I want to rec this lovely fic. The story is sad but hopeful and the author manages to pack a lot of backstory and worldbuilding into relatively few words. I could read tens of thousands of words of this story. It deserves many more hits than it has!
two colours for everything
by kakikaeru
M, 8k, Wangxian
Summary: Wei Wuxian is thirty-five years old, lanky and tough-skinned from the turns his life has taken. He's dirty with synthetic grit and the skin-sticky feeling of being in space too long, but he'd forgone a dry shower at the docking portal. He hadn't wanted to miss catching the hover, and it's been years since he's needed to look presentable. Years since there's been anyone he wanted to impress with his appearance. He should have known better. The Mess Popo had promised the views on Yueliang were beautiful. Wei Wuxian clutches the strap of his pack and swallows his snack around the sudden lump in his throat. She had no idea how beautiful.
"Wei Ying?"
Years after the war, Wei Wuxian finds someone he'd thought long dead.
~*~
(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)
Since you didn't specify a character, I'm going to pick one! Have some Weapon whump (I promise they'll get a name eventually).
Minor whumpee (age undetermined but they're definitely under 18 here), minor and off-screen character death, brainwashing, conditioning, conditioned whumpee, manipulative whumper. Let me know if I missed anything so I can add it.
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The Weapon couldn't keep its eyes open. It was a demonstration day, when its handlers brought it to a room of people for it to use its powers on. It closed its eyes, and raised its hands.
Closed eyes meant it didn't have to see the horror it caused. It did nothing to stop the screams of pain or the stench of smoke.
After it was done, its handlers reattached its restraints and led it to the antechamber. There, Command waited with other people in dark suits. She caught it looking, and it hastily dropped its eyes to the floor. That would require punishment, failing to follow the rules like that, making eye contact with a human, but hopefully it wouldn't be too harsh a punishment. The others were clapping, saying how well Command had done to produce such a weapon.
She wouldn't punish it too harshly, not when it had done its duty, right? When it had done well?
"When will it be ready for deployment?" someone asked.
"The plan is to have it ready for test runs in the next three to four years, with full-scale deployment ready in the next five," Command said. "So far it has shown great promise in small scale demonstrations as seen here; we've also had excellent results in model buildings, proving that the Weapon is capable of destroying biomaterial without harming the infrastructure. After some more training, it will be a highly effective tool for routing terrorists from their hideouts and leaving the buildings intact for our future use."
The people kept talking, but the Weapon wasn't listening. That wasn't its purpose, anyway.
Test runs, training, deployment... they were making plans to use it. And use it more, use it against bigger groups than today.
It felt sick at the thought.
But... terrorists. Command mentioned the terrorists, the ones trying to destroy the country and cause chaos and fear. Command would use the Weapon against them. That was alright, wasn't it?
It had to be.
----
Eventually, the people in suits left. Now it was just Command, the handlers, and the Weapon.
"You did well today, Weapon," Command said.
Its knees went weak at the relief the statement brought. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."
She hummed. "But don't think I didn't notice your mistakes."
It swallowed hard. That tone meant she wanted it to ask, wanted it to know what it had done wrong so it could be better in the future. "Mistakes, sir?"
"Two mistakes, Weapon," she said crisply. "You made eye contact with me after the demonstration instead of following your proper protocols. Repeat them."
"The Weapon's eyes are to be averted to the floor whenever it engages with a human, unless otherwise ordered," it recited.
"And secondly, you closed your eyes during the demonstration," Command said.
There was the tone again, the one where she wanted it to ask. And it needed to ask, because it didn't understand. "Sir?"
"Those weren't good people, Weapon. They needed to be destroyed, for the safety of our nation," she explained, almost gently.
"Of course, sir," it said.
It knew that. Of course it knew that. It was only being used for improved safety and security of all lawful citizens.
"And yet, you closed your eyes. Did you not want to see the traitors meet their deserved end? Did you not want to see the better nation you will help us build?" Command asked.
"No, sir!" it said hastily. "I'm very sorry, sir; it won't happen again!"
It wants to help make a better future. That's why it's here; that was its job, its purpose.
"I know it won't happen again," Command said. "I'll help make sure of it."
