#i don’t want to lose him and only have months or years of recent resentment to look back on
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one brush with love
Sirius thought you only got one. One chance with happiness; one brother, one best friend, one shot at the life you really wanted; one brush with love. The war took half of his odds, and a failed relationship took the other, leaving Sirius lost and wondering if there was such a thing as second chances.
and if he would get it right this time around.
(a tumblr exclusive, starking romance)
Read Chapter 1: An Indecent Proposal here (about 3k)
Chapter 2: An Unlikely Encounter (about 5k)
Over ten years together could be reduced to a couple of boxes, that could be shuffled around Number 12 Grimmauld place. Sirius could have used magic to pack everything up, but following the failed proposal and the drunken aftermath of it all, he needed to feel something.
Other than resentment.
I wasted my fucking twenties.
Or guilt
No, Remus, don't go...we’ll figure out how to make this work. Together.
Or incurable sadness that came with losing your lover and best friend all because Sirius couldn’t say yes.
The spring and the summer all blurred together, Sirius oscillating between extremes.
Sirius moved to a large bedroom on the fourth floor of Number 12.
Remus stayed on the second.
Floors for each of them. Space for each of them. A place that could be theirs while still trying to piece together an ours.
Sirius packed Harry’s lunches for primary school, just as he had been doing ten years.
Remus packed to go teach at Hogwarts for the term, after receiving an opportunity he couldn't turn down.
They took Harry to Diagon Alley for his wand when the letter came.
Remus got on the train on September 1st with his godson when the time came.
And Sirius took refuge on the couch of the sitting room, in a quiet house that belonged to him but no longer felt like home—though Sirius was beginning to question if it ever really did or he just assumed once there was some semblance of a family there, that’s what it became. A home. Instead of just four walls. Or a place he slept.
Then again, Sirius also had recently made the discovery that Remus wasn’t the love of his life, his soulmate, despite how many boxes Remus checked indicating that he was. Remus had just become a bloke who lived with him in a house. A person who drank coffee across from him in the morning. A half-friend, half-stranger he wished he could never see again.
There was an ashtray on the floor, near the couch where Sirius had taken up permanent residence since September 1st, that went unused in favor of leaving burn marks on the arms of the sofa or empty beer bottles. Sirius loved to watch the smoke trail slowly out of the top of the bottle, creating patterns in the air around him, and Sirius would pretend he was watching the clouds outside.
Remus sent him post from Hogwarts.
Sirius left it unopened.
Harry was sorted in Gryffindor.
Sirius bought a blanket from a catalog and pretended he had knit it himself. It was like the end of the war all over again.
It felt the same, anyway. Sirius hadn’t planned his life outside of James, Lily and Harry then, and he hadn’t planned his life outside of Remus and Harry now. Everybody was gone, and Sirius was alone.
Lost.
-
“What are you doing?”
“Huh?”
“It fucking smells like an arsehole in here. What the hell are you doing?”
“Whatareyou--?” Sirius mumbled, half awake and squinting at the figure standing over him. Remus in his battered cardigan and baggy trousers with his arms folded over his chest, using the voice Sirius remembered hearing when they were at Hogwarts. Remus’s prefect voice they had made fun of. Perhaps now it was a professor voice.
“Its three in the afternoon, Sirius.”
“Why are you yelling?” Sirius asked, sitting up and running a hand over his hair. “Why are you here?”
“You haven’t answered my post in over a month.”
“I don’t need a babysitter…”
“At least Karina would remind you to shower, Merlin’s fucking Beard, Sirius, I know I'm not the cleanest but this looks like a damn trashbin,” Remus looked around the sitting room that was covered in ash and empty bottles. “So I ask you again, what the hell are you doing?”
"I don't know."
"What?"
“I don’t know, Remus! That’s the point!” Sirius threw his hands into the air, “I don’t know what I’m doing because everything I’ve ever done has been about someone else! There’s no one else fucking here—”
“So you do need a babysitter.”
“I need a fucking life, Remus. I’m almost thirty one and I haven’t been…I haven’t….I haven’t. It was Harry and then it was you and…now its not.”
Remus sighed, sinking down onto the couch next to Sirius, reaching down to pick a burning cigarette off the floor, and taking a drag before stamping it out in an ashtray. “You’re not going to get a life sitting in here smoking.”
“Piss off.”
“I think you’re stuck with me, unfortunately.”
“Hm.”
“It’s….hard to be the person who stays, isn’t it?” Remus asked, exhaling through his lips, “But…I didn’t…ask you to do that either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? It's my fault?”
“Don’t get mad, I’m just…making a point here…Harry’s at school. I have a life, as you pointed out. I’m teaching and…trying to work through all this not-marriage stuff amicably. No one is…telling you that you have to stay here and stay inside and…Sirius you're so smart, and you have potential to do—”
“I’m not one of your students, Remus. Don’t talk to me about my potential.”
