#apples too as it seems that the rest of the world prefers different sorts of apples | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bangfantanfic · 3 years

Text

Our Own World: Chapter 4

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, restrictions/COVID

Type: Hybrid/Yandere/Romance/Fluff/Angst

Authors Note: Hey~ again, so sorry I took so longI apologise! I hope you guys enjoy. As usual, I’d you’d like to be tagged for future updates, DM or comment 🥰

“As cases continue to rise officials have announced as of 12am tonight a nationwide lockdown will be enforced.”

Six pairs of eyes were glued to the large screen, most of them worried-- yours however only showed off pure irritation.

“-- in order to minimise rising case numbers President Moon announced a country wide travel ban. Non Korean residents will have paid flights back to their home country, Korean residents outside the country will not be let back in until further notice--”

Your stomach plummeted. You're stuck here for as long as your brother is stuck in the Netherlands..

“Y/N?”

You could hear the men around you calling out to you, but it sounded muffled, like your head was under water.

The five men around you were panicking at your frozen state, you were like a statue-- even Jeongguk was unable to hide his worry.

Taehyung was sitting by your feet whining, his arms wrapped around his own torso. He had tried to hug your legs, wanting to provide some comfort to your shaking form but Namjoon had nudged him away, sending a warning look before crouching by your side and trying to pull your attention back.

“Y/N, you need to breathe--relax.” He cooed, his hands balled into fists on his thighs. It was taking all his energy to not reach out and touch you, to hold you and promise everything was okay. “Jay will be fine, he’s safe with Mila.”

Unfortunately, the boy's sweet attempts to console you only made you feel worse. They didn’t know you were panicking about being here longer. They thought you were worried for your brother's safety.

But you were only worried about your own.

“Y/N, do you think I could come to the store with you?” Seokjin’s voice asked shyly, his hands tightly gripping one another. “I just thought since I know the boys well— and my ah, physical differences are easier to hide—“

You raised an eyebrow, smirking at the babbling hybrid. You had grown much more confident with the polar bear hybrid, and even a few of the others thanks to being locked in 24/7. You had still yet to meet Hoseok and Yoongi, and Jeongguk was more than happy to keep as much distance from you as humanly possible, but otherwise, you were somewhat comfortable in your surroundings for once.

The few occasions you were able to leave the house was to get groceries and other essentials, but otherwise being caught out of the house without solid reasoning would land you a hefty fine and you weren’t exactly financially stable enough to pay thousands of dollars.

Your brother had been in contact with you, making sure the boys were all doing fine and that you were coping with the news and long term adjustment. He had been supplying you money, and you weren’t sure where he was getting it from. His clinic had been shut since he left the country so it wasn’t from there, but you were too deep in your self pity to question it.

“Sure, I don’t see why no—“

“No fair. If Jin Hyung can go out I wanna too!” Taehyung whined, appearing from thin air. His dark hair hung over his eyes, still dripping from his shower.

“Your tail is too noticeable.” Jin shrugged, wrapping a long arm over your tiny shoulders.

The brunette glared at the blond, stomping over to pull you away. Lightly grabbing the pocket of your white hoodie and tugging you into his chest. You wriggled, trying to pull out of his grip but it only seemed to make it tighten.

“You’re always selfish with her!” The younger complained, resting his chin on the crown of your head.

A dramatic groan came from behind you as Jin, no doubtedly, rolled his eyes at the monkey's words. “I can’t help it if I’m her favourite.”

Taehyung stiffened. You could feel him grinding his teeth, the sound of his teeth dragging made you feel nauseous.

“She doesn’t have favourites.” Namjoon cut in, carefully pulling you out of the monkey's arms and wrapping his own around your shoulder. “And Jin Hyung is right, your tail is too noticeable.”

Taehyung’s wide eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re the only one who can’t keep it still!” He argued.

Namjoon’s face flushed pink, his jaw jutting out. It was true. Like animals, hybrids often displayed their emotions and moods through tail movements, and while the others had passed with flying colours in emotional control, Namjoon had always struggled.

“Be that as it may, we can’t risk it. Hyung will go with Y/N and help pick out foods best suited to each of us.” He said sternly, sounding confident despite the pink tinge to his round cheeks.

You smiled apologetically at the monkey hybrid. He was clearly biting his tongue, arms tightly crossed and eyes squinting.

“Fine. But when you get back Y/Nie is playing with me.”

Grocery shopping had always been easy. You only had yourself to think of, but now you had seven others depending on you. You weren’t sure about allergies, or even just what everyone liked and disliked.

You still needed to get around to those files…

Thankfully your brother had left behind a card for shopping, knowing your pathetic bank account would ever be able to handle more than one shop.

With Seokjin leaning on the handles of the shopping cart he directed you where to go, what to grab all while letting you browse and pick out your own snacks.

“Yoongi and Hobi will be joining us tonight, I’ll need to get more meat. Yoongi practically inhales it.” The hybrid sighed, voicing his thoughts aloud.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of Seokjin. He was dressed comfortably, washed out blue jeans, a white sweater and a red cap. Round glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as he read over packaging, his plump lips pouting as he considered every item.

“Do you think we could get lamb, Y/N?” He piqued up, dropping three packets of snacks into the cart before waddling to catch up to you.

“I don’t see why not, it’s my brothers card after all.” You shrugged, grinning. You held back a laugh as his cheeks turned pink, attempting to hide the bright colour he rushed forward to avoid your gaze.

You had noticed the boys were all easily flustered, you found it funny. Sometimes Jimin or Jin tried to say something flirty, and when you countered back the two turned red and made excuses to run away. Sometimes you just had to talk to them and their faces would turn redder than an apple.

Taehyung was a little more difficult, most of the time he was rather clueless with what he said, or at least that’s how he played it off to be.

Namjoon just didn’t try. He just preferred to leave cute gifts for you on your bed; Flowers he had grown that were in season, fruits and clumsily made origami.

Jeongguk completely avoided you, and Taehyung the little asshole, made sure to tell you the youngest hybrid liked you, telling you how the youngest was always staring at you or asking his brothers about what you were doing.

“The look that the cashier gave you was so rude!” Seokjin huffed, closing the passenger door.

You rolled your eyes, starting the car. You didn’t blame the poor girl, you had bought so much food it caused a huge back up, the line running down the isles . You couldn’t even look at the cashier, too embarrassed.

The car ride was pretty quiet, the only sounds were Seokjin humming along to the radio and the crinkling from the candy packet. He seemed to be deep in thought, and as much as you wanted to ask what was on his mind you forced your mouth to stay shut.

Sure, you were somewhat comfortable around him and you assumed he was comfortable around you, but you knew that there wasn’t any friendship foundation, you had no right to pick around his brain— no matter how intrigued you were.

So you stayed silent, while the hybrid beside you happily chewed away at the gummy bears he had begged for.

As your brother’s neighbourhood approached, Seokjin finally decided to talk. He wriggled around until he was angled enough to look over your smaller body.

He thought you were pretty. Very pretty.

The way you smelt was enchanting, always leaving him dizzy and fumbling for words, just like now.

He felt like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing, eyebrows pulled together in frustration as he tried to spit out words, any words. Just something so he didn’t look like an idiot for another second.

“Don’t freak out.”

When your head shot over, a crack sounding from the joints making him cringe, he wanted to melt into his seat. He felt his neck and cheeks turn red, an awkward laugh forced passed his lips.

“Sorry— sorry. I just meant, don’t let Yoongi make you feel uncomfortable.” He clarified, mentally kicking his abrupt outburst. When you raised an eyebrow he took it as a signal to continue.

“Yoongi can be stiff?” He paused, considering his words. “He can be two ways, blunt and sort of arrogant— which he isn’t I promise!”

“Or, he’s cocky and imposing. He’ll try to push your buttons, find out what makes you uncomfortable or mad.” He explained, clicking his tongue as he thought. “But don’t worry, Hoseok and Namjoon keep him in line.”

When the car fell silent Seokjin felt his veins turn to ice. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable, or scared. He’d leave yoongi out in the cages before he allowed that.

“I grew up with Jay, I’m immune to annoying boys.”

The smile on your lips, although forced, relaxed him slightly. You really seemed to be trying, even if it wasn’t for them and more so for your brother, he appreciated it. It made his insides feel like marshmallows.

He watched your fingers tap on the grip of the steering wheel, your lips sucked in thin between your teeth as you thought. A cute habit of yours Jin had picked up on almost instantly.

“I’ll be next to you, I won’t leave your side!” He promised, a hand over his heart and the other up in the air. “Scouts honour— and I can say that.”

The proud grin on his plush lips made you break out into a small smile of your own.

“And the other boy?”

Seokjin dropped a red candy into his mouth, chewing twice before speaking. “Hoseok?” He looked to you for confirmation, seeing your curt nod he continued.

“Hobi is playful, he gets along well with the younger boys. He can be a bit much, he’s loud. But he’s a good guy, you don’t have to worry about him.”

“Hoseok— oh for Christ’s sake! Get off! All of you out, they’ll be back any minute now!”

Namjoon’s scolding voice could be heard throughout the entire house, not that it mattered. Everyone was gathered in the one tiny space.

The tiny office space that had been converted into a makeshift bedroom was bursting at its seams with the six men all huddled in.

The youngest three, Jeongguk, Taehyung and Jimin had snuck in to play on the PC’s while you were missing. Jimin hadn’t been interested in playing, so instead he took the chance to snoop through your belongings.

Hoseok, lonely after a week of separation, found his brothers quickly. But his original mission, finding the maknaes, was abandoned the moment your scented room hit his senses. Your perfume and natural musk stuck to everything in the room, almost as if you had lived in the space your whole life.

It was mouth watering.

Ignoring Jimin, who watched the bigger hybrid worriedly, Hoseok joined in the snooping. Mostly just looking through books and sniffing sweaters before getting bored and collapsing onto the fold out bed, an excited laugh filling the quiet room as he rolled over the unmade sheets.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok and Jimin arguing over the small bed to wake up Yoongi. But unfortunately he got to the mess a little late, arriving just as Namjoon did. The younger boy practically tore out his hair as he tried to remove his pack from the room.

Failing, obviously.

The situation was quite funny to the sleepy hybrid. Yoongi’s snickering was infuriating the Wolf hybrid further, his anger and panic almost over powering the soft feminine smell that you had left behind.

“— Jeongguk you know you aren’t supposed to be in here! Taehyung, you’re supposed to be making sure he doesn’t cause trouble, not helping!” Namjoon groaned, head in palms.

The youngest two barely looked away from the screens, their eyes only momentarily flickering over to Namjoon. So instead Jimin piped up, stepping out from behind the much taller hybrid.

“We just thought since she was gone we could take advantage—“

“You thought it would be okay to sneak through someone’s personal belongings!?”

The fox hybrid turned bright pink, his ears flattening to the top of his head. Guilt flooded his features as he practically dislocated his fingers behind his back.

“That wasn’t my intention—“

Their leader was livid, and not even for being disobeyed. He was familiar with the feeling— jealousy. They all smelt like you, and now your room smelt of them.

You smelt like someone other than him— and to make it worse, your musk had been mixed with multiple other male hybrids. It made his stomach churn.

“Your intentions don’t matter anymore.” He snapped, pointing to the door where Yoongi rested. “Out, all of you.”

Not a single person made an effort to move, all five pairs of eyes locked on their leader almost as if they were daring him to try and remove the group. The whole situation was amusing to Yoongi who still hadn’t said a word to his brothers, just watched everything as he usually did.

But the sound of your tires crunching on the gravel driveway sent the boys flying for the front door before an argument could breakout, much to his disappointment.

Yoongi and Jeongguk were the only two that waited in the living room, not reacting to your arrival with enthusiasm.

“Y/N! You’re home!” Taehyung cheered, running out the front door, ignoring the stinging pain of the sharp rocks stabbing into his bare feet.

Before the monkey hybrid could pull you into his body for a hug he was yanked to a halt by Jin.

“Help with the bags first.” He scolded, shoving the heavier bags into the younger boy's arms.

Whining Taehyung obeyed, his knuckles turning white as he practically ran to dump the bags in the kitchen. Namjoon and Jimin followed in Taehyung's direction, arms full with heavy bags until everything was unpacked.

It was after everything was put away where it needed to be that Taehyung engulfed you in his arms, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. He was breathing in so heavily you felt like the boy was about to inhale your skin.

“You were gone for so long--” He paused, his arms tightening on you as he shuffled around. Your back was now facing everyone so Taehyung could glare at his elder. “You hogged her on purpose!”

Seokjin groaned, the younger boy's accusation not even bothering him. He knew his brothers had grown attached to their temporary carer. He was however beginning to worry that everyone was experiencing the same feelings. Your original four weeks of house sitting was officially up tomorrow, and he felt selfish knowing you were stuck here until the government decided otherwise, and not only their government but the Netherlands too.

He had been so excited the moment he heard you step out the car. The moment your car tires had stopped crunching on gravel and your door swung open the strong scent of Spring hit him-- despite it being WInter. You smelt fresh, like flowers and pollen, and yet sweet like sugar. You smelt perfect.

The first time he saw you, the night you come out with their meals he almost dropped to his knees to worship you. Long (H/C), wavy hair hung down your back, messy and slightly knotted from your hands attacking it. Your glasses were dangerously low on your nose as you struggled to drag the chunk of elk meat across the ground. Your lips were pouted, but he could tell that even if you weren’t sulking they would look nearly the same. You were pretty like a doll. Small, petite shoulders and rounded hips and plush thighs he dreamed of falling asleep on.

You were perfect, and his.

Until he realised, maybe you weren’t just for him.

343 notes · View notes

teshamerkel · 3 years

Photo

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

Chapter 16 (18 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Nia spends time with Xander’s team, learning more about aura in the process.

Nia yawns, finally giving up on her book for today and slipping a furret bookmark that Maggie had given her between the pages. No matter how hard Nia tries to focus on the words about different types of Pokémon evolution, the sentences are starting to blur and jumble before her eyes, so she figures it’s time to give it a rest.

She looks up at the two Pokemon lying a few feet away on a mossy rug, comfortably sprawled out in Xander’s team quarters. The luxio and his wartortle partner are playing some sort of game with dice-like stones. Felix is clearly losing, his fluffy ears twitching as he grumbles under his breath. Xander’s cat-like face is smug with victory, his tail flicking side to side with lazy patience.

Avery is sitting at Nia’s side, the two of them relaxing back against the wooden wall on a bed of straw and moss. Nia doesn’t want to disrupt the kirlia’s concentration as they focus on their own book, but the atmosphere is so peaceful and relaxed, bathed in the warm evening sunlight coming through the lattice window, and she can’t help but feel comfortable enough to speak up.

“Can I ask you guys something?”

All three Pokemon look up, faces open and curious.

“‘Course,” Felix says.

Nia smiles, a little embarrassed. “I know your team is just as busy as ours, if not more so. How are you not, like...exhausted? Literally all the time?”

Xander looks back to the game, laughter in his voice as he responds, “Oh trust me, we are. It used to be worse, before we got used to the job and the demanding work hours.”

“Naps help a lot, when you can manage ‘em,” Felix adds, frowning as he rolls the dice. He’s had horrible luck this whole game. At least, that’s what he’s been saying. Nia still hasn’t quite picked up the rules from watching. “You feeling worn down?”

Nia leans back against the wood of the tree. The bark making up the architecture of the tree is smooth, and thanks to her fur it isn’t even uncomfortable to lean against. She closes her eyes and hums.

“Yeah, I guess. I know I’ve been here a few weeks, but I think I’m just not used to everything yet.”

“I’ll never get used to waking up so early,” Felix grumbles. “Mornings are suffering.”

Nia laughs. “Actually, that part’s not too bad. It’s more the battling, I think. And just...I dunno, emotional stuff.”

“Mental exhaustion can take a big toll,” Avery says at her side, voice soft. They close their own book to turn their full attention to the conversation.

“I’d be exhausted too if I had Tobias for a partner,” Felix says. He’s clearly teasing, but Nia knows that on some level the wartortle actually means it. “I don’t know how you put up with him every day, Nia.”

Nia’s torn between a laugh and the urge to roll her eyes. She settles on a light tone to match the wartortle’s. “Come on, I told you we worked everything out the other day. He’s trying harder to be nice.”

Felix and Xander both make a doubtful noise.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Xander says.

“Well, I think it’s great that Tobias is trying to grow,” Avery says, giving Nia a soft smile.

Nia smiles back and leans forward to watch the boys’ game again, cupping her chin in her hands.

“He’s been really patient with all of my questions since we talked,” Nia says, feeling like she should defend her partner somehow. It’s clear that he’s been trying hard to reign in his temper and be more considerate the last few days, even if he still struggles with it. “When we cleaned out the guild’s food storage this morning, he didn’t even snap at me when I bumped into some shelves and buried us in rice.”

Xander snorts. “That’s called being a decent Pokémon, Nia. Don’t give him too much credit.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying he’s doing better, y’know?”

Felix gives Nia a grin, tilting his head in consideration. “You’re too sweet, ya know that?”

Nia doesn’t know what to say to that, so she blushes under her fur and makes a show of moving her book to her side with a quiet word of thanks.

“Yo! I’m back. Did Felix get whooped yet?”

Nia jumps and looks up to see that Kry has returned from her trip to the cafeteria to find a snack. The dinosaur-like pokemon is munching on an apple as she plops down next to Felix and Xander.

“Hey, I could still win,” Felix protests.

“Ha! Yeah, and bagon can fly.”

“You do know they can fly when they evolve, right?”

“Not anymore, genius! No evolution, no wings!”

Felix deflates and grumbles to himself as he goes back to the game. Nia tilts her head and leans closer to Avery.

“S-Sorry. Uh, what kind of Pokémon is Kry again?”

“A fraxure. Dragon type, middle evolution like the rest of us.”

Nia nods. Right. Fraxure. It certainly looks like the aggressive Pokémon could live up to her name and fracture some bones, from the brief interactions Nia’s seen. Kry’s a bit...rough around the edges. But it’s clear she fits right in with the rest of Xander’s team. Somehow.

“What have you been reading, if you don’t mind me asking?” Avery asks, polite as ever.

Nia shakes herself out of her thoughts. “No, of course I don’t mind!” She holds up the book. “It’s about different kinds of evolution? I still don’t exactly, uh. Get it. As a process. But it’s fascinating to learn about all the different ways it’s triggered.”

Avery tilts their head, looking at Nia with thoughtful consideration. “You don’t understand evolution?”

Nia’s ears flatten. “W-Well, uh, no, but—“

“Does evolution not happen to humans?”

It’s clear that Avery isn’t judging Nia’s confusion, just curious in return. Still, Nia is thankful that they keep their voice hushed.

“N-No, definitely not,” Nia says. “At least, not in the same way? I think? When Pokémon evolve, they change...suddenly, right? Like, Xander used to look like Luca and then he suddenly turned into a luxio?”

Avery hums. “More or less, yes.”

“Is...Is that...how Pokémon grow up, uh...physically? By evolving?”

The kirlia shakes their head, eyes softening into something almost sad. “No. If that were the case we’d all be in danger of dying out, with how Pokemon can no longer evolve. Don’t worry, you’re an adult by Pokémon standards, even as a riolu.”

Nia relaxes at the confirmation. With the way everyone has been treating her, she was pretty sure they’d been seeing her as the adult she felt she was in the human world, but it’s still nice to know for sure.

“Pokemon can stay unevolved forever,” Avery goes on. “They’ll grow larger than a child Pokémon of the same species, though, and physically mature. Their...statures would simply be smaller than if they evolved. Weaker.”

Nia nods. That...makes some sense, in a way. Even with humans, there were grown women who ended up much shorter than some teenage boys. Different statures among the same species.

“Humans don’t ever...change so radically. So suddenly. At least not naturally.”

Avery turns curious eyes onto Nia, so the riolu continues.

“We start out tiny, and then just grow gradually until we reach adulthood. We can change parts of ourselves, of course—darken our skin, cut our hair, change our clothes or our entire style. But...that’s not what evolution is for, right? Aesthetics, individuality? Comfort?”

The kirlia hums. “No. Evolution is typically for...strength, I suppose. Increased speed, strength, defense, sheer size.”

“So for battling?” Nia asks, confusion edging into her voice. She knew that Pokémon were more biologically geared towards fighting, with their toughened defense and incredible healing capabilities, but she also knows that most Pokémon don’t seem to prefer fighting aside from playful battles. At least, not anymore. Now they’re bakers, florists, carvers and artisans. A society.

Maybe Avery understands what Nia’s getting at, because the kirlia looks thoughtful. “There’s a reason so many Pokémon evolve through battling experience and so few from exposure to stones, or travel. Most Pokémon evolve by training themselves and growing stronger. Legends say that Pokémon used to be more...primitive. Less civilized. I believe it used to be less about strength and more about survival.”

Nia watches as Felix tries to creep his hand over the dice to cheat a turn of the stones. Xander, discussing strategies in-depth with Kry, doesn’t even look before batting the turtle’s hand away with a paw. Felix yelps, and Nia giggles.

“Maybe that’s why evolution stopped working?” Nia suggests. “Maybe Pokémon have just...evolved to the point that strength evolution isn’t necessary anymore. You’re a society now, after all. You didn’t need to be physically strong to have a lot of power or be successful in the human world. We have systems, laws, protectors. Technology and weapons. Maybe you’ve just reached a point in society where that changed enough for you guys, too.”

Avery suddenly laughs, tinkling and light. Nia isn’t sure whether to feel happy at the sound or embarrassed that she’d apparently said something stupid. She settles for staring at the kirlia with wide eyes and heated fur.

“Apologies,” Avery says, meeting Nia’s eyes, ruby to ruby. “It wasn’t a stupid thought at all. Fascinating, actually. I was just...struck. By finding such a kindred spirit in you. Xander’s the only one who even tries to humor my philosophical ramblings.”

Nia feels herself relax, and laughs as well. “Two curious souls, huh?”

Avery just smiles, warm and soft.

“What’re you two nerds laughing about?” Kry asks.

Nia looks up to see the other three Pokémon staring at them.

Avery waves their hand in a dismissive motion. “My usual ramblings, Kry. Don’t mind us.”

“Talking about evolution!” Nia adds.

At that, Xander and Felix go back to their game with amused smirks. Kry, however, rolls her eyes. “Why? We can’t evolve anyways.”

“But maybe it could be fixed?” Nia suggests. When Kry turns a doubtful look on her, the riolu shrinks back. “I-I mean, maybe not, but...”

“No harm in discussing it, right?” Avery says.

Kry snorts and goes back to the game. “Guess not.”

Nia relaxes. She knows there’s no reason for Kry to put her on edge, but she just has such a...strong personality. Nia’s become more used to Tobias’ sharp attitude, but Kry? Not so much.

“Would you evolve? If you could?”

Nia blinks and turns to Avery at the unexpected question. “W-What?”

"Would you like to evolve if it were possible?” Avery repeats. Maybe this is a normal question for most Pokémon. Or for their teammates and friends, at least.

“U-Um. I don’t know? Maybe?” Nia flicks her tail into her lap, trying to sound confident. “I mean, it doesn’t really matter much to me, since I’m going back to the human world as soon as I can find a way to return, s-so...”

Avery doesn’t respond aside from a soft sound that Nia can’t quite decipher. She’s too afraid to look at the kirlia’s expression, too scared of seeing the pity or doubt she might find there, so she deflects. “Besides, to evolve I’d have to form an affection, um...”

“Bond?”

“Yeah! An affection bond with someone. And from what I’ve read, that doesn’t seem to mean just a casual friendship.”

Avery nods, eyeing their teammates. “Correct. An affection bond that can lead to evolution only occurs between Pokemon who trust each other with anything. Who see each other as they truly are and would likely die for each other.”

Nia flicks her ear, nervously. “Th-That’s a bit, uh. Extreme.”

Avery laughs lightly under their breath. “Indeed. It’s simply how we tend to describe it. It’s...the deepest form of love, whether platonic or romantic.”

Nia nods, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, so...I mean, don’t get me wrong! I’m really glad I met you guys and Andyn’s group and Maggie and, uh, even Tobias, in a weird way. But...”

“You don’t think you’ll ever have that sort of bond with us,” Avery guesses.

Nia flinches. The psychic type’s words aren’t cold or insulted, but it still sounds...harsh.

“Yeah, I guess,” Nia rasps, pulling her knees up to her chest. “It’s just...I’m planning on leaving, you know? I don’t wanna get too close to anyone just to leave us both heartbroken when I go.”

Avery doesn’t answer, but the silence doesn’t feel heavy. Still, Nia rests her chin on her hands, sighing. She wants to go home, nice as it is here, but she still feels bad just leaving these people behind after their kindness.

She’ll miss them.

Maybe Avery picks up on Nia’s mood change, because they turn to the riolu with an encouraging smile. “Xander mentioned that you can read the aura of other Pokemon now. Would you like to try it on me, if it’s not too much strain?”

Nia recognizes the distraction technique, but can’t help feeling grateful for it. She lifts her head, blinking. “R-Really?”

“I’m a psychic type. I know how exciting it is to try out a new mental technique with someone willing.”

Nia straightens up and turns to the kirlia, feeling a smile edge at her lips. It’s not every day she gets to test her aura abilities on someone new! So far she’s only felt Val and Maggie’s auras, and Amani’s blossoming pink during a different training session. “O-Okay. You know it’s pretty, uh…personal, though, right? Like, I’m kind looking at your soul, I think?”

Avery nods with a smile. “I’m aware.”

“J-Just let me know if you want me to stop, okay? I’ll need your hand, though.”

Avery offers a delicate hand.

Nia takes it and closes her eyes, summoning her aura (it gets easier every time she does it!), pouring it down her arm and into her hand, brushing it against the kirlia’s skin to find their aura. When Avery’s silhouette sparks to life behind Nia’s eyes, she laughs. Even without looking deeper towards the core of Avery’s aura, Nia can feel the prickle of their curiosity.

“Your aura’s blue like mine!” Nia explains.

The kirlia laughs too, quietly. “Kindred spirits indeed.”

Nia nods. “Your aura is more of a...purpley-blue, though. Deeper. Kind of indigo.” It feels...serene. Filled with a boundless curiosity and something deeply wise. It’s a dusk sky just as stars begin to shine, a calm evening full of possibilities. It’s actually a little difficult to put her finger on, to interpret the color into a personality, more difficult than it has been so far. Before Nia can go on, Felix’s hushed voice breaks through her concentration.

“That’s so cool!”

Nia jumps, yanking her hand back as the tear drops at her head drop lightly to the collar of fur around her neck. Nia turns to find Xander, Felix, and even Kry sitting close to her and Avery and watching the whole ordeal with fascination.

“Ooh! Can you do me next?” Felix asks excitedly, scooting closer as if she won’t see him there, practically bouncing in his seat.

Xander gives Felix a reprimanding look. “Dude, chill, she might need to rest or something. You know how Avery gets when they’re overworked.”

Before Felix can deflate under the scolding, Nia smiles. “N-No, I can do it, don’t worry. Just give me a second. I’m still learning so it kind of wipes me out, but that’s why I need to practice. You don’t mind me reading your aura? It’s kind of, um. Personal.”

Felix grins at her with shining eyes. “Nah, I don’t mind if it’s not too exhausting for you.”

Nia exchanges an amused look with Avery, then turns her body to Felix. She closes her eyes, holds out her hand for him to take, and then repeats the process of finding her aura, and sending it to where she’s touching the wartortle’s skin.

Felix’s aura flares to life behind Nia’s eyes, and she feels her face drop slack in surprise as the color registers. “Oh. Felix, you’re green.”

The turtle sounds as surprised as his aura feels, the green energy jumping in intensity. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like...a calm, leafy sort of green.” Not calm in the typical sense because the wartortle is certainly not that, but…flexible, she supposes. Purposefully not anxious. Like the changing seasons and the trees that follow them, very go-with-the-flow and easygoing. As unexpectedly sturdy as an oak tree, too. Comforting. It does make sense for the wartortle, in a way, but she has to admit she’s surprised by how deep into his very being his instincts to comfort amuse stabilize go. Oh, he is a very kind soul. A very open, alive soul.

Kry snorts. “Calm. Sure. Clearly you’ve never seen him after being rejected by someone.”

“Hey!” Felix says, indignant.

Nia’s concentration is broken again, and Felix’s hand is yanked away. She blinks back into reality only to sees Kry and Felix play wrestling. Xander rolls his eyes at them, but then looks back at Nia, ears swiveling forward and his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

Oh, she’s breathing harder as her powers take a toll on her. But she doesn’t feel nauseous yet, which must mean she’s getting better! She gives Xander a smile. “I’m fine. This is already leagues better than I was a few days ago! Want me to check your aura, too?”

Xander blinks, exchanging a glance with Avery. Just as Nia’s about to reassure him he doesn’t have to agree, he nods. “You sure you’re okay? I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

For a moment, Nia’s thrown by the obvious concern in the luxio’s voice, and her heart squeezes with something fond—

(She said she wasn’t going to make strong friendships here, she can’t, she’s leaving, but—)

—but then she just laughs it off, shaking her head. “N-No, I’m fine. Really.”

Xander looks at her face a moment longer, as if he’s worried she’s lying to him and about to pass out. But then he nods and lifts a paw for her to take.

Nia smiles and closes her eyes, curious despite herself. She’s only known Xander for a couple of weeks, but the more auras that Nia reads the more interesting they become, the more exciting it is to reconcile them with a person’s outward personality. So she reaches out eagerly with her aura, ignoring the strain that she’d just reassured she wasn’t feeling, and nearly recoils in surprise when Xander’s silhouette lights up in a very distinct color. It’s not a deep, protective blue, as she would have guessed, or really any color that she would have predicted.

It’s bright red.

Red, like blood pulsing from a wound, but it doesn’t bring to mind pain or aggression. It’s the blood of a beating heart, it’s the red of passion and emotion, almost too bright in its intensity, almost volatile, and oh, she never would have guessed that this was such an integral part of cool and collected Xander, that he would feel emotions so strongly they hurt. His aura is the blood of a fierce battle, of a pulse pounding away to act, to protect. It’s the red of a heart willing to bleed out before losing those close to him.

A surge of what Nia now recognizes as concern flows through his aura and slams into her like a tidal wave. Nia feels herself physically knocked back from the strength of it, pulling her hands away to catch herself. She snaps back to reality, breathing hard and loud in the quiet of the room, her heart pounding.

Xander is watching her with wide eyes, one paw lifted as if he’d reached out to help but then feared making things worse. Avery is watching her too. The sounds of Kry and Felix’s tussling have stopped.

“Nia? Are you all right?” Avery finally asks, voice soft and level.

Nia swallows hard, her own heart just starting to slow from the overwhelming intensity of Xander’s aura. She looks at the luxio again, and that’s what finally prompts her to pant, “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Xander asks. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“Y-Yeah, no, sorry, that was just, uh. Unexpected? You’re red, by the way.” Just saying Xander’s aura is red is the understatement of the century, but how is she supposed to explain what she just felt?

“Red?” Xander echoes, his stiff posture finally starting to relax again. Kry and Felix move closer to listen.

Avery hums. “Interesting. And that means?”

Nia fiddles with the collar of fur around her neck, gaze flicking up to the sun-washed ceiling as she thinks. “W-Well...I’m not sure how good I am at explaining it...”

“Wait, but you said green meant calm, right?” Felix asks. “Isn’t there like...a color cheat sheet or something? Like a list of what each color means?”

“Your green is calm,” Nia corrects. “The colors sort of tell me about someone’s personality and who they are, but I don’t think there’s like...a strict color-code?”

Nia looks to Avery for help, but the kirlia only offers a sympathetic shrug. Oh. Apparently their psychic powers don’t work the same way.

