She spared her father in exchange for the liberation of Svayan. Svayan became her advisor and right hand at the beginning of conquest. At some point, she had some kids with several partners. But only Xvan, would-be-the-second-ruler, survived through the numerous battles. That hurted her deeply, although she stayed nonchalant in front of her followers. Yet, after the biggest battle (which ended with a decisive victory of her side), she found that Kayo, her beloved partner, died defending one of the strategic spots alone because her supposed-to-be-an-ally abandoned her due to the fear of facing an overwhelming number of enemy soldiers. That was a fatal blow for Svedra.

She became more strict and harsh towards those who objected to her or could not answer her demand. Around the same time, the only advisor, Svayan passed away. (he worried that Svedra might turn into a person who rules people by fear). Svayan’s prediction nearly came true, but at that crucial moment, Svedra met Myron (they/them). Myron was from one of the tribes which joined the kingdom not long ago. They were a member of the delegate sent to her court. Witnessing fear and hatred in his eyes, Svedra finally realised what she had become - Myron reminded her of young herself. She looked at Merikh just as they looked at her. The relationship between Myron and Svedra is an example of hatred-to-trust (one of the themes I want to explore). Svedra came back to herself in the end. Myron was to go back to their own clan, but they decided to stay with her. Myron was the parent of Svedra’s last child and would-be-the-third-ruler, Kayya. It was Myron’s advice that Svedra decided to retreat from politics and military campaigns, leaving the throne to Xvan. Myron stayed with her until the very last moment, promising her to raise Kayya properly.

That’s all for today. Sorry, I ended up writing too much. Thanks a lot for reading!

Wishing you & all fab Friday folks a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Hope you have a wonderful holiday with your loved ones!

P.s. dear all, please feel free to tag me for the tagging games. I haven’t got any invitations for tagging games in the past few weeks...

Cheers,

Shaheen

submitted by @shaheenarnitipsyart

I'm IN AWE you have so much detail!!! you have incredible relationships and tension in so many different ways, your story will be DELICIOUS to read!! fantastic job, lovely!! :D

#asks #fab friday writers #shaheenarnitipsyart

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vegalocity · 3 years

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I’ve binged your Princess silk au and it’s like perfect.

Ok but Xiuying you mentioned her being spiderized too. Which is such a mood. Especially if it’s in the Princess silk au because in spider queen’s mind “the scientist can’t always watch her heir. And she’ll obviously need another female role model in her life”.

First off, thank you for liking it! ^.^ I always love exploring those kinds of what ifs so I'm glad its been well received!

However, I don’t remember saying that actually? I remember implying that in the Princess Silk AU if she could manage to kill Spider Queen in a one v one she might accidentally ‘right by conquest’ take over depending on how the clan ACTUALLY handles a power vacuum (an implication i put there only for the mental image of a human pushing 40 with a hand axe challenging spider queen to a duel for custody of her brother and niece and coming out of it with a murder charge and two tag-alongs she didn’t want)

But the thing is Spider Queen didn’t actually make Minyi into Princess Silk to be her heir, thats only the cover story, she tracked down Syntax’s daughter specifically to turn her because the difference that jumpstarts this AU is that his body hasn’t been fully acclimating to the venom so she figured giving him back his kid but in a format thats inextricably tied to serving the clan would keep him from becoming a rogue element in a situation where she really can’t afford to lose anyone.

So she probably would turn Xiuying for similar reasons. Though the reason she would give would probably be more like ‘I needed another woman in this clan whose not literally a toddler or i will actually go insane’ (RIP to Spindrax for not being canon) which also brings the mental image of Spider Queen pushing spider-fied members of Syntax’s family towards him with a stick like how one would offer a food bowl to a wild animal

(for a Spider Name I’m gonna go with Recluse since I don't see Xiuying as a particularly social person granted she used to live alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods.)

But that also brings up an interesting question in regard to Recluse’s dynamics with the other spiders. One can assume that that same instinct that made it easy for Syntax and Little Silk to latch onto eachother has a similar version with Recluse wherein she’d probably easily fall into the same dynamics she has in the normal timeline with her brother and niece. That might be nice for Syntax as a ‘another side of the coin’ from his and Huntsman’s rivalry to have another Spider about who is only antagonistic through a technicality and is actually… quite nice to hang out with. He probably was a little worried that the only person in the clan who was comfortable around him was the Princess, so having Recluse around would probably inherently make him feel like he’s finally got someone in his corner (and not because of 30 or so years worth of memories of a strong older sister who always was in his corner to inform that sense of course) And Little Silk similarly would instantly latch onto ‘Auntie Recluse’ with the same vigor Minyi has toward Xiuying.

