BackOffBl**p

A sneak peak of the revisions I'm making to my fic Little Soldiers (I swear that I loved you)

Dying, Tim discovers, feels rather strange  when you're not fighting against it. Time seems to dilate, speeding up and slowing down  at the same time. As his lungs fight for air, trying to force it down his smothered throat, he can feel the moment his pulse slows. The steady beat begins to stutter, and Tim can't quite tell if it's because of a lack of oxygen or his heart being strangled in flowering vines. 

Tim does not thrash or claw at his throat; instead, he simply lies there on the bathroom floor, the cold tiles somewhat soothing against his flushed skin. He turns onto his side as blood gathers in his mouth, pressing his cheek to the tile, feeling an odd wave of tranquility pass over him as it leaks from his mouth.

Distantly, he finds himself wondering if it would stain the grout. 

Dying for Time feels as if he is underwater content in it, letting the current push him in any direction it pleases. Perhaps this is what Jellyfish feels like; maybe he can be reborn as one, content to drift alone in the vast ocean for a lifetime. As his throat hacks up what it can until Tim finds himself tugging on what were once purple stalks of purple bud, the vibrant colours now distorted by the thick blood surrounding them.

Tim admires them lifting a single stalk of heather in shaky hands before it falls onto his back, and then he lifts it up to admire the vibrant purple that shows through the blood. It drips down onto his face, changing nothing about his state.

He holds up the flower until he can no longer, his arms too weak to hold their own weight, throat full of blood and bile spilling as his chest heaves.

Dying is peaceful.

At least Tim thinks so; his eyes grow too heavy, and he grins weakly and crookedly. Roots tighten, and his eyes shut.

In all his years, this may be the stupidest thing Shen Qingqui has ever done.

Or perhaps the third, the first of course would be waiting all that time, the second getting into a wrestling match with that brute. Quite literally giving up all his practiced elegance to launch himself at the other man's ankles, the tried and true method of every street kid in a bind, and rolling around with the man on the cold ground, unlike any dignified scholar should be.

But this, this is definitely the third.

He lets his hand wrap twice around inky black hair and yanks, the keen he gets in response is high and utterly desperate. It reminds him distantly of a brothel, a fact that should not comfort, but still, he feels it as his illogical body's muscles loosen ever so slightly. Perhaps by the reminder of home or by the fact that the war god is so easily debauched, his usually gritty voice is high and breathless. Shen Qingqui always found comfort in knowing his opponents' weaknesses, and this was certainly a big one.

Shen Qingqiu hums, “Did Shidi need something from this shixiong?"

He finds momentary amusement in the way Liu Qingge splutters at the indignity, the war god writhes under him, trapped between his thighs, face down on the wooden floors of his house. It would be almost cute if not for the brute of a man beneath him.

“Well, Shidi, use your words. Shixiong doesn't have all day”, he pulled firmly on the man's hair, getting a high-pitched gasp for his efforts. Liu Qingge splutters, “You- You-” Shen Qingqiu croons, “Is Shidi too stupid to answer?” he hums, "What's got you all bothered, brute? Come on, tell Shixiong.”

“Shameless!” It appears the brute can only recall two words, no matter. Shen Qingqui is nothing if not dedicated; surely, he can widen Liu Qingge's vocabulary. Perhaps he should start with please. After all, Liu Qingge's manners left much to be desired.

Humans are such cruel creatures.

It is a law of nature; just as they will live and die, humanity will find a way to bare its claws at those who have no hope but to play dead. The strong turn away, thriving while ignoring the misery of the weak, waiting for their victims' suffering to fade into silence.

They live above it, just as the gods do the earth.

This is a fact that has been repeatedly beaten into Xiao-Jiu. A fact that was first learned on cold streets as he and the other mongrels shivered and starved, a fact that was reinforced by the Qiu household, and burned into his chest by Yue Qi.

Perhaps waiting for his return was foolish; perhaps expecting him to return at all was what made him foolish.

After all, humans, even if they do not realise it, are cruel; they will protect themselves over all else. 

That very fact is the reason he panics as he realises just what has happened.

…

Four Peak Lords and a boy stand in front of a burning building.

The child is dressed in rags that hang limply off his thin shoulders; the cloth fails to reach past his thighs, which are littered with small, rounded bruises, marked by ugly yellows and deep purples marring the pale flesh. His matted black hair whips in ropes as the wind howls. He stands motionless as the building burns and the onlookers stare.

This, Shen Qingqui knows, is the day he truly became human. 

This is the day he first dared to bear his teeth.

The wind howls, filling a silence that leaves everyone unsure how to speak. Three Peak Lords alternate between gaping at the burning building and at the child. The child does not turn to face them; he simply stands barefoot, feet planted firmly to the dirt while the flames crackle.

Shen Qingqui feels catatonic.   

His hands are numb, and his legs ache, in the distant sort of way memories can so often bring.

Heart demon, he attempts to say with a tongue trapped on the roof of his mouth and a throat that betrays him, allowing no oxygen to his desperate lungs.  A Dào Dài demon, he tries once more to push the words through his useless mouth that only pushes out air. 

Dào Dài demons are a species that is closely related to dream demons. They prey on the mindscape and, unlike dream demons, they can ensnare multiple victims at once; however, they cannot manipulate the mind to such a large scale as their relative. 

No, instead of this, the Dào Dài are entirely reliant on the memories of just one day. 

Shen Qingqui, when reading on the topic, found that one scholar referred to this day as one's point of no return, the day that fate decided who you were destined to be. He had once found the excessively flowery  language amusing, and perhaps he still does, but the fool had at least gotten part of it right, he thinks as he stares at the burning building. 

This, once more,  is the point of no return.

He knew that then, and he certainly knows it now. 

…

Liu Qingge, unsurprisingly, is the first to act, brash as ever, he rushes towards the boy with inhumane speed, 

“Hey! What's going on here!?” his hand latches onto the boy's shoulder in a vice grip that Shen Qingqui feels as if he has been struck over the head. The more he touches the more it begins to burn as if the flames had bored of consuming the house and moved onto his mind. 

His vision blurs.

 He can hear the noise coming from the others' mouths, the brash tone of Liu Qingge, the gentle threatening of Mu Qingfang and the low thrawl of Yue Qingyuan far closer than the other. He can hear them hear it as voices overlap, but despite his best attempts, he cannot make out a word they are saying.

The pain ceases suddenly as Yue Qingyuan's voice rises, the relief making his body feel like putty knees trembling involuntarily. A large hand sets on his arm its hold is firm but discrete as Shen Qingqiu uses it to anchor himself as the world returns.

He is met with the most revolting sight when it does; acidic green eyes stare vacantly at them and Liu Qingge standing behind his younger self pretty mouth gaping like a fish.

Isn't this just splendid? Exactly how he wanted to spend his afternoon with all his least favourite people, the liar, the brute, and the Qui’s. And Mu Qingfang, while he supposes the man is not the worst of his sect siblings but he is disturbingly perceptive and if there's anything Shen Qingqiu hates more than being lied to its being seen through.

If the boys appearance did not give his identity away then Yue Qingyuan's anxious eyes as he looks at him certainly do,

“Xaoi Jiu..” it's sickening how soft the voice is, too quiet for normal ears giving a false air of privacy. But it is false, every person here is an accomplished cultivator they all hear it.

“No.” Shen Qingqiu responds, and as quickly as it began the moment ends.