#but also. augh. stuff that i think. the translation doesn’t get across.

[yea-baiyi]

i just posted but i feel INSANE hua cheng’s entire appearance in the ghost groom arc is just symbolism.

when xie lian is alone (having sent everyone away, in danger but perfectly capable of fighting his way out), hua cheng steps in front of xie lian, offers his hand, and guides xie lian through the woods to where he needs to be. monsters cower before him, magical barriers don’t stop him, he steps on the skulls of enemies and crushes them so thoroughly that xie lian behind him feels like he is walking on flat ground. he doesn’t just swoop in without asking — he offers his hand, and waits, and xie lian willingly reaches out and lets himself be guided. and his grip is featherlight, even as he steers xie lian through danger and darkness. his blood rain warns away all who would dare harm them, but xie lian doesn’t get hit by a drop. and hua cheng does this all in his true form, not in disguise, because he’s not playing a character or trying to achieve anything, this is just him. despite not being confident enough to face xie lian directly, hua cheng has already shown him exactly who he is.

(now excuse me while i gnaw through an entire wall because how was this not glaringly obvious to me all along)

[shortstories-slp]

Paperback Writer

{Wu Honghui, born in the Hunan Province of China on October 7, 1996.}

{He has brown hair, hazel eyes (+wears glasses), weighs 130 pounds, and height 5’6”.}

{Homosexual}

{He is a writer mainly in the romance genre.}

Honghui rushes into his publisher’s office and slams down an overflowing portfolio.

“Mister Editor! I brought in a new draft. Please read it and give me feedback.” He yells over all the talk in the office, and everyone falls silent narrowing their eyes on him. A man a little older than him walks over and smiles, stating.

“Hello Honghui! I’m your new editor Feng Haoyu, but you can just call me Hao.” Honghui looks at him and he blushes.

“Ah. It’s nice to meet you Hao. Uhm. I just wanted to drop this off for you to read.” He mutters and slides the portfolio towards Haoyu, before making a beeline for the door. Haoyu smiles and takes the portfolio to his desk, beginning to read over the draft. He begins to make corrections to it.

Honghui sits on his sofa and pets his calico cat, thinking about Haoyu.

“I wonder what happened to Mister Gou?” He says to himself and sighs, shaking his head. He decides to read through his own copy of the draft to see if he can find any mistakes.

|A Few Hours Later|

Honghui rests his glasses on his head and sets down his red pen, pinching the bridge of his nose. His phone chimes and he opened his text messages, placing his glasses back on his nose.

Feng Haoyu: Hello Honghui! This is Feng Haoyu. I’m texting you to inform you that I’ve finished reading the draft. You can pick it up whenever you have free time.

Wu Honghui: Thanks Hao! ^o.o^ I will be there to pick it up tomorrow morning.

Feng Haoyu: Okay. See you then!

Honghui gets up from the sofa and walks into his bedroom, yawning. He takes off his glasses and slips into bed, falling asleep rather quickly.

|The Next Morning|

Honghui walks to a café and picks up an iced caramel macchiato, before continuing to the publisher’s office. He sips his macchiato and walks into the building, waiting near the front desk. Haoyu walks out to greet him and hands him the portfolio.

“I wrote comments in the margins, and I fixed a few grammar mistakes. Overall, it was alright.” He explains and Honghui nods, before asking.

“It was just alright?” Haoyu replies.

“Yeah. It was just like any other romance story.” Honghui feels a pang of hurt in his chest and mumbles.

“Why are you even my editor? I only write romance.” He turns on his heels and starts to head to the door, briskly.

Haoyu watches him leave and shakes his head, thinking.

‘You have the passion and drive to write better stories and genres, but you choose not to. Why is that?’

Honghui gets home and sits his portfolio onto the counter, staring at it.

“Hey Bean! I’m sure you can cheer me up.” He says to his calico cat, crouching down to scratch her chin gently. His phone chimes and he groaned, not wanting to open his message but he does so regardless.

Feng Haoyu: I’m sorry if what I said earlier came off as rude. I just know that you can write better things, but it’s not my place to tell you what genre to write. I hope that you will still work with me.

He looks at the message for a while, trying to think of how to respond to that. Honghui sits his phone down and distracts himself for a while, reading through the portfolio.

‘Haoyu did make a good point. I can do better than a traditional romance novel.’

He thinks and finally decides how he is going to reply to the text from Haoyu.

