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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

Drink, No Drink

xuexiao - M for violence - 4.9k - AO3!

In which Xiao Xingchen drunkely flirts with an oblivious Xue Yang ____________________________

They come by once a month on average, sometimes twice. Once, about eleven months after Xue Yang came to Yi City, three come at once, but that's a group and Xue Yang, always fair, counts them as one.

Still three times the fun to kill, of course.

The men step into the Coffin House courtyard at noon, just ten minutes after Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing had left to buy groceries.

Xue Yang is busy dumping fresh dirt into a raised bed. He and Xiao Xingchen have built raised beds throughout the courtyard to plant vegetables in. Xiao Xingchen had wanted flowers, but Xue Yang had vetoed the idea, flowers being useless, and the daozhang isn’t one to argue.

He looks up as the men step into the courtyard. “Who are you?”

The leader of the group, a tall, brutish-looking man with a cauliflower ear and broken nose, seems almost angry at the question. “Where is he?”

Xue Yang dusts his hands off. And here he thought he’d be bored until the daozhang returned. “Who is this ‘he’?”

“The blind cultivator in white! Xiao Xingchen! We know he lives here!”

Xue Yang taps his chin. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

The musclebound man on the right steps forward, seconds away from grabbing Xue Yang by the collar and losing a hand. “We were told there’s a blind cultivator living here!”

“Ohhh, I thought you meant the other blind cultivator in white. I lose track. What do you want from him?”

“To take a strip out of his hide!”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “Let me guess, you committed some crime once upon a time, and he got you in trouble for it, and now that he’s blind you want your revenge.”

“How did—”

“It’s all very original.” Xue Yang’s knife is in his hand. He tosses in the air, catching it deftly. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The skinny little man on the left shrugs. “Not reall—”

He never finishes his sentence. A flash of silver blade, and Xue Yang’s knife is sprouting from his eye. Shrieking, he falls backwards into a vegetable bed, yanking the knife out of his face.

Xue Yang shakes his head. “Don’t you know not to pull a knife out of a wound? Trust me on that one, I should know. Look, now you’re bleeding all over the place.” He produces a second knife and turns to face the other two men, who stand gaping at him in slack-jawed shock. “How about you two? Up for some first aid practice?”

“You—you—”

“Got any weapons? Get them out. It’s more fun that way.”

Still looking confused, the leader draws his own knife out and stands there, blinking, while the other man drops to his knees beside his companion, who’s writhing in the dirt and shrieking like a wounded fox.

Xue Yang makes a face. “Can you shut him up? He’s going to give me a headache at this rate.”

“He—he—”

Xue Yang floats over and slices the man’s tongue out with a practiced twist of his blade, but the man continues to emit bone-chilling scream from deep inside his throat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Another twist of the blade, and the man falls silent. Permanently. “You’d think he’d never been stabbed in the eyeball before.”

“You killed him—”

“Like you were going to do to the daozhang?” Xue Yang flies back over near the leader. “And for what, arresting you? You clearly escaped whatever the charges are. Grow up and let it go.”

The leader’s hand tightens on his knife. “The magistrate beat me so badly I couldn’t get honest work again as a porter—”

“Your back, your arms, your legs, what was the problem?”

“My left leg was broken so badly it—”

Xue Yang jams his heel into the man’s left kneecap, shattering it. Howling, the man collapses, knife falling from his spasming fingers. “Like I want your life’s story?” He hauls the man up by his collar and flies him over to one of the raised beds, dumping him in the dirt. Dislocates the man’s shoulder, just to be safe, and nicks the side of the man’s throat so that he bleed out into the soil.

Best kind of fertilizer, or so he’d been given to believe.

Then he turns to the third man, who’s cowering on his knees, forehead pressed to the dirt. “How about you? Going to put up more of a fight, I hope? I mean, what were you three arrested for, anyway? Couldn’t have been anything requiring actual fighting skills. Tax fraud?”

“Forgive me—forgive me—I won’t harm Xiao Xingchen! I swear I’ll leave here, I’ll never speak of this—”

“A bit late for that, I’d think.” Xue Yang tilts his head down at him. He likes seeing the man grovel. Kowtow, really. A trembling heap of peasant clothes and greasy hair, not half as good as if it had been the daozhang or one of the self-righteous cultivators who’d dogged him half his life, but it still fills him with heady tingling pleasure. “You should never have come here.”

“It wasn’t my idea—I swear it wasn’t!”

“Great, a spineless lackey. Even better. Now, the question is how to kill you.” He crouches before the man, patting his trembling cheek with his knife while he thinks. “I usually go for something more creative, but we need to wrap this up before the daozhang gets home, and more than two beds needs fertilizing, so here we go.”

The man makes a feeble effort to resist, taking an easily-dodged swing at Xue Yang's jaw. A flick of his hand, and Xue Yang’s knife is suddenly plunged deep into the man’s throat. Grabbing him by the hair, he hauls the man into the neighboring vegetable bed and gives the knife an experimental jiggle, then wiggles it a bit farther up his throat. A delicate balance, this—he needs the man alive to pump out as much blood as possible, but can't resist playing with him a bit. Of course Xue Yang could always rip out his intestines and bury them in the dirt, but that would be messy, and Xue Yang hasn't time to clean up.

A sigh, and the man bleeding out from his eye socket expires.

Xue Yang hesitates, then removes his outer robes and flies the man over the back wall of the courtyard, dumping him in the forest outside the city.

The second man has died by the time he returns. Xue Yang flies him out, then the third man when he too dies.

He stands beneath the trees, eying his handiwork.

Not a bad day’s work.

If only the daozhang knew that Xue Yang, his worst enemy, had been saving his life for the past eleven months. Knew how deeply indebted he is to the delinquent from Kuizhou.

But the daozhang can’t know.

Not just yet.

He’d probably make me stop, Xue Yang thinks, no matter what the personal risk. He’d insist on arresting all these opportunistic degenerates and bringing them to justice, as if such a thing exists.

The idiot. Xue Yang finds himself smiling at the thought. The sanctimonious idiot, blind in more ways than one. For all Xue Yang knows, he might even hear the men out—“Oh, your leg was broken? The scoundrels!” and embark on a journey to track down the magistrate who’d wronged the criminal degenerates—

A vulture approaches, drawn by the scent of blood, startling Xue Yang out of his thoughts.

“Wait your turn,” he tells the bird. “It’s first come, first serve around here.” Chuckles to himself—too bad the daozhang is completely unsuited for the day’s activities. He knows Xiao Xingchen would have appreciated the afternoon’s humor—maybe even relished the irony of watching Xue Yang, the man who was going to one day kill the daozhang, protect him—

Well, perhaps not that. But he could have gotten a few laughs, at least.

Xue Yang cuts a lock of hair from each of the men, just as he has for the last thirteen criminals who’d come after Xiao Xingchen, removes their tongues, and flies back over the wall.

He can take care of the bodies later, if the vultures don’t handle them for him.

He places the tongues in jars he sets inside a coffin painted with preservation sigils. Then, grabbing a rake, he begins mixing the blood-soaked earth, evenly dividing it among the dozen raised beds that take up half the courtyard and patting the soil down in preparation for tomorrow’s sowing. He’s just finishing up when Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing return.

The first thing out of the daozhang’s mouth is, “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?”

“Smells like blood,” says A-Qing, who can always be counted on to say the wrong thing.

Xue Yang fights the urge to tell the daozhang the truth, see the look on his face. “I got bored without you, and went for a walk in the woods, and found a fierce corpse.”

Xiao Xingchen’s face softens at the words without you. Xue Yang is still at a loss to explain how readily Xiao Xingchen displays his feelings. Surely letting another person know that you value their companionship is a dangerous show of weakness?

Xue Yang has learned to reveal nothing that can be used against him in the future.

What Chengmei says to the daozhang is different. His esteem for the blind white fool is all an act, and there is no way a lie might harm him.

“I have the beds all ready for planting,” he tells Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen moves towards him as A-Qing runs inside with the groceries. “Were you wounded?”

“By what, tripping and falling on the rake?”

“The blood smells fresh. Did the fierce corpse manage to hurt you? That’s unlike you, Chengmei.” He lays a hand on Xue Yang’s chest, eyebrows rising slightly at the feel of Xue Yang’s thin, silky inner robe beneath his hand instead of his textured outer robes. “I know you, Chengmei. You wouldn’t tell me you were hurt, even if you were.” Slowly, he runs his hands over Xue Yang’s chest, pats his arms, feels his waist.

Xue Yang swallows hard, freezing.

From the touching, he tells himself. Not from the display of concern. It’s hard not to tense up when touched, given how often past touch has been something bad.

Truly it means nothing, the daozhang’s concern. Xue Yang knows this. Has always known it.

What good is the compassion of a man who only cares because he doesn’t know the truth?

Xiao Xingchen rests his hand briefly on his hip, but seems unwilling to go any lower and check Xue Yang’s legs. “You’d tell me if you were hurt, right?”

Xue Yang’s heart is pounding. “….I wouldn’t lie to you…”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Seeming to realize how close they're standing, Xiao Xingchen moves away. “I’ll go help A-Qing make dinner. We'll keep the seeds from tonight’s vegetables, we can plant tomorrow…”

Xue Yang slips his outer robes back on but doesn’t head back into the house. He’s cursing himself for having lost his composure for even a second, especially in front of Xiao Xingchen, of all people.

It’s not like he noticed. You sounded normal, and he’s blind, for fuck’s sake.

The reddish gold sun has sunk beneath the courtyard walls when Xiao Xingchen comes out onto the porch. He looks blue in the twilight, slender and beautiful and somehow soft despite the boniness of his long slim body.

“Chengmei? Dinner’s ready.”

Hesitating, though he’s not sure why, Xue Yang heads inside. Xiao Xingchen hands out the bowls and chopsticks while A-Qing serves.

Xue Yang is silent during dinner, mechanically shoveling rice into his mouth.

Xiao Xingchen does most of the talking, as if sensing Xue Yang is in a strange mood. He talks about the past, places he’s seen, people he’s met. He’s a poor storyteller, with a laughable memory of details, but his tendency to ramble from one story to the next without finishing any of them is amusing in its own way, and A-Qing's interjections of her own more colorful experiences keep any heavy silence at bay.

After the meal, Xue Yang removes Xiao Xingchen’s horsetail whisk from where he keeps it on a shelf in the corner.

“Just combing it,” he says when A-Qing, who has even better hearing than the daozhang and an uncanny knack for getting in his way, asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. “It’s getting tangled.”

“Tangled. Right.”

Normally Xue Yang would bicker back, but he doesn’t have the energy tonight. He sits on the steps, the horsetail whisk in his lap, while A-Qing lies on a blanket, staring up at the dazzling carpet of stars as if she can see, and Xiao Xingchen polishes his sword beside him.

Xue Yang knots the locks of hair he’d taken from the three convicts into the flowing mane of the whisk, streaks of black staining the pure white.

A little ritual he’d developed after the first would-be murderer had come to Yi City. Watching the daozhang parade around with a murder trophy tucked under thin white arm was endlessly entertaining.

Now…

It’s still a good joke, Xue Yang tells himself. Still good fun to see the streaks of black against the white. But it’s become a symbol of something else, now, too.

Of what, Xue Yang isn’t entirely sure.

But of something.

The eggplant is starting to sprout when, five weeks later, another convict comes to the Coffin House searching for Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen is inside the house making dinner with A-Qing. Xue Yang had just stepped outside to fetch more water when he sees a shadow detach itself from behind a coffin and slither across the courtyard, a flash of silver in its hand.

Jiangzai is out before Xue Yang can even think.

Footsteps.

Xue Yang flies across the courtyard and grabs the shadow by the throat. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Xiao Xing—”

Xue Yang cuts his throat before the man can finish, flying him over the wall before so much as a drop of blood can splash onto the stones of the courtyard.

A shame to waste the fertilizer on the trees of the forest, but Xiao Xingchen is expecting him back any second now.

He’ll fetch the tongue later.

“Thank you, Chengmei,” Xiao Xingchen says when he returns, accepting the bucket of water. “Do you mind chopping the potatoes? The oil should be hot enough any minute now.”

“Fried potato? Not boiled? Do my ears deceive me?” His pulse is reverberating through his skull, so that’s very possible. The quickness of the kill had done nothing to diminish the euphoria that always accompanies it. If anything, it had heightened it, a half-hour’s torture compressed into an intense dose of power and pleasure and blood.

“I figured I would fry it, as a treat. It’s been a year since…well, it’s been a year since we all came to the Coffin House.” Xiao Xingchen turns to the stove, blushing slightly, as if almost ashamed to have kept track of the anniversary, as if he doesn’t think it's as important to Xue Yang as it is to him.

Xue Yang doesn’t speak. A-Qing is glancing at the floor, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

“I know it’s foolish—” Xiao Xingchen begins again, but Xue Yang shakes his head, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see him.

“It’s never foolish to fry potatoes,” he says emphatically. “That boiled stuff is for the dogs. Anything else?”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “I bought nian gao at the market today.”

“Now you have my attention.” He slices the potatoes swiftly, hand shaking slightly. Lingering euphoria from his recent kill, most likely. “The sweet cake kind, right? Not that vegetable stuff.”

Xiao Xingchen affects chagrin. “Do you take me for an amateur?”

Xue Yang discovers that he’s grinning.

Still from the murder, no doubt. It’s been a while since he’d killed anything larger than the rats that sneak into the Coffin House.

It’s not that he needs to kill. Enjoys it, yes. Who wouldn’t enjoy holding complete and utter power over another human being? Being the most important thing in their world, if only for those final moments? The pleasant exercise of the fight, the witty banter, the desperation in the victim’s eyes as they bleed out?

But, if he’s being entirely honest, he hasn’t thought about it much these past few weeks.

A-Qing turns in early that night, having eaten too much fried food and nian gao, leaving Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang alone on the porch. Xue Yang plays with the dead man’s hair in the horsetail whisk while Xiao Xingchen sits beside him, just a little too close, knee almost touching his, having misjudged the distance. It’s odd, how the daozhang can spin through the forest to sever a fierce corpse’s throat without disturbing a single leaf or blade of grass, but he’s rather clumsy around Xue Yang, stumbling into him at times, brushing his hand with his while handing him something, mistakenly letting his shoulder touch his as he passes.

“I have a surprise,” says Xiao Xingchen.

“We’re getting a puppy.”

“We can, if you want."

“Just joking.” Briefly, Xue Yang wonders what a dog would make of the corpses popping up around the Coffin House.

Well, it would be one way to dispose of the bodies, and save on buying dog food.

He grins to himself at the idea. It's a real shame he can’t share some of his best thoughts with Xiao Xingchen.

Who’s tilting his head at him expectantly. “Chengmei?”

“You’re buying us a new house. A-Qing found a husband. We have an invitation to Jinlintai.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “I feel quite inadequate, now. I bought some of this.” He draws two wine jars from his sleeve. “Or rather, traded some protection talismans for it with the local weaver.”

“Is the daozhang a secret wino?” Xue Yang accepts the small white jar. He’s not one for drinking, but he can’t turn Xiao Xingchen down. “Is that what you’re really doing during your private meditation sessions?”

Instead of being offended, Xiao Xingchen smiles. “Given how many great poets were drunks—going by their poetry—I could do well to follow their example.

‘Life in the world is but a big dream;

I will not spoil it by any labor or care.

So saying, I was drunk all the day,

Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door—’ ”

“A tripping hazard for A-Qing.”

“ ‘When I awoke, I blinked at the garden-lawn;

A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.

I asked myself,

Had the day been wet or fine? ’ ”

Xue Yang struggles to keep a straight face despite the fact that Xaio Xingcheng can’t see him. “Baoshan Sanren teaches cultivating by way of winemaking? No wonder she has to hide on her mountain. Every cultivator for miles around would be trying to sign on with her.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. “Given how many classic poems are about drinking wine, I wouldn’t be surprised if such a thing existed...at least the poems in Shifu’s collection. She didn’t focus much on classical poetry.” He pulls the stopper from his jar, sniffing it. “So…I just…drink it? Is there some kind of…I don’t know…”

“A wine-drinking ritual? Like you walk in a circle three times, flapping your arms—”

“…do you think we can forgo it, just this once?”

Xue Yang is the one to laugh this time, though he’s not sure if Xiao Xingchen is joking. “You just drink, from what I’ve seen.”

“From what you’ve seen?”

“I don’t drink.” He instantly regrets his words at the look on Xiao Xingchen’s face. “I mean…”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to make—”

“I mean—” And suddenly he hears himself saying, “I could never afford to be…impaired in any way. For…my own safety, I mean. I was just never…look, it’s…” And then, just as suddenly, he’s uncorking his jar and taking a deep draft.

It burns unpleasantly in his throat, but it’s worth it for the smile on Xiao Xingchen’s face at the silent admission that he feels safe here.

That Chengemi does, at any rate.

“How does it taste?”

“Good, I think,”Xue Yang lies.

Xiao Xingchen sips delicately at his jar, then wrinkles his nose. “The poems made me think it would be a lot more like drinking moonbeams and lotus blossoms.”

“More poems about passing out on the lawn?” Xue Yang asks. Poetry is just as useless as he’s always imagined it to be, but it sounds nice coming from Xiao Xingchen. Melodic. Kind of like singing...

...Must be the wine, that idiotic thought.

" 'A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;

I drink alone, for no friend is near.

Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

For he, with my shadow, will make three men.’ ”

Xue Yang frowns slightly. “I’m sitting right here, daozhang.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “So you are.”

Xue Yang shakes his momentary pique away. “Four men, then. Five, counting my shadow. You know, I don’t think those poets knew what the hell they were talking about, like with anything.”

“That’s not true…well, not entirely…there are some very pretty poems about nature…”

“How about a drinking game: I say something untrue, and if you correctly guess that it’s a lie, then I have to drink.”

“Alright.” By Xiao Xingchen’s amused smile, it’s clear he doesn’t think Xue Yang can successfully lie to him.

“I’m ugly. Hideous. Ladies pull their skirts away from me in the street and I frighten children and old people.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs, misjudging the distance between them again and touching his arm by mistake. “Not going by what I’ve heard.”

Smirking, Xue Yang takes a drink. “Your turn.”

“I…I have two heads.”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “That the best you can do?”

“I’m not accustomed to falsehoods!”

The pretentious way he put that should have made Xue Yang roll his eyes again, but the strong wine has mellowed him. “Drink. I hate candy.”

“Drink!”

“See, it’s not fun if it’s something too obvious.”

“Fine. I want that puppy you mentioned.”

“…drink?”

Xiao Xingchen raises his jar. “No drink! I wouldn't mind a puppy."

“You seem more like a cat person.”

“I like all animals. Would you rather a cat? You seem like a cat person. Like…” Xiao Xingchen hesitates. “Takes a while to warm up, independent, but loyal once you know you can tru…” He trails off, as if sensing he’s gone too far.

Biting his lip, Xue Yang looks out over the beds of budding vegetables, silver in the starlight. He’s never imagined anyone examining him in any way other than to evaluate him as a threat. Certainly not to comment on any traits in a tone Xue Yang tells himself is definitely not one of fondness, no matter how much it sounds that way. “Well, I have always liked cats better.”

“My favorite food is congee.”

“No drink, for reasons I’ll never understand.”

“You can add anything to it, and you have a nice warm meal!”

Xue Yang shakes his head. “I killed a man today for trespassing.”

“Oh, that’s terrible, Chengmei! Drink….”

It’s late when Xiao Xingchen's wine jars are empty. He'd had another two tucked away in his long white sleeve, and grown melancholy as the night wore on.

“I did everything I could to ruin my friend’s life,” he says, raising the last of his wine to the moon.

Xue Yang glances at him sharply. He’s kept his head better than Xiao Xingchen, only pretending to drink most of the time. “You what?”

“Song Lan. Zichen. The destruction of his temple was all my fault…” Head drooping, he slides sideways, cheek resting on Xue Yang’s shoulder. “All my fault, his eyes, all me…”

Xue Yang sits very still. Xiao Xingchen is warm against him, his breath soft on his neck. Then, very delicately, he pries Xiao Xingchen’s fingers from the wine jar and sets it beside them on the step.

“That was not your fault,” he says, and feels a thrill at his own words, because of course it was Xiao Xingchen’s fault, it was all his fault, and one day Xue Yang will get to throw it all in his face—

But not tonight.

“You did more than most would,” he says instead. “You gave him your eyes.” And he took them, the fucker! he wants to add. You do-gooding moron, mutilating yourself in service of that plodding lump of self-righteousness—

“My fault, my fault…”

“For what, doing your duty?” Xue Yang’s throat is beginning to tighten. He’s not sure why Xiao Xingchen would be telling him something so personal. For all his friendly, open nature, Xiao Xingchen is guarded when it comes to anything too revealing, to the point that Xue Yang sometimes feels as if he only half knows him. “You’re not responsible for that madman’s actions.”

Xiao Xingchen moves slightly, eyelashes brushing Xue Yang’s throat. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” says Xue Yang, and then, mentally, Drink!

And suddenly Xiao Xingchen is all smiles again, straightening up. “You always know just what to say to cheer me up. You—you wouldn’t leave me like Zichen did, would you? Not even if…I…” He hiccups. “I’d…I’d miss you too much…”

“Drink,” Xue Yang says automatically.

“No drink.”

Xue Yang glances away. Xiao Xingchen chooses this moment to pitch forward, to be caught by Xue Yang moments before he sprawls forward onto the stairs.

“I might be a little tipsy,” he mumbles into the hollow of Xue Yang’s throat.

Xue Yang tightens his grip. It feels…it feels wrong to be holding a person that isn’t a corpse.

A warm, living person, who seems to want to be in his arms.

Not hate being there, at least.

Or so he thinks. Xue Yang has never embraced another person before and isn’t quite sure how people are supposed to behave. Surely Xiao Xingchen would have pushed him away if he found his touch detestable—?

“You really can’t hold your liquor, can you,” he says before he can think into it too much. Gently, he scoops up Xiao Xingchen and half-carries him into the house. He weighs almost nothing, and Xue Yang thinks, I should get him to eat more, then chases the ridiculous thought away and bleaches the spot it had rested.

Xiao Xingchen grips the front of his robe as Xue Yang lays him down on the Coffin House's single bed. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”

Xue Yang hesitates, glancing over at his coffin in the corner of the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Xiao Xingchen almost pouts. Drunk daozhang is a petulant daozhang, it seems. “Just for a little while.”