But of course the interesting thing is where the others are. I think Xiuying and Huntsman are always destined to hate eachother because the second Recluse is around and has latched onto her brother she’s instantly gonna be on hyper alert for the others bullying the seemingly weakest member of the clan. She’d been beating up bullies for her entire adolescence so there's no way he DOESN'T immediately raise her hackles

But Recluse and Goliath would be a very interesting dynamic, since the only reason Xiuying kept him at arms length was that she was doing it for all the spiders, so without that they’d need an actual like… dynamic.

And... I think they might just hit it off? Like, Honestly Goliath is already more chill than the others already, so he's not gonna raise Recluse's hackles any, and he'd probably respect her rough and tumble nature, and she'd respect how important it is to him to keep an eye on everyone. They're both very protective people I think, so I could see them teaming up often to take care of the others. And the spiders do seem to be inherently a bit more rural than most of the other demons we've seen in the show, the only one 100% techie is Syntax himself. So I could see them adjourning to someplace a bit more quiet and just talking a lot about things.

...

....

StrongAxeShipping?

#Letters to vega #OC: Xiuying #Princess Silk AU #Vega draws

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

part 9 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

the nomads move for the winter, and encounter some trouble on the way

After some consideration, Lan Xichen and Huaisang decided that Mingjue did not need to know that his brother had hurt himself for the time being. Though the wound was healing slowly, Huaisang swore that it was getting better at what was a normal speed for him, and Lan Xichen believed him. After all, Huaisang had stopped fighting his husband on that subject, and allowed Lan Xichen to help him keep the wound clean and to check on it when they were alone. It did seem healthy enough, as long as Huaisang didn't poke it too much.

They also decided that, until Mingjue had forgiven Lan Xichen for the hunting trip, it would be best if he didn’t know that Huaisang had shared his secret with his husband. Lan Xichen felt somewhat uncomfortable about what seemed like a lie to him, but trusted Huaisang to know his brother’s temper.

There were more pressing things to think about anyway. A few days after that conversation, the time came for the whole clan to move toward their winter dwellings, and such an endeavour left little time for personal problems. Lan Xichen had never even moved houses, except for the summer after his mother’s death which his brother and him spent at a relative’s home. Taking what amounted to an entire village and putting it on wheels was particularly impressive to him. He asked as many questions as he could, and Huaisang patiently answered them all, with Mingjue or Meng Yao adding details if one of thel was around.

As Huaisang explained, for their clan moving was a more complicated thing than for most others, because they were a larger group than most nomads. If Mingjue had not been Khan, it was likely that some of their most distant cousins would have broken off in search of their own territory. Even like this, they usually separated in two smaller groups during the winter so that their respective herds didn’t compete for food and exhaust the winter grass too soon.

“You don’t prepare hay for the winter?” Lan Xichen asked upon hearing this.

“Hay?” Huaisang repeated. “Hay… I don’t know that word.”

“It’s… cutting grass and putting it to dry so animals have something to eat in winter,” Lan Xichen explained.

“Ah… no, they manage on their own. Our animals are smart enough for that,” Huaisang proudly said. “If Han beasts are too stupid to feed themselves, it must be so bothersome.”

“We just raise them differently,” Lan Xichen protested, though having lived most of his life in the city before this trip with his uncle, he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps Han animals were really lazy and pampered. He would have to ask Meng Yao if he was more educated in these matters. “Isn’t it dangerous to break into groups like this? Aren’t you at war with the Wen?”

Huaisang laughed, and nodded before explaining that it would have been rude for anyone to attack in winter. It offended the heavens, and unless there was some very great dispute happening between two clans or two tribes, then usually even enemies could be expected to offer hospitality once the first snows started. In the same manner, attacking while people were moving camp was such a repulsive concept that Huaisang actually shivered when Lan Xichen expressed that worry.

“What honour is there in a victory over weakened people?” Huaisang asked.

“But then, less soldiers die,” Lan Xichen pointed out, which got him a horrified look. Sun Zi possibly wouldn’t be a popular read here, he figured, and quickly changed the subject before offending his husband’s sensibilities any further.

When the big day came, it took barely more than a sichen for each family to dismantle their ger, and only a little more time to place the different components on carts pulled by oxen. For personal items, crates had been put on the back of other oxen. Those crates were also used to carry those too young or too old to be riding horses. Cattle could carry more weight than horses, Huaisang had explained, and they were usually more even tempered. At the same time, they were more dangerous when their temper did change, and it was not unusual for people to die or be wounded during the move. They did everything they could to prevent that, but the risk could never be fully eliminated.

Because the migration could be dangerous, young people often took it as a matter of pride to help keep everyone safe. Almost everyone had a story about some disaster or other that they had prevented, be it calming an ox before it could throw off the babies it carried, or killing wolves that had been chasing one of the herds. Everyone except Huaisang, who Khan Mingjue kept close to himself and forbade from putting himself in danger.