Wu Honghui:That was pretty rude of you to talk to me like that. e^e However, you can make it up to me by treating me to lunch. You were right though. I am going to make less traditional romance novels from now on.

Feng Haoyu: I wouldn’t mind treating you to lunch and great! I can’t wait to see how to change the rhetoric of the boring romance genre.

Honghui smiles at the message and locks his phone. He takes out his notepad and starts to write different prompts for his stories. After brainstorming, he narrows down the list and circles one of the prompts beginning to type on his computer. Honghui ends up falling asleep at his desk.

|The Next Day|

Feng Haoyu: Hey Honghui! Are you free to have lunch today?

Haoyu looks out the window of his apartment, feeling anxious about having lunch with Honghui.

Wu Honghui: Yes! Can we go to the sushi buffet place? OvO

Feng Haoyu: Of course! What is your address? I will pick you up.

Honghui texts his address to Haoyu and takes a shower, before getting dressed. He slips on his shoes and blushes when he remembers the situation, he is in.

‘Ah… this makes it seem like we are dating. I mean I don’t mind, but what about Hao? Augh!’

He thinks and struggles with his internal monologue but gets interrupted by his phone ringing.

Feng Haoyu: “Hey. I’m outside in the blue car.”

Wu Honghui: “Oh! I’m sorry. I will be out in just a second.”

Feng Haoyu: “Okay take your time. I will be waiting.”

Honghui composes himself and grabs his side bag, along with his house keys. He locks the door and walks out to Haoyu’s car, getting into the passenger seat. He buckles up and adjusts his glasses, before looking over at Haoyu.

“Okay. I’m all set.” He says in a chipper tone.

“Yeah. Let’s get going.” Haoyu says and starts to drive to the restaurant.

|At the Sushi Buffet|

They get seated at a booth near the back, sitting across from each other they fall into an awkward silence. Haoyu clears his throat and asks

“So, how long have you been a writer? Why do you like to write romance novels?” Honghui replies

“Well, I’ve been writing for about three and a half years now. I write the romance genre just because it is fun and appealing, but I want to make same sex romance novels too. They are pretty rare and… never mind.” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. Haoyu nods and supports him.

“That sounds like a stellar idea. I think you should go for it.” Honghui smiles and asks

“You really think that?” Haoyu replies

“Of course!”

They get greeted by a waitress and then get up to pile their plates with sushi.

|After Lunch|

“I fixed all of the stuff you marked in my draft Hao. So, I think it will probably be ready to publish soon.” Honghui says happily and pats Haoyu’s shoulder. Haoyu replies

“Well, give it to me when we go back to your house.” Honghui nods and gets into Haoyu’s car. He gets home and gets out of the car, looking at Haoyu.

“Just give me a minute and I will bring the revised version out to you.” He states and runs up to his front door, unlocking it. He heads inside and grabs the thick stack of papers, carefully carrying them out to Haoyu’s car. He puts them on the passenger seat and thanks Haoyu.

“Thank you for taking me out to lunch Hao. It’s been such a long time since I went out with someone. I mean had lunch with someone.” He stumbles over his words and blushes wildly. Haoyu smiles at him, causing his heart to race.

“I know what you mean. It was nice hanging out with you Honghui.” He says and drives off after Honghui shut the door.

Honghui goes into his house and mentally hits himself, thinking.

‘Now he probably thinks I’m a weirdo. Great.’

He walks into his office and starts to draft another story.

|A Few Weeks Later|

Feng Haoyu: Your story has been published and it is being printed right now. What languages do you want it translated to later?

Wu Honghui: Yay! *\(ouo)/* I wanted it translated to English, Japanese, French, and German eventually.

Feng Haoyu: Noted. Also, I never got to ask you this, but why do you use emoticons? It’s not very professional. You should limit yourself and try to sway off using them.

Wu Honghui: But I love using Emoticons. 3:< I don’t have to be professional talking to you, do I? You are only a year older than me. |||<(@o@)>|||

Feng Haoyu: I would prefer if you didn’t use them, but it seems like it can’t be helped.

|A Month After the Publishing|

Honghui sits out on his veranda and reads a book. His novel seemed to be a hit and it just passed the goal of selling 500 books. His phone rings and he shut his book.

Feng Haoyu: “Hey the office is having a celebration for your 500th book sale. It’s tonight. I can pick you up if you would like.”

Wu Honghui: “Will I have to get dressed up? I don’t want to but if I have too I will.”

