#again the only time he ribs him is after that sparring scene but otherwise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sepulchralblues · 3 years

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my skin is painted pink and blue

This is a snippet of a scene from an AU of mine. It’s quite long, hence the cut. (Mind you, this AU isn’t going to be up for a while, not until I’ve gotten at least something substantial written for it!)

(1.8k words)

Trigger Warnings: Vague references to past abuse on both Neil and Andrew’s parts, minor violence (they spar).

Neil lost the first round.

And the second.

By the third, they were both tiring, and Andrew was slipping up with his guard.

Sweat dripped off Neil's bangs and into his eyes as he circled Andrew, fists held up in front of him, mirroring the other boy. His knuckles were bright red, fading bruises coloured blue and purple splattered across the fair skin.

Andrew moved first this time, fist flying towards Neil's face. Neil threw himself backwards, balancing on the balls of his feet, and spun. The kick he aimed for Andrew's ribs glanced off as the other boy shifted just in time, a hiss emanating from his lips.

With a speed Neil did not know Andrew possessed, Andrew slipped close to Neil. He only just blocked the punch to his jaw with his forearm but missed the fist that landed in his gut.

Coughing, Neil ducked under Andrew's swing, ramming his elbow onto the sore spot on his ribs where his foot had previously landed.

Andrew groaned and spun away but didn’t stop for a breath. He kicked out, aiming at Neil's shoulder, leaving his other leg vulnerable. Neil took the hit to his shoulder with a sharp exhale but swept his foot out to trip Andrew before he regained his balance from the force of his hit. Unbalanced himself, Neil stumbled backwards, but quickly stabilized himself, in time to see Andrew hit the ground.

Not allowing the other boy a moment to get his feet under him, Neil landed on top of him, in time to meet Andrew's fist with his jaw. The angle wasn’t right to knock Neil out, but he did slip dangerously sideways, giving Andrew an out to roll them over, pinning Neil's hips with his own.

Neil slammed the heel of his palm into Andrew's solar plexus before his arm was pinned, leaving the blond gasping for breath, grip weakening from where his fingers had wrapped around Neil's throat.

With a hard shove, Neil threw Andrew off of him, twisting their legs together to trap Andrew on the ground. He caught the blonde’s arm when it came swinging at him, the other still pressed to the centre of his chest.

Neil forced the arm down, pulling his right leg free from where it had knotted itself around Andrew's legs and digging the knee into his abdomen and not allowing him to move. Neil held Andrew's wrist to the floor, forearm pressed to his throat.

He met Andrew's eye, the hazel looking like green in the darkness of the training room, their breaths rattling out of their chests, too loud in the otherwise silent open space.

The release of Andrew's clenched fist gave Neil the green light to let go immediately. He sat back next to the other boy, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows against his knees. Wiping away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm, he took a look at the blonde sprawled next to him.

Andrew hadn’t moved since Neil had released him, his gaze stuck to the rafters of the Barn, barely visible in the dim lighting. Neil noticed though, that the lines of tension that had been there when Andrew came knocking on his door at one in the morning were no longer visible. Good.

They did this sometimes, when one or both of them were having a bad night. They’d come down to the Barn and spar, going again and again and again, round after round, until they walked out black and blue, sometimes too sore to even talk.

Renee used to join them, back when they first started this. In fact, it had been her idea to invite Neil to their nightly sparring, a routine which had developed between Andrew and Renee during his first year at the Academy and her third. Little did the rest of the sound-asleep school know about the two, now three, students who snuck down here frequently to beat each other up in an effort to run away from the nightmares haunting them, driving them out of bed every night.

That wasn’t to say that some nights weren’t better than the others, or what may have been a perfectly normal day for one wasn’t absolutely awful for another. They just turned up at each other’s doors at the dorms, a question on the tips of their tongues, and never getting a refusal as an answer.

It was what had happened today also. Andrew was worked up enough to get Neil out of bed to come spar with him. Neil wasn’t particularly distressed about it; sleep had been evading for hours when Andrew had rapped his knuckles on the door to his suite. He was more than glad for the distraction.

For the past few weeks though, it had just been Neil and Andrew. Renee hadn’t been joining them lately, as she seemed happier with her life. Neil was glad that this year, no matter the ups and downs, was doing some good for someone, even if it had been the cause of driving both Neil and Andrew out of bed more times than not. He was pleased on behalf of Renee; it was like the darkness of her past was finally settling, like it was relinquishing the iron grip it had had on her life for the past few years.

(It gave him the tiniest spark of hope for the darkness of his own childhood. Neil didn’t know if he’d make it out of this school, even be alive to graduate in three years. With the things that had happened this year already, and the way their plan was moving along, his chances were very, very low.)

Neil also didn’t know if that was it, or if she had somehow figured out that things had changed between Neil and Andrew, and this was her way of giving them privacy. He hoped that wasn’t the case, because neither Neil nor Andrew usually ever initiated anything sexual after these late nights, mostly because one or the both of them were not in the right mindset to be giving their consent or holding themselves to the boundaries drawn.

A deep sigh brought Neil out of his thoughts, hands stilling from where they had been idly drawing designs on the firm mat.

Andrew seemed lost in thought, judging by the small frown on his face. Curiosity, more than worry, because worry was an emotion frequently passed around during these kinds of nights, drove Neil to stick his face in Andrew's direct line of sight, blocking his view of the rafters, and cock an eyebrow.

Sometimes, on nights like these, they talked. They spoke of monsters in beds, monsters in basements, monsters hidden behind beautifully ordinary homes – and they spoke of the monsters they’d become to fight off their demons.

Sometimes, nights were too painful and pure, too raw and honest, too shrouded and concealed, to reveal truths – truths that were as delicate as flower petals, but as unseen as pearls hidden in the depths of the oceans. On those night, they sat beside each other, silently providing company and smoking pack after pack of cigarettes, the burning taste of smoke and flame keeping sharp-clawed terrors at bay.

Sometimes, they spoke of mindless things, discussing nonsense that had happened in class, or picking up award-winningly outrageous and ridiculous scenarios to plan out, like the event of a zombie apocalypse or what would happen if aliens invaded the Earth, what kind of cheese did they think those aliens would prefer, if they ate cheese, and if Neil could cook well (“And I mean a properly seasoned, edible meal, Josten.”) without the help of Ratatouille hidden in his hair.

Those nights were Neil's favourite kinds of nights, rare as they were. It was surprising to see someone take his darker jokes without flinching and instead, returning with quips in kind. Not everyone understood or worked well with Neil's black humour, but Andrew gave as good as he got.

Andrew exhaled; a puff of air that hit Neil's lips, an action that brought his attention to Andrew's eyes. They looked so different at night, shining a shade of green in the moonlight slanting through the high windows. Neil was so captivated by how they looked, wondering how he’d never noticed their difference from the gold it looked like in the sunlight, that he almost missed it when Andrew's gaze dropped to his lips.

Oh.

Well. Neil wasn’t going to protest if Andrew was up for it. In the few short weeks since they’d started whatever they were, Neil had found that he immensely enjoyed kissing Andrew. And, if the amount of time they’d spent making out over the past few weeks was any indication, Andrew really liked it too.

Neil couldn’t help it when he too, looked at Andrew's mouth. It was right there, looking so soft and plush, and Neil knew how those warm lips felt against his own–

Before he knew it, he was leaning in. Stilling in place when he realised what he was doing, he flicked his eyes to Andrew's, mind shutting down and sputtering back to life when he saw the blown-out pupils – blown-out not because of the adrenaline of the fight, or because of the darkness of the room, but because of the arousal and want Neil could see shining through – the desire that he knew was reflected in his own eyes.

“Yes or no?” He sounded like he’d swallowed gravel dry.

Andrew's eyes darkened further at the sound. “Yes.” His own smoker’s tone came out, sending little shivers down Neil's spine, shivers he did his best to hide.

Ducking down, one arm braced above Andrew's head, giving him time to pull away or stop him, he gently brushed his lips against Andrew's.

They had barely touched when Andrew pulled away, shaking his head. Neil knew a no when he saw one, so he backed off immediately, going back to sitting cross-legged, giving Andrew the space he needed.

He wasn’t allowed to touch him, but that didn’t stop Neil from looking him over, checking to see if he had triggered Andrew by accident.

He was halted in the middle of his worried once-over by a hand on his arm.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked.

“I thought it was a no from you.”

Andrew hesitated, his expression indicating that he was toeing the line between what to say out loud and what to let Neil figure out, what to reveal and what to keep hidden in the dark.

“I can’t–” he started. “I can’t have someone on top of me.” A pause. A softer, “Not yet.”

Neil wasn’t feeling pity, wasn’t feeling anger, wasn’t feeling anything at all. He couldn’t have an emotional response to this, to Andrew opening up and sharing this part of him, because this wasn’t Andrew asking for a hug and tears on his behalf, this was Andrew needing a brick wall to lean a palm against, to have a spot to let himself catch his breath and stand up straight, and that kind of a spot couldn’t bend, couldn’t break under the weight of that truth, so that was what Neil gave him.

#aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #AU #my wip snippet #guys im not kidding #i have absolutely no clue when i'll finish this #but i will #and its going to be one of my biggest and most daunting projects #meanwhile i should have something new about by oct/nov #oooh noe that im excited for #would you like a snippet of the oct/nov wip?#my writing #bits and pieces

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ibijau · 4 years

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Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen runs from the Cloud Recesses

warning for some mentions of violence and minor character deaths. In the end, I went and cut this chapter in two because it was getting out of hand. I blame Meng Yao!

It starts as a pleasant enough day. Lan Xichen is overseeing a class of their youngest juniors, helping them practice their calligraphy. He always enjoys teaching that and seeing the little ones so focused. There’s a few tongues sticking out in concentration, which Lan Qiren would comment on… but Lan Qiren isn’t here, and Lan Xichen is undisturbed. He finds it cute if anything. Lan Wangji too used to do it. Besides, for now it’s more important to have the children focus on their brushwork. They’ll think of their posture later.

Whenever he gets a few seconds without anyone asking for help, Lan Xichen allows himself to think of the letter he needs to write to Nie Huaisang, one that he will send to Lanling rather than Qinghe, since his fiancé will be headed there soon, before coming to stay a while in Gusu. Lan Xichen has negotiated with his uncle to have reduced duties when Nie Huaisang is here. Lan Qiren wasn’t happy about it, but eventually gave in when he realised Lan Xichen would be too distracted to be any good to him anyway. So Lan Xichen has been planning things for the two of them to do, walks in the mountains if the weather allows, more painting lessons if it doesn’t. He’s found melodies from the Qinghe region in the library that he’s hoping Nie Huaisang will be willing to hear. There should also be enough time for at least one trip to Gusu so they can hang out together somewhere different and have a meal Nie Huaisang will enjoy more than the usual fares of the Cloud Recesses.

And then if Nie Huaisang is willing maybe they’ll kiss again. Lan Xichen is trying not to hope too much for that, his fiancé won’t be as bored as he was at that conference in Nightless City, but still maybe, just maybe…

Just as his thoughts are trailing in a direction they really shouldn't take while teaching, the classroom door opens and Lan Qiren comes in, followed by a very puzzled looking disciple.

"Class is dismissed," Lan Qiren barks at the children. "Lan Chengfu will take you to the dorms while waiting for further instructions. If you disobey him or cause trouble, you'll be punished later. Xichen! You're coming with me."

His nephew startles at the urgency in his uncle's voice, but nods and follows him out without questions. Answers still come soon enough, his uncle explaining the situation as they nearly run toward the library.

"Wen Xu has come to the Cloud Recesses and is accusing us of unorthodoxy. He is demanding that we burn our library and the inner clan's residence in penance."

"Can… can he do that?" Lan Xichen gasps. "It's ridiculous, we're not…"

"He also wants you and your brother to come to Qishan for re-education."

"You mean as hostages. So they've realised after all that they need to strike now…"

It's everything Lan Xichen has most feared. The Wen deciding to make the first move at their convenience, when their opponents aren't quite ready, when so many sects are still so willing to bend over to avoid war…

"What are we going to do?" Lan Xichen pants as they enter the library, only to gasp at the scene there.

A dozen disciples are present, urgently trying to shove as many books and scrolls as they can inside qiankun bags. Lan Wangji is among them, seeming a little dazed by what's happening. He shares their uncle's love of books and academia to a much higher degree than Lan Xichen, and his brother cannot imagine what shock it must be for him to find that someone is willing to have all this knowledge destroyed.

"Hurry!" Lan Qiren barks. "Sect Leader Lan won't be able to keep him distracted forever! Wangji, go out and keep watch."

At that order Lan Wangji throws his uncle a pleading look, as if to say there are still too many books to be put away and he simply cannot do anything else.

"Uncle, I'll go out," Lan Xichen offers.

Before he can take one step, Lan Qiren grabs his wrist to keep him in place.

"Stay. You'll be the one to make a run for it, if it comes to that. Wangji, do as I tell you!"

While his brother reluctantly obeys, Lan Xichen feels the air punched out of him.

"Uncle, surely it should be you who…"

Lan Qiren shoves a qiankun bag in his hands and pushes him toward the shelves.

"You're Gusu Lan's heir. If something happens to the sect, it must be you who rebuild it. Your brother and I will stay behind to buy you time to escape. Now get to work. Take everything you can. Quickly!"

"You think he might…"

"Get to work!"

Pinching his lips to keep himself silent, Lan Xichen obeys. He tries at first to to only pick up work directly relating to Gusu Lan's method of cultivation, but that's too slow, it requires too much thinking. He ends up doing the same as the other disciples and just grabbing everything he can. He focuses on that almost mechanical gesture, trying his best not to think about the way his uncle is contemplating their entire sect's slaughter as a real possibility.

They all work in tense silence for a little while until a commotion makes itself heard from outside. As one they all turn toward the door, freezing when a cry is heard.

"Sect Leader!" Lan Wangji shouts, voice filled with anguish.

Without thinking Lan Xichen tries to dash to the door, only to be stopped again by his uncle. This time Lan Xichen tries to pull free because his brother needs him, but Lan Qiren's hold on him remains strong.

"Everyone, bring Xichen your bags and stay put until I tell you otherwise."

The disciples meekly obey. Lan Xichen lets them attach the bags to his belt, enough of them to cover all his waist, his gaze never leaving the door. There are sounds of fighting outside now, which Lan Xichen cannot ignore. His uncle has to pull him toward the back of the library like a capricious child, before pushing him toward a window.

“Go!” Lan Qiren order. “I’ll protect Wangji. Don’t come back until you can be sure the Wens aren’t watching, and when you do, come through the mountains, not the main gate. Keep a low profile, stay away from other sects. I don’t think it’d be wise to go to Qinghe until things have calmed down, the Wens are probably waiting for an excuse to come after them as well.”

“I can’t leave alone!” Lan Xichen begs. “Uncle, at least Wangji…”

“Wangji will do his duty. Do yours, and save what you can of our knowledge. Hurry, or they’ll realise what we are doing!”

Even though there’s no time to lose, Lan Xichen wastes a few more seconds by hugging his uncle before climbing through the window and leaving the library.

Running is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but as soon as he’s sure he won’t attract attention, Lan Xichen runs.

Excessive emotion is forbidden, but he cries as he heads toward the mountains, fearful for his brother, for his uncle, for his sect.

Private fights are forbidden, but nobody told that to the Wens waiting at the border of the barrier that surrounds the Cloud Recesses, who attack Lan Xichen the instant he steps out.

It’s not the first time Lan Xichen is in a fight against members of another sect. He’s had chances to spar with Nie Mingjue quite a few times, as well as with some guest disciples. But it was always that: sparring. The Wen cultivators who are after him now aren’t trying to learn or to show off, they’re trying to capture him, dead or alive. Dead more than alive, Lan Xichen guesses from their aggressive movements and his past encounters with Wen Xu. Lan Xichen fights the way he’s been taught to do, strikes and counter-strikes until there’s an opening for a serious blow that would incapacitate his opponent.

In training, Lan Xichen has never taken such a chance to actually maim a person. When the opening appears here, he hesitates for a second to take it, unwilling to spill blood when it goes against so many of the rules he’s been taught. The Wen cultivator he’s fighting at that moment has no such qualms and thrusts his sword under his ribs.

Lan Xichen doesn’t even think. His sword moves of its own volition and slashes at the man’s throat, spraying red around them.

The next one is horrifyingly easy to kill as well, now that Lan Xichen has done it once. The sharp pain on his side helps. It’s them or him and he cannot die, not when his uncle trusts him to protect their sect’s legacy.

Lan Xichen spends the next few days fleeing from the Wens. He only eats whatever wild fruit he can recognise, having brought no money with him, unwilling anyway to risk the safety of civilians. He barely rests, fearful to be caught unaware. The wound on his side keeps reopening every time the Wens catch up with him and pull him in a fight. After a week of this, Lan Xichen can feel himself getting weaker and weaker. He thinks he’s developing a fever, though it’s hard to say. He might just be exhausted.

He is flying away after yet another scuffle when it finally becomes too much. He simply doesn’t have the strength to control his sword anymore and falls down to the ground. The pain of the impact leaves him gasping for breath, but since he was flying low to avoid detection, he sustains no injury. He is, however, too exhausted to even try to get up, and so he lays there on the grass, waiting to be found and captured. It should have been his uncle taking away the books. Lan Qiren would never have weakened so quickly.

It takes little time for footsteps to approach. Lan Xichen, too tired to turn his head and look at his assailants, closes his eyes and awaits his fate. He feels a shadow fall over him, but no blows come to him.

“Gongzi, are you hurt?” a surprisingly gentle voice asks. “I was on the road and I saw you fall… do you need help?”

Slowly, Lan Xichen opens his eyes again. Instead of Wen cultivators, he finds a young man looming over him with a concerned expression. There’s something a little familiar about his face, though Lan Xichen doubts he’s ever met him.

“Don’t stay here,” Lan Xichen orders in a rasp. “If they find you, they’ll hurt you.”

The young man’s eyebrows rise high in surprise at this answer, but he doesn’t leave. His expression turns calculating instead. He looks Lan Xichen over, raises his head to look around, then turns his eyes back to the young man lying on the grass.

