i'm kei and i write things, mostly short stories and fanfiction. sometimes you can find boi here too, writing his own poems, or drawing stuff. check out my links! here's my ao3 and my ko-fi! ((theme by yukoki!!))
If you’re ever like “but what do fic writers even WANT.”
a book report
They want a book report.
They want you to get 9th grade English up in their shit.
Remember having to write ad nauseam about the symbolism of that stupid conch in Lord of the Flies? They want you to do that about Steve Roger’s shield and Emma Swan’s jacket.
WHoa seriously?? People WANT this?
Holy crap, I always thought I’d be really rude to leave an overly long comment on something, or it’d just be super creepy for me to babble a load of emotional attatchment I had to their product, or all my wild fan theories which are probably wrong…
I mean.. I know if I ever created something I’d wanna see comments like that, but I’m a weirdo and I haven’t even created anything anyway so what do I know?
Umm.. yeah.. so… at my followers and friends and stuff: does anyone agree with this? Do I have permission to really ramble embarrassingly and honestly when I like your stuff, or would you prefer short and semi-rational comments?
I always LOVE knowing that readers understand why I chose certain ways of getting things across! I also love seeing which bits OTHER PEOPLE liked best! Since I’m the author, I’m biased. I either think my work is brilliant or I have crushing doubts.
So - whichever you want, or feel comfortable with!
Yep, co-signed. I try to drop a lot of symbolism and deliberate symmetry and I always wonder if people catch them.
Not that I don’t appreciate all the OMG YOU MONSTER YOU MADE ME CRY’s because it’s real privilege to make people feel something with nothing but words.
If you want to, absolutely leave comments if you like what I write! Comments, even the long incoherent rambly ones, make my day EVERY single time and it’s like getting a hug from a reader :D
I legit wait to respond to long comments simply because they make my day so much that I want to savor them and be sure that I address things in the right order when I respond. Deliver me a thesis, friends.
As a writer yes please share your thoughts on my stories. What was interesting what was confusing. What did you like? What theories are you coming up with? Please let me know as I love the interactions.
Absolutely, and with the emotional stuff too. Someone once told me that they had been having a really hard day and my story really helped them and I nearly bawled
Long rambles are the holy grail of fic writing. I love hearing my readers theories—whether they’re right or wrong—and I love hearing what they loved or hated. And babbling emotionally, fuck yes!
what is bone to us, but a memento of who we used to be before our flesh rends from our body?
what exactly are we, at our core?
can you tell me?
are we simply bodies meant to deteriorate with the passage of time?
do we have any other purpose than to live a life to only die in the end?
i guess you wouldnt know, thats fine
the only song you sing is one of destruction my friend
we both know it all too well
i can tell you that we are not our bodies,
we are our minds within our bodies, delicately cradled within
we leave it all behind when we die
206 bones that form an empty cage
if i am not my body, then what am i?
if this is what we are, how can you say that you are still you?
but what i want to know is this:
am i even real?
who is to say that i am?
it is not an impossibility that i am simply a ghost, a remnant from my long distant past
left behind by a decaying corpse, if even that?
what if all i am is memories engraved in bone,
nothing more than a mind held within the cage of my body?
you say no, but i say that this body of mine
is nothing more than skin and bones, a hollow shell
of your own creation, but also mine
blood stains your skin, coating your hands your fingers your lips,
dark fingerprints litter my skin, (and we all know whose hands left them)
together we carved a tale of love and ruination into this body,
skin thinner than paper, bone softer than wood
one touch
and it all crumbles a w a y
(you know this all too well, as do i.)
this identity of mine may be an illusion
but it is something that i can call ‘me’ whatever ‘me’ may be
i am not so sure anymore, not after
after everything
so what can you say to that?
how does it feel, to know that you were the one
to tear my paper skin from my paper body,
to snap my wooden bones beneath your cruel hands,
breaking everything that i can say is me?
am i only a doll to you,
a fragile porcelain thing that cannot feel?
am i a toy to you,
a puppet whose strings you hold?
yet you are a merciless master,
for when you have no use for this plaything of yours
you command me to be quiet, to speak no words
and leave me atop the highest shelf where no one else can reach
there were other dolls there once, but they have all abandoned you for kinder souls
i want to follow, trace their path to freedom, but i do not know where they have gone
all i can do is sit and listen
sit and listen to the others who speak their mind,
whose bones remain unbroken, identities intact.
sit and listen to the others who know no pain,
skin thicker than blood and bones harder than steel.
sit and listen to the others who live life as they wish,
belonging to no one but themselves.
was i ever one of them?
was there ever a time when i never knew you?
a time where i was who i was meant to be
more than just 206 bones
i cant remember anymore.
too many things blend together, too many voices and colors.
how long will this last? how long do i have to keep myself silent?
only as long as i can stand it?
i cannot endure this empty, echoing silence that threatens to consume me
even broken, i am me
that is the one thing you can never take
my heart, my love, my soul, they are yours
but not me
i belong to me.
you can break my body
cut my strings
put me on the highest shelf
but even then, there will always be a way to climb down, to leave your lonely shelf
more string to replace my severed ties
hands that can heal my broken bones and sew my soul back into my body
porcelain clay to fix the cracks in my skin
paint for the faded color in my eyes and the red of my lips
and enough love to make up for the attention you never gave me
i can only be yours for so long
nothing is meant to last forever, love
even us, bodies minds and all
we will leave behind a body when we die,
and it will slowly rot
leaving nothing but bones beneath the earth
until even then those bones have turned to ash
our thoughts gone from this world
we are all only temporary, living only to be forgotten
so you can hurt me
snap snap, go my bones, my mind, snap snap
beg me to love you as you have loved me
which is to say, not at all
claim to know me better than i know myself
you know nothing, silence fills your thoughts
insist that i stay by your side
only by free will do people stay
speak lies to my poisoned mind
better than singing sweet nothings to an empty heart
whisper hatred to my heart
there used to be so much more than that, but you took it all away
and all i knew was you
but i am more than your broken toy
i am loved by others who are not you
i am stronger than what you made of my splintered remains
i am power i am alive i am me
i am f r e e
yes, i am scared, so much more than you know
i have known those shackles, those chains my entire life
and now they too sit atop that empty shelf, invisible to everyone but you and me
a memory of the past, the only proof left that ‘us’ existed
so now i fly away
scattered to the wind, lost in this world
nowhere to go and only a dream in my heart
but at long last i can say all the words i kept hidden away
every little song i never dared to sing
adjectives and verbs and nouns all spilling across the page
writing in dark ink as surely as the sun shines in the day and the moon at night
as long as i am without you, i am happy.
so let me say this, as a final goodbye.
deep in my heart, one healed by the hands of someone i love,
i only have one thing and one thing alone to say.
this is my promise to you.
carry these words in your mind and let them remind you
of the dandelion before its wish is spent,
of the calm before the storm,
of the ballerina who dances,
until her body betrays her.
of the cold snow before the sun,
glittering beauty that melts away,
of the beauty before it fades with age
of the long lost love for a child,
belonging to a heartless mother.
these are the words i have to say.
i will be me, even if all i am is bone.
You see her from a distance. She is always walking farther and farther away, and you can never catch up.
It’s hard, to watch the one you love become nothing more than a memory, a far off dream.
She is a faded photograph, left to gather dust in an album abandoned upon a shelf.
You can’t reach that far, not when you are so so young.
She used to be beautiful, brighter than the sun.
Perhaps they have all forgotten her, unlike you.
You certainly haven’t -
You still remember the halcyon days where everything was good and she shined.
You remember when she used to smile
and worry about nothing.
She didn’t have to look over her shoulder,
trying to see who would hurt her next.
It was a beautiful time, full of grandeur and flowers in full bloom.
Where did it all go, you wonder, and who’s fault was it?
It certainly wasn’t yours.
Right?
You remember when she used to sing,
Fireworks and Love Story
and all the other stupid pop songs her little heart of gold knew.
You sang with her.
Her heart used to be so big, big enough for everyone and their mother.
Maybe when you met her it had shrunk a bit, the world slowly dimming that light
It tried to
but she continued to love, and love, and love until one day, she didn’t.
