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@dayfade
WE DO NOT SEEK THE APPROVAL OF THE WEAK. THEY SHOULD FEAR YOU.
an indie writing + analysis blog for the character of feng xiao, otherwise known as wolf, by kim. adults-only, mutuals-only. low activity. triggering content ahead; proceed with caution. non-rp blogs do not interact.
AND IF THEY DON’T, MAKE THEM.
affil. @offenseonly + @defenseonly + @fablefools.
BIO / VERSES. RULES.
' meant hiding them from you, wolf. ' it's spoken lightly, with a sardonic, clearly forced smile, to boot. it's not that, clearly, not when there's a thousand and ten variables to go completely haywire if he's not on top of them. it's too easy to bitch, right now, that he got stuck with — well, let's nip that train of thought in the bud. ( keep an eye on that one, robby'd warned him. he thought it was a joke. ) now jack sees him with a blade in his hand, he doesn't quite know how much of a joke it really was. ' they also know this is probably the safest place to do it at. ' a shrug, half - smile more genuine now. ' point down. that is. '
lips pressing together, feng huffs—not quite a growl. his eyes darken and glitter both at once, repeated in the blade of the scalpel. a groan issues from the patient before him—one he interprets as hurry up, and therefore ignores, gaze fixed still on abbott. in all his time here, the two of them never have seen eye-to-eye. wolf suspects both abbott and robby would jump at any chance to dismiss him; unfortunately for them, his skill is undeniable. still polite, still one step away from sneering: ‘i wonder if your role as attending physician entails obstructing me from doing my job, or if that’s just something you do as a hobby?’
@fa11ingup
Wow I just really hate arrogant people. I know you think that you’re better than everyone else but you’re wrong because I’m the one that’s better than everyone else
shaolin sunset!!
BUT ULTIMATELY, I HAD TO BE THE ONE TO GET UP AND DO SOMETHING. ©
« do not touch anything in this room, » she says, gesturing to a closed door on the complete opposite end of the apartment. « do not enter it, do not look at it. » like a pre - teen girl, plastering a NO BOY'S ALLOWED sign onto her bedroom door.
the apartment is spacious, sure, with a room set up — eh — for @dayfade ; she's made no effort to clean, dust having long - settled on much of the living room's bookcases, and dishes left out on the drying rack. various brushes and palettes still litter the bathroom sink counter, but there's a shelf free in the shower, and a shelf in both the cabinet and half of one in the medicine cabinet for him. did she remember to leave him a towel? hmmm.
she doesn't look to ensure that he's following her when she walks to the empty bedroom, just past the kitchen. « you can sleep here. he said i couldn't leave you on the couch. » whether that's a joke or not is xiao's decision. « i'll give you a key tomorrow. alright? »
she might as well have flung down the ladder from her treehouse because ethan said to. the truth is he’s slept on more than his share of couches over the years — lumpy, threadbare, too short: pick two or more.
he’s slept on his share of floors, too, but paris doesn’t need to know that. la doesn’t need to know that; they’ve all seen him fall from his pedestal, but he’d have them believe he’s landed on his feet and not in a bloody pile of bones (again), standing in a strangers’ home clutching what’s left of his life: a bag of clothes and pride he’s no right to hang on to. some days, more than his religion, it’s all that keeps him going. silver’s pendant lies heavy deep in his pocket; he can feel it burning a hole there.
«thank you.» when he turns to her, it’s with an uncharacteristic sincerity. cornered, the wolf bites, though never the hand that feeds him, even when sarcasm coats his tongue and the barely-upturned corners of his lips. «i promise i’m housetrained.»
