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impossible-rat-babies · 4 years

Text

quarter past (two am)

word count ~4891 | angst pre-hb | chargestep | mostly under the cut!

read on a03

The streets in Los Diablos are rarely deserted at two am, the headlights dazzling as they pass by, bubblegum pink and electric green neon lights in store windows scattering hues across puddles on the concrete. Gasoline and spilled oil refract in electric rainbows, fine leather dress shoes scuffling and stuttering, disturbing the kaleidoscope.

“Y-You are....my bestest friend...! You are my bestest, best friend!”

Pollux rolls his eyes behind the mask, adjusting Ortega’s arm draped over his shoulders, keeping a hold on his wrist. He keeps blabbering on his ear, trying to rock them side to side across the sidewalk, kicking up water with god knows what in it. Pollux struggles to keep them from falling into a heap, cursing under his breath. Ortega would find it down right hilarious if they took a tumble into one of the heaps of trash, or perhaps smacked right into a telephone pole, the drunk bastard. He’d be finding their current struggles hilarious too if he didn’t have his pea sized drunk brain occupied singing to the heavens of his adoration.

“Hey....hey there, Lux?” He cajoles with a poke at his cheek and Pollux jerks away, giving him a grimace even though the mask. “Y-You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yes, you’ve been singing about it for the past hour, ass.” Pollux shoots back, sighing out of his nose.

They’re still a couple blocks away and all he wants to do is dump Ortega on his couch, make sure he won’t throw up all over himself and drag his own ass back to his bed. He blinks quickly to dispel the creeping heaviness across his eyelids, adjusting Ortega once more as he goes into another verse of the same made up jabbering nonsense.

Pollux glances up at Ortega as he keeps going, his brown eyes staring above and all around, glassy and vacant from the eight or so beers he’s had. Maybe a few other drinks bought for him in between; he’s not paid to watch how much Ortega imbibes.

But there’s honesty in his eyes, in how despite the awkward looks and snickering laughs from the few people still out as they clumsily pass by, he means every word of his stupid ballad. Drunk Ortega isn’t suave, isn’t the actor, wearing his heart on his sleeve instead of a mask on his face, looking picture perfect, taking it all in stride. It’s honestly slipping out of his mouth unbidden, the facade peeled back, the lies stripped away. The pretense and the formalities all gone and he’s just some drunk guy draped over a friend taking him home.

Pollux likes the pretense, when they don’t say the things they want to say--when he won’t drape himself all over him. Makes it easier to pretend he doesn’t feel like he does--makes it easier to lie to himself.

“I-It’s...it’s true, ya know? You are my, uh, my best friend.” Ortega waves his hand around theatrically, tripping over his own misplaced feet with a giggle. A giggle. God so help him. “An-And I don’t think you hear it enough. From anyone. You’re special, Lux.”

Oh he’s heard plenty of how he’s special--her words purred in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him on--more and more and more. Pollux swallows hard, smothering that voice in the back of his head.

“Oh I hear plenty from you about how special I am, lover boy.” Pollux huffs because as much as he is an honest drunk, he’s also stupid as shit and mushy as fuck. He doesn’t have the space in his head to think about how differently it sounds when Ortega says he’s special, how his ears are burning and the strange roll of his stomach.

“It’s-It’s because it’s true, Pebbles.” Ortega objects, rather loudly and pointedly. “You really are my best friend an-and I care about you. A lot.”

“You’ll be caring a lot more about the toilet than me in a bit.”

Ortega blows a large raspberry and waves his hand, Pollux dragging him away from yet another hapless pole he’s aiming to smack into.

Going to Hoots on Friday nights is both equal parts exciting and the worst thing he gets talked into doing; the music leaves him with a pounding headache and the flurry of so many minds leaves him damp with cold sweat and shaky hands. Still its Ortega’s favorite place to go on a Friday night, plus Anathema had volunteered to come along and Pollux was feeling indulgent. Fat lot that did when he drew the short straw.

Should’ve told Anathema to do, damn them when they winked and smirked, ducking out the door in a flash, leaving Pollux to wrangle Ortega.

Pollux sighs and he swallows down the lump, Ortega still mumbling away at his song as his building comes into view. Thank god--it’ll be easy to dump him at home and leave behind the weird feeling that refuses to go away. Going out with Ortega is always dangerous. It’s far too easy for Pollux to convince himself to give up some of his boundaries and self imposed restrictions—the things that keep him from saying things he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Like walking Ortega home.

He gives an inch and Ortega takes it for a mile, drawing him out bit by bit like thread unraveling from a spool and he uses it to tie them in closer. Convinces him to stay for a little while longer, one more longing look.

One more chaste kiss...or maybe not so chaste kiss.

Ortega nearly falls and Pollux curses, half dragging him up the stairs to his building and he wrangles him through the door to his building. He’s half slumped over him now along with most of his weight on Pollux’s shoulders and he might as well be dragging his feet.

“Can you please stand on your own fucking legs?” Pollux huffs, knees groaning and he’s only twenty two--his body shouldn’t groan like that.

“Gravity is too much, Pebbles.” He mumbles against his shirt near his neck and that is most certainly not helping the situation, his face flushing the under mask.

“I’ll dump your drunk ass on the floor.”

“Please Lux don’t do that.”

Thankfully there’s an elevator or he might have sooner just dumped Ortega in the lobby and left rather than drag his ass up the stairs. The doorman knows Pollux well enough by now that he just waves them on and shakes his head, grinning to himself. Oh the indignity of the Marshal of the Rangers being dragged drunk through his apartment lobby, but the doorman has tight lips. Plus there’s undoubtable amusement in watching Ortega getting wrangled into an elevator when his feet aren’t working correctly.

The door closes before Ortega can spill his guts about how much he likes him to the doorman, or spills his guts all over the tile floor. That would be a mess and Pollux wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He’s had enough of cleaning up vomit, acid dripping down his chin from his nose, the corners of his mouth..

“Please tell me you have your keys.” Pollux nudges him off and leans Ortega against the elevator wall, patting around his pockets. He finds his wallet—thankfully tucked in his back pocket still—but no keys.

“I got em Lux don’t worry.” Ortega oh so helpfully pats his butt and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“That’s your wallet, you ass.”

Ortega snorts. “You touched my ass.”

Pollux groans loudly, face flushing under his mask and Ortega laughs in self satisfaction. A sharp pinch of his side and he yelps, grumbling under his breath as he rubs the tender spot. His coat pockets next and Pollux finds the jingling ring of keys--thank god.

“At least you have some sense of hindsight...” Pollux grumbles to himself and the elevator dings. He helps him out of the elevator and they drift side to side down the hallway, Ortega mumbling something or another in his ear the whole time, oh so helpfully close like earlier. Pollux tries not to care--his cheeks are most certainly not warm--fumbling with the lock until it clicks open and he pushes Ortega inside. He kicks the door shut and miraculously Ortega is standing on his own two legs and even more miraculous is that he’s looking at him.

“Can’t believe it took this long t’get you to come to my house after Hoots...” Ortega mumbles with a lopsided grin, subtly lost when he’s still got that drunk look to him--the smell of beer and stale french fries still on him. Pollux’s face flushes and his ears burn, quickly squashing down *those* sprinting thoughts.

“Save the drunk flirting for someone else, lover boy.” He helpfully turns him around to push him towards the living room, putting the keys down. Ortega somehow manages to not bump into too many walls along the hallway, hands outstretched to guide him. Pollux sighs and quickly squashes the little soap bubble thoughts of his goofy sashay down the hall--he was not staring. Not at all, no wandering eyes.

Ortega is reasonably safe in the living room. Not like he can go many places--he could fall down and break his head open on the coffee table his head helpfully tells him--and Pollux heaves a deep, long sigh.

There are pain killers and other meds he’ll need in the cabinet above the bathroom sink; Pollux picks out the ones he’ll need for tomorrow among the menagerie of orange bottles, sifting through what it means to keep a modded body running--thousands of dollars tucked away in that cabinet. They’re the ones he’s watched him take when he won’t stop complaining about the pain in his back and elbows. Others he’s listened to Ortega lament at how bad they taste.

Pollux pulls the throw blanket from off the bed where he’s held frozen peas to the side of Ortega’s head, listening to him talk about how the fight went--the good parts and the bad parts. He’s stitched bleeding wounds there and gathered up stained blankets to clean later, wrapped gauze over washed abrasions, keeping chiding words tucked behind his teeth.

A cup for water in kitchen and he’s sat on the counter top and watched Ortega cook him all the foods he’s never tasted before. Pies that tia Elena makes, a beautiful cake that his cousin’s aunt makes which reminds him of this tiny hole in the wall place in downtown Los Diablos. He could rant for ages of all Pollux has missed like a fool, how he hasn’t lived until he’s tried this, or tried that. It’s sad just how close is accidentally gets to the truth.

Laughter calls from the living room and Pollux peeks his head out of the kitchen, finding Ortega sprawled out on the couch, one shoe on and the other off, holding a decorative pillow under his chin. Who knows what he’s laughing about now, something stupid inevitably.

“You need to take off both shoes, Ortega.”

Pollux reminds him, picking around for the biggest bowl and settling on a rather large sauce pan instead. By the time he comes back he’s figured that out along with getting his jacket off, leaving it in a heap on the ground. Pollux knows he’s watching him, setting both the painkillers and the water on the coffee table for when he gets the sense to need them.

“Hey, hey Pollux?” He pauses putting the pan down. “Why do you always got your mask on?” Ortega asks, brows furrowed like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Pollux mirrors the expression behind his mask, lips slipping into a familiar frown.

“My face is a secret.” Pollux retorts and Ortega grumbles.

“Friends don’t keep secrets...!”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of secrets you don’t tell me.” Pollux gives him a pointed look and Ortega waves his hand dismissively.

“Nothing like my entire face, Pollux.

“You’ve seen the lower half of my face.”

He’s kissed him too, cupped his face and the back of his head and held him like he was all that mattered in that moment. But Pollux isn’t telling him that at all. He certainly does not want to think about that right now and he scoops up Ortega’s jacket, balling it up in his arms.

“That doesn’t count!” Ortega laments and oh this is just a piss poor attempt to cajole him into showing his face that’s for certain.

“Well tough luck lover boy.” Pollux heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor near Ortega’s head, face resting against couch cushion, jacket still balled up in his hands. He has half the mind to take it with him, as payback for making him drag his ass through the street at 2am. He’d be looking for it up and down his apartment tomorrow and the thought of the frantic text he’d get makes him bite his lip to suppress a smile.

Plus it is a nice jacket--a pretty leather bomber style, well loved and well taken care of.

“You’re so mean to me.” Ortega grumbles, playing with his lip between his teeth, and Pollux ugly snorts, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m just the worst best friend huh?”

“Yes, the absolute worst best friend. You’re so awful and mean to me in the worst ways imaginable, Pollux.” He can’t help but snort and that sets Ortega off with a loud groan.

“I *cannot* believe that you are finding this funny, getting all this amusement out of you being so mean to...”

Pollux zones out watching Ortega rant, the clumsy way he’s speaking and the way he moves his hands like he needs them to speak, snapping for the words he’s struggling with. It’s...interesting watch the facade crumble, how he’s so perfect with words and oozing charm for crowd and cameras, but just the two of them in his apartment and he’s stumbling, stuttering.

He’s not the Marshal when he’s sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling off the edge, slurring and tripping over his words, little unabashed laughs slipping out. It’s more real seeing him like this, less questions to ask, more straightforward. There’s no guessing here, no games of chess to play where he needs to be five steps ahead, no guessing his thoughts by the tilt of his brow or the quirk of his lips.

It’s just the calm even breaths between them, enough space to breath the same air and yet it’s still like an ocean dividing them.

Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat and he pushes the thoughts out to sea, staying on the shore where he keeps watching Ortega talk, the turn of his lips and the slope of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone. Places where Pollux has put his lips and felt Ortega’s breath hitch--his pulse race. Put his hands and felt him breathe in his chest, the rise and fall of rushing breathing, the scratch of five’o clock shadow on his cheek, under his nose, the gasp of air in the space between wet lips.

If he was the betting kind of person, he’d put money on Ortega not remembering anything tomorrow and it would so easy...could pull the mask off and let him see for a bit. His hands sweat at the thought, giving an inch and losing a mile to a silly drunk man’s smile and how comforting it is--how is so completely and utterly easy to lose himself.

H’s betting on him not remembering and Pollux is running low on chips. Either and neither way he’s screwed and he takes a long breath. Steadying his hands and he reaches under his mask, pulling it up and over his head.

He blinks, adjusting to the soft hazy light of a nearby lamp, the flush of alcohol and cologne in his nose. Cool air on his sweaty face and he resists the urge to sneeze. Ortega keeps talking, eyes even fluttering over to him once, twice, three times and...there he gets it, brown eyes growing big.

He blinks once, twice, three times and a wide smile breaks across his face, eyes focused on him. With difficulty, Pollux shoves down the urge to yank the mask back on, cover himself back up and hide; he worries the jacket between his thumb and index finger instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Happy?”

