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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Note

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear 📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go.

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can��t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

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levitatingbiscuits · 3 years

Note

How would Anakin and the others react if they ever found out the truth about OB-1?

Kenobi was a cockroach. A thorn in Sidious’s side that never fell out no matter how many deadly missions the kindly old chancellor personally requested that he take. One might think that the exhaustion would make him sloppy, if nothing else, but Kenobi handled everything Sidious threw at him with a dogged determination and competence that seemed beaten into his DNA. At times he acted more like a droid programmed to be the perfect Jedi than a real, flawed sentient; obedient and selfless to a fault, utterly unwilling to advocate for himself but frustratingly eager to advocate for others. His Force signature never wavered, never fell out of balance no matter how Sidious stacked the scales.

Surely Kenobi must have some weakness, a psychological hangup to exploit or some emotional scar to rip back open. Sidious hired someone to slice into his Temple records, then hired a bounty hunter to take care of the slicer.

What he found was intriguing, but frustratingly incomplete. Wide swaths of the record from his time as a padawan were vague to nonexistent. There was nothing indicating why Jinn had taken him on in the first place, nor why he hadn’t returned to Coruscant at all for the first few years of his apprenticeship.

Sidious knew how to hide things. It made him very good at sniffing out others’ secrets.

Weeks of snooping eventually led to Halle Burtoni, the senator from Kamino, who told him the delicious truth of the matter without even having to be bribed or threatened for it. She was eager to brag; the Jedi clone was Kamino’s most successful product.

And so Sidious kept the truth to himself, waiting for the most opportune moment to twist it to his will.

Rex shares an eye roll with Cody when Skywalker steps out of the command tent to take a “very important comm message.” It’s either the chancellor or Senator Amidala; Skywalker never answers that quickly for anyone else.

General Kenobi stands hunched over the holotable, projecting the terrain where the newest Seppie stronghold is. The locals are, as usual, worse than useless when it comes to defending their own planet, so Kenobi’s brow is already pinched even though they haven’t yet seen combat.

Rex is never sure how to help his oldest brother when he gets like this. With any other brother he would; ages hardly mattered among the rest of the vode, but Kenobi holds both seniority and authority over the rest of them. He takes his role as ori’vod, as their protector and leader, seriously, even though most of the GAR don’t realize the meaning behind it.

Rex can’t understand it. His brothers are the most important thing in the galaxy to him, but Kenobi gets all of the responsibility with none of the brotherhood. He’ll respect his wishes to keep it quiet, all the same.

Skywalker comes storming back into the tent, scowl thunderous and saber ignited, and Rex jumps to attention--has there been an attack?

“Anakin?” the general asks, straightening up. “What’s--”

And then Skywalker levels the saber at a startled General Kenobi.

Cody’s hand is immediately on his blaster, but he doesn’t draw. Rex doesn’t either. He has no idea what to do.

“What in the Force’s name has possessed you now? Were you eating strange bugs again?” Kenobi demands irately. He makes no move to draw his own saber. His trust in Skywalker is, even in this situation, absolute.

“Shut up,” Skywalker snarls. “Captain, Commander, restrain this man.”

“General Skywalker, I cannot allow you to do this,” Cody snaps, shoulders tense with anger.

“He’s an impostor!” Skywalker yells. “A clone!”

Rex’s stomach sinks like a tubie learning to swim. If Skywalker hadn’t known Kenobi was a clone beforehand--if nobody had realized but him--

“He replaced Obi-Wan for kriff knows how long, and no one noticed!” Behind the mask of rage, Skywalker’s eyes are frightened. “I didn’t notice!”

Rex had. Rex had noticed almost as soon as the damn war started.

Cody, who doesn’t know that it was the clone who had earned his loyalty instead of the natborn, jumps to cuff him after that. Kenobi doesn’t struggle. Rex starts to help a few seconds later, mind a screaming void of panic and guilt, and his heart clenches when Kenobi cuts him a concerned, questioning glance.

This may be a Seppie spy, may be an enemy that Rex helped, but he’s still acting like a brother.

“I suppose I always knew it would come out eventually,” Kenobi says once he’s chained to the center tent pole. He doesn’t sound mocking or angry or even worried. He sounds resigned.

“Drop the act,” Skywalker orders. “You’re not Obi-Wan, stop pretending to be him.” He looks deeply unsettled. Rex has only ever known the clone Kenobi, but Skywalker must have grown up with the original.

Kenobi meets his eyes steadily. “This is what I was made for. I’ve always been him.”

“I don’t care what the Separatists told you, you are not him,” Skywalker says.

For the first time, Kenobi looks surprised. “The Separatists? I wasn’t commissioned by the Separatists, that’s ridiculous.”

Skywalker is incensed, but Cody looks ashen. This must be overwhelming for someone who thought Kenobi was a natborn until a minute ago. There’s also the sobering implications of a third party with the power to dispose of, and replace, a Jedi Master, without anyone noticing. How many more Jedi could be plants?

Surprisingly, it’s Kenobi who breaks the silence. “I understand your... reservations, but this frankly seems like an overreaction. We are in the middle of a campaign, Anakin--”

Skywalker backhands him across the face. The loud crack that reverberates through the tent tells Rex that it’s with the metal one.

“Shut up, meat droid!” Skywalker roars. Rex feels sick and hot hearing that term from his general. “You aren’t him, so stop acting like it.”

Kenobi breathes deeply through his nose for a second. His lip is split. “I understand that my discovery means that I will be decommissioned, as per contract, but I must advise that doing so in the middle of a war is a waste of resources.”

It is very, very strange to hear High General Kenobi talk about being decommissioned so frankly. Every other clone is terrified of being decommissioned, of being recycled into raw organic matter for more clones to be grown from, like natborns are of death. Kenobi talks like he’s always known it would happen eventually.

“You are vastly overestimating your own importance, clone,” Skywalker says, and Rex has to fight not to flinch at the anguish that darts across Kenobi’s face. “Tell me where Obi-Wan is.”

“Dead,” Kenobi says, the word as loud as a detonation. “He’s been dead for years.”

Skywalker stumbles back. “No,” he says, voice trembling. “No, I would have known. I would have felt it.”

“How could you have felt it?” Kenobi pleads, “Anakin, you have me.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

The interrogations continue for days. The men are confused and restless, the campaign indefinitely put on hold. The 212th are especially restless, having gone days without word from their general. Even Cody drifts aimlessly around the camp without saying much to anyone. Rex thinks he’s mourning, but doesn’t know how to tell him that he probably never even met the prime version of his general without getting decommissioned himself for not reporting General Kenobi’s clone status sooner.

Rex and Skywalker are the only ones who go into the command tent, now. Rex technically isn’t supposed to, but Skywalker definitely isn’t following POW protocol and Kenobi won’t be able to answer any questions if he doesn’t at least get water.

Rex goes there now, once it’s past dark and Skywalker is holed up in his own tent. The 501st clones guarding the tent look just as conflicted as he feels; he doesn’t envy them for having to listen to the interrogations. Not many of the men know who’s in there, because if too many of the 212th find out there will be a real risk of widespread mutiny. Hell, learning that their general is a clone would just make them more loyal, not less.

Kenobi’s face is so bruised, beaten, and bloodied that it’s almost unrecognizable. He thinks that’s probably why Skywalker did it in the first place.

Rex kneels next to the tent pole to help Kenobi sip from a canteen, and is shamefully relieved that he doesn’t bother opening either black eye. His hands are still bound behind his back; it looks like Skywalker’s broken a few of his fingers. From the way he winces when Rex touches him, he’s probably broken more than just that.

“Sir, you have to answer his questions,” Rex whispers, both to avoid being overheard and to keep his voice from wavering. “I... I’m worried Skywalker is going to kill you.”

“Oh, he definitely will,” Kenobi rasps once he’s chugged the whole bottle. His chuckle is wry and forced. “No use denying the inevitable.”

“Why can’t you tell us who commissioned you? Are they a threat to the Republic?”

“No, he was just as loyal as you or I,” General Kenobi says. That’s all he’s said to Skywalker for the past few days: I am loyal to the Republic. He learned pretty quick that saying anything else that wasn’t an answer to a direct question wouldn’t end well. “And even if he weren’t, he’s long dead.”

“As long dead as your prime?”

“No,” Kenobi says, beaten face unreadable but body tense, “Not quite so long as that.”

Rex scrubs a hand over his shorn head in frustration. “Why are you protecting him, if he’s dead? You’re the only one who will be hurt if you refuse to talk.”

“Because Anakin would be hurt,” Kenobi says softly. “Anakin worships him. Loves him far more than he loved me, if he ever truly did.”

Rex wants to refute that. Anyone who’s seen them interact before this fiasco would know just how deeply Skywalker respects and trusts his master, but...

All those feelings are for the prime. They are not for the clone that took his place, so fully and flawlessly that even the man who loved him best never noticed.

“So Skywalker knew him?” Rex probes. The general’s silver tongue is looser than normal today.

“I doubt anyone truly knew him but me. No one ever suspected... no one cared enough,” Kenobi murmurs, head slumping to the side. Rex puts a gentle palm on the least bloody part of his forehead, and hisses when he finds it hot.

“Kriff, you’re burning up, vod. You need a medic.”

Kenobi doesn’t respond. He might be unconscious.

Rex sits in a dark tent with a cloned Jedi, a brother, who might be dying right beside him, and makes a choice.

The comm takes a while to connect (come to think of it, Rex has no idea what time it is in the senate district on Coruscant) but then there’s Fox, looking sleep deprived and livid, as always.

“CT-7567? What the hell is going on with the Open Circle fleet? You haven’t contacted the Order in a week, the senate thinks you’re either dead or MIA.”

“Vod, you have to help me,” Rex begs, surprising Fox into silence. “Contact the council. Tell them Skywalker is killing General Kenobi.”

#Anonymous #clone obi-wan au #whump #torture #abuse #interrogation #misunderstandings #miscommunication #my writing #obi-wan whump #sorry about the wait y'all

134 notes · View notes

another-fantasy-world · 4 years

Text

Strings Pt. 2

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x Fem!OC

Summary: in which the true queen of vampires found love when she least expected.

Warnings: ...Light Angst? Slowburn and mentions of death,trauma and depression

Timeline: Breaking Dawn - Post-Twilight

Word count: 4, 200 words

!Extra long chapter!

GIF isn’t mine

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The witch couple somehow got Rosalie to agree to their terms, much to her distaste. She still doesn’t know what it is that irks her about the couple, she does not trust them, at all but, she trusts Carlisle. Plus, right now, they have more important matters to attend to.

Various thoughts run through Rosalie’s head, as she stands in the vast snow covered field. She may not show it, but she worries for her adoptive sister as Alice strides through the field handing Aro her hand for him to go through her thoughts and visions.

“Now you know. That’s your future, unless you decide on another course.” Alice states when Aro dropped her hand in shock

Rosalie stands rigid, observing silently as she glares and snarls at their “Royalty”, eyes pitch black. She knows in herself that she would do everything for her family, even if it costs her, her life. She stands there, watching as another hybrid walks into the field, she watches as they question him, She watches as Bella sags slightly in relief knowing that Renesmee is immortal and finally, she smiles knowing that they’ve won as the red-coated vampires blurs into the distance.

Joyous screams of victory rips through the air as she joins her family as they rejoice, happy that they did not have to fight the Volturi today. Together, they walk back to their house where their witnesses say their farewells and leaving.

“We won!” Maggie squeals are she rushed into Rosalie’s arms with Emmett trailing behind her

“Yeah, Yeah. Now I have to suffer an immortal life with the smell of wet dog wafting through the air.” Rosalie smirks

“Hey! I heard that!” Jacob complains

“Tsk. You were supposed to.” She retorts as she walks to Carlisle who was holding Esme in his arms.

But as she was walking, she was suddenly thrown into a void, cold, dark, and starry? She was confused as she looks around, panicking when she couldn’t move.

“What the fuck is going on?!” She tries to move her body but she couldn't, she then feels her body get thrown around like a rag doll.

“This is worse than being forced to ride that death machine. What was is called? Rollie? Roller coaster?” She grumbles in her head as she wills herself to not puke. She didn't even think vampires could still be nauseous.

That went on for what seemed to be hours before she was finally dropped into the ground. Opening her golden eyes, her orbs seemed to hyper focus on the gigantic trees and the creatures that live in it. Her ears then pick up the sound of groaning, turning her head, she sees the rest of her family sprawled all over the forest floor.

“Oh my God! Amore! You didn't have to paralyze them that hard!” Veronica thumps Amore in the head.

“I sincerely apologize for what she has done. We needed to take you far away from Forks, The Volturi Coven changed their minds and decided to ambush you and your witnesses. Fear not, your witnesses have been teleported to their homes safe and sound.” Veronica explains while still glaring at the pouting Amore.

“What was that anyways?” Edward groans as he sits up'

“Teleportation. I needed to paralyze you, that lowers the chance of you losing a limb.” Amore explains while Veronica cast a cloud of blue upon them, seemingly healing their “injuries”

“Cooooool. Can we do it again?” Emmett brightens like a child getting a puppy for the first time.

“No.” They all deadpanned at him making Veronica and Amore chuckle.

“Well, I suggest we get going now, even with our speed, it's still a long way to run.” Veronica dusts herself off as she and Amore help the family up and the still dazed shifters.

“Long way to run where?” Jacob asks, utterly confused.

“To the palace of course.” Veronica smiles

“It's high time you guys meet the Queen.” Amore smirks and winks as she speeds off, followed by Veronica then the Cullens and then the Black Pack.

Anastasia pinched her temples in pure stress, the Cullens were coming to visit and everything was in utter chaos. Mud was smeared all over the walls, broken dishes and glass cluttered the floor as little children run past her, screaming her ears off.

“Lance, darling. Clean this up before I rip someone's head off. Make sure this place is spotless before the guests arrive. Get the pups back to their mothers, the children back to the village and contact Maxine, there's a few shifters accompanying the Cullens. I'll be in my lab.” She orders her personal butler who scrambles around trying to get people to help him.

Anastasia ventures down, down until she reaches her own personal laboratory where she herself develops her own type of blood. She's repulsed by the thought of drinking from a clueless human no matter how annoying they are and disgusted at the thought of killing an innocent animal just so she could satiate her desire of drinking blood. And because of this artificial blood, her eyes slowly turn into the rich dark violet that it is now.

As she works, combining different substances and powders that vary colors, her mind drifts to a certain blonde girl. Anastasia for the life of her, cannot even think of what she would do where she faces the blonde beauty, not when her heart if filled with guilt.

1932 Rochester, New York

Anastasia roamed the streets as she keeps her eyes trained on the single glowing golden string attached to her, amongst the other colors. She was born this way, even when she was just a little human, she could always see strings. Of course her feeble mind at that time didn't understand what it was, but now she could. As a vampire, she practiced and willed her strings to be more color coded, since the mere chaos of tangled strings give her a headache. The strings connected each creature in this world, once you make an acquaintance, a blue string connects the two of you and that soon escalates into different colors, However, one color lets her see soulmates, and that's green, which is why she's now following this glowing gold string to wherever it may go. She was tempted to just yank the string as hard as she could and let the creature on the other side find her but somehow, something was holding her back.

As she walked the streets of New York, head held high, she also ignored the stares that she got while walking. She knew why of course, her Italian clothing much different from the posh American clothing everyone around her has, not to mention she was wearing clothes meant for “men” but she never was the one to abide to gender constructs. She also couldn't, for the life of her, think about what she would do when she meets the creature on the other end of the string. Should she kill it? Should she keep it? Should she protect it? Should she-

Her thoughts were then interrupted when her eyes suddenly tunnel visioned. There 'it' was, the 'creature' on the other end of her string, 'it' was actually a woman. An insanely attractive human, being fawned over by boys as she walks by and she was smiling at the small group girls crowding her. Anastasia could suddenly feel the emotions of the said woman: Happiness, Pride, and a little twinge of loneliness and sadness. Anastasia's heart (despite being half-dead) tightened in her chest, she wanted to do everything and anything to make the woman happy. She didn't even care that she just saw her mere minutes ago, she wanted her and only her. And that's when she realized, this woman, no, this angel was meant to be hers. But then again, Anastasia knew that the woman was too good for her, she doesn't deserve this life of pain and eternal suffering, seeing the people you once loved grow old and eventually die, yet she also knew that she cannot live without her, so she settled with being her protector.

“Mr. Lombardi? Did I pronounce that right?” Mr. Hale questioned her, she had managed to manipulate her looks to make her look like a man.

“Yes sir.” Anastasia answered, she named herself Gioele for the sake of her facade.

“And why should I let you protect my daughter?” Mr. Hale raised his eyebrows, staring at the 'guy' infront of him.

“With The Great Depression still happening, I believe your daughter might be in danger. You and your success may make you a target for those who are below you, poor unfortunate...” She trailed off, her moral compass preventing her from saying derogatory words but she knew she had to play by his personality and rules

“We do not talk about them.” Mr. Hale deadpanned

“Yes sir.” 'Gioele' agreed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Very well then. You have piqued my interest. One wrong move and you'll find yourself hanging on a rope by your neck.” He threatened just as someone entered.

“Father? Mother requested your presence.” Anastasia's eyes widen when she hears the soft, melodic voice right behind her.

“Rosalie! Perfect timing. This is Gioele Lombardi, he will be protecting you from those awful lowlifes scattered around the streets.” Mr. Hale introduces Anastasia to Rosalie who in turn looked at her.

“Rosalie. Rosalie Hale.” She introduces her self while Anastasia promply goes down on one knee and kisses her hand.

“My Pleasure.” She smiled, seeing the faint blush on Rosalie's cheeks.

Anastasia stood up, offering her arm to Rosalie who accepted and they both followed Mr. Hale outside, Anastasia holding up an umbrella to shield Rosalie and herself from the sun. She didn't sparkle as much as other vampires do but it would have been really suspicious when people see her faint sparkle as her marble like skin hits the rays of the sun.

And in that afternoon alone, Rosalie Hale became more popular, people talked about the attractive guard and of course Rosalie's beauty. Anastasia was annoyed at how people spoke about her and her mate, while they were walking around the city. Rosalie noticed and distracted her by asking her questions and answering questions directed to her as well.

Anastasia just felt herself fall even more as days pass by, She would sit by Rosalie's side while she reads her books, She would accompany her on walks and would help her pick flowers as well. She knew all about Rosalie but Rosalie only knew things Anastasia want her to, that doesn't include the fact that she's a woman and not a man and also the fact that she's an actual vampire. And that proved to be in her disadvantage later on.

A year pass by quickly with Anastasia enjoying every single second she spends with her soulmate, she could feel Rosalie radiating happiness whenever she's around, but of course, Rosalie was getting suspicious as well. It may be because of that one time where they were caught in the rain and their umbrella was much too small for 2 persons so Anastasia insist on Rosalie using it, leaving her wet, making her clothes stick to her body, and even under the dim light, Rosalie could make out a feminine body, toned but still feminine and that left her thinking if she truly knew her guard as well as she thought she did.

One day, Rosalie was sent on an errand to deliver her father's 'forgotten' lunch, and Anastasia knew it was a bunch of shit. She heard the couple discussing their plans to hopefully attract the attention of Royce King II and they succeeded, she had to watch as Rosalie and Royce flirt with each other, with her silently seething, forgotten. She had to hide her growls and snarls whenever flowers would be delivered at the Hale Household, but she couldn't do anything, Rosalie deserved someone who could grow old with her, and not a half-ling abomination like her. So she accepted the fate she wished upon herself and made the hardest decision of her life.

The day Rosalie was engaged, she packed her bags and set to leave but unfortunately, Rosalie caught her. And what she did that day, she still regrets up until now.

“Gioele? You are leaving.” Rosalie states, stunned.

“Don't. Don't stop me Ms. Hale. Or should I say Mrs. King?” Anastasia spat out, and she internally flinched when she saw the pain in Rosalie's eyes.

“Where did this come from Gio?” Gio, Rosalie's nickname for her alter ego. She couldn't handle it anymore and looked around before gently dragging Rosalie into an empty room in their house.

“Look, my name's not Gioele.” Anastasia removes the glamour she placed on herself and watched as Rosalie stare at her in shock.

“It's Anastasia. And yes. I am leaving. You are to be married to Royce King II and I cannot get in between that.” She stares at Rosalie's eyes, hoping to relay her feelings, but Rosalie was still much too hurt from her best friend lying to her.

“You lied. You broke two of your promises Lombardi. Is that even your real surname? It is not, is it? God. Why must I be so stupid! Go! Leave! Find some other woman to lie to!” Rosalie walks away from her

“Rosalie! Wait!” She tried to chase after her but Rosalie just turned around and slapped her, she was shocked, not only because the love of her life slapped her, it's also because Rosalie managed to crack the base of her neck. She lifted her hand to cover the cracks that were covering the base of her marble like neck.

“Rose...” She stared at Rosalie.

“Leave.” Rosalie glared, and Anastasia knew that this was her chance... to let go of her soulmate... in the most painful way possible.

“Fine...” She growled out “...I never liked you anyways, You self-centered, smug woman who only lives to please her father and the people around you. I hope you and your cold heart enjoy your loveless marriage!” She grabs her bags and walks away, not bothering to turn back, knowing that if she sees Rosalie's face and the raw emotions in her eyes, she'll just turn back and beg for forgiveness.

But of course, she couldn't stay away, no matter how hard she tried, she just can't so she lingered, hiding herself in the shadows, watching as Rosalie walked the paths they used to walk on, with Royce accompanying her, his arm hooked on hers as they chatted happily. It took everything in Anastasia to not rip off Royce's head whenever she knew he was making Rosalie uncomfortable and It took everything in her to not steal Rosalie away from him.

She was lingering around Vera's house, Rosalie was in there, cradling the baby boy in her arms as she cooed at him. Anastasia smiled as she saw her mate being all cute, she longed to have that with her, but alas she couldn't.

She was just enjoying herself when suddenly a body slammed into her, they fought for the upper hand as they kept tumbling around. Anastasia would straddle the man and he would flip her as well, she knew he was a vampire and didn't bother to pull her punches, cracking his marble like skin while he, in turn would also punch her face. The only difference they had was, Anastasia is actually bleeding. After what went on like hours, something snapped, Anastasia knew something was wrong with her mate so her eyes glowed a bright red, she threw the man off her and tied him with her strings. She growled at him before speeding off, following the slowly fading golden string. She ran as fast as she could, but she was too late.

“Rose?” she stared in horror as the body of her beloved, sprawled on the sidewalk, bleeding out.

“Stasia?” She turned her head and saw Carlisle standing behind her.

“Carlisle! I beg of you, Please save her. Turn her Carlisle please!” Anastasia begged Carlisle

“What happened? I smelt the blood.” Carlisle knelt beside the barely alive Rosalie.

“Turn her first then I'll explain.” Anastasia choked out as she closed her eyes just in time for Carlisle's teeth sinking into Rosalie's skin

She shook with anger and decided that she'll chase after whoever did this to her, her ears hyper focused, trying to find whoever did it. And that's when she heard it: Royce King II.

“I need to find a new fiancee now.” He laughed as his friends expressed their joy in letting them-

Anastasia let out a loud guttural growl as she prepared to speed away but Carlisle held her back.

“Don't. She needs you first.” Carlisle motioned to Rosalie who's writhing in pain. She immediately scooped her mate into her arms and followed Carlisle's mate string, which led her to a two floor house, she barged in with Carlisle hot on her heels.

“Lay her here.” He instructed the distressed Queen.

“Will she be okay Carlisle?” She asked the doctor as he kissed his mate in her forehead.

“Yes. Give it a couple of days, Your Highness.” Carlisle reassured her as she swallowed back her sobs.

“Very well. Uh. My apologies, I barged in without your permission. My name is Anastasia. You must be Carlisle's lover?” She offered her hand to the older woman who in turn just gave her a hug.