@fa11ingup
Terry Silver & Sensei Wolf | 6.14
SOUNDTRACK : a muse playlist study. ↳ list 5 songs that you associate with your muse. ( bonus : include lyrics if you'd like! )
001. BAD MOON RISING , creedence clearwater revival.
hope you got your things together / hope you are quite prepared to die / looks like we're in for nasty weather / one eye is taken for an eye / well, don’t go around tonight / well, it’s bound to take your life / there’s a bad moon on the rise
002. LOST IN THE SUPERMARKET, the clash.
i wasn't born so much as i fell out / nobody seemed to notice me / we had a hedge back home in the suburbs / over which i never could see / i heard the people who live on the ceiling / scream and fight most scarily / hearing that noise was my first ever feeling / that's how it's been all around me
003. MONEY MONEY MONEY , abba.
in my dreams i have a plan / if i got me a wealthy man / i wouldn't have to work at all / i'd fool around and have a ball / money, money, money / must be funny in the rich man's world / money, money, money / always sunny in the rich man's world / aha, all the things i could do / if i had a little money / it's a rich man's world
004. IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS , alice cooper.
you can steal my car and drive it into the lake / you can stick me in the oven and put it on bake / you could throw a big brick through my window pane / but if i ever hear you ask me how i got my name …
005. AIN’T NO REST FOR THE WICKED , cage the elephant.
he said, "there ain't no rest for the wicked / money don't grow on trees / i got bills to pay, i got mouths to feed / there ain't nothing in this world for free / i know i can't slow down, i can't hold back / though you know i wish i could / oh, no, there ain't no rest for the wicked / until we close our eyes for good"
tagged by @sieraph beloved tagging 🫵 you!
london has always been his favorite city. sure, vienna's up there, prague, even with all of its soured memories. but london ... it's his home away from home, insofar as he has a home. the places, the people — this people. he's never really been that great with kids — only child, no cousins of note ... far as he's aware, luther has no kids. ( did any of his former coworkers have any kids? ) a glance at benji, sideways, eyebrows knit — DO YOU HAVE KIDS? benji mouths back a " what? " that goes unanswered as the child approaches their table. it's a subtle movement, benji clicking out of his current window, so prying eyes can't snoop. it's endearing, really, the way the child's eyes are bright, interested. ( he files away a joke about that being how benji was, too, when they'd first met. if he said that aloud, he doesn't know who'd get him first, the kid again, or his friend. ) ethan offers a toothy smile, the faintest trace of a laugh flickering 'cross his face. ' the accent give it away? ' a nod, but hand holding the rock curls in, pointing at himself, then benji — ' i am, he's not. '
the child offers to hit benji next, and that's what eventually coaxes the laugh out of him. ' attaboy, ' ethan says, placing the stone back into the child's hand, but not quite letting go just yet. ' careful, though. don't wanna actually brain someone. ' and there, a warm, smug grin in benji's direction. he can almost hear the groan swallowed, but ethan does, then, release the rock. eyes follow the child's gaze, to his own closed laptop and benji's open one. an eyebrow quirks, head tilting. ' yeah, they are. doing a lot of boring work on it. i'm not much of a gamer, y'know? just minesweeper for me. '
‘mhm!’ he chirrups, nodding, proud to be told he’s right. between that and attaboy, he’s beginning to warm to his former target. stranger danger is a concept that has thus far bypassed him entirely, and he’ll never learn to be quite as discerning as he ought to be about the company he keeps. ‘you sound like tom cruise. where’s he from, then?’ somewhere even more interesting? xiao looks at the other man hard, as if he might discern the answer just by doing so. ‘i’m from hong kong,’ he tells them, as the rock is passed back into his hand (he nods a half-hearted promise to be careful and slips it in his jacket pocket for later, but not much later); the pronunciation he’d been taught in school loses out now to the local accent: ’ong kong. ‘that’s in hong kong,’ he adds, to clarify. some of his classmates haven’t heard of anything south of bath — but at least they know what computers are for. xiao is rapidly losing interest in the ones on the table. minesweeper! it’s not even open.