Pollux chokes out past the lump, face flushing. Ortega keeps staring, keeps his eyes focused on him and it’s because he’s drunk, Pollux tells himself, and he’s never seen his face before, and he’s staring at him like he’s something far too precious--a twinkle in his eyes, the curl of crows feet. Pollux’s skin itches and he resists the urge to scratch and pick, tear and yank yank yank--

“You have red hair...” Ortega mumbles and instinct makes him take a deep breath to quiet his nerves. Neither here nor there and Ortega’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he can’t quite get there

“Nice observation there captain obvious.” Ortega snorts at his reply and Pollux runs his fingers across the fuzzy curls starting to grow back in.

“Do you know how many freckles you have?” He still has that half stupid grin on his face, eyes darting about his face, taking it all in like he’s piecing together the person he’s always wondered about under the mask. Fitting him into the image he’s made of him, constructed in his head.

Pollux is too used to that and he fights the roll of his stomach.

“A million.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega whistles dramatically. “You’ve seen them on my hands before, don’t act so surprised.” Tacking that on and he rolls his eyes too.

Ortega found his hands fascinating back then too, his fingers long and slender compared to his palms, compared the whole of him. Piano fingers Ortega had called them as they measured palm to sweaty palm one lonely day in the break room. Ortega’s fingers daring to slip a fraction, to slip his fingers into his, to hold his hand palm to palm, five fingers interlocking. It was enough to set a fire in his gut then, like pressing his hand to a stove and he’d yanked his hand back and shoved his gloves back on too. Too much of a touch--far too real and new with skin pressed to skin.

“You’re very handsome, Pollux.”

He blinks, tossed from his thoughts by the sudden admission, scrambling, eyes shooting up to look at Ortega.

That wasn’t what he was expecting--not the words like that, for Ortega to blurt that out and there’s that damn honesty again.

Ortega is staring at him, eyes more focused than he should for how drunk he supposedly is...or was, for that matter. Damn it. There’s the truth wrapped around his tongue, coating his words and fuck Pollux doesn’t like how it makes him feel, not one single bit.

He blushes deep red and his ears burn, tucking his chin against his chest like that will do any good. If pulling the strings on his hoodie tight to hide his face would do any good he would.

“Shut the fuck up, Ortega.” He manages and fuck his voice shakes more than it should—more than he wants it to.

“I’m not lying.” Ortega’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and there’s a frown of his own on Pollux’s face, lip twitching in an almost sneer.

“I...” Pollux snaps his mouth shut and bites his lip hard. “I don’t care if you’re lying or not, just shut up.”

That’s a lie of his own and he pinches hard between his thumb and index finger, worrying his lip.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I am being honest, Pebbles.” He presses further and Pollux looks up at him and he shouldn’t have because Ortega is leaning in far too close.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to call you a bastard.” Pollux replies, breathing harder than he should, less butterflies and more like a beehive in his stomach, waiting to be shaken.

“You would call me a bastard no matter what.”

“That’s because it’s the truth, Ortega.” Pollux doesn’t lean away even though the rational part of his brain is screaming otherwise. Ortega’s breath still smells like booze, but he smells more like cologne this close, the subtle musk that tickles his nose, stale french fries a thing of the past.

“Do you want the truth?” Ortega asks and that is the question.

It’s always been the question, the one he can’t find answers to no matter where he goes looking—what is the truth? What does he need to know the truth about? What happens when the truth is laid before him--or if it’s set in front of too many people, naked and exposed. Far too many questions for the skinny space between them right now, breathing in sync.

“Could I stop you from saying it?” Pollux asks in return, eyes sliding down the slope of Ortega’s neck, fingers itching. He can’t remember if he wore a necktie or not, but the top buttons are undone regardless. Pale pink cotton sharp against deep brown skin and Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat.

“No...” Ortega grins, a soft flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

Pollux bites his lip and he’s still, holding himself just so he won’t bolt from the floor, knuckles tense in the jacket. He steals a glance at Ortega’s face and fuck that isn’t any better than staring at other parts of him, his stomach twisting itself in knots of indecision.

“You smell like beer.” Pollux skirts the question, Ortega’s lips just inches from his--breathing in time, breathing in the same air and if it were anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment. If he was anyone--anything--but what he is.

“Is that better than blood?” He asks and Pollux quietly snorts. Bastard.

“I’m used to blood.”

Pollux unknits his hand from the jacket, reaching and pulling back and he knows he’s touching what he shouldn’t be--feeling what he isn’t mean to feel--but he’s doing it regardless. Reaching again, his fingertips ghost up the side of Ortega’s neck. He smooths his fingers up bronzed skin to the curve of his jaw, jagged thumbnail slipping along the rough line of stubble there, thumb finding his chin. He swears there’s a sharp intake of breath, but Ortega is still, staring, eyes searching his.

He knows it’s almost three am and he doesn’t know how he’ll drag himself back to his bed with how tired he is now, tired enough to think that kissing Ortega is a good idea, tired enough to loose his inhibitions. He’s seen his whole face and he hasn’t run, trembling fingers still holding his face in a gesture far more intimate than palms pressing together, fingers almost linked.

Pollux supposes he’ll wake up the next morning and if his phone isn’t dead he’ll have a slew of text messages waiting for him; supposes Ortega will remember and ask a dozen questions, or he won’t and still ask a dozen questions like he’s used to. Either way Pollux supposes he’ll lie to him, tell him that nothing happened, that he just dumped him on his couch and got him settled in. He supposes they’ll both know better than that, but neither will say anything. Supposes Ortega won’t even remember his face in the morning, or remembering kissing him.

His thumb is still stroking his chin, eyes staring at his lips.

“But I can make an exception. Just this once.”

Pollux lies to himself, to both of them. Another one to add to the dozens, a pile like he’s digging his own grave.

He crosses the gap between them and he pauses just enough to know how bad of idea this is--how screwed he’s going to be. Ortega doesn’t give him time to back out, cradling the back of his neck and he yanks him close, lips pressing against lips.

He tastes of stale beer--better than fresh blood, the taste of metal and electricity on his tongue. Here he feels the shape of his chapped lips against his, the curve of his jaw, hand curling sharp into the nape of Ortega’s neck, fingers slowly bunching in his hair. Ortega’s hand cupping his cheek and jaw, hand warm against his already flushed skin. Nose bumping nose to try and fit lips together and it’s soft, tender, worming into the dark places he’s hidden away, pulling lengths of thread to bind them together. Pollux pulls away, forehead to forehead, biting wet lips.

Oh he’s certainly going to be cursing himself later, Ortega pulling him back in for kisses upon kisses that keep bleeding into each other, one after another, tongue and teeth and he wonders how much Ortega is trying to memorize the shape of him, the flush of his lips against his, fitting puzzle pieces together. Ironic considering he wasn’t meant to be remembered and here Ortega is, slowly, achingly, trying his best to do just that and fuck it *hurts*.

It isn’t fair, kissing Ortega when he’s drunk on his couch, Pollux’s fingers knitted tight in his hair, hand finding it’s way under his collared shirt to press against his chest, needs these needy kisses. Hands holding his own face, the back of his own neck, hands daring--wanting to explore more. Fuck he wants to hold him tight, let him keeping touching him, drink in every single kiss and then maybe he won’t feel so empty.

Maybe he’ll feel like an actual person, like he’s more than what’s on his skin, what’s buried deep down--the terrible, gut wrenching truth.

And that is one of the scariest thoughts he’s ever had.

He pulls away from the kiss, peels his hands from Ortega and Ortega’s hands away from him, hiccuping with each time he tries to breathe, trying to hold the panic steady in his gut.

“Stop.” His hand is firm on Ortega’s chest, keeping him at bay as he tries to lean back in, to try and kiss him again. “You’re far too drunk, Ricardo.” Pollux whispers, sense crawling back up his spine, a cold weight filling his gut.

“Just drunk on you.” He’s trying for smug and the way he’s looking at him through his eyelashes would almost be charming, but it’s just not fair, not fair at all.

(It’s always the almost, isn’t it?)

“Stop, please...” Pollux presses his hand firm against his chest, enough to push him back a bit and Ortega’s brow scrunches together, confusion slipping into worry and further into scarier emotions.

“Pollux? Are you okay”

“You’re drunk and I’m going home.”

Pollux says again, trying to be firm, to hold his ground, despite knowing what he wants to be feeling, his chest tight. He needs to go, needs to leave before those feelings get the better of him, before he decides to do dangerous things--things that come attached with regrets. Things he can’t even fathom, ones that leave his skin like pins and needles.

(Needles under the skin, needles in veins, wrists chafing)

“Pollux, please, I’m sorry...what did I do?” Ortega tries again and Pollux gets to his feet to stay out of reach of scrambling hands, jacket knitted in his hands once more, knuckles squeezed of their blood.

(blood on white tiles, muffled screeching and sobbing)

“You didn’t do anything, I’m sorry.” Pollux chokes out, pursing his lips into a thin white line, looking everywhere but at Ortega.

“No, I-I did something...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you--” He tries to get up, but Pollux puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down, quickly pulling his hand back out of reach.

“No, I’m...I’m going back home. You’re drunk and didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, it’s always him making the bad choices, going against the boundaries he’s set for himself and they’re there for a good reason--to keep him safe. Keep his secrets safe, locked away behind his teeth and his lips still taste like Ortega.

“Pebbles, come on...pl-please...”

“No, I am going home, Ricardo. I’m sorry.”

He takes his mask out and slips it back over his face, adjusting the fabric and he can hide again, pretend like he’s calm and not that his stomach is still twisting itself into knots upon knots, that he doesn’t want to bolt down the stairs and out the door.

“Don’t throw up all over yourself, please. Take your meds. Call Steel in the morning so you don’t cause a panic when you don’t show up at eight am.”

Pollux speaks quick, sliding the pan closer towards Ortega with his foot and he skirts around the couch, jacket still locked in his hands. He hears Ortega scrambling to extract himself from the couch, still whining for Pollux.

Pollux reaches the door and disregards his pleas, opening the door to the cold hallway bathed in green florescence from the flickering lights overhead.

“Bye Ortega.”

He slams the door closed behind him, the sound ringing in his ears over and over again, a rhythm as he takes the stairs in sets of threes and he’s out into the night, disappearing into the dark.

#fallen hero #fhr #chargestep #owen writes #oc tag #oc: pollux #okay to rebloog go wild #this is the mostly done wip i was lamenting about #i've been meaning to finish this for days #but yeah. pollux hurts even back before hb can you imagine that #pollux voice i will apologize i will apologize i will apologize

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riverlethe · 2 years

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(via Sailor Moon Usagi GIF - Sailor Moon Usagi Balancing Pen - Discover & Share GIFs)

Fic Authors Self Rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💖

Thanks to @areptiledysfunction1107 for the tag!

Here are mine, in no particular order.

1. Once More, with Feeling! This is my ongoing WiP, a re-write of the Dark Kingdom arc in which Usagi and Mamoru begin dating before learning each other’s alter egos, and then navigating a relationship in secret afterwards. It’s mostly Manga-canon from Mamoru’s perspective, and I took some liberties with Mamoru’s psychometry and plot. There’s angst-galore (who doesn’t love angst?) but also plenty of tenderness and romance.

I purposely didn’t age them up because I am a sucker for the “high school sweethearts thing” (yes, she is in Jr High, but you know what I mean) so while their relationship is very physical, (as teens tend to be), there is nothing explicit.

This was my foray into writing, if you will, because I needed a mental distraction from my health care worker job during COVID back in 2021. OMwF! has changed so much since I originally started posting it, and I just couldn’t be prouder of it considering it is my very first fanfiction, even if a few of my other stories were posted first.

Rated M

2. Home My Day 2 Contribution to UsaMamo week 2021 was supposed to be about Post-Stars Usa and Mamoru while he is at Harvard for his Study Abroad 2.0, but the story took itself in another direction. What was originally intended as a sweet story about how Usagi is “Home” for Mamoru, instead transformed into an emotional Usagi-centric introspection about the events of Stars.

And I just love it. All aboard the Feels Bus!

Rated T

3. Interlude Full discloser, this story was written for 2 reasons: 1. Because of a discussion on the Moonlight Legends Discord back in August or Sept of 2021 in which we lamented the lack of Dark Endymion and Usagi/Sailor Moon fics, and 2. Because I wanted to push myself out of my M-rated comfort zone and write some actual smut for the first time.

Now, for some, the smut-level of this story is still pretty low (I referred to it as “Diet Smut” when I originally posted it), as it wasn’t overly explicit. But when I reworked it a bit for @dendyweek, I did make it a tad more explicit. I also made the story a better a companion for another I wrote later called Consequences, a Princess D Masquerade fic inspired by @areptiledysfunction1107′s Deja Vu (and posted with her approval) that became an unintended prequel to “Interlude” (funny how that happens)

Rated E

4. What Dwells Within My Day 4 contribution for @dendyweek 2022. I really wanted to try my hand at a psychological horror inspired piece, and I had so much fun writing it. As we move further and further away from Dendy Week I find myself wishing I had done even more with this concept, perhaps even a short multi-fic, but I am so very proud of this story as it is.

Rated T

5. The Morning and Evening Star My Day 1 contribution to @sailormoonrarepairweek is all about Sailor Venus!

SilMil Venus makes an interesting proposal to Kunzite to blow off some steam, and the rest is history. While I don’t have anything against any ships involving the senshi, I just don’t really ship them with anyone. But if I did have to choose one SenShi pairing, it would be Venus/Kunzite.