The feeling of wrongness increases as Xue Yang crawls into bed beside Xiao Xingchen, keeping on top of the covers.

It shouldn’t be like this.

It’s not as if he hasn’t pictured sharing a bed with the daozhang. Who wouldn’t, if they had only a claustrophobic coffin to sleep in? But he’s never imagined an inebriated Xiao Xingchen curling into him, picking up his good hand, playing with it. Tracing the scars, running his fingertip between his fingers, brushing the palm with his thumb.

Soft, harmless touch that makes Xue Yang freeze, every nerve in his body screaming at him to snatch up Jiangzai.

“You have nice hands,” says Xiao Xingchen, voice thick with alcohol, almost giddy, and Xue Yang, focusing on the familiar voice, feels himself relaxing.

He’s safe, here. Safe with the daozhang.

The daozhang would never hurt Chengmei. And Xue Yang is Chengmei, for now.

The daozhang cares about Chengmei.

And in turn—

And in turn, the daozhang belongs to him.

Xiao Xingchen, the man who despises Xue Yang more than anyone else, now owes him more than he can ever repay in a single lifetime. He has saved Xiao Xingchen’s life a dozen times over without him having so much as suspected his life was ever in danger.

True, Chengmei could have killed the unsuspecting daozhang hundreds of times over the past year.

But this is different somehow.

Better.

Xue Yang is the guardian of the man he hates most in this world. Has held his life in the palm of his hand and chosen not only to let him live, but to actively destroy his enemies.

A delicious perversion of what he knows will come on the day he tears off his mask and reveals everything to Xiao Xingchen.

Finally takes his life, after preserving it for so long.

Xiao Xingchen rolls over, soft black hair in Xue Yang’s face, still holding Xue Yang’s hand in his.

Xue Yang wonders what Xiao Xingchen will say in the morning. If he’ll be embarrassed or realize that this was all simply the wine. If Xue Yang should pretend to have been too drunk to remember, or if he should say something, maybe crawl under the covers tomorrow night before Xiao Xingchen gets into bed, see what happens…

The bed is far more comfortable than the coffin, after all.

Will be warmer in winter, too…

He winces at the thought. He should go back to his coffin, stop whatever this is.

"You don't really want me here," he says.

“Drink,” Xiao Xingchen mumbles, and drops off into slumber.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. He wants to free his hand but is afraid of waking the daozhang. As if sensing this even in sleep, Xiao Xingchen tightens his grip on his hand.

Xue Yang stares up at the ceiling, mind settling, the last of his tension fading.

He thinks he’ll go into town tomorrow and buy some flower seeds.

_______________________

thanks for reading! Spare a reblog? AO3

#mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #fytheuntamed #drink no drink #xuexiao #xue yang #xiao xingchen #a-qing #yi city #lotus writes #aside for the violence this is basically G rated

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fatelotusorder · 3 years

Text

stuff for people who don’t know MDZS or the Untamed.

The man in purple is Jiang Cheng courtesy Jiang Wanyin

ths takes places during Danfan Mountain the sub singularity gose until the Defeat Of Jin Guanyao . This is before Wei Wuxian ( in Mo Xuanyu body ) shows up .

Lan Zhan is the character at the end.

yes I know Wu Song would’ve been born where Qishan Nie is

Culivation in Fate term is a term for a type of Magecraft where a golden core is need

Im assuming MDZS takes place after the Han dynasty( After the three Kingdoms ) but before the Song Dynasty ( Before When the Fictional events of Water margin took place ) ——-

“Oh great, we got Separate From Ming at the Start of a Singularity,yet again.” Lin Chong Said as he and his Blood brother Lu Zhishen walked under the beautiful starry night sky looking for their master in the smountains.

“Ming ,Ming Where are you ?”Lu Zhishen yelled in Concern as the two bandits scanned the dark forest looking for him.

“He couldn’t landed that far with Cao Cao and Xiaohun Dun “ Lin Chong Said as he heard the sound of Struggling and someone speaking “Their this way I can hear it but, we should be low. I hear someone eles there as well.”

“Thats easier for me than you Chong ” Lu Zhishen joked looking up at his friend .

“Listen here you eggplant colored tightwad,we have no idea what your talking about!” yelled What looked to be a young Chinese female Struggling between the Ropes of a net glaring down at the Eggplant Man she was talking about.

“Usually I would wait until I got back to Yunmeng Jiang Sect to interrogate the likes of you.”

The man dressed in purple robes redirected his sight on the woman and Man in blue who were also struggling to get of the nets their weapons did nothing to cut them out the nets.

”However You claim that these two are Cao Cao and Xiaohun Dun , People who have been dead for centuries “The man Continued

“You,the young “lady” in strange white clothes ,tell me how long you’ve been practicing Demonic Cultivation to be able to summon the vengeful ,spirit of a person like Cao Cao.”

“One ,I’m Male, I just like putting on Cute outfits, “ the Very Feminine Chinese male Said pompous yet agressive matter .

“Second ,What the hell are you talking about ? ,I don’t even know what Demonic Cultivation is!”

Lin Chong and Lu Zhisen arrived to see this scene with Ming, thier Master unfold. However, their gazes were on the Man in Violet robes. His stance seemed to demand respect and those almond shaped eyes narrowed in anger determined to get an answer out of Ming.

“Chong ,Dose that guy in purple remind you anyone” Lu Zhishen whispered

“Wears purple ,puts his Hair in a bun thats lot of people in the 108 stars, Zhishen, “ Chong Said looking at the Man to see what the big deal was .

“Look at his Face , he’s almost an Exact match for Wu Song “

Lin Chong squinted his eyes and Studied the man Closer as his eyes Widened.

“Yea If Wu Song always had a Stick up his ass.”

“You think we’re dealing with a Wu Song Alter “Lu Zhishen Questioned.

“Consider this guys Resemblance to Wu Song and that he was even born somewhere eles 50/50 chance we’re dealing with some guy who just really looks like him or possible reincarnation. We might even be looking at an ancestor.” Lin Chong said

“Anyways , Let’s fight him and get Ming and the others out there.”

The Man in purple glared at Ming for second before stepping over menacinglyn ready to interrogate further when Lu Zhishen rushed out the brush and slammed his monk’s spade into man’s side blindsiding him and sending him flying into a tree. He winced upon impact with the wood.

Ming just smirked “Good work Lu Zhishen, you really Sent that jerk flying.”

“I’m not done yet! “

The man had a whip in his hand all of a sudden but, there wasn’t anywhere on his Body that could’ve been hooked to as the man in purple used it to attack one of Zhishens hands by the wrist

“Argh!, It burns “ Lu Zhishen thought as he dropped his weapon in pain.

The man in purple attack him quickly and relentlessly with a wrath that matched his own .Lu Zhishen quickly tried picking up his weapon but , the man in purple predict his movement and whipped his hand away. Lu Zhisen looked without a weapon he had to fight him hand to hand and that whip seemed to be desgined for Spirits as it sparked with a violet lightining .Zhishen used his arms to block the mans relentless whip attacks . Lu Zhishen cringed as he was lashed all round his body .Then Lu Zhishen saw an opening the man seemed to getting cocky and grabbed the length of whip despite it burning alot managed to fling the man up into air.The man let go of the whip not expecting the sudden gutsy action as another figure leaped up from the trees.

"The Majestic Star makes his appearance!" Lin Chong said his silhouette high lighted by the moon.

The man in Purple was surprise at Lin Chong’s Apperance. “Lan Zhan ?” he thought before Lin Chong attacked.

“I Guess its my Job to bring you back down to earth .” Lin Chong said falling right past the man.” But I’m sure this will be a safe fall,for me at least .” Lin Chongs Sectioned staffed Spear wrapped around the Man as they fell .The Lancer Class servant smile as upon impact with ground he slammed the man in purple down knocking him out .

His eyes then looked at a man dressed in white cutting Ming and the others down from the nets and looked dumbfounded at Lin Chongs appearance . Lin Chong stared at him for a moment before Smiling” I see someone shares my sensiable taste in hair style and everyone said the half up style wouldn’t catch on.“

The Man in white was flattered before hearing screaming from the woods. Another man in purple whose Face looked very simlar to other man in purple came dragging an unconcious Lad in Yellow by the ponytail.

“Finally! I found You ya damn Alter !” The Man said “Here take your Little piece of Shit too !”The man in purple was just about to stirr Awake when the Lad in yellow was thrown at his Head knocking him out again .

“That throwing arm is that the Actaul Wu Song?!” The Two Liangshan Bandits looked at the Man in purple as he looked at them.

“Lin Chong ,Lu Zhishen!”

The Man in white Clearly Confused was approached by Cao Cao.

” We’ll explain this to you later .” She said patting the man on the back .

#MDZS #fanfic #mo dao zu shi #the water margin #fate grand order #fate series #the three kingdoms #oc x canon #jiang cheng #yunmeng jiang #jin ling #lan wangji #lan zhan

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trensu · 4 years

Text

Episode 25: The One where They Frolic in the Forest but like, Sad This Time

Okay folks, buckle up bc this one has a lot of Hetero Drama and Stupid Plot Things

But look!! I’ve made it to the halfway point of the show!! I’m so proud of myself

We’re gonna skip as much of that as possible

BUT this one has some EPIC moments to make up for it

We start at Lotus Pier

Stuff’s happening that we’re not interested in

except for how our resident Disaster Het jzx comes by to invite the jiang clan to the jin clan’s awesome sleepover with sweet sweet party games

Plot plot plot

WE’RE AT AN ARCHERY COMPETITION!!

I guess that’s how they open sleepovers in Ancient Fantasy China?

LWJ AND WWX ARE STANDING NEXT TO EACH OTHER

OUR BOYS ARE SHARING SCREEN TIME!! WITHOUT HURTING US!!!

Blegh, jgy is talking

And here the jin clan bring out their wen prisoners bc they think it’s fun to place them in front of the targets??? anD THEY GET AWAY WITH IT??

THEY DID THIS IN FRONT OF BASICALLY THE ENTIRE CULTIVATION WORLD AND NOBODY SAID ANYTHING!!

I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS

WTF IS WRONG WITH THEM

Wwx at least tried to protest but jc shut him down, bc their clan really isn’t strong enough to stir up trouble rn

BUT THERE WERE PLENTY OF PEOPLE IN MORE SECURE, POWERFUL POSITIONS THAT COULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING

I’M LOOKING AT YOU, LXC. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE LAN CLAN MOTTO, HUH?? WHAT HAPPENED TO RIGHTEOUSNESS???

*takes a deep breath*

Okay, okay

I’m calm, i’m cool

So that happened

Jzx tries to show off by shooting an arrow and getting a bullseye without hitting any of the prisoners

And wwx sees this and is like, hmmmm, i can humiliate jzx AND discreetly protect the wen prisoners!!! (and give the audience a bite of wangxiantics)

Wwx: lan zhan, do me a favor

Lwj: what’s the matter?

Wwx: can i borrow your forehead ribbon?

CAN I BORROW YOUR FOREHEAD RIBBON

THE SPECIAL ONE THAT NO ONE BUT FAMILY AND SPOUSES CAN TOUCH

I JUST WANT TO BORROW IT IN PUBLIC WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE. NBD

Lwj just stares at him in response and wwx sulks but doesn’t push it

(lol, jc sees that go down and is just completely exasperated, like, one day, can we get one day when you don’t OVERTLY FLIRT WITH LWJ in front of EVERYONE??)

(the answer is no. no, he cannot do that, jc)

(he’s not allowed to not flirt with lwj)

Since he couldn’t get the super special forehead ribbon, he uses one of his own wrist ribbon things to blindfold himself

Please take a moment to appreciate the fact thAT HE WAS GONNA USE THE SACRED FOREHEAD RIBBON TO BLINDFOLD HIMSELF, THE KINKY BASTARD

Wwx: nbd nbd, imma just shoot 5 arrows whilst blindfolded and hit every bullseye there is WITHOUT harming any of these innocent war victims.

It’s all in the twirl, baby

He does a Dramatic Twirl, Smirks™ and then releases those arrows like nothing

And afterwards he has this proud little grin on his face bc hell yeah, he just owned jzx’s smug ass AND prevented any harm from falling on innocent people

Also, LOL, NMJ’S REACTION TO THIS WAS GREAT

He sees wwx be a badass with a bow and arrow and immediately turns to lxc next to him with an expression like HOLY FUCKING SHIT, DID YOU SEE THAT, THAT WAS AWESOME and starts clapping like a madman

For future reference, this is the correct response to wwx all the time, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU BB

After all that, wwx struts back to stand next to lwj and gives him a proud little smile. It’s so cute, so cute.

Jgy is talking again BLEGH

Now we’re in the forest!! For hunting reasons!!

Wwx makes himself comfy by a tree and plays Magic Music on his demon flute and is all pretty while doing it and supposedly gets all this prey to jump into Jiang nets

we never actually see this happen but everyone says it happened and who am i to argue?

(actually i like to argue one-sidedly at the screen a lot but this was not important enough so whatever)

Also, side note, jc is KILLIN IT with his fashion choices in this ep. LOOKIN GOOD BRO

But we don’t care about any of this

We care that WWX SUDDENLY SPOTS LWJ WALKING ALL ALONE IN THE FOREST AND HIS WHOLE ENTIRE FACE LIGHTS UP LIKE THE FREAKING SUN BC HE’S SO HAPPY TO SEE HIS SOULMATE

IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL

And then it gets sad. Sad times in the forest :(

Wwx was totally making a move to get lwj’s attention but he stops himself

Bc he remembers the conversation he had with lxc about how the ones he cares about can be hurt by his decisions

Thank goodness lwj notices him back

Wwx looks so surprised but also pleased the lwj sees him

And ofc lwj does not hesitate to go to wwx

BC THEY LOVE EACH OTHER AND ARE SOULMATES

Wwx: hey lan zhan, i heard you got tired of writing out the Lan Fam Rules~!

He’s happily engaging him in conversation!! He’s trying to tease him again!

Too bad lwj does not go along with it

This whole “let’s ruin wwx’s attempts for pleasant conversation by bringing up sad things” is getting really old lwj, stop that

Lwj: i made some progress in composing the music score and i’d like to share it with you to see if it works

eXCuSe mE??

HE’S BEEN WRITING MAGIC MUSIC FOR WWX??

HOW THE HELL DID I MISS THIS BEFORE??

I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST LEARNING FORBIDDEN MAGIC MUSIC, NOT CREATING MAGIC MUSIC FROM SCRATCH SPECIFICALLY FOR WWX

HE LOVES HIM SO MUCHHHH

Wwx: lan wangji, lan wangji

Noooo he’s reverted to calling him formally!!

And his tone went all flat!!

DON’T DO THAT

Wwx: who do you take me for? Why can’t you leave me alone?

DON’T SAY THAT

WHY ARE YOU SAYING THAT

YOU DON’T WANT HIM TO LEAVE YOU ALONE

STOP HURTING ME LWJ LIKE THIS

The minute wwx asks him that, lwj lowers his gaze when previously he had his eyes glued to wwx’s face the whole time

Bc WWX JUST STABBED HIM IN THE HEART WITH HIS WORDS

Lwj: who do you take me for?

He says all somberly, STILL NOT LOOKING AT WWX

Oh god, their faces are breaking my heart

After lwj says that, wwx stares at him for a long moment before canting his eyes to the side AND THEY LOOK KIND OF TEARY??

I THINK??

THAT MAY JUST BE MY TEARS

SOMEWHERE, TEARS ARE INVOLVED

Wwx: i once treated you as my lifelong confidant (AKA SOULMATE)

Lwj: i still am

*SOBBING*

~THEIR SONG~ IS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND

THEY’RE STARING AT EACH OTHER WITH SO MUCH FEELING

I WANT TO TEAR MY FACE OFF

Aaaaand the moment’s interrupted bc of stupid jzx and his Hetero Drama

Wwx hears someone approaching and he grabs lwj by the arm and drags him to a hiding spot where they can spy on jzx who just appeared with jyl

You know, i love how whenever wwx grabs lwj to drag him somewhere we get a bit of slo-mo stuff to, i guess, emphasize wwx is touching lwj or something

Not that we need the emphasis

It’s not like we’re not already hyper-aware of their EVERY INTERACTION

So now we get to watch wwx and lwj spy jzx and jyl

Lol, i wonder what lwj is thinking

Does he watch this and sympathize? Does he get secondhand embarrassment bc he knows he doesn’t do any better expressing his feelings to his soulmate??

I can’t imagine he has any actual interest in spying on Disaster Het jzx

Lwj is a Disaster Gay

There can only be so much Disaster at a time, y’know?

or maybe he’s just thinking OMG WWX TOUCHED ME OMG WWX IS SO CLOSE

yeah, that’s probably it

Okay, there’s Hetero Drama going down

Blah blah blah

BUT WAIT, jzx just made jyl tear up AGAIN

Wwx is all ready to tear jzx a new one but lwj holds him back before he could give away their location

Like, if asked, i’m sure lwj would say “oh, i stopped him to avoid an inter-clan incident” or whatever

But his REAL reason for holding him back was bc he was enjoying have wwx so physically close to him again

While secluded in a hidden spot

I mean, there’s less than a foot of space between them

I wouldn’t be so eager to give that up if i had wwx that close to me either

But lwj can’t hold him back for long bc jzx does another douchebaggy thing and wwx has had Enough

Wwx goes to defend his sister BC NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO MAKE JYL SAD, OKAY?

Wwx and jzx argue and then jzx draws his sword and takes a swing at wwx!!

SO OFC LWJ SWOOPS IN AND PARRIES THE BLOW

Lol jzx is so confused as to why lwj is there suddenly

You just tried attacking his soulmate, bro

what did you think was gonna happen

Ugh more Hetero Drama

Gotta say, i do enjoy watching jzx get scolded by his mother

Asshole cousin starts stirring up trouble and throwing a hissy fit about how wwx used his demon flute to catch 30% of the prey and how it’s Dishonorable and Cheating behavior

Lwj turns to wwx for a moment here and is like “30%??” idk if he’s impressed or concerned here.

Maybe both

Lwj gets a lot of Feelings around wwx, okay?

Lol, while asshole cousin is ranting, wwx turns his back on him to look at lwj

Wwx: oh, lan zhan, i didn’t thank you earlier for blocking that attack for me! Thank you~!

WHAT A POWER MOVE

HE GETS TO INSULT ASSHOLE COUSIN AND STARE AT HIS SOULMATE’S BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL FACE

WIN-WIN

Wwx is holding it together until asshole cousin accuses the jiang clan of having a corrupt or weak family or smth?

Then he starts getting all twitchy the way he does when Resentment kicks in

Asshole cousin continues to goad him and wwx starts to reach for his demon flute

Lwj flies to his side and grabs his arm!

Lwj: wei ying, concentrate. Wei ying, concentrate.

(wwx has a knack for making lwj repeat himself)

Jyl joins him to help wwx calm down

And now we take a break from wangxiantics for BADASS JYL TIME

Jyl goes and apologizes all sweetly to everyone for wwx’s supposedly rude behavior or whatever

And then turns to asshole cousin

Jyl: i might not know much about hunts, but i know there’s never been a rule about catching too much prey

DAAAAMN, GIRL

Jyl: it’s not his fault you can’t hunt prey. He used a different method that he worked hard to learn

Jyl: FURTHERMORE, you called him the son of a servant when he is my dear little brother

Jyl: so i would like for you to apologize to wwx

JYL IS THE GREATEST SISTER IN THE WORLD

Madam jin is like, ah, it’s not that big of a deal, let the boys squabble

And jyl shuts that down by telling her that wwx is family, an insult to him is not a trivial matter for her

GOD I LOVE HER SO MUCH

Blah blah plot blah blah jzx is a Disaster Het in front of Witnesses blah blah

Gross, sect leader yao goes off on a rant

We’re gonna ignore him

We cut to wwx downing a jar of wine in the middle of town

*sigh* i don’t even know why i bother telling him off at this point, he’s obviously not worried at all about alcoholism

Ooooh, and now we’re getting Lan Bro time. Very wangxiantic lan bro time

Lxc: lwj, i can tell you’re worried about something. What is it?

Lwj: …

Lwj: lxc, i..i want to bring a man to Cloud Recesses

(guys, the ellipses here actually happened. We actually hear lwj do a start-stop on his sentence)

(THIS FROM A GUY WHO DOESN’T SPEAK MUCH BUT WHEN HE DOES SPEAK, SOUNDS LIKE A PRINCE)

(Our boy is Overcome with Feeling rn)

Lxc: bring a man back to Cloud Recesses?

Lwj: bring him back…and hide him there.

Lxc: hide him?

Lwj: …

Lxc: he may be unwilling to go, right?

LXC KNOWS WHATS UP BC THERE’S ONLY ONE MAN WHO HAS EVER AFFECTED HIS LITTLE BROTHER THIS WAY

Lwj stays silent here, and the lan bros manfully stare off to the distance

(I like to pretend that here lxc starts coming up with elaborate kidnapping plots bc he wants his lil bro to be happy and that’s only happening if he drags wwx back to their home)

(i mean, locking up your soulmate against their will is a Lan family tradition, isn’t it??)

AND THAT’S WHERE IT ENDS

THIS SHOW DOESN’T PULL ITS PUNCHES, DOES IT?

This forest frolic was not nearly as fun as the last one :(

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #wangxian #the untamed #cql

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ayyyez · 4 years

Note

Sasori scenario where he isn't a puppet but still actually human but his village abandoned him and you find him in the woods or smth like that and you two start to like each other ending up in smut thanks keep up

This ended up being waaaaay longer than I planned but the idea just kept going so I went with it. I honestly thought I’d have much more trouble writing Sasori but I am really enjoying it! Thanks for requesting! There’s not heeeaps of smut because of the long build up but there’s still smut there. Oh there was no specifics for reader so I kept it neutral :)

WARNINGS: Blood and smut (not at the same time) AU

-Sasori clutched his side as he leant heavily against a tree. He looked down at the seeping wound. A monstrous betrayal. His own village and comrades had stabbed him (quite literally) in the back. He was never going to trust anyone again.

-But moments after he had simply thought those words, you had appeared. His vision was blurring when he looked up to see you. You were looking at him expectantly. You had said something he missed. He raised his hands in defence and forced himself upright. ‘Stay away or I’ll kill you.’ It was monotone but strong. He knew his tone had startled you by the way your eyes widened.

