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spockandawe · 3 years

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There’s something that I’ve been wanting to articulate about the hualian relationship for a while, specifically the early hualian relationship, so let me see if I can find the right words for this.

The way Hua Cheng presents himself as San Lang is important. Without his pov, it’s impossible to get direct-direct confirmation, but the whole scene reads to me like he’s presenting himself in the most nonthreatening and appealing way that he can figure out. He’s young, but not child-young, but still young enough that Xie Lian might not want to let him go wandering off on his own (but also not young enough that Xie Lian will feel obligated to take care of him as an adult). He doesn’t put himself forward so hard that he looks suspiciously pushy, but he’s also more than happy to help Xie Lian out the moment Xie Lian hints that he’s mildly curious about something.

(side note, I have to wonder how much he xuan had to endure re: hua cheng workshopping disguises over the years before xie lian finally showed up and put him out of his misery)

And Hua Cheng gradually lets more and more of his real personality show, especially as Xie Lian persistently declines to scold him for being mean or insist that he show Fu Yao and Nan Feng respect or anything like that. Banyue forces his hand sooner than he would have preferred, but also Xie Lian has pretty solid observational skills on his own and was already drawing certain conclusions by that point. But the initial San Lang disguise still fascinates me, and I can’t let it go.

I think the way I’ve described it before is that Hua Cheng shows up, presenting himself as appealingly/nonthreateningly as possible, and completely ready to amputate any parts of his personality that Xie Lian doesn’t like. Fortunately, he’s thwarted by the ways Xie Lian has grown up over the last eight hundred years, and how much Xie Lian genuinely likes him and likes being around him. Then the final nails in the coffin are Xie Lian being very *shrug* about any ulterior motives Hua Cheng has about approaching him, and Xie Lian directly expressing that he’d rather see San Lang’s real face than a mask, even if the mask is prettier (is this a literal face or a metaphorical face? por que no los dos?). But also, I think there’s an element of grief to this whole early meeting that I completely missed until now.

They spent eight hundred years apart. Hua Cheng died as a teenager, and got very little post-death time with Xie Lian before they were separated, and then he spent eight centuries as a ghost, where he fought for power and took on responsibilities as the ruler of the ghost city. Whether he wanted to or not, he’s grown up. And he grew up without anything but the memory of Xie Lian in his life. He became the adult that he is... on his own.

And at first I was only thinking that if he’d had the option, he would have happily shaped his entire personality to be whatever Xie Lian needed/wanted him to be, and then belatedly remembered... he already did that. He already tried to do that once, as Wuming. He was perfectly willing to be treated coldly and have his attempted expressions of support rejected, and in the end, he didn’t hesitate to sacrifice his own existence as soon as Xie Lian started regretting something that he’d set in motion. I don’t want to say that he was “hiding” his true personality there, but it does demonstrate how completely willing he was to subordinate his own sense of self to whatever he thought Xie Lian wanted him to be.

But after eight hundred years, where he’s one of four ghost kings, and where he rules a city with subjects who look up to him and rely on him, he... has a sense of self. He’s grown up and his personality has settled into place, and it’s no longer possible for him to mold himself the way he wanted to before, because it’s over and done. I do think he’s still perfectly ready to remake himself into whatever Xie Lian wants him to be, however unhealthy that process is, but that’s a different thing.

Fortunately, it doesn’t come to anything, because Xie Lian likes him very much the way he is, thank you very much, even the uglier parts of his personality, like the way he treats Xie Lian’s heavenly friends. Now, it takes time for Hua Cheng to really become confident that Xie Lian means what he says, and that he does just want to know who Hua Cheng really is, and when he introduces himself as San Lang, he doesn’t have any way to know that’s the case at all. So I think their early interactions really do have that underlying element of preemptive grief, because Hua Cheng is trying to sound out what kind of person Xie Lian would most like him to be, while also mourning that he wasn’t able to grow up organically shaping himself into that exact person, the way he once wanted to.