This could very well be the only non-UsaMamo story I write, and I love how it turned out.

Rated E

Tagging @goddessalthena @moonchildoh8 as many others I know have already been tagged, but please feel free to share your own favs! This is open tagging! I don’t know everyone who writes, so please introduce yourself and your works!

#Sailor Moon #Usagi #Balancing Pen #tumblr games #sailor moon fanfiction #fanfiction

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maybe-theres-hope · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday - Damen/Laurent fic 1

This also (surprise, surprise) doesn’t have a title. It’s just called “Lamen Arranged Marriage Thing”

Rating: Mature / Warnings: tbd (nothing gory, nothing super explicit, discussions of underage marriage but it DECIDEDLY does not happen as it not happening is kind of the premise of the story) If you read the excerpt below and think of any, let me know.

The gist: Omegaverse. After both Aleron and Theomedes fall in the battle at Marlas, the newly minted Kings of Akielos and Vere prepare to face off, but Auguste stops and asks for a parlay. Damen agrees, and the two meet with their respective advisors (Laurent and Nikandros) and the four of them discuss what can possibly be done to end the fighting in a way that benefits both countries. Endless discussion later, they get absolutely nowhere, until Laurent presents the only idea that seems viable: a political marriage. Auguste laments that his brother is only fourteen, and Damen takes heed. He agrees to the terms of an alliance through marrying Laurent, the only omega in the Veretian court highly ranked enough to not be an insult to Damen’s own rank, but he proposes that they delay the actual carrying out of the marriage until Laurent reaches majority. In the intervening seven years, if they have not come to an alternative solution, the marriage will take place. The story then consists of all the times they meet over the years as tentative allies, with both parties in question slowly coming to be more than fond of one another.

So this is a story that’s been told a few times in different iterations, but it’s honestly one of those premises that I’d read a thousand fics of anyway, so I’m here to offer my own. This story will deal with gender politics and romance primarily, and I’ve also outlined a sequel that was kind of the reason for this one to exist in the first place. If anyone wants to hear about the sequel let me know! It’s mostly a catharsis for myself, dealing with depression/difficulties around having children.

Sample:

“You know well enough this is the only solution, given the discussions today.” He looked up into Auguste’s eyes with a determination that reminded Auguste of the first time Laurent sat atop his own pony at age 6. “I wish to serve you in the best way I can. Before, that was as your advisor, your truest ally in court. Now, it is as your ally in a different court. You know I will always be loyal to you, brother. This is how I can carry that out. And it will be for the good of the kingdom. Don’t you wish an end to the fighting? This would secure it for an age to come.”

It was all very sensible, as only Laurent could be in times of crisis. He would make an absolutely ideal politically placed spouse. Loyal to his born kingdom, and an asset to his adopted one. Intelligent and stately beyond measure. The perfect King Consort. Damianos would not gain just a spouse, but an immeasurable piece of power for the future. But that meant Laurent leaving, and Auguste could hardly bear it. He was aware he was being selfish, and he waited for Laurent to call him out on it, which he did in his next breath.

“Brother. You know I love you. I would never want to leave you, but this is best. You must admit it,” he said quietly. He hid what despair lurked beneath the surface well.

“You never wanted this. To be the mother of a nation, married off to produce the heirs of a foreign kingdom! As I recall, you’ve been fighting father tooth and nail against that for the past two years, ever since you presented. He’s paraded you in front of dignitaries for that purpose all that time, and you’ve staunchly refused every one. He only finally backed off after I insisted that you remain my advisor at home, and not be made a pawn to advance Vere’s standing in the world. You are not your body, or your womb, and yet here you are suggesting it yourself!”

“You’re right, I never wanted that. But this isn’t me throwing my body around.” Auguste looked at him incredulously. “It’s not! I am using the gift you would’ve held dear in your reign to ensure that you still have it!” Again, there was silence and astonishment smeared across the new King’s face. Laurent sighed. “Do you remember what mother said? About the different secondary genders and how we all connect?”

Auguste closed his eyes for a moment and pictured her, Hennike, the golden light of her face. He opened them again and saw that same visage standing in front of him. Laurent had always favored their mother, now in more ways than one.

“Alphas are here to protect,” Laurent recited, “betas are here to balance, and omegas are here to love. And that’s what this is. My love for our country, our people, compels me to do this. And what young wisdom I have tells me that this is the smartest course, the one that ensures the best outcome. The most happiness.”

“Yes, everyone’s happiness except your own!”

“My happiness is betrayed by my duty, as it always had the potential to be. Second sons, omega or not, are set a course that is not their own.” It was infuriatingly logical, but Auguste still hated that Laurent was right.

#captive prince #capri fic #lamen fic #lamen #wip wednesday #brooke writes

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thenextchapter22 · 3 years

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Angel of the Three Realms

PART 7!!

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

In this chapter: Everything is perfect, even with your love still a secret, and being home with everyone and flying is all you could ask for...

Tags: Unrequited Love, Fluff, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Authors Note: Guys, this is the second to last chapter :( Thank you to all those who kept reading, I’m really happy you liked this work. Please enjoy~

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

_+_

You had the most magical time just simply being with the brothers. Not doing anything special, only talking in your room, tossing popcorn at each other and snuggling. They were always so warm, and you’d never turn away a hug.

But eventually they had to go to their own thing, so that left you some time alone. Mostly with your thoughts, which strayed here and there as you stretched on your bed. Thankfully they had put it back to the way it was before the spell to make it larger.

School was on temporary break per Lord Diavolo’s orders (and although he didn’t say it directly, you knew it was because of you, and he wanted you to have some time off).

There was a knock on the door again. But this time, someone else spoke out on the other side.

“May I come in?” Lucifer called out.

You stood up quick and straightened out your clothes, fixing your hair. It had a slight curl to it from Asmo’s braiding. Lucifer at your door was a rare thing indeed, plus you wanted to look presentable after having popcorn thrown at you.

Letting him inside, he glanced around at the slight mess that still remained. Stray blankets, the TV was still moved from its spot, and some chairs had been pushed away to make room for the larger bed that had been there.

He turned back to you, and said, “I had stopped by earlier, but heard you all having so much fun I didn’t want to ruin it all.”

You blinked in surprise. “Oh, you could have joined us, you know.”

He waved his gloved hand dismissively. “No, you needed time with them. They needed time with you.”

Biting your lip, you had to ask. “Did you… hear anything we said?”

His lips quirked a bit but he didn’t not smile. “If you’re referring to you speaking about Michael, then, yes, I happened to hear it.”

So you eavesdropped, you wanted to say, but instead you pushed that away. It probably wasn’t on purpose.

“I hope its okay I told them about Michael… I don’t want to keep any more secrets.”

“Of course, dove, I had planned on telling them myself.”

You shivered at the nickname that flew so easily from his lips, and nodded, your hair bouncing. “Good, I’m glad.”

You watched his gaze flicker to your shoulders before he sighed. “I don’t want to upset you but I feel like we should talk about everything that’s happened.”

“Oh! Uh, okay. Do you want to sit then?” you gestured to the table. “I can make us some tea really fast.”

He did sit, but shook his head. “The tea isn’t needed. Let’s just talk.”

Talking wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. But you did sit opposite him at the little brown wooden table, and crossed your ankles and folded your hands under your chin. “All right, shoot.”

He smirked. “So eloquent.”

You winked. “Always.”

Really, you just wanted to ease the tension in the room. It was too stuffy and a bit suffocating. You were nervous for his questioning, like he was a detective asking you, a criminal, if you had done the murder.

Lucifer didn’t look at you for a moment, instead stared at the table, tapping his fingers on the edge. Then he stopped, and looked up at you with intensity in those gorgeous eyes. “I can’t apologize enough for how stupid I was to not see you when you first came here. Despite the spell, even so.”

You frowned. “Oh, Luci—”

He kept going. “But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. I need to know. Why did you leave? What happened to make you leave?”

You knew the question would come. Still you were not prepared for it. “I just… it’s hard to say why. There were lots of reason.” Lies. Only one: him.

He always saw right through you. Narrowing eyes spoke of that. “You’re not being truthful with me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He paused. His tone seemed lighter next he spoke, “Did you at least have a happy life?”

That was just like the brothers’ question. “I did…mostly.”

“Hm. Tell me more. I want to hear about your life, what I missed.”

“You do?” you whispered.

“Of course. Unless you don’t want to tell me. You’ve changed so much since I last saw you.”

“In a good way, or bad?”

He chuckled. “A bit of both, I think.”

You smiled. “Okay.” You thought about everything you’d been through, and decided to start off with a high note. “There was a stretch of years where I lived in a small town by the sea. Everyone knew everyone, and there was kindness all around. My favorite thing to do was fly over the water in the moonlight. The ocean breeze and the smell of salt air was amazing.” You inhaled like you were there, and he gently reached out and brushed his fingers over your cheek. You held in a whimper. “I had to leave at one point, when the kids started to become adults and I stayed the same as I was.”

“That must’ve been difficult to do over and over. Establish relationships and then leave.”

You nodded, and sighed. “It had to be done…”

“I do have to wonder… why you didn’t become Human once your arrival on the surface world. You have no Halo but you do have wings, and celestial magic… It’s against all that Heaven stood for.”

You had wondered it yourself many times. But then you had other things to worry about, like your pretend human life. Evolving with them, learning and teaching, building relationship and ending them many times over. It was fun and fantastic and everything you never had dreamed of when you first left. So, only for a few short moments did you ponder that question Lucifer asked, and replied back.

“I did wonder but… I wouldn’t be able to find any answers. I had too much to do.”

Lucifer smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Your heart clenched. “You—you are?”

“I am. You’ve done amazing things in your life. I couldn’t have wished for anything better. Losing all these years with you…” He frowned. “I will admit thinking about how much time I’ve spent here, with my memories of you gone… That I didn’t have the strength to break free.”

“You couldn’t have known,”

“While that’s true, I still hate it.”

“And so, now that I have you here with me, I will make the best of it. We will together.”

Together. Just not the way you wanted.

Perhaps, in time, maybe some years in the future, you would be brave enough to finally speak up. But right now wasn’t the best time. Or you could just be a true coward to your own feelings. You had a stray thought of ‘what it this was hurting Lucifer more than telling him would be?’

“I promise you, my dear, if I were to ever see Michael again…” And Lucifer’s forehead glowed where his black triangle usually lay, dark clouds forming the shape but not fully changing him. “…I’ll kill him.”

_+_

Life was back to normal. Only, it was better. Truth was out, and a freedom of the soul with it. You were truly able to be you, at least in the way you looked. Sure, your wings were still tucked away but you knew they weren’t a secret to be hidden away anymore.

The first day you were told you could fly again, you shot out of bed that very morning and, after breakfast, ran to the courtyard. It was a beautiful Devildom day, no clouds, not too hot or cold, and the winds were just right.

“She’s gonna fly! Everyone, come and see her wings!” Mammon shouted.

There was the sound of a stampede and before you knew it, the entirety of the House of Lamentation was there, and Purgatory Hall even somehow ended up.

You were very nervous. It had been months since you’d flown. But you knew it was going to be as easy as getting back on a bicycle as the humans say.

“Go on, dearie, we know you’re going to be beautiful. Spread your wings and fly~” Asmo shouted.

You grinned at him, and heard everyone else shout out words of encouragement. It was honestly really sweet. Luke was jumping up and down, waving his arms. He hadn’t gotten wings yet so he was super excited.

Satan didn’t have wings so he wasn’t as cheery, but he still gave you a soft smile and told you to go for it.

Then, lastly, you heard Lucifer speak. He wasn’t shouting like the others, but your focused hearing caught his words. “Fly, just as you used to: with passion.”

So with that, you changed, wings sprouting out like fireworks of white bursting open, and like a rocket you shot up into the sky. There was cheering and screaming, but as you went higher, soaring around the clear skies, you could only hear the wind rushing in your ears, and your heart pounding. The pure delight in flying never would leave you.

The sky wasn’t just yours for long. You looked to your left and saw Asmodeus’ bat wings flapping as he twirled in circles. He looked majestic, and you saw he had his hair pinned back with clips. He winked and flew a bit lower, and you laughed.

Mammon flew past you in a burst of speed, the back winds hitting you hard but you steadied yourself. “Hey, slow down!” you teased.

He stuck out his tongue from in front of you, and circled you once. “No way, you’re so slow,” he shouted with a stupid grin before speeding ahead.

You laughed at them. This was so much fun. You shut your eyes for a moment, feeling the wind in your face, rustling your hair. Your wings ached gloriously. The tickling of it against your feathers. It was pure magic.

“Always with your head in the clouds.”

You saw Lucifer then, full form, four wings dark and incredible behind him. His hair looked perfect in the wind, and he eased up next to your right and kept pace.

“I know,” you said with a smile. “I do my best thinking here.”

“Well, then, next time a test comes up, please go flying first.”

You laughed. “All right, but only if you come with me?”

He smiled. “Of course, dove.”

