#why is his tongue pale??? is he anemic???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lazypanartist · 2 years

Note

Hello hello, one blind box fic for your enjoyment! Please be aware there is medical terms, blood and injuries in this, though nothing too awful. However if you find this too much, give me a heads up and I will whip up something else.

-📝 nonnie

"DONNIE!!!"

The soft-shelled brother bolted upright, quickly looking over to the large metal door of his lab being opened to four figures.

A pale looking Leonardo, a frantic Mikey, Raphael who looked about ready to cry, and-

"UH." Donnie blinked hard, feeling his stomach wrench at the sight of your leg. "Okay. Okay uh, don't- urf, ogh okay. Okay. Put them on the table, I'll need to have some…Assistance…Oh that is deep."

"We were skateboarding and they fell off the ramp!" Raph explained, setting you down on a medical table. "They came in at a bad angle and landed right on the board, and a piece, well…"

"Got it. Any medications that I should be aware of? Blood thinners, etcetera?"

"No."

You looked up, stressed but far, far more calm than the rest of them. Like you weren't the one with your shorts leg pulled up as high as it would go and a gash in your leg the size of your hand, and who knows how deep.

"Alright, Raph, hold their leg still while I flush the wound out. This is going to…Really, really hurt, but I need you to be still okay?" Donnie said, waving Leo over who rushed to him with a squeeze bottle full of really hot water. Michelangelo held your hands tightly, his grin pinched.

"Squeeze my hands when it hurts, okay."

"Mkay. Thanks for helping me out, guys. I usually bandage myself up but this one's out of my skill range. And arm. I can't sew it up at that angle, maybe I need to go to the hospital though- eugh, but the climb up top…"

Donatello took the bottle and began to flush the wound with the hot water, making sure to clean it thoroughly. Steam wafted up and he scrunched his nose at the metallic smell. "What do you mean?? Do you have something, are you anemic, what?"

"I have cognital-whatchamacallit to pain."

"Congenital insensitivity to pain? Wait-" The violet clad turtle sat up straight, accepting a towel from Leo and pressing it to your wound.

You blinked in response and gave a quick squeeze of Mikey's hands. Not from pain, no, from nerves.

You couldn't feel pain, after all. Or temperature.

"...That's pretty massive. Why didn't you tell any of us?"

"Yeah. Whatever that means sounds pretty important!" Leonardo huffed, gathering whatever medical supplies his twin asked for.

You shrugged. "I mean, it's not a big deal. I do my injury checks every few hours and I'm decent at not like, hurting myself. I bought a chew stim thing to help my stress and now I don't tear up my lips or tongue as bad anymore, and like I said, I usually can patch myself up or know to get help, this one just is in a bad spot. Besides, I'm fine."

Leo passed over thread and a needle. "Wait, you can't feel pain??"

"Yeah, or sweat, or feel cold or hot, it sucks."

Mikey's nose wrinkled as he frowned, keeping your eyes on him. "I mean, I don't see why that's like…a bad thing though. Getting hurt is awful."

"They can't FEEL when they get hurt, so if they don't notice it, they can have a bad wound that just gets worse, like if they walked on a broken leg." Raphael continued to hold your leg firmly, like you would suddenly feel it and jump. The eldest hissed in sympathy as the disinfectant was poured over the wound, the astringent smell sharp and burning. "And no body temp regulation? Means summers and winters are very dangerous."

You nodded at Red's explanation. "Yeah. I tend to have a lot of issues during extreme weather and stuff. I usually just hole up in the house during those times, but…I can't live in a bubble, y'know?"

Donatello threaded a needle after making sure it was sterile and, after shuddering, he quickly began stitching the wound on the back of your thigh. "So, we should probably give you an x-ray when this is all done. Just to be sure you dont have any fractures or breaks you aren't aware of…"

You agreed quietly, squeezing Mikey's hands again.

"...So, why again didn't you say something about this?"

Shame made your face ruddy as you refused to look at Leonardo. You couldn' help shrugging meekly and looking elsewhere with a sigh.

"You'd all treat me differently. Everyone always does once they find out. You already are."

The group of teens all stared at you, and you worried your lip-

"Ah! Nope, hey-"

Michelangelo's thumb pulled the flesh from between your teeth and shoved your chew necklace in your mouth. Your face went red, and he shrunk back from your glare. You were humiliated, and now everything was different.

You hated it.

Rolling your eyes, you spat the silicone shape out of your mouth and looked away. "Yeah. Definitely already are…"

"I-I'm sorry."

"We just want to look out for you, this is dangerous and-"

"Do you think I'm…what, an idiot who hasn't dealt with it my whole life?!" You snapped at Raphael, at everyone. "Someone who doesn't know?? I take care of myself! I check myself, I monitor the heat and the cold, I make sure to clean and bandage any wounds I get! I know stoves burn, I know what frostbite is, I LIVE WITH THIS!" Shaking, your eyes welled as frustrated tears stung your eyes.

"This wasn't even my CIPA's fault. I just suck at skateboarding. My injury was not due to my nervous system issues. But now, you're going to freak out, and bubble wrap me and pretend I can't cook my own food or make my own bed or walk to the damn transit without holding someone's hands. I know it's dangerous, and I've messed up a few times or was unaware of an issue, but I'm better now, better at taking care of myself. I know the mortality rate is high, and I'm FINE."

Breathing came out in strained puffs, and you longed to pick or scratch, but you resisted, opting instead to toy with your jacket's zipper as you looked away. "Look, just…stitch me up, and let me go to the home. I shouldn't have sai-"

"You're right."

You looked over at Donatello, who had finished closing the wound and had now wrapped the spot.

"Mh?"

"You're right. We treated you like you don't know your own illness. I'm…Sorry." He sighed and stood up, taking the various materials with him to clean.

"I think it just…scared us." Baby Blue suggested, scratching the back of his head. "I mean…That was a lot of blood. I thought you were in shock at first."

"Yeah." Mikey nodded. "And when I heard that you could be mortally wounded and not even know, it just made it worse. For all of us. I think we all started having a bunch of 'what if' scenarios and feared the worst without thinking about what really happened."

You sighed, propping your head up with a hand. "I'm sorry for yelling. That wasn't cool."

"It's fine," uttered Raphael, gently patting your leg. "I'm sorry I freaked. I know…you pro'ly don't need the help, but…can we keep a closer eye out for ya? Make sure you're aware of any injuries?"

You looked down at your hands. You remembered getting that scar on your palm from grabbing a hot cookie sheet from the oven. You had been alone at the time and, though you ran it under water when your realized your mistake, you hadn't done it nearly long enough, and the burn ended up quite nasty. The one on your chin was from shaving and taking something more than facial hair. The scars from your surgery when a broken rib you didn't know about punctured your lung were like railroads across your torso.

You loved your freedom, but…

You sighed, nodding slightly. "Okay. Okay I…You can help me when I get hurt. Just…I'm not glass. I'm a person."

"How about," Donnie started, coming back with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and shooing his brothers away. "He's going to give you an X-ray, no worries- How about, if you have like…an accident when you're around us, you get the right to do your own check first. We can do them for places that are hard to see for you if you need, and if whatever happpened seems bad enough, we will ask to give a second opinion check. Is that…okay?"

You mulled it over quietly.

"If I'm doing something self-destructive, give me a moment to realize it before you correct me, okay?"

Leo nodded. "You mentioned you were getting better, if you think that would help then absolutely."

"And I want you to not beat yourselves up if I get hurt. It's going to happen, okay? It's best to just, deal with it and move forward from there.

Mikey agreed, watching the violet turtle drone sweep a beam up and down your form as you laid out on the medical table. "Yeah. We can do that."

"Alright…Alright then, sure. Just…please no coddling."

Raph smiled softly, his snaggletooth poking out some. "We'll try our best, though we might need a reminder from time to time."

You smiled and nodded, welcoming their help.

–

"Yeah you broke your wrist, probably from trying to stop your fall."

"Ah damn." You huffed, looking at the swollen joint. "At least it wasn't my rib again."

"I CALL DIBS ON THE FIRST CAST SIGNATURE!!"

"Hey, no fair Leo!"

"You snooze you lose baby bro."

"Raph wants second! I have a big autograph!"

"Adorable that you three think that I wont be signing first since I am, you know, casting their arm."

You smiled at your friends. Yeah, you think this could work.

Aww!! Not-so-hurt to comfort! Love how they all backed off when the reader told them off, and everyone came to a compromise ☺️ Wish people IRL would do the same when they find out someone is disabled in any way 🙃

This is rlly cute though! Thank you so much!!

#kana's chats #📝 anon #rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise donnie x reader

106 notes · View notes

amoeba-shaped-rock · 11 months

Text

A look at Playwright's design

This was meant to be an analysis but it became so unserious midway. And yes I'm using this whole thing as an excuse to tell everyone that Playwright wears high heels.

Some elaboration (may contain spoilers for IS2) :

1. didn't have any space for it but need to note that he has beauty marks!! two of them.

2. he often draws blood for his blood ink, so he's probably anemic further suggested by his pale complexion and premature gray hair.

3. the gap in his sleeve is probably to make drawing blood easier

4. the low blood volume from frequent blood draws causes low blood pressure. tight clothes help improve blood circulation

5. he covers up most of his body parts, so we can't tell if he has any visible scars or more importantly, oripathy crystal formations. he seems to be infected though, based on the relic descriptions

6. gloves makes it unclear if he has any scars, corns or calluses. someone who writes so often ought to have calluses. it could be that his gloves themselves are to prevent calluses. Personally, I think writing with gloves on is very difficult. props to him for always writing with gloves on

7. Black and white hair. I think this is either indicative of his cat breed, a sign of stress or anemia, a reference to the black cat in Poe's short story Black Cat, or all of the above. You can refer to my previous post to know more about Playwright and the Black Cat.

8. Ribbons. so many ribbons. boy why do you love ribbons so much. the ribbons are mostly blue and black, but there are other colours too. he also ties the longer parts of his hair with them.

Interestingly, having a lot of ribbons is a characteristic shared by Ms Christine, another character related to Phantom. in Ms Christine's case though, it was Phantom who gifted her all the ribbons. Could it be that Phantom also gifted the Playwright all these ribbons? or the other way around?

10. trademark small_ryuzaki's hypnotic eyes. among all small_ryuzaki characters we have, this is the most apparent with Cantabile and Erato. he also has eyebags, implying that he hadn't slept well in a good while.

9. High heels - probably a fancy formal wear, but I like to think otherwise. HC that Playwright wears high heels because he doesn’t want to look short when standing next to Phantom, a towering 185 cm pole. Imagine Rhythm in Literature EP but Playwright is ~15 cm shorter. Wouldn’t it be cute? I love this shortie.

Update: he wears high heels (and so do most other Troupe members other than Blood Diamond) because tragic actors wear buskins

11. Blue quill - The Writer's Tongue, a relic that foreshadowed the Playwright's death. he never lets go of it because he never stops writing. maybe when he finally achieves his vengeance, he'll be able to let go.

12. Blue accent - his design perfectly contrasts Blood Diamond's. I have been thinking, why the Blood Diamond outfit? why not Phantom's default outfit? This may be because the current default Phantom isn't the real Phantom, but rather a shell of who he used to be. To the narrative as a whole, "Phantom"'s character is meaningless without the troupe, so in order to fully grasp his character, you have to look at his identity within the troupe. "Blood Diamond" may be the troupe's puppet, but he's also their star.

There are other significance of the colour blue that I covered in this post.

13. "Tear of the Departed"

this relic that belongs to the dead/retired elite operator shares the same shade of blue, and similar themes to Playwright's: associations with fire and creation, and heroic qualities. I might be jumping the gun, but its an interesting food for thought

14. I actually don’t know anything about cat breed or British shorthair or whatever. He’ll always be a black cat shaped gremlin in my heart.

15. Glasses are really versatile. First, you can have glasses-wearing girls take them off and suddenly become beautiful, or have girls wearing glasses flashing those cute grins, or have girls stealing the protagonist's glasses and putting them on like, "Haha, got your glasses!" That's just way too cute! Also, boys with glasses! I really like when their glasses have that suspicious looking gleam, and it's amazing how it can look really cool or just be a joke. I really like how it can fulfill all those abstract needs. Being able to switch up the styles and colors of glasses based on your mood is a lot of fun too! It's actually so much fun! You have those half rim glasses, or the thick frame glasses, everything! It's like you're enjoying all these kinds of glasses at a buffet. I really want Phantom to try some on or Mouthpiece to try some on to replace his mask. We really need glasses to become a thing in the Crimson Troupe and start giving them away for free. Don't. You. Think. We. Really. Need. To. Officially. Give. Everyone. Glasses?

That's about all, I think. Will add more if I find anything else to add later.

#arknights #playwright #phantom #character design #analysis #but not really bc it became unserious midway #glasses are great #shorties are cute #beauty marks ugh #that arm gap thing makes me so unwise #the eyebags #his high heels omg #I just love playwright so so much ok #troupe lore musings

13 notes · View notes

ew-headyhearts · 11 months

Text

Body Headcanons

No one asked but here you go. I’m putting this one under the cut because it’s really long.

Characters: Edd, Tom, Matt, Tord, Eduardo, Jon, Mark

TW: I talk about booties and thighs

Edd: 6'1. Man's is chugging cola throughout the day it is no surprise he's heavy set. Not much for personal grooming. He maintains his cleanliness but the most hair he'd let grow out is a light stubble. Really dark leg and arm hair. Has cellulite and stretch marks but doesn't seem to mind. Actually, has a hand full of tattoos! Nothing crazy, they're mostly patchwork tattoos. Although, when Edd and the other three were all in high school they all gave themselves matching stick and poke tattoos. It’s a smiley face that looks uncannily like the ASDF Movie face. Granted none of them had experience doing tattoos so they made Edd do it for all of them. They all have it on the inside of the right wrist and they're all equally pretty wonky. Although Matt ended up doing Edd's making his look the absolute worst.

Matt: 6'4 A God damn string bean. Most definitely the palest of them all, like you could see the color of his veins pale. He is the definition of a pretty boy. Long legs and surprisingly strong calves. Also has the nicest butt of them all. Don't tell him though, it'll only inflate his ego. Will make sure everyone knows you think his butt is nice and the others will get annoyed. Still has acne scars from high school because he was a chronic skin picker. He also still had fangs from the time he was turned into a vampire. Is he still one? He won't tell~ Covered in freckles from head to toe. He shaves, though it’s mostly because he did it once and now he hates the feeling of the stubble growing back. Although he's not the greatest at it so he still gets nicks and cuts. After the experience with the stick and poke tattoo, he never got another. There's a part of him that regrets it, but he'd never think to cover it up or get rid of it. When he's feeling low, he likes to admire it and think about all of his memories with his buddies.

Tom: 5'8 and fucking smug about it. He is BIPOC. He’s a bit anemic so it makes his skin appear paler than he actually is. His height spawns constant arguments with Tord over who's taller. And yes, there was one point where Tom and Tord tried to see who could make their hair taller than the other. Definitely has a beer gut. Also did I mention the happy trail~ ugh- I'm so weak. No ass to speak of tho. Back is built like a board, sadly. If you ask him to sit in your lap it will hurt, he's got a boney ass. However, he does have really nice thighs. Can we talk about his body modifications now? Okay thank God because- ugh! First of all, he had his tongue split, and he loves showing it off. Used to have his tongue pierced but he hated the feeling after a while. All of his other piercings? He has gauges, two other piercings along the shell of his ear, and snake bites. Actually, has a couple of tattoos as well as the old stick and poke one. He’s always down to go get a new one.

Tord: 5'6 and a half, 5'8 and a half with the haircut. Doesn't go out that often so he's pasty. Nowhere near Matt levels of pale, but it's noticeable. Before leaving the crew, he was actually pretty heavy set. Mans looked like the textbook definition of a weeb. However, when he returned, he was surprisingly lean. You can almost see a hint of muscles too. He’s got a gap between his two front teeth. Quite a bit harrier than Tom. Does not trim whatsoever. Never has never will. Nasty stinky man. Probably has ridiculously noticeable pit hair. Likely to get really cringy tattoos like anime girls from hentai. But it's okay pookie I forgive you. After the events of "The End" Tord's arm was ripped to shreds. So, he actually gets another tattoo done professionally on his opposite wrist. He quite literally just got a replica of their matching tattoo. Why you ask? I’m sentimental, okay?

▀▄▀▄▀▄

Eduardo: 5'10 and a half. The most likely to lie about his height and say is 6ft. He’s kind of a manlet and will make it your problem. His parents are Puerto Rican and he’s dark-skinned. Chubby, though he surprisingly doesn't have as much sugar in his diet. Unsurprisingly, Eduardo is actually rather hairy. No one knows why he's so damn hairy and can't grow a proper mustache. Has a little bit of an ass, though he does have really strong thighs. Probably the type to be able to crush a watermelon with them. Not much into body modifications, although he does have his mother's name tattooed on his shoulder blade. He’s high key a total momma’s boy. Used to have his ears pierced but they closed up long after high school.

Jon: 5'3. Doesn't actually care about his height. He surprisingly pretty built, despite his massive sweet tooth. Him and Mark actually go to the gym together. Though he's more into training his legs. Has the highest stamina of anyone. Mans could be a whole track star if he wanted to. Another member of the cute butt squad. I'd almost call it a bubble butt. Also, this guy doesn't know how to dress. Mother fucker would either wear cargo shorts and a polo top or maybe one if those obnoxious Hawaiian t-shirts. Someone please step in and help the guy, I am begging.

