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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

- Chapter 9 -

Wen Ruohan presided over dinner in what was now a monthly occurrence.

He liked habit more, now that he was getting older; liked to have everything in its proper place.

Liked to indulge himself more.

Nie Mingjue mechanically forced down his food, drinking his soup first to fill his belly as quickly as possible. If he was very lucky, he might get a case of food poisoning, same as the one that had struck down the younger children that one time; if he did, he’d do his utmost to throw up all over Wen Ruohan’s shoes.

As always, they answered his questions. Wen Ruohan was just in the middle of an especially complicated hypothetical when one of his deputies rushed in with an urgent letter, falling to his knees before him. Wen Ruohan took the letter and read it; he scowled and dismissed them, rising to his feet to return to the throne room.

The reprieve felt like a brush of cool wind on a hot day.

Nie Mingjue caught Wen Xu’s eye.

Wen Xu winked.

It wasn’t really a surprise when the war started.

There were only so many hypothetical battle plans Nie Mingjue could be asked about, whether by Wen Ruohan or by Nie Huaisang and the younger generation of Wens, without him putting two and two together. He was put in the awkward situation of having to answer both sides to the best of his ability, and the whole thing started to feel a little like playing a game of go against himself.

“That’s what you get for being irritatingly good at tactics and with a knack for strategy, and having proven for years and years that you could find weaknesses in all of Sect Leader Wen’s hypothetical battleplans,” Nie Huaisang told him. “Talent brings with it its own punishment.”

“What’s your punishment for all your scheming, then?” Nie Mingjue asked, amused despite himself. “Becoming emperor and ruling the world?”

“I,” Nie Huaisang said, putting his hand to his chest, “am going to grow up to be absolutely useless.”

“Nice try.”

To Nie Mingjue’s relief, Wen Ruohan did not send him to the front line, perhaps afraid that Nie Mingjue would attempt some sabotage or maybe merely run away, and that made it more difficult for him to implement the plans Nie Mingjue suggested to him. They were good, solid plans, each and every one of them, Nie Mingjue implementing everything he learned about the rules of war and adding in a touch of his own knack for forecasting how people would react in a fight, but living so long in Qishan meant that he knew a little bit about how people behaved the rest of the time, too.

He couldn’t make bad suggestions in the plans he recommended or Wen Ruohan would know, but he could propose a plan that required a will of iron and nerves of steel when he knew that the general in charge of that particular division was crafty but cautious, could suggest a complex maneuver requiring cooperation for a general who hated his underlings, could apply just a bit of the brattiness he’d picked up from Wen Chao and Nie Huaisang alike to make his plans just that little bit more annoying to implement.

He could murmur counterplans in the dark of the night when they were all supposed to be asleep, casually sharing a single bed because it was cold, the strange chill of the Nightless City’s interior despite the warmer climate. He could stare at the ceiling, reciting weakness after weakness of the plans he had proposed as if he was merely anxious about them, and this time he tailored those weaknesses to specific strengths: how the pincer maneuver wouldn’t work if it was used against the Jiang, especially if they relied on their watercraft to escape, turning strength to weakness by retaliating in the aftermath; how the advantageous high ground of the mountain would backfire if their enemy were the Lan, their battle-songs’ effectiveness multiplied by the clear mountain air and the resonance of the echoes; how the effect of the ambush would be halved if it was used against the Jin, who were so rich and so lazy that their baggage train would never move fast enough to spring the trap in full.

He still didn’t know how Nie Huaisang and Wen Chao exchanged letters with Lan Wangji, or what Wen Ning was doing over in the Lotus Pier with the full support of Jiang Fengmian’s mother-in-law, or even what scheme Wen Xu and Wen Qing had concocted between them to lure in the normally reluctant Jin sect and force them to take a side. He didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know; he wanted to put his body between them and Wen Ruohan, distract the man with his ‘walks’ and his punishments and the influence that Wen Ruohan thought meant he knew everything there was to know, and to give them as much time as he could manage before disaster struck.

“Isn’t it time for Nie Huaisang to go to the Cloud Recesses?” he asked, playing ignorant, in the middle of a dinner when Wen Ruohan was already stewing over some unfortunate reversals, more than a few caused by the reemerged Qingheng-jun, who had taken on the mantle of leading the war as its general.

Wen Ruohan turned to him with lightning in his eyes, and Nie Mingjue didn’t have to opine on the war for an entire week, confined as he was to his sickbed.

But good things could not last, and he closed his eyes in anticipation of pain when Wen Xu came to sit by his bed in the middle of the night.

“Where is he sending you?” he asked. The two of them were the only ones old enough to be used in war, the others too young to go even for someone as disdainful of social norms as Wen Ruohan, and if Nie Mingjue could not be trusted on a battlefield then it had to be Wen Xu.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Xu said.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault – are you supposed to tell him no? I know you will do everything you can to stop the worst of the war, to fight honorably and with fairness, avoiding harm to the common people.”

Wen Xu swallowed audibly. “You’ve always thought so well of me,” he murmured. “Always assumed such things…to continue to do badly even after I knew what you thought of me was to fail to live up to your expectations, and even if it made things harder sometimes, the alternative of letting you down was always worse. I hate to disappoint you now.”

“You won’t.”

There was a pause, a long silence. Wen Xu gathering his thoughts, steeling his spine.

“He wants me to burn the Unclean Realm.”

Nie Mingjue had expected a blow. He had not expected –

He exhaled, hard, and found Wen Xu’s hand with his own, squeezing it lightly.

I cannot forgive this, he meant. But I will hate him for it instead of you.

When the news came, Nie Mingjue allowed himself to feel for the first time the rage he had been swallowing down for nearly five years – his father’s rage, his family’s rage, Baxia’s rage, his own.

Training the saber was a style that promoted aggression, both in fighting and in the soul, and yet Nie Mingjue had restrained himself to the point of agony, oppressing himself internally as thoroughly as Wen Ruohan did externally, and all because he knew that the consequences of his actions would not be felt by him alone.

Because he was still his sect’s heir, still the rightful leader of Qinghe Nie, and if he could by his submission and humiliation earn them even a little more consideration, he would do it, however anathema it was to him.

He would be his sect’s heir before he was his father’s son, forgetting injustice and bending knee to his father’s killer – he would keep silent, no matter what he endured.

Wen Xu burned the Unclean Realm, and for the first time, Nie Mingjue put aside his silence.

He howled.

At first, Wen Ruohan laughed at him – the rage of the impotent was merely attractive coloring to him – but Nie Mingjue was not so foolish as to waste the gift of anger so easily. He did not do what Wen Ruohan had undoubtedly expected him to do: savage some training dummies, beat up a few pointless guards, beat himself even if only to vent the pain in his heart.

He did what Wen Ruohan did not expect.

Nie Mingjue, who loved only his family more than his sect –

He lashed out at them.

Nie Mingjue rampaged through the familial quarters at the Nightless City: he burned a sobbing Nie Huaisang’s fans, calling him worthless and a disappointment on their family name; he destroyed a cauldron in Wen Qing’s room in the midst of a batch of medicine she was making, unable to find her but naming her complicit, shouting that she supported evil from behind a façade of righteousness; he attacked Wen Chao’s room, searching for the son of his enemy and calling for his head, demanding blood for blood, red-eyed with fury, searching for a target.

He found one.

Not Wen Chao himself, of course – Nie Mingjue was not, as he was pretending to be, truly maddened beyond all reason, for all that the sorrow and anger he felt were real – but rather his bodyguard, who was nominally there to protect him.

Wen Zhuliu, the Core-Melting Hand. A technique that could only be used for two things, for scaring people – or turning the course of a single battle.

For destroying good people on the other side of the war, turning them into regular people that could not fight, and destroying morale at the same time – Wen Zhuliu was a plague-carrier, a danger that needed to be avoided, as much as weapon simply in the threat of him as he was in actual reality.

Wen Zhuliu was a fierce fighter, more powerful than a person with that sort of technique usually was, and Nie Mingjue was not in as good a shape as he could be, still recovering both emotionally and physically from his last walk with Wen Ruohan and the consequences of his insolent tongue, but he had the advantage of surprise on his side and his saber was unmatched in close combat, the melee his specialty.

By the time Wen Ruohan realized that Nie Mingjue had turned against his own in a way he’d been refusing to do for years and came to stop him, Nie Mingjue had already claimed Wen Zhuliu’s head, sticking it on a makeshift pike before burning the body as an offering in his father’s name.

He turned, red-eyed, to look upon the man he would much rather have killed but knew in his weakness that he couldn’t, and in the strength and safety of his rage decided to give it his best shot anyway.

It didn’t work, of course.

This time he was bedridden for more than a week.

Nie Mingjue found himself missing the others more than he thought he would.

He’d anticipated it, of course. The instant Wen Xu had told him his mission, the plan had leapt fully-formed into his mind, the only way he could think of to keep the younger children safe since there was no way to keep them beneath Wen Ruohan’s notice. In Wen Ruohan’s eyes they were tools, not yet old enough to be properly useful but still sharp enough to use where it counted – he knew how much Nie Mingjue loved them, and if the war went badly he would undoubtedly threaten their lives to get Nie Mingjue’s compliance, would use them as leverage to send him to the front line as a general for the wrong side. Any failure would be punished, and Nie Mingjue didn’t need personal experience to know that war was nothing but failures, one right after the other, interspersed with occasional victories snatched from the jaws of defeat.

Wen Ruohan would not accept that. He would hurt the children, again and again, just to hurt him.

He would put his attention on them, and when he did, he would figure out what they were doing. All their little schemes would become clear to his eyes, and then –

There was no and then. It was unthinkable.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t strong enough to stop Wen Ruohan, no more than he could stop the full weight of a rushing river, but like the river even Wen Ruohan could be diverted if you were clever enough about it.

Nie Mingjue was not especially clever, he didn’t think, not the way Nie Huaisang or Wen Xu or even Wen Qing were, but that was why he thought his plan would work – Wen Ruohan wouldn’t expect it from him.

He would accept the surface reading of what happened: he would think that Nie Mingjue had succumbed to his family’s curse and lashed out blindly in his rage, burning bridges it had taken him years to build, and his cruel mind would immediately leap to how he could use this to hurt and torment him. He would know that Nie Mingjue would be all the more pained if he knew that Wen Ruohan was using his gross violation of trust to replace his influence on the children, which Wen Ruohan hated, with his own.

Under the circumstances, it would hurt him more for Wen Ruohan to treat them well, seeking to seduce them into dependence, than it would hurt him to see them in pain. Nie Mingjue could only count on Wen Ruohan’s sadism to do the rest.

(And since he had no choice but to break with his family in such a horrible way, there was no reason not to take advantage of the situation to get rid of Wen Zhuliu. The benefits outweighed the costs – or at least, the benefits went to everyone, while the costs fell only on him, and he could accept that.)

Nie Mingjue had already seen the fruits of his efforts. At the very beginning, when Nie Mingjue was still bedridden, Wen Ruohan had brought Nie Huaisang with him to the room in the Fire Palace where Nie Mingjue had been imprisoned, and Nie Huaisang had quailed away from him, rocking backwards a little, almost even leaning behind Wen Ruohan as if Nie Mingjue was the scarier of the two.

(Nie Mingjue knew that Nie Huaisang was the finest actor of their group, but oh – it hurt, it hurt!)

Wen Ruohan smiled at the spasm of pain that crossed Nie Mingjue’s face and put his hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder as he drew him away.

Nie Mingjue wanted to cut off that hand and burn it to ashes.

He wanted –

He wanted many things.

A different life, for the most part. To live somewhere where he didn’t have to make these sorts of dirty calculations, to hurt the people he loved in order to save them from worse pain. Where he would be able to take Nie Huaisang into his arms and whisper promises that he wasn’t going to succumb to a qi deviation the way their father had, at least not any time soon; where he could buy Wen Qing a half-dozen new cauldrons in apology; where he could tell Wen Chao that he didn’t mean any of the things he’d forced himself to say…

He’d warned them, of course. But there was knowing, and then there was experiencing, and he – he hated to disappoint them, even a little.

And in all his plans he hadn’t realized how terribly he’d miss them, all of them, now that he couldn’t see them.

There was nothing to do but miss them now that he was here, trapped in a small little bed in a small little room with barely any light but that which came in through the door when someone walked by, all alone and waiting for Wen Ruohan to decide his fate.

A fate that was a lot less certain than it had once been, Nie Mingjue reflected. Wen Ruohan had once been bound by etiquette to keep him alive, to pretend to the cultivation world that his forced adoption was an act of generosity rather than an outright act of conquering, but all of those reasons went away now that the cultivation world had declared war on him.

He’d already sent Wen Xu to burn the Unclean Realm. Why bother with hiding behind a puppet?

At least it didn’t seem like Wen Ruohan had realized it yet.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #wen chao #wen ning #wen qing #my fic #my fics #fire and light #reminder for those that need it that this fic will not show on screen torture

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 3 years

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I found this on Instagram and honestly, I wanna ask why???? One would think that threatening your supposed brother with his worst fear would be enough for people to understand that JC is not a good person

"Well well, the YiLing Laozu has died? Who was the one to kill him?”

“Who would have other than his shidi, Jiang Cheng, he put an end to his own brother for the greater good. (Jiang Cheng certainly DID tell the world this even though the seal was what ended Wei Wuxian).

Jiang Cheng led the Sects YunmengJiang (He also DID do this since he knew exactly where the wen settlement was and slaughtered civilian Wens with The Jins), LanlingJin, GusuLan, and QingheNie (Now, we all know as the story tells us these other two were in the wings compared to the leading forces) to destroy his hole, at Burial Mound.”

However, there was a nagging thought which stayed in the back of everyone’s mind; Nobody could summon Wei WuXian’s fragmented soul, though he had died at Burial Mound.

Perhaps it had been torn apart by the thousands of ghosts that devoured him. (Cue Wei Wuxian "let's make one thing clear, I killed me thank you")

Or, just maybe, it had escaped. (Cue Q-conspiracy Jiang Cheng "WEI WUXIAN I'LL FIND YOUR SOUL AND DESTROY IT)

If it was the first, then all was well. Nobody doubted the fact that the YiLing Laozu had the power to move mountains and empty seas. But, if it escaped, his soul would eventually return to be reborn, or possess a body. If that day came, the cultivation world, the whole world, would be faced with the most crazed damnations and vengeance, sinking into nothing but chaos and blood. (Oh hey look early foreshadowing for Jiang Cheng's M.O. for a whole thirteen years because he went obsessive).

To add on to that point above:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. After thinking it through, he made a gesture. The disciples understood his intentions and came over. (Jiang Cheng in his own head, in his own MIND says he is gonna set his disciples to drag away someone he suspects of being Wei Wuxian and has done this before enough times for his disciples to know the gig and let him torture away at Lotus Pier. THE MAN SAID IT HIMSELF AND MADE IT FACT AS LAN JINGYI DAYS LATER AND IS NOTORIOUS FOR BEING A PSYCHO TORTURER OF RANDOS).

That infamous meeting:

Wei WuXian immediately raised his head, “I haven’t forgotten! It’s just that…”

Yet, he just couldn’t find the right words to put after it.

Jiang Cheng interrupted, “It’s just what? You can’t say it? Don’t worry, you can go back to Lotus Pier and say your excuses while kneeling in front of my parents’ graves.” (YEAH GEEZ, just wants TEA with his estranged cut off Shixiong not brother and never was a brother cause martial is not the damn same as relatives, never mind that Wei Wuxian doesn't want that and definitely doesn't want to after Jiang Cheng insults Lan Wangji's entire person.)

Bonus:

Seeing Jiang Cheng turn around, Wei WuXian immediately pulled a mixed expression of “ I’m so shocked, my secret has been disclosed,” and “what do I do now that Wen Ning has been found”. Jin Ling was actually quite clever. Knowing that Jiang Cheng hated Wen Ning more than anything, he made up such a smooth lie with the previous knowledge he had. Jiang Cheng knew that the YiLing Laozu and the Ghost General often appeared together, so he already suspected that Wen Ning was in the area. Having heard Jin Ling’s words, he was already mostly convinced, and Wei WuXian’s expression convinced him even further. On top of that, he burst into a fury whenever he heard the mention of Wen Ning’s name. With his eyes blinded by wrath, how could he still have doubted? The hostility that built in his chest was almost making him explode. He flicked his whip, hitting the ground beside Wei WuXian, and spoke through clenched teeth, “You really take that obedient dog of yours everywhere, don’t you?!” (Jin Ling coming in with that "Yeah, my Jiujiu is crazy but I know how to take advantage of that to save you." You go Jin Ling, four for Jin Ling.)

Wei WuXian spoke, “He’s been dead for a long time, and I’ve died once as well. What else do you want?!”

Jiang Cheng pointed the whip at him, “So what? My hatred would persist, even if he dies thousands of times! He didn’t perish back then. Very well! I shall destroy him today, with my own hands. I’m going to burn him right now, and scatter his ashes right in front of your face!” (In the eternal words of Jiang Cheng "Can I not just hate you?" And everyone else who loves you and befriends you too because I blame you for choosing them over me and will choose to hurt them out of spite and jealousy.)

Keep in mind this is only book one still and Wei Wuxian has already put his full trust in Lan Wangji even before Lan Wangji ends the identity farce himself:

He had always thought that Jiang Cheng would be on his side, and Lan WangJi on the one opposite to him. He could never have imagined that things would turn out so differently. (Do I really have to elaborate that Wei Wuxian doesn't want Jiang Cheng by his side anymore? Or even trust him.)

And in contrast to Jiang Cheng's crazed reaction and when Lan Wangji is reunited with Wei Wuxian:

However, having taken only one step back, his ankle twisted, and he seemed as if he almost collapsed on the ground. With a change in expression, Lan WangJi hurried over and tightly gripped his wrist like what he did last time, back in Dafan Mountain. After Wei WuXian had been steadied, Lan WangJi knelt down on one knee to examine his leg. Wei WuXian was rather shocked, “N-n-no, HanGuang-Jun. You don’t have to do this.”

Lan WangJi raised his head slightly, the pair of light-colored eyes boring into him, then looked down again and continued to roll up the leg of his trousers. Still under his grip, Wei WuXian could do nothing except to look up at the sky.

His entire leg was covered with the black bruise of the Curse Mark.

After staring at it for a while, Lan WangJi spoke in a bitter voice, “… I only left for a few hours.”

Wei WuXian shrugged, “A few hours is a long time. Anything could have happened. There, there. Straighten up.” (Hanguang-Jun is SO MEAN, keeping innocent little Jiang Cheng from Wei Wuxian, who he was never hurt physically, ever in his life. Stop being dramatic Lan Wangji!)

In conclusion insta:

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #salt? salt #what is twitter and insta on cause this is some in denial flat earther comprehension

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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years

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A second chance

ScarletRuby19 over on Twitter commissioned me for a Chengxuan fic where JZX survives and comes to Lotus Pier where JC and JZX bond, first over JL and then JYL, before they fall in love. Cue some angst and doubt, over whether they are allowed this happiness before they decide that, yes. JYL would want them to be happy. Plus a little bonus at the end where WWX finds out and Madam Jin doting on JC. I hope you like it! It’s a little over 5k, so you can also read it here on AO3.

Jiang Cheng is standing in the ruins of his home and he doesn’t know where he should even start. Just yesterday he added a plate for his sister, setting it up next to their parents and just the thought makes Jiang Cheng want to curl up and die. Or maybe just sleep for a very, very long time.

Let someone else shoulder the responsibility for once.

But he doesn’t even get that, because a disciple comes running up to him. It’s always bad news when people run up to him.

“What?” Jiang Cheng snaps out before the disciple even comes to a stop, and when he does, he has to bend over to catch his breath first.

“Sect Leader, Jin Zixuan is here.”

Jiang Cheng blinks, once, twice and then a third time for good measure.

“He is what?” he finally gets out and the disciple points back to where he came from.

“He just landed, a baby strapped to his chest.”

Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng thinks, and it’s that thought that finally gets him to move.

He runs off, the disciple close behind him, and Jiang Cheng comes to a stop when his eyes fall on Jin Zixuan, like his disciple said, chalk white in his face, sweat on his brow, swaying on his feet and a baby strapped to his chest.

“You’re not dead,” is the first thing Jiang Cheng says to him and he’s met with a grimace at that.

“Wishing I were right about now,” Jin Zixuan gives back, panting heavily and when his knees give out on him, Jiang Cheng is there to catch him.

“I don’t understand,” Jiang Cheng admits, one hand under Jin Zixuan’s shoulder to support him, and one hand on Jin Ling’s head.

“Wen Ning killed you,” Jiang Cheng says once he safely guided Jin Zixuan to sit down right where he stood and Jin Zixuan lets out a snort that turns into a pained grunt.

“Wishing he did right about now,” Jin Zixuan says again with a grimace and then he sighs when Jin Ling starts to squirm in the harness. “Help me with this,” Jin Zixuan pants out, getting started on undoing the straps that hold Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng is quick to assist him.

He doesn’t mention how much Jin Zixuan’s hands shake.

What he does mention is the steadily growing patch of blood on his robe.

“What the fuck,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and then turns towards his disciple. “Get Jiang Sushan, right now.”

The disciple runs off without comment and Jiang Cheng turns back around to Jin Zixuan, just in time to have Jin Ling deposited in his arms.

“What is going on?” Jiang Cheng whispers and Jin Zixuan presses his lips together.