You hummed. You moved away a bit, and twirled once, giggling, and found his gaze softened. “Why did you call me that? You used to when I was younger, and you also did when I first came here. I don’t know why, when you were under that spell…”

He slowed his speed a bit until he stopped, and you had to circle back to meet him. The two of you thousands of feet above the Devildom ground, floating in the air.

“It’s quite the conundrum isn’t it?” He paused. “Memories don’t just vanish. These spells can’t remove a memory, only cloak it, and hide it away. So it’s always there, somewhere in your mind, waiting to resurface again.”

You frowned. He was sort of right. It was like when you worked as a temp nurse in a hospital, and the coma patients eventually got their memory back with time and patience.

Suddenly, Lucifer smiled at you, like a Morningstar of darkness. “I suppose a part of me just… couldn’t forget you.”

What? Your wings fumbled a bit in astonishment, and he reached out to grab at your upper arms. There was a large frown on his face and his brow was furrowed. “Steady. You’re stronger now but I think it’s time to head back down.”

You said nothing, only let him lead you both to the ground. Everyone gathered around and you were brought out of your head to them patting your arms and saying how amazing you were.

A part of you was still stuck on what just was said, but you pulled yourself together. “Thanks everyone! I want to fly with all of you soon.”

You looked at Satan, who was frowning. He sighed. So you walked to him and took his hand. He blushed. “The two of us can do something else, or if you want I can take you flying?”

He shook his head. “No thank you. I’m not a fan of… heights…” He smiled. “But I appreciate it.”

Belphie made a soft noise. “I want extra naps on your lap as compensation.”

You chuckled. “Easily done, Belphie.”

Levi frowned from beside Satan. “What about me?”

You took his hand next, to which he panicked externally and internally, and said the same thing to him.

Levi stuttered a bit, “W-w-well we can go swimming instead. I know a lake that’s perfect this time of year where you can rent tube floats nearby and there’s a really cool waterfall that makes rainbows.”

You nodded. “Sounds perfect. Speaking of water, I’m thirsty so I’m going to grab a drink.”

Leaving them behind, you went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, downed it, and exhaled. You placed your hands on the marble countertop and scrunched your nose while you thought.

‘a part of me just… couldn’t forget you.’

Did Lucifer love you? As more than a… friend? Was it possible? Those words seemed to have an underlying meaning to them, you were almost positive. Because if he did love you, he would say so, right? He was Pride, but wouldn’t love overcome that tenfold?

You laughed aloud, and shook your head. “I’m an idiot. Of course he doesn’t.”

Still, those words echoed in your head all day and night, even appearing in your dreams. Haunting or teasing, you were not sure.

But when you woke up to a new family, you shoved that part away. You had to put the past where it belonged: the past. You were home, Michael could not get you here, and you were safe to live your life as you chose. And you chose to live it to the fullest.

#obey me fanfiction #lucifer x you #reader x lucifer #obey me shall we date fanfiction #obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me reader #wingfic #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me levi #obey me belphie #my fics #ao3 link

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braxiatel · 2 years

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Sylvanas part 2 thoughts. I was taking notes after each chapter instead of after the whole section this time.

I wonder how long it’s been between these two sections. It doesn’t seem very long, but Sylvanas seems to have changed a lot already

My grasp on Second war and earlier lore is a little shaky, but I’m pretty sure there’s some more retcons in here?

It’s actually really funny that Sylvanas and Nathanos meet and immediately have an archery competition because I have an abandoned WIP where just that happened

(Sidenote: I think I might have spent too long dissecting Sylvanas and Nathanos’ relationship)

bad bad dislike the idea of Nathanos being Sylvanas’ first love. I know the book has retconned her to be younger, but I’m still like... no though. I don’t want that for them.

With that slightly-too-sweet goodbye scene, I knew this was when at least one of Lireesa and Verath would die, but I was still sad when they did. They were both very interesting characters, and you can see how both of them have shaped the adult Sylvanas.

I wish there had been more focus on Sylvanas’ friendship with Lor’themar and Halduron in the scene where she sees her parents’ bodies. It’s noted several times that they see things others wouldn’t as rangers, but I really wish there had been even one line saying that Sylvanas’ would trust their opinions in particular after years of friendship with them, or something else to that effect at least

Okay I’m not gonna lie. The scene of Sylvanas finding Lirath’s body hits right in the emotions. I am probably not going to be able to listen to Lament of the Highborn without thinking about it.

Sylvanas, blaming Vereesa for Lirath’s murder puts a very different light on all of the interactions we have seen between them. I’m going to have to go back and revise them with that in mind.

I will readily admit that i have read Dark Mirror way too many times. But... There’s that one line in Dark Mirror that messes up the whole timeline by implying Sylvanas was ranger-general before the Second War. And now here we have canon saying that Lireesa was dead before the Second War even came to Quel’thalas. Warcraft writers truly are not allowed to communicate with each other, huh?

Overall I liked part 2 a lot more than part 1. It was a bit more polished. I think part of it is that part 1 was all separate anecdotes linked loosely by theme, whereas this all mostly took place in the same time frame. It all felt more linked, and it was easier to see how each event was shaping Sylvanas’ character. I also think there was a little more showing and a little less telling.

The interlude leads me to believe the next part will focus on Sylvanas’ death. that makes sense to me, in terms of major life events, though it’s quite a big time jump so I’m curious to see how that goes. I’m sad that we won’t see more of Sylvanas settling into the role of ranger-general, but I suppose I should just be happy with what we got. Thus far the Sylvanas we have been seeing is a very insecure one, so I am curious to see what those years will have done for her confidence as well as her leadership skills.

Taking a break to spent time with family before continuing with part 3!

#slightly more revised notes now #Sylvanas Novel Spoilers #Sylvanas Book Spoilers #Sylvanas Spoilers #World of Warcraft

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essayofthoughts · 2 years

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For the WIP game are 33 and 40 cool? Also,,, I viciously refresh the ghost cass thing on ao3 every Monday until it loads the new ch,,, big fan

Aw, I'm glad you like Ghost Cass so! I will admit my upload time on that is highly variable, even if it is consistently on a Monday - it might be easier on you to wait 'til later in the day, or even Tuesday to be sure it's uploaded!

33- Write a 1 paragraph wip and post it

I'm choosing to take this as "write one paragraph for a WIP" not "create a whole new WIP" because I have called a moratorium on further WIPs. New AU ideas, at this point, I offload onto friends because I have Too Many.

So, a snippet, in this case for Evilest AU, and because I'm bending the rules a bit I'll give you more than just one paragraph:

He still remembers his scars aching as he’d faced down the Briarwoods, as he’d shot the hand off the carriageboy, and he can’t bring himself to regret it even as he knows he should. After all that he has lost - after all that has been taken from him - he rather thinks he’s given up the capacity to care much about others’ losses if they’re in his way.

He has but one purpose left after all. One duty left to fulfil.

“I need you to trust me,” he says, “And I know it will not be easy and I know you will not want to. But please trust me when I say I would not be doing this without good reason. There are things - there are things I cannot talk about, that to talk about-” He can feel the raw words in his chest: it was done to me, it is not for you to know. “There are things that are mine to bear. I will not inflict them on you-”

“But you’ll shoot a boy’s hand off?” Vax’s voice is accusatory and he makes himself meet the rogue’s gaze.

“I have met those in the Briarwoods’ employ before,” he reminds him. “It has never, not once, been good. I would rather strike first than be struck against after what I have seen.” After what has been done.

No I will not tell you the twist to Evilest AU. But sufficeth to say, Percy has been through rather more than he went through in canon.

40- What should you be writing right now that you’re excited about?

Okay, properly I should be writing Ch29 of Ghost Cass right now, which I've elected to do from the perspectives of Pike, Scanlan and Vax but while I don't find Pike impossible (I've written ahead for her POV once already, and the latest uploaded chapter was a Vax POV), I will admit that Scanlan is a POV I struggle with. Mostly because I struggle with Scanlan as a character; I will admit I do not much like him. I think he's a well put together character, he just makes me very uncomfortable, and his unwillingness to own up to his own part in things - keeping secrets - in Bard's Lament, and his insistence on pushing it all onto the others really annoyed me. As you might have guessed from my liking Percy, I like characters that are at least willing to claim responsibility for their own fuckups!

So I'm not exactly excited for that chapter, because it's struggling with me and that means I resent it. Instead I am very excited about what I'm planning to post when I get Arc1 of Ghost Cass done which will be the first four chapters of the Delia AU from my WIPs list. The second chapter is what I will be working on (the first is already largely done) and it is a Cass POV, and I am trying to figure out the tone I want for it presently.

Man I am excited for that AU. Several of you are going to yell at me when we get to the twist. My friends who are in the know already have yelled at me for it.

Pick a Number. Send an Ask.

#weeb-verine #weeb verine #asks #ask games #critrole fic

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kitkatt0430 · 2 years

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I've got a couple of different stories I'm working on right now. The first is one I'd intended to finish by yesterday's Hartmon Finish your WiP day, but real life got in the way thanks to a difficult work week.

The story is also for the Hartmon Bingo event, which ends this month and I should definitely have it done by then at least. :)

Grabbing the phone, Hartley hit the power button to turn the screen on so he could see whose call he missed. Probably spam. But the phone did nothing. He double tapped the screen. Still nothing. Holding the power button gave him the 1% battery warning flicker before it shut off again. The incoming call must've killed what was left of the battery, which was a perfectly acceptable and rational explanation. And yet Hartley felt a little unsettled anyway.

I don't want to give too much away about this one, but it's a story idea I've been sitting on for a long time so it's good to finally get it so close to being done.

I'm also working on the next installment of my Speedsters and Vibes series, where Hartley's also a speedster and never found the flaw in the accelerator that he did in canon. Barry's still in a coma at this point, but this story covers Hartley finally meeting Joe and Iris after waking from his own coma. And also Jerrie putting together a surprise Christmas in July party for Hartley since he missed Christmas due to his coma.

Hartley reached out and shook Detective West's hand after kicking the doorstop down so that he didn't need to keep holding it open. "It's nice to finally meet you, Detective." "You too, Dr. Rathaway." Glancing at the chess board, he added, "if I've interrupted..." "Oh, no, I think I'm done having my ass kicked for the day," Hartley lamented, to Harrison's clear amusement. "Besides, I think I've given Jerrie enough time to conspire with Caitlin and Cisco." "I guarantee you, there are no conspiracies happening at STAR Labs," Harrison said, a touch too quickly and deliberately.

Eobard's having, perhaps, a little too much fun being involved in someone else's conspiracy for a change.

And finally, though I haven't gotten very far with it yet, I've started on a continuation of The Scientific Method, where Oliver goes to Central to finally have that weekend with Barry he promised. It'll be a mostly fluffy story where Oliver and Barry finally put a label on their relationship and get to have more kisses. Though Oliver will also be learning that Iris is the scariest member of the West family. :D

"Hey there, stranger," Oliver greeted. "Wha-?" Barry jerked upright and spun around, nearly falling in the process. But he caught himself on the lab table - which wobbled ominously, but stayed upright. Barry's eyes lit up as he focused in on Oliver. "Hey! You're here. Oh, am I late? I get caught up sometimes and..." Crossing the room, Oliver put an end to Barry's babble with a chaste kiss. "I'm early," Oliver told him.

#six sentence sunday #hartley rathaway #cisco ramon #barry allen #oliver queen #eobard thawne #joe west #the flash #the arrow #fanfiction #fanfic in progress

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unholyretributioncomes · 4 years

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How I Would Bring Back Ben Solo

I keep seeing stuff about Ben Solo not being dead. Now I love the character, and I wish he had a better redemption arc than he was given, and was allowed to live so he could properly atone for his mistakes and work to fix them. But bringing him back has to be done even more carefully. So here is what I currently have for that story- including satisfying arcs for the characters who were stripped of everything that we loved about them. Note: this is a WIP. It is in no way finished, and the intended arcs I have for each character has not yet been written for fully fleshed out.

These arcs include Finn finding a purpose for himself outside of Rey and war. Rose getting some proper closure and maybe having a similar arc to Finn. Poe dealing with post-war stuff including prejudices and trauma. Chewie and Rey being a proper family.

1) Possible comic or animated series. A one movie or three might not be enough or would allow for too many essential cuts

2) While the focus would be on Ben Solo, have regular cuts to Rey and the others

3) Make sure it is clear that this isn't just him getting closer, it is also him atoning for anything he has done as Kylo Ren

4) The story: Ben Solo wakes up either on an Exegol looking area (where he "died" at the end of TROS) or some other dark, empty space that is fairly featureless and void of any other signs of life.

He begins looking around for Rey, and only barely being able to Force, is only able to tell that she is in fact alive and well.

Sensing something off about this place, he grabs the lightsaber that is with him (at first it seems to be Luke's but later on possibly is revealed to be Leia's either by similarity in look or some sort of veil that had been shielding it, though that is revealed later on) and proceeds to look for a way out.

Thus begins his journey.

Cut to Rey.

On a planet, possibly with the group, but is taking some time to herself to meditate and reflect. She then feels a familiar presence: Ben. She calls out to him, but receives no response, only able to feel him there. A member of the group arrives (Finn or Chewie) and asks her what is up, and in their talk, she is able to realize that Ben Solo is alive and somewhere out there in the Galaxy and she declares she is going to go find him.