“Gongzi, if you allow me, I will take you to safety,” he offers. “I’m on my way home to Yunping City, my horse is right there on the road… if I help you, can you walk until there? I’ll help you get on its back, but I fear I don’t have the strength to carry you.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Lan Xichen protests.

The young man smiles at his answer. He has a pleasant smile, Lan Xichen finds, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Let me decide what risks I take,” he replies. “And answer my question. If I help, can you walk?”

Closing his eyes again, Lan Xichen quickly checks his body for any serious injury. Aside from being exhausted and the deep wound on his side, everything is fine.

“I should manage. Thank you.”

The young man doesn’t reply, but carefully helps Lan Xichen sit up. His head is swimming at first from the change of position, but before long and with some help from this stranger, Lan Xichen manages to stand up and even walk. There’s a gentle slope toward the road, which is good because the young man really doesn’t have much strength. He’s a little taller than most ordinary people, but compared to Lan Xichen he is still short, and definitely on the slender side. For some reason, Lan Xichen is reminded of Nie Huaisang… but in fairness, it doesn’t take much for him to think of Nie Huaisang these days.

It’s a bit of a struggle for Lan Xichen to get on the horse, but they manage anyway. Perhaps judging that Lan Xichen’s bright white robes might attract too much attention, the young man takes off his own outer robes and throws them over Lan Xichen’s shoulders before take his horse’s reins to get moving.

It is half day ride to Yunping City and before long, the young man must get uncomfortable with the silence because he starts volunteering information about himself to make conversation. Lan Xichen, although struggling to stay awake, listens and catches the general idea of his saviour’s life.

The young man’s name is Meng Yao and while his mother is of very low origins, his father is a cultivator from Lanling Jin (later, when he feels better, Lan Xichen takes a good look at Meng Yao and guesses who, exactly, fathered him). He tried to join that sect himself, but was rejected because of his mother’s low blood and had to settle for an ordinary life. He now works as a bookkeeper in Yunping City for a rich merchant and is just returning from checking on some issues with an associate of his employer. He’s renting a room in the outskirts of town, and while it is not quite worthy of housing a cultivator, Meng Yao promises that at least nobody will think to look for Lan Xichen there.

By the time they reach the room in question, Lan Xichen can barely stand. They make it up the stairs with great difficulty. The last thing Lan Xichen remembers before passing out is being laid down on a thin bed.

When Lan Xichen wakes up, he finds that his silk clothes have been changed to simpler ones, his headband removed, and his wound has been tended to. The qiankun bags and his sword have been left next to the mattress. There’s a note next to his pillow explaining that Meng Yao had to go meet his employer to report on his journey, but he should be back in a few hours. He advises Lan Xichen to rest, and promises he will bring food when he returns.

Grateful for the kindness of this stranger and still too exhausted to do much else, Lan Xichen falls back to sleep.

He wakes up again after some amount of time to the sound of a door opening. On sheer instinct his hand reaches for Shuoyue but as he grasps the handle, Meng Yao comes in, carrying provisions. The young man freezes in fear for a second at the sight of Lan Xichen ready to unsheathe his weapon, but his expression quickly mellows into a pleasant smile.

“I’m glad to see that gongzi is already better,” Meng Yao says, closing the door behind him. “As you see, I brought food. Here, take as much as you need,” he adds, carefully dropping a filled basket on the edge of the bed. “You cannot heal on an empty stomach.”

“You eat as well,” Lan Xichen replies, taking a small bun from the basket but refusing to bite into it until Meng Yao sits next to the bed and does the same.

The food is different from what Lan Xichen is used to, more seasoned as is typical of the area, but he devours it without protest, only making sure that his host gets his fair share as well. Between this, the tea served to him, and the rest that he’s gotten, Lan Xichen already feels better. When he mentions the idea of leaving though, Meng Yao frowns at him.

“Gongzi, I understand that cultivators heal differently but you are unreasonable,” he says, not quite scolding and yet making Lan Xichen feel chastised. “I understand this house is not what you are used to, but please bear with it for a few days until you can move without worsening your wound.”

“It’s not about your room!” Lan Xichen protests, horrified that he might have given that impression. “Meng gongzi, I am only worried about bringing danger to you, and putting a strain on your resources.”

Meng Yao smiles and tilts his head slightly.

“Gongzi, I’m not so poor that I cannot help you. You… you are used to better things I suppose, but I’m not living so uncomfortably as you seem to think, so don’t worry. This isn’t a hassle at all. As for danger… gongzi, with everything that’s happening lately, I can imagine what sort of trouble you’re in, and I’m not worried. The people who are after you would not come to such a place, and they must be too busy checking that all their hostages are being delivered.”

“What hostages?”

Just like yesterday, Meng Yao’s expression gets calculating again, though this time it retains a certain warmth.

“Gongzi, aren’t you running from the indoctrination?” he asks. When Lan Xichen shakes his head, Meng Yao looks him over and frowns slightly. “I see. You must have been on the run for a bit then. The news is everywhere, even us ordinary folks talk of little else. Apparently, the great Qishan Wen sect has decided that other cultivators were badly trained and needed to be shown better, so every sect has to send all their children and all their junior disciples there. Anyone who resists is killed or taken by force, or so it is said.”

Lan Xichen thinks of Lan Wangji, back in the Cloud Recesses. He thinks of Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang in Qinghe.

Maybe he ate too much, too fast, because he suddenly feels like throwing up. If something happened to them…

“It is only a rumour!” Meng Yao quickly adds, his hand rising toward Lan Xichen's shoulder as if to comfort him, then dropping again without making contact. “The juniors of the sect in Yunping City have gone away, yes, but it was all done without violence. From what I heard, only that great sect in Gusu opposed any resistance and had to be punished, but all the other ones have simply complied. Although if gongzi wishes it, I can try to find more details. My employer deals with the local sect sometimes and they wouldn’t find it too odd if I came to visit.”

“Please, don’t do anything that might bring attention to yourself,” Lan Xichen requests, his dizziness increasing at the idea of what punishment might have been inflicted upon his sect. Wen Xu is known to be imaginative for these things.

He hopes Lan Wangji is well. If they hurt him while Lan Xichen ran away like a coward… he should have stayed, he should have fought, there couldn’t have been that many of them. His uncle ordered him to run, he had to, but maybe just this once he should have disobeyed.

“I will still pay attention to what’s being said,” Meng Yao replies. “I understand that gongzi might not be comfortable telling me his name and sect. I’m not asking for it!” he adds with a hand gesture when Lan Xichen opens his mouth, either to protest or apologise. “If it becomes necessary, I trust gongzi to share relevant information. Otherwise, I will not probe.”

“Aren’t you trusting me too much, Meng gongzi?”

“You trust me as well, gongzi, don’t you?” Meng Yao retorts, seemingly amused now. “I told you to rest, and you did even though I could have gone to fetch your enemies. I brought you food, and you ate it, even when I could have poisoned it to make you easier to capture. Gongzi should be more careful of strangers. For all he knows, his enemies have offered a reward for his capture and spread his description already.”

Lan Xichen startles at the news, but Meng Yao continues smiling peacefully.

“You already know who I am,” Lan Xichen states.

Meng Yao laughs.

“A description is such a vague thing,” he protests. “It is true that Qishan Wen is looking for someone but if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on such a person. All they’re speaking about is a young man in white with a headband and a wound. But gongzi, aside from the wound, that’s not you at all.”

“Where did you put my headband?” Lan Xichen asks. It did not matter earlier when he still felt weak, but he’s starting to feel naked without it. Not to mention the vague disgust he feels at the thought someone touched it. Even Nie Huaisang hasn’t dared, although Lan Xichen almost offered it in Nightless City, right before his fiancé’s friends found them.

“Is it really important?” Meng Yao asks. “It is very recognisable.”

“It’s an heirloom,” Lan Xichen explains. “It’s important to my family.”

He expects Meng Yao to scold him again in that gentle manner he has. Instead, the young man nods in understanding and shuffles away from the bed so he can lift a plank from the floor. In the space underneath, Lan Xichen catches glimpses of white as Meng Yao digs out his ribbon. Lan Xichen gratefully takes it back and although he desperately wants to put it back in its proper place, he decides instead to roll his sleeve and tie it around his arm. A compromise. The rules say it must be worn, they never actually say where.

Meng Yao nods approvingly.

“It might be safer that way,” he says. “If gongzi allows, I should have enough space to also hide those qiankun bags until gongzi is fit to leave. I would have hidden them already, but gongzi became very agitated when I touched them while changing him, and I feared it would distress him too much if you did not see them upon waking.”

“Meng gongzi is very considerate,” Lan Xichen replies with a yawn he cannot suppress. “I’m sorry, that was…”

“Gongzi is tired, it’s normal,” Meng Yao cuts him with a small laugh. “Go back to sleep, we can talk more tomorrow. I have asked my employer to let me have a few days off to recover from travelling. I will be able to check on your wounds, and to go out for information.”

Although he feels guilty for disrupting the young man’s life so much, Lan Xichen is too tired to protest again. He can only lay down again, and watches as Meng Yao puts away the remains of their meal, then starts hiding away the bags containing Gusu Lan’s knowledge.