“U-Um. Okay. So for example, my aura is sort of a turquoise blue, but Avery’s is more purple, like a royal blue or indigo. Their aura feels...calmer than mine does, I guess? And Felix, yours is green because you’re so adaptable, like the trees. Very go-with-the-flow, but still sturdy and reliable. Someone else’s aura might be green too but feel super different to me.”

There’s a moment of quiet as they all digest that information, and Nia cringes. “...At least, I think that’s how it works.”

“So what did my aura feel like?” Xander finally asks. “Mine seemed to…affect you differently than the others’ did.”

Nia hesitates, still fiddling with her fur. How does she describe this? “Yours is red, but it’s red like…passion, I guess would be the word. It’s just really emotional? Kind of intense, actually. I’ve never felt someone’s emotions as strongly as I did yours. They kind of swept me away and knocked me right out of my aura state.”

When Nia looks away from the ceiling to gauge the others’ reaction to that, her stomach drops. Xander is staring at her in something close to horror, his fur lifting like a startled cat. She catches Felix shooting Xander a worried look. Wait, what…what happened? She just described his aura to him. Why does he look so upset?

Before the silence can grow too tense, Kry snorts and crosses her arms, apparently tone-deaf to the sudden shift of the room’s mood. “That’s a load of crap. Xander’s the most level-headed one here. Do mine next.”

Nia opens her mouth to say no, watching Xander back away with a gaze like he isn’t totally here. Avery and Felix exchange a concerned look before the kirlia moves to follow the luxio, approaching him with soft words and a hand soothing the spiked fur along his spine.

“Well?” Kry grunts, shifting to cut into Nia’s line of sight.

“W-Wait, Xander—”

“You admittin’ you were wrong?” Kry says, almost like a challenge. “Too afraid to read mine?”

Nia focuses on the fraxure, huffing in irritation. She just upset Xander—and something in her recoils at that thought, already flooded with guilt—and Kry hasn’t even noticed? Fine, if reading Kry’s aura will get her to shut up and move so Nia can check on Xander, she’ll do it. Nia closes her eyes and touches Kry’s open palm. She shoots her aura down her arm and into her paw almost angrily, and Kry’s energy flares to life. Once again, the color that she finds there isn’t quite what she’s expecting.

“You’re…gold,” Nia says. It’s the gold shine of priceless treasure, something proud and hard-fought. But it’s also the gold of armor, of a shield, determined and immovable. Protective. She feels the fraxure’s emotions shift too rapidly for her to catch, but she doesn’t really care too much anyways, with what’s happening to Xander three feet away. Nia pulls back and opens her eyes, meeting Kry’s hard stare with her own.

“So what’s gold mean?”

Nia frowns. “It feels...determined. Proud, I guess. I dunno, I’m not very good at this yet.” Nia’s attention is elsewhere, and she leans past the dinosaur to see Xander, only to find that Xander and Avery have disappeared from the room entirely. Felix meets her panicked gaze with a sad, soothing smile.

“Sorry, Nia, Xander just…had to get some air. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

“Wait, what…what happened?” Nia rasps. “Is Xander okay? He looked...”

Felix and Kry exchange a meaningful look. The wartortle nods, and Kry moves to start cleaning up the game abandoned on the rug a few feet away, completely silent. It’s such a shift from her aggressive prodding moments before that Nia wonders if the fraxure wasn’t as oblivious to Xander’s sudden emotional turn as she thought.

Was Kry distracting her?

“Nia,” Felix says, catching her attention again. He gives her a small smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just…accidentally brought up some unhappy memories for Xander.”

Nia wilts, her heart sinking in her chest. She really likes Xander—she didn’t mean to upset him! Why would learning about his aura have upset him so much? Is this what Val was warning her about, about using her powers responsibly? But she didn’t do it without asking. He wanted to know! Should she have not told him what she saw? But then she would have had to lie to him!

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Nia whimpers.

Felix’s expression softens. “I know you didn’t. And he does too, don’t worry. But maybe for tonight you should head back to Maggie’s. C’mon, I’ll walk with you.”

Nia opens her mouth to protest—she doesn’t want to just leave without talking to Xander or at least apologizing to him! But Felix is already at the doorway to the hall, beckoning her with a twitch of his fluffy tail. He doesn’t seem angry with her, but it’s clear that he’s nudging her to leave for today. Feeling upset and a lot less proud of her aura abilities, Nia grabs her book and follows him out the door, shuffling up the guild’s stairs and hoping Maggie doesn’t ask her what’s wrong.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #wartortle #fraxure #luxio #pokemon #pmd seekers of soul #riolu #kirlia #tesha draws #tesha writes

192 notes · View notes

embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 06

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, music snob!Remus, Author’s notes: song used: Come Together by The Beatles

BTW: I always try to use little to no physical descriptions for the reader insert but I did add that the reader has some sort of hair. I didn't mention hair texture or length (Sorry if ur bald). My taller readers, I only mentioned that you were shorter than Remus (no height was given)

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6: ABBA vs. The Beatles

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

“Merlin’s beard! Binns is a sadist; torturing students must be his only pastime,” James yawned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to the History of Magic. Today, lessons were dreadful and muddy. Professor Binns’ monotone voice filtered throughout the class, rambling on and on about various dates in history. Hardly anyone paid attention before he started calling on students. Annoyed, Binns would continue to reiterate his inquiry until the student(s) got the correct answer, no matter how long it took.

A sadist indeed.

Although Binns wasn’t the sole reason why the class was pathetic, but rather the lack of any practical work was simply a joke. The class only reminded Y/N of her short time in public school. Geometry? Utterly useless for any daily life interactions. To make matters worse, Binns surprised the class with a pop-quiz and two chapters of reading. Luckily, he had an ounce of mercy in his ghostly body and dismissed the class early for lunch.

James continued, “I would rather fight a dragon than — Woah! Your hair! “

She glanced to look at herself through the reflection in James’ glasses. Her hair, which originally was emerald green, was now turning into a golden yellow. The different colours clashed together boldly.

“You look like the banner for the Holyhead Harpies,” Peter said, striding up to James’ side.

“The Holyhead Harpies,” James said dreamily, “They’re probably one of my favourite teams.

Remus, who had been trailing behind Peter jumps in, “You only like them because they’re all women, you wanker.” He turns to Peter, his hand shooting up to the side of his head, massaging small circles into his temples, “Why’d you get him going?”

James became insufferable whenever someone or something mentioned Quidditch. Not only would he boast about his abilities as a Chaser, but he seemingly was a never-ending encyclopedia about Quidditch. It only worsened as November neared, the start of the new Quidditch season was approaching.

One time Y/N found herself stuck listening to him babble about Ireland winning the world cup for about thirty minutes. She didn’t have the heart to stop him, though. Nobody listened to his rants and he could hardly contain his excitement. How could she tell him she wasn’t interested?

A monstrous smirk etched its way onto his face, “Caught me.”

“Be anymore of a predator would ya, Prongs?”

“Hey! That’s not the only reason why I like them. Did you forget their victory in 1953 against the Heidelberg Harriers? Their strategy was blood-fucking-brilliant. They’re legendary! My father was there to see it in person. Lucky bastard. He told me…”

His voice fades into the background as Y/N catches Remus’ eyes. A glint of mischief shined through them before he forced a fake pitiful smile. He mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to her before looping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, discreetly leaving James’ side and out of the classroom.

That sly, slippery bastard.

"— and did I mention that their seeker was one of the most sought out —”

“Wait, James.”

He abruptly pauses, waiting patiently for her to continue. She leads them out into the corridor and towards the great hall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off like that, but when is my hair going back to normal?”

Y/N instantly regretted mentioning her hair. There was no trace of a smile on James. His shoulders slumped a bit and his walking even staggered. “Godric, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I thought it would have returned back to normal by now. I’ve been creating reversal spells — even started asking Moony to help.”

“Moony?”

“Remus.”

“Another one of your nicknames?”

“It’s not a nickname! It’s a brotherhood — a pack!”

“Oh, sorry Prongs,” she drawled, a sarcastic smile on her face, “If I didn’t know you I would assume you were an asshole.”

“What? How?!”

“You go around calling yourself a marauder, the king of Quidditch and now Prongs. Seems pretty assholely.”

James’ mouth opens before closing again, repeating the process several times.

“Plus, you pull silly pranks every day.”

He chuckles, “Oi! You helped us with that itching idea!”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, “Touché.”

To this, James shakes his head, directing the conversation back to the Holyhead Harpies. Inwardly, Y/N wanted to whack him with a broomstick.

They were among the first students to reach the Great Hall, aside from students who had a free or were excused early by Professor Binns. None of the girls were there yet. Unfortunately, Marlene was held back by Binns, so Y/N was left to sit beside James who sat opposite to Remus, Peter and Sirius.

She had been trying her best to avoid Sirius whenever she could. It was clear he didn’t like her. He never laughed whenever she made a joke, he hardly noticed her, he never praised her, even if she tried to compliment him. He was just rude for no apparent reason. The rest of the marauders and girls knew this, although they preferred not to comment about the obvious, strained relationship (which they didn’t even know the reason for. Granted, Y/N wasn't quite sure herself. Was it the rejection, he just didn't like her or is just an ass?).

Although, ignoring and avoiding him proved to be extremely challenging. Y/N was glued to Lily’s hip ever since the Sorting Ceremony. It also didn’t help that if you were with one marauder, another one was sure to follow. She and James started to spend more time with each other, and by extension, she was obligated to be around at least one other marauder. With the addition of study sessions with Remus, it was inevitable.

Surprisingly, Sirius hadn’t made any snarky remarks, excluding dirty looks, he was being… nice — nicer to her. The action was a stark contrast from his previous behaviour and she speculated a few reasons why:

Most likely, James or Lily, she assumed the former, said something to him. Since his little spat with James at breakfast a few weeks ago, Sirius was tight-lipped ever since.

Maybe he was done being a prick, deciding to stop by himself after realizing he was a prick.

Went through something personal, it stopped, and his behaviour improved.

Minutes after the bell rang, students began to trickle in for lunch. The comfortable chatter rose as Y/N finished eating an apple. Everyone seemed pleased when James’ Quidditch lecture was interrupted as hundreds of owls streamed in, packages and letters dropping into the laps of students. She hadn’t expected anything considering her owl, Celeste, didn’t drop anything off since the first week of October. However, today she fluttered down between the bread and fruit bowls, dropping off several letters and a small parcel onto Y/N’s plate, pecking at the bread crumbs on the table. She tore the letter open, inside it said:

Dear Y/N,

Are you still having a hard time with Charms? If so, perhaps I find some textbooks and send them over.

Don’t slack off this year. Send me a letter whenever you have the chance. (Make sure to tell Celeste to be quieter next time. You know I can, and never will get used to the owls.)

Mom

Her mother finally wrote to her. A sense of joy flooded her body as she placed the letter back down on the oak table. A part of her wondered if Celeste was dropping off her letters to the wrong house, the one back in Toronto as her mother never wrote back. She opened the next letter, immediately recognizing the messy scrawl:

October 19, 1975

Y/N! I thought you replaced me with one of your brits, but a false alarm, your letters just take a while to arrive. Must be tiring for Celeste to travel to and from Scotland then America and back. You know, whenever people see her fly in, they still recognize her.

Are you doing anything for Halloween? We’re throwing another dance. Going to be alone this year now that I can’t force you to come. I guess I’ll just watch half the school dry hump each other while I smuggle in firewhiskey.

How’s it going over there? I heard from a few students, even read in the papers about the war. It’s getting pretty crazy over here. Teachers have been meeting and trying to prevent students and parents from losing their shit. My mom has been worried too, writing to me like a lunatic and I’m not even in the UK. The MACUSA have been keeping quiet but they were caught having meetings with counsellors from the Ministry of Magic. Even heard that Jenkins is stepping down. If it keeps getting out of hand here, I can’t imagine what it must be like at Hogwarts. I truly thought the war was dying down, I was wrong. Keep your wand close. Surely, you’ll get away with a hex or two.

Until next time

Matthew G.

So engrossed in her new environment, her old life slipped to the back of her mind. There was a detachment from her reality compared to the one at home. A pang of guilt hit her, swallowing her up from the inside out until another pang hit, loneliness. If she easily forgot everyone, would anyone remember her? None of her old friends, apart from Matthew, had made a move to contact her since she left.

Often thinking about writing them first, she had to remind herself if they wanted to, they would. Especially with the knowledge that people still recognized Celeste.

Was she forgettable and if so, was it karma for forgetting too?

It put a mechanical vice grip on her heart, applying just enough pressure to be a constant reminder. With every beat, it tightened more and more.

Looking around the table, she saw her peers huddle in groups, familiar laughter ringing throughout. So noisy, so taunting. She may have been friends with Lily, Dorcas, James or even Marlene, but they had their own friends. Friendships that had years to develop before she came. She had only known them for less than two months.

Forgettable.

How hilarious, she thought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice cooed into her ear, “Are you okay?”

She hummed back absentmindedly.

James wore a concerned expression, his eyes knitted together, one raised higher than the other like it always does when he was worried. The look he shot her suggested he wasn’t convinced, although he didn’t press; instead opting to stir the conversation. “So, who wrote to you?”

“A friend and my mom —”

A snort so loud that it caused the rest of the marauders, random onlookers and even Lily (who had a look of pure disgust on her face) turned towards them. “What did you say?”

“I got a few letters?”

“No!” He bellowed, “Who sent you them?”

“My friend and my mom —”

Nearly choking on his sandwich, James clutched his stomach laughing. Laughing so hard he has to grip the table to prevent falling off the hall bench. "Haha! Mom?! MOM?” He mocked in a poor American accent, “What the fuck is mom? It’s MUM. Bollocks!”

“We say vitamin.”

“It’s VIT-A-MIN! Who says VIGHT-A-MIN?” Without a pause, James presses his entire body onto her shoulder, smushing her before grabbing the letter her mother sent her. His eyes scanned across the pages before hitting a certain word. “Back home? Maple trees? Where did you use to live exactly?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?! You don’t mean those snowy gits?” At this, Peter and Remus snort under their breaths. Even Lily had to force down a smile.

Staring deadpanned at him, in an unamused voice, “Really?”

“You are a bundle of surprises! I thought you lived… I’m not sure. I assumed somewhere like New Hork.”

“York,” Lily corrects.

“Tomato, tomato,” he jokes, playfully batting his eyes at Lily before biting into his sandwich, “You do live in London, right?”

“Right.”

James takes a moment, letting the conversation die down before he quickly glances at Y/N again. An undecipherable expression crosses his face before it’s promptly replaced with elation, “I take back anything negative I’ve said about Canada. They have an amazing Quidditch rooster. Have you gone to any of their games?”

A low grumble of sighs follows at the mention of Quidditch from James. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus shake his head and sighed dejectedly.

“Nah, I’m a New-Maj, remember? My mom — “

“Mum —”

“ — sorry, Mum — hardly understands the wizarding world, let alone what Quidditch is.”

His eyes were wide, whimsical, as a hand flew to his chest dramatically, “Rubbish! Bloody ridiculous! You’ve never seen a real Quidditch game? One day, I swear I’ll bring you to one! Or you can bring me to Canada one day and we can watch a home game!”

As James continued to rant, Y/N’s mind slowly drifted back to the bitterness in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she borrowed Lily’s quill and a few sheets of parchment, scribbling down letters in response.

Mom,

I’m fine with Charms, you don’t need to send anything. And don’t worry, I’ve been studying for my OWLs.

Love you, write soon.

The next letter was addressed to Matthew:

Matty Matt,

Of course, I didn’t replace you… yet.

Another dance? You would think the students’ protest last year would have influenced the professors this time. I guess it’s time for you to get wasted. I didn’t tell you last time but I think I’m going to a party. A friend of mine is throwing it and I know he’s going to force me to come no matter what. He briefly mentioned costumes and drinks. Plus, there’s going to be some kind of prank that I may or may have not been a part of? Sounds cool right?

Yeah, I’d say it’s been bad up here. I don’t know much about what's going on outside of school, though. The professors are hiding it well. I didn’t even hear about Jenkins stepping down. Keep me updated.

Until next time

She sealed the letters before sending Celeste off again, “Be quieter when you drop off the letters, yeah?”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It must be her lucky day.

The ringing of the bell went off, signalling the end of class. Professor Flitwick asked the students to stay behind so he could hand out quizzes the students completed on Monday in preparation for their upcoming test on Growth and Reductor charms the following Tuesday.

It was never a good sign when a professor flips your test over to prevent other students from seeing their mark. Flipping it over at a downwards angle, Flitwick handed Y/N her quiz.

Turning it over nervously, a tight coil formed in the pit of her stomach. A large P was plastered on the top right corner in bold red ink. She studied hard for this too. Angrily, she shoved her work into her bag and left the class. This was the third poor she'd gotten in a row. She should have told her mother she needed those Charm books.

“I swear I’m going mad! Her brother is a complete cow! He even — are you listening?”

She looks at the girl beside her, Marlene. Her glossed over, doe eyes must have served as an answer before the blonde shook her head.

“Sorry, distracted,” she mumbles, before forcing out a fake-happy tone, “Continue your story! I wanna hear!”

“Hey,” Marlene says in a softer voice, “If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instinctively. She felt bad spacing out during Marlene’s story but her mind was running through and under hoops. The last thing any fifth year student needed was to fall behind in their classes, let alone feeling like nobody cared about them.

At that moment, she wished she was wrapped away in red and gold blankets to wallow in her self-pity party, away from prying eyes. She could feel the burning sensations of tears building up.

Dammit.

Y/N looked out the window to her left. The sky was melting with the warm hues of reds and yellows while the other half was being slowly engulfed into a cloak of twilight. Even from here, she could feel the cool air seeping in from the windows making her tug on the sleeves of her robes.

She continued, “I’m just tired — been a long day. I’m going to take a nap before dinner. See you.”

Judging by the look on Marlene and Lily’s face, guilt riddles her body. They both look sympathetic. The pity only made Y/N feel disgusting. In all honesty, Y/N will care later. Right now wasn’t the time and she desperately needed some shut-eye.

Before she left the room, she overheard them talking.

“What’s up with her?”

“Dunno.”

Great.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Sleep did little to ease her thoughts.

The same uneasiness she felt on the train ride to Hogwarts settled deep into her bones again. She thought she was past this. The worrying about friends, missing home, feeling alone, failing class, stressing about her future. The rational part of her brain knew it was just one silly quiz (and old shitty friends), but knowing herself, if she were to continue to have this mindset, she would only fail in the end.

Dinner ended and Y/N belligerently climbed up the stairs towards the library to attend today’s study session. The Charms quiz threw her into a loop and it was better not to dwell on it, opting to rather use her time for something useful.

Her marks improved significantly since she attended her first session two weeks ago. The last couple of assignments and quizzes she handed in that she worked on during the groups were some of her best work, ever. Additionally, her ability to retain information was improving at astonishing rates and she found herself participating in lessons more often. Unfortunately, she started to doubt her abilities again.

There weren’t as many students as usual. Perhaps it was because of the Quidditch meeting for all teams tonight, or because nobody wanted to spend their time in a library Friday night. She assumed it was the latter.

Although, the same student with black hair from Slytherin was there; tucked away in his usual corner. He was always there. Whether it was the study sessions, another OWL or NEWT student or he simply just enjoyed the library, Y/N could always rely on him sitting there in his little nook.

In the far back, surrounded by tall bookshelves sat Remus. Another student, a first or second year, judging by their height, seemed to be asking him a question, rapidly writing down something on a piece of parchment whilst they walked away. Remus leaned back in the brown chair, his right leg was folded over the other as he stretched.

She spent over twelve hours minimum with Remus directly since the first session, minus the time he was around James and the girls. Perhaps she only started to notice afterwards but she swore Remus wasn’t around this much before. Now, he was everywhere.

In the past couple of weeks she’d gotten to know him, she made a mental list in her head of him:

1. Remus loves sweaters. They weren’t flashy, seemingly preferring to wear ones with small designs, stripes or a solid colour. He wore green the most. He also wore cardigans. Two, in particular, he wore the most; one was white and the other was a muted brown. They were big and hung off his loose frame, the pockets were often stuffed with books, rumpled parchment and his wand.

2. He’s a coffee addict. He drank it in the morning, the afternoon, at the study session and sometimes with meals at dinner. He loved to dump pounds of sugar, so if he only drank black coffee, it usually meant he was in a bad mood. James even joked that he became Sirius whenever he drank black coffee, because haha! Get it? It’s BLACK coffee!

3. He frequented the library whenever he wasn’t with the rest of the marauders. He enjoyed poetry, wrote post-it notes after post-it notes to annotate his favourite parts. He even slept there from time to time, not without having to persuade Pince to not give him detention.

As if Remus magically sensed her, he took a large inhale before he stopped stretching, opening his eyes to look at her. A small smile was plastered on each other’s faces. He stuck up a few fingers to wave at her, motioning her to come over.

“Hi Y/N. I thought you didn’t come on Fridays?”

“I don’t but I have a test, Charms, Tuesday.”

“Oh, well I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks for the offer, Professor Lupin, but just being down here will help me focus.”

A scarlet blush settled on his face at the mention of his tutoring. “Well come sit with me then.”

Pushing the chair out of the way, she sat down beside him, pulling out her cassette player and earbuds along with her notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus staring at the player curiously.

“Do you want to listen?”

“If you don't mind. I didn’t know you could use these here.” Picking it up, he turned the rectangular device.

“If record players work here, why not this?”

She hands him an earbud, alongside a small collection of other tapes she had on hand.

“Choose whatever you want to listen to.”

Without much thought, he pressed the play button. The upbeat tune of Waterloo by ABBA trickled into their ears. Y/N bobbed her head up and down before the song was suddenly stopped.

A sour grimace sat on Remus’ face before their eyes met, his nose upturned slightly.

“Why’d you stop it?”

“I hate ABBA.”

“What!?”

“I just don’t like their cheesy disco-pop-esk sound. They sound generic and random words are thrown in when they don’t add to the song.”

“Jeez— never met anyone who hated them that much.”

A ghost of a smile appeared before he flicked through her collection of tapes. He picked up Abbey Road by The Beatles. Opening the player up, he slid out Waterloo. With a click and the press of a button, Come Together played.

“So you hate ABBA but not The Beatles? Benny and Bjorn said they were influenced by them!”

“Keyword: Influenced; which is just another word for a shitty knock-off version.”

4. Remus Lupin is apparently a music snob.

“Well, I think both are good.”

“Respectfully, I disagree with you.”

“Whatever you say, professor.”

"I've been thinking a bit, why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not just stay at your old school?"

The sudden switch of topics threw her into a loop. “Wasn’t by choice. My mom’s a doctor and got a position here. It was too good to turn down. But it’s not bad. There’s less wizarding laws.”

He nods his head, "I'm assuming you have dual citizenship?"

"Mhm."

About a half an hour passed as she sighed for the umpteenth time before putting down her quill. Her chair scraped back noisily as Y/N’s hand balled up into a tight fist, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm. She’d been flicking through her notes, the words all blended.

At this rate, if History of Magic didn’t exist, Charms would surely be her least favourite class.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She was at a loss, this was the third time Remus had offered to help and he was persistent. She felt horrible that she was taking up his time to help her on a stupid Charms test.

He continued, “If you think bothering me is an issue, it’s not. I run the sessions on Friday. It’s my job.”

“Fine, but there has to be something I can do in return.”

“Hmm,” Remus pondered for a second, “How about this, I tutor you in Charms and in return you give me your Potions notes? I'm dreadful at it.”

“Deal.”

“Great. Before we start, is there anything in particular that you have questions on?”

Silently tapping on the quiz she received today, Remus snatched it and quickly scanned over her answers and Professor Flitwick’s notes.

“I see what happened. You know, the curriculum taught at Ilvermorny is different. That’s probably why you can’t understand some of this shit.” He cleared his throat, “So as we know, the growth charm increases the size of your intended target…”

His voice, like a light switch, changed instantly. Instead of his softer deep, raspier voice, it became commanding and steady. He never stumbled over his words and articulated his points elegantly. She found herself enraptured by him, understanding why he was in charge of the study groups.

Eventually, Remus takes a pause, “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. You know, you’re really good at this. No matter how much I asked Flitwick or even Lily I could never get it.”

A large blush bloomed on the apples of his cheeks before he shyly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I’m not that good.”

“No time for modesty, Professor Lupin!”

“Okay, okay! So here, do you see what went wrong? There would be a reaction with those two spells if —”

A boy, small, most likely a second year, stood at the foot of the shared table holding a large red and gold book. His hair, dark ginger, similar to Lily’s, was cut short. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued to stare at the two.

“... Um, hi. You're Remus — right?”

“Yup. Did you need help with something?”

“Yes! I’m having trouble with the Transfiguration spell, beetle into button.”

A look of understanding passed through his face before Remus turns to look at her, “Duty calls. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, take your time.”

It was not quick. Understandably, very few were successful at the ginger’s age to perform the spell, but thirty minutes passed and the second year still didn’t understand the basic concepts. No matter how many times Remus had reiterated his point differently, the boy couldn’t retain it.

“I just don’t get it.”

“You learned this last year, it's a quick revision. I’m not sure what part you’re talking about. Look, do not wiggle or twirl your wand left, direct it towards the right. You have to picture the spell in your head before saying the incantation.”

He guided the boy's hand steadily before performing the spell himself.

“I don’t understand!” The boy whined.

He sighed, “Then we keep trying —”

“It’s too hard. Why are they teaching this crap anyway?”

“Could you stop complaining?” He snapped, closing his eyes before he realized what he’d just done. “I’m sorry about that. I’m… just tired. I can’t help you anymore, though. You should ask someone else,” Remus said brusquely, his eyes unnerving as he stared at the child. As a result, he yelped out a ‘thank you,’ rushing off in the opposite direction.

The muscles in his jaw tensed under the soft glow of the table lamps. There was a pale red tint rimming his eyes and he looked visibly paler than normal. Irritated, he bounced his knee rapidly, up and down, before looking out the large window beside them. The sky was mostly cloudy. Only the peak of the silvery moon appeared. A sliver was missing before it was fully complete.

He closed his eyes, before breathing in. His posture once stiffened, completely relaxed before a flimsy smile reappeared on his face, returning his attention to Y/N.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

“If you’re tired we can stop.”

“No, s’okay. I’m fine — really.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, adding to her list:

5. Remus was always so hard to read.

147 notes · View notes

stellacaerulea · 3 years

Text

Miraland After Dark

In this post, I will write a few canon-compliant headcanons the game cannot get into for rating reasons.

Given its nature, beware of potentially triggering and spoilery (no pictures) content.

Under the cut.

The Nations

Ninir

The nation's obsession with beauty makes it so that cases like Ashley's are ridiculously common. So while the canon says orphanages are overcrowded with abandoned "defective" children (Sweet Dreams Lullaby), it's not hard to infer that quite a number of people don't even get that far in life - Ashley's fire itself was canonically a case of attempted suicide (v2c3), so it stands to reason she was far from the first, let alone the last.

While as a mostly artistic nation Ninir probably has recreative drugs legalized, the indiscriminate use of controlled medicine like appetite inhibitors, strong antidepressants and anaesthetics is probably a widespread health issue.

Even though Ninir highly values beauty, Lolory's story states that even being the Starheaven Swan is not enough for a person to make an easy living (v1c6, Daisy's Diary). While she made it big as a model, a substantial number of people is likely to have to resort to prostitution...

... Which is probably very popular for both locals and tourists because of Ninir's adoration for beauty. Likewise, most workers in Miraland's equivalent of OF is probably from there.

Other people are probably not even that lucky - Ninir is likely to be a hub for human trafficking, both importing and exporting slaves from other nations for all sort of work. Most exportees are "ugly" people who would have trouble finding a job anywhere in Ninir and are lured in by a too-good-to-be-true work agency and sent elsewhere to do menial work, while most importees are beautiful young people - particularly girls - sent from other nations to fuel Ninir's entertainment underworld.

Ruin

The little we unfortunately know about Ruin's society states that there is some sort of caste system between artificial lifeforms and humans (Into the Ruins). While it's obvious, considering the machines have some sort of sentience, it's still unfortunate.

This same caste system has Caprico expelled once he replaces one of his legs with a prosthetic. While transhumanism irl is a source for immense debate, their society's reaction to it leads us to believe that Ruin is just a high-tech version of fundamentalist Pigeon.

The isolation of Ruin in an industrial archipelago the other side of the planet makes it hard to reach anything coming from the mainland, like food and people. This way, cultural exchange rests at an absolute minimum, with Ruin people being seen as weirdos by the mainland and people from the mainland seen as stupid savages by Ruin.

A common issue among real life developers and engineers is burnout due to stress. In a society that concentrates most of the electronics development in Miraland, most of the nation would be in dire need of therapy.

Said absurd levels of stress coupled with Ruin's natural dependency on robotics and electronics makes digital entertainment extremely popular, further isolating the individuals from each other...

... Which leads to a severe drop on natality rates within Ruin borders. Most people prefer to spend time on games or, in case more physical pleasures are required, purpose-made machinery, which, they believe, saves them the stress of maintaining a relationship.

As a result, most young people in Ruin Island are the rare immigrants or, more rarely, tourists looking for shiny neon lights.

Wasteland

For being one of the most sparsely populated regions in Miraland, Wasteland is probably heavily exploited for its natural resources, that are rare elsewhere in the world.

The more traditionally tribal ways of the several ethnicities in Wasteland are constantly seen by the other people in Miraland as primitive and barbaric, despite the probable modern levels of technology within its general society. As such, Wastelanders are a constant target of prejudice by the rest of Miraland even within Wasteland borders.

As an effect of it, the poorer regions of the nation - especially those in the desertic mountains bordering Apple Federation - have colossal criminal rates.

One of the more common crimes in such regions is drug trafficking - Wasteland's vast nature provides several different plant and funghi-based drugs popular both internally for ritual purposes and externally for recreative purposes, especially in Ninir, and the mountainous region makes it hard to track smugglers and their stashes.

Another extremely common crime would be forced sex work - as mentioned previously, Wastelanders are probably seen as barbaric people inferior to the "civilized" nations northeast of it, so Wasteland girls are seen as little more than an exotic delicacy by some people. And as such, there are quite a few people, both in and out of Wasteland, willing to make money out of it.

Pigeon

It's already known that Pigeon is a theocracy ruled by the light elves, that see themselves as the race closest to God. We also know they see themselves as higher than both humans and the other elven races (Elves' Elegy and too many other reflections to count). With that said, it's highly likely that crimes are judged differently between elves and humans in some sort of apartheid style.

Not a long time ago, Pigeon government - read: the clergy - was strictly against technology, going as far as to sabotage a power generator made by their own queen (Past and Beyond). While Pigeon capital seems to have modernised to modern standards ever since, there probably are very influent anti-tech parties in positions of power, actively preventing smaller cities from evolving and isolating them from the rest of Miraland.

Pigeon is probably one of the nations with the oldest population in Miraland, if not the oldest. Not because of the natality rate, which is probably high due to religious views on birth control, but because the heavy moral restrictions have most young people flee to the neighbouring Apple Federation as soon as they can.

A very recurrent issue within Pigeon are half-elves. Elves see human people as inferior and as such, little more than toys to have fun with. Coupled with the aforementioned lack of control measures, several unwanted pregnancies are expected, which cannot be legally interrupted. The resulting rare - but visibly growing - population of half- and quarter-elves are seem as undesirable by both humans and full-blooded elves and cast to low positions in Pigeon society (Song of Snow).

Cloud

While Cloud society as a whole is mostly pacific with more uniformly spiritual ways, things get a bit more chaotic in the individual level. For example, we already know for a fact that some people sell their children for workplaces (mm3). Given the more traditional way of Cloud culture, it's not much of a stretch to believe child labour is somewhat commonly used in factories and large workshops, besides theaters.

The pacific and orderly style of the Cloudian society strongly favours opioids instead of hallucinogens, which makes it one of the main black market exports from the nation.