Cut back to Ben.

Everything is looking exactly the same and he is feeling more lost by the minute. He pauses to take a break as it is clear he is either still exhausted from the fight or been walking for hours. He then feels her: Rey. He calls out, but also receives no response. He calls again and again (possibly only seeing a flickering, weak image of her) before he gives up and gives his voice a break. Loneliness sinks in.

Sliding to the ground, his mind starts to process what has happened. He thought he became one with the Force, but that doesn’t seem to have happened. That temptation to the dark is still there, but he is more stable in the light. He is completely alone. There aren’t even any bodies of dead Sith or the Knights of Ren. He begins to wonder if this is his punishment for the things he did while consumed by the dark.

A voice echoes through the emptiness, one he has not heard in person in years, but knows anywhere: his mother, encouraging him to get up. He leaps to his feet and looks around, but doesn’t see her. He hears her voice again, telling him to keep going, and that she is waiting for him.

Without a second thought, he begins running towards his mother’s voice, calling out to her, and while never receiving a direct reply, is continually encouraged by her voice.

Cut back to Rey.

She has shared her discovery with the group (Poe, Finn, Chewie, BB-8, R2, C3PO, and possibly Rose). Finn and Poe and understandably upset by this revelation and when Rey suggests they go after him, are adamantly against it, Poe even going so far as to say that wherever he is rotting away in both body and mind, that it is what he deserves.

Angered by this Rey begins defending him, saying that if Luke can turn Darth Vader to the light and back into Anakin, then why shouldn’t Kylo be allowed to become Ben again as well. Poe argues that while Luke managed that, Darth Vader died before anything could come of it so it wasn’t like it mattered for any other reason than a good story.

Rey bites back that if Ben is indeed alive, then unlike Vader and Anakin, he has the chance to work to atone for his sins and deserves the chance to right his wrongs.

Poe stands firm that whatever fate Kylo Ren is facing is likely the one he deserves.

Rey tells him that she is going to go out looking for him, with or without anyone’s help and nothing will stop her from doing so.

After some silence as Rey waits for reactions/replies, Chewie stands and proclaims he will go with her and they can take the Falcon. 3PO and R2 are instantly on board with this as well. Eyes turn to Finn, waiting to see what side he takes.

Finn, still attached to Rey as she was the first person outside of the First Order he spent more than a few hours with, struggles to agree as he does feel similarly to Poe and also feels that attachment to Poe. With some coaxing from BB-8 (Either having learned to speak Droid or having it translated by 3PO) he agrees to go.

Poe is angered by BB-8’s seeming betrayal and goes on a rant. But after some more coaxing he eventually agrees to go on the condition that he gets one free hit in if/when they find him.

Rey smiles and they begin preparations to go searching.

Cut back to Ben

His mother’s voice has since faded, and he has slowed to cautious steps as he continues on his journey. Surroundings still haven’t changed and he questions if he has been going in circles and having seen no other paths, begins debating if he should maybe start trying to find a way to climb up.

Sensing danger, he ignites the lightsaber and begins combat with whatever comes to attack him.

When the fight is over, a voice compliments Ben’s form in the fight. Ben turns and there is Luke standing there. Ben lashes out and tries to kill Luke despite clearly seeing him as a Force Ghost.

Luke asks him the source of his anger and Ben yells at him. That Luke tried to kill him for things he hadn’t done yet. That rather than sit him down and talk with him about it, tried to destroy something that had yet to actually become a threat. That he was never given the chance to choose.

Luke tries to apologize, but Ben ignores him, and with his saber still lit, begins to continue to walk. Ben doesn’t want to deal with Luke, ghost or otherwise.

Cut to Rey

Rey starts her journey by doing research. She talks with people who knew of the Jedi and other records to see if she can find where Ben might have turned up.

Poe helps with some of his more powerful Resistance contacts, though many are busy helping to rebuild the Republic, so getting a hold of them isn’t easy. Maz, however, is a godsend and shows up when she hears Rey is studying something specific.

She asks what is going on, and Rey and Chewie explain that Ben is alive. That Rey can feel him still out there, and unlike Luke or Leia, he isn’t a ghost. And that in trying to contact Luke, she met another ghost of a Jedi named Obi-wan Kenobi, who she had only ever heard about, and he confirmed that yes, Ben is alive.

Maz is certainly surprised, but joins the party to help find Solo’s wayward son, commenting on how much Ben is actually like Han and of course he would be too stubborn to die.

While this is being explained, Poe looks over to Finn who seems rather distant and not quite paying attention. Poe asks what’s up and Finn tries to brush it off.

Poe pries because Finn has been zoning more and more since the war ended. Finn relents and explains that he has been thinking about the past and about the future. He explains how all he had ever known was the strict regiment and warmongering of the First Order before Poe came along and after defecting, while he did finally get some affection, he mostly got the passion and determination of the Resistance, both busy fighting war. He has never known his life without war or the threat of war.

Poe listens and asks Finn what he wants to do. Finn says he doesn’t know. He knows there is really no chance that he will ever find his parents and very little chance that he will ever even know what planet he was taken from. And now that there is no more fighting, he doesn’t even really know who he is. Just that FN-2187 is gone and Finn is someone he has yet to really figure out.

Poe reminds him that everyone with him sees him as family, and that even if he can’t find his birth family, that he has one here. Finn assures him that he knows that, but that maybe having something to go on for his past that isn’t all about soldiering might help him figure out what he wants to do with the future.

Rose understands the feeling as she has been having similar problems, torn between trying to live a comfortable life, or do something that might be worthwhile, and that all the plans she had originally thought of had all involved her sister in some way and now without her, she isn’t sure she can go through with some of them.

Poe then explains that he will talk to some other of his contacts and see if they can’t find something for Finn, such as maybe a list of systems the First Order preferred to take their soldiers from. Finn gets a little excited and thanks them both.

Cut back to Ben

The area is quiet, Ben has stopped running, and a fog has settled over the area. He can see the walls around him, but cannot see forward and cannot see back. He has the saber ignited and is taking cautious steps, trying to sense everything he can in his surroundings. All around him are whispering voices. Voices that are very familiar to him. At first their whispers seem to be about nothing, and occasionally giggling, but then they seem to notice Ben.

They at first start whispering about him, making comments on how he has gotten older and maybe lamenting they wish they could have too. Then their comments turn bitter, and they start talking about negative aspects of him without talking to him.

Ben tries to interact with these voices, and the area suddenly gets very cold and the whispers harsh. They do start talking to him, angry at him, wind blowing around him as if someone is trying to push him this way and that. In their anger they ask if any of the good times, the good memories they shared meant nothing to him.

Ben asks them who they are and they are insulted that he has to ask.

The fog fades away and he is surrounded by the ghosts of other students at Luke’s Jedi school. They are the students that he killed. They all begin shouting at him, at first taking turns before their voices sync to fully cry out their anger at their deaths.

Ben, knowing he has no way to justify his actions towards these students, begins frantically apologizing and asking how he can prove his remorse, covering his ears as the voices drown out his apologies and over-taking everything else.

The saber has fallen from his hands, going out in the process, and he sinks to his knees as he feels suffocated by the shouting.

In an instant, everything goes silent. Ben hesitantly lowers his hands and raises his head to see the youngest student of the school before him, all the others standing behind them, just looking at them. The youngest asks him if he is truly sorry and if he really regrets it.

Ben says yes, explaining how wrong he was about the dark side. That he never should have done what he had done to the students, and that he wants to be better. He can’t take back what he has done, but if he could, he would in a heartbeat. That he never forgot their deaths, and despite his efforts during his dark times, could never shed the guilt of them.

The youngest asks if he truly means that, will he promise to be better. Will he promise to try and help people if they forgive him.

Ben, still on his knees, tears in his eyes, says yes. His voice is quiet, but his words weighted with all the sincerity and guilt and remorse that he has.

The ghosts smile at them and the youngest bends down and picks up his lightsaber before handing it to him. “Then keep going. We forgive you.”

With a shaking hand, Ben takes the lightsaber, looking at it before looking back at the ghosts as they all fade away leaving him alone. He takes a moment to process what has happened, what he just experienced before letting himself cry, the guilt of his actions digging into his chest, clearly causing him pain, but also feeling a great sense of relief and like a weight has been taken off of his shoulders. One of these emotions alone would be too much for anyone, but both of them together keeps him from even being able to stand.

-unwritten section-

After searching for so long Rey finds the answers she had been looking for and heads with the group to go and try to find Ben.

As Ben reaches the end of his journey and is about to enter the land of the living, he is stopped by one more battle. Before him are four figures dressed in black, all of whom he has seen before in some fashion. One is the grandfather he idolized: Darth Vader. One is the man who had twisted his mind for years: Snoke. One is Puppeteer behind all of pain the galaxy has suffered for easily the last half-century: Palpatine. And the last one is the one that both takes Ben by surprise, but also the one he had been preparing for: himself- or rather- Kylo Ren.

Kylo steps forward and begins talking, voice distorted by the cracked mask. “Did you think you would be free? Did you forget the power of the Dark Side? There is no escaping the Darkness! You belong to the Darkness and therefore- to us!”

Leia’s saber in hand, he ignites it and braces, as the four figures do the same. Knowing the power of the people before him, he is expecting this to be a losing fight, but he is still going to put his heart and soul into it.

“Nice to see we’re not too late.”

The slightly gravely voice catches Ben off guard and makes him turn. They have the telltale blue glow of those passed on, one in the Force. Appearing on either side of him, each facing a member of the Sith that are blocking his path, are his real grandfather- Anakin ready to face Vader. His mother, giving him a loving smile and placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder as her eyes harden in an all too familiar look when she is about to eviscerate someone, a look aimed at Snoke that visibly shakes the Sith. And either Luke or Padme who their weapon in hand and facing Palpatine, making a comment about not making the mistake of letting this man live to walk away again.

With these allies, the fight begins. Snoke falls first as no amount of power can fully brace this being for the extent of a mother’s wrath while she protects her child.

Palpatine falls next. Luke/Padme doesn’t dilly dally, doesn’t give him the chance to brag or monologue or charge up an attack. He is executed plain and simple.

Vader is next. Given that he is kind of fighting himself, Anakin does struggle as he knows all the moves and has to change his fighting style and strategy a little bit. The kill is quick, but comes after a bit of a fight as Anakin is laying his regrets and the darkness in them to rest with the end of Vader.

Finally Ben is left with Kylo. Blue clashes with red in quick and angry strikes on both ends. Kylo taunts Ben constantly about the dark side and how it took him over. About how he will never be free of it and no one will ever truly accept him. It is a very hard fight, but one he must fight alone. It ends when Ben swings and cuts part of the mask off, revealing his own face, which stuns Kylo for a moment, before Ben without hesitation runs him through declaring that it doesn’t matter if the rest of the galaxy forgives him, the people that matter to him do and most of all, he forgives himself.

Once Kylo falls, and his body disappears, Ben gets a small reunion with his family. Han shows up for this brief moment and after some hugs and praises about how proud they are of him, as well as promises to be better and make the galaxy better, he is ready to leave, though his eyes are wet and red.

He goes through the final portal/ door, and the first thing he registers is he can’t breathe.

Above the lake/ ocean of the ancient site, Rey and the others are looking down, trying to find where Ben is.

Rey suddenly feels him, strong and sure as if he were next to them, and she points them in the right direction where a light can be seen under the water’s surface for the briefest moment.

Unable to really truly swim, neither Rey or Finn can go down. Rose is handed the controls and Poe and Chewie open the hatch of the Falcon and once ready to get pulled back up, jump into the water.

They find Ben, close to the surface, but still under it, and pull him out, before being raised to the Falcon where Rey immediately starts calling out to him, noticing he is very pale, and his whole body is cold, as if dead.

Poe raises his fist before slamming it down hard on Kylo’s chest making the man jolt at the sudden pain before coughing up water. Poe grins at Rey before looking at Ben. “Just so you know, that doesn’t count as my free shot.”

Ben looks confused as he is finally able to focus his vision, but before he can do anything, a big, wet, hairy being his holding him almost too tightly, making it difficult to breathe. Despite the suddenness of it, it is one that -while soggy- is instantly familiar and one he is quick to return and relish.

Chewie finally pulls away before smacking Ben upside the head, just barely hard enough to hurt before going into a long lecture that has Ben smiling fondly at the Wookie.

When he looks at Poe, confused, Poe holds up his hands. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea. Besides, it’s her you should be thanking.” He points at Rey and prompts Ben to look at her. “She’s the one that never lost faith in you.”

Que Rey and Ben reunion.