“I survived, if only barely. And I can’t stay at Koi Tower. I think—I think Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixun were working together. I can’t—I don’t trust him. I can’t stay there. Jin Ling shouldn’t be around him,” he pants out and Jiang Cheng looks down at the tiny baby in his arms. “My mother sent me away.”

“Why come here?” Jiang Cheng dumbly asks, but it’s all a bit too much right now.

“You’re her brother,” Jin Zixuan presses out. “You’re his uncle. Where else would I go?”

His answer takes Jiang Cheng aback, because it sounds like Jin Zixuan didn’t even consider going anywhere else, and it makes a ball of dread settle in Jiang Cheng’s stomach.

“I have nothing to offer you. Look around,” he says and points at the still slightly smoking ruins of Lotus Pier. “I have no resources, no stable home, nothing. Why come here?”

Jin Zixuan levels him with a look Jiang Cheng didn’t know he could make and repeats “You’re her sister, you’re his uncle. Where else would I go?”

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to argue, but before he can find the words, Jin Ling lets out a discontented noise and Jiang Cheng’s attention is immediately redirected.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jin Zixuan whispers and he sounds as honest as Jiang Cheng has ever heard him. “She’s gone and I don’t know what to do.”

Jiang Cheng’s head snaps back up, just in time to watch Jin Zixuan slump back, his injury and the exhaustion clearly getting the better of him, but before Jiang Cheng has time to panic, he catches sight of Jiang Sushan rushing up to them.

“I don’t know, either,” Jiang Cheng whispers and then he makes place for the healer, Jin Ling cradled protectively to his chest.

He doesn’t have a goddamn clue what to do either.

~*~*~

Jiang Sushan forbids Jin Zixuan from standing up until the hole in his stomach has healed. The hole in his stomach. Jiang Cheng feels sick just thinking about it, and he tries very hard not to imagine how it happened.

But with Jin Zixuan forced into bedrest, Jiang Cheng spends more time in the infirmary than he ever cared to do before. But Jin Zixuan wants to see his son, and Jiang Cheng can barely stand the thought of giving the tiny baby out of his hands.

So it’s him who brings Jin Ling to Jin Zixuan on a daily basis.

“If you could just heal up already,” Jiang Cheng grumbles sometimes during the third week, because he has a home to rebuild and a Sect to establish and disciples to train, but instead he’s sitting at his late sister’s husband’s bedside, holding a baby on his knees so Jin Zixuan can reach out and let Jin Ling grab his finger. “I have better things to do than be here every goddamn day.”

“Then just leave,” Jin Zixuan snaps back, clearly as unhappy with his bedrest as Jiang Cheng is.

Plus, neither of them counted on seeing each other every goddamn day when Jin Zixuan married Jiang Yanli and for all that Jiang Yanli clearly loved him, Jiang Cheng still holds a grudge.

Jin Zixuan was an ass to his sister and he’s not sure he’ll ever forgive that.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng presses out and makes to stand up, absolutely intending to take Jin Ling with him, but Jin Zixuan fists his hand in Jiang Cheng’s robe.

“You’ll leave him here,” he says, eyes narrowed and Jiang Cheng fights the urge to bare his teeth at him.

“Absolutely not. You’re not even allowed to hold him yet,” he gives back and he can see the fury flash over Jin Zixuan’s face.

“And whose fault is that?” he demands to know and if he’s being honest, Jiang Cheng has been itching for this fight ever since Jin Zixuan landed in Lotus Pier.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he says, voice scathing and Jin Zixuan doesn’t even hesitate for a second.

“Your fucking brother did this to me,” he hisses and now Jiang Cheng gives him a smile so sharp Jin Zixuan rears back.

“From what you told me it was your brother who did this, so if I were you, I wouldn’t go around throwing stones,” he gives back without missing a beat and Jin Zixuan goes red in the face. “Now if you would excuse me, I have to take care of your kid, because clearly you’re unable to.”

It’s a low blow, and Jiang Cheng knows it, but he can’t stop himself.

“I wasn’t supposed to do this alone,” Jin Zixuan says, and his voice sounds more watery than Jiang Cheng knows how to deal with. “Yanli was supposed to be here, too.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not, is she,” Jiang Cheng says, and even just the reminder that his sister is dead cuts him open all over again.

A very vindictive part of Jiang Cheng hopes that Jin Zixuan feels the same pain Jiang Cheng does.

“And whose fault is that?” Jin Zixuan yells suddenly at him, startling Jin Ling into crying, but neither of them care right now.

“Certainly not mine,” Jiang Cheng shoots back but Jin Zixuan doesn’t back down.

“No. It was just your brother who killed my wife. Who killed his mother,” Jin Zixuan says with a pointed look at Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng boils with rage.

“She was my sister, too,” he shouts, Jin Ling full on wailing in his arms now, and it’s only the arrival of Jiang Sushan who defuses the situation.

“What the hell,” she says and marches up to Jiang Cheng, to take Jin Ling out of his hands. “I allowed you to bring him because I thought it would help his recovery,” she snaps and rocks Jin Ling in her arms.

“Since clearly you’re both too stupid to appreciate my gift, I’ll have to ask you to leave now, Sect Leader Jiang.”

Jiang Cheng turns burning eyes on her, but Jiang Sushan is not one to back down and Jiang Cheng knows it.

“Can I—,” Jin Zixuan asks, arm outstretched for his son but Jiang Sushan gives him the same judgemental look she gave Jiang Cheng.

“Absolutely not,” she declares and then simply storms off, Jin Ling still in her arms.

Jiang Cheng’s fingers itch without Jin Ling’s by now so familiar weight and Jin Zixuan looks like he has half a mind running after her.

But thanks to the interruption all the rage left Jiang Cheng and so he scrubs a tired hand over his face.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you leave that bed, she’ll find a reason to send Jin Ling to Meishan or something,” Jiang Cheng whispers without looking at Jin Zixuan who freezes in his movement.

“She wouldn’t,” he gives back but he doesn’t sound as certain as he surely would like to be.

“She would,” Jiang Cheng corrects him and then straightens up. “Just stay in this goddamn bed and heal, would you? I’m tired of doing this alone,” he tells Jin Zixuan, his eyes still carefully avoided, but he still notices the jerky nod from the other man.

It’s only then that Jiang Cheng leaves the infirmary.

~*~*~

It takes Jin Zixuan another two weeks to heal enough for Jiang Sushan to allow him out of bed. He’s still not allowed to hold Jin Ling without help, but at least he can watch him. It doesn’t give Jiang Cheng enough time to deal with his Sect’s business, but it’s better than nothing.

“I can help, you know,” Jin Zixuan says one afternoon as he watches Jin Ling and he startles Jiang Cheng enough that he messes up his letter.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng curses, prompting Jin Ling to let out an unhappy noise and when Jin Zixuan shoots him an accusing glare, Jiang Cheng glares right back.

“He’s too young to pick up on this,” Jiang Cheng says as he checks if there’s a way to save the letter.

There is not. He’ll have to start over.

“One day he won’t be,” Jin Zixuan reasons and he reaches out as if he wants to pick Jin Ling up.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Jiang Cheng hisses under his breath and intercepts his movement, taking Jin Ling into his own arms.

“Jiang Wanyin!” Jin Zixuan snaps and Jiang Cheng glares at him over the top of Jin Ling’s very soft baby hair.

“If you pick him up, you’ll rip something and then we’re back at square one, so don’t even think about it.”

“He is my son,” Jin Zixuan presses out and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“Then maybe hurry up with the healing, so you can hold him, too. It certainly would be a great help,” Jiang Cheng snarks and then clicks his tongue when his eyes fall on the ruined letter.

“I can help,” Jin Zixuan says again, following Jiang Cheng’s gaze and Jiang Cheng bristles.

“I am perfectly capable of writing my own letters, thank you very much.”

“You’re so—,” Jin Zixuan says and then clearly can’t find the right words because he closes his mouth with a click. “Fine. Put him back down again, so you can finish your damn letter.”

“Ah, language,” Jiang Cheng reminds him, rather smug, and he almost has to smile when Jin Zixuan shoots him a glare.

Almost.

~*~*~

When Jin Ling starts running around, Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan have long fallen into a routine. Jin Zixuan was right when he said he could help—he was trained as an heir, too, after all—and Jiang Cheng is loathe to admit that it removes a great weight from his shoulders to pass the less important matters off to Jin Zixuan.

They don’t talk a lot, even after all this time, since too many topics are off limits. They don’t talk about Wei Wuxian or Jin Guangyao at all, and mentions of Jiang Yanli still make both of them bitter and snappish, even though they are getting better at it.

It’s still safest to talk about Jin Ling, so they mostly spend their time doing that.

Even though Jiang Cheng finds himself wishing they could talk about Jiang Yanli more often.

Jin Zixuan is one of the last living people who held his sister dear, and Jiang Cheng itches with the need to find out what details Jin Zixuan remembers about her.

Jiang Cheng is afraid he’s forgetting too much lately, everything getting buried under work and more work.

“My sister told me I would hate this,” Jiang Cheng says apropos of nothing one day, when Jin Zixuan’s gaze follows Jin Ling down the pier.

They have secured this particular pier—erected a barrier so that Jin Ling couldn’t fall into the water even if they looked away for a second—and so Jin Zixuan doesn’t hesitate to snap his head around to him.

“What?” he asks, voice breathless and Jiang Cheng already regrets opening his mouth.

But the thought that maybe his memory of Jiang Yanli would be matched with one from Jin Zixuan gets him to talk again.

“She always said I’m a doer,” Jiang Cheng says, and keeps his eyes on the pile of letters on the table. “That I was meant to train the disciples and lead them on night-hunts. That I wasn’t made for the bureaucracy of leading a Sect.”

“She was right,” Jin Zixuan says with a scoff, though it’s not as sharp as it could be. “You’re doing a piss-poor job at this.”

“Language,” Jiang Cheng mildly reminds Jin Zixuan and he has to press his lips together when the predictable offended huff comes.

It was quite the surprise to realize that Jin Zixuan cursed almost as much as Jiang Cheng did, and by now Jin Ling starts to babble. One of them will slip up sooner or later, and Jiang Cheng is determined to have it be Jin Zixuan.

He thinks it would greatly amuse him, to see Jin Zixuan flush in outrage and embarrassment.

“You think you could do it better?” Jiang Cheng challenges him and Jin Zixuan sighs.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he finally admits and Jiang Cheng’s gaze snaps towards him.

He didn’t expect Jin Zixuan to admit that he doesn’t know, that he isn’t sure of his capabilities.

“My father—he never let me do much. Shoved the minor matters off to me, but that was before Jin Guangyao came to Koi Tower. Afterwards, not so much. I guess between the two of us, you’re the only one with real experience.”

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng says, because sometimes he forgets that it wasn’t only his family that was fucked up.

“Oh,” Jin Ling parrots after Jiang Cheng and it’s enough warning for Jin Zixuan to brace for the impact of the toddler.

“You just make sure to repeat the harmless stuff,” Jin Zixuan tells his son as he hoists him into his lap, where Jin Ling settles quite contently.

An ugly spike of jealousy goes through Jiang Cheng, but he shoves it aside. Jin Ling is Jin Zixuan’s son. He’s just the uncle. Of course Jin Ling would be more comfortable with Jin Zixuan.

But then Jin Ling makes grabby hands at Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan shuffles closer with a roll of his eyes.

“I do not understand the fascination with your bell,” Jin Zixuan grumbles under his breath but he watches fondly as Jin Ling excitedly grabs for it.

“I do not understand the fascination with you,” Jiang Cheng shoots back, his eyes already back on his letter, but he still hears the outraged noise Jin Zixuan makes.

Instead of retaliating, like Jiang Cheng expected, Jin Zixuan falls silent and it’s a long time before he speaks again.

“Yanli always said that we needed to find a capable and trustworthy right hand for Jin Ling,” he finally whispers and Jiang Cheng stiffens. “I think she was preparing for the possibility that Jin Ling would turn out like you, too,” Jin Zixuan goes on, and normally Jiang Cheng would be offended at his choice of words, but Jin Zixuan’s voice is soft and Jiang Yanli never thought anything wrong with Jiang Cheng.

“I see,” Jiang Cheng whispers and then busies himself with the letter again.

He doesn’t move away when Jin Zixuan’s knee brushes his.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng is contemplating drowning himself in the waters of Lotus Pier when Jin Ling runs up to him.

“Baba!” he yells excitedly and Jiang Cheng’s heart stumbles with that by now so familiar and dreaded mix of emotions.

They have tried to tell Jin Ling that he should address Jiang Cheng as ‘jiujiu’ and not ‘baba’ but it never seems to stick with Jin Ling and at least Jin Zixuan seems to have given up on it.

Jiang Cheng refuses to acknowledge how that makes him feel, but sometimes, it’s all he can do, drowning in how much he might want this.

It’s not right, and Jiang Cheng knows it.

“A-Ling,” he greets Jin Ling when he crashes into his legs and peers up at him, excitement shining out of his eyes. “What is it?”

“A-die said I could start training with the sword soon!” Jin Ling’s voice is still too loud, too excited, but Jiang Cheng smiles down at him.

“Oh, did he?” he asks, even though he already knows it.

For all that Jin Zixuan is Jin Ling’s father, they have fallen into the habit of making decisions together. It’s a dangerous territory, like Jiang Cheng’s heart likes to remind him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jin Ling babbles, and Jiang Cheng knows Jin Ling is getting too big for this now, but he still bows down to pick him up and settle him at his hip.

“But I’m not allowed to use Suihua yet,” Jin Ling then adds with a sad little tilt of his mouth and rests his head on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “A-die says I’m still too small for that.”

“And he’s right,” Jiang Cheng says and flicks Jin Ling’s nose. “Plus Suihua is too sharp for practice. You don’t want to cut yourself, do you?”

“No, baba,” Jin Ling agrees immediately, because for all that he tries to play tough—even at his tender age of five—Jin Ling cries easily.

Not to mention that neither Jin Zixuan nor Jiang Cheng like to see him hurt.

Jiang Cheng turns away from the water, thoughts of drowning himself and his stupid feelings forgotten, and when his eyes fall on Jin Zixuan he turns his head slightly away from Jin Ling on instinct.

It’s also a good reason not to focus on how his heart skips a beat.

“A-die!” Jin Ling predictably yells and throws himself out of Jiang Cheng’s arms, straight into Jin Zixuan’s, secure in the knowledge that neither will let him fall.

Jiang Cheng maintains his grip on Jin Ling until he’s sure that Jin Zixuan has him, but he sharply turns his head away when Jin Zixuan’s hands linger on his own longer than is strictly necessary.

Jiang Cheng’s mouth gives an unhappy twist when he reminds himself yet again that Jin Zixuan is his dead sister’s husband, but it does nothing to calm these feelings inside of him.

“Did you tell your baba already?” Jin Zixuan asks Jin Ling, but his eyes don’t leave Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng has to turn around when the look becomes too much.

“I did,” Jin Ling nods. “He says Suihua is too sharp for me, so I won’t use it yet,” he then tacks on and Jin Zixuan chuckles.

“Didn’t I tell you the same? Why do you only listen when it’s your baba saying that?” Jin Zixuan wants to know and Jiang Cheng can’t take it anymore.

“Zixuan!” he snaps and he only remembers himself when Jin Ling stares at him with watery eyes.

“A-Ling, why don’t you go to your room, I found you a training sword,” Jin Zixuan says as he puts Jin Ling down and Jin Ling runs off just as excitedly as he ran up to Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng’s outburst clearly already forgotten.

Jiang Cheng stares after him, not out of worry because he knows Jin Ling is safe in Lotus Pier, but to avoid Jin Zixuan’s look.

He can feel his eyes on him and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to take it.

“Why are you still objecting to being called baba?” Jin Zixuan wants to know as he steps up to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng tenses.

“I’m his jiujiu,” he gives back, even though there’s a sharp pain in his chest at the possibility of being addressed as such from Jin Ling.

“No, you’re not,” Jin Zixuan softly says and then turns Jiang Cheng around with a firm hand to his shoulder.

Jiang Cheng can’t meet his eyes, but when his gaze falls to Jin Zixuan’s lips instead he jerks his head away from that sight too.

He’s still trying to forget that night, the one where they both got drunk, the night where Jiang Cheng allowed Jin Zixuan to lean in and kiss him, and it’s so much harder than it should be. But Jin Zixuan isn’t his to touch or to kiss and Jiang Cheng hates himself a little bit for the fact that he wasn’t strong enough to push him away.

That he kissed him back instead.

“Wanyin,” Jin Zixuan whispers, and Jiang Cheng jerks with the familiarity in that name.

“Don’t,” he presses out and tries to take a step away from Jin Zixuan, but he follows him.

“Tell me why,” Jin Zixuan says, matching Jiang Cheng step for step, relentless in his movements, until Jiang Cheng is pressed against the railing of the pier.

“You’re my sister’s husband,” Jiang Cheng bites out, the words so ingrained in him already, because he has to remind himself of that several times a day.

“I’m a widower,” Jin Zixuan says, and he sounds exactly as pained by that as he should, before he shakes his head. “And the mourning period is over.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Jiang Cheng gives back and startles when Jin Zixuan puts his hand on his arm.

Not really holding onto him, but seeking contact nonetheless and Jiang Cheng is helpless against it. He sways into the contact, a move Jin Zixuan clearly notices because a small smile grazes his lips.

Jiang Cheng itches to kiss it off.

“Doesn’t it?” Jin Zixuan asks and Jiang Cheng raises his head as he pushes his shoulders back.

“No,” he bites out but Jin Zixuan doesn’t let go of him.

“Do you really think Yanli would begrudge us this? Do you really think she wouldn’t want us to be happy?” he asks and Jiang Cheng jerks with his words.

“Who says you make me happy?” he shoots back and his stomach falls when pain flashes over Jin Zixuan’s face.

He hesitates for a moment, but when Jiang Cheng doesn’t move or say anything else, he slowly pulls back.

And Jiang Cheng, he can’t let that happen.

His hands shoot up on instinct, fisting in Jin Zixuan’s robes, which are more purple than gold at this point, and he stops Jin Zixuan in his movement.

Jiang Cheng can’t quite meet Jin Zixuan’s eyes, but he has wondered the same lately. If Jiang Yanli would really be mad at them for finding happiness again. For finding happiness with each other.

Jiang Cheng can’t be sure, but he likes to think that she would want this for them. That she would be happy. And if Jin Zixuan thinks the same—

Before Jiang Cheng can overthink this, he leans forward, pressing his lips to Jin Zixuan’s, who meets him without hesitation.

Jiang Cheng was drunk the last—only—time they did this, but he isn’t now. Now, he gets to enjoy this.

“You make me very happy, Wanyin,” Jin Zixuan mumbles against his lips when they finally part, and Jiang Cheng wonders when Jin Zixuan turned into the more brave, into the more suave of the two of them, but then he tilts his head again and all thoughts flee his head.

Jin Zixuan makes him very happy, too.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng hasn’t even entered their rooms completely yet when Jin Zixuan slams a letter down on the table.

“My father died,” Jin Zixuan announces and the good mood leaves Jiang Cheng just as quickly as his stomach drops to the floor.

They didn’t even get two years, is all Jiang Cheng can think, as he sinks to the floor opposite of Jin Zixuan.

“I see,” Jiang Cheng whispers, and pushes the letter away from him.

He can guess what it says. Jin Zixuan is the heir after all.

He will leave, and he will take Jin Ling with him, and he might as well reach into Jiang Cheng’s chest and take his heart, too. It’s not like there will be much left of it, after all.

“You don’t,” Jin Zixuan says with a little shake of his head, and then leans over the table to drag Jiang Cheng into a biting kiss.

Jiang Cheng imagines this is what goodbye tastes like and he has to blink furiously so that the tears won’t cloud his gaze.

“I’m not going back,” Jin Zixuan says when they finally part and Jiang Cheng’s breath hitches at that, his hands coming up to frame Jin Zixuan’s face.

“Do not lie to me, only to leave in the end,” he demands, but Jin Zixuan shakes his head and then presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s palm for good measure too.

“I’m not,” he reassures him. “Did you forget that my mother likes you? Maybe even more than I do,” Jin Zixuan teases him, and it’s familiar enough to bring a small smile to Jiang Cheng’s face. “She’s going to be acting Sect Leader,” Jin Zixuan tells him as he leans close again to brush his nose against Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “And she wants us to marry.”

Jiang Cheng freezes in surprise at those words.

“She what?” he dumbly asks, because this is something Jiang Cheng never allowed himself to think of, to hope for.

Jin Zixuan wore red once already, and surely Jiang Cheng couldn’t get so lucky as to see him in it again.

“The date is set,” Jin Zixuan says with a shrug. “She doesn’t give us much choice. Really, it was more a statement of facts than her voicing a wish. You know she adores you, I wonder how you can still have doubts about that.”

“Zixuan,” Jiang Cheng says, because he doesn’t appreciate it if Jin Zixuan is just joking around right now.

“If you would have read the letter you knew,” Jin Zixuan says, his amusement clear in his voice and Jiang Cheng can’t help himself, he simply has to lean in and capture Jin Zixuan’s lips again.

His fiance’s lips, if Jin Zixuan is speaking the truth.

“Jin Ling is going to love this,” Jiang Cheng says when they part and Jin Zixuan makes an unhappy face at him.

“I would prefer it if you loved it,” he pouts and Jiang Cheng gives him a brilliant smile.