That year, like every year apparently, Huaisang begged his brother to put him in charge of something. He promised to be careful, to let someone else handle the oxen if they were too agitated, to only shoot from a distance if there were wolves, but his brother refused to listen, and even threatened to have him ride on an ox like a child if he wouldn’t stop being unreasonable.

Having said this, Khan Mingjue braced himself for his brother to explode with anger, as did everyone around them. Yet Huaisang, in spite of his obvious humiliation at being dismissed that way, managed to keep his calm this time.

“If that’s my Khan’s decision, I’ll respect it,” he hissed. Then, after a glance at Lan Xichen who nodded encouragingly, he added. “Still, do consider it, if the need arises. We need everyone to do their part, and I don’t want to do any less than others. If there’s something I can do, I hope you’ll let me.”

“I will,” Mingjue promised, taken aback by that reasonable reaction.

Satisfied for the time being by that progress, Huaisang dropped the matter and went away with his husband to show him the cart containing their own ger. When they were far enough from the Khan, Huaisang kicked some clump of yellowed grass with enough force to send it flying, and launched into a long rant against his brother’s tyrannical tendencies. Lan Xichen counted this as a victory anyway. If Huaisang could learn to keep his temper in check around his brother, then the Khan might start to accept that his brother was more than just a capricious child.

Huaisang’s promise to be well behaved and not put himself in danger was soon put to the test. Even within the first few days, there were already incidents happening. Nothing too big on the whole, but only because it was caught on time: oxen getting annoyed, herds being spooked by somethings and nearly running in panic, and a pack of wolves that seemed to be following them from a safe distance, clearly waiting for a chance to strike.

“We’ll lose a few horses, probably some cows as well,” Huaisang predicted, before his face turned dark. “In bad years, we lose a child that wandered off.”

Lan Xichen shivered upon hearing this. He knew wolves were dangerous, of course, but they had never been part of his daily life. His uncle had warned him they might encounter some as they travelled west, but he had made it sound like a small risk compared to what some nomads might do to them if caught. Lan Xichen hoped he wouldn’t have to come anywhere near wolves, not when even someone as fearless as Zonghui would show caution when chasing them away from the herds.

Of course, younger men showed less fear. About a week into the start of the journey, one boy a little younger than Huaisang managed to shoot a wolf that had attacked a heifer under the cover of night. He proudly showed off his kill to the entire clan, and was treated like a hero by his peers. Even though the Khan advised against needless acts of courage, he too congratulated the boy for his success. Huaisang watched, clearly devoured by envy, but said nothing.

A few nights after, when there was another attack while Huaisang was keeping watch. It was a normal chore for young people, but for Huaisang it was a first, and the Khan had made it quite clear he shouldn't take it as an excuse to be reckless. So when he heard wolves, Huaisang dutifully told others to go after the animals and stayed safely behind. This time two wolves were killed, and again the Khan thanked the young people who had protected the herds while his brother seethed quietly.

The morning after, Huaisang was in a predictably dreadful mood as they resumed their journey. Sitting on his horse more stiffly than usual, Huaisang kept glaring at everyone, and looked ready to snap at whoever would dare to talk to him. Lan Xichen felt dreadfully sorry for his husband, especially as he was beginning to understand just how important that sort of heroism was among the nomads. The wolves’ pelts had been prepared to be kept right away both times, and Lan Xichen had been explained they’d either be sold for a very high price or kept as precious courting gifts, valued as highly as a good racing horse.

“You’ll have your turn too,” Lan Xichen told Huaisang when his husband kept glancing toward the heroes of the day. “Your brother will come to reason, sooner or later.”

Huaisang shrugged, his expression only becoming darker at that reassurance. Lan Xichen turned to Meng Yao, who was riding with them that day. He hoped that his friend would support him and encourage Huaisang to obedience, since he was so scared of the Khan himself, but Meng Yao shook his head.

“If the Khan was to ever trust Huaisang, it would have happened already,” he said, turning to Huaisang. “If you wait for his permission, you will be an elder and you will never have killed anything fiercer than a rabbit. Of course I’m not encouraging you to put yourself in danger,” Meng Yao quickly added when Lan Xichen frowned at him. “It would be very unwise to cross him, especially when he already has so many worries, trying to get everyone safely to the winter dwellings. Still… things are what they are.”

Huaisang sighed deeply.

“I really don’t want to bother him, but also… I could have killed one of those wolves last night. I could have!”he exploded, slightly startling his horse. “If Yasheng could, then anyone might have managed. It wasn’t even that big of a wolf, probably a pup born this spring!”

“Then why didn’t you try?” Meng Yao asked. “Don’t tell me you’re really expecting your brother to notice your obedience? He never pays attention to what you do, unless it crosses him, you know that.”