“Fine.” Remus smacked his hands on his thighs and stood up again, “Then I’ll tell you in a month and a half, Harry and I will be living here again, and you cannot be doing this.”
“I don’t even know what this is.”
“Figure it out then. Go take a fucking walk, Sirius. You like those still, don’t you?” Remus asked, expecting an answer.
Sirius wasn’t sure if he was being clever, poking at his animaigus form, or if he was being genuine. Because Remus has asked to go for a walk the night he proposed.
Remus had asked to go for a walk the night they first held hands.
Remus had asked to go for a walk long before romance was there and they just needed something to do after dinner at Hogwarts.
"Don't you?"
“I…don’t…actually know.”
“Well the…nice thing is, you have some time to figure that out now. You always did need space,” Remus extended a hand and brushed stray curl out of Sirius’s face, following it down the tangled strands of his hair. When his hand pulled away, Remus had a cigarette butt between his fingers, “I love you. Take your space, and answer my post so I’m not worried about you.”
“Never need to worry about me, Moons.”
“You’re existential over here, I think a bit of worry is warranted.”
-
This time around, Remus wrote post.
Sirius answered.
Harry sent an essay he did well on via post.
Sirius put it on the fridge and sent a sweets basket to the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Sirius smoked—but outside, when he went on walks that he was now definitely certain he liked.
If nothing else.
He knew he liked walks.
Which was why a trip to the Ministry felt like a reasonable outing when Harry returned home from Hogwarts for the holidays with Remus, and immediately, accidentally caused trouble, and post from the Ministry landed in Number 12.
That Sirius, for once, opened, instead of adding it to the Museum of Ministry Mail he had started after the war ended.
Sirius held the post in his hand as he walked through the halls of the ministry, ignoring the stares and the double-takes from Ministry Officials passing by him. Until that moment, Sirius hadn’t realized how much of a recluse he had been the past 10 years. The only thing Sirius ever wanted to do, even when James and Lily were alive, even when he was 18 and thinking about a bright new future, was stick around and raise the inevitable hoard of Potter children.
A hoard didn’t happen, so Sirius had to make damn sure he stuck around for the one.
Ten years and Sirius had only been concerned with pick-ups and drop-offs and packing lunches for primary school. Only left Number 12 Grimmauld Place for mandatory Healer appointments or brief trips into Diagon Alley for new clothes or toys, but even that was being generous. Sirius could order via owl post, and he preferred to do it that way. Sure, he occupied his spare time while Remus was off private-tutoring magic and muggle children, and Harry was at school by keeping up the home; he also managed the Black Estate and upheld his end of the wizarding economy. But Sirius knew he had distanced himself from politics.
From the Ministry.
From his seat on the Wizengamot, and all other responsibilities that came with being a Black.
From the Wizarding World, having a bitter taste in his mouth after the War ended and everyone was content to just move on. Apologize. Never learn.
And then Remus happened and Sirius distanced himself from a whole lot more, realizing he had confused intimacy and safety and comfort with the real thing and convinced himself he was okay with that.
Even though he didn’t have nearly the same level of parental responsibility as he had when Harry was at home and going to school and the endless stream of lunches and pick ups and drop offs, Sirius still found himself in a familiar rut when Harry was home from Hogwarts.
Perhaps it was easier to resume the role than admit he had no fucking clue where to go or what to do with himself now and a month ago he had been swimming in his own smoke fumes and alcohol backwash.
But the underage magic notice in his hand had provided an excuse—one that Sirius knew he could handle by dropping his last name and waving his wand, the same way he had handled any mishaps and requests over the past ten years. Harry wouldn’t have a record of underage magic by the end of the day if Sirius had anything to say about it.
He opened the heavy glass door with the gold handle that lead to the Department of Underage Magic and made to walk towards the front desk only to slow his steps immediately. There sat the most gorgeous man Sirius had laid eyes on outside the realm of magazines that he absolutely hadn’t been wasting his time with the past three months when not staring catatonic at the ceiling and drowning in his own crises. The man was bent over the desk, writing something down, and Sirius took his time examining every inch of him. Deep, dark brown skin, and black hair in braids, tied back into a ponytail; long arms with muscled forearms that weren’t covered by robes, but instead a violet sweater rolled up to his elbows on both sides, and tucked into black trousers Sirius knew were expensive, even from a distance. He wore rings on his fingers—yellow gold—and two gold hoop earrings in both ears. Sirius was taken aback by the colors, the curves, and the valleys, the height of this man as he stopped writing and straightened to look at Sirius.
It wasn’t often Sirius felt uncertainty creep up his spine and blow a cool breeze on the back of his neck. Sirius knew he was good looking but also know that he hadn’t even bothered to put on a clean pair of jeans that morning. He ran a hand over his hair, absently checking his wrists to see if he had a hairband, only to find them both empty, and a haphazard finger comb would have to do.