“Isn’t it enough that I love you?” he asks and when Jin Zixuan splutters like he always does when Jiang Cheng so freely expresses his affection, Jiang Cheng knows that they will be alright.

More than that even.

~*~*~

Wei Wuxian has to admit that he kind of enjoys showing the little brat just what his talismans can do. It’s fun to see him on the floor and struggling to get free.

“You just wait until my a-die and baba show up,” the brat says, once he exhausted himself and Wei Wuxian frowns at that.

“Your a-die and baba?” he parrots but before the brat can answer him, there’s a rustling in the underbrush next to them and Wei Wuxian takes a cautious step back.

“Jin Ling,” a new voice says and Wei Wuxian watches as the sour face on the brat’s face is overtaken with a smile.

Wait a minute, Jin Ling? Jin Rulan? Could it really be, Wei Wuxian wonders, but then Jin Zixuan is already stepping forwards and it’s really him.

Even though Wei Wuxian has to do a double take when he sees him dressed in all purple.

“Jin Zixuan?” Wei Wuxian blurts out, and then—because he can’t help himself—he adds, “Didn’t Wen Ning kill you?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth he slaps a hand over his mouth, but it’s already too late and the damage is done, Wei Wuxian can see that in the narrowing of Jin Zixuan’s eyes.

“Wei Wuxian?” he asks, suspicion clear in his voice and Wei Wuxian winces.

To think that he would blow his cover this soon.

“Haha, in the flesh,” he says with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head, and he totally doesn’t squirm under Jin Zixuan’s searching gaze.

“Not quite in the flesh, huh,” Jin Zixuan mumbles and then destroys the talisman on Jin Ling’s back. “You know, I didn’t appreciate it when your Ghost General put a hole through my stomach,” Jin Zixuan then says conversationally and before Wei Wuxian can say anything to that, purple lightning fills the forest.

Wei Wuxian shivers, phantom pains already running down his back, and he takes a step back.

“You know, I didn’t appreciate it either when your Ghost General put a hole through my husband’s stomach,” a new voice says and when Jiang Cheng steps up next to Jin Zixuan Wei Wuxian’s mind goes blank.

He blinks in confusion several times, but the picture still doesn’t make any more sense than before.

“I think you broke him,” Jin Zixuan whispers to Jiang Cheng who gives Jin Zixuan a sweet smile—and that is something Wei Wuxian can’t even begin to process—and then he holds his hand out for Jin Ling.

“A-Ling, come here,” Jiang Cheng says and Jin Ling is up and next to Jiang Cheng in an instant.

“A-die and baba?” Wei Wuxian whispers, his mind still reeling with the new revelations, and he’s almost relieved when someone else interrupts the scene.

“Zixuan, are you angering my A-Cheng again?” a woman’s voice suddenly calls out and Wei Wuxian can do nothing but stare in helpless confusion as Jin Zixuan groans while Jin Ling snickers.

“A-niang, seriously, you could think Wanyin is your son,” Jin Zixuan complaints just as Madam Jin comes to a halt next to them.

“Thankfully he is now,” Madam Jin gives back with a smile as she pats Jiang Cheng’s cheek, and Wei Wuxian has to watch as his brother just lets it happen.

Without blushing even, which means this must be a regular occurrence.

“It’s not him who made me angry,” Jiang Cheng reassures her and Madam Jin’s eyes fall on Wei Wuxian.

“Oh?” she says and Wei Wuxian falls into a sloppy bow.

“Madam Jin,” he greets her only to startle when Zidian crackles again.

“That’s Sect Leader Jin to you,” Jiang Cheng snaps, just as Jin Ling chuckles.

“What. The fuck,” Wei Wuxian whispers and when three voices snap “Language” at him, he wonders just what the hell he stumbled into this time.

{Buy me a kofi}

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #commission #chengxuan #canon divergence #jyl dies like she does in canon #but jc and jzx find happiness again #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst

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tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

Island Dreams - Chapter 3

Hi all and welcome to chapter 3.

So, thing are starting to happen and, alas, angst has decided to come and pay a visit. I used HoF for a bit of inspiration.

Some Gaelic for you: suidh sìos - sit down

The light issue at the very beginning: Yes, in Scotland, in the summer, it can get quite difficult to sleep. Day are super long and it's easy to have light until late and back again at 3am.

I have read it twice before posting. But I had a very long day at work and if I have left some typos I apologise.

Happy reading!

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Aelin had woken up early that morning. She had forgotten to close the curtains the previous night. She had gotten home quite late from her trip and she was grateful that the supermarket stayed open until late because she still had to buy food for the house. She had whipped up a quick dinner, a shower and then she had tucked herself on the chair in her room. It was so bright outside that she could not force herself to go to bed. Eventually tiredness caught up with her and she gave up. Because she forgot to close the curtains, now it was broad daylight even if it was just 4am. She rolled on the other side and tucked her head under the pillow and went back to sleep. She awoke again two hours later. Apparently the adrenaline of being in a new place was too much. So she got up and decided she could go for a run. She donned her running clothes and she left the house. She had spotted a place called Lews castle and from the map it seemed the perfect place for a run in a park. Aelin followed the marina cut through the town centre, passed Rowan’s shop and ended up near the river. Then crossed the small bridge to reach Lews’ castle grounds. Quickly she took a mental note of the fact that the place was a museum and added it to the list of places to visit, which by the way was getting longer by the minute and kept running a good hour until her body started to protest. The day was gorgeous again and they were blessed with a stunning blue sky. Aelin ran found her way back to a road that took her on a pier along the sea. Finally decided to sit at the bench and relaxed a bit, taking a full mouthful from her water bottle. In London she had little chance of running in parks so she had to use a gym but here… she could run in the nature and it made all the difference.

A few elderly people greeted her as they passed the bench and that was something else that stunned her. Complete strangers greeting her. She removed the headphones from her ears and decided to listen to the sounds of the place around her. She had always considered herself a die-hard city girl. Someone who could never leave the hustle and bustle of the big city. Her soul craved the frenetic life that London gave her. And now, in her early thirties, with her life completely upside down and on pause she was starting to realise that things had changed so much from when she was young. All of sudden her priorities had turned and a quiet life was all she wanted. She needed to slow down. Her ambition had helped her to secure a position quite high in her job. But that ambition had not helped her to reach the top. She had literally given her life to her job. She had sacrificed so much and it had been all for nothing and came to the realisation that she felt lost. For the first time in her life she could not see the path ahead. And that was why she had left. To try and live day by day for a while and learn to enjoy life again hoping that life in a quiet place like Stornoway would give her purpose again. “Oh Aelin, stop maudlin.” She told herself, getting fed up with the dark twist her thoughts had taken. She sighed and stood and started running again, tracing her path back to the town centre. Eventually went back to the house, took a shower and an hour later she was ready to head off to Maeve’s for breakfast. She was quite eager to taste her cakes. The woman had given her a slice of a chocolate cake the day before and Aelin had admitted it was of the best cakes she had ever tasted.

Twenty minutes later she reached the coffee shop and was happy to see that it was open. It was just about 9am and wasn’t not sure yet when life on the islands actually started. “Madainn mhath” she said, feeling like an idiot for her horrendous pronunciation. Once she noticed the shop was empty she felt better. At least she did not embarrassed herself in front of an audience. “Oh, Madainn mhath, a Aelin.” Said the woman from behind the counter “Are you here for breakfast?” Aelin took a seat at a table near the counter “Yes, but not Scottish breakfast this morning. I don’t think I can survive it tow mornings in a row.” Maeve laughed “I made some lovely apple turnovers, fancy one?” Aelin’s mouth began watering. If they were as good as the cake… “Make it two. I went for a run and I am starving.” Maeve disappeared through the back and came back a bit later with a tray with a mug of coffee and the apple turnovers. “I am going to get so fat.” She said out loud and then began tackling her breakfast and listened to the music in the background. It was a female singer and she sang in what Aelin was positive was Gaelic. Rowan was right. It was such a beautiful language and sung was even better. “Who is the singer?” “She is Julie Fowlis. She is from North Uist and sings mostly in Gaelic. She is a great singer.” The tune was slow and it seemed quite sad. “This song is called Mo Dhòmhnallan Fhèin, and it means My own Donald. It’s a sad love story.” “It’s beautiful.” She commented and corrected herself quickly “The language, I mean, not the sad love story.” “Ask Rowan and he will give you plenty of suggestions of bands you can discover if you want to listen to locals or Gaelic singers.” The woman explained and took a seat in front of her sipping her own cup of coffee. Aelin had such good vibes from the woman. She was very maternal to her and towards Rowan as well. She was curious to know more about their relationship. Something told her that it was deeper than it seemed. “And if you are still here in July you cannot miss Heb Celt. It’s a wonderful festival of Scottish music. It’s a three day event but it brings people from across all of Scotland and oversea as well. “It sounds wonderful.” “You just have to stay a bit longer.” Aelin sighed “I have been here only a day and I already feel as my soul has been stolen by these islands. I…” she paused, she felt like she could talk to Maeve. “I left my life in London for now. I needed a break before crumpling down for good.” Maeve put a hand on Aelin’s arm “As I told you yesterday, this is the perfect life. Island life here is a cure for the soul.” Said the woman squeezing the arm gently “Want to talk about it?” Aelin took a sip of coffee to gather her thoughts “Big job delusion and a bad divorce.” She did not have the mental strength to go into too much detail. It still hurt too much and Lysandra was the only person with whom she could fully talk about her life. “I feel lost and stuck.” A flicker of deep tenderness appeared in Maeve’s eyes “Sounds like you and Rowan could help each other.” Aelin whipped her head in the direction of the woman and stared at her. “He is stuck too.” That’s all Maeve volunteered. The woman stood as soon as a customer entered the shop. She greeted the man and they began a conversation in Gaelic. Aelin was staring at her empty plate and was still pondering about the comment that Maeve made about her nephew. What did she mean by they could help each other? And why was he stuck? She wanted to know more but could not ask him. He seemed like the very reserved type and she had no intention to pry. Once her plate was clear and breakfast over, she stood and was about to leave when Maeve reached her and gave her a take away cup “Could you please bring this to Rowan? He should be opening his shop now.” “Of course.” Aelin said her goodbyes to the woman and left, taking the path to Rowan’s shop. She had to buy the next books in the series anyway so she was just catching two birds with one stone. Once she got to the shop she noticed it was open. She entered and Rowan was at the counter working on the computer. “Madainn mhath.” She tried again. He looked up and noticed her and a brief and quick smile appeared on his lips but not genuine enough to reach his beautiful green eyes. “Morning to you.” He replied almost annoyed. “I bring coffee. Courtesy of your aunt.” Aelin offered him the cup but the reaction she got from him was unexpected. He glared at her “What did you say?” “Coffee from your aunt?” “How do you know Maeve is my aunt?” His tone was now tinged with anger. “She told me.” He ignored the cup of coffee and continued working as if Aelin was not even in the shop “She shouldn’t have.” “Is that a secret?” “It was not her place. And it’s definitely none of your business.” Rowan was mad. It was clear from his facial expression, but she could not understand why such a statement would make him so mad. Aelin placed the cup on the counter with a bit too much force “Don’t worry she did not reveal any big secret. Your fucking perfect life is safe.” He slammed the pen on the desk at her tone “What do you want? You delivered the coffee, your job is done.” Aelin was now fuming.”What do I want?” Her tone dripped vitriol. If he wanted a fight, she was giving him one. “I was being nice.” She put the backpack on her shoulder, ready to leave “I was here to buy the next books in the series I got yesterday. I came here to thank you as well for the suggestions you gave me yesterday because I loved every place you recommended." she took a deep breath and tried to calm her fury "And while I am here how do you say asshole in Gaelic?” She noted his reaction and she knew she had gone too far. That was her bloody problem, she had no filters and sometimes she struggled to connect brain and mouth before speaking. Something she had become pretty good at doing during her many fights with Chaol. Not her proudest moment. He left the counter and went to the shelf where she got the book the day before. He came back a moment later with three books in his hands “I don’t have the last one. I can order it.” “Leave it. I’ll order it on Amazon just to piss you off.” She really had to learn control herself. She took another deep breath “Fine, order it.” He didn’t comment and started typing on the computer. “It should be here in a week. I’ll let Maeve know. You are best chums now.” There was irritation in his voice. He was actually mad at her. “You should expect to see us skipping arm in arm around Stornoway singing bawdy songs pretty soon.” He did not like the joke. Definitely the wrong crowd. “Try and get laid. It helps the mood.” She added and hated herself seconds after it once she remembered what Maeve said. He was stuck too. “I am sorry…” Apologising right away for her horrible comment. She was a bloody idiot. “It’s £21.50” he said flatly and with no emotion in his voice. His eyes were cold and it looked like he could kill her with a stare. He kept the bag with the books for a moment and leaned forward on the counter “Don’t you dare to comment on my life ever again. You are a customer. Nothing more. You are nothing to me.” Aelin felt like crying. Yes, she had been nasty but Rowan was being cruel to her on purpose “There is nothing I can give. Nothing I want to give you.” He added when he noted her hurt expression. Then Rowan finally passed her the bag with the books “Now get out of my sight.” Aelin took the bag in silence and left the store. She walked away and left her feet to lead her. She did not notice she was back at the marina. She found a quite spot on the pier and sat down, her feet dangling. And then the tears came. And she cried. And the tears turned into heavy sobs. She took the phone and called Lysandra, but when the woman did not answered she hugged her legs to her chest and dropped her head on the knees as if to try and hold the pieces together. She was tired. And for a moment she just wanted to disappear.

Rowan was fuming. How dare she? She didn’t know anything about his life. How dare she make such a comment? He closed the store and walked quite angrily to his aunt’s coffee shop. She loved to gossip a bit too much and wondered what she had told Aelin. When he reached the shop he was glad it was not busy, that conversation did not need and audience. “Good morning, darling.” Maeve said in a cheery voice, unaware what was about to hit her. “What did you tell her?” His aunt looked at him with a confused expression. “Aelin. The new girl. You told her you are my aunt. What else did you tell her about my miserable life, eh?” “Rowan, suidh sìos.” Her tone had a hint of command. Her face lost the loving and caring side and Rowan knew he was in trouble. So he obeyed her and sat down at the table like she commanded. “I did not tell her anything. I just told her that you are my nephew. I did not know that was a secret.” She was definitely not happy about him. Maeve sat down in front of him “What did you do?” He looked away, shying away from the conversation. Maeve sighed “Rowan, she is going through a tough moment in her life. Be nice to her. Be nice to each other. She seems like a lovely woman. Why don’t give yourself a second chance?” He still did not answer. “She is just as lost as you are. If you only stopped being mad at the world all the time, she might be the person to show you the way back, both of you.” He was stunned by his aunt’s words. It sounded like Aelin and Maeve really had become good friends already and that his aunt already knew a good deal about the woman. But there was no way he was letting anyone else in again. Not after… he pushed the name away. Even after almost a year it still hurt too much to talk about her. No, he was going to live the rest of his life on his own and on his own terms. “Don’t interfere.” He finally managed “It’s my life. I’ll decide what is best for me. And if my destiny is to become a lonely, grumpy old man, so be it.” He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands cooling down his anger. “I know you still hurt because of what Lyria did. But it has been almost a year…” “Don’t…” he hissed “Don’t ever say her name in front of me. Ever again.” “Rowan…” Maeve put a hand on his arm but he pushed her away. Maeve stood and looked at her nephew stone faced “Mrs MacIver asked me if you can order these for her grandson. It’s his birthday quite soon.” And she passed a note to him. “Fine.” He took the note and stood. “Find the way back, my darling.” Maeve said to him once he was at the door. He ignored the comment and left without a reply.

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #aedion x lysandra #lysandra #fluff #angst #throne of glass series

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anonthenullifier · 3 years

Note

Makes me wonder how Tommy and Billy would handle being teens in a 50s sitcom.

You sent me down a rabbit hole of 1950s slang and 50s sitcom tropes for this story. I hope I succeeded slightly at giving you a 50s sitcom (laughtrack not included).

AO3 link

The lined paper rests unattended on the chrome rimmed table, Billy’s eyes straying away from solving for x and towards the counter. There’s a gaggle of his classmates occupying the stools, partially obscuring his view of the broad shouldered soda jerk. All Billy can really see is the scowl of concentration as the man wrestles with the fountain and the way his blonde hair is slicked back, not a single strand escaping from the paper hat he wears. One day Billy will sit at the counter and say hi. One day.

“You know what your dreamboat would notice?”

Billy tenses as he turns to face his twin across the table, Tommy’s grin as mischievous as ever. His first instinct is to deny the dreamboat descriptor but...if the shoe fits it fits, so he settles for what he hopes is a harsh and disinterested. “What?”

“A hot rod.”

“Not this again.”

A waggle of his white eyebrows confirms they are indeed having this talk again. “Just think about it. We convince mom and dad to get a screamer* and all you’d have to do is walk in here, tell ole dreamboat he’s the ginchiest** thing you ever did see, and then off to the passion pit*** for some backseat bingo****.”

“You know the deal isn't for a hot rod.” It is for a car, that much is true. Enough begging and pleading and logically explaining how much easier it would be if they had two cars for the family broke down their parents, an agreement in place that if they (Tommy, mainly) can go a month with no incidents then they can have a car. “We’ll be lucky to get a Metropolitan*****.” Tommy shudders at the thought, his eyes set on something much sleeker and faster, two things their parents will never get him, dad already dropping not so subtle comments about the hooligans that do street racing and how his sons would never be so reckless.

Despite the reality of the situation, his brother has deluded himself into expecting at least a green corvette. “Speaking of the deal, we gotta head out.” A surprising statement from Tommy, punctuality not his strongest skill.

“You gonna finish your malt?” It’s his brother’s fourth one, but still a waste to leave it behind.

“Bet I can finish it in five seconds.”

An easy feat for Tommy. “What do I get if you don’t?”

This gives his brother some pause, no doubt weighing how sure he is of success and how enticing of a prize he can provide. With a snap and smarmy smirk he lays it out, “If I can’t, then I’ll handle all of dad’s slang at dinner.”

Billy levels a serious stare across the table, first at Tommy and then at the three-fourths full chocolate malt. It’s melted a bit since he got it, suggesting that brain freeze is not as imminent as Billy would like. On top of that is the fact that being caught using their powers counts as an incident for their car deal...but for the prize offered, it might be worth it. “You’re on.”

Tommy loosens up his neck, head snapping from side to side, as Billy holds up a finger, waiting until the second hand of his watch hits 12. “In three, two, one, go.” The slurping is obnoxiously loud, the table next to them glancing over in disgusted interest, but Billy isn’t too bothered by it, more concerned at how there’s only about a third of the malt left after two seconds. Striving for subtlety, he flicks his fingers to the cup, thrilled at the way it slowly fills back up and at his brother’s increasingly angry slurping each time the malt reappears. “And time.”

“That was cheating!”

“You failed to set rules, so ain’t that a bite******.”

If not for the deal requiring they avoid a scene, he knows Tommy would have leapt across the table and smacked him on the arm, instead the fury on his brother’s face settles into a worryingly tight lipped smile. “Okay, dad,” for some reason he views being logical and rule oriented as an insult, but Billy readily accepts the compliment, “you win. Let’s go.”

They gather their homework into their satchels and get up. A “Have a nice day!” is lobbed towards them from behind the counter. Billy offers a sheepish wave at the blonde haired dreamboat and then exits. If only he’d remembered how a wronged Tommy reacts, his brother yelling back towards the soda jerk, “He thinks you’re a flutter bum G!”

Instantly Billy sets off down the sidewalk, desperate to get as far from the soda shop as possible and deciding that he can never ever show his face there again. It’s a shame that his brother is so fast, because he’s caught up within a couple seconds. “You mad?” Silence is the only way to get the teasing to stop, so Billy hunkers his shoulders down and keeps walking, unsuccessfully shrugging off the arm Tommy throws around his shoulders, “Aw well ain’t that a bite.”

“I didn’t publicly embarr--” a loud yelp and growl cuts off his sentence. “Say, what was that?”

Tommy zips away in a blur, returning moments later with a resolute nod. “Come on.” Billy follows his brother down an alley between the library and the suit shop, where there’s a scruffy dog backed into a corner by a group of three greasers Billy recognizes as a year ahead of them. “Hey,” Tommy wastes no time in giving away their presence, “why don’t you leave it alone.”

The group turns towards them, the leader sporting a deep sneer. “Why don’t you leave?”

Tommy stands taller at this, always looking for a fight if he can find it, sometimes even egging on a fight if he can’t. “Why don’t you duck asses******* take a long walk off a short pier, huh.”

Not that he disagrees with his brother but this isn’t really the time to provoke a group of people known for their antisocial behavior and proclivity for winning fights. Billy tries to cool his brother down, “Tommy, let’s just,” but It’s too late to de-escalate, Tommy already a streak of green running with his arm cocked and ready the second the leader of the group takes a step towards them.

Billy puts his satchel bag down with a deep sigh and approaches as well, hands held out and fingers bending in rapid succession to form what he hopes is a tight force field around their opponents to allow Tommy safety to do his thing. It’s a strategy mom and dad have practiced a lot with them in the backyard, one they’re only supposed to use in dire circumstances. This seems an appropriate enough time and is surprisingly easier than they practiced, the three guys not nearly as strong as their parents. It’s so easy, Tommy’s back at his side in less than 30 seconds, their opponents appearing dazed and terrified, especially when Tommy holds up their confiscated switchblades.

