for tientsin mystic prompts. ding mao + anyone/everyone, 'I know you’re hurt. And I’m tired of waiting for you to bring it up’ with his leg injury
Sporkie. Sporkie do you realize how long i have been waiting for this opportunity????????? do you????? this was a gift from the heavens i am insane please marry me
also this became a MONSTER and waaaayyy too long for a tumblr ficlet so it is posted in full on ao3!!
Whump Prompt No. 10 (I'll post these on ao3 eventually and get some more tientsin mystic fics in the tag ;.;)
He didn't always. He used to love the colder seasons; curling up in front of the fire with a book; being trapped inside with people he enjoyed, unable and unwilling to go anywhere; blood freezing in interesting patterns (to be fair, that was a very particular preference). He liked snow, he liked when it got dark early and he didn't have to pretend to be interested in whatever was going on down at the shipyards as his father showed him around the docks again. He liked seeing all the people wandering through Tianjin, bundled up against the cold, all puffy coats and woolen stockings and knit gloves.
Now, though. Now, winter hurts.
It's been more than a few years since his leg had been crushed in the explosion underneath the city, when his knee had been shattered, when Guo Deyou, his face angry and scared and so, so sorry, had to leave him behind because Gu Ying was bleeding out in his arms, because Xiao Lanlan wouldn't be able to keep her head above the water if it got much higher, because Ding Mao, even though he was pinned in a runoff drain, which, by some stroke of luck (Ding Mao isn't sure that he would call it luck), had been formed just right so that the water dumped down on him and washed away at his feet, tumbling in a cascade into the caverns, but wouldn't ever pool. He was soaked and in pain and hardly able to see Guo Deyou outside of the torrent of river dashing down on him, but he would survive, so he told Guo Deyou to go.
Guo Deyou did, taking the girls, and Ding Mao had waited for him, biting through his lip to keep from screaming, because he wasn't feeling the pain in his leg so much anymore, because it was almost entirely numb, and he knew, he knew that wasn't a good thing.
(Guo Deyou did come back for him, because he always would, and when he and the two other river guardians he had brought with him had managed to unpin Ding Mao's leg and pull him out of the hole, Guo Deyou had wrapped him tightly in his arms while Ding Mao shivered and didn't look at his leg and tried very hard not to pass out, and said, I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry. Ding Mao. Ding Mao. I'm sorry.)
On the best of days, his leg is a dull ache, a buildup of scar tissue around his knee, which is now ugly and scarred and lumpy, that rubs gratingly against the bone and clings to the muscles around it. It's weaker, too, prone to buckling if he puts too much weight on it or moves too fast, which is what the brace and cane help with. Ding Mao has gotten used to that, knows exactly how much his leg can take, usually, and works to make sure that he can still keep up with his friends, with his job, with his world.
On the worst of days, it's a different story.