#each chunk on a single breath with bulging eyeballs

[touchmycoat]

fake white lotus AU pt. 3a

(had birthday dinner w family and went absolutely bonkers. So here's 3k of SY angry-ranting about fake!qijiu)

CW: canon-typical violence & child slavery/abuse

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom and a regime. The emperor of the regime, as was an emperor’s wont, sired dozens of children with gratuitous amounts of beautiful women and left all the women and children in a sequestered harem to main and kill and battle each other for spots of favor. Infants were poisoned in the womb. Faces that were once touted as the most beautiful of entire provinces were torn to shreds and fed to dogs. Concubines and crown princes alike rose and fell.

A number that no longer mattered was seven because at this point in the plot, the Seventh Prince had long since gotten rid of one through six—and also eight through fifteen for that matter. The Seventh Prince was no longer the seventh of anything; he was now the Crown Prince. But once, long ago, he hadn’t wanted the crown at all. He had been so far down the line, his mother dead and unfavored, that he thought he never stood a chance.

Then there was a kidnapping. A fumbled escape. Then there was a prince among the beggars in a slum, unfamiliar with everything except the heavy weight of awaiting death in all these people’s eyes.

And then there was the Protagonist.

All in all, Shen Yuan gave this Meet Cute-slash-Meet Awful a five out of ten for originality and a seven (six-point-five?) for execution. The backstory itself was neither special nor cliched, and seeing baby-Qi and baby-Jiu roughing it was effectively heartbreaking. Shen Yuan liked their thematically matching names. He liked Shen Jiu’s youthful effort at kindness. He liked the surprising depiction of Yue Qi as not a useless flower vase with nothing but annoying platitudes, but rather a boy who caught on quickly to the rhythm of survival because he was already used to it in the palace. He liked the stakes of Yue Qi not telling Shen Jiu his princely identity, first because he was wary of further betrayal, and then later because he didn’t want Shen Jiu to push him away for his royal status.

But what did Shen Yuan not like?

Oh not much. Just, like, everything after that.

The problem with Yue Qingyuan was that the author got all wishy-washy. The prince wasn’t laundry, Author-dada, so stop dumping him in the spin cycle! He was coming out each time all confused and inconsistent! Was he clever enough to take out all the other princes in the running for the throne or was he an idiot, blind to the most Basic™ of political intrigue tropes and needing Shen Jiu running to his aid at all times? Was he camped out in the angsting corner and self-sacrificing to a fault or did he kabedon Shen Jiu when the passion arose?? Did he take over the country because he was filled with idealism and determination to abolish the slavery and poverty that he couldn’t save the love of his life from or because he was a black lotus in his own right, matching Shen Jiu beat for beat in his quest for vengeance, getting back what he believed he was owed?!

Oh what was that, haters? Shen Yuan was being unfair? It didn’t have to be one way or another, Shen Yuan was not taking the author’s characterizations at face value and was instead projecting his own desires? Shen Yuan should just write his own Mary Sue self-insert if he wanted the Protagonist so badly?

Wrong! An offensively incorrect misdiagnosis! Shen Yuan knew all about false binaries, okay? There were more than two genders; ipso facto, Yue Qi could be both smart and an idiot, both self-sacrificing and self-serving.

—Like hell! There was a line here, one between having the cake and eating it too. The author wanted to eat the cake of the doting Gege-type, hiding his feelings behind a comforting smile because he only wanted Xiao Jiu to be happy, then there wasn’t going to be the same cake waiting in the fridge, this time with I should take this opportunity to kill all the competition filling inside! Fans weren’t your unpaid interns combing out your character kinks for you (in every sense of the word). Make it! Make! Sense!

But Shen Yuan may have digressed. The point was, Shen Yuan had the Crown Prince coming over for some afternoon tea yet had little idea which version of the character he was going to get. He’d tried to ask Ming Fan before Ming Fan left, all meaningful looks and trailing off:

So my last encounter with the Crown Prince…

To which Ming Fan had winced and found a far, faraway tree to squint philosophically at.