#Kylo Ren #Ben Solo #Redemption Arc #Bringing back the dead #rey #Poe Dameron #Finn #Rose #Chewbacca #BB-8 #Maz #Leia Organa #Luke Skywalker #I'm going to make that boy face his sins #Make him promise to be better #He is going to earn it properly dammit!#Finn is going to get a better arc too!#Finn Deserved better #Poe is not stright

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foxtophat · 3 years

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looked through my ffix folder and found this part from my wip rewrite of wishful thinking, which is proof positive that the rewrite could be better than any other ffix fic i ever wrote

Kuja is out of commission until after the rain dies off, sometime in the nebulous space between midnight and pre-dawn. Amarant can't do much in the rain, but he scouts back a ways over the rocks to ensure that no other magic-seeking nobles are lying in wait. When the coast seems clear, Amarant's next idea is to comb through the wreckage of the hut for any surviving supplies. While most of the roof has caved in and the entire front wall has been blown out, a lot of the basic goods are still salvageable. He focuses on healing supplies, food, and other necessities, then moves on to maps and books and the like, which litter the wreckage like confetti. Unless they're completely soaked through or in a particularly bad way, Amarant does his best to pile everything water-sensitive under the overhang Kuja is resting in.

The rain lets up, and Kuja slowly finds his way back to consciousness. He looks confused when he opens his eyes to piles of his own books and supplies, but by the time he sees Amarant picking through a crooked bookshelf, things seem to have come back to him.

"This is terrible," he says. Amarant eyes him up and down, looking for a resurgence of that awful red aura, but all he finds is a tired, dejected man. Kuja rubs his face, scrubbing hard at his eyes, and says to nobody in particular, "I told Zidane not to go. I knew it would be trouble."

"I don't think this has anything to do with Zidane." Amarant returns to his salvaging, although he's mostly done by now. "Sounded like it had more to do with you."

Kuja's laughs out loud in exasperation. "When is this universe not hinged around me?" he asks. Amarant figures it's probably rhetorical, although given Kuja's past experiences, it's not unwarranted. Of course, Kuja is normally the one to make himself the center of attention...

"We need to decide what to do next," Amarant says. He knows it's probably too soon, that Kuja will get catty and irritable and maybe even trance out at the concept of abandoning this place, but the fact is that they can't stay here. Regardless of the state of the house, if one person found Kuja out here, that means there's a trail that others could follow as well.

Kuja picks a damp book up by the corner and watches in dismay as ink drips from the pages. "This was a first edition," he laments.

"That noble was a first edition trespasser," Amarant points out. "We don't have time to worry about old playbooks. How did he find you? Where did he come from?"

#ffix #amarant coral #kuja #oh fuck kuja do yu have a last name i cant remember #lol in this he definitely uses tribal as his last name #big dumb brother #lil fic things #my fic #cant remember what tag i use

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

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I’ve been a bit MIA this week, but I’ve been struggling in WIP heck to get my Yunmeng Bros reconciliation arc finished, and it took about 500% longer than I expected to write, mostly because having them talk through things and not argue themselves into somewhere I couldn’t recover the conversation from was a nightmare!

You can read part 1 and part 2 of this reconciliation arc at those links, and there’s also a Sangcheng developing relationship duo that run alongside those two which you can find here and here.

Please have 7.5k of Yunmeng Bro feels.

When All’s Said And Done

Although it had been many month’s since he had received the last communication from Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian was still a little wary of letters. Having everything you thought you knew destroyed via that one missive made you wary.

He still woke up drenched in sweat some nights after dreaming about it.

Wasn’t it so much easier being the self-sacrificing one, hadn’t some small, proud part of him patted himself on the back and said Well done, Wei Wuxian, aren’t you wonderfully selfless, giving that hotheaded brother of yours your golden core, after he went tearing back to Lotus Pier like a fool. After all, it was his own fault he lost his own, thinking returning there would have had any other outcome.

How heartbreaking then, to find out his gesture wasn’t as grand as he had first thought. Yes, Jiang Cheng’s golden core was destroyed through his own actions. It was sacrificed to save Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng had given himself up, had been prepared to die, to protect Wei Wuxian instead. And the Wens hadn’t allowed him the honour of a quick, clean death, they’d wanted blood, torture, suffering, they’d wanted to break him before they killed him. They’d succeeded in everything but his death; as much as Jiang Cheng had wished it otherwise.

In the end Wei Wuxian had given nothing but a core for a core, one given to replace one destroyed, as if he had been the one taken back to Lotus Pier, like should have happened if Jiang Cheng hadn’t sacrificed himself for Wei Wuxian.

It somewhat lessened the need for self-congratulation, to know the truth of the matter, and he detested that misguidedly prideful part of himself that had thought his action worthy of praise.

So when Lan Wangji brought this communication to him and placed it in his hands he was almost scared to open it.

The script wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s, however, but another familial hand.

“From Jin Ling?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed, “brought by private courier, with the message that it’s extremely urgent.”

Wei Wuxian wasted no further time and broke the sparks-amidst-snow seal.

Senior Uncle, I messed up badly this time, jiujiu is in a really bad way, please come, I don’t know what to do, Jin Ling.

Wei Wuxian’s heart sank, for Jin Ling to admit he needed any kind of help was entirely out of character, which meant he was really shaken.

“I need to go to Lotus Pier. Immediately.” Wei Wuxian handed Lan Wangji the letter, who scanned it quickly, and nodded.

“Mn, we’ll go in a few moments, let me send a message to xiongzhang and to Lan Sizhui.”

Lan Wangji took no more than a few minutes to ink the messages, and they collared a young disciple on his way past to deliver them.

They were on Bichen in barely any time at all, but to Wei Wuxian it had seemed like hours.

They reached Lotus Pier just before dawn.

They must have been expected, because a pale, exhausted Jin Ling rushed to meet them. There was less of the arrogance Wei Wuxian was used to seeing on his nephew’s face, in fact he just looked small and scared and shell-shocked.

His bow was automatic, and completely for Lan Wangji’s benefit.

“What happened, Jin Ling?” he prompted. That seemed to shake him out of his torpor a little.

“We were on a night hunt. And I didn’t listen, and jiujiu got hurt.” Jin Ling shuddered. “We have to save him. You have to help, please. Tell me what will save him. I can’t lose him.” Wei Wuxian stepped forward to place hands on Jin Ling’s shoulders and squeezed soothingly.

“Lets go see,” he suggested after a few seconds, after he felt Jin Ling sag into his touch and let out some of the tension he was holding.

Jin Ling nodded, and they made their way through the Lotus Pier compound, and to the private family area, where Wei Wuxian hadn’t stepped foot for so many years.

There was a rush of emotion that made him feel a little light-headed at the thought, but Lan Wangji’s calming hand at the small of his back was a grounding touch.

There was a part of him that felt a little guilty at invading this private space without Jiang Cheng’s foreknowledge and approval, but, as he had always thought in his life, propriety didn’t matter when necessity drove the narrative.

They arrived at the rooms Wei Wuxian had known to be Jiang Cheng’s, from his first night huddled outside the door, then invited inside to sleep, when they had been so so young.

“Wei Ying, I’ll wait out here,” Lan Wangji said firmly, and as much as he wouldn’t have thought to ask, Wei Wuxian realised it was probably for the best. Jiang Cheng took such umbrage to his husband, it was just a sensible thing to do. To invade his personal space with the man he would probably like to speak to only marginally less than Wei Wuxian himself would only rile him, and if he was truly as ill as Jin Ling said that was the last thing they should do.

Jin Ling opened the doors, and stepped back so Wei Wuxian could precede him in.

It didn’t appear that Jin Ling had exaggerated. He moved quickly towards the bed, barely pausing to take note of the fact Nie Huaisang was in attendance, as well as a third person who he recognised as Lei Shirong, the Jiang Sect physician.

The Jiang Sect leader laid, unconscious, on the bed. His skin was chalk-white and his lips were bloodless, and there was a drawn, even more angular look about his already sharp features. The only time he’d ever seen his brother in such a state before was when he and Wen Ning had carried him away from Lotus Pier after being captured by the Wens.

There were several bandages around his chest, covering quite a large area of damaged flesh, if the blood that stained them was to be believed.

“Tell me exactly what happened, Jin Ling, in detail.” he ordered his nephew, who let out a great, shaking breath.

“We went on a night hunt. A yaoguai terrorising a local community of farms which the farmers had petitioned me to deal with. Except it wasn’t as simple as that. When we realised, Jiujiu yelled at me, told me to get the disciples out of there and let him deal with it. But...I knew...I thought Jiujiu would need my help. So I sent the disciples away. And I stayed.”

Wei Wuxian fought the urge to react, honestly the self-preservation instincts of this boy were non-existent. He was so like his uncle in his relentless drive to prove himself, it was scary.

“I didn’t mean to cause him trouble, I thought I’d be helping. Jiujiu put himself between me and the yaoguai, and it cut him open with it’s claws.”

“Is it dealt with?” a yaoguai who could catch Jiang Cheng on the back foot, even while he was distracted protecting Jin Ling, must have been particularly strong, and he feared for the farmers.

But Jin Ling nodded, “Yes, it’s dead.”

“Why hasn’t he healed yet? What’s wrong?” he moved his attention on to Lei Shirong, who had been testing Jiang Cheng’s qi flow with a touch at his wrist.

He was done with the back patting but that didn’t change the fact that the golden core inside Jiang Cheng had been one of the strongest of his generation, before he had even given it up, and Jiang Cheng had only improved it in the years since then. Healing most types of injury should only have been a matter of time for Jiang Cheng.

“There must have been a poison on the yaoguai’s claws, one that’s stopping his cultivation from healing the damage. I’ve tried packing the wounds but even the natural human healing process is being slowed. Unless the wounds start to seal, I can’t stop the bleeding.” he didn’t need to continue for his meaning to be clear.

“Are you able to cleanse the poison through qi circulation?”

Lei Shirong shook his head, a quick look of frustration crossing his face. A physician who hated to be bested by a condition he couldn’t cure.

“It’s too pervasive,” he said, “I’m currently trying various herbal poultices but nothing I can think of seems to have an effect,” he rose, after placing Jiang Cheng’s limp hand back against the bed. “I’ve exhausted my own private library, and that of Lotus Pier.”

Wei Wuxian glanced back at the door. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more information available in another library. The one at Cloud Recesses for example.

Briefly he wondered, lamented, what had become of Wen Qing’s personal library during the Sunshot campaign. But it was fleeting, gone, he couldn’t dwell on such things, not now when he had his next crusade to fight.

“Please will you write down everything you can think of regarding the properties of the poison? You too Jin Ling, I want to know everything you remember about the yaoguai,” he twirled Chenqing through his fingers briefly, considering, then moved over to open the door and step out. He was followed by Nie Huaisang.

“Wei-xiong, Hanguang-jun,” Nie Huaisang tucked his folded fan into his belt, “tell me how to help, I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

Wei Wuxian nodded his understanding. He had heard from little birds his childhood friend had finally made his suit to Jiang Cheng and things were proceeding steadily, so he hadn’t been entirely surprised to find the Nie Sect leader by Jiang Cheng’s side.

“Lan Zhan, I’m having some details of an unusual poison copied down, I need the information passing on to to the Lan physicians so they can check the Cloud Recesses Library for details. I also want to visit the yaoguai’s nest and see if I can find anything that might help; if we have the poison it might be easier to identify a cure,” Lan Zhan nodded his understanding. “Lets go.”

“Wei-xiong, I think you must stay here. I believe there are some things A-Cheng wishes to…administer to…that might help set his mind at rest, please allow Hanguang-jun and I to deal with the issue of the poison,”

Wei Wuxian was about to argue, but Lan Wangji placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I will go to the yaoguai’s lair, Wei Ying. Nie-zongzhu, please take the information to Xiongzhang.” Nie Huaisang nodded, “You should remain by Jiang Wanyin’s side.” Despite everyone thinking that was the best course of action, Wei Wuxian hated the idea of sitting by gamely and waiting.

***

Once everything had been decided, action was quick. They gathered the information together and prepared to set out.

“Hanguang-jun, I’ll go with you, to show you where we fought the demon,” Jin Ling clutched Suihua, but Wei Wuxian caught his wrist.

“Absolutely not, Jin Ling, you’re going nowhere. You will stay here, you are not to worry your jiujiu any further than necessary.”

“But…”

“No buts, nothing,” Wei Wuxian folded his arms, Chenqing’s tassel swaying as if to emphasise his words.

Jin Ling didn’t even have it in him to argue at the moment, just stomped back in the direction of his jiujiu’s room.

Wei Wuxian felt his shoulders sink. He straightened them as Nie Huaisang tucked the scroll containing the information for the Lan physicians into his sleeve, “We’ll tear the Lan library apart, if there’s a solution to be had I’ll find it, Wei-xiong,” he threw Lan Wangji a nervous look, flicking his fan out and waving it in front of his face, “speaking figuratively, of course, Hanguang-jun.” there was a nervous titter from behind his fan and Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes.

“Huaisang-xiong, you aren’t fooling anyone here with the Head-shaker,”

The eyes above the fan turned fox-like, “What can you mean, Wei-xiong? I really don’t know,” with that the fan was snapped shut and Nie Huaisang left with a sweep of his exquisitely embroidered sleeves.

Wei Wuxian felt Lan Wangji’s hands take hold of his shoulders then, and rub soothingly, “Wei Ying, I will be back quickly. I promise,” he leant in to place a gentle kiss against Wei Wuxian’s forehead. He threw himself at Lan Wangji then, wrapping his arms around his neck and holding onto him tightly.

“We have to save him, Lan Zhan, he and Jin Ling, they’re all the other has left.”

Lan Wangji caught his chin and tipped it up so he their eyes met, “They have you, too, Wei Ying.”