The existence of mafia-like hubs both in Azureink (Midnight Impressions) and Cloud Capital (v2c4-5) makes us believe that organized crime is a common issue in Cloud, especially in the northern regions, where the proximity with the North Kingdom facilitates access to weaponry.

North

Speaking of North, from the get go we have the statement that child soldiers are far from unheard of (Mercenary Queen).

While North is even more sparsely populated than Wasteland, not only is the region a very literal icy wasteland, but the constant conflicts between the several warlords that control the territories that compose the nation makes it extremely difficult to invest on anything other than war industries - and even that is too much of a risk for most investors, which makes it so that most of the workforce (including children) is employed as farmers or soldiers.

The politically unstable nature of the region makes freedom of speech and information nearly a legend. Every warlord that comes to rule a certain region implants their own mis/information network to make sure rival warlords or the people don't pose a challenge to their rule.

Apple

As we already know, Rosset is a modern transportation hub built inside a dome and over a depleted mine, which houses the slums (v1c5), which reveals two facts. The first of it is the economic inequality in the city, that is harsh enough to drive people into living in an abandoned mine underground.

The second issue is the dome itself - it was made to prevent the pollution of the city industries to reach the rest of the planet, which leads us to believe that industrial activity in Apple is such a major source of environmental damage that physically isolating the pollution sounded like a good idea.

While larger cities like Lodden seem like developed places with low criminality, most worldwide criminal organizations are run from its several penthouses. From there, drugs are dealt, people are smuggled and wars are declared anywhere else in the continent.

Speaking of drugs, the several different people that compose Apple's society make a variety of drugs have common use, although synthetic stimulants are more used both to help cope with the common workplace stress and as "extra inspiration" for artblocked designers.

Meanwhile, several "model agencies" are little but fronts for human trafficking, both receiving and sending pretty people to sell their bodies elsewhere. Apple's main "commercial partner" in this business is, obviously, the neighbouring Ninir, but occasionally girls are brought in from Cloud and Wasteland to serve in Apple's brothels.

A decent amount of Apple's riches come not from the treasures left behind by Pigeon during the independence, but from wars financed in the North Kingdom, where warlords are financed to conquer natural resources, especially the mineral reserves that fuel Apple's advanced industry.

#shining nikki #headcanons #it took me three days to write it #long post #miraland is essentially a sugar-coated shithole

17 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “On a Hill.”

Still working on my ability to write fluff. Hope I am getting better at it :) Hope you all have a great day.

Sunny marched down the hall with great purpose, the words of her brother ringing in her head, “You know Sunny, if you want to do something special for him, why not try doing something human. I mean fighting is all well and good for Drev, but I wonder if he gets tired of getting the crap kicked out of him on a normal basis.”

Her brother was right of course: Adam did sort of have a habit of catering to her needs and wants rather than his own. It did seem more than fair to give him what he wanted for a change.

So, she had done some research, going around the ship and asking the other humans about what they considered to be special. Of course she threw a lot of ideas out on principle because she knew Adam enough to know that he wasn’t going to be interested. It was, surprisingly, Maverick, dateless, lone-wolf Maverick that made the suggestion that caught Sunny’s attention.

“Come on, what better way to a man’s heart than through his stomach. Take him somewhere cool beside that and you’ve got him hook line and sinker.” Of course Sunny didn’t understand the metaphor, but she thought she understood the feeling of it.

So, with her plan all pulled together, she made her way up to the captain’s quarters and knocked lightly on the door.

There was a muffled yip from inside followed by a voice, “Oh Calm down. It’s nobody you don't know. COME IN, DOORS UNLOCKED!”

She pressed the panel to the side of the door, and it hissed open. She walked into the large room leaning down to pet waffles as she ran over tail wagging.

Adam was leaning back on his bed, UNSC issued grey shirt and grey camouflage ACU pants.

In his left hand he was holding a book, turning the pages with his right hand.

Sunny squinted at the cover slowly sounding out the words to the human alphabet.

War of the worlds

On the opposite wall, the TV was turned low with some sort of vintage zombie movie playing in the background.

“I thought you were a sci fi geek, not a fantasy nerd.” She said walking over to stand over him.” He set down his open book on the side table, “What is more sci-fi than zombies? Some sort of strange disease turns everyone into cannibals. Besides sci fi and fantasy are the same thing, the only difference between them is that sci fi attempts to explain its magic with logic and science, while fantasy creates completely new systems for the way it does things.”

She shrugged, “HAs it ever occurred to you that you are commanding a fleet of spaceships under the command of a galactic council of planets, and you're dating an alien. Does it really get more sci-fi than your life?”

“Leave my nostalgia alone, once upon a time I didn’t think any of that was going to happen…. Especially that last one.” His eyes dropped down from her face focusing in on the object she held in one of her right hands, “That’s a big ass ammo can, what are you doing with it?”

“You’ll see.” She said wryly. Walking over to his closet, pulling out an extra blanket tossing it to him.

He nearly fumbled it as he stood head tilted to the side with confusion, “What is all this?”

“You’ll see, now come on.”

She led him out of the room and down towards the docking bay where a shuttle had already been prepared for them.

“Do I need weapons?” He wondered nerouvly stepping into the shuttle.

“No weapons needed.”

“That is very unusual coming from you.”

“Just pilot the damn shuttle will you.” She said taking the copilot seat next to him and setting the large ammo canister down on the floor. He did as she ordered, sliding into his seat and pulling on a headset, hands flying through the preflight checklist without so much as a thought.

“So where are we going.”

“Just followed the pre programmed instructions.”

He glanced over at her, his eyebrow raised, “You make me nervous. You know that?”

She frowned and waved a hand, “Oh calm down, I promise it’s nothing big. You’ll like it.”

He shook his head, but finally followed her instructions, lifting the shuttle from the airlock bay and out through the opening airlock doors while lights blinked red over their heads. He followed the instructions to the letter, coming into low orbit with the nearby glowing planet.

They had gone and done a preliminary search of the planet only yesterday determining that it was more than habitable and rather temperate. Plants were already being put together for some kind of scientific colony in it’s northern hemisphere.

“Alright, alien planet is cool.” he said, dropping them into the atmosphere with a sudden rattling, and an eruption of flames out the front window.

That soon dissipated as he slowed the shuttle, and expertly landed them on the pinnacle of a tall spacious hill with a pretty awesome view if she did say so herself.

He shut off the shuttle and stepped outside allowing the warm air to wash over them with a hiss. Adam tilted his head back, nose raised as he took in a deep breath and sigh, “Wow.” he muttered.

Sunny didn’t have as good a sense of smell as Adam did, but even she could detect the clear crisp air and the slight tang of dewdrops on moist soil. The smell made her hungry as they walked a little further onto the top of the hill, where a strange tree waited for them.

The tree itself was not dissimilar to earth trees, maybe twenty feet tall with a narrow black trunk and spongy yellow blobs sticking to it’s branches blocking out a distant glowing sun. Together they turned to look at the view, and Sunny hummed with pleasure as the human stood open mouthed and gawking.

The ground they stood on was a light greyish blue in color with little yellow flowers poking up every now and again. The tree they stood next to was the only lone tree upon the hill which sloped down into a wide- rambling valley. Purple and blue plant matter made up much of the ground while yellow topped trees added a sharp contrast. The sky above them was a deep blue, almost too dark to be a morning sky, though the sun shone bright through its murky blue haze. And then there were the planet's rings appearing as Massive white arches in the sky which plunged down below the horizon. A crystal blue/purple lake glowed at the center of the valley, reflecting a mirror image of the sun and the rings in the sky above.

“Holy, shit, Adam muttered.”

“Nice view, huh.”

Adam rubbed his eyes and shook his head a few times as if he wasn’t believing what he was seeing, “No kidding.”

Leaving him to gawk for a few seconds, she grabbed the blanket from under his arm and then awkwardly worked to spread it out over the grass under the shade of their lone tree.

She was having trouble, but just managed to flatten the blanket out most of the way when Adam turned to look at her. He paused and raised an eyebrow again, smiling a little, “What are you doing?”

She smoothed out one last wrinkle and then took a seat on the blanket legs stretched out in front of her, “What does it look like.”

He walked over as she plopped the ammo can down between them.

He shook his head, “I’m still not entirely sure.”

Sunny reached out and flipped open the latches to the large canister popping open the lid. Adam peered inside and all at once began to laugh. The smile on his face was enough to tell that it wasn’t a mocking laugh or anything. He just seemed genuinely surprised.

He reached inside and pulled out a water bottle still laughing, “An Ammo can?”

She shrugged, “I am told a picnic basket is usually preferable, but we didn’ have one of those on the ship.”

Adam continued to laugh shaking his head in either disbelief delight or both, “What prompted all this.” He asked motion towards the ammo can, now picnic basket.

She shrugged, “I have been made aware that we do a lot of things that are very Drev, but not a lot of things that are particularly human, so I thought maybe I should do something human for you.”

He still had a smile on his face, but this time he shook his head resting one hand over hers, “Its thoughtful of you, Sunny, but I was ok with what we were doing.”

She shrugged, “I know you are, but you often let me have my way, so I thought it would be a good way to show you that I care, to do something that I have never done before.”

He smiled and lay back against the blanket a soft breeze tugging at his shirt, “Well consider mission accomplished. This was a pretty great idea.” He cracked his one good eye to look at her, “So, who did you ask?”

Sunny shrugged a bit sheepishly, “it was Maverick’s idea, but I DID go looking for her myself.”

“Maverick? That sly dog, I would never have pegged her as the type to come up with something like this.”

“Yeah she is….. Hmmm… how shall I say.”

“She should have been born Drev. I don’t think she has ever dated anyone but I’m pretty sure she would consider kicking the snot out of someone the perfect way to spend an afternoon.”

“She does have the heart of a Drev.” Sunny said nodding, leaning back on the blanket next to him to stare up at the great rings in the sky above.

Adam chuckled again after a few minutes of silence, “Ammo can.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed again and sat up on one elbow digging through the canister until he came up with a sandwich before sitting himself cross legged on the blanket and taking a bite.

Sunny reached in after him and pulled out an apple.

She liked human fruit, though with apples she had to be careful to avoid the seeds. Humans could probably handle them without too much issue, but she had learned from experience that accidentally ingesting an apple seed made her very, very sick.

Adam was about halfway through his sandwich, when a slight movement from the corner of her eye caught Sunny’s attention. She paused eating her apple mid crunch and turned to look towards the movement.

She paused, eyes widening a little.

“Adam…. Don’t look now, but we have company.”

He paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth and turned his head pausing and staring as she had done as a troop of fuzzy foot and a half tall- bird-ish things came waddling up the hill towards them.

Again at about a foot and a half tall, the creatures walked on two legs like a bird. They had very big fluffy bodies and little heads that sat atop their ample fluff. A short thick beak sat at the front of their faces.

“Stay very still.” Sunny muttered from the corner of her mouth as the little troop of about fifteen creatures waddled up the hill.

They didn’t seem scared of the two strange looking aliens as they approached. Adam, despite Sunny’s warning leaned over to get a better look as one of them moved closer, “what are these?”

The creature was now only a foot or so away from him, and as Sunny watched, it’s small head rose up from it’s fluffy body suspended on the end of it’s long furry neck as it extended and nibbled at Adam’s sandwich.

He let off an exclamation of indignation as he pulled his sandwich away, “Ack!”

As soon as the strange noise came out from his mouth a chorus of other voices followed, “ACK.” As the entire troop parreted the sound back at him.

He was surrounded now on all sides, and from his opposite side another fo the creature’s extended his neck in an attempt to take a bit from his sandwich.

“Hey!” he shouted leaning the other way and huddling closer around his sandwich.

Sunny laughed, watching as the strange troop of birds began curiously pecking at him.

Two of them were pecking at his bootlaces, another was tugging at his pant leg. One of them had crawled into his lap in search of the sandwich, while two others were busy plucking at strands of hair atop his head. He had his hand raised high over his head in order to protect his sandwich.

She continued to laugh as their curiosity led one to stick it’s head down the front of his shirt.

He yelped in surprise.

And the group chorused the sound.

Sunny couldn’t hold back the loud barking laugh that spilled from hier, and just like that the group of them scrambled in fear hiding behind Adam in an unruly mob.

Adam frowned, and turned to look over his shoulder, looking back at Sunny with a frown.

One of the birds poked its head out from behind Adam, and upon seeing her it parroted Adam’s yelp of alarm and hid again, “Why aren’t they all over you?” Adam protested

Sunny snorted, “They can sense the danger.”

Adam frowned, ‘i’m dangerous.”

That made sunny laugh again, “You! You’re a marshmallow and they can sense it!”

Two more heads poked out from around Adam’s back, and the birds slowly began to wadner forward. One of them crawled back onto his lap, while the others moved to their palace at his bootlaces again.

A couple of them wandered over to sunny where they stood in a semi straight line to just stare at her. She stared back

Adam huffed in frustration, and Sunny turned to look at him, holding his sandwich above his head again, “I could eat you for lunch if I wanted.” He pointed over at Sunny, “She’s a herbivore.”

They didn’t seem to care, and continued to peck at him.

Eventually he was forced to stand up just to eat his sandwich, while they parroted any noise he made that wasn’t speech.

Sunny stood after he was finished eating, walking a little ways down the hill with him. The troop followed in a line at Adam’s heels, keeping to his left, where Sunny was on his right.

“Leave it to you to immediately make new alien friends.”

He squeezed her hand, “You have to admit, I’m pretty good at it.” He looked up at her out of the corner of his eye, “You being exhibit A.”

“Hmmm, I think you were a bit too good when it comes to me.”

His mouth twitched slightly, “Yeah, I sort of didn’t intend to make you fall head over heels for me.” She smiled openly now, “But who could blame you. I am pretty irresistible.”

Sunny would later insist that she shoved him very lightly, and he was just off balance enough to fall over and go rolling halfway down the hill with a troop of birds squawking after him. She would also deny the fact that she laughed when a few of the birds lost their footing and went rolling down the hill after him.

Of course she could be seen awkwardly running down the hill after to see if he was ok, only to come to a stop laughing again when she found him sprawled on his back with one of the creatures sitting atop his chest and another one pecking at his ears. She carried him back up the hill when he proved unable to walk due to dizziness.

“I thought you were a fighter pilot immune to dizziness.” She said

He crossed his arms just over the bird who had refused to get off his chest, and was not receiving a ride back up the hill courtesy of Sunny, “I AM but only when given warning. Generally I am not launched into flight without my knowledge.”

She snorted as she turfed him down back on the blanket, The bird squawking indignantly,

He frowned at it, “What is this?”

After a few minutes, the others followed, returning to their curious adventuring in his clothes and hair. One of them stuck it’s head into his sleeve without warning pradding him in the armpit and forcing him to make another yelping noise which they soon parroted back at him.

Sunny sat pointing and laughing at him as he suffered, though it could hardly count as suffering considering he was smiling so much, and seemed to be more than enjoying it.

Her sides hurt with how much laughing she was doing as his expense and couldn’t help but take a few pictures of his predicament.

It would have seemed strange to an outsider,, if they had come around a few hours later.

A drev and a human lying atop a blanket. The human using the Drev as a pillow, while both of them were surrounded by strange sleeping birdlike creatures, one resting on top of the human while the others hunkered down around them.

Eyes still closed Sunny asked, “So, despite our…. Uninvited guests. Did I do good.:

Adam didn’t open his eyes either, “This is probably the best time Ive had in the past week ,and that’s saying something.” he paused, “You did good.”

She smiled, “I know, I’m pretty amazing.”

325 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Breathe ~ the Doctor (part 2)

A/n: I’ll just be going by episode now, so there might be quite a bit of overlapping show dialogue. Side note! Song suggestion for this series 1: “Not ALone” by Starkid!

Word Count: 10,000+

Warning: Blood, violence, minor PTSD, heavy emotions, Doctor Who drama (disease, death, dehumanizing clones, human experimentation, possession)

"Where's Rose?" The Doctor asked as Y/n entered the TARDIS alone.

"Taking her time," Y/n joked in response. "Saying goodbye to Mickey and Jackie." The Doctor nodded as Y/n moved to his side, dropping his small bag of things in the corner. "You should teach me how to drive the TARDIS."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Y/n nodded. "I mean, if we're going to be stuck together for... ever." He released a heavy breath and the Doctor snorted softly in amusement. "Seriously though. If I'm stuck with you forever, I think I ought to pick up a few useful things. Starting with driving the TARDIS."

Looking away was obviously an attempt to hide his smile, but he failed. Y/n could hear it in his voice when he spoke. "Okay, I'll teach you then."

Before Y/n could respond, Rose came in. "So, where we headed off to now?"

At that the Doctor changed moods, focusing on the blonde and allowing his shy smile to turn to a grin. "Further than we've ever gone before." He didn't lie. When they landed and exited the TARDIS, both Rose and Y/n were shocked at what they saw. The Doctor took his cue to explain. "It's the year five billion and twenty-three, we're in the galaxy N-87, and this! This is new Earth." He looked around, squinting in the sunlight. Even making that face, he was handsome. This regeneration fit the Doctor well. Y/n couldn't lie about that.

"It's just..." Rose mumbled. "That's just-" Her laughter cut her off.

"Insane," Y/n finished. "Like in the movies of the future. Things that have only been imagined, where we're from." Y/n's breath had been taken away. "It's beautiful."

"Not bad," the Doctor agreed. "Not bad at all."

Rose shook her head, running her hands through her hair to push it out of her face. "That's amazing!" She looped her free arm with Y/n's. "I'll never get used to this. You?"

"I hope not," Y/n sighed contentedly. He was glad to be back in the TARDIS. Back with Rose and the Doctor. He was glad to be away from an Earth that had mostly just hurt him, staring at a magnificent future full of promise and success.

That seemed to ring true with Rose. "I never will, it seems." She let go of Y/n's arm, jumping up and down to state next, "Different ground beneath my feet." She stopped, eyes rising to the clouds. "Different sky." She looked at the Doctor next. "What's that smell?"

The Doctor leaned down to pull grass up, holding it out for the other two to smell. "Apple grass."

"Apple grass," Rose said, her tone mocking normality, as if the idea of apple grass wasn't totally bizarre. What the hell was apple GRASS? Could you eat it, or was it just a smell? Who knew. Y/n laughed at himself as Rose hummed, "It's beautiful." She beamed at the Doctor and Y/n looked over to see her take the Doctor's arm. The Timelord looked down at her and Y/n smiled. They were sweet together. He hoped this little group of theirs lasted a very long time. "Can I just say," Rose began. "Traveling with you. I love it."

There was something in the way she said that. Something that made Y/n cough to cover a laugh. Had he been that obvious? Surely not. "Me too," the Doctor responded brightly. He dropped his arm to take her hand, reaching over with his other hand to grab Y/n's as well. "Come on!" He pulled them into a jog toward a stretch of grass where they all lay out and enjoyed the scenery before them. "So the year five billion, the sun expands, the world gets roasted," The Doctor began.

"That was our first date," Rose joked.

“Not the best,” Y/n piped up.

Rose giggled at that. "I think I preferred the Daleks to Cassandra." Y/n laughed at the memory of the stretched skin parading as the last human, even if it wasn’t as much a bitter memory for Y/n was if was for Rose. “How ridiculous."

"I like to remember it, actually. It was what started it all. What began this whole thing. We even had chips." The trio laughed and reminisced for a second. Long enough for Y/n to see the longing look Rose shot the Doctor. It set off a determination in Y/n. If there was limited time for things to happen between them, Y/n wasn't going to sit back and let them waste it. "Anyway," the Doctor continued before Y/n could come up with anything. "Planet gone, all rocks and dust, but the human race lives on, spreads out across the stars. As soon as the Earth burns up, oh, they get all nostalgic," the Doctor sasses. Y/n's smile falls. "Big revival movement. They find this place." He sat up then. "Same size as the Earth, same air, same orbit, lovely. The call goes out, the humans move in."

The Doctor's words got softer and softer as Y/n zoned out, accidentally ignoring the conversation in favor of remembering something.

There was a weight, in my chest. Not... MY chest, but his chest. A weight that was setting into my body, this body, making everything heavy as well. That heaviness came with darkness, and both seemed to be sinking into his skin.

Screams. The memory of the screams were so fresh and new. They were so bright and painful. Compared to them, and the blood, and the death and loss, the heaviness and darkness was almost a relief.

I see a hand. My hand. His hand. I see it reach out and touch the TARDIS. She's making the sound that has always been her sound, but it's new to these ears. The first time he is hearing it. "Guess this means you're just like me. Last of your kind."

God it hurts even more. That hand moves from the TARDIS, over his heart. My heart. Our heart. I know it's not me, this is not my memory. This isn't happening now. I know this isn't something I experienced, and yet it feels so personal and real. A memory I should not have. An experience that is so clear in my mind, even though it shouldn't exist at all. Scenes of the same story, cut into bits that don't make sense - all that hurt that burns and drags and rips apart. That first night running away, and the many nights afterward. The nights alone. The nights with no one but the TARDIS. I know all of that, but I do not know who I am. It's confusing and it hurts and I can't stand it. I can't stand it! I CAN'T STAND IT!

"Y/n?"

"What?" Even Y/n knows there's something wrong when he speaks. He can hear it even in his own voice. He can hear his voice shake. His voice. He looks down and wiggles his fingers. His fingers. This is the present. The here and now. This is real. This happened to Y/n, of Earth.

Rose reaches out a hand, resting it on Y/n's shoulders. Her face is wrought with concern. "What's wrong?"

How is he supposed to answer that? With the truth? ...I suppose that's all he had. "Sorry, I just find myself a tad distracted today. What did I miss?" A small lie seemed to be nicer. Things had only started to get good, and Y/n didn't know what he'd do if things went south now. After all, how would the Doctor react to all of this? Probably not well.

The Doctor seemed to sense something, but didn't press as Y/n was obviously not in the mindset to talk about it. So he moved on. "Rose mentioned how she wanted to go to the city, but I think we should go there first." They all stood, turning to face a tall, silver building with a giant symbol on the side.

"And what's there?" Y/n asked.

The trio began to stand as Rose responded. "He says it's some sort of hospital."

"Well, you see that green moon on the side?" He motioned to the symbol, which was indeed what he said it was. "That's the universal sign for hospitals." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I got this. A message on the psychic paper." He opened the thing to reveal words, moving as they wrote and rewrote themselves on repeat. "Someone wants to see me."

"Ah," Rose hummed. "And I thought we were just sight seeing."

Y/n scoffed, his smile growing. Things felt good again, the bad feelings from the memory before fading away now in the light of a new planet with endless possibilities. "Since when have we gone anywhere just sight for seeing?"

At that Rose's smile turned to a grin. "Fair enough." She sighed, getting excited. "Come on then, let's go and buy some grapes.” Her arm looped through the Doctor's first and then Y/n's and the trio walked like that to the hospital to see who was calling the Doctor. They got nearly all the way there on small talk and unimportant things before someone made a real comment.

"You know," the Doctor mumbled, as if he meant the other two not to hear it, even as he looked at them. "I've never liked hospitals." His tone was low and clearly uncomfortable.

"Is that so?" Y/n laughed, rolling his eyes.

"What?" the Doctor asked, his lips parting as his lips curved upward. Y/n's laugh had always been rather contagious to him, but more so recently.

Rose softly chuckled a second before responding, "Just... bit rich, coming from you."

"I can't help it," the Doctor remarked. "I don't like hospitals. They give me the creeps."

Y/n and Rose laughed but let it go in favor of looking at their surroundings. It was then that Rose dropped the arms of the two men she'd been holding onto until this point, wandering a bit to see as much as she could from every angle available to her. "Very smart," She complimented, just to follow up with, "Not exactly NHS is it?"

"No shop," the Doctor noticed. "I like the little shop." Y/n stayed quiet as he usually did, leaving the remarking to the other two as he took things in. He was never as snarky as the Doctor, or as amazed by things as Rose. Y/n had gotten good at expecting everything. Even if he found himself enjoying how things were and what he was learning, he was rarely stunned and often more thrilled. He didn't want to point and act like some tourist or child though, so he kept his thoughts to himself and soaked in as much as he could. After a second, the Doctor moved closer to him. "Like it?"

"Love it," Y/n responded, trying to contain his enthusiasm. "A place of healing and help. Somewhere things are clean and people are happy." He paused, seeing the Doctor's expression go sour. "Now you listen to me, Doctor. I know that not all patients get saved and not all hospitals work. I know how hard it is afterward too, when you have to pay for your care. But... I like the idea that... some people survive. The work done here matters. It makes a difference, you know?" He released a short breath. "You know, I wanted to be a Doctor when I was a kid. And then..." His smile dropped and the Doctor remembered what Rose had told him what seemed ages ago, about Y/n's parents. "Had a lot of school to catch up on. Didn't have time, I guess. Did bad in school enough without having missed it for a decade straight, give or take."

Rose was the one who changed the subject. "Okay but I thought, in the future, they would have cured everything.”

Taking the opening, the Doctor launched into an explanation. Y/n slipped his hands in his pockets and kept his mouth shut this time. "The human race moves on, but so do the viruses. It's an ongoing war."

A woman in a long dress passed, and only when Rose locked eyes with her and seemed to go dumb did Y/n looked closer and realize the woman... "They're cats," Rose mumbled, eyes wide.

"Now don't stare," the Doctor scolded. "Think what you look like to them, all pink and yellow." He did a once over of Rose, his eyes falling down her body then popping back up. His gaze suddenly shot away, locking with Y/n’s in time to see his huge smirk after having picked up on the moment. Suddenly flustered, the Doctor was quick to add, "That's where I'd put the shop!" He pointed to an empty bit of space on a wall behind Rose, then turned when Rose and Y/n looked away, taking the second to put some distance between them and him. When they turned back, he was in the elevator. "Ward 26, thanks," he told the lift calmly.

Definite attempts were made to catch room with the Doctor, but Rose and Y/n were both too late. The door closed, leaving them on the outside. "Damn," Y/n whispered, teeth catching his lower lip.

"Oh, too late, I'm going up," the Doctor told them. His voice was getting quieter though and he was immediately becoming harder to hear.

"All right," Rose dismissed. "There's another lift. Y/n and I will be up after you." She hit the button to open the door.

"Ward 26," the Doctor reminded. "And..." What he said next was too hard to hear at that point.

Eyes locked as Rose and Y/n both looked to the other for interpretation, but neither knew. "WHAT?" Rose yelled, trying to get him to repeat it. The Doctor did repeat it, but they still didn't get it. Y/n moved his ear against the door to try and hear better. "The what?" Rose tried again. The Doctor began but then cut off, and the door opened so they brushed it off and went inside. They could ask him when they reunited in ward 26. When they went in, Rose said, "Ward 26, thanks," and the lift began to move.

Almost immediately, they realized they didn't have to ask the Doctor what he meant. The elevator spoke about disinfectant, and Y/n had the pieces click in his head that that was the word the Doctor had said. It was too late though, as both of them were taken off guard by the sudden liquid spraying them both down. The were drenched, and then dried, and then it was over. During the process was pure chaos though and at some point Rose latched onto Y/n, pulling herself into his chest. When the doors opened again, she looked up at him.

It was a weird time for it to happen, but Y/n had the thought that her eyes were rather pretty this close. They'd never been this close before, but now he could see all the different colors in them. They were hazel, not brown, and had flecks of gold and green in nice patterns. Those eyes of hers traveled his face and then jetted away and suddenly they were Rose and Y/n again, except.. just a little different. Y/n felt awkward for no apparent reason, and Rose seemed to feel it too. She cleared her throat and stepped out into the hallway and Y/n paused only a split second to collect himself before following.

They didn't talk about it. Mostly because neither knew what had just happened, but also in big part because they realized they were in a dirty hallway that had more basement vibes than hospital ward vibes.

"The human children are clean." The pair looked over to see a small, pale man with vibrant red markings all over his body. There was something... creepy about him. As if he was wrong, but not enough that it was noticeable. Just - a little off. Slightly right of center. It was unnerving.

"Um," Rose began. Y/n did the feely stuff and intimidating when the situation called for it, but he was still trained to ignore strangers and avoid conversations about himself, so most of the casual socializing was and had always been up to Rose. "We're looking for ward 26."

The man turned, beginning to walk down the tunnel. "This way, Rose Tyler. Come along with me, Y/n L/n."

Rose and Y/n looked at each other in alarm. No one safe ever knew their names on an alien planet they'd never been to before. Especially someone they didn't know. Rose grabbed a pipe, but Y/n walked ahead of her, hands in his pocket as if this was just another day, face set and hard.

Catching up to the small man who walked with his shoulders curled in, Y/n spoke quietly. Keeping that calm air about him. "What's your name, sir? Seems only fair, since you know mine."

"Chip," the small man replied.

Nothing else was said until they got into the room they were aiming for. It seemed to be the end of their journey as Chip jogged ahead, excited to reach their destination. Inside the room played a movie on one of those projectors Y/n had only seen at movie theaters, when he worked for one once. He was surprised to see it here as it must have been ancient, considering how far in the future it was, but Rose caught his attention by grabbing his arm. His gaze moved to her body tense with what seemed to be confused trepidation... until he looked at the screen himself and recognized a face. It was then he realized what she was really feeling was shock. Maybe even a little fear.

"It's-"

"Cassandra," Y/n finished.

"Peek a boo!" A voice behind them greeted. The pair spun around to see Chip... and a little ways away from him, Cassandra herself.

Rose immediately got defensive. She was a completely different person from who she used to be when she hid behind the Doctor and didn't know how anything went. Y/n stayed close to her to back her up, but didn't say anything. The first time they'd met, Y/n and Cassandra had been friends before she'd tried to kill everyone on the ship. She'd offered to save him if he just came with her. Of course he'd turned her down, but he'd been sad to see her die as he always was when he saw poor souls waste themselves. Especially people like Cassandra who wouldn't just accept when it was time to give up and die.

Seeing her again made him feel... terrible. Not guilty, but sick to his stomach. She was here, after everything they'd been through? His thoughts were all about protecting Rose. He may still have compassion and mercy, but he couldn't die this time around, and he was far less willing to give people the opportunity to hurt those he cared about.

"Don't come anywhere near me, Cassandra," Rose threatened, wielding her pipe from earlier.

"Why?" Cassandra asked, rather bitterly. "What do you think I'm going to do? Flap you to death?"

Rose hesitated. "Yeah, well, what about him?" She pointed out, using her pipe to remind Cassandra of her little lackey.

"Oh, that's just Chip," Cassandra dismissed. "He's my pet."

"He's not your pet," Y/n spoke up then. "He's a person."

"I worship the mistress," Chip argued, rather aggressively. Y/n glared. What the hell?

"Moisturize me, moisturize me," Cassandra reminded, as if it wasn't the most important thing on her mind right now. Chip answered her command immediately. "He's not even a proper life form," Cassandra assured. Her tone was soft and comforting, but her eyes weren't on Rose in answer to her question. They were on Y/n. What she said had been to ease him. "He's a force-grown clone. I modeled him on my favorite pattern." Her tone became appreciative. "But he's so faithful. Chip sees to my physical needs."

Rose scoffed, somehow having ended up behind Y/n again. It was only then that he realized he'd been slowly making his way closer. Even after all this time and his obedience to the Doctor that had often made him stay put (as well as the fact that someone had to stay behind and inform the Doctor of where Rose went when she wandered off, and if anything too bad had happened), he was still curious. Maybe the more curious of him and Rose. That curiosity drove him to step head first into everything, unless instructed specifically not to. Rose was the reckless one... except now, when they needed to understand perhaps in order to survive this encounter, if whatever Cassandra had planned was as questionable and dangerous as their last encounter.

"I hope that means food." Rose's voice pulled Y/n out of his thoughts, making him fail when he tried to hold back a single, soft snort of amusement. "How come you're still alive?"