Surely the Crown Prince is a gentleman, and has long-since forgotten the incident.

Oh so now this comic knew how to do effective foreshadowing?!

Do you think he might—? Shen Yuan had pressed, at which point Ming Fan’s gaze had slipped over to Shen Jiu before—

Hurry up! We’re leaving!

Qing-gege ah! How could you do this to your Qing-didi?! And then shoot such an aggro glare before galloping off in a cloud of dust? Didn’t you know to never leave family and loved ones on a sour note? This was the perfect set-up for you to return to a burned down husk of a house and a remaining lifetime’s supply of regrets that you never told them you loved them, don’t you know! You foolish tragic hero!

…Not to jinx himself or anything, knock on wood. But who could Shen Yuan ask now to prepare himself? Not Shen Jiu—at least, not after the totally-not-tense, haha-of-course-not-why-would-you-even-think-there-was-tension-here conversation Shen Jiu and Luo Binghe decided to have, some days after Liu Qingge’s departure and the day before the Crown Prince’s visit.

Young Master Shen! Shall I prepare some desserts for you and your guest tomorrow?

That would be lovely Binghe, thank you.

It would be my honor. Attendant Shen, what are the Crown Prince’s preferred flavors?

…How would a common servant like myself know?

Oh my mistake. I just thought I heard a story in the market about Attendant Shen being called to wait on the Crown Prince at a prior banquet or some such.

(What the hell Binghe, jealousy this early in your courtship?? Take it from an old man: that wasn’t a cute look! Shen Jiu didn’t owe you anything, so don’t go taking a dip in the vinegar vat just because Shen Jiu poured a guy’s tea one time!)

Had Young Master Shen also been in attendance?

Hm, I forget. But I’m sure the Crown Prince will love the berry dessert you made yesterday as much as I did. Will Binghe get more ingredients for those?

Certainly Young Master Shen! I’ll go right now!

(Ah but who could blame a once-enslaved half-demon for being less-than-well-adjusted? Have no fear, your devoted reader was here! Love Doctor—or, no, gross, ew, let’s workshop that—was his name, matchmaking was his game!)

Attendant Shen, maybe you can accompany him?

Oh I’m sure that’s not nece—

For what?

(You roll around in ink you got up black—a.k.a. Jiu-ge, keep hanging out with Liu Qingge and you’d end up only knowing how to speak in gruff demands!)

Well Binghe’s new to our Estate. If you show him around town I’m sure no one will give him trouble.

I wouldn’t want to take Attendant Shen from his duties—

I’ve wrapped up my duties. Certainly I can accompany him, Young Master Shen.

(Score! All aboard the Bingjiu train!)

Only, I can’t do my hair up properly.

(Blink. Blink blink. Right, the arm injury. Shen Jiu had honestly looked so natural with his hair down, gathered back at the nape of his neck with only a strip of ribbon that Shen Yuan had completely forgotten it wasn’t his typical neat and classy half-bun.)

Oh sure, let me—

This servant can do it!

(Great, now what the heck was this development?! Shen Jiu going tense? So sure, yes, Luo Binghe had been the one to deal him the injury but were they running the trauma storyline now? Regroup Shen Yuan, regroup. Obviously this was where Young Master Shen insisted on doing up Shen Jiu’s hair right in front of Luo Binghe, and Luo Binghe would be angry-mad-jealous except he knew he didn’t deserve Shen Jiu’s trust, not after losing control of his demon form and injuring Shen Jiu the morning after he arrived. Therefore on their trip out to market Luo Binghe would keep his distance and the tension would be rising—until bam! Shen Jiu was suddenly in grave physical danger (a runaway carriage was always a cheap classic here) and Luo Binghe would leap into action! Luo Binghe would return to his distance once the danger had passed but now Shen Jiu would know those demonic hands that had once hurt him were actually capable of protection and warmth, okay okay Shen Yuan you’re doing fine, you’re still on track here.)