-But you didn’t move. ‘You need help before you go killing anyone.’ You said with a frown. What a strange person, Sasori couldn’t help but think. You didn’t cower before him but you also didn’t pose much of a threat. A quick observation later he saw your clothes and forehead bore no village symbol. A nomad perhaps? Judging by the basket you were holding and the herbs inside, you were likely a healer too. Interesting.

-Sasori gave you nothing but a blank stare. He knew he was dying but that didn’t mean he didn’t have options. He could do many things to prevent death. Many troublesome things. Things that would prove pointless were you to help instead. He could still kill you with the flick of his wrist. He doubted you knew of his puppets or skill. But that ultimately meant more work.

- ‘Do what you will.’ He whispered, relenting his defence. He slumped against the tree, clutching his still bleeding wound. You blinked, wondering if you had heard him correctly. He wasn’t the first shinobi who had wandered into your woods and you doubted he would be the last. Judging by his calm demeanour you hoped it wouldn’t be soon. Someone running from others would usually be more in a hurry.

- ‘My cabin isn’t far.’ You told him. ‘If you wish to stay alive I suggest you follow me and quickly. I can’t carry you and my sympathy doesn’t extend far enough to drag you should you fall.’ Without waiting for a response you turned on your heel and began heading toward your cabin. Sasori followed, noting you seemed to go at a slow pace. He doubted a healer could dare be as cruel as you acted. It almost made him smile.

-When you both arrived at the cabin you went to work patching him up. Preparing various remedies, ointments and bandages. Sasori did his best not to passout. Something about wanting to maintain some dignity in a strangers presence. In your presence. He straightened a little when you came at him with a knife. With a jolt you gave him a look that told him to relax. He did once he realised you were only cutting away his shirt around the wounded area. It didn’t stop him from being on alert, making sure to keep his chakra channeled and his scrolls close.

- ‘I don’t normally ask,’ you started, cleaning the wound a little, ‘but how did someone like you end up in my forest?’ Sasori winced a little as the cloth you had scraped his wound. ‘Someone like me?’ He asked flatly, feigning disinterest. You placed the cloth on the bench and readied your hands against the wound. ‘A Sunagakure shinobi, your very far from home.’ He could feel your medical ninjutsu closing the wound. There was no sensation quite like someone else’s chakra mixing with ones own. A sensation Sasori had not experienced often.

- ‘I’m sure you have your own story.’ Sasori said and scowled a little before adding. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in hearing it.’ You exhaled but you didn’t seem bothered by it. Honestly, you had dealt with shinobi far worse than Sasori. At least, you thought you had.

-The two of you remained silent as you finished patching him up. Then you cleaned up your work station and washed your hands in a large, clear bowl. Sasori watched as the blood diluted in the water turning it a reddy brown. It reminded him of the blood he had shed once realising his village betrayed him. It reminded him of the blood he had just lost. And finally he wondered how much blood you had seen in your lifetime. Not just in saving people but killing them too. He knew you had killed, he had seen it in your eyes and the way you carried yourself. It’s easy for a killer to spot another killer.

-His thoughts broke with the splash of the water. Your gaze met his as you dried your hands. ‘You should rest.’ You gestured to the bed. ‘I’ll give you shelter for the night and then you’re on your own.’ You handed him a small bottle. ‘Drink half now and half when you wake up, it will help speed up the healing.’ He took it with a grunt and went to the bed. He didn’t thank you for the help and you pretended to be okay with him taking your bed without hesitation. It was the world you both lived in.

-In the morning you woke first. It was raining heavily and the wooden floor had strained your back awfully. You would definitely feel it for the next two days. With a groan packed up the thin blanket that had served as a mattress and went around fetching breakfast. You made sure to double the usual portions but you didn’t bother to make it flavourful. The necessary nutrients to survive would be enough for him then he could be on his way. You cursed under your breath once you heard the thunder. The idea of more of Sasori’s presence irked you.

-Sasori woke up feeling sore and dazed. The first thing he saw was the medicine bottle and was reminded of his predicament. It was still easier than fending for himself. Who was he to have said no to a senseless do gooder like you. Without second thought he downed the rest of the medicine. Then he got up with a strained grunt and sat at the table.

-You placed a plate of food in front of him. The dish was full of vegetables and fish. At least that’s what Sasori assumed it was. It was pretty mushy but he had eaten worse. This time he gave you a curt nod for thanks. You would have missed it if you had blinked. You were glad you didn’t.

-He ate it quickly. Then he watched as your gaze drew to the window. He realised then that it was raining. ‘You can’t go anywhere in this weather,’ you commented, ‘I guess one more day can’t hurt.’ Your eyes met his. ‘At least until the weather lets up.’ Sasori nodded. ‘Very well.’

-The rain didn’t lift for three days. On the second day Sasori had insisted on braving the rain but the second he did a huge crack of lightning struck a tree in the distance. You didn’t insist but the look on your face told him he was mad. With a grumble he unhooked his pack. The days were past in mostly silence. You contented yourself crafting ointments and medicine while also cultivating herbs. Sasori made do with the scrolls he had on him and the books scattered across the cabin. He didn’t offer you anything and you didn’t ask for anything. At least until the fourth day.

-The sky hadn’t cleared but the rain had let up. You took the opportunity to get up early and scout for herbs and scavenge food. Luck had brought you mushrooms on top of the ingredients you were looking for. On your way back you realised the road out of the forest toward the Land of Fire had been covered by a land slide. One that would likely shift on it’s own in a week depending on the weather. A sort of sinking feeling rose in your stomach. One that made you realise you had gotten used to Sasori’s company. Meanwhile at the cabin alone, Sasori drew the same conclusion. It was nonsensical for him to feel that way.

-The two of you told yourselves it was for reasons other than what you sensed was true. Sasori rationalised it was the part of himself he had buried away, the one that held feelings and desires, that craved a comrade in the face of abandonment. It wasn’t you specifically. You argued with your self that it was being alone in the forest for so long, caring for the land, that you had gotten lonely. It was only human, you didn’t actually care for Sasori. So you were definitely surprised when you didn’t find him at the door, pack in hand but rather at the table reading one of your books.

- ‘The weather’s clearer.’ You began, hyperaware of both your voice and his presence. ‘But there’s a landslide on the road from the mountain. It will probably clear on it’s own in a few days’ You tried to remain light and nonchalant like usual but when his eyes met yours you swore he could see right through you. ‘It would be pointless to wade through it now then.’ He replied, his eyes returning to his book. Even though you both knew he could easily pass through the road, landslide or not. Something about that calmed you.

-With a new found surge of energy you set about preparing bounty you had found. You couldn’t help but finding your gaze on Sasori every now and again. He had definitely intrigued you, more so than the other nameless shinobi who ended up on your doorstep. As your eyes drew to him again you forced them down to the book he was reading. A strange coincidence.

- ‘Are you interested in the medicinal properties of fungi?’ You asked. He didn’t look up at you but he noticeably stopped reading. ‘In a sense.’ You nodded and continued what you were doing when to your surprise, he continued. ‘They have interesting results in both poisons and their antidotes. Very tricky to control.’ Your eyes snapped to his which were now on you. Your heat skipped a beat. ‘Do you know of such things?’ Sasori asked, carefully. Your tongue absentmindedly flicked across your dry lips. ‘I do.’ You said quietly. Something in Sasori’s eyes lit up. You couldn’t help but want more of that.

-Sasori stood up, eyes still pinned to you. Your hands, which had been chopping mushrooms, stilled completely. Something in the room changed, the sensation between you two now electrified. ‘Are you familiar with the antidotes,’ there was a pause as his eyes flickered between you and the book, ‘or the poison.’ A soft gasp left your lips. It was as though he read everything about you in a single moment, a single glance and that was all he had needed to read your mind. ‘Both.’ Sasori nodded and stepped closer so that he was beside you. ‘Will you teach me.’ He asked, softly. You nodded then quickly looked down and began chopping the mushrooms again.

-Just like that days turned into weeks. The talk about Sasori leaving vanished and was replaced with exchanging knowledge on poisons and antidotes. You didn’t ask why he wanted to know and he didn’t ask how you learnt. Just like that the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm of coexisting in the small cabin. A part of you held in the back of your mind a small anxious thought, one of Sasori leaving once he had learnt all he wished to know. The prospect of being alone in your forest was once soothing but now the thought of being alone was terrifying. Sasori had filled a void in your life you hadn’t even realised was there.

-The night after Sasori ventured out on his own to collect the ingredients for the latest antidote was when the nature of your relationship shifted again. It had started out innocently enough. ‘I’m not sleeping on the floor tonight.’ You said, shaking the blanket out over the bed. ‘My back can’t take it.’ Sasori grunted. ‘Neither can mine.’ You shot him a look. ‘You look it yesterday.’ He simply shrugged and looked at you. It made you a little self conscious but not as much as it had the first week you were hyperaware of his presence.

-Sasori still didn’t talk much and was pretty blunt most of the time but you had gotten used his tells and personality. You tried to meet his gaze head on. A silent argument passed between you two until you finally sighed. ‘Whatever,’ you said pulling the blanket back, ‘I’m tired, let’s just both share it.’ Sasori thought he must have misheard you because surely you did not just offer yourself up like that?

-You climbed into bed, rolling so your back faced him. Sasori hesitated. Not because he doesn’t want to share. He couldn’t take another night on the floor either. No, it was the connotations that came with sharing a bed. Also he still honestly wasn’t sure if he had heard you right. What a useless predicament. Why couldn’t his ex comrade have finished the job and killed him before you found him in the forest.

- ‘Well, are you getting in or not?’ You finally asked, voice muffled by the pillow. ‘It’s not exactly a large bed.’ Sasori observed, cooly. ‘No, kidding.’ You huffed and rolled over. ‘Sleep on the floor then.’ Sasori narrowed his eyes. ‘No.’ You were getting annoyed now. ‘Then hurry up.’ You held up the blanket. He sighed and finally agreed, climbing in beside you.

-The entry was a lot more awkward than intended. The bed had dipped and pushed you forward which meant you rolled right into Sasori who you were now facing. As he shuffled his face almost smacked yours. ‘Sorry.’ You mumbled trying to wiggle away. This only proved to make matters worse. You dipped the mattress on your side and he slid into you. ‘This is hopeless.’ Sasori muttered. ‘Shut up.’ You said, straining to roll onto your back before adding, ‘it beats the floor.’ Sasori gave a low hum in reply before also pushing on his back.

-The whole situation was hot and awkward. You tried to steady your heart and close your eyes to drift to sleep. Your mind however was racing. Your heart was pounding. Ridiculous questions kept coming to mind like were you breathing weirdly? Did you take too much blanket? Was Sasori as awkward as you were? It took hours but you finally fell asleep.

-When you awoke in the dark early hours of the morning, you realised you were in a worse position. Sasori was flush against you, an arm loosely around you, hand resting somewhere behind your back. In turn, your leg was wrapped around him like it was clutching on for dear life. You felt hot. Sasori’s uneven breath on your face. ‘You’re awake.’ You whispered. ‘Yes.’ He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You took a moment. ‘Are you going to leave?’ It could have meant anything. Leave the position, leave the bed, leave in the morning. But you both knew it was deeper than that. ‘No.’ He replied with enough confidence to make you relax.

-You weren’t sure who initiated it. You were leaning in when his lips crashed into yours sooner than anticipated. Either way the two of you kissed and it wasn’t a simple kiss. It was firm and with purpose. A question asked as he pulled back slightly and an answer as your lips followed his and connected again. Then it was a passionate kiss. It released everything that had built up over the weeks of uncertain tension.

-For what Sasori lacked in speech he made up for in touch. His free hand was touching everywhere. It ran up and down you chest, across your waist then pressed into the small of you back to push your bodies closer. The bulge of his growing erection pressing against you, making you crave more friction. His hand then groped your backside causing you to moan and wrap your own arm around him. The both of you needed to be closer.

-Your bodies grinding together. You removed your lips from his and peppered kisses across his jaw and chin. He huffed and let out heavy breaths. With one determined roll of your hips you pulled a groan from him. With a smirk you did it again and again until he grabbed hold of you lower back and rocked hard into you. A whine left your lips. A new game presented itself.

-You snaked a hand down between you and grabbed his clothed erection. A hiss left his lips. Without waiting to savour that sweet sound you roughly palmed him, feeling the same strain of the fabric against you. You pushed your fingers against him slowly but firmly, tracing the outline of his erection. His very hard and, judging by the wet patch, leaking erection. Sasori hissed again and groaned quietly. You smirked. He knew you smirking.

-He grabbed the hand that was touching him and yanked it free from between you. Then with one harsh thrust he closed the distance between your bodies. He was grinding against you hard. The friction, the pressure and the heat of it all was too much. The pent up nature of what had transpired between the two of you seemed to explode. Sasori was clutching onto your back so hard you could feel it burn. All you could do his rock faster, clutch harder and thrust your pelvis, gyrating against him.

-A part of you knew there would, under usual circumstances, be the next step. Clothes would shed, skin on skin contact would follow and the rest is obvious. But neither of you could wait. It was too much, it felt too good. The grinding seemed to go on forever but at the same time too quickly. With one last thrust of the hips you both came before stripping had even occurred to you. With a string of drawn out moans you both came down from your high. And when you regained a level head he was already kissing you again. This time he moved to take your clothes off.

#Anonymous #request #anon #sasori #sasori of the red sand #sasori x reader #sasori/reader #headcanons #headcanon #hc #hcs #scenario #scenarios #sasori headcanons #AU #lemon #lol lemon?#long

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dreamingsushi · 4 years

Text

Eternal Love of Dream - Episode 56 Final Episode

Are we ready for the end? No. We are not.

But we are still going to press that play button.

So Donghua used Xingguangjie to seal Miao Luo and she’s not really happy about it. No kidding. So oh well. Let’s die together she says. Chiwu regains consciousness. He believes in Donghua. Naive.

Fengjiu tells Chonglin that she wants to see Donghua one more time, but it’s most likely too late now. Oh wow, she really wants to go die with him. Since we don’t have a fate together, we must at least have enough to die together. What about Gungun? Chengyu asks Lian Song where’s Donghua. Seems like Lian Song can’t hide anything from Chengyu, so he tells her he’sm ost likely to be at the Fanyin valleay. If she’s fast enough she can see him once again. Once they get there, it’s only to notice thant only Donghua can break down the barried for the Xingguangjie. Chiwu is like what’s wrong with you guys’ face? Once he’s done fighting, Donghua is just going to come out, no biggy. So he finally knows... Poor Chiwu... Then Fengjiu calls out Donghua’s name. He hears her. Not good, he needs to stay focused. Of course Miao Luo uses that moment and strikes. Fengjiu force her way inside the barrier thanks to the ring and Qingti... wth? Qingti takes out of a nowhere a rope and pulls her back, he doesn’t want her to die for nothing. She says she only wants to have a closer look. No. She completely forgot about her kid and is being suicidal. Qingti don’t let her go! This is so stressful.

Zhe Yan and Bai Zhen are in the peach blossom forest when petals starts falling down and Bai Zhen wonders if someone’s dying. Zheyan closes his eyes and opens them. Oh crap, this is bad. And he takes Bai Zhen with him to I don’t know where yet. Well, probably Fanyin Valley. Just right when Fengjiu escapes from Qingti. You did your best Qingti. I liked the human version of yourself better though. Fengjiu jumps inside the valley. She starts fighting Miao Luo to protect Donghua. But as she gets hurt by Miao Luo, she also not doing to thanks to the blood of the red nine tail fox. It dispersed her cultivation. Fengjiu while Donghua fights with Miao Luo put some of her blood on her sword before strikin. But she’s not strong enough to beat her, but she did a lot of damage anyways. Donghua says to go and hide, he will take her back home, but she’s like you’re lying to me again. She says don’t always push me away and covers Donghua’s sword with her blood. They both stab Miao Luo but it’s not enough to kill her. Oh. It works. She dies.

Outside they are all worried and Chiwu is like there’s so many of you, don’t tell me you don’t have a way and then Zhe Yan is like well there is a way. Don’t tell me he’s going to drop a bomb and take in Gungun. Leave that baby alone. Okay no, he says they can use all of their forces together, it’s just that it might make everything blow up. It’s a risk.

Donghua wonders how to send engjiu out. She says if it’s because she hurt him he also hurt her so they are quit. She wants to be with him, he also wants her to be with him. He says it’s true, he also wants to take her everywhere with him, he hoped she would come. He never wants to be away from her, but it’s not okay, she still has many years in front of her. She then says even if he doesn’t want to take her, she’s afraid she’s going to go first. Wow. She doesn’t even remember that she has a son to provide for. She says it hurts and asks him to comfort her, say that he loves her. This is crazy. Am I the only one thinking about the poor kid? She asks him to promise that when he dies he holds her hand. He promises. Is she dead? Oh, they are both dead. But Gungun then?

The others are still working on that barrier. Everyone has a hard time but Zhe Yan and like Lian Song. You see who are the bad ass ones in there.

Oh she’s not dead. Not yet. But he is. Well, he doesn’t open his eyes. Oh wait, he opens his eyes. She tells him not to clos eyes, to listen to her. He says to forget about him. Lol. She would never be able to do that. Well he’s dead now I guess? And her? Well at least she’s unconscious. Their blood then meets and the barrier breaks from inside. And we are back to Qingqiu with our gorgeous queen of the Biyi Bird tribe Jie Lv.

Ji Heng is making statues. Chiwu comes to get her. She hugs him. What? Now she loves Chiwu? Well, I am happy for hi, even though I wish he would have dated Jie Lü. I thought he would never get his happy ending with Ji Heng. Well what she says makes sense. It’s a little out of the blue, but oh well. Was she sculpting figurines of Chiwu earlier? What do you guys think? Chiwu is so cute, he’s so happy.

Lian Song is now playing chess with Qingti and he says Qingti looks more and more like Donghua. Well at least Qingti is smiling a little more. Then Chiwu comes. And Zhe Yan, Siming, Chengyu. And Finally Xia Guchou brins in Gungun. Everybody’s like who’s that kid and Guchou is like it’s obvious just by looking at him. Lian Song guesses that hacing white hair like that it must be Donghua’s son? Chiwu and Chengyu’s faces are priceless. Zhe Yan is like hehehe I knew. Gungun asks asks what’s Donghua. Is it a place? No more like your dad. Then he asks where is his mom? So he sends him in to see Fengjiu who’s sleeping because of her injuries and.... omg. Donghua? Is it true? Is he really feeding medicine to Fengjiu? How is he even alive? Gungun runs to his mom calling her and Donghua is like no you can come closer, who are you? And he drops the medicine when Gungun says he’s Fengjiu’s son. Gungun is like, why is it surprising that I am mother’s son? Uncle you are so handsome, who are you? Then Dongha is like... I am your father Gungun. And Fengjiu’s hand starts moving.

Omg. Donghua and Gungun laughing is so fake, it’s scary, looks like an horror movie. Maybe they didn’t have a good father and son chemistry. But it’s a nice ending, with all the family together.

And there it is. It’s the end. I wasn’t super thrilled about this drama and I definitely don’t feel empty now that it has ended, but I can’t say I didn’t look forward the ending. None of my ships got to have their fate, however I am still mostly happy about the ending. Except for all of my bias dying. I think it shows a beautiful moral about love and hardships as even though Fengjiu and Donghua weren’t fated to be together, they still fought for their love and in the end it worked out. I hope they learnt to talk to each other more so they won’t have anymore misunderstanding. And that Gungun will have a little sister to play with. I am going to miss the beautiful OST of this drama for sure. And human Qingti. And Xu Yang. And Jie Lü. Welll all of those that weren’t really important for the story.

Thank you for bearing with recaps, big thanks to all that discussed with me as I was taking this journey. It has been a pleasure! And if anyone has any suggestions as what I should watch next, I would be glad to hear about them! Until next time!

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screamingatanemptyroom · 5 years

Text

I Can’t Eat Love pt 32

Next part is here! There will be two more parts after this, and then 4 side parts (which will continue the main story a little as well).

Master post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Miss, do you really think the Queen is in danger?” Lia, sitting across from me in the carriage, looked pale and stressed.

It was the second day of the trip, which had already been very uncomfortable, as I had only allowed minimal breaks, trying to make it back as quickly as possible. I shifted in my seat, feeling sore, and stared out of the window at the passing terrain.

“Hopefully this is just a wasted trip.” I answered softly. “But something is wrong… I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“What about Prince Nathaniel?” She twisted a handkerchief in her hands. “Do you think he’ll be safe?”

I didn’t know what to say.

I was worried about Nate, my thoughts shifting constantly to what dangers he might be facing. Multiple times I considered turning the carriage around and heading towards the border, but each time resisted the urge. I knew Nate could take care of himself, he would take precautions. But if the Queen was in danger? She would need me.

Not that this made me feel any better.

“…” I didn’t respond this time, my expression glum. Hallers, sitting at the front of the carriage, cleared his throat meaningfully, causing Lia to flush with embarrassment and apologize.

“I’m sorry, Miss, I shouldn’t be asking such foolish questions and trying to worry you further…”

“It’s okay.” I rubbed my forehead. “None of this is your fault.”

There was a short silence, which was suddenly broken by the sound of rapid hoofbeats.

“What’s going on…?” Lia started to ask, but I had already stood up, leaning out through the window and looking ahead.

Rig had been scouting ahead of us on horseback, but he was now riding back towards us at full speed, his face pale.

“GET THE CARRIAGE OFF THE ROAD!” He snapped at the driver on arriving. He turned, seeing my anxious expression and forcing a smile. “We’ll be okay. We need to hide.”

“What’s coming?” I asked, feeling uncertain.

“Men. A lot of them.”

The driver took us off the road, into the nearest forest, until we were far out of sight of anyone traveling. Rig, quickly and quietly instructing us to stay hidden, took off on foot. Ignoring Hallers and Lia’s calls to come back, I exited the coach and followed him.

Fortunately I had chosen a simpler dress for travel. It was nowhere near as comfortable as the spying clothing I had worn previously, but this at least wasn’t too restrictive. I followed behind Rig silently, hiding behind a thick area of bushes as we watched the road.

“Why didn’t you stay in the carriage?!” Rig snapped.

“I’m watching your back.”

“Who says I need you…?”

“Shush! They’re coming!” We glared at each other for a few moments before turning our attention to the rode. The sounds of horses came closer, interspersed with men talking and laughing. We dug in deeper, looking on silently as they passed by.

Bandits?