“It's fine. Really. You are welcome here. Carlisle told me all about you.” Esme smiled and Anastasia just smirked at Carlisle.

“Still thinking about me Cullen?” Anastasia teased, taking Rosalie's hand into hers and gripping it, calming her nerves.

“He talks about you everyday.” Esme smiled at her.

Anastasia was about to reply when the doors opened and in came...

“You.” Anastasia growled and lunged at the man. He dodged but she caught his arm and used her momentum to flip him over, throwing him through the wall and into the backyard, making him land flat on his back. The man coughed as Anastasia straddled him, planting her foot to the ground, her strings glowing a bright red as they wrap around him as she slowly ripped his head off.

“Anastasia! He's my son!” Carlisle cried out as Anastasia snapped at him, eyes widening in surprise.

“He's yours?” Anastasia's eyes glowed a bright red and Carlisle felt his entire body shiver.

“Y-Yes.” Carlisle stuttered, the murderous aura surrounding Anastasia triggering his fight or flight.

“He is the reason why I didn't get to my mate fast enough. He lunged at me for no reason, leaving my mate in a vulnerable position AND LOOK WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW! SHE'S FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE CARLISLE!” Anastasia's body shook in anger

Carlisle could see the cracks growing on Edward's skin, and he slowly approached the furious queen. He managed to calm Anastasia down by sending calming waves into his strings, decades of working alongside the queen was proven to be useful in this moment. The ropes that were once wrapped around Edward slowly loosened until they retreated back into her body.

Edward wheezed as he moved away from her while Anastasia composed herself.

“Teach your son better manner s, Carlisle or the next time we meet, you'll see his decapitated head decorating the Volturi Walls.” Anastasia threatened as she walks calmly back into the house through the wall that she made and sat beside her unconscious mate. She noticed the golden string slowly go back to it's natural glow, which made her sigh in relief.

A couple of hours pass by and Anastasia was feeling hungry, she asked for Carlisle's help in looking for food in the forest and he told her where the majority of the animals lived and she set off. While she was hunting, she couldn't help but feel like she failed Rosalie. She let her become something that she protected her from. A Vampire.

Once she had her fill, she slowly walked back to where Carlisle lives, delaying her arrival as much as possible, dreading the fact that she knew Rosalie was awake. She could feel it. She took a deep breath and opened the door, making everyone's head snap towards her. Her eyes caught Rosalie's and instantly, they connected, more so than before, which means that Anastasia feels what Rosalie feels 100 times more than before. Pain, Sadness, Longing and Hatred. And that's when she knew, she knew that Rosalie hated her. Her soulmate hated her. The thought weighed on top of her, slowly crushing her heart, she physically gasped for breath as she could feel Rosalie's anger increased tenfold.

“Rose. Let me-”

“Don't Anastasia. Do what you do best, leave.” Rosalie answered her, putting emphasis on her real name. She tried to move closer but Rosalie only moved and sped out of the house, with Carlisle trailing after the newborn.

She was about to follow as well when Edward stopped her.

“I apologize for my actions earlier, I truly believed that you were preying on them, that's why I attacked you, but you should really trust me when I say that you shouldn't follow her. She's angry.” Edward quickly explained

“And how do you know that?” She asked.

“I can read minds.” Edward simply states, nodding at her.

Anastasia nodded, defeated and sat on a chair with Esme right beside her.

“Give her some time.” Esme advises, rubbing the girl's back.

She gritted her teeth when she felt Rosalie's pain. Not physical, emotional. And she has the power to take it away. But with a great price. A price she was willing to take.

When the Cullen family was complete, with Rosalie, Anastasia quickly worked her gift. Wrapping her strings around them and re-writing their memories, without her in it. Except for Carlisle's, she left some memories of him working alongside her while in the Volturi. Once she finished, she quickly speeds away and forces herself to leave the memories and pain she just took into the back of her mind as she wiped her bleeding nose, her body collapsing under a big tree due to the exhaustion.

She was pulled back into reality when the beaker she was holding in her hand exploded, drenching her in artificial blood. She gritted her teeth, there were two things that could've happened. One, she mixed the wrong chemicals while day dreaming or two, Amore decided to switch the labels again.

She checked everything, and then found out the second one was the truth, she stormed out of her lab, blood dripping from every inch of her body. Her annoyance clouded her brain, forgetting that she sent Amore to pick up the Cullens and if she was here, then so were The Cullens.

She spotted Amore from afar and sped towards her, slamming her against the brick walls of her “castle” . She hated that term.

“What did I tell you about switching my labels Lewis?! Look at me! Blood is in every crevice in my body! There's blood in parts that I didn't even knew were exposed!” She growled out

“Well, to be f-fair, You aren't wearing your usual lab attire so that's partially your fault.” Amore choked out. Anastasia just growls in response.

“Stasia, calm yourself. First impressions are important.” Veronica waves her hand and Anastasia's clothes were back to normal, dry and there was no trace of blood anywhere.

First Impressions? Anastasia then mentally facepalmed herself. She had forgotten the Cullen Family. She releases Amore, then turned to the family, recalling her speech, she started to talk.

“Hello. Sorry you had to see that, but you should really get used to it. My name is Anastasia...” She drifted off as her violet orbs met golden ones. In her brief moment of surprise, she unknowingly let down her guard, causing her previously cast spell break. She knew that her mate would be there and she mentally prepared herself but turns out, she wasn’t prepared at all. When she recovered from her shock, she could feel that her spell had been broken. The entire coven looked at her with various emotions: Happiness, Confusion, Longing and Familiarity. She may or may not have met all the members before and also wiped their memories.

“Gio...” Rosalie whispered.

“Shit...” Anastasia cursed, she somehow knew this would happen, just not this soon.

“Rose...” She stared at her mate for what seemed like years before Rosalie glared at her with so much anger she didn't know it was possible, and stormed off. Again.

'She always does that.' Anastasia sighs.

“Well, that secret's out. I'll escort you to you ro-”

“We'll do it. Chase after her.” Veronica pats her back before escorting the Family to their respective chambers, but Carlisle stayed behind.

“That... was messed up Anastasiarine.” Carlisle expressed his disappointment before pulling the girl in a brief hug.

“I missed you too Cullen.” She whispered before letting go to chase after her mate.

“I'm sorry. Please forgive me.” She sent that thought to the Cullen Family, including Rosalie and went back to what she did 75 years ago.

She was once again, chasing the glowing gold string.

#rosalie hale #rosalie hale x oc #jasper hale x alice cullen #edward cullen x bella swan #carlisle x esme #olympic coven #cullen clan #the cullens #cullen family #the volturi #rosalie cullen #rosalie hale x fem oc #platonic carlisle x oc #The Cullens x OC #The Volturi x OC #rosalie twilight #rosalie #rosalie hale x reader #rosalie lillian hale

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suoyou · 3 years

Text

[wip] 凤凰涅槃; phoenix rising

incomplete wip. 9034 words, rated t.

wangxian court intrigue + wuxia + wingfic au, in which wwx is the lost phoenix and lwj is royal scholar. this is actually a collection of scattered scenes through the first act of the fic!

dwell too long in the fire and even the phoenix will burn.

Wei Wuxian holds a rotting mango in his hand.

Pungent, slippery as an oiled wok and twice as dangerous, it’s just a few days too old for optimal flavor—but he does not plan to eat it. No, he’s going to throw it.

A well-aimed piece of fruit and the right audience and a stomach just empty enough that the metallic edge of hunger has begun to bite makes for a good show. Wei Wuxian teeters like a gargoyle on the upturn of a roof, all his weight balanced in a crouch, waiting for the fishmonger to pass by beneath him. The market teems with citizens who have come early to buy the freshest kills and produce that the morning has to offer, the smell of frying jianbing wafts in thick curls up to Wei Wuxian’s perch. His belly rumbles. His last meal had been during sunrise the day before.

“Fresh fish!” shouts the fishmonger. His mule’s head bobs dark and feisty as it tugs his cart along. Behind them, their wagon is crammed with quivering tubs full of water and writhing fish. “Fresh from the docks this morning! Fresh caught! Carp and eel and shrimp! Killed and scaled and gutted if you ask! Fresh fish!”

Wei Wuxian rocks up onto the knobs of his knees. The tiled roof digs into his skin--what are you doing here, flightless bird? His weapon of choice bleeds a thin, honeyed line of juice from his wrist to his elbow. He takes aim.

A little commotion in a crowded market goes a long way. One spooked mule, one fishmonger, and a wagon full of uncovered tubs of live catches? What could go wrong? The sun hammers on his back, asking him what he’s waiting for. The mule’s flanks are exposed around its saddle and harness. Wei Wuxian screws one eye shut and sticks the tip of his tongue between his lips as he raises his mango, and--

“I’ll bet my daughter!”

A disturbance rises above the cheerful twang of the market below. It comes from the gambler’s stall, tucked away by the liquor stand. What a smart, slimy placement.

“Is this man crazy?”

“What kind of father are you?”

“How disgusting, to gamble with your daughter’s life!”

Wei Wuxian frowns. Below him, the fishmonger passes, and the crowd molds around his wagon like ants around a snail. A pustule of a man hunches over the gambler’s stall with a girl of no more than nine or ten in his grip as he snarls in the proprietor’s face. His clothes are stained and dirty, and his eyes are yellow with jaundice. Anger flares hot as a kicked hornet’s nest in Wei Wuxian’s belly, muting the hunger, when the drunkard yanks on his daughter so hard that she trips into the table.

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian shouts, “Hey, you, ugly dog at the gambler’s table!”

Dozens of heads turn to stare.

Wei Wuxian lobs the mango with all his might.

It whistles over the street like a lumpy, bulbous pigeon, dripping as it goes. The man is too drunk, or too hungover to move out of the way--he simply watches, jaw slack, not seeming to realize that he’s in the way until it splatters him square in the face and explodes in a shower of golden muck. He howls, clawing at his skin, and in the process lets his daughter go. She falls because she’d been unbalanced, hard into the street on her elbows. Some of the mango carnage had splattered onto her. Orange-brown bits drip off her chin like fat, gummy tears.

The drunkard points a trembling, furious finger at Wei Wuxian. “You--!”

“Me? What about me? Worry about yourself first. Worry about your daughter!”

A small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle--this man, covered in sticky mango goo and attracting flies, and this vagrant shaking with laughter on the roof. He is so close to the edge, yet balances in place without any unsteadiness, with the surety of someone who is always in high places.

“You are a coward, staying on the roof! Get down here and fight me with your fists, like a man!” shouts the drunk. His daughter tugs on his sleeve behind him as the crowd thickens.

“A-die, A-die, let’s go--”

“Let go of me, you useless girl.” He shakes her off. “Good for nothing, waste of space. Not even good enough for gambling money.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. A hushed gasp races through the bodies below as he stands and tips from his perch on the roof, tumbling once before alighting in the street. His shoes stick to the pavement from the tack of juice. The man barely makes it up to his chin, and his skin is splotchy from alcoholism; his clothes are patches which means he had family members whose kindness he did not deserve at home.

“What,” says Wei Wuxian, tucking his hands behind his back. He’s not above mango-throwing, but he’s not going to fight a man in front of his young daughter. Now that’s just bad manners. “You really want to fight me? Just take my advice, sir. Go home. Take your daughter and your money and buy some food, and go home. Don’t make me throw another mango at you. That was going to be my lunch.”

“I’m not scared of men like you. Arrogant and scornful, just looking for a fight! I ought to break your--”

Wei Wuxian intercepts the man’s fist before it can connect with his face.

He fights like a commoner would, crude and unpolished, with his thumb tucked inside his fingers. Rookie mistake. His eyes bulge like a frog stepped on as he tries to force his way through Wei Wuxian’s grip, face turning the color of puce as he fails comically. Wei Wuxian digs his nails into the back of the man’s hand, trembling with the effort of holding him in place, and then he shoves him back.

The man goes sprawling in the street, and the crowd shuffles back, as if to avoid a particularly filthy swine.

“A-die,” says his daughter, trying to help him up, but he swats at her. “A-die.”

“Go.”

Not without spitting at Wei Wuxian’s feet. He simply laughs, because it’s such a silly, juvenile thing, and then, like an infection clearing, the citizens around him scatter back into the day.

Wei Wuxian claps his hands together, then wipes his palms on the seat of his robes. “You really ought not to entertain patrons who have clearly started to lose their control,” he says to the proprietor of the gambling stall. They wipe down the edges of their table with a dusty rag where the carnage of fruit clings. “Soon he will trade his whole family away for nothing but a nugget of gold.”

The proprietor scoffs. “And who are you?”

“Someone nice enough to clean his mess up. Sorry for this, by the way,” says Wei Wuxian. He starts straightening sacks full of supplies--coin bags, a set of rings, vases clinking fluted and musical against each other. They must run a games stall elsewhere in the city; Wei Wuxian has seen these prizes before.

“Who asked you to be a vigilante, anyway.” The proprietor shakes his head. “You look for trouble, boy.”

“The only thing sweeter than trouble is justice,” says Wei Wuxian, laughing at the distaste the proprietor levels at him. He chases a few escaped scrolls that have tumbled from their sack. “Ah, don’t be like that. I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere with business, okay? I just don’t like to see--”

One of the scrolls has unfurled enough for Wei Wuxian to catch a glimpse of the ink painting. Beneath the glimmer of midday sun the paper is so buttery that Wei Wuxian expects for his fingers to come away slick when he picks it up, letting the scroll’s weight pull the painting the rest of the way open.

The brushwork is unfamiliar. Mountains studded with frosted clouds, a lake, a tiny figure of a man at the silver waterline. A spray of peonies cradles the scene in its petals, done with a brush so fine that the artist could have drawn it with a single human hair. Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize it--not the art. He hadn’t opened it for the art.

A red seal dots the corner of the painting like a button of blood. Wei Wuxian would recognize it anywhere--anyone should recognize it anywhere. Being in possession of something with a seal like this, without explanation, could earn an axe to the neck.

“Sir,” he asks, staring at the painting, “how did you come across a painting done by the imperial family?”

The proprietor’s eyes widen, and they make a wild lunge for it. Wei Wuxian is taller, though, and jerks it out of reach, rolling the scroll back up so the paper won’t tear. “Give it back!”

“Aha! What is it? Tell me. How did you come across a treasure like this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. So if I simply walk away with it, you will also simply shrug, and let me be on my way?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows when the proprietor glowers. “Ah, so it mustn’t be nothing. Not with a look like that. Do tell.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip, smiles. His stomach rumbles, already two cartwheels ahead, but he needs to slow down and think. “Can I pawn it from you?”

“I’d like to see you try, boy. Give it here!”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I would not try. I would give it back to you, if you asked nicely, but oh--oh, the danger of another person knowing that you have a painting with an imperial stamp on it, with no way to explain how. Unless you’d like to tell me. But you’ve made it clear as day that you’re not interested in letting me know, so you’ll just have to let a stranger go, knowing he carries this secret, not knowing who he is, not knowing what he’ll do.” He holds the scroll out now. “But of course, I cannot take what’s mine. Shame. Here you are.”

The proprietor had listened to him speak with a vague, mounting fear in his eyes, and when Wei Wuxian shakes the scroll at them, they shrink back as if he’s shaking a dismembered arm at them.

“What, don’t want it now? Didn’t you want me to hand it over?”

“What are you playing at,” the proprietor asks. “Are you a palace spy? What do you want?”

Laughter leaps from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Me, a palace spy? Oh, no, no, no. I’m afraid not. Palace spies have much more important things to do than to sniff out thieving proprietors. Tell you what. I take this off your hands and you don’t have to worry about your neck, or your family’s necks, and in return, I won’t tell them where I found it. Hm?”

“You plan to give it back to the imperial family?”

“Of course,” says Wei Wuxian. “All things return to where they belong in the end.”

So as it goes, Wei Wuxian is one mango poorer, but one imperial painting richer, and he cannot tell if he is better off for it. He tucks the scroll into his knapsack and the key that hangs around his neck back into his collars and scans the market for weak spots, opportunities to win more food than he has money for. The rotten mango had been stupid luck, and luck is a finite resource which Wei Wuxian does not have much of to begin with, so he’s going to have to work for the rest of his food today.

A surreptitious scrap of pink peeks out from behind the liquor stall and Wei Wuxian only catches a glimpse of the girl before she tucks herself behind the wooden beams again. Oh--the drunk’s daughter. She’s alone now. Irritation bubbles in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s stomach when he pictures the man shaking her off, lumbering towards another gambling stall that will entertain his time, and he has half a mind to--

“Fresh meat buns! Made this morning. Pork and chicken and mushroom!”

Wei Wuxian catches up to the bun cart, falling into step with the vendor. “Shifu, how much for one?”

“One bronze piece for three.”

“Can I get five for one bronze piece?”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? No. Get lost.”

“Please, shifu,” Wei Wuxian says, he gestures behind himself in the direction he’d seen the little girl, “my daughter, she hasn’t eaten in days, and we’re here to see the doctor and he turned her away on account of the fact that we have no money, and she’ll only get sicker if she doesn’t have any food in her system, our family is still waiting at home, please have mercy--”

“Heavens! Good heavens, fine, here! Take these misshapen ones, they’re an eyesore, anyway.”

“Thank you!” Wei Wuxian fishes the bronze piece out of his money pouch, fingertips poking through the holes in the bottom like eyes, and collects his spoils. “Thank you, Shifu!”

“Get outta my sight.”

Wei Wuxian holds his armful of buns to his chest, and their heat warms him through his clothes down to his bones. It’s a relatively cool day, even for autumn. When he turns around again, the girl scrunches herself back into the safety of the shadows, and he chuckles to himself. The liquorist eyes Wei Wuxin warily when he approaches, but he simply seats himself on the other end of the stall and opens his carrying cloth full of lopsided buns. Ugly, unwhole, but still good for hunger. Still good.

“Could I interest you in a bottle of rice wine?”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Wei Wuxian flaps his hand. “I am not wont for liquor, but perhaps some company to share these buns with. I have far too many to finish on my own. But I don’t know who’d want these ugly buns. Certainly not you, Shifu, I’m sure?”

The girl peeks out from behind the stall, and Wei Wuxian smiles. “Want one?”

She scampers to sit down in front of him, reaching out with sooty hands for a bun at the top of the bile. The skin of it is pearly in the noon sun, giving under touch, the way only fresh steamed buns are. Then she hesitates, looking into Wei Wuxian’s face as if expecting to be struck.

“Go ahead,” he says, holds the bun out. “Eat.”

She snatches it and crams half of it into her mouth, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again. He knows hunger like this, and takes his own portion to tear into. The sweet smell of pork and mushroom and oil floats up into his eyes, and for a moment the meat sears on his tongue before it settles into a taste.

“Is it good?” he asks.

She nods.

So it’s good.

“Where have you been? Wei Wuxian, I ought to cut you off at the kneecaps! A-Jie’s been worried sick, you were supposed to be back over a shichen ago.”

“I ran into a friend, Jiang Cheng. Lighten up, will you? Here, I got buns.”

“Keep your stupid buns. Where’s the fish you were going to get?”

Wei Wuxian scratches at the back of his neck. “Ha. Well, about that.”

“Seriously? I can’t believe you. If it weren’t your birthday, I really would cut you off at the legs.”

“But it is, so instead, you need to be nice!” Wei Wuxian crows triumphantly.

Jiang Cheng sighs, a gust of hot summer wind that picks up stinging sands. A wisp of his hair flits with his breath. He’s wearing his nice clothes, no doubt because A-Jie made him, with a polished belt tucked around his waist like the coil of a sleeping snake. It’s a formality that they hardly ever bother with anymore, not in such a provincial town as this, leading a life as threadbare as theirs. The shine of the buckle comes off of him in bright flashes.

“Whatever. Come on, A-jie made noodles. Where’d you get buns?”

“Oh, so you do want one. Here, I know you like chicken.”

“Don’t tell me you managed to snatch all of these,” Jiang Cheng asks, but he takes the one Wei Wuxian offers anyway. “Who likes chicken,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“I just harnessed a talent that you have never quite mastered, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “Charm.”

“I ought to smack you.”

“There was a hungry kid. I didn’t want her to go hungry.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet. “We all are, why go help a stranger?”

“Wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us back then?”

At this, a grunt. Which, coming from Jiang Cheng, is as enthusiastic a yes he’ll give, so Wei Wuxian smiles to himself and slings his sack of food over his shoulder. He’s down to two now, and he figures he’ll just give both of them to A-Jie who deserves much more than two pork buns, but it’s the best he has. One day he’ll get her expensive candied mangoes and hawthorn berries that the baker makes in the market in the next city over--the one that glitters.

“A-Cheng, A-Xian! You’re back!”

“Found him scaling the wall back into the hutong,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “Punk.”

Jiang Yanli, too, is wearing her nicest set of robes today, with a hair ornament that Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen her with since the new year. Her face clears of worry when she sees them, and she reaches up, straightens a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair where it’s caught over his ear. “A-Xian, you’re not--you know that you shouldn’t--”

“Scale walls, climb to great heights, jump off roofs, I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian says, vividly recalling that he has done all of the above and then some today. “Sorry to make you worry, A-Jie, I’m fine! I got you buns. You can have them both.”

“But what about the fish? A-xian, we were going to make one for dinner for you.”

“Ah, fish or no fish, it’s no matter. Noodles are good enough. As long as I can live a long life, luck will always come back around.”

“What if your whole life is plagued with bad luck?” asks Jiang Cheng as they duck back into their hut of clay and brick. The curtains are open, a rare moment of Jiang Yanli letting daylight peek inside, and it lights up their matchbox home in a wash of sunset. Bowls of steaming noodles are set out on the rickety slice of table, with the biggest in front of the seat where Wei Wuxian always sits. His heart swells. He’ll be forcing mouthfuls of noodles into his siblings’ bowls when they sit down, he’s sure, but for now his heart is the pulse of afternoon sun in the window.

“Then my next life,” says Wei Wuxian. “My next one won’t be nearly as bad.”

The Lost Phoenix is lost. I think that’s the point. No one will ever find them. You will die looking for them.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things.

He sees rubble and thinks, that is a home. He sees blood and thinks, that is a heart. He sees himself reflected in the slow meanders of swamp-green lakes lazy with dragonflies and skeeters and tries to remember, that is a human, that is a human, that is a human.

“You may not be human, but that is what makes you worth loving,” is what A-Jie says.

“You? A human? With an appetite like that? It’s like trying to feed a void with you,” is what Jiang Cheng says, which is basically the same thing.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things, but the uglier, eyesore-pork-bun truth is that he is born from destruction. He is born from the fire of things, and the ashes of himself; his body waits for the wither.

The Lost Phoenix is dead. His ashes were scattered in mountain, sea, and sky.

The Lost Phoenix is alive! Everyone knows that leaving behind but a single ember can spark a wildfire. Fire has wings.

No human, ghost, or demon has ever seen the Lost Phoenix. If they had, wouldn’t we have heard by now? They are only a legend.

There are scars on his back to prove what he once was and never will be again, and Jiang Yanli tells him, The world was not ready for you. The world, perhaps, will not be ready for the Lost Phoenix to return for as long as we still walk upon it, A-Xian, but maybe when one day when everyone is gone, when A-Cheng and I are gone, you’ll--

He always cuts her off there. Usually he can’t see her face, because she’ll be sitting behind him and rubbing oil into the muscles that can never seem to loosen around his shoulder blades, the ones that line the edges of the scars like mottled mountain peaks. Just two of them, in straight lines as long as a hand, glaring at each other over the expanse of his back, the winding groove of his spine. Phantom pains. Human or not, the body will miss limbs when they are gone.

Tonight, Jiang Yanli does not tell him the world isn’t ready for him. It hurts to listen to her say it, because it’s not a pain that Wei Wuxian can beat away with his fists or even his words. There’s a quiet noise of the bottle being unstoppered, then the cloying scent of liniment oil wreathing around him as he sits with his back bared to her, hair swept over his shoulder.

