#so many parallels of refusing to laugh along to harmful things. refusing to give in out of politeness or pressure

[bombusbombus]

"batman is the perfect foil to the joker because he never laughs" is soooooo much less interesting and dynamic than "batman laughs all the time, the joker just isn't funny"

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (3) — Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Terry has given very generic instructions to Frog about how to retrieve her birthday gift. A more then welcome surprise follows. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None. (Wow. I’m shocked.)

Once more let me thank potter supreme @joheunsaram​ (I’d be wandering in darkness and despair without you. Lob U)

Here is my complete masterlist and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

“Hello?”

You felt deeply embarrassed venturing into the backyard of a stranger.

“Excuse me? Hello?”

The heavy sound of something slamming against the floor of a garage had you slightly worried. You were ready to run away when the door opened. The neighbourhood wasn’t familiar to you and Terry’s refusal to tell you anything about the specific address she had given you scared you even more.

You feared you’d end up at one of Terry’s friends with benefit’s house.

You changed your mind, however, when you recognised the man standing out of the door.

“Frog? Is that you?”

“Taehyung?” You said, recalling the name of the man. You had met him only a couple days before, spending a good time with his friends while your own had ditched you.

“Hello Frog!” He exclaimed, incredibly happy to see you. “Are you here for a four pm meeting?”

“All I know is that Terry told me to be here by four. She gave me the address but,” you laughed, shaking your head and touching your hair nervously. “She didn’t mention it was you. She didn’t say anything. She only said it was a surprise.”

Taehyung’s laugh exploded suddenly, deep and loud. “That explains many, many things.” He nodded to himself, waiting for you to get closer. “Welcome to my studio,” he said, letting the door open a bit wider.

The space inside was bright and airy, with a wall that resembled a glasshouse, while the others were made of brick and lined with shelves. In a corner you noticed a strange contraption, like an iron cauldron, and an unfamiliar machine close to a basin. There was also a large table all along the glass wall, like it was waiting for plants to be hosted, but none were found.

“With me you’ll learn the humble, raw art of modelling clay.”

You turned to him with a furrowed brow, completely confused. “Clay?”

“Yes. Clay.”

“You model clay?” You asked, giving him an amused look.

“I am an artist,” he stated clearly. “I also model clay but that’s not all I do.”                                                                        

“So that’s my gift? A clay lesson?”

“Ten clay lessons. I’ll make you an intermediate.” Taehyung reached a wooden cabinet, opening it and taking out a large block of clay, grabbing something from his apron and detaching a smaller part before putting the clay back in the cabinet. “But first, let me get you an apron.”

You felt your eyes blink in confusion. “You teach?”

“Art should answer anyone’s calls, in my opinion. I help people learn how to call.”

You were positively impressed. The quiet, if a bit Darcy-esque man, seemed relaxed and talkative in his natural habitat.

Taehyung reached a coat hook on the wall, giving a good look at you before choosing a garment suitable for your height. “This should do,” he said, offering it to you and letting you put it on.

You appreciated the independence he allowed you, allowing you to wear it yourself. You hung your tote on the now free hook and slipped your arms and head into the different loops before closing the tie around your waist in a cute ribbon.

“You'll want to fix your hair before your hands get messy,” Taehyung suggested, watching you carefully get it out of harm's way, since the last thing you wished for was dirt in your hair.

“You didn’t mention you teach art the other night.”

He smiled shyly. “The night you introduced yourself, I remembered I had gift lessons booked under your name. I wanted your birthday surprise to stay a surprise.”

You were entirely endeared at the thought. “That’s very sweet of you!” You exclaimed, watching him collect the piece of clay he had previously cut.

“It’s not a big deal,” he murmured, looking away as his cheeks blushed.

He was eager to watch you learn. He already felt like your hands could have so much potential. He had studied them all night after he met you, watching the sinewy fingers arch and straighten and hold and curve. “Okay, let’s start from a little bit of theory.”

He moved to the table by the window, “Would you mind grabbing a bowl with some water, there?” He pointed to a large utility sink in one of the corners, where you found a bowl and filled it halfway with water.

You made a careful work of walking to the table, placing down the bowl and sighing in relief once you realised you had caused no issues so far.

“Two questions. Have you ever used clay before?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Nope.”

“So you supposedly know nothing about it?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled and bobbed his head. “That’s okay. All you need to know so far, is that clay is a mineral, and it can have different compositions which make it more or less difficult to model and to cook. I’ll have you use very generic clay, which is suitable for beginners, isn’t too picky about cooking and will look a bit plain, but is also pretty easy to shape. You’ll thank me later.”

You raised your eyebrows and smiled.

“It’s easy to work with, it cooks at low temperature and is also cheap, which will make it better if you ever choose to continue this hobby,” he explained. “It will take a fairly long time for you to master several techniques with this one, so no use spending money on fancy stuff. We’ll keep that for when you’re an upper intermediate. All cool?” He asked, checking in on you with his beautiful, dark eyes.

He had very pretty eyes, you noticed.

“Yes, got that.” You confirmed, startling when he slammed the clay against the table.

“Cool.” He replied with half a grin. “Let’s start from zero.”

Once more he extracted a tool from the pocket of his apron, showing it to you. “This is a wire. You’ll find one in your apron too.”

You rummaged in the pocket and found it. “This will help you with step one — Wait. Lemme start from very very zero.”

He walked back to the cabinet and dragged a block of clay out — the one he’d cut a piece from a few minutes ago. “This is called craft clay or potters’ clay. It’s ready-made and you can buy it in any diy shop. Some artists make their own mix, but let’s start with this since it’s specifically made for learners.”

“It looks very tough,” you commented, testing the small amount he’d cut before, prodding it with your finger.

“It just needs some love,” he explained, pouting sadly. “Clay is so misunderstood. It needs to be firm. But it’s pliable, as long as you treat it appropriately.”

You arched your eyebrows. “I just thought it was softer. Messier, somehow.”

“It is once you wedge it and moisturise it.” Taehyung acknowledged. “Clay contains platelets. Platelets make it solid, but also plastic as long as it’s not dry. Right now you have two enemies. Shape memory and air.”

Taehyung’s hands got on the piece instinctively. “Today I’ll only manage to explain wedging and centering. So be careful and pay attention. If you mess up wedging, your life will get ten times more impossible on the wheel. Let’s start.” He brought the main block back in the cabinet. “That one needs to stay fresh.”

Once at the table he settled beside you. “What’s wedging?” You asked, staring at your piece of clay.

“Wedging is your starting point. As you saw earlier, ready- made clay comes in blocks. Which means square. On the wheel, you’ll always start from a cute soft ball. Which means round.”

Taehyung’s hands massaged the clay for comfort. He felt somehow uneasy at the way he was going to interact with you. “Basically clay holds memory of the shape it was in. You want to erase it to make it more pliable. Like… When an introvert is in their comfort zone for too long and you need to get them back in society and you just… force them in several different social circumstances to warm them up, make them more versatile. More sociable.”

God, he felt ridiculous. He was using his inner turmoil to explain pottery.

He was going to defenestrate himself.

“Okay,” you laughed. “I got the introvert thing. I like the parallel.” You smiled and for a second you thought about all the years you’d been there, shaped like a block to fit inside someone’s life — or to fit them in yours.

You could use some wedging too.

“We usually wedge on plaster, or concrete or wood, because they get the extra water out of the clay. You want it to be a tiny bit humid. But not wet.” Taehyung spread his large hands over the small disk in front of him. “You want to make it more homogeneous. Uniform. For today let’s use the ram’s head method. It’s basically like kneading dough.”

His hair fell over his eyes as he bent down, leaning towards the table. “We have a small amount of clay, since you’re starting. You basically want it to become a thick block first.”

He bent the disk in two, turning it in a thicker, longer rectangle before placing his hands to the opposite sides and pressing, making the clay become more compact.

“Okay, try,” he invited you to do the same.

You mimicked his actions, focusing on the cold, solid feeling of the material under your fingertips.

“Use your palms. Don’t be afraid to get your whole hands on it. You’ll need all your strength.”

You nodded and followed his lead, the cold expanding to your palms, the feeling amplifying beautifully. It was somehow reinvigorating after the initial strangeness.

“Good. Now. Ram’s head.” He inhaled and regained his position. “These,” he said, wiggling his fingers, “and these,” he explained circling his hand around his shoulder. “That’s where you want to focus. All your strength resides there. You won’t feel it right now, but you will once you work with larger pieces.” He steadied himself and placed his palms on the sides of the piece. “Palms on the sides. Your wrists will do all the work. Your thumbs wrap around the top of the piece. The other fingers on the back of the piece. Focus on the wrists. You want to push the clay downwards first, then outwards, to the back of the piece. Okay. Position your hands.”

Taehyung stood straight up, allowing you to see his clay, on top of which he was previously bent over.

“I’m not…” You frowned and tried to feel the clay under your hands, trying to recognise the different sides.

“It’s okay. May I?” He asked, bringing his right hand close to yours.

You nodded, waiting for the contact.

It was chalky, somehow, almost dusty with the way the clay was already drying up, but it still held some cold dampness.

He corrected your fingers, staring at them and giving them a slight twist. “This way your wrists should reach just fine.”

He stood at your side, respecting your personal space even though his hand touched you. The smile on his face was the gentlest, most exciting thing you had felt in a while.

“Okay, mirror it with your left,” he told you as he stepped back, regaining his own space.

“This feels nice,” you admitted, giving the first twist of your wrist.

“Let’s see if you still think so after wedging for twenty minutes,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Twenty minutes!?” You said, already worried.

He giggled and shook his head, his curls brushing against his forehead, which you didn’t notice, because you were too busy focusing on the clay under your hands.

“Ten, usually. Twenty if you need very pliable clay. Like if you’re doing hand-building. But we can use something a bit rougher.” Taehyung helped you get out of the position your clay body was stuck in. “Help it with your fingers. Bring it back, yes,” he encouraged you once the position was right. “And now your wrists. Exactly. Look at you. You’re learning!”

He looked excited when you turned to look at him. He was literally shining with the meek sunlight coming from the window.

“I’m learning!” Your excitement mirrored his own.

“Okay, now, watch. This is why it’s called ram’s head.” Taehyung showed you the spiral on the sides, and the elongated triangle on the front.

“That looks fancy!” You said, feeling curious about the shape.

“Keep going and yours will be just like this!” He spurred you on, making you work harder and faster, which eventually led you to the ruthless burning that possessed your arms afterwards.

With his elbow, Taehyung pointed at your shoulder blade. “Just push your body weight into the clay. The whole motion should mimic a wave,” he showed you how. “If your hands are positioned right, you only need to lean in to wedge— Just. Like. That! Good job, Frog!”

You smiled and went on, paying attention to his corrections, and his gentle advice, enjoying the gentleness with which his pinkie finger pointed to a specific direction, or a finger that was in the wrong position, realigning it.

“Nice! Now, tuck the corners in in a cute fluffy ball. See how soft and warm and round it feels now?”

You nodded enthusiastically. There was something in menial tasks that always made you happy with yourself. Seeing the results of your efforts and hard work always made you feel accomplished, productive.

And it’s been a while since you felt that rush, except for seeing an organised shelf in your shop, with books neatly aligned and rated.

“Okay. I’ll show you how to work the wheel. We got little time left, so maybe I can show you the groundwork and then you can toy around with the body I centred, so you can get familiar with the feeling.”

You agreed.

Taehyung gave a few more twists to your clay body and brought it to the wheel. “Okay. Here we go. Forget Ghost, this thing is a lot more difficult than that. And forget all that water. Too messy. Bowl?” He asked.

Your forehead creased as he pointed to a small stand with a basin. It looked like a short version of a vintage stand for those porcelain bowls used in bedrooms.

You moved it closer to him.

“Thank you,” he smiled and caught the clay body, throwing it on the middle of the turning plate, currently still as he hadn’t yet activated the wheel.