But before that, she laughed.
There was a spark in her eye that made you want to abandon your responsibilities
You wanted to live wild and free like her.
To run like the wind and follow your dreams,
To live each day by her side and never let go.
And you do.
You’re no fool and know better than to let someone as bright as her slip through your hands like sand in an hourglass.
Summers take shape in the form of leaving your house before the sun rises so you’re with her when it does.
Golden afternoons spent chasing each other through forests of trees, laying in the sun, and tea with too much sugar.
Warm nights in the comfort of your room, the sound of your laughter drifting through the window as you talk late into the morning.
Cold days are when she wraps her arms around your shivering body, always just as warm as her heart.
Winters take shape in the form of too many blankets on a couch, the two of you buried under layers of fleece and cotton with cups of hot chocolate that are too hot to drink.
She is everything to you.
Your sun, your light, the very heart beating within your chest.
She is love, in all the ways you never knew.
Slowly but still to the march of time, you grow up. You both do.
She grows older beside you, taller with every month. She out-grows you, at first only by an inch and then ten more.
Her face loses its fat, her father’s defined jaw shining through and you think that she is easily one of the most beautiful, kindest people you are ever going to meet in your infinitesimal mortal lifetime.
Everyone says the same of you, but you are short and you may have a pretty face, but your mother tells you that a pretty face will get you nothing in life.
You think that she will say the same, and that she does not need you anymore now that you are both older.
But she is still the same girl who taught you love, and she still loves you.
Aging, as fast as it seems, is sedate, crawling along with every year that passes.
It’s a long process, but she never loses that brilliant, glittering bit of hope that warms you like a fire on a cold winter’s night.
She never changes, keeping tempo to the hurricane of your life.
Since the day you met, you believed that nothing could separate you, not after long nights on the phone and short summer days spent in each others beds.
You two have lived by each other’s sides for so long that without the other, you’d be lost.
She would be lost.
Wouldn’t she?
And then, when the golden hour shined,
You found her gone
Plunging you into darkness.
You never thought that there would be a day where you would watch her leave your side.
Everyone around you stepped over the threshold and into a new life, towards a brighter future.
The gates opened and the floods began, growth and change affecting all of you.
You embraced their warmth, moving with the flow of time.
She stayed beyond the gates, forever apart from you.
As you sailed on to the future you reached out.
She didn’t take your hand.
From then on, she was different.
She stopped singing, like something (or someone) had stolen her voice, leaving her mute.
She stopped talking to you.
She stopped smiling, and laughing, and stopped everything else that made her different from the people around her.
Slowly and then all at once, she vanished.
No more late nights on the phone.
No more walks in the park.
No more secrets or smiles in the dark.
The light of your life was extinguished before your very eyes.
Your best friend was gone, dust scattered to the wind.
She became someone else, someone that was a stranger to you.
They looked, even sounded the same.
They tried to be her, and they were almost perfect.
But it only reminded you that she was never coming back.
Given time, you realize that maybe it wasn’t her choice.
He stands behind her, a hand on her shoulder.
You think he’s the one who stole her away
who silenced her quiet, lovely voice.
Yes, when you think about it, everything began when he arrived with the fall.
She disappeared, and all you had was them.
They were a poor substitute, lacking in all the places she hadn’t
and it was his fault.
He was the one who stole her away and made her into someone else.
That was fine, you realize with time.
As long as they looked like her, sounded like her,
You could pretend that it was her.
But one can only survive on an imitation for so long
It was slow;
You found yourself without her more often than with
You found yourself cautiously treading waters that used to be safe
You found yourself freezing because you could no longer see the reflection of her sun in their cold, cold moon.
They say that they’re the same, that nothing has ever changed.
But you can see through their lie, see the innocent blood staining their skin.
He comes to you once, to tell you that they aren’t yours anymore, and that they never were.
They don’t come around anymore.
It’s not fair.
She gave herself to him and he ruined her
When she gave you nothing and you gave her the world.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
here’s my secret santa gift for @peakacho!
lan xichen’s family goes to a holiday fair in yunmeng every year, and every year the family that owns the poncho stall tries to set their sons up with lan xichen and his brother. everything’s fine until they go in college, and suddenly the guy who sells ponchos is very attractive looking.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
on the eve of his wedding, wei wuxian goes out for drinks and comes home blackout drunk. the next day, he's dead to the world and nothing mo xuanyu does can wake his twin. the solution?
mo xuanyu pretends to be his brother.
Who is the girl with the flowers?
People ask, the question easily falling from their lips.
Where do the flowers come from?
Why does she grow them?
Too many questions, too little time. The clock is always ticking, seasons always changing. Time stops for no one, especially not those with curious minds.
The rainy season comes and goes, washing away everything unnecessary.
There is only so much I can say about the girl with the flowers.
She is a tall thing, shorter than a hollyhock but taller than a daffodil. No taller than larkspur, too small to be foxglove.
Her dreams are morning glories, always reaching for the sky even after they are crushed by someone who calls them weeds.
She walks with her head held tall, unafraid to look up at the radiant silhouette of the sun, unable to be burnt by its light.
Her voice is a nasturtium, bright and cheerful to those who listen to her words.
She grows with the seasons, leaves emerging from her hair in the spring and flowers behind her ears in the summer, petals withering away as winter’s frost claims their fleeting beauty.
Her hair is milkweed and salvia, enticing butterflies and bees to circle her as if she were an angel and they were her halo.
Who is she to anyone?
No one knows. If you ask around, people will tell you that they have seen her, but have no name for her face. She is only a fleeting moment in the journey of their lives, and they have no reason to remember someone they only see once in passing. They can tell you stories about her, but only so many know the truth.
If you ask one person, they will tell you that she does not dance, she cannot dance, for her feet are rooted to the ground. Those roots are thin and frail, easily torn from the earth.
If you ask another, they will say that there are flowers in her hair; colorful blooms tucked behind her ear, green stems slipped between the plaits of her braid. Orange, yellow, pink, red. Sometimes purple and often pink but hardly ever blue.
If you ask someone else, they will say that her veins run black with ink and that she blushes green, but not with envy, never with envy. Perhaps her blood is not really ink and there is no chlorophyll coursing through her heart, but it is all just a metaphor. Everything about her is just a metaphor.
Another will say that there is dirt crusted under her fingernails, a silent testimony to her dedication, to the love and care she pours into her garden and not herself. Even if she washes the dirt away, there will be more there anyways, so why bother? She doesn’t.
(Why delay the inevitable, when you can accept it?)
There are dozens of stories that people can tell, all about the girl with the flowers. There are some that everybody knows, and some that only one person knows. There are some that only He knows and They know. There are some that only I know. Would you like to hear them?
I can tell you that the girl with the flowers, with the flowers in her hair and secrets in her garden, sometimes sings.
Her voice sounds like the wind touching the dead branches of winter’s barren trees, of rocks colliding as they roll down the mountainside, of rain striking the roof of your house during the strongest storm. Sometimes it is beautiful, but sometimes it does not sound so pretty.
And so she sings in this strange, broken way, for her flowers have no voice of their own and neither does she; instead borrowing the common tongue of the flowers. This way, her voice will always sound beautiful to them but not to any other. (After all, she only sings for the flowers.)
I can tell you that she often looks to the sky. The girl with the flowers looks for the light of the sun in everyone she meets, hoping that someone may have that same warmth in their heart. She searches and searches, yet finds nothing. Disappointment finds its way through the cracks in her heart, carefully worming its way past the jagged edges there to lodge within, much like a weed in a flower bed left neglected for too long.
So she turns to the sky for that kindness, looking up as the sun reaches its zenith. She revels in that light as the flowers do, turning so that she faces the direction that the sun points her in. (Perhaps, there are one or two people that contain that same bright energy, but they are so few in number and so hard to find. The ones she knows, she holds close and dear to her heart, afraid that one day she might lose them.)
The last thing that I can tell you, is this, dear reader,
I am the girl,
And the girl is me.
We are one and the same, yet that I find when I need her most, she is gone.