“A-jie,” he says.

“Hmm?” Her hands are small and warm against his back, and he hisses in pain when her finger catches on a tight knot immediately. “Sorry, Xianxian.”

“It’s okay. Uhm, I have a stupid question.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Ask.”

“Which birthday did we celebrate tonight?” he asks quietly.

The inside of their hut is a dark, uneven indigo now, the fires of the village filtering in through their window. Jiang Cheng has gone to bathe, so the only answering noise above the sound of a city settling in evening is Jiang Yanli’s soft laughter.

“Your thirty-first, A-xian.”

“How many years have passed in this life?”

Her hands disappear as she dabs more liniment oil onto her fingers. “Since your reincarnation?”

“Yeah.”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” Wei Wuxian repeats. “Thirteen.” He rolls it over his tongue, trying to figure out how it tastes. Bitter, a little. like medicine. Maybe it’s the liniment. Jiang Yanli runs her thumb down the edge of one of the scars, massaging out a few particularly gnarly knots there.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

“Not wrong, exactly.” Wei Wuxian pushes his fingers into his folded robes in his lap, pretends the fabric is sand and silt at the bottom of a lake. He almost expects handfuls of snails when he pulls them back out. “It’s just that, with every passing year, I think maybe this is it--this is the year I’ll remember. This is the year I’ll remember the things about my life before this one. Remember when I tried to teach you and Jiang Cheng how to catch fish with your hands, in the river, A-Jie? You said you could see them beneath the surface, but when you’d reach in to grab it, it was like the fish were never even there.”

“I remember,” says Jiang Yanli. She is quiet, waits for him to go on.

“Trying to recall my first life is like that. I know it happened. I can see it right there, flickering under the water, but. But each year comes and goes, and not only do I not remember anything, it feels like more and more of what I thought I could remember slips away,” says Wei Wuxian. “I was excited in the eighth year of this life. Then I was excited in the twelfth. Thirteen is no good, is it, A-Jie? I’ve run out of lucky numbers to count on.”

“Would it make you happy to remember, Xianxian?”

“I think so. When I think about it--it’s funny, you know. Maybe you know. I can’t recall memories from it, exactly, but when I think about my first life, I think I remember being happy. Like when you roll over and the sun is already up. You can feel the warmth on you even if you don’t see the light.” Then Wei Wuxian snorts. “That doesn’t make any sense. Sorry, ignore me, A-jie.”

“It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. Is that all you remember, a feeling?”

They’ve been over this before. A hazy, murky image of something from Before, dredged up from packed soil. Jiang Cheng will always say, “Who knows? Why do you think I would remember?” waspish, and Jiang Yanli would always give him a soft, “Perhaps it was, A-xian.”

“I remember,” he says, “that we were in a noble family, once.”

This is an easy one. She always says yes to this one. “We were.”

“I remember that the palace walls were lined with bronze, not gold like a lot of the common folk think.”

“Yes, they are.”

“The accident.” The one that has turned him into this.

“I wish you did not,” says Jiang Yanli.

“I don’t--not really. I just remember the pain. My body does, anyway.”

“Muscle has memory,” she says. “But because you are who you are, so does your blood and bones.”

Wei Wuxian fiddles with the gap-toothed key that swings from his neck. It thunks hollowly against his bare chest without the robes to hold it in place, and he tugs the deerskin rope that loops around his neck so that the knot tying it together comes down, down, down, through the hole in the key, up, up, back up again, a miniature comet’s orbit.

“You were a princess,” he says, quiet again.

“Princess is a strong word.”

“But you were.”

“In my own way.”

And then, the most solid memory he has—a figure in white, with hair that fell to their waist, holding a smudge of pink in their hand. Solid, but blurred, like Wei Wuxian is trying to see them through a sheeting waterfall. The lines of their body were straight and crisp, except for the pink. The pink was always soft, parting the mud of his memory.

He doesn’t mention this one, usually. Wei Wuxian holds it close to his heart where it has roots. Year after year, no matter the rains, nothing has flowered. Seasons have passed.

“A person,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.

Jiang Yanli’s hands slow. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” says Wei Wuxian. “Just a person. Their back is to me, so I can’t see their face, but it’s too blurry for me to see them, even if they’d been right in front of me. And they were just standing there--just standing. Nothing else. I don’t even really know if they’re real, but it’s the best memory I have.” He digs his nail into an indent in the key’s teeth. “Do you think they were real, A-Jie?”

“As real as the Lost Phoenix is.”

Wei Wuxian laughs weakly. “The Lost Phoenix is as good as myth.”

A myth meant to scare people.

A cautionary tale.

“The Lost Phoenix needs to stop squirming, or I will poke the sensitive parts of his scar, and I know he hates it when I do,” Jiang Yanli says.

A story about a monster.

“Maybe it’s better to forget some things, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I only want you to be happy, Xianxian. Whatever that means to you. Whether that means remembering or forgetting.”

“I want to remember, because your happiness is my happiness,” Wei Wuxian insists, turning around. Jiang Yanli lifts her hand away as he rearranges his legs in a half-lotus, one foot stretched out onto the floor. “I want to remember because I know this life isn’t one you and Jiang Cheng would have chosen if you both had a choice. You can’t say I’m wrong about that. No noble family member would choose to live in a rundown hutong if they had a choice.”

“A-Xian--”

“I know you won’t tell me what happened before my reincarnation,” says Wei Wuxian. “I know you want to forget. But if anything ever happens that means we can go back to it--you have to say so, okay? You both are the only family I have left. Let me do something for the people who have somehow kept me alive for thirty-one years. I can’t remember eighteen of them. As if I started reading in the middle of the story. There are things I know without knowing how I know them.”

Whether it be a story, a tale, legend, or myth, one thing was certain: the Lost Phoenix is the last known survivor of the Phoenix Rising, once the most revered noble family of the imperial city, the warrior family that protected the throne.

Forged from the Sacred Fires of Scarlet Mountain, the Phoenix Rising once was so formidable that simply meeting one of them in their true form was a sign of luck and good fortune. They were, as their family name suggested, bewinged humans who lived and died and rose again from their own ashes. They were skilled in combat, nimble in war, with the ability of flight. They harnessed Taoist magic that was only spoken of in books.

A secular world did not have room for magic.

“Our A-xian,” says Jiang Yanli, shaking her head, “always hurts himself trying to make us happy before he remembers he has a heart, too.”

“Ah, what good is a heart if I can’t deal it out in pieces for my didi and my jie?” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s not like anyone else has any use for it.”

“That’s not true,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Nothing, Xianxian.”

“You have my promise, A-Jie,” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s us three until the end. Never apart. If I can bring you and Jiang Cheng back to the glory days before this life, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She’s quiet, then dabs a light gauze over his skin to absorb the excess liniment oil. Both of them know it won’t be possible--even if they were a lower noble family, there wasn’t a ticket back into the royal city unless you saved the emperor from death or something equally as momentous. Save the empire, or something. Wei Wuxian dreams big, but he’s realistic.

“Thank you, Xianxian,” she says, finally.

“It smells like old people in here,” Jiang Cheng announces, as absurdly loud as new year firecrackers when he comes back inside. He smells of freshwater and sand, and he tracks an inky line of water where his wet shoes stamp footprints into the floors. “I know you’re another year older now, but you’re really getting started early.”

“If I’m so old, then you better talk to me with respect, punk,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng may be loud, may be messy, but he chases away the strange, yearning sadness that tugs like a deep saltwater current on Wei Wuxian every time his birthday comes and goes. He loves his stupid, loud brother for it. “Hey! Where’s my kowtow? Where’s my ‘ge,’ then? Where’s my ‘Wei qianbei,’ huh? I’m so old, Jiang Cheng, pay your respects!”

“Screw you, Wei Wuxian. I’d sooner call you Old Man Wei. You’d have to rip out my tongue first.”

“Okay, come here then, my hands are free.”

“Gross! What’s wrong with you?”

And so night falls on another day, another year, and Wei Wuxian feels a little empty and a lot full, like a planet is breathing inside him. Jiang Yanli tugs on Jiang Cheng’s hair, makes him sit down so she can wrestle the tangles out of his drying frizz, and Wei Wuxian holds the lantern for light.

It’s enough.

So what happened to them, the Phoenix Rising? Why have they disappeared?

Because they had power. Because they were loved, feared, and respected, all things an emperor should be.

In the beginning, it was an honor to be the emperor that controlled the Phoenix Rising, for it took an equally distinguished ruler to command such a family, and for generations, the Phoenix Rising served the throne with grace. For generations, the empire was a glowing, golden city upon which the sun glittered, and the common folk called it the City of Gods.

But at the end of a weak dynasty, the throne was seized by a bloodthirsty family that feared the Phoenix Rising and the power they held. People, monsters, kings, or gods? Did the citizens respect the throne? Or did the loyalty of their hearts lie with the strange, winged family that had for centuries been revered as the beacon of luck and fortune?

Humans fear what they do not understand. Humans seek to destroy what they fear.

And so the Phoenix Rising paid the steepest price.

“Did he mention it to you at all yesterday?”

“No! He never brought it up. That punk. I’m gonna wring his sorry little neck.”

“A-Cheng.” A rustle of wind through paper. Then, “We need to ask him where he found this. He could’ve been caught. He could’ve been killed.”

Wei Wuxian wakes to his siblings whispering. Whispers always come through dreams like shouts, and he’s having a very strange dream about walking through wire, except instead of coals at his feet, there is ash, and in the ash there are hundreds and hundreds of keys glinting red as squirting cherries. His feet are burnt and blistering, but he can’t run, can’t turn back, can only walk forward.

There are no secrets in a single-room shack. No matter how quietly Jiang Yanli whispers, Jiang Cheng speaks loud enough to wake the whole town.

“Nicked it, probably,” says Jiang Cheng now. A grudging respect colors his voice. “That’s probably why he took so long to get back yesterday.”

The bamboo sleep mat crackles beneath him as Wei Wuxian rolls over, then sits up. For a moment the world is a spinning top. Jiang Yanli turns, lowering something, and smiles when she sees him awake. Jiang Cheng, of course, is already swinging.

“You dumbass! Where did you get this? If someone comes looking for it and finds it with us, do you know how dead we are?”

Then Wei Wuxian sees it--the painting that he’d charmed out of the hands of the gambling proprietor at lunch yesterday. Jiang Yanli holds it like a broken bird in her lap, and Wei Wuxian ducks when Jiang Cheng aims another swat at him. Mostly half-hearted, but he leaps to his feet and skips out of reach.

“I was going to surprise you!” he says. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you what I was planning. You don’t know how much money this could bring in the black market, Jiang Cheng, an imperial painting? Just think about it. I can just disguise myself, go at night--cover my face, you know--and we could stop living here. We could live in a real house, and we wouldn’t have to all share one sleeping mat.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli gets to her feet, too. Always graceful in a stark contrast to her two brothers, the lantern from which two wild tassels would dance in the wind. She lifts the painting up high so that she can point to the red seal in the corner. “Do you recognize this?”

“The imperial seal, right? Sure. Everyone does.”

“I’m going to puke blood,” says Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli ignores him. “You’re not wrong, A-Xian. But this is an imperial seal of a concubine.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Of the emperor?”

“Yes. Judging from the seal design, not just any concubine--she must be a consort, at least.” Jiang Yanli holds the paper closer to her face, trying to discern the characters. “Mo,” she mutters, unsure.

“So we could sell it for even more money,” Wei Wuxian concludes.

“No, we are not going to sell it for money,” says Jiang Cheng. His face has darkened.

“Are you crazy?” Wei Wuxian asks. “You said it yourself, if someone finds us in possession, it’ll be our heads. The faster we get rid of it, the less likely anyone is to know it ever passed through our hands at all.”

“Yeah, well, you probably should have considered that before you nicked it, genius,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “It doesn’t matter. Now that we have it, we’re going to use it.”

“Use it how, if not for money, then?” Wei Wuxian struggles to keep his voice low. Jiang Cheng is not making any gods damned sense--isn’t he the one who constantly talks about leaving this hutong under the guise of hating how cramped it is, when really, he and Wei Wuxian agree that they should move closer to the imperial city where there would be better houses and perhaps a respectable man for their sister to marry if she so wanted?

“We’re going to use this to return to the imperial city.”

A silence falls like a tree toppled in storm between them.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli begins.

“We are?” asks Wei Wuxian. “How would that even work?”

“You’re the best at telling lies.”

“Well, yes, I’m glad you have seen the light.”

“Think about it,” says Jiang Cheng. “An emperor's consort. It means she must have been in favor with the sitting emperor, Jin Huangshang. A painting with her seal on it. How would a painting by a favored concubine of the emperor end up out here?”

“Wound up in a gambling stall, no less,” Wei Wuxian says. Now that Jiang Cheng puts it that way--it’s more than a little strange. “Fine, say that we could use it as our golden ticket back into the imperial city. We’ll be lucky if the consort is dead. She won’t be around to ask any questions if there are holes in our story. What if she’s alive? What if she’s not a consort? What if she was hated, what then?”

“A-Xian,” says Jiang Yanli, setting her hand on his shoulder, and the touch is firmer than he’s used to. “Stop. You too, A-Cheng. Returning would be dangerous for us.”

“Dangerous how?” asks Wei Wuxian. There it is--that gap of the first eighteen years of his life rearing its mangled head. Sometimes it’s like trying to read a page of text with half the words blacked out, the ones left behind still beautiful, but without meaning. “A-Jie, I thought we were…”

“We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian. But it does not mean that the court is a safe place for any of us.”

“Jie!” says Jiang Cheng.

“No, A-Cheng. We’re not going back. It’s not just for A-Xian’s safety, it’s for all of us.”

“Would we really be in that much danger?” asks Wei Wuxian. “If no one knows I’m the Lost Phoenix but the three of us, nothing would happen.”

Right?

“Jiejie,” says Jiang Cheng, his voice quieter than Wei Wuxian has ever heard it, “the Crown Prince has never married.”

Jiang Yanli’s face, for a dizzying heartbeat, is stricken. Something like pain and longing flashes through her eyes quick as the swing of an axe in cloudy morning, but then it’s gone, and she sighs.

“What does the Crown Prince have anything to do with A-Jie?” asks Wei Wuxian.

“That isn’t any of our business. Not even yours, A-Cheng,” she says. Wei Wuxian has never seen his sister like this, drawn up tall with her chin held high, and for a moment he sees the princess that she must once have been. Jiang Cheng, who is easily a head taller than her and twice as broad, crumples under the weight of her gaze. “We left because we wanted to. We’ve lived by this choice and we will continue to live by it. Now, both of you listen--A-Xian will do as he planned, sell this painting for whatever sum that traders will offer, and we won’t speak of it again. Understand?”

The tension swells like a fever between them.

Wei Wuxian should be happy that his sister is on his side for this--when is it that she ever picks sides whenever he and Jiang Cheng argue? Any other time, he’d be hooting with laughter, rubbing it in Jiang Cheng’s face, but there is a deeply strange, melancholy expression on his brother’s face that does not suit him at all.

“Fine,” says Jiang Cheng. He takes the scroll from Jiang Yanli, rolling it up with care, then shoves it into Wei Wuxian’s chest with considerably less care. “Get this shit out of my sight. I’m going out.”

Wei Wuxian watches helplessly as Jiang Cheng moves around their hut with jerky movements, jaw set with the pulse of anger. He gathers his knapsack and what meager rations of buns left over from the day before, no doubt stale and hard by now, and loops it around his shoulder.

Then he’s gone, without another word.

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the soft inside of his cheek. “A-Jie--”

“Don’t think too much about what A-Cheng said, Xianxian,” says Jiang Yanli. “He won’t show it, but he worries. You needn’t take what he said to heart.”

Jiang Yanli will say no more, no matter how hard he presses. He’ll press anyone until they give, but not her. She ducks her head when Wei Wuxian turns to her with his confused, hurt silence, as if she is waiting for his anger. He’d never be angry with her.

“I don’t understand, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I simply have different ideas of what it means to keep our family safe. He thinks it means returning. I think it means to stay.”

“But why would we be in danger?” he asks. “Does this have something to do with the Crown Prince? Did he know who I was? I guess so, or else why would Jiang Cheng bring him up? Did you know him? Could he help us?”

“No, he couldn’t.”

Wei Wuxian sets his mouth in a line. “Well, I should be off too,” he says. The sun has already started to burn back the clouds; he needs to find tonight’s dinner for the three of them. Maybe he should go after Jiang Cheng, press him for more details. Their sister, despite what anyone might think, gives far less easily than either of them.

“Be careful, Xianxian,” she says. “Oh, are you taking the painting with you?”

“There’s no way I’m going to leave it here in case anyone finds it and you’re here by yourself. Worst case scenario, I throw it away, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” He takes Jiang Yanli’s hands in his, squeezes them ruefully. “I’m sorry, A-Jie. I just thought it would help. I didn’t want you to argue with Jiang Cheng.”

“It’s okay.” She tucks his stray hairs over his ear. “Go. Come back safe, A-xian.”

He waves at her once when he steps out, and once more when he makes it to the end of the hutong and she becomes little more than a quilted patch of terrycloth in the distance, as he does every morning when he leaves. Jiang Cheng can’t have gone far in the time that he’s gone, unless he took off at a sprint, so Wei Wuxian lets the scented chill of autumn fill his lungs.

The Crown Prince. What a strange person to bring up. Wei Wuxian rifles through what he remembers hearing in taverns and pubs, filtered through the thick veil of alcohol. The Jin family sits upon the throne now, after staging a coup against the Wens and seizing power just over a decade ago. The Crown Prince would have to be a Jin prince. The Jin Emperor was said to be quite the philanderer and had more than enough sons from too many concubines to choose from. The Crown Prince must be quite a favorite, for an emperor with so many sons would not pay any mind to choosing the Empress’s sons if he so liked one from his concubine better.

And this Crown Prince, according to Jiang Cheng, has never married.

The look on Jiang Yanli’s face--frozen, bruised, a bird shot from the sky before it begins to plummet--was not one Wei Wuxian expected to see when she heard this news. If they’d known this prince, then he must have been around even before Wei Wuxian’s reincarnation. Jiang Yanli must have spoken of him.

But all his memories can offer him are vague smudges of color and a person with pink like a fire in their hands.

It’s too early for the fishmongers just yet, but the market brims with life as it always does. Wei Wuxian narrowly dodges a cart full of fresh flowers, a toothless grandfather with a bamboo hat pulling it along weakly. One of the wheels is crooked, wood squeaking against the stone pavement.

“Shifu, your wheel,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking the canteen of oil tucked low against the cart. It dribbles out in a black splash. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, young man,” says the grandfather, and Wei Wuxian waits for him to turn his back to the street before plucking a lotus from the back of his cart and tucking it into his knapsack. For A-Jie, as penance for upsetting her so early in the morning.

Jiang Cheng is not hard to find. He is poor at concealing himself, both in body and in voice, and he really is very bad at haggling. Wei Wuxian sidles up to him at a fruit stall, arguing with the vendor over a particularly ugly dragonfruit that looks more like a leathery handful of meat left too long in the sun than any respectable fruit.

“Now I think,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking it out of Jiang Cheng’s hand and ignoring his indignant scoff, “shifu, if you let this fruit sit out in your display, it would ruin the look of all the rest of your fruits. ‘Ah, look at this lovely display of dragonfruit. But what do we have here? A misfit! A miscreant! A monstrosity, really!’ And then you lose business. So really, we’re doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” says the vendor with disbelief. “What gall.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, then tosses the fruit back and forth between his hands and gives a quick jerk of his chin. “What do you say? Half off?”

“I can’t believe you weaseled him into giving it to us for less than half off,” says Jiang Cheng five minutes later. “You could talk your way out of your own--”

Wei Wuxian tosses his dragonfruit from hand to hand. “My own what?” Jiang Cheng’s knapsack hangs flat and sad against his back, crumpled like a dead leaf, so Wei Wuxian holds it open and drops the fruit inside.

“Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing out here with that--thing?”

“Do you think I was going to leave it with A-Jie? No way. Imagine if she were alone and someone found her with it.”

Jiang purses his lips, nods. He tucks his thumb into the strap of his knapsack, a deadknot slung over his shoulder. “Have you thought about any stories?”

“What stories?”

“About what we’d say, if we brought it back to the imperial city.”

Jiang Cheng resolutely does not meet Wei Wuxian’s stare.

“You want to go?”

“I just think that if we have a plan, A-Jie might be more willing to go. To be honest with you, if it were just to the two of us, it wouldn’t matter as much. We could sell the stupid painting, use the money. We could eke out an existence. It would fucking suck, but we could, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

“Ah, Jiang Cheng. You’re finally talking sense!” Wei Wuxian claps him on the back. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t shake his hand off, his smile falters. He must actually be worried. “Okay. We have to consider multiple scenarios, then, if we want this to be foolproof. We don’t want to make up a story where the concubine is alive when she’s dead. Or vice versa. So the first order of business is to figure that out.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “And what kind of favor she’s in with the emperor. The better, the easier for us.”

So, like peddlers, they spin their stories.

The night blooms blue and foggy, the moon dropping light in handfuls of glass through the forest, and Wei Wuxian straightens to see that he is not alone.

Someone else is in the mist with him. It’s thick enough that he cannot see their feet, so they could be floating. A man--just a bit taller than Wei Wuxian himself. His sword is drawn, lowered, as if he’d been pointing it before Wei Wuxian sensed him and stopped. The folded steel blade flashes.

Blood sheets heavily down Wei Wuxian’s leg where the muscle has torn around the arrowhead, and haze sloshes in his skull. His brain is an upended bowl of goldfish. He grasps for words, for his thoughts, but they slip through his fingers. The stranger stares at him a bit in shock, a bit in horror, mostly in surprise. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He is wearing so much white he could be glowing, a star abandoned by its galaxy, and Wei Wuxian is the only one to find him.

They stare at each other in the gloom.

Wei Wuxian’s scattered goldfish thoughts say, Pink.

“Are you here to kill me?” asks Wei Wuxian. His words come out slurred even to his own ears. He needs to find Jiang Cheng. They need to get back to A-Jie. He needs to get out of here.

“No.” The stranger steps towards him. “We mistook you for a prey animal. Are you badly hurt?”

“This? No, no. I’m fine. I need to go.”

“Your leg is injured.”

“It’s fine. I need to get back to--my wards,” Wei Wuxian says, catching himself before he says anything too revealing, pats himself on the back for staying in line even as his thoughts unravel. He picks his favorite story and sticks with it, hopes to any god that is listening it won’t get any of them killed. “My wards. They were with me. I was looking for Jin Bixia.”

The stranger has come so close that Wei Wuxian can make out every stitch of his robe. “What business do you have with the emperor?”

“I have a painting,” he mumbles around the haze. It’s a dark one, now. “My mother’s painting.”

Then darkness kisses his eyelids, and the night pulls him under.

The scroll unfurls with the quiet hush of paper that has gone undisturbed too long. Even mounted on fine silk, the edges of the hemp and mulberry fibers have begun to wither, time nibbling as cruel and hungry as moths. The paper stretches on forever, nearly as tall as him fully unfurled. The cherrywood stick clacks upon the floor.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth goes dry. He stares with seeing, then without comprehending, then without believing.

The ink color has faded, like the paper, with age. Once the red might have leapt off the page, the greens so bright that spring grew from the painting itself, but all of it has flattened. It’s a simple composition. Where Mo Fu Ren had let her human subject be lost among the trees and sweeping landscapes, this painting is only one person, draped in textured golds and silk brocade embroidered with dragons.

Simple, perhaps, but done by the hand of someone who held them beloved.

His fingers shake when he reaches out. They hang back, and he pulls away, afraid that touching it might make the entire painting dissolve in his hands.

Smiling serenely back at him is his own face, thirteen years younger, thirteen years less hungry—but it is him. His eyes are downcast, with a rabbit cradled in the crook of his elbow and a bird perched upon his shoulder. Without a doubt it is him. Even if he could not recognize his own face, the characters that march in little terracotta soldiers down the paper leave no room for guessing.