He twisted his lips a little, but nodded, “Yes, they do, whether they want me or not. I can’t lose him either, Lan Zhan, so go, be careful, and come back to me swiftly.”

“Mn,” he paused for only long enough to press a soft kiss against Wei Wuxian’s mouth before following Nie Huaisang.

***

He had sent Jin Ling away to bathe and sleep, promising not to leave his jiujiu’s side, towards midnight. His nephew, although young and resilient, was emotionally exhausted, and really needed to switch his mind off for a while.

Wei Wuxian wandered around Jiang Cheng’s rooms, between bouts of sitting by his bedside, looking for keepsakes or mementos he’d recognise. Of course, there couldn’t really have been any; the Lotus Pier of their childhood had been razed to the ground by the Wens, and everything in it, destroyed. Jiang Cheng, and he himself, were the last living relics of that Lotus Pier of memory. If his particular circumstances counted, of course.

Coming here was like this for him, a dull, pain-filled ache in his heart at the remembrance of what had been lost in the Wen’s lightning war on Yunmeng. He would be the first to admit he had been cocooned in his own misery when they had first come back after the Sunshot Campaign, with the intent to rebuild. He had been little more than a functioning alcoholic, and had therefore been, to some extent, numbed to the horror of the knowledge what had happened beneath their feet, to the memories and the pain. Perhaps that was why it hurt so much now. Perhaps that was why he was haunted by the feeling that sometimes, there were images just out of his sight. That sometimes, just out of the corner of his eye, he would catch sight of Jiang Yanli herding two boisterous young boys down a walkway. Or a gap-toothed Jiang Cheng running over to show Yu-furen the hole in the kite he had managed to hit with his arrows. Or Jiang Fengmian ready to pull Wei Wuxian into his lap and tell him stories of what wonderful people his mother and father had been.

Perhaps Jiang Cheng had made his peace with the ghosts of his ancestors treading these halls and walkways, perhaps he found their presence soothing. Perhaps they haunted him as much as they did Wei Wuxian.

He moved to sit on the floor by Jiang Cheng’s bed.

He wondered if, after Lotus Pier had been decimated, after the Sunshot Campaign had ended, if they’d just chosen to be wandering cultivators instead of returning to rebuild here, would their lives have been different? Would they have ended up as tragically as Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen? Could they have escaped the events that had lead them to where they were today?

Had Jiang Cheng ever even wanted to be the Lord of Lotus Pier? It had been drilled into him from before he was even old enough to count further than the fingers on his hands, the Jiang Sect was his providence, his responsibility, and would be his legacy. His life had never belonged to just Jiang Cheng, it had belonged to the whole of Yunmeng Jiang, he was the bridge between it’s history and it’s future.

Maybe he would have just preferred to be just Jiang Cheng, though.

The night wore on, the candles all burned lower, and in their hazy light figures began to form before his blurry eyes.

They slowly took shape, and he began to make out indistinct features, surely that was Jiang Fengmian, and Yu Ziyuan, and Jiang Yanli.

They made beckoning gestures at the bed, and he saw pale lips form A-Cheng repeatedly.

“Please, leave him alone. You don’t need him yet. We need him, Jin Ling and I.” he was about to climb to his feet when his head hit the wooden frame of the bed. The images faded immediately, and he looked around in confusion and fear. It was just before dawn; he’d fallen asleep by Jiang Cheng’s bedside, and dreamed the figures, awaking when his head and slipped off it’s supporting hand.

His heart still pounded fitfully in his chest in reaction to his dream, and he tentatively reached out a hand to touch the cooler one of Jiang Cheng where it rested by his side.

He held it more firmly, and laid his head on top of his folded arm, drifting back off to sleep.

***

It was still reasonably early in the morning when he awoke again. Lei Shirong had just entered the room and he dragged himself out of the way so the physician could attend to his patient.

Once he had run his tests and cleaned and redressed Jiang Cheng’s wounds, he left to return back to his workspace, where he still scoured books and scrolls.

As soon as the door closed behind him Jiang Cheng opened his eyes, and fixed them on Wei Wuxian.

“You could have told him you were awake, he’d have given you something for the pain,” Wei Wuxian said.

“He did, it’s not like he doesn’t know me by now,” Jiang Cheng’s voice was weaker than normal, a little thready, “but that doesn’t mean I want to talk to him, and be poked and prodded and questioned.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips twisted in a half smile, “Always the same, Jiang Cheng.”

“I could say the same about you…” Jiang Cheng paused, and looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, as if in contemplation. He returned his gaze to meet Wei Wuxian’s, “…I should probably warn you, I’ve made changes to the household registry, I’ve named you my heir.”

The comment, so matter of fact, hit Wei Wuxian like a blow, “What?” This must have been what Nie Huaisang meant when he said Jiang Cheng had some things he wanted to talk to Wei Wuxian about.

Jiang Cheng turned his face away. “I can’t name Jin Ling, he has the Jin clan to bring under control; there’s no one else left,” he said it so matter of factly, “and in honesty I have no intention of dying on you just yet. But still. Jin Ling will have Zidian. Just…make sure he hears about his family once in a while, and how much A-Niang would have loved him…” his voice turned thicker and he stopped.

Wei Wuxian didn’t call him on his bullshit though, if he had no intention of dying he wouldn’t be making provisions, as sensible as they were.

“If the cultivation world hears about what you’ve done…”

“I stopped caring about what they even thought about the weather, after it cost me everything. I don’t care anymore. Anyway, if I’m dead, it’ll be your problem, not mine.” he turned back to pin Wei Wuxian with a burning look then, “You owe this sect, Wei Wuxian. This isn’t about you, or me, or them, this is about Yunmeng Jiang, and you owe it.”

Wei Wuxian felt his hackles rise in response, but what would be the point in arguing any further? Rile Jiang Cheng up? That wouldn’t help. He blew out a breath, but it was too late anyway, as Jiang Cheng seemed to have drifted back into unconsciousness. He moved closer, but it was real this time, and not the feigned one he had used with Lei Shirong.

***

It was shortly after dawn the following day when Lan Wangji returned from his trip to find the Yaoguai’s nest. He looked solemn and weary, and gave a single shake of his head as Wei Wuxian walked out to meet him, then gathered him up for a hug.

He pressed his eyes closed and allowed himself to take the warmth and comfort Lan Wangji offered. “We’re reliant on Huaisang-xiong and your brother then,” he said eventually. They pulled apart as they heard the approach of another person. It was Jin Ling, coming to investigate whether Lan Wangji had found anything of use. He sagged noticeably at the negative response, and Wei Wuxian could do nothing but pat him on the shoulder soothingly. Somehow, he thought his nephew might protest vehemently if he tried to hug him.

“I need to speak to Lei-dafu, you should rest, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian folded his arms behind his back and set off to the Lotus Pier infirmary, Jin Ling following after him. “You can go sit with your jiujiu if you wish, Jin Ling.”

“No, I need to know what’s going on. This is my fault, and I need to help put it right.”

He didn’t argue further, merely shrugged and allowed Jin Ling to follow him.

They were soon sat around the table taking tea with Lei Shirong at his invitation, while Wei Wuxian reported Lan Wangji’s lack of success.

There was little disguising that the lack of progress was a disappointment for the physician. But so had it been for Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling too.

“How long do you think we realistically have?” Wei Wuxian asked. Time was of the essence, but how much of it?

“I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t want to rely on his constitution for longer than a few more days.” Lei Shirong said seriously, and Jin Ling sucked a breath in.

“We need to give Huaisang-xiong more time, Lei-dafu. There will be something in the Gusu Lan library, I know it. So how do we create that?”

Lei Shirong looked at him assessingly, “Jiang-zongzhu is slowly bleeding to death, Wei-gongzi.”

“If you can’t stop the bleeding, then give him more blood to bleed with. He has my golden core, he can have my blood too.” It was perfect logic, surely.

“Do you think Jiang-zongzhu will agree to such a thing?” his tone made it obvious he thought Jiang Cheng wouldn’t. And he probably wasn’t too far wrong.

“Let me deal with Jiang Cheng, should the time come.” Wei Wuxian dismissed, and ignored Lei Shirong’s raised eyebrows.

“There is one more point, Wei-gongzi, it has always been noted that blood from familial veins tends to cause less complications than others.” he said it almost challengingly, as if testing Wei Wuxian.

Jin Ling, so eager to help in any way, leapt upon that, “Then jiujiu can have some of mine.”

This boy though! “Jin Ling…” Wei Wuxian started, but was cut off.

“No, it’s my fault, I want to help. You heard what Lei-dafu said, I’m jiujiu’s best match.”

“Do you think for even a second Jiang Cheng is going to agree to that, Jin Ling?”

Jin Ling’s chin tipped up, some of his fire back, “I thought we were going to leave that to you? He’s my family, Wei Wuxian, I can do this for him.”

“He’s my family too, you xiaozi.”

“Then maybe you should have treated him like it! Just do what you said you were going to do, leave the rest to me,” and Jin Ling got up and stomped out of the infirmary.

***

It had cut, of course. Wasn’t that Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng to a tee though? Always going to say the thing calculated to hurt most in their temper. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, as they said.

“Sit down, how is anyone supposed to be on the verge of death in peace, with you stomping about their room?” the sudden sound of Jiang Cheng’s voice made Wei Wuxian start. He hadn’t realised the other had woken up. And he hadn’t thought he’d been making that much noise.

But still.

He moved over to the bed, and dropped to the floor, resting his back against the frame.

“What has Jin Ling said now?” Jiang Cheng’s voice was even weaker than yesterday, except he tried to project power into it. It didn’t work.

He found it much easier to speak on the subject when he didn’t have to look at Jiang Cheng.

“Nothing, he was just trying to annoy me,” he fixed his gaze on the doorway.

“I’d say it worked, with how you were muttering,” Jiang Cheng commented.

Wei Wuxian threw a look over his shoulder. Jiang Cheng stared up at the ceiling, looking so pale and fragile Wei Wuxian could barely contain the panic beginning to claw at him.

“He knows how to strike, just like his jiujiu. We had an argument about family, he thinks I haven’t acted very much like your family.” Wei Wuxian looked at the doorway again.

They were silent for quite a while.

“You aren’t required to, we aren’t. Once you relinquished your relationship with the sect, we were no longer marital brothers,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Jiang Cheng…”

“Don’t. I know why you gave me your core, Wei Wuxian, you did it because you promised A-Niang and A-Die you’d look after us. I accept that now. And even if I’d rather have died at the hands of the Wens, rather doesn’t help now. I could go drown myself in the lake and it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference to what happened. It was selfish of them to ask you, a child, to be responsible, but it was selfish of you to give me your core without asking me what I wanted.” he sucked in a breath, “It’s all done now.”

He turned abruptly, and grabbed Jiang Cheng by the chin, “We are not done, Jiang Cheng. Not while you have my core to prove it, I don’t give a fuck if you hate it. You were going to die for me, and I gave up my cultivation to save you. We are family.” He hadn’t realised what a strong hold he hand on Jiang Cheng’s face until the other met his gaze with burning anger and tried to jerk his chin free weakly. His grasp wouldn’t bruise though; Jiang Cheng didn’t have the blood spare for that.

“I don’t fucking hate your core. I hate what it did to you, and I hate that you thought I was so weak I wouldn’t survive if you didn’t cripple yourself so I wasn’t. And I fucking hate that we were never enough for you.”

“What the…?”

“Never. There was always someone else, or something else that was more important. It was never us, you didn’t even hesitate to leave us behind, for the Wens, for Hanguang-jun, what else is there to think?”

“None of that was ever about you, or Yunmeng Jiang, not being enough. You weren’t the centre of the world, Jiang Cheng.” he realised as that left his lips what a completely stupid thing to say it had been.

Jiang Cheng knew it too, if the mocking look in his eyes indicated anything. “I am the last person in the world you have to explain that to, Wei Wuxian. I have never expected to be, either. That was ground out of me as a child.” he raised a shaking hand then to wrap around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. There was barely any grip in his fingers though, “I’m tired, Wei Wuxian, and I’m slipping.” Jiang Cheng let out a heavy sigh, “If you don’t want to be stuck with Yunmeng Jiang, better attempt the impossible one more time, and save my life.” Wei Wuxian let got of his face, and grasped his hand instead.

“I don’t want to save your life so I don’t have to sit at the head of your clan, Jiang Cheng. I want you alive because you’re my damn brother, and I love you. Because Jin Ling has lost enough in his short lifetime, and he really needs you to be here with him. So fight your fucking hardest, you temperamental little shit.”

“I am, asshole, but it’s fucking exhausting, and it hurts.” There was a catch in his breath, then and he tried to stifle a laugh, “Ow, it hurts.” he gasped, trying to kill it, as his mirth set Wei Wuxian laughing in response.

“Then stop it, it’s not even funny, Jiang Cheng, why are you even laughing?”

It took him a few moments to catch the breath to speak, “The irony. I lay here on my death bed and all we can do is trade childish insults like we’re teens again.”

In the end Wei Wuxian had to move away from Jiang Cheng’s side to stop them passing the laughter between them, like a ball in a game. If there were tears there too, then it was just from laugher. Or not.