Feng Haoyu: “No, but if you want to you can.”

Wu Honghui: “Okay. I will see you later.”

Honghui hangs up and gets dressed in a casual suit. He grabs his bag and waits for Haoyu to come pick him up.

|The Party|

Haoyu and Honghui walk into the office together and they start to hang out with Haoyu’s coworkers. They have cake and a few drinks. Honghui signs a few books and steps outside to get fresh air. Haoyu walks out after him and shifts his weight nervously, before walking closer to Honghui holding something behind his back.

“Hey Honghui. It’s been a few months since I’ve become your editor/publisher, but I feel like we are more than just writer and publisher.” He tries to explain his feelings and Honghui looks up at him. Honghui starts to ask him a question.

“Wait! Are you going to...?” Haoyu interrupts him and asks

“Honghui. Will you date me?” He pulls a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back. Honghui blushes and counters

“No. I mean yes, but what about you? This isn’t very professional and you yelled at me for using emoticons… This is more serious than that.” Haoyu hangs his head and responds defeated

“Yeah… I guess you are right. I will j-.” Honghui interrupts him this time and shouts

“I want to date you! As long as it is fine with your supervisor!” Haoyu smiles and replies

“My supervisor doesn’t mind. I can assure you of that.” Honghui hugs him tightly and mutters

“I am so happy right now!” Haoyu hugs him back and kisses the top of his head.

“I understand why you truly only write romance novels now… Honghui.” He states softly. Honghui looks up at him and smirks.

“Well, why is that?” He asks and Haoyu replies

“It’s a secret.”

[royalrastafariannaynays]

Laundry Pods, Ch 10/?

The fishy guy ended up giving you a list. He knows what eggs are, despite yours being strangely hard shelled, and he wants more of them. He also says to bring a few handfuls of seaweed, the gross tangly green kind, some clean sand from a tide pool, a thin knife, and... that was it.

You end up throwing a first aid kit into a couple waterproof ziplocs for the hell of it. And a bottle of clean, fresh water. To drink, in case you get stuck wherever the fuck this dude is hiding.

No one is downstairs to give you weird looks, thank fuck. When you venture beyond the first floor, no one is upstairs, either. Did they all go out?

Wait, Jake’s bedroom door is closed. Ah. Dirk is there to observe you, then. Or he’s uh... occupied. With what, you don’t even want to know. At most innocent, he’s sitting and pining over him in silence. The lack of crying noise is telling, however, and you’re really hoping he’s just sleeping.  

Blech.

The sand is spicy hot on your toes when you skid down off the last porch step again after inching the back door closed. Your satchel of random shit is heavy on your shoulder, and you make sure to be a bit careful. Don’t wanna break any eggs. 

Down at the beach, you feel the prod and welcome it fully into your mind. It retracts a tad from its next poke, and seems to sit respectfully just outside your surface thoughts. A series of locations and notions leads you to place the bag of stuff right on the end of the dock. You sit with it, eyeing the steep slope of the beach for a moment while you face the mental silence. 

“Uhm.” you feel. It’s not really the word so much as something like hesitation and stalling. You get the same feeling as a regular ‘um’ so you’ll just stick with that. 

“What?” you say out loud, still struggling in the translations and stuff. His language is so particular. Maybe like. Is it anything like hieroglyphics? Nah, can’t be. 

With some struggle on his part, FG (fish guy) admits that he can’t come out of wherever he is to retrieve the items. It takes him about five minutes of edging uncomfortably around his original statement, and then points out that with how he’s hurt, like. He can’t move to fish, so coming out to get the stuff is just short of impossible. 

“How am I supposed to get it to you, then?” you ask, frown tilting your brow. You drop your legs into the water, noting that with the level of the tide, it’s not that far from the top of the dock. 

“I think you’ll have to bring it to me,” FG says, with no small amount of fear and regret in his voice. So he’s scared of you, but he knows you have brittle bones and soft skin, and he could easily rip you apart for breakfast. 

There’s a deeper underlying fear there, too. It’s one that every sentient being sees. Maybe every being whose existence isn’t based on that fear. Death. He doesn’t want to die. Does he honestly think he’s going to die? 

“In case you didn’t notice, humans can’t breathe underwater,” you snark at him. 

The feeling you get next is long-suffering. 

“I’m aware, two-legs,” it tells you. “But fortunately I can breathe in both surface and ocean. So I am in a...” 