#hualian #tian guan ci fu #tgcf #hua cheng #xie lian #hua cheng x xie lian #meta #xie lian x hua cheng #the longer i take to go back and recheck my own tagging system the more painful the process becomes

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bestintheparsec · 4 years

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Could you do “You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine.” and “Helps on the way. You just have to hold on a little longer.” for Javi please 🥺 your writing is incredible

“You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine.” + “Help is on the way. You just have to hold on a little longer.”

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: none

- First of all, thankyousomuch I love you and I don’t deserve you🥺 I hope you like this! Pat me on the back for actually staying under 1k words!😂

Requests | Masterlist

It’s after midnight on the now-empty streets of Medellín. Steve’s run off to flag down the ambulance; you get more impatient with every second. Any fear of your surroundings is dissipated; all your focus is now on Javier.

You’re cradling his head in your lap on the cold cement. You smooth his sweat-plastered hair out of his face, talking to him to keep him awake.

“Help is on the way,” you whisper with feigned confidence, as though you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him. “You just have to hold on a little longer.”

Javier opens his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at you.

“Javi,” you try to sound calm but it comes out like a whimper. “Please stay with me. I can’t…lose you. I don’t know what I’d do.” The tears are streaming down your cheeks now, and you don’t try to stop them.

“You’re going to be okay, hermosa. Even without me.” It comes out hoarse, but he manages to give you a weak smirk. His hand cups your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Everything is going to be fine,” he insists. You take his hand as he lets go, his blood staining your own hands.

“Are you really telling me that while there’s two bullets in you right now?” You shake your head and let out a chuckle through the tears. He can be so ridiculous sometimes.

The lights in the hospital room are kept dim in an attempt to help Javier sleep. You’re thankful; the harsh fluorescent lights always put you more on edge as it is.

Of course, they’re mistaken if they think he’ll sleep easily. The man is drugged up on opiates and at best, he’s a bit drowsy and dazed.

The small clock on the wall reads 4:10, but you can’t remember if that’s AM or PM. You’ve been awake with him for hours now; it’s silent, but your head won’t stay quiet.

“Javi, I—” you start.

“You don’t need to say anything—” he interrupts and meets your gaze, and there’s a different sort of look in his eyes, almost like apprehension. His voice is rough, and there’s another lump in your throat again. In another time and place, you might listen to him. You’re afraid, too, but there won’t be a better time than now.

“Please, just let me talk, Javier,” you say, pursing your lips. You lean forward in the creaky chair and he blinks hard before turning to look at you. He doesn’t answer, but his eyes crinkle in mild amusement. You’re always so stubborn, he thinks.

You place your hand over his, and he takes it, gripping it lightly. He looks concerned.

“Please don’t ever think that I wouldn’t need you,” you say. “I thought I’d seen enough violence here to become numb. But when you were bleeding onto my hands, I—I’m not.”

I’m scared for you every time you’re out there with me, Javier thinks to himself, but continues to listen.

“You’ve given me something to believe in again.” His chest constricts. I’ve found the best of myself in you, his mind echoes.

“You’re rough on the edges, Javi.” You smile, teasing him. “But you make me a better person.” I don’t deserve you.

You’re scared to say it, because you can’t take it back once you do. “I think I’m—”

“How do you think this ends?” Javier whispers, out of nowhere. “With you, or me, or both of us in some hospital—if we’re lucky—bleeding out until the other is left alone?”

“What?” you answer, a bit thrown off.

“We…we shouldn’t do this anymore, Y/N. I just—” he tries to shake his head. “It’s not good for us. I can’t put you through this every time.”

“Javi, what are you talking about—You’ve got too many meds in your system,” you sputter, wiping away at the tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“No,” he shakes his head again. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of it.”

“You were bleeding out yesterday—Steve was there too, remember? He was scared, just like me. We’re all partners, we go through these things together—”

“Exactly—that’s all we should be. Partners.” He says it louder than he means to.