“You can aim for the centre. There’s an indentation to show it. See,” he pointed to the plate. “There are all these circles to show you if you’re actually following the shape.”

He dipped a finger in the bowl, letting the extra water drip down, until it was just slightly damp. “You run around the base to seal it. That way you don’t need to slam it down and you don’t risk watching it unstick and mess around with you.”

“Okay. Great!”

“Now. Position is very important. With your legs you hold the holster and the wheel. Don’t worry about getting too close. Check three things. Knees around the wheel. Elbows braced on your thighs — that will stabilise you. And your torso leans forward. Not angled but perpendicular to the wheel. You need to be right on top of it, so your weight sinks down. Not across.” He showed you the correct position, his lean frame protecting the ball of clay like a hen defends her chicks.

Watching him become so tactile and connected with the material under his hands was endearing, but also fascinating, especially with the way his hands wrapped around the body.

“Okay, let me centre it for you, then you can try. It’s a procedure that can go back and forth, so I’ll have you doing this over and over for a few times. It will help you familiarise with it.”

“Thank you,” you replied, watching his fingers sink in the water. “Now, trick. You wet your hands. Let them drip down just a little, so you don’t drench your piece. If the piece is drenched, the platelets will loosen and the walls of your cup, bowl, vase, whatever will collapse. And we don’t want that, right?”

The way his head snapped towards you with an inquisitive look made you shake your head and reply readily, “nope.”

“Exactly. So, we sink our hands in, rest, and— one, two three, drip and—” he moved his hands over the clay body, letting a few tens of droplets fall onto the material. “Nice and wet. Not sodden, of course. We don’t want that, remember?”

You blinked and nodded as his hands started moving.

Taehyung grinned as he noticed your captivated gaze. You were learning. You were curious, interested, completely amazed. It was the most satisfying look he had ever seen. “This is your treasure now. You curl yourself around it and protect it. Like a dragon hoards its gold.”

He leaned down into the piece, his foot looking for the pedal and pressing it down very, very delicately.

“Your pinkies and ring fingers are doing all the work right now. They seal around the base, reinforcing the sealing we did before. Once you gave enough spins around the base — oh, feel the plate with the side of your pinkie and palm!” He reminded himself, showing you the part of his hand and securing it around the wheel once more. He corrected his position. “You will feel the clay push you up. That’s when your palms close in. You want to make sure it goes up.”

The wheel suddenly stopped and Taehyung showed you the result. “See. Cute mushroom shape. A two inch stem, and then the round hat.”

You bent down to check and studied the way the table started spinning slowly again, showing you the consistent shape.

“More water. Same technique.” He repeated the dip-drip process. “Now. Pinkies stay in. Lots of pressure. And your palms are going to push the hat of the mushroom up. You want it to turn into a cone. So once the hat disappears, you’re gonna keep your hands steady, with a lot of pressure, and drag them up, slowly. And bend them inwards slightly, into a tip.” He followed the process with his hands, his fingers steady and his veins thicker at the effort and the pressure. The way his elbows braced against his hands brought even more blood to the back of his palms.

Still, you didn’t let that cloud your focus. You stared at the process, especially once he stopped the wheel and took his hands off.

“Now we’re bringing it downwards with the thumbs. We’re helping it regain the center. This,” he prodded the ball of his thumb, the soft part where the finger could sink, “is the part that gains the centre. You push it down, while your fingers lean over. Like you’re projecting energy from your palms.” He finished showing the procedure, showing how the ball of clay was a perfectly round dome, placed in the exact middle of the wheel.

“Now you take the lead!” He turned to you with a grin.

With a shy blush you watched him stand up and gesture to the seat elegantly.

You settled down and fixed your position around the wheel, following the instructions he had given you previously.

“That’s nice. Closer.” He corrected you helping your seat closer to the holster of the wheel.

“Now we’re ready to go. Wet your hands—” he directed you, helping you count the dip and drip. “Steady.”

You placed your pinkies tightly around the base, feeling the dome a bit too large for your hands. That’s because it was shaped for his large hands.

“Yes. Steady,” he encouraged you. “Go.”

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[Extra #8 - Lan Qiren’s visit to the Xuanli Child Horde(tm) at Jinlintai. This can be read as running parallel to Part 9 - Lan Xichen and Qingheng-Jun briefly discuss Lan Qiren’s return the previous evening from this particular visit while they have tea in the Gentian House.]

[Masterpost]

A quick brief on the children’s names and ages (now with courtesy names for the three brothers):

Jin Ling (金�� - rise above) - First son, 20 // [Rulan (如兰 - Orchid-like)]

Jin Fei (金飞 - to fly) - Second son, 17 // [Ruhao (如昊 - as the limitless sky)]

Jin Yu (金雨 - rain) and Jin Yan (金焰 - fire) - First and Second daughters, 14

Jin Zhuang (金 庄  - solemn) - Third son, 12 // [Ruhai (如海 - as the sea)]

Jin Lu (金 露 - dew) - Third daughter, 7

Jin Ye (金 烨 - breathtaking/blaze of fire) - Fourth daughter, 3

--

Lan Qiren can’t exactly fault his brother for not leaving the mountain. It is, after all, better than a lifetime of genuine seclusion, and in Lan Qiren’s opinion he’s really not missing much in the wider world that he couldn’t live perfectly happily without in Cloud Recesses. And he’s missing out on quite a great deal of headache as well.

It’s a well-known fact that Lan Qiren is often unhappy with the state of things in the other Sects that he visits, though he is of course nothing but polite to his hosts unless they ever do something to earn his vocal displeasure. He has had fewer and fewer causes to express such displeasures over the last few years, however, and he’s not willing to look too closely to see if it’s because the general population is altogether becoming more tolerable or because he��s growing softer and more tolerant as he ages.

If anyone had told him 20 years ago that Lanling Jin would be his preferred Sect to pay a visit to, he - well he wouldn’t have laughed in their face, of course, but he certainly would have doubted the soundness of their mind - perhaps to their face. Even after watching Jin Guangshan’s paper-thin reputation crumble like so many well-placed tiles (which had been immensely satisfying to watch) before his passing and his children (then just the eldest two) rising up to take his place, he never could have anticipated the sort of changes they would make - or how much he would come to appreciate their righteousness and fairness.

He had only had the opportunity to properly instruct Jin Zixuan during the summer lectures at Cloud Recesses when it had been his generation’s turn, but over the years he has, of course, gotten to know the rest of Jin Zixuan’s siblings - Meng Yao in particular, naturally, thanks to his courtship and subsequent marriage with Lan Xichen - and he has found them to be good, solid people. Even young Mo Xuanyu, though his eccentricities are..numerous.

The responsibility for Lan Qiren’s immunity to Mo Xuanyu’s strange behavior is to be laid solely at the feet of Wei Wuxian. When the child had come running into Cloud Recesses as a boy and loudly declared himself married to serious little Lan Wangji - who had agreed - he had cemented a permanent place in Lan Qiren’s life, whether he liked it or not. He’s immune to quite a bit more impropriety these days than he would have ever expected for himself as a younger man.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Qin Su says now with a smile where she’s waiting to greet him at the base of the steps up to Koi Tower and he returns it with a twitch of his lips that’s hardly visible through his beard. She seems to see it all the same as her polite smile grows into a grin as she reaches out to take his arm - quite improperly, though he’s long learned not to comment on it. The atmosphere at Lanling Jin in terms of familiarity and joyful disregard for formality of any kind in familial circumstances is rivaled only by Yunmeng Jiang these days.

“Qin-guniang,” he replies as they start up the steps. “I trust everything is well.”

“Of course! I wanted to see you when you arrived, that’s all. I’m leaving in a few hours to visit my parents and I won’t be returning until after your visit is concluded - I’m glad I could be here to greet you!”

Lan Qiren has never put much store in small talk. He tends to find it unnecessary, particularly when it’s unwarranted. Should anyone ever ask him, that is still the case. He isn’t quite sure, himself, why it doesn’t seem to apply to the Jin family anymore.

“Great Uncle Lan!!”

Lan Qiren doesn’t jump at the small voice shrieking his name when they reach the top of the stairs, nor does he startle when a small gold and teal blur comes streaking out of the Fragrance Hall to clamp thin arms around his legs. He looks down to find little Jin Lu giving him a gap-toothed grin as she squeezes her arms more tightly around his knees. A nurse comes running out of the hall a moment later looking a bit harried and Lan Qiren offers her a nod as he drops a hand down to ruffle Jin Lu’s hair.

“You are not to run away from your caregivers, Jin Lu,” he admonishes with his typical stern frown. She pouts up at him instantly, eyes wide and pleading with her little bottom lip jutting out so far he wonders how it’s possible. Lan Qiren heaves a put-upon sigh that makes Qin Su giggle softly at his side before he reaches down to dislodge Jin Lu’s arms from around his legs so that he can scoop her up and place her on his hip.

“Oh! Master Lan, really - you don’t have to,” the nurse starts, already reaching for the girl.

“It is fine,” he replies before she can fully voice her protest. “I imagine this will be easier in the end than attempting to keep her away. Could you tell me where it would be best to take her?”

The relief on the nurse’s face is palpable as she tells him she was on her way to take the child to her father in the family gardens for a lesson. He nods along and dismisses her with his thanks and then turns to the child in his arms once she’s gone.

“A-Lu.” The girl in question just grins at him around her fingers in her mouth and glances sidelong at Qin Su beside him, uncaring of his admonishing tone. “You frightened your nurse by running away from her. You shall apologize when you see her next.”

“Yes Great Uncle Lan,” she takes her fingers out of her mouth to reply dutifully, still grinning, and Lan Qiren sighs with a shake of his head.

“Let’s go find your father, you troublesome child,” he mutters and Jin Lu lays her head down on his shoulder as a giggling Qin Su tucks her hand into his elbow again, redirecting their steps towards the family gardens instead of the guest pavilions. They exchange a few more pleasantries as they walk, Jin Lu a silent audience on his hip, until they’re interrupted by the sound of wood clacking on wood. They turn the corner into the gardens to find Jin Zixuan sparring against his second son, Jin Rulan an attentive audience at a safe distance from the practice circle.

“Stop! Dad, A-Fei tapped your forearm, you’re injured.” Jin Zixuan nods and tucks his arm close to his chest as Jin Ruhao takes up his ready stance again, a grin on his face.

“You’re getting too slow for your strapping young sons, dad,” he teases with a laugh just before Jin Zixuan lets loose with a flurry of quick stabs and sweeping cuts, perhaps overcompensating ever so slightly for the ‘loss’ of the use of his left arm. It works anyway though, likely due to Jin Ruhao being the less-skilled of the two of them, and Jin Rulan calls out to award another injury - this time to his brother - within moments.

“What’s this, then?” Lan Qiren asks Qin Su as they draw closer slowly.

“A training game Jiang Wanyin taught the children the last time he visited with Nie-Zongzhu,” she replies with a fond smile. “The boys have progressed far past being content with only practicing their forms and training with the other disciples. They still do, of course, but to continue actively improving they must spar either with each other or with A-Xuan. They fight with wooden practice swords and treat it like a real fight with a spectator to keep track of ‘injuries’ that will hamper their ability to keep fighting. The bout is over when both parties are too ‘injured’ to continue or one is disarmed.”

“I see. The boys are improving quickly if they are ready to train personally with their father.”

“I don’t like it,” Jin Lu declares from where she’s hiding her face in his neck. “They shouldn’t hurt each other!”

“I agree wholeheartedly, A-Lu.” Lan Qiren infuses his voice with as much solemnity as possible. “Your brothers should not harm your father. Are you worried that his skill is inferior to theirs?”

“No!! Dad’s the best!!!”

“He is very skilled, that is correct. Therefore it will be nearly impossible for your brothers to hurt him as they are still learning, and your father will be merciful and refuse to hurt them in turn. Is that not so?”