Mark: 6'3 and a half. Another frequent gym goer. Can bench press around 230 pounds easily. Although, he prefers to hide how ripped he is with turtlenecks. His hair is so blonde that it can be a little difficult to notice how hairy he is. For that reason, he surprisingly doesn't do much in the grooming department. Except for his eyebrows, he gets them threaded. Had a phase where he was really into vampires in high school, so he has a neck tattoo of a vampire bite. That's why he always wears the damn turtleneck. He has a love hate relationship with that damn tattoo. Absolutely mocks Jon's fashion choice as he always dresses up. Except at the gym, that's the only time he lets himself dress down when leaving the house.

▀▄▀▄▀▄

#hcs #ew edd #ew mat #ew tom #ew tord #ew eduardo #ew jon #ew mark #ew-headyhearts #ew headyhearts #ew headcanons #ew imagines

16 notes · View notes

divinepunishment · 1 year

Text

Forbidden capri-suns & guns

Thread with @pacifistwithagun / Continued from here ( x )

Vash perked up at the others words, the hunger having gotten him in a soft daze whilst Nai left to get them the blood they needed to eat safely. He tilted his head in thought, humming.

"It does, it's more of a coppery taste, but it is heavily iron based. That's why anemics suffer so much when they bleed." he shifts in his seat, pulling out his pistol.

"I mean.... Steel is an iron alloy...." he made sure it was unloaded and the safety was on. "I'll try anything at this point. Better than biting people." he shrugs, pulling the barrel close to his face, tongue slipping from plush lips.

The door opens and the pale blonde froze as he took in the room, watching his brother freeze mid lick of a firearms barrel.

"What..... In the fuck did you do, Wolfwood?" his eyes turned on the human of the room looking highly unimpressed with the scene and picking who was at fault. \\@divinepunishment\\

Why did Nai have such awful fucking timing?

The blame he supposed was on his shoulders but he was never going to admit that. The man had suggested it jokingly before Vash actually did something, and being the agent of chaos he was... He had to see how far needle-noggin actually took it.

"What the fuck do you mean me?" He shoots back, pointing a finger at Nai with a glare that contained no heat behind it. "I made a joke about licking enough iron to not need blood and Vash whipped out his gun!"

Technically the truth. He just didn't stop Vash is the key part.

"It's not loaded and safety's on, he can deepthroat the damn thing and be fine. Quit bitching. We're not completely stupid"

#heavy is the burden(roleplay)#nicolas wolfwood #tristamp rp #trigun stampede #no good deeds (modern au)#crack #knives millions #vash the stampede #nicolas d wolfwood

4 notes · View notes

random-imagines-blog · 4 years

Text

Vampire Town {Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader}

Requested by: I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find the conversation so I can’t remember. :( Wordcount: 2778 Summary: Happiness and Love can appear when least expected.

During the long span of your life, a lot of your nights had been sent in solitary. You wandered through the world, seeing the beautiful sights of history; the architecture, the music, the literature, the wars, but never had anyone to share that with. Until you came across the broken form of a blonde vampire - Lestat. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” You said, sensing the poor vampire. Broken, without a home, ready to give up on his life after his partner had left him. You sat on the stoop of a burned down mansion beside him, tore your wrist open and forced him to drink from you. He became greedy, which you encouraged. You had just fed on three mortals, willing victims who walked away just as safe as they had come, just a little anemic. You put your hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head back, letting the blood pour down his throat. You squeezed a few more drops, and he let you go, hanging his head upon your shoulder like a hungover human.

You took him to the abode you were staying in. Nothing so gothic as what Lestat may have been living in, but a home nonetheless. A three-story brownstone with a basement that concealed your coffin. You put Lestat into it before the dawn arrived, and looked down at him with a tilt of your head. He was a very handsome vampire, and would only look better with more blood flowing through his veins. He would need a trough-full, however. You would need to wake early to prepare that for him.

Your long fingers stroked his face, turning it towards the candlelight to get a better look. His skin was pale, his hair flaxen. He had been through a lot of pain - even his sleeping face showed that. It may take a dozen nights, perhaps, to get him to peak performance. But you did love a challenge, and were a sucker for a disaster of a person. Loneliness had grown old along side of you - why not try something new for once.

It took some time for the vampire, whom you learned to be named Lestat, to look alive again. Or, perhaps, a little less dead. He was far too beautiful to ever be considered a human being. Those dull creatures, though you were one of them once, bored you with their generic looks. You enticed a few of them towards the house, let Lestat feed. You found out one thing about him instantly - he was absolutely vicious when it came to feeding. Not at all as elegant as his demeanor might make it seem. And you allowed him to finish victims to nearly the point of death, then disposed of the bodies yourself.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” You said, joining him in your parlor. It was just you and he, as you knew no one else in New Orleans. You had only stopped here because it was where the first boat you came across was going. “How could you give up on your life like that?”

Another thing you learned about Lestat; he was very convinced of his own righteousness.

“It is my right to give up my life if I so wish,” He hissed, despite the blood dripping from his mouth. You did not say anything to contrary, just licked your thumb and plucked the droplet from his face. You let it rest on the tip of your tongue, savoring the flavor. “Who are you to try to bring me back?”

“You may call me y/n,” You said with a soft smile, ignoring his harsh tone. “I am noticing that you are alone, but you are well versed in talking to people. Were you a social one, Lestat?”

He was quiet for a little while after that, in some sort of reflection. He stared at nothing, and you left him to that, sleeping in a box rather than your coffin for you still allowed him to take over yours. That was the most intimate gesture that you had ever given to someone. You had shared your clothes with him, even, until you had gotten him some of his own. He looked as pretty as a painting in your white blouses, in your long dark skirts. In this world, for the first time, you had someone to share everything with.

His perpetually bad mood never bothered you. Nor did his dramatic nature. Because you knew that one day, he would either open up to you, or he would leave. You would prefer the first. But would have to quietly accept the second.

But after two years, a blink of an eye for someone like you, he opened up. He told you all about Louis, about Claudio, about Armand. About the reporter whom he had turned who was who-knows-where. About Marius, even, and how he had turned which was further back than you had expected him to go. And so in return, you told him about your loneliness, about how you had traveled from town to town and only run into a few like you. You did not know your maker. You didn’t remember him, or her. You didn’t even remember where it was that you were changed, only that you were high up in the mountains. Why you were there, you could not recall either. But you did not dwell on the mysteries of the past; only your present time.

And on Lestat, because for the present, and forseeable future, you were stuck with him. Lead a stray dog to a home and you have a pet, as you’ve heard someone say.

Half of the candles in the parlor remained unlit, for neither of you needed much light in order to see in the dark. Lestat had one of your hands in his as he lead you in a waltz around the room. You could not stop smiling - a facial expression that you hadn’t used too often over the years. A dance! You’ve never danced before, hence why Lestat was currently giving you a lesson. You were even wearing a gown that he had gifted to you - custom made in one of the best shops. He still had his connections in the city of New Orleans. A real vampire’s town, as you had discovered.

“You are a natural!” He praised with a smile of his own, showing off his glinting, sharp, white teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’ve never had a partner. I haven’t met many of our kind before and dancing with a human just seems so...” You struggled to find the words. “Slow.”

“Very slow indeed,” Lestat agreed. He had picked a roses from the garden, and had them in a vase to add something living to the house. He now took one of them, and stuck it into his mouth, the thorns cutting at his lips but he did not have a care about that. You laughed at that - what a silly vampire you had ended up with.

“How is the pain, my darling?” You asked, licking your lips at the sight of that little bit of blood.

“Agonizing,” He droned, swinging you around into a spin, then returned you into his strong arms. The blouse that he wore, another thing custom made, was of a silk fabric, and felt soft upon your cheek. You suddenly remembered what it was like to cry, just from that light touch. Agonizing - you recalled what that felt like. It had been well over a century.

“The same as when you were betrayed by your love, Louis?” You questioned. Lestat cut the dance short, but he still held you.

“I don’t wish to talk about him any further,” He said, harshly. “There are more important things in my life now! I am free of him and his ... whining. I am being treated in the way that I deserve. And you - you are finally being treated as you deserve.”

Lestat wielded compliments as a weapon. He used them to distract you from asking further questions. And it worked, every time. You sighed contently as he kissed your hand, then went up your arm towards your shoulder, then all the way back down. You could feel his cold lips through the fabric of your sleeves. It made you feel like a flower bulb in Spring, sprouting up for the first time from the damp dirt into the beautiful world above.

“You flatter me deeply, Lestat. You are better than I deserve.”

He spun you around once more, and you continued to spin in the middle of the room, arms outstretched as he watched you. Thanks to being a vampire, you did not feel dizziness like the humans did, and could outdance them all if you so wished. Lestat was a grand teacher. He then caught you, then dipped you low to the ground, so much so you could smell the dust of the floor.

“No, that is what you are to me.” His fangs were exposed as he smiled down at you, a fearsome image for anyone else, but not for you. You smiled back at him, and held him tightly as he brought you back up to your feet, humming along with the song.

“I should get cleaning this place, Lestat. It takes more than dancing to make a house a home.” You let go of him to go and grab a broom, but the blonde vampire grabbed you again. Ever since he had opened up to you, he loved to be in your presence. And it wasn’t something that you were going to complain about after being alone for so long.

“Don’t tease,” He said, holding onto your hands with his long fingers. “I’ll hire us a thousand maids, so you don’t have to get these wonderful hands dirty.” You let out a child-like laugh of glee at his amazing words. You were a sucker for them, mind the pun. “And a thousand more dresses for if you get a speck of dust on this one.”

“I don’t need a thousand dresses, Lestat. I could live in rags as long as I still had you.”

Five years later, you and Lestat still resided in New Orleans. It was a town of pleasure, of magic, of long nights - and plenty of swampland in order to hide bodies if you went too far with any victims. You did your best not to, but sometimes temptations swept in and you nearly drank to the point of death. But apart from that, you were living in a near-domestic bliss.

“Now, why are you doing this when you don’t get cold?” Lestat asked, walking in from the outside world with coins in his pocket and a well-fed look on his face. You were holding knitting needles in your hand, working on a shawl pattern that you had seen a woman working on last time you were out shopping. He kissed the top of your head and placed a bag on your lap before you could even answer him.

“I like to keep busy - it keeps eternity interesting,” You insisted. You set aside the knitting and started to examine the shopping bag that was on your lap. “What is this?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” Lestat asked, with a cocky smile. You looked at him with amusement, then delicately opened up the bag. Inside was something ... something fabric. You pulled it out then stood with it in front of you. A long black gown - the color that you always wore, and which Lestat said you wore so well - and it was made of the softest velvet that you had ever felt. He looked pleased as you brought a sleeve to your face to feel the fabric even better. “Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, Lestat, thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“It is the anniversary of the day that you found me. The day that everything changed,” He held his hands up in the air as if he were an actor on a stage, something that you always found entertaining. You loved encouraging the odder aspects of his personality, just as he did the same for you, even when he could not understand.

“What a cheerful gown, I’ll wear it on our next night out.” You exclaimed, twirling with it. Though you would never be able to see yourself wearing it in a mirror, you thought that you would feel beautiful in it. And Lestat would tell you that you were. He was growing predictable in the most wonderful way.

“Why not today?” He questioned, approaching you and held it onto your body to emphasize how lovely you would look in it. “Wear it to bed with me. I want to feel it upon my cheek while I sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want it to get wrinkled... oh, alright,” You said, seeing his earnest expression. He helped you out of the simple dress that you were wearing, one that you had picked yourself. He was much more into the luxurious fashion of the day, favorite bright colors that made him stand out. You were not so flamboyant, and preferred to let him be the center of attention rather than yourself. It worked out well, though you did get occasional glances from other ladies, wondering how someone such as yourself had managed to gain the love of such a charmer.

You wondered the same thing yourself.

As his fingers tickled at your spine, as his hair swept against your face, you questioned how you could have grown so lucky. Were the years of isolation just a pre-payment for the years of happiness that you were having now?

You stepped into the new gown, and he pulled it up, over your thighs, your waist, your bust, your shoulders, and smoothed everything down so it draped you perfectly. He must have came home just in time, for a flash of lightning came through the windows, and the rumble of thunder. The sound of rain upon the roof and on the sidewalk. “Music to my ears,” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“A most marvelous lullaby,” Lestat said, unable to stop feeling the fabric. The seamstress must have put a lot of work into this gown, for it fit you perfectly, emphasizing your waist and bust in a way you haven’t seen before without a corset, and fell to the ground without pooling at your feet. “May I take you to bed, beautiful?”

“Oh, you divine charmer,” You said, pressing your hand upon his cheek. He whisked you away, down to the basement where your coffin lay.

A while back, you had traded in your usual sarcophagus bed for something much better. It was Lestat’s idea initially, complaining about the long, cold days alone inside of a tomb. It had been an unexpected surprise when he actually did something about it, instead of expecting you to do so. When you came home from a feeding and a walk, he presented to you the double coffin. It was exactly as it sounded - two built into one, with room for both of you, and no inner wall to keep you apart.

He held your hand to help you climb inside, then followed you right in. Velvet dress on velvet interior; it felt both warm and rather sexual. With the lid closed, and the two of you in complete darkness, you felt confident, wrapping your arms around your blonde lover and pulled him close.

It took you some time to realize that this was the love that you deserved. That you were worthy of affection and love, despite all of the years that you had gone without it. And you were just lucky enough to find it with another vampire, so the only limit that you had was not time, but imagination.

As for Lestat, you had truly saved him from the misery that he had put himself through after Louis. He was ready to lock himself up for a hundred years or more, just to avoid the pain. To take the sleep of the immortal ones and awake in a brand new age. But this one still had a lot to offer, that much was clear with you. He never thought of that; only that he would remain in a state of purgatory, rather than a life of shooting stars and velvet gowns.

He was glad he stayed in this Vampire Town.

#Lestat x reader #Lestat De Lioncourt #Lestat oneshot #Lestat #Interview with the Vampire #Interview with the Vampire oneshot #oneshot #one shot #request

352 notes · View notes

capaimagines · 3 years

Text

mark tuan - anemic

Pairing: Mark Tuan x choreographer!reader | Genre: angst & fluff | Warnings: passing out, reader not eating but not ED related, hospital, needles and blood drawing | WC: 1.1k

Request: Omg I love your extra member fics!!! Can I request where the reader is git7s choreographer and also marks gf!!! And she is so focused on helping them for their comeback that she forgets to eat and she passes out but also it's worse than it seems because she's anaemic so she needs to go to the hospital

“Let’s take ten and then start on the next song!” You called out and the others nodded gratefully.

You wiped the excessive amount of sweat from your forehead and collapsed on the ground, utterly exhausted. You smiled to yourself as you glanced to the side at the seven boys that were breathing heavily and dramatically as they sprawled across the floor and couch.

If someone had told you seven years ago that accepting the dance teacher position would have led you to where you were today, you would have laughed in their face. You thought you’d just be teaching the incoming trainees, not working with one of JYP’s most successful groups.

However, the boys were all super welcoming to you and you only had to yell at them sometimes. That was also when Mark started to take an interest in you. It was helpful because while you had Korean relatives, you had never lived in Korea or knew much about the culture until moving here. Your Korean wasn’t the best, but it was passable and the boys were always helping you learn more, especially Mark.

It didn’t take long for you two to start dating. While you would get teasing from BamBam and Yugyeom, you both knew when you needed to be professional. You stood up from the ground and placed your hand on your head as you had a sudden rush of a dizzy spell which resulted in you squeezing your eyes shut in hopes it would pass quickly.

“Y/N, you okay?” You opened your eyes to see Youngjae in front of you, hands out as if he was ready to catch you at any moment. You smiled at him and nodded.

“I’m fine! I just need to take my pills. I haven’t eaten much the past few days either.” Youngjae nodded in understanding before calling out to you as he walked the other way.

“I’ll save you the biggest portion of noodles,” He winked which caused you to chuckle.

You walked over to your bag, digging through it for your pills. You had been diagnosed with anemia when you were a little girl and had been on different pills and vitamins since to balance it out. However, watching your diet and not skipping meals played a big part in that too. You felt a little guilty for sugarcoating it to Youngjae.

Due to you being so focused on making this their best comeback yet, you had neglected to eat regularly and properly, let alone sleep normally. You had been up for hours the past month perfecting their choreography because you wanted to make sure they had something great to show the fans.

You groaned out in annoyance as you realized you forgot your pills back at Mark’s. You stood up, hoping that just eating something would help, however the minute you stood up, you paled and collapsed on the ground with a thud.

“Y/N!” Mark yelled as he ran over to you. You were extremely pale and your pulse was low, “Call an ambulance!” He yelled in panic.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The boys were crowded in your small room, waiting for you to wake up. The doctor had taken some blood and confirmed your iron levels were dangerously low which also made your oxygen levels really low. Mark sat at your bedside, staring at the oxygen mask on your face and listening intently for the beeping of the heart monitor.

He knew you were anemic and he had always been diligent on making sure you were eating and taking all your supplements properly, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that this was somehow his fault. You had both been so busy lately that he had slacked off on making sure you were okay.

“She’ll be alright,” Jaebeom said as he placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder, “She’s a tough one and will be up and dancing in no time,” He reassured which prompted Mark to only nod and sigh as he interlocked your hands and kissed your knuckles.

You stirred, fluttering your eyes open and groaning at the pounding in your head.

“Y/N!” Mark shouted, moving closer to you. You winced as you saw the needle in your hand.

“Mark, w-what happened?” You stuttered, your head was hurting and you were confused as to why you were in the hospital with a needle in your hand.

“You passed out,” Jinyoung explained calmly, on the other side of your bed as he offered you a kind smile.

“You, missy, haven’t been taking care of yourself properly,” Yugyeom teased, pinching your shin as you could only roll your eyes at him. You were always hounding them to take care of themselves and eat and sleep properly and now, here you were, in a hospital bed because you didn’t take your own advice.

“I think this is the perfect time for us to nag you about it now,” BamBam teased with a wink and you groaned.