You can see his eyes turning red as if he’s holding back his own tears, but you don’t know what to say to that.

“I can’t believe what you’re doing,” you say quietly as your hands shake.

“Please,” he says again. His voice is still calm, but it sounds like he’s pleading. “Please. You know I’m right.” You’re breaking my heart, he repeats in his head.

You won’t change his mind; you know this. You blink away the tears and try to pull yourself together. He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Miss?” The nurse enters the room, and you wonder if she can feel the chill in the air. “I need to recheck some things on him, if you don’t mind stepping out.”

You stand up to leave. The nurse looks at you and mistakes the tears for a different kind of defeat. “He’ll be alright, miss,” she says. You walk out before her, barely acknowledging her words.

He watches you go and suddenly the world is heavy again. I love you, too.

Perm tags: @immundusspiritu @aeryntheofficial @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @haildoodles-writing @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @jensfolly @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside @pascalisthepunkest @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @katialvi @murdermewithbooks @pisss-offf-ghostt @kayebede @lamnothome @fan-g0rl @lokiaddicted @mrsdaamneron @poedaneron @wolfshifter4life @rociomz @opheliaelysia @dyn-djarin @randomness501 @hayley-the-comet

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #narcos #my ff #drabbles #why do I take every single one of these prompts and make a U-turn onto some tangent lol

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tb5-heavenward · 7 years

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flight hours

being a meditation on Scott, John, flying, and bad attitudes.

“This is a stupid exercise.”

“Yeah, well, if you weren’t such a shitty pilot, maybe it wouldn’t be.”

Airspace above and around Tracy Island is an internationally recognized no-fly zone, within a hemispherical radius of a solid hundred miles. This is something their dad worked incredibly hard to finagle, and it ensures the island’s safety and privacy, as well as guarantees a space for the Thunderbirds to be put through their paces, as is occasionally required for testing and training.

It’s the latter purpose that has Scott lingering at the upper border of the stratosphere, flirting with TB1’s altitude limit and cruising lazily around on autopilot. Today he’s the trainer rather than the trainee, and the afternoon’s endeavour is a combination of two of the things John’s worst at in the entire world: flying and the gracious acceptance of valid criticism.

The training in question is meant to take place in the midst of a mobile aerial course, designed by Brains, and made up of a suite of drones of assorted shapes and sizes. These can be remotely configured to represent various situations, and are meant to iterate upward through a series of complex levels, designed to test and train a pilot’s skills. Scott knows them inside and out, backwards and forwards, and can run courses designed for TB1 and for him flying solo with his jetpack, practically with his eyes closed. Flying Thunderbird Shadow, at least twice as aerobatic as any of the rest of the ‘birds, Kayo can do it with her eyes closed, because TBS can essentially take the course on autopilot. Beyond that, Scott regularly puts Alan and Gordon relentlessly through their paces, usually with the pair of them flying Pods A and B in tandem, laughing and whooping and relishing the challenge. Occasionally even Virgil will take TB2 through a modified version of the course, piloting the biggest of the Thunderbirds as though it’s a machine only half its considerable size.

Before now, John hasn’t had anything with which to fly the same course. But his Exosuit is meant to be a versatile piece of equipment, meant to be equally useful both in and out of the atmosphere. And while it was in development, John had dutifully gotten plenty of virtual experience, and once it was completed, he’d even logged a passable amount of time in zero-G, just jetting around in orbit, getting accustomed to the suit and its controls. But he’s only flown it once or twice, in atmo, with gravity. And as far as Scott’s concerned, that just won’t do.

So, training. A requisite minimum of a hundred flight hours, with Scott around for instruction and supervision. They’re about eight hours in. It could be going better.

His younger brother is taking a breather, perched on the small deck of one of the drones, with his wingspan folded and his long legs dangling over the edge of the platform. All Scott had done was clear his throat over the open radio channel, marking the end of what he’d considered to be a generous three minute break, and suggested that maybe John might want to get the next exercise started, with daylight beginning to fade from the South Pacific sky. And John had gotten snappish. And, losing patience with his brother, Scott had snapped right back.