“Hmmmmm. Yes,” she finally relents, grumbling about it but willing to accept it for now. “Down please, Great Uncle Lan,” she adds with a squirm and he bends to set her down.

“Stop!” Jin Rulan calls as soon as her little feet touch the ground, leaving plenty of time for Jin Ruhao and Jin Zixuan to disengage so that Jin Lu can run safely right into Jin Zixuan’s waiting arms.

“Jin Rulan has excellent awareness of his surroundings,” he notes just loudly enough for the boy to hear as he and Qin Su follow after Jin Lu at a much more sedate pace. Jin Rulan’s pleased smirk is visible even from so far away.

“Who won that round, A-Ling?”

“Who do you think, stupid?” Jin Rulan snarks back and Jin Zixuan shushes them with a tired look on his face.

“Boys, honestly. Don’t make your Great Uncle think that I raised you without manners. A-Fei, I won but you’re improving quickly, it’s becoming more difficult for me to win each time. We have to work on your tendency to step back too far when you block. A-Ling, your observational skills are improving as well, I expect to see that in our sparring. Good job both of you, go wash up and have tea with your mother, it’s time for Lu-er’s lessons.”

The boys bow first to their father and then to him and Qin Su at his side before they turn to head towards the path that leads to the inner family residences, nudging and shoving at each other as they go.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Jin Zixuan greets with as good of a bow as he can manage with Jin Lu perched happily in his arms to play with one of the thin gold chains in his hair. “I apologize I wasn’t able to welcome you properly.”

“Training the children is more important,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “What is Jin Lu’s lesson this afternoon?”

A look crosses Jin Zixuan’s face that Lan Qiren doesn’t have time to interpret before the man is responding, perhaps a bit slyly, “Calligraphy. Mine is adequate but...would you perhaps be willing to teach her? She has passed the basics for her age and is improving quickly.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat as Qin Su raises her sleeve to cover her mouth at his side, the movement delicate and graceful, but it does a poor job of hiding that she’s trying not to laugh at her brother’s shamelessness, shifting the duty of teaching the child to him knowing he won’t be able to resist.

“Great Uncle Lan can teach me?!” Jin Lu gasps with wide eyes, looking up at her father in awe. “Please?!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” he agrees with a harrumph and Qin Su doesn’t even bother to hide her tinkling laugh.

“I am afraid I must return to my preparations for my trip so I will leave you here, Grandmaster Lan, it was lovely to see you. A-Xuan, I’ll inform you or Li-jie before I depart.”

Lan Qiren accepts her departing curtsy and turns his attention back to Jin Zixuan and his daughter just in time to catch Jin Lu’s arms as she leans away from her father’s chest to reach for him. The handoff is seamless, and then Jin Lu is on his hip again as Jin Zixuan rotates his right arm slightly to loosen up his shoulder.

“I admit I’m envious of Lan arm strength,” he says ruefully as they begin heading to the guest pavilions at slightly less sedate pace than Qin Su had led him. “I worry for the day xiao-Ye will be the last of her siblings to grow too big for me to carry.”

“Time passes whether we will it or not,” he replies quietly, his thoughts turning to the day he had finally been forced to concede that Lan Wangji was both too old and too big for him to carry through Cloud Recesses anymore. “It is inevitable, but there is the hope of future generations to provide further chances.”

“That is true. My children have certainly had no shortage of family members ready to carry them everywhere rather than tire their feet,” Jin Zixuan teases, reaching over to pinch Jin Lu’s cheek that isn’t smushed against Lan Qiren’s shoulder. She giggles and turns her head the opposite direction to hide from his pinching and Lan Qiren hopes that his smile is tucked far enough in the opposite corner of his mouth not to be visible. Jin Zixuan glances over his shoulder as he chuckles and he pauses on the path. “Ah it seems we’ve picked up an extra pair of shadows, Grandmaster Lan.”

Lan Qiren turns to look as well to find Jin Zhuang following behind them, far enough away to muffle his near-silent footsteps, with little Jin Ye’s hand in his own.

“Jin Ruhai, Jin Ye,” Lan Qiren greets as Jin Zixuan waves for the children to approach so that Jin Ruhai can bow.

Lan Qiren truly doesn’t have a favorite grand-niece or nephew, he finds them all quite charming and wonderful in their own ways, but it’s been obvious since the boy was quite young that Jin Ruhai is surprisingly calm and even-tempered, so much so that even as a baby Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had affectionately decided his name would be a character for ‘solemn’. It’s a fitting name, though as he grows older the boy typically radiates a sense of contentment and satisfaction under that serious facade. So much like a young mirror of Lan Wangji.

The boy lets go of his youngest sister’s hand to offer an absolutely perfect salute - quite impressive for his age - and the girl rather adorably leaves her hand extended straight out for him to take again once he’s straightened.

“You two are supposed to be eating your afternoon snack in the Fragrance Hall,” Jin Zixuan points out with another weary sigh. Lan Qiren remembers the days of attempting to keep track of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji as children (the former of whom was quite fond of sneaking into the kitchens at random times throughout the day and the latter of whom seemed to always slip away at the first opportunity to play with his rabbits or tuck himself into a comfortable corner of the library to read things far beyond his age level). He truly doesn’t envy his nephew-in-law attempting to keep track of seven strong-willed, free-spirited children.

“Ate,” Jin Ruhai says almost too softly to hear with a resolute nod. He looks at his second youngest sister perched in Lan Qiren’s arms and then back to Jin Zixuan with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Great Uncle Lan,” he continues with a pointed glance at him again.

“You can wait until he settles in to visit with him, Zhuang-er, he just arrived.”

The look on the boy’s face grows so morose that Lan Qiren can’t resist clearing his throat a little and adopting his sternest tone as he says, “It is fine, Jin-Zongzhu. I am not so frail as to need to sleep after taking two days to travel comfortably, let the children come along.”

The glint of moisture in Jin Ruhai’s eyes is promptly replaced by a smug sort of satisfaction as he tugs Jin Ye gently forward to fall into step behind them as he and Jin Zixuan turn back in the direction of the guest rooms.

They finally arrive at his usual quarters without further interruption. Lan Qiren is pleased to see the doors to the gardens for this section of the complex - the Lan rooms - have been left open, the scent of peonies and the magnolia tree in bloom nearby suffusing the space, a pleasant breeze fluttering through the wall hangings.

He sets Jin Lu down on her feet and she promptly darts away from his side to begin investigating the room for anything new since the last time the space had been open for her to explore.

“I have some correspondence I need to reply to,” Jin Zixuan says apologetically from outside the threshold. “Zhuang-er, Lu-er, xiao-Ye, be good for your Great Uncle Lan please. I don’t want to hear later that you need discipline.”

“Yes dad,” the two older children chorus - Jin Lu from where she’s sticking her head under his bed and Jin Ruhai from right next to his elbow. Jin Ye only reaches up to tug on Lan Qiren’s belt to get his attention and then she sticks her arms up to be held now that her sister has gotten down. Lan Qiren waits until Jin Zixuan turns away from the open door to head back towards the more official buildings before he reaches down to oblige the toddler, lifting her up and holding her securely perched in front of himself so she can reach out to pat a little hand against his cheek.

“Xiao-Ye,” he greets and she slips her hand down to tug on his beard with a clear, happy little giggle that makes him smile. “I believe it is nearing time for you to nap.”

“Wanna play,” she pouts instantly with another tug on his beard.

“I have been asked to teach your sister her writing, and Ruhai will observe. You will nap, we will wake you to play when the lesson is finished.”

Lan Qiren can tell instantly as a whine builds in her throat that she’s used to fighting against this particular part of her schedule, but no child in the world is capable of being more stubborn than him. He pulls back the quilt on the bed just enough to set Jin Ye down on it and he wraps her up tightly, elbows bent so her hands are poised up near her shoulders in case she should need to pull herself free. He indulges in a few passes of his hand across the top of her head and almost instantly her whining is cut off by a wide yawn and some long, slow blinks.

“Go to sleep, child, we’ll be here when you wake up again,” he soothes and she relents to close her eyes.

“Wow. She usually only goes to sleep like that for mom and dad,” Jin Lu breathes when he rejoins the other two children on the other side of the space, sitting at the desk where Jin Lu has busied herself laying out some of the paper left in the room for him to use alongside ink and brushes for two.

“I have experience,” he replies simply. “Ruhai, you will grind ink for your sister and then observe her practice.”

The boy nods and leans forward instantly to begin the process with his usual care, moving slowly to ensure he doesn’t splatter anything. Lan Qiren watches carefully, silently correcting the boy’s posture and form with gentle taps of the end of a brush before he’s satisfied enough to begin grinding his own ink. He takes time to show Jin Lu how to properly hold her brush before he lets her touch it to paper. She still moves with some of the natural clumsiness of childhood, but it quickly becomes clear that Jin Zixuan had been telling the truth when he said she has mastered the first set of skills typical for her age group.

Jin Ruhai is an attentive audience as Lan Qiren guides Jin Lu through her practice, settling comfortably into the familiar role of a teacher. He becomes absorbed in it, watching Jin Lu’s hesitant strokes become bolder, more confident as the lesson progresses. So absorbed, in fact, that he’s startled to look up near the middle of the hour to find Jin Yan and Jin Yu flanking the door, arms crossed over their chests as they watch on. Not for the first time he wonders if they will ever be sent to Meishan Yu for training with the Spiders like their grandmother’s Jinzhu and Yinzhu. They would be excellent fits for it, the way they move silently when they want to and always seem to work in tandem, always on their guard.

They offer him a respectful bow - more respectful than he ever sees them offer anyone else in the extended family - and only step further into the room when he waves them in.

“Hi Great Uncle Lan,” Jin Yan greets as she steps forward to sit beside her younger sister, careful not to jostle the girl or the table as she folds her legs neatly underneath her.

“Wow - you got xiao-Ye to take her nap,” Jin Yu marvels as she approaches the bed where the toddler is still sleeping, tiny snores escaping her parted lips.

“Indeed. I do not recommend waking her yet, A-Yu.”

“Yes, Great Uncle Lan.” The girl backs away from the bed immediately to join her sisters, sitting on Jin Lu’s other side to peer down at her work. Jin Lu ignores them to stay focused on her work, Lan Qiren is pleased to see, continuing to practice the new character he had shown her with the tip of her tongue just barely poking between her teeth as she concentrates.

“Hey, this looks great, Lulu,” Jin Yan praises and Jin Lu’s concentration breaks just enough that she grins, tongue still out. “A lot better than ours was at her age, don’t you think Yuyu?”

“Better than ours now,” Jin Yu snorts as she leans back on one hand to lounge, the opposite knee propped up to support her extended arm.

Lan Qiren is just opening his mouth to admonish her posture (it’s far too improper even though she wears trousers) when there’s suddenly the sound of running footsteps on the path outside and panting. All eyes - except for Jin Lu’s - turn to the door to find the swordmaster of Jinlintai leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. He sketches a hasty approximation of a bow.

“Yan-guniang, Yu-guniang,” he manages after a moment. “Your afternoon training is not yet over, I have promised Jin-Zongzhu to instruct you-”

He cuts himself off as Lan Qiren holds up a hand to pause him. “My grandnieces are attending a lesson with me,” he says smoothly. “I will inform Jin-Zongzhu of the change in their schedule, you need not worry.”

The man seems about to argue for a long moment before he seems to think better of it. He sighs and nods, retreating with a quick bow.

“What are you two training with now?” he asks as he turns his attention back to watching Jin Lu’s brush.

“Uncle Sang sent us new knives made by our favorite bladesmith in Qinghe, but we decided we want to wait to really practice with them until Uncle Jue can show us how,” Jin Yan replies while Jin Yu nods her emphatic agreement, still looking down at Jin Lu’s paper. “If we’re going to fight with Nie blades then we want to learn how the Nie would do it.”

“It is good to seek a well-rounded education in any area of study. Variety is invigorating to the mind,” Lan Qiren replies with a glance up to find the twins practically preening under his approval. “I am sure Nie Mingjue will be pleased to demonstrate to such enthusiastic students.”