“What kind of freaks are you?” Billy glances down as the group shoves past them, torn between congratulating Tommy and yelling at him, knowing that this is going to travel fast and there are only so many more ways they can find to explain away something like this. The whispers about their parents are bad enough, if he and Tommy get thrown in as well, he can’t help but picture mom’s chilly anger and dad’s sorrowful disappointment. The only hope is that the greasers are too proud to admit losing a fight.

“Hey, calm down.”

Billy can’t believe his brother has the audacity to try and be soft with him, “I’m ca...oh,” The statement wasn’t directed at him, Tommy kneeling in front of the dog, hand outstretched to allow the cowering animal to sniff it before deciding he is safe. Billy grabs his bag and joins his brother, head cocked to the side as he watches the dog grow more bold in its affection seeking as it starts licking his brother's face. “Whose is it?”

Tommy runs a hand around its neck and shrugs. “No collar.”

“The pound’s not too far from here.” Tommy’s glaring at him. “What? We can’t take it home.”

“Why not?”

This is typical Tommy, act first and think never. “Well gee willikers Tommy, I don’t know, how about this is exactly the type of thing we’re not supposed to be doing this month?”

Defiance instills every ounce of Tommy’s body as he stands up to face him. “You really think mom and dad would be upset? We saved it! We’re heroes!”

“Yes. Not only did we have a brawl with our powers in public but it’s,” Billy looks at the dog, matted fur and muddy paws, big green eyes staring at him, its body still shaking slightly from the experience, and he can’t help but feel like an ass for even trying to argue against it. “Fine, let’s bring it home but we need to clean it and come up with a strategy for telling them, okay?”

**********

They stop outside the house, tucked around the corner so they can’t be seen through the main windows. Billy closes his eyes, fingers steepled as he reaches out for the mental waves of either parent, moving room to room until his assessment is complete. “Mom’s in the kitchen, dad’s not back yet.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Billy considers their options, the two best either being levitating the dog to their bedroom window or Tommy making a run for it while Billy distracts mom. The dog pants happily between them, tethered with a blue leash conjured up by Billy. So far it’s been calm and friendly enough, but there’s no saying how it'll react to levitating, or even if he can manage it without a lot of noise. “I’ll distract mom and you run him upstairs and give him a bath?”

“Okay.”

“Make sure to clean up after, got it?” Tommy flashes him a smile that does little to convince him his brother will follow through, but a car is on the line and Tommy hasn't been sent to the principal in almost two weeks, so there’s hope. “Okay, give me a few minutes and then go in.”

Billy closes his fingers tight around the strap of his satchel, knuckles growing whiter as he walks through the doorway, immediately greeted by mom’s cheerful, “Welcome home!”

He didn’t expect her to come out of the kitchen to greet him, but out she walks, lips spread in a broad, toothy smile. “Hi mom, um,” he has to get her away from the entry and the stairs, “gee mom, I'm awful hungry.” It sounds too fake, especially with the tummy pat he does along with it, and yet she cheerily waves him on into the kitchen where he takes a seat as an apple floats from the fruit basket and into his hand. “Thanks.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Oh, um he had to stop at the library,” as he says it he knows it’s the wrong lie and that mom’ll see straight through it. “I...I forgot my math book and we figured he’d get it faster, didn’t want to be late for dinner.”

“Well that’s very nice of him.” Crisis averted, for now. Mom sits down next to him, a position that allows her to see out the kitchen and towards the front door, a factor Billy hadn’t calculated for when putting together their plan. “How was your day?”

“Oh, peachy keen,” which is true, up until they left the soda shop at least, “got an A on my history exam and I’m thinking of joining the—“

“Hi mom! Bye mom!” The words whip through the air as Tommy bursts through the door and disappears upstairs.

Besides his brother’s inability to understand stealth, another part of the plan he didn’t think through was the fact that Tommy never skips grabbing food the second he’s through the door. Which must be why mom’s eyes seem to be boring into his soul. “That was odd. I hope your brother is feeling well.” The words are of concern but said with a sharp and prodding edge.

“Oh well,” the rush of water through the pipes cements the oddity of it all, Tommy definitely not one to bypass food for a shower. Billy struggles to figure out a cover. “He spilled some malt on himself at the soda shop, must be sticky?”

This seems to ease some of the suspicion, “What are you thinking of joini-” that is until a muffled bark can be heard followed by a crash. A simple lift of her eyebrows sends a shiver down Billy’s spine, a scarlet sheen developing around her irises as she informs him, “I should check on your brother.”

Billy bolts out of his chair with a quick and shaky, “I’ll check on him,” and races up the stairs before mom can even respond. On his way up he hears a car pull into the driveway, meaning dad is home and that itself will buy him some time since mom will never pass up their disgustingly sappy welcome home routine.

Without knocking he enters the bathroom, making sure to shut and lock the door behind him, even if neither can stop their phasing dad or telekinetic mom. Immediately he can tell whatever has happened up here is a disaster. The trash bin is knocked over, it’s contents strewn across the red and yellow tiles. There is mud and drops of brown water clinging to every surface. Even the shower curtain hasn’t been spared, hanging limply from the last ring that survived whatever battle occurred. “What is going on?”

“Well,” Tommy’s in the bathtub, stripped down to just his underwear and the slightly cleaner than before dog is laying between his feet, tongue lolling happily out of its mouth. “He put up a pretty good fight.”

Billy grabs a towel from the wall, jumping at the clatter the towel rack makes as it falls to the ground. “We’re screwed.”

“Don’t have a cow, just,” Tommy waves his hands vaguely through the air while making a whooshing sound.

The suggestion isn’t a bad one, per se, really it’s the best option. Before doing anything rash, however, Billy thinks back to all the times mom sat him down to give him a lecture on when it is and is not appropriate to mess with reality and what the consequences are if it’s done too much. He’s already altered reality once today with the malt (admittedly something he shouldn’t have done) and he’s a bit wary to do it again if it’s not needed, even for something as small as fixing broken curtain rings. Which, really if he had to define it, maybe it’s not even reality altering but more so advanced telekinesis. Yeah, he could fix them by hand anyway, so it probably doesn’t count. “Fine, let me just,” gently he presses his powers out, feeling for the minds of his parents, careful not to fully touch them, lest they notice he’s prying, he just needs to know how much time he has. The quick sweep informs him that mom is currently halfway up the stairs. “Um, just stand still and don’t mess anything else up.”

“Roger that,” the salute is a bit much but still appreciated.

With eyes pinched shut, Billy throws his arms out wide, blue energy crackling along his skin. Once he feels stabilized, he opens his eyes and gets to work. The trash is whisked back into the bin, shower curtain and towel rod are pieced back together, and the mud and dirty water vanish from the walls, towels, and fixtures. At the sound of the door unlocking, a flick of his wrist closes the shower curtain on Tommy and the dog. “Everything okay up here?”

With a little too much cheerfulness he turns towards mom, her head leaning slightly to the side as she stares at him. “Everything’s just swell.”

The shower curtain parts slightly, Tommy’s face popping out and all Billy can focus on is his very noticeably dry hair. “Just swell ma. Gotta be squeaky clean for dinner!”

Billy finds his mouth moving faster than his thoughts, desperate to get mom’s attention away from Tommy, “Just want to look our best for dinner, they say it’s the most important meal of the day.” And he dies a little inside at how bad he is at improvising but it did at least take mom’s attention away from Tommy long enough to craft a shower cap over his brother’s hair.

What it didn’t accomplish was allaying any suspicion, mom’s already strained smile flickering with suspicion. “What are you two up to?”

Tommy’s, “Nothing at all!” is a little too fast and insincere and now that they’re looking at him again, Billy realizes the shower cap was a mistake as mom crosses her arms, the first sign that trouble is coming for them.

The second sign is the slow, dreadfully calm way she says, “Oh really?”

It is, of course, at this moment that there is a heavy flop accompanied by a panting sound behind the curtain. Mom takes a step towards the shower and Tommy, whose most consistent superpower is making a situation worse, ducks back behind the curtain and pants along with the dog, letting out a, “Man am I parched!” as if this is somehow a natural thing to say.

The third sign is the way mom’s head cocks to the side, eyes a bit dead and her hair the only thing with any liveliness. Then she smirks and he knows they’ve been caught. Billy lifts his hands at the same time as his mom, her scarlet energy ripping away the shower curtain and obscuring his own energy as he flails, hoping something happens.

“Mom!” Somehow the only sight before them is now a naked and soaking wet Tommy.

Billy sends a towel to wrap around his brother and tries hard to avoid making eye contact with either of them.

For their entire lives he has been lauded as the honest one, the mature one, the sensible one and all of that expectation is wrapped up in the way his name falls from his mom’s lips, “Billy?”

“I, um…”

A tinkling sound, like a wind chime, rises up from the floor and with it the crimson, vibranium laced head of their dad, “Wanda, darling, boys, time for,” he falters, face scrunching up before he sneezes.

“Vizh, are you okay?” All attention moves from the anomaly of the shower to the worryingly normal action of a sneeze coming from an unusual source.

Dad finishes phasing up through the tiles, pulling out a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and dabbing his nose. “Oh yes, just allergies.”

“Allergies?”

“Yes, what a bother to deal with.” Dad says it so naturally and with such vim it’s hard not to believe he’s a long time sufferer of such an affliction.

Mom, however, remains dubious and transfixed, “Whatever are you allergic to?”

They all wait for the answer, curiosity thickening the air around them. Dad gives a little shrug and nonchalantly declares, “Dogs.”

Billy glances over at Tommy who angrily pantomimes that they need to keep quiet and pretend like nothing weirder than normal is happening. Thankfully their mom is still stuck on what their synthezoid father is saying, “Since when?”

“Since today!” An infectious cheerfulness abounds in dad’s explanation, hands moving about enthusiastically as he regales them. “At the water cooler everyone was complaining about their allergies and in order to be a cube******** I said something along the lines of ‘dog dander is just a yuck********* isn’t it.’ Then I realized that if any of my coworkers were to ever bring a canine around, that I would need to respond appropriately. Thus I heightened my olfactory sensors to recognize dog dander and reprogrammed my bodily response to be a sneeze if it’s presence is detected.” Dad leans towards them all with conspiratorial pride, “I even went to the pet store to test it out over lunch.”

“I wonder why your olfactory sensors thought there was a,” without even a hint of hesitation, mom’s scarlet tinged eyes snap back to them, “dog in the house?”

Billy considers phasing through the floor to escape but is rescued by dad, yet again, “Must have had some fur stuck to my jacket from the pet store. Knocked it loose when I came up to tell you all that dinner is ready and no doubt getting cold.”

Reluctantly mom drops it with a, “Tommy please put on clothes and both of you be downstairs pronto.”

Their, “yes, mom!” is synchronized and attempts to be upbeat.

Tommy waits barely two seconds after they leave to ask what’s been tumbling around in his mind, “Where did you send the dog?”

“I...I don’t know?”

“What?!”

Billy tries not to feel guilty about the mistake, especially since Tommy’s the reason they’re in this pickle, “It all happened so fast and I had to do something!”

Instead of responding, a gust of air blows past Billy as Tommy disappears and then reappears fully clothed. “We can figure it out later, I’m starving.”

******

At dinner Billy absentmindedly picks at his plate, stomach too unsettled by the unknown location of the dog and the seemingly omniscient stares from mom. “What do you all think?” Dad always asks this when he cooks, a question both from curiosity and pride of what he’s done.

Tommy, a human garbage pail, takes a break from stuffing his mouth, “It’s bitchin’.”

“Thomas,” this isn’t the compliment dad was seeking, “what have we covered about appropriate language?”

“Um,” they have covered a lot, or so Billy has heard from eavesdropping in, but Tommy always slips up anyways, the real test is in how he recovers. “I meant to say, gee it is just the bee’s knees.”

An appreciative nod from dad absolves his brother’s sin, “Well to that I say,” not that dad has eyebrows, in the traditional sense, but he is really good at giving the sense of wiggling big bushy ones in delight whenever he’s about to say something...youthful, “I dig it.”

Tommy, true to his loss at the soda shop, doesn’t flinch and even takes it a step further, “Anything you cook is made in the shade*********, dad.”

“That is a good thing?” Only after Tommy’s thumbs up does dad’s face break out into a victorious grin, “well cowabunga!”

“Vision, dear,” mom’s voice is amicable but far less complimentary than Tommy’s assessment, “Are you sure you used paprika?”

This seems to warrant investigation, dad standing up and hovering towards the stove, crimson fingers searching through the spices. It’s while everyone else is focused on the spicy answer that Billy senses another presence, a light tap tap tap drawing his eyes to the fluffy fur and bright pink tongue of the dog making its way towards the table. Billy tries to shoo it away with a couple of sparks of blue, but the dog persists, coming to sit right next to him. “Oh, it was cayenne!” With the dinner revelation concluded, Billy knows he only has seconds to act. Quickly he guides the dog under the table with a piece of chicken, his legs forming a makeshift cage around it.

Mom’s voice forces his attention back to the table, “Maybe you should leave the paprikash to me next time.”

“Oh Wanda, one day I will master i—achoo!” The sneeze is strong enough to send dad halfway through his chair, body solidifying once he’s floated back up to his seat, “Excuse me.”

Both Tommy and mom are staring at Billy now and he can’t decide who to acknowledge.

Mom smiles too sweetly at him. “What did you boys get up to today?” Each syllable is sharpened to perfection, an interrogation about to commence.

“Well, um, as I told you earlier,” having one conversation is difficult, especially when it’s tense and sure to be filled with lies, but having two is even harder. Billy sends a thought into his brother’s head, detailing where the dog is and that he is going to send the dog to Tommy who then needs to get it away from them. “We had school,” Billy opens his legs and nudges the dog with his foot. Instead of moving, it places its head in his lap. A tendril of blue leaves his finger and pulls the tablecloth over the the dog’s snout, “got our history tests back”

“Achoo!!”

“Went to the soda shop.”

“Achoo!”

Billy does his best to ignore his dad, too preoccupied with trying to pull the dog away with his powers, “Then we um,” but the dog thinks it’s a game and keeps coming back, “came home.”

“Achoo!”

“Where’s the dog?”

Mom’s voice leaves no room for disagreement or excuses, and yet Tommy still valiantly tries. “What dog?”

“Achoo!”

“This is ridiculous .” Three words and suddenly they’re all glowing red and five feet off the ground, the table going with them, leaving only a dogless floor below. “Billy, where’d you put it?”

Sweat has accumulated on his forehead from the energy it’s taking to keep up the ruse, “I don’t know wh,” and then there’s a woof! loud and clear from the basement. He hangs his head as he sends his powers down and phases the dog back up to the kitchen. Only then does mom put them back on the ground. “We were going to tell you.”

“Word from the bird L we were,” Tommy adds with utmost sincerity.

“I think,”

“Achoo!”

Mom rolls her eyes, her lips perking up at her husband’s plight. “Vision, can you turn off your allergy please?”

“Oh yes, of course.” All it seems to take is a quick shake of his head, nose crinkled for added effect, and his sneezing subsides. “I am now cured.”

“Wonderful, dear.” The sweetness in her voice segues to an uncomfortable neutrality. “Whose dog is this?”

Billy looks at Tommy and Tommy at Billy, neither seeming to be willing to talk. Billy mouths You lost and even though it is an admittedly weak argument, it seems to be persuasive. “We don’t know. Found it in an alley with no collar. He needed a bath,” understanding dawns on mom’s face, “and then we were going to tell you, honest.”

“William, Thomas,” full names always precede a lecture from dad, “I believe I speak for your mother and I when I say we are disappointed that you kept such a secret from us,” mom nods in agreeance, Billy’s heart sinking at the words, “we have tried to raise you to be comfortable with speaking to us and it is saddening to see you keep such innocuous secrets.”

“We’re really sorry,” and Billy means it.

“Never again,” Tommy’s sentiment is truly sincere but also more than likely a lie.

It’s enough for their parents, dad’s disappointment replaced with gratitude at their apologies and mom’s anger fading away as she speaks, “Thank you for the explanation.” Their parents share a little knowing look. “You know, your father and I…”

Dad takes over, turning his loving gaze towards his sons, “Yes, your mother and I have been talking about getting a family pet for some time now.,” He pats his knee, the dog happily trotting over, its tongue flopping about as dad scratches behind its ears, “it seems one managed to find us.”

“Cut the gas********! Are you serious?” Tommy is vibrating from so much excitement Billy won’t be surprised if he makes a hole in the floor.

“We are.” The dog barks, tail wagging as if it knows what’s going on. Dad bends lower to be level with their newest family member’s face, “What say you, Sparky, you want to stay with us?” Another bark confirms it, mom conjuring up a green collar with a diamond tag around its neck.

Billy can’t help but smile; it seems their misadventure didn’t go too poorly, something Tommy will no doubt brag about for months to come. “Oh and boys?”

“Yes, mom?”

“About the car,” Tommy can barely contain his joy at what this day is turning into, “I think this little incident resets your month.”

And joy exists no more in the Maximoff household, or so Tommy’s betrayed, “You can’t do that!” suggests.

Dad merely shrugs, “Rules are rules, Thomas, and I believe it is as you and your brother like to say: ain’t that the bite.”

1950’s language translator (for phrases not commonly used today):*

*Screamer: a hot rod ** Ginchiest: someone who is either very attractive or has a really nice personality *** Passion pit: Drive-in theater **** Backseat Bingo: making out in a car. ***** Metropolitan: type of car in the 1950s. I googled the worst cars of the 50s and it was high up on many lists. It was super compact and apparently not very fast. ***** Ain’t that a bite: Too bad ****** Flutter bum: very attractive man ******* Duck ass: type of hair style that is greased back into a ducktail like shape. ******** cube: normal person ********yuck: displeasure, annoyance ******** made in the shade: guaranteed success ********* word from the bird: no lie, I’m telling the truth **********Cut the gas: quit it, stop joking

#Billy kaplan #Tommy shepherd #vision #wanda maximoff #the maximoffs #scarlet vision #ask anon #replies #deathofink #mine #apparently tumblr won't allow for superscripts or multiple spaces in html anymore #so sorry for wonky formatting

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

Text

Through the Valley - Chapter 6

Told you this would come soon!! This was one of the very first chapters I wrote for this fic so I've been SOOOOO eager to share this one with y'all as it was one of the original 3 chapters written before any of the rest was. Hope y'all like!! Big shoutout to Em ofc who helped set the tone for this the way I’d imagined it to be.

Jessica places her head against the wheel, trying to control her breathing. Three days. That’s how long Ainsley’s been missing. Major Crimes didn’t have answers, not ones they needed. More information about Piers came to light, missing hospital workers turned up dead. Anyone who knew about him, all in a grave.

She shudders remembering Gil’s touch as he told her.

Malcolm was a mess. The longer without news, the more he unravels.

He might get that from her.

She’s already torn off several people's heads. Gil was a rather unfortunate recipient of one of the worse ones. He, thankfully, understood. Only gathering her in his arms until she stopped fighting him. Held her until she stopped crying.

Three days.

It took one contact, a moment where all her will had snapped. She called in a favor she never wanted to. There was a doctor, a woman, who had lost her job back when Martin worked at the hospital. It’d been unfair, she’d almost been buried by a man who she pissed off. Then every mistake she made became scrutinized. A breath away from ruin.

Martin begged her to help. That was the first time Martin had asked her for anything.

It’d been too easy to find the trail of botched surgeries. The patients he paid off to keep quiet.

She rose again, but not without a track record of her own.

Jessica had kept an eye on her, after Martin. After the truth came out, she questioned everything. Who had this woman truly been?

She stayed away, until now. The woman had worked with Piers previously, years ago. It was the only option she could think of that hadn’t already been exhausted.

She supposes that’s how she ended up parked in front of a warehouse at two in the morning. It’d been under the name of a patient he’d lost. A death that he took hard, one that changed him. The plot had been abandoned for a decade. No reason for an armed man to be standing outside guarding an empty metal husk.

She has no idea what she’s going to find inside. It could be hundreds of men, drugs that she didn’t even know existed. Ainsley might not even be here.

It’d been three days. What other choice did she have?

Jessica pulls the hood of her jacket over her head, glancing down at the mask resting in her lap. It was cliche and ridiculous. Yet she didn’t plan on killing anyone. She just wants to get Ainsley out safely. She swallows, sliding it over her face as she takes a slow breath. Triple checking that the gun is loaded before she slides out the door.

The man at the front is easy enough to distract, with a rock bouncing off the metal walls he steps away to investigate. It gives her enough time to slip in unnoticed.

The place is much more elaborate on the inside, large machines long collecting dust. She sticks to the open pathways, forgoing the doors that are shut with nobody around. She sneaks around the roaming men easily enough. There weren’t many, but there were enough that she was certain that this was the place that she was looking for.

She stops when she sees two men standing by a door. They’re talking, casually, as if this were just any given day to them. She’s so focused on watching them, listening to what they’re saying, that she doesn’t notice the glass beneath her feet until it makes the deathly crunch beneath her weight.

“Did you hear that?” Her heart jumps, fingers wrapped around her gun as she takes a more cautious step forward, away from the pile of glass. She can hear the man as he approaches, only one. She waits until he rounds the corner, just passing her to look where she’d previously been standing.

Taking the opportunity she wraps her arm around his neck from behind, kicking his knee out so that his weight is the main source of his struggle. His fingers scramble for purchase against her but she doesn’t relent. Only when his weight slumps does she let go, watching as he falls to the ground.