Lan Xichen felt a little annoyed at Meng Yao for saying that. It was a great misunderstanding of the Khan’s character in his opinion. Of course Meng Yao couldn’t understand how much Mingjue cared about his brother, and there was bad blood between him and the Khan. Still, even before learning of Huaisang’s secret, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have accused the Khan of being uncaring. A little clumsy in handling his emotions, yes, but right from the first moment he had known that Mingjue loved his brother dearly, and wanted nothing but his happiness.

“I’m trying something,” Huaisang evasively answered. “I’m a married man now, I can’t continue acting like a child. I have to show an example for my poor, unmarried brother so that he too can see the appeal of settling down.”

Meng Yao smiled indulgently at the weak joke, but he did not appear quite convinced by that explanation. Lan Xichen then promptly asked about a mountain range in the distance, eager to change the topic. Even if Huaisang had been doing well so far at keeping himself out of trouble, Lan Xichen worried that talking too much about this would tempt him to do something stupid.

For a few days, there were no more attacks on the herd. The pack of wolves that had followed them for a while seemed to have given up on pursuing them after such heavy losses. But this didn’t mean the animals were safe: soon enough, a few people spotted a solitary male trailing them, which Lan Xichen learned was far more worrying than a pack. Wolves did not do well on their own, and so that lone male might get desperate and attack just anything it would get close to -or anyone.

Still, this wasn’t the biggest worry on everyone’s mind. It had started snowing, and that was a more urgent concern. The snow remained light so far, but it was also constant, and everyone was worried they’d struggle to reach their wintering location. Everyone also kept a close eye on children and elderly people to make sure they did not suffer too much from the cold. Lan Xichen himself had some trouble with those temperatures, and was given as warm of a deel as could be found to wear under his Han robes and help him withstand this weather he wasn’t used to.

Quite shamelessly, Nie Huaisang also kept offering to help keep him warm, a devious smile on his lips. Lan Xichen always mildly scolded him for suggesting something so improper, while his husband laughed at his reaction. Mostly, Lan Xichen was annoyed that there was even less privacy than usual as they travelled, which meant they barely managed to kiss, let alone think of other things.

Not that he wasn’t happy with the time they spent together. Lan Xichen was glad that they could ride their horses together, that Huaisang was teaching him how to help around and be an active member of the clan, that they could chat whenever there was a moment of quiet. He enjoyed all this greatly. It was just that he had the ever growing certainty he’d also enjoy being perfectly alone with Huaisang to slowly peel away every layer of clothing on his husband’s body so he could kiss every inch of warm skin and…

And that was not a train of thought he ought to have had in public, Lan Xichen had to remind himself several times every day. The time for it would come, hopefully, but the time just wasn’t now.

On one snowy morning, it was decided that the time had come for the group to divide into two, since they were approaching one of the wintering spots that the clan used. They spent most of that morning checking who was going in what direction, whether nobody would be taking something that wasn’t theirs, and how soon someone should ride between the two camps to check that everyone had managed to settle according to plan.

While Lan Xichen was rather untouched by all this activity, it wasn’t so for Meng Yao. It had initially been decided that he would go with the other group, but at the last moment Khan Mingjue changed his mind. Meng Yao would stay where the Khan could keep an eye on him, which meant all his possessions would have to be transferred to a different cart. So far he had been sharing the cart of Wenyan, a widow with whom he got along fairly well, and whose toddler was particularly attached to him. The child cried heavy tears the entire time Meng Yao moved his possessions, but the Khan had made up his mind and wouldn’t be moved.

It really was unfair, Lan Xichen thought. Maybe once the Khan had been convinced to trust his brother a little more, they would have to work on making him do the same with poor Meng Yao. When they started moving again around noon, Lan Xichen shared that idea with Huaisang who agreed that the situation was ridiculous, and they tried to find ideas on how to make the two reconcile.

It kept them busy for a good half of the afternoon, until they had the surprise of being joined by Meng Yao who should have been very far away already.

“Wenyan says that Cunzhi is missing,” Meng Yao urgently said when they asked why he had returned. “Nobody has seen him nearly since we separated, and she was afraid he managed to escape to come see me so she rode all the way here. Someone needs to warn the Khan, but her horse is tired and I… well, I can’t,” he sighed. “I’m already going to be blamed for this, I don’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Huaisang immediately said, already preparing to dash ahead, but Meng Yao shook his head.

“Isn’t it better if you send Lan gongzi and come with me to look for Cunzhi? He could be just anywhere, and you’re one of the best riders of the clan. If he’s out in the wild, I’m sure you’ll be the one to find him.”

This gave Huaisang pause. His hands tightened on his reins, and he glanced at Lan Xichen, to ask for his opinion. It was obvious that he desperately wanted to go. After all, finding that child would show people that he wasn’t just lazy and pampered, while also being far less dangerous than hunting wolves or calming an ox.

“Your brother won’t be happy if you go without his permission,” Lan Xichen still said. Huaisang’s face fell at the reminder. “The child is probably just hiding on a cart. I’ll go with Meng Yao to check if he wandered off, you warn your brother and see what he thinks should be done.”