“Done!” Jin Lu states, setting her brush on its holder and crossing her arms resolutely, a proud, lopsided grin on her face. Jin Yan and Jin Yu instantly lean closer, crowding and jostling the younger girl between them until she giggles as they look over the page. Even Jin Ruhai leans in, eyes scanning the page from his sideways perspective.

“Beautiful,” he praises gently with a smile and Jin Lu positively beams as the twins nod and start pointing out particularly pleasing lines, chattering over each other easily.

“You have improved,” Lan Qiren cuts through the chatter to agree before turning to his nephew. “Ruhai, have you practiced the score I left with you two months ago?” The boy nods quickly, his eyes wide. “Would you like to show me?” Another nod as his hands come up to rest on the table as if already resting on his instrument, though he frowns after a moment. “You may use my guqin. I will prepare what is needed.”

There’s a quick flurry as Jin Yan helps him clear the table of the calligraphy supplies - Jin Lu’s practice sheet gets safely set aside to be shown to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan later - and Jin Yu follows his nod towards the bed to go wake Jin Ye from her nap. With the table clear, Lan Qiren calls his guqin from the pouch in his sleeve and settles the instrument on the surface next, Jin Ruhai swapping places with Jin Lu so that he is now in place to be instructed and she can sit to the side to observe.

Lan Qiren watches Jin Ruhai check the tuning of the instrument with careful brushes of his fingers and then he looks up to check on Jin Yu and Jin Ye. He can’t help but smile ever so slightly as he watches the teen pinch her younger sister’s round cheek, bearing faint creases from the blankets that had been pressed into her skin. Jin Ye is still sleepy and not willing to do much work to support her own weight as she sits like a sack of potatoes in her sister’s arms and so Lan Qiren holds his hands out to take her and settle her in his lap while she rubs her eyes and yawns, trying valiantly to wake properly.

The twins settle back into their spots on either side of their brother, clearly enjoying their position so close to the source of the afternoon’s entertainment. The boy seems to steady with their presence at his sides and Lan Qiren watches his hands settle firmly on the strings. He takes a deep breath in and then begins to play, his fingers sure on the strings despite his moment of nerves.

An unusual stillness accompanies his playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait he’s noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time!!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

“Is that what you practice in your room after dinner every night?” Jin Ruhao suddenly calls from the door and Lan Qiren looks up to find that the two eldest boys have found them, clean and dressed in fresh clothes and apparently done visiting with Jiang Yanli. They step inside the room and move to sit at the table - which is quickly becoming very crowded - on either side of Lan Qiren, directly across from the twins.

“That’s a song from Gusu isn’t it, Great Uncle Lan?” Jin Rulan asks as he and his second brother settle into their spots.

“It is. It is a traditional folk lullaby.” Lan Qiren hesitates for the briefest moment before he adds, “It was your Uncle Ji’s favorite as a boy.”

“Did Uncle Chen have a favorite?” Jin Yan asks curiously and Lan Qiren nods.

“It is the next piece I would like to teach Ruhai, you will hear it when he has learned it.”

“Maybe you can play it for them as a gift the next time they visit, A-Zhuang,” Jin Ruhao suggests and Jin Ruhai visibly perks up at that idea, eyes going bright and his entire expression resolute as he nods. Lan Qiren doesn’t even have to ask to know that he’ll devote himself wholeheartedly to learning the next song until he masters it as soon as he can.

“Oh, my heart!!” A sudden cry from the door has all the children sighing with varying degrees of fondness and dismay as Mo Xuanyu swans into the room. “All the children sucking up to their Great Uncle! How come I never get a cuddle pile, huh? You don’t love your poor Uncle Yu!”

“We hang out with you all the time, Uncle Yu,” Jin Yan sighs heavily, tipping her head back to look at Mo Xuanyu upside down. “What are you doing here? We’re busy hanging out with Great Uncle Lan.”

“Ungrateful child,” Mo Xuanyu chirps with a smile and a tap of a fingertip to the underside of Jin Yan’s chin before he flicks her throat in retaliation.

“Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Qiren greets and warns simultaneously - the gesture was clearly teasing and it couldn’t possibly have hurt his grandniece, but Lan Qiren is protective, he has never once claimed not to be.

“Grandmaster Lan,” the man returns with a nod, hair ornaments tinkling softly as he moves. “I was asked to round up the children for dinner which usually takes the better part of an hour, thank you for corralling them all in one place for this poor tired uncle.”

“Children, go prepare for dinner,” Lan Qiren instructs and everyone but Jin Ye gets to their feet, stretching stiff limbs and nudging each other playfully as they file out of the room. Their laughter echoes in the courtyard as their voices rise, jokes and good-natured chatter filling the air.

“Uh-oh, you’ve got a little bug stuck on your robes there,” Mo Xuanyu chuckles with a nod to Jin Ye. “Never fear, Uncle Lan! I’ll save you from this awful creature!” Jin Ye giggles as she holds her arms up to be swept into Mo Xuanyu’s embrace with a twirl for an extra flourish, the skirts of his robes swishing around his ankles.

Lan Qiren sniffs a bit as he gets to his feet and straightens out his own robes, readjusting his belt to its proper place and brushing himself off as Mo Xuanyu rubs his nose against Jin Ye’s in an affectionate gesture, both of them smiling. He clears his throat next and Mo Xuanyu glances over at him as Lan Qiren settles his arms behind his back, tipping his chin up ever so slightly.

“I spent this morning traveling and this afternoon teaching the children. I also need to prepare for dinner.”

“Ah of course, of course. I’ll just deliver this little bug to her mother, see you at dinner Uncle Lan!” He calls that last over his shoulder as he sweeps out of the room again and Lan Qiren stands in the still silence for a long few moments. He shakes himself out of his reverie quickly enough and begins the process of getting bathed and changed into fresh clothes for the evening spent happily with his family.

Perhaps it was once a surprise to realize that the Lanling Jin is his favorite sect to visit, but now..though nowhere will ever match the love he has for Cloud Recesses, anywhere that contains so much of his family will always come very close to it.

[writeintrees]

Carter Part 1 of 4

Summary: This is it, Carter is going to die here. His torturers are relentless and no one is coming for him. At least that is what he thinks until a mysterious stranger busts into the building searching for their sister. Carter is brought to the rebels, who surprise him, keeping him on his toes and helping him to work through a few things. This group is so happy and kind and better than he could ever dream of. 

Found family, trans mc, chronic pain mc, trauma, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: torture (simple physical injury and neglect), blood, low self esteem, negative self talk, history of physical and mental abuse from family and a partner, self harm scars, panic attack, getting triggered, derealization, dissociation

3155 of 15060 words total

part 2, part 3, part 4

“Just kill me.” Carter says, his eyes staring at the floor. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

No one knows he is here. Hell, it will probably be days before anyone notices he is missing. And his neighbors or boss would not know where to look even if they did care about him. Everything about his life is shallow attachments and long hours at home alone. No one will even miss him when he is dead, he thinks bitterly. There is no use in stringing this out. 

“We have ways of making you talk.” The woman says with an oil slick of a smile. Two box braids run down the back of her head. The hair ombres to platinum blonde as it goes. She reaches to run her finger reverently over some metal instrument. Which one it is does not make much of a difference to Carter. He is sure it will hurt. They can hurt him in a thousand ways, he is not doubting their skills. He just has significant experience with pain.

He has no idea why this random vase is so important to them. He just knows he hates these people to his core and does not want them getting whatever they want. They will likely kill him anyway so what is a little more pain to cause these fuckers further frustration. Maybe his life is good for something after all. He would not hate going down fighting for something even if he does not know what is going on.

“I’m sure you do. But any pain you inflict will either be something I’ve felt before or it will make me pass out. Pain isn’t new to me. Just do yourself a favor and save your time and energy. A clean body is easier to dispose of anyway.” He cringes a little at the self loathing that creeps into his voice. He hopes they will not keep him alive just because of that. 

The woman does not seem to hear his words though as she grabs a blade. “You’ve never had to deal with me before.”

-------------

Cuts litter his exposed skin, oozing clotting blood over the textures of existing scars. Some he is proud of and some he is trying to accept as part of his story. The one that puckers around his right shoulder. The twin curves under his pecs. The cigarette burns and parallel white stripes along his wrists, belly, and thighs. 

He breathes steadily and stares straight ahead. The woman brushes the flyaways angrily from her forehead. “Fine. Let’s kick it up a notch.” Her eyes are wild when she pulls out the pliers. Before he registers what is happening, she grabs his hand tight to the point of feeling his bones shift against each other. With a sickening tug there is the feeling of a thousand paper cuts. She grins as he gasps. She inflates with confidence at being back in control. She walks slow circles around Carter’s heaving body while preening, taking in his pain while she sips from a water glass. He scrunches his eyes closed for a moment, struggling to breathe through the newfound pain before it settles into the background with all of his existing pain. 

After a minute he looks up at her with newfound boredom stemming from dissociation. Mostly through depression and having to accept the pain because it does not fucking stop. 

She grabs his hair roughly and tugs his head back at an uncomfortable angle. He stares at the ceiling beside her head. There is a crack in one of the tiles and another has a brown stain on it. Must be from water damage. Or some other fluid, knowing this place. He does not actually know this place, has no idea if these torturers have set up shop here or if it is just an abandoned building they are using as a one-off.

“Hey!” She spits. “Look at me while I’m talking to you!” She pulls him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized she was talking. “As I was saying, you’d better tell me where the vase is or I’ll have to make things worse for you.”

“Don’t waste your time. I’ll bleed out before I tell you.” His voice betrays just how tired he is. He hopes it lends him credibility.

With a yell she grabs both of his shoulders and… he is on the floor and his chest refuses to expand. The room is spinning and his head has a sharp pain at the back. He dully remembers a loud crack and now his head is against the pavement, his chair toppled with him still tied securely to it. It takes him a few dizzying minutes to be able to breathe again and when he is able to it hurts like a motherfucker. His ribs and abs hurt with each intake of breath. He thinks she might have kneed him in the gut but he is not sure.

“Be ready for more tomorrow.” She laughs callously. There is a clack and the screech of a door barely on its hinges. “Get him into his cell.” Her voice is distant and reverberates through the passageways outside this concrete room. 

There are two sets of footsteps. It is too bright with the lights bearing down on him, but then there are shadows over him and wrestling his arms and legs out of their restraints. They fumble with the ropes across his chest before one of them makes an irritated noise with a low voice. Carter reflexively cringes at that sound. No matter how many years later, he always cringes, wants to stay small and quiet. That is probably why he doesn’t cry out or have a witty comeback when the world goes tipping on its axis again. He hangs his head and focuses on not throwing up from the vertigo. His ankle hurts and he shifts his leg to see a large strip of skin has been taken out by the rough edge of the chair leg as he was righted.

The rope comes loose and he almost goes careening to the floor. It seems too close, like gravity is pulling him from two directions. It is a good thing that the two guards -- or whatever they are -- grab him by the shoulders and manhandle him to his feet. When he stumbles they jab sharply into his ribs but the increase in pain makes him even more out of it. He is way beyond the point of pain sharpening his senses. His brain is floating miles away and watching this whole scene play out through a small screen. 

The cell is concrete too because of course it is. This whole place is gray and sharp and uncomfortable. Heat immediately begins seeping from him when he faceplants onto the unforgiving ground and embeds grit into his knees and the heels of his hands. 

As the door scrapes closed he tries to come up with something witty to say. He is stuck on what he had been telling the torturer for hours. “You don’t fucking listen to reason do you?”

And with that he is closed into the room.

It is more of a closet in dimensions. Maybe they split a normal room into smaller cells. All he knows is it is small and dark. The only light comes from the seams around the door and from a crack in the wooden ceiling above him. And all the light reveals is the texture of the rocks petrified in the walls and the thick, wet dust in the air. There is the muffled sound of screaming through the ceiling.