The black ink is fresh, as if someone has run a brush through the strokes every year so that they can never fade.

Wei Wuxian, they say.

This can’t be right. He must be misreading. He blinks hard.

His thoughts trip over each other’s ankles. They come in a clamoring flood, each wanting to be heard first, pored over first. Wei Wuxian. Had there been another before him? It is not a common name. It is not a name that would show up twice in the royal city if every noble family had the names of their descendants planned out for generations, no matter if the Phoenix Rising had been slaughtered by order of the emperor. Why is there a painting of him rolled up and locked away in the private study of Hanguang Gexia, second head of the scholar house to Emperor Jin?

Did they once know each other?

How could it be that a key that Jiang Yanli gave him would unlock this desk?

There are corpses sleeping under their feet. This earth has been burnt and salted.

An old ache starts in his spine.

We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian.

Fire without coals.

There was a person. Just a person.

Do not exhume these bodies.

We left because we wanted to.

Something terrible must have happened to him.

#fic wip #incomplete #wx

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echo-three-one · 4 years

Text

Whatever It Takes

A sequel to "A Forgotten Memory"

Alex is once again tasked to continue his mission in pursuing the threat that had caused hundreds of missing persons turn up dazed the next day. But now he isn't alone, join him along with the elite Task Force 141 as they hunt down Nero, discover the secrets behind his plans and put an end to this memory erasing nightmare.

Chapter 1 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

"Resurgence"

"Alex"

CIA Warcom

Boracay Island, Philippines

Alex basked himself on the warm sandy beaches of the Philippines. He wasn't able to enjoy his vacation after the Nero mission, because he was sent immediately to Urzikstan and Verdansk immediately followed. And now that all of those were over, he now laid down on a beach chair and let the ocean breeze blow on his relaxed state.

Philippines was a nice country, the people were hospitable, the food was delicious and unique and the scenery was beyond amazing. Despite his metal leg, people still looked up at him the way they look at tourists and he was all of the hospitality and attention from his fellow Americans who are also on vacation to locals who were just amazed on how the leg works.

It's been a lot of months ever since Samantha forgot him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they'll meet again, that's why no matter many women try to show interest in him, he shrugs them off politely by pretending he has a girlfriend. A simple lie that he built for himself in hopes of a miracle of meeting her again.

He always brought her letter with him, some edges of it got burnt from the time he manually detonated a C4 explosive to destroy a gas factory, It was almost torn and faded, but he couldn't leave it somewhere safe. He wanted it to be with him wherever he goes.

'Don't you dare forget about me'

His phone rang. He quickly fished it from a small pouch he bought that the locals made and immediately answered.

"This is Alex speaking." he chimed.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this time of day Alex, but I have a feeling you'd want to jump in on this." a British accent so familiar informed him over the other side of the line, It was none other than Captain John Price or Bravo Six, a comrade he once fought with back in Urzikstan.

"I'm all ears." he said, sitting up straight and letting his metal leg sink in the sand.

"Looks like your boy Nero is back on the grid. That Sneaky bastard kidnapped the Daughter of the Head of Defense, again." Price relayed.

Alex's heart thumped faster, his breathing became quick. He wished to meet her again but not like this. Not her being in harm's way all over again.

"Shit. Count me in. But.." he hesitated. He wanted to help but remembered he disobeyed CIA orders back in Urzikstan, making him unable to provide support.

"I've talked to Laswell. She's creating a special assignment for you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means welcome to the 141, Alex." Price said as he cut off the call, followed by a message regarding his departure to their base.

Alex can't help but worry about Samantha's condition. They've played with her memories multiple times and he thought that it would all be over after she decided to alter everything about them. Guess the enemy didn't know and they're still after her.

The soldier leaned on to the small circular glass pane as he looked at the clouds pass by. His hands were fidgeting each other while his non-metal foot bounced up and down at a fast rate. His seatmate, who happens to be a teenager, noticed his distracting leg movement but ignored it as rock music blasted from his ears. He was a completely different Alex right now and he believed that he'll be back to normal as soon as he sees Samantha safe and within his grasp.

When you have a heavy metal stick as a leg, customs is going to be the most annoying place in the world. Everyone looked at Alex as soon as he passes the metal detector and everyone else's eyes were on him. Of course with a few more safety checks and a whole lot of explaining, Alex was good to go.

"So, you're the one they call Alex" the heavily British accented driver mused, breaking the silence of their ride to the 141 base. He was looking at him via the rearview mirror, chewing on what Alex hoped to be gum.

"Yep. That's me." he replied, turning to the view of the British streets which confused him a lot as it was the opposite of American or even Global streets.

"Heard they thought you were dead back there. In Georgia." he added. He was quite the chatterbox but CIA Agents are all about the information.

"Yeah. Tried to manually detonate the C4. After that… I just ran for my life." Alex answered, his head was realizing why he did it. What pushed him to think that he could make it out alive. Was it because it's for the greater good? The idea of freeing Farah's country from the harm of the gas? The idea of a chance to meet Samantha all over again? Or something he couldn't explain.

"Well, we're glad to have you back, Alex. But it's a shame it's no longer in the CIA." the driver waved as Alex opened the door and unloaded his stuff.

"As long as it's still about saving the world." he replied, making the driver smile.

"That's what we do, right?" he agreed as he entered in his car leaving Alex in front a quiet gray building, the Task Force 141 Base, his new home.

Alex pushed the heavy doors open revealing a large hall, multiple round sofas were embedded to the ground and a huge staircase that split left and right greeted him. Multiple heads turned as he opened the said door and slowly walked his way to the nearest person who happened to be panting from exhaustion by the sofa. His metal leg clanked on his every step as the soldiers begin to recognize him. They smiled as soon as Alex's eyes met theirs and some even waved, Alex met them from several missions from the past, some were from the Demon Dogs and his previous designations, Delta Force.

"Where's the briefing room in this huge building?" he asked the soldier in a black t shirt drenched in sweat as he spun his towel trying to keep up with his breathing. He didn't speak but he nodded in acknowledgement and pointed to the hallway on the left. Alex left him a thanks and he walked his way to the direction where he pointed.

Just a few steps after the beginning of the hallway, the people from the main hall cheered and laughed, this made Alex turn around and he saw a young blonde man with spiky hair dash across him, he looked like he's on his way to your destination as well.

"Excuse me! Sir!" he yelled and Alex immediately halted. The young man panted in front of him and took a few seconds to breathe before he countinued his words.

"I'm Gary Sanderson, and I was supposed to guide you to the briefing room. You must be Alex." he reached out a hand and Alex shook it, quietly making your way to the room.

The huge door slid open and they found themselves in a dimly lit room, a huge screen loomed just by the wall and chairs were placed around a long circular table. Alex could spot a few familiar faces, faces he once saw and fought alongside with in Verdansk. There was the balaclava boy, Ghost, the Mohawk Man, Soap, their Captain, John Price and a few big heads from the United States. There were also new faces like Gary, who was now discussing something with another new soldier, a female soldier who sat by Price and a few new more who were already sitting on the chairs. There's also someone missing, Kyle Garrick, he pondered where he was.

The former CIA quickly saw Gary rush to Price's seat and whispered something causing him to lean on his chair, stand up and walk to his side.

"Glad to see you back in the fight, Alex." he muttered, patting Alex's shoulder.

"I won't skip out on this mission, this one's close to home." he replied, patting his back in return.

"Yeah, heard this was your last mission before the Russian Gas."

"Yeah. It's a loose end on my side." Alex nodded, crossing his arms.

"Good thing Shepherd had some sense in him. Not unlike your CIA heads, huh?"

Alex nodded. He remembered he did an illegal thing against the CIA, and that was siding with Farah's forces, who were reclassified as global terror groups at that time. He silently thanked he could still step back in the fight along with the good guys even after that event.

"Yeah. I might have to thank him soon enough." Alex murmured and Price guided him to the briefing which was about to start in a few minutes.

"Before we start our mission briefing, I'd like to welcome each and everyone of you to the 141. A group of the most elite warriors from around the world tasked to eliminate terrorist threats lurking in the shadows. One of which, goes by the name Nero…" General Shepherd's voice was deep and serious, while the screen showed a photo of the guy they're after. His face looked punchable, as manifested by the way Alex clenched his fists while he stared at his soulless eyes.

"… whose goal is still unknown. He poses a threat as he has been out in American soil, which we believe is the one behind the multiple missing and reappearing person cases across the country." he continued, eyeing Alex. He knew a little bit about the case, maybe because he read his report.

"Since he poses no evidence of terrorist activity as of now, we are assigned to rescue and locate the daughter of Richard Coleman, America's Head of National Defense. We don't know why she was kidnapped but we believed it is or ransom or threatening purposes." The general explained, pacing back and forth, his shadow covered the screen.

Alex wanted to say something. Something about the details surrounding the case. It was written on his report. But then again, maybe the general already knew about the alteration, and since Samantha doesn't remember any IP Address, it was no longer worth noting.

Samantha's face was projected on the screen. Alex's heart began to beat faster, she looked different now, a little chubbier, longer hair and her smile felt happier. It was heartbreaking that she got caught in the crossfire again. After all those efforts of making her life normal.

'If our paths would cross again, I hope you'll remember me the way I remembered you before I take this operation, A good memory that's supposed to last forever. '

'Don't you dare forget about me.'

Her words echoed in his mind, using the same voice she had when they were together.

"I will save you again if I had to.." he promised to her mentally, as he tightened the clench he was already doing.

"Our intel reports that twelve hours ago, local informants spotted an unknown flying vehicle just by the Georgian Border, local authorities confirmed that this wasn't one of their aircraft and we believe it could be the getaway vehicle of Samantha Coleman and her captors… We are still looking on to this so for the meantime I want each and one of you to be fully alert and ready for deployment."

Everyone else fell silent. It meant they agreed at what the high ranking official said. A few more words were exchanged such as new additions to the team, aside from Alex. He didn't seem to focus much on the second part of the brief as his mind worried a lot about Samantha. If his instincts were right, she's probably sedated once again, taking a trip down her own memory lane.

Chapter 2 : F.N.G.

#horRAYfic #codmw #codmwfic #Alex x OC #HAUL ASS PRETTY BOY #cheers for chapter 1!!!

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olivish · 3 years

Text

Continuation of the Mel & Alex origins story, told from Ben’s perspective.

This is also a Mel & Ben friendship origin story - it pulls from the Ben hc stuff I posted earlier. A bit of Wilford in here, too. Mixed bag. LONG.

Still not done, but the next instalment will be the last instalment, and it’s coming soon.

1. When Melanie left for the Levant, she and Ben had been working together for 5 years. They were friendly, but still not friends. Not because he didn’t like her - he liked her more than most - but Melanie Cavill wasn’t the type of person who made friends. She was all about the work, all about the train. And, all about Joseph.

Most people assumed they were lovers, but Ben never believed that. By then, he understood Wilford well enough to know, he viewed Melanie primarily as a business asset. Everything else - their friendship, their history, their mentor-protege bond - all of it was secondary to the fact that Melanie’s brain earned Wilford billions.

There was a saying at the hedge fund Ben used to work at. “Never, ever fuck a golden goose. You’ll get chickens instead of eggs.”

And Ben could tell, Wilford was a guy who took good care of his investments.

2. One morning, Ben was in the breakroom on the assembly floor, curious why everyone was gathered by the TV. “What’s that? A terrorist attack?” he asked.

“Earthquake,” someone answered. “It happened last night. Where have you been?”

“I dunno. Working?”

As Ben watched horrific images of collapsed buildings and bloodied survivors splash across the screen, his co-workers’ conversation played in the background:

“It was the DST. Long past due.” “There goes the neighborhood.” “Silver lining, the track isn’t down. We could have lost millions.” “Forty-eight people confirmed dead, and you’re talking about money.” “I’m sorry, I thought this was Wilford Industries.” “We’ll have to re-survey the whole area. That’s months of delays.” “Mel’s already out there. Rumor has it The Boss has been on the phone for the past hour, screaming at her.” “Did she cause the earthquake?” “I think it’s more like, she didn’t prevent it, somehow.” “WILMAAA!” [chuckles]

3. Soon after, Ben was riding the elevator to the penthouse suite, frowning intensely. It was never a good thing when Wilford wanted to see someone in his office. Maybe the earthquake hit them harder than he thought. There was track already running through the Sinai to Cairo, and if it was damaged, they might have to execute repairs in the middle of the desert, which would be a nightmare.

But when Ben arrived at his destination, he realized things were much, much worse than a bit of broken track.

Wilford was in a panic like he’d never seen. Disheveled and sweating, he fumbled through desk drawers and rifled in his closet. He threw clothes into a duffle bag and opened the safe, pulling out his passport and several bricks of currency.

“I need you to finish the gimbal calibration,” he said, not looking up. “It needs to be done today, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you can't do it, tell me now."

“I can do it.” After a pause, Ben asked, “Is everything alright?”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK!?”

Before he could respond, Wilford's phone rang. He snatched it up, checked the number, and sighed in frustration. He continued to pack as he spoke into the phone. “What? No, I told you, I need a Medivac, and a team of surgeons at Chicago General standing by. The best, whatever it costs. I don’t know. I don’t know! I’m on my way, have security meet me at the airport. And call the insurance company. And Lilah, over at Finklestein & Branxom, she’ll know what to do. Oh for God’s sake! Was she doing everyone’s job, including yours? JUST GET IT DONE!”

He hung up. Ben had a sick feeling. “Is someone hurt?” he asked. When Wilford didn't respond... “Is it Melanie?”

Wilford laughed bitterly. “Is that concern for your fellow engineer? Or are you just worried you'll have to use your own brain for once?”

Ben didn’t know what to say. Wilford’s eyes were like spears.

“Melanie Cavill is a lion,” he said, hoisting his luggage over his shoulder. “And you are a monkey that I pay to push buttons. Remember that when you go back down there and start a prayer group for a woman who barely knows you exist.”

He added on his way out the door, “And fix the gimbals. Earn a penny of what I’m paying you.”

4. That night, Ben called Melanie’s phone over and over. No answer.

Between calls, he sat awake in bed, stewing over Wilford’s parting words. He wondered why he let his boss talk to him like that, why he didn’t just quit.

Money. The answer was money. If Snowpiercer completed on time, Ben’s stock options would be worth millions. He wasn’t leaving without his payday, not after all the work he’d put in.

Departure was only a year away. Just one more year, and he could buy his mother a house, pay off his sister’s student loans, start a college fund for his nephew, and get his brother Colin into a proper rehab facility. And as for him? Ben was going to Hawaii, where he’d meet a gorgeous woman on the beach, someone sweet and shy but smarter than him, and he’d spend the rest of his life spoiling her rotten. Three kids. Two dogs. A minivan.

You know. A life.

Ben called Melanie’s phone again. This time, it went straight to voicemail. “Shit,” he murmured. Her battery was dead. “Come on, Mel.”

Through it all, he couldn’t help but wonder. Was he really worried about Melanie, or was he worried about the train and his payday?

If he was honest, it was hard to separate the two. He cared about Melanie, but he needed Snowpiercer, and Snowpiercer needed her. Wilford’s panic said it all. Without Melanie, they’d never launch on time, and that meant investors would start pulling money out. They were already over-leveraged, on account of the obscene cost of laying the track. The slightest upset could mean disaster.

I’m as bad as the rest of them, Ben thought, frowning as he scrolled through news reports about the quake. He paused, coming across a story about a guy who pulled a family out of a partially collapsed building before going back for more. Then, it all came down on him. Just like that.

“Christ.” Ben shut the screen off. One more year, he promised himself. Then he was out. Maybe Miss Perfect would run a charity he could contribute to. Engineers without borders.

Something. Anything to color his life with some meaning.

#Snowpiercer #Alexander (SP)#fanfiction

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whenimaunicorn · 5 years

Text

The Blaster

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Notes: Explicit like whoa. gun play, anal play, spanking/slapping, safeword use, and if you can get through those heavy kinks there’s a reward at the end. Based on a combination of a few anonymous smut requests for the above elements, hope I did you all proud. Big Dick headcanon is in full effect in this one. Gif used with permission from @underbetelgeuse

Can be read as a continuation of either The Split or Training Exercise, or it can stand on its own. Whatever you’d like to imagine, darlings. Also I hope I got the layout of the Razor Crest right. This is how I remember it.

You’re doing it again. Somehow when you’re a guest on Mando’s ship, you always find yourself opening up his gun cabinet and gazing at the glory that is his arsenal. The carefully mounted collection of blasters, rifles, and other deadly weapons is as impressive as any arms dealer’s. Better, really, because you know each one of these has been used. Coldly, mercilessly, probably recently. And, when each one’s job was done, cleaned meticulously, lovingly oiled up, and placed precisely in its home again. Something about this cabinet encapsulates everything about what draws you to this man.

“I know that look.”

You suppress any sign of surprise at Mando’s appearance over your shoulder. His cape swirls at the back of your legs, his modulated voice heavy with that maddening pitch that is somehow both unassuming and supremely confident. You glance at him, then back to the guns, and betray yourself when your tongue darts out to lick your lips. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering you, he reaches across your personal space and runs one leather-bound finger along the stock of something that’s too short to be a rifle and too long to be a blaster. “I used this one to squeeze a quarry out of some cave he tried to hole up in on Galor Six. Once he saw what it could do to the rocks he thought were giving him cover…” Mando’s armored thigh brushes just below the curve of your ass before he pulls his arm back.

His bulk fills up the right side of your vision, but you keep your eyes locked on the guns.

He reaches for another weapon, this time a long rifle mounted vertically along the side. As he does, his other hand slides up your spine and comes to rest at the back of your neck. “I kept this one from a quarry, who thought they could get the drop on me first.” His fingers grip firmly, turning your head slightly more squarely toward the weapon in question.

Your body thrums like he’s just pushed the magic button. In truth, he has, and he knows he has. Submissive-mode initiated.

“Actually at first, they did,” he admits evenly. And that’s one of the things you love about him too, his absolute lack of arrogance, like he knows his own measure precisely. Easy to put your trust fully into a man like that. “I had no idea a quarry like that one could have a weapon with such range. Didn’t save them, though. I survived that mistake, and now this one right here,” he pats the rifle like a favored dog, “helps me make sure others don’t.”

He is boasting a little, isn’t he. Which isn’t like him. Your skin prickles as you realize he has to be doing it for your benefit, because he’s guessed why you stare at his arsenal the way you do.

He pulls you a little closer with that hand behind your neck, and leans his visor in. His voice drops low. “Which one is your favorite.”

His collection is extensive. It includes a number of rare pieces you’d even love to get your hands on for yourself. But there’s no denying which one thrills you the most, the one that makes your heart pound with a strange intensity when you look at it too long. His augmented blaster is a simple thing, really, a classic design you could see anywhere in the Outer Rim, save for a few modifications that are his own personal touches. Save for the fact that it’s his. Your gaze lands on the weapon that usually sits at Mando’s hip whenever he goes out, the sidearm you’ve seen strike terror into quarry after quarry, pressed to a temple or held unwavering between two wide eyes.

Your hand goes up, fingers stretching tentatively toward where it hangs.

Mando’s grunt sounds satisfied, and more than a little amused. He slaps your hand away with an air of lazy command and lifts it up himself. “Good choice,” he hums. “This is my favorite, too.” His voice stays low, like you’re sharing a secret. He puts a little pressure on your neck, turning you closer to facing him as he holds it up for you to admire. The barrel is elegant, tapered, perfectly counterbalancing the boxy chamber in front of his grip. He tilts his head, so close now to your face. “Does it make you feel something, to see this gun in my hand?”

It’s like your stomach opens up and bottoms out in your cunt. Sinking, primal fear meets aching, overriding arousal, that’s what the sight of a deadly weapon wrapped in the Mandalorian’s competent fingers does to you. But you aren’t about to tell it to him like that. You nod, dreamily, and lick your slack, parted lips. Sub-mode tends to make it harder to talk.

He waves the blaster slowly to the left, and then the right. You realize a bit late that he’s watching how your eyes track the weapon. You probably look like an idiot, like every spineless quarry he’s ever had. The thumb at your neck slides tenderly up and down. Then he presses the cool metal of the blaster along the side of your face.

You break out into shivers. Mando holds you steady, allowing you to crumple a little toward him, to clutch at his bicep just beneath his pauldron.

“Is this something that you like?” The question is almost a whisper, but there’s a curl of pleasure behind it. Whatever he thinks you might be into, he thinks he’s into it too.

“Mhmm,” your voice breaks on a little wail of an affirmative noise.

“You wanna play like this?” There’s more strength in his voice now. He slides that barrel down in front of your ear, curling it around under your jaw. “Want to feel what it’s like to be at the other end of the blaster? Have all your options taken away?”

You’ve done scenes with him almost this intense before, but wow, this is just taking it to a whole different level. You have your safewords in place. You know how to stop him if it gets to be too much. Because there’s roleplay, and then there’s a live weapon being pointed at your face, and one of those is definitely more real. But this surging feeling that’s almost making you feel lightheaded… you definitely want more of this. “Yes, Sir,” you force your mouth to say. Consent has to be clear or he won’t press on, you’ve learned that about him already.

“Then strip.”

He keeps the pressure of that long-barreled blaster tight under your chin as you struggle as quick as you can out of your clothes.

Mando reaches out with jerky movements of his other hand to expedite the process, pulling at your sleeves, playing the impatient thug to a T. “Let me see what you’ve been hiding from me under there.”

Your body feels hot and cold at the same time once all your skin is exposed under the yellowish glow emanating from the weapons rack. Your pussy is already swollen and aching with need; this was something you weren’t sure you were ever going to work up the nerve to ask him for and yet here he is, clocking you for a freak with a gun kink after barely a glance at what you were doing down here.

His helmet inclines, looking you up and down. “That was too easy, you little slut.” The cold barrel twists against your throat as he changes grips, bringing his own body closer. “What else are you going to let me do to you?” The blaster digs into the bottom of your jaw. “Hold still, and be extremely quiet. It’ll be like, a little slut test. I’m going to play with you for a while, and I don’t want to hear a single moan. Not. One. Peep.”

You squeeze your mouth shut, gritting your teeth to remind yourself because you already want to make sounds for him. He palms one of your breasts, a scooping squeeze that tapers down to a long tug at your nipple just how he knows you like it. You swallow back an encouraging moan, then resort to holding your breath as he repeats the motion a few more times, rolling your beaded nipple faster and faster. When he gives the same to the other side, tugging a little bit harder, you reach up out of habit to steady yourself against his solid torso.

“Hands to yourself,” he snarls. Then he’s crowding you, pushing you with one hand on your breastbone and that blaster cutting into your neck until you back up into the closed door of his bunk behind you. “Palms on the wall,” he instructs, and you spread your fingers across more cold metal as he returns his attention to your chest.

After tugging at your nipples a few more times, he actually slaps your tit. The first strike is experimental, but he sees the breath rush out of you as hot arousal swirls up in the wake of that surprise. Three more strikes come rapidly, and you try to flinch without making that tight flinching noise, the one that your throat is begging you to let loose.

“Do you like that, dirty girl?” The gun is pressing under your ear now as he swats over your breast again, the strike on your nipple making it tingle afresh. The next swat is followed by a firm tweak to the abused flesh. “Answer me.”

A moan breaks out of your mouth, plaintive and distinctively in the affirmative.

The next slap burns your cheek. “I told you to stay quiet. You just lost.”

But what do you lose? The blaster pulls back, trained now between your eyes, the barrel remaining surprisingly steady as hooks his pinky into the base of his other glove to pull it off. Your eyes rush immediately to the ceiling, trained so very well by now to never try and get a look at the Mandalorian’s skin.

You won’t hear his glove fall to the deck. Mando always tucks his gloves in close at his belt, so he can get them back on as soon as he wants his hands anywhere in front of your face again. But when he needs to get between your legs, oh, he absolutely wants his gloves off for that.