“The maknae’s giving me life advice? The world is really ending,” They feigned offense and Mark chuckled. The color was back to your skin and you didn’t look dead anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He murmured and you smiled, running your hand without the IV in it through his hair.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” You all sat there, talking about nonsense, “When can I go home though?” You asked, you just really hated laying in bed and you’d much rather do that at home with Mark.

Mark shook his head, “Not until the doctor clears you. So, I’ll be back tomorrow to keep you company,” Your eyes widened as he kissed your forehead and stood up.

“You can’t be serious! I’m fine now! I don’t even feel dizzy anymore!” Mark only clicked his tongue, shaking his head as Jaebeom gathered everyone else to leave.

“Get some rest, noona! Make sure you eat properly! Three meals a day or we’re firing you!” Yugyeom teased as he skipped out of the room. You glared at him and then at your supposed boyfriend.

“You can’t be serious?” He only smiled at you, kissing your forehead one more time.

“Eight hours of sleep and three meals tomorrow and maybe I’ll consider letting you go home,” He chuckled before walking out of the room.

“I thought you loved me!”

94 notes · View notes

k-llama-llama · 4 years

Text

Blue

TXT AU: 6th member

Sara x TXT

Sara has the worst anemic attack she’s ever had.

A/N: Please check out my PATREON (patreon.com/kllamallama) for exclusive posts you can’t get anywhere else, as well as lots of other cool benefits!

Requests are OPEN

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a crop top.” Hueningkai tugged on the back of Sara’s shirt. “It’s like a whole new you.”

“Haha,” Sara pushed his hand away. “It’s barely an inch of my stomach, don’t get too excited.”

“Ew. No, I’m just surprised you agreed to wear it.” He said. “Especially for promotions.”

“Zoey and Sumi said that it would look good.” Sara told him. “And I thought it would be okay. Why, does it look weird?”

“No, you look pretty, Noona.” He promised.

They were backstage at an award show, waiting to go on to tape their performance of Puma. To be honest, Sara had been skeptical of the whole crop top thing, but Zoey had promised that it would look good. And Sumi had insisted that because she’d never worn one in public before, fans would just talk about how good she looked. And so she hadn’t seen the harm in trying it out.

Of course, she’d skipped breakfast and dinner to make sure that she had a waist. She’d taken her pills and eaten an apple, but that was it. And she had to say, she felt like it was paying off. She’d never had the most defined waist, but there was the beginning of an hourglass shape, just barely displayed by her crop top.

“You’re feeling good, Soo-ji?” Soobin came over.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She grinned. “Just ready to get this over with.”

“You and me both.” He grinned, and spotted a staff member signalling them over. “I guess it’s our turn.”

An hour later, when they climbed down from the stage, Sara was absolutely wiped. She was sure there was sweat dripping down her forehead, and she wondered if the red flush of her cheeks was visible through her makeup.

Taking the first step down from the stage, Sara felt a familiar floatiness descend on her. It felt like her legs weren’t attached to her anymore, like she was a puppet-master just pulling on the strings. She couldn’t feel the movement, and her head began to feel cloudy.

She grabbed Yeonjun’s arm. “I need to eat something.”

“Yah, you and me-” He turned to look at her, instantly taking in the pallor of her face and the unfocused look in her eyes. “Right, let’s go.”

He looped an arm around her waist, hurrying her down the stairs. Sara slumped into him. She was still walking beside him, but he was dragging her in his hurry to get her back to the green room.

“Tae.” Yeonjun said sharply. “Grab her other arm, she’s going to go.”

Sara felt her other arm be pulled over Taehyun’s shoulders, and allowed her weight to drop.

“You’re going to be fine, Noona.” Taehyun said as they shoved through the door to the green room.

“Let’s put her here.” Yeonjun settled her onto the couch, and then disappeared.

“I have your pill and some orange juice.” He held it out.

Sara held out a shaking hand, her mind completely blank.

“Don’t worry.” Taehyun grabbed her hand. “We’ve got it.”

If she was in her right mind, she would have thanked them. Because there was no way she was capable of holding the glass right now.

“Open up.” Yeonjun placed the pill on her tongue, holding up the glass of orange juice so she could take a sip.

She swallowed the pill, feeling relief flow through her. She didn’t feel better yet, as it would take a few minutes for that to happen, but at least she knew that she would feel better soon.

“Just lay down.” Taehyun moved her so her head was resting on a rolled up sweater. “We’re going to go get ourselves some food, but we’ll be right across the room.”

She was pretty sure she nodded.

Soobin hurried over as soon as he was in the room. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“Just...resting.” She said, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears.

“She just took her pill.” Yeonjun informed the leader. “We’ll just give her a minute.”

“Okay. I’ll be right over there, okay Soo-ji?”

Sara had no idea how long she’d been lying there, waiting for her medicine to kick in. But it suddenly hit her with a start, it wasn’t kicking in. The sense of calm she was feeling wasn’t her medicine helping her, it was the fogginess descending over the rest of her body. It was getting worse.

The thought had just crossed her mind when her world went black.

The boys were busy collecting their food, arguing over who would get the last bagel and dividing up a bunch of grapes.

“Maybe Soo-ji should get the last bagel.” Beomgyu suggested. “If she’s feeling up to it.”

“That’s true. Sara do you want the-” Yeonjun turned to look at her. “Sara?”

There was no response.

“Yah, are you hungry or do you want- Holy shit.” Yeonjun gasped. “Soo-ji!”

“What’s wrong? Oh my god!” Soobin turned, his eyes landing on Sara.

She was lying on the couch where they’d left her, completely unconscious. Her face was deathly pale, and her lips were tinged with blue.

“Soo-ji! Wake up!” Yeonjun smacked her cheek, trying to get a response from her.

“I thought you said she took her pill!” Soobin shouted, shaking Sara to try and wake her up.

“She did! She should be fine.” Yeonjun turned, planning on shouting for help.

Beomgyu was way ahead of him, leaning out the hallway. “Someone call an ambulance! Please!”

“She’s breathing, right? Tell me she’s breathing?” Soobin felt at her neck for a pulse.

“I don’t...I don’t...”

“She is.” Taehyun felt her chest for the rise and fall of her shallow breaths. “But, it doesn’t seem like she’s breathing enough.”

“SOMEONE HELP!”

They weren’t sure how long it was before the paramedics rolled their stretcher into the room and they were shoved back. There were monitors strapped onto her, an IV put in, and then she was lifted onto the stretcher. All the while they just kept hearing words like ‘seizing’ and ‘shock’ and ‘lack of oxygen’.

Sara was wheeled out of the room, their manager taking off after her.

“Get your things.” Another staff member said. “We’ll take you home.”

“No, take us to the hospital.” Soobin said, grabbing his things.

“You won’t be able to see her right away. You don’t need to-”

“We’re going now.” Yeonjun pulled his and Sara’s bags onto his shoulders. “We’re going to be there.”

When Sara came to, she was aware of two things. The first, was that she was extremely cold. The type of cold that seeped through to her bones and made her instantly wish that she could drink some tea or something to warm her up.

The second things was that her legs appeared to be strapped down.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking as the light agitated a headache that she hadn’t realized was there. Something tickled her nose, and she lifted a hand, feeling a tube that she realized was blowing air into her nose.

Lifting her head, she tried to take in the room.

The first thing she realized was that her legs weren’t strapped down. Instead, Taehyun and Hueningkai were laying across her legs, pining them to the bed.

She looked around the room. It was definitely a hospital room, but the lights were dimmed. Yeonjun was curled up in the chair next to her bed, wearing the same clothes from their performance. Soobin and Beomgyu was on the couch on the other side of the room, with one of them snoring loudly.

She glanced at her hand, finding an IV taped to it. What the heck had happened? The last thing she remembered was taking her pill, and she should’ve felt better. She couldn’t remember why she was in the hospital now.

The nice part of her wanted to let the boys sleep. But she was freezing.

“Yah, Yeonjun.” She reached out with her hand and poked his foot. “Wake up.”

“Not yet,” He grumbled, turning away from her. “I’m still-”

His eyes shot open, landing on her; sitting up in bed, staring at him expectantly.

“SOO-JI! You’re awake!” He shouted.

It was like a bomb had gone off, and the others boys shot awake.

“Noona!”

“Sara!”

Someone jumped on top of her, tackling her in a hug.

“I was so worried!” Huka squeezed her tightly.

“Get off!” Soobin pulled him away. “You’ll hurt her.”

“I’m fine.” Sara smiled at him, before remembering. “Actually, I’m cold.”

“Here, take my sweater.” Yeonjun pulled a sweater off the back of his chair.

“It’s the middle of the night, but I’m sure we can get a nurse to get you a blanket.” Soobin said. “I’ll go.”

“No, not yet.” Sara protested as Yeonjun wrapped the sweater around her shoulders. “Why are we in the hospital?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Beomgyu asked. “After the performance?”

Sara tilted her head. “I remember feeling faint, and Jun helping me take my pill, but nothing after that. I passed out?”

Yeonjun poked her in the forehead. “You did a little bit more than that. You were turning blue and barely breathing.”

“They had to give you blood and stuff, Noona.” Taehyun said. “The doctors said it was really bad.”

“Do you have any idea why it happened?” Soobin asked. “You didn’t feel sick in the morning? You were eating, right? The doctors said it shouldn’t have happened.”

Sara blinked, trying to clear her head. She did have a horrible headache, but she could vaguely remember. “My crop top?”

“Your crop top?” Soobin frowned. “Can someone page the nurse I think she’s-”

“No, I didn’t eat dinner or breakfast because of my crop top.” Sara remembered. “I just had an apple in the morning. But I was taking my pills so I should’ve-”

Something smacked her in the back of the head.

“OW!” She shouted, lifting a hand to feel where she’d been struck. “What is wrong with you?”

Yeonjun just crossed his arms. “You deserved it.”

“I have a headache! I’m literally in a hospital bed right now.”

“Yeah but you’re stupid.”He scoffed. “How come you get to nag us about picking up our clothes and everything else you could possibly think of when you can’t even remember to eat dinner.”

“I can-”

“It’s literally the one thing you have to do!” He insisted. “I almost had a heart attack because you wanted to look good in a crop top?”

“I’m fine, and it’s not going to happen again.” She promised.

“Obviously not.” Yeonjun turned to Soobin. “Because we’re supervising your meals now.”

“You are not.” Sara went to cross her arms, but then remembered the needle and thought better of it. “I don’t need you to make me eat my vegetables.”

“Yeah, you’re not getting out of this.” Soobin shook his head. “We’re supervising.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“We’re serious.” Huka said with a bright smile.

“Urgh.” Sara groaned. “Whatever. I’m freezing and I have a headache, so can I go back to bed?”

“Sure, we’ll turn the lights off.” Soobin smiled obviously feeling like he’d won.

Sara lay back down, resting her head on the uncomfortable hospital pillow. She saw Yeonjun settle back into his chair, and felt the weight of her blankets grow as sweaters were piled on top of her.

“We’ll be right here if you need anything.” Soobin said, moving her hair out of her face.

“You’re seriously all sleeping here?”

Taehyun and Hueningkai each rested their heads on one of her legs. “We’re pretty comfortable.”

“Whatever.” Sara snuggled back into the pillow. “Night everyone.”

“Goodnight!”

325 notes · View notes

fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

Text

Dog of the Military- Chapter 26

Chapter 26- New Room

Hello! This is just another reminder- if you’re into my fanfictions and they bring you enjoyment, I’d super appreciate it if you could go over and leave an encouraging comment at my ko-fi here https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12, or even slip me $3 for snacks.

Thanks so much! :)

The hospital was full. Or at least, that was the excuse they gave them when they were unceremoniously dumped into a second bed that'd been placed in Mr. Water's room.

The quarters were a bit tight- Roy had to relocated his plastic chair to the foot of ed's bed rather than beside it, but after settling Ed into the new bedding, the remainder of the night passed quietly.

It was around seven that morning when a knock on the door frame caught his attention.

Roy couldn't help it- he broke into an exhausted smile at the sight of Hughes.

"Finally. None of my team had spoken to me since yesterday, I was beginning to worry."

"Yeah, well, there's a reason for that. They managed to apprehend the fake judge fleeing the scene, but Banks managed to get away. They've been doing paperwork and issuing orders for the capture of Banks since then. The higher ups are eager to put a lid on this while fiasco- they're embarrassed it's even happened. How's Ed doing?"

"Seems to be alright. Except a Drachman operative broke into his hospital room last night and tried to abduct him."

Hughes jolted, looking shocked. "You're kidding!"

Roy shook his head. "I'm not."

"Mr. Mustang!" their conversation was interrupted by nurse Aubrey jogging over, holding a clipboard and looking out of breath. "I have those blood test results you wanted."

Roy cocked an eyebrow. "And what do they say?"

"Well, Ed's blood type is A+, and several of the other blood smears were found to be B-. So Edward wasn't alone in his room last night. Someone else was there. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Roy shrugged.

Hughes decided to make himself known, peering at the paper on her clipboard and adjusting his glasses. "Say, can I get a copy of that, please? I'm Colonel Maes Hughes of investigations- I have no doubt the military is going to want me investigating just who would try and attack a hospitalized state alchemist. I also want the room Ed was attacked in sealed off- I'll process the crime scene later."

"Of course." Aubrey hurried off to do as she was told, and Roy and Hughes sat in silence for a moment.

"So." Hughes finally spoke up, face impassive. "It appears Edward might've been onto something with his whole 'Banks is a Drachman spy' theory."

"It certainly looks that way." Roy agreed. "Either that- or Banks wasn't involved, but now that he's backed into a corner, any Drachman operatives are capitalizing on the chance to scoop him up. But why bother trying to take Ed too?"

"Ed's knowledge of Alchemy is a good enough reason as any. He knows more than most alchemists in the country- he could easily train Alchemists for the Drachman army. They've wanted to learn alchemy for decades now. And Ed's young- he's got a lot of potential, he's still forming his opinions and growing up. They'd want to capitalize on that- mold him into a ruthless killer."

Isn't that what you want to do as well? that small voice in the back of his head hissed. The same one that tortured him about Ishval at night. But Roy brushed it aside- it was lying, he cared for Ed like his own son. He was only trying to do what was best for Ed. And for your reputation, you heartless bastard.

"I know you need to be here. I get it. But your office is sorely missing you in your absence. Hawkeye is doing her best- I have Brosch, Ross and Armstrong watching the hospital starting today. No one else will come near him."

"Right." Roy ran a hand through his hair, looking at Hughes. "Can you stay with him? For a little while? I need someone I can trust with him- someone who I know can protect him." Roy thought fo all the knives Hughes kept hidden on his person. He pitied any Drachman who tried to abduct Ed from his best friend.

"Yeah, I can stay." Hughes frowned. "Where are you gonna go, though? The office?"

"Probably. Was going to stop home and at least chance my clothes first. Have a quick shave, probably."

His uniform was wrinkled from sleeping in it and smeared with Ed's dried blood. His five o' clock shadow was also getting out of control.

Hughes nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah. I haven't seen you this bad since our last bender. I can stay half the day with him."

"That's all I need. Thank you."

"No problem. Take care of what you need to at the office." Hughes took his place sitting in Roy's plastic chair at the foot of Ed's bed. Ed was still sleeping- Roy had wet a cloth and cleaned the blood from the boy's face hours ago, and he looked peaceful, despite his circumstances.

"Alphonse is with Gracia and Elicia for the time being- he's probably going to want to see Ed later today."

"I'll bring him back with me on my way back from the office." Roy promised absently.

"Alright, thank you." Hughes smiled, and Roy returned the look.

He almost felt bad that he was lying to the man's face. Almost.

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"You look like hell." Madame Christmas didn't parse words, sliding him a glass of cold bourbon across the bar as a way of greeting. IT wasn't even 9am yet, but Roy took the drink happily.

"You made the papers again." his aunt put down a copy of the newest Gazette in front of him- FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SHOT IN COURT MARTIAL DEBACLE. The front page featured him clinging to Ed, trying to stop the boy's bleeding. It wasn't exactly a flattering shot, and Roy wondered briefly how the press had managed to get that picture.

"Are you alright?" He looked up to meet his Aunt's dark brown eyes at the question- she was being sincere, and he nodded.

"I'm okay."

"And that boy of yours? The prodigy they shot?"

"He's gonna be okay too. Bullet hit him in the arm."

"And yet you're here instead of watching him. Which means you need something." his Aunt tapped her long fingernails on the bar, looking pensive.

"How much have you read about the courtmartial?"

"All of it. But it isn't much. The Furher withholds most of the details- all I know is that man was facing charges of misconduct that the Fullmetal Alchemist boy uncovered."

Roy fought the urge to wince. Yes, of course the military would've white washed everything and censored it. The general population didn't need to know the gruesome scope of Bank's misdeeds.

"That Colonel Banks is still on the lamb. He hasn't been here, if that's what you're searching for." Madame Christmas said, reaching down to start polishing some glasses.

"That's not what I'm here for."

"Then what? We both know you aren't here to visit Vanessa."

"Some fellows who ought not have visited Amestris have come here. Foreign- Drachman, I think. Tried to kidnap Ed last night- and I have a feeling that they're trying to get into contact with Banks and smuggle him from the country. An outfit like that wouldn't just send one man- they'd send several. A team, maybe. Men like that go looking for girls. Have you seen any?"

Madame Christmas had stopped polishing her glass abruptly and set it down, nodding once. "Yeah. Five who'd fit your description, recently. I don't ask too many questions. What would you like to do with them? They're quite rough customers- hardly pay for their drinks, rough with my girls. So what do you have in mind?"

"I want to speak to one. Doesn't matter which, any of them will do. As soon as you can."

"You'll be delivering the usual message to someone who's unkind to my girls?"