He is still shirtless. The air is room temperature but he finds himself shivering. He wraps his arms gingerly around his sides as he lies down on his side. Sitting causes a hot, sick feeling to rise in him from the torn muscles in his abdomen. His throat constricts and he mumbles to himself “don’t throw up don’t throw up” until it passes. He pulls his knees up one by one with his hands, not trusting his hips to do the work. The blood across his skin is mostly dry and he still has his pants. It could be worse, he thinks as another shiver wracks through his body and causes a dull oof to escape his lips when his abs tense. The cuts itch and he closes his eyes tight against the memories. 

The next day is more of the same. Cuts and burns and a lot of punching. Every time he makes a sound she has this slimy smile that scares him more than the pain to be honest. She looks at him like an ant she is about to set fire to and he knows that she will draw this out for as long as she can. 

He is able to stay on his feet the next time they shove him into his cell. That is a victory. He smiles and keeps eye contact with the guards as they heft the door shut. This time there is food and a ratty old blanket waiting for him. The wrapped hamburger is cold but he eats it so fast that his stomach hurts. The blanket smells like dogs and piss but he wraps it around his shoulders anyway. He is unable to lower himself to the ground so he sits propped up in the corner and the blanket takes the skin gouging power of the concrete down two notches. 

There is a jittery feeling under his skin that he recognizes from the times he has forgotten to fill his pill case. Withdrawal. It fucking sucks but when all of the medications leave his body over the course of the next few days he realizes with a pang that most of them did not help anyway. Well that is one way to rule them out. The ones meant to work towards his fibro at least. The rib pain is back with a vengeance and fire streaks through his joints with the pangs of emotion.

As it nears a week he gives up on them listening to reason. He does not give up on the witty retorts though. Even if there is no reaction to them. He feels delirious, spewing out half-formed comebacks that might not even make sense. Sometimes they are in response to what the torture lady has done in his dreams. Reality is frayed at the edges and he has no reason to work to repair it again. He just laughs in the face of it all. Maybe if they see his sanity slipping they will give up on him finally. 

Instead he just gets new forms of torture, them ramping up their techniques thinking he will talk. Even the thought makes him laugh. The worse they are, the more resolute he is that he will never give them anything. They cannot take away his spirit and he will fight until his dying breath. He revels in their frustration just as they revel in every flinch and gasp and scream that comes from his mouth. And there are more than he can count. More injuries across his skin than his many moles and more bruises beneath. He throws up blood one of the many times they make the pain bad enough for his stomach to empty its contents. He spits the acid onto his torturer’s boots and she plants her toe into his diaphragm.

Back in the cell he is leaned up against the wall. His pants are tattered but not in a trendy way. They are also stiff with blood. His skin is blotchy with cuts and burns and bruises. Some of the older ones have gone to green-yellow between where new ones overlap. 

His eyes follow up the grey wall to that cracked floorboard. He used to rock climb once upon a time. Maybe if his abs heal he could try scaling up to the ceiling and prying the board loose. Even though every part of his body is worse each day than it was the last, he clings to that impossible fantasy of escape as he drifts into fitful rest.

In the morning of his eighth day he hears noises. He is no sooner conscious than the door is thrown open. He prepares himself to make the guards’ jobs as difficult as possible but the scowl on his face gives way to confusion. Instead of the two normal guards, there is someone entirely new. They are wearing all black but hold themself with authority, hand-gun poised at the ready. Their brown hair is tied into a ponytail down their back that swishes as they turn to move onward.

“Wait! Who are you?” What is going on? 

They stop with only one foot visible through the opening of the door. “Do you know where the others are kept?” Their voice is cold.

“I think there’s someone in the next cell over.” He tries to push himself to stand but his vision spots and slants and he is back on his hands and knees. Heat splotches across his skin sickly. He focuses on his breathing.

“Hey, are you okay?” They have entered his cell and are knelt in front of him, one hand on his shoulder. 

Carter laughs bitterly. “Do I look okay?” 

They grimace, their eyes wandering over the cuts and bruises and brands that litter his skin. “I’m looking for my sister. Do you want to come with us?”

He looks into their eyes, astonished. Why would they help him? He had already come to terms with dying here. There was nothing beyond getting through the day. Now the unknown opening up in front of him is dizzying. He nods, not trusting himself to speak past the flood of thoughts and emotions through his mind. He tries to get up but has to fight the sudden nausea that sweeps over him. That causes a little panic. He needs to not fall behind. He needs to not slow them down. This is his only chance.

A hand grasps his upper arm -- with a grip so unlike the guards -- and helps him to his feet with care. He thinks that the hard mask from before must have taken a lot of concentration for them to keep up. It has fallen into concern which settles naturally onto their features. The stiff blanket has come halfway off but he pulls it up with him anyway. Once they see that he seems steady on his feet, they walk back to the threshold and glance back at him to check if he is following. He hurries into the hallway, pulling the blanket tight around him.

It is an incredibly different experience from the days previous. He is able to walk freely and take in the details that he was oblivious to amid his fear and pain. His rescuer types in a code to the door and is pulling at the handle before the latch even clicks open. Light floods the room to reveal a shape in the corner.

“Tasha?” They call tentatively. The person bolts upright, looking towards them with unfocused eyes. They run to her side and fuss over her in a blur of hands. “Tash. Oh my goodness what did they do to you? Where are you hurt?” They keep pulling their hands back, drawn to the visible injuries but scared to touch them. Her body looks much the same as Carter’s own with cuts and bruises. She has on torn pants and a sports bra. Her hair is the same shade of brown as her sibling’s but shorter, more of a bob.

“Em? Emille, how…? What?” She mumbles out. 

Emille is frantically struggling out of their black jacket. They tug the sleeves off inside out then try to force it onto their sister whose eyes have fallen onto Carter. He shuffles awkwardly, hoping his presence will not crowd or overwhelm his fellow torturee. Her head lolls slightly as her sibling manhandles her. Her eyes are glazed over in a way that tells him she is not hearing much of what they are saying. 

Emille is unraveling before them. “God damn those fucking bastards are going to pay. Tell me everything they did so I can do ten times worse I swear to fucking-”

“Can you stand?” Carter interrupts.

Tasha’s eyes focus slightly. He wonders if he just imagined it with how the silence stretches on. “Yeah.” She rasps finally. She grabs onto her sibling’s shoulder and they stand together, walking towards the door with Emille’s gaze concerned and unmoving from their sister.

“Alright then. I assume you didn’t incapacitate everyone so we should get going, yeah?” Carter waits for Emille’s response. They nod and start striding confidently back into the hall. He follows their lead. The way Tasha steps on only half of her left foot leads him to believe at least a couple toes are broken. She does not complain though. If she did it would probably cause Emille to stop on the spot. She might realize this or she might just be used to hiding the injuries to keep the torturers from that satisfaction. He would understand that too.

Carter has never been to this side of the building. There is very little that he has seen, to be fair. They go up a back staircase slowly. The way Tasha swings her legs up makes him think that her hips have been injured.

When the door opens the light is blinding. But he has very little time to adjust because no sooner does the door swing open than there is yelling echoing behind them. The siblings shuffle out and he follows blindly and almost eats it when the ground drops out from under him. He catches himself with a straightened leg and the shock echoes all the way through his body and rattles his already concussed head. He sucks in a breath and steadies himself. Alarms start blaring from the building behind.

Emille is helping Tasha into a red SUV. Carter walks himself to the car and lets himself into the back seat. 

Emille rushes around into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” 

Carter’s head knocks against the headrest behind him. He shuts his eyes against the headache that blossoms around the back of his skull. He keeps his eyes closed for most of the jolty drive. He is pretty sure Emille runs some red lights and takes turns way too quickly. Eventually the drive evens out into a gentle drift from start to stop and back again. 

It is comforting knowing he gets a break and feeling his body heat being bounced back by the fabric of the car seat. He hopes he is not getting blood on it. He can always come back to clean it later. For now he is just taking slow breaths and reveling in it all.

next chapter

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Forty-Five: Say it with ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

There is no Uchiha clan without pride. For better or worse, there is little rending an Uchiha’s pride in their people. To them, their bloodline is everything. No other clan loves like the Uchiha...and with that love comes a stubborn belief that those they hold dear are above all others.

Sasuke was inundated with such beliefs from a young age. To him, there was no greater bloodline to be part of than the Uchiha. They were strong, smart, kind, and wise! Everywhere he went in the Uchiha compound, he was met with smiles, friendly words, and affection. And even had he not been a son of the clan head, he would still be met by those like him with that same care and attention.

Because to be an Uchiha was to be special.

His father only pushed the idea on him further. Which made his apparent disappointment in his younger son all the more difficult to understand. Was he not...good enough? But...he was an Uchiha! And one of the main house! Surely...surely that meant being destined for great things! Itachi was a prodigy, sure...but Sasuke would be strong, too! He would!

...he would…

Even after the clan was lost...even after the precious blood of his people ran in the gutters, soiled and spilled...he never lost his pride. Even if the Uchiha were gone, their strength would be remembered! And avenged...he’d make sure of it. The most skilled of them all had stolen their lives...but Sasuke swore that he’d never rest until justice was done. Until the pride of the Uchiha was secured..

...of course...it wasn’t a simple thing. Training took years, and eventually saw him leave his home, and join an enemy. Everything else was stripped away and forgotten in the pursuit of his one dream: to bring justice to his clan. But just when he thought he’d found it...a new truth was brought to light. So he shifted targets, did what he had to in order to make Konoha’s wrong right. He didn’t care that his so-called friends and teammates tried to bury the tragic truth and bring him back kicking and screaming. Even if it marked him as a traitor until his death...he wouldn’t give up on them. On his people. On those massacred for wanting their independence and freedom.

And when that was done...he was going to change the entire shinobi world. This...would never happen again.

...but as usual...Naruto got in his way.

By that time, it had been over ten years. Ten long...painful...lonely years. Sasuke was tired...so tired...so when he’d reached his limits, but the blond still refused to back down...Sasuke relented. Maybe...there would be another way. He’d been so blinded, so focused...perhaps he’d lost his path.

But that wouldn’t stop his ultimate goal. Upon Itachi’s return, he made a decision: the council had to be faced, tried, and removed from power. They were the last pieces of the game tied to the massacre. So long as they were stripped of their influence...their ideals could never again harm another clan.

It wouldn’t bring the Uchiha back...but he hoped, at least, it would bring them peace.

He, however...still had challenges to face. Itachi’s pardon, much like his own, was still met with animosity. Cleared or not, their actions still sat sourly in people’s mouths.

Some more than others.

But at least the Uchiha did not have to face them alone. They instead found themselves with new allies: their distant cousin clan, the Hyūga, came to their aid...for a small price. Uchiha became a valuable commodity to the right people, and now they were tied to another clan. Useful, yes...but with pros always came cons.

Sasuke rebelled at first. Losing his freedom to a clan as stuffy and upright as the Hyūga was the last thing he wanted. But Itachi worked to ensure their independence.

And though no longer heiress, Hinata served as a liaison of sorts between the two clans.

Which was good...she was the only Hyūga Sasuke could stand. And as time went on, he found himself learning more about their subtle parallels, their diverging choices...and their striking similarities. The more he spoke with her, the closer her felt to her. Unlike so many, he held no grudge against her...nor she against him. They had a perfectly clean slate, and more than one reason to get along.

So, was it really any wonder that he fell in love with her…?

The feeling scared him. By then, it was more than clear that someone was after them: the remnants of the Uchiha...and anyone who dared to align themselves with them. Itachi’s wife and children had already been targeted...and Sasuke didn’t want to put Hinata in any more danger than she’d already found herself in as their ally.

Of course...when he brought forward his concerns, she brushed them aside, insisting she could handle herself. And that - with feelings much the same as his own - she was willing to take that risk regardless, if it meant being happy.