She was using her scariest tone, the deceptively soft one she used before the hardest training sessions and worst punishments. If the Weapon didn't know better, it would think she liked watching it struggle through the lessons and punishments.
She grabbed its shoulder and led it out of the antechamber, through the corridors of the complex and into one of the rooms used for the Weapon's training. At her direction, it sat in its chair. She fastened the restraints personally, rather than have its handlers do it.
"Look at me, Weapon," she commanded.
It looked, grateful for the amount of contact she was giving it. The eye contact, the touch... she was generous with her affection towards it.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she cooed. "To see your betters in action?"
It swallowed, ashamed of how it had broken one of its rules. It knew better. "Yes, sir," it said quietly.
"I'll give you leniency for that today," she said, rubbing her thumb along its bony shoulder. "But you must be punished for your other mistake."
"Yes, sir," it repeated, just as quietly.
"Fortunately for you, your demonstrations are recorded," Command explained. "So we have a video of what you failed to witness the first time around."
A handler entered its field of view, carrying a strange device. It looked like a set of goggles, with a thick strap attached and lights shining into the interior. They handed the device to Command.
"I'm making you better," she said to the Weapon as she took the thing. "After this, you'll never make the same mistake again."
She fastened the goggles over its head, tightening the strap until it hurt. The lights shined into the Weapon's eyes, and it tried to blink. Tried being the key word.
It couldn't close its eyes.
It couldn't close its eyes.
There was something attached to the thing on its head, something keeping its eyelids open. Keeping it from getting a break from the lights pouring in from what turned out to be screens.
"This time, you don't have the option of closing your eyes," Command said.
It jumped in its restraints. It had almost forgotten about her presence in its panic over the device over its eyes.
"You'll be able to see your work for our glorious future," she said.
The video started.
---
After the video ended, after the Weapon watched itself destroy the enemies of its government, watched itself take them apart piece by piece until nothing was left, Command took the headset off.
"Those people?" Command said. "They wouldn't hesitate to dismantle you, Weapon. They would see your powers as a danger, rather than the tool they are. They would experiment on you until they understood what made you tick, then destroy you."
"Yes, sir," the Weapon said weakly. It wasn't crying. Its eyes were watering from the strain of the light shined into them; that was all.
"I'm making you better," she said, wiping one of the tears away. "Now what do you say, when someone tries to help you?"
"Thank you, sir."
----
Figured that this was long enough to tag the crew: @appleejuice, @kim-poce, @badluck990, @cupcakes-and-pain, @lonesome--hunter, @wits-and-wrongs
TW: Guns, off-screen assumed character death, sexist character, smoking
Taglist: @whumpers-inc
There is a surprising (and hand-cramping) amount of paperwork that goes into working at a call center, even one as unconventional as 1-877-WHMP-NOW. An annoying, several hour, several stack amount. Bianca will never forgive whoever it was in HR or accounting (the only two departments who actually seem masochistic enough to enjoy bureaucracy) that suggested all these extra reports and encounter summaries and redundancy measures.
In the same way you tune out the world while enjoying a nature walk and only begin paying attention again when your unconscious mind notices something dangerously wrong, Bianca pauses in her muttered curses to the paperwork gods and listens.
“Why of course she’s in today,” Fran says in a tight tone. “I’ll just transfer you right to your personal whump-passionate care coordinator, Dom.”
Not Dom. Not that irritating, overly stuffed up crock of shit again. Dom had run through almost the entire call center, leaving Bianca the only person who had yet to swear to walk if they were forced to deal with the self-impressed asshole. Jerking her head up, Bianca stares Fran down, like a deer willing a semi-truck to change paths. She shakes her head, desperately miming cutting across her throat with a rushed flail.
Their gazes lock. Fran continues to dial, even as they watch Bianca’s distressed pantomime with all the impassive finality of a monarch’s sentence.
“Don’t you dare, Fran,” Bianca hisses. “I swear by all that is good and holy if you transfer him--”
Her line rings, and she answers it with a chipper grin that doesn’t touch her glare one bit. “Well hey, sugar!” If looks could kill, Bianca would be in a whole other line of work right now as she tosses an eraser at Fran’s head. “What can I do for you today, hun?”