“Meng gongzi, before I sleep, I have one question. Why save me?”

Meng Yao shoots him a surprised look, as if it were obvious to him.

“You were this unwell,” he explains, gesturing at Lan Xichen’s body, “and your first instinct was not to beg for help, but to worry about my safety. I figured even if you turned out to be a thief or a murderer, you would not be a bad man.”

Lan Xichen can only smile at that answer as he closes his eyes.

Meng Yao can accuse him of being too trusting, but he’s hardly any better.

The days that follow are odd.

Lan Xichen cannot help but feel guilty that he is in this safe place, with someone he’s already starting to think of as a friend of sorts, while his family’s fate is uncertain. Meng Yao, against his wishes, has found out that Gusu Lan still stands, even though a large part of the Cloud Recesses burned down. He has also found out that Lan Wangji is alive (Lan Xichen cried in relief) and was only taken away as a hostage, like most young men his age all over the cultivation world. But this leaves as many questions as it answers. Nobody knows what is happening to the hostages in Qishan, and Meng Yao cannot find out how many were wounded or died in the Cloud Recesses.

Sensing his ever growing distress, Meng yao distracts him with chatting, or by asking questions about cultivation. It’s obvious that the subject deeply interests him. It’s equally clear that he knows very little about it, and mostly tried to learn through the sort of fake manuals that sadly get sold as the real deal. As thanks for his hospitality, Lan Xichen sets out to teach him a few basic principles so that at least, if his interest remains in the future, Meng Yao knows enough not to be fooled again by crooks. Besides, it gives them something to do as they wait for his wound to heal.

Lan Xichen feels almost disappointed when at last, Meng Yao decides one day that his wound is now healed enough for him to leave. It has been little more than a week, but Lan Xichen already feels deep affection for the other young man, and he believes the feeling is mutual.

“I do not mind if gongzi stays a little longer,” Meng Yao tells him after giving his diagnosis. “Until it is certain that things are calmer out there.”

It’s tempting, immensely so. Time passes differently in this room, in the company of this new friend. But Lan Xichen has responsibilities out there in the world, and Meng Yao cannot stay away from his own work forever. This respite has come to an end.

“You have done so much for me already,”Lan Xichen says with a sad smile. “I cannot put you in more danger. In fact, I’ll try to leave tonight. I need to go…”

He needs to go to Gusu, his first thought is, but that’s not exact. He wants to go to Gusu so he can check on his people. He wants, also, to go to Qinghe and finally figure out if Nie Huaisang was among the hostages. He prays that he wasn’t, but that would be open rebellion and Meng Yao would have heard about it. All he can do, then, is hope that Nie Huaisang is acting smart and is staying out of trouble, wherever he is.

“Even if you leave, it’ll be dangerous,” Meng Yao notes. “Everyone says it will probably come to war. I wouldn’t be surprised if a number of sects start recruiting soon.”

Something in his tone is almost wishful. Considering some of their conversations and the way they have passed time together, Lan Xichen can only smile.

“You are thinking of trying again to join Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao startles and looks at him like a dog caught trying to steal a piece of meat before smiling apologetically.

“Gongzi must find me an unsavoury character, wanting to take advantage of such a situation to push for a second chance.”

“On the contrary, I hope this might give you the chance to prove your value. Any sect should be lucky to have a man as clever as you in their rank.”

Meng Yao’s cheeks colour at the praise. He turns away, trying to hide a smile. It’s endearing, truly. Lan Xichen can’t help thinking of Nie Huaisang, so embarrassed at the smallest of compliments. This, in turns, gives him an idea.

“Meng gongzi, must it absolutely be Lanling Jin that you join?”

“It would be… preferable. I made a promise to my mother.”

Lan Xichen winces. That detail, and what he knows of Jin Guangshan’s reputation, tells him more about Meng Yao’s family than the young man probably intended to share. While open on other subjects, Meng Yao tries to avoid talking about his mother if possible, refusing to give any details save to say that she was of low birth. Still, Lan Xichen finds himself comforted in his idea; if he is right about Meng Yao’s father, then his friend should have great potential, enough to make up for a late start.

“Lanling Jin does not easily take in outsiders,” he explains as gently as he can. “But other sects are more welcoming. Meng gongzi, I’m sure you know of Qinghe Nie?”

“I do,” Meng Yao confirms. Then, with only a moment of hesitation, he adds. “Why not your sect though?”

“Mine is sadly as restrictive as Lanling Jin, or else I would offer my help and take you along with me,” Lan Xichen sighs. “But I know well the leader of Qinghe Nie and I know if you come with my recommandation, you will be given the chance you deserve. Sect Leader Nie is a man who will never turn away anyone willing to work hard, and he values competence above birth.”

That gets Meng Yao's attention, his eyes burning even if his smile remains mild.

“Gongzi is too generous.”

“Not at all. I simply believe you can rise above your current circumstances… and it is your wish to do so, isn’t it?”

“Gongzi saw right through me,” Meng Yao admit with a small laugh. “I… I am grateful, truly.”

“As am I,” Lan Xichen replies earnestly, taking the young man’s hands. “Meng Yao, even if our paths must separate for now, I really hope we meet again when you are in Qinghe.”

In answer, Meng Yao gives him the brightest, most open smile he’s shown so far. It makes him look a lot younger suddenly, and once more Lan Xichen finds himself of Nie Huaisang.

If Meng Yao goes to Qinghe, these two might meet. In fact, knowing Nie Huaisang, there is no way he won't notice a new disciple looking so different from their usual recruits, and he's too curious to stay away. Hopefully, this will translate into Nie Huaisang stubbornly deciding to claim Meng Yao as a friend, as he did with others.

Lan Xichen has a feeling these two could get along wonderfully, given the chance.

Now that he isn't trying to avoid a band of pursuing Wens, the return journey to the Cloud Recesses is far shorter. Lan Xichen tries to be careful and to check he isn't followed, but he encounters no problems. It is still unnerving to take such precautions just to go home. Lan Xichen hates that he has to come to a secret back entrance, hates that he dares not go inside the barrier, hates that he must send a butterfly message to his uncle to warn him of his presence and then hide until Lan Qiren either comes to meet him or gives him new instructions.

He waits for hours, hidden up among the branches of an old tree, until night falls. Somewhere far in a distance, Lan Xichen thinks he can hear the curfew bell, although that might be only wishful thinking. Still, soon after, his uncle crosses the barrier and Lan Xichen quickly jumps down from his branch to meet him.

Lan Qiren, always severe by nature, seems to have aged a decade in the couple of weeks since his nephew last saw him. There’s a deep frown carved into his face which grows more pronounced when their eyes meet. Lan Xichen tenses, fearing that he will get scolded for being gone this long, for his commoner’s clothes, for not wearing his ribbon. Instead, his uncle looks him over once and nods his approval. When they meet again, Lan Xichen will have to properly thank Meng Yao for all his advice on making himself less noticeable.

“I’m sorry for not coming home sooner,” Lan Xichen apologises in lieu of greetings. “I ran into some trouble and had to stay hidden. Don’t worry though, the books are fine!”

“And you?”

“As well as I can hope to be,” Lan Xichen replies. There’s no need to mention his wound since it’s healed. His uncle might scold him for being careless in a fight. "I've heard the Wens burned the library?"

"I burned it," Lan Qiren corrects.

Lan Xichen stares at his uncle with horror, hoping that he's suddenly developed a sense of humour. Lan Qiren stares right back, something almost challenging in his expression.

"Wangji and your father were trying to delay them," he states. "Wen Xu lost patience and tried to strike Wangji, but your father took the blow for him and fainted. By the time you'd been sent out, Wangji was on the ground as well and Wen Xu gave me an ultimatum : the library or my nephew."

"Uncle, I'm… I'm sorry. It must have been a hard choice."

"It was not hard," Lan Qiren assures him, challenging again, as if he’s had to defend his decision more than once already, and will not hesitate to do it once more.

Again, Lan Xichen stares. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and he wants to hug his uncle, though he dares not. Their uncle is not an affectionate man, but here and there Lan Xichen gets reminded that this is the man who raised his brother and him and cared for them as best as he could, the other parent in their life, the only parent left after their mother’s death.

"How is Wangji?" he quickly asks, trying to hide his emotion.

"He only sustained a minor injury, nothing to worry about."

"And yourself?"

Lan Qiren waves his hand to signify that is unimportant, though his face turns more severe.

"We are trying to keep this secret for the time being, but news will soon filter out. Xichen, your father died a few days after the attack."

"Oh."

Lan Xichen's first thought is an awful one: he's dead, so what? He was never there anyway.

It is unfilial. So is the fact that Lan Xichen never really bothered to worry about his father. And he knows he should feel sad, or perhaps angry and vengeful, but truly the news just leaves him cold. Lan Xichen hasn't seen his father since the death of Nie Mingjue’s father, and even then they barely talked. In a way, Qingheng-Jun died at the same time as his wife, and was mourned less.

"Are you going to succeed him?" Lan Xichen asks.

"Why would I when he has a son who is nearly of age?" Lan Qiren retorts, digging into his sleeve until he finds a jade token which he hands to his nephew.