So...they gave dating a try. Not that there was much need - they’d already grown that close. So it didn’t take much for them to simply skip ahead to engagement.

And then, over two years after his return to Konoha...Uchiha Sasuke got married. Something that - had you asked him before they met - he would have simply laughed at. Him, married? Living in Konoha?

Well...stranger things have happened.

In the wee hours of the morning after their marriage, Sasuke snuck out of the house, and made his way across the village. Almost no one was awake, even the bars closed down and empty. But he wasn’t looking for any business, or in fact any person.

...living, at least.

Kneeling at the foot of his parents’ headstones, he remained in silence for a good long while, just...thinking. About all he’d seen, done, and come to be. How - in the end - he couldn’t bring himself to regret any step in his journey. Here, and now...he was exactly where he needed to be.

“...I think I’ve done it,” he murmured, voice small in the oppressive silence of the night. “I think I’ve reached a point where...I can finally be happy again. And not just in a moment. Not just...fleetingly. But for the rest of my life, however long it stretches.”

Another long silence. “...I hope your pride in me outshines the shame I brought you. I know my actions were often flawed...and I hope you can forgive me. In all I did, for all those years...I thought of you. Acted for you. Strove to bring you peace, even if I’d never find it myself. All I ever wanted was to avenge you. All of you. I think...I’ve gotten as close as I can to that. I hope it’s enough.”

Staring at his mother’s name, Sasuke sighed. “...and I know what you’d say now. You’d say...that my work was done. That I’ve toiled enough. That it’s time for me to rest, and to be happy. Well...I dunno if I can quite yet. There’s still threats to face, for those of us still here. We’re not safe. But I’ll do everything...and anything...to protect us. I won’t let another drop of Uchiha blood be spilled by our enemies. I swear...I’ll be strong enough this time.”

Unbidden, his jaw clenched, chin shaking and a few traitorous tears slipping down his cheeks. “...I can say it with pride, now...no matter what anyone says. I am an Uchiha...and no matter how written in blood our path has been...I’ll never lose my pride in who and what I am. Thank you...for all you did for me. Even if it was cut short. I loved - and still love - you all with the entirety of my heart. Maybe it will never be fully whole again. Maybe there will always be a part of me unable to heal. But...I hope this will be enough. That I was enough.”

After a moment to reflect, he carefully bowed forward, hands flat and brow to the cool, dewy grass. “...thank you...for everything. Please continue to watch over me...over us.

“I hope we’ll make you proud.”

                                                        .oOo.

     This isn't my best cuz it's late and I'm tired / rushed, but I'll admit the ending made me tear up a bit. Had a long day and I'm pooped, BUT! I'm finally caught up. Just one drabble a day now, up to the end of the year! Less than a third left...we can do this!      Anyway...I think in reality, Sasuke never once lost faith or pride in his clan. It's more others' opinions he's referencing in being able to say his name with pride. Sure, he doesn't much care for the opinions OF others, but it's still a big deal to him that - by the time he marries Hinata - he has a real future again. A wife, a few fragments of his family, rebuilding friendships...and the justice he's always wanted for his clan. Or as close as he can get to it. Things are finally starting to look up, despite the lingering threats and obstacles.      ...I'm rambling cuz I'm tired, but I hope you get my point xD So, I'll stop there for tonight, and be back tomorrow! Thanks for reading <3

[black-strike-otp]

part 93

I admit I was rushing rally bad there part of the way through but I got shit! to do!

Imagining four bots crowding around peepholes is my new fav thing. It’s so funny. Ya’ll killing war machines oh my god. Look at how dorky ya’ll are.

Barricade slid down the slop of metal and came to a halt at the base of what once was a curving side of a tall building. He transferred his weight from pede to pede as he slowly rotated around with his blasters ready. The tension in his shoulders laxed slightly, and he issued a wave of his arm for the others to follow.

While Blackout made for a slow descent down a rugged pile of debris, Novastrike hit the slick surface with Venus and coasted down to the bottom of crater. They’d left ‘Cade and Venus in charge of directing the way to Shockwave’s lab since they knew the way, but it didn’t stop Nova from playing the additional spotter. They may know their way around this displaced apocalypse, but as far as she knew, Barricade nor Venus had the extreme hypersensitive senses to pick up on danger.

There was no questioning their masterful expertise as soldiers though. It was clear they’d had a lot of time together to perfect their movements; mirroring each other as they slipped past one another like dancers to inspect the area. Even distant from each other, separated by many degrees of distance, they seemed to hold a parallel line between them. Each step fed into another, keeping them synchronized.

Novastrike slowly turned her optics away from the two bots as Blackout made his way down from the pile of rubbish. He gave a somewhat impatient and unhappy huff as he stepped off the last of twisted metal cautiously. Briefly, his gaze went to her and he allowed himself a light smile before turning his gaze onto Barricade.

“How much further are we?” he grunted. “I’d rather be flying than walking all this distance.”

“It’s a lot safer to come in on pede than by air, trust us,” Venus spoke up smoothly.

Nodding his helm, ‘Cade sauntered the distance over to the femme. His biolights and optics flickered that half pinkish-lavender hue that moved along his dark armor as well as Venus’ as he moved in close to her. She offered him the sweetest, most encouraging smile imaginable as he placed an arm around her waist to pull her into his side.

“Shockwave has anti-air missile launchers around his base of operations,” Barricade explained. “What we have to worry about is any of his hinchmechs or experiments if he notices us being sent out to destroy us.”

“Comforting,” Blackout thickly growled.

Circulating her audio receptors around, Novastrike turned her helm slightly as she picked up some rustling of metal. A few yards away, she spotted a small cyber-cat rummaging through the scraps of metal and swallowed nervously. It looked harmless enough, but then again, Barricade didn’t appear frightening in the least, and Blackout had pointedly stated that he was in a constant struggling battle to keep himself in check from literally trying to consume the lives around him and drain them of energon.

She breathed out slowly to control herself. Turning her blue optics from scanning the horizon to her right, the white armored femme looked to Venus as she climbed through a rather tight squeeze between some dangerously caved in shards of metal. She was highly flexible Nova noted.

Before she completely disappeared, she reached out to place a servo gingerly against Barricade’s arm. His optics, briefly appearing almost the same hue of magenta as her own, brightened as he leaned in to press his forehead against hers. She pressed a kiss against his cheek lightly, and disappeared out of view.

Rumbling deeply, Blackout growled aloud, “You do realize I wouldn’t be able to fit through that entry, right?”

“She’s only checking ahead for us to make sure it’s clear,” Barricade explained. “It’s a short-cut. We’ll move around the structure, but it’ll take us wide from our destination to steer clear of the collapsing building.”

“Venus’ll be alright, right?” Nova whispered nervously, wringing her servos together as she looked at the tight enclosed space.

Laughing quietly, ‘Cade gave a nod of his helm. “She’s got this. Don’t underestimate her just because she’s so drop-dead gorgeous. There’s no bot as qualified as her at what she does.”

“And what’s that?” the small femme pressed with interest.

Looking to Blackout, the Terrorcon infected mech gave a tut-ing sound and a shake of his helm. “Really, Blackout? You told her nothing about us? Any of us?”

With a shameful faceplate, the much larger obsidian mech only shrugged.

Rolling his optics, Barricade turned his cooler more violet optics to her as he confided: “Venus was an assassin, spy, soldier, and courier for the Decepticon army. You couldn’t find a more capable bot. Megatron himself directly gave her orders and issued her to tasks he wanted performed. She helped retain a lot of personal information on bots; their weapons, plans on where they were moving their armies, you name it. She was essentially, and unbelievably good at what she did.”

“Megatron personally requested that she join the Nemesis when they went to depart from Cybertron, but she refused, stating that she would remain on Cybertron to ensure that it would remain under his control once he returned with the Decepticons. No bot ever gives up such a position, nor demand, from Megatron himself. To everybot’s surprise, he didn’t persuade her further on joining him. I think she probably disappointed him greatly when she said she would be staying. Any bot more loyal to another than him was useless to him anyway.”

“Venus is skilled at what she does. She knows this area, she’s stealthy and knows what she’s looking for, so it won’t be a long wait,” he finished with a nod of his helm.

“You weren’t invited to join the Decepticons leaving the planet?” Novastrike drilled.

Blackout made a sound in the back of his throat. She turned to him briefly, looking upon the concern on his faceplate. The pleading light of his optics had her wondering if her pestering was a bad decision.

Waving his servo to Blackout, ‘Cade spoke up with sternness as he looked to his old friend, “It’s fine, Blackout. I don’t mind telling her.”

Shifting his gaze back towards her, the small gray and dark purple mech continued on, “I wasn’t, but that’s because every bot knew I was staying behind. I’m sick, to put it lightly. If I had a bad day, or energon was low, I had a possibility of lashing out. Although I wasn’t much of a threat then; usually too weak to do much harm, I would be a burden on any ship I was placed on should the crew run low on energon.”

“So before I was even issued to a vessel, Shockwave, the lead scientist in that Decepticon division, came to me offering to help. I should have known better. Shockwave always had a lengthy reputation for madness and damaging the bots he worked on. But I thought I was an exception. I was valued as a Decepticon asset. I joined Blackout, a trusted adviser to the Decepticon cause, countless times on important missions on and off planet. I helped bring down armies, destroy ships, laid waste to nearby worlds that the Autobots had been building their supplies on and wrecked havoc where I went.”

“But I must not have been as important as I thought,” he stated with a vent. “I don’t know even half of what I underwent for months. All I know is that by the time Venus rescued me, I was worse off than I was before. It surprised us that Shockwave never sent anyone to fetch me, but he must have gotten what he’d wanted from the experiments in the end, or I’m sure one of his wild beasts would have been on us not long after.”

“I’m sorry all of that happened to you,” Nova whispered sympathetically.

‘Cade could only shrug in response. “Whats done has been done. I’m sure there’s no way of fixing me now. I just have to live with what happened.”

Novastrike lowered her audio receptors slowly. To not know what had occurred to you for months, time wasted and spent, that alone was a torturous thought. But to be freed only to find yourself morphed into something you weren’t sounded spark-wrenchingly depressing.

How did he put up with it? Looking in the mirror and seeing the same mech, but knowing underneath the false impression was not the same bot who’d walked into that lab so many months ago?

Either her silence, her expression, or harboring the memories so close to the surface had Barricade’s face turning melancholy. He cast his optics to the side as he shifted, looking hopefully to the makeshift tunnel Venus had escaped into to keep his gaze away from the other two bots.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Barricade mouthed, his voice barely catching as he fixated his gaze to the entry point while pink light swirled in his vision. “You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to me. Apologizing for something you had no servo in is a waste of a breath.”

“It’s a... sympathetic sorry...” Nova mumbled quietly.

The smaller mech didn’t respond. His optics lit up a few degrees brighter as metal shifted, and Venus servo grabbed at some of the metal surrounding her, trying to push herself out.

Being quite the gentlemech, ‘Cade was quick to step forward and reach out to her. The endearing smile that lit up the femme’s faceplate was filled with love as she accepted his servo. ‘Cade reached out with his other servo to help her out as he twined his digits with hers to guide her out.

Stretching upward by the tips of her pedes, Venus let out a relieved sigh as she turned to look up at Blackout. “We’re clear to keep moving.”

“No trouble?” Barricade asked, examining her appearance with a critical look.

“None at all,” she smoothly replied.

Smiling weakly, the infected mech nuzzled his face into the side of her neck, eliciting a surprised shriek from the pink accented femme. She swatted at his arm lightly as he pulled away, chuckling.

“We’re working right now, ‘Cade.”

“Sorry babe. You know how hard it is to resist.”

“Can you two at least point me in the right direction before you start making out?” Blackout cut in.

Barricade raised a threatening fist that Venus reached out and pulled down with her free servo, sighing.

“This way,” she firmly stated, pulling her mech gently gently with her interlocked servo to get him to follow.