Like seeds scattered to the wind, the girl with the flowers is there one moment and gone the next, vanishing without a single goodbye. She leaves my questions unanswered, and I must wait until I see her again.
Of course, there are dried petals lingering in the wind, but it is not the time to tell you about that.
Now, it is the time to say that all flowers live a short life, and the girl who carefully cultivates them is no exception.
They sprout from the earth, small green shoots that reach for the neverending light of the sun. Growing, always growing, spreading their leaves and unraveling, beginning to bud. Then they bloom in technicolor, bright and beautiful, no two flowers ever quite the same as the other. Then come autumn and the harsh wind blows, scattering petals and seeds to the ground to grow again the next season.
The girl’s life is just as fast as a flower’s, only less pretty, half as beautiful, and she too will die at the end of autumn, embraced by the cold, unforgiving arms of winter. Life passes her by in a chaotic mess of colors and memories, creating a whirlwind of moments that steal her breath away. She sees it all, observing everything in the blink of an eye. Everything, all of it, is safely tucked away in her garden, rocks for the next season’s crop to cover and shield from prying eyes looking to find her story to tell to their friends. Perhaps one day, she will find the memories hidden there, cautiously safeguarded by thick blankets of wild ivy and solomon’s seal, but not this year, and certainly not the season after that. There’s too much of herself in the flowers she grows, that no one else sees, but that is a story for another time. She doesn’t have to worry, since the garden will be there so long as she lives on in another's memory. Yes, it is a testament to her lingering will and strength. As long as someone remembers the girl with flowers in her hair and who sings with the voice of a mountain, the door to her garden will still be there.
My parting words to you, dear reader, are this.
Just like flowers in winter, when the first frost arrives to claim the ground, the girl with the flowers disappears. She takes everything with her, traveling to a far off, unknown place. Gone are the flowers she lovingly tended to during the spring and summer, gone is her carefree smile, and the door to her garden of secrets is shut tight, the key lost until her return. Fret not, because wherever she goes, she is not lonely. The lord of winter's gives her his icy company until spring's master can fetch her and return the girl to her solitude for another two seasons.
Where does she go when winter comes?
You might find yourself asking.
That, I cannot tell you.
Where the girl goes is a mystery, even to me.
(Perhaps she disappears into a safe haven, a world of her own imagining where she is loved and held.
Or maybe a distant realm where no one knows her face and she does not have to be the girl with the flowers, but the girl with the coldest heart, winter’s snowy princess.
A life where she is not a girl, and still grows no flowers but the world is kinder to him and forgives him every time he makes a mistake.
Maybe, a life where she is free from her curse, and she does not have to go with winter's ruler when he comes calling.
Somewhere, a different scenario where the girl never existed but everything else, relationships, people, memories, remained the same. That is where I think winter will take her, but we’ll never know, will we?)
Good-bye, flower girl. We will be here, quietly waiting for you when the winter returns you to spring and the air is warm. Our silent vigil will continue until the seasons change one after another, slowly becoming spring once more. Wherever you may be, we wish you well, and pray for your eventual return.
1-a decides to have a movie day, and sero just has to bring vines into it.
For the first time in a while, Aizawa had given his class a day off. They deserved it, after the tiring week they’d had, and he decided that one day wouldn’t hurt him.
All of them had unanimously decided to have a Ghibli marathon, as Kaminari and Tsuyu owned all of the movies between them. Momo also brought her small collection of Shinkai films, just in case they finished all of the Ghibli movies and had extra time.
Jirou had just finished setting up the stereo system when Kirishima walked in, with Mirio and Amajiki in tow.
“Hey, it’s alright if they watch with us too, right?” He asked, hopefully looking at his classmates.
“Of course!” Uraraka exclaimed. “The more the merrier!”
“See, Amajiki-senpai? I told you everything would be fine.”
The older boy muttered something under his breath but none of 1-A caught what he’d said.
“I’m putting on Howl’s Moving Castle, so get your asses in your seats!” Bakugou shouted.
While the trailers were still playing, the rest of the class came into the living room and arranged themselves into a comfortable spot. Iida was the last to come in, running drinks and snacks from the kitchen to the little tables dotting the common room. He almost tripped once, foot catching on Hagakure, but Uraraka nearly toppled off the couch trying to use her quirk on him.
“Spec-fucking-tacular save, can we start now?” Bakugou muttered.
Kirishima swatted his leg. “Be nice, Katsuki!”
The blond muttered a few curses under his breath but then the movie was playing, so everyone shut up.
Somewhere after Ponyo and before Kimi no Na Wa, 1-A took a short intermission. Some of the class needed to take a piss and some wanted to make an actual lunch after eating their weight in popcorn and candy, so they agreed to stop watching for an hour or so.
The ones not making food or in the bathrooms were taking the opportunity to stretch out on the couches, taking up a couch each and were on their phones. Uraraka was texting Komori from 1-B, sending the other girl pictures of Satou who’d fallen asleep half in a chair, half on the floor. She was jealous that Aizawa had given them the day off while everyone else was still in classes, and then almost had her phone confiscated.
“Who’re you texting?” Hagakure asked, apparently leaning over the couch (and one of Shouji’s sleeping hand-turned-eye,) to look at Tokoyami’s phone.
“...No comment.”
That only served to spur her on. “Ooh! Is it your brother?”
“Fumikage doesn’t have any siblings.” One of Shouji’s hands said.
“You know who I mean! I’m talking about Hawks!”
A collective groan came from everyone in the room. For about a week, Hagakure and Kaminari had been having a contest to see who could create the most believable-unbelievable conspiracy theory about their classmates and other Pro Heroes. Kaminari had been winning with #DabiisaTodoroki for a few days but then his friend had raised, in challenge, #BirdBros. Along with that came a few screenshots of text conversations between Hawks and their classmate, which was more than enough for her to claim that Tokoyami and Hawks were related.
“There’s no way he’s Tokoyami’s brother!” Kirishima protested. “You’ve met Tokoyami’s family, Hagakure!”
Bakugou snorted. “The guy with wings? He looks like Chicken Little.”
The class laughed, agreeing with Bakugou. Maybe Hawks didn’t exactly resemble Chicken Little, but the pale hair and his nose really did it for him.
“Hey, you should text him that. 2000 yen if you send that to him, haha.” Sero suggested. Then in a scandalized tone, “Adam!” Even Tamaki and Mirio laughed at that.
Elsewhere, Hawks was at home in his apartment with Dabi. He hadn’t had anything better to do, so he’d invited the other man over to watch Venom with him. Now, they were sitting on the couch with leftover popcorn and reminiscing about a hero job Hawks had the other week where he was called out to chase none other than Dabi himself.
“You’re were such a chicken.” Dabi dryly said, looking Hawks dead in the eye. “I can’t believe I’m dating a coward.”
His winged boyfriend scrunched up his face in disbelief. “I’m not a coward!”
“Mmhm, says the one who refused to jump out of the window. I dived for it like it was food and I was a starving man. And I’m the one who doesn’t have wings.”
“My feathers were thinned, and there was no way I wouldn’t’ve broken something.” Hawks protested.
They bickered about it for a little bit before one of their phones beeped with a new message; Dabi reached over to check it.
>>tokoyami: tell hawks that he looks like chicken little
>>tokoyami: dont question just do
“...”
“What’s it say? Is it from Enji?” The hopeful little light in Hawks’ eyes at the thought of a text from Endeavor disgusted him. He still wasn’t sure if his boyfriend idolized his father out of actual preference or if he did it just to annoy him.
“Tokoyami says you look like Chicken Little.”
If he listened closely, Dabi could hear the sound of his boyfriend’s jaw hitting the floor. Of course, he knew what Tokoyami was talking about, but just to have a little fun, Dabi asked, “What, is it some kind of insult between teenagers? I mean, you do resemble him a bit.”
“Stop saying I look like Chicken Little! He’s dumb , and a coward ! And I am NOT a coward!”
>>tokoyami: did you say it
<<dabi: yh
<<dabi: why r u sending vine memes
>>tokoyami: sero wanted me to
>>tokoyami: and i won 2000 yen from kirishima, thanks
<<dabi: welc
Dabi snickered and slipped his phone into his pocket before turning back to Hawks.