Lan Xichen almost doesn't take it, recognising it as the token of sect leaders, passed down from one generation to the next since the barrier around the Cloud Recesses was first erected. It is beautiful in spite of its age, almost as white as snow and delicately carved in a way ordinary tokens are not. It is a sign of leadership in the Cloud Recesses and out of it. Although it has not been seen in years, Lan Xichen knows it will be recognised immediately by other sect leaders.

"Uncle, I'm not ready," he whispers.

Not for this burden he only just started really training for. Not for this war that came too soon.

"Nobody is ever ready for these things," Lan Qiren replies. "But you're not going to be alone. I've been there as well, I'm not going to abandon you."

Not like Qingheng-Jun did to all of them. Lan Qiren has always put most of the blame for their situation on Madam Lan, but his brother's faults were too great to not let him have his share of resentment.

Lan Xichen is terrified of this new responsibility, but he will not be his father. If his sect needs him, he will be there.

"What should I do? If I return openly…"

"It would be unwise. Let the Wens think we are broken and destabilised a little longer. I don't think Wen Ruohan ever realised how little your father's opinion mattered, so he won’t see that nothing has really changed for us. He's a powerful man in a leading position, and he underestimates the strength of those lesser than him. We'll use that."

Having said that, Lan Qiren shares his plan.

What the Four Great Sect will choose is important, he has determined, but much like Wen Ruohan they tend to forget the power of those under them. The myriad of smaller sects that exist around them have their own strengths. Some are already in alliances with the Great Sects, but most are fiercely independent and might remain neutral in the coming war, even though the Wens have shown them little mercy in the past. But if someone were to go to them personally and ask for their help, they might be more than willing to join the fight.

"What if I can't convince them?" Lan Xichen worries.

"We are one of the oldest sects in the country, asking for their assistance after their children have been taken from them," Lan Qiren retorts. "You have a good reputation among your elders, Xichen. Show them respect, listen to their demands, and I know they will listen to yours. I know you can do this. You've never disappointed me before.”

It is another weight falling on Lan Xichen's shoulder, another responsibility he's not quite sure he can take on. Still, he'll try his best.

He must be worthy of his uncle's trust.

Flying tirelessly, Lan Xichen visits sect after sect, starting with those that have a good relationship with Gusu Lan so he can get used to this mission among people who bear him no ill will and are already likely to let themselves be won over. Each time, he starts bluntly by explaining that although none of them want it, war is coming. If the indoctrination camp is not enough to start it, then it is still only a question of time before Qishan Wen goes too far.

It comes as a surprise to Lan Xichen that most of those small sects are more than willing to promise they will join whatever alliance the Great Sects will build. But of course, if for a sect like Gusu Lan it is concerning to see twenty disciples be taken away, for some of those smaller places, that means the entirety of their junior disciples. Some even had to send girls or grown adults to have the right number of hostages to offer.

Besides, it is hardly the first time that Qishan Wen gave them offence. If things have been rough for the Great Sects in recent years, they have been far worse for the smaller ones. Lan Xichen is told about Night Hunts interrupted, preys stolen, territories taken by force, marriages obtained through threat, and worse things still. Qishan Wen, once, offered itself as the greatest authority in the cultivation world and promised to help settle disputes between lesser sects, but in recent times it has started using that vocation to bully others into paying heavy bribes to have their rights respected, or heavy fines if they cannot defend themselves.

And that’s without getting into those times when cultivators have been simply murdered for standing up to high ranking members of Qishan Wen.

When he gets to Baling Ouyang, Lan Xichen hears one such story from its sect leader. His eldest son happened to be Night Hunting with a friend a few years ago when he stumbled upon a party led by Wen Xu that was after the same prey. Sect Leader Ouyang never found out the exact details of it, but both boys died, supposedly after inviting Wen Xu to join their Night Hunt but tragically underestimating the power of the creature they were hunting. Wen Xu, of course, made sure to avenge them and killed the beast himself.

“And now my second son is in their hands,” Sect Leader Ouyang sighed. “I have little hope of seeing him alive again. The Wens are looking for any excuse to slaughter the rest of us.”

“We have to hope they are wiser than that,” Lan Xichen replies, thinking of his brother, of his fiancé. To lose either of them could break him. It would break him, if he could be afforded that luxury, but he is not his father, he will not let grief swallow him. “But if it comes to war…”

“Gusu Lan can count on Baling Ouyang. I will not miss a chance to avenge my son.”

Lan Xichen thanks the other sect leader for this promise, bowing before him a little more deeply than he should when they are, technically, equals. But he feels for this man who lost so much and yet is still ready to take such risks, and it never hurts to show proper respect to an elder.

Lan Xichen is about to take his leave, hoping to maybe reach another sect before the day is over, when the door barges open, letting in a small flow of people. Worried about being seen and recognised even in disguise, Lan Xichen quickly hides behind the sect leader’s throne and turns around, wondering how to leave while the newcomers all start shouting.

"Sect Leader, we're back, we escaped!"

"Sect Leader, they starved us and took our swords!"

"There was a giant turtle with a snake head, it attacked us but the Jiangs helped us get out!”

"Where is A-Hui?" Secter leader Ouyang asks anxiously.

"He's in Lanling with all the wounded," someone answers. "The young masters from Lanling and Qinghe made all the wounded swap clothes with people from allied clans of Lanling Jin to make sure they'd be taken to safety quicker. And then…"

"Nie Huaisang was there?" Lan Xichen gasps, turning around to look at the returning boys. "Was he well?"

The Ouyang disciples are so excited that they don't even care about being addressed so casually by what, to them, must look like nothing more than a visiting merchant.

"Last we saw him, he was heading north with everyone who couldn't get to their sect alone. He's the one who thought to trick the Jins into taking the wounded, and he said his brother would protect them from the Wens. We thought to follow him as well, but we realised we weren't so far from home so we'd be fine."

Lan Xichen grins at the news, relieved that his fiancé is well. His heart swells with pride to hear Nie Huaisang talked about in such a complimentary way. It is odd to think of him leading anyone… and yet not so surprising at the same time. Someone who can get Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to somewhat get along with Jin Zixuan can make people do anything.

"What about Lan Wangji?" he asks. "Did he go North to Qinghe as well?"

At this question, the boys' enthusiasm suddenly falls.

"There was this monster…"

"Wei Wuxian was staying behind to distract it while we escaped…"

"It was so huge, I think Lan Wangji tried to help and…"

"The passage became blocked, they stayed trapped inside."

Lan Xichen has to put one hand on Sect Leader Ouyang’s throne to support himself.

“Where did this happen?” he asks.

“It’s fine, the Jiangs are going to rescue them!”

“Tell me where this happened,” Lan Xichen insists, barely restraining himself from shouting. His brother, trapped with a monster…

“It was on Dusk Creek Mountain,” one Ouyang disciple quickly explains. “A cave hidden near a banyan tree, but the Wens blocked that exit as well. Sir, do you know Lan Wangji?”

Sensing his hesitation, sect leader Ouyang intervenes.

“This man is from the Gusu area but came here to ask for my opinion on a certain matter,” he tells his disciples. “The matter in question is of a delicate nature. Forget you saw him. Go get your injuries checked if you have any, and I’ll tell the cook to make you something quickly. Out now!”

The boys obey without delay, chatting excitedly about the things they want to eat. Lan Xichen watches them go, feeling numb now that he knows their freedom came at the cost of his brother’s. At least he’s not alone in there, at least he’s with Wei Wuxian who, whatever faults he has, is a brilliant cultivator. If anyone can survive such a situation it is the two of them, and yet…

Lan Xichen wants to break down and cry.

Instead he once more thanks sect leader Ouyang for his promised support, reminds him that his visit and the fate of his father must remain secret, and leaves for the next sect. Whatever happens to Lan Wangji, war is still coming, they still need allies. Lan Xichen cannot be his father, cannot let his emotions stop him from doing what’s needed. He does, however, send an urgent message to his uncle to tell him what he’s learned, every detail of it so that Lan Qiren can organise a rescue mission in case the Jiangs don’t.

The answer finds him a few days later: Lan Wangji was rescued by Jiang Fengmian and has already returned home. In his relief, Lan Xichen allows himself the tears he dared not spill earlier. His brother is safe, he is well, he is home.

Lan Xichen breathes again.

Half a month later, in the middle of a market, Lan Xichen starts hearing rumours. He doesn’t pay attention at first, rumours are rarely worth listening to. But as he pays for his meal at a stall, the next client leans toward the seller with a worried expression that catches his eyes.

“Old man, your daughter married a man from Yunmeng, right?” the client asks, which gets him a nod. “Have you heard what happened there?”

“About the Wens? I don’t know if I believe that.”

“You should. I was there the day it happened. I saw some of it. It’s worse than people say. They burned the bodies in front of the Lotus Piers, saw it myself! When I passed by they’d just found a kid who’d managed to hide, stabbed him and threw him right into the fire with the dead!”

Lan Xichen almost drops his meal.

“Was Yunmeng Jiang really attacked then?” he gasps.