"After you murdered me?" Cassandra drawled rather bitterly.

"You tried first," Y/n sassed back, rolling his eyes.

"It was your own fault," Rose followed up.

Chip piped up then. "The brain of my mistress survived," he explained. "And her pretty blue eyes were salvaged from the bin."

Y/n groaned, not liking the way Chip looked at Cassandra after Rose's earlier comment. “What about the skin?" Rose asked to divert the subject. "I saw it. You-" she laughed, cutting off. "You got ripped apart."

"That piece of skin was taken from the front of my body," Cassandra began. "This piece is the back."

Rose had a good laugh about that as she tried to say, "Right, so you're talking out of your-"

"Ask not!" Cassandra interrupted, her feathers ruffled by Rose's giggle interrupted speaking.

"The mistress was lucky to survive." Chip seemed proud. "Chip secreted m'lady into the hospital.

"So they don't know you're here," Rose realized.

"Chip steals meds." He continued as if Rose hadn't spoken. "Helps m'lady. Soothes her." He turned to Cassandra, his hand raising to run along the back of Cassandra's... skin. "Strokes her."

Y/n groaned and Rose intervened on both of their behalves. "You can stop right there, Chip."

"But why?" Y/n demanded. "You two are obviously... involved." He said it with disgust and Rose closed her eyes next to him, shaking her head in disapproval of the mental images that were surely trying to surface in her mind as she fought them. "Why, Chip? Don't you have anything better to do? A life of your own to live? Why waste it in a basement where you're not supposed to be, hiding and taking care of a woman who obviously doesn't care about you. She talks about you like you're a pair of shoes and not a person! Why would you stay?"

That seemed to puzzle Chip. "How could I go? Life is not easy. It doesn't matter where you are or what you are doing, it is always hard and bad. It only matters who you are with."

In that moment, Y/n thought of the Doctor. And he thought of Rose. Wouldn't Y/n do the same, if one of them couldn't take care of themselves because they had gone too far and made irreversible decisions that had ruined themselves? Wouldn't he take care of them and do as they asked and done everything in his power to protect them?

Cassandra's voice rang out, and Y/n looked at her to see she was looking back. "He doesn't change that I'm so alone, though, hidden down here. The last human in existence."

Too caught up in genuinely pitying Cassandra, Y/n stayed silent. It gave Rose the room to speak. "Don't start that again." Her tone got louder as she grew more irritated. "They call this planet New Earth."

"A vegetable planet," Cassandra seethed.

Rose followed what Chip did earlier and acted as if Cassandra hadn't spoken. "And there's millions of humans out there, millions of them."

"Mutant stock," Cassandra huffed pridefully.

"Stock?" When Y/n spoke, the room went silent. There was something different about him, Cassandra realized. He was... scary. He radiated authority now. The last time she had seen him, he was quiet and curious and soft. She could still see a tenderness, but there was a danger too. At some point Y/n had learned how to be both vengeful and merciful, and she realized she was toeing the line of crossing into his wrathful side.

"They evolved, Cassandra," Rose continued, slowly. Y/n hadn't spoken again, but he did that thing that the Doctor did too. When he got quiet and terrifying and you wanted to shut up for fear of setting him off on you. Rose knew she was safe, but even she seemed to be treading lightly. "They just evolved. Like they should. You stayed still. You got yourself all- pickled and preserved." She was getting worked up now. Her anger seemed less dangerous and the room relaxed, as if letting go a breath it had been holding. "What good did it do you?" Rose demanded.

Cassandra didn't address what Rose said. Instead, her eyes slid to the movie still being played by the projector. Rose rolled her eyes, but Y/n listened. Y/n always listened. "Oh, I remember that night." He looked at the screen as she spoke, watching the video play out. He tried to imagine what a party like that would be like. The ambiance and the sounds and the heat and the drinks and the people. The chatter and music. He could feel it, with the help of the video. He wondered if Cassandra was permanently stuck in that night, in her head. If she played this video to hold onto the feelings she experienced when she was still herself. "Drinks for the ambassador of Thrace. That was the last time anyone told me I was beautiful. After that, it all became such hard work." Her tone turned into near growling and Y/n felt his heart get heavy. Why did society do this to women? Why couldn't standards just be... realistic, for once?

A thought occurred to him then. Maybe if society as a whole valued people for their personality and not for their looks, maybe Cassandra would have been different. Maybe she'd have been more than a pretty face. Maybe she'd have met someone who really cared about her, and they'd have settled down and made a family. Maybe she wouldn't have thought her only worth was her looks, and then crossed far too many lines to keep it so she still meant something.

"You've got a knack for survival, I'll give you that," Rose voiced after it got quiet for too long. Cassandra kept looking at Y/n, as if waiting for him to speak, but he didn't have anything to say that was worth saying so he stayed silent.

"But I've not been idle, Rose," Cassandra told them both, even though she only addressed the blonde. "Tucked away, underneath this hospital, I've been listening. The sisters are up to trouble. They're hiding something."

That peaked the pair's interest. "Do you know anything, or are you toying with us?" Y/n demanded.

"These cats have secrets," Cassandra gave in response. "I know them, I know them all. Hush, let me whisper. Come close."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "You must be joking if you think I'm going anywhere near you," she sassed, returning to her deep amusement that left her laughing through her words. She began to step back, moving out of the room, and that was when things went wrong. Suddenly a bunch of light went wild, wrapping around Rose's hands and keeping them tethered to her sides. Her face went slack and her body relaxed and she froze.

Before Y/n could process and react, Cassandra spoke. "Chip, activate the psycho-graft!"

Y/n spun around, eyes wild. "You let her go now! If you hurt even a single hair on her head Cassandra, I will-"

"No need for dramatics," Cassandra drawled. "I'll let her go completely unharmed, I promise." Chip pulled a lever and a cylindrical blue light encased Rose. Y/n wasn't sure if he'd make it worse by going in there after her so he turned on Cassandra instead.

He reached down, grabbing the pipe Rose had abandoned a while ago, running at Cassandra with it hefted over his head, ready to bring down onto her face. There was a weird pinkish light above her that went behind him toward Rose, just before he used the pipe to smash in what was Cassandra's sort-of face. The skin split under the pressure and blood sprayed on Y/n's clothes and the lower part of his neck. It was farther than even the Doctor had gone in the violence department since the Time War, but it was Y/n's first thought with little time to react.

It didn't matter though. When he turned around, Rose was on the ground and Chip was approaching her limp body that was slowly coming around as the blonde began to move.

"Moisturize me," Rose mumbled. Y/n froze, eyes wide with part terror and part unbridled rage. Chip went off to be obedient, but when he turned back, Rose's eyes hand already landed on her body, features forming in awe. "Arms," she mumbled. "How bizarre." Her breathing got shallow as she grew excited, beginning to sit up. "Fingers!" She gasped as blonde strands began to fall in her face. "Hair!" Her hands grabbed at said hair as if it was a wonder. Y/n supposed... it was. The woman who definitely wasn't Rose scrambled to her feet. "Let me see! Let me see!" She raced to a mirror. "Oh my god! I'm a chav!"

It was then that Y/n knocked into his senses. His curiosity had distracted him. His confusion and wonder. His questions didn't matter though when Rose was in danger. "Cassandra, I don't know how you did it but you get out of her right now do you understand me? NOW. You may have Chip at your beck and call but you've done this against Rose's will!"

Cassandra wasn't listening. "Look at me! From class to brass!" She fiddled with the end of Rose's shirt, then hesitated, raising a hand to the zipper of Rose's jacket. "Although..." She began zipping it down, exposing a bit more skin. Y/n felt himself swallow. Why was he suddenly so warm? "Curves," Cassandra purred. "Ooh baby. It's like living inside a bouncy castle!"

It was the way Chip was looking at Rose's body that really sent Y/n. He was stuck trying to figure out how to talk to Cassandra, or even scare her if necessary, but he kept getting distracted by the odd look on Rose's face. One that was... Well, that wasn't a thought he was addressing at all, actually. All he knew was that he felt something in him snap. Cassandra was ogling a body that wasn't hers, and Chip was joining in, and neither had Rose's consent and it made Y/n lose his thin control.

Suddenly he was racing froward and Cassandra gasped as her back was slammed against the wall that Y/n pinned her against, his arm on her chest. "I said," he seethed, teeth working together. "Bring her back. Now."

"Ooh," Cassandra cooed. "You really have gotten quite scary, Y/n. I'm very impressed." Her eyes moved to her old body then to the blood on Y/n. "More violent too, wow. Willing to get things done." Her eyes raked every inch of Y/n they could reach. "And much more handsome. I was attracted to you back then, but now? You've really grown into yourself it's a great look on you."

"Stop it," Y/n snapped.

Cassandra giggled. "Don't worry love, Rose thinks so too." That stopped Y/n short. "Oh, didn't expect that one?" Her giggle was bright and triumphant. "She's had feelings for you going on ages now. Since you two met, really. Been hiding them when you showed no interest in anyone and refused to talk about romance. Tried to move on to Mickey... and then the Doctor came around. But you fell for him." Her smile turned mocking. "But of course, you'd take him. The two men she loved the most, being together, without her."

"That's not-" Y/n swallowed. How had he never noticed before? Had they both had their one secret? The one secret they'd kept from each other all this time? His had been the loneliness that had grafted into him, making itself a personality trait. The loneliness that drove him for years to believe he'd never experience love, let alone have it last. The secret that he had never felt the way he felt about the Doctor for anyone... anyone except for Rose. Kind Rose who had come to Y/n in a time when he didn't understand his own emotions enough to name them before she got with Mickey and it was too late. Rose, who he had forced to form a sister-brother relationship with to dodge the feelings he had for her that neither of them were capable of or willing to act on. And her secret, that the entire time she had felt the exact same way?

Had he really wasted all of the time they could have been together thinking she could never like him in return?

"What's the matter?" Cassandra purred, smirking. "Cat got your tongue?"

Y/n's face hardened. "You're lying. And even if you're not, this isn't your secret to tell me. Rose is the only one allowed to tell me her feelings. Get out!"

"But you've killed me, haven't you? How am I supposed to go back to my old body? I have nowhere to go and its all your fault, Y/n. Going back is suicide."

"You shouldn't have left that bloody body in the first place," Y/n seethed. But then he calmed, because out of the group he was always the one who calmed and thought things out so that as many people as possible could win. Sure, Cassandra had taken Rose against her will... but she was also right. How could Y/n ask her to go back, when her body was destroyed by his own hands? "Go into me, then. Leave her be. If you can't go back to your own body, take mine. Not hers."

Cassandra's expression grew soft. "You love her." Y/n glared. "Just like you love the Doctor. How... how do you handle that? Loving two people so much you'd die or worse - give yourself up for them, alive and all? Because Rose remembers when you were Empty. She remembers clear as day how afraid of not death, but being trapped in a body you cannot control. And now you can't die, but if you allow me this, you will be trapped. How can you agree to that?"

Y/n pursed his lips. "Life is complicated, Cassandra. Some feelings you tell yourself are out of bounds and off limits. Some feelings you can rationalize. Some people give you a new prospect on life. One so wonderful that staying alive forever sounds amazing. And some people... they're worth being afraid for. They're worth losing control for. Some people are just worth it."

That seemed to sit very deeply with Cassandra. "You know, you're most beautiful like this. Protecting those you care about. Fighting for the greater good. Being the quiet hero with a hidden strength enough to stop even an alien war lord." Her smile grew. "Fine, I will do as you ask, because we were friends then and I'm unhappy we didn't end as such. But one thing before I go."

"What?" Y/n asked.

And then Cassandra, in Rose's body, kissed Y/n. It was different than the times Y/n had pictures kissing Rose. It was desperate and passionate and... a little aggressive. It felt like he imagined Rose would. Her hair was soft and filtered nicely between his fingers. Her lips were a little chapped, but not enough to be noticeable, just enough to make the kiss just a little rough for a second until they continued kissing and they became soft. Her skin was warm and smooth and her hands clung to him like he was a life preserver and she was drowning.

When they parted, Cassandra didn't hesitate. She moved right from Rose into Y/n in the small space between them. The blonde leaned into Y/n but soon shook off the weird feeling, leaning away to look into Y/n's eyes. Because she had heard and felt everything, and her mind was reeling from that kiss, even if she hadn't been in control when Cassandra had used her body to initiate it.

Cassandra was the first one to speak, but this time it was in Y/n's voice. "You know I pride myself on being very proud and sexy and hard to move. I have not been known to be emotional. This one though..." She turned away, pushing Rose off and beginning to walk back toward the lifts.

Rose woke up then. "Cassandra you can't-!"

"Shut up," Cassandra snapped. "We don't have time for this. We have to find the Doctor, and Y/n consented, so there's nothing you can do about it so come on." Rose followed after, Chip after her, and the three of them headed to find the Doctor together. After a long time in quiet, Cassandra spat with her usual spite, "That Doctor of yours is a total hypocrite by the way. Changing his face like that and becoming younger and prettier. You both think so, I saw in both of your heads. Am in one of them now."

As if by a show of mercy, Rose's phone rang and she answered it. "Hello?" Her voice was tired, her hand rising to massage her temple. The whole thing with Cassandra had already given her a headache. The kiss... it had reminded her of something. Something that hurt to think about.

The Doctor was on the other line. "Rose, where are you? Is Y/n with you?"

"Don't tell him about me," Cassandra rushed. "He'll just lose it and cause a commotion, and we don't have time to waste. The sisters really are up to something, and I really do have information."

Rose glared but followed the order, begrudgingly. "Yes, Y/n's here. We've... picked up another friend too. His name is Chip."

"Where have you been? How long does it take to get to ward 26, and how did you meet someone else?" The Doctor asked, rather curious.

A huff came from her as she tried to hide her bitter laughter as she refrained from telling him the adventure they'd just gone on. She'd never hidden something like this from the Doctor before... but Cassandra was right. "We'll be there soon, it's a long story. What have you been up to?"

"Oh you'll never guess," The Doctor practically sang. "I'm with the Face of Boe. Remember him?"

"Yeah," Rose answered, without much spirit.

On the line, the Doctor paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. You-"

"I.. have to go," the Doctor drawled. "Talk to you later." And then he hung up and Rose sighed. The elevator grew silent as they were cleaned again. The blood was gone as if it had never been there and Rose watched it pool on the ground under them before slipping down the drain. She couldn't believe he'd really... done that, for her. Jesus.

When they reached the Doctor, Cassandra held back with Chip for some reason. She dismissed Chip and he wandered off, leaving her alone. She looked like she was listening to something, though the only sound Rose could hear were the patients and the speaker, but neither were something that would have interested Cassandra surely.

Rose was distracted by the Doctor, who pulled her over to inspect the patients he had been spending time with while she had been missing, filling her in on his confusion.

"Y/n, are you listening?"

Cassandra looked over to see the Doctor had approached. Fortunately, though she had not been paying attention, Y/n had been. "Yes, something is up," Cassandra agreed, her face nearing one of Y/n's more calm expressions. It was something Rose had never thought Cassandra was capable of feeling. She almost looked... thoughtful. Her voice was off from Y/n's though. Obviously wrong. She tried to keep going high and her accent was different. Behind the Doctor, Rose sighed.

"What- what's with the voice?" The Doctor asked, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," Rose dismissed, trying to keep things going so they could figure this out without distractions. They could figure that whole thing out when this problem was dealt with.

The Doctor didn't seem to be done though. "That's the second time you've totally zoned out Y/n, are you sure you're alright?"

Cassandra flinched. She knew what was going on in Y/n's head. Why he had been spaced out and different. She knew what it meant about the Doctor, too. It was a small flinch, one you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking, but Rose and the Doctor were looking and so they did notice. Casandra looked at Rose, tears in her eyes. "I need out of here. Please."

Rose felt herself go speechless. Was Y/n so broken that he had messed Casandra up so quickly? Or was it the fact that Cassandra already had a soft spot for him that she pitied him so much? "Fine," she sighed halfheartedly. "Doctor, give us a moment if you would. Just a moment and then we'll be back, promise."

They went around the corner, Rose making sure the Doctor didn't follow. Casandra didn't wait longer than that. She transported into Rose again with that same purple mist and then Rose cleared her throat, her posture changing as Casandra took control. Y/n wiped his eyes and then pulled Rose back to the Doctor. "Sorry about that," he replied. "Rose and I had something to discuss. Best friend things, very important." Casandra smiled beside him, despite knowing that he didn't really think of her as his best friend. "Come on-"

"Are you guys up to something?" The Doctor asked.

"Nothing at all," Cassandra drawled in an voice that was very much not Rose Tyler's. "Just mucking about New Earth, having new experiences and lots of fun. New planet, new age. New me." She looked the Doctor up and down and Y/n rolled his eyes.

"Guess I can't talk much then," the Doctor joked, distracted as he always was by a pretty face. Why were the smartest ones always the most susceptible to an attractive woman? Though, Y/n supposed he couldn't talk much. "New Doctor."

"That you are," Cassandra purred. And then she did something that none of them saw coming. She grabbed the Doctor's face and snogged him just as aggressively as she had Y/n.

Was she collecting or something?

Or... did Rose want her to do it as much as Casandra was curious what it would be like?

When she'd had her fun, she parted and directed them to the terminals. The Doctor looked at Y/n, who cracked a smile at the man's frazzled state, despite who had put him in it. "Yep," he squeaked. Y/n snorted, trying and failing to contain it. "Still got it." Y/n rolled his eyes and shook his head then caught up to Cassandra, the Doctor following after them while he tried to contain his gleeful grin.

By the time they got to the trams, everyone had calmed down. They looked at the map of the place, but it didn't yield much. No shop, the Doctor noticed. No spa, Y/n joked. "Something else is missing too," Cassandra noticed seriously. She seemed a lot closer to her old self. "When I was downstairs, those nurse-cat-nuns were talking about intensive care... but where is it?"

"You're right, well done," the Doctor praised.

"Why would they hide a whole department?" Cassandra wondered, ignoring his praise. "It's got to be there somewhere. Search the subframe."

"What if the subframe's locked?" The Doctor questioned.

"Try the installation protocol," Cassandra told him like it was quite simple.

Y/n was impressed. Not that he didn't expect her to be smart, but that he couldn't believe someone as smart as her had been reduced to a pretty face for so long.

The Doctor did so, offering sarcastic grumblings as he did. He put his screwdriver to the screen and fiddled. Suddenly, the wall was moving and lowering and exposing a hidden tunnel behind it. Y/n stepped up between Casandra and the Doctor. "So... in we go?"

"Suppose so," the Doctor confirmed. Cassandra lead the way, but Y/n didn't miss the suspicious look he shot Rose. Y/n internally sighed, realizing they weren't going to be able to hold off this whole charade for much longer. "Intensive care," the Doctor mused as he followed second in the line as they moved into the tunnel. “Certainly looks intensive."

"Quite so," Y/n scoffed.

They moved forward, into a hallway and then down stairs into an impossibly large, cylindrical cavern whose wall were covered floor to ceiling with green pods. There were levels above and below them that seemed to stretch for eternity, the walkways looping in circles on every level. The Doctor moved to one, using the screwdriver to open a pod. What they saw was horrific. A man with ratted hair and a long, beige hospital gown that was dingy and dirty. He was sitting in a chair, his head lolling from side to side and his skin covered in rot and welts and sickness of all kinds. He looked like he was dying. Y/n raised a hand, gasping softly as he covered his mouth to hold himself back from reaching out to the person.

"That's disgusting," Cassandra sneered quietly. "What's wrong with him?"

"Shut up," Y/n snapped. "He can hear you," he added to try and cover it up, hoping he hadn't brought attention to how out of character that was for 'Rose' to say.

The Doctor ignored both of them. He looked at the man with a heartbroken look, shaking his head in remorse. He couldn't do anything, so he said the same thing he always did when he couldn't save someone. "I'm sorry." Y/n moved closer. "I'm so sorry." He closed that door then moved to the next one, Y/n limply following behind.

The person in the next pod was in the exact same condition. "What disease is that?" Casandra asked, her voice tinged in disgust.

"All of them." The Doctor's voice was gravely, low with anger for the people in the pods. "Every single disease in the galaxy. They've been infected with everything."

"What about us?" Casandra asked, alarmed. "Are we safe?"

Y/n sighed, shaking his head. "That's not the point. The pain they're going through. Can you imagine, every disease ever? All in one body? Did you see how many pods there were? Countless amounts of people, all infected with diseases that will rot them away slowly until they just... die. In pain. Alone. No one who cares about them, or who will remember them. Just... gone." He went to reach out and touch the woman in the pod they had just opened. "Isolated, unable to move and having no one to call out to. How lonely would that be?"

The Doctor caught Y/n's hand. "Don't touch them. The air is sterile, but they'll infect you too if you touch them."

Y/n's face fell. "They've never even been touched? Existing alone in the dark, in a world of pain and emptiness and loneliness. No one knows they exist as they cry for help. How long has it been since they've been touched?"

No one answered. The Doctor just closed the door, and the trio turned away and looked out across the railing, taking in the countless pods with new eyes. Every single green light they could see was yet another person living that life that Y/n had painted. There were even more lights they could not see. An unknowable amount. Maybe endless.

It was that thought that triggered it.

It was like a swarm of bees. He had seen that image again on Earth in his exploration. Most in cartoons, or horror movies he'd caught scenes of in passing, but still. That's what it looked like. Except these weren't harmless insects that only gave you a little sting and then moved on. This was like maybe a bee, but you're deathly allergic and now there's a whole swarm coming just for you, with the intent to wipe you out if its the last thing they do.

The Daleks, and with them, possibly the end of everything.

War has a smell. I know it, even though I myself have never been in one. He was though, and for some reason I know that because I know what he knows. The smell doesn't bother you after a while. It doesn't even really bother you at all until after the fighting is over and you smell is again. Smell anything like it at all, and those memories come back. Not enough to ruin you, but enough to shake you to your core. To put a bitter taste in your mouth and remind you of the faces of everyone you lost.

And it hurts.

A hand on Y/n's shoulder and the boy looked over to lock eyes with the Doctor. The men locked eyes and the Doctor was startled to see a look in Y/n's eyes he had not seen in a long time. A haunted look from years of fighting a battle they were all losing. A look from years of fighting similar, smaller battles. Alone. A look the Doctor had seen in his family and comrades once, but only ever saw in his own eyes now adays.

Y/n looked away. "Let's go." He realized he did know what they had said. The injustice of it all. That's what drove him. These people. They needed help. That was more important than the memories.

As they walked, Casandra moved closer to Y/n. She knew exactly what had just happened, and what he needed. A distraction. "Why don't they just die?" She asked.

Y/n would have hit there right then and there if the Doctor hadn't piped up. "Plague carriers. The last to go."

"It's for the greater cause." The trio looked over to see one of the nurses.

"Novice Hame," the Doctor greeted with a voice forming into an edge so sharp it could cut just by being spoken. "When you took your vows, did you agree to this?"

"The sisterhood has sworn to help," the sister said, as if to reassure.

It wasn't working. "What, by killing?" The Doctor yelled.

"They're not real people," the cat woman told them.

It only made Y/n more angry. He couldn't think right. His mind was mixed up in a war he'd never been apart of, torn between a man that no longer existed dealing with a problem that had long ago reached a point of no return, and Y/n who was compassionate and understanding and talked and explained rather than threw pipes at skin trampolines and thought about attacking cat ladies who just had messed up ideals about clones, but still had the right ideas. This was the part where Y/n intervened and calmed everyone down. This was the part he talked to her and made her see where she was wrong, like he so often did.

Y/n wasn't in the mood to help, though. So he stood by the Doctor and he seethed and he saw those pods and he thought of people who were created to suffer, alone, in pain, until they died. Y/n snapped. "Come here." The woman looked at Y/n, surprised by the rage in his face. "Doctor, your screwdriver please." The Doctor hesitated, unsure of what Y/n had in mind, but handed it over anyway. Seeing the Doctor obey, the woman did too. Y/n pulled her into his side, opened the pod to expose another sick person. "Look at her." The cat lady did, and she seemed unfazed. At first. "Look at the pain she's in." As if on cue, the woman began to beg for her life. Plead for help. "Look at her!" Hame flinched. "Do you see a creature without intelligence? Because when I look at her, I see a person. A person who doesn't know what's happened or why, or how to stop it, but wants to DESPERATELY because it hurts so much and it has always hut and it will always hurt until she dies. I don't care if she was grown or born or found floating in space, look into her eyes and tell me you cannot see someone who feels and thinks and would have had a real life, if it weren't for you people locking her up and using her like- like some sort of cattle."

Novice Hame did not have anything to say to that.

The Doctor did though. "How many is the turn over?" He asked her, coming to her other side. A thousand a day? A thousand the next? Thousand the next? How many thousands? For how many years? HOW MANY?"

To that, the woman had a response. Y/n watched the woman in the pod as the nurse spoke. "Mankind needed us. They came to this planet with so many illnesses, we couldn't cope. We did try. We tried everything. We tried using clone meat and bio-cattle, but the results were too slow. So the sisterhood grew its own flesh. That's all they are. Flesh."

"That's all we all are." Y/n closed the door and locked it, his face crumpling as he faced the nurse. "We're all just flesh, growing and stretching and getting leathery with age. We have brains, but so do they. They think and talk and interact. Look me in the face and tell me not one of them has ever spoken before what happened a few minutes ago. They've never reacted to pain or begged for their lives. Look me in the face and tell me that. That it's never happened before."

Novice Hame didn't say anything, once again.

"These people are alive," the Doctor stated, pointing at the pod Y/n had just closed.

"But the humans out there, in the world. They're healthy. Alive." She seemed to be struggling after Y/n and the Doctor's delivery. "Happy, because of us."

"If they live because of this, then life is worthless," the Doctor spit.

The nurse shook her head. "But who are you to decide that?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied without missing a beat, stepping up to her. "And if you don't like it, if you want to take it to a higher authority, there isn't one. It stops with me."

It was at that time that Casandra spoke again. "Just to confirm," she began. "None of the humans in this city actually know about this?"

Y/n closed his eyes.

Goddamnit Casandra.

"Hold on," the Doctor interrupted before the nurse could speak again. "I can understand the bodies. I can understand your vows, but one thing I can't understand - what have you done to Rose?" The nurse stuttered her confusion, but the Doctor didn't step down. "I'm being very, very calm. You want to be aware of that: very, very calm. And the only reason I'm being so very very calm, is that the brain is a delicate thing. Whatever you've done to Rose's head, I want it reversed."

"They haven't done anything," Y/n mumbled.

The Doctor turned very fast on Y/n. "These people are dying, and Rose would care. If they didn't do something... if something happened to her, you seem to be the one who knows. Explain. Now."

"It's Casandra," Y/n sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She needed a body to travel and she needed our help to figure out what was going on around here, so she hijinxed Rose. Well-" he shrugged. "Me at first, and then Rose."

The Doctor didn't seem to be expecting that. "Casandra?"

Casandra moved closer to the Doctor, smirking. "Wake up and smell the perfume." She sprayed him with something then and the Doctor fell.

"What the hell Casandra?" Y/n demanded.

"Oh pick him up and stop complaining. We need to get out of here." She turned to the nurse and went to say something, and then she hesitated and her eyes passed to Y/n and lingered for too long. "You know Y/n, I’ve lived off of spite since the last time I saw you guys. I've been angry and determined and... I only wanted to figure this whole thing out so I could use the information against the nuns and try and blackmail them. I-" She swallowed, looking away. "Being in your head. Seeing the thing you think and feel. You have such an odd way of doing things. Back then... you were upset when I died. You tried to stop me. You begged me. You tried to make me to be a good guy so we didn't have to end it in a tragedy. You were nice to me, even though I was just a piece of skin and went against all you and this girl of yours like about humans. Even though she hated me, and most humans hated me, you didn't." Her shoulders sagged. "What do we do, Y/n?"

He smiled. His anger from moments ago melted. "I've got the Doctor. We need to get the Matrim here, and then release the people. She needs to pay for what she's done, and they need to be be free."

So that's what they did. Casandra pulled out a tube that set off an alarm, and then waited for the Matrim to turn the corner. The two women locked eyes until the Matrim got close enough, and then Casandra pulled a lever and all the pods opened. "See ya!" Casandra hollered, waving as the trio turned and began to retreat.

As they were going, more pods began to explode, and because the booms and sparks, the Doctor woke up. "What's happening?" he slurred.

"Not now Dear, we'll get back to this later I promise." Y/n kept walking, trying to move quickly while holding the Doctor in his arms. He paused a moment to put the man down, now that he was awake. "Come along!"

The Doctor shook himself out of his sleepiness, looking around at the bumbling infected, and the open pods that were beginning to empty. "What have you guys done?"

"It wasn't us!" Casandra scoffed.

"One touch and you get every disease in the world, and I want that body safe, Casandra!" She rolled her eyes and Y/n almost smiled at her sass, if it wasn't for everything else. "We've got to go down!" Casandra went to complain to the Doctor yelled, "RUN!" Needless to say, you listen to the Doctor when he yells. The trio began to race down the steps, moving as fast as they could to the basement. Casandra screamed and it echoed. In the distance, they heard Chip's quick footsteps racing to meet them. In only moments he had joined them. And then there were four. When Casandra moved toward the elevators, the Doctor stopped her. "No, the lifts have closed down. There's a quarantine, nothing's moving."

"Where are we going then?" Y/n demanded.

Casandra yelled, "THIS WAY!" They began running, jerking through an opening where more infected were streaming in through a hallway that intersected the one they were currently running through.

Long story short: Chip and Y/n didn't make it.

The Doctor stopped, looking for a way to get to Y/n. "Go!" Y/n screamed.

"I won't leave you!" The Doctor screamed back.

Y/n shook his head. "I can't die, Doctor. You solve this thing, and we'll figure out the rest later." The Doctor hesitated, looking at Y/n with pain and regret. "I promise I'll be okay. I promised I wasn't going anywhere, and I don't break my promises." The Doctor hesitated longer so Y/n grunted and ordered, "GO!" Finally, he did, chasing after Casandra in Rose's body to make sure they all got out okay.

"Mistress!" Chip wailed. "My mistress!"

"CHIP!" Y/n screamed, shaking the man into sense. "You need to hide. Come on!" He guided the small man against the wall, pressing against him so his whole body covered Chip. He was small enough to pull it off. "Do not touch my skin, do you understand? Keep your skin from touching mine at all costs." Chip curled in on himself, making himself smaller and pressing his face into Y/n's back. Hands other than Chip's wrapped around Y/n's arms and ankle and face and hands.

Then there was pain. Y/n could feel his body rotting and dying. He'd last plenty long enough to keep Chip safe, but he felt incredible pain as he was inducted with every disease known in the entire universe. He got sicker and sicker and sicker, until the crowd in the room began to clear and go away, satisfied with touching him. When the room was empty, Y/n finally collapsed. He lay on the ground as Chip kneeled next to him.

"You saved my life."

"Don't think too much about it," Y/n joked dryly. "I can't die. I'm sick forever now though. Maybe. Maybe I'll reset. Come back to life cured. I guess we'll see."

They stayed there for what seemed hours, until more people shuffled into the room. These people had the same worn out gowns on, but they weren't sick at all. They looked at Chip first, hugging him and touching his face and arms and hands, like they did earlier, except this time no disease spread.

Suddenly there was a voice. Like an angel sent directly from God. "Y/N!"

"We're in here!" Chip called, running to find the Doctor and bring him back.

Upon seeing Y/n on the floor, the Doctor shook his head. "What is with you? One rule, Y/n: no touching. You've had this problem before."

"An issue of mine it seems. Can't keep my hands to myself."

Chip interrupted. "He saved my life. Stood in front of the disease because it doesn't hurt him.