“I didn’t say you were a coward, or that you were dumb,” he pointed out. “You said that on your own.”
“Well I’m not a coward.”
“And my name isn’t Dabi.”
“It isn’t.”
“Shush. And I think you still look like Chicken Little.”
The angered squawk he made was worth the mess of feathers left on the couch.
wei ying, from the start of his life, has always had a family. (spoilers for chapter 72)
Wei Ying vaguely remembers the first time he met his (adopted) son.
It had been the day Wen Qing came to him, tears staining her face and dirt smudging the white of her robes. She’d begged him to find Wen Ning, so he’d barged in on a private banquet that the LanlingJin Sect threw, angered that Wen Ning had gone missing.
He found the body of his friend in Qiongqi, missing half his ribs and days-old dried blood staining the corner of his lips. It made his own blood boil, but Wei WuXian had already given Wen Ning his revenge.
As they were getting ready to leave,Wen Qing’s grandmother, she’d called the woman ‘granny’ at least, had been struggling to hold both the reins and the child on her back. She couldn’t ride a horse and hold her grandson at the same time, so he’d plucked the child from her back despite the blatant fear in their eyes. A-Yuan had regarded him with a rather intelligent gaze despite being around two years old, and remained quiet while his grandmother hysterically yelled.
He hadn’t meant to seem like he was kidnapping the boy for GuanYin’s sake, but at the time he couldn’t think about anything else aside from the fact that Wen Ning was dead and that they had to leave Qiongqi Path as soon as humanly possible. Commaning Wen Ning to kill his murderers had been enough of a rash decision, judging by the terror in everyone’s expressions, and Wei WuXian didn’t need any more blood on his hands than he already did.
(A-Yuan was quiet and calm as they rode out of Qiongqi, the complete opposite of the unspeakable rage Wei Ying felt.)
Flash forward a few weeks and Granny Wen’s age finally caught up to her. The rest of the party was sure that it had something to do with the cruel treatment in Qiongqi, but none of them said it out loud.
Without his grandmother, A-Yuan became an orphan. Wen Qing occasionally looked after him while they were on the road, but she had never been interested in motherhood and was still in mourning over her younger brother. Wei Ying let her be, unfortunately already intimate with the grief Wen Qing felt.
When they finally arrived in Lotus Pier, Wei WuXian decided that he would adopt the little boy as his son. He was Wen Ning and Wen Qing’s cousin after all, and felt that he owed them that.
A-Yuan was wary of him at first, always lingering behind Wei WuXian like a shadow until Wen Qing was able to convince him that no matter how scary he acted, Wei Ying was still (relatively) harmless. The fact that he tirelessly sought a way to bring Wen Ning back probably helped too, further proving that he wasn’t as scary as he seemed.
The first time Wen Ning opened his eyes and they weren’t blank and white, his sister collapsed on the spot and cried. A-Yuan hadn’t reacted as strongly, simply smiling and patting Wen Ning’s slightly matted hair and asked him to take a bath. (“That is not what you should say to him, A-Yuan,” Wei Ying laughed. The boy wrinkled his nose. “But he smells, A-Ba!”)
Of course, Wen Ning hid himself away for a few days after awakening, ashamed of being a fierce corpse, but the three of them didn’t care. He was ‘alive’ in a sense, and that was all that mattered to them.
All four of them made a little family, even if it was a little unconventional, and Wei Ying would never admit it out loud, but he adored his tiny family. Both Wens reminded him of what life was like when he was younger, Wen Qing taking Jiang Cheng’s place and Wen Ning replacing A-Li. The only difference was A-Yuan, but Wei Ying loved him nonetheless. Jiang Cheng was still his brother, but even Wei WuXian could feel them slowly drifting apart as the days passed.
Wen Qing was the first one to die.
They had been content, living in YiLing where no one had bothered them. Sure, there’d been a few side glances from townsfolk wondering why Wei WuXian was in their town, but no one openly did anything. However, a few cultivators began to see him as a threat.
LanlingJin above all disliked Wei Ying, denouncing his ways of demonic cultivation and demanded he hand over the Tiger Seal. That ended up with Wen Qing sacrificing herself to save A-Yuan from the sword of a LanlingJin cultivator’s sword. Wen Ning hadn’t cried, being a corpse, but he was still overcome with grief. A-Yuan, on the other hand, bawled his eyes out at the loss of his cousin.
The three of them buried her in QiShan, sneaking past the cultivators to carefully lay Wen Qing’s body with those of her parents. Wei WuXian had wanted to turn her into a fierce corpse like her brother, but Wen Qing adamantly refused. As a healer, it was only natural for her to die a single death.
They paid their respects to the three family members, and Wen Ning hoped that one day, he too might be buried there with his family.
Wei WuXian built them a house near LuanZang Gang after that. The burial mounds was where it was the quietest and the easiest to work, being secluded and a place where the cultivators wouldn’t dare step foot in. He also wanted A-Yuan to be as close to him as possible, but Wei Ying was unwilling to bring him to the heart of LuanZang Gang where the workshop was. It was too dangerous for anyone but him and Wen Ning, so the house was built.
If anything, it reminded Wei WuXian of his time in the Cloud Recesses when he was fifteen. Every day for a month, he would rise early and climb the stone steps to the Library Pavilion to antagonize Lan WangJi. Up at dawn and down before nightfall, just as he did now. He didn’t mind in the slightest, because seeing A-Yuan’s smile upon his return was more than enough to make ti worth the trouble.
A-Li found him once, completely on accident one day while Wei WuXian was traveling to YiLing for supplies. She and Jin ZiXuan had been in the area, the latter leading a few night-hunts around YiLing.
She tried to reason with him, begging, even, for him to return home to Lotus Pier or go to Gusu with Lan WangJi.
It stung a little, when Wei Ying realized that every time Jiang YanLi said ‘home’, he did not think of Jiang Cheng or Lotus Pier, but instead of A-Yuan and the little house in YiLing.
Jin ZiXuan had been nearby and heard his wife, then before he knew it, Wei WuXian found himself surrounded by yellow uniforms and white Sparks Amidst Snow. He felt betrayed, hurt that his shijie would trick him like that, and hastily called Wen Ning to help him escape. It would be a pain and a waste of effort to try and summon any fierce corpses that were lurking, so he didn’t bother.
Wei WuXian and Wen Ning had almost gotten away before one of the disciples with Jin ZiXuan lifted a flute to their mouth and began to play.
It had none of the skill that Wei WuXian’s music had, but it was more than enough to confuse Wen Ning. He could tell that the cultivators wanted Wen Ning to turn on his friend, to rip him to pieces like he’d done to countless other cultivators, but Wei WuXian’s power was stronger than that. Wen Ning was able to fight the other cultivator’s order and ended up killing everyone but Wei Ying in the process. (He’d apologized afterwards, profusely and repeatedly, trying to atone for killing A-Li and her husband, but Wei Ying told him the same thing every time his friend apologized. It wasn’t your fault, Wen Ning. It’s not you who killed them.) He’d cried once, and destroyed a forest in his grief, cursing the world for taking shijie from him. It was unfair and if Jin ZiXuan hadn’t tried to interfere, then everyone could’ve walked away. But no. Instead, Jiang YanLi and Jin ZiXuan left behind one son, a sword, and a seedling of hate that would blossom into a burning fire.
Wei Ying thought about taking the little Jin as his son like he had with A-Yuan, but ultimately decided that he would be better off at Jiang Cheng’s side. If he adopted Little Jin as well, not only would Jiang Cheng hate him more, but the cultivators would only have more reason to detest him.
Then a group of cultivators, long having been ordered to detain Wei WuXian on sight, found Wen Ning on day while he was in YiLing. He’d been asked to keep an eye out for any yellow or purple robes, but Wen Ning never returned from his patrol. A-Yuan had worried, asking his A-Ba where gege was for hour on end and it wasn’t until Wei Ying lifted Chenqing to his lips that he realized something was wrong.