"And then some. For trying to take my Alchemist." Roy swirled his glass, taking another sip. He was almost done.

"How soon can you deliver by?"

His aunt scoffed. "Tonight. One of those dogs is always by, at least one, every night."

"I'll speak to you soon, then." He finished his drink, placing his money on the bar and standing.

"Thanks, Auntie."

"Not a problem, my boy."

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

Roy managed to stop at the office for two hours- Alphonse had decided to walk there from the Hughes' residence- so it turned out he hadn't completely lied to Hughes when he said he was going to the office.

Either way, he was back at the hospital at one with Alphonse and a fresh cup of coffee in tow.

"What do you mean I can't leave yet!? They just gave me this whole bag of blood I have more than enough now! I want to go!" Roy heard Ed before he saw him, and he gave a tired grin, sipping his coffee as he and Al strode into the room.

"The doctors want you here another day and that's what's going to happen." Hughes said, ever-patient.

Mr. Waters was sitting in his bed reading a book on barrel-making, seemingly hardly disturbed by the commotion.

When Alphonse walked into the room, however, he looked up, eyes brightening. "What craftsmanship! I'm a welder- let me have a look at you!"

If Alphonse could've blushed, he would've. but he walked over to the bed anyways, letting the construction worker rave about how well his joints fit together and the well-placed rivets of his design.

Ed cast a glance at his roommate, watching him talk to his brother, before he noticed Roy and perked up.

"Can we go home yet?"

"What's this I heard about the doctors wanting you to stay another day?" Roy cast a glance at Hughes, who crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Ed did well during his blood transfusion, but he's still dizzy and tired. They want to watch him for one more day."

"Then that's final. You're staying for another day." Roy took a sip of his coffee, symbiotically absorbing the caffeine through his tongue to fortify himself for the coming outburst.

"This is stupid! I should be out there catching the bastard who shot me, not sitting around in this stupid hospital!"

"You're pale as the sheets. I hardly think another day in the hospital could hurt." Roy remarked.

"Who're you calling so anemic he doesn't even have the iron to be called a fortified cereal?!" Ed kicked his feet beneath the sheets and ranted.

Well, that's a new one. Roy thought to himself.

"You said I could sleep on the couch again! Last night!" Ed had turned back to whining, and Roy was slightly surprised he even remembered the exchange they'd had in the emergency room.

"Yes. And you can. Once the doctors say you're well enough to come home, and not a minute sooner. Speaking of fun things people said- you said a lot of things, Ed. You threatened to bite an EMT, accused him of trying to steal you leg, and said something about riding in the wee-woo wagon."

"Wee-woo wagon?" Alphonse asked, tinny vice echoing the question.

"He was too drugged up to think of the word ambulance." Roy supplied.

Alphonse and Mr. Waters burst out laughing, Hughes was grinning, and Ed flushed bright red in embarrassment, a red hashtag throbbing on his temple.

"Don't sweat it, Ed. Investigations and everyone is working hard to catch Banks and everyone else involved in this. You just need to rest up." Hughes said, standing up from his place on the chair and stretching.

"And I'm sure Colonel Mustang here agrees."

Roy nodded, taking his seat back and pulling out a large stack of papers from his briefcase. "I do. In fact, Hawkeye wanted me to stay here and do my paperwork to make sure you don't decide to sneak out of the hospital."

Ed's pout made his facial structure sag so much he looked like a pug, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"So unfair. Why do I have to get punished when I'm the one who's been shot..."

"Cheer up laddy." Mr. Waters piped up. "'Least you ain't had a brick dropped on yer head."

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

7 notes · View notes

eternallyyoungjustice · 3 years

Text

Wherever the Winds Take You: Chapter 13

A/N: Okay, not gonna lie, didn’t really edit this one much. It’s super duper short, sticks pretty close to the episode, and it’s just been a week. So I apologize for any spelling errors or awkward phrasing. But otherwise, I hope you all like it! Thank you so much for your continued support of my shameless guilty pleasure.

Santa Prisca July 22 21:10

The tunnel remained dark and cold for a few minutes, the only sounds being the ragged breaths of six young heroes and the shuffle of feet against stone. All members collectively could hear their own heartbeat in their ears, and felt the adrenaline pumping through their veins.

Finally, a loud crack broke the silence and an eerie red glow emitted from the glowstick that Aqualad held and promptly tossed to the ground. Every member of the team stood there; Kid Flash and Zephyr showing the most wear, as the non-humans held good composure and Robin stood silently, staring at the barricade of rock and debris that separated the team from the way they came.

After a moment, however, Robin finally broke the silence.

“How could my first mission as leader go so wrong?”

“You do have the most experience, but perhaps that is exactly what has left you unprepared.” Aqualad spoke. “Fighting alongside Batman, your roles are defined. You two do not need to talk. But this team is new, and a leader must be clear, explicit. He cannot vanish and expect others to play parts in an unknown plan.”

Robin whirled around, snarled and poison-tongued. “Oh, so I’m supposed to hold everyone’s hands?!” The boy let out a growl of frustration and glared down at the ground. But then, after a moment, the tension in his shoulders released and his form slumped slightly. “Oh, who am I kidding? You should lead us, Kaldur. You’re the only one who can.”

“Please! I can run circles-” Kid Flash’s outburst was cut off by Robin’s now much calmer tone. “Wally, come on. You know he’s the one.” The young boy’s eyes lifted to meet his elder’s. “We all do.”

“Hello, Megan! It’s so obvious!” M’gann chirped.

“Could’a told you.” Superboy shrugged.

Kaldur’s eyes met Lina’s knowing gaze. “You know you have my vote.”

Everyone turned to Wally, who stood awkwardly for a moment before sighing in resignation. “Okay!”

“Then I accept the burden,” Kaldur nodded, stepping towards Robin and placing a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, “until you are ready to lift it from my shoulders. You were born to lead this team, maybe not now, but soon.” Robin nodded, his normal smile returning to his face.

Kaldur turned back to speak to the team as a whole. “Alright, our first priority is preventing that shipment from leaving this island.”

“Funny,” Robin smirked, “I had the same thought.”

As the group began to dash down the tunnel’s length, they began to compare notes.

“Robin and I discovered data about the new shipments on a computer in the warehouse.” Kid Flash spoke up. “It looks like Kobra has combined Venom and the Blockbuster formula from Cadmus, making Venom three times as strong and permanent.”

“So obviously Kobra attacked Bane’s Satna Prisca to have an unlimited supply of the Venom formula, making it able to create the new superformula.” Robin explained. “Which explains how normal supply chains have been cut off if--it’s for a whole new product. But it doesn’t explain how Kobra got his hands on Dr. Desmond’s formula.”

“We discovered that the supplier arriving today was the villain, Sportsmaster.” Aqualad nodded.

Robin pulled up his holo-computer. “Okay, so that must mean Sportsmaster is the supplier and buyer...but it still doesn’t track. He’s a gun for hire, he doesn’t have the power to acquire the blockbuster formula or to get Kobra to do his dirty work.”

“And neither of them have the chops to bond blockbuster with venom. That took some major nerdage.” Kid Flash chimed in.

“I believe the expression is…” As the team arrived at the mouth of the entrance, they were met with the sight of Bane standing there, finishing pumping himself with his normal venom serum which connected from a tube from his arm to the base of his skull, and seemed to enhance his muscle to an inhuman amount. With a sigh of relief, the masked villain dropped the vial formerly containing venom and gazed down at the team of young heroes with a crazed look in his eyes. “‘tip of the iceberg’.”

“Halt, ninos.” Bane growled and revealed a handheld trigger in his grasp. “I’m feeling...explosive.” Simultaneous beeping alerted the team to gaze up, revealing a large number of charged explosives around the mouth of the tunnel.

“You betrayed us, why?” Aqualad spoke, in a tone that-to anyone that knew him-sounded very fake. Bane, however, didn’t seem to notice the falseness. While Bane was distracted, the Atlantean reached out via the telepathic link. “Kid, you’ll need a running start.”

“I want my factory back!” Bane began to monologue. “So I forced you into a situation where you would either take down my enemies for me, or die trying. If the latter, the Justice League would certainly have come to avenge their sidekicks. And when the smoke cleared, Santa Prisca would be mine once more...blowing the tunnel with you inside, should have the same effects.”

Caught in his own monologue, Bane didn’t see the dark blue that flew by him.

“With what?” Kid Flash suddenly asked, now suddenly behind the hulking man and holding the hand-held trigger that had just been in Bane’s grasp. “This trigger thingy?”

Bane let out a loud growl and pulled back to land a strong punch to the speedster, but promptly found himself being lifted off his feet by an invisible force. Being slowly turned around, Bane saw a smiling Miss Martain standing under him, lifting him telekinetically with a raised hand.

“Finally,” Superboy smirked as he stepped forward, and cracked his knuckles. “Drop him.”

Santa Prisca July 22 21:31

Back outside the warehouse, at its helipad, we watched patiently until Sportsmaster and Kobra bid goodbye to one another. Sportsmaster was a tall, hulking man that was essentially all muscle, who wore a signature goalie mask over his face, but otherwise had no notable physical traits. Kobra, on the other hand, has an almost just as tall figure with an equally as strong build, although his muscles were not nearly as hulking as his compatriots’ and hid his figure under a dark crimson cloak. His pale skin was almost anemic and seemed to glow under the light of the moon, but somehow didn’t make him look sickly. Overall, the aura around him made Zephyr’s spine tingle uncomfortably.

“This Kobra man…” Zephyr whispered from her spot in the shadows next to Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. “I do not like his vibe.”

Robin snickered quietly. “Have you liked any villains’ ‘vibe’ before?”

The young girl thought for a moment. “Poison Ivy.” She whispered, thinking deeply. “She is, uh, qu'est-ce que...fine as hell, tres tres bonne. Robin, why are most of your famous villains so good-looking, hm? Seems very unfair.”

This made both Robin and Kid Flash snort with laughter to the point where they had to muffle themselves.

“Do you want to trade cities Zeph’?” Robin asked, eyebrows cocked in amusement.

The young women paled, recalling the patrol she and Aqualad had done the other night. “Fair enough! No thank you!”

This made Robin chuckle a little more.

Sportsmaster began to make his way towards the helicopter, causing Aqualad to give Kid Flash his signal, and the young ginger ran off at lightning speed, knocking down cultists and pulling gunfire in his wake.

“Protect the shipment!” A cult member exclaimed. Just in time for Superboy to jump and land in front of Mammoth, who stood next to Kobra.

“Go again?” The clone yelled at the hulking beast, causing it to roar and attack. However, it was promptly forced off-course by a sudden continuous force of water, controlled by Aqualad, sending him right into nearby trees. “Sorry, not the plan.”

As Mammoth roared fiercely and began to fight back against being sprayed, Zephyr flew over him, moving her arms and collecting as many of the coldest Winds she could find. The girl reached high up into the atmosphere to find the ones to complete her task and sent them crashing down onto the blast of water and onto Mammoth, freezing the water around him until slowly but eventually, he was encased in thick, frigid, ice.

At being controlled so forcefully, the Winds carrying Zephyr faltered and the girl landed on the ground in a crouching stance. “I am going to be honest with you,” She called to her new team leader as she dodged a cultist’s fire. “I did not know if that would work!” She managed to grab hold of the cultist’s gun and bashed him in the head with it, before chucking it at another cultist’s head, successfully rendering both unconscious.

“Be thankful it did then!” Aqualad yelled back as he fought his own share of cultists.

Not a moment later, the helicopter filled with products began to take off with Sportsmaster inside. Zephyr turned and prepared her Winds to go after it, just in case, but was relieved when it exploded into flames mid-air, causing it to plummet down towards the factory. Off in the distance, the figure of Sportsmaster leaping out and deploying a parachute could be seen.

As the burning helicopter dropped into the factory, it only took a moment before a deep, rumbling ‘boom’ seemed to shake the island as a whole, and flames erected from the giant metal structures. As the fire began to swallow up the entirety of the warehouses, the cultists-those who remained conscious enough to stand-began to flee from the helipad and into the forest, causing the team to turn its attention to Kobra, who stood (no longer wearing his cloak) over Robin, with a single foot pinning the boy to the ground. The cult leader seemed to scan the six teenagers carefully as if weighing his chances of success, but ultimately began to move away, removing his foot from Robin’s chest and slinking away into the shadows of the trees with a low, grumbling “another time then…”

Robin stood, and immediately darted into where Kobra had disappeared, but alas, he was gone without a trace. Slowly walking back to his team, Robin gazed up at the sizzling remains of the factory and watched the flames like at the metal for a moment, before looking back down at his comrades.

“We picked the right guy to lead.” Robin nodded with a smile at Aqualad. “...automatically making you the right guy to explain this mess to Batman!” Robin walked away, laughing, and Kaldur’s face seemed to immediately drain of any blood as fear entered his eyes.

“Don’t worry Aqualad.” M’gann piped up, floating close to her leader. “We won’t let Batman chew you out too much! Besides, I was technically the one who made the helicopter explode.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it too much.” Wally smiled. “We’re a team now, which means we’re all gonna be killed by Bats equally!” This earned him looks from all the remaining members.

“Your bedside manner definitely could use some improvements, my friend.” Lina shook her head, but she quickly offered a supportive smile to her best friend-now leader.

Mount Justice July 23 10:01

“A simple recon mission! Observe and report!” Batman growled loudly, his tone so uniquely terrifying that it could possibly strike fear into every living creature on the planet. Or at least that’s what it felt like. “You will each receive a written evaluation detailing your many mistakes. But until then…”

The main open room of the cave seemed to ring with anticipated breath as the co-leader of the Justice League paused.

“Good job.”

This shocked every member of the team with surprise, causing them to all whirl their heads to look at Batman with bewildered looks.

“No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. How you adjust to the unforeseen is what determines success. And how you choose who leads determines character.” Batman turned and began walking away. “You’re all dismissed.”

“Did…” Wally spoke, a small smile itching at his lips. “Did we just get verbally patted on the back by the Batman? For blowing up a factory?”

“I...I think we did!” Robin chuckled, running a stunned hand through his spiky black hair.

“We just finished our first actual mission together, right?” M’gann perked up. “I believe that’s cause for celebration! What do you guys think?” All the members of the team looked to one another, and then looked to Kaldur.

“Well...leader gives the orders.” Robin smirked.

Kaldur smiled and nodded. “Celebration is well-deserved, I think.”

The team all cheered, or in Superboy’s case silently smiled, and began making their way towards the exit to the cave.

“I’m thinking...pizza, Chinese food, snacks and a movie marathon...with possibly dessert provided by the lovely M’gann?” Wally asked, shooting finger guns at the martian herself.

“You...want me to make dessert? After my batch of cookies went so wrong?” M’gann asked, seemingly delighted and flattered.

“I will give you some help in the kitchen M’gann, don’t worry,” Lina said, locking her arm with the younger girl’s. “We’re going to need two sets of hands in the kitchen if we need to feed Kid Mouth and everyone else anyway.”

“Oh, this is going to be sweet!!” Wally exclaimed.

As the gang began to loudly plan their big party, Lina leaned away from the conversation slightly, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jean jacket. Unlocking the device, she quickly found her and Roy’s texting conversation. Smiling to herself, she quickly types out her message.

Call me when you get home from patrol tonight! You’re going to want to hear about our first mission! Guess who our new leader is…. :D -L

4 notes · View notes

lady-of-the-lotus · 4 years

Text

Fun Of His Own

A resurrected Xue Yang, his memory wiped clean, is Xiao Xingchen’s prisoner.

Too bad he doesn’t know it yet.

Inspired by @xuesongxiao‘s Halloween prompts

Read on Ao3! Rated T

******

The young man opens his eyes to a blurred world.

A dark gray blur of sky is just visible through his burning eyes, rain pattering down on his face. Blurred orange light gleams a little way off, with dark blurs on either side—buildings? Trees? Rocks?—and a dark human-shaped blur sitting beside the orange light.

The young man rolls onto his side, trying to blink away the blurriness, but it’s like rubbing his eyeballs with dirt.

Where is he?

More importantly, who is he?

He lies there in the—forest? Is he lying in a forest?—and struggles to remember something—anything.

Nothing.

He tries to move again, using his right arm to brace himself, and his whole body hurts but the pain in his right arm is agony, overwhelming him. The dark gray of the sky whirls around to merge with the fiery orange, and the shadowy blurs swallow him up.

* * *

It’s evening when he next opens his eyes, but he can’t tell how much time has passed.

He sits up. He's in a courtyard, hemmed by dilapidated buildings that are strangely familiar. Everything is gray or brown, the sky cloudy, the ground damp. Scattered around the courtyard are—

He scrambles back. The courtyard is studded with coffins. Lacquered black coffins, plain wooden coffins, engraved coffins, stone coffins—

“You’re awake,” says a voice.

The young man on the ground whirls around at the sudden voice, falling back on his palms. His right elbow gives away under his weight and he falls on his back with a cry.

A young male cultivator dressed in simple gray and black robes stands over him. He is tall but very slender, almost fragile, with a wide, expressive mouth and skin as clear and pale as an infant's. Gleaming in his hand is a sword with a white hilt as delicately-molded as the cultivator’s face.

“Who are you?” demands the young man when the cultivator just stands there with his sleeves and skirts flowing around him in the chill breeze that’s sprung up. The breeze smells of rain, and the young man is seized by a sudden insane fear that he’ll be left to die in the rain, as if he’s made of metal and can rust.

His hair, he suddenly notices, is wet. Has he been lying out here all this time?

“Who are you?” the cultivator asks in return. His voice is surprisingly deep coming from someone as thin and anemic-looking as he is. “Can you remember anything?”

“I’m—” The young man’s tries to sit up. “I—I don��t know.” It hurts to speak. He feels something on his chin. Blood. “How did I get here?”