With great reluctance, Huaisang agreed and sent his horse galloping toward the front of the group. Meng Yao watched him go with an unreadable expression, before turning his own horse around to go in search of the child while Lan Xichen followed suit. They joined up with a few others to check that the child hadn't been found, then quickly separated after agreeing to meet at a certain place. Meng Yao and two others went riding in the direction the other group ought to be while Lan Xichen retraced their steps. They all thought it unlikely that Cunzhi would have been just left behind, so it seemed enough to have just one person go that way. Meng Yao had volunteered, but the Khan did not allow for him to ride alone, so Lan Xichen was picked instead.

Just as expected, Lan Xichen reached the site where they had camped for the night without seeing a trace of the child. He could easily have turned around then, but decided instead to check carefully. Unlikely didn't mean impossible. Jumping down from Shuoyue, Lan Xichen called Cunzhi’s name until he thought he spotted something in a small bush, a touch of red hidden under the snow covered branches. It could have been nothing more than a bird, or a scrap of fabric, but Lan Xichen thought it prudent to check.

Inside the bush, he found Cunzhi.

In spite of the warm clothes he wore, the child’s face and hands were a concerning shade of purple, and it was rather obvious that he had been crying a lot. Lan Xichen didn’t lose a moment. He fell to his knees and plunged his hands into the bush to retrieve the child, not noticing the way sharp thorns were tearing at his skin and sleeves. He was only glad to be wearing some of his own clothes over the deel lended to him, since it made it easier to protect the child’s face from those same thorns.

“No!” Cunzhi weakly cried out, refusing to leave his hiding place. He struggled without much strength, sluggish from the cold. “Cunzhi want Menyao!”

“I’ll take you to Meng Yao,” Lan Xichen replied, without much effect. The child started crying again, and wriggled with all that he had, trying to escape his rescuer. “Please, Cunzhi, calm down. Meng Yao is looking for you, don’t you want to see him again?”

“Cunzhi wait here! Cunzhi is good!”

Lan Xichen sighed, and tried to get up again. It was not an easy task with the toddler fighting against his grasp, and riding Shuoyue would be even worse. The horse had a good temperament and shouldn’t get spooked by the cries of a child on his back, but if Cunzhi managed to escape Lan Xichen’s grasp and fell, he might get seriously hurt. Not only was Lan Xichen worried for the child, but more selfishly he feared the Khan’s reaction, should something of the sort happen.

Hoping to calm the toddler and buy his cooperation, Lan Xichen started looking into his clothes for a snack of some sort. “Do you want something to eat, Cunzhi?” he asked. “If you’re good, you will get a treat, and you will also see Meng Yao and your mother.”

“Mama?” Cunzhi sobbed, clumsily wiping his eyes. “Cunzhi want mama. Cunzhi want mama now!”

“Then Cunzhi comes with Xichen,” Lan Xichen said, dangling a piece of aarduul in front of the child. “You’re going to be good, right? Your mother is very worried.”

To Lan Xichen’s immense relief, the food had the intended effect. Cunzhi’s tears slowed down a little as he stared at the aarduul, making a grabbing movement. The toddler had finally started to calm down when Shuoyue decided it was its turn to become agitated. The horse whined and neighing with ever increasing alarm. When Lan Xichen turned to see what the matter was, he found himself face to face with a wolf.

If Lan Xichen had known more about wolves, he might have noticed that the animal was rather thin, as if it hadn’t eaten well for a long while, and not a particularly impressive specimen overall. But for Lan Xichen, who had been expecting wolves to be nothing but a bigger and meaner sort of dogs, the encounter was terrifying. He was unarmed, away from anyone who might have helped him, and hindered by a child who, after seeing the wolf, had just started crying again from fright.

Lan Xichen’s first impulse was to run for it and try to reach Shuoyue, but the wolf stood between him and his nervous horse. The animal looked ready to bolt away at the first excuse anyway, making that option unsafe.

The wolf growled, and stepped closer.

Overcome by terror, Lan Xichen glared at it and shushed it.

“Quiet!” he ordered in the same annoyed tone he once used on his brother when they were children and Wangji had decided to learn the guqin on his own. The wolf growled again. Lan Xichen stomped his foot and changed his hold on Cunzhi so he could wave one arm menacingly, making his long sleeve waver before him. “I said quiet! I don’t have time to deal with this, so you’d better leave me alone!”

Noticing that the wolf seemed to be following the movements of his sleeve, Lan Xichen waved his arm more menacingly.

“Go!” he shouted. “Or else we’re both going to regret it! Go! Go now!”