About 30 or so men, all dressed in ragged dirty clothing. At first glance they seemed like a large but otherwise typical gang, but the longer I watched, the more things seemed to not make sense.

They were riding in an organized group, the horses all high quality mounts. Their swords and bows seemed well maintained, cleaned and ready for war. They seemed to know and treat each other well. Even as they joked with one another, it was fairly tame, their words fading into silence when the leader turned an eye in their direction.

These were ruleless, directionless bandits? They seemed more like… like…

Military.

I felt the blood drain from my face, icy cold panic gripping my heart as I recognized the direction they were heading. I wanted to speak out, to yell, to fight. But I could only regulate my breathing, trying to blend into the background as one “bandit” slowed down, pausing near our hiding place.

“What’s wrong, Sarg?” Another man paused and asked.

He shook his head, pointing at the path. “There are carriage tracks going off the road here.” Looking up, he stared into the forest. I wanted to hide deeper into the bushes, but knew that any movement would simply draw his attention. I held my breath.

“Who cares? It’s not like we’re actually here to rob travelers!” The second man clapped the first on the back, laughing.

“But we don’t want witnesses…” The man he had called “Sarg” muttered, still staring.

I gripped my knife from my pocket, ready to fight. Beside me I could feel Rig tensing as well. We wouldn’t let them attack the carriage. Hallers, Lia and the driver were still there. There were too many of them for us two to succeed... but maybe we could hold them off long enough for them to escape.

I tightened my grip, preparing to spring into action.

“GET BACK IN LINE!” The leader shouted. “WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!”

“Okay, Captain!” The smiling man answered, pulling along his friend. “Come on, Sarg! We can’t keep him waiting!”

“…” The man stared out silently into the woods for a few more moments before retrieving his gaze and moving on.

I waited until they were out of sight before letting out a sigh of relief. Rig and I exchanged looks of concern and then headed back towards the carriage. On our arrival, Lia greeted me with a cheer, hugging me tightly.

“Why did you run off?! I was so worried! Hallers said that you were talented at sneaking around and wouldn’t be caught but how could that be?”

I snuck a guilty glance at Hallers, who was studying me with a solemn expression. I guess I hadn’t fooled everybody when I snuck out of the Duchy those few times.

Turning to Rig, I stared at him seriously. “This is bad.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“You need to warn Nate.”

“No.” Rig crossed his arms stubbornly. “I need to protect you.”

“That’s not as important as this.” I pointed in the direction they had left in. “I know he already suspects that something’s wrong, but those are clearly military men, and thirty more could make a huge difference to a fight. If he doesn’t know what he’s getting into…” I swallowed, my eyes burning. “He could die.”

“What if you need me?” Rig asked, his face uncertain.

“I do. I need you to warn him. Please.” I was begging, but I couldn’t feel ashamed. Even if I was still sorting out my feelings about Nate, about my past and the uncertainty of the future, I couldn’t stand by if there was a possibility of him getting hurt.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

I want to see him. I want to make sure he’s okay… I thought of his smiling face as he promised to be careful, and could barely hold myself back from jumping on a horse and riding back. But I couldn’t abandon the Queen.

Biting my lip, so hard I tasted blood. I looked back up at Rig.

“Please.”

He sighed, reaching out to ruffle my hair with an almost helpless expression. “Don’t look like that, girl. I’ll help him. I promise.”

My breath came out in a long sigh. I slowly relaxed, smiling up at him. “Thank you.” It wasn’t perfect, but at least Nate wouldn’t be going into a fight blind.

“Don’t worry so much. He’s family too…” Rig paused, looking at me with a slight grin, “Or least he might be soon.”

He left right after his words, jumping on his horse and riding away, leaving me to stare after him. Does he know how I feel about Nate? Do all of them? Looking at Hallers’ and Lia’s knowing smiles, I found myself blushing and turning away. “Let’s go.”

They followed after me, still smiling.

_________________________

We arrived home, and I immediately contact Rig’s second hand man, asking him for information on the Queen. The dark clothed man stared at me, confused. “Miss, as far as I know, Her Majesty hasn’t left the palace. But…” He shook his head. “I’ll have our people check on her.”

“Please do. The danger to her might be from within the palace itself.” At my cautioning words the man went pale, before slowly nodding.

“And send a message to Angela, the Lady’s maid within the Count of Erand’s home. She’s the one who sent the warning.” I hesitated. “She may be a traitor, be careful.”

“Yes, Miss.” He walked away.

I stared after him, hoping that he would find everything was all right. Sighing, I went to find Henry.

_________________________

“WHAT IS THAT IDIOT DOING? DOES HE WANT A WAR? Because that’s how you start one!” Henry angrily watered the plants in the office as he spoke, his motions jerky as he moved from pot to pot.

Having just explained my suspicions regarding the “bandits” on the border, I just sat back, thinking his words over. “There’s no real evidence that these men are from Reterand. Even if they kill …” I paused, unable to say the words out loud. “…Even if that plan succeeds, it would be difficult to trace back to him. The question is why…”

If the king only wanted Nate dead, he would have sent assassins which would be more efficient. It meant he had some other purpose in this plan. I just didn’t know what.

“Well, if that bastard hurts my plant heist friend…” Henry paused, his face grim. “I’ll get revenge in the most evil way I know how.”

I was genuinely curious. “How is that?”

Henry chuckled viciously, rubbing his hands together. “Steal the royal lily breed their gardener has been cultivating.”

“Yes… I’m sure that will crush him.”

Looking around the room, which had previously been my office, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You really made yourself at home, cousin.” There were plants crammed into every spare space of the office, even a few pots hanging from the ceiling. My only consolation was that the desk itself was organized, with the paperwork piled neatly. It seemed he was taking his work at the duchy seriously.

Henry followed my gaze, confused. “I just added a few things, though?” Turning away, I heard him add under his breath. “This is only phase 1 of the ultimate plant transformation.”

“…” I ignored his words, feeling I would be better off not knowing.

“Well, if Nate’s in trouble in Tilendria, something really terrible must have happened to bring you here instead of by his side. What’s going on?”

I paused at his words. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you look at Nate like I look at my geraniums… like he’s the best thing around.” Henry grinned confidently. “If you marry him, can I make him my official plant heist planner? He’s very talented”

“…” I shook my head, unwilling to comment. “I received word that the Queen is in danger.”

I quickly explained about the message I received. He shook his head. “I haven’t heard of anything out of the ordinary. She contacts me every few days or so, checking up to see if you’re okay.” He thought it over. “I haven’t heard from her since two days ago though.”

I was surprised. “She checks up on me?”

“All the time.” He reached out, patting my hand. “She obviously cares about you a lot.” Humming, he went back to watering his plants, leaving me to stare and think things over.

This life was so different.

_________________________

I laid in my room, crying, as I had been since I had gotten home from the party yesterday afternoon. Angela had left after a few attempts to comfort me, leaving me alone.

“What did I do wrong?” I whispered, the sound warped by sobs. “I just wanted to be loved.”

I missed the Queen, she always knew what to do. She was so kind, so loving. Even if my engagement had just been broken, she would come to see me, right?

Hopefully she would be here soon.

_________________________

She had stayed away from me in the days following the broken engagement, not writing, not visiting, ignoring all my letters. Even once I was out on the streets, she simply disowned me and pretended I had died.

My heart hurt at the memory, even as it didn’t make sense with how she had responded in this life.

Feeling stressed, I decided to make myself some tea. As the water heated, I went to select some tea leaves… and paused. In the corner of the tea cabinet there was a small bag that was unopened.

The tea the Queen had given me the day before Ronan’s birthday party.

Hadn’t she said it would help relieve stress? Shrugging mentally, I added those tea leaves to the pot, steeping it and bringing it back with me to the office.

I’ll take all the help I can get.

I sat back down and watched Henry fuss over his plants, pouring us both a cup of the tea I had made. My thoughts on the Queen, and the difference between her past and present actions, I idly lifted the cup to my lips, preparing to drink.

CRASH!

I stared down at the cup on the floor, looking at Henry who had swiped it out of my grip, his face calm.

“What’s going on, Henry?” I asked, feeling confused.

“Why are you always drinking poison?” He demanded, rolling his eyes. “It’s starting to make me worry that you have a habit.”

I stiffened in my chair. “Poison?”

He sniffed the tea in his untouched cup, nodding again. “I was about to drink it too, and I noticed the smell. It’s Glat leaf.”

“…” I wasn’t sure what that was.

“It would cause headaches, fatigues, nausea, vomiting and diarrhea.” He spread his hands. “Most people would feel they had simply fallen ill. It can be quite serious, you’d be sick for days at least. More likely a week.”

I stared at the broken cup on the ground, my heart racing. “Sick for days?”

I thought back to what the conversation had been before the Queen gave me the tea. It wasn’t hers… it was a gift from Edith.

I stood up.

The Queen had been sick in my previous life. Just before the party where Ronan was to break the engagement, unable to assist me. Allowing me to fall on my own, with only my uncaring parents for support.

Edith had planned everything.

But if she had been that meticulous… then… I groaned, putting my head in my hands.

The letters were stolen, both mine to her… and hers to me. She could have easily been prevented from seeing me, even if she had come by after she recovered… a few quick lies from my traitorous lady maid.

Edith had been the one to tell me that the Queen had disowned me… considered me dead… I sat back down for a moment, my legs losing strength. I had believed it, believing in what I had seen at the palace that day.

Frowning, I thought back over that day, that I had snuck into the palace.

_________________________

“NOTHING SHE SAYS WILL CHANGE MY MIND! SHE’S DEAD, AND SO I’M STAYING HERE!”

_________________________

I rubbed my temples. She had said something else… something I could barely hear.

_________________________

“…wish… dead.”

What had she said?

“I wish… I were dead with her.”

She truly had thought i was dead. She didn’t hate me, disown me or despise me.

She loved me.

In this life and the last. So much that she had locked herself in her room to mourn, refusing to leave. She had never changed. I had only been deceived.

I needed to see her. She had adopted me as her daughter, but I had never treated her like my true mother. I had never had the chance to really tell her how I feel.

“Mother.” I whispered, standing up in a daze.

“Where are you going, Lenora?” Henry asked. “What about this poison?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I need to go see the Queen, now.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sure, I’ve already waited a lifetime too long.”

_________________________

I ran out, only taking Hallers and a coachman, too impatient to wait to gather more staff.

I need to see her. I had to tell her the truth.

I was so focused as we traveled, that it took me a moment to realize that the carriage had stopped.

“What’s going on…” I paused as we heard the coachman screaming.

Hallers turned to me, his face pale but determined. “Run, Miss, I’ll hold them off!”

He stood up, preparing to fight, but was pulled out of the carriage immediately. I grabbed my knife, but through the window hands reached into the carriage, clamping a cloth around my face. An overly sweet fragrance filled my nostrils, overtaking my mind.

“Mother.” The word was muffled by the cloth. I reached out, my hand reaching out futilely towards the palace.

I didn’t get to tell you that I loved you, Mother.

I’m sorry.

The world faded into black.

_________________________

I woke up slowly, every muscle in my body aching.

Where am I? Looking around, I could only see a dark room, lit by a single candle. I tried to move my arms and legs, realizing that I was tightly tied to a chair. The ropes dug into my skin, the pressure making my fingers feel numb. I flexed my hands, trying to wiggle loose, but couldn’t make the ropes budge. I tried a few more times before giving up, feeling tired and dizzy.

The soft sound of laughter filled the air.

I stiffened in my chair, searching the darkness for the source of the familiar voice. I heard a light tapping, the sounds of shoes against the stone floor, the light rustle of fabric dragging along the ground.

Step by step, my kidnapper came into the light, bending over to study me closer with a gentle smile, but eyes so cruel that my blood ran cold.

Edith finally spoke, her voice filled with triumph.

“Welcome back, sister.”

#writing #i can't eat love #second life #second chance #here it is guys #we're close #sorry again

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cecilspeaks · 5 years

Text

153 - The Heist, part 1

Constellations are fan art depicting ancient gods. Welcome to Night Vale.

I’ve said many times that science is neat. But sometimes it is also messy. Carlos converted one of our guest rooms into a laboratory so he can spend more time at home and get some needed renovations done on his laboratory downtown. Which seemed like a great idea, until I realized that it’s impossible to contain chemical odors and stains from getting all over the rest of the house. Not only did acid eat through our new Egyptian-tiled backsplash, but also a petri dish grew feet and walked outside, only to walk back inside tracking mud all over my new handwoven Svitzian rug. The last straw was when Carlos stained all of his shirt sleeves, not to mention his hands and, somehow, even the (cords) countertops a dull green, which completely threw off my kitchen color palette. I told Carlos he had to stop, but he insisted he had made a major breakthrough in his doorless fridge invention. “Cecil, this is so exciting,” he said, bouncing up and down like a child who wants a toy or needs to pee. “The problem with refrigerators is the door. In order to put food in or take food out, you have to open the door, and that’s totally bad because it lets all the cool air out, raising the temperature of the other food inside. I told him that’s not that big of a problem, but his face darkened and he said, “Baking is an exact science, Cecil. If the butter is off my a couple of degrees, my croissants are ruined.”

I understood, but I asked that he find another place to conduct that particular experiment. He’s turning everything in our home a dull green, including his own skin. Fortunately, my sister Abby and her husband Steve Carlsberg just bought a new house. Ever since his promotion to vice president of the Last Bank of Night Vale, Steve has been saving up to buy a larger home for his family, one with a yard for dogs, no stairs and wider doors for his daughter Janice’s wheelchair, and even his own man cave, where he can raise bats and cultivate rare crystals. And they finally closed on their dream home this summer. They bought Janice a car too, complete with accessible hand controls, a state of the art sound system, and a moon roof that closes automatically at night so you never have to see that awful moon. Anyway, there is also a giant empty storage shed out back of their new home, and Steve and Abby told Carlos he can work in the shed until his laboratory downtown is ready to use again. So far, it sounds like everything is working out fine for Carlos, although he did accidentally leave a large green handprint on Janice’s new car. The good news is, she thought it looked really cool, so she decided to leave it.

Listeners, I’m getting word that there’s a robbery taking place in downtown Night Vale. Three people have entered the Last Bank of Night Vale and are demanding money from the tellers. The robbers are wearing masks of former US presidents Richard Nixon, William Henry Harrison, and Emma Goldman. The Sheriff’s Secret Police, as well as the Sheriff’s Overt Police, are on the scene but the perpetrators have begun to take hostages and the police are trying to negotiate. The robbers have not stated any demands yet, so the police are left to guess what they want. One officer suggested giving them a million dollars, which was (-) [0:05:52] accepted by the fellow officers as a great idea. Because, while human lives cannot be distilled down to a monetary value, a million dollars is pretty cool. But this idea was shot down by Sheriff Sam, who pointed out that the department does not have a million dollars. “What if we got them a puppy?” another officer offered up. “My basset just had a litter and I thought we’d be able to sell them, but it’s definitely a buyer’s market out there for hounds,” the officer continued. “Anyway I’ve got a brown one with white spots and two white ones with brown stops. I’ve named the Chutney, Footstool and Bob Ross. Footstool is the runt, let’s give them Footstool.” “We’re not giving them puppies,” Sheriff Sam shouted. “Oo, what about an Applebee’s gift card?” another officer said. “Worth a million dollars.” “Or a coupon book for free favors,” another said, “like repainting the guest room or raking leaves or – oh, wait, we’re the police right? A free crime day! They, they could use that coupon today, and we don’t have to arrest them and file all the paperwork, and the hostages get to go free. We could even have a coupon for a 15 minute backrub.”

All of the officers clapped for this idea, not just a win-win but a win-win-win, for the hostages, the robbers and the police. All except Sheriff Sam, who silenced them all with a loud whistle. More like a pan flute, really. It’s an enchanted whistle that causes vocal cords to stop working. “We are police,” the Sheriff scolded. “It is clearly stated in our oath of office to never give backrubs to bank robbers.” They then set to work trying to devise a plan to stop the robbery and free the hostages in the bank. Oh dear. Uh, listeners, I was just talking about my brother-in-law Steve, and here comes this terrible news. Um, I have no further information about Steve’s condition right now, nor the other citizens who are being held at gunpoint inside the bank. I will update you as events progress.

In the meantime, let’s go to sports. The Night Vale high school Scorpions opened their season this Friday against the Whispering Forest Wood Dogs. Scorpion’s head coach Latrice Beaumont said this will be a tough match up. The Wood Dogs, a team entirely comprised of trees, are roundly regarded as one of the toughest defenses in the state, with their tactic of whispering compliments to opposing players, until those players themselves turn into trees. Last season, Whispering Forest dealt to Night Vale its only loss, as nine of the Scorpions starting offensive players, including quarterback Junius Duncan, were won over by the Wood Dogs’ pleasant cooing. By the end of the game, the field was covered in trees, many of them former Night Vale high school student athletes. And Whispering Forest snuck out with a 3-to nothing win on the late field goal, that was somehow kicked by a tree. Coach Beaumont says she plans to give her players ear plugs to help dampen the whispers from the Wood Dogs’ defense. She also has uglied up the Scorpions’ uniforms adding mustard yellow and hot pink argyle atop the dark purple jerseys, hoping that the arborial defenders will find little good to say. The Scorpions are starting a new quarterback this season, sophomore (phenome) [0:09:20] Julie Dobbs, who won the job because of her prophetic dreams. Her slumbering subconscious is able to see the future, most notably other teams’ defensive strategies. She also uses her dream journals to develop a nearly unstoppable offensive game plan. She also owns her own football, which was a huge plus for the coaches. Good luck this weekend, Scorpions! We’re pulling for you.

I now have the names of the hostages being hold at the Last Bank of Night Vale. Jesse McNeil, a security guard who has worked at the bank for nearly 50 years, oh Jesse. What a sweet old man. He says hi to me every time I go there, always has a smile and a compliment. Why, just the other day he said to me, “Heard you on the radio, Cecil, and I was beaming with pride.” Another hostage, bank teller Genevieve Daly, who started at the bank this week. Oh Genevieve, what a tough break. Just now that we’re pulling for you. Bank customer and dinosaur expert Joel Isenberg. Oh Joel, I know Joel! He’s such a smart guy. And the last of the hostages: staff supervisor of the bank, Susan Willman. OK well, tough.

Unfortunately, after several grueling minutes, negotiations between the sheriff and the robbers have broken down. So the police have decided that the only way to break the stalemate is with physical force. While this makes sense in chess, I don’t know if this is such a good idea for hostage negotiations, listeners. But the police have advanced into the building to engage the thieves directly.

Witnesses reported hearing several gunshots, but they said the noises could also be fireworks, part of the day long celebration of Lee Marvin’s 31st birthday, which was back in June. Oh. Happy late birthday, Mr. Marvin. You don’t look a day over 30.

We cannot see inside the bank and no one has emerged yet. I will have to report back later as soon as I have – oh no wait, wait. I’ve been told that the bank is on fire now. The west wall of the bank is engulfed in flames and the Night Vale fire department is already on the scene. They are shouting at the fire to stop being such a nuisance, but the fire does not appear to be listening.

Oh, this isn’t good. And even more frightening for me, I did not see Steve Carlsber’s name on the list of hostages. Abby told me he was at work today, but why was he not taken hostage? I can only hope he had gone to lunch when the robbery began. Steve, if you hear this and you’re at lunch, don’t go back to work, it’s on fire. I feel so powerless. All I can do is hope And bring you the weather.

[My Friend” by Dominique Chantel Worthing with Barrett Ward, https://soundcloud.com/dominique-worthing ]

First, the good news. The hostages have been freed. Inside the bank, the police drew their weapons on the robbers, but could not get off a clean shot because of the hostages blocking their line of fire. The robbers fired back, forcing the police to retreat behind a Coinstar machine and a full sized promotional cardboard cutout featuring a hooded man, his jagged smile just barely visible in shadow, holding a raw slab of red meat with the bold tex below him reading: “Great mortgage rates are inside of you”. But the second wave of officers blocked the thieves’ escape from the front entrance. Then, and Sheriff Sam did not see how this happened, but a fire began in the bank lobby. It spread quickly and the room filled with smoke. In the confusion, the hostages broke free from their captors and the robbers ran from the police. Fire engines sprayed water and broadcasted loud admonishments at the fire to knock it off already.

Susan, Joel, Genevieve and Jesse ran out into the street covering their faces, choking on the black air. As Jesse emerged, his 75-year-old body was knocked backwards by one of he fire engines’ hoses. Jesse was soak head to foot. The firefighters apologized, but Jesse merely brushed himself off and then generously complimented their work by saying, “I see you’re fighting a fire.” What a gentleman. The three perpetrators of the bank robbery also fled through the front of the building, but the police quickly halted and arrested them. As the fire finally subsided, amidst the damp charred masonry and broken glass, came another figure. Steve Carlsberg emerged from the bank, sweating and limping, but safe. An ambulance arrived to take the survivors to the hospital, but they all declined, except Steve who had a broken foot and gladly took the EMTs up on their offer. The bank robbers were transported to the abandoned mine shaft outside of town for questioning. It’s an open and shut case. The bad people lose and the good people win, and every single person, even the people who own Applebee’s, is glad no one had to purchase a one million dollar Applebee’s gift card. My brother-in-law is safe, as are his employees and customers. No one died and not a single dollar was taken from the bank registers at the front counter, nor the ATMs, nor the Coinstar. Even the fire didn’t damage those bills.

That was the good news. The bad news: as the police did a final sweep of the bank, searching for anyone else inside, whether they be customers or criminals, they reached the bank’s vault in the back of the building. Before he left the hospital, the police asked Steve Carlsberg to open the vault for them. “We’re sure everything’s fine, “they said. “It’s routine in a bank robbery,” they said. “I understand,” Steve said. He opened the vault, they looked inside, and they saw nothing. Millions of dollars in bills and gold were gone. Sheriff Sam said there’s a conspiracy here, and they’re going to really put the screws to the people they arrested. “No HBO until they explain where the money from the vault,” the Sheriff declared. And that’s a big deal, because a black lady’s sketch show just premiered last month and is crazy good. The Sheriff said they have no clues yet as to where the money in the vault went, but they did discover the robbers’ names are Richard, William, and Emma. Which is interesting because those are the names of the presidents whose masks they wore. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence,” the Sheriff said confidently. The bank lost a great deal of money today and some innocent people lost their sense of comfort, but we are all still alive. At least those in this story are, and I’m so happy to know my brother-in-law is safe, as are Jesse and Joel and Genevieve, whom I’ve never even met. I’m glad those specific people are OK as well as anyone else who was taken hostage today.