‘that’s dull. a kid at my school has doom on his. and he has a game boy color. he lets me play pokémon on it at break times.’ “lets” is a gentle way to put it; xiao’s shoved him over so many times that he’s agreed, stones stuck in the bleeding scabs on his kneecaps, to let him have a go. sometimes he lets him share his crisps, too. pringles are a favourite — every wednesday. xiao’s stomach growls at the thought. he gnaws on a hangnail to distract himself. ‘yesterday i evolved my wartortle into blastoise. not that you’d know anything about that,’ he adds, with a contemptuous air of superiority. the guy probably couldn’t even make it past the first gym badge!
the machine is trying to think for itself. there are so few times that axel feels more human than machine anymore. maybe he isn't. maybe he really is just a little robot. maybe that's all he'll ever be. pathetic. ' i'm not being naive. ' it's measured, deliberate, thought - out. as any contradiction must be. ' i'm being hopeful. there's no shame in that. '
a jab of red-hot rage and wolf sees it in his mind's eye: the red imprint of his palm on axel’s cheek. instead, he closes his fist around the red beads about his neck and remembers how to breathe. i’ll tell you what to be ashamed of. ‘it’s delusional. you take what you have and turn it to your advantage, or you fail. that’s all there is.’ he knows it: the little boy who clawed his way up out of the gutter; by now his acolyte should know it too. has he been too gentle with him?
work is shit come talk 2 me xo
this is polar opposites meeting. like magnets, nathan thinks, the way he's sheepish to wolf's ... well, wolfish grin. it's just in his nature — memories of being a child drawn to contact sports, unafraid to crash and burn off his scooter, his bike, long before he'd learned to fear injury. nathan is all soft curves and gentle pressure, scared to hurt himself — or anyone else. wolf is sharp : sharp grin, sharp angles ... nathan is all too ready to cut himself on wolf and do nothing to stop the bleed.
' i didn't mean to say — ' and he blushes anew, forcing himself to drag his gaze away from wolf's grin. the laugh is rough, but that's what makes it stick, like a microfiber blanket on scabbed skin. the laugh snags on his heart and tugs, tugs, tugs on his chest. I DIDN'T MEAN TO CALL YOU A LIAR. not when he's been called that more than his fair share of times. this is a much more harmless thing to lie about, though, nathan's emotions. ( wolf wouldn't be the first person to assume that if nathan can feel nothing ... then he wouldn't feel anything. )
the wink shocks him. people do that? really? if he could, he's sure he'd be sweating by now. he can hear the mocking snickers from roscoe, tomorrow, when nathan recounts this over voice chat. but he tries to steel himself, instead. doe - eyed and stupid isn't cute. hell, he's already feeling stupid assuming that wolf even found him cute to start with. CUTE =/= FUN , FUN =/= ATTRACTION ... COME ON, NATHAN, GET A FUCKING GRIP! the growl does something to him, something, that he can't quite place, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell so long on it. a laugh escapes lips, this shy of nervous. ' FUN? ' nathan repeats, gaze soft and nearly bemused. ' been called a lotta things, but never fun before. sure all that karate didn't do anything to your head? '
between his own confidence and nathan’s lack of, wolf isn’t rattled by their shaky start. it’s like coaxing an animal out of its hole: there’s something deeper at play. it spreads under his skin like the ink under nathan’s, an electric-buzz magnet-pull — they do say opposites attract. wolf is all fangs, nathan cotton wool. breath-soft through teeth: ‘wow.’ even as he laughs inside himself, wolf’s face turns stony — cruel as a cat looming claws-out above a canary, about to deliver the killing blow. ‘so i’m a liar and an idiot.’
wolf isn’t soft; he never learned how to be. he never had anyone to watch every bite he took or tape bubblewrap ‘round the corners of the coffee table. pain was the first language he ever learned: how to understand it, and how to speak it. (his mother would’ve had it otherwise: mama, xiao xiao, breath sour with wine — but her lessons were too little and by the time he knew the word love he already knew how to pinch other kids so they ran crying to their own mothers.) now he’s grown, he’s mastered other tongues, though none ring quite so true as the first. he’s won more than his share of fights, but this is not a fight — though wolf is sure he could win: pain or no pain, it’s hard to come back from a broken spine. he doesn’t want to shake the stuffing out of nathan, not really. (though he can’t help but think about sinking his teeth into him; he wonders if he could persuade nathan to return the favour.)
wolf isn’t soft, but he softens, puts his teeth and claws aside — as if they’d do much anyway. he shakes his head, a little smile curling back to life. ‘you’ve got to work on your banter, mate.’