Well, she can already tell this isn’t going to be a pleasant call, not if the sirens are any indication.
“Brianna,” Dom cries, “I’m too handsome for jail!”
Bianca mouths to Fran, “I’ll kill you,” even as they duck their head and pretend to be oh-so invested in their latest call report. She tosses another eraser and this one hits the mark, bouncing off the back of their skull.
“Hello! Brianna! I need you to put down the Covergirl or your nail file and do your job, sweetheart.”
Rolling her eyes, she returns her attention to Dom. “I’m awful sorry. What did you say your emergency was?”
“Thank you for the urgency,” he spits.
Bianca waits for him to elaborate. The sirens on his end of the line continue blaring, the voluming growing as they grow closer.
“Did the line cut out, sugar?” she prompts, carefully sterilizing her tone with a thick layer of honey.
“I tried to rob this small town little podunk town store and took this girl--” Dom lets out a short cry of pain and kicks at something. He corrects himself, ”This bitch. And someone had the nerve to call the cops on me!”
At the sound of gunfire- too close to the gun to be from any policeman, Bianca raises a single brow in silent question of his intelligence. In her humble, professional opinion wasting ammo on puerile displays and a lead tantrum is useless, but again, she’s just a professional. She only graduated at the top of her class and has years, if not decades, on Dom in terms of experience.
Of course, Bianca says none of that.
“Have you taken the girl hostage, Dom?”
“Yes! Jeez, do I have to spell everything out for you people?”
“It’s very helpful when our clients are clear and precise, Dom,” Bianca returns, an almost feral edge to the too wide portions of her smile. “Have you read our informational brochure, ‘So You Want to Take a Hostage’? Or perused our FAQs for whumpers?”
“Why should I?”
A year ago maybe Bianca might have been surprised. Now she’s just glad Dom can’t see the various mocking faces and mouthed insults she indulges in due to such a response. That doesn’t mitigate the desire she feels to bash her head against her desk until her mental faculties match Dom’s. Instead, she parrots, “No. Why should you.”
“So, what do I do?” Dom asks, impatience clear in his tone. “How do I get out of this?”
“Well, Dom, could I speak with your hostage for a hot sec?”
Completely ignoring her question, Dom muses aloud, “What if I just went out there with my guns and just started shooting. There’s only one car out there. I can take out some backwater donut cop.”
She loves her job. She loves her job. She. Loves. Her. Job. She may be a masochist.
“That course of action might not work well, sugar,” Bianca says carefully.
“Why not?”
Just as she’s about to answer, said aforementioned cop starts in with the megaphones and the offers for surrender. Quickly, she traces the call while Dom yells back about assholes and what he deserves and specifically what the cop deserves, involving his megaphone and uncomfortable places.
That ‘podunk’ little town is more of a small city, and even if there is only one cop currently there, there are bound to be more en route, and rapidly at that.
“Are you listening to me, sweetheart?” Dom demands. “There’s only one of him and I’ve got two guns. It’s fool proof.”
Oh, it’s something to do with fools alright. “So, to clarify, you’ve got a gun in each hand?”
“I just said that, honey, put your listening ears on and try to keep up.”
Over her ten plus years working with the call center, Bianca has heard plenty of stupid shit in her time but trying to go out dual wielding guns is… a new one. She quickly shoots Fran a short text reading, You SO owe me, Franny.
“What about your hostage? How are you going to keep control over her? Is she bound?” Bianca tries to reason with Dom, the apparent Blade wannabe, even if it’s futile.
“I’ll bring her with and put the gun to her head. Easy.”
Easy. Yes, so easy. Fran returns her text. ‘You’re the absolute goddess of dealing with BS I am not worthy.’
“Dom, could you be a dear and let me speak with her, please? Thank you sugar.”
“God what is it with women always needing to yap yap yap?” Dom complains as he rips the gag out of the hostage’s mouth.
“FUCK YOU!” She howls immediately. “I’ll bite your fingers off, you small dicked piece of shit!”
So, Bianca had admittedly harbored suspicions that the ‘girl’ was actually a grown woman, considering Dom’s typical behavior, but this certainly confirms that. A wistful sigh builds as Bianca listens to the hostage chew Dom out and insult his manhood and intelligence.