I’ve got it. Attendant Shen’s been trying to teach me how to do this pin for ages, anyhow.

Time to see if Young Master Shen has the talent to be a personal attendant.

Right, so there was that whole conversation, plus or minus Shen Yuan getting to brush and handle Shen Jiu’s Protagonist hair on his Protagonist nape (and no Shen Yuan was not getting a bite of that tofu—Shen Jiu murmured something about it being hot outside! Shen Yuan had to get the hair off his neck!). Luo Binghe had put Shen Jiu on the defensive so Shen Yuan hardly expected Shen Jiu to be open to a sleepover type of heart-to-heart, all so what do you think the Crown Prince is like as a person? Like, is he the forgiving sort? Will he let the Young Master he believes has been systematically ruining his beloved’s life go unpunished for those sins? El oh el, asking for a friend. All Shen Yuan had to go on was Ming Fan’s foreshadowing, Luo Binghe’s street gossip, and of course the holy fucking doctrine of the original comic.

In the original comic, Shen Jiu and Yue Qi reunite one warm spring night. Shen Jiu had been making a last-minute delivery of live pigs and Yue Qingyuan had been escaping the royal banquet; it was the night of the Crown Prince’s engagement to the Young Master of the great merchant House of Shen and Shen Jiu, caked in a day’s worth of livestock grime, stumbled upon Yue Qingyuan hiding in the back garden.

Shen Jiu, who had agreed to come in the first place in order to seek out potential connections, put on his best customer service smile and called out, pardon this servant Young Master, but we’re to close the backdoors behind us. Will you reenter the banquet so this servant can lock up?

And Yue Qingyuan, who had shot up the moment he sensed another’s presence intrude on his woeful solitude, yes, yes of course, I apologize for getting in your—Xiao Jiu?

…Qi-ge?

And the rest was history…more like shitstory! To be fair, the primary reason it was so bad was because Shen Yuan knew it could’ve been so good. As a wise woman once sang, we could’ve had it all!

Shen Jiu and Yue Qi’s reunion in the garden revealed the circumstances of their separation: that Yue Qi had been entirely ready to give up palace life and stay in the streets, picking up small jobs and here and there and waiting by the Qiu Estate’s backdoor at sunset, hoping to catch Shen Jiu on his way to do evening chores and give Shen Jiu a little candied snack or two. The more Yue Qi saw Shen Jiu though, the more he saw Shen Jiu injured, coming out of the Qiu Estate limping, bandaged, bloodied.

It hardly took a genius to understand, but what were two helpless children to do? Uh, plan a murder, was what. Or at least an escape with a side order of murder, extra red sauce. Shen Jiu wanted out and Yue Qi’s resume had under Work Experience years spent dodging assassination attempts; the two kids quickly hatched a plot involving fire, stabbing, and a small stash of money Yue Qi managed to put away.

Too bad that, when the day of the scheduled escape came, Yue Qi was recognized by a distant cousin’s uncle’s cousin, who wanted to bring him back to the palace not out of the kindness of her heart but as a bargaining chip. Yue Qi ran for it, heading straight to Shen Jiu to warn his best friend that the plan was off. Shen Jiu made the call to stay the course since the plan involved them both fleeing town anyways. But nothing lined up, the traps didn’t spring to plan, and soon the cousin had Yue Qi and Qiu Jianluo had Shen Jiu. The last they saw each other was Shen Jiu slamming the estate doors shut between them, yelling for Qi-ge to go already, go get help, Shen Jiu would wait for him to return.

And of course Yue Qi wouldn’t, not until it was too late. Back in the palace he was tied up, gagged, drugged, caged. If you know what’s good for you, Concubine Lin had hissed, you’ll stop making such a ruckus and pretend you know nothing.