Nova followed the duo with her optics as they moved beyond the shrapnel littering the way. Her ears swiveled to Blackout as he walked up on her left side and paused to stand beside her.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“Nah. He’s just closing in on himself. Just let him be for a while, he’ll be alright.”

Folding her audios back, Novastrike gave a nod of understanding. She followed with Blackout just trailing behind her after the pair through the twisted maze of metal and out into an open expansion of land not terribly destroyed from the war. Barricade and Venus were still holding servos, walking along the collapsed building as much as possible to keep out of sight.

Looking over her shoulder, Nova glanced up to Blackout as he leaned down low, offering out a servo to her with a small smile.

“Care for a ride, love?”

A relaxed smile crept up on her faceplate.

“Thank you, dear, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

~

Blackout finally caught up once more with the pair on top of a ridge. They were placed in the shadows; the blackness of their frames mostly keeping them hidden from sight as they peered out from behind covert nooks against the Cybertron’s broken mass.

Crossing glances between each other, Novastrike and Blackout slowly edged over to join them.

Pressing a digit over his mouth, Barricade looked over to them. Nodding his helm, the giant mech walked as quietly as he could manage despite his grand size over to them. He kept his helm low so not to bump it against the overhanged warped metal just above him that looked threateningly close to falling over.

“Shockwave’s location?” he gruffly spoke up.

Venus gave a nod.

Looking out past some of the twisted beams of metal, Blackout placed a servo out to keep Novastrike from falling off his shoulder. Just out a few hundred yards was a very uninteresting and unimportant looking building. Like everything else, it appeared weathered and worn, half destroyed by battle.

“That’s it?” Blackout said with disbelief. “It’s incredibly small. I can’t imagine it taking long to find anything in there.”

“That’s just the upper level,” Barricade breathed.

“Even with only the clips and pieces of the map I still have, there’s much more in underground levels,” Venus added.

“The capacitor is key,” Blackout stated. “I’m willing to bet his call room will have other supplies we’ll be able to make use of too for a transmitter; much of the principals are the same, and if we’re lucky we can scrounge up anything else or take items of value for bartering with other bots.”

Suddenly, all four bots leaned back and shielded their faceplates and optics as a loud thud exited the building. Sparks leaping into throats and optics wide, they exchanged glances.

“What sort of security does Shockwave have?” Blackout growled.

“I don’t know,” Venus hissed in a quiet voice. “I didn’t run into any when I ran in. Just flung open some doors and saw some of his experiments.”

To his credit and bravery, Barricade was the first to glance through an open section of the gnarled metal.

“It’s Shockwave,” he said with surprise.

“What?” Blackout doubtfully snarled.

Crowding around each other, every bot pressed their faces together to look out.

“I can’t see,” grumbled the large ebony mech.

“Nor can I,” the smallest white armored femme admitted.

“What’s that?” Venus breathed, pulling away to give Blackout to look out.

It only took a glance to realize what he was looking at.

“That’s a space bridge,” he stated with wonder.

“I thought space bridges needed a sister station to function?” ‘Cade clipped in.

“They used to,” Blackout grumbled. “That’s how we got back to Cybertron. We escaped the Nemesis and used a space bridge.”

“You what?”

“‘Cade,” Blackout warned as the other mech raised his voice. Squinting slightly, his mouth dropped at the silhouette as it exited the building.

“By the Primes, do you see that?” the smaller mech breathed slowly.

Pushing at Barricade slightly, Venus joined his peek hole to look out.

“It looks like a Predacon,” she stated with awe.

“Like Infiltrator and Fireline,” Novastrike added in.

“Wait, she knows Infiltrator?” Barricade whispered quietly. “Blackout, the frag, mech. I’ve told you all the important scrap you missed out on.”

“Shhh.”

Silently, they watched as Shockwave walked in front of the mysterious creature. With his bulky dark purple armor and hugely overstated cannon, he carried himself with dignity towards the greenish aqua swirling portal.

More obedient than any canine, the Predacon creature kept its wingspan tucked in close against its frame as it followed. Its armor was a neutral deep gray with accented fiery orange and golden optics. For a brief nanoklik, it reared back its helm and looked in their direction. Shockwave stopped and hardly got to twist around as if to see what had caused his abomination to stall before it was quickly scrapping its claws against the ground to follow behind him.

“By the Thirteen, that this is bigger than you,” Barricade croaked out weakly as he glanced to Blackout.

Observing the alien beast and the mad scientist, they four bots watched as they entered the space bridge. It closed up behind them with a bleep of light swirling inward.

“Where did they go?” Venus thoughtfully mused.

“I bet I have a good idea where,” Blackout jeered. “But for now, lets take advantage of the empty warehouse and get inside and grab what we need. ‘Cade, would you mind staying on lookout? Venus knows the majority of the base location, and I’ve got the strength to carry just about anything we’ll be needing.”

“Good, I don’t want to go back in there anyway,” ‘Cade grumbled. “But you better make it quick. If they come back and I become a Predacon snack, I’m haunting your aft in the afterlife.”

Blackout shrugged his shoulders. “That’s reasonable,” he concluded.

“And you’re telling me whatever the frag else you forgotten to mention about the Nemesis and interstellar travel,” he fumed.

“Noted,” the larger mech vented, looking down to Venus and Novastrike. “You two ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Venus chimed in softly.

Nova gave a brief nod of her helm, optics flashing a dark blue with determination.

“Alright,” the dark armored mech grunted as he reached up to shove the overhanging metal out of his way so he could stand at his full height. “Lets move in.”

[musicprincess655]

Chapters: 12/19 Fandom: Haikyuu!! Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira Additional Tags: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru - Freeform, they dont officially get together by the end so they dont go in the ship tags, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, War, Blood Series: Part 4 of Royalty AU

For at least a little while, Shigeru could feel proud of what he’d accomplished. He’d gotten them information, and helped them to move forward with their plans, and he felt a lot less useless.

Until he went right back to feeling useless. He couldn’t fight like the rest of them. He couldn’t even do training with the rest of them. He could only do the most basic drills that Mattsun gave him.

And he was sick of it. He was sick of feeling useless, and he was sick of everyone looking at him with something like pity in their eyes. Poor sheltered omega. He’ll never be who he’s trying to be.

He was working through the drills Mattsun gave him relentlessly, every time he had a chance, allowing himself small smiles when he got them completely right and begging for more. Mattsun assured him that he was learning fast, but Shigeru couldn’t see it. He’d never even tried himself against any of the others, but he knew any of them could beat him in seconds, even Makki.

Besides, getting up to work on footwork and swinging helped distract him from how tired he felt every time a nightmare woke him up. It was better for him this way. And better for Maiya and Takeru, who he shared a tent with. It was less cramped now that they’d sent the three girls back to the refugee village, but Shigeru was sure Maiya still didn’t appreciate him coming awake with a jerk and a muffled scream. Leaving the tent as soon as possible was the best option.

And even if he didn’t think he was improving fast enough, he couldn’t stop the jolt of pride every time he got something right, hurrying to start it again to beat the feeling of doing it right into his muscles. He had to take advantage of any little bit he could get better, or he would still be useless.

Maybe that pride was what finally got him to snap.

Kyoutani wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, really. He was up and about the camp earlier than he usually was, but that wasn’t completely out of character. Still, Shigeru had come to like his time alone before everyone else woke up, where no one was around to watch him fumble or fall.

But even though he didn’t do anything worse than watch, it was setting Shigeru on edge. Having someone focus on him so entirely like that was unnerving him, and he kept messing up simple things, things he knew he could get right if Kyoutani would just go away.

“You’re not balancing yourself,” Kyoutani finally broke the silence. Shigeru grit his teeth together. “You’re swinging from your arms. You have to swing from your core. You’d know that if you weren’t some spoiled castle omega.”

Shigeru slammed Kyoutani into a tree. The alpha stared him down, mouth working but no words coming out. Shigeru seethed, his face inches from Kyoutani’s, ready to attack at the smallest sign of movement.

"I'm not just some spoiled princess," Shigeru snarled. "I'm not just some weak omega you can push around. I'm a member of this team, and I've had enough of you not fucking treating me like it. We’re supposed to work together, or none of this will work. Enough with your lone wolf bullshit, and enough with treating me like I’m useless."

He stepped back, picking up the sword he'd dropped in his haste to get to Kyoutani's throat.

"Now show me how to use a damn sword."

Kyoutani just looked at him with wide eyes, not moving from where he’d been slammed into the tree. Shigeru snarled again, making him jolt into motion. He reached for the sword on his hip, levelling it at Shigeru.

“I’m going to show you how to block,” he said. “Don’t fuck up and cut off my head.”

“Don’t give me a reason to,” Shigeru snapped, but he lowered himself into the ready position that he’d been perfecting for weeks. This much, at least, he could do.

Kyoutani stepped forward.

“Try swinging for my head,” he said. “Slowly.”

Shigeru did as he was told, raising his sword and lowering it carefully towards Kyoutani’s head. Kyoutani twisted his arms, raising his sword horizontally so Shigeru’s couldn’t move anymore.

“This is a block,” he said. “Don’t actually attack overhead like that, though. You leave yourself open and you don’t have the natural strength to be able to swing through fast enough.”

“What should I do instead?” Shigeru asked, letting Kyoutani’s sword go.

“Swing from your sides,” Kyoutani instructed. “Or just thrust forward. You’re tall. What you lack in strength, you’ll have to make up by being smart. As much as you can, attack from a distance.”

“That’s nothing like what you do.”

“Because I have the natural strength to rely on.”

“How do you even know about this, then?”

“I’ve learned different things,” Kyoutani replied hotly. “Just because I prefer to rely on one style doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”

“If you applied some of those other things you know, you would fit in with everyone else better,” Shigeru told him. “Just going in with brute strength works for a lone wolf. You’re with a team now.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“At least I acknowledge my shortcomings!” Shigeru snapped. “You’re convinced things will work out if you keep doing what you’re doing, and they won’t. I know what I lack. Now show me how to attack like you said.”

Kyoutani did, showing him how to thrust from a guarded position by his hip. The sword went out, extended as far as it could through his arms, but the power came from his legs and core. They practiced that over and over, and Shigeru could feel himself settling into a style that was heavily defensive.

“Now try to block me,” Kyoutani said, explaining how he should do it. Shigeru could see the parallels to the footwork Mattsun had been putting him through. He knew how to do this, even if he faltered when a sword actually hit his. “Again.”

So Shigeru did it again, and again, and again, blocking the hits Kyoutani aimed at him. Once he got one kind down, Kyoutani would switch where he aimed his swing, so Shigeru had to change how he blocked. Eventually, when he’d learned to protect his head and both his sides, Kyoutani started attacking randomly, but slowly, allowing Shigeru to get a feel for protecting all of himself without actually trying to hurt him.

“So you two can be within five feet of each other without trying to murder each other,” a voice interrupted them. Shigeru turned to see Shinji watching them, and all of a sudden, the haze he’d been moving through lifted, and he could feel his arms shaking from stopping a sword from hitting him again and again. Kyoutani might have moved slowly enough for him to learn how to block, but he’d been far from gentle. Then again, Shigeru might have actually tried to kill him for going easy.

“You’re not…actually that bad,” Shigeru said haltingly, refusing to look at Kyoutani. He still had his pride, after all.

“You’re not quite the spoiled princess I thought you were,” Kyoutani said in reply. “Still a sheltered omega, though.”

“Someday I’ll be good enough to make you eat those words.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Shigeru almost wanted to laugh instead of snapping at him for that comment. Somehow, it was hard to believe that Kyoutani meant him harm after seeing the look of shock on his face when he was pinned to a tree. Shigeru figured that if he could throw the alpha like that, he didn’t have much to worry about.

And Kyoutani was a much better teacher than Shigeru ever would have expected. Even if his words were sharp and his face was a permanent scowl, he was patient. He let Shigeru practice one motion over and over until it was perfect, and no matter how many times he called Shigeru names, he never complained.