Stay tuned next for an unedited recording from two years ago of you talking to a kitten. You sound ridiculous.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Don’t go writing metaphors. Please stick to the similes and literal descriptions that you’re used to.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 153 #the heist #the heist part 1

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forsakentoast · 5 years

Text

Blessed Healing pt.1

Dedicated to @dinfeanoriel and @ourevergreen

***there is mentions of blood and injury.

Seek and ye shall find. A flower amongst the rare. Blessed by the goddesses themselves, a flower with the power to heal. The Beati Sanitatem.

Finding the flower was no easy task. With little to no reports of such a rare flower, those sent in search were chasing what felt like a fantasy. As the princess’ knight fell grievously ill, hope was stretched thin.

Until one day…

“Princess! The flower has been found!” came the response from the tired out knight. He had burst into her study room to announce the news she had been waiting to hear. “It is currently being transported here as we speak.”

“Tell me, how and where was this flower found?”

“My princess, the Gorons came stumbling across it as they were digging through Death Mountain. Did the noble thing and informed us immediately.”

Relief was written across the face of the young woman as finally her knight would be saved.

“Were… Were there any other flowers growing nearby?” The hopeful tone shining through.

But the knight only gazed down and shook his head, “None, my princess. That is the only one to have been made known.”

Sighing, Zelda knew to expect that answer. Clearing her head, she stood from her spot and walked past the guard. “As it arrives, be sure to bring it to my quarters. The extraction must be immediate.”

With a nod, the knight waited for the princess to clear the room and went to inform the others of the order.

-----

“Good to see you up and ready, general.”

A small smile graced the knight’s features. “You know I cannot be kept from action for so long. No sickness can keep me from my duty.”

“I guess there is no way to convince you to stay in bed for a moment longer, huh?”

A small laugh was huffed in reply.

“Do you… Are you feeling alright?”

“Never better. That flower really is blessed. I feel… so energized. Like I can take the Calamity all on my own.”

“Ha… Sure, general. As if that could ever happen. As I recall, the prophecy states that it is the duty of the princess and her knight to seal away the looming threat.”

Gathering long red hair into a low ponytail, the knight threw a look at the young woman near the doorway. “Always have to include yourself in everything, huh?”

A laugh was shared between the two as they walked side by side to do the day’s duty.

----

“If I may ask, what brings this visit to our domain, Princess Zelda.”

“King Frenal and Queen Veela, I wish to gift you the Beati Sanitatem. It seems the flower has taken a liking to the wet climate your domain brings about. It really is a shocker, seeeing as it drastically changed it preferred climate. I am sure you were aware of my scouts camping out amidst your forest?”

“And why gift it to us? A rare flower, such as this one, should have been fine in your capable hands. Have you not thought about cultivating it?”

“Cultivation was tried, my good king, but it ended in utter failure. The flower began to wither and die. It was returned to its original place in Death Mountain, but it still continued to wither. Gerudo lands also bore no favor to the flower. Rito and the Hebra region all seemed to be fine at first, but the cold just slowed down the decay.”

Turning to get the plant from her knight, Zelda presented the flower. It did not fail to pull a gasp from those present in the Zora throne room. The flower as pale as the moon and its stem as green as the greenest of jades was as lovely to look at. Even more so with the blue ethereal glow it was encompassed with.

“With all due respect, I am aware that the good queen has been having bouts of sickness. It seems more appropriate to gift it. I have no greed to possess such a flower when I already had what I needed. Besides, my knight is in good health, thanks to the flower’s healing properties. I’m positive, my gracious queen, that your health will be restored.”

Agreements were exchanged between the two kingdoms, and the flower was gifted. With the knowledge Zelda possessed, the petals were harvested and carefully consumed by the queen until the flower was no more. What little time was given with the flower, notes were recorded.

Within the observations, the legends of the Zora royal family possessing the ability to heal began.

But diverging from those legends, another being bore the power to heal.

----

Running.

It was all that could have been done. The rain blinded both the princess her knight. Link led the way.

Chaos reigned all throughout the land. Screams of despair echoed all around. Explosions rocked the earth and the deep panting could only fail to act as a filter for what was happening.

It was with a false hope that Zelda arrived on time to aid her father and the castle. But all hope died off as she laid her eyes to the waste and ruins that was Castle Town. Something within told her that all was lost. Even the life of her beloved father.

The distant, bellowing roars from the divine beasts rang from miles away also set a sense of dread that slowly confirmed her greatest fear.

A seemingly harsh tug and pull to another direction snapped Zelda from her daze. She could only focus on her knight who led the way towards the Dueling Peaks, presumably to lead her away from danger.

It was difficult to keep up. Trying to not trip over your own two feet and drowning out the cries of those in chaos was overwhelming. Too much to handle. And Zelda felt herself slipping, knees crashing to the ground as everything became too much.

The rain did nothing but aid her lament.

“Gone… They’re gone... Link...” the words were spoken with too much disbelief. As if they were unnatural to have stumbled out of her lips. “I… I failed them all. I left them all to… die… All because,” the lump in her throat made it all the more difficult to speak, “this cursed power… the birthright given to me couldn’t be h-harnessed.�� And the dam broke. Tears intermingled with the rain as her sobs tried to cover the chaos happening.

She felt consoled by her knight. Both stayed there for what felt like forever, at least it felt like it, until a pained sob broke through the depressing moment.

Zelda and Link both looked around for the sound. Link uttered an apology and stood up from the princess, looking around. Trees obscured the vision and with the chaos still occurring, Link was on edge.

A pained grunt came and Link couldn’t help but quickly point his weapon at the direction of the source.

A young girl who looked to be the age of 12 was leaning against a tree. Blood seeped through a wound that was on her right side. Skin paling and wide brown eyes frantically looking at the young man in front of her.

“P-please,” she whispered, “Help me.” She sounded so scared.

The young girl could only grunt in more pain as she tried to readjust herself. A hiss of pain left between gritted teeth as the wound was accidentally pressed on. Eyes fluttered open as a hand caressed her face. She took in the two people before her. Maybe they would be her salvation.

Zelda’s voice cracked as she spoke, “W-what’s your name?”

The young girl weakly responded, “Olivia.”

More soothing hands caressed her face.

“Will you help me?” came the strained reply.

“Of course. Of course.”

Zelda shared a grief stricken look with Link. The sad look in his eyes also confirmed what Zelda was thinking. This young girl was not going to make it.

Frustration wanted to pour out of the princess. She felt helpless. Everything seemed to be left to Link. Her uttered words of comfort felt like it was the most she could do. Clenching her hands to her dress, she solemnly nodded towards the young man in front of her.

Adjusting herself once more she looked at the girl, “Olivia, my good friend here… He can help you.”

Pained grunts came in response. But the pair gazed into her eyes, a new found hope shining in them.

As easy as he could, Link cradled the body and made sure to rest his head upon hers. One last nod goaded him on and he began to hum. His golden hair turned ruby red and started to glow a ghostly blue light that engulfed him and the girl.

As the light began to fade away and the red turned back to blond, the young girl could not help but send a small smile of gratitude, as her last whispered words were, “Thank you.”

There was no time to bury the dead. Link knew that. And he hated the disrespect he felt towards the young girl. With the usage of his ability in this circumstance, he felt his energy greatly drain out of his body. He felt his hold slackening but willed himself to hold on for a bit more.

Despite the exhaustion, grief pulled harder. This young girl is around the same age as his sister. He wanted to shake those thoughts away. He tried to settle that his family is safe. That they escaped. Plucking small weed flowers and quickly cutting small branches, he made a small bouquet and laid it on top of the girl.

She looked so peaceful. Save for the bloodstain, she appeared as if she were sleeping; without a grimace to mar her features. For now, that brought a small peace of mind. Once this was over, he would come and make sure a proper burial was given.

He swore on his life.

Standing up, Link wanted to stumble. The ground could not have looked more welcoming. He could have taken a nap right then and there if it hadn’t been for Zelda pulling him as she began running. They had to get out of there. They had to keep moving.

Every step they took was one step closer to getting to where they needed to be.

Passing through the Dueling Peaks did not ease the settling dread Zelda began to feel. To her, it felt heavier with every step they took. But she pushed through. For her and for Link.

As soon as her steps faltered, Link pushed through at the forefront and led the way once more.

They had to reach at least the gates of Fort Hateno. Maybe then, horses could be supplied and make the trip even faster. Regrouping and getting Zelda to safety were the top priorities.

“Watch out!”

Link tumbled to the ground with the princess in tow. He cursed himself as he realized his mistake in being so lost in thought. Whatever exhaustion clung to his weary bones were immediately forgotten as Link was now alert and awake. Taking one quick look at the princess and making sure she was okay, he did a quick sweep of the chaos in front of him.

Fear wanted to seize his movements. Make him stop short when he saw what awaited them. Guardians littered the fields. He was lucky to have had Zelda push him out of the way of a stray shot.

Taking one deep breath, Link immediately went to analyze the situation. Maybe they both could move within the cover of the smoke; quickly run and use some the downed guardians as cover from those who are mobile.

Following his gaze and guessing his train of thought, Zelda spoke. “I’ll follow wherever you go. But Link… Please… Promise me that if it gets too much, leave me and save yourself. If I get hurt, save yourself.”

She was only met with a frown.

“You are exhausted. You may do a phenomenal job at hiding it, but I can sense it. I may currently serve no use,” a glare from her knight, “but I can manage to find my way.”

She was right. Link felt exhaustion crawl up and slowly lay claim to his soul. It was times like these where he wanted to curse this power. Every time he had to use it, it severely drained his energy. He was lucky to have still been awake, especially from the task he did with the young girl beforehand.

He just had to push through. He just had to. For the sake of the-

A beep caught his attention all too late. The repercussion for the delay in reaction earned Link a shot to the leg.

Oh how he wanted to curse out loud. Another beep later and narrowly dodging, Link hissed as he landed on his bad leg. Quickly pushing himself and ignoring the pain, he hobbled over to Zelda.

“I’m fine! Stop fussing over me!”

She quickly stood up and tackled the knight to the ground as another beam shot their way. “Over there!” she pointed to the slight right. About 26 yards or so, a legless guardian glowed an infected red, staring at their direction until it opted to whirl around in search of its next target.

“When it turns to face the opposite of that fallen wall structure, we have to make a run for it. . The smoke should play in our favor.” Looking between the guardian, Link, and the destined spot, Zelda exhaled and directed her gaze towards her knight. “Link I’m sorry to ask this… but quickly heal yourself. Now!” she hadn’t meant to be harsh, but she knew that he would have persisted on that bad leg. She silently begged for the goddess to hear her at least this once and grant her the strength to pull the weight of her companion.

All was silent once more as pained hums and grinding of the guardians. As it was over, Zelda looked him over. Visible bags became evident under his eyes as the strenuous effort to heal himself was done. Labored breathing filled both sets of ears as Link tried to gain purchase and stood.

It was an act of mercy that the immobile guardian was looking the other way. With steeled resolve, two sets of feet sprinted and dodged behind the collapsed wall. It was in good luck too as the machine whirred back to life and was getting ready to charge another shot.

It was unfortunate to have a shift in winds. The dread in Zelda’s stomach manifested even more as black smoke obscured their vision. Infectious reds could be seen peeking out through the smoke. Some boldly shining, while others flickered about.

It was now or never.

Hand in hand, both the princess and her knight sprinted across the field. Both were ignorant of the puddles splashing their legs, nor did they mind the slippery mud. Their sights were set on reaching the gates of Fort Hateno and a main priority was dodging guardian beams.

A burning sensation bloomed across his shoulder as he was thrown a couple feet forward.

‘Damn guardians,’ Link cursed.

Zelda was lucky to have escaped with minor scratches and bruising here and there. That cursed blast sure did get them by surprise. Shaking her head to gather herself quickly, she saw her knight sprawled on the ground a good foot or two ahead.

“Hylia, please!” She ran up and dragged him off.

She thanked the heavens as another blast was sent a few seconds from where he previously laid. Plants and earth were sent flying as the beam hit, fire sparking only to be put out by the rain.

Link was breathing heavier as the seconds passed. His shoulder was burning, he could feel something wet running down his face, and his thoughts were reeling. He looked around to ground himself. He saw Zelda give him a smile of relief. The smoke was still present. The rain still fell. And a guardian was looking right at them. A guardian was looking!

Pushing himself up and realizing that it was too late to dodge, he did the logical thing, use his body as a shield. With arms stretched and a defiant look, Link braced himself for impact.

Sensory overload was what he felt. He barely recalled the pained gasp that left his mouth, nor did he remember how when he crashed into Zelda. Burning was felt everywhere. Pain blossomed on his chest. The wind was knocked out of him. In his daze, he did not feel his ability self-trigger; he just felt so tired.

He had to fight.

He had to protect.

Protect.

Fight.

Protect.

He was so exhausted. Every guardian he downed was met with another looming over his head. He was not so lucky to have dodge some beams or from fires that spread just before being extinguished from the rain.

He was gasping for breath. Bleeding wounds were in greater numbers. Burns littered his body and a lucky shot found its mark on his face, leaving it exposed and tender to the touch. The glow encompassing had long left his body. There were some wounds that were half healed while plenty of others were left untouched. His ability had abandoned him, having shut itself off by his stubborn will that barely registered that it was active. He needed his energy. Stupid thing.

They were almost halfway there. He cleared the way for Zelda, he just needed a bit more. He silently begged for Hylia to give him strength to push through. None was given. The duo were outnumbered. Through the smoke, the malice-infected machines found the very targets they were sworn to protect. The ominous clacks they released soon came closer and closer

Using the Master Sword as a crutch, Link pushed himself up. Body screeched in response as painful protests were given. The dark bags under his eyes became even more pronounced, eyes a lot dimmer than earlier. Exhaustion wanted to pull him deep under. Black danced across his vision and his hearing was muffled.

“...ink… Link!” Zelda frantically called out. “Link! Save yourself! I… I can protect myself! Save yourself!”

Her cries were all but ignored as he gave himself one final push to steady himself.

The clacks were inching closer. Closer. Closer. The red finally peaked through the smoke. It charged it self to deliver one final blast to rid of the young man staring boldly at it.

“Save yourself!”

Her screams were shrugged off as his demeanor changed into a snarl. If this beast takes him to the grave, so be it. He wouldn’t be the only one.

Before the beam was discharged and his fate accepted, Link felt himself shoved out of the way as the princess shouted, “No!” and a golden light shot out from her outstretched hand and into the heavens. It was a beautiful sight. All that was encompassed by it, felt a purifying energy. But just as quickly it was summoned, it just as quickly disappeared.

He really wanted to say something. Anything. Pride swelled in his chest, he knew that for sure. Before he opened his mouth, exhaustion pulled at him and he collapsed on the ground. The impact on his battered body was not enough to garnish nothing more than just a groan.

He was fading fast. He barely caught the regret in Zelda’s voice. As he embraced the darkness, he felt the way Zelda held him. Such tenderness. He wanted to say something once again. Staring at her, he just left. Inky darkness pulling him deeper into a void and he knew nothing.

Until a century later when he awoke.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #this will turn into linked universe #botw #toast writes #dedicated to a demanding bean and a cool beans #tangled inspired #just me and my ideas #please lower your expecations #this was supposed to be fun and light #but my hand slipped #reupload

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inthepantheon · 4 years

Text

Where is the Party?

I didn’t want to, but I eventually decided to open one eye, and then the other, and then looked around in the dusty tomb. I sat up slowly, trying to shake the cobwebs from my mind, then stretched languidly with a big groan. “Ohhhh, my head,” I said to myself just to be sure I could still talk. “I don’t know who, but someone definitely spiked the punch last night.” Donning my sandals and reaching for my thyrsos, I walked over to the table, picked up my ivy crown, and placed it on my head crookedly. Who cares about isometry, after all? Not me. Looking around, I let out a soft laugh that turned into a cackle in the next breath and eventually died into a cough. I made my way outside to the narrow street and took a few steps before a lot of yelling was directed my way, followed by a trumpeting bellow. Turning, I had barely enough time to side-step the laden elephant lumbering down the street. “Oh great,” I said out loud, adding an eye-roll, “I must be in India again. No wonder the bike lanes are on the wrong side of the street. Leave it to me to get plastered in a place where the only alcohol they sell is the rubbing kind.” I laughed heartily at my own joke until I ran out of breath and then leaned heavily on my thyrsos. Slowly—every step took me closer to the edge of the village—and a few more steps after that led me into the woods. Once safe in the darkness of the forest, I swayed for a few seconds and thudded my thyrsos against the ground three times. I waited with my eyes closed, quiet and unmoving. A few minutes passed when suddenly everything around me went quiet. There was no more chirping and no more rustling about. Another silent moment passed before the reason for the hush announced itself with a low but powerful growl. Opening one eye, and then the other, I smiled broadly and did a little jig at the massive male panther standing in front of me. He gave me a bored look, licking his maw. Looking the huge beautiful cat in the eyes, I made a circular motion with my index finger, pointing down. The large beast gave me a look, and I swore he rolled its eyes at me! A few seconds passed before the panther gave up with a snort and turned his back. “You better turn around…” I returned the panther’s snort and reached out to scratch behind his ears. Heaving a leg over his back, I slid down close to his haunches, getting comfortable. I leaned forward a bit and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “To the airport, Jeeves,” I said with a chortle, “I have family that isn’t expecting me.” The panther rolled his eyes at me for real this time, but I ignored the gesture. Moving along with the gait of the beast, I closed my eyes, trusting the cat’s sense of direction. I thought back on times of old...times of very old. The call of Olympus had not reached out to me for a long time…until recently. I couldn’t guess at what this calling I had felt the past months was all about. All I knew was that I had avoided it long enough, and it had gotten to the point where it was drowning all the other voices in my head. When I opened my eyes, I was already standing where I wanted to be standing: in front of one of the many sliding-door entrances to the airport. I walked in with a mumble, leaning on my thyrsos, and made my way to the kiosk. I stared the tired-looking employee in the eyes. “I would like one ticket to Athens, please. Yes, the original one. None of the copies they made ages later. And of course, I want it to be first class. That’s where you get wine for free, isn’t it? Tell them to stock up on extra bottles of red. What’s that? Name? Dionysos. Yes, like the god. Last name? Don’t have one. I’m like…Cher, but prettier. No. What makes you think I was kidding? Do you take a check?” The ride on the plane was a mix between drool-on-myself-more-than-usual boring and tear-my-beard-out-and-feed-it-to-someone annoying. Things started off well enough after the whole check-in fiasco...the airlines do not take checks. I am not in the mood to rehash that nonsense. Since when is a piece of paper with the name of a god on it, worthless? I bet if my name were Justin Bieber, she would have accepted the check. I really need to work on my celebrity status! The person assigned to serve me in first class was a tiny little thing with smooth sepia-toned skin, straight raven-black hair, and the most beautiful pale green eyes. The tag pinned to her vest read Shiree, but after the third time I blurted out a bit too loud for everyone’s liking, “More wine, sweet Cherry!” She walked up to me, puckered her lips, and narrowed her eyes, asking me politely to call her “Stewardess.” Two hours into the flight, after her eighteenth trip to my seat for more wine, she finally resigned to me calling her “Bartender.” She did threaten me once by telling me she’d have the flight marshal put me in handcuffs, but backed off when I waggled my eyebrows at her and told her she could use my set if she wanted. As we began our final approach and started getting ready to land, I looked out the window. It took me a minute to register that I was nowhere near the water south of the city, but further west, past the hills where Pallene used to be back in the day. I laughed to myself, and Cherry, the Bartender, gave me a stern look from her temporary seat, all buckled up. I gave her the stink-eye in reply and looked back out the window. A new airport out in the middle of nowhere would make it a lot easier for me to find transportation a la Dionysos. As soon as we landed, I walked through the gates and out the doors. Suddenly, the trip I dreaded so much is filling me with excitement, and I can’t figure out why. Leaning on my thyrsos, I turned right, walked past the overpass leading to the parking lot, and kept going until my feet touched earth. I am not going to lie. As soon as I smelled the open air, saw the pine trees sway, and heard the cicadas chirping in the sun, my heart quickened. My lips tried to repeat out loud what my heart told my brain to say. “It has been too lo…” was all I got out before a tear escaped my right eye and trickled down to water my beard. Before I knew it, I was on my knees, bawling, like the time sweet Ikarios was taken from us sooner than expected. Steadying myself on my thyrsos, I jabbed at the earth with my left thumb, where my tears fell and murmured softly. Finally making it back up to my feet, I looked around and realized that no one had noticed me. Walking under the bright sun, I headed for the closest thatch of trees. When in the shadows, I turned back to the path I took and cackled in delight at the small vine that popped out of the ground, right where my tears had fallen. Those grapes will be sour to eat, but they will make a hell of a retsina…if anyone bothers to cultivate them. Hidden in the small forest, I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate as much as my brain would allow. I pounded my thyrsos into the ground three times and waited, unmoving. I tried to picture a bull, or even better yet, a donkey. Even though I was not in the city, I was close enough that I would be lucky if I could summon a chicken. Another few minutes passed, and sweat started to roll down my back. Just when I was about to give up and go look for a taxi, I heard a low growl. For the second time in minutes, I found myself on my knees again, but this time laughing like a toddler. “What in all the Mavrodaphne grapes of Patra are you doing here?” I asked the very same panther that answered my summons thousands of miles away. I headbutted him while tickling him right under his jaw. His bright emerald eyes looked back at me and blinked once, then he moved to lick the hand that was still holding on to my thyrsos. I patted him on the head and smiled. “Don’t think that showing up here will excuse you for giving me attitude, mourgo mou,” I admonished the cat which of course, scared him so much that he yawned and gave me a bored look. I laughed one more time and snapped my fingers. “That’s it! That will be your name from now on! Mourgo you shall be! Oh, hey now…” I snatched back my hand before the ungrateful panther bit it off after a loud growl. I waited a few seconds for Mourgo to get over himself before I looked him in the eyes and made the same circular motion with my index finger pointing down. The cat openly rolled his eyes at me again but turned around to let me sit. A minute later, I was perched, and I concentrated on daddy dearest. Mourgo started a slow, steady walk, while I closed my eyes and trusted my bond with the panther to get me where I wanted to go, once again. When I opened my eyes, I stood where I was supposed to be standing, but not where I was expecting to be standing since I thought I’d be standing a lot higher up from where I was standing right then. And that made my head hurt as if I was suffering from brain freeze. I could sense the power of the immortals, but…not from where I expected. “Wait a second…I’m not on the mountaintop…” I stood on a small hill under the shadow of the mountain I knew so well. Sprawled in front of me, I saw what looked like a brand new mini-city with patches of homes and stores and streets and cars. In between them, a huge tower that stretched up and up and up. I whistled and then heaved a big sigh as my neck craned up the shining tower, designed with as much pomp and circumstance as the family could muster. I rolled my eyes and started mumbling to myself as I made my way toward the big tower. “Some things never change. Now I know where the party is. Leave it up to Daddio to make the new place look like a big…” Read the full article

#airport #Athens #Dionysos #Madness #panther #thyrsos #travel #wine

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v-thinks-on · 4 years

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How Do We Know About Any of Us? - Part 2

Back to We Know That We Need, But Not What || Previous

The feeling of something constricting his chest jarred Jim into awareness. He found his whole body trussed up with vines. They wound up his legs, around his torso and down his arms. He could even feel a few rough tendrils clinging to his face.