‘Damn straight. I expect pumpkin spice brownies and a latte on my desk tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s June.’
“It’s DOM.’
‘Pumpkin spice brownies gotcha.’
A solid, but wet crack jerks Bianca’s attention back to the matter at hand. The hostage is eerily quiet. Waiting for a response from either Dom or the hostage, she picks at the dry skin on her lips and taps her foot.
“Oh shit,” Dom whispers.
Screwing her eyes shut as if that will change what his answer is, Bianca asks, “Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you just pistol whip your hostage?”
“Yeah.”
Nope, this is officially the stupidest, most asinine, bass-ackwards call from a client she’s ever had to suffer through. Clearly having overheard, Fran twists around to get a better vantage point to watch as Bianca places her head in her hands and fights back a scream of frustration.
Collecting herself, Bianca chirps, “I’m sorry, sugar, but you really ought to have read our guide. The first rule of a hostage situation is to keep your hostage alive as leverage. Now, as it stands, you’re a murderer surrounded by... “ She counts up each little blip. “Four cop cars and another two on the way. You have to understand, honey, that it goes against policy to stay involved.”
“What? No! You can’t do this you bitch!”
Bianca grins, sharp and vicious. “Oh, Dom, I can, and I will.” With that, and Dom still shouting injustice, she hangs up.
“I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” she breezily admits to Fran.
They match her smile inch for inch, and then some. “Bee, you’re my hero. I’m throwing in maple walnut fudge pancakes just for that.”
“Of course we’ll have IT burn the connection and remote into Dom’s phone before the incident gets too close to home, blah blah blah, and we’ll look into whether that lady remembers anything after the whole gun to the head thing,” she dismisses, “but for now, I need a smoke break or twenty. Toodles!”
Hey ferb, what happened to your mother, if you don't mind me asking?
Ferb looked up from his blueprint and stopped, despair crossing his face before he placed down his pencil and sighed heavily
“Mum died when i was little, only a few months old...Burglar broke into the house and mum tried to protect me but....” He stopped, shuddering “...he stabbed her, 10 times in the stomach. She died right in front of my crib....I,” he exhaled shakily “i remember her scream, a...and then, he tried to stab me....” his breathing staggered, his entire body shaking as he tugged his shirt down a little to reveal a scar on his shoulder “he caught me, here,” he explained quietly, rubbing a thumb over the twisted scar
“....Perry came in the room and f...fought the, uhm, man before he, he...” Ferb stopped, wiping tears from his eyes as he slouched in his seat, covering his face with both hands before quiet, and shakily, continuing “he...could hurt me anymore...Perry knocked him out, of...of course, a-and...and” he stopped, a sob wracking his body, shaking his head weakly “i’m sorry....” he cried quietly, clearing his throat, desperately trying to hold himself together.
“I need a minute.” he wiped the tears from his eyes, getting up out of his seat and silently walking out the room hugging his chest.
Wait, why do you have the Flynn-Fletcher's with you? What happened?
Heinz leaned back into the couch and looked over the ask, his expression dropping immediately. The quiet buzz of talking grinded to a halt as they all read the ask.
“…oh. Well…” Heinz began, tensing up as Candace teared up and sniffled, Phineas grabbed the ask carefully and sighed “w-well, Heinz is our dad, he adopted us when Me and Ferb were pretty young.”
Candace started signing “(Me, Mom and Dad were going on a trip to the cinema because Ducky Momo: The Movie, was going to play later that day. The boys were getting babysat at the house and….)” she stopped, sobbing.
Vanessa and Heinz quickly hugged her, Perry comforting both boys. Vanessa continued for her “There was a crash.” She muttered, covering Candace’s ears as she spoke “Their parents ended up dying a few days later and it gave Candace some….scars.” she gestured to the pink-red burn marks on the entire left side of Candace’s body “Dad adopted them after he heard about it in the news. They’ve lived with us ever since.” She finished, looking at her father, who nodded
“Poor kids…Phineas wasn’t even school-aged. He must have been around 3. It was only 5 years ago but…it feels so long since we got them.” He explained quietly, holding Phineas to his side and Candace to the other, who was sobbing into his shoulder. “Perry, turn the camera off.”