His fingers are so much harsher than usual. He’s really not pulling any punches in this game; but by now he’s certainly gathered a good sense for how much abuse you can tolerate. And this looks like another one of those nights he’s going to stretch your limits. He swipes between your folds, pressing up into your cunt with no preamble. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he comments roughly, twisting his fingers inside your opening so you can feel how easy it is. “I guess sluts just love to be treated like this.” He presses the blaster into your cheek, just as two fingers are pressing their way up inside you. You arch back against the wall for balance. “Is it this?” He wiggles the barrel against your cheekbone. “Is this what’s turned you into such a sloppy mess?”

He starts to slide the gun down the front of your body, making your belly tingle and freeze even as your breasts are still prickling hot from the way he was hitting them.

“Answer me.”

Fuck. He slapped you in the face for speaking last time. Is the silence rule still in effect? For some reason Mando seems to particularly relish putting you in this kind of double bind. His thumb is circling your clit so firm and slow, the press of the blaster is making you pull your bellybutton toward your spine, and he’s waiting, waiting for you to respond. “Yes.”

He curls his fingers out of you and then spanks your clit. One quick, precise reprimand. Your legs try to close reflexively but his armor-plated thigh is in the way. “Yes, what.” He shoves your legs open wider. “Tell me exactly what’s turning you on so badly right now.”

“You, Sir,” you try.

He spanks your clit again, sending electric shivers through your whole body. “Try again.”

Of course he’s going to make you say it. He always wants you to say it, just how kinky you really are. “You and your fucking blaster, Sir.”

Mando leans in, pressing the cold metal further down your body. “My fucking blaster?” he repeats. “Now there’s an idea.”

He crowds you into the wall, helmet angled down so he can watch what he’s doing to you. Meanwhile, you can’t do the same, since his glove is off. You fix your eyes obediently on the ceiling while your attention goes internal. You feel that cold, solid barrel sinking across your belly, then it’s twisting to push your thighs further apart.

“You like it so much, I want you to ride it.”

Stars, he’s going to be the death of you. You feel yourself getting wetter at the suggestion alone. But when the solid metal presses against your clit, so unyielding, squared edges and all, you can’t stop yourself from trying to recoil.

“Uh uh,” Mando chides, gripping your hip to hold you in place. “You got yourself into this, there’s no trying to wriggle out of it now.”

It just feels so wrong. He rocks that barrel over your most sensitive bits and it’s cold and strange and he’s got you panting. You press your palms against the bulkhead and try to keep yourself still and open for him, and yes you did ask for this you suppose, but it’s humiliating and you weren’t sure he would go this far and oh fuck is he trying to stick it inside you??

Cool beskar slides against your cheek. With your eyes squeezed shut you didn’t realize his head was so close. His voice rumbles low through the vocoder: “I want it to smell like you.” The barrel twists in your entrance, but thankfully he doesn’t try to force it very far. “Come on now, dirty girl, ride it for me.”

You whimper and start to move your hips. It’s not much, you’re too afraid of what more vigorous movements might do, but surely Mando understands that, surely he appreciates that you’re trying for him, pushing through your hesitation as you rub yourself deeper onto the end of his gun.

He groans at the sight of your compliance, a deep, raw sound that sounds like some kind of control in him is snapping. Adrenaline shocks through you at that sound, because you’re so vulnerable right now, and he could so easily hurt you if he forgets himself…

Mando removes the gun with another growl, grabbing at your shoulder and spinning you around with a force that leaves you breathless. He slams your chest into the wall like you’re nothing and then the blaster is pressing into your temple.

“Arch your back.”

You press your bottom out as far as you can, presenting yourself to him like an animal, excited for what you think is coming next. Mando’s body crowds your hips, his hand running greedily over your ass, swiping up your drenched cunt.

“I’m thinking about fucking you right now. But, there’s one more thing—” his voice is tight and he actually trips over his words, “—one more thing you never let me do.” The blaster presses heavier into the side of your face. His finger keeps sliding up your slit, past your entrance. “But now that I’ve got you completely helpless like this…” You tense as he rocks that fingertip against your other, tighter hole.

It’s not that you hadn’t talked about this before. You’re curious, intrigued even, but you haven’t yet figured out how to relax certain muscles and earlier attempts at anal sex have proved unsuccessful. The deal between you and Mando so far as been that you’re willing to try, and that he’s allowed to start working you up to it, when the moment seems right. He must have judged you to be so hot and bothered right now that maybe it would finally work.

The pressure does feel good, the tingling strangeness of being touched right there playing perfectly into the adrenaline-laced haze he’s already got you in. The gun at your head makes you feel so vulnerable, so open and helpless that your body might as well not resist anything anymore. The touch of his finger swirling at your asshole is so dirty. “You going to let me in here?”

It’s so reassuring, the way he makes sure you’re still giving consent, without quite breaking the mood of the scene, either. You nod, though when you try to accompany it with a vocalized “uh huh” the sound comes out more like an embarrassed little wail.

“You can be ashamed,” Mando croons, answering your tone. “You know you’re a dirty girl, letting me do such dirty things.” He slides the blaster along your cheek. “Not that you really have a choice.” Somehow being reminded that a slip of his trigger finger would blow your head off just makes your arousal spin out wildly. “You’re just a thing to be used right now.” The pressure against your anus is deepening, starting to stretch you.

“You think you don’t deserve this?” he says the first time you flinch. “You did this to yourself. Things like this always happen to pretty little creatures like you. Ones the sneak around on ships, and poke around in places they don’t belong. You just had to get a look at my guns. Now look where it got you.” He pulls back a little, just to push back in again, making you realize how far your body has already allowed him in. “Now you’re gonna give it all up to me. Even this last bit of resistance. Every part of you is mine to use, and you’re going to take it.” His finger pushes in deeper, stabbing a little to punctuate his words. “Every. Last. Bit.”

And you try to follow that command. You really do. Helpless noises start to spill out of your mouth. How could they not when that dirty, secret stretch starts to burn, when the dark pleasure of one finger up your butt turns to the thought-blurring invasion of two, or maybe three, it’s hard to keep track when he’s hurting you like this. Fuck, you want to be good, you want to give this man everything you have, but it kriffing hurts.

Your safeword explodes past your lips, and the Mandalorian’s fingers instantly still. “I’m going to take my fingers out slow,” he says, voice clear and soothing, without a hint of reproach. “You did so good.”

“I’m sorry,” you can’t help but say, sighing in relief as the pressure abates, though you’re a little bit sad to feel him go, and disappointed in yourself for failing again.

“I’m proud of you,” he counters. “You did so good for me.” He stays close, doesn’t move anything but the bare hand that’s now soothing little circles over your bum. “Do we need to stop everything, or was it just too much in your ass?”

You take a minute to assess yourself. You’re shaking now, feeling pretty blown-out after hitting that limit, but the arousal’s not gone. “Don’t stop. I’ll go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now.” You arch your back deep with your forearms against the wall, proving your eagerness.

His answering chuckle creates a weird static in the vocoder. “I think I would, too. The way you tried so hard for me, you precious thing.” He pushes his hips against you, letting you feel what you’ve done to him. “Made me so hard I almost blew out these pants.”

“Then fuck, what are you waiting for.”

He wipes his fingers on a sanitizer, then his belt clatters to the floor. “Maybe, for you to shut the fuck up.” His tone is a little wry and a little scary, signaling the transition back into the scene. “While I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he presses the barrel of his blaster tighter against your cheek, “I don’t like that tone.” His bare hand collides with your ass. “You want to fucking try that again, slut?”

You shiver in appreciation, feeling yourself fall back into the headspace you’d been enjoying since he caught you down here, now that the necessary check-in is done. “Mm… please?”

He spanks you again, hard and sharp, not worrying about warming you up in the slightest. “You can do better than that.”

“Please, please fuck me.”

Another swat. “Beg for it. I’ve got a gun to your head, I can do whatever I want, but I still want you to beg. Beg for my cock. Beg me to hurt you.”

Fuck. As if you haven’t been through enough. “I need it,” you try. “Need your big cock inside me, so fucking bad.”

“Yes you do.” He slaps your ass one more time and then you feel him fumbling with his pants. Fucking finally. “And now that I know how much pain you can take, I’m going to fuck you how I really want. Cuz I think that’s what you want too, dirty little slut, sneaking down here to steal a look at my own, private, weapon collection; you want to get punished with this cock.”

“Fuck, yes,” you plead as he grabs your hip, lining you up, as you feel the girth of him pressing against your delicate bits, “I’ve been bad and I need to be put in my place.”

“Oh, you will be,” he promises, and then he’s driving himself into you, the sudden stretch making your eyes roll up in your head. Sometimes you tell yourself you’re used to Mando’s endowment, but it’s all lies. No one could ever be used to this, the solid plunge of something too wide to ever be comfortable, especially when he sinks it in so hard and so fast that you feel the pressure all the way up till it forces your tongue out of your mouth.

He pounds away at you, wickedly deep just as promised. It doesn’t matter how worked up he gets you, the stretch is always overwhelming, adding a spice to the pleasure that’s so tantalizing that you think you’ve probably become addicted to it. You realize it’s probably foolish of you two to think that he will ever fit this massive thing in your ass, especially not for him to fuck how he wants, wild and deep like this, but stars, is that thought hot anyway.

You brace yourself against the wall with both your forearms and try to remain conscious under the onslaught. “Arch your back,” Mando barks, pushing at your hips, catching you halfway recoiling, trying to hold the deepest part of you back. His boot taps at your ankle. “Feet wider.”

Fucker really is using this scene to get everything his way. The blaster follows your head as you sink into the required position, letting him reach the very end of you. His fat head is bumping against things that are less than comfortable, but you lay your cheek against the wall and just take it for him. Now your gaze is drifting over the rest of his weapon collection; he’s fucking you mercilessly right in front of it. Reminding you how you got yourself into this. And that he really is gonna try to give you everything you want. As strange or as dark as it turns out to be.

You’re almost surprised when he comes inside you, stuttering and grunting and wringing you over himself until the last tiny bit of his pleasure is satisfied. Often he likes to paint your body with the evidence of his conquest. But it’s so nice to hold him all the way through the end. Maybe he did that for you, too.

The blaster goes back in its holster before Mando begins to pull out. He’s large even when he’s deflating and it’s an interesting sensory experience for both of you every time he goes to dislodge himself after the deed is done. You’re both breathing heavy. Mando’s arm goes around your middle like all he wants to do is cuddle you right here, armor and all, leaning against the wall. “So good,” his modulated voice murmurs between panting breaths, his helmet pressed into your back. “You did so good for me.”

“And I feel like you did all that for me,” you answer softly. “Thank you.”

A deep sound rumbles over the vocoder. “All for you? I was the only one that came, so that can’t be right.” He starts peeling you off the wall. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

There’s an edge to his tone that makes you think maybe the sexy times might not quite be finished. The Mandalorian’s never been a man to leave a job half done, after all.

He reaches past you to open the door he’s been fucking you up against. His bunk has become more cozy than when you first saw it; there’s a real mattress on the frame now, and pillows and blankets. More things he’s done just for you. With gentle hands he ushers your naked body forward to get in his bed. “Get comfortable. I’ll be right behind you.”

You pull a warm blanket most of the way over you as you lie on your back. Now that the adrenaline-laced scene is done, your abused body is starting to shiver. But you don’t settle in completely, still pretty sure that it’s not quite time to pass out yet.

When you look back up at the Mandalorian, standing at the foot of the bed, your breath catches. He’s removing most of his armor plates, hanging each one carefully on the walls on either side of this tiny little room. Your face starts to tingle. This is a rarity in the time that you have known him. He only ever removes what he absolutely has to in your presence.

But those times he’s held you in his arms, he has to have felt you seeking more contact, your roving hands finding out all the little places where you can touch something besides durasteel and beskar. Perhaps he’s about to give you something else he thinks you need, too.

He’s still not showing any skin when he climbs into the cot beside you. But there’s only one little layer between your bodies when he nestles in alongside you, and you can feel his heat, and the springy cushion of his muscles as he draws you to rest your back against his chest. His arms wrap tight around you, pulling you in so close that you can feel him breath. Stars, you can even detect his heartbeat.

It’s a solace you hadn’t even dared to let yourself crave, to be wrapped in the softened reality of this man. Even dreamier when it comes as a reward, after letting him work you over so good outside this little room. You feel your body rhythms entraining to his and try to think about nothing else at all.

You almost forget the idea that he might yet make you come, now that you’re actually here, drifting in the sanctuary of his arms. Then Mando wraps his cloak over both of you, and you feel him removing his gloves.

He worships your body with his palms, especially those places that he was particularly cruel to before. He coaxes your nipples soft and sweet, and caresses your ass like it’s a work of art. You’re totally relaxed, completely comfortable, and surrounded by his smells here in his bunk: metallic, earthy, and some unidentifiable musk that must be a hint of the man that lies beneath it all. You wonder if the sheets you lie on shelter his naked flesh when you’re not around. You wonder… you’re starting to wonder too much. Just enjoy it. Relax in the intimacy he’s willing to give, the privilege that it is that he would be willing to take off his armor for you, even if he can’t show you his skin.

Strong hands pull your top leg up, resting it against his own hips so that his fingers have room to run through your treasures between. “I love your pussy,” Mando says, opening you, coaxing you to bloom with the confidence that comes of repeated experience. You two have been doing this for a while now. Long enough to earn this next level of trust, it seems.

He works you just how you like it, as you arch and sigh against him, reaching back to hold his neck, your fingers barely contacting the base of his head just under his helmet. It’s not long before he’s got your leg twitching and your blood singing. No teasing now, no withholding, just pure, deserved satisfaction.

“Come for me,” he urges, “let me hear how happy I make you.”

And fuck, that does it right there, the loving tone in the same voice that knows how to degrade you when you want it that way, and the baring of some glimpse that you mean more to him than a series of mind-blowing fucks. It pushes you right over the edge into a wailing orgasm that stretches on and on under the expert coaxing of the Mandalorian’s fingers.

The pleasure suffuses you, makes you feel light as a feather, yet unable to move, safe in the circle of his arms. Stars, you can feel him breathing. You never want this moment to end. You realize you’re half-asleep when Mando’s cock rubs up against your behind. “I have to have you again,” he rumbles, his arms clutching at your slackening body. “You don’t have to move, can I…?”

Dreamily, you spit into your fingers and make sure your cunt is ready to take just a little more abuse. Then you present your hips to him.

His exhale is long and grateful as he sinks home one more time. “You’re just—” he whispers behind you, thrusting in lazy and long, “so… perfect.” His strokes send wave after wave of warmth through your body, somehow still relaxing, somehow just letting every last thing in you unwind.

He doesn’t move when he’s done. For once, neither of you say anything self-conscious, or flippant, no jokes meant to create distance or push the intimacy away. He stays, and you stay, and your limbs are all tangled together when you both fall asleep.

More Mando Smut

Taglist: @mabelleen @lokiaddicted @aethersghoulette @nolivingthingdroid @pinkmoontribe-blog @baar-ur @otherthingsinhead @biolo-tea @greendragonzz @aesikupills @of-narwhals-and-ink @doubtedbus409 @kittyatemytaco @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @space-princesssss @okilover02 @debonaire-princess @myfruitgummies @pinstripeninja13 @taman-a @mandowhoreian @cptnbvcks @no-droids @funmadnessandbadassvikings @soapjay @otherthingsinhead @onebatch–twobatch @lilwickedred @stardancerluv @naiomiwinchester @equalstrashflavoredtrash @laketaj24 @themaskismyface @pascallorian @shadowfoxey @thatkidofwarandpeace @pokeasleepingsmaug @anniemar @spottedlekkudancer @lamnothome @sailorflowermoon @tmnt-would2 @artemiseamoon @buvkyxsam @tmnt-bucklover @pascalisthepunkest @inked-poet @actuallyanita @giruvega @letaliabane @the-omni-princess @rzrcrst @hellomothermoon @whataenginerd @ivars-heathen @jayoknrjk28 @pisss-offf-ghostt

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #dom!Mando #mando smut

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theassthatquits · 3 years

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Blupjeans Week Day 2 - Ghost

Lup Taaco founded the premier science camp for teens - Camp Rocks! - this side of Faerun almost a decade ago. She did it by herself (mostly) and has the awards, articles, and accolades to prove that it’s a success.

So where does Davenport, her investor, get off going behind her back and hiring someone new without consulting her? Sure, enrollment has plateaued in the last couple of years, the main complaint being that they needed to shake up their staffing and curriculum, but she had it handled. She could take care of it herself, this was just a bump in the road. She didn’t need the help of some fancy doctor, this ‘Dr. Hallwinter’ that Davenport worked with at the university.

Lup scoffed while thumbing through his resume and cover letter. Top of his undergrad at Neverwinter U, a triple major in chemistry, astronomy, and physics. A brief stint working at a funeral home - a little weird, but everyone goes through a quarter life crisis, right? Returning to school a couple years later to get his masters and PhD and now taught at the same university while simultaneously doing interplanar research with Davenport. At the bottom of his resume with “related skills” he put ‘huge nerd’, as if that wasn’t obvious enough.

“Well, at least he knows what he’s talking about,” she muttered to herself as she threw the papers aside. There was no use fighting it now, she had spent weeks arguing and it wasn’t getting her anywhere. And it wasn’t like this was a bad idea, it just wasn’t her idea. This was her camp, after all.

---

Okay, maybe this Dr. Hallwinter guy wasn’t such a bad fit. They got off on the wrong foot, having a couple of heated discussions (fights) about things that she could barely remember. But now, she was standing in the corner of the pavilion, watching him give a very animated lecture on stars and planets. Angus McDonald, one of their first campers and the only one who came every single year, kept raising his hand to ask new questions and Hallwinter loved it. The two of them could go back and forth for hours, talking about theories and experiments and life itself. Angus had signed himself up for all of Dr. Hallwinter’s classes for the summer and loved every minute.

And he wasn’t so bad to look at, she supposed.

Lup was snapped out of her reverie by the class laughing very loudly at some Fortnite reference he made. Without realizing it, she smiled too. Dr. Hallwinter looked up at that moment to see her and his grin grew even bigger. With their eyes locked together, he dabbed and the class lost it all over again. When she giggled at that, she could have sworn he was blushing.

---

Every year towards the end of the summer the staff throws a “spooky soiree” to celebrate the end of camp. Everyone dresses up in a science-themed costume, they use the different things they have learned to create gruesome and cool decorations and effects, and they end the night with a ghost story bonfire. It’s easily Lup’s favorite night of camp. She loves amazing all of the younger kids with the cauldrons of “witches brew” (just dry ice in some punch) and grossing them out with the “eyeballs” (peeled grapes). This year she sewed some LEDs into her black vest, creating stars and constellations. Lup glowed in the dark and she fucking loved it.

She was in the middle of a (spooky) explanation of the witch's brew when she caught sight of Dr. Hallwinter walking up to the party. He was wearing a white shirt with lines drawn across it like a measuring cup and a long red robe over it. She was pretty sure he was wearing a graduation cap, too, which would mean…

“Holy shit you’re a graduated cylinder!” Lup shouted at him from across the way.

Immediately squeals of “language, Miss Lup!” began in front of her and she apologized to them as Dr. Hallwinter walked over with a smile on his face.

“Sure, am! This is pretty much my only Halloween costume, but I do love it.”

“Well, it certainly works for you, Dr. Hallwinter.”

He blushed before saying, “Lup, please just call me Barry. We’ve been having this discussion all summer. The only other person who calls me Dr. Hallwinter is Angus.”

As if to prove his point, Taako swooped in at that moment in a chef’s costume with the letters “FE” written on his shirt and yelled, “Excellent costume, Barold! You look even more like a nerd than usual and that’s saying something.”

Barry laughed. “Thank you, Taako, or should I say Iron Chef?”

Taako bowed deeply. “At your service, sir.”

“Dr. Hallwinter, sir!” They saw smoke before they saw Angus and Lup was a little alarmed before she realized that it was part of his costume. The boy had dressed up like a volcano with fake lava and smoke coming out of the top of it. “Look, it works!”

“All right, buddy!” The pair high fived and a weird fuzzy feeling struck Lup while watching the two of them.

“I think they’re about to start the scary stories over by the bonfire, are you coming, sir?”

“Pshh am I coming? Miss Lup asked me if I could host the festivities. Now you go get a good seat and I’ll be right over to start us off.”

Angus saluted him and ran off, eager for the frights ahead.

“Hosting the ghost stories, that’s a big deal Barold. Lup has hosted the bonfire herself for the last - oh, I don’t know, 2 decades?”

Barry turned to Lup, confused. “Is that true? I don’t want to impose or ruin any traditions.”

She waved him off. “Nah, it’s fine. We got off on the wrong foot, think of it as a peace offering.” Stepping closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, her voice got quiet. “You’re a member of this family, Barry.”

It was a good thing it was so dark, otherwise she would have seen his face turn a deep red. “You said my name.”

“Yeah, yeah, go get ready to spook some kids, Bluejeans.”

“Bluejeans?”

“You’ve worn the same blue jeans every single day since you started, even when we do activities by the lake. I’m absolutely convinced that you only packed that one pair for the entire summer.”

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.”

“Barold. My dude. You only packed one pair of jeans, no shorts, no swim trunks, for an entire summer at a camp?”

“There might have been a slight mishap on the way here in which I lost my shorts, swim trunks, and half of my underwear.”

No one moved or said anything for a second before Taako finally said, “Barry, you know we go into town once a week to get food for the camp, right?”

Barry just stared into space, regretting all of his life choices that led up to this moment. Lup busted up laughing, harder than anyone had seen her laugh all summer. As she wiped a tear from her eye, she patted his shoulder and said, “Well, I guess you know for next year, right?”

He raised an eyebrow playfully. “Next year, huh?”

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t make any promises until I see how well you do at our bonfire fright fest. Speaking of which, we should definitely be heading over there. I am a little nervous to see how Magnus has been keeping the kids occupied.”

---

Lup stood in the back of the crowd, letting Barry take over the hosting responsibilities of the bonfire. It was one of her favorite parts of camp, but it felt right to let him do it. He was doing really well, enhancing his performance with shadow puppets from the fire and interspersing the scary parts with science puns to ease the nerves of the younger kids. She found it absolutely adorable.

“I think Barold is giving you a run for your money, Lulu.”

“He’s better than I expected, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad you gave the guy a chance. He’s a good dude.”

She smiled. “He is, isn’t he?”

Taako took a moment, watching his sister watch Barry. “You have the hots for him, don’t you? Jeezy creezy, I should have seen this coming. Those arguments you two had at the beginning were spicy.”

“What?!” Lup said, a little too loudly, face flushing. “I do not have the hots for Dr. Bluejeans. He’s just funny and good with the kids and very smart and looks good in jeans and oh my god I have the hots for Dr. Bluejeans.” Her eyes got wide and she clutched Taako’s arms. “Taako what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Lulu, I say this with all the love in my heart: don’t follow your instincts. Right now, your instincts are telling you to let him walk away tomorrow and not say anything, and they are dead wrong.”

“Ughhh but what if he doesn’t feel the same? It ruins the professional relationship we have and then I have to ban him from the camp and then Angus will hate me and we will lose our best customer.”

“Something tells me he also feels the same way.”

“But how do you know that?”

30 minutes earlier

Lup went ahead before the boys to make sure that Magnus hadn’t started a revolution of sorts and that left Barry and Taako to quickly clean up the food before following. Barry’s eyes lingered a little too long on Lup as she was walking away.

“Barold. Are you checking out my sister?”

“What?! No, what makes you think that?”

“I rolled a Nat 20 on perception, Barold. Legally you cannot lie to me. Now tell me: do you have the hots for my sister?”

Barry covered his face with his hands. “Maybe? Yes. Absolutely. Completely. As soon as she called me a poorly-dressed poser on my first day I was done for.”