He gave a shout of surprise and nearly fell over in the rush to free himself.

Only then did he realize that the whole floor of the cave beneath him was covered in vines, and the surface he had been leaning against was significantly softer than Spock’s shoulder.

“Spock!” he cried, but to no avail.

Jim tore off the creeping tendrils, wincing a little as they clung to his bare skin, and scrambled around to face Spock - or where he had been when Jim fell asleep. There was the faint outline of a humanoid, seated with his legs crossed as though for meditation, covered in a mound of vines. The side that Jim had been leaning on was molded to his form, as though it was beginning to engulf him too.

If only Jim hadn’t fallen asleep, he would have been able to prevent this. He only hoped Spock could still breathe under all of the vines. His only consolation was that if the forest had been trying to kill them, it should have done so already.

More vines were already beginning to creep up Jim’s legs, winding almost painfully tight around his ankles, but that was nothing compared to the mound that covered Spock. Jim tore at it, pulling away vines by the handful whether they were covered in buds or burrs. Thorns dug into his arms and legs, as though trying to drag Jim away, but he could not relent until Spock was free.

Finally, he glimpsed the pale blue of Spock’s uniform over his chest, thankfully still rising and falling with his steady breathing. That seemed to be enough to awake Spock from his meditation. With a forceful shove, Spock sloughed off the remainder of the vines and stepped back, away from the remainder of the mound that had buried him.

“Spock,” Jim exclaimed, smiling uncontrollably with raw relief.

He reached out to confirm that Spock was truly there and alright, but the Vulcan deftly stepped aside, his body stiff and his expression as flat as ever, with his lips pressed into a thin line. Jim could almost feel the discomfort and distrust radiating off of him.

Jim’s face fell. He stepped away and pulled back on his shirt, before facing Spock again, his arms crossed over his chest. Spock watched him warily, as though waiting for him to make another mistake. The vines still dug into Jim’s legs, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.

“We should keep moving,” Jim said at last and led the way back out into the forest.

It was still drizzling, but it was hardly the rain from a few hours before. Jim ignored his stomach growling in discomfort. The sun was low in the sky, but if they made good time, they might be able reach the others not long after dark. Jim turned to Spock to see which way the tricorder indicated they should go.

However, Spock had other plans. “You require sustenance,” he said with some impatience.

Jim frowned - he could feel thorns poking through his uniform. “It can wait.”

“The other members of the landing party are probably likewise in need of sustenance,” Spock pressed, as though it was an obvious concern.

Jim let out a sigh. He didn’t like it, but Spock was right. They could all probably use something to eat, especially the injured officer; an accelerated recovery was taxing even under the best circumstances.

“Alright, lead the way,” Jim said, though he couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of his voice. He waved for Spock to go ahead of him.

They waded through the forest in silence. The undergrowth clung to them with tendrils and thorns as they passed and the tall, flexible stalks of what passed for trees seemed to squeeze closer together as though to hinder them. It was slow going, even more so for Jim than for Spock, who had his human inefficiencies to contend with as well as the woods themselves. The vines seemed to wind tighter and tighter around him even as he struggled to free himself.

Spock didn’t say anything, of course, but Jim could see the Vulcan standing almost at attention as he waited, his posture perfectly straight, watching Jim with narrowed eyes and an almost arrogant tilt of his head. Jim wanted to snap at him, but he held his tongue. Even in the short time it took Jim to catch up, he could see the vines beginning to wind around Spock’s ankles.

Finally, they found some fruit-bearing trees.

Spock examined the sizable purplish-brown fruits with the tricorder. “As they have not been cultivated for human tastes, I doubt they will be pleasant, but it appears the only toxic substance they contain is an enzyme which should denature when exposed to sufficiently high temperatures,” he reported.

Jim nodded. “We should be able to cook them. Let’s get back to the others.” He glanced up at the sky and frowned - it was already beginning to darken.

They gathered as many of the fruits as they could comfortably carry and continued on through the forest. The sun dipped below the horizon and the only source of light that remained was the sickly green glow of the clouds, presumably reflecting the artificial light of the nearby city. In the shadow of the forest’s canopy, it was almost pitch black.

Jim attempted to pick his way blindly through the underbrush, trying not to trip on the uneven ground as the vines and thistles grabbed at his boots and seemed to shred his pant legs. If he stared too long at a tree or branch ahead, it seemed to dissolve into the darkness. Even Spock, pushing through the forest in undeterred in silence, threatened to vanish into the night.

And then, over the sound of the underbrush crunching under his every step, Jim heard something rustling behind them, like vines slithering through the woods. Jim attempted to quicken his pace, and nearly tripped. He could almost see something moving in the forest around them, but he couldn’t really see anything in the dark.

Spock stopped and turned to face him, his eyebrows raised as though to ask, “What is it now?”

“What are you waiting for?" Jim snapped.

The rustling was getting closer…

“You,” Spock replied pointedly. He made no move to continue.

“Keep moving,” Jim ordered and Spock obliged, though he seemed to be in no hurry.

Jim felt something brush against his ankle and nearly jumped. He pulled out his phaser and scanned the ground, but all he could see were dark shapes that seemed to fade in and out of the shadows until he couldn’t tell what was solid and what wasn’t.

Jim reluctantly holstered his phaser and looked up to find Spock watching him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. Jim pushed past him without a word.

“Jim,” Spock spoke up at last, “There is no cause for concern." Jim faced him and made to protest, but Spock continued, "I will not allow any harm to come to you."

“Spock,” Jim said, surprised, a smile slowly spread across his face. But he turned serious as he continued, “It’s not me I’m worried about; the vines don’t seem that interested in me.” He sighed. “What happened earlier was my fault. I shouldn’t have let my guard down when I knew it was dangerous.”

“I likewise lowered my defenses when I should not have.” Spock hesitated. “I hoped that through meditating I could restrain my emotions enough to prevent them from influencing the native plant life, however, doing so appears to have attracted them instead.”

“If I’d been awake, I would have been able to stop them,” Jim insisted, “They’re just vines, they shouldn’t be able to move that quickly.”

“It is not your responsibility-” Spock began.

Jim grabbed Spock by the shoulders, perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary and met his eyes with fiery determination. “As your commanding officer and your friend, of course it’s my responsibility - if only you’d trust me with it!”

Spock seemed ready to argue, his eyes narrowed as though he were attempting to puzzle through a completely illogical line of reasoning. However, at last, he relented - “I apologize for giving you cause for concern.”

“It’s not your doing.” Jim loosened his hold on Spock’s shoulders. “We’ll be off this planet soon.” He gave Spock a weary, but sympathetic smile.

Spock inclined his head in appreciation. “It is not ideal for Vulcan inhabitance.”

Jim nodded, his smile a little wider at Spock’s subtle humor, even under less than ideal circumstances. “It doesn’t help that it’s actively trying to get rid of us...” He trailed off, his eyes wide as the forest transformed around them. “I guess it isn’t all bad,” he marveled.

Almost every living surface for a few feet around them was aglow with fluorescent light of all different colors. The large, almost translucent trunks seemed to glow from within, covered in bright stripes of vines. Thin stalks that waved in the wind like seaweed underwater were decorated with ever-shifting splashes of color. The canopy above twinkled like stars. They all let off a dim light, but it was enough to illuminate the dark forest.

Still, Spock stood stiffly, frowning ever so slightly at the brilliant display around him. “I would prefer it if it were not a reflection of my emotions.”

“They’re probably just responding to me,” Jim suggested with a grin - the woods seemed to glow a little brighter for it. “You know I never could keep my feelings under wraps.”

Spock looked unconvinced, but he let his hand brush against Jim’s to pass some restrained gratitude through the contact. He felt the vines loosen around his legs.

Jim stared up at the starry canopy for just a moment longer, and their hands lingered together, letting some of his enthusiasm echo between them, soothing Spock’s nerves just a little.

Finally, Jim settled back onto the surface of the planet with a renewed sense of purpose. “How far away are the others?”

“We are significantly closer to the cave where we waited out the rain,” Spock replied. “I recommend we return there so that you can sleep.”

Jim frowned, but he nodded in assent. “Your meditation was also rudely interrupted. We can switch off sleeping.”

“With all due respect,” Spock said, “Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans, so I will wait until we have returned to the Enterprise.”

Jim didn’t like it, but agreed and gestured for Spock to “Lead the way.”

It was a short walk through what seemed like a faintly illuminated tunnel through the woods, back to the cave. The vines had all retreated in their absence, leaving it as pristine and lifeless as they had found it. Even the rock they had heated with their phasers to dry themselves off and stave off the cold was exactly where they had left it in the middle of the cave, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Jim heated the rock up again with his phaser and they used it to cook a few of the remaining fruits they had gathered - the ones that Jim hadn’t dropped. Spock monitored them with the tricorder, and declared them done as soon as all the toxic proteins had denatured.

Jim swallowed as much of the bitter fruit as he could, leaving a bizarre tingling in his mouth. He couldn’t help but ask, “You’re sure you got all the poison out?”

Spock raised an incredulous eyebrow at him in response.

Jim supposed he was right; Spock wouldn’t have suggested he eat it if there was even a chance that it was still poisonous.

They left the remainder of the fruit for breakfast the next day, and Jim tried to make himself comfortable on the ground next to the still glowing rock. Meanwhile, Spock moved to the mouth of the cavern to sit watch through the night.

Jim lay on his back on a relatively warm, flat part of the cavern floor, staring up at the dark ceiling. He could only barely see the bumps and grooves in the rough rock above. He glanced over at Spock, sitting a few feet away, perfectly still, his legs crossed as though he was meditating again. It had been a long time since he’d fallen asleep to that sight, usually beside him on the bed in his quarters on the Enterprise before the refit. The beds were clearly made for one, but somehow the two of them had squeezed onto it - not that the new beds would be any better.

But they were taking things slow. Jim let out a sigh and closed his eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.

“Is something troubling you?” Spock’s voice cut through his aimless thoughts.

Jim opened his eyes and propped himself up on his arm to find that Spock had turned around to face him.

“No,” Jim answered automatically.

He hesitated. It would be easy to leave it at that and try to sleep, but nothing would change if he didn't try.

"I was just thinking about before - our first five year mission together," Jim admitted as lightly as he could, as though he was testing the ice on a newly frozen lake.

Spock nodded in acknowledgement. Jim wished he could see Spock’s expression, but he was too far from their only source of light, and the glowing rock was too dim to illuminate anything but his general shape.

Jim waited for him to continue - Spock had yet to turn back around and resume his watch - but he said nothing. Perhaps he was waiting for Jim to speak, but he didn’t know what to say, especially when he could barely guess what Spock was thinking.

Jim’s heart sunk and he let himself fall back onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, too restless to close his eyes.

Whether it was the feeling of privacy of sitting seemingly alone in the dark, or some other impulse that encouraged Spock to speak at last, Jim didn't know, but after a long silence he remarked, "I frequently reflect on our time together during our first five year mission.” He hesitated. “It had its merits."

Jim let out another sigh. Spock wasn’t giving him much to go on, but it was true, their time together had its merits… Jim gave a wry smile at the thought.

“Do you miss it?” Jim asked at last, testing the thin ice once more.

There was a long pause. Jim almost didn’t expect Spock to answer, or if he did to deflect with some logical pronouncement.

However, Spock did answer, very softly, but unmistakably, “Yes.”

With a sudden spurt of recklessness, Jim said, “I know we can’t bring back the past, and we’ve both changed, but we could... try again.”

Spock seemed to consider the suggestion. “Perhaps.” Jim could imagine Spock’s eyes narrowing as he attempted to puzzle out Jim’s intention - “Is there something in particular…?”

“No-” Jim cut short his reflexive reply. He would be pushing his luck, but this was as good a time as any and better than most. “Well,” he tried to keep his voice light, “For example, I was just thinking about how you used to stay in my quarters sometimes” - eventually it had turned into every night, but maybe that had been too much.

Spock hesitated again. Jim wondered if maybe he had gone too far, pushed too much. He couldn’t read Spock’s mind, couldn’t even guess what he was feeling like he used to think he could.

But to Jim’s surprise, Spock finally answered, “I would be amenable to your company.”

Jim could not help but smile, even though Spock certainly couldn’t see it in the dark - at least, Jim didn’t think that was one of his many Vulcan abilities. Heartened, Jim sat up and scooched over to where Spock was sitting guard. He lay back down beside him, so they were close, but not quite touching. Jim could imagine the warmth radiating off of Spock.

“Good night, Spock,” Jim whispered, once he was comfortable - at least as comfortable as he could get on the hard rock.

“Good night, Jim.” Spock gently rested a hand on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim managed to sleep until a little before dawn, only waking up a few times to toss and turn in the night. They cooked a few more of the bitter fruits on the phaser-heated rock in the center of the cave as the sun began to rise, illuminating the alien forest in a soft grey light, and then they set off. Spock led the way through the woods, following the faint, distant signal of the rest of the landing party. It seemed the others were in motion as well, presumably heading back to the city.

Jim and Spock talked little, both intent on the mission at hand. Spock still walked with a rigid posture, but he was a little less cold, and Jim for his part, was serious, but with a faint smile and some of the thrill of an adventure finally coming to a head. As much as he enjoyed commanding from the bridge, it didn’t feel like he was actually exploring the galaxy if he didn’t beam down to an alien planet every once in a while.

The sun was nearly at its peak by the time the forest began to thin and give way to the thick mat of vines. The vines grabbed at them as they approached and wound up their legs. Spock stiffened at the touch and his features flattened so he was even more unreadable than before. But the vines made no attempt to pull them under.

Jim rested a hand on Spock’s arm in an attempt to convey his sympathies, but it did little to help him relax.

Spock was scanning the area for the others with his tricorder, when they heard a shout.

“Jim!”

Dr. McCoy and a trio of security officers hurried out of the woods to meet them.

“I was worried those vines swallowed you up!” Dr. McCoy exclaimed. He rounded on Spock - “Where did you run off to?”

Jim stepped between them. “Later,” he cautioned Dr. McCoy with half a smile. To the rest of the landing party, he said, “We’re going to try again to convince them, but be ready to beam back up if things go south again.”

With that, they marched into the city. More and more vines wrapped around them as they walked, but following the captain’s example, they paid them no heed. They strode past curious onlookers, to the central square, and into the tall building with the giant fern above vine-covered doors.

They passed through the central chamber, into one of many winding corridors that branched off of it, and went straight to the council chamber where they had first been received. Several officials were already gathered there, discussing some no doubt essential matter among themselves.

The officials stopped speaking as the landing party entered the room.

“What are you doing here?” The largest among them demanded.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” Captain Kirk said. “We didn’t mean to offend you before, and request that you at least consider trading with the Federation if you won’t allow our scientists to study your medicine and possibly help advance it in the process.”

“How dare you return!” The official roared.

“It wasn’t easy,” Kirk remarked. “At least let us return to our starship and leave you in peace - something on your planet has been preventing us from contacting her. If you will forgive the accidental insult, we can send an ambassador who will hopefully be able to explain everything more clearly.”

The officials communicated among themselves, vines gradually shifting around them.

Finally, the largest of the officials spoke to Kirk, “If you speak the truth, and were unable to return to your spaceship, then perhaps you are wiser than your words suggest. Otherwise, you would not have made it back. Therefore, we permit you to send a diplomat, who, for their sake, is hopefully better at speaking than yourself. We no longer regard you as enemies, so you should be able to contact your vessel.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said. He pulled out his communicator - “Kirk to Enterprise, do you read me?”

“Captain Kirk?” Sulu exclaimed on the other end. “You’re coming in loud and clear! And it looks like our sensors are finally clearing! What happened down there?”

“It’s a long story,” Kirk said with a grin. “Six to beam up.”

“Yes sir!” Sulu said and a few moments later the landing party dematerialized in columns of golden light.

One Ambassador Later:

The ship’s gardens were in full bloom, as always. For the occasion, they had brought out the most exotic plants from the botany lab to sit among the usual favorites. Lieutenant Commander Sulu had enthusiastically volunteered to lead the diplomatic party on a small tour and was in the middle of showing off his favorite carnivorous plant, Gertrude. It eagerly snapped at the ogling crowd.

“Now this one is alive!” The largest of the representatives of Motus IV exclaimed.

Sulu grinned back. “All the plants are alive, they’re just not quite as active as yours.”

The representatives of Motus IV had, of course, brought along their own greenery. They would have been quite naked without them; colorful vines wrapped around their bodies where clothes would have been, and followed behind them in long trains besides. Their crystalline faces were blank, but their vines seemed to explore with a voracious curiosity.

Commander Spock was careful to stay well out of their way, at the end of the procession. In front of him, a handful of the Enterprise’s senior officers mingled with the representatives from Motus IV, the ambassador who had made the gathering possible, and her staff. Still others had broken off from the grand tour to wander around the gardens in smaller groups, away from their respective superiors.

Admiral Kirk was standing toward the edge of the tour, in the midst of an avid discussion with one of the more restrained representatives of Motus IV - if their simple grey vines were to be believed. For an instant, he glanced back at Spock and shot him a sympathetic smile, and then his attention returned to the conversation as though it had never left.

But it was not long before Kirk slipped away and appeared beside Spock.

Spock raised his eyebrows at the captain in an unspoken question.

Kirk smiled at him, perhaps a little sheepish, but he kept his voice light as he remarked, “They do some impressive work, mostly botany, but there are some papers on empathy you might find interesting.”

Spock nodded in acknowledgement. The secrets of Vulcan telepathy lingered unmentioned between them. “I did not intend to interrupt your conversation,” he said, though he was not certain why the captain had ended it.

Kirk waved off the question. His eyes held Spock’s for several moments too long. A hopeful spark fluttered nervously in Kirk’s chest.

The others slowly moved on, continuing on their tour, but Kirk put a hand on Spock’s arm before he could follow. Spock obliged and waited as the others meandered out of sight.

At last, they were by all appearances alone - though Spock could still hear the tour in the distance. Only then did Spock say softly, “Jim?”

Jim smiled, but did not reply. Instead, he began to lead Spock in the opposite direction from the others. Jim’s eyes wandered, admiring the trees and flowers and other plants from all over the galaxy, though he could still feel Spock’s intent gaze fixed upon him.

At last, Spock attempted again, “Jim” - Jim turned to face him - “I owe you my gratitude. If you had not found me in the forest of Motus IV, I would not have been able to escape.”

“Just returning the favor,” Jim said. His expression turned serious as he hesitated over his next words. He glanced away, and then back at Spock - “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself otherwise.”

"Still, I am grateful for everything you have done for me," Spock said firmly. With an almost human impulsiveness, he put a hand on Jim’s arm to emphasize his words.

Jim could not hold back a grin. He tentatively reached out to Spock with his first two fingers.

Spock mirrored the gesture and brought their fingers together, touching ever so lightly, but enough for Jim to feel Spock’s heart racing through his finger tips - or perhaps it was just his own. A rush of feeling beyond words passed between them, a heady wave of love and longing and so much else, powerful enough to almost be all consuming, but somehow fragile.

At last, they drew apart. Jim’s eyes slowly opened, though he did not remember closing them, the world around him suddenly over bright and his mind still reeling from the rush of feelings that were and weren’t his own. His heart pounded in his chest and he could see that he wasn’t the only one left a little winded.

That was a lot deeper than they had gone in a long time, and Jim couldn’t help but wonder what a full mind meld would bring.

Spock recomposed himself, drew himself up to full height with his perfect posture, and watched Jim with a carefully questioning gaze. Spock hadn’t really meant to let it get that far - Jim could see it written all across his restrained features.

Jim smiled back, though he probably looked more breathless than reassuring.

Spock’s eyes narrowed, as though that would enable him to see more clearly what Jim was thinking, but all he saw was a very human smile that he somehow still found disarming.

Jim gestured for them to continue wandering through the garden.

It took all of the human qualities Spock had - good and bad - to angle an arm around Jim’s waist as they went.

Jim glanced over at him, unable to believe his senses, but he could feel Spock’s arm brushing up against his back, even as the Vulcan walked beside him, staring straight ahead as though nothing had happened - nothing he was willing to admit to, at least. Jim just grinned even wider and leaned into Spock’s side.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through “We Know That We Need, But Not What,” and “How Do We Know About Any of Us?” This marks the end of this little series, but of course, Kirk and Spock’s journey is never over. Next week’s story is a oneshot that takes place a little while after this point, seven years after Amok Time.

#v writes #Star Trek: The Original Series #Spirk #Star Trek: The Motion Picture #We Know That We Need #How Do We Know

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crqstalite · 5 years

Text

pt. 1, crossfire (vector && rubiksi)

this one didn’t go as well as it should because originally i was going to write it as a 10k word chapter for all nine months, but i didn’t happen so i guess we’re gonna wait again for the writing fairy to whack me over the head again.

anyways psa i love mr bug man and you should too.

written: 9.20.19. word count: 2,419.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ character song: crossfire, stephen.

character file: khelan hyllus & vector hyllus.