They didn’t get to continue their conversation as Lei Shirong chose that moment to enter the rooms, coming to redress Jiang Cheng’s wounds, and when he saw what a state they’d gotten Jiang Cheng into he chased Wei Wuxian out, with orders to stay away until the other was safely resting again.

He was just about to find Lan Wangji to pour his troubles into his husband’s ear when the other turned the corner. He was walking swiftly.

“Wei Ying, Xiongzhang has sent a messenger talisman. They have found some text identifying the type of demon Jiang-zongzhu was attacked by.”

“Do they know how we can cure the poison?”

“Mn. Xiongzhang has already sent Jingyi and Sizhui to collect the ingredients the physicians don’t have in storage. They will prepare the antidote and Xiongzhang and Nie-zongzhu will bring it as soon as it’s ready. They’re hoping to set off tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Whilst the news was welcome, that it would be cutting it so fine to Lei Shirong’s estimation of their deadline didn’t sit well with him.

“Is there no way they could have sent us the ingredient list and we could prepare it here?” he asked, but Lan Wangji shook his head.

“There is a specific algae that grows in the cold caves,”

“Ah,” he knew that meant that the Lan clan wouldn’t harvest the algae unless in great need, as the caves were sacred to them. “I’ll thank Xichen-ge for allowing us to use some when he arrives.”

As there was nothing he could do personally to quicken the arrival of the antidote he had to be content to sit and wait. And that had never been something he was comfortable with; he wasn’t a passive person.

On the subject of their increasingly tight deadline, he would push Lei Shirong and Jiang Cheng on the possibility of the blood transfer, he would even allow Jin Ling to be the donor if it increased Jiang Cheng’s chance of survival, due to Lei Shirong’s insistence that familial matches tended to have a better success chance. Jin Ling was young and strong and had a very high cultivation level for his age.

His message delivered, Lan Wangji asked after Jiang Cheng.

“He’s sleeping now. I got thrown out of his room for making him laugh, and hurting his wounds.” there was a touch of petulance in his tone; if he couldn’t act spoiled with his own husband then who could he search for sympathy from? But…

“Wei Ying,” even though he was an expert on Lan Wangji’s less expressive language and emotions, now Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure if that was query, or disappointment in Lan Wangji’s voice.

“Lan Zhan, I don’t mean I stood by his bedside telling him jokes…it just…we were talking and it just happened.” He threw himself into Lan Wangji’s arms. “Why is everything so difficult?”

“Lack of communication.”

If anyone was qualified to make that comment, it was Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian thought burying his face into the front of the other’s robes.

And yes, he and Jiang Cheng were another relationship that had been left to fester and rot without either being honest with the other.

“It’s becoming so dangerously close to the end, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji made a soothing noise.

“I don’t know what will happen if we fail. Jin Ling…”

“Wei Ying, you can say it for yourself too. You have the right to worry for yourself too.”

He clutched handfuls of Lan Wangji’s robes, crumpling them. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Lan Wangji’s arms tightened around him.

“I know we haven’t been…close…since I came back. But it’s different to know someone is there…”

“I understand.” Lan Wangji’s kiss feathered against temple soothingly.

***

Wei Wuxian returned to Jiang Cheng during the evening, like a self-appointed night-watchman. This time he was joined by Jin Ling. Lan Wangji’s news had been reported to the others, and the relief had been widespread and obvious. But there was still an element of fear among them, with the deadline hanging over their heads like an executioners blade.

Wei Wuxian had told Lei Shirong he would discuss the option giving of blood as soon as Jiang Cheng woke up. The other said he daren’t leave it longer than the morning to perform the transfusion, or Jiang Cheng might not have the strength to heal even if the antidote was administered.

“You should get some sleep, Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian said from behind Jiang Cheng’s desk, where he inked hundreds of small bunnies on the parchment in front of him.

Jin Ling shook his head, and they continued in silence.

Jin Ling drifted off to sleep in the early hours, resting his head on his folded arms on the bed beside Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian left the bunnies, and watched them both from his vantage point.

He was falling asleep himself when he saw Jiang Cheng’s hand move shakily to rest on Jin Ling’s head. He stroked once, but didn’t have the energy left for more and let his hand fall back to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng’s voice was so low it was unlikely to wake Jin Ling.

“For what?” Wei Wuxian asked, ready to explode if he did something pathetic like apologise for dying, or giving up.

“For not standing by your side after the Sunshot Campaign. Jin Guangyao was right about that. I made it too easy for them to rip us apart.”

“You were little more than a child, Jiang Cheng, and you were being manipulated by grown adults who knew what they were doing, and had a history of it. And for you, it wasn’t like it was for me. You had your sect to think about, a sect that had been exterminated almost to the last man.”

“You were almost still a child too. And I shouldn’t have turned my back on you.”

“Jiang Cheng, lets not rake this over again. We both know we made mistakes, and we both have so many regrets about that time. But it doesn’t change anything. Like you said, you could drown yourself in the lake now, and so could I, and nothing from back then would be different. I’d rather look to the future.” He genuinely felt that was the only way they’d ever have closure between them.

There was the threadiest little laugh sound from between Jiang Cheng’s lips.

“Ironic, when I realise I may be ready for that too, at the point where I very possibly don’t have one.”

Wei Wuxian got up from behind the desk, hoping his moving closer wouldn’t make Jiang Cheng close up.

“I just…wanted you to know. Whatever happens, I am sorry,” Jiang Cheng said again. He turned his gaze to meet Wei Wuxian’s as he approached, then knelt next to Jin Ling.

“I am too, for how I was back then. I was hurting, and empty. I didn’t come to terms with the lack of a golden core very well, and I left everything on your shoulders, even though I’d promised it would be us against the world.” He placed his hand over Jiang Cheng’s, laid on the bed.

They were silent for a while. It may have been that Jiang Cheng passed out briefly; Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure. But when his eyes opened again, he knew he had to discuss the blood transfer soon, or Jiang Cheng might not be able to decide. He knew if he didn’t discuss it and treated it the same way as the core, he’d destroy all the common ground they’d managed to build over the past few days.

“Lei-dafu has a way to give you a little more time if we need. He can use a little of Jin Ling’s blood to try and replenish your own supply, and give Huaisang-xiong more time to get back with the antidote.”

He could see the automatic denial in his eyes. But instead of speaking immediately Jiang Cheng looked at Jin Ling, then Wei Wuxian.

“I’m a strong cultivator, jiujiu, I can stand it. Let me help.” Wei Wuxian hadn’t realised Jin Ling had woken until his voice sounded from beside him.

“Is it safe, for Jin Ling?”

“Yes, Lei-dafu said he’d just need to rest for a few days afterwards. It’s only like getting wounded, in that he’d regenerate more blood to replace that lost.”

Jiang Cheng eyed Jin Ling for a few more moments. Before he nodded. “Fine.” A breathy sigh followed.

“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling exclaimed in delight, and Wei Wuxian patted his shoulder in their shared relief.

Jiang Cheng slipped back into either unconsciousness, or a sleep very like it, shortly afterwards, and they had to be satisfied with settling down to wait again.

Dawn streaked the sky, and he wondered if Nie Huaisang had managed to begin the return journey yet.

No sooner had the thought formed in his head than they heard fast approaching footsteps from outside.

Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, closely followed by Jin Ling, as they moved towards the door. Before they reached it, however, it was thrown open, and Nie Huaisang burst in, closely followed by Lan Wangji.

“How is he?” Huaisang pushed past Wei Wuxian and strode quickly to the bed.

The look on his face was solemn as he saw Jiang Cheng more wan and drawn than when he had left.

“He’s holding on, Huaisang. Is Xichen-ge…?”

“Gone to take the antidote to Lei-dafu.” Lan Wangji said, and moved out of the doorway as the two men they’d spoken of walked into the rooms. Lei Shirong was still trying to fasten his outer robe, indicating he’d been pulled straight from bed. Lan Xichen carried two earthenware jars.

They were followed with disciples bringing fresh supplies, a brazier and a standing oven.

“Once the poultice begins to work, Wangji and I will help support him in healing and repairing the damage. What would you say we should focus on most?”

“Flushing the poison, blood regeneration and healing the wounds.”

“I will help, Zewu-jun.” Huaisang said firmly. Lan Xichen merely nodded in acceptance.

He lamented that he was still unable to help Jiang Cheng in the way Lan Xichen intended, with the sharing of qi energy, and indeed in the next few hours he was completely useless, as Lei Shirong prepared and applied the poultice to draw the poison that was causing Jiang Cheng’s cultivation to be unable to heal him. Once it began to work the three cultivators got to work channelling their qi into Jiang Cheng to assist his own life-force in healing the damage.

Lei Shirong watched over all of it with a careful eye, occasionally moving Lan Wangji’s touch from Jiang Cheng’s wrist so he could measure for himself how things progressed.

Eventually, towards evening, Lei Shirong announced that he was happy the poison was fully expelled, and all the wounds had nit together, meaning Jiang Cheng would lose no more of the blood they had helped his body replenish.

“He will still need to heal for a month or so, but he’s now in a very good position to rely on his own healing abilities.” Lei Shirong’s final decree caused a breath of relief around the room.

Dismissed, others went to eat, and rest, and it was finally Wei Wuxian’s turn to do his bit. He sat with Jiang Cheng again, accompanied by Jin Ling.

They whispered conversations throughout the night, but Jiang Cheng didn’t stir, even when Lei Shirong came to check up on him.

The first pale flush of dawn through the windows showed his chalk pale skin had regained a little more colour.

They were shooed out to eat and bathe when Lei Shirong came just after dawn to change Jiang Cheng’s dressings again, and run his check-ups.

He rushed through a bath, change of clothes and a quick breakfast. They must have both had the same idea, because by the time Wei Wuxian made his way back to Jiang Cheng’s side, he ran into Jin Ling at the door. Nie Huaisang wasn’t far behind them.

They entered, to find Jiang Cheng propped up against the bed head, and Jin Ling made a choked noise and dashed forward. He sat on the bedside, ignoring Lei Shirong’s “Be careful, Jin-zongzhu.” as the physician finished collecting his things and said he’d be back in a while to run another check up.

“Jiujiu!”

Surprisingly, Jiang Cheng reached out to cup Jin Ling’s face in his hands, “Jin Ling, if you ever don’t listen to me again, when I tell you to leave somewhere for your own safety, I will break your legs, and then every other bone in your body.” Despite his strong words he pulled the boy against his side for a hug. Wei Wuxian suspected it would have been a very tight one, if Jiang Cheng didn’t have to protect his still-healing chest.

Jin Ling didn’t argue for once, and just allowed himself to be held, although there was a small complaint when Jiang Cheng pressed a kiss against the crown of his head.

He moved away, a fake scowl on his face when Jiang Cheng released him.

Nie Huaisang stepped forward, and it was his turn to hold Jiang Cheng’s face in his hands this time.

“Huai…” his words were cut off as Nie Huaisang leaned down to press a firm kiss against his lips.

“A-Cheng, tell me, what is the point in me giving you the time and space to fall in love with me, if you’re going to go and get yourself killed before we get to the good things?” there was a strong tone of scolding in his voice.

He didn’t give the shocked-to-his-soul Jiang Cheng any chance to respond, if, indeed, he still had the ability, as Nie Huaisang kissed him again.

“If you do that again, I’ll be the one breaking your legs.” Nie Huaisang promised when he finally pulled away. “Now, come along Jin Ling, lets discuss getting you another spiritual puppy.” Nie Huaisang dropped an arm across Jin Ling’s shoulders and pulled him towards the door.

“What?” Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian exclaimed together.

“Oh, stop it A-Cheng, we both know you’d love nothing more than if he had another three. And you…” he pointed his folded fan at Wei Wuxian, “…will just have to like it.”

They left. And Wei Wuxian turned to the bed.

“You’re going to have a very interesting life with Huaisang-xiong.” he said, amused at the thought that Jiang Cheng was in over his head with that man.

“So it appears,” if it was possible for Jiang Cheng to flush at the moment he probably would have. He still didn’t have enough blood to spare yet, however.

Wei Wuxian moved over to the bedside, and he sat down. “Don’t I get a kiss?”

“No!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, then when he realised Wei Wuxian teased he snapped, “Wei Wuxian, stop messing around.”

Wei Wuxian became serious.

“Were you serious, about being ready to start trying to work through this with me? Because I was.”

Jiang Cheng’s gaze tried to skitter away, but he held it.

Eventually, Jiang Cheng nodded, “Yes. I am. Just…just be patient with me.”

“I’m going to need the same from you, we’re going to have to be patient with each other, Jiang Cheng. I just want us to try. I miss you.”

He leaned in, making it obvious he was going to hug Jiang Cheng, so the other could hold him off with a gesture if he wanted.

He didn’t, but he stayed tense at first, as Wei Wuxian held him, careful of his wounds. A few heartbeats later his arms raised and he returned it, tentatively, awkwardly.

“There you go, give your Xian-gege a hug, A-Cheng.”

“You!” It had the desired effect, and Jiang Cheng snapped at him, “Who’s gege? You’re insane, I would rather walk naked through Lotus Pier than call you gege! Shut up, Wei Wuxian.”

“You hurt your Xian-gege, Jiang Cheng.”

“Good!”

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