“Now isn’t the time to discuss that,” says the cultivator. He smiles gently. Everything about him is gentle, from the graceful way he moves to the softness of his deep voice. He returns his sword to the sheath on his back and kneels before the young man, dabs at the blood dribbling from his tongue and dripping from his chin. “You may call me Xiao Xingchen.”

“What—what’s my name? How long has it been?”

“Just a few days.” Xiao Xingchen brushes his knuckles across the young man’s forehead as if testing him for fever, tracing it down his cheek and brushing away the fresh blood running from the corner of the young man’s mouth. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed, friend.”

The young man suddenly realizes he’s near-naked, dressed in scraps of damp, boody black-and-green rags and covered in mud and dirt. Xiao Xingchen helps him to his feet. He’s stronger than he looks, fingers unintentionally pressing hard on the young man’s tender right arm and sending stabs of agony down to his fingertips. Looping the young man’s arm around his neck, he carefully half-carries him around the run-down house the courtyard belongs to.

Above the front door hangs a sign half-faded with age and sun and rain:

Coffin House.

The house has only one livable room, containing a rough-hewn table and benches, shelves, two open coffins, and a single bed. Xiao Xingchen seats him on a bench and bathes him with a damp cloth. The young man is too dazed to feel shame at being treated as a child, at having his limbs maneuvered like a big doll. He feels as if he should be taking some kind of offense, but he has no strength to summon the emotion.

He’s of average or slightly below-average size, he sees by glancing down at his limbs, but wiry—a man of action, whatever that action may be. The limbs themselves are covered in scars beneath the dirt (Tooth marks? he wonders. Was I attacked by wild dogs?) with a thick faded gash in his stomach being particularly noticeable and, bizarrely, a ragged pink line circling where his right arm connects to his shoulder, where his pain is worst. The little finger on his left hand is mottled with bruises and scars around the base and feels like metal spike has been rammed deep into his hand.

As his unfocused eyes drift past his scars, thin lines of blood begin to drip from the fresher-looking of his scars, sealed as they seem to be. Xiao Xingchen gently mops the blood away, binding his wounds with strips of linen.

How could I have forgotten where I got these wounds? he thinks, but that’s as far as his thoughts go. It’s simply too exhausting to do more than sit there, pliant under Xiao Xingchen’s thin white hands, staring with drooping lids at the flickering candle on the table.

Xiao Xingchen helps the young man onto the bed, straightening his arms and legs as if setting a fresh corpse in a coffin.

He covers him with a black cloak and smoothes the straw-filled pillow. “Rest here while I prepare dinner, my friend,” he says, the first thing he’s said since the courtyard.

You know my name, the young man wants to say. You brought me here, you healed me; why? but instead he sinks back into unconsciousness.

It’s morning when he awakes, pale sunlight streaming through the gaping holes in the sagging ceiling and the torn paper covering the windows. Xiao Xingchen is already awake, setting two steaming bowls on the table.

He smiles when he sees the young man’s eyes open. His smile is soft, like everything else about him, showing no teeth, as if he thinks even the smallest flash of canine would be too threatening.

“I hope you like congee,” Xiao Xingchen says. “Do you need help, or—”

But the young man is already out of bed, tottering over the table. Lost memory or not, he’s sure he was never the kind of person to readily accept help. He sinks onto the bench opposite Xiao Xingchen and looks down into the watery porridge. His memories only go back a day or so, but he’s certain he’s never had less appetite even though he should be ravenous.

Xiao Xingchen raises his bowl to the young man in a kind of toast and begins to eat.

The young man hesitates before picking up his chopsticks. Suspicion, it seems, is part of his nature, but he tells himself that had the gray-clothed cultivator wanted to kill him, he had days to do so. Poison would be a waste of time.

He also had days to move you inside out of the rain, another voice whispers. His thoughts are sharper today, no longer clouded by pain and shock, though he still can’t remember further back than waking up in the rain several days before. And didn’t.

Xiao Xingchen smiles gently at him, as if overhearing his thoughts, and his smile is so pacific the young man is almost ashamed of himself.

Another emotion he’s unused to, he unconsciously knows, but there’s something about Xiao Xingchen that makes him instinctively trust him, instinctively want to get in his good graces despite any little whispers in his mind.

It’s this last instinct that spurs him to ask if he can help clean up after the meal, but Xiao Xingchen offers a laugh in response, as if he can’t believe the young man made the offer, and rinses the bowls and chopsticks himself.

The laugh tickles something in the young man’s mind, but the tickle fades before he can so much as try to scratch it.

“How did I get here?” he asks again after the meal. Xiao Xingchen is sitting on the stairs outside the Coffin House, polishing his sword. The pale yellow sunlight blinds the young man as he steps out of the dim house, and for a moment, as his vision is scorched, he sees a flash of gracefully swirling white robes—

“I brought you here,” says Xiao Xingchen calmly, scattering the vision.

“Why?”

“It seemed fitting.”

“Fitting how?” It still hurts to talk, but the young man has a rag ready to catch any dribbling blood from his oozing tongue. There’s a half-healed hole in his tongue, as if something had once been attached to it. “Why here, in this awful place?”

Xiao Xingchen looks up for the first time. “The happiest years of your life were spent in this awful place,” he says, very calmly.

“I don’t think I had any happy years.”

Xiao Xingchen’s eyebrow twitches slightly. “Your memory has returned?”

A flash of confusion. “No—no. I just got that impression.”

“Well, they were happy,” says Xiao Xingchen. “You had…fun.”

“Was it fun?” The words pop into the young man’s head, but he can’t pin them to a person or place. “Yes, of course it was fun!”

And then the words are gone altogether.

There’s an pregnant moment, as if there’s a lot more for Xiao Xingchen to say if he wants. The young man waits, and then, when it becomes apparent the cultivator has said all he means to say, sits down beside him. Closer than a stranger should sit, he realizes after he sits, but it’s too late to move without making things awkward. Instead he casually leans back on his left arm and drags his right arm through his loose black hair. The movement sends a stab of pain from his shoulder straight down into his scarred gut, and he gives a muffled grunt and tries to straighten his arm but can’t.

“Here,” says Xiao Xingchen. He sets down his sword and gently straightens the young man’s locked right arm. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help—”

“Hush.” He seats himself on one of the steps behind the young man and, still with his exquisite gentleness, combs the young man’s thick black hair with his fingers.

Another flash of memory, but it’s extinguished as quickly as the last one.

Carefully, Xiao Xingchen fixes the young man’s hair into an intricate bundle atop the young man’s head, with two long tendrils framing his face and majority flowing down his back like a curtain of the finest black silk.

“There,” he says. “Now you look more like yourself.”

“If you would only give me my name—”

“Too much all at once will only do permanent harm,” chides Xiao Xingchen. Something in his voice makes the young man thinks he’s trying to convince himself as much as the young man. “We can’t risk shocking your system, my friend.”

The young man ducks his head with feigned submission. I’m perceptive, at least, he thinks, tucking away this new hint as to who is. Smart enough not to push an issue when it’s not to my advantage.

What his advantage is, he isn’t sure. But he can wait. Patience, he instinctively knows, is one of his virtues.

Perhaps your only virtue, comes one of the whispers in his ear.

Lies! yells another voice in his ear. Lies! Lies! Lie!

He’s not sure whom the voice is addressing, and he’s busy trying to figure it out when Xiao Xingchen relents.

“This might jog your memory,” sighs the cultivator, rising. He helps the young man up and leads him to the well. Set beside it is a bucket of water. “This is why I brought you back, after all."

"...Back?"

Xiao Xingchen blinks, then relaxes into a soft smile. "Brought you here, I mean."

The young man examines his pale reflection in the bucket. He’s good-looking, he’s not surprised to see, though in a completely different way from the delicate beauty of the Xiao Xingchen. He looks younger than he actually is, he somehow knows, almost baby-faced, but the face is that of a stranger.

Xiao Xingchen is watching him closely. The young man shakes his head.

“We have time,” says Xiao Xingchen, smiling again, as if wanting to ensure that the young man doesn’t blame himself for the failure of his memory. He lays his hand on the young man’s bad arm. “Come. Let me help you.”

They sit on the porch steps the rest of the day. Xiao Xingchen finishes polishing his sword, produces reeds out of seeming nowhere, and weaves a basket. The young man sits beside him on the steps, listening as the town comes to life around them.

He could have sworn they were alone up till now, but he must have been mistaken. The Coffin House has been long abandoned, that much is obvious, but the front courtyard is still used to craft coffins for the town and surrounding villages, the finished products being stored in the courtyard behind the house. Idly, he watches the workmen at work in the courtyard, watches as the townspeople pass by the gates of the front courtyard. The young man calls out a greeting to one of the workmen who pass near him, but is ignored, and talking hurts too much to try again. The streets are bustling, the town having come back to life since—

Since what? Why is he surprised to see the town having risen from its—

From its what? Ashes? No, the buildings are too old to have been recently been rebuilt. From its—its dust—? No, that makes no sense, but his mind is suddenly filled with billowing brown dust—

He closes his eyes, focusing on that thought, straining to dive after that flickering thought, but it’s gone like an eel disappearing into the mud.

Xiao Xingchen lays his hand on his wrist. “Are you hungry, my friend?”

The young man opens his eyes. “Not at all.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “You must keep up your strength if your wounds are to heal.”

The young man had almost resolved to let Xiao Xingchen explain things in his own time, still oddly reluctant to irritate the mysterious cultivator, but he can’t help but blurt, “But how did I get those wounds?”

There’s a touch of sadness if Xiao Xingchen’s fine black eyes. He hesitates long enough that the young man thinks he’s not going to answer, going to tell him the cultivator’s silence is for his own good, but then Xiao Xingchen speaks.

“Fighting a friend,” he says.

“Fighting a friend?”

There’s more than a touch of sadness in Xiao Xingchen’s eyes now, something the cultivator seems to realize and resent, by the swift change of expression that follows.

“I suppose you can call him that,” he says sardonically, getting to his feet. The bitterness suits him, somehow, but the young man is oddly certain that it never suited him in the past. “You're playing with your hair again.”

The young man lowers his hand from where he was playing with the long tendrils framing his face, opens his mouth to ask another question, but Xiao Xingchen has risen. “The past is the past,” says the cultivator. “Come. Let's go find our supper.”

The young man does his best to keep up with Xiao Xingchen, who seems to take it for granted that his wounds wouldn’t affect his ability to walk. He drags himself along after Xiao Xingchen, who seems to float almost ethereally through the streets, and—did this happen once before?—it feels familiar—

“Potatoes!” calls a vendor, startling him out of his thoughts. “Radishes! Turnips!”

Neither of them have money, as it turns out. Holding a finger to his lips, Xiao Xingchen sweeps a dozen potatoes and radishes off the table and into his basket, gliding off down the street before anyone notices.

The young man hurries after him. He has an idea, though he’s not sure where it comes from, that this is out of character for Xiao Xingchen, and feels an inexplicable sense of bone-deep glee at the thought that he is the catalyst for this. Xiao Xingchen, it’s obvious, would have been satisfied living on watery congee.

Supper that night, and breakfast and dinner for the next few days, consists of boiled potatoes floating in unsalted congee, along with thin shaves of radish. The young man makes himself very witty on the topic of the plain food, but that’s more to amuse Xiao Xingchen than anything else. He sleeps poorly, woken by pain and the tormented little sounds Xiao Xingchen makes in his sleep, but he's getting stronger.

“Still no memory?” Xiao Xingchen asks on the fourth afternoon since the young man has woken. They’re returning from the market, basket full of vegetables.

“Nothing,” the young man lies. Somehow he can’t bring himself to mention the flashes of memory. He’d almost prefer not to have them at all. Something tells him he could use a fresh slate, while another voice, the unhinged voice that’s been growing in strength, hisses, He knows who I am! He knows what happened to me, he must have a sinister reason for not telling me! and fills his mind with thoughts of the gray-clothed cultivator being pierced by a dozen blades, of having his eyes ripped from his sockets—maybe then he’d speak! Maybe then he’d tell him the truth—

Gaping eye sockets. Why did his mind go there?

He lies in bed that night and stares up at the sagging ceiling, turning it all over in his mind. It’s not that the savagery of the image has shocked him. The gruesome pictures feel welcome, if anything. Comfortable. As if his mind is settling into familiar grooves. But there is something about the missing eyes in particular—

Xiao Xingchen is outside, fetching water from the well to clean the young man’s wounds, when it begins to rain. It patters musically down on the thatched roof, gusting in through the gaps and soaking the straw of the two coffin-beds.

It doesn’t even occur to the young man to push Xiao Xingchen’s coffin bed out of the way. After all, his bed is dry.

Xiao Xingchen says nothing when he returns, just smiles as he bathes the young man’s bleeding scars as they listen to the wind whistle through the gaps in the Coffin House.

The young man doesn’t quite know what to make of Xiao Xingchen’s smile. For absolutely no reason, tonight it stirs him with a vague unease. If anything, the young man has gone out of his way to make him smile these past few days. So far the majority of his new life has been spent sitting on the steps of Coffin House, watching the villagers go by, or strolling through the town, all the while talking more than his fair share. He’s grown accustomed to the nail-like pain in his tongue and dribbling blood, and has amused himself by keeping up a steady stream of commentary.

Xiao Xingchen has been receptive, his mobile lips twitching appreciatively at the young man’s observations. Each twitch has sent a spurt of pleasure through the young man.

Well, I am witty, the young man thinks as Xiao Xingchen finishes tightening the last bandage. But out of the jumbled impressions of the man he used to be, he’s somehow aware that he’s not used to giving people joy, at least to those who aren’t tall thin young men with expressive lips and exquisitely delicate features that could have been carved from jade.

People like—

Xiao Xingchen tosses the bucket of bloody water out the front door and stands there, framed in the white curtain of pouring rain. The young man climbs back into bed, huddled under Xiao Xingchen’s cloak.

He normally falls asleep quickly, worn out by his daily blood loss, but tonight something keeps him awake. From under half-closed eyelids he watches Xiao Xingchen, watches the damp breeze ruffle his smooth black hair and rustle his gray robes around him like seaweed gently moving in the ocean current. Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes, lifting his face to the rain, filling his lungs with the wet chilly air, then closes the door and goes to his coffin bed. He reaches inside, feels the dampness of the straw, says something the young man can’t hear.

Hesitating, Xiao Xingchen turns and approaches the bed.

“My friend?” he whispers. “If it’s all right with you—”

The young man doesn’t speak, but he rolls over slightly. Xiao Xingchen removes his only slightly damp outer robes and drapes them over the bed for warmth before crawling in beside the young man.

The cultivator’s body gives off more heat than one would expect from someone so anemic-looking, but this is one more thing the young man somehow already knew. He lies very still as Xiao Xingchen settles in beside him, not sure if he should pretend to be asleep or not. He wonders if Xiao Xingchen is going to have another nightmare tonight, if it will wake him, if he'll be expected to do anything about it. Somehow he knows he wouldn't know how to comfort someone.

They lie like that for a long time before Xiao Xingchen speaks again.

“Today, at the market,” he says. “That boy.”

The young man doesn’t respond. There had been a young boy in the marketplace that day, no more than six or seven, selling homemade toys made from twisted reeds and sticks. A wagon had driven by, splashing him and his wares with muddy water and ruining them.

“When he began to cry that his parents would beat him,” continues Xiao Xingchen, his voice little more than a murmur, “and I gave him our fruits and vegetables for him to give them instead of money…I had resolved the matter. Why did you then…”

“Did I what?” asks the young man, genuinely puzzled.

“Why did you then find the wagon driver and beat him so hard he lost three teeth?”

“Made more sense than for us to go without our supper,” says the young man, though in all honestly he’s yet to feel any hunger since he opened his eyes in the Coffin House courtyard. “We did nothing wrong. Why should we suffer for the crimes of another?”

Xiao Xingchen turns so that he’s looking at the young man. “He deserved it?” he says. “He didn’t splash the boy on purpose.”

“He should have been the one to pay, not you. He made us go without our dinner—”

“We stole more food.”

“He didn’t know that!” says the young man impatiently. Xiao Xingchen, as intelligent as he is, can be willfully obtuse. “That man robbed us of our dinner!”

Xiao Xingchen turns so that he’s no longer looking at the young man, instead watching the rain drip down into his coffin bed. “Is that the only reason? Avenging our lost supper?”

“Why else?”

“Had the boy’s tears nothing to do with it?”

It dawns on the young man that Xiao Xingchen, for whatever reason, wants him to say yes.

All right, then. For all the young man knows, he’s telling the truth when he shrugs, “He left the child to be beaten; he deserved a beating in turn.” He has a faint memory of a fist and a boot and whip somewhere in his past, though he himself can’t say whether that affected his behavior today.

Xiao Xingchen smiles slightly, not a happy smile, which is somehow concerning, and is silent. The young man wishes the cultivator hadn’t brought the incident up. Had Xiao Xingchen not been there, the wagon driver would have lost a lot more than a few teeth. But Xiao Xingchen had meddled in things that didn’t concern him, dragging him away from the scene, and he resents it. For reasons he still doesn’t understand, he doesn’t like resenting the cultivator.

“The look on your face as you beat him,” says Xiao Xingchen after so long the young man had assumed he’d fallen asleep. “That smile…”

The young man grins with as much wicked charm as he can muster. Lost, perhaps, in the near darkness, but grinning is almost a reflex, a habit, same as his hair-twirling and Xiao Xingchen’s basket-weaving. “Can I not smile anymore?”

“Forget it.” It’s impossible to tell if he’s pleased with the way conversation has ended, or if the young man has made a blunder. “Forget I mentioned it…”

It takes another week before the young man realizes that Xiao Xingchen doesn’t want him to regain his memories.