The Doctor's face was soft as he kneeled next to Y/n. "It does hurt him. And it would have hurt him forever if I wasn't so amazing." He reached out but Y/n jerked his head away. "It's okay," the Doctor assured, grabbing Y/n's face. The man gasped, eyes widening as there was a sizzling sound and he felt, just as he did with the sickness, his body getting better. For a little extra dramatic affair, the Doctor leaned down and kissed Y/n. It was a good kiss. Soft and full of love and admiration and care. When the Doctor leaned away, Y/n was completely cured. "You're an idiot."

"Your idiot," Y/n joked weakly.

The Doctor shook his head, smiling. "Lucky me."

"Lucky us," Y/n corrected. That they could agree on.

The first thing they did was see the face of Boe. It was sort of vague and odd, but overall a nice experience. It ended with convincing Casandra to leave Rose though, and that was another matter.

"Y/n I'll die," Casandra begged, turning to the only person she knew would care about her. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but you've been in my head same as I've been in yours. I let you in and we talked. I know what's happening with you, and no one else does. Please. We can really be friends. For real."

Y/n sighed, his face full of pain. "Casandra, I love you. I consider you a friend, and I genuinely care about you. But..." He closed his eyes. "The Doctor's right, and this isn't your body.

Casandra broke then. "I don't want to die." She covered her face before rested her forehead on Y/n's chest.

"No one does," the Doctor said.

"Help me!" She begged, turning her head as Y/n held her so she could still be heard.

"I can't."

"I can." Eyes turned to Chip, who stepped forward. "I am willing Mistress, take me."

Y/n's eyes widened. "Chip-" His mouth worked, but nothing came out. "Don't you want your own life, even for a short while? Don't you want to be your own man with the small time you have left?"

Chip looked at Y/n very seriously. "You gave your body for me. You'd just as soon give it for them." He motioned to the Doctor and Rose, and Y/n sighed, knowing he couldn't argue. "I want to give my body to her. One last gift to the Mistress."

Casandra left Rose and went into Chip, and there was a second they took to stabilize Rose before the Doctor turned back to Casandra. "You can't-"

"She can," Y/n interrupted. All eyes turned to him. "I know them better than both of you. Casandra doesn't care about him, you're right. He deserves better, definitely. But... it's like the Ood. He doesn't care about free will like we do. He WANTS this, and so does she. It doesn't realy matter what we think they should do. They both want this."

The argument ended there.

"You at least have to stand trial for what you've done," the Doctor ordered.

"That would be rather dramatic. I'm afraid we don't have time for that, though. See, Chip's is only a half life and he's already been through so much. I can feel his little heart now. It's racing." She paused, head tilting. "He's failing." Another pause. "I don't think he's going to last-" And then she fell and Y/n shot out to catch her.

"You alright?" Y/n asked, raising a hand to brush his thumb against Casandra's cheek.

"I'm fine," she answered. There was a long pause where she considered that, and then changed her answer. "I'm dying... But that's fine."

"I can take you to the city-" the Doctor began.

"No you won't," Casandra interrupted. "The city is new. This world is new. There's no place for Chip and me anymore." She looked at the Doctor. "You were right Doctor. It's time to die." Y/n felt his face crumble and he forced it neutral, but Rose hadn't missed it. "And that's good," Casandra assured, looking at Y/n to raise a hand and touch his face.

"You know Sandy," Y/n said. The nickname came from the last time they talked. He hadn't used it since she had been revealed as a traitor. "How about we let you do one last thing? I know what you need." She looked at him, and they shared a smile. They knew what the other was thinking in that moment. Y/n and Cassandra both had never been so seen by someone else.

They took Casandra to the night of the tape she had been watching on loop for years to cope with her life decisions. The night that she was told she was beautiful for the last time. Y/n watched from a distance as his friend died, in the arms of the past self she had wished to be forever, but had lost long ago.

That day, Rose and the Doctor both held Y/n as he cried. They didn't ask what had been going on with him zoning out, or what Casandra had meant when she said she knew what was going on inside his head, that was for another day. Today, he cried, and they held him until he stopped, and afterward they continued their adventure and let him mourn in peace.

He deserved that at the very least.

Story Taglist: @shoochi @e-reads-fics

#tenth doctor #male reader #dr who #doctor who #doctor who imagine #dr who imagine #dr who x reader #dr who x male reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who x male reader #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x male reader #tenth doctor imagine #dr who fan fiction #doctor who fanfiction

153 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Fic: a grain of millet drifting, ch. 3/3

Relationship: Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Original Characters, Nie Huaisang

Additional Tags: Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV Wei WuXian

Summary: Wei Wuxian reaches the Unclean Realm and talks to Nie Huaisang.

Notes: See end

Chapters: 1 | 2

AO3 link

———

Wei Wuxian wasn’t accustomed to having nothing to say, but as they entered the Unclean Realm he found himself searching for words. He’d always been able to fill silence, even with nonsense, but Nie Huaisang had perfected the facade of nonsense over the years, and he felt a little as though he was approaching a stranger.

His old friend was fanning himself as he descended the battlement and approached them, the same fan he’d first carried during the Cloud Recesses lectures in that sweet summer before their world descended into hell. If he tried, he could almost pretend this was a visit from that august period—but only almost.

“Aiya, Nie-xiong, I only caught your disciple when he took out the fifth assassin, he said,” Wei Wuxian finally settled on. “Someone seems to be spending quite a bit of money trying to kill me again—I’m almost flattered.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes seemed to narrow slightly over his fan, but when he snapped it closed he was smiling, the narrowing actually crinkling.

“Wei-xiong, it was so nice of you to send Jiang-zongzhu a letter. He came to ask about it personally, and I think he was happy you thought of him.”

Wei Wuxian kept his face in a careless smile, though that cut at him a bit—he hadn’t seen Jiang Cheng since the Guanyin Temple debacle, and doubted his once-brother wanted anything to do with him, particularly after having learned about his deception regarding the golden core. He’d only sent the letter on the off-chance that it would impact Yunmeng or Lanling, as it was the least he could do after destroying the Jiangs.

“Jin Ling will have enough problems leading that awful sect without surprise assassins,” he said with a shrug, “so of course Jiang-zongzhu would be concerned.”

The look Nie Huaisang gave him was almost pitying, but he said nothing in response, only ordering a couple of disciples to take Little Apple to the stables.

“She prefers apples, but likes other fruit just fine, it seems,” he told them, letting them take the reins and lead her away.

He didn’t bother with the saddlebags, knowing they’d wind up in whatever room had been set aside for him.

Nie Hengxiang wasn’t quite able to stifle a snort of laughter when the donkey deliberately stepped on Wei Wuxian when she moved past him. Nie Huaisang’s lips twitched before he managed to get his fan up.

Wei Wuxian almost made a crack about how the women in his life treated him, but none of them were still in his life, and shijie had never…

“There’s good food and wine,” Nie Huaisang said, somehow closer than he had been before. “Really, Wei-xiong, you don’t look like you eat nearly enough!”

He knew he’d lost some time, Nie Hengxiang in the distance following Little Apple, having apparently excused himself at some point during his fugue.

It shook him, but it was easier to follow his old friend without comment, focusing on the changes in the Unclean Realm since his last visit over a decade before. It looked bustling, and there were more gardens and color, artwork and tapestries brightening the stonework.

Anything to avoid thinking of his many mistakes and the people who had paid the price for them.

Nie Huaisang kept up a running commentary about different pieces of art and their artists, about the tapestry industry he had worked to get started in Qinghe, trading for specially dyed silk thread from various places.

The food was good and the wine was better. They were deep in their cups, still talking of frivolous matters, when Nie Huaisang sighed.

“Wei-xiong, what on earth are you doing, wandering around?”

The question seemed to come from nowhere, and signaled a shift to more serious conversation that Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain he was ready for. So he pasted on a grin.

“What’s so wrong with wandering, Nie-xiong? My parents were rogue cultivators, so why shouldn’t I be one as well?”

The look Nie Huaisang gave him was unimpressed at best, and certainly implied he didn’t buy Wei Wuxian’s smile.

“You didn’t stay in Gusu. I thought you’d stay with Lan-er-gongzi.”

“He’s Chief Cultivator. Associating with the Yiling Patriarch would only make his job harder. He’s already got enough of a mess to clean up—he doesn’t need my messes on top of it.”

And, anyway, if he’d stayed he thought Lan Qiren would actually qi deviate, and he didn’t need that on his conscience.

“And, anyway, where else would I go?” he asked, tiring of the game where they talked in circles.

“Yunmeng. Here.”

Wei Wuxian took a big pull of wine, mostly in response to the first suggestion, which he’d rather not address.

“I threatened you, so I figured you’d prefer I stay away.”

“It’s not like I didn’t deserve the warning, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said with a sigh. “I put far too many people in danger, and got others killed.”

He sounded almost sad.

“Mo Xuanyu?” he couldn’t keep himself from asking.

He was grateful for the second chance at life, such as it was, but the cost grated at him.

“Mo Xuanyu had seen dage’s head in the treasure room, but… He didn’t want to live, even if I brought him to the Unclean Realm.”

Nie Huaisang twirled the wine jug in his hand, his expression morose.

“I’d gotten to know him when he was in Lanling. I visited often enough to harass Jin Guangyao, after all. He was a gentle soul, and loved the arts. But his mother’s suicide broke what was left of him when that viper was finished with him.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to say, but he could tell his old friend knows the true cost of that spell—that Mo Xuanyu was gone from all realms, his soul destroyed. Nie Huaisang, he could see, was well aware of that.

“There was nothing I could do for him except offer the chance of vengeance.”

In the end, that was essentially all Nie Huaisang had gotten out of the whole ordeal—vengeance, justice, whatever they wanted to call it. He wondered if he would have preferred to bring his brother back instead of Wei Wuxian, but knew better than to ask. It would have been impossible, with Nie Mingjue’s soul trapped asunder in the scattered parts of his body.

Wei Wuxian suspected his own soul had been shattered at his death, but it hadn’t been tied to his body. That, after all, had been destroyed, leaving the pieces of his soul to scatter to the earth. But the spell could fuse the pieces back together in the sacrificed body, so long as they hadn’t faded to nothing.

Truly, he had to be grateful to Mo Xuanyu.

“No, I regret Qin Su’s death,” Nie Huaisang said. “Though her reputation would have been in tatters had she lived.”

There was no knowing if she had taken her own life with that understanding, or if she had been another victim of Jin Guangyao, controlled somehow by her husband and helpless but to watch herself plunge a knife into her own breast. Either way, whether a suicide or murder, it had arguably been caused by the letter Bicao had written at Nie Huaisang’s behest.

“And I regret putting the juniors in danger,” he added. “Though I really didn’t mean Jin Ling to be at the temple. I didn’t plan for that.”

But he had endangered them by luring them to Yi City, and Xue Yang would have killed them without remorse, and enjoyed it.

“I wish you hadn’t involved them, too,” Wei Wuxian said. “It was dumb luck they survived until Lan Zhan and I got there.”

“They have skills,” Nie Huaisang protested weakly. “Not like the two of you at their age, but sufficient to survive, at least.”

He had a point there, at least about the Lan juniors and maybe Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen, who seemed to have his head on straight. The rest had at least known to follow orders from a senior.

“I don’t regret bringing you back, though,” Nie Huaisang said after the silence stretched a bit. “I missed you, Wei-xiong. You never treated me like I was useless, even when I was, and we had fun. I didn’t have any friends once you were gone.”

Wei Wuxian’s first inclination was to protest that Jiang Cheng was his friend… but he knew full well that shijie’s death had broken his once-brother. That had probably put a damper on any friendships he’d had.

And Nie Huaisang had been alone after his brother’s murder, after the discovery that it had been a murder.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” he said, though it’s not his fault—he was dead at the time.

Nie Huaisang offers a smile that looks exhausted, probably the first true one Wei Wuxian has seen from him.

“You know, he taught me the song—the one he used to poison dage—so I could play it on a piccolo.”

A chill raced through Wei Wuxian as he realized what that meant, just how deeply Chifeng-zun’s death had impacted him—like how he’d been made into an instrument of his shijie’s demise.

“He made you complicit,” he whispered.

Nie Huaisang’s smile turned bitter.

“If he’d just killed dage, he’d just be dead. But between the killing, the desecration, and that… I had to destroy him, Wei-xiong.”

Jin Guangyao had set up Jin Zixuan’s death, had caused the situation in which shijie had died… Wei Wuxian could understand Nie Huaisang’s desire for revenge. But revenge cycled over and over and just led to more death—had led to his own.

“I know,” he said.

But it didn’t bring back the dead—even he couldn’t really do that. Though people thought that was what he’d done with Wen Ning, it wasn’t quite correct. His body had been actively dying when he’d reanimated him with resentful energy, which had essentially put him in a sort of stasis. He was in between life and death.

“But dage’s still gone,” Nie Huaisang said, as though reading his mind or seeing a tell on his face. “As are all of the other victims.”

Wei Wuxian set his bottle of wine aside, no longer having the taste for it. All he could focus on was the bitterness of it, and he took no pleasure from it now.

“More bodies pile up, more blood is spilled. All we taste is gall,” he murmured, thinking of a poem he once read, one that romanticized war.

Much was written on the idea of just wars, often the defensive or punitive kind. But most people felt their wars were somehow just, and the opposing side or sides unjust. And regardless of the writings, he’d seen himself how non-combatants were massacred despite the philosophies of both Mengzi and Xunzi stating the execution of even one blameless person was inhumane and unrighteous. So much of the end of the Sunshot Campaign had been filled with acts of injustice, a disregard of jus in bello.

He found himself suddenly tired, feeling the weight of everything—his hubris, the people who died because of him, who continued to die because of him in service of someone who wanted him dead, his own death.

“Is it so wrong to just want peace?”

He’d thought, having died once, that perhaps his sins—those he was guilty of and those he was falsely credited with—had died with him. If so, they had been resurrected with him, because even if some of the air had been cleared, he was expected to die again.

Now he was just so tired, and there was nowhere he could go where he could just exist and rest. Anywhere he went, people would find reason to take offense to his existence, to make rest impossible.

Wei Wuxian hated that sometimes even now, despite Mo Xuanyu’s sacrifice to resurrect him, he wished he was still dead. He didn’t remember anything of the years that had passed, only a sort of peace that had perhaps come from nonexistence.

Times like these he felt like his skin was too tight.

“Wei-xiong?”

Nie Huaisang was looking at him with concern, which was almost funny. Before his death, Wei Wuxian would have said he wouldn’t understand what he was concerned about. Now… even he had scars.

“Too much wine,” he demurred. “I should… I guess I should sleep it off. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

That got a frown.

“Wei-xiong, I’m still looking into the assassins. Please at least stay until it’s handled?”

Right. They hadn’t addressed it. Wei Wuxian had assumed Nie Huaisang had already handled it, which he supposed said something about how high his expectations of his old friend had become, now that he knew his role in Jin Guangyao’s downfall.

“It’s pretty peaceful here, and we have a lovely library, and good food and wine, and you can rest and get a nice bath,” Nie Huaisang rambled, his tone at the end implying he thought Wei Wuxian needed one.

His old friend’s words, about not regretting bringing him back, came back to him, and Wei Wuxian was belatedly gratified that more than one person was glad he was alive again. He’d left the other one in Gusu. Well, maybe there were more than two—A-Yuan and Wen Ning counted.

“All right, all right,” he said, waving his hands to get him to stop. “I’ll stay, at least until the assassin thing is dealt with.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile was so full of relief and hope, it was almost heartbreaking to think he’d spent so much time alone with his revenge.

“I wish you’d told me, though,” he said, schooling his voice into petulance, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

“If I’d told you about the assassins you might have thought I was threatening you,” Nie Huaisang said, pouting.

That was fair. After all, he’d threatened Nie Huaisang at the Cloud Recesses, and was used to getting threatened himself. It wasn’t what he was thinking about, though.

“Well, maybe. But I meant when Lan Zhan caught you at the man-eating tomb. Couldn’t you have just told us everything then?”

“If I told you and Lan-er-gongzi, he might have told erge,” his old friend pointed out. “And if he tipped off Jin Guangyao, all bets were off about whether any of us would have survived.”

Wei Wuxian remembered the way Lan Xichen had been taken captive, the garrote against his own neck and then Jin Ling’s, the death of Qin Su and the fact that Jin Guangyao had killed his son, father, brother, and cousin, Nie Mingjue, and likely hundreds of other people to rise to power.

Here all Wei Wuxian had wanted to do with his own power, the power everyone was convinced he’d use for ill, was farm potatoes (not radishes) in a mass graveyard and protect the people he’d rescued. He’d acquired power out of necessity, to win the war, not because he wanted to babysit the cultivation world—that sounded fucking exhausting and he felt bad Lan Zhan was now stuck in the role.

“True,” Wei Wuxian mused. “We caught him relatively by surprise and he still managed to kidnap the juniors and organize another siege of the Burial Mounds.”

Plus the situation at the Guanyin temple in Yunping had been very touch-and-go. There had been so many ways it could have gone badly, and nearly did. He was still amazed no one had died—aside from Su She and Jin Guangyao and their peons, but he didn’t care about them.

Nie Huaisang finished his wine and set the empty jar aside.

“In the inn, when I told you about the issue with the sabers…” he started, then sighed.

Wei Wuxian knew what he was asking.

“As the foremost expert on demonic cultivation and resentful energy, you’re hoping I’ll see if I can solve your qi deviation issue while I’m in the Unclean Realm,” he said, not without mirth.

“I know you like puzzles, Wei-xiong. And you get bored easily.”

Nie Huaisang wrinkled his nose at him with a knowing smile, and Wei Wuxian remembered, back in Cloud Recesses, pushing his friend off-balance and into the freezing cold stream out of boredom. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll do less damage with something to occupy me, as you well know. I suppose I can take a look.”

“Excellent!” Nie Huaisang said, fiddling with his fan in a practiced way, but not bringing it to his face. “Now, we’ll discuss your compensation tomorrow, after you’ve gotten a nice bath and some rest. Your quarters are fully furnished, and I took the liberty of stocking it with some better quality and less threadbare robes…”

As Wei Wuxian feigned righteous indignation, he realized the prospect of staying here made him feel more centered, like he had found a place he actually could rest in this new world, somewhere where he wouldn’t be a burden, where he could maybe do some good.

He thought maybe Nie Huaisang had recognized that in him, but maybe also in himself—that they could help each other in what amounted to a time of transition for them both.

Wei Wuxian could rest here for a while, taking in a refreshing breeze, before he continued wandering this terrestrial world.

---------

The poem Wei Wuxian is thinking of is Wei Wang’s “Song of Mt. Yanzhi,” which is more a celebration of war, but it’s a remembered line that hits him here.

Regarding the issue of just war (and aggressive vs. defensive vs. punitive war), there’s a lot written on it in multiple cultures’ philosophies. Famously, Mengzi/Mencius resigned his post in the Qi dynasty when the Qi army killed non-combatants and plundered wealth. There are some really fascinating papers on this issue. Jus in bello is a really fascinating concept involving the responsibilities an invading army has to the inhabitants of the area they are invading. Yes, I read scholarly research articles when writing this chapter, because that’s how I roll.

The last line is a reference to Su Shi’s “First Ode on the Red Cliffs,” same as the title.

Nope, we don’t know who sent the assassins, but Nie Huaisang is working on it, so you know it’ll be resolved (hopefully in less than a decade this time). This fic is about their reconciliation, with that being an unresolved thread. Wei Wuxian’s feelings about Lan Wangji are also unresolved, as is the status of his relationship with Jiang Cheng. If I get inspiration, I might make this a series and handle those in the future. We’ll see!

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #cql #mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #nie huaisang #untamed fanfiction #untamed fanfic #untamed fic #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #cql fic #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fic #my fanfiction

6 notes · View notes

argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

I Fold

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Book 1, chapter 12)

Word Count: ~2400

Rating: PG-13 (language, mild sensuality)

Summary: Spending time with her always feels like a gamble

Author’s Note: Written for the @choicesmonthlychallenge for August 21 - temptation. With TRH3 coming out today, I found myself feeling a little bummed that I had no desire to play this series I once loved, so I decided to throw this together to revisit a time when I adored this series and these characters.

Drake stepped into the lounge almost tentatively, scanning the room quickly from the doorway and letting out a sigh when he confirmed he was alone. He didn’t want to think about the fact that there was a lot of disappointment mixed in with his relief at that realization.

He walked over to the bar, rooting through the bottles of liquor until he found the Bushmills he was looking for. He had no reason to suspect that she would be joining him tonight. She wouldn’t even know about this lounge at Applewood. But then again, she’d stumbled upon him in that lounge back at the palace without any warning, and she hadn’t exactly known where to find him then, at least at first. It had been pure coincidence.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was that he’d rather enjoyed the handful of nights they’d spent drinking whiskey and playing poker. Before they’d made the trip to Applewood, it had kind of settled into a late night tradition, with her waiting for him in the lounge after the first couple of times. But now, things were apparently back to normal, which Drake knew in his soul was for the best. Since his birthday yesterday, he was having thoughts he definitely shouldn’t be. Or rather, more thoughts he shouldn’t be. But part of him still just wanted to spend a little more time with her.

He took his glass of whiskey and headed for the couches, pulling out his phone and trying to not feel let down that it looked like she wasn’t joining him. After all, he’d never had problems drinking alone before she dropped into his life. So, he pulled up scores from the football matches today and was ready to watch some highlights when he heard the door creak open.

His eyes flew to the door in an instant. There she was, her dark hair swinging as she glanced around the room, a smile appearing when she met his gaze.

“There you are. I’ve been hunting for where you might be hiding,” she said, stepping fully into the lounge, closing the door behind her. She’d changed into a pair of tight jeans and a loose, purplish sort of top. She looked good, so much more comfortable than he’d seen her all day. “After not only being forced to bake today, but forced to bake with Olivia, I definitely need a drink.”

Drake moved to stand up and pour her some whiskey, but she shook her head. “I got it. Why don’t you find some cards?” And just like that, she was striding over to the bar like she owned the place. His eyes drifted down, watching the way her hips and ass rolled in those jeans before he snapped out of it, jerking his head to the side and standing up, running his hands through his hair as he made his way to the small cupboard off to the side. He needed to stop. He couldn’t let himself get carried away here.

“What’s on the drink menu tonight?” he heard her call out as he dug around, trying to find a deck of cards and some poker chips.

“Bushmills, but if you want something else, Liu-”

“Nah, that’s fine with me.” He heard the splash of liquid into a glass as he continued his search. He eventually found an old deck of cards, but there did not appear to be any chips.

“How’s the hunt going?” she asked, her voice much closer. She must be at the coffee table.

“I don’t think there are any poker chips here, Liu.” He reached his arm in as deep as he could, feeling around the back of the cupboard, but he was still coming up empty.

“Hmmm. Do you have any cash on you? We could use that.”

He pivoted to face her, finding her sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Are you literally trying to take my money? Because of all your potential marks at the manor, I’m probably the dumbest choice.”

She threw her head back and laughed at that, deep and rich, her black hair hanging like a surreal curtain behind her. “Maybe I just figured I could start small, gradually work my way through the court!” He chuckled lightly at that before she continued, “But seriously, I don’t know. I was just trying to come up with something we could use. So unless you have other ideas…” She trailed off with a little shrug, her dark eyes wide as they locked on his. The silence that followed was tense and expectant.

Drake swallowed roughly. He could think of one option besides poker chips as he let his eyes drift across her body, picturing each piece of clothing she was wearing piled on the table in front of her. Those damn jeans that fit her like a second skin. That shirt that was loose and slipping off her shoulder just a bit. The bra he knew was blue based on the strap he could see on that shoulder. Her panties, probably not a matching blue, but still undoubtedly perfect, regardless of color.

He tried to reign in his overactive imagination, dragging his eyes back to her face, shocked to see a coy little smirk on her face. It almost felt like she was flirting, like she wanted him to suggest strip poker or something, but he knew he had to be just imagining things, so he shook his head to get that way too appealing fantasy out of his mind, twisting back to the cupboard and looking at their actual options.

“How about Scrabble tiles?”

There was a slight pause before she answered, “That could work.”

So he tugged the old box of Scrabble from the shelf and joined her on the floor, resting his back against the couch behind him as he set the game on the coffee table and handed her the deck of cards, ignoring how her fingers brushed against his as he did so. As she shuffled the deck, he sorted out the tiles, dividing them into vowels and consonants, then sliding half of each pile over to her.

“Alright, vowels are one, consonants are five, ante is one? That work for you, Liu?”

She nodded. “Five card draw?” They’d mixed it up a couple of times, but they seemed to both prefer the standard.

“Sounds good.”

And so she dealt the cards. He watched her hands as she briskly alternated placing cards in front of each of them. He noticed a bit of glitter in her pink nail polish. He wasn’t sure if she knew that wasn’t exactly appropriate for court, or if she did and it was a tiny bit of rebellion. He liked to think it was the latter.

“So, how long do Apple Court cup-bearer duties last?” Riley asked as she picked up her cards, scanning them over without changing her expression. “Should you have tasted my whiskey before I had any?”

Drake lifted his eyes from the five cards he was holding to look at her. Her eyes were bright and playful, an eyebrow cocked and the corner of her lips quirked up.

“Ha. Ha,” he deadpanned, looking back at his cards, trying to decide whether he should play it safe and keep his pair of tens, or trade in one of them and to go for a flush as he tossed in an “I” as his initial bet. “Nice to see the power of being fake queen is already going to your head. Good practice for when you’re actually queen.”

She let out a little hum at that, but didn’t say anything else when she matched him with an “O.” It surprised Drake, as normally she gave as good as she got. But for whatever reason, his little teasing comment didn’t draw a response from her. He wondered if he’d struck a nerve. That hadn’t been his goal, but maybe she was worried he really saw her as just as stuck up and irritating as the rest of them. He didn’t know how that could be, because who else at court would sit on the floor and drink whiskey straight up with him? But this place tended to have a way of screwing with minds. He knew that better than anyone probably.

“Liu, I was just teasing. I know you aren’t-”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted, shaking her head lightly as she took the three cards he offered her and passed him three new ones from the deck. “It’s just… Do you really think I’ll be queen?”

He felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Of course she was just worried that Liam wasn’t as interested as she was. She didn’t care how he saw her at all. He glanced at his new cards, disappointed to find nothing useful. The pair of tens was going to have to be good enough. He tossed an “E” tile into the pot before he answered, “Liu, I’m not gonna act like a teenager and gossip about my best friend’s feelings. You are smart enough to see that-”

“That’s not what I meant. I… sometimes… I don’t know. I just don’t feel like I’m cut out to be queen, you know?”

His eyes jumped to her face, but she was staring at her hand, aggressively avoiding eye contact with him as she tossed in a “K” tile, raising his bet.

“Liu, where is this coming from?” He kept staring at her, trying to determine what she wanted here. Did she want a confidence boost and pep talk? Or did she want his honest assessment? Because while he was sure she could be an amazing queen, a breath of fresh air, bringing common sense and real world experiences to the role, he also was scared of what being queen might do to her. To be queen was to play peacemaker, to embody decorum and diplomacy at all times. And she was too fierce, too intense, too free to ever be truly happy locked away in that gilded cage.

She gave a little shrug after a moment, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “I just don’t have anything in common with any of the other suitors. I’m nothing like them at all, and it just makes me wonder if I’m right for this. They’ve trained all their lives for this shit, and if I am so different from them, then I don’t see how I am remotely the right choice.”

“Your differences from them are why you are the right choice, Liu. You aren’t sheltered or out of touch or completely stuck up your own ass.”

“I just don’t know. It feels so weird and the closer the Coronation gets, I just…” she trailed off, biting her lip and staring at him with those damn eyes. She looked lost and unsure, and he wasn’t used to that.

“Did Olivia or Madeleine say something today?” It was the only thing he could think that would have made her suddenly unsettled.

Riley shook her head aggressively. “God no! And I know better than to let anything those bitches say get to me. I’ve just been thinking about it more lately, and I just can’t picture myself sitting there with a crown on my head and a smile plastered on my face.”

Drake shrugged. She wasn’t exactly wrong, and he wasn’t going to lie to her. She would have to put on a happy face publicly a lot when she married Liam.

When he didn’t say anything, she kept going. “Sometimes it all just feels so surreal, like I’m an actress in some cheap romance movie. I don’t know… I guess the only times I feel like I’m still a real human are…”

Her eyes dropped to the surface of the coffee table as she trailed off again. He followed her gaze, surprised to see her hand mere millimeters from his, his little finger nearly touching her thumb. It happened almost in slow motion, as he watched her thumb scoot over, brushing over the back of his hand deliberately.

Drake looked up and was shocked to find her staring at him, her gaze so intense it almost felt like it could cut through him. He didn’t know what she was looking for, what she was searching for in him, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the moment, to look away. So he stared right back. The urge to slide their hands together, the temptation to lean over and kiss her was so strong, he almost felt himself leaning towards her.

But he knew he couldn’t. It would be a massive mistake. She was just getting worn down by the stresses of the social season, and she was looking for comfort where she could find it. He knew it had to be true. Hell, the only reason she kept coming back for these midnight poker games was probably because she just needed a moment away from all the pressure and he kind of just represented the antithesis of that whole world. It had nothing to actually do with him beyond his outsider status.

She was here for Liam. He should be the one to kiss away her worries and fears, to hold her close, to reassure her. Drake was just supposed to keep an eye on her, not steal those intimate moments. So he closed his eyes, trying to break the spell it felt like she had him under with her stare as he cleared his throat, sliding his hand back. “I fold.”

He opened his eyes to find her still staring at him, an almost skeptical look in her eyes. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warm with her continued attention, so he shoved the handful of Scrabble tiles over to her, trying to move this evening back in a safer direction. “Here, just take your damn winnings so I can deal the next hand.”

She didn’t say anything as she tossed her hand onto the discard pile and handed him the deck. Out of curiosity, he flipped over those five cards. The five of clubs, the three and nine of diamonds, and the six and Jack of spades. She had nothing, had been bluffing the entire time.

“What can I say? Sometimes you just need to raise the stakes.” He glanced up at her statement and saw her watching him. “What did you have?”

“It doesn’t matter, Liu.” And with that, he shuffled his hand into the deck, dealing the cards out without saying another word. From where he was sitting, the stakes were already high enough.

Permatag: @choicesficwriterscreations @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @iaminlovewithtrr @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr #choices fanfiction #the royal romance

80 notes · View notes

bluexiao · 3 years

Text

- About morning: "The sun has risen. It is yet another start for a new day. Good morning, Traveler. Come, I've prepared breakfast."

- About afternoon: "The sunlight is the harshest during afternoon. But the shade under the tree in Windrise is also beautifully highlighted during this time. Would you like to join me on my way there?"

- About night: "Ah, nighttime. The wind is always the calmest when the whole world is asleep."

- When it rains: "The rain drops heavy against the ground today. Let's find shelter, it would be better to rest for now."

- When the rain stops: "Oh, the rain has stopped. Shall we find a spot to settle down? I will make some warm stew for you."

- When it snows: "The world always seems to fall silent when it snows. The cold air feels heavy however."

- About hobbies: "A hobby? It's something you do for... leisure, if I'm not wrong? I'm not sure... but I do enjoy cooking for others. Other than that, I'm afraid I might not have more. It might be the only thing I specialize in outside my battle prowess."

- Favorite food: "Favorite... food? It would be Apple Cider. I have found myself having this drink more than I expected during times I was making sure Venti... stay in line when we're at a bar. The drink can sober you up if you've one too many glasses of wine. Other than being commonly found at a bar, it's an invigorating drink to make on your travels as well. I can make some for you, if you'd like."

- Least Favorite Food: "I do not harbor any dislike towards any kinds of food. However, I despise seeing food that I try to cook turn out terrible. Food in such condition cannot be served for others."