1 month.

rubi-no, khelan now, isn't sure what to think anymore, as she stares out the window of her apartment. all she wants to do is lie down and cry, and she's not sure what's causing it anymore. after all these years, all her tears should be dried up now. they should be, but for some reason it seems like every day a new situation arises, and she isn't emotionally ready to deal with it. picking up the holophoto on her night stand, she tries not to cry as she analyzes the photo taken on their wedding day. the way she'd faked a smile in a white dress and vector in a diplomatic uniform until she could return to the phantom to be alone for a while with her emotions. it should've been a happy day.

but it wasn't. why couldn't she just be happy for once? and stop thinking about marring the skin beneath her sweater sleeves, about finally leaving this world for good? possibly it's because of the pale lines that still dot her wrists, and the fact that the ring on her finger feels heavy with pity everytime she slips it on.

"khelan?" a voice startles her from her thoughts as she places it back gently next to the chrono, where it always sits.

"yes, vector?" she asks, turning from the window as the joiner enters the bedroom. he's dressed down today, and he smells of sweets. the man had taken up baking since they'd moved in together, saying something about finally being able to please her properly with his cooking. it's delectable, as is to be expected. (he spent months learning from two-vee in secret before presenting her with an exquisite cake for her birthday. possibly the hive has been giving him recipes, and though she knows they can't read minds, he always seems to know what she has a taste for) "is there something wrong?"

"you didn't come to eat dinner." he responds, curiously cocking his head, as a child would. his dark hair plays peek-a-boo with his pupiless eyes, and she offers him a smile as he brushes it out of his vision, coming to stand next to her by the floor-length window, the cool sky reflecting onto his pale skin, "we were worried."

"i'm just fine, vector. do not worry yourself with the likes of me." she responds, inhaling his scent as he moves to put his arms around her. there's a significant between the joiner and prior agent, but she feels safe as she buries her head in his chest. safety isn't ever guranteed for her, and she's glad that she took the leap of faith to finally say yes to him. he was never persistent, he gave her the space she needed to recuperate from the life she'd once lived. he leans his head against the top of hers, and she closes her eyes to relax for just a moment. he smells of the rain, but also of the forest and a sharp smell of something spicy she just can not name. she wouldn't trade her husband for the world. "i will come to eat in a bit."

"if you are not hungry, we can put away the food for another time, ru..khelan." he corrects himself as she frowns, pulling her hair back into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. he's not used to her new alias either, and it's as if he can sense it bothers her. her aura must be out of whack again as a questioning look covers his features (she'd never understand how vector saw her, though he'd tried to explain it a few times with little success). "we are sorry if we've troubled you. which do you prefer?"

she considers for a moment before following him out of their bedroom. "i wish i did not have a name at times like these, vector. it makes everything so much more difficult. i don't even have my own identity that wasn't cultivated by intelligence."

he simply listens as she walks into the kitchen, pacing back and forth as the thoughts fly through her mind at breakneck speed. she's never been more grateful for him as she thinks to herself, and he simply continues to prepare dinner alongside her. it isn't until they've sat down across from each other that she responds to his question, "the ensign once told me on my official records, my name is ana'la. would you like to call me that, vector?"

"we would be happy to call you whatever you prefer, ana'la. names are not everything." he says, picking up his own cutlery as he tries to comfort her, "all that matters, is that we love each other."

she seems surprised for just a moment before looking down at her own plate with a certain satisfaction in her eyes. "thank you, vector."

"we are happy to be with you, ana'la." he responds, though instead of indirectly looking at her (as he typically does), he finds that her aura is rather odd. it's color remains the same, an indistinct grey tinged with red and pink, as it typically is when they spend time together, but something is making it white. he won't prod into how she's feeling at the moment, but he is curious. what has his wife feeling such a way?

month 3.

khelen didn't tend to ever eat much as it was, but this was getting a bit ridiculous, even for her. the odd way how she couldn't ever hold anything down, even her most favorite delicacies from vector. water was the only thing that would stay down, and she was beginning to have an aversion to even the most pleasant smells.

she was concerned she was going mad. maybe the workaholic lifestyle and done something unspeakable to her, and now she was feeling the after effects? she tried to keep a myriad of other other fragrances about the apartment to keep the feeling of retching out of her mind. it proved difficult, and she eventually threw quite a few away after realizing that vector's enhanced senses were most likely going absolutely bonkers with the strong smells. it seemed the smell of the constant kaasian rain was the only thing that would soothe her, and so that lead to the couple's apartment windows being open a portion of the time.

to say the least, it was still annoying to be so absolutely sick that she didn't want to continue getting out of bed half the time. she was considering holoing lokin at this point, and she rarely if ever contacted her old crew, vector excepted. kaliyo was somewhere in the underbellies of dromound kaas after she dropped out of contact, temple returned to serving the ascendancy and the empire, SCORPIO could be doing something highly illegal, and lokin was always going back and forth between morally questionable medical conferences. she always kept tabs on them, even if it didn't benefit her directly. she still cared about their well-being, even if they didn't.

but being bed-ridden didn't fancy her. at all. the nightmares plagued her, being controlled by watcher x again and again, by the sis. keeping busy, even working on the side for intelligence is what kept her mostly sane. her obvious health issues kept her out of the field for a long while, but once this spell passed, she'd try and begin working in diplomatic services with vector. maybe they wouldn't see each other as much anymore, but it was better than being home alone.

wrapped up in one of vector's jackets, she usually sleeps or reads until he returns home. her current holonovel was just wrapping up, so she'd have to go and buy another soon. with nothing better to do, she might as well train her mind in puzzles and literature while in this state. she'd been slacking lately, and there was no way intelligence would take her back without the required skills.

the door opens just as she's sitting up from her perch on the bed, brushing her hair back as she tries to keep her meager breakfast down. vector must've been back early today. padding out the bedroom, she finds him just taking off his overcoat and hanging it on one of the nobs near the door. she offers him a smile, and he returns it. "you're back early, vector. is something wrong?"

"there is nothing wrong, ana'la." he responds softly, a kiss pressed to her forehead as he puts down his bad. "we were let go early today. we wished to see you again, we were concerned you were ill."

"i'll be fine, vector." she responds, trying to choke back the bile building up in her throat again as she covers her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. "i've been sick before, and survived worse."

he doesn't respond, but frowns in disbelief. khelan would know this, after knowing him for so long. he often doesn't try to hide his facial features and the emotions tied to them, and she knows good and well he doesn't believe her. "i've been resting lately, if that makes you feel any better." she says, trying to comfort him. speaking isn't helping either, and the feverish feeling she gets before inevitably tossing her last meal is beginning to creep back into her system. "it's most likely just a harmless virus."

"your aura is...different." vector makes note, and she figures he isn't looking directly at her anymore. what does it typically look like? she'd never understood how her husband saw her through his lens, and she wondered if there was some sort of chart she could find somewhere on joiner's and their auras.

"i'm sure it is, doesn't sickness affect it as well?" khelan tilts her head just a bit, and brushes the hair out of her face as he seems to contemplate it, pacing into the kitchen. is he upset? sometimes he bakes when he's feeling upset (she wouldn't exactly complain, they were still very good, but it does concern her when he does). "vector, talk to me. is there something wrong?"

"your aura is, special. we are unsure of why." he says pointedly. "white represents that of purity, and childish natures. we don't believe you radiate much of either."

she decides not to comment here, as he most likely has more to say, "we don't wish to worry you or plant the seeds of doubt in your mind, ana'la."

"do you believe there is something wrong, vector? do you believe that's why i feel ill?" khelan still isn't catching onto what he's saying, or if he's trying to imply something to her. he continues to pace into the living room as she hurries to follow him before he pauses abruptly, "whatever it is, i'm sure we can face it together." she whispers, though she isn't sure this is that's the best answer. what if she's dying? what if her life is ending, and there's nothing they can do to stop it?

he seems unsure of himself before finally turning fully to her, "we've only seen this aura a few times in our life. but, we believe you are with child, ana'la."

something stops functioning properly as she tries to soak in what he's admitting to assuming. child? as in, she'd be a mother in a few, short months should she allow it to continue? how? and when? they had always been careful, and rarely if ever made love to each other as it was. how did this happen? why?

could she be a mother? a functional one at least? visions of the fire blare through her mind, as her adoptive father yanked her older brother away and her older sister tried to protect her the best she could from the dangerous situation. would her child end up in such a situation, khelan unable to protect them from something lethal?

"this is all speculation, ana'la." he breaks her train of thought to tilt her head upwards from where she'd been staring at her hands. "it could be nothing, for all we know. do not panic yourself over the unknown."

it would explain the sudden onset of these horrid symptoms for the last two moments. the vomiting, the unexplainable aversion to her favorite foods. she'd heard about it a few times around the agents she'd met that were now off the field and happy with children, but had never expected it would happen to her. she and vector had never spoken at length about it, ever. it was just a subject that never fascinated her to any end, and so it didn't matter.

or she could be dying. that's a possibility too. one she'd rather not think about at that moment, though it itches at the back of her mind. "possibly you're right, vector."

"do you believe so?" he asks, his face still contorted into that of concern and confusion. "we would believe you would be the first to deny such a thing."

"it makes sense, to say the least." she responds, wringing her hands out as the thunder crashes over her words and thoughts, "this may not be our most ideal situation."

"maybe not." he answers, still seeming uneasy. "at least your child will still grow up here instead of a battleground. they will have a loving mother, and pick up your own admirable traits." she turns an eyebrow up as he continues on, "intelligent, clever, compassionate. beautiful. we have high hopes for your child, ana'la."

"i...yes. thank you vector." he seems satisfied with her answer, and presses a kiss to her forehead to reassure her, her cheeks heated as he makes the observation. still after all these years, he's still able to stun her with his way with words.

she pauses to think for just a moment, before responding with what was on her mind while he spoke, "it seems you forget i've never been with another man though. this is your child, as much as they are mine."

he smiles for once in the entire encounter, and surprises her by picking up around the waist. she holds back a shriek as he smiles, as her own legs latch around his waist to keep from falling. "we do not believe you understand how happy that makes us, ana'la."

"i can make some guesses." she responds, managing a grin for her husband as he kisses her softly in the light of fading day outside.

#swtor oc #swtor #star wars the old republic #star wars #vector hyllus #female imperial agent #female imperial agent/vector hyllus #heritage universe #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #fanfic

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kimjoongs-main · 5 years

Text

dream seller au - renjun {1}

» type: bullet scenario

» warning(s): n/a

» dia’s note: this started out fluffy.....idk what happened....also...there will be a part 2 bc this plot was a lot longer than i thought it was going to be

you’ve heard stories about the infamous “dreamer” who resides in the depths of the forest

people say he’s the creator of dreams, the one responsible for the visual images that occur during deep slumber

many residents in your village, mostly the elderly, claimed that the dreamer was an immortal being who lived to provide dreams for mortals

others have claimed that they’ve physically seen the dreamer and described him as a young boy adorned in ragged fabric, hair as dark as the night sky and facial features which looked to be carved from smooth marble

it was also said that if you were to stumble upon the dreamer, you would have the opportunity to ask him to create a dream specifically for you

it could be anything from your wildest fantasies to your simplest desires, he would provide that for you

your mother first told you this story when you were just a child, curious as to why you were experiencing these images while you were asleep

as a child, you were intrigued by the idea and sought out more stories about the dreamer

other children in your village, however, weren’t as intrigued and quite honestly found the story to be nothing but a mindless fantasy

because of this, you were often the subject of teasing and it became hard for you to make friends

so you often found yourself wandering around the village all alone

sometimes, you’d wander as far as the edge of the village, the border which separated your cozy little town from the vast forest that lay on the other side

a few times you were tempted to cross over, to venture thru the trees and see for yourself if the myth was true, however you were always stopped by a villager who warned you to never explore the forest on your own

for the next few years, you adhered to the villager’s warning, but the same time, your curiosity continued to cultivate and eventually, you couldn’t wait anymore

you had to know if the myth was actually true or not...so one night when the entire village succumbed to a deep slumber, you carefully snuck out of your home

you left a note for your mother saying you went for a walk in case you didn’t return by daybreak

you were adorned in a black cape, completely invisible even underneath the light of the full moon

armed with only a small torch and a pick axe, you pushed past the dense thicket and ventured into the heart of the forest

from the stories you’ve been told, the dreamer’s cottage was supposedly located at the other end of the forest, past the river and at the bottom of the mountain

you continued your journey for a few more minutes, but when you finally reached the other side of the forest, all you were met w was the steep, rocky slope of the mountain.....no cottage and no dreamer in sight

feeling defeated, you plopped down on a nearby stone, deciding to rest your feet for a moment before you made the joir ey back home

“guess it was just a myth after all” you muttered to yourself, leaning back on the tree

once you saw the sky changing from a midnight blue to a warm orange, you stood back up and grabbed your stuff, getting ready to trudge back home

however, as soon as you turned around, you noticed a faint cloud of white smoke billowing out from behind a ridge in the mountain

the logical side of you screamed to just keep walking, but ofc the curious side if you told you to check it out...and of course....you did

you gingerly walked closer to where the smoke was coming from and peeked around the ridge

and there, settled comfortably at the base of the mountain, was a small stone cottage, the source of the smoke coming from the tiny chimney at the side of the roof

you let out a small gasp, heart pounding in your chest......this couldn’t be it, right?? there’s no way you actually managed to find it—

your thoughts were interrupted by the door to the cottage suddenly flying open, and a hooded figure stepped out, carrying a small woven basket

the figure looked to be a young boy around the same age as you, with glowing cheeks and soft strands of obsidian hair

his description matched the stories, but you didn’t want to assume anything just yet, so you kept watching silently.......or at least you tried to

leaning forward to get a better look, you quickly lost your balance and stumbled forward, falling flat on your face

the figure jumped at the sound and he quickly stepped back, looking at your fallen form w wide eyes

you immediately scrambled to get up and were about to leave when a quiet, but firm voice stopped you in your tracks

“wait! who are you? what are you doing here?” you reluctantly looked over your shoulder, making eye contact w the hooded figure

you slowly put your hands up to show that you meant no harm “i’m sorry, i was just wandering around the forest, i didn’t mean to scare you”

at your words, the boy scoffed and rolled his eyes before setting the basket down on a nearby tree trunk “i’ve heard that excuse before, let me guess...you’re a villager? from the small town just north of here?”

you nodded, not sure where he was going w all of this

“i should’ve known...you people just don’t know when to quit don’t you?” you furrowed eyebrows at him, asking him what he meant by that

the boy sighed and picked up his basket again, walking past you and gesturing for you to follow him...which you obliged

he led you into the forest once again, stopping occasionally to pick a few leaves, twigs, mushrooms, and flowers from the ground

as you quietly trailed behind him, he began to speak again

“i’m sure your people have told you stories about me, the one who creates dreams, the ‘dreamer’ if you will...and i’m sure your reason for finding me was to obtain a dream from me, yes?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off again

“well, let me tell you what those stories have wrong, a minor detail they forgot to put in. i do sell dreams to people who find me, yes, but it comes at a price. in order to—“

“actually...i didn’t come for that reason” you interjected softly

the boy froze and looked over his shoulder at you, raising his eyebrows skeptically “oh? then why have you sought me out then, my dear? why risk your life?”

you hung your head sheepishly, rubbing your boots against the damp soil “i...just wanted to see if the stories about you were true..that’s all”

there was a beat of silence, the only sound you could hear was the chirping of the songbirds as the morning star made it’s ascent in the sky...and then a burst of laughter

you looked up in shock to see the boy w his hood down, bent over a field of grass, hands on his knees, and melodies of laughter coming out of his mouth, probably the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life

“so..you mean to tell me that you risked your life wandering through the forest, searching for me just so you could see if i was real?” he burst out laughing again, and you could only blush w embarrassment

after he calmed down a bit, the young boy straightened back up again, reaching out towards you and placing his hand on your shoulder “i like you, you’re funny” was all he said before he walked past you again back to his cottage

you were frozen in your spot, brain still in the process of registering what just happened

“hey, are you coming inside or what?” he called out to you

you shook yourself out of your stupor and turned around, following the boy inside

the inside of his cottage felt very warm and homey, he had a small hearth in the corner of the room, a kitchen, a dining table, and a wooden bench

it all looked very normal to you.....except for the fact that there was a huge cauldron sitting in the middle of the room, which you assumed to be where he creates his dreams

“by the way, i never got your name” he said, taking off his hood and hanging it on the back of a nearby chair “my name’s renjun....and before you say anything yes i have an actual name, i don’t refer to myself as ‘the dreamer’ or however your people say it”

“oh..my name’s y/n....” renjun took a second to process your name, then he nodded and pressed his lips together in a thin line “nice to meet you, y/n. i have a feeling i’ll be seeing you around often”

and...he was right

after your initial meeting, you would venture into the forest late at night and arrive at renjun’s cottage early in the morning

it became a routine for you: sneak out after everyone’s gone to bed, travel through the forest, arrive at renjun’s for breakfast, and then return home before noon

your mother questioned you on your whereabouts, asking why you were never there in the morning

you didn’t want to lie to her, but you also made a promise to renjun the first day you two met: that you would never tell anyone you saw him or know where he was

you didn’t ask him why and didn’t dare to, you figured it was something he’d rather keep to himself

but during your visits to renjun’s humble abode, he would show you how dreams are made and how he distributes them

he mixes the ingredients he collects from the forest in the cauldron, turning them into a liquid and placing them into small vials

each liquid had a different color, and those colors indicated what kind of dream a person would have

red indicates a dream about love, green for adventure, yellow for happiness, blue for sadness

when the dreams were ready to be sent out, renjun takes the vials he needs and places them over a small fire outside, the liquids evaporate, turn into a gas, and drift off to find their person

“how do the dreams know where to go?” you asked one day, renjun just smiled softly as he watched the rainbow of gases flow thru the air “they know...”

as you watched him concoct different kinds of dreams, you noticed that there were small vials filled w a black liquid resting on a shelf

“hey renjun?” “mm?” “why do you never use those dreams?”

his eyes followed your hand, and when they landed on what you were pointing at, he froze

“those...those aren’t dreams y/n....they’re nightmares” “.....oh”

renjun sighed and set down the vials he was working on “i..don’t use those very often. i did once and...it didn’t end very well. after that experience, i vowed to never use a nightmare ever again”

you nodded silently, listening and never prying further, renjun would explain the rest to you when he was ready

for the next few weeks, you made your daily visits to renjun’s cottage, watching him make dreams, or occasionally you two would walk over to the river and talk about random things

thru these talks you learned three things: 1) renjun was, in fact, immortal, he would sometimes tell you stories from past history and 2) the dreams he made had the capacity to come true, but very rarely and 3) renjun never stayed in the same place for very long, he usually moved once he felt that his time was spent

after hearing the last one, you tried very hard not to show your disappointment, but renjun saw right thru you

he scoffed and leaned over, poking your cheeks “stop pouting dummy, i’m not leaving this place for a long time”

you swatted his hand away, but couldn’t help the small smile from tugging at the corner of your mouth “really? why? is there something you like about this place?”

renjun coughs and turns away from you, but you swore you saw a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, and his next words made your stomach do a flip “...yes...there is”

after that day, your visits to renjun’s cottage started to become less frequent, mostly due to the fact that your mother fell ill and you had to work the shop while simultaneously taking care of her at the same time

you were worried bc you didn’t have the chance to tell renjun why you haven’t been showing up anymore and hoped that he’d understand the next time you saw him

however...one night, as you were sleeping soundly next to your mother, you started seeing these horrid images flash before your eyes, images that would forever haunt your memory

you shuffled around the bed, arms flailing every which way, soft whimpers leaving your lips and tears streaming down the side of your face

your suffering only lasted for a moment bc you woke up to see your mother’s concerned face hovering above yours

you laid in bed, chest heaving rapidly, eyes blinking away the tears

was that...a nightmare? no, it couldn’t be..renjun said he never used nightmares, so why did i..?

you flew out of bed and, without even explaining anything to your mother, you ran out the door and straight into the forest

you had to get to renjun, you didn’t what it was, but you just felt that something was off

you ran and ran, not even taking a break, you practically sprinted thru the forest, but...when you reached the bottom of the mountain and went around the ridge...

renjun’s cottage was nowhere to be seen

#part 2 will be up soon !!#idk when but soon :D #nct #nct dream #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct au #nct dream au #renjun scenarios #renjun au #dream seller au #renjun #prince of china