Admittedly, Scott’s maybe not the softest touch or the best teacher in the world, and maybe he’s crossed a line, because there’s a frosty silence over the comm. And then—

“I am not,” John answers, and Scott could swear that the temperature inside his helmet actually drops a few degrees, “a shitty pilot.”

By Scott’s standards this isn’t true, but then, Scott’s standards are high enough to flirt with the upper border of the stratosphere. John can fly. John flies reasonably well. He could probably fly better. Still, Scott modulates his tone, though he needs to be very careful not to patronize his younger brother. “Well, okay, maybe that’s a little too harsh a term—but you have to admit, objectively, you are the worst pilot in the family. You’ve got the least experience out of the five of us. The six of us, if you include Kayo.”

“Objectively, you can blow it out your ass, Scott.”

The bad attitude is uncharacteristic, but then, they’ve been at this for hours now, and John gets frustrated when his efforts don’t result in tangible progress, and can’t seem to help taking criticism personally. Scott’s been pushing him pretty hard, finding something to correct with every attempt at every exercise. And he sighs, tries to remember the last time he had to deal with one of his brothers pitching a tantrum, thirty miles above sea level. Probably not since the last time he’d made Gordon and Alan race through the course, and Gordon had won on a technicality. “Buddy, you’re the one who wanted the Exosuit. Our tech has a learning curve, you know that. Just because you haven’t had to learn the ropes of a new piece of gear in a while doesn’t mean you’re suddenly exempt from putting in the damn work.”

“This is still a stupid exercise. I know how to fly my exosuit.”

“No, this is a necessary exercise. When you first got the damn thing, you didn’t even know which button to hit.”

“Shut up. My time is a lot more valuable than this.”

“Your time is only as valuable as the skillset that backs it up, and thus any time you spend training is necessarily time of value. And I think we both know that you could do to spend a bit more time training.”

“I spend plenty of time training!”

“Not in a non-virtual space, you don’t.”

“My sims are—”

“Not a patch on the real thing, and anyway they’re all coded for zero-G. You need proper training, and this is how we train in atmo.”

“You don’t know the first damn thing about my sims. And why the hell do we even have simulations, if they don’t actually count?”

“They’re fine for learning the theory. But they’re academic, they’re not experience.”

“Three hundred hours of sim time—”

“—is not the same as logging actual goddamn flight hours, John!”

“Yeah, well—”

“Boys.”

Their grandmother’s voice slices the channel in half, leaves the raggedy edges of static behind in its wake. Her sternness and moreover, her disappointment are enough to shut the both of them up, pretty much immediately. The abashed quality of the silence indicates that they’re both deeply ashamed to have been caught arguing. Grandma Tracy allows a few judgmental seconds to pass before she clears her throat, and continues, “We’ve got a medical distress call, a private cargo flight out of Auckland headed for Brisbane. The plane is in flight over the middle of the Coral Sea. Pilot is experiencing chest pains and shortness of breath, has no copilot, no other passengers or flight crew aboard. He’s requesting immediate assistance.”

Scott’s never exactly glad when a rescue crops up, but in this case it’s a welcome break from a stupid fight with his brother. And halfway between Auckland and Brisbane is the bit of the South Pacific that represents the equivalent of their backyard, at least as the Thunderbird flies. “FAB, Tracy Island. Thunderbird One responding,” he answers crisply, and even at distance, he can see that John’s already pulled himself back to his feet aboard the drone, reengaged his controls, and is about to hop off the platform. “Stay put, Thunderbird Five, I’ll fly by and pick you up.”

“Negative, Scott, don’t waste the time. We’re only fifteen klicks out, I can get back to the island on my own. Tracy Island, get me a line to EOS and TB5, I want to start running intel on this vessel and its status—”

Scott’s already pulled up alongside the floating platform, thumbed the switch to open his cargo bay. “Cancel, Tracy Island, have Gordon tag in to stay on the line with the pilot, forward us stats as relevant. John’s flying with me, I could use an extra set of hands. Time for some on the job training.”