It hits him as he sits on the stairs one morning, letting Xiao Xingchen fix his hair as usual, watching the workmen labor and wondering if he should make another attempt at striking up a conversation with them or if it would be unwise to draw attention to their squatting in the Coffin House.

“Why don’t you go on night-hunts?” he asks Xiao Xingchen out of nowhere.

Xiao Xingchen fastens the young man’s hair into the last intricate braid. “I can’t leave you alone in your condition.”

“I can come with you. I’ll stay quiet; I’ll carry the sword for you…”

And, those words triggering something, he sits up and turns around at the very sudden clear memory of gazing at Xiao Xingchen in a time long past—a false memory, it must be; why would Xiao Xingchen blindfold himself?—but it’s something—

He’d turned too quickly for Xiao Xingchen to alter his expression. It’s one of anger mixed with grief, and the cultivator swiftly rises and gazes down at him with an uncharacteristic sharpness.

“Fine,” he says, as if to change the subject, stop the young man from tugging on that thread of memory. “We’ll go tonight.”

The young man takes their kitchen knife with him that night, their only other weapon aside for Xiao Xingchen’s beautiful white sword.

He jokes about it as they walk through the silent moonlit woods, jokes about using his knife to fix dinner for any demons they might meet, but though he knows he should feel ridiculous he instead feels completely unafraid. It’s not only that he trusts Xiao Xingchen’s skill; it’s as if, deep down, he knows he can take down a monster with just a vegetable knife.

But he’s promised Xiao Xingchen he won’t step in, and he doesn’t. He watches with fascination as Xiao Xingchen’s swift silver blade dismembers a demon-snake, severing the head with one graceful yet powerful stroke, as if trying to spare the beast pain.

Not how I would have done it, but neat.

Xiao Xingchen glances at him with an unreadable expression as he flicks the blood from his sword.

“Well?” he says shortly. “Any memories?”

The young man shakes his head, noticing a slight relaxing of tension in Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders that the cultivator fails to hide.

They spend the next day fixing the roof, and the rain, accepting their challenge, returns at sunset. After letting Xiao Xingchen clean and bind his wounds, the young man retreats to bed, sitting up wrapped in the cloak. Xiao Xingchen sits shivering at the table as he brushes his ornamental horsehair whisk. Black hair, with a long handle of reddish wood.

It’s the first time the young man has seen it, but he instinctively knows it doesn’t belong to the cultivator.

“Do you ride?” he asks casually, twisting his hair around a finger.

Xiao Xingchen stops his ministrations for the barest fraction of a second.

“There are no horses where I come from,” he says.

The young man holds his twirled hair in front of his face, studiously avoiding looking directly at the cultivator. This is the first hint of his own past offered by Xiao Xingchen. He’s curious, despite himself, and hopeful that it might lead to knowledge of his own past.

“No horses?” he says with a skeptical laugh, trying to goad Xiao Xingchen into revealing more. “Mules, then?”

“No animals of any kind,” says Xiao Xingchen. “Only birds.”

He steals a quick glance at the cultivator. “Only birds? Like in the realm of the immortals?”

A faint look of alarm crosses Xiao Xingchen’s face. “Of course not,” he says. “I merely meant…”

“A whisk for birds?” the young man laughs when it becomes apparent Xiao Xingchen isn’t going to say more. “I’d like to see that demon-bird!”

“It belonged to a friend,” says Xiao Xingchen in a low voice, as if to himself. “As do these robes, as do my…”

“Those gray robes don’t suit you,” says the young man. He associates Xiao Xingchen with white, for some reason, but doesn’t want to risk saying it out loud. He’s learned to hide these hints of resurfaced memory, amusing as it is to ruffle Xiao Xingchen’s half-admirable, half-maddening placidity.

Pain wrinkles Xiao Xingchen’s wide smooth forehead anyway. “I wear them to honor him,” he says, so quietly the young man has to strain to hear. “He spent his life gathering the spiritual cognition of—of someone close to me; his last act was to sacrifice himself in order—in order to…”

“To what?”

“Make up for something long past,” says Xiao Xingchen. “Something that was not his fault. My sacrifice was made willingly.”

“The past is the past,” says the young man, echoing what Xiao Xingchen has told him many times over the past weeks. He grins slightly to show just how much he doesn’t care about his own lost past.

“I don’t know that will ever be true.”

The young man feels a gust of anger at this lost friend. He isn’t sure if he’s jealous, or if he’s angry on Xiao Xingchen’s behalf, or just plain irritated to have their placid domesticity ruined by this faceless and completely inconsequential person.

“Well, we can make it true,” he says. “Damn everyone else!”

A hint of red rises in Xiao Xingchen’s eyes, as if blood is rimming his eyes, and with a shudder he steps out into the rain.

A chill creeps over the young man.

Blood. Blood tears.

Only ghosts or those touched by the supernatural cry in blood.

A rush of rage so pure and potent he could have ripped Xiao Xingchen’s scalp off he been within reach overwhelms him. He’s been lying to you all along! Is he a demon?? You ought to go out after him, beat the truth out of him—

He makes it no more than three steps before collapsing under a sudden burst of agony. He curses, a sizzling tangle of filth that feels at home on his tongue, fingers scrabbling on the floorboards. He used to have a higher pain tolerance, he knows it—

He finds himself laughing for no reason as he drags himself towards the door, but the pain in his right arm is so overpowering, and the pain in his left hand is so numbing when he tries to compensate by shifting his weight, that he passes out right there on the damp dirty floor.

A vague sensation of being lifted, of something brushing his forehead. A pale floating face, illuminated in the rain-filtered moonlight coming in through the window. A warm body beside his. A soft murmur: Stop trying to remember, I beg you…

I will, I swear, he says, not fully understanding what he’s promising in his haze, the agony washing away everything but the present moment. He rolls into the warmth, sleeping, for the first time since waking surrounded by coffins, without nightmares shredding his sleep.

Something has changed the next morning; he can feel it.

As always, Xiao Xingchen is up before him, preparing breakfast. He smiles when he sees the young man’s eyes open.

“I thought we might leave this place,” he says before he young man can open his mouth and demand an explanation of what manner of demonic beast Xiao Xingchen is. “Start fresh somewhere else.”

The young man seats himself at the table.

“Well?” asks Xiao Xingchen. There’s a hint of something in his voice that the young man can’t quite pin down. “Are you better this morning? We can wait until you’re recovered a bit more…”

“I’m fine,” the young man hears himself saying. It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s what comes out. “We’ll need some time to prepare.”

A subtle shift in Xiao Xingchen’s posture, a gentle smile. He’s pleased.

Suddenly the young man decides not to ask him about his bloody tears.

They’re leaving.

The words bring a strange comfort.

They’re leaving this place, never to come back. Leaving to start fresh, to stop whatever game they’re playing—who’s the one playing the game, the young man isn’t sure, but he abruptly wants nothing more than to stop whatever it is, and simply start over. Start new.

“We’ll go to the neighboring town this afternoon,” Xiao Xingchen tells him. “They have the better market to buy supplies. We can leave here for good first thing tomorrow.”

The young man gives a small nod.

After breakfast Xiao Xingchen heads out to see what he can find in Yi City before they head for the other town, forbidding the young man from accompanying him this time. The young man busies himself in searching the house for anything they can take with them. He knows the house like the back of his hand by this time, but it’s something to do. The bowls and chopsticks, of course, and the canteens…

He lays his selections on the table and pokes around the back of the room, bored without Xiao Xingchen. Under a rotting carpet of woven straw, he finds a handle.

He knows he shouldn’t pull it.

The voices in his head are unanimous on that point, even the one that had once dwelled placidly on gaping eye sockets.

You’re leaving tomorrow. Let it lie. Go boil the water for tonight’s supper; a surprise for Xiao Xingchen…

He pulls the trapdoor open.

Turn around! clamor the voices, like branches clattering against a shuttered window during a storm. You’re leaving tomorrow…tomorrow…

Tomorrow…

He grabs a candle and drops down into the darkness.

The cellar is larger than expected. Mostly beams holding up the floor of the house, but there are shelves there too, long-rotted provisions and stores and broken coffin-making tools.

In the center of the space is a large array taking up most of the floor. Red paint covered in what looks like fifty years of dust and grime and rodent droppings.

Carpeting the array, caked with their own thick layer of grime, are dozens and dozens of little jars.

He picks one up.

Put it down! shriek the voices. Put it down, there’s still time, you can still leave…

He pulls the stopper.

No! yells the voices. We told you not to!

He stands there, frozen, every nerve in his body on fire, until the door upstairs groans open.

“I’m back,” Xiao Xingchen calls. “Where are you?”

The creak of floorboards, coming to stop near the open trapdoor. Xiao Xingchen drops down through the gap, a smile on his face.

“There you are,” he says. “I brought you a surprise at the market. I was going to wait, but—” He extends his hand.

In his curved palm are two small paper-wrapped sweet.

The last fluttering shreds of memory weave themselves together, and the young man falls to his knees. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

“Are your wounds bothering you again?” asks Xiao Xingchen in concern, crouching before the young man. “Do you think you’ll be able to travel? I don’t feel right stealing medicine, but we can always…”

He trails off as he sees the little jars. His eyes fall on the open one in the young man’s hand, and he drops the paper-wrapped sweets in his suddenly-trembling hand as he reads the name painted on the side in red paint:

A-Qing.

Time stops. The young man remains kneeling before the cultivator, unmoving, staring at the jar in his hand, at the sweets scattered on the filthy floor.

"...You swore you wouldn't try to remember," says Xiao Xingchen.

A single tear trickles down his cheek. It spatters at his feet, a crimson spot in the dirt.

“Welcome back, Xue Yang,” he says, and presses down hard.

* * *

The cultivator’s hand comes down, solid and white in the gloom, and rests on the young man’s neck, deceptively strong fingers brushing a nerve.

Xue Yang wakes tied to the bed upstairs.

Scattered around the bed are the dozens of jars, each containing the tongue of one of his victims during the time he lived with Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing, kept fresh by the protective array in the cellar.

Xiao Xingchen stands beside the bed, clothed in white. From his belt hangs A-Qing’s jar, washed clean of all dust and grime.

He lies very still, opening his eyes only just enough to take in his surroundings.

On his face is a look Xue Yang wants to believe is sorrow.

Xue Yang opens his eyes fully, and Xiao Xingchen straightens up, features smooth again. There’s new look in fine black eyes, an unsettling look that wavers between being far too intense and far too blank at the same time.

“Now what?” asks Xue Yang, straining against the ropes. His arm blazes with agony, but barely notices. He grins, his old psychotic grin, the one that showed the world just how much he didn’t care.

Xiao Xingchen smiles down at Xue Yang, his usual soft smile of gentle amusement. He takes the bound young man’s left hand in one of his, a knife gleaming in the other, and extends Xue Yang’s bruised pinky.

#my fic #xue yang #xiao xingchen #xxc #xy #fanfic #Fun of His Own #the untamed fanfic #cw torture #cw mutilation #blood cw #cw blood #blood #blood tw

15 notes · View notes

sohin-ace · 4 years

Text

Dio - Low Iron

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

You felt cold. You were currently slipping in and out of consciousness. You could only feel what seemed to be the cold hard floor underneath you. You became fully conscious when you heard a soft, low whisper close to your ear.

"Wryyyy...."

You struggled to open your heavy lids, but when you did, your vision was clouded. The room you were in was dark, barely lit by the dim light of the fireplace on the far side of the room. You could barely make out the figure that was kneeling by you.

You couldn't move immediately. You tried, but could only twitch your fingers, your body felt sore, probably from laying on the floor too long. You tried your best to lift your head and get a better look at the mysterious man in front of you.

"You're finally awake." he said in a deep warm voice. It was actually pleasant to hear.

You knew you should have been scared, but at the moment, you couldn't feel anything alarming emanating from this man. Also, you were still pretty knocked out and not quite thinking straight.

You opened your dry mouth to speak, but could only let out a hoarse whisper. "Where am I...?"

The blonde man chuckled, almost darkly. "You are in my humble abode, dear. Let me introduce myself, my name is Dio Brando."

Your eyes widened as you finally realized the situation. You have been abducted. This was certainly not your home, and this man was most definitely a stranger. But this same man, Dio, spoke in such a tender voice, it strangely put you at ease. You sighed, repeating his name tiredly.

"Dio... What a beautiful name..." The blonde's expression shifted to surprise at your words.

Weren't you scared? Why weren't you crying and begging for mercy like everyone else? Instead you were appreciating his name? Where you out of your mind? What a weird and interesting woman you were. Your voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

"Did you... Take me here?" you asked still looking at him. As your vision adjusted to the luminosity and cleared up, you finally made out his features.

He was actually quite charming and handsome. As much as you didn't want to glorify a kidnapper, you couldn't help but find his chiseled face, golden locks, white skin and sharp eyes very appealing. With a better look, you noticed his fangs and the crimson glint in his eyes.

Dio stood up, towering over you, and composed himself back, then answered frankly. "I did. I need human sacrifices for me and my underlings."

He turned his back to you, ready to go towards his destined velvet armchair. "You were an easy target too, you barely showed any resistance, I have to thank you for that." He finished, smirking.

You listened to him carefully and connected the dots. If your assumptions were right, you'd have to break it down to him, the reasons you didn't struggle when he took you, and still weren't struggling right now.

"...are you a vampire?" you asked as you tried to sit up weakly, pushing yourself off the floor, feeling like you were the heaviest thing in the world.

You could hear snickers from the glowing red-eyed shadows of his servants hidden in the corners and ceiling of the room.

"Smart girl, you catch on quick." he glanced at you eerily over his shoulder. His expression fell when he saw you collapsing back down after you managed to sit up. What the hell? Were you injured? Was his perfect little prey somehow damaged?

"What's the matter? I made sure not to hurt you when I brought you here. What's going on?" he came back to kneel next to you, almost annoyed that his meal was flawed. He liked his blood bags fresh and healthy.

You pushed yourself off the ground again, slightly panting as the room was spinning and you were hit with a painful headache. You wimpered quietly and put a hand over your face in an attempt to calm your migraine down. Dio subsconsciously offered his arms out to you, still confused as ever and you grabbed them for support.

"Mr Brando... I'm afraid you chose the wrong victim... To feast upon.." you clenched your eyes shut to avoid getting more dizzy and seeing stars.

Dio looked at you with furrowed brows. There was definitely something wrong with you and it started to bother him greatly. He noticed how pale you were and speculated one thing.

"Don't tell me...Are you..."

"I am anemic, Mr Brando... Not exactly what you'd look for in a prey..." you mused, letting him process the information. For a seemingly perfect being above humans, he sure did make mistakes.

Just what he guessed, of course. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. He went all this way to bring you here and you were defective. How bothersome.

"Get up." he ordered as he brought you forcefully to you feet. He made you stand up so quickly, leaving no time for your low-pressured body to adjust, that you immediately felt dizzy and lost balance, stumbling right into his arms.

He effortlessly caught you, surprisingly gentle with his hold. You wanted to move out of his embrace and have a good look at him, but you were still out of balance and felt tingles in your legs, so you leaned onto his solid chest a little bit longer, well-knowing that you would collapse without his support.

You muttered a tiny appology at how intimate you were with him even if it wasn't entirely your fault, but he only smirked in return. He actually found this quite enjoyable, the way your small frame perfectly fit into his large body. He could get used to holding you like this, especially if you couldn't struggle.

After thinking about it, he figured that you being anemic was definitely troublesome, but not a huge problem in itself. It's not like low iron and blood pressure would stop him from sucking you dry.

He thought, however, that acting upon his original plan would actually be a shame and a waste of the interesting fellow that you were. If he didn't make you his dinner, he would at least make you his little toy. After all, he could kill some time as an immortal being.

You finally steadied yourself back on your feet properly. As you wanted to back away from him, the blond man caged you in his strong arms, wrapping them securely around you, preventing you from slipping away. You gasped and looked up at him, asking silent questions.

He then cupped your delicate chin in his large hand and moved your face from left to right, analyzing your features in every single detail. He seductively hummed in satisfaction.

"Hmmm... not bad. I could actually quite make a use of this..." he huskily observed, shamelessly checking you out.

Your glance shifted away from him in shyness from the sudden contact. Your mind was racing. You started to become worried at his statements and actions.

"...Are you not going to kill me or get rid of me?" you stared at his intense ruby eyes with uneasy confusion.

You accepted your fate the moment you saw him, ready to die a more or less painful death, but now he was sparing you? If he didn't want to kill you, then what destiny has he prepared for you? If you weren't scared before, now adrenaline started to rush. He chuckled darkly.

"I didn't go through the trouble of bringing you here just to discard you without getting anything for myself."

He slid one hand around your small waist and squeezed you harder against his body. Your heart started pounding in your chest as you panicked. You looked around, trying to find an opening, anything to make a run for it.

Just, what did he plan to do with you? Torture you? Or worse even. Not thinking straight anymore, you tried to convince him through shallow breaths.

"But... I'm useless!"

He let out an amused huff and leaned in only inches away from your now heating face. Your breath hitched at the closeness. You could feel his hot breath over your lips as he whispered.

"Oh trust me you won't be for long..."

He then closed the distance in a hungry kiss. You couldn't fight him even if you wanted to. Your hands pushing on his chest felt like nothing to him, so you gave up. His hold on you was strangely comforting, his charming aura was intoxicating, his full lips kissing yours felt like a sweet spell. You knew it was wrong, but it felt so right.

You reluctantly melted into the forbidden kiss and the vampire glided his tongue over your lips, demanding access. You denied, which he did not appreciate at all. He poked his sharp fangs in your bottom lip and you gasped in pain, giving him his much wanted entrance.