“Hey!” She whips around, eyes wide as she meets the gaze of the other man. The blast echoes in her ears as the man stumbles back. She’d been quicker on the shot. He falls against the wall and she feels a small ache in her chest.

She snuffs it quickly remembering what she’s here for.

She has to find her.

No matter what.

Jessica forces herself to move, eyes now trained on the door the two men were guarding. It has to be something. God, she can feel the weight of the world as she swings the door open.

Ainsley’s tied to a chair, head dropped low and blood staining her normally perfectly tamed locks. Jessica bites her cheek to keep the noise from escaping her chest. She’s here. Her baby is here. When she watches her shoulders rise and Jessica feels her throat tense. Tears of relief build, threatening to spill over. She clenches her teeth forcing them back as she takes in the sight. Her wrists and ankles are bound to the chair keeping her steadily in place. She’d been here all along. She should have called in that favor three days ago.

There’s no time for how she feels. She needs to move quickly and get her out. She checks the hallway before sliding the gun into the holster on her hip. She pulls the switchblade from her pocket, kneeling to cut her wrists free. She’s careful when sliding the blade beneath the binding, aware of how easily she could knick Ainsley if she doesn’t work slow.

Yet she can hear voices over the walkies, calls for a response that won’t come.

Her heart stops when she hears a small hum. It takes Jessica a moment to register that it’s coming from her daughter. She only has a second to pull the blade out before she starts thrashing, recognizing that someone is in front of her and fighting like hell to get away.

“Ainsley, stop.” She tries to command, hoping her voice would be enough to calm the girl but her panic is too deep. She’s tied down, in pain, in an unfamiliar place with some person holding a knife in front of her. She whips off the mask before she can start screaming. “Ainsley, baby, open your eyes.” She shakes her head stubbornly, blonde curls flying with the movement. “Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s mom.” Finally her eyes snap open.

Jessica’s stomach bottoms out when she gets a full look at her face. The blood she saw in her hair streamed down the side of her face, tracing her jaw with a line of crimson. Her eye is bruised and swollen, cuts adorn her cheeks as if someone had hit her with a ring on. Her blood boils at the sight, her vision momentarily going red before remembering to relax. “Mom?”

“It’s ok. You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“What are you doing here?” Jessica tilts her head because it’s a long story. Far too long for the time they have. She feels her hands shake as she traces her hands over Ainsley’s shoulder and a wince crosses her face.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Ainsley takes a shaky breath, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her breath catches. What did they do to her? Did she think she was going to- “It’s ok. I got you.” She can hear the voices getting closer. There’s no time. She can’t get her out. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back. I promise.” She tries to offer a reassuring smile but she doubts it’s effective when she can feel her hands shake with anger as she pulls the mask back over her face. With every step she can feel her body burn. With hatred, with fury, with desperation. She needs to find Wesley Piers, he needs to pay for everything he’s done.

For what he did to her.

She doesn’t see the movement until it’s too late. A man tucked in a corner, eyes horrifically locked on his dead colleagues until she stepped out. The knife clutched in his hands slashes her in the side forcing a gasp from her lungs as the pain echoes through her. She moves instinctively, firing two shots and the man drops.

She winces when her hand touches where the knife dug in, her fingers coming away stained with her own blood. She bunches the jacket she wears as best as she can, pressing the fabric to the wound no matter how much the pain aches to rip a scream from her throat.

She has to keep going. If she leaves he won’t stop. He’ll come after Ainsley again, maybe Malcolm too if he figures out that major crimes are searching for him. He could come after her family again.

Two more men come running. They’re both dead before they can take three steps in the same corridor as her. She rounds the corner and this time she sees the person hiding. He springs out, ready to attack. She uses his momentum against him to throw him against the wall with a metallic clang. When he crumples and doesn’t get back up, she continues moving.

The halls are quiet now, no voices over static. No clambering footsteps or clicking of guns. She stops, only for a second, when another jumps from the shadows pushing her gun away from him before it fires into the floor. She fights against him as he shoves her against the wall. Both his hands focused on keeping the gun pointed as far from him as possible. Using that as a distraction, she rears back slamming her head into his nose. He stumbles and falls so now she can get a good look at him.

The man doesn’t belong here, in a well pressed suit and tie. The others were in dark clothes, blending in. Not raising suspicion. He looks wrong, trembling as he holds his bleeding nose. He’s not a threat, far from one. “What do you want?” The man asks, shuffling back.

She recognizes him from the hundreds of pictures posted across New York. Always smiling with a slimy grin. This is the man she was searching for. Wesley Piers. He’s the one that hurt Ainsley.

Venom fills her mouth as she raises her gun. “I’ll give you anything you want. You want money?” The question forces a bitter laugh from her. As if money could pay back all he’s done, the lives he’s taken, the life he could have taken. “Please.”

“Shut up!” She shouts and his jaw snaps shut. She breathes slowly, watching him as tears stream down his face. Yet all she can see is Ainsley, fearfully thrashing against her own mother’s grip.

What did they do to her?

“You’re hurt. I can get you the best doctors in New York.”

“I said shut up!”

“Power?” She scoffs. “You’re doing this for a reason. There has to-” She swings the gun knocking him unconscious with a single blow. In the silence she can finally think.

The world would be much better off with this man dead. He can’t hurt anyone else. No possibility of using his endless amount of money to get him out early, to sway a jury, to keep him comfortable and happy when he should be rotting in a cell.

He could run.

Just like Martin.

“We are the same.”

She hears his words with such clarity that she almost turns her head to look for him. He’s long gone, probably off somewhere on an island. Not in this damp warehouse. Not standing over a body next to her. Yet she can still hear him, coaxing her to pull the trigger. She lowers the gun, tears of frustration building behind her eyes.

She wants him to suffer for what he did. To Ainsley, to all the innocent people that he stole money or even their lives. Her vision swims when she steps back, the cool metal of the wall feels good through the thick layers. Her eyes fall to her hand, the jacket has soaked through, spilling into her palm again. The man is a crumpled heap. Uselessly breathing the same stale air. She should just end the sound. For some peace of mind. Yet she knows. It will bring no peace. His face will join the others in her nightmares. His name will join the ones on her lips that she chases away, drink after drink. In search of an oblivion that is just out of her reach. The oblivion that feels oddly close now. She tips her head back against the wall, tears sliding down her face.

She can’t do it.

She can’t kill him.

This man is far from Nicolas Endicott, who’s presence threatened her family long after he was dead. Not even a Robert Van de Camp who brought a gun into her home with intentions of murdering both her and Cricket.

He’s not a threat.

She’ll call it in, an anonymous tip that she heard screaming. There’s more than enough evidence here to convict Piers of his crimes. Malcolm will come, he’ll arrest him. She can make sure that he never sees the sun again. This can end, without any more death.

She’s ready to push herself off the wall, grab Ainsley and run when another voice echoes out.

She hadn’t even heard the footsteps.

“Jess, put the gun down.”

#prodigal son #gilica #gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #jessica whitly #ainsley whitly #gil arroyo #murder family #murder family AU #fanfic #through the valley #through the valley chapter 6 #through the valley chapter six #notgonnarememberthis fics

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tsnderes · 5 years

Note

Hi! I wanted to submit a scenario where Bakugou and his fem! S/o are very attached to his s/o's little brother but one day a villain attacked and held him hostage. So Bakugou and his s/o team up to rescue him. Thank you so much!! Bonus: If the little brother is so protective about his sister 😁

a/n: hey heyy! this request had me all over the place, my gosh. so many ideas but i ended up settling on this one! this is the most words i’ve ever had in a fic and i’m pretty proud of it!

word count: 1,117 words

bakugoukatsukix reader | no warnings, only cursing!

・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

The day started off regular, as regular as being a pro-hero could be. Your agency had sent you and your sidekick on patrol in Chisaki amidst suspicions of criminal activity increasing in the area. The authorities didn’t provide much information; only that children were mysteriously disappearing and the parents in search of them overloaded the office.

Hearing this news made you uneasy, Chisaki was your hometown and your mom and little brother still lived there. Despite not seeing them often, you kept in touch with them and had an admirable relationship with your sibling. He looked up to you and always wanted to hear stories about work. You thought maybe while you take a break, you could call them.

Your mother called before you got the chance.

It took a minute to understand her frantic sobbing, but what you heard confirmed your fears. “Your brother is gone.”

You fought the tears forming behind your eyes, swiftly wiping away the ones that escaped. Of course, you had felt sympathy for other families, but you never thought it would happen to your family, your little brother… a loss for words was an understatement. You don’t even remember dialing Katsuki’s number, but at this point, it was muscle memory.

“I’m at a meeting right now, dumbass. What do you want?” he mumbled.

Your ragged breathing on the other end confused him until he heard the soft sniffles you failed to conceal; You were crying. Now he was on alert, walking out the council room with no forewarning.

“(Y/N), baby. What’s wrong?”

It took a minute for you to regain your composure, sloppily wiping your face with your palm. “(Y/B/N) is missing, and I know it was a villain that took him.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

You and Bakugou narrowed down the villain responsible and talked over the plan to rescue your brother with your agencies as a joint mission. (They didn’t have a choice, really- Bakugou wasn’t taking no for an answer.)

Katsuki was determined to bring the smile back to your face, even if that meant saving the little twerp. He fought your brother for your attention all the time, and he wasn’t with you often! The boy would argue with Bakugou over the phone if it meant him having less time with you.

He didn’t mind the brat otherwise.

The villain’s hideout was an abandoned warehouse, inconspicuous but disgustingly cliche. It was dark now, the dim street lights casting shadows on the sidewalk below. The pier wasn’t far, so a steady chill weaved through the air; You didn’t shiver, the anger in your chest keeping you heated. Bakugou scoffed as the two of you approached the building, crimson eyes scoping the surroundings.

“Looks clear to me. Let’s kill this motherfucker-” He growled, but your hand on his chest made him still his movements.

“Katsuki, we don’t know what we’re walking into. Stay on your toes.” You said in a low tone, eyes narrowed at the grey door before you.

Bakugou watched how tightly your jaw clenched and simply nodded, not wanting to upset you further. With that, he slowly pushed the heavy metal door open and waited for his eyes to adjust to the low light before stepping in, signaling you behind him.

There wasn’t much to see. The room was spacious, though; Old storage boxes scattered in disarray around the cement floor. Two staircases, each on opposite sides of the room, led to grey platforms with more boxes and tools lying around. You looked at Katsuki, who shrugged in return. No site of anybody-

“Took you long enough, you idiots.” A voice from one of the platforms provoked.

You snapped your head to face the person, but Bakugou sent an explosive blast in the direction before you could move.

The voice laughed, now moving to the center of the room, closer to them. “Too slow~ Hurry up, your brother’s clock is ticking, (Y/N)-chan!”

The fury in your body propelled you into motion, jumping into the air before slamming your fists into the cement at full force; The boxes banging against each other and walls. Bakugoutook the opportunity to speed ahead, sending a series of blasts in every direction. A fire started to blaze after a box was lit, and it would definitely be hard for the person to escape now.

The person laughed again, but from the top of the platform to the right, your brother hanging off the railing by his shirt collar, kicking and struggling in their hold. “Wow, Ground Zero! I wasn’t planning on a fiery death for the kid, but I’m definitely not complaining. You’d better catch him!”

Your brother clawed at their arms as he cried. “Nii-san, please!”

And with those words, she released her grip on him and you ran, directly into the firey heat below him. You felt nothing, though the blaze charred at your hero-suit and the smoke made breathing a task. He was falling fast, you might not reach him. You lurched your body into a dive, arms outstretched. If he hit the ground, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself-

Your brother landed into your arms with a hard thud, your body giving out from his weight. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, now slobbered up with tears and saliva from his sobbing.

“Nii-san, I’m so happy you f-found me… I was so scared.”

You kissed his forehead, your own eyes filling with tears. “I know. It’s ok, I’ve got you now.”

Loud explosions sounded overhead, you looked up to see Bakugou restraining the villain, tying them up with the rope as he slung their body over his back. “It’s getting smokey in here! Get the fuck out!”

Nodding, you helped your brother onto your back as you navigated your way out. Sometimes Bakugou could be messy in his delivery and you knew he didn’t think this through completely; It took time for you to avoid the fiery matter that seemed to be everywhere.

The three of you escaped the building, criminal in tow. It was a relief to breathe fresh air again, the air in the warehouse became suffocating after Bakugou set it ablaze. Bakugou threw their unconscious body on the concrete, his face screwed up in pure disgust.

“Can’t believe the nerve of this bitch. Lucky I didn’t kill their ass.” He tsked and turned to you. “I already called the cops.”

You smiled at him, still holding your brother close. “Thank you, so much. It means a lot.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to protect you, the twerp included.”

Bonus:

“No, it’s my job to protect her! She’s my sister!”

“Listen here, ya fuckin’ brat-”

“Katsuki!”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakugou scenarios #bakugou imagines #mha #boku no hero academia #finally finished it! whewww!

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plumoh · 4 years

Text

[FE3H] silently

Word count: 2357

Summary: In the quiet of Felix’s mind, after Gronder Field. / post chapter 17.

Note: AO3 link. Blue Lions route, referenced character death, missing scene.

Nobody approaches him while they trek back to the monastery. It’s a stupid decision to make so far into their campaign, wasting resources they could have saved had they not listened to the orders of a mindless beast. It’s a stupid decision, but Felix can’t deny that he feels the slightest bit relieved at the prospect of retaking Fhirdiad, as they should—as duty dictates them, though he will never admit it out loud. They have a more immediate objective that everyone agrees on, and rallying troops will be easier.

But for now, they are traveling in heavy silence and Felix refuses to utter a single word or to look anyone in the eye. He’s walking at the head of the party, among other soldiers who are doing their job guarding the carriages and what they contain. There is no need to try small talk and these soldiers aren’t interested in doing so anyway. It’s a quiet, eerie time.

He’s walking behind the carriage where they put his father’s body and he can’t stop oscillating between rage and grief. There is the burning, harsh grip around his heart squeezing it dry while the oppressive torpor makes his body freeze in ways he’s never felt, on the battlefield or wherever else. It’s frustrating, it’s full of nonsense, and his hand twitches for his blade to cut down entire cities.

Battling through his emotions is a luxury he’s forsaken ten years ago, so he walks, silently, numb.

***

The first to open their mouth and spout bullshit, surprisingly, is Ingrid.

“Felix, eat something,” she says like she’s approaching one of her restless horses, face marred with a frown. “There...are a lot less people in the mess hall, now.”

Less people still means there are people. For someone who is usually so composed and sharp with her words, Felix doesn’t find any comfort or reason to listen to them. He continues to stare at the pond, though night has fallen a while ago and there is nothing to see except dark waters. His eyes observe the flickering flame of the lamp on the pier, then back to the water. Not once does he look at Ingrid.

“Do you want me to bring you something?” she asks, and he hears the rustling of the clothes and the shift of her feet. “There is meat today. The professor said we deserved it after...after.”

Felix clenches his fists, more like a reflex than anything else, and exhales heavily.

“Stop wasting your time, Ingrid,” he growls, voice foreign but still his. “Go away.”

She breathes in sharply and shifts some more, like she’s unsure of her own movements and is afraid of being clumsy. Too late, Felix thinks, as he wonders what is the point of all this.

“It’s probably not what you want to hear, but...don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

“Just go away, Ingrid!”

And so she does, quietly, just as Felix lets out a wordless scream and grips his hair, unable to chase out Ingrid’s voice, hollow and pained like on that fateful day once upon a time, or the memory of Ingrid and him crying when they watched the body being deposited under the soil.

He rushes past pitiful gazes and sympathetic shakes of head to lock himself up in the training grounds.

***

His feet are sore from a week’s worth of traveling and suffering from bruises gained on the battlefield, and his arms are more lead than flesh when the doors are pushed open. The sound of his sword hitting again and again the wooden target has been ringing in his ears for the past hour, and he pretends it’s the only sound he hears.

“Did you ask Mercedes or Annette to look at you before coming here?”

Felix’s fingers curl even tighter around his sword, threatening to lose their grip every time he gives a much too vicious thrust. He focuses on the path of his blade and he imagines that the target heals itself whenever it gets injured, so that he can smash it down again in places he has already inflicted a gash before. His loud breathing is only the result of his relentless training—there is nothing justifying why else his body is so heavy and his mind so foggy.

He watches every dent he makes in the target instead of meeting Sylvain’s eyes, who is without a doubt staring at him.

“Sorry, stupid question, you don’t need help.”

His hands twitch and another flavor of fury blooms in his chest, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Sylvain has always been like this; his foolish smile covers all the poisonous words that he embellishes with compliments and unnecessary wording, and when he drops all pretenses, he wants to be heard.

Except Felix doesn’t want to listen.

“I’m just going to sit there, then. In case you tire yourself and decide to sleep on the floor and decay.”

Felix turns to another dummy and keeps going, only seeing from the corner of the eye Sylvain casually sitting down on the step. He almost expects him to sprawl on the ground, elbows propped up, but Sylvain does nothing of the sort and watches, in silence. Felix ignores him—with a sword in hand and a definite target there is no need to pay attention to anything else, to anything that is not of significance. His ankles are aching and his wrist is burning, but if he stops, everything else will. Swinging his blade around is familiar; there is a purpose, something he can do and accomplish like he was born for it.

Sweat is trickling down his chin and into his eyes and his hair is sticking to his forehead, a rush of adrenaline fueling every single one of his moves like he’s fighting for his life and needs to take down the invincible enemy standing in front of him. Time has little importance when the blood pumping in his head drown nefarious thoughts and pointless musings.

However strong he wants to appear to be, however resilient he truly is, his arm finally lets him down and he drops unceremoniously his sword, just as his knees give out and he crumples on the ground, panting but hissing, hands curled into tight fists. It’s never enough—even at a losing point, even when his muscles are painfully pulling him in every direction and none at the same time, he feels he has to keep going for the clarity of his mind. He tries to push on his feet and his hands but he only pathetically falls down again, drained from energy that was long gone already.

Boots enter his field of view and he’s physically too tired to push Sylvain away.

“You knew this would happen, why are you so stubborn?” he asks without anger, though his tone of voice doesn’t appease Felix in the slightest.

“Shut up,” Felix snarls, still refusing to look at his face.

“I just want you to take some rest. Your arm won’t be wielding a sword any time soon if you keep being one-track minded for training.”

Speaking with Sylvain is odd, often infuriating and definitely unwanted at times. He always prods and forces people into corners they don’t like. Felix has known him long enough to recognize his tactics, but it also means Sylvain knows exactly what buttons to push. Stubbornness is a trait that the four of them share and it’s not pretty, sometimes.

“Leave me alone.” Felix grows agitated and even more frustrated, clenching his fists until he can’t feel them anymore. His knuckles scrape against the ground.

“Felix, I know exactly what you’re going to do. I didn’t do anything when Glenn died, so I’m not watching you destroy yourself even further.”

Sylvain doesn’t recoil or so much as flinch, even when Felix finally jerks his head up and pins him with his darkest glare.

“Fuck off Sylvain, can’t you obey once in your life?”

He perfectly knows that he can’t see clearly; he perfectly knows what he’s feeling. But Sylvain, just like Ingrid, thinks they know better and won’t let him handle the matter himself, as if they were more qualified to examine his own mental state.

“I’m not going to say anything else,” Sylvain sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Just go to sleep. You haven’t slept much when we were traveling back to the monastery. Ingrid and I are only asking that you take care of yourself.”

“Of course you both are in this ploy.”

Invoking his brother’s name is the one thing that makes Felix’s blood boil and his hand reach for his sword without thinking about the consequences. Sylvain is purposely doing this and the fury that’s consuming Felix gets fiercer and fiercer, uncontrollable like the fire that was ravaging Gronder Field.

“I said my piece,” Sylvain says distantly. “Unless I haul you into your bedroom, you’re going to stay here and your injuries will get worse.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Should I get Annette? She’s not going to judge you.”

She’s going to fuss over him and that’s probably worse, but Felix says nothing and pointedly looks at anything but Sylvain. And Mercedes is going to look at him with compassion or pity in her eyes, and at this point every option sounds awful so Felix exhales heavily, and drags a hand across his face. All the bones in his body have turned into mush and exhaustion suddenly drapes over his shoulders, like it waited for him to run out of escapes to manifest.

“I’m not going to get much sleep anyway,” he mutters.

When he glances at Sylvain, he sees a tired smile on his lips.

“I know.”

He resists only on principle when Sylvain helps him up, since he logically knows he won’t be able to on his own. He hates how predictable he can be, how easy it is to break the barriers he’s set around himself, but Ingrid and Sylvain naturally know how to smash them after seeing parts of him that nobody else did.

The walk to the dormitories is a long one, filled with the usual silence that settled in his head since Gronder Field—there is silence even when all he wants to do is scream and yell his rage.

The three of them are still sleeping in the same rooms as before, so he’s not surprised to see Ingrid waiting for them in front of his room, despite his earlier outburst. She looks upset, and she clearly has something to say, but her lips purse in a thin line as she ushers them inside.

“Sit on the bed.”