The wolf hesitated, snarling at Lan Xichen who continued shouting, stomping, and waving his free arm until the animal decided that this prey wouldn’t be worth the effort. It walked away, turning to check on Lan Xichen every few steps. Lan Xichen continued shouting until he figured that the wolf was far enough, at which point he ran to Shuoyue, jumped on its back, and sent it running. The horse, just as terrified as its riders, galloped for longer than was safe, until they reached the place where he was supposed to meet the others looking for Cunzhi.

Lan Xichen was the first one there, though Cunzhi and him were not alone for very long. After a little while, a group of riders joined him coming from the main group of nomad rather than those who had split off, among which were Khan Mingjue and Huaisang.

“You found him!” Huaisang said, bringing his horse closer. He looked at Shuoyue, drenched in sweat, trembling with exhaustion, and frowned. “Which did you push your horse so hard? It was not so urgent.”

“I was worried Cunshi would become sick,” Lan Xichen said, figuring there was no need to reveal his encounter with a wolf. “He seems unwell, no?”

“Cunzhi cold,” the toddler mumbled. “Was scary. Snow, and big dog.”

“Big dog?” Khan Mingjue remarked, coming close as well and taking the child from Lan Xichen. “What big dog?”

“It’s nothing,” Lan Xichen said, looking away. “We had an encounter, but nothing to worry at all. Cunzhi is safe, yes?”

Huaisang turned pale, and grabbed his husband’s wrist.

“You fought a wolf?” he asked. For a moment, Lan Xichen feared that his husband would get jealous over that chance for glory, but Huaisang’s face showed nothing but open concern. “Are you hurt? Did it bite you? Your hands are bleeding!”

“Not from the wolf,” Lan Xichen replied, a little embarrassed. “I’m fine, really. I just shouted at the wolf until it went away.”

The nomads, at first, stared at him as if he had insulted their ancestors. Before too long, Khan Mingjue burst out laughing, followed in this by the entire group except Huaisang who only looked more worried. They were all still laughing when Meng Yao and the others with him reached the meeting point. After being brought up to date on the situation, they started laughing as well, though at that point everyone was also complimenting Lan Xichen for handling that situation so well. Lan Xichen, who had just been terrified, accepted the compliments with humility, convinced he had just been lucky. If the wolf had been a little hungrier, or a little stronger, both him and Cunzhi would have been in trouble.

Later on, as they were alone in their tent and getting ready for the night, Huaisang cuddled against his husband’s side and made him give a more detailed account of the encounter. Huaisang shivered the whole time, and by the end of the story his expression was quite grim.

“You were very unlucky to have met that wolf,” he said, “but very lucky that things went so well. From now on, you need to carry a sword.”

Lan Xichen agreed. Several people had already told him the same thing, including the Khan himself.

“I guess now I understand a little better why my brother is like this,” Huaisang said. He paused a moment, pressing himself harder against Lan Xichen’s side who wrapped his arms around him. “Don’t tell Mingjue I said that. He’ll be awful if he hears I can agree with him sometimes.”

“Isn’t he always awful?” Lan Xichen teased.

“Only when he’s right,” Huaisang retorted with a pout. “Which happens far too often.”

Lan Xichen chuckled, and pulled Huaisang closer to him, until his husband was almost sitting on his lap. He’d get embarrassed in a moment when the Khan returned to their tent, but right then, as it finally hit him just how much danger he’d been in, Lan Xichen needed this too much to care about shame.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #Nomad nie #hjkdsfhjshfjs I hate this chapter so much #it was such a pain in the ass to write #and I'm pretty sure it kinda sucks #but sometimes you just gotta push through and write a boring chapter so you can move on to more interesting stuff #jau writes

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fallen420 · 4 years

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Rebel Spy - Chapter 12: The Trio

After all the chaos that happened with the ice planet, the frog lady, the baby eating her eggs, landing the practically destroyed crest, reuniting the frog lady with her husband, we finally seem to catch a break. These Quarrens know where other Mandalorians are and agreed to take us to them on their boat.

The baby's pod floats in between me and Din as we look out onto the ocean breathing in the salty air.

“You ever see a mamacore eat?” A Quarren says to us, “Quite a sight.” When neither of us responds the Quarren speaks again,” Child might take an interest. You should take a look. Come on over here.”

We follow the Quarren to the middle of the ship where there's a huge hole covered by a cage. We stand at the edge of it and we watch as the Quarren open the cage and drop fish inside. The Quarren is talking some more but I don’t listen.

I watch as the water begins to bubble and before either of us can react the Quarren pushed the baby's pod into the water right above the mamacore.

“No!” Din and I yell at the same time. Next thing I know I’m also being pushed in.

I hold my breath as I try to look around but it's no use in the murky water. I hear a splash and I know it's Din jumping in after us.

Din and I swim up to the top, grabbing onto the bars, coughing as we attempt to catch our breaths. The Quarrens above us hit our hands making us let go of the bars.

I take a deep breath and I sink back down once more. Din seems to be having more trouble than me as he goes back up for air sooner.