So Yue Qi did. He played the smiley cowardly idiot until all the factions in power finally left him alone. His first attempt to get information on Shen Jiu got an innocent servant boy set upon by hunting dogs and brutally killed; the boy had been a year younger than Shen Jiu, also enslaved, and Yue Qi wouldn’t try again for a year. By the time Yue Qi had amassed enough power of his own—by the time Yue Qingyuan had earned his name in his Imperial father’s eyes—to discretely send for intel, the Qiu Estate had been empty for months.

A mass execution, came the report from a neighbor, the dragon whiskers-candy stall Yue Qi used to buy Shen Jiu sweets from all the time. Nasty, nasty business. All the slaves dead because of one traitor. Young Master Qiu said he wanted a clean slate.

Yue Qingyuan would end up buying the old Qiu Estate and “accidentally” burning it to the ground, but it would only ever be a pitiful, futile gesture at vengeance. He couldn’t even find Young Master Qiu to exact vengeance because the entire Qiu merchant caravan had been slaughtered by robbers on some dangerous roads. Yue Qi finally had his hands on immeasurable power but it was all for naught—the one person he needed it to save was long dead, long gone.

…Or so he thought. Here we go live audience members, place your bets: how did the reunion go, between the Crown Prince who thought a slave dead and the slave who thought himself abandoned? Start things off with a slap? Yes! Ten points to the lady in the back! Shen Jiu, for all of his connivance and self-control, couldn’t help but go red in the eyes. Here was the boy he saved who promised to save him back but then didn’t. Here was the boy he cleaned and dressed now in the cleanest and finest dress of all. And here he was, holding the memory of Qi-ge so close to his heart as someone who did not deserve his lot in life. Well Shen Jiu was right—Yue Qingyuan did not fucking deserve this.

The gentleman in blue! What was that? Yue Qingyuan would not explain? Absolutely correct, you get ten points! In the face of Shen Jiu’s distress, no explanation for his prolonged absence seemed good enough, especially not now that Yue Qingyuan was well-fed and dolled up and so close to the seat of power. As far as he was concerned, he’d failed Shen Jiu; there was no fixing the past, only the things he could secure for Shen Jiu going forward. He would not be losing track of Shen Jiu again though, that he vowed. He may not be a hero, but he would never again not be there when Shen Jiu needed him.

Scholarly looking person in the front row! Hm, so you believed the best way to capitalize and build on the emotional valence here would be to keep Shen Jiu’s sense of betrayal, probably have Shen Jiu reveal he worked under the House of Shen and have Yue Qingyuan eagerly volunteer to aid in Shen Jiu’s cause? And that there would be something delicious and true about Shen Jiu being the fake white lotus to everybody but the Crown Prince, the most high stakes character you anticipated needed to be fake-white-lotused the most? Oof, unfortunately no points for you, because Shen Jiu actually decided to lovingly stroke Yue Qingyuan’s face after the slap and pivot into the but I know you must’ve had your reasons part of the script that nobody asked for or wanted! Like what even was the point of setting up the perceived betrayal then, hah?!

Emo-styling person with the cat ears, what do you have to say? Perhaps that was Shen Jiu deciding to fake-white-lotus Yue Qingyuan as well, and maybe there was something to be salvaged in the one-way mirror setup of Shen Jiu thinking he’d successfully fooled Yue Qingyuan with his white lotus persona but Yue Qingyuan actually seeing the most ruthless and manipulative sides of him the whole time and was okay with it? Yes wouldn’t that be spicy, maybe have Liu Qingge walk away first upon seeing past Shen Jiu’s mask, only for Yue Qingyuan to declare he already knew? That would definitely be a viable path had Shen Jiu’s forgiveness not been wholly, diegetically, irrevocably, canonically authentic—thanks to the author-dada. No muss, no fuss, no plausible deniability left under all the pink bubble-sparkles and closeups of tear-filled, longing gazes. No points for cat ears. No point to any of this fertile backstory, because at the end of the day it was just two boys, one obtrusively big cliché.