There’s a brief silence from Tracy Island, as though Grandma Tracy is evaluating the probability that her boys will behave, with both their tempers already running high, and their patience running short with each other. “Thunderbird Five, confirm?”

There’s the very barest pause over the comm channel and then a terse, “FAB.”

Learning by doing is something Scott’s always believed in. There’s a hydraulic whine at his back as the cargo bay slides open, and then a throaty little burst of rocket fuel, as his brother arrives on board. As the cargo hatch closes, Scott calls over his shoulder. “Welcome aboard, Johnny. Pull up a seat.”

All he gets in answer is a faint grunt, as John’s exosuit powers down, the weight of it no longer self-supporting as the propulsion systems turn off. “You do realize I can’t actually get out of this thing?” he asks, as Scott starts to prepare to go to full throttle, checking and rechecking the telemetry as provided by Tracy Island.

“Well, I don’t know why you’d want to, you’re just gonna need to get right back into it. And on that note, you’re gonna wanna brace yourself,” Scott answers cheerfully, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely in the direction of a couple anchor points at his back, “Our ETA is about six minutes. Get your sitrep from Gordon on the way.”

continued >>

#tag fanfic #scott tracy #john tracy #some kind of creative doubt #flight hours

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whatif-animagineblog · 7 years

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Prompt: So after some talk in a chat room an angsty prompt came into the light. It can be read here Personally I’d go into this blind. That’s my recommendation.

Warnings: Sickness, Angst

Pairing: Bones/Reader (Predetermined)

A/N: This is part one of a multipart series. I’m gonna make it hurt. PART 2

Word Count:1211

David James McCoy was a spitting image of his father. Same dark hair, light hazel eyes. He had an infectious giggle that made you husband’s booming laugh ring through your room. You loved to watch him sleep, still so in awe of him. From his little nose to his curling toes.

He was only four months old when his perceptive father caught onto something not right. “Y/n,” his voice called from the nursery. You walked in and he looked concerned. A tricorder in his hand.

“Leo,” you asked, fear creeping into your voice. “What’s wrong?” You looked into the crib at your sleeping son. “Leo,” you asked putting your hand on his arm.

“He’s been seemin’ lethargic and a little flushed, so I was just checkin’ in,” his voice drifted off. You looked at him, seeing thoughts go whizzing behind his eyes. “His white and red blood cell count is high. I don’t want to alarm you. But I wanna take the tike to Medbay. Just to see what’s going on.”

You crossed your arms looking at Leonard, he looked over at you. His eyes held worry as he set down the tricorder. “Is it serious, Lee? What do you think is going on?” He looked from you to the crib and back to you.

“It could be nothing,” he said softly. Pulling you into strong arms, “I want to make sure it’s not. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Go to bed. It’s late.” You shook your head, pulling back at him.

“No Len, I wanna come. He’s my boy too.” Len nodded as you scooped up the small bundle, walking down to Medbay.

You stood by the bedside, a small hand curling around your finger as Leonard walked back and forth. He gently prodded his son’s body feeling around for signs of the cause. You saw fear wash over his face. He immediately began taking samples, running tests, what seemed like all of them. “Leo,” you called.

“Hang on a minute sweetheart,” he mumbled watching the results come in. The fear turned to terror. Checking results and rechecking results. You could see anger growing, his face was getting red and contorted. Tears brimming in his eyes.

“Leo,” you watched as he leaned forward on the desk. “Leonard, what is going on? You have to tell me,” you urged him. Leaving your son’s bedside, placing a hand on his back.

“He’s sick, Y/n. Really sick,” his words shocked you. They were soft and vulnerable, he shook as they left his lips.

“How sick,” you took a glance back at your son. The one that when you first announced, Bones practically jumped up and down, swinging you in circles. Happy.