He does as he’s told grudgingly, and lets them clean and wrap his injuries as best as they can, Ingrid settling on the floor and Sylvain standing next to him. None of them has trained enough in faith spells and that’s something they should rectify; they can’t always rely on their magic-oriented friends, who can’t be healing everyone right and left. Ingrid at least has taken the time to learn the basics and she’s casting Heal after Heal, while Felix decided that sending people into seizures would be much more suited to his style. It’s ridiculous to think about the specifics of their abilities so far into the war, when they could have taken the time to polish their skills when they weren’t literally racing against time.

In the end, the injuries aren’t that serious and it’s mostly rest he needs, apparently, so he goes through the treatment in a daze and listens to Ingrid’s and Sylvain’s breathing. Everyone has calmed down in a few minutes, and the fact he’s clamming up undoubtedly plays a role in it, too. Nothing is going like he feels it should, nor does he feel like he’s himself at that moment, surrounded by his two most trusted friends while the third one (the one who lost the right and is trying to regain it) is fuck knows where doing whatever. He closes his eyes; in all honesty, he hasn’t been feeling like himself for the past week.

“He fucking died for the boar. Like a selfish bastard.”

The words leave his mouth bitter, coated in venom, but his voice is muffled. It’s the first time he said those words aloud—they have haunted him and kept spinning in his head without him actually acknowledging them. It doesn’t feel liberating. It’s crushing him with the weight of reality and the accompanying unfairness of it all strangles him with misery.

“All he was thinking about was keeping him safe, and doing his duty or whatever. I hated him so fucking much.”

They don’t ask him who he’s referring to, and deep down he doesn’t know who he really is accusing, but the truth remains that only grief is left with him.

“We’re sorry, Felix,” Ingrid whispers, placing her hand on his.

“I don’t—need to hear it,” Felix chokes up, bringing his other hand up to uselessly cover his face.

“Probably not, but we still are.” Sylvain squeezes his shoulder, gently.

He doesn’t want to think about it, lest all the anger and the sadness overwhelm him and render him unable to conceal all this mess of emotions. His shoulders shake and his breath quivers, and the noises of his sobs are ragged, dragging out every particle of pain that he desperately tried to quash down. Losing control in front of Ingrid and Sylvain happened, before, and this time like many others they simply stand beside him, wordlessly. He doesn’t need their pity and their hopes, because he knows exactly what is expected of him.

He will bury these feelings and these thoughts deep inside his heart, and carry on. Dwelling on the dead will only bring ghosts he has kept at bay for many years—what is the point of summoning them to his side when the living still has so much to lose?

He will be fine. His father left a legacy he’s not sure he wants to inherit, but that is something to ponder on later, after his tears dry and his hatred quells.

#fe3h #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #my fanfic #i love. the childhood friends #every day is faerghus pain

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poor-wifi-uwu · 4 years

Text

Veil ch.5

Emperor Lan Wangji is pissed.

The silence was too loud.

The pounding of Lan Wangji’s heart matched the frantic hooves of his horse as they neared upon the area of the flare. Golden eyes darted around in a frenzy for any sign of movement, any sound of conflict, yet it was as if all life along the road had suddenly died. The intense silence made hairs on the back of his neck rise as his body tensed for battle.

With barely a second’s thought, Lan Wangji charged into the forest. Wei Wuxian may have the fastest horse, but he would never rely on speed and dragout the chase. He’d rather take the risk of maneuvering through trees to quickly lose the enemy and find an alternate route.

Lan Wangji stretched his senses to the very limit, sensing for any disturbance in the deathly still forest. A distant clang of metal had Lan Wangji pulling the reins of his horse to pivot off a tree towards the sound. Lan Wangji could make out a large group of figures clashing against one another like a pair beehives smashed together. He whipped the bow off his back, free hand gripping the reins by just his fingertips as he passed by a flash of white in the forest. Even the brilliance of the full moon that had always entranced him with visions of their first battle was aggressively ignored as golden eyes squinted to make sense of the violent mass of people.

The risk was too high.

Lan Wangji lowered his bow to grab his sword instead, nearly dropping both at the inhuman screech that blared from deeper in the forest. He froze in realization before barreling through the treeline in the direction of that white light from before. The moon was high in the sky, so that light could only be artificial.

There’s only one person who carries around such intense flash bombs.

Lan Wangji felt his heart stop and then pound fervently as he heard a clash of swords in the distance. He rode around onto the ledge he was certain Wei Ying was planning to disappear behind, leaning forward to scan for his iconic ribbon. Lan Wangji’s eyes, as if drawn, found Wei Ying amid the mass of people. Illuminated by the piercing moonlight, even the shock of his horrid state could not overcome the rush of nervous warmth quickening Lan Wangji’s heart rate in a way that no battle ever could.

Dirty and dishevelled, Wei Ying was still one of the most beautiful things left in this world.

Then his eyes froze as he watched Wei Ying go down.

In the bitter moonlight, the purple arrow seemed to glow as if mocking the very sanctity of life. The world seemed to slow as Lan Wangji dropped the reins to reach behind into his quill, grabbing four arrows despite the roaring blankness of his mind as he watched Wei Ying’s hollow expression hide away to kick an assailant’s knees as it had early in his career when his achievements were given to someone else.

As he released the bowstring, for the first time Lan Wangji felt no remorse.

The sudden thrust as he was snatched into the air sent a bout of dizziness that left the world teetering on its side.

Wei Wuxian choked down a groan as his head lolled, blinking away double vision as the clash of metal briefly muffled as if underwater. Wei Wuxian tried to grab his head to steady himself but the arm wrapped firmly around him tightened at the movement. Wei Wuxian winced as the arrow in his arm jostled from the grip.

The man froze, loosening his grip slightly as his thumb gently rubbed Wei Wuxian’s elbow with a small tap before locking him in place to dodge a feral sword swing.

Wei Wuxian squinted his eyes to put the man’s face in focus, but the constant pivots to dodge and attack whipped Wei Wuxian back and forth as white flashes interspersed the black spots dancing in his vision. The constant glare of swords flashing in the moonlight stabbed into Wei Wuxian’s eyes, throbbing headache blurring the world into flashes of color.

Wei Wuxian took some rapid deep shaky breaths to steady himself.

Wei Wuxian took some deep breaths to steady himself, gritting his teeth when they came out shaking and quicker than he intended. Flashes of heat interspersed bouts of trembling cold, warning him of a fever.

Wei Wuxian tried to focus on the battle but found himself curling deeper into the man’s hold, his cold robes cooling Wei Wuxian’s forehead despite the warmth of his body heat melting into the general’s side. The sudden impact as they jumped over a boulder rocking his body as Wei Wuxian clenched his eyes shut and gripped the man’s robes as if tearing them.

He felt nauseous.

Wei Wuxian felt his body shifted into a more comfortable position, releasing a breath at the relief on his injuries. He cracked his eyes open, raising his head to get a look on the man’s face, only for a hand to gently press his face back into the man’s chest as if to hide him. Grunts of pain and thumps as bodies hit the forest floor in waves assaulted his ears. Wei Wuxian struggled against the hand to see the situation, but the man’s grip was strong and firm.

Wei Wuxian cursed. He could recognize an ally, but he couldn’t leave the situation to someone who had no idea of the circumstances. What if he got Third Shidi?

Wei Wuxian grit his teeth as he struggled out of the embrace. The pain shooting through his arm shocked a pulse of clarity that wiped most of the daze from his mind. White clothes, white horse, white arrow? Even the glide of his sword as he chopped off enemy heads embodied the style of Gusu. Wei Wuxian didn’t get a good look at the guy’s clothes, but given the timing he’s likely part of the royal guard.

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes as he broke free and kicked an assailant in the face while the Gusu man was distracted. The royal guard should be much farther ahead by now, so something must have happened. The courier falcon was trained to return directly to the Cloud Recesses watchtower, so unless this guy left his purse at Lotus Pier he likely got additional orders from the emperor.

A sudden buck from the horse as he kicked some guys behind them knocked Wei Wuxian off balance struggling to stay on. He heard a sharp inhale as an arm wrapped around his waist to steady him.

“Are you okay?”

Wei Wuxian felt a deep baritone rumble through the man’s chest at his back, the tone of apologetic worry and touch of panic so subtle yet glaringly clear with the slight tremble of his hand as he pressed Wei Wuxian against his chest. It was so familiar yet foreign, the stifled palace accent dripping with subtle emotion.

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows furrowed even as he stabbed his sword through some guy’s throat in passing. The royal guard is painfully strict, second in discipline only to the royal family themselves, yet this guy is showing emotion on a battlefield? They’d never let that pass unless a family member died or something!

Wei Wuxian groaned as he was pulled and shoved around again, world spinning as a stabbing pain shot behind his eyes. Blinking away the sparks in his sight, he turned to shove the guy away when his numb arm slipped and Wei Wuxian lost his balance as a sword slashed at his neck. Wei Wuxian whipped out his sword to at least divert the slash down his numb arm when a white sleeve covered hisvision as an arm snatched him back up with a twitch. Wei Wuxian bit his lip at the embarrassing display he put himself in as he glanced at the arm that saved him, eye widening at the patch of red crawling from the slit fabric, “Your arm!”

A calm monotone voice sounded above him, “No matter.”

Now you choose to be monotone!? Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes, “Yes matter!”

He grabbed the arm, ignoring the flinch and tremble of the man’s fingers as he pushed up his sleeve to look at the injury. The bright red dripping down contrasted even more heavily against the jade-like paleness of his skin.

Wei Wuxian bit his lip as he looked down.

The arm tightened around him as gently as the quiet murmur in his ear, “For General, it is no matter.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand tightened. He tried to turn around but the firm grip prevented him from moving too much as the Gusu warrior continued to dodge and stab with his free arm. The pounding of his head magnified as his vision blurred into abstract watercolor, body slumping without his notice. Wei Wuxian’s head lolled to the side, the Gusu warrior’s snow-white robes spattered with the blood of who knows how many. The texture was rougher than Wei Wuxian remembered of the uniform, squinting his eyes to put it even a bit in focus only to see little tears running up and down the length of the fabric.

Wei Wuxian clenched his eyes shut and fell back against the man’s chest, teeth gritting as he gave up his struggle. Remembering all that thrashing about earlier, Wei Wuxian glanced down at the blood-soaked sleeve holding him steady.

The best he can do is stay out of the way.

There was no feeling as terrifying as the weight of a body slumping against his chest.

Lan Wangji took a sharp intake of breath, absently dodging another arrow as his eyes whipped down. What he could see of Wei Ying’s face was visibly pale even through the mud plastered across it. His normally piercing eyes that shined vibrantly even through the dimmest light had dulled into a muddy gray, half-lidded as he fought to stay awake. Every so often he would clench his jaw as if suppressing a groan, head lolling while his reactions gradually dulled even as his hand clenched tightly around his sword.

Lan Wangji clenched his teeth as he slashed at an arrow with more force than necessary, the split halves shooting the final men at his back.

His eyes seemed to glow with the wrath of his fury as he glanced at the swathes of Yunmeng corpses littering the forest floor. After everything Wei Ying did for this farce of a country, they dare attempt such a disgrace…

Lan Wangji gently tightened his hold on Wei Ying, breath trembling as he received no response. He brushed his hand lightly against Wei Ying’s forehead, tensing at the searing heat. It wasn’t this bad earlier when he hid Wei Ying’s sight from the slaughter of his supposed people. Lan Wangji wondered whether he had even been conscious enough to notice at all.

He surveyed the battlefield one last time, finding only that one Yunmeng soldier that fought against the others tying up his final opponent.

Finally halting to a stop, Lan Wangji repositioned Wei Ying to lie more comfortably in his arms. The emperor’s fingers trembled as they lightly stroked his empress’s matted hair. He was almost unrecognizable, rich black robes torn and caked with mud. Lan Wangji broke off half the arrow to prevent it from jostling around as much, gently peeking into the slit on the other arm to check the cut.

Lan Wangji blinked as a drop fell on his hand. The slow but steady increase of droplets warned of the coming downpour. The emperor looked down, hands tightening as he realized Wei Ying was missing any weather gear. His eyes narrowed. Wei Ying may be reckless, but he is not careless. The sudden shiver racking through Wei Ying’s body snapped Lan Wangji to attention as he tried to take off his cloak without losing his grip on the other.

A sloshing sound drew the emperor’s attention as the Yunmeng guard walked forward holding out his own cloak. It was dirty from the battle, but relatively dry. It would do for now. Lan Wangji held his hand out for the cloak as he silently analyzed the man. His eyes turned cold at the sight of the specially marked arrows, remembering the strange limpness of Wei Ying’s arm.

Paralyzer.

Lan Wangji whipped out his sword, mildly surprised at the man’s quick reflex jumping backwards. His horse chased after the man, whose own face switched to a glare as he charged, eyes flicking to Wei Ying in his arms. Slashing to meet Lan Wangji’s sword, the man suddenly pivoted downwards to slash at the horse’s legs with a flexibility belonging only to General Wei’s personally trained troops. Lan Wangji glared at the audacity of this traitor as he quickly leaned down to parry the strike with a force that sent the Yunmeng troop flying before he regained his footing and prepared a charge.

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes, quickly checking the area for other presences as he laid Wei Ying onto the horse’s neck, leaping off the saddle to strike the man first. The clash of their swords rang out through the clearing, the metallic clang grating the ears. Lan Wangji threw all his weight into his strikes while he had the advantage, refusing to give the nimble Yunmeng style room to escape. As fast as the man was, he could barely match the relentless blows. Sweat dripped down his temples as his arms trembled from the force shooting through his bones.

The rain increased, weighing down their robes as every slash sent droplets flying. Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed as he suddenly deflected a blow to the side, the Yunmeng guard’s eye widening as he lost his footing in the wet mud. Crashing into a rough roll, he opened his eyes to the glare of a sword swinging straight for his neck.

A thump sounded through the clearing, the Yunmeng guard’s body falling to the side as Lan Wangji froze his sword an inch away from Wei Ying’s muddy bangs.

Lan Wangji blinked, snapping his head to see the hole next to his horse where Wei Ying had slumped off to barrel over. His legs shook as he struggled to stand, lone hand up in surrender as he shielded the shoved down guard. The man’s eyes widened as he looked at Wei Ying, flitting between him and Lan Wangji as he pushed himself up only to freeze as the emperor’s sword pointed at him.

Lan Wangji flinched back as Wei Ying slid over to cover him, slipping slightly in the mud. The emperor bit his lip as dazed grey eyes struggled to focus on him, “Wait a sec, would you...? He’s with me…”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brows as he stared back, “He’s an enemy.”

Wei Ying gave a shakey laugh, “What, no he’s not.”

Lan Wangji grit his teeth, “He shot you!”

“With arrows of love!”

“With arrows of paralyzer.”

Wei Ying’s smile dropped before twitching back upwards in a bright grin, “Exactly! It could have been poison!”

Lan Wangji stared at him, hands tightening as he took in the panting breaths Wei Ying tried to suppress. He swayed in place, barely keeping balance as his raised hand began to shake. Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes slightly at the fresh mud washing off Wei Ying’s numb arm where he must have landed off the horse.

Lan Wangji’s fist trembled as he glared at the guard who had the audacity to glare back as he struggled to get up, “He’ll stab you in the back.”

Wei Wuxian flopped his limp arm behind him, “He’s at my back right now!”

“He should not be.”

Wei Ying waved his hand with a poorly concealed wince from the arrow, “Anyway, just put your sword down so we can talk this out.”

The emperor clenched his teeth, refusing to back down while someone who shot Wei Ying is holding a weapon behind him. If Lan Wangji lowers his sword, he might not be able to respond in time to block Wei Ying’s back, “Come here first.”

Lan Wangji thrust out his hand to Wei Wuxian, stepping forward when the general didn’t move. Catching a flash, Lan Wangji ducked as the Yunmeng soldier swung gruffly at him, spinning to place Wei Ying behind his back, “Stay away from the General!”

Lan Wangji pointed his sword with narrowed eyes as Wei Wuxian groaned, “Oh for the love of god.”

The Yunmeng soldier trained his eyes on Lan Wangji as he called out behind him, “General, you need to escape.”

Wei Wuxian squinted at the back of his head, “I have like half an arm and can crawl a good ten feet right now. Stand down and let’s talk!”

The soldier’s sword faltered at the order but his hand remained tight around the hilt as he scoffed at Lan Wangji, “This guy doesn’t seem too willing to talk. He’ll kill you if we let our guard down!”

Wei Ying released a hollow laugh, “If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have interfered.” murky grey eyes blinking against the rain looked toward the emperor’s red-stained sleeve, “If anything, he seems pretty determined to keep me alive.”

The Yunmeng soldier growled, “Lots of bastards have tried to catch you alive for one reason or another, and I’m not about to risk learning his.”

The soldier’s jaw dropped as Wei Ying flicked the back of his head, “Well he was wearing white with cloud embroidery when I was more lucid earlier, so unless there’s been a sudden design change in these last few days he must be from Gusu. And don’t go telling me you doubt the emperor too!”

Lan Wangji’s fingers trembled at the indignant anger in his voice.

The Yunmeng soldier’s eyes flicked back before facing forward with a hushed voice, “I will always believe in the General’s judgement, but we can’t be sure this guy is really from Gusu. We don’t even know if these fuckers are from Yunmeng!” He kicked a nearby corpse.

Wei Wuxian stayed quiet, squinting to put the blurry white figure in focus but only sending a shooting spike through his head at the effort. He really couldn’t confirm if that was a legitimate Gusu uniform, and even if it was, the corpses littering the floor all had official Yunmeng robes on too. He can’t even discount the possibility of multiple parties aiming for his head.

Wei Wuxian clenched his able hand, the pain shooting through the arrow wound bringing him some clarity.

All he knows is that this guy went out of his way to keep Wei Wuxian safe.

He took a deep breath before straightening his posture as much as he could, “If my life was enough, he wouldn’t have let himself get injured to protect me. And the only hostility I felt was towards everyone else, not me.” Wei Wuxian jabbed a finger into his back, ignoring his yelp, “Maybe he’d stop being hostile to you if you put your sword down.”

The soldier grimaced as he rubbed the spot with his free hand, “Look, normally I would follow your orders in a heartbeat, but this guy tried to kill me as soon as I got close!”

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes, “The only enemies were wearing purple.”

The soldier glared at him with a clenched jaw, “...He’s dangerous.”

Wei Wuxian tried to shuffle around him, releasing a sigh as the soldier moved along with him, “Oh come on, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

The soldier's eyes flicked to the bloodstains on the emperor's robes, “He just killed 36 people.”

“I never said anything about people.”

The soldier’s cheek twitched, “...I can’t risk your life.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders sagged, “Third Shidi…”

Lan Wangji froze with a blink, staring intently at the soldier’s face.

The Shidi were infamous for their loyalty. Second in the Wei faction only to the inner circle, the Shidi are a group of Jiang clan members who gave up their formal names to pledge loyalty to Wei Wuxian. Even the rules of the Cloud Recesses could not stop the chatter whenever a new Shidi was born. Numbered in order by their pledge dates, to be Third meant he must have followed Wei Ying from the very start of the war, if not earlier.

The soldier’s eye twitched with a wry grin as he seemed to ease into a more relaxed posture, but Lan Wangji knew the Wei faction too well. Some of his most difficult battles with Wei Ying started from a casual stance. Eyes flicking to Wei Ying’s slightly furrowed brows as he looked between them, Lan Wangji huffed and withdrew his sword. The Yunmeng soldier blinked at him, eyes following as the emperor straightened from his stance. Hesitantly, the soldier slowly followed suit, eyes remaining alert as he sheathed his sword and stepped back to Wei Wuxian’s side.

Lan Wangji carefully stepped forward, ignoring the way Third Shidi tensed, “Come here.”

Wei Wuxian tensed as he watched Lan Wangji reach for his sash, reflex urging him to grab his own sword and looking down in panic as he was reminded of his numb arm.

Wei Wuxian froze as a heavy cloak was gently draped across his shoulders, fingers careful not to jostle any injuries. A pale hand secured the hood snugly over his head, the residual body heat sending a shiver down Wei Wuxian’s spine at the sudden warmth. The general looked down at the white cloak blankly. Spattered with mud and patches of red, the outside was soaked through but the inside was dry.

He looked up to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes, brow furrowed as he opened and closed his mouth. Wei Wuxian settled on a half-smile, “Haha, isn’t it a bit late for that?” He tried to remove the cloak but Lan Wangji’s hands were firm. Wei Wuxian huffed, “I’m already wet, while you’re still dry. Come on, take the cloak back before the rain soaks all the way through.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes softened lightly, “General is ill.”

Wei Wuxian scoffed, “What, me? I’m fine!” He blinked away his double vision, “And even if I was ill, better just me than both of us. I doubt you went through all this just to be a good samaritan.”

Wei Wuxian’s head tingled where Lan Wangji’s hand seemed to linger when he let go of the cloak with a soft oath, “General is most important.”

Third Shidi’s flicked between the two, opening his mouth before snapping it shut with an awkward shuffle.

Lan Wangji reluctantly took a half-step back to look at them, “I am General’s escort.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, “To the Cloud Recesses?”

Third Shidi grumbled, “That guy works fast…”

Lan Wangji ignored him as he called the horse over, holding out his hand to Wei Wuxian, “We must find an inn.”

Wei Wuxian hesitated before placing his hand in Lan Wangji’s. The general blinked as a gentle tug pulled him into the emperor’s embrace. Third Shidi jaw dropped as Lan Wangji took the chance to pick him up in the emperor’s arms, gliding onto the saddle with no effort. He pointed an accusing finger at the emperor as Lan Wangji sent him a passing look from the corner of his eye, “Call your horse.”