“More than attacked, it was slaughtered,” the man retorts. “Not a single survivor. They made people from the town come look as they burned the sect leader’s body and his wife. There’s no more Yunmeng Jiang. And from what I’ve heard, the Wens are now going to take over all that cultivation business. They want to establish offices in every city, and anyone who needs a cultivator’s help will have to go through them rather than other sects. That’s how the fight with Yunmeng Jiang started, I’ve heard. Wen Chao wanted to use the Lotus Piers as his office in Yunmeng, and you can imagine how much the Jiangs liked that. Well, maybe they should have swallowed their pride…”

The man goes on to describe what was happening to the civilians of Yunmeng, but Lan Xichen doesn't linger to listen. Putting down his untouched meal, he quickly leaves behind first the stall and then the market. As soon as he’s out of that small town he jumps on his sword and heads back for Gusu.

Lan Xichen has spent the last few weeks telling people that Qishan Wen is about to go too far, but even he would never have imagined something of that magnitude. War cannot be avoided anymore, and only time will tell if they prepared enough for it.

#xisang #worst engagement au #this is almost 8K so yeah had to cut it lol #jau writes #a lot of bad stuff in there #but hey it's the Sunshot Campaign so yeah...

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 4 years

Text

The aftermath {2}

Chapter summary; After he left the gym, he hadn't been seen the whole day. But by the evening he appears, cheeks reddened from the chilly air and with a distant look in his eyes. What is the shadows that cling to yours and Bucky’s back?

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 2/2

Word count; 3.290

Warnings; of course caring Steve makes an appearance, heart-tugging angst, tooth-rotting fluff

Author: @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

SERIES MASTERLIST

"Have you seen Bucky?" You looked up at Steve which you ran into while, at this point, aimlessly walking around. His brows furrowed, eyes hinting in a confusion that wasn't present seconds earlier.

"I thought he would be with you?"

"He was this morning, we sparred until Nat came an interrupted"

"Did you really spar then?" He mused and you slapped his chest.

"Yes, we were very well sparring, thank you for asking Rogers", he laughed at your defensive outburst, but you continued without putting any more thought into it. "As I said, last time I saw him was then and I wanted to talk to him afterwards...", you trailed off in the end, not knowing how to word your thoughts. However, Steve, who knew you well enough to be your brother, noticed the shift and immediately knew what it indicated.

"How was he?"

"He seems to be good, don't get me wrong but", you hesitated to say the rest. The brunette had since long ago begun being able to talk about his problems more freely and by own accord. He often spoke to you, a reliable comfort he found, but he also went to Steve. The times when he didn't talk, like today, were few and far between and they worried you more than the topics he sometimes brought up.

"But?"

"But something's wrong Steve. He didn't sleep well tonight but he didn't say it himself, neither why he didn't", you and Bucky had your separate rooms, although more times then not you slept in the same. Last night had been one of those which you didn't, you needed to finish work-related stuff, so by the time you were done you didn't want to disturb Bucky and resided on your own floor. "That's not all he's going back to old habits, he behaves like he did when he first came. He finds some comfort with me, but as soon as Nat entered he began closing up, not showing as much", you finished and you saw the worry in Steve's eyes lightened like a small fire.

"I know he still has his troubles, however, he hasn't behaved like this since, well, he got here. Neither has he mentioned anything that could’ve triggered it, not to me at least", you shook your head in confirmation, he hadn't told you anything that could be the cause of this either.

"I don't want to pressure him", the thought of asking Stark where the man had gone had passed your thoughts multiple times as you searched for him, but never happened. Bucky needed the time for himself, like anyone else, but you knew of the bad habit he had of thinking too much. "But neither do I want him to put himself down", you sighed. A move of continuing the walk was interrupted by Steve when you felt his hand on your shoulder. His eyes were the same calming blues that they always been as he looked down at you.

"Meanwhile just remember to not do the same to yourself, how much it ever is his habit, it's also one of yours", he told you and you smiled

"I'm the psychologist here", you and him both chuckled before he continued.

"And never forget he isn't far away, even if the fool wants to, he can't leave you. You mean to much to him", you wished Steve could feel the reassurance and warmth his words spread through you.

The blonde man did in fact, the radiance from you seemed to brighten and he knew your thoughts about Bucky always played a part in it. Opening his arms, he pulled you in for a hug. He always knew it was a way for you to anchor yourself, but he couldn't deny it did the same to him. Since the first time he'd done it, when your frustrated sobs rocked trough you during the conflicting thoughts you had about joining the team after what you've done, he'd found comfort in the display. He couldn't be more grateful for the help you gave him when Bucky joined. Without it and you, he didn't know how his friend would be, neither him for the matter. You meant so much to him and he knew you meant at least as much to the brunette. He was happy the two of you found each other.

"You should go, you never know when your brooding soldier returns", he pulled a burst of laughter from you while you stepped out form the embrace.

"Better do, don't want him finding me in the arms of his best friend", he couldn't help but laugh himself.

"Don't think I have a chance, you always liked brunettes more", you chuckled and felt joy push away the worry you earlier felt. "And neither do I want to fight someone with a metal arm again"

"Don't sound like such a brother", you jutted your finger in his ribs, a recoiling action following it. "And I'll hold him back so you can get a big enough head start", he chuckled while beginning to walk away.

"Good, I think I'll need it", you smiled and shook your head while heading the other direction.

You'd headed directly to Bucky's room after you'd eaten something, while doing so you passed Steve's. You knew the last-mentioned had numerous things on his schedule for the rest of the day, whereas the first-mentioned had none and that was why you wondered why both of their quarters were empty. For a few hours, you busied yourself with finishing up another mission report you'd brung. By filing the information it stopped your mind from wandering, wandering to your concern about Bucky. When the report was done you placed it on your left side on the desk, quickly grasping the folder on the opposite side. Opening it you read through some of the information for a future mission. You would go to Spain, together with Sam and Clint along with Nat as a backup. Sources confirmed an associate to Hydra, a millionaire who had sponsored their projects, had been spotted in his supposed vacation house there. He would be given some time to settle in, therefore the mission wasn't scheduled for about two more weeks. Your fingers gripped the page, intending on turning it but your eyes stopped on one word. Hydra. It didn't pass your line of thought regularly, but the word had an attachment to both yours and Bucky’s past.

Now it was well past afternoon and still no sight of your soldier. Expectantly you looked at the door as if he would have had a comically good timing. But no one opened it. He isn't far away. Steve's words made you sigh and put down the folder, only to pick up a book instead.

The bed was soft under you, the book an interesting one, but you didn't acknowledge either. You read the pages but felt like you would've needed to do it again to understand them. A noise you waited for and listened closely to hear was what pulled you out of your state.

"Bucky?" You looked towards the door, now open and showing him. Eyebrows raised high enough so that you couldn't see them as the rim of his cap hid them.

"Y/N? What are you doin' here?" He closed the door behind him as he shuffled into the room. The black cap was enough for you to notice he'd been outside, he never wore it otherwise. But the jacket over his henley, opened and slightly damp ensured your guess.

"I just wanted to talk", you put down the book, not caring if it closed as you would need to re-read it anyway. "But I couldn't find you after this morning", his gaze met yours as you walked closer and you still noticed the haziness they held. You didn't stop until you were close enough to lift your hand and place it on the side of his face. It was cold, bitten by the chilly air outside. His eyes dropped close feeling your, in comparison, warm hand on his cheek.

" 'Bout what doll?" He asked, new drowsiness lacing his voice.

"About what is worrying you", his eyes opened, as if his peace was disturbed. Eyes flickered over your face before he took a step to the side, your hand left in hanging in the air as he headed towards the centre of the room. "Bucky what's on your mind?" You softly called after him while turning so you could follow. He didn't stop, not until he threw his jacket, which he shrugged of while walking, over the couch's backside.

"It ain't anything important", he smiled but it looked hollow, like the one he'd given you while leaving this morning. You didn't believe him, his demeanour showing everything but him being ok. But you found yourself nodding, asking him something else instead to get the answer you wanted.

"So where did your daily adventure take you?" You circled his waist when came to stand in front of him and he smiled down at you.

"Took a walk, went to the museum...", he trailed off when he saw the look in your eye. For a second it looked like a light made them flicker and he knew you understood.

He visited the museum even though he, by now, knew what was on every information board. Idly walking through the massive building he hadn't fully stopped until the exhibition of the second world war. Watching the videos, looking at photos he'd beginning to think back to those times. Remembering how he'd been. While he walked around he'd created the scene from his imagination, when you'd done the same thing with Steve. He imagined how the two of you walked around until you stopped on a similar place as he, watching the holographic picture of him. He still didn't know what your reaction had been when his friend told you about him, but he knew how you reacted when visiting with him. Content and with a calm smile on your features you walked around, reading and looking at the historical things, that was what he witnessed. He noticed that it calmed you down and made your thoughts focused, a kind of calm heaven, one which also had become his.

You knew Bucky didn't go to the museum that often by himself and when he did it was usually something troubling him. His head dropped as soon as you presumed he saw your understanding.

"You knew from the beginning didn't you?" You opted to nod as he glanced at you. He sighed and you saw it came from the deepest part of him. You shifted your hold, from his waist to his face.

"I pointed it out this morning and I know it hasn't changed since", you stroked the opposite side of his face from what you did earlier. He watched you, while small strands of hair fell down from behind his ears.