- About Dandelion Wine: "I am partially uncertain on my opinion of Dandelion Wine. As this particular drink is the reason why Venti is always drunk and muttering senseless things in his stupor. Dandelion Wine is delectable but I personally prefer Apple Cider... so I can stay sober for the two of us."

- About Mondstadt: "Mondstadt... This city is everything to me. I was there when it crumbled apart, I was there when it flourished into the City of Freedom. Venti smiles upon Mondstadt, and so do I."

- About Liyue: "I do not have the chance to travel outside Mondstadt often... but I've been to Liyue several times. Liyue is quite the prosperous city indeed. The Lantern Rite Festival was exceptionally breathtaking."

- More About Aria - I: "You are curious as to how I handle Venti? Most of the time, I try to keep him in line in taverns such as preventing him from drinking more than our budget, not letting him fall off the chair, and... Oh, I'm rambling, aren't I? I apologize."

- More About Aria - II: "My favorite flower is Windwheel Asters. I adore how the wind passes through their petals, it gives off a pleasant feeling."

- More About Aria - III: "I do not have any talent for singing. My voice is not suited for such beautiful melodies. Listening to Venti's songs is more than enough for me."

- More About Aria - IV: "I do not have a family, nor do I have any othe relatives. Venti might be the only person closest to 'family' for me. Hmm, siblings have fun and do favors for each other, you say? Well, I tend to take care of his troublemaking yet 'having fun' habits, maybe that would count?"

- More About Aria - V: "People often tell me I look soulless. They are not wrong... but it makes me feel meek. My origins are not something easy to share. There may be times where I question the importance of my existence, but that is only a silly thought. At the very least, you know of my true self, Traveler. I am grateful."

- Something to Share: "I do not necessarily require sleep. A being such as myself is not bounded by fatigue and age. But I understand that people around me are different, so I am willing to wait for them to take their time. I suppose, this is why I always remind you to rest."

- Interesting Things: "Venti told me that apparently, I disappear out of sight whenever I feel too lulled by the breeze or a song. Do not panic, it is only because I morph back into my original form when I lose control of my human form. Call my name, I will still answer even when you cannot see me."

- Troubles: "You wish to know about my troubles? I am trying to keep my best from letting Venti consume too much Dandelion Wine per usual. But lately... I've been thinking about how I'd like to get to know certain people but I am uncertain on how to approach them without a proper reason. *sigh* It seems I am still a novice when it comes to interactions with others..."

- About Aria - Wind Whisperer: "The Wind Whisperer... It's been such a long time since I've been addressed by that title. Do I miss it? Oh, the name does hold precious memories for me. I am still the Wind Whisperer, but I am also Aria."

- About Aria - Vision: "My Vision was handed to me the very first time I opened my eyes. It was placed in my hands and at that moment, I was born as the Wind Whisperer."

- About Visions: "To me, having a Vision is a responsibility. A reminder that I am given these powers to protect those in need. Ever since I was born with this Vision, I know I exist to protect Mondstadt and its people. But to other Vision bearers, their purposes are solely theirs to decide."

- About the Archons: "The Archons each has the responsibility to rule over a part of Teyvat to keep it from falling apart. However along with this responsibility, the Archons carry with them great burden. All of them have secrets buried in their past that led them to be who they are. I live to respect that."

hello! so sorry this is late! i absolutely agree with how venti & aria seemed siblings of the sort^^ i feel like both of them have similarities too, now that i’ve realized. like venti, aria is born somewhat peculiarly, and she’s somewhat… alone, that’s what i sense with her character. she has this “purpose” that she values but what really does she like doing the most ?

anyway i just said my analysis on her hahah. good work on the voicelines nonnie!! i enjoyed reading more about aria^^

#🖌

3 notes · View notes

toothlessturtle21 · 4 years

Text

Tomato Soup

So I wrote this little thing that totally isn’t me projecting my issues with food onto a fictional character no way, so hopefully it’s not terrible because it’s not super proofread. TW: mentions of unspecified ED, hypoglycemia, noncon “repairs” done to Zane. Enjoy, I guess.

------------

Zane loved to eat, until his father decided that the budget couldn't quite feed a family of two. ... Zane used to love to eat.

Zane's earliest memory of food being an issue to him was when he was barely even a year old. His father sat at the table, hunched over brass and copper coins, occasionally glancing at his son with a slightly worried expression. Zane was busy sorting their books, the task having kept him busy for the better part of the last two hours while his father said he had some "grown-up things" to worry about. Eventually, his father called out to him.

"Zane?" His father asked, voice strained. "What food do you have cataloged in our pantry?"

"Three cans of tomato soup, two sleeves of crackers, various spices, and one box of penne pasta. Speaking of which, I am getting rather peckish, I think I will go have some of the-"

Zane went to stand to go towards the cupboard to grab a sleeve crackers when his father stopped him.

"No!"

The android froze, recoiling a little in surprise as his father stood as well.

"Father, is everything alright?"

Julien smiled wearily, gently tugging on Zane's arm to move him back towards the workshop.

"Of course, Zane. Everything is just fine."

"Then why are we going back into the workshop? You only bring me back for repairs if something is wrong," Zane stated before a different train of thought hit him and he jerked away. "D- Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I was not efficient enough when I was organizing the books, I'll do better, I promise!"

"Stop fussing, you don't need to worry," His father consoled him, but Zane still dug his heels in enough to make his hesitation known. "You will be fine, I promise."

Zane was still stammering as he was pushed down onto the workbench and was powered off, world fading away as his mind still panicked.

...

Zane blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. He shot up straight, the memories of what happened right before his repairs making him quickly check his vitals for information.

Energy: 78%

Hydraulic Fluid: 89%

Vision: 100%

Audio: 100%

Hunger: -

Zane blinked, and tried again to access his hunger. Nothing. He looked over at his father, who looked slightly guilty but overall relieved.

"Why can't I access my hunger level?" Zane tried to ask with a level voice, but it ended up coming out choked. Julien shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Zane."

And so he didn't. If his father wasn't concerned, then why should he be?

He tried to eat a cracker afterwards just to test what he believed his father had done to him, and he held back tears as what used to be a salty treat felt like cardboard melting in his mouth. He closed the sleeve, and set it back on the counter, resuming his task of organizing the library, but this time the actions felt a little more hollow.

So he watched as his father ate his soup and crackers, and just had to sit there and pretend to smile as he remembered how he used to enjoy the flavors dancing upon his tongue.

-----------------------------

Zane was relaxing on his own bunk in the Monastery reading a rather good book when Cole gently knocked at the door, Jay poking his head out from behind the taller's back. Sensei Wu had set out to find something or other, leaving the three behind to their own devices while he was gone.

"Uh, Zane? You doing ok?" Cole started, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, uh," Jay stuttered, and Zane merely blinked as his friend tried to figure out his words. "Cole and I were talking, and we both realized that we couldn't remember you actually ever eating in front of us. Or at all."

"We're not mad or anything!" Cole was quick to butt in before Zane could speak, hoping to prevent any misunderstandings. "We just want to make sure you're not starving yourself or anything, because that would be really bad."

Zane stared in confusion, wracking his brain for anything to respond with.

"Why would me not eating be bad?"

"You could die!" Jay sputtered, and Zane felt some sort of sick feeling start to brew in his gut. "Please, just tell us if something's wrong, you can trust us, right?"

"I do trust you," Zane answered, for that he knew for certain. Cole and Jay looked like they were about to cry, and Cole reached out to gently tug Zane off his bunk. He was sandwiched in a hug between the two, Jay clinging to his front while Cole mirrored him from the back.

"Please, just eat something," Jay pleaded quietly, and Zane was incredibly unsure of how to respond besides a simple nod and a gentle hand rubbing at his friend's back to soothe him. Cole buried his head in Zane's shoulder, which wasn't hard since he was slightly taller than the blonde.

"I would prefer not to..." Zane began, but trailed off as Cole squeezed him tighter.

"I don't know what's going through your head right now Zane, and I don't need to know, but we're here for you. You don't need to change for anyone, yeah? Besides, you need the energy to train anyway."

Zane nodded along despite not knowing that they were talking about, but he could infer that whatever it was was a very serious issue. So he held his friends as they dragged him to the kitchen for him to choke down a granola bar, which seemed to calm them down enough where they stopped clinging onto him, but not enough where they wanted to leave him alone.

-----------------------------

When Zane and his brothers sat pouring over their jar of coins to pay their rent, Zane felt a gross feeling return to his stomach. They had resorted to buying sandwiches from a shop a few blocks over because they never had enough money at one time to buy enough groceries to support them, so single servings seemed to be the most viable option.

Since discovering his android origins, Zane had discovered how to turn his taste back on, and had also figured out that eating did give him an energy boost, but never his hunger. So he ate mostly as an extra, something that was nice, but not necessary. So it was no surprise that when it came time to order dinner, Zane shook his head denied needing anything.

The ninja took his word for it, and weeks went by with Zane only eating by stealing scraps from the restaurant he worked at to keep his energy up as much as he could, but even he could feel his performance slipping as his body was forced to run on low amounts of power. More of his blood was staying in his core to run his heart, leaving him pale and shaky, and his eyelids felt perpetually heavy, like they were being held down by weights that kept increasing by the day.

The issue reached its apex, however, during a quick training session he had managed to sneak in with Lloyd between shifts. They were sparring, the android of course not using all of his skills on the child, but he could tell something was off. Zane was stumbling, his footing unsure and his blocks were sloppy. Before he knew it, he was on the floor, and Lloyd was shaking his shoulders out of fear before running out of the room to call Jay, the android's vision fading around the edges.

He tried to sit up, but doing so made his head spin and his gut curdle with nausea, so he curled up into a ball to ease the ache, eyes squeezed shut before he blacked out in the middle of the training room floor.

...

When he opened his eyes once more, Jay was worriedly peering down at him.

"You awake?"

Zane nodded slowly, and he felt something being nudged at the corner of his lips.

"Eat this."

Zane tried to look over the best he could, and to his morbid amusement, it was another one of the granola bars that Jay loved to force upon him.

"You just passed out from the robot equivalent of low blood sugar, you gotta eat something buddy. I'll grab you some fruit juice or something in a bit. It helps humans, so it's worth a shot on you."

Zane slowly sat up and backed against the wall for support, and methodically chewed the snack with measured bites, Jay texting something to someone quickly before putting his phone away to sit across from the Ice Ninja.

Once Zane was done eating, Jay decided to strike up the conversation that the two knew was coming.

"Zane, you gotta eat. I know the first time Cole and I thought something was up it was just because you didn't need to eat, but your body isn't used to this. You're hurting yourself."

"Just let me adjust to it, and I'll be fine."

"No, I'm not letting you do that. You're eating with the rest of us and that's final. Kai's dropping off a carton of apple juice in a bit, and we're getting food tonight. You're going to rest, because I'm not letting you pass out while training again. What if you had done that on a mission?"

Zane had no answer, and nodded his head meekly as a sign that he understood. Jay stood, and held out his hand, Zane accepting the invitation to stand, also very grateful that Jay didn't mention how he stumbled upon landing on his feet.

"Y'need to trust your body more, you're getting too caught up in your own head," Jay said softly as he sat Zane down on the couch, sitting down next to him with a slight bounce. "You're not a burden by needing to eat, buddy."

The android sighed, and rested his head on Jay's shoulder, his eyes still burning and his mind quickly following suit.

"Alright, you can use me as a pillow," The Lightning Ninja smirked, and wrapped an arm around Zane's waist. "I'm waking you up when Kai gets here, but then you can go back to bed, ok?"

Zane nodded sleepily before fully relaxing into his friend, exhaustion taking ahold of him with an iron grip as he fell asleep, Jay keeping him warm all the while.

#ninjago #jay walker #ninjago jay #ninjago zane #ninjago cole #dr julien #ao3 #fanfiction #ninjago fanfiction #toothlessturtle21 writes #tw ed mention

41 notes · View notes

imaginaryelle · 4 years

Link

Thanks to @morphia-writes for beta help, and to @miyuki4s for all the brainstorming help that went into this chapter!

An excerpt:

There are some things Lan Wangji cannot doubt: Wei Ying’s love for his sister, and her children. His affection for Jiang Wanyin, and the Wens. His dedication to ensuring that Lan Wangji himself does not succumb to the curse he carries.

Every evening, he creates a fresh talisman to replaces the one on Lan Wangji’s arm. He brews one of three different medicinal teas from Wen Qing, in sequence, and serves it, sometimes drinking a portion or two himself. He invites Lan Wangji to play Rest as a duet for the suppressed, resentful souls they carry, and then other, less spiritually charged music, and asks after his core, after their evening meditations.

Every morning, Lan Wangji takes longer than he needs to to comb his hair, and tie it up, and dress. Wei Ying looks younger in the diffused dawnlight inside the tent. Softer, sprawled carelessly under blankets with his sleep robe twisted out of place to reveal the hollow of his elbow and the line of his collar bones.

It’s an indulgence Lan Wangji shouldn’t permit himself. A few moments, watching Wei Ying breathe and concentrating on the steady warmth of the soulbond under his own skin.

Read on tumblr under the cut!

It takes more than one day for a sect leader to prepare for the sort of journey they’re planning. Not because of the journey itself, Wei Ying is quick to point out, but because of all the things he has to make sure are done beforehand.

“Wen Qing is locking me in my study today,” he says over breakfast on the first day, “but Sizhui, Xiuying and Weixin are meeting with a tailor for new clothes and you should go.”

As he has been wearing borrowed or stolen clothes for several days now, Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to protest. He has no desire to wear extra infirmary underlayers while traveling, and the plain black outer layer Wen Qionglin had brought to his door was clearly intended to fit as many people as possible. Commissioning something new, or at least something altered to fit properly, is only reasonable.

Wei Ying insists that he’s already paid for the service, which Lan Wangji can only thank him for; he has no funds of his own, or reputation to call on.

“Get something you like,” Wei Ying tells him, even as Wen Qing looms over his shoulder. “Anything you want is fine.”

Lan Wangji assumes this event will take place within Yiling-Wei’s walls, as was generally the case in Cloud Recesses, but instead he finds himself following Wen Sizhui, Zhou Xiuying and Liu Weixin through a town that looks much more prosperous than the Yiling he visited thirteen years ago, and is almost certainly louder and more crowded than he remembers.

That impression may be influenced by his company. Certainly he had felt there were entirely too many people in the street when he was surrounded by onlookers with a toddler clutching at his leg, but if anything their small group draws even more attention now.

Everyone seems to know Wen Sizhui. There are street hawkers and shop owners who greet him by name, and press freshly steamed baozi and sticks of hawthorn candy into his hands, and it is clear from their comments that the townspeople of Yiling are close to their Sect in a way that is certainly not true of Cloud Recesses and Caiyi, or Jinlingtai and Lanling. One merchant is so insistent on thanking them for some past service that all four of them end up holding packages of lotus root, despite the fact that Lan Wangji can have had nothing to do with solving the woman’s problems.

The pattern continues inside the tailor’s shop—the young Wei cultivators are being fitted with new black outer yi and trousers designed to the Jiang Clan’s specifications for the upcoming archery tournament, but they are all clearly well-known to the staff. And Lan Wangji has come with the Sect Leader’s express instructions. And also the offer of his purse.

“Wei-zongzhu said you might prefer these,” one of the tailor’s assistants says, his hands full of fine-woven cream and blue fabrics, “but we do have other colors, of course.”

None of the fabrics on display are the shining, pure white of Gusu-Lan, but there is sun-bleached silk and cloud-white cotton and pale wool woven thinner than paper. It doesn’t seem to matter what he says, or how he responds: he is fussed over, and measured, and prodded. Silk and wool and brocade are draped over his shoulders and held up to his face for comparisons of shade and texture, and he leaves the shop—it is much later in the afternoon than he expected—with the black robe he arrived in newly altered and a sash of summerweight wool dyed the blue of a pale spring morning tied around his waist. Travel clothes, he is assured, will be delivered in the next few days.

He could not bring himself to commission a forehead ribbon, in any color; he is already quite certain these new robes will exceed any budget or social standing Liang Feihong could expect to claim. Wei Ying seems unconcerned.

“It’s a gift,” he insists after dinner. “Besides, you’re still a cultivator, and you’re traveling with a sect leader. It’d be weird if you looked like a fisherman.”

Lan Wangji is certain there are several measures of difference between the dress of a fisherman, a rogue cultivator, and the fabrics that were held before his face today.

“Look at this map with me,” Wei Ying says, the topic apparently closed. “I’m trying to figure out which roads are least likely to be blocked by mudslides. Wen Qing says if I get on a boat during the spring rains she’ll kill me now to save herself the trouble of burying me later.”

Lan Wangji may not have any formal responsibilities at Yiling-Wei, but Wen Qing makes it clear that she expects marked improvement in his spiritual power before he leaves her area of influence. He is given a list of meditation exercises and a schedule of daily training sessions for sword and unarmed work with her apprentices on hand to monitor his condition.

This is not a hardship. He had already planned to dedicate most of his time to this task, and the Wei cultivators have a unique style—not quite Yunmeng-Jiang, but not Qishan-Wen either. Wei Ying, of course, is the most practiced in it, and his version does not even involve a sword; Suibian is distinctly absent from their training sessions, but this does not seem to affect Wei Ying’s efficacy. Twice Lan Wangji is not fast enough to avoid the touch of a talisman to his shoulder, or his core.

He takes no actual damage from them—Wei Ying is careful in his craft, and these were written specifically for this purpose, but the failure drives him to train harder, even against other sparring opponents, until whatever apprentice is observing him steps in and orders a rest.

He spends this enforced downtime reading theory texts from Wen Qing’s library or at his guqin, picking out simple practice scores and more complex Lan melodies in the hope of re-training both his fingers and his core in the delicate language required for performing Inquiry. He works outside, in the scattered gardens, whenever the weather allows. A few hours spent alone in his shuttered room during a sudden storm proves detrimental to his focus, no matter how many handstands he does, or what other meditation techniques he tries. It is better to be out in the open air, where he can breathe more easily.

“Lan Zhan!” On the afternoon of the third day Wei Ying leans around the mulberry tree on the other side of a plot dedicated largely to cooking herbs. He looks around as if he thinks they’re being watched, and then all but runs over to crouch next to Lan Wangji. “I want to show you something,” he whispers. He tugs on Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “Come on, quick!”

“Something” turns out to be the paddock, where a 2-day-old foal is taking in the outside world for the first time under his mother’s watchful eyes. Wei Ying drapes himself over the fence and watches them both with a rapt expression Lan Wangji has never seen him wear before. Zhou Xiuying is also in attendance, alongside her wife—Feng Xinyi—who he learns is the one of the Wei Sect’s grooms.

“Xiaoying and Heitu are just one pasture over, if you wanted to meet them,” she says, which is how Lan Wangji learns that Wei Ying intends to travel by mule.

“Do you know how hard it is to feed a horse?” he says as they walk through tall grass flushed green with the rains. “Have you ever tried to train a horse for night hunting? In a Yunmeng summer? The heat is terrible for them. I think the only reason Jiang Cheng still has horses is his grandmother sent a whole caravan of grooms and breeding stock from Meishan when the war ended.” He produces two apples from his sleeve and holds one out to the nearest mule and the other to Lan Wangji. “Mules are better,” he says, his tone flippant as he pets Xiaoying’s long nose. “And almost as impressive.”

Xiaoying and Heitu are undeniably beautiful animals; good conformation, clearly healthy, and their dark bay coats shine red in the sunlight. And Lan Wangji knows that he will not be able to travel by sword for some time yet. Not alone. He cannot expect Wei Ying to transport them both, and walking will be too slow. Riding makes sense.

“Little Shadow?” he asks, of Wei Ying’s mount. “And … Black Rabbit?” They are hardly the sorts of names he is accustomed to hearing for a cultivator’s steed. There is little sense of speed, or power, or even luck in these names. Wei Ying shrugs.

“Xiaoying used to lie in the grass and pretend to be dead. Sizhui tripped over her all the time, and then she’d follow him for hours. And Heitu likes to jump, she hopped all over the place as a filly--ah! Lan Zhan!” He grins, gleeful, mischief in his face. “Do you remember the rabbits I gave you, all those years ago? And now I can give you another one! A bigger one!” Wei Ying laughs, just as he had laughed in Cloud Recesses, depositing two rabbits on the floor of the library, some sort of gift and joke and torment all in one, Lan Wangji had been sure.

Lan Wangji hadn’t known what to do then, with the boy who refused to leave him alone, who insisted on teasing him at every opportunity. Now, he stares at Wei Ying’s hands, at long sleeves pulled back to reveal his wrists, at his lips, and he knows what he wants to do.

He steps closer to Heitu, offers her his hands in a bowl instead of reaching out beyond her.

“I remember,” he says. It’s possible that his brother allowed his pets to stay, after his death.

Unlikely. But possible.

Heitu snuffles at his hands, all warm breath and soft nose in a way that is, in some small semblance, reminiscent of the soft warmth of his rabbits. She bears nothing like their fragility, but she takes the apple he offers delicately, and he keeps his fingers well clear of her teeth. Wei Ying strokes Xiaoying’s face and talks sweetly at her until she takes his sleeve in her mouth, at which point he switches over to annoyed admonishments. Lan Wangji has just stepped nearer to help him when Wen Qionglin appears at Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“Qing-jie wants to know if you finished that letter to Ouyang-zongzhu yet,” he says.

Wei Ying jerks, and there’s a sound of tearing cloth. He sighs.

“Feng-shimei told you to stop keeping food in your sleeves,” Wen Qionglin notes, even as he distracts Xiaoying with a hand on her neck. She drops Wei Ying’s sleeve and nudges her nose into Wen Qionglin’s chest. Both animals seem accustomed to his presence.

“I took it out as soon as we got here,” Wei Ying grumbles. “I wouldn’t have torn anything if I wasn’t surprised.” He sticks his fingers through the tear in his sleeve and wiggles them. The look on his face can only be described as a pout.

“I can fix it for you—” Wen Qionglin actually looks worried. Wei Ying just sighs and flaps his sleeve.

“I’ll fix it,” he says. “Why should you fix it? It’s fine.” He frowns at Xiaoying for a moment, then leans into Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“I really can’t recommend becoming a sect leader,” he says, low-voiced, as if this will affect Wen Qionglin’s hearing. “The number of letters you have to respond to is too much work. I don’t think Ouyang-zongzhu even reads them, he just sends some new complaint every few weeks, as if I can control the weather, or the river, or how sleepy his cultivators get when they’re on tower duty.”

Lan Wangji has never heard his brother or his uncle make similar complaints, but they are Lans; they would not say such a thing even if it were true.

“Did you not choose the position?” he asks.

Wei Ying’s face scrunches up with displeasure. He shakes his head, though whether it is denial or dismissal is impossible to determine.

“I better get back to it,” he says instead of answering the question. “Before Wen Qing tells the kitchens to put radish in my food again.”

He sighs, and waves aside Lan Wangji’s bow. “I’ll see you both at dinner,” he says, and Wen Qionglin nods. Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying walk back up the hill towards the main compound until Heitu seems to take offense to his distraction and knocks her head against his shoulder, huffing at him.

“Does Liang-gongzi know how to ride?” Wen Qionglin asks. It’s a fair question: Lan Wangji does not actually know if Liang Feihong was trained in riding. He prevaricates. What is true for him is just as likely to be true for Liang Feihong as not.

“It has been a long time.”

“Would you like to practice?” Wen Qionglin asks, and Lan Wangji agrees without hesitation. Practice, and especially practice in caring for his mount without servants to help, can only improve the upcoming journey.

Wen Qionglin shows him to the tack room, and he manages to brush and saddle Heitu with a minimum of fuss. The main difference between outfitting a horse and a mule, he finds, is that Heitu’s tack includes two belly cinches, there is an extra strap that goes under her tail to stop the saddle moving too far forward, and he has to be especially gentle with her long ears while placing the bridle. Xiaoying is the more mischievous of the pair, Wen Qionglin tells him, and has to be watched carefully so she doesn’t puff out her stomach and make the cinches too loose.

Riding is initially awkward, but after a few slow circuits of the paddock he finds his seat and is able to push Heitu faster without losing his balance too badly. She takes direction well, has a steady, comfortable gait, and doesn’t startle as easily as some horses he’s ridden. He will almost certainly be sore later, especially without a dependable supply of spiritual power to speed healing, but the wind in his face and the simple pleasures of riding are more than worth that discomfort. He turns back toward the stables when they have both worked up a light sweat and sees Feng Xinyi speaking with Wen Qionglin. She smiles as he approaches, but doesn’t stay.

“I should get back to the little one,” she says. “But I’m glad to know Heitu will have a rider who knows what he’s doing.”

Wen Qionglin leads Heitu to a water trough and pets her cheek until Feng Xinyi is out of earshot.

“Wei-zongzhu trusts you,” he says. As if this is a fact.

Lan Wangji stares back at him. Wen Qionglin does not breathe, and he does not blink. He stands perfectly, unnaturally still, and waits. Apparently some response is required.

He settles on, “I trust him, also.”

Wen Qionglin watches him for a moment longer, and then nods. Then he says, “If he truly needs help, I will know. No matter where he is. And I am very fast.”

Oh.

This is probably intended as a threat.

Lan Wangji slides off Heitu’s back, so that they are eye to eye.

“I mean him no harm,” he says. In his current state of spiritual power it’s almost reassuring to know that someone else is concerned for Wei Ying's welfare. It should not be at all surprising, but he finds he is often surprised by Wen Qionglin, who has continued to move and talk and physically reside with his family for over a decade when everything Lan Wangji has been taught says he should not even exist.

Those same teachings would object to his own new existence as well; they are, both of them, supposed to be long dead.

“I will not let him come to harm,” he says, “if I can help it.”

He worries for a moment that this will be too revealing, but Wen Qionglin does not question him further. Perhaps he doesn’t need to. They are both well aware of the loyalty Wei Ying can inspire, under the right circumstances.

“I will show you where to find the saddle bags and travel rations,” Wen Qionglin decides, and he doesn’t speak of anything but Xiaoying and Heitu’s care and habits for the rest of the afternoon.

The evening before their planned departure, Wen Qing summons Lan Wangji once more to her study. Wei Ying arrives partway through her examination of his meridians and, surprisingly, sits quietly beside her desk until she’s finished. When she nods he joins them both behind the privacy screen and produces two cloth-wrapped packages—in one, two coiled lengths of red silk string, and in the other a pale jade carving of an endless panchang knot.

“Our hope is to give your spiritual power a new path through your meridians,” Wen Qing tells him as she inspects the strings. “One that minimizes the curse’s influence.” She blocks the meridians at his shoulder with her needles, and then ties one string to his arm, above the curse mark, and the other below it, each secured with a cloverleaf knot and sealed with a touch of spiritual power.

Wei Ying leans in close and presses two fingers to the talisman over the curse mark, but doesn’t touch either the silk or the jade. He keeps his silence. Lan Wangji watches his face and cannot read his thoughts.

“Just making sure this doesn’t interrupt us,” he says when he sees Lan Wangji watching. He holds up a second talisman in his other hand. “Wouldn’t want to have to start over in the middle.”

It’s a reasonable precaution: Tying the new charm is a long process, a progression of knots that covers most of his forearm. The jade panchang knot is tied in just above the curse mark, and another panchang knot of red silk tied below the wound. Wen Qing and Wei Ying both study it closely, and then she removes her needles and takes his wrist again, walking him through a slow meditation, cycling spiritual power through his body.

The flow of power is smoother, though it does perhaps take a little more time than he expects.

Wei Ying removes his fingers with a nod and a sigh. Wen Qing smiles, satisfied.

“The talisman will still need to be reapplied regularly,” she says, “but these charms together should be enough to minimize the curse’s effect on your meridians, so your core can begin to heal.”

It has already begun. He can feel the difference.

“Thank you.” The words seem inadequate, but he has little else to offer. Even this, she waves aside.

“I’m sure you don’t need my guidance for the proper exercises, but I do have many more theory texts, if you wish to read them.”

“We can bring some along,” Wei Ying promises. “Most of the best ones, we have more than one copy.”

Lan Wangji thinks of the library—of the many books that bear the same hand. Some copied by Wen Qing. Some by Wei Ying. Others in a clear, steady hand he doesn’t recognize. Of the single bound copy of the Lan Clan rules he’d found next to a copy of the Wen principles, and the books that he doubts his brother knows exist, copies of texts that were available to guest disciples studying at Cloud Recesses.

He wonders if his brother knew, when he was rebuilding the Library Pavilion, just how exact Wei Ying’s memory can be.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“Get some sleep,” Wen Qing says. “Both of you.” She stares hard at Wei Ying. “I’m not going to be the one dragging you out of your rooms in the morning. It’s no matter to me if you miss traveling during the coolest part of the day.”

Traveling with Wei Ying, and only with Wei Ying, is different from traveling alone, or with other Lan disciples, and different again from his memories of travel during the Sunshot Campaign. Then, Wei Ying had shifted through moods like ripples in water, sometimes predictable but more often not. A laugh like a clash of swords, a glare that pierced like needles. More than once Lan Wangji had found him alone but for the poor company the dead might provide, brooding under a shadow that seemed to cling to him even on the clearest of days. And then he would turn and ask if Lan Wangji knew this or that song, or if he wanted to spar, or if he’d eaten because surely it must be time for the next meal by now, and Lan Wangji would push aside his concern until hours later, when Wei Ying was just as likely to pull a prank as get in a fight with an ally. A fight with Lan Wangji himself, more often than not.

But that was the war. Decades ago, now, for everyone but Lan Wangji himself.

Now, Wei Ying laughs with more humor, and the cant of his eyes is merely sly rather than cutting. He grumbles through his breakfast and morning tea. He bickers with Xiaoying while saddling her and slouches through the morning hours until some unknown precondition is met, and then he begins talking aloud about whatever is on his mind at the moment: the weather, which continues to be wet, with cool mornings and steamy afternoons, or theories on their two investigations, or tales of past night hunts, which quickly shift into stories of Wen Sizhui, or Jiang Wanyin and Jin Rulan, and from there to the other members of Yiling-Wei, and Yunmeng-Jiang, and Lanling-Jin. Once, when they stop and take shelter under a half-repaired watchtower to wait out a storm, Wei Ying says, “Ah, Lan Zhan, do you remember that week we had rain every day, in Gusu?” and he speaks of Lan Xichen, and the Lan Sect, and what little he knows of its current status.

Cloud Recesses has been rebuilt, reportedly exactly as it was before the Wens attacked. Lan Qiren still teaches, and Lan Wangji feels a swell of relief to know his uncle still breathes. The Sect still hosts a year-long seminar for young disciples of any sect, every few years. Wen Sizhui, Liu Weixin and Zhou Xiuying have attended it, and returned with reports of young Lan cultivators who Wen Sizhui described as friendly, Liu Weixin called unbearably rigid, and Zhou Xiuying pronounced worthy sparring opponents. Lan Xichen has, unsurprisingly, built a widely-spoken reputation for even-mindedness that Lan Wangji knows he himself could never hope to match.

There is no bitterness to any of Wei Ying’s tales. No mention of hardship or enmity, over a span of more than a decade that Lan Wangji knows cannot have been easy, especially near its start. But then, Lan Wangji has long known that Wei Ying lies more easily than he tells the truth, omits more than he ever says openly. Even when he was living among the Mass Graves, quite obviously short on food, the only hardship Wei Ying would admit to was a lack of visitors, and news.

Still, there are some things he cannot doubt: Wei Ying’s love for his sister, and her children. His affection for Jiang Wanyin, and the Wens. His dedication to ensuring that Lan Wangji himself does not succumb to the curse he carries.

It’s an indulgence Lan Wangji shouldn’t permit himself. A few moments, watching Wei Ying breathe and concentrating on the steady warmth of the soulbond under his own skin.