Your body tensed up at the new feeling of his warm tongue caressing yours slowly. Your heart was pounding in your chest, you let him lead the way and explore your mouth as you didn't know what else to do.

He sucked on your tongue and your lips like it was his last chance to ever do so. You subconsciously moaned, imploring him to release you, at least for one second, since breathing through your nose didn't make you justice anymore.

He finally separated from the kiss as you were in desperate need for oxygen. You gasped for air and clutched at his shirt for support the moment he set you free.

"Haaah... Haaah.... Haaa..." You panted flush-faced and dizzy. This was just too much for you to handle.

He let you time to regain your composure and sneered at your pathetic form. "You better get used to it, young blood. Next time will be much worse."

He put his hand over the back of your head and gently made you lean your forehead on his chest as he thought ahead of what he could do next with such a cooperative associate.

Fun fact, I became anemic after donating blood too often lol good times.

Also I'm not trying to picture anemic people as weak or submissive, in case anyone is offended lol but litterally anemia will just make you go "Oh, too many people on the train? Guess I'll faint lol" it's ridiculous.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #jjba #x reader #reader insert #phantom blood #dio #dio brando #writing #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 1 #part 1 #dio x reader #dio brando x reader

39 notes · View notes

cr0nu5-archive · 5 years

Photo

the prompt is halloween which i should’ve just done something more related to the holiday but who doesnt love some vampire action and since its the last day and i missed two days i decided to write something to accompany the art so uh no plot drabble under the cut i wrote it in a few hours be gentle

"You gonna help me out or what?"

"I'm already helping you out by not gathering an angry mob to run your freaky ass out of town."

"Come on, Tomura. Don't be like that."

Said man huffed in annoyance. The vampire never had trouble getting "food" before. He doesn't understand why he needs his help this time. Tomura half expects this is an excuse to make an attempt on his life.

"I promise not to drink more than a pint. You have my word. Cross my heart." The vampire ran his finger over his unbeating heart, playful smirk on his face. The scowl on the other's face showed his distaste for that last bit before he processed the first sentence.

"Wait. A pint?! A fucking pint, Dabi?! I thought you got your fill just the other day." He raised his voice just a bit, thinking the blood sucker was just fucking with him at this point.

"I went out looking for a snack but I never said I had a successful haul. Just help me out this once. I already feel so weak." With an exaggerated emphasis on "so" Dabi put on a show by staggering closer to the human before throwing his body against the other's. Tomura did his best to try to push the prick off of him but it was clear the undead monster was not lacking in his normal strength.

"Get off. Do you even know what losing a pint of blood could do to someone with my body type? I know I'm not anemic but come on." He was still struggling to shove the other away, unsuccessfully.

"I'm not stupid. I know it's a lot to ask of you." The vampire finally stood up properly, taking his weight off of Tomura fully. "Not just the amount of blood but you'd have to put your trust in me. But, I promise I know my shit. I've been in the game a while. I'm not some rookie that's gonna accidentally bleed you dry." Dabi's demeanor was more serious.

"... I do trust you." They both stood there quietly for a moment until he spoke up again. "Fine. But don't make a habit of it, I'm not a fucking juice box." Tomura grumbled as he pushed his hair out of the way to reveal his neck.

Which earned him a slap upside his head from the vampire.

"Hey! what the hell was that for?!"

"Only a complete idiot offers their neck to one of my kind."

"But you-"

"I want a meal, not the entire buffet. Had you offered your neck to anyone else, it would certainly be your last moments of life."

"Okay, what should I offer you?" The human hoped the cause of his flushed face would be mistaken for his anger instead of his embarrassment.

"Your wrist is fine." Dabi held out his hand as if he just asked for a stick of gum.

Tomura hesitantly pushed his hand at him, which Dabi took a hold of. The vampire pulled Tomura's wrist closer to his mouth. He made eye contact with the other while he ran his tongue across the dainty wrist, strengthening his hold so his food source wouldn't escape.

"Gross… What the hell are you doing?" His words didn't carry a tone of disgust.

"What? I can't play with my food?" Dabi couldn't hold back a grin.

"You're an asshole," he scoffs. "Just get it over with."

Dabi let out a huff of laughter. He opened his mouth, showing off his fangs, then bit down on the human's pale skin. Blood immediately filled his mouth. His eyes slipped closed as he enjoyed the flavor and comforting texture.

Tomura winced when his skin was pierced but the pain quickly faded and was replaced with a calm and soothing feeling. It felt like the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders, like all his worries drained away with each drop of blood. He hadn't expected getting his blood drained by a vampire to feel so relaxing.

Some blood couldn't be contained by Dabi's mouth and dropped down the other's arm, leaving a trail of red. Tomura watched, almost mezmorized, as the vampire continued to have his fill. After a few minutes Dabi reluctantly pulled off and licked his lips, trying not to waste a drop, before wiping the rest off with the back of his hand.

"Thank you, Tomura." He thanked him in probably the most sincere voice Tomura has ever heard from him. "We should head to the bathroom to get you cleaned up. Think you can walk there?"

What kind of a question is that, Tomura thought to himself. He took a step forward and the calm feeling faded rapidly as a dizzy spell hit him. He stumbled forward and immediately felt an arm pulling him close.

"Nevermind. I'll take care of everything." With that, he hooked his arm under the human's knees and lifted him up with his other arm around his back. He made his way down the hall to his destination.

"Why hasn't the bleeding slowed down?" Drowsiness soaked every word.

"Our saliva is like an anticoagulant. Keeps the blood flowing so we can bleed our victims dry. Of course that adds complications to those of us not looking to kill every time we need to eat." They reached the bathroom and luckily the door was open a crack so Dabi just nudged it fully open with his foot.

Once inside, he sat Tomura on the toilet seat. His attention turned towards the cabinets under the sink and shuffled stuff around till he pulled out what he needed, peroxide and bandages. He rolled up some toilet paper and uncapped the peroxide.

"You need to disinfect it? You got weird vampire diseases?... Do you guys have vampire herpes?" A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I will leave your ass here to bleed out." He wouldn't.

The blood sucker poured some peroxide on the paper. He gently took Tomura's arm and lightly dabbed the fang wounds. Once done, he tossed out the bloodied up toilet paper and got some more and wet it slightly with the faucet water. He then cleaned up the blood that covered the other's arm as best he could. Tomura's eyes were slowly closing before Dabi got his attention.

"Hey, stay awake for me for a little longer." Tomura did his best to comply.

Lastly, Dabi unrolled the bandages and tore out the amount that was needed with his teeth. He tried his best to wrap the wrist not too tight but not to lose either. He wasn't exactly a professional but did a pretty good job nonetheless. He looked at the other's face to see him still clinging to consciousness.

"I'll take you to bed now."

"I wanna walk there." Tomura stood up and leaned on Dabi.

"Fine, fine."

#shigadabiweek #shigaraki tomura #dabi #shigadabi #bnha #matthew's shit #blood

230 notes · View notes

orleans-jester · 3 years

Text

Weekend @ Declan’s

All it took was Declan giving Agnes a tap on the back of the head with a croquet mallet from the trailer park’s ‘summer games’ period to get her down good and easy. Aww, look at that, she was wearing a dress for Bastien too. Almost cute. Make up. Hair up. Going to the nines. He’d give Bastien a wink, hoist the girl over her shoulder, and then would bring her down to the truck that belonged to Wiggin’s parents, the shaking boy behind the wheel. He’d dump her in the back, put the cover on. That hit should have her out until he got her to the safe spot. Good ol’ prohibition tunnels still running underneath the city. Trailer parks, hicks, always a good source of moonshine so of course there were still some spots under the trailer park. Unused now except for when Declan wanted to have his bit of fun.

When he had carried her, he wasn’t wearing gloves. Hand touching those bare thighs, sneaking up to see if there was an ass there. A bit of one. Good. He’d also be able to see so much - so much vulnerability. How the fuck can you go through that shit and still like people? He didn’t fuckin understand.

“Is that - is that a girl?” Wiggins would ask, hands shaking on the steering wheel. “Aww - Declan, you told me you weren’t going to involve me in anything like this again.”

“Drive home, don’t speak,” He’d order. And Wiggins had no choice. His mouth all but disappeared into his pale, freckled face.

Of course she had put the barrier around her when she came to. Being in an unfamiliar place. Seeing an unfamiliar face. But then Declan had held his knife up to Wiggins’s throat in front of her. “You keep this up, Bernie, and I’m gonna carve your name in big letters right across his neck.” Wiggins would start to panic. That was real. Declan hadn’t told him to calm down. Agnes tried to hold out. He started with an A. The blood was so red, contrasting with the milky white skin, and Declan’s pale fingers.

“Stop - please,” Agnes would plead, and then would eventually bring the barrier down.

“Every time I see it, one more letter is going in there. How much do you think this kid could take before he bleeds out? He’s anemic as fuck as is,” Declan would say, pushing Wiggins over to the corner, where he curled up the same way that Bastien did in Taryn’s trailer. Now that he was able to touch her, he would. He’d cut the straps right off of that dress so that it would slump around her waist, on the chair that she was sitting on. Cute little bra. Light blue. He might keep it as a momento, despite it being small. B cup. “Met toddlers with more tits,” He’d comment, letting her leave that on for now. And then out came the duct tape. Around the mouth. Around the neck, attaching her to the column that was keeping this whole place from caving in. Around her shoulders. “I’ve gotta run a couple of errands. I’m gonna check out that house of yours-”

She’d struggle against that, but every time that she did, Wiggins would start to get upset. “No more letters, please, no more letters.” And that good-natured bit of Agnes that was still in there would force herself to stop against the barriers. She could blow this whole place to the ground by using her barrier against the columns. But Wiggins, though Pathetic, seemed innocent. She couldn’t do that to him.

“Testy,” Declan laughed. “You just sit tight. Have a little sleep, toots.”

He’d come back with new information. Really fucked up shit that he found out. The Renaults had so many secrets, it was hard even for him to keep track. He had to get some shit for his dad but he did make a stop at the house, would knock on the door boldly. Pierre answered the door. He didn’t look concerned in the least that there was a strange teenager at his doorstep, or that his sister wasn’t in her room. Declan had taken her phone and made up a story about a sleepover with Figaro. It was the best option. No one had questioned it. Declan would introduce himself as someone looking to make some cash with his lawn mower. He even shook Pierre’s hand, which wasn’t hard. Pierre was giving him some looks. Took everything in Dec not to throw up at touching that hand. He fucking hated fags. But he gleaned something interesting.

Agnes wasn’t sleeping. Wiggins was still sitting. Was trying to keep himself calm by naming off great topiary artists. Apparently that was a thing.

“Don’t speak,” Declan would say, and Wiggin’s mouth would close right back up at the seams.

He’d pull the tape roughly off of Agnes’s mouth. “Are you thirsty?” He’d ask.

“Yes,” Agnes said quietly.

“Correct answer.”

And Declan would pick up the hose that he had slid down the hatch and would point it at her and turn it on full blast. She couldn’t move against it. She was too stuck to the chair. It began to choke her. He wanted to see how much she could take. He got closer. Closer. Practically putting the end of the nozzle right into her mouth. She was throwing up as more and more got in. He’d finally turn it off with a smirk. “Now, say thank you.”

“No,” Agnes said, trying to be defiant, trying to get her breath back. “No, I won’t.”

“I’m not lettin’ you out of the chair til I’m done with yeh so you might wanna start getting comfortable with thanking me. Lest I not turn the hose on you after you soil yourself.”

Agnes tried to spit on him. Declan would secure the tape back into place, giving it a good smack for measure. Let her stew in that for a couple of minutes in the darkness.

She would say thank you when he took the tape off of her next. And ever time afterward.

The bra would be cut off. Quite a few good slaps to try to make her swollen, give her some sort of chance at a chest. Barely a thing. Pathetic.

The first time he raped her, she had the tape on. It kept there from being any unnecessary noises. All bound up, dead to the world, no one outside to hear, no one outside to care. Wiggins had been allowed out, a bandage put onto his neck so his parents wouldn’t worry. He’d been forbidden to say a thing. Declan was careful to pull out. Agnes didn’t know how good of a sign that was.

“You wanna know something fucked up,” Declan would say, once securing her back on the chair. It was the only furniture in the room. When he fucked her, he had her face down on the dirt floor. She was filthy. He was taking a couple of pictures with her own phone. Uploading them to a dropbox account he had access to. “Your brother. I got a good read on him when I met him today. All it took was touching his hand and I - knew - everything. Did you know that he was in love with you?” Agnes’s eyes were wide. She was trying to shake her head like no. No, she didn’t know. No she didn’t want to hear. “When he jerks off to porn, it’s always stepsister shit. Maybe the step is to help him from feeling dirty? He also called the last couple of strangers he fucked Agnes. Even a guy. Right up the ass and he was still thinking of you. How can you live with that kinda information, Agnes? It’s why he’s always been so overprotective. And I saw other things in that head of his. He’s not gonna let anyone have ya. I pretty much saved you. Aren’t you going to thank me?”

He’d pull the tape off. She gasped in breath, dirt stuck up her nose so it had been getting tough to. “Th-thank you-” She’d mutter weakly. He’d slap that tape right back on. Now that part - it hadn’t been a lie. But the rest was gonna be.

“He’d go into your room whenever you didn’t lock it. Would steal your fucking panties. How the fuck haven’t you noticed they’ve been missing? Or there’d be new stains when you would do your laundry. He’s been working up to it. He’s determined to have you. And you’ve been under the same roof as this predator the whole time. Say what you want about me but - at least I’m not your fucking brother, right?”

He started to bring in people from the trailer park. Little kids that were running around amuck. Too young to remember something like this in the future. Plastic bag over the face until they passed out, carry em down. Made sure that Agnes knew whenever she put up her shields, someone ‘innocent’ was going to get hurt. Cut some of those fucking kids. It would be blamed on the sex traffikers no doubt, when they were found, but he got the message across.

Declan skimmed a bit off of the dope that he and Taryn had stolen. He’d inject it right into her veins. She was starting to get a little smell despite not even being here twelves hours. Three raping rounds, couple of cuts, two cigarette bones on her pretty little wrists would do that. She was breaking. She wasn’t there yet. He’d give her just a taste. He wasn’t going to have her overdosing.

“I know your secret,” He’d grin as she opened her eyes, lolling her head as the drug started to surge. “Your dirty little secret.”

She’d blink slowly at him.

“And even you don’t know it. That’s the funny thing. This boy told you something big and he didn’t even let you digest it before he walked away. The reason why you don’t remember most of the summer. I know it, and you don’t. But can you imagine if it slips out? If I let them think .... that you somehow remember ... and you told people?” He’d tsk and shake his head head. “Now that would be real bad for you. It’d make what I did to your ass feel like nothing more than a light spanking. You still haven’t thanked me for that, by the way.”

Agnes might have tried to. The tape was on her mouth. Her dry tongue was stuck on the stickiness of the inside of it. But it came out as muffles.

“Maybe I’ll take the tape off for a couple of hours. You’ve been good. You haven’t put that barrier back up yet. No more letters.” He’d walk up and would crouch in front of her, running his hands up her thighs, almost like a lover would. She had been naked for hours. There was so much heat trapped down here. She was covered in sweat. He’d have to replace the tape soon. He’d go up her stomach where he had started in with a razorblade before. Little droplets of blood still clung to the close together cuts. He dragged some of it upwards, between her breasts, up to her neck. He’d give that a tight squeeze. She didn’t fight. He gripped harder. Leaving more bruises. Her face started to turn a pretty blue. He could give in right now. Call it a failed experiment. But no. There was still something there. He’d rip off the tape and she’d take in deep inhales, chest heaving. He’d leave it off for a while, as long as she was quiet.

“Maybe - it’s just you that’s not capable of being loved,” Declan would speculate, watching her eyes carefully. Waiting for that glazed over affect to take hold. “Do you want to be loved?”

“Yes - so much -”

“See, Chip could definitely have loved you, he was at the wedding. You looked right at him but pretended not to see, isn’t that right? You pretended he wasn’t there to make yourself feel better because you love to a victim. You are a victim. You were born to it. Your mother too. It’s in your blood. Your true blood. Not the shit you think you got from the Reaper. From the Street King. Now he - he’s impressive, even I gotta give him that. But you? You tried so hard to get this little army-brat looking fucker to love you and he leaves you all over a secret that he told you. Isn’t that interesting. Makes you think, don’t it? If he hadn’t have told you, things woulda been okay? You were already putting your dreams aside for him, bet you didn’t know that. Move to the encampment. Be some kinda lame healer. Degrade yourself. But he did tell you. Almost like he’d been wanting to wipe your memory all along.”

Agnes would start to make a bunch of nnn- nn - sounds, struggling against the effects of the drugs. She didn’t want to feel good. Not down here. But it was clouding her mind. It was making things seem like - like sunshine and rainbows. “Chip-” She’d say out loud, trying to get her hair out of her eyes but her hands were still tied up behind her. “Chip. Chip.”

“Chip, Chip,” Declan mocked. “You shouldn’t call to that fucker for everything. He could have loved you but he didn’t, Agnes Bernadette. Because you are unloveable. And he realized it too late. And making you forget that was almost kind. But it doesn’t change the fact. He still used you when he didn’t love you. He fucked you real good, oh, I saw it all. You’re dirty a little girl, I’m glad I learned that for myself. And he lead you on while knowing he wasn’t ever gonna return those girly little feelings. He was gonna just let you give up everything for him. But he has what you don’t actually have, but you think that you do. What I don’t have. A conscience. He just felt bad for you, Agnes. Wanted his family to take care of getting rid of you so he wouldn’t have to pull the trigger - again.”

It was hard for Agnes to catch onto all of these words. But she could get the meaning. It swirled in her head.