“Possibly terminal.” The words rocked your world. You stumbled back into a chair, head spinning.

“What do you mean?”

“It means we caught it early. We might be able to cure it.” The way he said ‘it’ didn't sit right. He was hiding from you.

“What is this mysterious it, Lee,” you snapped, growing frustrated with him. He didn’t answer at first, just looking away at the ground. “Leonard.”

“Xenopolycythemia.”

The world seemed to stall. You felt your chest tighten at the mention of it. You were just about to ask Leonard out when he was first diagnosed. Scared the living hell out of both of you and pushed you together. It had been over two years since. The fatal disease long from your thoughts. “Xenopolycythemia,” the word rolled off numb lips. “how,” was all you could muster up.

“Me,” you looked at him confused. “It’s my fault. I passed it on to him. My stupid fucking genetic code gave my child a death sentence.”

“Don’t say that,” you cried out. “We couldn’t have known! It’s still a mostly unknown disease” You stepped closer, “ we beat it once. We just have to use the cure right? Same we used on you?”

Len hung his head and sighed. No, it could never be that easy. ”Sugar, I'm gonna be straight. It won't work. It's mutated far too much from me to him. This damn thing is a tricky disease to pin.”

“How long do we have? Maybe we can get the labs to make a cure. Something. Anything,” you felt tears pushing up into your eyes. Threatening to fall as you thought of losing your baby, this small bundle that you loved more than the universe.

“It’s hard to say, but probably no more than a year. I sent samples of Davey’s blood and my blood down to the labs. I need to call Jim. We can’t work like this.” He looked at you while you stared at the ground. You fought against tears that were starting to spill over. “Come here,” Bones walked over and pulled you into a tight hug.

”What will we do,” you whimpered into his chest.

“Fight. That’s all we can do it fight. Fight for him, for us.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind, setting up a private room for your son. The additional monitors needed, sticking to his skin. Other contraptions you didn’t dare to comprehend in the corner for ‘just in case’. A cot set up in the corner and a chair, in case you decided you couldn’t part yourself from his side. Then there was a phlebotomy, to ease the pressure of blood that was building. And the crying, oh the sobbing that came from your little boy who didn’t understand why you were hurting him.

Jim finally came down to Medbay, he spoke softly to bones for several minutes. He attempted to make eye contact hands on his hips, trying to be open about the whole thing. You could see the softness in his eyes, as he searched the other man for answers. Your husband, on the other hand, had his arms crossed and was looking down to the floor. Almost ashamed. Jim reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. There's was a second before he yanked Bones into a tight hug. Len’s arms were limp a minute before he hugged back, fingers digging into the gold material.

When they final let go Jim made his way over to you. “How you holding up?”

“Well, my baby has a mutated form of Xenopolycythemia, so all the normal benchmarks no longer count, and we have no idea what’s going to happen. So not great.” You knew Jim meant well, but you were mad, at the universe, at the illness, at yourself, you wanted to be mad. And unfortunately, Jim was at the raw end.

“Yeah, I hear that,” Jim plopped down next to you. “I thought we heard the last of this damned thing back on that planet in the Fabrini system. I could never imagine what you guys are feeling, and I won’t pretend to. I just want you to know, the crew, and especially, I am right behind here for you.” Jim took you hand and squeezed it, “I’m rooting for him.”

After he had gone Bones sat next to you, “The worst part is waiting. We are at the mercy of the lab. I can’t help him on my own.” He hung his head, holding his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

TAGS: @outside-the-government @feelmyroarrrr @answer-the-sirens @yourtropegirl @bkwrm523 @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @imaginenterprise @imaginestartrek @trekken81 @mccoymostly @starshiphufflebadger @wificrazymisfit

If you want to be part of the Tag Team let me know!

#Leonard McCoy #Bones #leonard mccoy/reader #bones/reader #leonard mccoyxreader #bonesxreader #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy / reader #bones / reader #WhatIf? - Imagines

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