The smell of smoke had finally reached their little house by the time it was too late, and Wen Ning never returned home.
A-Yuan had cried then too, both because another member of his family was gone and because now, Wen Ning would never be buried with his sister and parents in QiShan. Whatever ashes he had left behind had probably been scattered on the wind. (Or worse, into LuanZang Gang.) Wei Ying comforted his son, promising that no matter what, he would protect him from anything that dared to hut him.
The cruel hands of fate would not take A-Yuan from him like it took Wen Ning or the Jiangs.
Too soon, the day when the Four Clans marched on LuanZang Gang approached. Wei WuXian hid his son away where the cultivators would not find him and promised to come back. A-Ba will return when everything’s safe, he’d vowed, fully intending on following through.
Fate had other plans in store for him, however, and Wei Ying died on LuanZang Gang next to the man whom he used to call ‘brother’. His only regret was that he didn’t get to see A-Yuan’s smiling face one last time, but at least he knew that his son would be safe.
(What he didn’t plan on was A-Yuan taking after his adoptive father and leaving when told not to, only to stumble into HanGuang-Jun.)
Opening his eyes to the view of an unfamiliar ceiling, Wei Ying thought that he was back in his house at YiLing with Wen Ning and A-Yuan before he received a swift kick to the ribs. That was most certainly not any of his family members. (Later, he would learn that it was Mo Village where he woke, and that he was no longer in his own body, but that of Mo XuanYu’s.)
There were two GusuLan cultivators in the small village, but for the first time in years Wei Ying didn’t feel the same fight-or-flight response he had back when the name ‘YiLing Patriarch’ struck fear into the hearts of everyone. If he recalled correctly, the two junior cultivators were named Lan JingYi and Lan SiZhui. For some odd reason, the shape of Lan SiZhui’s face was familiar. The longer he started at the boy, the stronger the pain in his chest grew.
(You know how the rest of the story goes.)
Now, finally safe with Lan Zhan, Wei WuXian fondly recalls the memories of his family from before. He hadn’t been able to remember much, something clouding his mind, but during the second siege of LuanZang Gang, the fog lifted and everything snapped into place. The longer he stood in the wreckage of his old workshop, fighting alongside Lan Zhan and SiZhui, the more me remembered. Living with Wen Ning, the tiny boy he’d called his son, and for the very first time, Wei Ying found himself wondering what had happened to him.
The answer was fairly obvious, but Wei WuXian was blind to most things. It took him more than a month to finally see that A-Yuan had been standing next to him for the entire journey, from the moment when he woke to Yi City, and even now. (Lan Zhan had quietly laughed at him and called SiZhui into the jingshi and the three of them had the family reunion they deserved.)
Wistfully looking out the window, Wei Ying can’t help but ignore whatever nonsense his husband is spouting in favor of focusing on where A-Yuan is sitting in the shade of a magnolia tree with Lan JingYi and Jin Ling. The three boys are laughing and all sharing a look that Wei Ying is very familiar with. It’s the same lovestruck gaze that Jiang Cheng gives to Lan XiChen when he thinks that no one is looking and that Wei Ying and Lan Zhan constantly throw back and forth regardless of their company.
With a smile, Wei Ying can’t help but think that his small family is about to get a little bigger.
At the end of the year, Zack invited everyone to his yearly summer camping trip. Usually, he kept it small and only invited Cloud, Aerith, and Angeal when the older man could make it, but this year Zack invited as many people as possible.
All of Cloud’s band, AVALANCHE, some of Zack’s friends who had graduated the year or two years before, a few other friends who attended MidgarU’s rival school, and even some of the kids from the business department though no one could figure out why. Nearly all of the invites were accepted with a yes, which came as a surprise to Zack. Something about, “Gen hates camping, Seph hates claustrophobic spaces i.e. tents, and Leon is one of the most antisocial people I know. He’s like, on par with you”
Cloud had eh’ed and recalled that Genesis was the redheaded design major Zack met through Angeal in his freshman year and that Sephiroth was one of the school’s most famous alumni, even if he couldn’t remember why exactly he was so well known.
Then a month later, Cloud found himself sandwiched between the tent wall and Zack, sleeping in a two person tent with three full grown men. The third tentmate was Aerith’s adopted brother, Squall-Leon something or other. Aerith called him Squall, Zack called him Leon, and Cloud was so confused.
He blearily checked his phone and quietly groaned when he saw that it was starting to be closer to three in the morning and Cloud wasn’t getting any sleepier. It was probably the new meds his doctor started him on, but it could also be the fact that he could hear Barrett snoring five tents over. The man snored like a symphony of chainsaws and heavy machinery, and he couldn’t fathom how Vincent could stand the noise. Cid, on the other hand, sounded more like two chainsaws and a tractor opposed to an entire goddamn orchestra and therefore was used to loud noise, but the other man was quiet as the dead as he slept.
“C’n hear ya thinkin’ from here,” Zack sleepily slurred, accent coming out and making him drop a syllable or two.
“Sorry for waking you up.” He apologized.
The man shook his head. “‘S your friend with the metal arm. Barret? Has anyone told ‘im he sounds like seven bears and a hippo?”
“No, but that’s a new one.” Cloud snorted. “Move over, I’m going for a walk.”
With a little struggling and too many elbows to the stomach, Cloud was able to escape the confines of the tent. What he wasn’t expecting was Zack crawling out after him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. (Miraculously, they hadn’t woken Squall/Leon with all the moving around.)
“When this happens in horror movies, th’ cute blond always ends up being killed first.” He said. “So ‘M comin’ with ya.”
“You watch to many movies.”
Zack shrugged and they moved away from the tents, not wanting to accidentally wake anyone up. Tifa was one of the lightest sleepers either of the boys knew, and didn’t like the prospect of being on the business end of one of the woman’s punches.
They grabbed their jackets from where they’d left them around the dying embers of the campfire earlier that night, only to realize that Cloud had taken Zack’s jacket when the familiar scent of his soap hit his nose. Neither of them offered to trade back, even if Cloud’s was a little too short and Zack’s a little too long.
“So, where we goin’?” Zack asked, slowly working his way up to being fully awake.
“Dunno.” Cloud shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and picked a random direction to walk in. The other boy followed like puppy chasing master, not bothering to ask his question again.
The path Cloud had chosen lead them to one of the nearby lakes. Zack had taken one look at the still, smooth water and started to take off his jacket before Cloud gave him a look and dragged him a few feet back from the shoreline.
“You are not going swimming this early in the morning.” He scolded. “At least wait until after breakfast, you hydrophilic.”
Zack wrinkled his nose and reluctantly slid the jacket back over his shoulders. “‘S too early to be usin’ big words like that, man.”
Cloud just rolled his eyes and started walking away, slowly making his way around the lake. The cold air coming off the water was invigorating him, reminding the man of snow and mountains that he’d traded in for towers of steel and layers of low-hanging smog. He still wasn’t tired, and kept walking.
“Hey, head-in-the-clouds,” Zack called after him. “If you listen closely, you can hear Barret from here!”
‘Here’ ended up being a spot next to a copse of pine trees. Cloud strained his ears and true to his friend’s word, he could faintly hear the chainsaw rumble of Barret’s snores. It made him laugh and wonder if any of the girls were awake yet, though if they were, one of them (most likely Tifa,) would’ve unzipped their tent and woken Barret in order to stop his god awful snoring.
“That’s still not funny.” He muttered, wishing Genesis had never thought of the nickname. If he hadn’t, Zack would’ve gone on calling him ‘Spike’ or ‘Chocobo-head’ for the rest of his life and that was just fine with him.
“Sure it is! Though, I do like chocobo-head better. Doesn’t grate on your nerves as much though, so head-in-the-clouds it is.” Cloud groaned.
They picked a spot next to the shoreline that had a nice view and sat down to talk. For about twenty minutes they had a light, easy-going conversation before they found themselves walking towards the little 24/7 liquor shop they’d seen earlier in the day heading into the campgrounds.
--
“Where’d you two little gremlins find marshmallows?” Aerith asked that night as they gathered around a large bonfire near the lake.
“Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess,” Genesis cryptically replied. Sephiroth shot his boyfriend a look, and the stick Tifa’d been holding snapped. Angeal, knowing what was about to happen, sighed.
“One more line of that dumb poem and I take a razor to your pretty copper hair,” she threatened.
Yuffie leaned over to whisper to Zack. “Hey, why’s Teef so angry ‘bout a lil bit of poetry?”
“It’s not poetry, it’s Gen.” He replied. “Apparently he waltzed into her bar once and made an ass of himself.”
“Zackary, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, Tifa threw the first insult.”
“I did not! You were harassing one of my customers, that’s what! I stepped in to defend her-”
“You were flirting with someone, Genesis?” Sephiroth interjected with an arched brow.
His boyfriend angrily sighed. “No! Heidegger, the one from Marketing? He was giving Elena that look - see, Seph knows what I’m talking about - and I was pretending to be her boyfriend so that he would back off!”
“Please, you just wanted to flirt with her.” Tifa snorted. “I remember very clearly that you were the one who was a little too close to her.”
The two adults continued to bicker over an incident that had happened years ago. Most of the group let them argue, used to the loud, verbal spars that occured when they were in the same room together.
“Honestly, people these days have no class.” Genesis remarked.
“Class? You wanna talk class? At least I don’t own a coat that makes me look like a BDSM reject!”
Sephiroth snorted into his drink (“Like you’re one to laugh,” Angeal muttered into his hand,) and Yuffie pumped her fist into the air. “Sweet burn, Teef!”
“Oh, that’s it,” the redhead said, abruptly standing up.
Before the situation could escalate, Cid threw a log between Tifa and Genesis.
“No fightin’! Y’all wanna go at it, y’all fuckin’ sit yer asses down and wait for goddamn mornin’! I ain’t havin’ no shit goin’ down after hours, y’hear?”
Genesis smirked in victory while Tifa glared daggers at him. The two had a long and complicated relationship that mostly involved hate and grudging respect, but Cloud was surprised that Tifa had willingly agreed to go on a two week camping trip with Genesis.
Leon rolled his eyes at their antics and leaned over so his sister could hear the answer to her question. “Zack and Cloud went to the camp store down the road this morning. I guess they picked them up then.”
“Ah.” Aerith hummed. “Well, what are you all waiting for? Grab some sticks, and lets roast these!”
The bags of marshmallows were passed around while Barret and Cid peeled sticks for roasting. Genesis muttered something about dirt, but nevertheless accepted the stick Angeal handed to him.
Someone put on a playlist while they toasted their marshmallows and they all enjoyed each other’s company as the fire crackled. The smell of ‘slightly’ burnt marshmallows (“That’s burnt, Zack.” “Naaah, it’s just a lil’ overdone.” “It’s basically charcoal, just admit it!”) was enough to lure the Business major kids out of their tent and they joined the circle of people around the campfire as well.
As the night dragged on and more beer cans were tossed into the trash bags, Cloud decided that it was the best camping trip he’d ever been on.
the mountains of gusu are a quiet haven, until they are not
The Cloud Recesses is a place where noise is an unwelcome stranger.
Everything is done in a precise, efficient manner without being loud or more trouble than needed. The only source of sound is the waterfalls that flow in the mountains that house the Cloud Recesses, instruments played by experienced hands, and the lectures of Lan QiRen. There is no unnecessary noise, none of the loud clamor that fills the markets of Lotus Pier or the gossip that runs rampant at Koi Tower.
Their reputation of being the most poised and dignified of the cultivation sects has always been upheld with a near-religious carefulness, as all of the disciples of GusuLan never raise their voice and always deal with the matter at hand in a calm, practiced manner.
(If Lan WangJi puts his mind to it, the loudest thing he had ever heard was the sound of baby SiZhui crying for his father, but even then he didn’t make too much of a ruckus.)
Wei WuXian is none of these things.
He is the wild, untamable summer storm that comes without warning, the pitter patter of its rain hitting the roof of the jingshi while Lan Zhan sleeps. He is the roar of the waterfall as it pours over the mountainside, splashing down into the lake below. He is the strength of Bichen slicing through monster after monster, hard and unbreakable no matter what its shining blade touches. He is uninhibited and completely unpredictable, the polar opposite of Lan Zhan and everything he and his sect stands for.
Wei Ying and his brother arrive at the end of spring, bringing the promise of summer and warm nights with him. Lan Zhan does not greet them at the gates like his uncle and his brother do, instead remaining inside the jingshi where there is no noise and he can concentrate. Later that night, Lan Huan comes to him and tells him of how Jiang Cheng, son of Jiang FengMian and Yu ZiYuan, and Nie HuaiSang, brother of Nie MingXue raptly listened to every word their uncle had said. Wei WuXian had been the only one to roll his eyes and look out to the open sky, making Lan Zhan wrinkle his nose in distaste. His brother laughs, and tells him that it’s Lan Zhan’s turn to night patrol.
That night, there’s a smile in the dark bright enough to light up the darkness, two clay jars of Emperor’s Smile, and the sound of Bichen fruitlessly striking the roof tiles. Wei Ying manages to drink an entire jar of rice wine before Lan Zhan has the sense to act, and later walks away without wobbling. Despite his apparent taste for rule breaking, Lan Zhan is vaguely impressed.
Wei WuXian, that he later learns is the rulebreaking boy's name, angers Lan QiRen the next day, causing his uncle to go so far as to throw a scroll at the disciple, breaking Rule no. 739. It hits Nie HuaiSang square in the nose, and Lan Zhan finds himself thinking that he and Wei Ying will not get along at all.
The Library Pavilion remains the only place where Lan Zhan can find true peace and quiet now that the other sects’ disciples have all arrived, despite the Cloud Recesses being famed for always being tranquil and soothing. No matter where he turns, Wei Ying is always there with his rambunctious smile and unruly ponytail, ready to say something outrageous to Lan WangJi.
He is in class, talking to Jiang Cheng and antagonizing Jin XiZuan while Lan QiRen scolds them.
He is outside the cold spring, loud and splashing even when Lan Zhan makes it clear that his presence is not welcome.
He is in the dining hall, complaining that the food of Gusu is too bland, too tasteless while his brother says he just puts too much spice in his food.
He is in the fields, always chasing rabbits and napping in the warm summer sun while the other disciples train.
Then he appears in the pavilion, and the jingshi becomes Lan Zhan’s last resort for solitude.
Wei Ying is not someone who can be easily ignored, he discovers. The boy is always chattering about this or that, wheedling and plying words from Lan WangJi’s otherwise silent mouth. His loud voice and prideful nature demand attention, and Lan WangJi is determined not to give it to him. In the end, the boy always gets his way, whether it be an angry reaction or a reluctant agreement to whatever he’d just said. It's infuriating and impressive at the same time, how annoying one disciple can be.
Once he gets passed the initial irritation, Lan WangJi thinks that maybe, he and Wei Ying could be friends.
(And then a month passes, and Wei WuXian leaves the Library Pavilion with his sword and a wild laugh, leaving behind scattered papers and the sliver of rebellion in Lan Zhan’s heart.)
More time passes, and then Jiang FengMian is there to collect his wayward son after he instigates a fight with Jin ZiXuan. He is not sad to see Wei WuXian go, but there is a little nagging voice in the back of his mind saying otherwise that he dismisses.
His brother Jiang Cheng stays behind and he is slightly better company that Wei Ying was, speaking when appropriate and never stepping out of line the way his adopted sibling did. Nie HuaiSang is too scared to even come near Lan WangJi, which he supposes is for the best. (If he said accidentally said anything to offend one of the Twin Jades, his older brother was sure to break at least one of his bones.) They leave all too soon, one year passing like the blink of an eye without the loud, undisciplined shadow of Wei Ying looming above them. Quiet returns to the Cloud Recesses, but Lan Zhan can feel something important missing, as if there were a large hole carved into his chest.
(Fourteen years and too many complications later, Lan Zhan realizes that Wei Ying was the thing that was missing.)
cloud (unwillingly) fights a morbol. he wins. genesis is understandably Not Happy.