He turns away. Steps outside. Rekindles the fire for breakfast.

During the long afternoon of the fourth day, after they have shared a quick lunch beside a clear-flowing stream and are letting Xiaoying and Heitu forage their own meal, Wei Ying draws out Chenqing and plays songs that seem to be purely for personal entertainment; there is no spiritual power behind them at all. Some, Lan Wangji recognizes as common to drinking houses and inns. Others he doesn’t recognize at all. He is considering unwrapping the guqin when Wei Ying’s somewhat random little melodies turn suddenly familiar.

Not just familiar.

Every note is etched into Lan Wangji’s soul.

Wei Ying catches him staring. He’s not certain what expression his own face is making, but Wei Ying looks suddenly defensive. His hands drop to his lap, wrapping around Chenqing as if Lan Wangji will try to tear the flute away from him.

“What?”

“You remember.” Lan Wangji shouldn’t be surprised—Wei Ying has remembered enough of his brief time at Cloud Recesses to reproduce the Lan Sect’s rules and three different treatises, and that’s only what Lan Wangji found. But it had been only once, in the Xuanwu’s cave. That song has only ever had an audience of one.

Wei Ying frowns at him.

“What ...” his eyebrows rise high on his forehead, his mouth forming a perfect circle. “Lan Zhan.” He leans forward, suddenly eager. “Lan Zhan, you know this song?”

Of course he knows it. How could he not?

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying continues. “No one knows this song. How do you know it? Is it a Lan Clan song? What’s its name?”

Words stick in Lan Wangji’s throat. Wei Ying doesn’t remember. Not really. He looks away. At the play of light on water. The swirl of shadowy fish, underneath.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, moving closer. “I can never remember where I heard it, and no one ever recognizes it. How do you know it?”

No one ever recognizes it, he says. Which means Wei Ying has been playing it. For other people. For thirteen years. And he doesn’t know.

Lan Wangji swallows back his foolish hopes. The words he might have said.

“I wrote it,” he admits, to the low rush of the spring and the whisper of reeds in the light breeze.

“What?”

When he risks a glance back, Wei Ying is staring. He looks utterly shocked.

“What do you mean, you wrote it?”

Lan Wangji does not want to have this conversation. Not now. Not if Wei Ying doesn’t remember something so important.

At least, it had been important to Lan Wangji.

“We should keep moving,” he says, and stands. Heitu is drinking from the stream, but she only flicks her ears when he touches her shoulder, and doesn’t offer any more protest than a shift of her weight as he unties her hobble and mounts.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is frowning at him.

“We are wasting daylight,” Lan Wangji tells him. It’s true enough. This break is no shorter than any other.

Wei Ying grumbles. Retrieves his things.

“What’s its name?” he asks as he settles on Xiaoying.

I have already told you. Lan Wangji locks the words behind his teeth. Wei Ying does not speak of the soul bond, never broaches the topic of their battle with the Xuanwu or anything else from their lives that occurred after he left Cloud Recesses months before any other disciple, does not remember this, despite Lan Wangji telling him, despite his clear memory of the music itself and his perfect recall of texts long burnt to ashes.

“Think about it.” He says instead, and urges Heitu into a quicker pace, too fast for easy conversation.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls after him, but Lan Wangji does not look back.

When Wei Ying catches up he speaks of other things, and does not mention the song again.

Notes:

For the curious, Xiaoying and Heitu are named as references to famous horses from Romance of the Three Kingdoms. 絶影 (sometimes translated as "Suppressing Shadow" or "Shadow Runner") was one of the horses of Cao Cao, head of the state of Wei. He famously kept running despite taking three arrows, and thus saved his rider from enemies. 赤兔 (Red Hare) was described as "the best of horses" and within the tale people considered him to be too good for his original master. After that master died he was given to a new, more virtuous hero (Guan Yu, sometimes described as an ideal incarnation of loyalty and righteousness), who he was extremely loyal to.

(on to part 11)

#wangxian #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji #wei wuxian #mdzs #mdzs fic #wangxian fic #role reversal soulmate au #turnabout verse #alex writes #the yearning goes on #as ever

38 notes · View notes

wincore · 5 years

Text

archenemies | huang renjun

pairing: renjun x reader

words: 8.8k

genre: ‘bad boy’!au, fluff

warnings: language, some juvenile activities, huang “fight me” renjun, he’s way too aries for this to be good

a/n: move aside it’s my emotional support bad boy fic

There are people who are lucky and people who have met Huang Renjun.

Every day is a reminder of all your mistakes, all the sins you’ve committed to have to deal with him. You’ve forgotten what began all the biting comments and burning quarrels, but you’re not going to lose to some quick-tempered punk. In all honesty, however, you’d prefer to never think of him again.

Huang Renjun is just a cog in the machine that controls your life and you’re going to best ignore him till someone upstairs decides to fix that machine. (You wish it were that easy.)

You eye the bruise on your knee with a sour taste in your mouth. It’s a darker shade of purple now, the blues mingling amidst only enhancing the size of it. You sigh heavily and crouch to retie your shoelaces. You’re going to have to slow down now, and not jump over the steps of a ragged staircase. There are few reasons to pass through the playground, when you can take a safer albeit longer way to the subway station.

It’s the shorter way, yes, but there’s more. Is it because of the lack of overenthusiastic students and the loud buzz? Is it because you can walk down the thick metal railing feeling free, arms stretched? Or perhaps, the most important of all—the illegal murals on the walls starting from your school. The art gets removed every time and not two weeks later, there’s a new one. If anything’s more cheerful in colour in this city, you’d gladly pay a pretty penny to see it.

You stand in front of the latest in the collection, eyes studying every stroke of paint. It’s a wolf, made with different colours of the rainbow and with a star gently held in its mouth. You swear its eyes move with the way they stare back at you, deep and alive. You wonder what this criminal artist sees in their head to create things so raw, so full of feeling. You’re always sad when they get painted over.

You take a picture of it on your phone to remember. Your first picture dates to about two years ago, when you accidentally stumbled into the backside of the school buildings. It was the mural of a trophy, more specifically the one your school awarded for academics each year. Except the trophy was made of branches intertwined far too loose and it held a rotting apple instead of a live golden one, greens faded to brown. The single piece of writing was in black—‘here lies our youth’. You had scoffed at it then. Undoubtedly, some sort of edgy loser had spilled ink on those walls. But you had to admit, the mural was unspeakably pretty and you took the picture for your own amusement.

The school, of course, had it removed at soon as they could but you still look at it on your phone once in a while. The look on your principal’s face was glorious when a new one showed up right beside the front gate. A withering rose with thorns made of silver, and a raccoon gazing at it with its head at a slight angle. It made no sense, of course. All of these have been abstract, almost hard to find meaning in but you felt a dash of impertinence in that piece of art. It was meant to piss them off.

And of course, the art continued blossoming. Over the months, they got better and better; every new piece held a different meaning. It became a sort of game for you, to find each work and photograph it before it was criticized by disgruntled police officers and hastily removed. Adults find no importance in these kinds of things; it’s too bright, too attention-seeking and too honest.

You tread carefully along the side of the street now, aware of your aching knee and curse yourself for being so frivolous in movement. Except you aren’t as careful as you think you are, and you bump rather harshly into a lean figure when you were looking elsewhere.

“Sorry! I really am,” the words tumble out of your mouth before you can recognize the boy. But when you do, you grimace, a familiar bitter taste on your tongue. “Renjun. Hi.”

Renjun glares at you as he massages the shoulder you had so carelessly rammed into. The white bones on his dark jacket sleeves and the skull on the back look painted, although you think Renjun couldn’t have made something remotely aesthetic. You await the biting comment he usually sends your way, but he quickly turns away after shooting you another scowl.

“Well, okay,” you tell yourself. “That’s new.”

If it wasn’t clear before, Huang Renjun isn’t the nicest of people you’ve met. With a flaring temper and sharp tongue, he’s on your list of people to avoid, but you cross paths quite literally way too many times. Of course, his entire group of friends is on your list of people to avoid, but it’s Renjun who seems to be fated to run into you every goddamn time. You’ve been assigned to do projects with him at least six times by some sort of treachery, and for all the years you’ve known him, his seat is almost always behind yours. It’s torturous, really. Renjun would be much more pleasant to face if he wasn’t glaring holes into the back of your head all the time.

You pull the vague memory of a shy new boy from middle school and shove it aside—no way can you relate the past and present. At school, he’s only a troubled student, not the type to sugar-coat words and with no restraint on words, he often pisses off people he shouldn’t be pissing off. Honesty is a good feature but not on people like him. Only the bravest of teachers take a liking to him, and the rest of the students are a little in awe of him. I wish I could be that honest, you’d heard one of your friends say. That way, I wouldn’t be afraid of the world. He was mistaken; there’s no one on earth born without fear. Needless to say, your peers like to romanticize him as some sort of cool, tough guy with mystery on his fingertips. You think he secretly likes the reputation. The only times Renjun’s softened is around his band of troublemakers.

You don’t trust reputations but you think Renjun is at least six times worse than what everyone thinks of him. (And you speak from experience.)

You have to admit, though, that you might be a little at fault here. You’ve accidentally spilled hydrochloric acid on him in the chemistry lab and smeared his neck with an obnoxious green in art before, but you don’t think that’s reason enough for Renjun to hate you. Regrettably, there are more cases of misfired actions and you’d rather not dwell on them.

If luck has anything to do in the universe, it loves to mess with you when you’re around Renjun. It’s miraculously always him the victim, and you, an unwitting culprit. Bad luck doesn’t even begin to describe what has bound the two of you. At least, that’s how it began. It’s not like you’re trying to be annoying; the circumstances provide the paint for your already messy canvas and Renjun is left more and more pissed at you at the end of every encounter. You’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such a prick.

The times you’re not accidentally messing with Renjun, he’s the one with offhanded comments that make your blood boil. You don’t know if it’s payback but it ends up with the two of you neck-deep in hatred for each other yet again. Sometimes, you enjoy the misery you unintentionally give him, like that one time the stray cat you were holding launched itself at Renjun and he ended up with more scratches than what was good (although, he isn’t exactly a stranger to injuries) and of course, the glorious times you were the cause of Renjun’s detention. Sometimes even those aren’t enough to shut his quick mouth and honestly, you’re giving up on ever having an actual conversation with him without being at each other’s throats.

You shake your head for thinking about him for this long. Any thought lasting longer than three minutes about Renjun is a curse.

“(name)!”

Chenle waves at you from a few metres away. It’s always good to see him and you smile; the kid’s a ball of positivity. It’s much better than running into Renjun anyway, for whom you’d have to grit your teeth and brace for another jab, trying not to start another bout of bickering with him. In fact, you find the contrast between Chenle (someone you’ve only ever talked with comfortably and an occasional angel) and Renjun (literally the Devil’s advocate) so sharp that you find it hard to believe they’re friends. The only thing they seem to have in common is living at the dorms, as non-native students.

“Hi!” Chenle greets you from a few feet away as he jogs up to you. “Have you seen Renjun?”

You furrow your eyebrows. You wonder why someone as nice as Chenle would follow around a mean grouch like Renjun.

“Yeah, I just passed him,” you answer, a little piqued by Chenle’s rapid flurry of expressions. Something’s obviously not right.

“Thanks,” he says with a slight bow before he takes off in the other direction.

Now, given your history of unfortunate circumstances with Renjun, you shouldn’t be following Chenle. You shouldn’t. But of course, you’d take this chance to snoop around on Renjun, just watch him speechless as he can’t come up with any response at all. Information, secrets—they give you the upper hand. You’re being petty, sure. It’s good for your health.

You follow the loud footsteps at a safe distance, starting to wonder if it’s worth it. You almost walk into Renjun’s view and scramble back behind the wall. He’s sitting on one of the swings while Chenle pants beside him, trying to catch his breath.

“I told you to stop following me around. You look like some lost puppy.” You hear Renjun click his tongue.

“You’re so mean,” Chenle says with a pout, “Wait, doesn’t that mean I’m cute? Like a puppy? Never mind, don’t you wanna know how far the investigation is going?”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Renjun responds, looking down at his hands.

Chenle smiles, radiant as ever. “It’s no biggie!”

Renjun laughs, a sound foreign to you. “You’re acting like I said ‘thank you’.”

“Didn’t you?” Chenle grins. “Anyway, you have to be careful for the next week. They’re going to increase patrols near school.”

Renjun scoffs. “Like they’ll ever catch me.”

You narrow your eyes. From all the rumours you’ve heard, Renjun is no stranger to delinquency and other things illegal for high school students. But they’ve only been rumours. This is your chance to get some dirt on him, and you’re certainly not missing it.

Chenle presses his lips together, a flash of worry passing through him.

“Be careful anyway, okay?” he says.

Renjun snaps his head to the side, an annoyed sound leaving his lips. He looks nothing but bothered by the conversation.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

You let out a breath, annoyed with how ungrateful Renjun is. Of course, you don’t expect better from a no-good sociopath, or whatever the hell he pretends to be. You never realized how twisted your ties with Renjun has been this far. You can paint no other picture except of a demon every time you think of him.

“Now scram,” Renjun huffs.

Chenle looks like a kicked puppy and you almost march over to Renjun to reproach him. There is nothing he does that doesn’t get on your nerves. But you maintain your position; it’s not worth wasting your time over.

The twitch of your foot, however, brings you to the boys’ attention. You retreat your head and look forward, your body getting still. Half of you is terrified of Renjun finding you and the other half simply doesn’t care, in fact wanting to shove some choice words at him in case he does find you.

As fate would have it, Renjun emerges from behind the wall and you hit your head back against it. Your heartbeat evens out quick and you face him, not wanting to look stupid. He’s pissed off—you can tell by the knitted brows and bitter twist of his lips.

“I knew you were annoying but eavesdropping?” Renjun rebukes, “Congratulations on getting to a whole new level of weirdo.”

Your ears turn red and you click your tongue. “Whatever.”

“You should stop being so interested in me. Seriously.”

“Me? Interested in you? If anything, you’re the one way too interested in me.”

“I’m not the one eavesdropping.” Renjun stands up straighter, fists clenched. Your cheeks colour.

“And I’m not the one picking fights every day at lunch.”

Your hostilities aren’t unknown to the school, who look partly afraid and partly entertained with your jabs and arguments. You’ve figured they’re more afraid of Renjun and his cold face than they’re afraid of your fights. If only they didn’t think he’s cooler than he actually is. You could roll your eyes.

“You guys sound like children,” Chenle butts in.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Renjun scowls.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” you warn.

“And who are you to tell me that?”

“A decent human being.”

“God, talking to you drains me of energy.” Renjun turns his head to the side, his frown never leaving.

“Looking at you drains me of energy,” you grumble.

With one last look of repugnance, you turn around to make your way back to where you were headed in the first place.

“I don’t know why you hang out with him, Chenle,” you say before you start walking off.

You can see Renjun tense up out of the corner of your eye. For a moment, you think he’ll yell an insult back at you but only the gentle breeze fills your surroundings. You like having the last word, but no part of this exchange was satisfying. You should’ve just gone your way.

The conversation you overheard leaves your mind as quickly as it entered. Soon, you’re on the subway home with a larger basket of reasons to avoid Huang Renjun.

As if high school wasn’t dull enough, being unable to skip class makes your sleepless body worse. The can of coffee you got at the vending machine offers no aid, and when you finally blink at the silhouette of escape, you seize it. You’ve never thought of skipping class as explicitly bad. It’s not good but neither is it an awful thing to do considering the condition of the present-day education system. You’d call it a necessary evil.

At least, that’s the excuse you use for yourself every time. You’ve only been caught once, and that’s because you fell asleep under the bleachers. Detention isn’t new, but it doesn’t put you in good books. You care for your future, and the inconvenience you cause others (unlike some others you know). It’s just that there are certain habits that you can’t help.

You’ve decided to be more careful, of course. You don’t want your mother getting any more upset with you nor do you want to spend more time at school through detention. There’s a prettier world outside these drudging walls.

Somehow, you sneak your way out to the back of the school building. The painting has been removed long since you first saw it, but the place has a sense of mystery to it. You’re drawn in, an optimistic explorer to lands that call. You shake yourself to prevent your imagination from wandering.

The weeds grow unkempt here, in the narrow gaps between walls and there’s messy graffiti (vaguely phallic and highly inappropriate) here and there. It’s not pretty but it’s fun walking through here, better than dozing off in class anyway.

The clicking sound grabs your attention. The thought of anyone else being here doesn’t make you very comfortable, but what could they do? There’s no way they’d land you in trouble without facing the same fate. You shrug and take slow, daunting steps towards the source. You might as well figure out who’s there.

You peek out from behind the concrete wall, only able to see a figure in a dark blue hoodie. Only a moment later, though, your eyes inevitably trail to the artwork on the wall.

It’s half done—without an outline or final touches. The strokes of paint make up what looks like a dragon skeleton, its wings spread out and a hollow look in its eyes. Even so, it’s funny to find it smiling. What stands out, though, is the burst of colour it’s made of. And without any prompt, you know it’s him—the mystery juvenile artist of your town. Why did he have to paint it here, where most people would never see it?

You step out from behind the wall, forgetting your hideout. It’s not like you’ll ever give away this artist’s identity, the only person who has the guts to make this place colourful. You’re about to call out when he turns and you freeze, your face morphing into disbelief.

“It’s you?!” you exclaim. This has to be a joke—what on earth is going on?

Renjun yelps at your appearance, dropping the spray can as he stumbles backward. He stands there horrified, eyes wider than usual and mouth apart in a stagnant pose.

“You’re following me again!” Renjun seems to have found words.

“I’m not following you, you dimwit,” you snapped. “I just happened to be here.”

“At least make up something more elaborate.” He takes a step towards you, still standing on the raised concrete between the walls.

You glare at him. “It’s true. I don’t care what you’re up to. But you’re the guy who’s been making these?”

You point to the painted wall, not wanting to believe a demon made something beautiful.

“And what if I am?” he snarls and steps off onto the ground in front of you. You’d be afraid of the look on his face, but you’ve seen it often.

“I could report you,” you say, almost smiling. You’ve wanted to see him squirm for a long time now.

You turn heel and walk inside, but Renjun runs after you, stopping only when you turn.

“What?” you ask, your smile smug.

He grabs your arm hastily before he pushes you against the wall, his hand gripping your shoulder too tight. There’s no doubt he’s learnt how to intimidate people. There are streaks of blue and yellow on the web of his thumb and parts of his wrists. The corridor is silent without lingering students, almost eerie without the buzz.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone.” He’s looking at you intensely, almost frantic. Of course, holding secrets takes courage.

You laugh, and he furrows his eyebrows, his frown deepening.

“What are you going to give me in return?”

Renjun scowls. He’s about to answer when you’re interrupted by a rather shrill yet familiar voice.

“No making out in the hallways!” your history teacher scolds. “I can’t believe you’re skipping class for this. I would say detention but I’m in a good mood. Jesus Christ, I know you’re young but there’s a time and place for everything.”

He leaves, his grumbling fading out soon but the two of you are frozen. You can see the red that’s flushed Renjun’s skin and you wonder if you look the same. His eyes are wide, his hand still in place against your shoulder. In his haste, Renjun had left no space between the two of you; in fact, if he were to dip his head a little lower, he’d have his lips brushing against yours.

Your cheeks flare up at the thought and you shove Renjun off you.

“That was- we weren’t- that didn’t happen,” you say quickly, your voice a pitch higher.

“That didn’t happen,” Renjun agrees, still flustered, the pink bathing his face and neck.

There’s an awkward silence before Renjun speaks again, a warning tone lacing his words.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“You could add a ‘please’, at least.” The look on his face is way too enjoyable. You wait for him to realize you mean it and the look progresses into something even more fun.

“Don’t tell anyone…pl…uh, please.”

Renjun turns a few shades redder. Life just got far more splendid.

Renjun sighs enough times for Jaemin to take notice. The last thing he wants is for Jaemin to mother him but he needs some answer to his problem (you) too. He could kick the telephone pole beside him right now, but there’s no point in hurting himself. He slumps back against the wall.

“So did you finally ask (name) out? I heard rumours of you two…you know,” Jaemin grins, his tone more than teasing.

“Why the fuck would I ask (name) out?” Renjun tries his best to get his disgust across to Jaemin, though the warmth in his cheeks probably gives his embarrassment away.

“I mean, you’re always talking about them.”

“Because they make my life hell! And I’m not always talking about…them.”

Jaemin laughs and Renjun wants to kick him instead. Jeno breaks into a short laugh beside him but quickly recomposes himself at the glare Renjun sends his way. Have his friends always been this annoying? Donghyuck is thankfully absent and Yangyang’s probably hanging out at the bike garage. His friends like to add salt to cuts and wounds. And Renjun’s only used to the physical kind.

He sighs again, toning down the thoughts. If he thinks, he thinks of you and your ways of making him miserable. The smug look on your face had made Renjun want to set fire to something, preferably you.

“You guys don’t understand,” Renjun whines, “I literally got threatened to be reported to the police. By someone who hates me and will probably do it.”

Jaemin and Jeno exchange a look and it irks Renjun all the more.

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Jeno says, “Or that (name) will do it.”

“Just talk it out,” Jaemin adds.

That’s nice and all but Renjun thinks they’ve completely missed the point. He’s dealing with the root of all his miseries and he sees no easy solution to this. For all he knows, you could be a demon launched directly from hell to make him pay for his crimes. Renjun shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think that way.

“Whatever,” Renjun sighs, “I’ll figure it out.”

It’s easier to get to solutions when it’s other people’s problems.

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows and Renjun shoves him playfully, a smile falling into place.

You raise an eyebrow. You made a face when Renjun approached you as you left school but now that he’s piqued your interest, you relax against the wall. There’s no one around at this time in the park.

“You’re really making a deal?” You grin, hoping it gets on Renjun’s nerves.

“Yes,” he responds through clenched teeth. “Just don’t say something too outrageous.”

You press your finger to your lips, squinting your eyes to think. Renjun taps his foot impatiently and you almost consider whacking him across the head to stop the noise. There is no way you’d ever get along with him.

“Be my date for prom.”

“What?!” Renjun sputters.

You burst into a fit of laughter; the look on his face is far more enjoyable than anything you’ve seen so far this year. You like Renjun owing you.

“I’m kidding. I don’t have anything in mind,” you say, “I’ll let you know when I do.”

Renjun groans, drooping his shoulders. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re awful?”

“Multiple people actu—wait, I’m awful?! You’re the one with mean comments, little graffiti man.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “You’ve been making me miserable ever since I came here—oh, don’t make that face, it’s true!”

You cross your arms and try ignoring Renjun’s look of disdain. After a moment of hesitation, you sigh.

“I never meant to,” you say, voice softer.

Renjun blanks out for a moment and you use it to get back to the dilemma at hand.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you clarify, “But…you have to show me how you make the murals.”

Renjun frowns. “I don’t like that.”

“The alternative is agreeing to do whatever I say whenever I want till either of us dies.”

Renjun throws his head back, a sigh escaping his lips. “Fine. I’ll take you to the next place I work on. You better keep your end of the deal.”

“Of course.”

You smile. As much as you hate to believe the one person you admired for their creations turned out to be a demon, you’re curious. You might as well make the most of this situation while it lasts.

You won’t admit you lost sleep on a Friday night because you were excited to see Renjun spray paint a wall. It’s almost embarrassing, considering the history you have with him but you can’t deny what’s standing so clear in front you. The art you’ve saved in your precious folder in your gallery, its secrets will be laid open soon.

“You know, I heard this place is haunted,” you hum.

Renjun freezes in his path, and you almost bump into him. He turns around with distress across his face, eyebrows knit together.

“Don’t say that,” he says a little too quickly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re afraid of ghosts?”

“No,” he starts, “Yes. A little bit. Whatever. This place is not haunted.”

You giggle. You didn’t expect Renjun of all people to have that look on his face. You know he’s not a tough guy (or, you refused to acknowledge he could be) but wouldn’t the school love to see him like this. He’s always come off as a little detached, uncaring of the world around him and he’s got scratches and bruises on him like he really doesn’t care which fight he’s picking. Of course the school got to talking about him—the foreign student with a mean temper and a rare smile. (“It gives him a rare charm! His laugh sounds so dreamy…” You rolled your eyes at your friends. “No. He’s just mean. And says mean things. You know. Like a mean person.”)

No one comes into this part of the subway station at night. The line is closed off during these hours, and you wonder how Renjun found out the hidden entrance. It's not easy to search over unchanging walls. The tunnel lights barely work, but the warm glow shoos away any unnerving feeling to leave empty spaces. It’s strange to not see platforms bustling with people; this one offering painted seats and large advertisements to no one now.

“What’re you going to make today?” you ask, making sure to not fall behind.

“Something simple,” he responds, taking the cans out of his satchel. “Maybe a remake of Starry Night.”

That does not classify as simple in your books, but you shrug, taking a seat by one of the tunnel walls.

Watching Renjun work is far different from staring at final products. The way his hands move in a fluid motion, the way he sprays the lines and curves with precision, the way he fills out the spaces with colour—you wish you could record all of it too. The clicking of the cans every time he shakes them is oddly satisfying, so are the full colours that transform the wall. His focus is trained and you maintain your silence, not wanting to break the encased time. You want to say you’re impressed, say it’s breath-taking to watch what he’s doing. But words don’t come easy at the cost of pride.

You tilt your head to focus on the large bruise-like mark on his hand. You thought it was paint, then a bruise but you can’t quite figure it out.

“What’s that?” you ask, tapping your own hand.

“A birthmark.” Renjun pauses momentarily to answer before turning back to his work.

You wonder how you never noticed that before. It’s like a little nebula, fitting for a boy who paints the sky with such adoration.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there but when you check your watch, time’s almost over. A little less than an hour left, you notify Renjun.

You never realized the importance of finishing touches. Neither did you ever think you’d find Van Gogh on subway walls.

An overused painting but there are Renjun’s touches to it—small tweaks in the colour and shape. There are still whirling clouds, bright stars and a sweet crescent moon. The village, though dark, somewhat adds meaning to the comfort of the lights from the houses. You shouldn’t forget why something was painted, Renjun had remarked as you were making your way here. This Starry Night holds no mourning, however.

“It’s lovely,” you say, finally. “I can’t believe you made this in a subway tunnel.”

Renjun looks up from organizing the spray cans back into the satchel. There’s a faint glow across his cheeks and he turns back to his bag quickly. His voice is unsteady when he speaks. “Thanks.”

You take your time searching for an angle with enough lighting to photograph it. Renjun looks at you dubiously at first but he steps aside with an indecipherable expression, his lips twitching at the corners.

The footsteps catch your attention. You share a look with Renjun, a cautious one when they get closer and you immediately move to stand near him.

“If that’s a police officer, I think we’re both going to jail,” you whisper.

“Or if it’s a ghost, I don’t think I’ll know what to do.”

“You seriously think it’s a ghost?!”

Renjun can’t answer for a figure comes into view, who most certainly belongs to higher authorities you’re not supposed to upset. Instead of saying anything, you share a look with Renjun and the two of you take off running. The adrenaline has already spiked into your veins as you follow your companion, who unquestionably knows his ways around these tunnels. You hear shouts from someone who’s most likely a patrolling guard but you keep running till an exit appears and you get out into the fresh summer air. You only feel the breeze for a moment before you have to break into a sprint again. You can tell dawn is on its way with the glint of the sky.

You can still hear trouble behind you as you leave the area and somewhere into your escape, Renjun takes a hold of your hand to keep you from tripping.

You reach the school dorms out of breath, sweat coating your skin and muscles throbbing. The two of you breathe heavily before a smile creeps onto your face and you laugh (or rather, wheeze) despite your lungs aching. Renjun looks at you incredulously and smiles back, the moment almost delicate. There’s a brief second when the two of you realize your hands are still clasped in each other’s and you let go with a start. You’ll brush this under the carpet too, of course.

“I hate running,” Renjun says in between huffs, bent over with his palms on his knees. “But the look on your face…I can’t stop thinking of it.”

Renjun breaks into laughter, the dimple on his cheek showing and making his features all the more pleasant.

You shake your head at him, deciding to let this one slide.

“I’ll treat you to breakfast at Red’s,” you say, unsure why you’re doing this. You don’t have to, but you feel like you should. It’s not every day you see the flicks of an artist’s wrists.

“Shouldn’t you get home? You live pretty far,” he says.

“It’s only a ten-minute subway ride,” you shrug, “How do you know I live far anyway? Does this mean you’re the one stalking me? Hm?”

“You’ve said you live far before, dumbass,” Renjun replies, his ears turning red.

You grin at him, hoping Red’s has opened for breakfast.

And just like that, you find you’ve both cast aside your differences. Everyone who knows you are in awe when you and Renjun simply shrug at the idea of being partners for a project. Only Jeno and Jaemin look smug when you laugh at what Renjun says, while Donghyuck and some of your friends leave teasing remarks. Your accidents have decreased by a decent amount and Renjun no longer glares holes into the back of your head in Calculus and Geography. In fact, you’ve been having civil conversations (save for light insults and jokes like between friends) and although something has changed, it doesn’t feel odd at all, like this was meant to be.

You don’t miss any opportunity to trail behind Renjun every time he comes up with something new to paint. It’s not like he keeps it secretive enough from you and although he acts annoyed, you think he’s glad to not venture into creepy, abandoned places alone. He’s a little bit of a coward, but a brave artist nonetheless. You’re lucky that more often than not, it’s a clean getaway (though Chenle’s snooping around the police station helps). Somewhere along the way, you shoved off your unnecessary hatred for Renjun. The night never ages when you’re together.

You sit atop the ledge of an apartment rooftop with Renjun beside you. There’s a bunch of obsolete items stashed around the small space—an old vending machine, partly broken flower vases, a rusted bicycle and more—some entertained by the overgrown vines cradling them. Renjun’s finished painting the floor of the roof, a sunflower field with vague meaning and a tiny Moomin hiding in between. This building will be gone soon and no one would find this one easily, yet he painted here. You don’t understand why he works on things that don’t last.

The building is too short for you to view the skyline; it’s quite dazzling to look at during night-time but it’s morning now. Thus, you only have the sky’s pink clouds and Renjun to keep your company interesting enough.

“I mean, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought this way,” Renjun continues rambling, “If the universe doesn’t give a shit about you anyway—why shouldn’t you do whatever the hell you want? Our lives are too small when you compare it to stars and planets. And even they don’t matter in the end!”

“Optimistic nihilism is not an excuse to wreak havoc, Renjun,” you sigh. The breeze is finally picking up on the rooftop. Empty apartment buildings are hard to find these days. Of course, you’ve only learnt that because of Renjun.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’re an angel, you know?”

You feign a shocked expression, hand flying over your heart. “But you’re the one in black, Mr. Huang Renjun. And I’m the one in a white sweatshirt, looking as angelic as I can be.”

Renjun drops his head to rest his cheek against his palm, the look of distaste across his face.

“You have no idea how miserable you made me all these years,” he huffs. “I remember when you dropped the pottery mud on me in sixth grade—you ruined my figurine and I never got to wear that shirt again!”

“Why do you remember what I did to you in sixth grade?”

“You expect me to forget tha—you don’t look very apologetic either.” He narrows his eyes at you.

“I swear I never meant to do any of that!” you defend, shaking your head profusely, “Maybe a little sometimes. But mostly never.”

Renjun breathes out, a defeated sigh tumbling out. He turns back to the sunflowers on the roof, a brief flash of respite passing his features. The following moments are coloured with silence and you lean back onto your arms. You can see the beautifully simple tattoo of Saturn on his left wrist peeking out of his sleeve. Renjun doesn’t like showing it to people often, and it’s not very easy to spot it either with his love for jackets and long sleeves. He said he wasn’t really thinking when he got it, just thought it was pretty. You think it’s just like him.