Hence—circling all the way back—Shen Yuan’s dilemma. His complicated state of knowing but not actually knowing anything.

[kyle-writes]

Pit Stop: Part 4

((yep.))

_______________________________________

Dylan felt like a thousand eyes were staring daggers at him as he maneuvered his way through neighborhood after neighborhood, passing empty houses and unidentifiable piles of meat. Streaks and stains of blood told tale of unbelievable violence and terror. Yet the engine of his motorcycle was the only sound in his ears, and he was the only moving thing. Or so he thought.

Dylan had no idea how long he’d been riding around looking for the school when the little boy on the bright red bicycle appeared at the side of the road. The boy was dressed in a black jacket and faded blue jeans. He stared with wide eyes as the older man slowed and stopped, his head following along.

Apprehension gripped Dylan, and he felt a small pang of guilt along with it as his hand instinctively went to the hidden gun within its holster at his hip. He stopped just short of grabbing it. “What the hell are you doing out here, kid?” Dylan asked raspily. He cleared his throat. This kid was only the second living thing he has seen in Harterville since his arrival.

“I dunno,” the kid said, adjusting his position in the bicycle seat, which squealed loudly under his weight. “Just ridin’ my bike, I guess.” The casual way he spoke, like there weren’t body parts lying in the grass just a dozen or so feet behind him.

Dylan felt a lump forming in his throat, “W-What happened---,” he began.

“Doesn’t matter,” the boy spoke before Dylan could get his question out. That’s when Dylan noticed there was a small bump in the boy’s left cheek. “What are you doing here? You ain’t from here.” The boy’s lips puckered and he made a loud suckling sound as the lump shifted from the left to the right.

Sweat streaked down Dylan’s face and into his eyes but he didn’t move to clear it away. “I was just---,”

The boy’s left arm shot up suddenly and a thin index finger extended, pointing further down the street. “Take the next right, then go down two blocks and turn left. Couple-a miles after that and you should hit the school.” His arm dropped and he stared at the older man with eyes that were slowly becoming bloodshot.

“Thanks, kid,” Dylan said, quickly turning his attention away from the boy.

The boy grinned, mouth growing far larger than it should have, cracked lips peeled back revealing twin rows of dagger sharp teeth. Held lightly between the fangs was a single, bleeding eyeball. When Dylan’s eyes gave one last, quick glance the boy chomped down on the eye, sending a thick, gooey substance squirting out over his chin. The boy laughed, black ooze dripping from his now-empty eye sockets, as Dylan peeled out.

Roaring laughter echoed in Dylan’s ears as he took the first right turn in a tight arc, he didn’t dare look back. But he didn’t have to. Halfway down the street, parked at the curb was a little red bicycle with a grinning creature in a black jacket and blue jeans. On the front of the bike was a wire basket, and in that basket was the bloodied head of an adult, the flesh around the neck hanging in ragged shreds through the gaps in the basket. Dylan sped up. The creature began to laugh even harder, twisted grey flesh bulging from the ever shrinking clothes.

“YOU’RE GOING TO DIE HERE!” the creature howled as Dylan sped by it, he felt flecks of its spittle land on his face.

When the time came to turn left, Dylan slowed down to take it easy. The first thing that greeted him after the turn was, again, the monstrous creature on the bright red bike. Though it really wasn’t sitting on it anymore so much as the bike had become a part of its body, grey-black folds of wriggling flesh poured over it. It was still laughing, and now wearing a necklace of severed heads that bounced on its multiple chins. Each head was connected to another via a thick strip of barbed wire that went in the mouth and came out the back of the head. To Dylan it looked as if the heads were writhing. Somehow still alive.

Dylan slowed to a stop a good fifty yards away from the creature, its great yellow eyes glaring at him with unmistakable hate. Just turn around, he thought to himself, hands tightening around the leather handgrips. Just turn around and drive the fuck out of here…

“TOO LATE FOR THAT.” The creature shouted at him, “YOU WERE OURS THE MOMENT YOU STOPPED.” The massive creature gurgled and took one struggling step forward.