He hesitates. Either he’s not sure how to place it, or he doesn’t want to tell you. 

It seems to be a combination of both. 

He sends an image of the inside of a small cave, lit strangely blue. It’s bright, but damp and bare. 

“Please do not reveal this to other humans,” he... begs you. 

Oh God. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, not wanting to get into something too serious or dark. “I won’t. Show me how to get in there.” 

He probes a little further into your mind, laying down tiles of thought and mortar of intent and instruction. Images of the rock pile near the dock, and then a tunnel. Oh wow. There was a tunnel in there? That has to go down beneath the beach. Holy shit. 

Without delay, after trying your best to throw an affirmative his way, you drop the bag gently into the water. When you get in yourself, you dive, away from the bag. Its strings are harder to manipulate underwater, and you have to leave your shades on the dock, but when you get going, you feel like a regular fuckin merdude. 

Or somethin’. 

So anyways, FG is silent except for a few pointers on direction. Literal pointers. 

It’s hard holding your breath that long, and at one point you feel a little like you’re going to panic, but you give it one last shove through the two-foot-diameter, dark, rock passage. Surfacing feels like heaven, and you brace yourself on the edge of the water, gasping hoarsely. Okay, you need more breathing training. That’s going to be HELLA annoying to go back through. But at least you can just push off the bottom to get back to the dock. 

Once you’ve got some air back, though, you notice that the subterranean air pocket is a lot dimmer than FG showed you. It’s still lit enough to see, and still that same, strange blue. 

Something like a small and bubbling murmur touches your ears, and you look up. 

There he is. 

Fishy man sitting there, one arm held protectively over his middle. The other is bracing him up against the wall, claws digging harshly into the cave floor. There are a few scratches there already, leading away from the pool you’re still pruning in. 

“Hey,” you say. And he makes this bewildered face, ear-fins fanning out. His pupils are large in his eyes, which seem this weird purple-brown in the blue lighting. They don’t glow. 

But his entire body does. 

As you lift the satchel out of the water, you look him over from tail to hair. And man, he’s got a lot of hair. It’s just as wiry and scratchy-looking as it was behind the thin veil of bubbles. Other than that, and the single dorsal fin you see splayed out against the wall, same as his fanned ears, you can’t focus on anything but the glowing. 

Almost like they’re coming from beneath his skin, Fish Guy is covered in spots of brilliant luminescence. The spots range from teal to pink. Several ring his neck up and down like a necklace, or a collar, and the same trail up the sides of his face and back to his ears. Each tip of the earfins is spotted with little fragments of light. 

Those ones are red. But a majority of them are blue. Soft, blue, like glow-sticks if they were just given a little more ‘umph’. Constellations of little spots dot his torso in what’s probably interesting configurations if viewed from afar, and then all the way down his. 

Holy shit. 

His tail is like. It’s covered entirely by those same iridescent scales, like the one on your bedside table. The scales are also on his face, and neck, and everywhere that fins recede into his skin, like the backs of his arms and the webs of his fingers. 

No nipples, which is. 

Weird. 

Kyle XY shit with the lack of bellybutton, too. 

“Stop staring,” he says, and when you’re this close, it’s punctuated by a sharp snarl. It rolls from the back of his throat, and forward into his lungs, and even out the gill slits that dot the side of his torso. They seem plastered to him, just lines, right now. Maybe this is the...

“I said, stop!” he repeats. The prod turns to a knife for half a second, and you have to let go of the bag to hold the side of your head. 

The bag turns over, sliding a little open. The eggs tumble out, along with the chunk of seaweed. 

The seaweed which is immediately shoved into his mouth, and he begins to chew aggressively. It’s seconds before he’s done masticating it, and spits it out of his mouth, to press it to the hole on his tail that you hadn’t noticed until now. It’s kind of sitting there like a ripped sail, maybe eight inches of it. 

God, gross. Gross, yuck, augh.

“Will it grow back?” you ask him. He stares at you for a long moment. 

“Of course it’s going to grow back, coral-for-brains.”

“Alright, geez,” you say, and after a breath or two more, you heave yourself up out of the water. There’s enough room in here for the two of you to sit a good distance away from each other. So you set about unpacking shit. His stuff, including the eggs, none of which miraculously broken. 

And then your stuff, which is. The first aid kit. 

“You said your other wound re-opened, right?” you ask. FG pauses, egg shell crunching in his mouth and fingers poised to pick up another. 