' ... ow? ' he hears benji's snickering before he can fully process what's going on. there's no real blood, thankfully, ( just a little spot, if anything ) but ethan can feel the scrape against his temple. with more force, the rock might've done some actual damage. as it were, it was more like a pebble being thrown at, and subsequently bouncing off of, a bedroom window. like the wadded up straw wrappers he shoots at benji sometimes, like a child trying to get attention.
sure enough, @dayfade is now the child in question, but he's gotten ethan's attention, not merely trying. ' excuse me? ' it's loud enough to be heard, but not too loud that he disturbs any of the other patrons outside the little cafe. " that was me, sorry. "
but the kid has such a cheeky grin on his face, that ethan can't do much besides roll his eyes, and kick his foot out under the table, making sharp contact with benji's shin. the kid looks like the cat who caught the canary, complete with a feather stuck between his teeth, as if ethan's head was his ultimate target after all. ' you better watch who you're aiming at, ' he says, reaching down to the ground beside him. plucking the rock off the ground, ethan considers tossing it back to the kid, considers a nod at benji. wouldn't that be too cruel? probably. he'll think about it.
' don't wanna nail the wrong person. ' weighing the stone in his hand ... it's got some weight to it ... a half - smile is offered to the kid. ' try going with pebbles if you don't wanna get in too much trouble, yeah? '
THUNK! it’s a perfect bull’s-eye. the rock finds its mark. a peal of laughter as xiao crows his joy — and, like crows, his friends scatter to the wind, leaving him a lone howling wolf. well, it doesn’t matter. a quick glance back at their retreating forms and he fixes his eyes ahead, where his prize is the protest of the put-upon patron in the patio chair and the amusement of his companion. you better watch who you’re aiming at, he says, and the threat’s met with a gappy grin, xiao’s legs kicking against the wall upon which he’s perched. the streets of london are stone-cold and -grey and nothing at all like how he remembers back home, but every once in a while you find something interesting about. ‘are you american?’ he’s seen them all over tv, flashing white teeth and loud voices.
second-hand trainers hit the ground; he lopes over, already tall for his age, a skinny kid in a jacket two sizes too big (you’ll grow into it) and trousers two inches too short (this was all they had). eyes brown and bright and hungry take in the table, but there’s nothing to eat there — seems there never is now — so instead, xiao holds his hand out for the stone he’d thrown, quite expecting it back. ‘i’ll aim for him next time,’ he assures the stranger, cocking his head towards his companion, offering half his own smile in return. then he realises what it is taking up food-space on the table; in his excitement, he presses ever closer into the pair’s space. ‘are those laptops? what have you got on it? can you play games on it?’
feng xiao + playlist
so he’s a little tipsy. this is a club, richie’s allowed to have a few drinks. ( he just won’t get blackout drunk. wouldn’t want to make steve anger in the morning, when he has to drag richie’s sorry ass out of bed. ) especially when he’s talking to someone as … built as @dayfade. seriously, what the hell? it's unfair. ' never really got into sports. ' though he vaguely recalls swinging a baseball bat at something when he was thirteen, red - hot rage burning under his skin. what in the fuck was richie so angry about back then? ' but you must love it. competing professionally and all. '
‘it’s not a sport, it’s an art.‘ he has to raise his voice to be heard above the pounding music. the guy (richie, did he say his name was? he looks vaguely familiar, like wolf’s seen him before on some stage or screen) is clearly a few steps ahead of him. rarely does wolf go for more than one or two; all that preaching about the temple of the body is not empty words because — leaning in, closer now, the beads of his necklace swinging out from a half-undone shirt, wolf’s voice gets low, as though this universal truth is a secret just between them, ‘and i don’t have any competition.’