He’d started getting up at the same time as Shigeru, in the middle of the afternoon, before everyone else woke up, so they could practice for a while without anyone watching and throwing Shigeru off his game. Shinji joked that he and Shigeru should switch tents, so the two early risers could stop inflicting themselves on good hardworking warriors who just wants a good night’s rest. Shigeru told him that he could do that over his dead body.

Shinji was sharing with Kyoutani, and seemed to be getting along with him better than anyone else. Just because they could get along when they were training didn’t mean they were automatically best friends. Still, when Shinji insisted on the three of them eating together and spending their limited free time together, it was hard not to get used to each other. Kyoutani had a strong personality, and Shigeru could recognize that so did he, so it wasn’t really a surprise they’d butted heads at first, but it seemed like they could actually kind of share space without it being a huge deal.

Mattsun sidled up to him before they went back their tents for the night a few weeks into the training he was doing with Kyoutani.

“I think I have you to thank for how much better Kyoutani is fitting in with the rest,” he said. “Even Kunimi is starting to get along with him, and he’s working better through drills. I don’t know what you said to him, but thank you.”

“I’m not sure anything I said helped,” Shigeru said honestly. “But sometimes with someone that stubborn you just have to throw them into a tree to get them to listen.”

Mattsun looked at him seriously, trying to gauge how serious he was.

“Did you really?”

Shigeru nodded. Mattsun snorted, actually starting to laugh, really laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped between snorts. “I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just that I never would have figured the scared omega we picked up months ago would be throwing scary looking alphas into trees.”

Shigeru shrugged. He wasn’t going to apologize. Kyoutani had deserved it.

“You know, I should have figured you needed someone to compete with to get better,” Mattsun went on. “You’re just as stubborn as him, but you’re getting so much better. I might actually see if you can join in drills with the rest of us. Keep training with Kyoutani. Whatever he’s doing, it’s working. The two of you complement each other in style. I think you would make good partners.”

“I don’t know if we can ever be partners,” Shigeru said. They were very different people, after all. “But I’ll keep training with him. I don’t want to be useless anymore.”

“You’ve never been useless,” Mattsun told him. “And I think you underestimate how well you two work together. You’re more similar than you realize, even if you’ve led really different lives up until now. Keep working together, and see where that gets you. It might surprise you.”

It was easy enough to agree to. Shigeru wanted to keep working with Kyoutani, wanted to keep getting better so he wouldn’t feel so useless. Kyoutani was able to go faster now, not hold himself back, and Shigeru felt his pride being soothed at being able to keep up. He wasn’t as good as Kyoutani yet, but he could probably beat Makki in a fight now.

Mattsun, true to his word, added Shigeru into drills with the rest, teaching them how to move and attack as a team. Shigeru’s heavily defensive style actually proved to fit in exceptionally well, rounding out the group. With Shigeru moving like that, Kyoutani was a little more free to move as he liked. He still couldn’t be the wild thing he’d been when they’d first met him, but he had a style that worked for him, and worked for the team with a little modification.

They weren’t an army. They weren’t going to be an army. But now that Shigeru didn’t feel like dead weight anymore, he was starting to think that they could win anyway.

[neverarguewithadelusion-blog]

to drop off the earth

I don’t know how to go about explaining things, why I am where I am, why I do what I do.. why I had to give my life over to another person 24/7 - so being at a loss, I’ve used “grabs” from other explanatory sites in the hope that they speak for me and somehow explain my new life.

“Living with someone who suffers from schizophrenia, prone to paranoid delusions, delusions of grandeur, psychosis and both obsessive and impulsive behaviours - even when the condition is at its calmest, stress situations trigger it. Situations such as being out of routine, to situations such as being around new people…”

…to be, in effect, a caretaker of this person, tasked every day to keep a schizophrenic stable, where even when medicated, there are outbursts, and rant attacks that can continue on and off for days” As an extension to the schizophrenia, l have learnt to deal with, and accept, the consequent disconnects, the loss of friendships, alienation and isolation. There are many, many bright spots but in the long run, many opportunities which present themselves in life are to be destroyed because of it.

“For partners of the mentally ill, they may find themselves not only in the role of primary caretaker, but primary parent and primary breadwinner as well. This is an enormous and stressful burden, and it can seem to the well partner that there are few options in the way of emotional or financial support.

So many partners are forced into choosing between their own physical and mental well-being, and that of their loved one. Guilt, self-blame, and self-imposed obligation to care for the ill partner leaves them in a situation where they sacrifice and ignore all their own needs, running the risk of physical and emotional burnout.

The well partner must establish personal limits - what behaviour is and is not acceptable. Although schizophrenia causes people to behave in ways that are not normal to their character, the well partner must recognize which behaviours are symptoms of the illness, and which are by-products of the illness (emotional stress, shame, denial, etc) and/or honest-to-god character traits. Even some behaviours that may be a symptom of the illness are unacceptable under any circumstances (these include: physical abuse, mental abuse, destructive/harmful behaviour to self, others, or property, financial mismanagement, extreme emotional abuse, or criminal actions). Your partner may not have control over his symptoms, but he can control his own reactions to them. This means they should be committed to staying in a treatment program that works, and committed to working with you as their partner to find reasonable solutions to problem behaviours.

Primary caretakers of the mentally ill must find other outlets and support for themselves - through therapy, support groups, social or community activities - to avoid becoming completely overwhelmed by their loved one's sickness. In Victoria Secunda's book When Madness Comes Home, she states: "Virtually all of the partners of the mentally ill I have interviewed have had to construct parallel lives to find a sense of emotional gratification and respite from the strain of caregiving."

“Never argue with a delusion,” one of my mentors often said. Paranoid people are fragile and ill, in the sense that they are out of touch with reality. However, they can become terrifying if fantasy turns to action. The need to retaliate against imagined assaults combined with intact “executive function” (the ability to think and plan) leads to aggressive behaviours and schemes. Caretakers, innocent people, are accused and besmirched, are traumatized”.

·         Delusions - paranoid beliefs that are not consistent with reality and that the sufferer maintains as being true despite all evidence to the contrary. Examples? That the person is being controlled, their minds read, being plotted against; it’s as if the person is losing touch with all reality. Some even exhibit the belief that they are someone else.

·         Hallucinations - hearing voices and seeing things that aren’t actually there. These are sensory experiences that the person experiences, that have no basis in reality. Hearing of voices is the most common hallucination and can be internal (coming from their own mind) or external (coming from someone else). The voices may talk to the person and instruct them on their behaviour, commanding them to engage in certain acts. The voices can also talk to each other. This is where the notion of ‘split personality’ has been confused with schizophrenia, in the past.

·         Disorganized thinking - strange, delusional ideas and thoughts, which make it difficult to carry on a simple conversation. The thoughts don’t follow a logical sequence, or at least, not logical to those around the person suffering from schizophrenia. They may also stop speaking entirely, mid-thought, or invent words and a language of their own.

…it is these positive symptoms that cause the most distress and dysfunction for a person coping with a spouse who has schizophrenia.

“It is not uncommon for people with schizophrenia to be reluctant to get help or take medication, as part of their treatment. In fact, the notion of treatment plays right into the paranoid delusions of many schizophrenics: that they are being controlled by someone, that they are being harassed. Alternatively, many believe that they don’t require treatment because the voices and conspiracies that they are anxious about are real to them, and not related to any delusion whatsoever.

Your concern, first and foremost, has to be your safety. If your spouse is refusing treatment and is being overcome by psychotic episodes, they risk becoming violent. In that case, you will need to call in a crisis team or the police to help you deal with the situation. Thankfully, violent behaviour is not a hallmark of schizophrenia: if anything, a person suffering from the disorder is more likely to harm themselves than anyone else. But physical violence is only one concern.

Verbal and emotional abuse, property destruction (example, punching holes in walls), creating hazards such as the setting of fires, substance abuse, despotic behaviour (example, not letting people in the home use the phone) are all possible behaviours that fall within the scope of schizophrenia but which, at the risk of harm to yourself, cannot be tolerated. It creates a ‘walking on eggshells’ environment you become afraid to do something that will trigger an outburst; an exhausting and debilitating way of life for those who surround the sufferer”.

Encouraging your spouse to seek treatment involves different techniques, including providing options that give your spouse a measure of control. For example, offer them the option of being accompanied to the appointment by someone other than yourself, if they are suspicious of your motives (paranoid delusion).

Once they accept their diagnosis, you can play a strong role in ensuring that they remain involved in their treatment plan.

If your schizophrenic spouse says things that are clearly false but which they believe wholeheartedly, communication has to remain positive. You don’t need to go along with what they are saying, perpetuating their delusion, but you should also not state that they are wrong or, worse, deluded. It’s best to frame a positive statement along the lines that every person has the right to believe what they want, and it’s okay for people to have different points of view.

Prepare for a crisis.

The important thing to remember in a crisis is to act to defuse it, not inflame it. Limiting visual distractions, noise, contact with other people (ask guests to leave, for example) are all important steps in calming the situation. Don’t engage your spouse’s behaviour directly but instead do everything you can to bring a sense of calm to the environment.

Don’t argue with delusions: you won’t win.

“A key to dealing with your schizophrenic spouse is to accept the disorder and educate yourself on it. You cannot argue with it. You cannot reason with it. There is no value in expressing anger or irritation when your spouse is dealing with their symptoms. It will not help you or them. Remember that you are dealing with their illness, not them.”

You need to recognize what you can and can’t do in dealing with your spouse and their illness. Respite care is an option for situations where the spouse is not able to be left alone and it’s an important one to consider, as a primary caregiver. You cannot possibly help your spouse or be present and available for the rest of your family and friends if you are exhausted to the point of a breakdown.

Find support where you can, which might be a group of spouses of schizophrenia sufferers. Your shared experiences and the ability to talk about your situation freely, without fear of judgement, is invaluable to your own self care. Despite the limitations that schizophrenia can pose on your life, you have to take care to try and keep up relationships with family and friends. They are a comfort and a link to a world that doesn’t include mental illness, which can in and of itself, create the respite you need.

Ensure that you take other steps in self care including eating properly, getting rest and exercise. It’s perhaps easy to say, but ultimately, your life cannot be subsumed by the illness that your spouse is suffering. You need to make sure that you have a life too.

Schizophrenia can make it feel like there’s a lot more take than give but it’s important to always remember that your spouse is not their illness. They are a person who needs love and care, just as you do.

“Don’t be afraid, don’t put up a defense against us, don’t brace yourself for something bad. Be there to talk and support. It may not be pleasant, personally I can be downright mean when in a bad frame of mind. But you’ll both be glad you were there.”

Listen attentively and laugh as often as you can — we often hear when people are speaking but are we always listening? There’s a difference. Often, that is all a person who is suffering needs: to know that someone is listening to them. Not making suggestions, not always trying to fix things. Just being there.

Develop coping mechanisms and rules — find ways to cope with the results of the symptoms. For example, if your spouse tends to go on spending sprees while in a manic episode, you might need to keep hold of the credit cards. If their driving becomes erratic or overly aggressive, it’s time to keep hold of the car keys. Establishing some rules when they are in a calm state can help you both deal with the times when the disorder takes over. Part of these processes needs to be planning for an emergency. If your spouse’s behaviour suddenly becomes unmanageable, even life threatening, you need to have a plan in place: who to call, after hours numbers, which hospital to go to and so on. Scrambling for this information in the middle of a crisis will only aggravate the situation, so like the boy scouts say: be prepared!

I love this man. When he is good, he is GOLDEN.

I still, on top of this, work a 40 hour week in Property Law as Personal Assistant/Conveyancing Support Clerk which is BRUTAL.

I have my family back in my life again.

My son turned 18 last week.

I have missed certain opportunities that broke my heart.

I miss the fuck out of all my friends.

I MISS THE FUCK OUT OF ALL MY FRIENDS.

So if you are reading this, please know that I think about you all the time. I wonder how you guys are and what you’re doing. I wish I was there.