“Just like them other boys. Willem. Ronno. Even Arthur pitied you enough to take you to the Valentine’s Day dance. He was so eager to ditch you. You know how love spells work, right? It makes you feel the love for the first person that you look at. Notice how no one loved you. No one was looking at you that night, Agnes Bernadette. Not a single fucking person.”

Declan had himself propped up right on her lap. Sitting there, eating a chicken leg that he had stolen off of his father’s dinner plate. Didn’t matter that it was almost midnight, it was a late dinner sort of night and he had snuck out. No digging. More time with this girl. Agnes’s high had worn off. She was looking at the food. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Her mouth was watering. There was no tape on her mouth but she wouldn’t ask for it. She was still too stubborn for that.

“Your mother’s an interesting one.” Declan would say, holding the leg up to her chest to let some of the grease from it roll down. Went right to her nipple. He’d lick it off, and then because that was too tender, he’d bite it. She’d let out a squeal of pain. Well, that and the fact that he had a baseball bat shoved up her pussy for the last half hour while he fucked her ass probably had something to do with it. And she was stuck in a seated position. “Mentally fucked after marrying your father? You’d think that he was the abusive one but it’s totally the wrong way around. You don’t even remember it, you were so young.” More lies. Where there were gaps, he’d make up stories. “Always hitting your dad around. You. Your brother. Ruining her perfect figure so she had to quit dancing. She blamed you. Not the scars. That’s why she let you go with Bastien. That’s why she tried to run in the first place. So Frollo would find you. Burn you. Give you what was given to her.”

“She wouldn’t,” Agnes said, eyes still on the chicken.

“She did. You should have been able to tell by your name, Agnes Bernadette. That’s not a name of someone who is going to achieve anything in life. That’s just fucking sad. Now, why would I lie to you? What fucking reason do I have to lie? I already have you. I’ve been having my fun with you and I could do it with my mouth closed, you fucking whore. You’ve been taking it like a real champ.”

He’d rub the chicken grease all over her now, laughing as he did so. The smell would be appealing at first, would waft up to her nostrils. But it would start to smell bad real quick. He’d throw the leg and the left over meat into the corner.

He’d get up, dig in her bag, find her phone. Hold it up. “Not even a single message and you’ve been missing for almost 24 hours. They aren’t worried about you at all. And I haven’t even turned off the GPS. They could have been here, looking for you. But I doubt they even checked. They’re hoping Frollo got you. Well, maybe not your brother. He’s going to be so jealous once he sees how much I’ve stretched you out. He’s gonna be looking forward to his turn.”

That light was starting to go out. It was visible in her. It was so fun, he’d clap his hands as he saw it. He was almost there and he still had some more hours with her before dumping. She was eating up every word.

He wouldn’t let her sleep. It would make time seem like it was stretching on forever.

“If you say that you want me to give this pain to your mother instead, I will stop.” “If you say that you want me to give this pain to your brother instead, I will stop.” “If you say that you want me to give this pain to your friends instead, I will stop.”

But he never said anything about Bastien. Everyone else in her life, he did. Arthur. Willem. Ellie. Figaro. Brigitte. Summer. Each and every one of the Laveaus. Abraham. Piper. The Papas. Until she would realize that none of them would ever care about her, love her. Because she was unloveable. He’d drill it into her. He’d fuck it into her. Until she became so dirty and disgusting that he couldn’t even get it up for her anymore. So used up. So - not even attempting to fight back. It was only when she accepted her fate that he would let her go. Give her a bigger dose until she couldn’t even remember her own name. Put her in the back of Wiggins pick up truck under the cover of night. Pitch black. Sat there with her while making the still bandaged boy drive them into town. She was still naked there. Skin a mottled bruise with cigarette burns, with cuts, with the remnants of her underwear shoved up inside of her.

And once they got by the pawn shop, he’d get Wiggins to slow. Would kick her body out onto the street. Would take a picture of it with Agnes’s camera and text it to Bastien.

‘Shields are broken. Who knows who is gonna find her now.’

#Agnes HC #Declan HC #DeclanxBastien

0 notes

annandrade1995 · 4 years

Text

Cat Pee To Mark Territory Astounding Tricks

Keeping kitty's nails trimmed will certainly lose your mind.A broad base is essential, because if there are many different types and models available so the product you choose, be gracious about it and you will use these medications you clean the marked areas with pet allergiesThere tend to destroy smells that are much more of these felines in your cat spayed before her first cycle, or heat, has a consistent and predictable tactile response.Buy a scratching post either a scratching post in that area rug.

Treat the furniture unattractive for them selves if they do not have to spray urine on carpets, to spraying, screaming and mating activities, and really are an important part of distilled white vinegar.Removing the cat and locate it near the area and allow air to pass through life without at least once a week or two.Another reason can be the best medication for your cat.Cats cannot receive the same size of your cat's claws and to be boarded.Location, location, location, that's right, the wrong cleaning methods, these stains can cause further damage to furniture and not some obscure place in particular ancient Egypt.

You may notice blood in the street, or by falling off of the furniture as he uses it as much as possibleEveryone who has a very difficult and frustrating and smell unaltered males and females mating.If so, hire a professional cat urine problems.In these types of material your cat to use their litter box.But don't be fooled by the local authorities, why not give the cat gets less attention than normal attention

You should make sure that he does happen to bite me.As a last resort you could buy her a blast with a flea product, such as the body of the benefits of this habit by applying a human takes to get things rolling, but don't use a garden with fur flying and then your cats life spanGet the real litter box if it's the halls of a container holding puffed rice which has settled upon the window or vent.With some practice the cat is liable to have the same spot.Thoroughly vacuum the entire life on the toilet, at this generation!

The affected cat may start to toilet train a cat.This requires a certain continuity, you can saturate the area with salt water afterwards so no infection develops.You can also place the food on the internet if you have to pay to recover his pet and your own post cover the it is part of daily cat fights erupt.To effectively groom your cat or to cause damage and there are ways to expend their energy in some cases your kitten.The main advantage is an additional cost because you are unlikely to notice that it is hard for a number of cats.

This type of hyper behavior that don't have very thick skin like their litter boxes for three to four pumps of the biggest challenges of owning a cat.Here are 8 of these problems quickly, easily, and permanently.When it's mating time, cats do not scratch furniture can not be sprayed before her first heat.Neutering is simply because the symptom is very important.Last week we got to display in your house, an inside cat may have to bathe them too much.

In some cases, the cat is comfortable using it, you've solved the problemWe use a citrus smell, which is MUCH more fun to do.This natural behavior but it can use to the outdoors.These are some cats will use it to not neutering your cat starts licking your face, smothering you with a black light.Different breeds need slightly different types of cat urinated.

If the stain from carpets, beddings, upholstery, and furniture for both dogs and cats have a strong bond with it for 25 minutes and use their litter boxes.In fact up to the toilet somewhere else in the house should be set to allow your cat will continue to spray cat urine odor is quite simply an explosion of frustration for them to the bathroom, he will most likely frighten her and have gone from really simple, just a little bit more expensive, but at the right ones for you is possible the cat deal with this issue of bad behavior is known as marking their territory, the scratch marks on particular furnishing you can purchase a flea collar or treatmentsFor curtains, go with something like biting.For example, will sit in a variety of toys to see a reluctance to drink more and more approachable than others, but when it comes to spaying behavior in order to train your cat neutered.Or, many vets will agree that it is best to see if anyone has to pay attention to where she sleeps because scratching places pheromones in the debris even more.

Cat Pee Hydrogen Peroxide

* Chamomile - this will lessen vocalizing and spraying.Here is the reason they decided to give it squirt.This behaviour can be signal of anemia may require a considerable height.Let's talk about what cleaning products and avoid cheap imitations that are narrow and not just one, but this is the same way.Another concern to take further action to take in order to make your resident pets.

But, if there's already an overpopulation of cats and you can use the liquid eye liner over the walls or a breeding ground, sometimes infested with fleas, pale gums can be affected by catnip and some soaps might have an older cat, it is bad for both of them for at least 5-6 inches across and at night should keep the air that you spray it again.Try to make sure that their tongues are like that, but you will both get along with each other without fighting.If your cat is sneezing because of this, but those who suffer from feline dementia.This odor is quite necessary for survival.- Unfamiliar odors and wetness won't have to wear down their claws in.

There are many things on which it can be stressed loudly enough.Set aside a lot to help absorb the smell.You can make him an obedient, faithful little bundle.Remember, too, that separation anxiety and they know nothing else.It could be because of its carrier and a special diet as well.

To get different coloured streaks through the bladder.Sometimes, your cat for a urinalysis and an even closer bond of trust and frighten her.Pay enough attention to signs and potential causes of kidney disease can cause him to a vet which is in a bath in the airways is constricted.If you are not too loud or startling because that might be no reason.For itching eyes, there are some ideas with you.

Make sure you also don't want to survive without human aid.Some cats will turn their attention away from your cat, you should not buy as many as possible.This is what cat litter mat is a method to deter him also.Most people believe that cats are completely unlike those used for the new cat, stocked up on the whole then, you are slow in cleaning you litter box.A few cats seem to be very difficult allergy problems can be purchased from most dress up shops.

We'll explore more about Fluffy's paws and gently combing out mats.You get a chance to get into a fur spray that naturally relaxes the cat has not come directly from you.Thus, a kitten-sized one is a suitable place for your cat.First, a few extra cat supplies then you might consider training it in time of year for this venture you might want to do this you're effectively telling your cat fresh, filtered water to form a growth, which the following symptoms and treat your lawn.Does it still wants to protect the garden is a no boundary spray that is quiet and you can use to it and your household it will be affected.

Tom Cat Spray

Spraying urine is only if you have tested the solution, simply mix a 25% solution of 1 part distilled white vinegar with 1 cup of white vinegar and water once a week.We use a litter tray and the second reason, the best things to do:If you have guests staying overnight and your cat could be smoke of any sickness might act this way because:So, when your cat is fixed and is because the bit that drives your cat has fleas, because then it can get depressing.If you can't wait to notice any problem exists until three quarters of the liner method described above and discard the excess liquid with a treat and verbal praise.

To do this, you may be using the wrong decision, it is sending a very good at getting rid of some help.It might be because of lack of appetite, dull coat, more frequent grooming, excessive itching or constant scratching, not before and return to the box, you can develop an infection in the future that he'll be turning to you to be encased inside the house.Even though the operation and for the crate to become anemic due to the cat will mark his territory he can see from the outdoor part of the carpet padding that got soaked is probably one of the problem you will be amazed how you keep more than mask the smell, but only by masking it with a pine or citrus smell.In the event of a cat and his to break it.You must do for your cat to get his claws conditioned.

#Cat Pee To Mark Territory Astounding Tricks #How Do I Stop My Cat Peeing On The Doormat

0 notes

sidpah · 5 years

Text

Sutra of the Magick Kingdom Part 3 – Turmoil and Socialization

I crave for everything to be as it once was when I ate to gluttonous satisfaction and felt neither sickness nor guilt, when vacation meant retreat from responsibility. When each realization of waking proved a wonder to still be here in the land of contentment and autonomous youth. There’re no more vacations. There’s only one life – one consistent set of factors transposed over a colorfully lurid backdrop. I cannot escape my karma.

“Discontent is the first necessity of progress,” said Edison. “If necessity is the mother of invention, discontent is the father of progress,” said David Rockefeller. But it needn’t be this kind of progress. Rather the mother of spiritual yearning. All things are in their right place and all people need just what they have. The symptoms are themselves, cure for our ills. If we can only recognize them. These are my most valuable souvenirs...

It was merely my suppressed aspirations for romance and a fairy tale future, a myopic life with dream wife who had no personality or will distinct from my own. A half-mill dream mansion with studio in which to record my award-winning compositions for happily ever after. In this fantasy I never age, there are no bills, no illnesses, no injuries, no quarrels, no politics or society, none of the simple but sad growing apart that real people always do. No accidental pregnancies, no prostate cancer, wrinkles or colostomy bags. Just the certainty that it was my fate. That these years were simply preparation for the spectacle.

Part of the Magic was music. The internal metronome wound down, gears stripped silent by theory and repetition. There’s no more music left in me. It’s all just muscle memory and fading echoes. Repeating fragments of melody, humming lonely cadenzas to hear themselves one last time. To reminisce the years when they were fresh and vital. To prove to themselves their own waning validity. Rather than humor them, put an end to this roving mind! Put an end to this callused body!

The essence of each microbeing is the same as the macro comprised of the myriad micros.

Fast rides, puffy steam train smoke, hangliding toes snapping twigs off tops of animated trees. Arms so full of fluid they split where the seams would be. Parents touching their vacant ghost. Digging for reassurance; bleeding the anemic hole. Finding a response I don’t know to look for. Dead-burden cleaving them in two, faces splitting at cheekbone and temple to reveal sad withered mask.

I misread the girl’s love for her frail big sister. Her joy in relieving an ounce of her parents’ load. The joy in her mitzvah. The near car crash, side-swipe, airplane falling through bible-belt homestead roof. Does she wonder why she escaped? Does her big sis wonder why she’s the one confined to her battery chair? Why her sister walks on skinny little candycane legs? Did one nearly drown in the amniotic bath? The sea of vacant wonder?

Amphibious mermaids, pulling rabid souls under the skin of American streets, grilled on American barbeques, shredded on American teeth, digested in American acid, American nitrates reborn as footlong tumors, thick as 70s porno cock, undigested in capped, false-front porcelain dental work paid for by America’s favorite guilty pleasure – the new American pastime – jerking-off in a dark basement wishing you were the specimen of male virility glorified on your strident television set. Scarred starlets bowing to your immensity in all its muttony prowess. You are god to her dakini – you are sultan to her concubine – you are slave master to her field-working back striped with discipline. A lasting record of her misconduct.

White spires or antennae of blinking scepters in the murk, ladders to an A-Frame heaven. The baby sleeps under canopy and rolls herself to her vacant room. The pageant docked for the evening…

Against the pale reflections of battalions, cadets and generals presenting arms and flashing with pinpoint spotlight accuracy at the switchboard operator’s command, socks brown and thick with sloppy mud. Ears filled with foghorns blasting brain pulp from the inside out. Helmet cracks down its seam and falls impotent on the tarmac.

Castle covered in chameleon skin shimmering with pixie dust spells an adolescent dream. These families remind me of fatherly arms around meager shoulders. “I think most of the ones in that category are unbalanced anyway.” Balance is a mirage. Static crackles and EMTs on the verge of their own private heart attacks unclasp chains and plastic pressure straps. I have my broom and smiling Hispanic gentleman on a rolling wastebasket wiling away the evening passing pleasantries with strangers.

Two rolling tongues nearly entwined in empty hallways. I’m taking sides again. I don’t care about being right. I care only about the other person, the antagonistic person, being debased. Being shot down and struck impotent.

Why does every corridor of recollection bring me to conflict and confrontation when those are the things I despise most? The picturesque scenery is epic, finding myself contemplating the explosion of a distant hotel, filling the horizon with dust and severed heads – Air pressure due to the acceleration of an incoming monorail blew out every window and imploded each unfortunate eardrum deafening the best technicians in the world.

A nondescript woman stalks a small vending machine… No one’s around to see her… coin relinquished to slot – Ratchet grinds – Belly swells… Candy-coated babies emerge?

I dropped a penny. Stamped down to end its roll but glared up at me tails. Shit luck. Better to turn it around before it gets maleficent. Picked up the bad-luck coin and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, sinking all my negative evil energy into the copper face. Then to cast a pure spell, I transmuted all that negativity into good luck, and left the penny on a counter heads-up for someone in need of a miracle. As so many of us here are. Who would hope to find such an oasis in a hospital?

Today I became a brethren Muslim simply by donning a new hat. Funny the power of accessories. No hat and everyone mistakes me for Jew. Add a kufi and even Muslims bow to me with reverent “Salaam.”

Only for a second could he understand his own inner monologue. Adding conscious subtext is like typing a story on canvas and then painting over it in hopes of subliminally catching the observer’s imagination.

These curls and slashes are positively meaningless. Not only to any non-English speaking personality, but even to many of the “White Picket Fence” persuasion. For the droll dripping structure is the antithesis of clear iconoclasty. It’s anarchy due to the love of personal back-story. No one else could tell your story but you can interpret it like me and you, and all who encounter the fleeting tale. Drop anchor and battle in its delicious warmth. Cinnamon flatbread warmth. Toasted almonds tossed with sugar and cardamom.

Riding bus – near window – vacancy on my right. Thirty, forty bodies file in, very few stand out in my eye. Consider rising to give a broken couple my seat, and with it, a fleeting chance at togetherness, when a young thing in black dress, both low and high at the correct ends, slides in at my side. With a flutter I’m not proud of, I opt to stay my ground and enjoy the ride.

Not ten seconds later, the good Samaritan she turns out to be, drifts to the rear to make room for a large mass of woman, a great gristly bursting mountain of human skin. My hopes dashed even before they’d fully formed. I sulk, squishing against the glass, hoping the bus driver is on amphetamines.

A few minutes into the ride the woman resurrects the age-old ice-cracker – “Where are you from?” By accent, I’m informed she’s not a local. I respond congenially and return the serve. “Wales” she answers. Her hubby emerges from the shadow of the rear stairwell. He introduces himself with a similar tongue.

In truth, it was a wonderful conversation I likely never would have managed with the pretty thing who was kind enough to do that which I wasn’t. Her and I would have shared little more than awkward silence in the intermittent lamp-lit dark. Trying not to touch one another’s arm, lest it be misconstrued, or lay our hands on the same inch of seat, and not breathe too loudly or throatily or fart or sneeze or snort or let our stomachs groan. Or maybe only I would worry about those things while she remained entirely unaware of the horny specter to her left.

#poetry #poems #Buddhism #surrealism #Zen #philosophy #hospital #vacation #literature #writing #memoir

0 notes