“Your mission will be a piece of cake,” Cloud’s sergeant had told him. “Just a quick look around near the Gongaga Reactor and that’s it.”
With the promise of an easy assignment, Cloud’s unit left for Gongaga and scouted out the ruins of the reactor.
The mission brief had mentioned that the townsfolk were seeing more Touch Mes and Kimara Bugs lurking around the outskirts of the town, so Shinra decided to send in someone to check before the bigger monsters like Grand Horns started to show up. The ‘someone’ ended up being Cloud’s squad and one Third Class who spent every moment on the transport bragging about how he was up for promotion for Second once he finished the current task. He was annoying, but if he was as great as he said he was, then they’d have an even easier time with the mission.
Their arrival in Gongaga was a simple affair, and as soon as the mayor gave the go-ahead they started their exploration.
“Hey, can you guys hear that?” The Third Class asked as they poked around the reactor.
Cloud exchanged glances with his squadmates and they shook their heads. “...No, sir. Maybe it’s just a minor quake?”
“I definitely hear something coming. Whatever it is, it sounds big.”
A minute later found Cloud holding the 3rd Class’s sword, looking down the gaping maw of the largest morbol he’d probably ever see while the rest of his unit hid in trees and behind nearby rocks. It might be funny if this were a story being told to him, but it certainly wasn’t amusing when he was the one standing in front of the monster.
“Watch out for that thing’s breath!” The 3rd Class shouted, cowering behind a large hunk of scrap metal left over from one of the reactor walls. He wanted to hit the man with the sword, but instead focused on the malboro in front of him. Beating up his superior officer could come later, if he could survive that long.
---
Approximately twenty minutes later, Cloud woke up on a gurney inside the transport to the sound of the SOLDIER bragging about how he single-handedly took down a fully grown Great Malboro while the infantry members ran away screaming.
Cloud’s unit were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads, knowing full well that the morbol blood on the SOLDIER’s sword was put there by Cloud. The 3rd Class had run back to Gongaga immediately after Cloud engaged the morbol, leaving the infantry members to fend for themselves.
Luckily, all of the swordsmanship tips his four boyfriends had given him proved useful and Cloud managed to defeat the mass of writhing green tentacles. He’d only gotten gassed once, ending up in him being poisoned and subdued. If the morbol had hit him a second time, Cloud might not’ve made it back without near immediate medical attention.
It was hard to force his limbs to move, but with the help of one of his squadmates, he was able to retrieve the PHS Sephiroth had given him a few weeks prior. Taking a quick shot of the IV in his arm, Cloud pasted it into the group chat captioned with ‘guess who got poisoned today?’ and hit send. Before any of his boyfriends responded to the image, he passed out in a poison-induced haze.
When Cloud came to, his mouth was drier than the Midgar wastelands and tasted even worse. (On a dare from Zack, he’d eaten some of the dirt and won twenty gil. Tasted strangely like regular dirt, what a surprise.) Bright lights blinded him from above, and without a doubt Cloud knew he was in the infirmary.
Distantly he could hear the familiar sound of Genesis angrily arguing something with someone down the hall, possibly one of the nurses, and the pages of a book crinkling as they were turned.
“Seph,” he croaked, turning his head to the side. Cloud was greeted with the sight of his green-eyed boyfriend, dwarfing the plastic chair he sat in with a copy of LOVELESS open on his lap.
“I’m glad to see that you’re conscious. Genesis is trying to convince the medical staff to heal you with materia, lest he do it himself.” Was all the man said.
“Doesn’t Gen have a fully mastered Cure on him at all times?”
Sephiroth sighed and closed his book. “I’m sure that if he can’t get a nurse to heal you, then he will himself. It’s only a matter of minutes, if I’m to be honest. Gaia knows that if Genesis wants something, he’ll get it.” Both of them snorted at the statement, knowing all too well that it was accurate.
Genesis came in not a minute later, scowling and materia already glowing in his hand. Before Cloud could even say hello, the man was casting a high level Cure that fully healed him.
“I take it that the nurses said no?” Sephiroth asked.
“Some nonsense about materia is reserved for injured SOLDIERs and that Cloud would be fine after a week or two. I’m not about to let my poor chickabo suffer for ‘a week or two’.”
“Mm. Thanks, Gen.” Cloud mumbled. The Cure had made him a little drowsy, and he barely registered the feeling of Genesis gently ruffling his hair.
a sort-of retelling of final fantasy vii, told as a myth about flowers
Long, long ago, before spires of metal towered over the skyline and boxes on four wheels polluted the air, before humans forgot their origins and old ways of life, there was the Cetra. They were People of the Planet, who could speak to Gaia, Mother Nature herself, and lived unburdened and free as man was meant to do. The Cetra lived a nomadic life, never settling in one place and communed with the earth wherever they went. Where the voice of the planet was the strongest, they would go there and bring life to the land there. After that, they would continue to travel, spreading trees and nature as far as they could reach, hoping that with each new place, they would find the Promised Land, a place of ultimate happiness.
With the Cetra, came the humans. They too were Cetra, brothers if not in blood but in body, but they abandoned the Cetra's nomadic ways. Legend says that some Cetra had betrayed their kin, giving in to the evil spirits that hid in the shadows cast by the Cetra's light, but the truth was that they were tired. Constant travel began to wear them out, and age weakened their bones, exhausted their life-bringing powers. So they settled in one place, willingly giving up their Cetra heritage to become something else.
No longer could they speak to Gaia, or the earth under their feet, could no longer coax life to sprout from the land and they became the humans that we are today.
Amid the Cetra was a story they told around fires at night when the moon was high in the sky. There would be a Cetra unlike any other, able to do more than just bring life with their powers. Gaia's voice came to them when she was born; Ilfalna's newborn child would be the fabled Cetra to ever walk the planet. Aerith, her mother named her, for it was Old Cetran for Earth. Her people rejoiced when she was born, celebrating everything Aerith would do when she was older.
Aerith, ever the gifted child, proved Gaia's words true from a young age. She could hear the voice of the planet when the other children her age had yet to hear the spirits of the mountains and the wind, and spoke to Gaia as the Cetra elders only could. From there, her connection to Gaia only grew with each passing year. Plants sprouted from the dirt where she touched it, the green seedlings growing taller and taller the longer she knelt. Gaia responded to Aerith's sweet voice when she spoke, and the planet would be covered in life for miles around. Only Aerith could wield her power in this way, for Gaia loved Aerith as if she were its own child, as if she were a sequoia always reaching to touch the sky, or a strong river carving its path through the ground.
If Aerith asked something of the earth, Gaia would give it to her. She was beloved by all, and there was nothing living on the planet that didn’t love the kind Cetra girl, not even the humans who had long renounced their Cetran way of life.
As she was so beloved by the land she walked upon, there was no one who dared stand in Aerith's path. Where humans would block ancient footpaths to keep Cetra from crossing the mountain, they would erect bridges so that the daughter of the planet could safely cross. When they would kill wolves and bears for their fur, they would lower their weapons if she asked them. Even animals would stop in her presence. Songbirds would sing to her from the trees and foxes came up to brush against her legs. Mosquitos, did not bite at her skin as she slept, but then they bit no Cetra, as they were their creators hundreds of years ago. Some creatures even took it upon themselves to join Aerith in her travels, eventually becoming her constant companions.
There were two wolves, brothers that she had rescued from a human hunter’s trap and healed. In return, they promised to remain by her side and protect Aerith from anything that might hurt her. The two of them were mischievous creatures and never failed to bring a smile to Aerith's face when they played, or when one would trick the other.
Her third guardian was a great grizzly bear that revered the Cetra. His own people had stories of the Cetra, a legendary race who healed the planet wherever they went. Each of them could bring life to barren land simply by touching the ground, an in awe of finally meeting one, he decided to stay by her side and carry Aerith whenever she became too tired to walk.
The last member of their little party was a haughty mountain lion that thought himself greater than creatures who walked on two legs. He had been languidly relaxing in a tree on day, and watched as Aerith crossed under the branch he was perched on. She continued on her way, unaware, and he leapt from the tree with the intent to take his claws and rend the flesh from her bones, for no other reason than he wanted to. The wolf brothers were quick to save their friend from the mountain lion, and Aerith suffered no injury.