“That’s none of your business, you can leave now.”

You huff out a soft noise of disbelief. “I brought something to help patch you up.”

“I am not a doll,” he says, hissing again. The hiss spatters you with tiny flakes of eggshell. 

“Okay,” you say, swiping some of it off your nose and mouth. “But I can help keep the thing closed so infection is less likely.” 

“I’m still mildly impressed you humans have made it this far,” he sneers at you. “How am I to know that your medicine isn’t just as deadly as your pollution? Or as useless as your lack of sharpteeth, which are perfect for meat.” 

“Uhm,” you say, like a real diplomat. That concept caught you off guard. You attempt to think it back at him, with a question attached. 

“You know, sharpteeth,” FG says. Like it’s obvious. 

“I just have regular teeth, man,” you say, waving your hands. 

FG frowns at that. He goes silent for another long moment, and contemplates while you just get radio static in every sense. And then he beckons you over. 

And, like only an idiot can do, you lean toward him and crawl a few feet. He’s so close he smells like heat and ocean. But not in the bad way, he smells... it’s odd. 

“What?” you ask, glaring at him to avoid just staring at his body again. That prick in the forehead was weird and nasty. “I just have regular tee-hhreaaugh-”

FG has his two first digits in your mouth. They hold it open, and his sharp claws are so close to vital parts of your face that you’re filled with a split second of fear so intense you’re surprised you don’t wet yourself. 

He pushes his hand forward, dragging sharply but not too sharply across your tongue, and the top of your two rows of what you think are pretty good fuckin’ teeth. The fingers are warm in your mouth, and they taste like brine and sand and something weirdly... oily that you can’t define, but doesn’t taste unpleasant. You can’t move, for fear of getting gored through the face or your gums cutting up. He’s caught you like a fish on a fucking hook, and he’s just leaning in to inspect your perfectly normal teeth. 

When he leans back, your face is so incredibly warm that you pull back as soon as his hands are clear of anything soft and fragile. “What the fuck!” 

“Turns out you don’t have sharpteeth, human. Very... odd.”

FG stares openly at you, then, dragging his eyes down your chest. His eyebrows go up with every new incredibly squishy feature you possess. 

“I guess two-legs are... weak.” 

You make what you hope is more of a noise of protest than a squeak. 

“We’re not that weak,” you splutter, and he imitates your complaint obnoxiously even as he shoves another egg into his mouth, biting down with... oh boy. His are uh. 

Sharp. 

Once that egg is gone, he faces you. FG slowly opens his mouth, pulling back his lips gruesomely to reveal a set of proper chompers. And now you know what he meant. All of his teeth are sharp, and you get the feeling they get more deadly with age. 

Blue, and also dotted with small glowing lines, a tongue darts out to run over his teeth in a way that really should not terrify you as much as it does. He sucks on the top row of shining ivory, making a smacking noise that makes you think less about kissing and more about how loudly your bones would crunch in his mouth. 

You edge toward the pool. 

Something like a hoarse coughing comes from FG’s throat, and he holds his stomach as he winces in pain. That was... a laugh. 

“I can’t believe I feared you, mere moments ago,” he tells you. And swallows another egg, this one whole. Ugh. Oh god. 

"I used to have longer canines, but I bit my brother with them and they got shaved off to dull when I was at the dentist,” you mumble, rubbing your shoulder as it twinges. 

FG’s tail relaxes once he’s done with the hilarity at your expense. And you see the wound, which weeps just so lightly with blood. It’s thinner than yours in color, almost like it’s diluted. 

“You can use your human medicine, or try,” he tells you, with a wave of his hand. “Why would you shave off a tooth? Are you insane?” 

“Humans have their own weapons, asshole,” you tell him, creeping over with the kit. There’s a suture set in here somewhere. You’ve given stitches to yourself plenty of times.

Despite him giving you permission and access, FG still growls defensively when you reach to dab at it with gauze. 

It starts with him snarling ferociously in pain at the first stitch, and then with him making soft and pathetic whimpering noises as you finish, while he sucks the insides pathetically from the remainder of the eggs. His stance is more relaxed by the end, though, fins laying down on his body, and glow just barely dimmer than before. 

He must have been really hungry. 

Looking at his half-closed eyes and perpetual grimace, one fang sticking up over his upper lip, you realize something important. 

You’re gonna need to learn how to catch fish. 

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