Goretober Day 2: Monster Under the Bed (Hidden Horrors)
GORETOBER / WHUMPTOBER ANNOUNCEMENT
Summary: In October of 1994, a young boy had been murdered in his bed.
Tag list: TBD
Perry and his mom decided that tonight was a good night to stop using the night light. He complained that using a night light made him look like a baby, despite being afraid of the dark. And here he was: shivering in bed with his eyes clenched shut and the blankets drawn up over his head.
The scraping and clawing under the bed made his eyes water in fear.
He’s terrified that the thing under his bed would choose tonight to slither out and eat him up. Mommy said there’s no such thing as the monster under the bed but Perry knew better. That’s what took his little sister after all. The monster under the bed ate his baby sister.
The monster used to live under his sister’s crib and after she died it moved under his. He didn't know where it had come from—for all he knew it might've always lived in the house.
A loud creak broke the silence. Perry’s eyes were wide, trembling violently. A shuffling from under his bed made him whimper in fear. Heavy breathing not coming from him covered up his own panicked pants.
The blanket is ripped out of his grasp and the boy gets to stare up at the monster. Perry wets himself.
Bumpy, scaly dark green skin, bulbous red eyes, a mouth crammed full of teeth and claws a foot long on every finger and toe. All its limbs were too long and its bones looked like they didn’t fit right in its skin. It’s so tall that it hunches to avoid smacking against the ceiling. A long, slimy tongue flicks out and slaps against its eyeball. A deep hiss fills the room.
The boy didn’t get the chance to scream.
THE TOWN ARTIFACT
October 14, 1994
CHILD FOUND DEAD IN BED
Hannah Winters was awoken by the sound of a breaking window at 4 a.m. Upon investigation she found that her last child, 8-year-old Perry Winters, had been killed in the middle of the night. Nothing was stolen and there’s no sign of forced entry, however the window was broken upon the intruder leaving. All the doors were locked and every window shut with the exception of a cracked open window in the mother’s room.
The death of Perry matches his younger sister, Heather’s, murder—a possible serial killer.
It’s recommended that parents only let their children outside with supervision. Curfew begins at sundown and ends an hour before school begins. Curfew only applies to children and young teens. The police are currently investigating the matter.
Click to read more
SAINT CRYHAL POLICE DEPARTMENT CASE FILE ON PERRY WINTERS:
Victim: Perry Winters, 8, Male
Clues: Lacerations on arms and chest, bites on throat, shoulders, and arms, unknown burns on face, ripped out throat, and unknown substance under and around the bed and on the body. Bones are exposed in many places; it appears that whatever killed the boy had eaten its fill before fleeing. Little blood found around body despite extensive wounds.
Suspects: No current suspects.
AUTOPSY REPORT
Time of death: Around 3AM
Cause of death: Trauma to body and shock
Wounds: Many claw wounds on arms and legs, several bite marks on shoulder and arms, burns on cheeks, torn open throat/chunks of flesh missing, blood drained.
Rule: Mysterious circumstances
Coroner’s note: Detective Ker, there’s too many anomalies to call this a natural death but there’s also too many to rule that a human had killed the boy. The bite and claw marks don’t match up with human teeth and nails—they indicate that an animal ripped the boy apart. There’s many chunks of flesh missing and there’s a distinct lack of blood in and around the body. The liquid on the boy’s face is nothing that I’ve seen before and the burns came from an unknown source. It’s best to keep the findings under wraps from the public. I suggest you contact animal control for any sightings of dangerous animals running around the town.
Sincerely,
Jay Reed
DETECTIVE KER’S VOICEMAIL:
Hey, Ker, it’s Grant Castroff with Animal Control. One of Monday’s patrols got called early mornin’ after a truck driver hit a creature on a nearby road. ‘Parently the guy was speeding an’ this thing ran right in front of the truck. We’ve been unable to identify the creature with how mangled it is, but one thing’s fer certain: itsa real beast of a thing. Lotsa sharp claws and teeth. Damn thing looks like it’s been dead longer than the driver says. With your permission I’ll bring the creature to the station to be examined. Ya want the ugly thing, right?