Once the burning in my lungs becomes too much I go back up with Din just in time to see a blue Mandalorian land and attack the Quarrens. Din continues to cough as we see two more Mandalorians land helping the first one.

I only get a glimpse of the first ones helmet but I immediately remember that day the first and only time I ever met her before today.

The cage opens again and I grab onto the edge holding myself up. Bo kneels down in front of the water and puts her hand out in front of me. I shake my head, “Him first.” She puts her hand out in front of Din and he takes it, “Theres a creature,” I say through ragged breaths, “Has my kid.”

As one Mandalorian helps me out the other jumps in to get the kid. Bo sits Din and the Mandalorian sits me next to him. “The Child help the child,” Din begs Bo, his voice strained from all the coughing.

“Don’t worry brother. We’ve got this.”

Din places a hand on my thigh and squeezes as we both try to catch our breaths.

After a few agonizing moments, the Mandalorian jumps out with the pod in her hands. She kneels down next to us and rips off the lid of his pod.

She takes him out and hands him to me. I make sure he's alright and I hold him close to my side. Din reaches over to brush his ear before looking back at the Mandalorians, “Thank you. I’ve been searching for more of our kind.”

“Well, lucky we found you first,” Bo says.

“We’ve been quested to deliver this child I was hoping that…” Din stops speaking when they take off their helmets

Oh no

Din stands up getting in defensive mode, “Where did you get that armor?”

“This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

“You do not cover your face. You are not Mandalorian.”

“Mando,” I say, stepping closer to him, “This is Bo-Katan, she was the leader of Mandalore. Last I knew of at least.” I know he's wondering how I know her but he decides to ask later.

“He's one of them,” the man says

“One of what?” Din asks.

“She's right, I’m of clan Kryze. I was born in Mandalore. I fought in the Purge. I am the last of my line. And you are a Child of the Watch.”

“The Watch?”

“Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society/ Their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.”

“There is only one way. The way of the Mandalore.”

Din walks over to the edge of the boat before I follow I whisper, “I’m sorry,” to Bo.

Din grabs on to me tightly, he turns on the jetpack, and we fly away.

“What do you mean it makes sense?!” Din practically runs ahead of me with the baby in his hands. We walk through the doc trying to get back to our ship. It's dark and both of us are very irritable after the past few horrible days we’ve been having.

“I mean it makes sense.”

“Would you care to explain?” he stops walking and turns around.

“I told you I knew another Mandalorian for some time. She had her helmet off most of the time. When I met you I figured you had older views.” He just huffs and turns around, “Just because your way is different than theirs doesn’t make you or them any less of a Mandalorian.”

“How is it that you know everybody?” He decides to take this argument in a different direction.

“You meet a lot of important people when you fight in a rebellion,” but that answer isn't good enough for him, “Look for a while I hung out with a crew and we went on a mission to save one of the members' fathers. Bo came in as reinforcements that's all.”

He turns around and keeps walking, “Look I can’t imagine what it's to know that something you’ve been told your entire life is not the complete truth. I’ll never know. But aren't you slightly open to the idea that there's another way?”

If he was planning on responding he doesn’t get to because Quarren comes out of the dark corner. “Hey!”

“Oh come on,” I whisper angrily at the fact that we have to deal with yet another problem.

The Quarren steps closer to us, “You killed my brother.” More Quarrens come out of the darkness.

“Let us pass,” Din says.

“I don't think you understand.” Din and I both notice the Quarren charging their weapons, “You killed my brother. And now I’m going to kill your pet.” My hand hovers above my blaster as he gets closer to us.

Luckily, Bo and the others come down to help us.

“They didn’t kill your brother,” Bo says, “I did.” Bo shoots and we all take that as a queue to shot the rest. Which we do. In just a few seconds all the Quarren are dead.

“Can we at least buy you a drink?” Bo asks.

“Please.” Is all I say before walking towards the nearest Cantina.

“Trask is a black market port,” Bo says. We all sit around at a table. The baby sits in between me and Bo. Dins hand finds my thigh again probably his way of apologizing for snapping at me earlier. “They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld. Once we do that we’ll seat a new Mandalore on the throne.”

“That planet is cursed. Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn’t control it, they made sure no one else could either.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. They wanna separate us. Mandalorians are stronger together.”

“That's not apart of our plan. I’ve been requested to take this child to the Jedi.”

“What do you know of the Jedi?”

“Nothing. Only what Auroras told me.”

“We were also hoping you could help,” I say, “I lost all contact with the ones I knew.”

“I can lead you to one of their kind, but first we need your help on our mission.”

Why is there always a mission?

“You see that Imperial Gozanti freighter?” Bo asks us. We stand on a broken ship in a junkyard of some type, looking at the freighter that is sitting on a doc, “It's being loaded with weapons as we speak. “According to the ports manifest, its scheduled to depart at first light.”