“Rad. You should do something about that.” Taako started walking towards the bonfire, witch’s brew in hand.

“What, like tell her?”

“Tell her, kiss her, fight her, just something so I get to stop looking at you two making eyes at one another,” Taako yelled back without stopping.

“What - we don’t make eyes at one another, that’s not…she makes eyes at me?”

“Yeah, I think you’re good, my dude.”

The kids started clapping, signaling the end of the story that Magnus was telling.

“All right, thank you Magnus. Very scary, that story about zombie dogs. I think next up we have everyone’s favorite camp director, Miss Lup!”

The kids cheered and Lup had to pull herself together to nail this story that she was definitely going to pull out of her ass because she most certainly hadn't prepared anything.

“Are you kids ready to get the pants scared off of you?”

They screamed enthusiastically.

“All right, this story is about our very own Lake Igneous here at Camp Rocks. Legend has it that there was a woman who used to live in these woods by herself, not letting anyone else get near her. She refused help from anyone that came by, wanting to do everything alone and remain independent. The campers nearby could hear her blowing shit up in the woods and they knew to steer clear. One day, a man stumbled into her home, lost and confused. She lit off several explosions in an attempt to scare him off but he didn’t want to leave.”

As she talked, her eyes found Barry’s.

“He saw how lonely she was and helped her blow shit up. Eventually she grew to really like the man and really enjoyed blowing things up with him.” Barry laughed at that. Lup, suddenly remembering that this was supposed to be a scary story, abruptly tore her eyes away from his.

“They thought it would be a good idea to light some fireworks on the lake, so they took a boat out to the center and created the biggest and most beautiful explosion known to man, taking both of them out. They sacrificed their lives for the dopest light show, and sometimes, on a very clear and quiet night, you can see them in the lake, hand in hand.”

Lup bowed to signal that the story was over and she took her place back next to Taako.

“Lup, that was...pretty rough, not going to lie. Not your best work, that’s for sure.”

“I just got so distracted looking at his dumb face.”

“Yeah, that whole story was glaringly obvious.” She glared at him.

“I just need to get through this night without further making an ass of myself.”

He snorted. “Good luck.”

After the bonfire had wrapped up and all the kids were sent to bed, Lup sat at her favorite spot down by the lake to stare at the stars. She always sat here on the final night, reminiscing over the summer.

“Mind if I join you?” Barry’s voice came out of nowhere, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t expect it. Lup didn’t respond, just patted on the ground next to her. “So, your story was -”

“It’s okay, you can say it was shit, because it was. I definitely did not prepare this year like I usually do.”

“-good. I really liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Especially the part where they die a fiery but beautiful death.”

She snorted and he took the opportunity to move closer to her, their shoulders touching.

“Thank you for letting me join the team this summer.”

“I would say you’re welcome, but I honestly didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“I know. Thank you for giving me a shot.”

“Again, not much choice in the matter.” He laughed. “You turned out alright. Better than I was expecting.”

“High praise from Miss Camp Director.”

“Would you be interested in coming back next year?”

“Absolutely. Pretty sure Angus would boycott if I didn’t show up.”

“He would just show up on your doorstep. Expect a lot of emails this year. So I’ll see you next summer, then?” He hesitated. “Unless you already have other commitments, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Lup, I’ll definitely be here next summer. I was just hoping that maybe we could see each other a little sooner than that. Like maybe this Saturday, dinner?”

She smirked. “A little forward, aren’t we, Dr. Bluejeans?” His face dropped.

“Oh, God. Did I totally misread this situation? Fuck, I am so sorry, I am going to just walk into this lake and never come back -” Barry started to get up, mortified.

“Barry, stop.” He looked at her, eyes wide in embarrassment. She shifted so her face was directly in front of his. “You didn’t misread this situation.” And then she kissed him.

@blupjeansweek2021

#blupjeansweek2021 #barry bluejeans #lup #taz balance #this is definitely the camp rock au i posted about ages ago #i might expand on this later

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maggyme13 · 4 years

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Sugar (16/?)

AN; I am sorry for the long delay (again) but Work was hell and still is..

I also apologize if this chapter seems out of place; i simply haven´t written in a long while for this story, so please forgive me for that and any mistakes I made as well... I might edit it later.

Warnings: none (?)

Wordcount: around 2000

Masterlist

Sugar- Masterlist

Part 15

It was christmas eve that you finally were allowed to leave the hospital under the condition to be closely monitored by your friends.

“Now that you are free again, what do you want to do.”, Sam teased.

“Burger. I need some meat!”, you groaned, even with Loki´s ´Luxurious´-hospital charge, the food had been mediocre.

“If that is what you want.”, Loki hummed, trying to hold Hati back from attacking you with kisses, “The ones of the local diner are alright, I heard.”

“Yes, they really are.”

“Good, then we will go and have lunch there.”, the CEO decided.

“And then I want to go and see Ma.”, you stated with a nod.

“Of course. But I can send Thor to retrieve her and joins us for lunch.”

“Na. I will go and see her. There are things I have to discuss -things that should not be spoken of publicly.”

“Again, if that is what you wish.”, Loki breathed into your ear, “But I will join you. No arguments.”

A shiver went down your spine and you nodded, “okay.”

“Boss!”, Sam called out from ahead, “I just called the diner and reserved a table fro everyone. We have three hours before they close for Christmas.”

“Thak you Wilson. You lot heard him, hurry up your lazy asses.”, the last part was more of a laughter and everyone piled into the cars.

The diner was already filled with families and small groups of friends, when the five of you and two dogs entered.

“You must be Mr Wilson. Please follow me. There is a small table I was able to reserve for you. As you can imagine we have a lot to do today. So please except my apology for any trouble.”

“It´s alright.”, you smiled, “We came on a rather short notice. Please don´t stress yourself.”

“Thank you Miss. Please, take a seat and have a look on our menue. I will be back in a bit to take your order.”

“Thank you, Anne.”, Bucky winked, sending her away with a shy smile.

“I will take the Double Cheese with Onions, jalapenos, extra bacon, fries and Soda.”, you declared after a quick glance at the menu.

“For me it will be the ´Meatlover´s` with Fries and Soda.”, Thor exclaimed with his stomach agreeing.

“Same for me, only with potato wedges instead of fries.”, Bucky hummed.

“I am gonna eat the wings with fries.”, that was Sam.

“I think I will take the Mac´n´Cheese.”, the dark haired CEO hummed, “And some baked-apple-pie ad dessert.”

It took Anne fifteen minutes to return to your table and another five to take the order, because Hati and Skali kept begging for attention by the waitress.

“I will be back as soon as possible with your orders. Just give me a few minutes to get you your drinks.”

“Thank you Anne.”, you grinned.

-..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..-

The food was delicious and after around one hour your little group was finished.

“Here is the check, Sir.”, Anne said, “Do you want to play cash or using card?”

“Cash, if that is alright with you.”

“It is fine by me.”

“Good. This is for the food.”, Loki said, handing over some money, “And this is for your excellent service, and this for the people in the kitchen.”, another two 100 Bills landed in the girls hand, who in return was lost for words.

“Uh-uhuh. Th-Th- Thank you, Sir. But this is far too much. I – I can´t take this.”, she spluttered and you piped in.

“Yes, you can. And believe me: If you don´t take this money now, he will find a way for you to get this somehow. He doesn´t take ´no´ for an answer.”

“Uhm. This… Thank you so much, Sir. God bless you!”, she almost squealed.

“It´s fine. Have a Merry Christmas!”

She thanked him once more when she closed the door of the diner behind them.

.--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..-

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, Bucky asked one last time before turning into the parking lot of Teller-Morrows.

“Yes.”, you spoke with determination in your voice.

“Well then. We will stay at the cars, you know what to do if you need our help.”

“Rosebutt”., you nodded.

“Rosebutt.”, the security nodded back in union.

“Looks like we were already found out.”, Thor stated, nodding to the entrance of the clubhouse where multiple bikers had already gathered, including your brother and his brothers Tig and Kozik.

Stepping out of the cars, you noticed the way the biker´s tensed statures changed once they realized it was you, to a more relaxed. And most of them even left to go inside.

Anger rose in your heart with every step to took towards your brother, and being usually calm and not known for using physical force, a round of surprise noised were heard all around. You had punched your brother in the face, hurting yourself in the process, but also (hopefully) hurting him while bringing your point across.

“Fuck you Happy Lowman!”, you growled, shaking out your hand, “Fuck you and your stupid way of thinking! Damn that hurt. I hope I broke your nose.”

You did not. You were not even sure that this punch had hurt him at all, but at least he was looking down ashamed.

“You heard that? Or did your Boss tell you?”, he grumbled.

“I heard you. For real? I can understand why you did what you did. At least when I was younger. But I am sure, you could have explained everything once I was, what, maybe 18 or just before I left to study? Did you think me this stupid?”

“You ain´t stupid and don´t ever believe someone who claims you are!”, he growled with so much love in your voice you nearly laughed.

“I know I am not! But seriously? Do you know what I had to go through because I believed I was alone and did not want to pull Ma into my trouble? When I thought I had nowhere to go? When I had to live on the streets! When I was fucking harassed my a swine of a man. When I was sure I would end up in jail? And don´t even think about going into full big-brother mode or something! You lost that right up until the point of a few days ago! But you may have it now, if you stop being an asshole from now on and more of a brother. I do not forgive you right now, but maybe I will in the future. For now I am happy to maybe start anew?”

“ I would like that.”, he nodded, “And I really am sorry. For everything.”

“Good. You do deserve a broken nose though!”, you grumbled, “Where is Ma?”

“In the clubhouse. Hasn´t spoken to me really since I send you away. Deserved that.”

“Yes you did. And before this goes further: how the heck do you know about the account? No one knows about that!”

“I have my informants. Though they never told me about what you had just told me.”, he rumbled, “If anything like that happens again, call me. And I mean it- I will ride my harley to that damn city if I must.”

“Mhm… And you-”, you pointed at your mother who had just joined the two of you,”- don´t you ever be angry or disappointed because I don´t tell you thinks. And do never argue with me if I want to buy you things or help with stuff. If I didn´t know that bafoon of a brother as well as I do, I would be more than disappointed with you not telling me all of this shit. But alas, as we all are as stubborn as they come, there is no need to argue. It was what it was and what done is is done. No need to fret over thinks that can´t be changed anymore.”

Your mother smiled, “God help me with such stubborn children.”

“And us with such a stubborn mother.”, the two of you hummed in union.

“I am sorry to interrupt this moment.”, Loki´s voice suddenly piped up, “May I suggest having some pie or other baked goods together? To celebrate this?”

“And I have just the right cake for this in the fridge. If you have a place. We have a deal, Mr Laufeyson.”, your mother exclaimed and you knew there would be no other choice now, not that you would have wanted.

“As a matter of fact, I have. I am sure your brother is aware of the address. “

“Yeah.”, the brother in question grumbled.

“Good. You go ahead. I will get myself and the cake ready and Happy will drive us there. Say 4pm?”

“My pleasure.”, Loki nodded and offered you his arm, that you happily took.

“We will take care of everything else.”, the CEO smiled his charismatic smile.

“See you later Ma, Happy.”, with these words you allowed Loki to escort you back to the cars.

-..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..-

The five of you had returned to New York two days later and were now in the middle of planning how the lot of you would celebrate New Years Eve.

As you learned, there was usually a big Party at the Bifrost, because of that every one of the friends group was able to celebrate together while still being at work.

“Are there any rules on what to wear?”, you asked Loki one evening while cooking dinner, as he was sitting at the table looking at some designs for a new collection.

“Whatever you like. You could go naked for all I care, but then I would suggest having a private gathering with only the two of us.”, amusement and a bit of flirting was in his voice.

“Maybe after the official part. For now I just need to know if there will be others apart from us at the VIP or if there will be -others.”, you asked again, turning towards the CEO over your shoulder.

“If you are hinting at someone like Quill, then don´t worry your beautiful head of. Our Area of the VIP lounge will be private and separated from the rest. There will be no unwanted attention.”

“That´s exactly what I was hinting at.”, you poked out your tongue, “But seriously, I am representing you and whatever I do will reflect on you and your business. I don´t want to do something wrong or disappoint.”

Having stated this, you turned your attention back to the food, so you did not realized the man hat gotten up from his seat and stepped beside you.

His hands reassuringly caressing your shoulders and arms, he spoke with the warm tone you loved so much.

“No matter what you do, you can not do anything that would reflect badly on me. That is not who you are and even so, I don´t care what others think of you.”

“Maybe.”, you hummed.

“What else is troubling your mind. It is not only the question on what to wear.”, he stated, his arms snaking around your middle.

A deep sight left your chest and you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace.

“I haven´t repaid you for the other night.”, you mumbled, the slight feeling of guilt had been plaguing your mind for the last couple of days. Just as Loki himself you liked to take care of those that are important to you, and so having been brought to a release without your partner finding one had you feeling that way.

“That night was about you and what you need. Not what I need. And trust me, I have just as much enjoyed that night as you did. Just because I did not came to a release, does not mean I got nothing out of it. I got you and that is far more important than any release you could have given me. You gave me your trust.”, he hummed, his nose buried into your hair.

But still…

“Now, may I ask what is for dinner?”

“Chilli.”

Part 17

AN 2.0.

REBLOGS and comments are appreciated:)

Thank you very much.

~MaggY

Taglists:

Permanent:

@jadepc@pacifyhxlsey @thankyoukarenclifford

@thankyouforanonymity @punkrockhufflefluff

@scarletraine @buckycaptspideypool @markusstraya @graveyard-groupie @markusstrayya @randomgirlkensy @the-soulofdevil

@marshyrebelcloud

MCU:

@yknott81 @banner-and-bucky-are-life @forext20 @dyanlzbb @so-finster-die-nacht @emmii4 @bitchwhytho @ladyofmyst @jilldsumner @momc95 @appreciating-fanfics

Sugar:

@bits-and-bobs-and-kawaii-stuffs @mimmie666 @fullranchwolfoperator

@cluelessnitwhit @youknowitsclouds @his-paradox @purplerainharry

@spootgaai2000 @iamsuperjenna @nikkipea @alexakeyloveloki @timelordy-fangirl2 @girrafeeeeeee @emilyjane44x @randomgirlwholoveskpop @deathkat657

I couldnt tag a few of you… sorry.

Want to get tagged as well? Comment, Reblog or send an ask to let me know.

#sugardaddy loki #sugardaddy Loki x reader #Loki x reader #Reader insert #SOA #Sons of Anarchy #Happy Lowman #sugardaddy AU #ONLY AN AU #I AM NOT LOOKING FOR A SUGARDADDY

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wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey · 4 years

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Kdrama recs Part 2

Hello @camsthisky and anyone else who cares! I do apologize for the delay on this post--it has only been 84 years since Part I of my kdrama recs, I know, and I thought about going for a full century but this is me finding a way to de-stress after watching the first episode of I-Land alkdjfadlksj I’m gonna die of heartbreak but whatever

Speaking of heartbreak, there is a lot to be found in Korea’s wonderful historical dramas, so like, be warned—or, if you are an angst-loving monster like me, settle down for hot guys and good cries

Let us begin! (or, if you want romantic modern dramas see Part 1)

1. Scarlet Heart Ryeo/Moonlovers:

aha ahahahahahaha *weeps* You may have heard people talk about this show. You may have heard ME talk about this show. This thing was my first kdrama ever and it RUINED ME

Disclaimer: I have seen this show once and rewatched it twice and on the rewatches I can never quite make myself watch the last 4 or 5 episodes because things get tragic and messy and I get mad. HOWEVER there is a lot of good in the first part of the show and because this thing was all the rage in everywhere but Korea itself, there’s like over 300 fanfic for it and several good fix-its, including one by my good friend @thelonelybrilliance

Ok so anyway this show which could also be called An Abundance of Princes starts with a young woman from modern times getting thrown back into ancient Goryeo during an eclipse and finds herself in the body of Hae Soo, the cousin of the wife of one of the princes, and thus she gets embroiled in royal affairs which are, quite frankly, a mess. See, the evil eyeliner prince (whom I love even when he’s the worst) is plotting with his mom to get the Crown Prince out of the way aka dead BUT who should return to the Palace but the 4th Prince, Wang So, who has spent at least half his life living as hostage to a powerful family.

So has a scar that cuts across his eye and which in this society makes him a horror to look at or smthing idk he just looks extra hot to me but anyway he wears a mask and is known as the wolf dog (or as the MURDER ANGST CUPCAKE thanks @abadpoetwithdreams). He might seem a little rough around the edges at first because his life has been hell but he really just wants to love and be loved okay people need to be nice to him wtf

Other princes include:

1. the Crown Prince, Wang Mu, a good egg, not particularly charismatic but he tried to protect his lil bro when no one else would

2. the 8th prince, Wang Wook, who reminds me of a fellow named Shane and I don’t mean the cowboy

3. the 10th prince, Wang Eun, a dumb adorable spoiled bby (played by Baekhyun from EXO)

4. the 13th prince, Baek Ah, a tol soft boi, an artist, a BAE, a BRO, a SHIPPER ON DECK

5. the 14th prince, Wang Jung this son will fight everyone he’ll fight himself he just loves to fight! Not always wise but he’s a good boy and I like him a lot

6. just realized I skipped the 9th prince but nobody cares

One quick note is that IU plays Hae Soo, and I enjoy her a lot in the first half of the show where she is still spunky and rebellious...sadly her character kind of falls apart/gets too weak for my liking as the episodes progress

The MAIN reason why I feel it my duty to recommend this show to everyone despite the fact I have never met anyone who wasn’t traumatized by it is LEE JOON GI

Yes, this man:

I mentioned him in the previous rec post—he played Bong Sang Pil in Lawless Lawyer (AND IS NOW CURRENTLY STARRING IN FLOWER OF EVIL WHICH WILL BE ON ANOTHER POST AHDFOIASDHGALDSKJF FRIQ I AM IN LOVE WITH THAT MAN)

BUT SERIOUSLY LOOK AT HIS PHOENIX EYES!!! HIS RAZOR SHARP FEATURES! HIS BIG ADORABLE EARS! HIS BEAUTIFUL EXCESSIVE BANGS! 4TH PRINCE WANG SO LOVE OF MY LIFE

SOMEONE PROTECT THIS BBY

2. Hwarang: Ok so right off the bat I am going to smack down a disclaimer that I can’t stand the female lead. TRULY CANNOT. Thus, I don’t like the romance, and only care about the love triangle as far as it just shows how sad and lonely one of the guys is. (Also there are scenes of dumb old men plotting and I don’t like them either). At the end of the show, I am happy that the one guy is NOT stuck with the female lead as his wife. Good for you sir

Sounds like a show to steer clear of then, right? WRONG. This is a show that you skip through because the scenes that are good? Are GREAT

Picture this: It is the Silla era of Korea, and the queen is ruling as regent in place of her son, who has been hiding all his life because everyone wants to kill him. Well, son is now grown and must soon come into the light and take the throne. Queen who both wants her son as king but also really likes being queen decides to do everyone a favor and form an elite fighting squad out of all the prettiest and most talented sons of nobles in the land, with the idea that they will be loyal only to the throne, and thereby keep their dads from plotting to destroy everything.

Let me tell you something, these ARE the prettiest boys in the land. Good hair, good jawlines, beautiful smiles—the cast lineup includes Park Hyung Sik and his cute lil elf ear, Park Seo Joon, Taehyung (yes from BTS!), and Choi Minho from Shinee, plus two other actors who are lesser known but who are drop-dead gorgeous. Anyway. Sorry, but they really are all beautiful.

The fun thing is they don’t all get along right away, a few of them are VERY much opposed to the other for various reasons, but they all have to bond and become brothers in arms. And what they don’t know is that the real king snuck in and is one of them. 10/10 I would die for the boys! (also Tae has an older half-brother who is a lower rank than him but whom he looks up to and that makes for cuteness and pain) Once you skip the boring or annoying parts of the show, the rest has so much delight, laughter, and oops pain, lots of pain. I want to go re-watch.

Two other things I should mention about the show: a super soft side romance between secondary characters and a game of, as they call it in the show, HOT SOCCER

^pretty boy 1 (with the cute elf ear sadly on the other side of his head)

^pretty boy 2 (sad cheekbone bby) and pretty boy 3 (happy cheekbone bby)

^pretty boy 4 (the prettiest of them all, and he knows it!)

^pretty boy 5 (aka Taehyung danced around the set of a historical drama and made everyone adopt him as their bby)

3. Faith/The Great Doctor: This is a longer kdrama at 24 episodes and they didn’t have much of a budget so special effects aren’t the best or anything but I just got really attached to all the characters? This is another modern girl goes back in time but UNLIKE SHR it actually has a happy ending, so if you need a historical drama cleanse after that tearjerker/enrager, this could be it for you

Eun Soo has to navigate the ancient kingdom, keep people believing she is a heavenly doctor with special powers, and keep Choi Young alive so he can fulfill his promise of returning her to her own time. The problem with that is Choi Young does have kind of a death wish because of reasons—

Eun Soo is a plastic surgeon who would really like a rich handsome husband one day but them’s the breaks for you, aka she has had no luck in that department. Back in ancient Korea, Choi Young (played by Lee Minho in sadly the only role I really love him in) is a high-ranking beloved captain who can fall asleep anywhere. Oh he can also make electricity with his hands! :D

The story begins when the sleepy sad captain tries to escort the new king and queen to their palace. This was during the time period when ancient Korea was basically a puppet kingdom/tributary of ancient China (Yuan). The king (who is very smol and lacks confidence, but still has a good heart for his country) lived as a hostage in Yuan for many years, and his wise tol queen is a princess of that land, and someone needs to sit them down and make them talk because they actually love each other a lot. Anyway, when the queen gets injured by assassins, Choi Young goes searching for a legendary doctor, winds up in modern Korea, and steals both Eun Soo and a SWAT shield, because hey, it looked cool I guess

Lots of fun things in the show: Choi Young has a crew of soldiers who are BEYOND loyal to him, and while he doesn’t think much of the king at first because he’s been burned by kings before, they slowly become bros and shippers on deck for each other. Eun Soo does not lose her spunk or loyalty unlike other people I could mention *cough*HaeSoofromScarletHeartRyeo*, and it cracks me up when she curses people out. There are also a bunch of people (mostly bad guys) running around with special powers or gifts, including a flame lady and a flute boy, and the latter wears delightful anime wigs, keeps his sword in his flute, and plays his flute to kill—literally! I love flute boy very much

sorry it’s black and white but DO YOU SEE THE SWAT SHIELD

4. My Country: A New Age:

ANGST ANGST ANGST PAAAAAIN BUT ALSO BEST INTRO BEST FAVES BEST ACTORS

Picture this: two young men, who both hail from childhoods of trauma, who grew up together and are best friends, and who are tragically forced apart and end up on opposite sides of a conflict that threatens to upend the current rule of the kingdom. This IS the star-crossed brotp you’ve been waiting for!