"What did I do to ever deserve you?" You smiled at his question and took closer to hug him closer, although he stepped back, keeping a certain distance between you.

"I'm serious, what did I do to deserve you doll?" The nickname felt like a knife instead of a blanket. You recognised the look in his eyes, it was the one you remembered seeing when he woke up from a nightmare. Panicked and scared.

"You were and continue to be yourself", he shook his head, not accepting it as an answer.

"No, what have I really done?", he questioned and you noticed his voice cracking in the end. "I haven't been myself, not until recently when I'm becoming better. You haven't met the real me, you've only seen him in the museum".

"Bucky, look at me", he did and you continued when having his attention. "I have met the real you, I have gotten to know him and he's standing in front of me right now. I can't meet the man in the museum, because you know what, he is dead", you saw the glisten of tears when you gently stated it and the involuntary flinch. You hated to say it, but it needed to be.

"You can never be him again, too much has happened to you for it to even be reasonable", you watched him carefully as you inched closer. "You're still James Buchanan Barnes, the man I love, but you're not the same man as people read about in that museum".

Bucky hated that he knew what you said was true, he hated that he never would become his old self. But he saw it hurt you too. The tears he felt in his own eyes was present in yours too. You looked so small when standing this close, your gentleness radiating enough from him to see that you didn't want to hurt him. What you said then, however, caught him off guard.

"You should now, I tried every time to not think about it, but I knew since the start that you wouldn't be the same, it was impossible. But I never said it, never to you or Steve", he wanted to meet your eyes, but they were cast down, so he made you. Lightly hooking your chin on his finger he lifted it up, seeing the tears falling down. "You never knew that since you have gotten better, I started believing what Steve said", he knew what his friend said, that you'd been one big part of getting him better. It was true, he didn't feel comfortable with you in the beginning, but something with you always eased him. He found that sooner rather then later he enjoyed being around you, a comforting feeling always enveloped him when was.

"I started believing, but then it turned into hope", he saw the quiver on your lip as you continued. "It's an unfulfilling dream. My hope was that I could be the person who made your problems go away. I know it's silly, it doesn't work like that, I out of anyone should know", you huffed out a sad laugh. You looked up at him but your gaze never lingered on the same place for long.

"I feel like I'm not enough", your low muttered voice made his heart swell and a tear finally fell down his cheek.

It was with seconds notice you saw the tear fall before he pulled you close enough for it to be impossible. Your head rested against him and you felt your own eyes widen when he dipped his head only to press it into your hair and neck.

"Oh Y/N", his voice trembled and you were glad he was so close, otherwise you wouldn't have heard it. "Your enough, more then so", the hand on your lower back, the other between your shoulder blades cradled you closer. You hadn't noticed that you, as a reaction, had raised your hand to his neck, drawing unknown patterns on it.

"You've done so much that you never should feel like that", he raised his head from your neck to watch you. While doing so he shifted his hold. Instead of pressing you closer, he held your face in both of his hands. This made your arms fall, to rest on his lower chest.

"If anyone should, I'm the one. You deserve more than a broken man", you stared up at him.

"In your own words you may be a broken man, but you're my broken man", the first smile graced his lips when you said it and he let his forehead rest against yours.

"And you are my hope", your eyes fluttered close when you noticed his did. The gentlest touch of his lips to yours settled the unsaid promise. They weren't cold, not even chilled as you guessed they would've been before. The only cold that was present was his metal hand, the glove he wore when going outside discarded with the jacket earlier. He parted from you, his breath fanning over yours. You opened your eyes, staring back into his stormy blue.

"God I love you", he whispered, his lips so close they just touched yours. A smile formed on your lips, matching the one he had earlier.

"And never stop believing I won't love you right back", he chuckled lowly, the sound deep and soothing.

"I think I distinctly remember you saying that this morning", his thumb brushed over your cheekbone and when he stopped, you felt heat rush to the place by how he looked at you. He had a lovesick expression on his face when you took his hands in your own, reaching up to peck him on his lips, then nose and cheek.

"About that", you pecked him on the other cheek. "I remember something about a reward", a smirk conveyed his lips as you returned to them, lingering a bit longer, enough for him to kiss you back.

"I think I do too, now when you remembered me", the smirk was still on his face when he continued. "You owe me five of them"

"If I counted right, that was five kisses", you smirked and he lifted a brow, a smugness on his face. You bit your lip, trying to conceal the laughter that bubbled up.

"So that's the reward we go for, hm?" He slid his hands down, on the outside of your arms not to break up your grip. He encircled your waist and while you thought he would pull you close against him, he didn't. He started to walk backwards, pulling you along. His eyes were on yours the whole time and you couldn't tear away from his gaze.

When he reached the end of the bed he sat down elegantly, whereas you weren't as graceful. He'd tugged you down, your grip on his shirt tightened by instinct when you crashed down into his chest. He'd pulled you closer, so much you now straddled him, knees on either side of his hips. The pose elevated you, so he now looked up instead of the other way around. You glanced from his eyes to his lips, which was parted slightly.

"Well I should give you yours then", he uttered seconds before his lips crashed to yours. It was more intense than the ones you'd given him. One hand rested on your waist, its grip tightened and you didn't know if it was involuntarily or not, the other was entangled in your hair, angling it to his liking as he pressed you closer. The touch of his tongue made you refocus. You granted him entrance and by the intensity following, it wasn't long before you broke away in need for air. He trailed kisses to your ear and gingerly placed one beneath it. A shiver spread form the place and together with what Bucky said you felt your whole buddy buzz.

"I'm happy with you", he whispered.

Forever taglist: @flowerchild1216 @haven-in-writing @krystallynx @lancsnerd @thejamesoldier

Series taglist: @buckysforeverprincess

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thesilverdragoon · 4 years

Text

Bumps and Bruises

Previous: An Iron Grip

Next: By Order of the Exarch

Vesevont landed on the ground backside first as the viera captain, Lyna, circled around him like a wolf who’d managed to single out its next meal. "I thought you said you were trained."

"I am!- I was… ow… it's been a long time since I've had to do any fighting like this," The Ishgardian groaned as he got back to his feet with a slight wobble.

"Mayhaps if you direct more of that energy you spend on complaining into your messy footwork, you may be able to land a hit on me yet." Lyna goaded him on.

Training and assessing novices wasn't something she typically had the time for. But the Exarch had absolutely insisted she take the outlander out for a practice session. He wouldn't explain why, of course, but she'd come to expect that from him. He always had his reasons. She just hoped that the answers would come to the surface a lot sooner than they usually did.

She twirled her sword in her hand as easily as a baton. "Again. Better this time. Faster. Harder."

Ves' ears pinned back in annoyance as he clutched his own weapon with his prosthetic arm. He'd lost his sword-arm to Puffy when they had rejoined together again in Coerthas, and he hadn't the time nor the need to practice fighting anything while he recovered.

He became used to using his right hand for more mundane activities of course, but not combat.

Using the prosthetic for swashbuckling and sword swinging felt awkward and clumsy, despite him finally growing accustomed to the weight of it. Regardless of its impressive range of movement, it still couldn't account for the real thing. And it never would.

He didn't want to fight anymore. But Lyna wouldn't let him quit.

"Hurry up. The eaters won't wait for you. And neither will I." She suddenly lunged for him swinging her sword down hard, leaving the knight barely any time to react (a more recently trained soldier would have begged to differ.)

The sounds of their steel rung in the Temenos Rookery where they kept pastures for the furry flying beasts they called amaro.

Quite strange looking things… Puffy would try to catch a glance at them every time Ves' back faced one of the holding pens, putting the poor beasts on edge.

On one of the nearby corrals the worm spotted a boy standing on the fence boards, watching them eagerly.

The young dark haired elezen boy with the ball from the marketplace.

Ves tumbled backwards suddenly, startling the worm enough to let out a shriek as they both flopped down into the dirt ungracefully.

Arval laughed from his place at the fence as another boy, his brother, came up from behind him.

"What are you doing?" Fenick eyed the scene before them, sticking his head in between the fence boards rather than standing on the middle one like Arval had been.

"Watching Captain Lyna beat up the old man! He's Eulmoran you know. I saw him with the others in the marketplace yesterday! He got hit with the ball right in the face on accident."

Fenick raised a brow curiously as he turned his attention back to the two. "How do you know he's Eulmoran? They don't like it here, even if they DO run away."

"Look at his coat! Have you seen anything that fancy around here?" Arval pointed at Vesevont. "That means he had money at some point. Pixies got to him he said! Poor sod."

Fenick hummed in disbelief as Lyna shoved the old man back into the dirt. "He's not very good at fighting, is he?"

"Not at all! He's probably going to have to pay a visit to mum after all that."

The sparring went on for a little while longer, until Lyna decided enough was enough for one day.

"I'm not sure who taught you, but your swings are too readable. Too stiff. You need to work on the flow and timing. Next time it will be against a more appropriate sparring partner than I." Lucky for him, she wanted to say. But she kept it to herself.

Ves panted as he leaned forward, hands on his knees. "What's… what's wrong with the way I... fight?" He remembered the techniques Ishgard drilled into his head. They were perfectly fine under any other circumstance. And certainly fine enough for fighting dragons with. Sin eaters were just a different flavor of beast.