They explain how they scan for life forms before taking off which means that we have to fly up there once it takes off.

After discussing the plan Din and I drop the kid off with the frog lady where he will be safe. Both of us make sure to tell him not to eat any more of her eggs.

Before Din and I can even land, Bo and Koska take out the stormtroopers guarding the doors to the ship.

Axe uses a splicer to open the door. When it opens Bo runs inside killing the three stormtroopers that were waiting for us. The rest of us follow in behind her. Din and I stay further back and I’m slightly behind him since I don’t have beskar protecting me.

In front of us, doors open revealing more stormtroopers. We use the sides to take cover. Each of us shoots at the troopers as we slowly inch forward.

Lucky for us troopers have bad aim and we don’t so we take them out easily. We walk over the troopers' bodies and we carry on onto the next room.

We take an elevator into the cargo bay where the weapons are. Again we are met by stormtroopers. We take out the troopers in the hall but before we can enter the cargo bay the doors closed.

Without saying anything I walk over to the panels in front of us. I press a few buttons and the screaming confirms that the doors to the cargo bay opened making all the imps in there fly out.

I close the doors and I open the ones in front of us so we can get the weapons.

The Mandalorians start opening the boxes and admire all the weapons.

Bo talks on the comlink to one of the imperial officers "Oh, We’re not jettisoning anything. We’re taking the entire ship.”

“Huh?” I say in confusion.

“What?” Din also questions.

“Put some tea on we’ll be up in a minute,” She puts the comlink down and Din and I walk up to her.

“Bo, this is more than we signed up for,” I tell her.

“There is something I need to rule Mandalore. Something that was once mine. You were there when I first go it, Aurora.”

“You lost the darksaber?”

“I was stolen from me,” she says defensively, “Look they know where it is. Regardless, we are taking the ship for the battles ahead.

“I got you your weapons,” Din says, “We have to return to our ship with the foundling.”

“If you want my help finding the Jedi, you will help me take this ship.”

“You’re changing the terms of the deal.”

“This is the way,” she says almost mockingly.

She walks out and the other two follow leaving me and Din alone.

“The faster we do this, the sooner we can be back on the crest with the kid.” He just nods his head before following the others.

We start to make our way towards the front of the ship where the cockpit is. The ship moves suddenly and we all fall to the sides. Din grabs my hand as we hold on to the walls. The pilot is taking the ship down to try and get us off of here.

“Let's move!” Bo says. Din lets go of my hands and we both pull out our blasters, “There’s the bridge. Come on!”

There are more stormtroopers waiting for us and we take cover on either side of the doors.

“How many troopers?” Bo asks.

“Sit to ten. Two with heavy repeating blasters,” Axe answers her.

“We need to move now.”

“They have too much firepower!”

“Were still dropping,” Koska reminds us.

Din puts his hand in mine and he squeezes which means he's about to do something stupid. He lets go and he takes two charges out of his utility belt, “Be careful.” I tell him and he nods.

“Cover me!” Is all he says before running out into the trooper's blasts. All of the blasts bounce off his armor. I see him lay down before throwing the chargers where the stormtroopers stand.

I cover my face as fire and smoke begin to fill the area. Once it clears we run out and Din is already standing up, running towards the cockpit not giving me the chance to even ask if he's okay.

We open the door to the cockpit. Din grabs the pilot and throws him out of the chair. Din sits on the pilot's seat while I sit in the co-pilots.

We both grab on to the control wheels in front of us. Both of us pull up trying our hardest to stop this ship from plummeting into the ocean.

“Easy, easy,” Din says his voice strained from using all his strength to get this ship up

After a few moments of pulling up, we feel the ship start to go up in the air again. We both let go and start to catch our breaths.

“No!” Bo yells and as we turn around the imperial officer is on the ground.

“Look we have to go, he sent a distress signal,” I tell her.

Din and I stand up and Koska takes his spot.

“Are you sure you won’t join us?” Bo asks.

“There’s something I need to do,” Din says.

“The offer stands if you change your mind.”

“Where can we find the Jedi?” I ask her.

“Take the foundling to the city of Calodan on the forest plant of Corvus. There you will find Ahsoka Tano. Tell her you were sent by Bo-Katan. And thank you. The both of you. Your bravery will not be forgotten. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din repeats.

We get the kid back from the frog lady and her husband. We finally sit on the falling apart razor crest the kid seated in my lab as Din starts the ship.

Once he gets the ship in the air I ask, “Are you good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he doesn’t turn around to face me like he normally would.

“I mean with everything Bo said. Don't you wanna talk about it?”

“There's nothing to talk about Aurora.”

“Right, it’s always nothing isn’t it.”

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc #bo katan kryze #bo katan #baby yoda #agent whiskey #Frankie Morales #oberyn martell x reader #agent whiskey x reader #pero tovar #dave york

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