Seo Hwi is the son of a general who died a criminal, and all he wants is to live simply and earn enough rice take care of his younger sister, who has seizures and a sweet crush on Hwi’s bestie. Hwi is the best softest most loyal boy with a good and true heart, a great deal of courage, and a talent for wielding a sword, and just wait till you see the best one-shot fight scene ever of him in battle, it is INCREDIBLE! (He is played by Yang Se Jong, who I now want to see more of) Hwi has an abundance of charisma points in that he picks up a small band of loyal soldier friends and they become the best little found family, lots of brotp-ness in this crew—do not mess with any of them because they will all FIGHT you

Seon Ho meanwhile is the illegitimate despised son of a powerful nobleman, only tolerated because the legitimate son died. Seon Ho loves his friend and is very protective of his friend’s little sister who crushes on him but his dad is a high class grade A power-hungry jerk and that causes complications of course. Seon Ho also has a good heart, he’s a gentle soul really, but he always gets stuck in bad positions and unfortunately makes a couple of difficult/bad choices so he hardens himself as much as he can but the consequences always kill him and he just wants to save his friends and destroy his dad and the stupid hierarchy that treats bastards as lesser. WHY IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

Seon Ho he is played by Woo Do Hwan who has so much talent I die so many times over in this show just because of the way he portrays Seon Ho like that sad sad boy is one of my favorite characters evER! Is he problematic? At times maybe but I am HERE for him he just needs LOVE AND AFFECTION AND AN ABUNDANCE OF GOOD FRIENDS BUT INSTEAD (SOMETIMES THRU HIS OWN FAULT BUT HE ADMITS THAT) HE JUST SUFFERS AND SO I SUFFERRRR

*grabs a towel and dries up my tears*

Hwi also falls in love with a woman named Hui Jae (or was it Hee Jae i can’t remember) and they are very cute together, she’s pretty cool but the show’s one failing is arguably that they kind of underuse her in the plot as the story goes on? But I still like her and she still has a good role, and she is both brave and kind and not afraid to step in or tell people off, also keep a weather eye open for patching up scenes!

Oh yeah, eVERYONE in this gets hurt/stabbed/shot/bloody, such a shame they have to take their shirts off to clean and bandage the wounds ;)

Last character I must mention is Bang Won, played by Jang Hyuk in his second interpretation of the historical figure. Bang Won is the fifth? son of the guy who becomes emperor/king, and he has his own plans for the country, so when Hwi catches his eye, he recruits him to his cause. What you need to know about him is that he has issues with his dad, is slightly unhinged, and cannot and should not be parted from the fan that he constantly carries around with him. Gotta say, Jang Hyuk is FANTASTIC (heheheheheheh) in the role, able to convey all kinds of emotion in the rise and fall of his voice, in the tilt of his head, the tears of his eyes, the flick of his fan. Give this actor all the awards!

To sum up: if you like to cry for days after watching a drama, if you like excellent heart-wrenching brotps, if you like conflicted characters, if you like amazing music and setting and plot, if you like guys with good hair and arm muscles (and

abs, thank you shirtless scenes what) this show is a Must Watch

DID I SAY STAR-CROSSED BROTP I MEANT SWORD-CROSSED BROTP ADKJFADLSKJFLKJDFALKDGKLJL </3

Ok I was going to leave the historical drama post at this for now but...I’m going to cheat a little and include the one historical C!drama I just finished.Yes folks I am talking about:

5. Nirvana in Fire:

Ok so maybe the switch from kdrama to cdrama makes you uncertain. Maybe the fact that this show has FIFTY-FOUR EPISODES makes you go hell no I don’t have enough time for that. Well if you overlook this show for those reasons, you are making, and I do not exaggerate, the greatest mistake of your show-watching life!

Look, first, this drama has one of the best, most intricate, most satisfying plots in history, with like 20 characters you would die for, and second, the episodes are only about 42 minutes each, which is shorter than most kdrama episodes, so you can deal.

Once upon a time there was a general/family who were just too good to exist in corrupt old China, so naturally they were framed for treason and there was a giant massacre and everybody died, including the eldest prince who was like um dad maybe this is all a horrible mistake and the king was like no u are the mistake. Sad times.

One of the many younger princes named Jing (A NOBLE HEART, if not always the cleverest) returns home from wherever he was, finds out that not only did his prince brother die, but so did his best friend/brother in the whole wide world, Lin Shu, son of the general. Because he insists on the innocence of said bros/family, Jing becomes an outcast prince and is shuffled off to fight in wars where he can’t cause any trouble. Meanwhile, Princess Nihuang, Lin Shu’s brave, awesome, amazing, wise, incredible girlfriend, refuses to marry anyone else, and because she is too cool to be messed with, nobody tries to banish her

Cut to I think eleven years later, when the two most powerful princes are vying to be the crown prince and heir to the throne. They both try to recruit the aid of a renowned clever and sassy strategist named Mei Changsu, to help them with plotting and PR and such.

Well little do they know that Mei Changsu is actually the not-dead Lin Shu, with a completely new face (for reasons), and that Mei Changsu is a chess master setting up a long con for the dual purpose of obtaining revenge/justice for the dead and of raising Prince Jing to the throne, since Prince Jing is the only man with a good enough heart and strong enough will to make China a better place for all the people. But just to make it hard on everybody, Mei Changsu is dead set on not telling anyone who he really is—again, for reasons. He is not always successful in keeping his secret.

I literally don’t know what else to say because there is so MUCH to say, so many characters to love, and I mean LOVE. How do you get a cast this good? How is everyone so different yet so important? How do you feel bad for the emperor even when he’s slimy? How do you have to stop yourself from rooting for the prince who would destroy some of your faves? I can’t praise the charisma and acting talent in this show enough! And the music! IS GORGEOUS!

1 strategist too sassy for his own good and too clever for everyone else’s good + 1 prince who loves his mom and his dead best friend and his dead older brother more than anything else in the world + 1 gentle wise mom + 1 eternally loyal princess who would defend her loved ones with the sword if necessary + 1 sassy Elrond healer man + 1 grumpy sulky baby who loves being a better fighter than almost everyone + 1 loyal to the death, brave badass general who is going to have a stress breakdown if the strategist doesn’t take better care of himself + not 1 but 2 good boys who deserve to be protected but who are willing to throw themselves into battle if necessary + 1 antagonist tiger prince who I love and am not ashamed to say it = THE BEST OF TIMES

^he hardly ever wears his hair down but when he does <33333333

*checks calendar* how soon is too soon rewatch something, asking for a friend

#kdrama recommendations #scarlet heart ryeo #hwarang #faith: the great doctor #my country: the new age #nirvana in fire #my kdrama recs #historical kdramas #plus one cdrama #i went overboard on gifs sorry not sorry

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flow-green · 3 years

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Fresh dog onwer and a Fuck-It-Diet

Slowly I am crawling out from my black hole. Few months of silence has been broken. I disappeared for a bit due to quite severe reason. I will not reveal it here in details, if anyone is interested, feel free to DM me :). It was not related to my ED. Life just happened and decided to throw quite a tricky challenge on my way, which luckily got solved in a positive way, and within March I managed to pick myself back up again.

These two months were quite adventurous and opened my eyes on many levels. I started to appreciate more what and who surrounds me and how dear and important my family and close ones are to me. I realized that I hurt them with my self-destructive behavior and this constant worrying over me is an unnecessary burden and a source for stress. So, I am really grateful for this experience. More and more I have started to let go of the restrictions and demons in my head and slowly move towards a mentality that my body is my own temple, my own home and serves me and myself only, and not someone else. Or, well, perhaps in an uncertain future it will be a temporary home for another person, so I should really take care of my body.

These last two weeks have opened my eyes even more, because by a happy accident I stumbled upon a book, but more on that a bit later. First, I would like to tell you about one of the biggest changes of my life, which has brought so much happiness and positivity to our lives. Namely, we now have a new family member. No, I did not have a baby (a bit ironic in this context...), but now there is a constant cheerful pit-a-pat on our floor, made by four cute little paws. On February 16 we got an unexpected opportunity to get a dog! Charlie has now been with us almost 2 months, 2 amazing months. In his quite unique size and unknown breed (we suspect a fox is somehow involved...) he has turned us into these crazy dog lady and sir, you know, like a crazy cat lady.

I think if people saw us right now just the three of us in our natural habitat, they would never ever dare to do any official busines with us.

Anyhow, here he is. Charlie even has his own Instagram account (another sign that we definitely are not normal)

Mr. Dog has a massive amount of dog fur which happily floats all over the house and if we vacuum the entire place on Wednesday morning, all the fur bunnies have taken their natural place back to themselves.

Charlie is cool. With his happy face he rides with us to all the places around the country, he loves car rides. Every weekend we go to some new place in Estonia to explore, our 10 km (over 6 miles) hikes have become our cool new habit. One morning was especially special. We both lost our sleep around 4 AM in the morning and after an hour of chit chat in the bed while Charlie still slept between us (yes, he is a heavy sleeper and definitely not a morning person and yes, he sleeps in our bed. Deal with it), we decided that enough of bedtime and no more sleep. let’s wake up as the sun will rise at 6 AM. Let’s make some breakfast and lunch to go, watch the sunrise with coffee and then go to an early hike in Käsmu, around the epic seaside in Northern Estonia. Done deal. This was one of the most amazing days in my life.

Charlie is just like a therapy dog. Every time when I feel like breaking down in tears, I hug Charlie tight and let him comfort me with his soft cuddles and confident and wise eyes. All the sorrow and worries are gone. Charlie has also made us so active physically. We take several longer or shorter walks throughout the day. I have started to really love walking and running again and for me, for myself, and not for calories or for punishment. I am not counting distance or pace anymore. Every evening I fall asleep, happily excited about my upcoming morning run. I truly enjoy every last step I take.

But, as I promised, a few lines about my new ‘diet’ called The Fuck It Diet. Recently, I pampered myself with another e-reader and this motivated me to search some books which are suggested for people struggling with eating disorders. ‘The Fuck It Diet’ popped up and caught my eye. I managed to get it as an e-book and eagerly dug the pages in. The first lines already made my jaw drop: at first with anger towards the stated facts and later on because of complete understanding.

This book has totally topsy-turvy’ed my views as it describes my current situation in exquisite correct details. My whole belief system about diets, eating habits and weight numbers have completely changed. The whole book teaches you how to get rid of food addiction, self-esteem issues and obsession about body image and weight.

Why have I spent over 10 years battling with anorexia, bulimia and binge eating disorder? Why do I relapse in my hardest moments and total body hating world into an absurd calorie restriction, where I lose 6+ kg in 2 months, can keep myself skinny, yet sad for maximum 3-4 months, because I will not allow myself to eat anything as I want to lose even more to keep some buffer weight, then get tired and surrender and then eat back all those lost pounds and even more within few weeks? Why can’t I lose weight if I decide that instead of starving myself instead, I will go on some new diet, but this gives no result, weight will not drop, I get frustrated and get back to purging out food or get back to bingeing? Why does this wheel go round, and round and my weight will keep fluctuating vigorously and never stabilizes? Who do I go from one extreme to another? I have punished and scolded myself for years. I have tried to search or reasons: perhaps my genes are messed up and I am forever destined to keep my intake at 500 calories, so I can keep myself in that sweet spot of underweight and normal weight (because that is the only acceptable weight range for me. Sick, isn’t it?)

And then I got my answer: it is not about me or my genes. It’s because of these diets, no matter how beautiful the creators have painted them. It’s because human body has not meant to follow absurd rules about eating, be it fasting, LCHF, keto, paleo, raw vegan, or even mindful eating (eat slow! Rate your hunger! It’s under 10? You are not about to collapse from hunger? Good, drink some lemon water instead. See? Another bunch of rules to stress your brain out).

Most people commute from one diet to another, follows the rules and counts the calories for few months and then a relapse enters. it always does. Then, you will buy another diet plan, which promises even better results. You will haul for absurdly expensive foods like nut butters, almond flour, coconut oil. You replace your favorite foods with some silly alternative. You Google why the hell do I have a massive craving for Chocolate, which of course is your forbidden food. Google tells you have a magnesium deficiency (which might actually be true you know), but the solution: eat 12 almonds and forget about the chocolate. Be honest, that answer frustrates you a bit, deep down. So, instead to go and buy the damn chocolate and make your brain shut up, you force the craving down because FORBIDDEN! But at some point, you still go, buy the chocolate, eat it, and then promise yourself that now you will not touch another piece of chocolate once in upcoming months, will also restrict your intake a few weeks and eat your almonds. And are miserable. And then you eat some more chocolate. And are miserable again. Round and round, it goes.

And you gain those 10 pounds back. WHY, for the love of god?

Simple: your body has no clue whatsoever anymore, what the hell is going on. Years and years, you have kept your body in an unnatural state of starving, famine. Dietary culture has taught us that in order to lose weight all nice, you need to keep yourself in a calorie deficit and this should be around 1200-1500 cals in a day, maximum calorie intake cannot be more than 2000. You count every bite, every mouthful, you write it all down to MyFitnessPal. You eat your food, but you still crave for something more and are already worried about your next meal: can I eat something soon? What can I eat for dinner? Dude, you JUST ate, and you SHOULD feel full. If you don’t, there is obviously a problem. If you are full and STILL want something, there is obviously a problem. And your body is screaming at you the only solution. You worry about food 85% of your day (for me it was 100%, yes, even when I was having sex. Just SPECTACULARLY awesome!)

Body is not stupid. Body now has been taught that no matter what, there is always a next diet and famine state around every corner all the time. Body is scared. Body listens to the brain which constantly repeats those endless rules about eating. No chocolate, no pizza, bread is bad, cheese is bad, ice cream?! Are you stupid? Only a mango sorbet, something sugar free and watery or even better: make your own ice cream from banana (but remember, only HALF A banana!). Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest and then you will go and buy 2 liters of ice cream and eat it all in one go. You will torture yourself afterwards because ice cream is forbidden. You cannot eat it; you need to restrict and go for a 20-k run.

Now comes the most sillies, but the most logical fact: in order to break the cycle, there is only one simple solution: EAT! Everything. A lot. Eat it all that you have craved for years and years and have vetoed. Eat your cravings. Eat even when you are not hungry. Just eat whenever you feel like it. Eat until you are absolutely 100% satisfied and say honestly: no more. This process can take weeks, months, even years, depending on the individual. People in the book describe how they needed three whole years to reprogram their body back to its natural cycle. And it is scary, boy it’s scary. But you just need to take the leap into the water full speed, no splashing with your toes a bit to test the water. The faster you jump, the faster you get the wheels running. Result? Body calms down. Brain can finally rest and reprogram itself back to the way it must be. No food is forbidden anymore (unless you have a severe nut allergy. Please do not eat nuts if you might actually die). The brain now knows that whenever it wants something, it can actually get it, no strings attached, and calms down.

Yes, your will gain weight, sorry, this is not all strawberries and cream (yum, now I want strawberries and cream, will get some for dinner). At first, your body will not trust you. Would you trust yourself if you have been treated miserably for years? It is certain that it’s a trick and another diet is just around the corner. It takes time for it to calm down and start functioning the way it was meant to be. Weight will go up until the body heals and then... it will stop, the weight will naturally balance out, probably even go back down between the weight set points that everyone has, depending on your body and personal physical factor. I know that my middle goldilocks zone is about 5-6 kg more than my absolute lowest weight (right now I am around 10 kg heavier than my all time lowest and it is still in between my weight set points) and I am now completely okay with that number.

And I have now practiced this approach for half a week. Day before yesterday I had some Hesburger (McDonalds basically; had a vegan burger with FRIES), yesterday I ordered myself a vegan pizza without a second thought, with vegan cheese and everything, the whole package. I have now eaten ice cream for 4 days straight (one of my biggest forbidden foods), some vegan desserts. And yesterday I had my first shocking moment. I bought myself another ice cream after the pizza and right after I had bought it, I realized, that I actually do not want it right now. I have no craving. I got home and threw it in the freezer. After my dinner of soup and grilled cheese (!!!), I decided that I am going to eat the ice cream now. I had eaten half of it when I felt that I don’t want it anymore. I still finished it as it was a really small cone, but it was clearly more than enough. The rest of the evening I had no more cravings at all, no hunger. I didn’t even think about food anymore. I just enjoyed the movie with my SO and Charlie. Usually after dinner I was already overthinking about my next meal that was obviously hours away in the morning as no food after 6 PM and I definitely want something as breakfast is so far away, and besides, I try to postpone breakfast anyway as much as possible because intermittent fasting 16 hours +, which made me especially cranky and created countless of mornings with fights and tears with my SO. But now... no cravings and hunger for the entire night. Today morning I woke up with stomach still full from last night. I did not think about foo. Few hours later I bought some oatmeal, carrots, and hummus – and not because it is super healthy, and I am not allowed to eat anything else. No. I actually had a massive craving for carrots and hummus and oatmeal. For lunch, we decided to take some local hand-made burgers. I ordered vegan burger, but as a naked version without buns. Once again, not because empty forbidden bread calorie, but because I actually wanted that hearty vegan patty to sit on a pile of fresh leafy greens, peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers. My stomach was still quite full of carrot snacks and past dew days’ fast food. I had no inner battle about this with craving vs forbidden food. Nope, I actually did not want any bread or bun.

That was around 3 PM. And hours later I am still full. Back then I had a sever fear over next meal or even a desperate need for additional snack (a forbidden chocolate, ice cream or something similar), but nooo, forbidden, which made the craving and fear even worse.

I have not thought about food today anymore, except now that I write this.

I have gained weight, yes, and it scares me to the core, and I confessed this few days ago to my SO. He looked at me with surprised eyes and said that to be honest, he has not even noticed I have gained, he only realizes this when I have days with severe low self-esteem and when I try to hide my naked body. I think the gain is around 5-6 kg (over 10 pounds), which is not even that big of a deal. Of course, I see and know I have gained, because my clothes now fit kind of perfectly, some rare pieces are a bit tight (I’m in XS-S size, 4-6, and clothes used to be kind of baggy even. Girl, do you need more proof that you are NOT FAT?), my legs are not super-tight sticks with a thigh cap and my collar bones do not press out. I have now extra inches on my body and probably this is the most difficult thing to accept. Recently, I saw over years that the first weight number of 5 has turned into 6 (in kg), over night, which means it was probably water weight from weekend of drinking and salty foods, so this means the actual one is still few kg lower, but the fear is still very real and at that moment I realized that I am tired of crying over a pair of numbers. I am so done. On this day, I asked my partner to hide the scale so I would not now where it is. I went for my morning run and when I came back, I saw him grinning and the scale had disappeared.

On Saturday we went to a birthday party. There was a hot tab with out-doors transportable sauna. Everyone was wild from happiness, except me. I had my bikini with me but for few days already I had stressed out that I will not join the tub, I will not expose my fat body like that. But my friend suggested me to break down the stubbornness, overcome my fears and just do it. No one will judge me, nobody notices, nobody even cares. All those fears are demons in my head. At the party I was sure that I will not go. But then, at some point, I gave myself a mental kick on the butt and went for it. And I am not sorry. I had a blast! Didn’t seem like anyone was giving me looks from head to toes and judged me with their eyes ‘god she is fat!’

This week has been tough, but I now have so many small wins in my bag and overcoming several problems - something I thought I can never do. My motivation has skyrocketed. I could never believe that there might be a time where I am not thinking about food so obsessively. Of course, I know that this is just the beginning of my healing and a long way is to go. I do believe it takes months to amend the damage done in over 10 years.

One of my first fears when reading the book was: What if I eat myself to the absurd size of 400 lbs. seen in those scary reality shows. And my brain gave me the logical answer right away: those 400pound people are also mentally sick, obsessive over food. They have eaten themselves to the slaves of food from very early stage of their lives, being influenced by family, social environment and whatnot, but I am only in my early thirties and 80% of my life I have eaten well-balanced foods and been in the normal weight range, some years I struggled with slight overweight due to puberty and stress from massive changes in life, but this sorted itself out naturally as I got rid of the puberty hormones and stress, weight fluctuated minimally, until I hurled myself head first to the world of diets and eating disorders,

So, most definitely I cannot eat myself to a 400 lbs., it is not physically possible. Perhaps the most real case scenario would be me gaining to 65 kg +, which is coming close to small obesity, but even this is not highly possible as I see that when eating normally, I cannot fit that much food in me and when my metabolism actually heals, the weight should stabilize out and probably even go down a bit. That would actually be a dream: that it will stop going up AND DOWN. I really want that mental and physical stability back.

I miss a normal life. I am in a seriously perfect relationship which has been really close on the edge of abyss because of my sickly behavior. I have gambled with so many good things in my life and almost lost it all. Enough, seriously. I have

#thefuckitdiet #ed #ed recovery #eating disoder recovery #My Story #my journey

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qiankunfics · 3 years

Text

KunCas / CasKun Masterlist

AO3

1. Sea to Sky by HaloHalo

Summary: Lucas is so close to finishing his last year of university. All he has to do is focus and study and not screw anything up. Rating: Explicit Status: Completed

2. I can make you feel alive

Summary: as a parting gift before lucas goes home for the holidays, kun decided it was best for them to say their farewells in a special way. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

3. Gimme That Nectar by besthonestliar

Summary: Lucas is tired out from promotions, but not tired enough to refuse whatever the heck Kun appears to be propositioning. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

4. The Care and Feeding Of by nu-exo (Nekohime)

Summary: Even heroes need a little tender loving care every now and then. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

5. fear is the heart of love by Empathy_Supremacist

Summary: "Soon you will be my groom," Rating: Mature Status: On-Going Trigger: Dark themes

6. i wanna be with you (i think i'm in too deep) by kunmillion

Summary: Quarantined boyfriends Kun and Xuxi go on a Minecraft date together. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

7. Fatigue by jengae_malice

Summary: Kun was tired. Not physically but mentally. Rating: Teen Status: Completed

8. it's not what u think! (it isn't) by disobedientheart

Summary: Lucas has a special someone, apparently. Kun is really happy for him, except for the fact he isn't, and it's all downhill from there. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

9. you are... by justK

Summary: you're the moon. inspiring people, even when you're far from full. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

10. Love, Your Secret Santa by gaysadandtired

Summary: Secret Santa is all fun and games until you have to gift the man you've been secretly pining for for years. Just because fate loves to play games, that's exactly what happens to Kun. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

11. feather light, tethered tight by side_stickie_note (lost_stickie_note)

Summary: Yukhei is an angel, and Kun's only human. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

12. it must have been the mistletoe by m_writes

Summary: Haechan challenges Yangyang to get everyone in WayV to kiss Kun (platonically, of course) under the mistletoe. Which is fine, really - except for the fact that there is one person in particular who Kun has been in love with for years, and who he would really like to kiss non-platonically. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

13. Just Say Yes by gaysadandtired

Summary: Four years into their relationship, Kun decides to take the next step. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

14. be a good pup by opalhyuck

Summary: lucas misbehaved. kun punishes him. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

15. She's the Queen by RinAngel

Summary: Xuxi takes a one-night glimpse into Kun's charmed world of glitter and gloss, and wonders if he might like to apply for a tourist's visa after all. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

16. Fuck Buddies by bottomsonly

Summary: Lucas and Kun are fuck buddies with toxic feelings but it's time for it to come to an end. Kun's ready for a relationship but not with Lucas. Lucas has a fuck boy appeal but he doesn't want to lose Kun. So this is their last fuck together. Rating: Explicit Status: On-going

17. Follow the Stars by easycomeeasygo

Summary: When their professor dismisses them, Kun puts his head in his arms, face down onto the table and whines loudly at Sicheng to get his attention. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

18. Keep you safe by Kuns_Kloud

Summary: In which Kun has to return back to his family before they starve to death but a stubborn human isn’t willing to let him go, claiming that he could “keep him safe from danger”. Rating: General Status: On-Going

19. My Roommate's Sexy Brother by gaysadandtired

Summary: Wherein Lucas falls in love way too quickly, Kun is way too hot and Yangyang ends up scarred. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

20. dazed and kunfused by peach_june

Summary: Yukhei is drunk, he's high, he's with his friends and having a great time. Then he puts his puppy-dog face to work against Kun and gets way more than he bargained for. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

21. when the sun rises, it will be a whole new day by RinAngel

Summary: An unlucky game of rock, paper, scissors lands Kun with the responsibility of one very drunk Xuxi... and the responsibility of managing all the undiscussed feelings between them. Rating: Teen Status: Completed

22. five star pain(killer)

Summary: "Please don't kill me," he repeats, voice shaky. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

23. you touch my tra la la by starlace

Summary: Kun may or may not have a size kink, Yukhei is adorable and everything is Ten's fault. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

24. Crush Me by MagneticRain

Summary: "Yukhei, come sit in my lap," Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

25. How many Wrongs, to make a Right? by Disoryented

Summary: Qian Kun has never had it easy. It seems like life has always been out to get him. Insert Huang Xuxi. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

26. ❝i don't know how to love❞ by orphan_account

Summary: Kun started to receive lovely gifts from someone who left the scent of oranges linger in his bedroom. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

27. Ripe by BlossomingDia

Summary: The season has come for Yukhei to find someone Ripe and multiply. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

28. Ylang Ylang by kunstaeilation

Summary: Nothing's ever suggested this before. No signs, no hints, no clues. Yet, that large hand is entwining with his own and Kun doesn’t know what to do anymore. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

29. selfish by gashinas

Summary: Sometimes, Yukhei just wants Kun all to himself. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

30. let's take time by umiwomitai

Summary: Kun doesn't know if what annoys him about having a clumsy soulmate is being covered in bruises or having Kunhang, his cousin, make up crazy theories about who is could be and how they manage to hurt themselves so much while still being alive. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

31. he is precious by junxiao

Summary: lucas hurt his ankle and is laid up with a cast and crutches. kun is sitting next to him, doodling little hearts on it to cheer him up. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

32. take me away by taeku

Summary: “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right there, on this table” Kun says, voice low, sending shivers down Yukhei’s back. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

33. The Consequences of Everything by bluemadridista

Summary: When the WayV members get a little drunk, Kun confides in Lucas. The next morning, he wakes up to the consequences of his actions: a banging headache and a very affectionate Lucas. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

34. LOST IN TRANSLATION by motgonbk

Summary: Kun is married to the most wonderful woman he (or his parents) can ask for. And he has always thought he can live like that for the rest of his life. Until a certain Yukhei comes through. Rating: Teen Status: Completed Trigger: Cheating

35. bad puppy by gashinas

Summary: “Bad puppies don’t get to come in their boyfriend’s mouth,” Kun answers nonchalantly, eyes traveling down Yukhei’s body with well-practiced disinterest and even a hint of contempt. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

36. Altschmerz (WayV) by weishenbwi

Summary: Lucas is a psychopath. Kun is... suffering. Experimenting on weaker patients is a form of entertainment. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot Trigger: Dark themes, mental abuse.