Lyna, however, danced around as she fought and never held still. It was hard to catch her and stay in range long enough to actually strike out against her.

He could feel Puffy snickering at him from his back. If only the worm was allowed to help him... But...

He could hear the Exarch’s words in his head, and for whatever reason, they always gave him a harsh sense of deja vu. “A time and place for everything, my friend. But not now...”

Lyna frowned. "You need to work on listening as well. No matter... enough for today. I will report your progress to the Crystal Exarch when I have finished my daily duties. Go and get yourself cleaned up." She came to his side, pulled him back up by the arm (before dusting his sleeve off a little for good measure) and turning her back to him, walking away and back to the Rotunda.

Ves eventually was able to catch his breath. His knees hurt, his elbows hurt, his head, his ribs- every little thing. Lyna really knew how to hurt someone when she needed to. And she wasn't even trying, he would have bet.

"You almost had her that one time!" Arval called out, climbing over the fence and hopping back down onto the dirt.

Fenick followed him by stepping through the fence instead.

The knight paused and looked around before he turned and saw the two boys approaching him, one of which he recognized. How long had they been there? "Oh. You're the one with the ball back in the marketplace, right?"

"That's right!"

"Ah… er… what...are you doing here? If you don't mind me asking." This area didn't look like a place for children to play. Especially not with the brutal looking amalj'aa keepers around (or the Zun, as Lyna had called them.)

"Watching you and Captain Lyna spar. It was good fun!" Arval grinned as Fenick cringed at about the same time.

Ves pursed his lips. These children watched him get knocked around in the dust. And so gleefully too. Well, one of them anyway.

He eyed Fenick then. "And...you are??"

"Fenick, I'm his older brother."

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you?"

"You look like you could use a trip to the Spagyrics. Have you ever been there? Mum works there. She'll be able to clean you up in no time!" Arval suggested as he quickly began to lead the way with Fenick following behind him.

"Your m- oh! I believe I've met her already. Hanameen, yes? Brown hair, long ears," ...Adorable freckles-

"Yes! Wait- you met mum already??"

"Yes, my arm was hurting me the other day. So she took me upstairs to the craftsman terrace up on the top floor to find someone to fix it for me. I was there all evening yesterday."

Arval paused and waited for Ves to catch up before coming closer to look at his prosthetic. "Your arm? Can I see??"

The Ishgardian stooped lower a bit so that they could both look if they wanted to.

Arval's eyes lit up. Even Fenick came closer to have a look, only he was more sheepish about it.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything like yours before! Where'd you get it??" The old man definitely had to be Eulmoran. Without a doubt.

"A friend built it for me; her family makes these. They're very talented."

"I wish I had one, it looks so cool.."

"N-no, you might reconsider when it gets stuck or starts hurting your back or whatever else!"

"Well it's attached to your shoulder, not your back."

"Your shoulder connects to your back."

"WELL-"

Fenick remained quiet as the two bantered along the way. Something about the old man was… odd. He could have sworn he'd seen something in his coat moving at one point, but it was impossible to tell otherwise.

The Spagyrics came into view, and the three walked inside. "Mum! The old man's gotten himself beat to a pulp by Captain Lyna!!" Arval announced, leaving Vesevont incredibly red in the face.

Hanameen glanced up from wrapping another soldier's arm in linens. "I'll be a minute!"

"Well now! Back so soon?? It's only been a day. Vesevont was it?" Chessamile chuckled from her desk, once again busy with her log book.

Steam could have been coming out of Ves' ears by that point. "Yes ma'am."

"You should have been there- Captain Lyna was throwing him around all over the place like a blanket that needs a good dusting!" Arval began to swing his arms in very dramatic sword-wielding-like fashion.

"No- it wasn't like that." Ves retorted, trying to look at a wall or a shelf instead of anybody directly.

Arval paused. "You’re right- it was more like this," He yelled and threw himself on the floor.

Fenick's ears were completely pinned back at the embarrassing display (right along with the old man,) and he floated off towards the back where his mother worked.

"Now you're just exaggerating it too much!!”

"If you were an eater you would have exploded into a shower of sparkling aether! Poof!! Like a cloud!" Arval picked himself back up, moving his hands in an outwards motion as Ves groaned.

"Arval leave the man alone! Any more of that and he's going to stay that shade of red for the rest of his life!" Hanameen scolded from behind one of the dividers. She couldn’t even see him and somehow she knew (Ves wanted to hide.)

Arval winced but still held a smile on his face. "At least that would mean you're not white as a sheet... We’d have to start panicking then."

Eventually Hanameen came over, eyeing Ves up and down and shaking her head, clicking her tongue a few times for good measure. "I'll fetch you a basin. You don't look too bad, maybe a bandage and a bit of salve here and there once you wash all that dirt off and you'll be good to go get beat up again."

Ves sputtered as she turned and walked away to the other side of the room as Arval giggled to himself.

When she returned she set the water-filled basin down on the floor at his feet and threw a few clean rags at his lap, then quickly walked over to a shelf filled to the brim with potions and salves and other sorts of colorful liquids in equally colorful bottles. Fenick had retreated there earlier and remained close to her, watching the old man warily from afar.

"So, when are you going to actually go out and fight eaters instead of fighting the dirt??" Arval asked, leaning against the edge of the cot in which Vesevont had sat.

"Fight? You mean the sin eaters?? Oh no no no- I'm not doing anything of the sort."

"But you were sparring with Captain Lyna! Doesn't that mean you're going to join the guard and help defend the Crystarium?? You need a job right??"

"Arval you'd best watch where that tongue of yours is wagging." Chessamile warned from her desk.

Arval groaned aloud before looking towards his mother who had returned with a short and round glass bottle in hand. The sour smell of herbs clung to it.

"Arval," Hanameen eyed him.

"Well… I guess he is a bit old,"

"Arval!"

The boy quickly darted away towards the back of the room.

Hanameen sighed. "Sorry about him. He gets too excited sometimes.

Done scrubbing off??"

Ves blinked a few times as he went back to wiping off the dirt from the few scrapes and bumps he had collected in the short time he sparred with the viera. Or viis. Or whatever Lyna was. Whatever anyone was anymore. "It's no trouble really, my own son was a handful, so I know what you mean. He was shy, but he had his moments. Very outspoken ones." Just remembering those moments made him chuckle. "Oh- yes, I am, sorry."

"Oh! I had no idea. How old?" Hanameen asked as she knelt down, cotton in one hand, now uncorked bottle in the other.

"He'd be about twenty now I believe. Time certainly flies all too quickly."

"Ah… I see." She didn't ask beyond that. Instead, she pressed the cotton piece to the lid of the bottle, turned it upside down, and then pressed it lightly onto one of the few scrapes. It burned immediately.

The Ishgardian looked away and scrunched up his nose briefly before the sensation faded. "He uh… Arval, was it? Seems to really like the guard."

"Oh, that's because their father Gennar is one. He’s stationed at Fort Jobb most days. He's gone for a week or maybe several and then he comes home for a few nights. It's hard sometimes, but you have to manage as best as you can, right?"

Ves hummed in agreement as his head drifted off into memories of pulling very, very long shifts at the Vigils. He'd be stationed for weeks, maybe months at one before moving on to the next.

Those days were very wearing. When he'd heard he was to finally be permanently stationed at Whitebrim, it had truly been a blessing.

Again came the burning cotton with the salve and his breath hitched suddenly. "Ow-"

"Hold still,"

"I am,"

After a few more times Hanameen stood up again to put the bottle away. "There we are. Try not to roll around in the muck and they'll be healed up in no time. They weren't so bad.”

Ves sat there, watching her move to and fro almost falling into a sort of trance before shaking his head slightly. "I won't.

...Roll in dirt that is." He quickly added as he got to his feet, his knees creaking. "I don't have pay-"

"Oh it's not a bother. You know how much I wish I were treating only minor scrapes and bumps all day long? It would mean there's less trouble in the world." Hanameen rolled her eyes. "Speaking of, find some ice for those lumps on your head lest they turn to horns. That goes for the rest of the bruises I see beginning to form already. They’ll be only end up purple as opposed to yellow, green, red, blue, and a whole myriad of other colors."

Ves reached up towards the spot on his head tenderly. "I'll try…"

As he wandered away from the Spagyrics, Arval came to the doorway and watched him go. "I like him, he's funny!"

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing him a lot." Chessamile said aloud, mostly to herself. "He seems like the sort."

Fenick scowled and joined his brother, glaring at the old man's back as he wandered off towards the other side of the Crystarium. "Didn't you see the way he was looking at mum?"

"Huh? No." Arval tilted his head in confusion.

"Well, I did.

He looked at her like father does. He can't do that!"

Arval glanced at him, and then back outside. "...Well, I think he's funny… and nice." He didn’t believe him.

Fenick gave a sharp hmph before making his way back to Hanameen protectively.

"Fenick?? What's wrong??" She asked, looking down at him as he clung onto her and pulled on her arm a little.

"Nothing," He muttered darkly, shoving his face onto her apron afterwards.

#dovah writing #ves gets beat up chapter 308393993 #i actually had to proofread this it was pretty IN NEED OF IT

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