In one fluid motion, Dylan drew his weapon and fired three wild shots at the creature. The first two hit the monster in the torso and the third, somehow, hit it square in the left eye. The thing roared in pain, arms flailing as it struggled to stay on its feet.

“OW! YOU MOTHER FUCKER---,” but now it was Dylan’s turn to interrupt. Three more shots slammed into the monster, gouts of thick, yellow-grey blood pouring out of the wounds. “GRRR, STOP IT!” the monster howled, now drooling uncontrollably.

What are you even doing? Asked the voice in Dylan’s head. It was a mixture of his own…and his ex-wife’s. Gracie. You need to learn to mind your own business. The Ruger clicked empty and Dylan moved quickly to reload, moving on a deeply ingrained instinct he’d learned from hours and hours at the firing range. But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? That thing was right. You’re so knee deep in the shit now you couldn’t force your way out even if you wanted to. And that’s the thing: you don’t want to. The Ruger jumped in his hands, his arthritic hands twisted by decades of work as a mechanic. They ached now, the knuckles and joints of his fingers swelling visibly.

Perforated with dozens of bleeding holes, the creature had come to a full stop and was now leaned forward on its hands. It wheezed, struggling for each breath it forced itself to take. “FUCKER…YOU…fucker….” It gasped.

You push yourself into a place you don’t belong and try to take control. The voice continued as Dylan slowly lowered the gun, finally take a moment to wipe the sweat from his face. Because you can’t have a little mystery in your life, it makes you crazy knowing there are things out there that others understand and you don’t. Dylan slowly dismounted his motorcycle and, after checking to see if he still had bullets, began to slowly inch his way forward---towards the dying Thing.

With a loud thud the monster fell completely to the ground, its face upturned towards the approaching man. It tried to speak but only a wet wheezing would come out. Dylan saw that while most of its wounds were bleeding the yellowish puss, one shot in the side of its head was leaking….red. Crimson red. He stopped dead in his tracks ten feet away from the monster.

Mustering all of its strength, the monster lifted itself up on its bloated arms. It glared at Dylan with its one good eye with unmistakable malice. “You’re all like this. Right until the very end. Shit doesn’t matter until it’s happening to you, right? A bunch of self-absorbed ass…assholes.” The creature began to cough, globs of black ichor spewing out onto the grey, cracked road. That’s when Dylan noticed the monster’s skin was beginning to melt, sloughing off in liquidy chunks and dissolving into thick tendrils of foul smelling smoke. “If you…just would have…listened…she wouldn’t have started…this.” The creature’s strength finally gave out and it again crashed to the ground, face first.

Dylan stood there in shocked silence as the creature continued to melt. Before long, a small figure began to take shape within the dissolving flesh. His heart leapt into his throat. A boy, no older than thirteen, wearing a black jacket and blue jeans and filled with bullet holes, was revealed as the last of the flesh dissipated. He was completely still.

Holstering his weapon, Dylan knelt down and slowly reached out to touch the boy. Half of the boy’s face was covered in what looked like some sort of birthmark. A dark splotch against pale white skin. Pale blonde hair stuck to his face, matted with blood, some of it stuck inside of the eye socket Dylan’s bullet had pierced.

With a jerk, Dylan stood up, holding the hand he had touched the boy out like it was gangrenous. It was shaking. He realized he was shaking all over.

Just a kid

Just a kid

It was really just this little kid

Dylan fled back to his motorcycle and kicked it into gear. He tried to push the image of the dead boy out of his brain as he left it behind. Maybe it was human once, but…not in the end. No. The boy died a monster. That’s when Dylan realized the ring of heads was around the boy’s feet. It was real, but the heads weren’t moving. He almost stopped again to look back, but decided against it. He knew looking back would bring back his feelings of shame, he just didn’t understand why.