Third Shidi’s eye twitched as he blew on his Wei faction horse whistle, “I can take him for you, we’ve been in plenty of battles together so I know how to handle him.”

Lan Wangji looked ahead, “I am his escort.”

Third Shidi’s cheek twitched, “You know, you don’t have to carry him like that.”

“I am his escort.”

Third Shidi’s eyes half-lidded as he smiled tightly.

Wei Wuxian’s head raised from where it lolled on Lan Wangji’s chest, “Which code did you use?”

Third Shidi broke his glare to stand properly at attention, “The standard ‘All Clear—”

He froze, hand sliding to grab the hilt of his sword. Lan Wangji tensed as Wei Ying went rigid, stretching his senses throughout the clearing. The patter of rain seemed to become deafening as he searched for any other sound, but found none.

His eyes suddenly narrowed.

There were no hooves.

He carefully shifted Wei Ying to grab his sword.

In the past, Wei Ying had worked together with the Nie to breed and train a special set of horses to his specifications. Although no exact data remained as Wei Ying handled much of the training, they are known to respond to a special frequency. With some analysis, it was discovered that Wei faction horses are taught a number of codes, though no one knows much about them.

But the name Third Shidi gave told Lan Wangji enough.

The emperor looked around, eyes scanning the treeline as his arm tightened around his empress.

Wei Wuxian coughed, pulling himself up to murmur in his ear, “Pace around so archers can’t lock on us.”

Lan Wangji’s ear burned at the hot puffs of air, eyes cataloging escape routes as Wei Ying looked down to his loyal, “No point standing around like a free target. Let’s bust out of here.”

Third Shidi nodded as he subtly took out his whistle and sent a battle tune. Within moments the frantic beat of hooves sounded as a horse barreled through the clearing, Third Shirdi jumping onto its saddle as a burst of arrows shot from every direction.

Lan Wangji slashed at any aimed his way, already charging towards the main road to regain his full speed without branches threatening to shred them apart. He heard a click as Wei Wuxian snatched the reins with a hard pivot that almost toppled the horse over as a fire bomb went off where they had just stood, quickly smothered by the downpour. He heard mumbling under his chin, “It’s raining, fucking amateurs…”

He huffed a breath, patting Wei Ying’s head in thanks as a rustle from behind had Lan Wangji striking a black-clad figure jumping out of a bush, turning with the slash to run back to the clearing where Third Shidi was trapped, deflecting arrows from all sides unable to push forward. Lan Wangji glanced down at a wide-eyed Wei Ying pawing at his sword, clenching teeth as he charged into the fray, curling Wei Ying more tightly into the shield of his chest.

Third Shidi twitched, grateful and pissed off as Lan Wangji helped him push through the onslaught, “Why are you back? Get out of here!”

Lan Wangji stared ahead as he deflected an arrow into an assassin’s knee, “Fire bomb.”

Third Shidi did a double take, “Fire bo-Fire bomb?! What kinda—It’s raining!”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian gave a weak cheer, “Congratulations... we’re dealing with morons…!”

Lan Wangji’s eyes whipped down at the sluggish speech. With much of the dirt washing away from the rain, Lan Wangji finally saw the fierce red flush across the bone-white paleness of Wei Ying’s sallow skin. The emperor grit his teeth as they pivoted again at an ambush from above.

Wei Ying’s body can’t take any more of this.

Lan Wangji felt a light pull at his robes, glancing down as Wei Ying pulled at his bag, “Any more bombs?”

When Wei Ying nodded, Lan Wangji turned to Third Shidi as he whipped out his bow and shot three archers out of the trees, “You can use the General’s bombs?”

Third Shidi clicked his tongue, reluctantly drawing his precious paralyzer arrows, “As long as they’re not experimental!”

Lan Wangji shot off three more arrows as Wei Wuxian rifled through, producing a flash bomb, “Wait… there’re others…”

Lan Wangji gently snatched the bomb into his sleeve as his eyes flashed around for a plan, “This will do.”

He dove to the side as an arrow whizzed by his cheek, charging forward if only to not stay still as Third Shidi shot the archer in the neck. He charged at a shallow point in the river, almost crushing Wei Wuxian with his weight as he curled protectively over him.

Jumping into the water, they were almost flung off as his horse sunk into the soft mud. Lan Wangji quickly switched out for his sword to deflect the arrows when a roaring cry barreled into the clearing, flashing purple as the cavalry rammed into anyone they could see. Lan Wangji heard several thumps as black-clad bodies crashed from the trees, necks slit. Third Shidi cheered with a glare, “Goddamn, how long does it take to stab a few guys in the chest?!”

Swords clashed in a cacophony of noise as all semblance of stealth was lost with both sides shouted, one Yunmeng troop barking, “Define a few ya bastard!”

Third Shidi jumped off his horse to engage the ground troops, “Less than what I had to deal with!” he whistled loudly, waving his hand toward Lan Wangji, “LISTEN UP! General is going with this guy to Gusu, so help them get out of here!”

The Yunmeng troops roared as they began to change position, the closest cavalry flanking Lan Wangji’s sides as a living barrier while his horse pushed its way through the muck onto the opposite riverbed.

Lan Wangji whipped around as Third Shidi slammed an assassin onto a rock, catching his eyes with a wry grin, “I need to take care of things here!” He waved his sword at the troops on Lan Wangji’s sides, “I know those two, they’re some of our best riders!”

He hesitated for a second as he smashed his armored fist into some guy’s face, whipping around to bow towards them, “Take care of him!”

Lan Wangji’s solemn voice carried over the river, “I will.”

Snapping away from each other, they charged.

Lan Wangji kept his head down, almost pressing Wei Ying against his horse as they ran through the treeline, zipping past enemies and weaving through archer fire. The cavalry seemed to fly through the forest as they glided around the many obstacles in their way, easily keeping pace with Lan Wangji’s careful dodging. Lan Wangji heard another thump as they shot archers out of the trees, horses loaded with quivers like a one-man archery line. They shot every trace of a presence around, making sure Lan Wangji could focus on running forward.

Lan Wangji grit his teeth, glancing over to see the cavalry glaring forward with clenched jaws. No matter how far they went there just seemed to be more.

Lan Wangji looked down as Wei Wuxian clenched his arm, “We… We have to… go… rogue…”

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes, “You need a doctor.”

Wei Wuxian hacked a cough as he panted, “We’re all... gonna... need doctors… soon…”

The troop on his left turned at attention, “General’s orders?”

Lan Wangji’s grip on the reins tightened, “...We go rogue.”

The emperor blinked as they all just nodded at the extreme order, “Understood.”

One horse neared him as the rider pointed down a river, “Follow upstream for about 30 miles and you’ll start seeing major splits in the river. Pick one and keep going, you’ll reach the shallow end of the local mountain range.” He winked at them, “I’m sure a Gusu guy knows what to do from there.”

Lan Wangji nodded as they pushed forward.

He tensed as they pivoted to run along the river, the treeline opening to leave them exposed. The cavalry charged forward without hesitation, the rivers of Yunmeng often more comforting than even dry land.

Lan Wangji glanced down to check on Wei Ying, face paling as he found him limp. The emperor quickly felt his neck, releasing a trembling breath when he found a pulse. Hugging Wei Ying tightly Lan Wangji heard whispering, whipping around to find the cavalry staring down the river with furrowed brows. He looked forward, searching for figures, “An enemy?”

The cavalry notched their bows, the guy on his left analyzing the riverbed, “Can’t be sure, but be prepared. The rain’s been pretty rough today but the mud is this choppy when it should be smooth.”

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes as they neared a bend in the river, “Hoof tracks.”

Horses burst out of the treeline ahead of them, archers firing as the riders charged Lan Wangji’s group with their swords. Pressing Wei Ying close, Lan Wangji dove into his sleeve as he threw himself over his horses eyes, “Flash!”

Reflexively shutting their eyes as they pulled the blinders on their steeds, the two heard the click of the flash bomb as Lan Wangji flooded the riverbed with searing white light, screams ringing out as the riders crashed off their blinded horses. Quickly shooting up when the light faded, Lan Wangji’s horse narrowly avoided slipping into the river as they righted up to charge past the screaming barricade.

The cavalry cheered the steeliness of his balls as they neared the split. Lan Wangji’s ears burned, disappointed Wei Ying could not see his display yet glad he missed the rowdy comments.

The cavalry moved to group on one side as they laughed, “Not bad, not bad! Guess you Gusu guys can be exciting. Too bad we won’t get to see more.” He pointed forward, “We’ll be your decoys, continuing down this river to knock them off course. You’ll reach firmer groundcover about halfway through that will cover your tracks, so you can go any which way seems best.”

Lan Wangji blinked at them. Is every mission this… self-directed?

He looked forward, “General Wei has capable men.”

The cavalry grinned at each other, “If we weren’t capable by now, General would’ve put us on the Suicide Regimen.”

Lan Wangji chose not to ask as they parted ways with a wave, each party speeding forward.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan wangji #emperor!lwj #general!WWX #arranged marriage AU

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bellarnyblakc · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar Characters: Jude Duarte, Cardan Greenbriar, Taryn Duarte, Locke (The Folk of the Air), The Bomb (The Folk of the Air), The Roach (The Folk of the Air) Additional Tags: Eventual Smut, This Whole Thing is due to One Scene I Wanted to Write, Don't Examine This Too Closely, the plot is background noise to set up a few specific scenes so just allow it fam, wish fulfillment bc who knows if QoN is gonna be kind to these dumb kids, no editing we die like men Summary:

“What happens now, then?” His voice was weary and thin.

“Why did you summon me? After all this time, why now?” she demanded.

“I need your help.”

“Yes, you said that in your damn letter. Maybe you shouldn't have sent me away in the first place! What’s going on?” she snapped.

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

It had taken her far longer than she liked to admit to figure out the trick woven into her banishment.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so blinded by fury and betrayal and the all-encompassing feeling of heartbreak, she would have remembered that the Fae should never be taken at face value. That, though they cannot lie, every word of theirs is a trick wrapped in a deception posing as the truth.

There was an unfamiliar ache in her chest that never let her forget how her walls had unknowingly been broken down bit by bit until only rubble lay in its place.

Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she could not stand the sight of the girl she had become. The girl who let feelings override her better judgement, who let herself be fooled into thinking that the boy who had only ever sworn his revenge and her destruction would deign to offer her wildest dreams on a silver platter. The teary-eyed fool who, despite her burning anger and hatred, in her weakest moments in the dead of night still missed his arms and lips and soft caresses and the way his eyes softened just for her.

So, yes. Maybe if she hadn’t been wallowing in her hurt feelings and bruised heart, she would have figured out the loophole sooner.

She had tested her theory, months ago, gingerly stepping one foot and then another over the border into Faerie. Nothing had happened, except a bird fleeing from a tree, squawking madly, startling her more than it should have.

She had breathed in the air, suddenly completely free of pollution and grime as if there was an invisible barrier between this world and the real one; like the junction of the river meeting the sea. It astonished her that it had actually worked, she knew Cardan wouldn’t have been so careless in his phrasing so he must have had an ulterior motive for allowing her return.

It troubled her that she couldn’t figure out why. That, in her absence, Cardan had learnt to weave schemes of his own and play the intricate game of politics so well that she no longer had the capacity to outmanoeuvre him.

She refused to let herself play into his hands so easily without a strategy of her own, so she didn’t linger, returning to Vivi’s house. Her planning should have started immediately, but instead when she got back in, she sat against the door of her unlit room feeling numb and hollow, relishing the dig of the doorframe into her spine. It hurt worse than being banished to know that she had lost something so fundamental to her existence; something she had prided herself on for years; something she relied upon to keep herself alive. After months of fast food and daytime TV and her mind-numbing part time job at the café, she had lost her ability to manipulate, scheme and strategise. The art of intrigue and conspiracy was beyond her reach now. The hours and hours of letting out her anger on a punching bag the gym only served to keep her body in shape, not her conniving mind as sharp as it once was.

It was moments like these, where she felt aged beyond her seventeen years where she missed the girl she could have been had she stayed in the mortal realm. The girl for whom a boy and a broken heart would have been the most important, tragic events in her life.

Tomorrow, she told herself sliding down with a sigh so that she was lying on the floor, lacking the effort to drag herself to her small, lumpy single bed who's sheets were well past needing to be changed. I’ll plan tomorrow, repeating it every day until before she knew it, weeks had passed in a haze of self-pity.

“Jude?” Viv’s voice filtered through the door, eliciting a muffled groan from where Jude’s head was burrowed into her pillow where she had flung herself after a gruelling eleven-hour shift. “You have a, um-“ Viv paused “a letter.”

Jude sat up curiously. She had never received a letter in her life. Not even boring bank statements or bills, since her dodgy boss paid her cash-in-hand. (She was becoming more and more convinced that the café was a drug front or a money laundering scheme.)

Her door opened and Viv frisbeed the letter over to her. The creamy paper was thick and rough, sealed with green wax. The loopy, spidery handwriting on the front was all too familiar to her, and she had the urge to destroy the letter, tear it up and eat it before bothering to read it. Almost unwillingly, she dug a finger under the seal so she could unfold the letter.

Darling,

Come back. I need you.

Expect an escort at midnight by the pier.

Yours, C.

She let out an incredulous huff. A hurricane of unidentifiable feelings flared. How dare he command her, without so much as a 'please'? After he had banished her without a second thought, he now expected her to run back to his heel when it was convenient? She thought of that last, private smile he sent her after he proclaimed the punishment. The smile of someone for whom all the pieces were falling into place.

She scratched a fingernail over the first word, glaring as if he would feel it through the paper. The incorrigible cheek of him to address her that way after he had denied her in front of his whole court.

The bed dipped as Vivienne sat down, shoving Jude's legs into the peeling wall to make space as she did so

“Well?” she demanded, blunt as ever.

“He wants me to come back.” Vivienne snatched the letter out of her hands and scanned it in disbelief.

“Well,” she repeated, this time at a loss for words. There was a silence, and Jude idly played with the tassel of a decorative pillow. “What are you going to do? Does this mean he’s pardoned you?”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s pardoned me or not, I’ve already pardoned myself.” Viv eyed her sceptically. “I am the crown, right? We’re married.” She dug a nail into her palm, regretting every decision she had made that night. “Until the crown has passed from our hands.” she quoted.

“And you figured this out when?” the indignation of not being informed of her discovery sooner was evident on Vivienne’s face. She whacked Jude’s arm, and then again for good measure. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Ow!” Jude scooted away and glared. “It was a few weeks ago. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter! I’m not going back on his terms.”

“But, something's wrong in Elfhame,” Vivi's voice was low and uncertain, like she was tending to a wounded feral animal who would startle at the slightest noise.

“What? How do you know?” Jude grabbed the letter back and turned it over, as if there was writing on the back that she had missed. Vivienne snorted.

“It’s obvious. As if Cardan would ever call someone ‘darling’. He didn't want to address you by name and he didn't sign off with his. He’s being as vague and secretive as possible. He’s worried it will be intercepted.” Jude’s mouth twisted into a sneer, even as she felt a stab of disappointment that his endearment wasn’t sincere, regardless of how patronising it was.

“Good. I hope something is so wrong he doesn’t have time to sleep or eat.”

“So you’re not going to help?”

“If he wanted my help, he shouldn’t have sent me away!” her voice was petulant, like Oak’s when he wanted dessert before dinner.

“What if he gets hurt, or killed? Could you live with yourself knowing you hadn't even tried to help?” The patient tone of Vivienne's voice vexed her. She didn't like being talked down to.

“Yes. In fact, I’d throw a party if it happens.” Her voice was peevish, but they both knew it wasn’t the truth. “Leave me alone, Viv.” She burrowed into the pile of pillows once more, head spinning.

She hated Cardan. If he died it would be the least he deserved. She would just regret that she wouldn't be there to see it. Even as he forced herself to think this, she knew deep down that she would be unable to ignore it. She had to just see what was happening. She was going to go back. She just needed to know. Jude had never been one for keeping herself in the dark.

But she would never give Cardan the satisfaction of following his orders. If she was going back, it wouldn’t be the way he wanted her to. When the escort arrived at midnight, they would be waiting for her for a very long time.

She left hours later, after stuffing a bag full of everything in sight that could potentially be of any use.

“How are you going back if you’re not using a horse?” Asked Oak in confusion when she explained that she wasn’t going to wait for her ride as she strapped a holster to her thigh.

“I’m walking.” Her voice was grim. She sheathed a newly sharpened knife. Viv raised one fluffy eyebrow.

“Have fun,” she said archly. Jude nodded and stepped out the door. “And Jude!” she turned back to face Vivienne, “Take care of yourself, won’t you.” Jude sent her a small smile and waved at Oak, who blew a kiss and turned back to his homework, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation.

She set off, feeling the heavy outline of the letter in the breast pocket of her jacket.

A summons! She had been summoned and she was doing as she was told, like a loyal puppy. She hated Cardan for putting her in this situation in the first place.

It took her the evening and the better part of the night to arrive. Her anger and indignation fuelled her until the palace came into view and she was suddenly plagued with doubts. Coming back to Faerie was what Cardan wanted. Frustration welled up inside her as, for the first time in years, not only was she several moves behind, but she wasn’t even sure what game they were playing. The last thing she wanted to do was play into his hands. She had come running back without the barest hint of a plan.

That was how she found herself back in her old quarters having snuck into the palace through an old hidden passage, rifling through her old things for inspiration. Her room wasn’t dusty and untouched like she had been expecting. Instead, the sheets were rumpled and slept in; clothes that looked distinctly like Cardan’s lay strewn over the desk and a little pot of glittering silver paint lay open on the dresser.

“You’re rusty,” came a soft, amused voice from behind her. Immediately, she unsheathed her knife from her thigh and whipped round, digging the blade into the figure’s exposed throat. A flare of irritation surged as she couldn't deny the truth of his words. He had been able to sneak up on her without her being any the wiser.

Cardan smiled in the milky blue dawn light, seemingly unsurprised at the blade to his throat. He looked overtired and drained, the smudged gold around his eyes doing little to conceal the purple beneath his eyes. Despite his exhaustion, Jude couldn't deny that he still looked good. She hated it. She hated that he could still have this effect on her.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here.” She growled.

“Now where would be the fun in that?”

“You banished me from my home. You tricked me and sent me away like I was nothing but another piece in your games. And then you commanded I return.” She dug the knife in deeper, a sharp stab of malicious delight at the sight of blood. She wanted to dig the knife in deeper until she severed his artery and watch him bleed out on the floor. She wanted to drop the knife and pin him to the wall and lick the droplets of blood from his neck.

His smile became brittle at the edges. “I didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t any other way.” His hand reached out tentatively, fingers winding around her wrist so he could feel the angry beat of her pulse, lowering the blade slowly. “You killed my brother. If I had shown weakness, if I had allowed that offence to slide, the court would have turned against me. I couldn’t let my…” he trailed off and swallowed thickly, “personal feelings get in the way.” There was a brief pause, “Jude,” he breathed. “You know it was the only choice, you’re better at politics, a smarter strategist than me.”

The compliment only served to incense her. “Don’t condescend to me, Cardan,” she snapped. “You’re not telling the whole truth, are you? Of all the penalties you could have come up with, the only choice was to send me away?” she scoffed. “You wanted to punish me, didn’t you?”

He’d lowered her hand so the tip of the knife was hovering dangerously close to his liver. She pressed it into the soft velvet of his doublet. He shivered involuntarily, pupils blown wide.

“I should gut you right here. I just want the truth. Why send me away? Why leave me the opportunity to come back? Why send for me all of a sudden?” She stepped closer to him, so their bodies were flush. She could feel the heat of him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathed faster than normal, whether due to arousal or fear, she could not tell.

His hand wrapped around her waist, to push her away, or pull her closer, he wasn’t sure. “Fine,” he confessed in a whisper, “Yes, I was angry and I wanted to hurt you, but it wasn't... You killed my brother and you kept it from me, Jude-“

“He was terrible to you!”

“And you would be completely free of remorse were something to happen to Madoc?” he asked smoothly. “He was my tormentor, but he was also my brother.”

She hesitated, examining the burning embers of hatred towards her step-father. And yet, she had loved him in a fashion, craved his admiration and respect, even after watching him murder her parents. She knew enough about complicated family relationships to see where Cardan’s pain had come from.

She deflated, grip loosening on the knife so it clattered to the ground, suddenly more unsure of herself than she had been for a long time. Her head hurt. She was tired of these games, of second guessing herself and everyone around her, of having to be on her guard at all times, even around Cardan. Especially around Cardan. He slowly sank to his knees and picked the blade up, then looked at her with his dark eyes.

“But that’s still not the whole truth,” he admitted softly. A hand cupped the back of her knee, rubbing softly. “I wanted to keep you safe. I'd rather you be angry than dead. You were already so weak after Orlagh took you and it was so dangerous here-“

Jude’s heart hardened once again. “However did you get the impression that I needed, or wanted your protection?” she spat. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. God knows I’ve had more than enough practice after being tormented by you for my whole life.” Her words were a perfectly aimed arrow, and they landed precisely where she intended for them to cause the most hurt.

He stilled, and dropped his gaze. There was nothing he could say to that, they both knew.

Jude stepped away and surveyed the clearly inhabited room once more.

“Who’s your new Seneschal?” she asked .

“What makes you think I have one?” he rose and took several steps until he was leaning against the carved wooden bedpost.