FROM HANNAH WINTERS, VISITATION AND FUNERAL INVITATION:
The community of Cryhal is invited to the visitation of Perry Winters on October 22, 1994 at 5 p.m. at St. Katherine’s Church. Family and friends are invited to join a Celebration of Life for Perry Winters on October 23, 1994 at noon. Both will be a closed casket service.
THE TOWN ARTIFACT
December 1, 1994
PERRY WINTERS CASE CLOSED
After nearly two months after 8-year-old Perry Winters’ death, the police have finally announced that the case is being closed. A statement released by Detective Ker tells the public her feelings about the case.
“It’s a tragedy what happened to Perry. While the case is being labelled as cold, we know what happened. A starved, wild animal somehow got into the house and mauled him—probably the same animal who got to Heather a while back. No matter how safe you feel with the people around you, we remind you to keep doors and windows locked.”
However, Perry’s mother has some things to say about the case ruling.
“Why label it as cold if you know what happened? My son was mauled; close the case. It makes me feel like they’re hiding something,” said Hannah Winters.
The police has declined to give their reasoning behind their choice.
Silently the skeleton breathed, the faint rise and fall of his chest cavity entrancing to the figure standing above. Solid red dots bored into the unguarded form curled into the cushions, oblivious to the presence barely a foot away.
Really, it was borderline insulting such a monster had survived so long with such shoddy survival skills. Of course, this foreign world seemed much...less volatile than his own, and Papyrus had to assume they each were products of their environments.
More gently than he had before in his life, Papyrus bent and lifted the prone form into his battle-scarred arms, careful to secure his grip around his prize.
Unmindful of the dust sprinkling the floor, the dark-clad skeleton exited the abode with even, patient strides, knowing now that nothing remained between his soulmate and himself.
A soft smile grew at the corners of his jagged teeth as soft snow and dust crinkled beneath his heeled boots.
"Don't underestimate the things that I will do" tony/bucky/nat!
Whether it’s for pleasure or business, Natasha has never enjoyed being tied up. Being confined in her movements makes her want to lash out. Feeling the ropes rub against the tender skin of her wrists makes her want to snarl and bite, like a wild animal fighting its leash. (At least the rope is cheap, she’ll be able to chew through it if she’s left alone for any amount of time. Really, who’s stupid enough to bind your hostage’s hands in front of them?)
Being held at gun point to force Tony--sweet, loveable, dorky Tony, with his endless enthusiasm for science fiction movies and ridiculous obsession with fluffy socks--into handing over a hacking device he’s created with that terrifyingly brilliant brain of his makes Natasha want to kill. And not in the raw violence Bucky prefers when he’s driven to this point himself, oh no. Natasha wants to draw it out, wants to take her time. Wants to make the pain last. She wants to break them first.
“Drop the gun,” Tony says with a steady voice that fills Natasha with pride for her untrained, civilian boyfriend. His own weapon is aimed at the man currently threatening Natasha, and there isn’t even the slightest tremble in his hands.
It’s a side of Tony Natasha usually only sees in his workshop or in front of a screen, the sure competence that is as attractive as his bright smile, just that much deadlier.
Her captor--and really, Natasha knows his name, it’s just that he doesn’t deserve to be remembered, the unimportant maggot--laughs mockingly. “Put that gun away before you hurt yourself, boy.” Natasha can feel his warm breath against the shell of her ear as he talks. She suppresses a shiver, focuses on the cold fury instead.
“Do you really think you can pull one over me?” the soon-to-be-dead man continues with a sneer. “We’ve been watching you, Stark. Been watching every move you made. Your bitch over there,” he nods towards Bucky’s crumbled form in the corner and Natasha’s determination hardens at the reminder, “might know how to handle a gun but you? You don’t have it in you to shoot someone, princess. Not even for your little boyfriend.” His grip on Natasha’s chest tightens as he shakes a little. “Or is it your girlfriend here? You know, I never got that straight-”
“Last warning,” Tony interrupts, face disturbingly blank. Natasha reads deadly intent in his every muscle. “Drop the gun.”
She isn’t surprised when he pulls the trigger. She is the only one who isn’t.