37. Reordered Priorities by slimequeen

Summary: Yukhei is the dictionary definition of a bad roommate. Not only does he have no idea how to contribute when it comes to housework, doesn't know how to cook or how to work a vacuum cleaner, but he seems to think it’s his job to make up for all this by jerking off on Kun’s bed. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

38. does the ocean sing to you, too? by penctagon

Summary: under kun’s touch, the ocean was no longer a troublesome force, but a gentle creature nipping at their ankles and yearning for appraisal. the ocean became a tame animal, and kun the beholder of the oceanic mysteries that laid beneath the surface of the shallow waters of the shore. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

39. pillow fort by kangchanhee

Summary: kun has had a tiresome day. yukhei makes a pillow fort for them to rest in. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

40. The Usual, Please. by adiosnoninos

Summary: "Welcome to Avenue 116. May I take you sir?" Rating: General Status: One-Shot

41. It Was His Last Thought Before He Fell by makbaes (gentlemindedlostgirl)

Summary: What happens next is a sad story of hubris and love. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

42. euphoria by RedamancyEffect

Summary: kun is always taking care of yukhei, anytime, anywhere. the younger realizes that his feelings are way past a crush now. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

43. You've Got the Peaches by Ceranovis (KiiKitsune)

Summary: Kun is a 22 year old man with no children. He's not a mom, and he's certainly not a MILF. No matter what he agrees to wear for his boyfriend. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

44. No matter how long it takes, I'm waiting. by motgonbk

Summary: Yukhei is always late for Kun's love. (Mention of JohnKun but end-game KunCas) Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

45. Photograph by hunniehyuckie

Summary: After what felt like hours, Yukhei's eyes began to trail down towards the shelves- which were covered in photographs and dust. Yukhei peered closely at one photograph in particular- one with Kun and him. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

46. Hospital Waiting Rooms at Midnight by glofaerie

Summary: Kun takes care of Lucas better than anyone else. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

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#kuncas #caskun #lukun #rarepair #masterlist #kun #qian kun

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miss-tc-nova · 4 years

Text

Ursine Ire - Hermod x Fem!Reader

I’ve been dying to do something with Hermod and his temper, so here it is! And I think I’ve finally got my chaos in check for a while, so hopefully I can get another fic or two out before Christmas rolls around. Also, sorry this one feels a little more straightforward than most of my stuff.

~~~~~

I’m late! I’m so late! They’re gonna kill me!

Feet hit the stone path as fast as I can manage without blindly running into innocent bystanders—though there were a few close calls.

Today, my friends and I are off to see a production Vor and Urd have been demanding we all attend—I was supposed to meet them half an hour ago. Now I’m racing like a rabbit from a dog praying I don’t have to face the wrath of the female wielders.

Rounding a corner, my heart, just like my foot, skips when I nearly collide with the crowd I’ve let down.

An outstretched arm intercepts me before I can crash. “Woah! Slow down!”

Hermod, my boyfriend and the reason I have a great group of new friends, pulls me upright. Steadied by my grip on his haori, I heave so hard my lungs might just fall on the concrete.

“And here we thought you’d forgotten,” teases the red-head. When I can’t stop gasping, Bragi tacks on, “Geeze, I thought Eraqus was Tardy Fleetfoot.”

Said ‘Fleetfoot’ leans down. “Are you okay?”

One more breath gives me my voice back. “I’m so sorry I’m late! I was reading a book and I lost track of time! When I looked at the clock, I freaked out and ran all the way here! I’m so sorry!”

Soft chuckling brings my attention to the young man with an arm still around me. “It’s alright. We’ve still got some time,” he chuckles. A dip of his head connects his lips to my forehead, washing over that anxiety with a sweet serenity.

“Cut it out, you two,” Urd insists, clearly not pleased by my tardiness. My boyfriend leans back, still happy but with a tad bit of sheepish mixed in. “That time we have is not enough for you to make out. If we don’t get going, we’ll miss the show.”

“It might already be sold out!” little blond Vor exclaims.

“Then let’s get a move on,” urges the boy in black.

The group agrees and scampers through the streets towards the theater. When we get there, we see the mass of people shuffling into the stadium.

“Okay, Vor and I will get the tickets,” insists the taller girl, holding her hand out expectantly.

The boys rifle through pockets, but when I notice Hermod doing the same, I take his sleeve.

“I’m paying this time,” I say.

“Oh, it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t care if you mind. You paid for the last date; it’s my turn.” His mouth opens to argue. “Don’t make me ask nicely.”

As it so happens, my asking Hermod ‘nicely’ is actually giving him the best puppy eyes I can, letting my bottom lip slip forward just a little, and saying please. My poor teddy bear has yet to refine any resistance to this technique. Due to this unfair trump card, I reserve it for dire occasions but sometimes just its mention is enough to tilt things in my favor.

Shoulders slouch. “Fine.”

Victoriously smiling, I place a peck against his cheek and scurry after the girls. As we chat, a peculiar couple comes up behind us. The woman tears into the man about them not showing up on time—I kind of feel sorry for him. Even so, their conflict is so unbearably awkward that it completely silences the light-hearted conversation we’d been having. There’s only a single person in front of us, but they cannot move fast enough to get us away from this disaster. Thankfully, after Urd gets her batch of tickets, the man sends the woman away, leaving the queue in an uncomfortable silence.

Vor grabs hers next and bustles away while I quickly purchase mine. About halfway between the ticket booth and my friends, a hand takes my shoulder: it’s the man.

“Uh…can I help you?” I ask, disquiet quickly simmering in my gut.

“Yeah, actually, you bought the last two tickets. Mind if I take them?” There’s not even a trace of politeness in his words—it’s more like a statement than a request.

Eyes dart to the group gossiping not that far away. I point in their direction. “Actually, I’m here to see the show with my friends. Sorry.”

Anger rivaling the woman’s snaps into place. “So what. They can tell you about it later. Give me those tickets!”

Not exactly a fighter myself, I step back. As I do, he reaches for me.

A flash of green swipes up, swatting the grasping hand away. My boyfriend has come to save me with suspicion written across his face.

“Is there a problem here?”

“It’s none of your business,” growls the man.

Slate eyes turn on me and I tell him, “He wants our tickets.”

“And you paid for them?” I nod. Ever polite, the young man says, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t have our tickets. Please excuse us.” He turns back to me. “Come on. The show’s starting.”

Relief takes over too soon when a fist appears around my wrist. So tight is the grasp that my hand quavers and I’m certain there will be bruising. This sudden spike of pain draws a yelp from my mouth that the heckler doesn’t acknowledge as he jerks me closer.

In the next instant, I’m free. In the same manner, a hand crushes the thug’s wrist. An existential dread rolls over me and the man seems to realize he’s made a mistake.

I’ve always described my soft Hermod as a bear: he’s the biggest sweetheart, always looking out for me, and as cuddly as one might expect. However, another reason my brain thinks of a bear when concerning my boyfriend is his rage. He has a saintly patience; it takes something truly serious to push him to anger—something like assaulting his girlfriend—and when he reaches that point, he is terrifying. I’ve only ever seen this one other time when he was having a truly miserable day. He apologized afterwards but I will never forget the fury he exhumed, almost as if he were another person. He is the embodiment of a bear, anger and all.

“Hermod!” Vor shouts.

“Hold on there, Brother Bear!” Bragi appears and places a hand on the threatening arm.

“How dare you,” Hermod snarls lowly, ignoring his friends. Barely veiled violence hides in his eyes. “She is under no obligation to give you anything and her refusal to do so gives you no right to put your hands on her.” I see his grip tighten, bringing the assailant to his knees. “Now apologize.”

There’s resistance but a further constricting grip accompanied by bared teeth coerce a response. “S-Sorry!”

Hermod’s hold releases, signaling that his uncertain classmates can relax.

“You’d do well to learn some manners,” growls the irate boy. With that, an arm gently ushers me away from the scene. Every bit of that tense anger can be felt in his shielding arm. Anxiety bubbles in my chest but I follow without fuss.

Only a few steps away and the man shows us he’s learned nothing. A boot to the back of my knee messes up my balance. My elbow scrapes across the ground though I’m far more concerned with the ensuing roar. Peering back reveals a frenzied Hermod swinging his keyblade. The weapon strikes the man hard enough to send him across the clearing into a brick wall where he crumples to the ground. Only three straining boys stop the young man from resuming his rampage.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING COME NEAR HER AGAIN!” My jaw drops—I’ve never heard Hermod utter a single curse word in all our time dating, even on his worst days.

The girls dash for the downed man. Urd exclaims, “He’s out cold!”

“I WILL DESTROY YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“He can’t hear anything!” Xehanort shouts.

“You got ‘im!” adds Bragi. “He’s done!”

Their words fall on deaf ears as the fight to get at his foe floods Hermod’s mind. It’s frightening, far worse than the last time I saw him like this. If the others let him go, who knows what he’d do to that man—I can’t even guarantee murder would be off the table.

As I watch the struggle, his name barely escapes my mouth. “Hermod.”

Nothing changes; he’s still fighting—fighting to defend me.

This is for me…

Shoving off the ground, I rush to help the boys. Fists snag handfuls of the haori and push against his chest.

“Hermod, stop! Please!”

It all freezes; only heavy pants from the four boys breaks the silence. Almost afraid of what I might find, I peek up at my boyfriend’s face—it’s blank, like a chalkboard wiped clean. I don’t know if this makes me relieved or worried.

Vor breaks the silence with an announcement. “Guys, he might need a doctor.”

The wary boys release their classmate and Xehanort leans towards Bragi. “We’ll take care of the moron; you get these two someplace they can calm down.”

“Good plan.” A palm to the chest pushes the impassive boy back. “Alright Brother Bear, let’s get outta here. You too, chickadee, come on.”

Bragi steers the two of us down the street away from the mess we left. Silence stirs the distress I’d been boiling throughout the ordeal; I’m unable to stop ruminating on images of that fury.

At the student dorms where the keyblade wielders train, our chaperone branches off. He leaves us in the entrance hall, still stifled in quiet, but returns rather quickly.

“Yo, Hermod.” He shoves a box into the taller boy’s arms. “You might wanna patch up your girlfriend.”

A light finally sparks in his eyes and Hermod turns on me. “Are you okay?”

This is my Hermod and it’s almost alarming how this gentle giant could turn into something so vicious.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

That pain adds to my uncertainty, but it all goes out the window when my feet leave the ground. Too stunned to do anything about it, I let Hermod carry me through the halls of the student dorms; I do, however, flinch when his door flies open and closes with another slam. Hermod’s back hits the wall and he slumps to the floor, still clinging to me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my shoulder.

It takes a moment to gather my words. “That…That was pretty scary,” I whisper back.

“I know and you deserve to be mad at me. I was out of line and I wasn’t thinking, but when he…”

I already know why it happened, not that it makes it any better. Still, Hermod’s actions were for my sake; I don’t condone what he did but that man made it clear he wasn’t giving up without a fight. My boyfriend was protecting me.

“Thank you.” Those slate eyes give me a perturbed look. I let the corners of my mouth turn up. “For sticking up for me.”

Gods, I wanted to make him feel better, not add to that misery. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know.” I brush the hair from his face. “You’re such a sweetheart. But maybe next time we don’t knock someone unconscious with our keyblade.”

He let’s a guilty sigh escape him, dropping his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

A finger leads his gaze back to me. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

Again, his face hides against me. “It’s not your fault.” Pushing him back, I take his face in my hands and raise a brow; he gets the hint. “But I forgive you.”

“I love you, Hermod,” I say, running circles across his cheeks with my thumbs.

There’s the smile I’ve been looking for. “I love you too.”

Content with the response, I kiss him. It’s short but oh so sweet—they always are with Hermod. I’d spend hours on end kissing him if there weren’t other matters to attend to.

“Hermod?”

“Hmm?” It’s a dreamy, peaceful sort of hum.

“Who taught you the F word?” My accusations are mostly in jest but the results are perfectly entertaining. My gentle teddy bear bursts into a blush and begins stammering like a fool. “It was Bragi, wasn’t it?”

“I—I—you—wh—”

“I’m only teasing,” I sing, pinching at his cheeks. “Now fix my elbow please.”

This vexed sigh comes with an adoring smile as he reaches for the first aid kit.

#hermod #kh hermod #khdr hermod #hermod x reader #fem!reader

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deluxewhump · 5 years

Text

Max and pet series

6: burn

previous chapter

first chapter

blanket warning on this series for past torture/abuse, often referencing a time when character in question was a minor, and institutionalized slavery.

***

“He looks better.” Stella says once they're out of earshot.

“I’d hope so.”

“He’s got some color. And he’s not quite so…”

“So skinny it makes you wince?”

“Yeah. Is he… you know... Okay?”

Max glances over his shoulder at the house, shuttered french windows glowing warmly from the inside. He takes a drag, blows smoke at the orange night sky.

“Define okay.”

Stella shrugs, flicks her cigarette with her thumb. He remembers smoking like this with her outside the university library, nights they stayed up late working on term papers.

“Does he wake up screaming? Light shit on fire? I don’t know. Can you talk to him? Does he let you?”

Max snorts. “No, no lighting shit on fire. He’s…” He was going to say Carlo’s a good boy, realizes how goddam weird that sounds. Carlo likes to hear it, seems to need to hear it. But that’s between them. “He’s sweet. Really. He talks to me. It’s… it’s hard for him, I think, but he tells me things.”

How to explain that he still is more comfortable calling him Sir than Max, that he sometimes wets the bed, that the other day he thought Max was going to put him in a kennel in the garage?

Stella tosses her cigarette butt on Max’s lawn, crosses her arms. “He thinks a lot of you. When we were eating, he kept looking over at you. For assurance. And in the foyer just now when he got your coat for you?”

Max groans. “I know, I’m working on it. He just likes feeling helpful. I have to assign him things to do or he gets anxiety.”

“No,” Stella waves him off. “It was cute. Seeing him here, knowing he’s safe... He looks at you like you hung the moon, Max.”

A fondness for the boy rises in his chest, almost a tightness.

“I can still take him, soon.” She tugs the collar of her coat tighter. The air smells of woodsmoke, unseasonably cold. “I can have the money to you by Easter. And we have room for him. Jenny was thinking we could convert her office—”

Max interrupts her. “I’m gonna stop you right there. I’m…” He jerks a thumb back at the house. “I said that stuff before I met him. Now I’m totally smitten. Sorry, Stel. You know you can come see him any time.”

She searches his eyes. A grin breaks over her face and she laughs. “Okay. Loud and clear, Mr what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-do-with-a-pet.” She puts up her hands in mock-surrender. “Far be it from me.”

A dog barks down the street. From the yard they can see the city in the valley below, like a twinkling grid of Christmas lights.

“You check the press updates on Holstrom?”

“Yeah.” Max grinds his cigarette out under his shoe. “Damn near every night, before I go to sleep. Can’t really help myself.”

Stella nods. “Me too.”

“I want him to do time. Just as a personal vendetta, I guess, now.”

“He couldn’t...you know...Get Carlo back somehow if he’s acquitted. Could he?”

Max shakes his head. “I don’t see how. I spoke to my lawyer and he doesn’t either.”

“Good.”

It’s late, and cold. Stella gets in her car and he watches her go, waving and then stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.

He’d explained to Carlo ahead of time that his friend Stella used to work for Holstrom, that he might even recognize her. He hadn’t wanted Carlo to see her and panic, think something strange was going on, associate her with his old master. Carlo had trusted him and been characteristically gracious while they all had dinner together.

He goes back into the warmth of the house, hangs his coat on the rack. He finds Carlo doing up the dishes in the sink. Still feeling that fondness, he rests a hand on the back of Carlo’s neck, squeezes gently. “See, this is why Cecelia likes you better than me.”

Carlo grins and then pauses, turning his head towards Max’s hand. A strange look Max is starting to be familiar with crosses his face, something very vulnerable that turns to steel as he tries to hide it.

Max takes his hand away. “You okay?”

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t. Stella and I just had one, you know, for old time’s sake. Why?”

Carlo nods stiffly, reaches for a dish-towel to dry his hands. He leaves the rest of the dishes in soapy water, ducking around Max and out of the kitchen.

Fuck. He would bet anything that Holstrom smelled of cigarettes. He knows for a fact that lackey of his who’d handled Carlo with such familiarity on the pickup smoked Marb Reds, he even remembers the box. He finishes the dishes, hoping the dish soap will help pull the tobacco smell from his fingers.

He changes clothes and swishes Listerine before knocking softly on the door of his own study.

“Yes, Sir.”

“You can just say come in, you know.”

Carlo is curled up in his chair by the gas fireplace, halfway through Salem's Lot. He sets it down in his lap. “I’m sorry about earlier.” He says in a small voice. “I left without being excused.”

Max shakes his head. “You know that’s not even a thing here. I just didn’t like the look I saw on your face.”

Carlo’s eyes dart up to his and Max realizes how that came off, like Carlo had misbehaved. He rounds his desk to get closer. Distance seems to be the source of all their misunderstandings.

“Stella adores you.” He pulls up another wingback armchair so he can sit close to Carlo. “She’d take you home with her if I let her. Which I won’t.”

Carlo drops his eyes, smiling softly. “One time, she was at the house. They were doing blueprints for… like building a new wing. She slipped me a candy bar from her purse. One of the little ones. That was a few years ago, I think.”

Max grins at the thought but Carlo looks at him very seriously again. “Sir...Can I show you something?”

“...Of course.”

He finds himself holding his breath warily as Carlo lifts up his shirt. He’s seen him that way a dozen times, what with the cut on his chest that had needed tending every day. His ribs are less like staves of a ship now, though still visible.

Carlo pushes the elastic waistband of his soft sweatpants down, just a few inches to bare a slim hip revealing old, circular scars. Some are nearly silver, some purple. There must be a dozen of them, all in a span of skin Max could cover with one palm. He remembers how Carlo’s eyes had followed Keith, watched the lighter in his hand. He clenches his teeth til they creak in his skull.

“Cigarette burns?”

Carlo nods.

“Who did that to you?”

Carlo looks from his hip up to Max, dark eyes bright in the firelight. “Different people. Keith... or he held me on his lap for someone else to do it.”

Max’s mind provides that image clear as day since he knows what Keith looks like. He remembers him grinning and calling him “Max” like they knew each other, dragging Carlo onto the pavement.

“Do they still hurt?” Max asks tightly.

Carlo shakes his head no.

“Anywhere else?”

“A couple on the bottom of my feet. One of them liked that better.”

Jesus. Max wants to go back in time and buy Carlo sooner, offer three times as much to Holstrom to get him out of there. Judging by color some of these scars were years old.

How could anyone let this happen to his pet? A living thing that needed him? How could the state turn a blind eye? Surely they saw those in one of his hospitalizations. The law would protect a dog from this sort of treatment. At the very least, he should've cared enough not to let someone else mark up and traumatized his pet. He feels bad for even thinking like that. If I were him...

Slowly, he reaches a hand to the boy's waistband, pulls it back up over his hip to cover the constellation of burns. "He left you alone with that mouthbreather?"

Carlo averts his eyes, lets his shirt fall back down. "He'd go overseas for business. Sometimes he'd take me but some places...where pets aren't allowed...he didn't want to. So he'd leave me with them."

It's surreal to hear Carlo talk about places where this practice was outlawed, where nations who still practice it are openly criticised as barbaric and backwater. Like the first time he'd looked over at Carlo in his passenger seat, he feels shame.

“If I could have gotten you from that State facility when you were eleven… I would’ve. If I could make any of it go away...I would. I’d do anything.”

A hint of surprise crosses Carlo’s face. He doesn’t know Max has a whole file on him. Or maybe it’s just surprise that he cares. He isn’t crying. He looks forlorn, small in the broad-backed armchair.

“You want to come here?” Max says very gently, the no-strings offer Carlo can always take or leave.

As usual he takes it, climbs right out of his chair after it. Max lets Carlo crawl on his lap, curl up with his long legs tucked in close, his head on Max’s shoulder. He wraps the boy in his arms, selfishly glad he doesn’t hate being touched, or held. When words fail him it’s a language they both understand.

“How old were you when I was eleven?” He asks from Max’s shoulder.

“Let’s see… oh, God. Twenty-one? A different Max, I'm afraid."

“...Would he have liked me?”

Max rubs his hand over Carlo’s back, soothing. “Of course. You kidding? I mean he was an idiot— had these big, trashy parties every weekend. My parents had just left me the house.” He ducks his head to murmur into Carlo’s ear. “But he would never have let anything bad happen to you.”

Carlo whimpers in the back of his throat. “M’sorry.”

“Shh. What’re you sorry for?”

“I acted like a brat.”

“Tonight?” Max laughs quietly, lets a hand slide into Carlo’s soft curls, scratching agaisnt his scalp. “I think you and I probably have very different definition of the word.”

Carlo’s voice is very small. “I want to be good.”

Ah. He’s fishing. Poor thing.

“You are. You’re perfect. You’re right where you need to be.” He squeezes him gently. “You’re home.”

Now Carlo’s crying, not before when he was remembering being burned with cigarettes by grown men, but from simply being told he’s alright. Max just holds him, watches the fireplace. Carlo is warm, and not very heavy, and is holding to him in a way that says please don’t stop yet, don’t leave me. It won’t be the first time they’ve fallen asleep in the study and Max has woken hours later, tucked Carlo into his bed before retiring to his own.

He checks his phone while Carlo dozes, an alert he set up for keywords in the news. Erik Holstrom and chief financial officer Holloway both awarded bail, awiting trial from their homes in Maryland and Virginia, respectively. He swipes the article away to see an unread text from Stella, and one from a number not saved in his phone, local area code. He opens that one first.

Hi Max. Just checking on our boy. He was mine for a very long time. Let’s chat. -E.H.

***

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#max and pet series #whump #pet whumpee #past abuse #awful au society #comfort #past torture

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