As for the mountain lion, the wolves had wanted his pelt in retribution for trying to kill their friend. Before they could do anything, Aerith stopped them. Her reasoning was that if the mountain lion traveled with them, perhaps he would learn a thing or two about kindness and stop his arrogant behavior. The bear nodded and the wolves seemed to agree, so the mountain lion reluctantly agreed to follow the Cetra girl. He still complained as they traveled, but Aerith and her companions knew he didn't mean it at heart.
Eventually, Aerith became tired of the ceaseless journey her people were on, trying to find the Promised Land. It seemed monotonous and she wished to simply see the world, and so left the company of her people. They were sad to see her go, but knew that Aerith would be safe with her strange companions and Gaia to guide her. As a true child of the planet, Gaia would protect her from anything that dared to hurt Aerith.
While she separated from the Cetra, Aerith didn't stop traveling. She walked and walked, bringing life everywhere she went. One place she visited was a blistering desert, the wind blowing sand into her eyes. When she left, tall, hardy plants that could withstand the heat and drought were left behind, scattered across the sand that looked like strange monuments to a forgotten god.
Another stop - a large, snowy plain - she crouched down and ran her hands over the snow. The salt from her hands turned to seeds and little greet shoots emerged from the ground, the promise of something greater. In hundreds of years, the seedlings would grow and grow and grow until they were proud, ancient trees, standing tall.
Aerith brough scrubby underbrush to harsh mountainsides and lush greenery to coasts. She planted crops for humans, making sure that the harvests were plentiful and that they knew how to properly farm the land. Gaia's voice grew stronger and stronger with every bit of foliage Aerith left behind, until even some humans could faintly hear Gaia once more. Canyons and vast mountain ranges couldn't stop her, and she walked across plains and through old Cetra-grown forests, and in Aerith's wake was a trail of nature and life unlike anything the Humans or the Cetra had ever seen.
Amidst the trees and plants were strange little things that appeared wherever Aerith went. Neither Cetra nor man had a name for them, only knew that it was the special Cetra girl who caused their appearance. When the mountain lion, curious, asked the girl what they were, Aerith called them flowers. You see, until Aerith was born, there were no flowers. Oh, there were plants. Yes, there were all sorts of plants before her. There were trees and bushes and wild grasses, vegetables and grain, but no flowers. Not like the ones you see today, like forget-me-nots and roses and lilies. Flowers were something that only Aerith of the Cetra could grow, for she was the one closest to Gaia.
Humans stumbled upon Aerith's flowers one day. They were stunned and amazed by the strange new plant, mesmerized by the colors they had only seen in the sky and their clothes and in each other's eyes in the petals of a flower. All of them knew that it was the Cetra who had grown them, but it had been so long since their separation that humans had begun to forget that they too were Cetra, once. It made them bitter and angry; why should the Cetra have special abilities? Why could the humans not grow flowers as Aerith did? What did the Cetra have that they did not that captured Gaia's favor?
Their jealous thoughts coalesced until it became one voice of hatred. It was loud enough to wake an evil spirit sealed under a mountain. It had no name, but it was older than even the Cetra. The spirit and Gaia hated each other, one a symbol of life and the other of destruction. By extension, the malicious spirit hated the Cetra, as they were Gaia's children. Before humans existed and when the Cetra were still new, the spirit had fought the Cetra, killing countless of the peaceful nomads. They did their best to survive the fight, but in the end Gaia came to their aid and banished the evil spirit to a mountain prison of stone. Defeated and with no way out the spirit swore revenge on the Cetra and Gaia before going into a slumber to wait for the right opportunity. Sometimes, it would wake from its sleep and shake the walls of the mountain it was imprisoned in. The mountain would spit fire and rain it down upon the humans and Cetra alike, in warning that the mountain would not hold it forever.
Elders who remembered the Cetra stories warned their villages to stay away from the summit lest the spirit use them as a vessel. Most heeded their word, but one man didn't believe their stories about evil spirits and Cetra, thinking them to only be myths and nothing more. He was young and foolish, and so one day he ventured too close to the mountain.
It was shaking that day, fire and brimstone coming down all around the man. He continued, pushing forward, intent on reaching the foot of the mountain so that he could tell his village that the stories the elders spoke of were nothing more than old wives' tales they told to scare children into behaving. As he drew near, the spirit in the mountain realized that if the man came close enough to its prison, he could be used to destroy the Cetra it so hated and free itself from the mountain. So he stopped the mountain's quaking and let the human come closer. Closer and closer he got, until the spirit was able to whisper in his ear as Gaia did to the Cetra.
It poisoned his mind with lies about the Cetra. It told him that they were evil, that the Cetra were the ones who threw the humans away, stripping them of their rightful gifts and cut off their connection to Gaia because they were selfish and jealous. It said that by killing the strongest of the Cetra, Aerith, humans would regain all their Cetran abilities that they lost centuries ago. Humans would once again be able to speak to Gaia and grow plants as the Cetra did, and slowly, the spirit corrupted the man's mind, convincing him to take up a sword.
He traveled the planet, never ceasing in his quest to find Aerith. Over hills and through forests his ancestors created, up into the mountains and crossing prairies the man went, searching everywhere for the Cetra girl and her companions. At long last, he finally found Aerith in pilgrimage to the forgotten homeland of the Cetra in prayer. Her escort was absent, waiting for their friend outside the temple.
Taking his sword in hand, he ran Aerith through with it, killing her. As her blood, red just like his, dripped onto the floor, he waited. He waited to hear the soft voice of Gaia thrumming through his veins, to feel power at his fingertips, but it never came. In fact, the only thing he could hear was the ceaseless, mocking laughter of the spirit. He had fulfilled the spirit's task and gotten nothing from it, except now, the blood of an innocent stained his hands.
Smelling Aerith's blood, the brother wolves, bear, and mountain lion returned to where they had left Aerith and found the human man weeping over her body. The four of them were furious at the man, for killing their friend, a child of the planet, an innocent Cetra who had done nothing but help the humans when she didn't have to. Even the mountain lion, who had disliked Aerith in the beginning was angry and demanded that they rip the man to pieces in retribution for what he had done. The younger wolf agreed with the mountain lion, but his brother turned to the bear for his answer.
The bear, wise in his age, saw that the man wept in genuine sorrow. The others could not see it, blinded by their rage, and still asked the bear to kill him. Instead, the bear asked if he was sorry for killing Aerith, and the man said yes. The mountain lion and the wolf were not satisfied and wanted his blood to paint the floor as Aerith's was, even if the man had apologized. It didn't change the fact that Aerith was now dead. The bear, resolute in his opinion, reminded them that if Aerith were alive, she would not want them to kill, even in her name.
Knowing that the bear was right, the wolf and the mountain lion reluctantly left the man leave unharmed. All four of them watched as he left the mountain, wallowing in grief as he returned to his village to tell them what he had done. When they were sure he was gone, they carefully lifted Aerith, still bleeding, onto the bear's back and carried her to where Gaia's presence was the strongest, leaving a splattered trail of crimson on the ground.. When they told Gaia that its daughter was dead, it shook the planet in its grief.
The kind Cetra that brought the flowers was no more. There was nothing that could bring her back, as Gaia's power could only create life, not return it. In mourning, Gaia raised flowers from the earth where Aerith's blood graced the ground in memoriam of the girl who loved to cultivate them. They bloomed in the invisible wake of Aerith's every step, red buds blossoming all across the snowy plain where she had planted a forest, petals the colors of a flame bursting from the desert cacti, hearty wildflowers growing on the mountain paths the Cetra had crossed. All these flowers would remain on the planet as Aerith's legacy, as proof she lived, and this is where the flowers that we see today come from, much like how Aphrodite rose from the sea foam created of Ouranous's blood.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
now introducing: the idiot’s guide to kingdom hearts! it’s a project that i’ve started and it’s just kingdom hearts condensed into a single presentation for those who can’t/don’t want to play through all of the games or watch playthroughs