“Who’s using my rooms then?” she said archly. Cardan darted his eyes to the pot of paint and shrugged. They stood in awkward silence for several moments.

“My rider returned empty hours ago. Did you walk? All the way from the mortal realm?" When she replied with nothing but a stony glare, his lips curved into a half-smile. "Why do you always insist on making things so difficult, you impossible girl."

"You don't get to act like I'm being melodramatic for refusing to take orders from you!" she shoved him in the chest unexpectedly and he tumbled onto the bed with a whoosh of air. He merely smiled indulgently and stretched out on the bed, cat-like, making himself comfortable. She sneered at him in disgust, frustrated that he appeared so collected and calm. She wanted to unhinge him, unravel him. Idly, she wondered how fast she could make him lose control if she pinned him down and kissed him. Or if she took her blade to his chest.

Why did you take so long to come back?” he asked tentatively, oblivious to her violent, lustful thoughts. “I know you figured it out weeks ago.” She scowled at him.

“You’ve had spies on me?” she asked indignantly.

“No, I felt you. In my kingdom.”

“Maybe I decided that I’m happier in the mortal world. Maybe I have a life now and I don’t care about-“ she stopped short as she realised she was going to say ‘you’. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reaffirming those feelings, especially since she was now so unsure of them herself, “this place anymore.” She improvised.

“What happens now, then?” His voice was weary and thin.

“Why did you summon me? After all this time, why now?” she demanded.

“I need your help.”

“Yes, you said that in your damn letter. Maybe you shouldn't have sent me away in the first place! What’s going on?” she snapped. He rose to his elbows, expression serious and worn.

“Madoc’s made his move, and now I’m going to make mine. We’ve been laying low and waiting him out, but I’ve had spies on Taryn since the beginning. We can take him down from the inside, but only if you play along. Jude, you’re my secret weapon.”

#jude x cardan #folk of the air #cardan x jude #jurdan #jurdan fanfiction #*

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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part 3 of Strange Creatures Brothers Be (aka WWX & NMJ sworn brothers) - part 1, part 2

The few days it took for the Wen sect to arrive at the Nightless City counted as among the worst in Wei Wuxian’s life, right alongside the destruction of the Lotus Pier and the continuous agony of that one night and two days on a bare Yiling peak, watching as the cultivation he’d worked so hard to nurture was taken away forever.

Each day, they moved slowly in their caravan, and he followed behind them; each night, he heard screams of agony coming from their camp and thought it might be Nie Mingjue making them.

Each night, the Stygian Tiger Seal pulsed at his breast, resentful energy thick and black and tasting of tar; each night, Wei Wuxian thought: not yet.

The common roads used by all were cleansed of resentful spirits on a regular basis – even with the seal, he might not be able to summon enough of them to defeat the Wen sect’s forces. Not these ones: these were the soldiers Wen Ruohan prized the most, cultivated the most; they were powerful and dangerous, and Wei Wuxian would only ever have one shot at a rescue attempt. If he tried too early, if he wasn’t quick about it, wasn’t smart about it, someone would just cut Nie Mingjue’s throat before Wei Wuxian could get to him.

That was the Wen sect’s way of doing things. Better the other side lose, even if they couldn’t win.

Wei Wuxian had never hated anyone more.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon they would arrive at the Nightless City: the bulk of the army would remain outside, in preparation for any external attack, while the prisoners would be taken inside…and who didn’t know the sort of atrocities Wen Ruohan perpetrated in his Fire Palace?

There would be all the corpses he could want and more.

It was clear that waiting gave him the best chance for victory. It was obvious, even, that Nie Mingjue would prefer to suffer pain now in favor of a successful rescue later, and yet each night Wei Wuxian’s resolve was stretched almost until its breaking point.

Nie Mingjue was suffering – his brother was suffering, his da-ge, the man who’d seen the sorts of atrocities Wei Wuxian had perpetrated, the sort that he could perpetrate, and who’d still chosen to trust him and treat him as the righteous man Wei Wuxian so desperately longed to be. Who’d given him his good name as a shelter from the disdain of the world, who’d shared his sect’s secret history with him, who’d stood beside him…

And Wei Wuxian, who could do something, did nothing.

What sort of indictment of his character was that? He, who thought himself righteous, saw an injustice, an abomination of this magnitude, and did nothing! It was utterly intolerable; he should act at once, free and unrestrained, he should do the impossible just as the Jiang sect always said –

Quicker to anger is quicker to act, but you can’t take an act back once it’s done. If you persist in your path, you will need to be twice as cautious as before.

Wei Wuxian kicked a tree to vent his fury, grimacing as the mild pain in his foot cleared his mind of the rage and fear that clouded it. He was being foolish: the Jiang sect motto said to attempt the impossible, yes, but nowhere did it say that it was advisable to do so without adequate preparation. If you were going to scale a mountain, it wasn’t being weak to first invest in some good shoes and a sturdy rope.

The same principle applied here.

Getting into the Nightless City wasn’t hard at all – elite corps or no, the Wen sect cultivators had been recruited from a myriad of different sects, and they didn’t know each other’s names and faces all that well. Wei Wuxian kept watch at the doctors’ tent, waiting for someone meet their fate; the second they did, he summoned their corpse at once, letting them stand and walk out of the tent.

With the corpse’s eyes averted to avoid anyone seeing that they were white and mindless, Wei Wuxian allowed himself to be seen conversing with them while wearing stolen Wen sect robes. After a few of these, he unleashed the corpse to cause some havoc, ordering it with a whistle to ram itself onto the sword he had stolen – moments later, the other Wen sect cultivators were there, chopping off its head.

“He must have been hiding an injury, and passed away without us knowing it,” the team captain said, and put his hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. I know you were friends.”

Wei Wuxian, who’d fallen to his knees with his head bowed, hair covering his face, murmured something in a voice too low to be heard, allowing the pain of the past few days to come to the surface. He covered his face with his hands.

This team captain was inexperienced, newly promoted, and unsure of himself; his predecessor among the Wen sect elites had fallen to Nie Mingjue’s blade, and he himself was suddenly facing the realization that being a talented soldier didn’t mean anything about his capacity to lead men. He shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable with the blatant display of emotion, and eventually ordered Wei Wuxian to return to the formation.

Wei Wuxian obeyed, kept his head down, and passed successfully through the gate to the Nightless City.

Once inside, he lingered with his formation only long enough to ensure that he wouldn’t be missed, that no alarm would be immediately raised, and then headed towards the Sun Palace, where the prisoners had be taken. He dredged up ancient memories of the archery competition that felt as if it had happened in another life to try to remember where the receiving hall was – there was no doubt in his mind that that was where Nie Mingjue would be.

Wen Ruohan wouldn’t be able to resist seeing his enemy forced to kneel before his throne.

The only question was whether, after that, he would order him to be taken to be tortured, or if he would simply execute him at once –

No, Wei Wuxian couldn’t think that way. He had to find Nie Mingjue before anything like that could happen.

(The Sygian Tiger seal was hot under his robes. There were plenty of corpses around.)

He found a wall and climbed up, hoping to orient himself. Hoping to find –

“– guess how many times Sect Leader Wen will need to slap your saber to break it?”

Wei Wuxian froze, feeling his fingers clench and his head burn with rage, wanting to immediately murder the person who had said such a thing, and in such a slimy, intimate voice, too – who didn’t know how much Nie Mingjue regretted his father’s death? Who didn’t know that this was Nie Mingjue’s sore spot, his bottom line?

There was the sound of a blow, then the wet sound of a bloody cough – “How dare you dirty Sect Leader Wen’s eyes with your actions!” – the sound of a boot against flesh, followed by the sound of a sword shattering.

A sword, and not a saber: from the sound of metal hitting the floor, it was two-sided, not one, and that meant that Nie Mingjue had been pushed too far; he was fighting back.

They were going to kill him!

Wei Wuxian dropped off the wall at once, landing lightly on the ground and running at top speed around the maze that was the interior of the Sun Palace, pulling out Chenqing as he went – running was not conductive to playing, but he didn’t care. Let the song be ugly and wretched, let it be too sharp and too broken, just like he would be if he lost anyone else.

The seal’s power amplified his playing even though he wasn’t actively using it yet, and the corpses beneath the Nightless City began to rise up to his call: there were so many of them, countless numbers; even he hadn’t thought there would be so many. With the seal, he would be able to summon them all –

“Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian’s head turned in shock, and he even stopped playing for a moment. “Sect Leader Lan? How are you here?”

“I’ve led a combined set of forces to attack the western gate,” Lan Xichen explained, and that made sense: the forces Wei Wuxian was with had come from the southern gate, and the Nightless City was large enough that they wouldn’t cross paths until they came here to the center. “The gate there was left open for us – I have a spy on the inside that’s helping us. He’s going to try to assassinate Wen Ruohan when he’s not expecting it…Wei-gongzi, why are you playing? You can’t summon corpses now – if you interfere before my spy sends the signal…”

Wei Wuxian stared at Lan Xichen. “I don’t care about your stupid signal!” he shouted. “They’re going to kill da-ge!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened. “Mingjue-xiong? But he’s at Heijian –”

“No, he’s not; he’s here. He was captured at Yangquang; it was a trap – a trap we went into based on your faulty information, no less! Your spy on the inside, how sure are you of him?”

“I’m certain –”

Wei Wuxian sneered, the resentful energy he’d already summoned up cloaking him; the seal’s resentful energy beating against his chest like another heartbeat. “Well, I’m not.”

He had always known that he would only have one chance to rescue Nie Mingjue – he wasn’t going to risk missing it. He lifted Chenqing to his lips and played.

Lan Xichen’s sword was drawn, but he didn’t turn it against Wei Wuxian the way he’d almost half-expected he would; instead, with a helpless expression, he turned to defend him as the Wen sect finally noticed they were there, rushing against them to stop Wei Wuxian’s playing.

As if a few Wen sect cultivators could stop him when he was using the Stygian Tiger Seal.

The power was unlike anything he’d ever felt before: the Burial Mounds had been like this, full of seething energy, but he hadn’t had the seal then; this time, he was in a place of death, death and murder and torture, dishonorable deaths that could only lead to resentment and regret, and the seal was finally able to fully unleash its true power.

It was a mistake.

Wei Wuxian realized it too late. The resentful energy was like a wild horse refusing to take to the rein; it was like being a child again and trying to control Suibian, except that Suibian had been his, made for him and bound to him with his blood, and it had loved him even before he’d become its master.

The Tiger Seal had no love for him, barely any use for him – except as a vessel.

He couldn’t make his fingers stop moving over the flute, couldn’t stop the resentful energy from filling his heart and lungs; he was summoning too many of the dead and he knew it, they would kill everyone they saw, kill them all, Wen sect and Sunshot Campaign alike – he himself would die, ripped apart by the backlash, and Nie Mingjue would be dead, too, and it would all be for nothing, a victory for the Sunshot Campaign crowned in ash and blood –

Arms wrapped around him from behind.

There was no intent to attack that he detected, or he would have responded; they are firm, unyielding, but not angry. Nie Mingjue’s voice rang in Wei Wuxian’s ear: “Stop it.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to, he did, he longed to stop it, but he couldn’t –

“Wei Wuxian. I know you can do this. Stop it now.”

Wei Wuxian bit his lip, summoning all the frayed parts of his willpower, and – stopped.

It felt as if his heart stopped with it.

Chenqing fell to the floor.

“Well done,” his sworn brother said. “Well done, A-Xian.”

And suddenly his lungs could work again, his heart could beat again; his soul dropped back down into his body. He turned: Nie Mingjue was standing, somehow, body broken and bloody as it was, with Lan Xichen and another man in Wen sect robes – a small man, Nie Huaisang’s height or less, but with a gentle face – not far behind him.

“Da-ge…” Wei Wuxian whispered, his lips and voice cracked and painful. “Da-ge, Wen Ruohan…”

“Wen Ruohan is dead,” Lan Xichen said. “A-Yao killed him before he could kill Mingjue-xiong.”

There was a flicker of anger on Nie Mingjue’s face, but it died quickly. “We need to get the situation stabilized,” he said. “The Wen sect is distracted by the army of fierce corpses – we should retreat and leave them to it, recover our own strength even as theirs is depleted.”

“And leave the Nightless City to the dead? We can’t do that!” Lan Xichen protested. “If we don’t purify the corpses soon, this city will become another Burial Mound!”

“Purification will not be any more or less difficult if it waits a few days for Wei Wuxian and I to heal,” Nie Mingjue argued, implacable – and oh, Wei Wuxian liked that, he liked that they were a group in Nie Mingjue’s mind. It was as it should be: sworn brothers standing together, shoulder-to-shoulder, against all threats, against all comers.

He smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head against Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, utterly depleted by his use of the Stygian Tiger seal. He had faith that Nie Mingjue would win this argument.

“To abandon the living, even our enemies, to the dead goes against all principle –”

“We are not abandoning them,” Nie Mingjue said sharply. “A retreat will enable us to summon reinforcements from the remainder of our forces, which will allow us to avoid unnecessary losses. If any Wen cultivator wishes to seek refuge with us, they will be welcome to become prisoners of war, to be treated in accordance with the law.”

“But –”

The smaller man cleared his throat. “Xichen-xiong, perhaps we should defer to Sect Leader Nie for now; we would not want to aggravate his injuries any further by being – unduly intransigent.”

His voice was intimate and gentle, seeming almost inappropriate in a place of death like this.

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes even as his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles going white with fury.

He knew that voice.

This was the man who’d been torturing Nie Mingjue inside the hall just now.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #nie mingjue #lan xichen #jin guangyao #meng yao #my fic #my fics #strange creatures brothers be #sworn brothers au

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lycaran · 4 years

Photo

3 out of 5 done! I’m working on a whole, Fake Pokemon Region, and decided to get some villains plotted out. In order: Dice, Tiger, Sorin.

Complete list breakdown below the Read More.

Tagra: A Desert region spotted with sparse towns and large cities. The largest of which being full of casinos and other gambling areas. There Will Be A Grimsley Cameo, Physically Impossible For Him Not To Be There.

Team Crystal:

Main Antagonists of Pokemon Desert and Pokemon Oasis

Their aim is to create a genetically perfect Pokemon, in a sense of fetching money from the highest bidder

Are after two legendaries of Tagra. Liliac(Lily, Lilac), the Desert Jewel Pokemon. Meshalite (Meshweaver, Stalactite), the Cave Guardian Pokemon.

Dice

The Quartz Dealer

Works as Interpol’s inside man

Burn under his eyepatch caused by Diamont(not pictured)’s Bonaea.

Save’s the player/mc more often than you’d think, risking his cover in some instinces.

Chubby

Mid to late Thirties

He and Looker are drinking buddies.

By that I mean they sit at bars and watch unattended drinks

One of the 4 head admins/dealers at Sorin’s casino.

Pokemon team based on “Snake Eyes”, with a drawn out strategy using mostly multi-turn or staling moves. The longer you fight him, the worse it gets.

Team:

Condose (Conda/Hognose). Lvl 68

The Hognosed Pokemon

Type: Ground

Ability: Play Dead. Once this Pokemon’s health hits 10%, it “drops dead” and switches out.

Dex Entry: While it shares close appearance with Regional Sevipers, Condose has no venom, and relies on a mixture of mimicry and playing dead to survive. This makes them prime prey for Regional Zangoose though.

Moves: Dig, Wrap, Sandstorm, Rollout.

(Regional) Seviper. Lvl 65

The Fang Snake Pokemon

Type: Ground/Poison

Ability: Infiltrator

Dex Entry: Adapting to the Harsh Desert heat, this Seviper species has lost the dark coloration of the species outside of Tagra, wearing shades of brown. They still maintain a rivalry with the Regional Zangoose variants

Moves: Toxic, Wrap, Double Team, Rest.

Arbok. Lvl 65

The Cobra Pokemon

Type: Poison

Ability: Shed Skin

Dex Entry: Found in underground caves, these pokemon frighten their prey using the markings found on their hood to paralyze them before attacking.

Moves: Stockpile, Swallow, Spit Up, Wrap

Sandaconda. Lvl 65

The Sand Snake Pokemon

Type: Ground

Ability: Sand Spit

Dex Entry: A common species in Tagra, Sandaconda are treated like a common nuisance, often found in people’s backyards sunbathing.

Moves: Dig, Wrap, Sandtomb, Stealth Rock

Tiger

Cat’s Eye Dealer

Sorin’s Right-Hand Win, referred to as his winning hand by the man himself.

The Brains

Late Twenties

Tallest member of Team Crystal, standing at 6′5″ naturally, but-

Was once dared by Diamont to wear High Heels, has not taken them off since and now stands at 6′10″ with his current set.

If you see Tiger heading a table at Sable’s Eye Casino, you know the poor sucker at the table is about to lose it all.

Not afraid to use dirty or underhanded tactics, in battles or in games.

One of the 4 head admins of Team Crystal/Dealer’s at Sorin’s casino

Team is vaguely based on the idea of cat’s being lucky or unlucky in different circumstances. Hits hard and hits fast.

Team:

Sapurr (Sabertooth + Purr). Lvl. 79

The Mountain Cat Pokemon

Type: Normal/Rock

Ability: Strong Jaw

Dex: Evolved from regional Meowths, these Pokemon have in greed and aggression. Decorating large canines with gems and riches swiped from defeating opposing Sapurr out in the wild.

Moves: Hyper Fang, Crunch, Crystal Crush, Thunder Fang.

Signature Move: Crystal Crush. Rock Type, Physical. The Pokemon uses it’s long tusks grab and hold the opponent. High Critical Hit Chance, Lowers opponents evasion.

Persian. Lvl. 76

The Classy Cat Pokemon

Type: Normal

Ability: Technician

Dex: While not native to the sandy regions of Tagra, Persian have found a spot in the high society of the gambling scene, usually seen walking side by side to those ontop.

Moves: Power Gem, Payday, Fury Swipes, Nasty Plot

Alolan Persian. Lvl. 76

The Classy Cat Pokemon

Type: Dark

Ability: Technician

Dex: Unlike their cousins, Alolan Persians are found in back alley dealings, for protection, or intimidation.

Moves: Payday, Fury Swipes, Thief, Beat Up.

Perrserker. Lvl. 76

The Viking Pokemon

Type: Steel

Ability: Strong Claws

Dex: These pokemon are seen side by side with bodyguards and other people needing muscle. Mostly used for intimidation factor.

Moves: Fury Swipes, Slash, Hone Claws, Shadow Claw

Blitzbite. Lvl. 78

The Heartless Pokemon

Type: Electric/Fighting

Ability: Speed Fighter, when using a fist or punching attack, there is 10% chance of using it twice.

Dex: One of several lab made pokemon, this Bipedal cat is an incomplete prototype. Without vital organs, this pokemon relies on electricity to keep it’s body moving. It it ever runs out electricity,it will enter a comatose state, then die.

Moves: Fire Punch, Ice Punch, Thunder Punch, Mega Punch

Sorin

A Complete Bastard

Late-Twenties, around 27.

One the Villainous Leader Scale, he’s somewhere between Ghetsis and Giovanni.

Started the Sable’s Eye Casino with inheritance he gained when his parents passed away from a “Mysterious Illness”

Knows people in several regions, including Piers in Galar and Courtney in Hoenn

Piers’s abusive ex, it’s a long story, but it ended with Piers stabbing him in the eye so it’s okay

Don’t talk about his sister.

Truest way to describe him is Handsome Jack, Giovanni, and Ghetsis blended together into a smoothie.

Leader of Team Crystal, head of Sable’s Eye Casino.

Short tempered and Sadistic, he has a knack for manipulation that bleeds into his team and battle style. He seems to favor “creepy” pokemon, bug types and ghosts filling his team.

Team:

Sableye w/Sablenite

The Darkness Pokemon

Type: Dark/Ghost

Ability: Stall

Dex: Feeding on gemstones, these pokemon are in constant combat with the Sapurr that fill the region, often trying to steal the gems from their fangs.

Moves: Hypnosis, Foul Play, Wonder Room, Payback.

Araquanoid

The Water Bubble Pokemon

Type: Water/Bug

Ability: Water Bubble

Dex: While hard to find above ground, Araquanoid are one of many species that call the underground caves of Tagra their home. And one of the most most dangerous, waiting in under water lakes to strike out and attack pokemon foolish enough to try for a drink.

Moves: Magic Room, Giga Drain, Aqua Ring, Soak

Gourgeist, Super Size

The Pumpkin Pokemon

Type: Ghost/Grass.

Ability: Frisk

Dex: The largest size of Gourgeist, Super Sized are seen wandering the desert, dragging groups or lone wanders to farther and farther out until the one(s) they’re holding perish.

Moves: Trick-Or-Treat, Phantom Force, Trick, Foul Play.

Galvantula

The Electric Spider Pokemon

Type: Bug/Electric

Ability: Compound Eyes

Dex: In the deep caves, Galvantula lay out large webs to ensnare prey that bumbles about the caverns.

Moves: Rain Dance, Electroweb, Electroc Ball, Thunder

Runerigus

The Grudge Pokemon

Type: Ground/Ghost

Ability: Wandering Ghost

Dex: Runerigus are not found naturally in Tagra, but some people have them transported over as a terrifying intimidation factor.

Moves: Earthquake, Will-o-wisp, Hex, Night Shade.

#fakemon villain #pokemon ocs #pokemon fan region #pokemon #pokemon oc

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