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gavincastleton · 5 years

Quote

My children like to play an age-old game with me called, “Why?” I’ll tell them, for instance, that I need them to finish breakfast, and they’ll say why, and I’ll say so that you receive adequate nutrition and hydration, and they’ll say why, and I’ll say because as your parent I feel obligated to protect your health, and they’ll say why, and I’ll say partly because I love you and partly because of evolutionary imperatives baked into my biology, and they’ll say why, and I’ll say because the species wants to go on, and they’ll say why, and I’ll pause for a long time before saying, “I don’t know. I guess I believe in spite of it all the human enterprise has value.” And then there will be a silence. A blessed and beautiful silence will spread across the breakfast table. I might even see a kid pick up a fork. And then, just as the silence seems ready to take off its coat and stay awhile, one of my kids will say, 'Why?' My brain likes to play a somewhat similar game. That game is called, 'What’s even the point?' There’s an Edna St. Vincent Millay poem I’ve quoted in two of my novels and will now quote again, because I’ve never come across anything that describes my depressive blizzards so perfectly. 'The chill is in the air,' the poem begins, 'which the wise know well and have even learned to bear. This joy, I know, will soon be under snow.' I’m in an airport when suddenly I feel the chill in the air. What��s even the point? I’m about to fly to Milwaukee on a Tuesday afternoon, about to herd with other moderately intelligent apes into a tube that will spew a truly astonishing amount of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere in order to transport us from one population center to a different one. Nothing that anyone has to do in Milwaukee really matters, because nothing really matters. There’s no point to the human endeavor in the largest sense. We will leave no permanent legacy in this impermanent universe, and our central lasting contribution to Earth will be that we were the first species to grow powerful enough to muck up the planet. When my mind starts playing What’s Even the Point, I can’t find a point to making art—which is just using the finite resources of our planet to decorate, and I can’t find a point to planting gardens, which is just inefficiently creating food that will sustain our useless vessels for a little while longer, and I can’t find a point to falling in love—which is just a desperate attempt to stave off the loneliness that you can never really solve for, because you are always alone in what Robert Penn Warren called, 'the darkness, which is you.' Except it’s not really a darkness. It’s much worse than that. The writer Jacqueline Woodson has said that we need to consider carefully what we construct as dark, and she’s right. When my brain plays What’s Even the Point, what really descends upon me is a blizzard of blinding, frozen white light. Being in the dark doesn’t hurt, but this does, like staring at the sun. That Millay poem refers to 'the eye’s bright trouble.' It seems to me that bright trouble is the light you see the first time you open your eyes after birth, the light that makes you cry your first tears, the light that is your first and greatest fear. What’s even the point? All this trial and travail for what will become nothing, and soon. Sitting in this airport, I’m disgusted by my excesses, my failures, my pathetic attempts to forge some meaning or hope from the materials of this meaningless world. I’ve been tricking myself, thinking there was some reason for all of it, thinking that consciousness was a miracle when it’s really a burden, thinking that to be alive was wondrous when it’s really a terror. The plain fact, my brain tells me when it plays this game, is that the universe doesn’t care if I’m here. Night falls fast, Millay wrote. Today is in the past. The thing about this game is that once my brain starts playing it, I can’t seem to find a way to stop. Any defense I try to mount is destroyed instantaneously by the blinding light. It feels like the only way to survive life is to cultivate an ironic detachment from it. If I can’t be happy, I at least want to be cool. When my brain is playing What’s Even the Point, hope feels so flimsy and naïve—especially in the face of the endless outrages and horrors of human life. What kind of mouth-breathing jackass looks at the state of human experience and responds with anything other than nihilistic despair? But of course the problem with despair is that it isn’t very productive. Like a replicating virus, all despair makes is more of itself. If playing What’s Even the Point made me a more committed advocate for justice or environmental protection, I’d be all for it. But the white light of despair instead renders me inert and apathetic. I struggle to do anything. I often can’t find a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Philosophical questions—what’s the point of being alive, what should we seek from life, how can we know what we know, how and where should we seek meaning—are often dismissed as pointless. What’s the difference between a philosophy degree and a pepperoni pizza? The pepperoni pizza can feed a family of four. And so on. But I think those questions are genuinely important, because I need to be able to survive my mind playing What’s Even the Point. I don’t want to give it to despair; I don’t want to take refuge in detached ridicule of unironized emotion. I don’t want to be cool if cool means being cold to or distant from the reality of experience. I want to feel what there is to feel while I am here. You don’t choose when your kids play the Why game, and you don’t choose when your brain plays What’s Even the Point. It’s exhausting. It gets old so fast, listening to the elaborate prose of your brain tell you that you’re an idiot for even trying. When the game is being played, it feels like it will never end, like you will be in active combat with your brain for what remains of your wretched life. But no. No. Now always feels infinite and never is. You keep going. You go to therapy. You try a different medication. You meditate, even though you dislike meditation. You exercise. You wait. Your mind keeps playing What’s Even the Point, and you keep refusing to give in to it, battling it with philosophy and self-help books and religion and whatever else that works. And then one day, the air is a bit warmer, and the sky is not so blindingly bright. It’s overcast, and you’re walking through a forested park with your children. Your nine-year-old points out two squirrels racing up an immense American Sycamore tree, its white bark peeling in patches, its leaves bigger than dinner plates. You think, my God that’s a beautiful tree. It must be a hundred years old, maybe more. Later, you’ll go home and read up on sycamores and learn that there are sycamore trees alive today that date back more than three hundred years, trees that are older than your nation. You’ll learn that George Washington once measured a sycamore tree that was over thirteen meters in circumference. You’ll read that Herodotus wrote 2,400 years ago that the Persian emperor Xerxes was marching his army through a grove of sycamore trees when he came across one of 'such beauty that he was moved to decorate it with golden ornaments and to leave behind one of his soldiers to guard it.' But for now you’re just looking up at that tree, thinking about how it turned dirt and water and sunshine into wood and bark and leaves, how it turned nothing into a place where squirrels play, and you realize you are in the vast dark shade of this giant tree, and that’s the point.

John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed (ep. “Air Conditioning and Sycamore Trees“)

#John Green #nihlism #anthropocene reviewed

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beyondyourshadows-blog · 4 years

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Big-Face

(Because Mark and Jack mentioned a creature with a large face and tiny legs while playing Bigfoot, I wrote a creepypasta for it like Mark suggested. Enjoy!)

It’s been two years since this incident happened, and I’m still not sure what to make of it. It has scarred me for life, ripping away my love for the outdoors like a starving coyote tears flesh from bone. I’ve never told anyone this story before, but I guess now is as good a time as any. Maybe getting my experience out there will help my broken mind cope some. Or, maybe, it just might save somebody else from the same fate.

Ever since I was a kid, I loved to hunt. It wasn’t just a sport for me, though. My family has always been poor, so getting a large buck during hunting season meant we could eat well for weeks. Even after I moved out, this tradition stuck with me. Every year, I’d go out hunting for the biggest buck I could find. Being only me at my tiny house, that meat would help prepare many, many meals. And I could never get over the thrill of the hunt. But everything changed on the first day of hunting season, two years ago.

I went out into the nearby woods, like usual. I had my rifle with me and a backpack full of snacks and supplies I may need. You never really knew. The woods I entered were the same trees I had known all my life, so I felt no unease as I crept in deeper.

I’ll admit that I’d gone in further this time than ever before, but I figured it would be a good idea to find the best deer. Besides, other hunters were occupying the edges of the forest, so I didn’t have much choice but to go in deeper just to get away from them all. Eventually, the area I found myself in was one I had never been to before, but, as long as I kept track of where I’d come from, I could find my way back with ease.

As the sun rose, cracking dawn light through the autumn trees, I finally set up my little area. It was a simple yet effective set-up. Just me at the base of a large poplar tree with my camo gear on, spray to mask my scent, and a few bushes around me to act as cover. The natural blinds were always the best, in my opinion.

For hours, I stayed there. Every now and again, I called out the sound of a doe in heat. It was the best way to attract large bucks, after all. However, it seemed that my day was going to be an unlucky one, as I never saw or heard a thing back. Even as noon came and went, I was still sitting there, waiting. If I hadn’t had been so stubborn, I would have found a new area to hunt, but I just kept telling myself that a deer could be on its way and to wait for it, just in case.

Eventually, I did have to call it quits on that spot, as nothing was happening. I hadn’t even seen a fox or squirrel. Maybe the place was just bad for hunting overall. As such, I moved locations, going even further yet into the trees.

I walked for maybe a good twenty minutes when I started to notice a dreadful type of feeling. Eyes were on me. Yet, when I scanned the surrounding trees myself, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, or maybe there was an animal finally, and it was just taking cover to observe me. Either way, I decided to stop where I was and set up my site again. If I went too much further into the forest anyway, I feared possibly not finding my way back out by the time it got dark.

Again, at this new spot, I waited and sat and called. And, again, no deer came, and no other animals appeared to me. Eventually, I had to call it quits for the day, as I had been out literally the entire day. Night would soon fall, and I had to, at least, get back to the patch of forest I knew before dark.

Heavily disappointed in my unlucky time, I packed up my water bottle and deer call and shouldered my rifle. It sucked to not even see a deer in all of that time, making it feel like a wasted effort. But, at the very least, I had spent my time in the outdoors that I so greatly loved.

However, that feeling of being watched came back as I trudged my way through the leaf litter. Hope flared up as I looked around to find the source, yet I still could not locate it. Probably just a raccoon then, high in a tree maybe.

Five minutes passed, and this feeling persisted. Last time, it had gone away within maybe two minutes of it arriving. But, this time, it lingered. Ten minutes, still there. Fifteen and still present. By twenty minutes of this feeling as I walked back the way I’d come, my heart was racing. Fear had started to sink in. If this was a normal animal then it wouldn’t be following me this long, unless it was a mountain lion.

Mountain lions were apex predators that could silently stalk prey for as long as it took to catch it off guard. I had my rifle, which provided me some comfort, but the problem was I still had no idea where the source of this dread was. These big cats were extremely stealthy, so much so that the only time you saw or heard one was because it had already decided not to eat you. The fact I only had the sixth sense sensation of eyes on me meant I was still on the menu, if it was a cat.

I walked a bit faster with a hand on the strap of my gun, ready to sling it around at a moment’s notice if need be. Every now and then, I would glance back over my shoulder to ensure nothing was directly behind me. Above, the sun was setting.

Unfortunately, I had gone too deep and waited too long before moving back. At the rate I was going, I would never make it back to my familiar woods before darkness fell. I had a flashlight with me, but the advantage of night would give whatever was stalking me a better opportunity for the kill. Yet I couldn’t go any quicker than my speed walk already, or I may trigger the predatory instinct of the beast and have it only pounce more swiftly.

As dusk fell around me, I had to finally bring out my light just to not trip on roots at my feet. Of course, this added another layer of the already cultivating fear within my soul. Now, I had only one, small area in which I could really keep an eye on at any given time. And, beyond that light’s edges, my mind conjured up shadows and demons dancing among the dying foliage.

Suddenly, a loud ‘snap’ sounded beside me. Something had broken a twig. Abruptly, I whipped my field of vision around towards the noise. At first, as I scanned the trees and ground, I saw nothing. But then, my light caught something horrifying. About twenty yards away, a creature not of nature was peering out from around a tree. Thinking back to describe it give me chills, but I’ll do my best to recall every detail possible.

The most easily pronounced feature was its head, so huge and bulbous that it couldn’t have been any sort of person or animal. Maybe it was an alien, but, even then, the skull was much larger than any depiction of alien grays or others. The best thing I can compare the size to would be a tractor tire. It had to be at least seven feet tall and six feet wide in a sort of egg shape, and that was only the head.

Pale, sand-colored skin covered its face, wrinkled in many places. I saw no ears, but its eyes glimmered black in my flashlight’s beam. They were beady, little things compared to its skull but also probably still a good foot in diameter. No iris or whites showed, only a soulless pupil. No nose adorned its face, but it did appear to have a tiny slit for a mouth that stretched into a child-like grin as it stared at me with those obsidian eyes.

Of course, I screamed at the sight of its grotesque form, nearly dropping my flashlight in the process. Thankfully, I managed to keep it within my shaking hand, and I ran. I bolted through that forest as fast as I could, adrenaline lending me extra strength. However, I could hear leaves and branches snapping behind me. It was giving chase.

When I glanced back, fighting the urge not to but failing, I saw its massive head smacking into overhanging branches and breaking through them like they were nothing twenty yards away. But what got me the most upon seeing its full form was its body.

Unlike the head, its naked body was small in proportion, tiny even. It gave the thing maybe an extra three feet of height with stumpy legs and a short torso. Although small, its skinny frame boasted bulging muscles from its legs and neck to keep its enormous head erect. In front of it, slender stumps for arms with bony fingers stretched out in my direction, ready to grab hold of me once near.

Again, I let out a shriek, to which the thing let out a shrill giggle. A demented child’s laughter escaped its smiling lips, lips that revealed human teeth. My legs screamed at me as I pushed them to run faster, until I tripped.

In my effort to look over my shoulder, I had neglected to watch where I was going. Thus, my foot caught onto an extended root, and I was sent down, plowing into the ground on my shoulder. Pain radiated from my arm and shoulder, probably from hitting it on a leaf-buried rock. But the adrenaline and terror numbed that feeling.

Quickly, I scrambled to get my gun off my other shoulder. My flashlight, having landed a few feet away, pointed towards the charging monstrosity. It giggled again, seemingly having me in its clutches finally, but I readied my gun and fired.

In an instant, the beast stopped in its tracks and wailed. Its short arms tried desperately to reach up for its now bleeding face as its head flailed. More tree branches were broken and sent falling from its painful rampage as its screams pierced my ears.

I didn’t waste any time taking the opportunity, and I scrambled to my feet. After grabbing my flashlight again, I booked it once more. This time, the thing didn’t follow me, and its cries eventually faded into the background.

Thankfully, I had been going in the right direction the whole time, and I eventually made it out of the woods and to my truck. Without a moment’s hesitation, I jumped in and peeled out of there. I wanted to tell somebody that night what had happened, to call my father or uncle or mother, but I never could bring myself to do it. Who would believe me anyway? Instead, I just ended up drinking until I passed out.

Ever since that night, I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back into the forest again. And I get worried each time my father and uncle go on hunting trips in the very same woods. I always tell them to be extremely careful and to not go too deep, but they always look at me with confusion when I never go with them, always giving a different excuse as to why I can’t. Hell, I can’t even be around children that much anymore, because each time one of them laughs, it just reminds me of that thing’s demented giggle. It’s horrible.

Now that I wrote this story down, though, I’m hoping that it’ll provide my mind with some sort of closure or ease. I’ve spent too long cooped up in my house or in populated towns. As terrifying as that experience was, I miss the fresh air and peace of the forest. Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to go back into the trees without wanting to vomit. But, until then, I want this tale to also serve as a warning for anyone who may want to go into unfamiliar forest. Don’t. Just save yourself the trouble and fear and don’t. Please. You don’t wan to meet Big-Face.

#markipler #jacksepticeye #horror #creepypasta

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wearthegoldhat · 5 years

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Kyrgyzstan: A Travelogue in Words

Manas International Airport has inadvertently turned into a bird sanctuary. The decibel of bird sounds when, dazed after 22 hours of travel you walk for the first time out into early morning Kyrgyz sunlight, provide a stunning first impression of the deepest part of the lushest forest at sunrise. Then you traverse the barren miles between Kyrgyz towns. So that when leaving you look up again and realize the birds have made a home not between the lush green leaves that were earlier conjured, but between long metal bars stretched across a plain awning. You chuckle to yourself for pity of those architects. Certainly they had not intended nor anticipated this secondary affect of hundreds of birds gathering to fight and sing and build and defecate above the sliding doors in and out of Kyrgyzstan.

Other first impressions: the toilet paper here is just a slightly wider and colorless kin of the crinkly stretchy paper streamers we use in America to celebrate birthdays and bridal showers and such.

Borscht soup has the redness of the reddest heirloom tomato distilled to 15 feet for purity of color. I thought it was full of tomatoes but it is full of cabbage and bits of beef, without any of the tartness of tomatoes. The red remains a mystery, but that is of little concern to me because it tastes very good. (After writing this, I learned the soup is made from beets.)

Lake Issyk Kul is blue-blue. Blue must be said twice because it is not just blue, it is the bluest blue, and the standard against which all blues may be set. And it does not want for size either—8 hours is required to travel its circumference. We could see it from our room. But at the lodge, the hallway we had to walk down to get to our room was so long it began to feel psychological. It was long and dimly lit, with no windows, just rows and rows of doors to each side, and you think you are nearly there but then you are still not. It is inevitable, even after walking up and down it multiple times a day, that you wonder if it ever ends. Walking through it feels a little like you have been plunged into an anxious dream.

An hour’s drive around Lake Issyk Kul towards the Hindu Kush mountains brought us to a little dirt road into the alleged burial grounds of St. Matthew, which turned out to be merely a small cave tunneling through a hill, with a yellowed Bible, a half-assed alphabet etched into the wall, a crumpled picture of Mary, Nestorian symbols of the cross inside an enclave, and a fistful of yellow flowers fastened above the small dark hole of an exit. It was a funny attempt to capitalize on pious tourists and the actual discovery: the divers who discovered remnants of ancient human civilization buried under Lake Issyk Kul, a shard with Armenian/Syrian language which corroborates with a 14th century map indicating an Armenian monastery at a place called “issikol,” where St. Matthew might have been as he traveled towards India, establishing little communities of believers.

Large yellow brown planes, horses and cows nibbling side by side with little nosy clusters of gossiping chickens. Chickens, when they are together in the country, are always gossiping. Cows wander freely along the single paved road, crossing it at will, knowing their right of way—if they are hit the driver is at fault and pays. By nightfall they have all headed home because if they are hit after dark, the driver is no longer at fault and the owner pays for his losses. One lamb is 100 som and one horse is 3,000 som. I’m guessing cows are somewhere in between. The road is pollarded with trees painted white on the bottom, for what I’m not sure, because the trees are all dead and dried. They burn areas of the fields before cultivation, but I am not sure if anything can be coaxed out of these miles of dry grey granules of dirt, with yellowed grass spaced out like the hairs of a balding man. What great faith these men have driving around in tractors, farm tools scattered about. Seasons are a miraculous thing when the dead of winter is really so dead. But even then, Kyrgyzstan’s main problem, it seems, is that nothing is going on. Lake Issyk Kul is a large shock of brilliant turquoise just before the rise of the Tien Shan mountains to snowy peaks, and the beauty of it seems utterly useless, because beauty is completely frivolous and indifferent when industry is what is needed, work for men to put their hands to. And you can see it in some of the men’s faces ruddy with alcohol at noon, nothing to do and no purpose aside from bottles of that great Russian export, hard liquor. A man on a horse corralling his sheep on a barren hillside here, a lone smoke stack there, and a girl sitting on an overturned bucket selling 3 more buckets of soft apples...

Their jaunty hats of embroidered creamy woolen felt seemed at first like costume. I saw them upon the heads of a group of men, old and young, in western dress waiting at the gate in Istanbul. But as our plane descended into Bishkek, the men had grown raucous (I could smell the alcohol on their breaths behind me) and they kept laughing wildly and standing up in the cabin. The stewardesses’ reprimands went from pleading to threatening until they finally sat down. All throughout that week I saw men wearing them neatly upon their heads, amidst the countryside dust and the smog of Bishkek buses. They became to me more beautiful than all of Lake Issyk Kul, because they are symbols of human dignity, handiwork, and identity upon their heads—singular and defiant acts of Kyrgyz expression amidst vast lethargic poverty. Then we were back at Manas International Airport. Missions is messy, he said as they tried to stuff a large Kyrgyz wall hanging amidst other shapely gifts into a suitcase that weighed in just under 20 kg. Earlier he had told me a story about the videographer for a group of missionaries going around Kilimanjaro. What was the hardest part of the journey? They asked him. He had lugged hefty camera equipment all up and down the mountain. After a bit of thought he said, getting all the receipts for reimbursement. So, missions is messy, and this has many meanings. Tetras-ing wall hangings into luggages under the weight limit is one of them, I said.

Later I saw two Kyrgyz infantrymen in smart Soviet-era hats and uniforms. They stopped to stand on the luggage weighing scale, in a jocular mood, perhaps ready to fill their bellies with spirit on a Friday night. I took a picture of them as they looked up at the large round clock of kilograms, laughing. We had just seen some people off, and went back out again to the deafening sound of birds.

Spaciba. I whispered many times under my breath but did not have the courage to say out loud. I started to recognize a few Russian letters. I was using a BeeLine sim card and all the messages from the carrier came in Russian.

Afghanis vacation in Tajik, Tajiks vacation in Kyrgyzstan. That is the order of wealth perhaps. We walked around the plaza, the architecture and use of space, so starkly Soviet-looking, was nothing like I had seen before. Stone monuments rose up everywhere. Lenin stood tall as a mountain, his hand outstretched, ominously pointing the way. We saw banners from the Persian New Year celebrations. We saw bottles of their award-winning white honey. They gifted me two, and a wall-hanging made of wool, before I left.

Back in the other central asian country where they worked, their phone calls were monitored by the government. They had code words for anything that might give their religion away, and while in Kyrgyzstan, they kept stiffening at words like church and missionary spoken out loud so freely between us. He acted out a phone call he once received from his dad who hardly ever called him: he heard his dad ask how is the mission doing? at the same time he heard a beep sound in the background, and he started coughing loudly, frantic to cover that forbidden word, mission. Are you ok? his dad asked. Dad let me call you back later. He hung up abruptly.

He told me about the experience of his Dutch friends. The lady was newly pregnant and earlier that morning she had broken news of it to her family over the phone. In the afternoon her husband stopped at a government office. The officials greeted him and then congratulated him on his wife’s pregnancy. He was obviously taken aback--how could they have known? And then he realized they had tapped his call. The state learned of his wife’s pregnancy at the same time their family learned of the pregnancy. Constant surveillance was a fact of life, as elementary as seasons and the color blue.

We shared immigration stories (immigration offices in developing countries always produce stories). He told me about his friend who went to the immigration office in a North African country. The windows were numbered 1-8. He went to the first one. A man slid open the window. And after an exchange of explanations and papers was done, he said, please proceed to window 2. So he went to window 2 and waited. It slid open to reveal the same man. Hello, he said, as if they had not just spoken moments ago. A twin perhaps? But no. Window after window it was the same man, running all 8 windows of immigration at the immigration office. Seven times he greeted him as if they had never spoken before.

He also told me about kidnappings. A few days after he told me about his own, he shared another one about the pregnant German woman who was kidnapped in a middle eastern country he had worked in. The kidnappers had begun to broadcast a live video of their ransom demands. But the scene quickly spiraled into a chaos that was almost comic. The woman began to shout at her kidnappers, openly mocking and shaming them in her brazen way. The kidnappers could be seen regrouping in a corner, arguing with each other over what to do, how to proceed, maybe they should just let her go? She was pregnant afterall and maybe what they were doing was unethical. He told me he never thought he could feel for kidnappers, but he did then. In that moment, they were just a group of people who were desperate and believed that this was the only way to get their demands met. They were also just a group of people who did not agree with each other and did not have a good plan in place. They eventually released the woman.

Gigi and I sat on the floor of the hotel room (because the floors were heated and nothing else), across the street from the American embassy that rose up like a fortress amidst rubble, before a beautiful alpine backdrop. It did not feel real. We talked and talked late into the night. We held onto each other like sisters who would be separated soon.

I heard many stories and shared a few of my own. After I spoke in front of a conference room of 200 people, a couple approached me. The husband used to be a professor at UPenn and now runs a social enterprise/business as mission in Kyrgyzstan. Her daughter teaches on a Native American reservation in the Southwest. The wife told me that she was very touched by what I had said. I almost laughed and began to apologize for my terrible public speaking. Speaking skills don’t matter as much, she said firmly. What I could tell was the message you shared came from the heart, and that is the more important thing. So then I n my heart I felt comforted, but in my head I said, I am not entirely convinced that is true. Several other schools and organizations also approached me, in an uncomfortably eager attempt (imagine elderly men requesting to sit with you at dinner time to tap the corners of their mouths with a napkin and share the most scintillating mission statements with a side of groveling) to recruit me because I am young and already have 3 years of experience in East Africa. I turned them all down by the end of the week. I left that path 2 years ago and I do not see myself going back. If I do go, I will go another way.

Now that it has been six months since my trip, I can hardly believe I was ever there. There are a few parts of it that I’d rather not recall. But I do have a pair of luxurious woolen slippers, deftly embroidered, with tips that curve sharply upward, that I wear around the house when I want to feel regal, to remind myself of who gifted them to me, and that I did really spend a very strange week gallivanting about Kyrgyzstan.

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