If you were to reach out right now, you could run your thumb over the ink, feel the skin. Your face turns warm. This is not supposed to be the feeling you get. You must not think the words, or you’ll accept them for reality.

You’ve started thinking this lately, but Renjun isn’t a bad person. He might be too honest for his own good but he has a strong sense of right and wrong, something your class is not wrong for admiring. He’s said he wants to be brave one of these passing days, (“I don’t want to run all the time. Just from the cops maybe. And anyone with a weapon.” “Glad to know you’re not going to jail any time soon.” “Don’t look so disappointed.”). You think he already is brave for being true to himself. He’s not always impulsive either, and he’s surprisingly kind often. He’s clever with his words, not just annoying. You realize you’ve seen only a shadow of him before. You feel guilty for having been so harsh.

“It’s funny,” he says, a small smile on his face, “People who know usually question me why I do this first. You haven’t questioned me yet.”

“Why do you do this?”

“I don’t know.” Renjun shrugs. “I just wanted to shove my feelings somewhere, I guess. You know. Choose your own sin, that kinda thing.”

“That’s nice,” you say, your smile mirroring his. “You don’t have to show off, Mr. Artist.”

Renjun laughs, his eyes twinkling with the stars. He doesn’t have to look like that. You look away for fear of delving deeper, something unknown gripping you. There’s an uncomfortable feeling choking you, its dark hands constricting around your neck. This isn’t good. You must not think the words, the feelings or they will become reality.

You get up suddenly.

“You think I can jump across to the opposite building?” It’s no use. The red must have started blossoming over your neck and ears already. No matter; you have to run away from this feeling somehow.

“What the fuck?”

“Treat me to ice-cream if I succeed,” you say, the adrenaline rushing in. Much better than whatever the hell had gripped you. The gap’s not that large; if you get enough momentum, you can leap onto the building’s ledge. You can run away.

Renjun stands up in haste.

“Did you get hit on the head?” He takes a step towards you. “Why the hell do you think this is a good idea?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

Before you can step on the ledge, however, Renjun’s hand shoots to grip your wrist, the touch burning your skin.

“Don’t.”

Oh, you definitely know what this feeling is. You’re not sure what the outcome will be, especially when a mere touch to the wrist can bloom red all across your skin, free so many butterflies in your chest and stomach. You’re almost ashamed of yourself, yet a voice inside you is smug; it was bound to happen. Renjun pulls you down off the ledge and lets go.

“Oh, well. The last one to reach the ground treats ice-cream!” you declare before you rush to the door at lightning speed, and swing it open to exit. You don’t want your feelings written all over your face for him to read.

“No- what?! That’s cheating!” Renjun scrambles behind you, his voice full of annoyance, but a different kind than before. You wish it hadn’t changed, but you’re also not quite complaining.

Renjun hates this feeling more than he’s ever hated you. In fact, he can’t remember the feeling of hating you anymore. He wonders if it’s okay to have these thoughts about you.

Renjun spots your figure on the couch by yourself. Jaemin’s parties have two kinds of people—people drunk out of their minds and people only here by peer compulsion. He can’t say he’s ever seen you at parties before, maybe once or twice, not that he’s cared—he only wanted to avoid you then. He fidgets with the yellow sleeves of his sweatshirt; he doesn’t usually wear something this bright but he’ll blame you once more. He wishes you hadn’t been so elusive lately; a part of him feels weary without you and a part curses him for that.

Renjun’s heart leaps to his chest when he sits beside you, only to be greeted with a sweet smile and flushed cheeks. Stop looking at me like that, he wishes he could think the words into existence. There are scores of emotions tangled up inside him with no way to untie the multicoloured knots. It takes a while to calm his heartbeat, and even then, it’s unnatural. He might as well tell you at this point—tell you that he likes you, that he’s wanted you more than he’s ever wanted anyone. He read somewhere that summer is a good time to let out your feelings although he can’t be sure of the credibility of the article.

You’ve always been a problem for him, this stupid, annoying problem he wanted to get rid of as soon as he could. And yet, you’ve given him the sweetest picture of all. He doesn’t usually play this game—in fact, he’s never done anything like this before. He feels embarrassed every time he drifts past his daydream, wanting you to kiss him, caress his cheek and run your fingers through his hair. These thoughts feel more illicit than anything he’s ever done. Renjun feels weak in the head when you tug at his sleeve.

“Hi,” you greet, still smiling. Renjun desperately wishes you wouldn’t look at him like that.

Just confess, the voice inside his head tells him. Get it out of your system.

“Hey.”

However, the words halt on his tongue. This is the voice he’s been saying no to ever since you looked at him with wonder, with stars tugging your smile by those subway walls.

He needs to swallow his pride to confess— but just what is he doing? This is not what was supposed to happen, this is not something he’d ever imagine a few months ago. He’s practised the words, but he can’t look you in the eye. He can’t tell you, oh no. It’s easier to run away.

You tilt your head, your gaze soft and Renjun feels a sigh leave his mouth.

“I like you,” he blurts out. “Yes. I, uh, l-like you. That’s what I meant to say- what I’ve been meaning to say. For a while.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, “That’s very sweet of you.”

You burst into a fit of giggles. Renjun is only slightly baffled as he examines your condition. Out of all the ways he’d imagined you reacting to his confession, this was not one of them.

“Are you- are you drunk?!” he asks, the realization dawning upon him. You reek of alcohol, he finds with a sniff.

“What? No. Go back to being sweet. What were you saying again?”

Renjun places his face in his hands and groans. Not only did his horribly timed confession go unheard, but also he’ll undoubtedly have to carry your drunk ass back home. He definitely does not want your family finding him with you in this state.

“How much did you drink?” Renjun asks with a grimace, helping you up.

“Renjun. You’re adorable,” you say, wrapping your arms around his torso. He freezes immediately, resisting an urge to push you off him. This is strange, the feeling is strange. Renjun’s cheeks have risen a few degrees, his chest blooming with electricity and his ears will blow steam if he doesn’t do anything soon.

“We need to get you home,” he says, the syllables distinct.

“How could I go home?” you whine, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

Renjun resists another urge to smack you over the head. His heartbeat is frantic at this point, and he wants nothing more than the sweet relief of death to free himself from you. Besides alcohol, he can smell strawberries, possibly from your shampoo, and a dash of fabric softener. You’re warm and comfortable, annoyingly so. If you stay like this, he might not be able to bear the thought of you moving away from him.

Of course, Jeno has to find the two of you like this, your head in the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around him as his own balance you. In the middle of the living room, you look like young lovers who have forgotten the rest of the room, the world. There are people all around, yet no one cares.

Better Jeno than the others, Renjun thinks when he meets his friend’s eyes, although Jeno can be equally teasing.

“Help me get them home,” Renjun says, pulling you apart and holding you steady. You let out a complaint that he ignores.

“You could take them to the dorms,” Jeno offers. “It’s nearby.”

“What?!” Renjun didn’t realize his pitch could rise that high. “Can’t they…stay here?”

“The rooms are occupied. Besides, your roommate’s on vacation, right? You can take the top bunk,” Jeno suppresses an amused smile. Renjun hates him looking so smug.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll…do…that.”

“Need help sneaking (name) in?” Jeno has a teasing lilt to his voice.

“No, I’m good,” Renjun responds quickly. Jeno won’t let him live, will he?

In the end, with much difficulty, Renjun actually manages to sneak you in and with even more difficulty, he gets you to sit on the bed.

“I like you like this,” you say with a laugh. “I wish you’d always be this nice. And loving. And nice. Everyone would love you more. Not as cool guy Renjun. But sweet guy Renjun. I love sweet guy Renjun.”

Renjun sighs heavily. “If I gave all my love away like that, do you think people would care about me for me?”

He shakes his head. There’s no way he’s having a coherent conversation with you right now.

“I would,” you respond, your voice meek.

Renjun ignores your answer; you must be too drunk to think right now. With a hurried goodbye, he turns off the lights and clutches his heart tighter to bed.

You clear your throat, trying desperately to distract yourself from certain memories of last night and the fact that you’re currently in the school dorms, likely in Renjun’s room.

The afternoon has bled well into wisps of the evening, and you look around more nervous than ever. You remember clinging onto Renjun a little too tight, your hands around his waist—it’s the first time you’ve touched him save for the occasional swatting at his hands or punches to the shoulder. What would the school think of you two warmed up so close to each other like that—what would Renjun think of your stupid drunk self holding on to him like that?

Or even worse, what if you said something? What if you let slip something important at a time when words don’t mean as much?

The door opens and you flinch, turning your head to find the object of your afflictions. Renjun blinks for a moment or two before he sits beside you. He’s wearing a thin jacket; it’s not cold outside but he prefers those anyway. There are a gash and a bruise on his cheek and you wonder which obviously larger and stronger opponent he pissed off again.

“I thought you’d never wake,” Renjun says, nodding to emphasize. “That’s my bed, by the way.”

“Who’d you get into a fight with?” You shift closer, narrowing your eyes.

Renjun sighs, making a face. “Some idiot. Why does that matter?”

“Hold that tongue of yours for once,” you chide.

He heaves a noise of annoyance. “What are you, my mom? I let you sleep here all of last night and most of today—and the first thing you do is complain. I could’ve left you at Jaemin’s house, you know?”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about—you have no control over what you say sometimes,” you state, an old feeling bubbling up. “You pick a fight with everyone.”

“No. Everyone picks a fight with me and they do that because they hate the truth.” He pauses to let his frown show in his eyes. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t tell people to stop being rude to waitresses or tell the other kids to stop whining about not doing anything? They know the truth too.”

“When will you realize there are things more important than the truth?” Your voice is louder already. But you don’t think you mean the words; they’re just cowardly, from a person too afraid to lay their feelings out in the open.

“So you’ve decided to be this way then,” he says, scowling already. This is an old scene alright.

“I’m just telling you what might help—God, never mind,” you say, standing up quickly, “This what I hate about you. You’re just- there are just so many things I hate about you.”

No, you don’t mean any of this but habits die slow.

Renjun looks up at you silently. The sunlight makes its way to his cheek, caressing it with golden hues. His hair brushes against his browbone, the sun apparent in the brownish loose strands. The gash on his cheek is unbecoming but if anything, it highlights the rosy hues of his lips and nose. You’ve never been this infuriated yet fascinated with someone before. Your hands twitch, head still clouded with unfamiliar thoughts and a hangover. You wish you hadn’t snuck a look at his lips.

“Go on then,” he whispers, eyes flickering down for barely a moment, “Tell me what you hate about me.”

Do you take the risk? You hold the fragile thread against your thumb, a small tug required to snap it off.

You pull him up by the lapels of his jacket into a kiss, his lips rough against yours. The force of your pull sends the two of you stumbling backward three steps before your lower back hits the side of the study desk. You hold your position, your shaking hands bunching up the cloth you tightly hold.

When he doesn't respond, you feel a tremor of panic—maybe you shouldn't have been so hasty, maybe you figured wrong. You pull away with a start, an apology popping up on your lips and warmth across your face. But in the brief stretch of a moment, Renjun slides one arm around your waist and the other against the table for balance, his torso relaxing as he pushes against your lips again to further the kiss.

When you pull away, Renjun’s face is a sweet shade of pink. He looks embarrassed for a moment before he furrows his eyebrows, lips curving to a frown.

“You shouldn’t go around crashing your lips onto other people’s,” he scolds.

Your face flushes hot and you stumble over words to excuse yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, “I should have asked.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mumbles. “You’re lucky I wanted to kiss you the moment I entered this room.”

You feel another rush of warmth to your cheeks. Renjun is no different, face splashed pink from his words and your actions.

Renjun dips his head and you press your lips against his in another kiss, this one much calmer as a promise, the feeling already getting familiar. Maybe fate had different plans all along and the two of you misunderstood. Or perhaps, you’ve fallen into something fate forgot to acknowledge, perhaps fate grew tired.

Renjun pulls away first, lips parting into an open smile. Your heart swells, all the contempt inside driven out.

“I was wrong,” you confess, “I was wrong about you- about a lot of things, actually.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same boat,” he says softly.

You bury your head against his neck again, the smell of summer wind and green tea hand cream wafting in. You can’t quite describe it but you’ve grown used it, the scent and the warmth. You’ve grown used to Renjun as a person now and not as the bane of your existence.

“You know, I actually wouldn’t mind,” Renjun says.

“What?”

“Going to prom with you.”

You laugh. He looks away bashfully, the dimple appearing once more and you know right then you’ve been wrong in cursing fate—this is a gift that took time, one you unwrapped late. He’s only occasionally timid, not looking to pick a fight and you want to cherish moments like these. You don’t have to say things to mean them with him; you don’t have to hold his hand to feel warmth. Whatever had been set up for you, the two of you have finished it and as your mother says, only once in a blue moon does fate betray its course.

2K notes · View notes

potteryclaylover · 3 years

Text

Life Lessons I Learnt From Seagulls

Seagulls are the most inspirational creatures in my opinion. If I owned a sporting team of any sort, a seagull would be my mascot. Why? They’re the perfect combination of beauty, strong-will, friendliness and confidence. Though i personally never watched any seagull bird from close , but i love to watch bird from distance because i dont want to disturb their peace. But it always feel me with positive when i see group of birds eating , flying and all their activity. It is best therapy for me and its from very earlier .

Who of us has not wondered, at some point in life, if we really are living to our fullest potential? That we are really experiencing all that we are capable of experiencing?Every human being has been given the capacity to live abundantly, without boundaries. But the scope of this freedom is too large for most of us. We cringe from the vastness of all that is possible. We prefer to hide behind artificial limitations instead.

We hear of the frog in the pond that steadfastly refuses to believe that there were limitless oceans out there. For him, his pond is all that there is in the world. We also hear of the worm in the apple who believes that the whole world is its apple, nothing more.

Some of you may be familiar with the famous book Jonathon Livingston Seagull written by Richard Bach. A tale about a seagull who has dreams of being a better version of himself and flying higher and faster than any gull has ever dared before. Cast out by the flock for being different he goes off on his spiritual quest to discover his full potential. Does any of this resonate with you by any chance?

In real life many people hate seagulls. Maybe you do too. Are they the thugs of the bird world? Pests to be poisoned and driven out? Let’s be honest they have a terrible reputation because they are noisy and fearless they can appear aggressive and given the chance they will steal your food.

This little ode to seagulls may seem peculiar to you but as a result of long hours of observing them for days, I realized that inspiration can come from the simplest of things.

Have you ever heard of the expression ‘thinking out of the box?’ It means going beyond the accepted limits of imagination and daring to explore new possibilities. Jonathan Livingston Seagull was such an out-of-the-box thinker.

He discovered that for those who dare to dream, even the sky is not the limit. Jonathan lived as all seagulls do – in a flock. This flock was quite unremarkable. Seagulls are basically scavengers that inhabit the seashore, feeding off the debris that the sea throws out. Like all other seagulls, the members of this flock fed, bred and flew south in the cold winter months.

My love for these tiny birdies increased many folds when they actually taught me some valuable life lessons.

1. Don’t be afraid to stand against the wind

Look at this little fellow. He’s tiny and the wind that day was so strong even I was having trouble standing. He could just turn around and fly in the direction of the wind. But he stood his ground accepting the challenge.

Lesson: No matter how much friction you’re facing in being different or being yourself, don’t let it make you turn around in the direction of the wind.

2. Sometimes it’s good to go with the flow

If someone knows how to chill and take it easy, its the seagulls. They’ve taught me to not ALWAYS take life so seriously. That we can’t control each and every aspect of it. Sometimes you just have to let life unfold itself. See where the current takes you.

After all what’s the fun in knowing it all?

3. Evolve with your life situations

Seagulls are the masters of improvising and adapting to their circumstances. They can swim, fly or walk around depending on their need. We as humans have to realize that we are more equipped than a seagull. We have better means, internal and external, to adhere to our circumstances. We just need to be as strong-willed and easy going as a seagull.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is a simple story with a profound message.

The message is that we can all be so much more than we believe, or are given to believe. That God – or fortune, if you wish – is on the side of the bold, the adventurous and the free in spirit.

But Jonathan sensed, in the core of his being, that there could be more to life. Much more.

4. Never be afraid to ask for your right

Anyone who has had a meal by the beach knows that the seagulls will come flocking around for their share. They are not afraid to ask for it. They’ll stand by staring at you persistently until you go, ‘oh well alright, have a chip.’

Deep in its communal heart, the flock knew that it was living below its full potential. It consoled itself with a vaguely remembered Promise, passed down various generations of seagulls. That Promise spoke of a Great Seagull – a supernaturally gifted bird that would come and deliver it from the chains of self-imposed mediocrity.

The Great Seagull was supposed to have secrets of limitless flight and a superior existence.

That discovering the Great Seagull’s secrets could have been the result of diligent effort and seeking did not occur to these seagulls. They preferred to put the responsibility of their future on a Being which they did not understand and did not try to emulate. The Great Seagull, however, did not come.

But maybe – just maybe – every seagull in that flock sometimes wondered if it was they were missing the point of this legend …

Jonathan had heard of the Great Seagull, of course. It meant nothing to him, but there was a question that did haunt him – the question that haunts us all when we have nothing to distract ourselves with. The question we ask ourselves when, for some reason or the other, we find ourselves sleepless at night.

Can I fly higher? Can I fly farther? Is there more?

The flock asked itself no such questions. The mundane preoccupations of life had them too much in thrall to consider deeper questions. But Jonathan knew that he could drink deeper of life than they did.

One day, he announced that he intended to fly higher and further than any seagull before him. The effect of his words on the flock was interesting, to say the least:

“Seagulls are not meant to fly higher than this,” is what they said. “What makes you think you’re different from us?”

That is the persistence and determination you and I need in your daily life. Ask for that promotion at work. Ask for the love and attention in a relationship. You deserve it.

5. It’s your character that makes you beautiful

Seagulls are not camera shy and are always ready to strike a pose. The poker face is their favourite. There are thousands of exquisite birds in the world but what made me fall in love with seagulls is their character. Sure they are nice to look at but it’s their confidence, strength and playful persona that makes them beautiful.

Jonathan’s answer was that he was not content with mediocrity, especially if he knew that he could attain greater heights. The rest of the flock became very angry with him – they called him a dreamer who did not know the realities of life. When he insisted on pursuing his vision, they cast him out of the flock.

Doesn’t this ring a bell in most of our minds? Doesn’t it remind us of times when we have been told – or even told ourselves – that we should realize our limits? Well, who sets those limits?

The human being has limited capabilities – but then, we only think of the capabilities we have actually demonstrated. We never think of the possibility of hidden capabilities that never see the light of day because they are not called upon.

Have you never heard of the true-life stories of people who overcame impossible odds – achieved impossible tasks – when they stopped relying solely on what they knew about themselves?

Jonathan Livingston Seagull, that anonymous bird in an anonymous flock, decided that he wanted to claim the Promise now. He wanted the power to fly higher than he had ever flown, to see sights he had never seen.

He decided that if the Great Seagull was real enough and powerful enough, it would help him achieve these goals in the Here and Now. Not in some vaguely conceived Hereafter, but in real time. In this present lifetime.

Did he turn to the Great Seagull in prayer? Or did he just draw inspiration from the fact that such a Seagull could and did exist? Richard Bach’s book remains silent on this issue. But from the moment Jonathan decided to claim the Promise, his life changed drastically.

Are you now waiting for the part where Jonathan was suddenly given miraculous spiritual and physical powers to make his dreams of impossible flight come true? Sorry, that is not what happened…

Instead, Jonathan’s belief in the Promise convinced him that the power to achieve his dream would be given to him if he put in diligent effort. He was a changed bird – he suddenly felt that he was no longer alone. And so he practiced flying higher. It was a painstaking process, but something had changed.

He no longer despaired when he considered his feeble seagull wings. He no longer doubted when he considered the fact that no seagull had ever flown as high as he wanted to fly.

This new-found assurance was not what is commonly known as ‘self-confidence’. It was confidence in something beyond him – a Higher Power, if you will. He called it the Great Seagull. Some call it God. But whatever we call it, it is a Power outside of ourselves. We cannot generate it, but we can still claim it.

And guess what? Jonathan Livingston Seagull soared. He eventually flew higher than any seagull ever had. And he finally met the Great Seagull.

Yes, he actually met the legendary Being. He basked in its approval and was given the power and privilege to lead others from the barren, empty path of self-effort to a mind-bogglingly rewarding partnership with Something Better.

I have a feeling that the human version of seagulls would have an amazing sense of humour as well.

Lesson learnt: Put your self out there. Have enough self-confidence to know and exhibit your good qualities and know that you’re beautiful just the way you are.

#Seagull Seagullbird Seagulllifeinspiration Life Lifeinspiration Thinkoutofbox selfconfidence achivement Success Happy Soulfullife

2 notes · View notes

saudadeonly · 4 years

Text

let’s start in the middle

Posting this here as well because I am desperate for validation. You can read it on ao3 as well. This work is part 1 of a series in a world three degrees north, the rest of which can technically be read in any order.

Death Eater! Sirius Black AU

On a cool night in June, Minerva McGonnagall receives a visitor. What he has to tell her is less than pleasant.

(or, Sirius doesn't run away in the summer after 5th year, but instead makes a deal with his mother, and this is a consequence of it)

Word count: 2377

___

June 1978

The last person Minerva McGonnagall expects to knock on her door on a cool summer night is perhaps not Sirius Black because he’s made it a habit over the years to come by her office at least once a fortnight, but he is certainly not very high on the list as of right now. Come to think of it, Minerva can’t remember the last time Sirius Black was in her office. He’s been remarkably well-behaved in the past couple of years.

“Mr Black,” she greets, looking him up and down to make sure he is not injured in some way. He looks very put together if a bit fidgety so her worries move on to his troublesome friends. “What’s the matter?”

“May I come in, Professor?” he asks, uncharacteristically soft, and the sheer surprise of it is enough to make her step aside.

He walks into the room, back straight, shoulders drawn up, every inch the Black heir he so despises to be. But when he sits down in the in front of her desk, he seems to become liquid, all long limbs and slumped shoulders.

“Have a biscuit,” she says, pushing forward the tin of biscuits she keeps on hand for her students, usually some very distinctive ones, like the one in front of her.

He shakes his head, looking distinctly pale, and she notices, not for the first time this year, the dark smudges underneath his eyes. “No, thank you, Professor.”

She hides her surprise and smoothly closes up the tin, then turns around to her kettle and boils the water in it. “Tea?” she asks, back still to her student.

“I—” He huffs a breath, then says, “Please.”

Minerva doesn’t ask what kind and how much sugar and if he wants milk, because he’s been in her office enough for her to know how exactly he drinks his tea and that he actually prefers coffee, anyway.

He stays silent and unmoving for the time she pours the tea into two cups, which is strange in and of itself, but he doesn’t even say anything when one of the cups slips from its saucer and she barely manages to flick her wand in time to catch it before it spills its contents onto the floor.

Safe to say, Minerva is quite worried now.

Only when she hands him his cup of tea—black, two spoons of sugar, no milk—does he murmur, “Thank you.” He deposits the saucer on the desk and hugs the cup with both hands, blowing softly into the tea to make it cool down faster, his eyes downcast.

Minerva does put down the saucer as well, but she grips the cup by the handle instead and brings it to her lips. She prefers her tea hot. “What’s the matter, Mr Black?” she asks again, patiently, but she doesn’t miss the way his fingers tighten around his cup at the use of his last name. “Sirius,” she amends gently, and he does look up at that, his grey eyes startling. “I can’t help you if you don’t—”

“I’m getting the Dark Mark tomorrow,” Sirius says before she can finish, eyes like steel in their determination.

Out of all the things—Minerva hadn’t expected this, not one bit. She shrieks, but stifles it with a hand before it can fully escape, and the motion sends her tea flying all around.

Sirius seems to have been prepared. Quick as a flash, he has his wand in hand and flicks it, directing the tea back into the cup and the cup itself safely onto the saucer on the desk. He pockets his wand as soon as the cup rattles, and looks at Minerva with a rather sheepish glint in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he says, looking like he doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologising for but meaning it all the same. She thinks it must be the first time since he was sorted into Gryffindor that he’s genuinely apologising to her. “I made a deal with my mother two years ago and if I don’t honour it—” He bites his lip, takes a sip of his tea. He clears his throat and when he continues his voice is stronger. “I’m not doing it because I choose to, but because I have no other choice, not if I want everyone I love to live. I know this won’t absolve me of anything I may do, being of sound mind—or, as much a Black can be—but I wanted somebody to know that in my heart—” He swallows, shaking his head, and doesn’t go on.

“May I ask why?” she asks, but she has an inkling anyway.

His Adam’s apple bobs. “You know why,” he says.

Of course she does. She’s seen Sirius this past two years, talking in hushed tones with Regulus, a boy of slighter build but by no means any less talent than his older brother, the strain in their frighteningly straight postures obvious as they exchanged words. And she’s seen the Marauders, her foolish boys, less troublesome and more tight-knit than ever but with inevitable cracks growing between them, what with Sirius’s more—well, serious demeanour.

“And you’re willing to give up the life you’ve built here, with James, and Remus, and Peter, and the others, for this?”

He smiles, though it’s hardly a smile, and more of a grimace of self-deprecating amusement. “The life I’ve built here, Professor—it’s only an illusion, seven amazing years I got to have before I have to be who I was burdened with the day I was born. Perhaps if I had been brave enough two years ago, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “But I wasn’t. So now I will be what my mother expects of me, because that’s the deal we made—I get to finish Hogwarts, doing what I want, then I do as she sees fit and Reggie and my friends remain untouched by her hand.” He blinks, his grimace pulling up into what almost looks like a wry smirk. “I can be a good pureblood when I have my motivations.”

“Don’t be daft, Sirius,” she snaps. He flinches and she softens her voice. “You could choose differently, you could, the Potters would—”

“The Potters,” Sirius says over her with a strength that makes her forget he’s just spoken over her, “are good people, who have been beyond kind to me since the day they met me, but they are old and have enough on their plate as it is, and it would be a piss-poor thanks for their kindness to inflict Walburga Black’s wrath on them.” He puts down his cup and looks at her directly. “I have thought this through, Professor, more than you can imagine. No matter what I do, no matter how I rebel, someone will end up getting hurt. This option predicts only my hurting. This option allows me to protect Reggie and Jamie, Remus, Lily, and Peter. And their hatred, the destruction of my soul, is a small price to pay for it.”

Minerva is left speechless for a second. She has to admit she didn’t expect such an impassioned speech, delivered with such determined force, but then again, Sirius Black always has had a flair for dramatics.

“I—you realise what this entails?” she asks.

“I do.” He clears his throat. “It will hardly be a surprise for the wizarding world, Professor. I am a Black, after all—my soul is as dark as my name.” He pauses, the upturn of his lips almost reminiscent now—he must be enjoying using the joke he’s used so many times already. He sobers only moments later, saying quietly, “But I was hoping it might help you, too.”

Minerva raises a brow. “How will having one of the most gifted students of his age on the side of You-Know-Who help us?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea to calm her nerves.

He doesn’t even react to the hidden compliment, which tells her that the world truly is turning on its axis.

“I know about the Order,” he says calmly. “I won’t join—I have no desire to be a double agent, or a triple agent, as it happens—but I want to…” He licks his lips, placing his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, his hair framing his face—so, so young he is, she realises suddenly. “I would like to pass information to you, whatever I find out that will help you win this war.”

Minerva straightens. “If you want to spy for the Order, Sirius, you should talk to Albus. I am not a part of—it,” she says.

“No.” His answer comes almost too quickly, enough so that she looks at him over the rim of her spectacles. “I don’t trust Professor Dumbledore,” he explains, wringing his hands together. “Not enough to do this with him.” His eyes are almost imperceptibly wide now, grey and earnest, as if willing her, pleading with her, to understand. “But I trust you. And I know you would never—” He doesn’t finish his thought and Minerva thinks that is for the better so when she feels something pricking in her eyes.

She quickly swallows another mouthful of hot tea and smooths down a wrinkle on the leg of her night robes. When she looks back up at Sirius, he’s biting the inside of his cheek. She gives one nod, curt and quick, and says, “Very well.”

He doesn’t exactly brighten but there’s a new ease to his movements as he sips his tea. “Thank you, Professor.”

They drink their tea in silence for the next few minutes, until Minerva dares to ask, “When will you tell James and the others?”

He shrugs. “I won’t. They’ll find out eventually, but until then—I don’t know, I’ll make them hate me.” He huffs a breath of air that might be able to pass as laughter if it weren’t for the way it breaks. “They’ll probably think she has me under Imperius or something.”

“You’re being braver than any Gryffindor I’ve ever met.”

He offers her a small smile. “Thank you, Professor, but perhaps save that for the time after I manage to pull this off.”

They are silent again.

Sirius leans back suddenly, all vulnerability gone from his face, replaced by sky-high confidence, giving her one of his signature lopsided grins and there he is, this brave, troublemaker of a boy she’s known this past seven years. Her heart aches with the thought of that bright boy dying. “So how hard will it be to pretend to hate me if you see me out there?”

One week, later she watches as he throws up his pointed hat, roaring in joyous laughter along with the rest of his class, the words they’re shouting at each other lost in the applause of the spectators and the students themselves.

She sees him grab Lily around the waist, spinning her round and round as her dark red hair streams behind her, then draw in Marlene and Dorcas with each hand as they stumble into him and embrace him each on one side. She sees him reach Peter next, digging his knuckles into the shorter boy’s scalp with a wide grin and laughingly step away as Peter bats at him. He runs right into Remus and as he grabs him, one hand fisting in the back of Remus’s robes and the other cupping the back of his neck, Minerva feels the need to look away, to give them privacy, even if they’re embracing so emotionally in the middle of a crowd.

When she looks back, he’s already found James, their arms around each other as they jump up and down, the colour of their hair almost identical, the grins on their faces almost duplicates of each other’s, and her insides ache because they could’ve been brothers, they could have been, they could have—

But Sirius’s real brother comes along then, slow and unsure, but with a small smile on his face, and Sirius steps forward to catch his forearm with his hand, briefly pressing their foreheads together. He says something to him, something even she can guess is beyond private, but before Regulus can reply, Hagrid calls for the graduates to go to the boats. Regulus breaks away and goes back up to the castle without another glance, leaving Sirius to pick up his hat along with his classmates.

Minerva, along with all the other Professors, walks the graduates to the lake and stands a few steps away from its bank as they start to climb into the boats, Lily wandering towards Marlene, Dorcas and Mary to let the four boys clamber into one boat together.

It is heart-breaking to think that in just a few days, or perhaps even hours, Sirius will be as alien to them as Severus Snape a few boats away is.

As if sensing her thoughts, Sirius Black looks back at her and grins. “Alright there, Professor?” he shouts. “You won’t miss me too much, will you?”

She doesn’t have it in herself to hold back a small smile. “I think I’ll manage just fine.”

He favours her with another grin and then he’s jostled back as the boats disembark to glide over to the Hogsmeade station. He nearly topples over into Remus, but regains his balance, turning his now much softer smile on the other boy.

They’re nearly in the middle of the Black Lake, when he looks back again, this time no hint of laughter in his face. Their eyes meet, both expressions carefully impassive, but Minerva doesn’t think she imagines the tremble in his body as he lifts his hand—is that the arm that’s been Marked, she wonders, or is it the other one—and tips his hat ever-so-slightly towards her.

Minerva watches toward them until Albus takes her by the elbow and gently leads her inside. “They’ll be just fine, Minerva,” he says, blue eyes gentle as he pats her hand.

She presses her lips together and closes her eyes, thinking back to that night, imagining those grey eyes staring up at their owner’s namesake in the night sky, blank and unseeing.

#harry potter #sirius black #minerva mcgonagall #hogwarts #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #first war with voldemort #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #regulus black #peter pettigrew #in a world three degrees north

17 notes · View notes