At least his breath didn’t smell bad.
The man behind the desk smiled—a politician's smile from what Sirius remembered—and one hand went to his chest.
“Sirius Black as I live and breathe,” he said dramatically, with a slight teasing tone, and Sirius was taken aback. By dark eyes and thick eyelashes, by full lips, and a tattoo on the mans right hand; by how deep his voice was and how the violet sweater pulled against his chest. But also, by the way this man, this sinfully attractive, going straight to Sirius’s groin man knew who he was. It was one thing when it was the elderly Ministry Officials he passed earlier. This was a completely different thing. “We thought you were dead.”
“Pardon?” Sirius asked, shaking his head and hoping his face didn’t look as stupid as he felt.
“That was a joke. No one has seen you for a....few... years. People like to talk.”
“Politicians like to talk…”
“You know them then?”
“Years ago, but doesn’t sound like they’ve changed much,” Sirius said, shrugging and trying to prevent his eyes from wandering further from the man’s face. Again. They were nearly the same height, Sirius’s shoulders a touch broader, this man’s arms maybe a bit longer.
“Well, they have to keep themselves entertained somehow,” he said and smiled again, “Kingsley Shacklebolt, I don’t think we’ve met.” The man extended a hand across the desk, and Sirius took it, hoping Kingsley couldn’t feel his pulse.
“We definitely haven’t.” I would remember you.
“What brings you here today?”
Sirius held up the underage magic notice in his hand, presenting it to Kingsley, “My godson was…served, after an incident at the zoo. I was hoping to speak with someone about this today.”
“At the zoo?”
“There was a snake and…a brat and…” Sirius trailed off, and Kingsley laughed softly, “As you can imagine, brats and snakes and passionate 11-year-olds don’t exactly go together.”
“I don’t think brats go together with anything,” Kingsley agreed, smiling and looking at the notice, “Happy to help you out. Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Well, you have to make an appointment.”
“Alright, give me an appointment.”
Kingsley paused, looking between the calendar on the desk and Sirius, “Today’s a little busy…at the bottom of the post it requests to make an appointment for an appeal.”
“Yes, and I’m here making one. For today, about now,” Sirius countered.
“Do you know how appointments work?”
“I do. But, see, I have endless amounts of time on my hands, and a stubborn belief that I am always right and that eleven year old’s shouldn’t be at risk of losing their education for not being able to control their magic yet. The very thing they’re in school for. Imagine that…so I can wait for an appointment today. I don’t mind. Take your time.” Sirius leaned one hip against the desk, cocking his head to his side. He didn’t add that he also didn’t mind spending the day waiting if this was the view.
Kingsley shook his head slightly and looked down, “Did you come down here and think you’d just be able to take care of everything for…” Kingsley skimmed the post again, “Mr. Potter?”
Sirius appreciated that Kingsley didn’t slow down while reading the last name, though he undoubtedly put the pieces together about who Sirius’s godson was. Sirius appreciated that there wasn’t a follow-up question about his well-being or a look of pity that followed.
So tragic.
It wouldn’t have been the first time Sirius had told a near perfect stranger it was a lot more fucking tragic living with it and not just witnessing from a newspaper or word of mouth.
“Yes,” Sirius said bluntly, and Kingsley snorted.
“Well, you’re probably right. In most circumstances anyway….” He glanced back at the calendar, “But unfortunately, we are busy today and even if you camped out in our lobby, we wouldn’t be able to see you. However…”
“Hm?”
“I happen to agree with you, Mr. Black—”
“Just Sirius,”
“Sirius,” Kingsley stalled for a moment, the tip of his tongue wetting his lower lip, brown eyes once again darting between the post, the calendar and Sirius’s face. Unsure where to look, unsure how long he could look, “and I’m trying to make some headway with underage magic policy reform, so…I’ll go ahead and make a case note myself. About brats, and an eleven-year-old, and—”
“He just started Hogwarts this past term, the standard of accountability shouldn’t be—”
“I will make a note of that as well, and say he was vouched for by a very upstanding, elder member of the wizarding council. I will not mention that person happens to be his Godfather.”
“Will you also forget to mention this particular person has been…absent from their duties as well?”
“That can be arranged.”
“Thank you, and this will be…?”
“It will remain in his file but won’t be used against him should any further incidents of accidental magic occur.”
“That should be standard practice…” Sirius mumbled, “Thank you. Do I need to sign anything?”
“I’ll send you a follow-up from my office within the week,” Kingsley said and took the letter off the desk, before flicking his wrist and magically filing it away. “Questions, comments, concerns…?”
Sirius laughed a little, “No…just…thank you,” he nodded and ran a hand over his hair, “Sorry. I came on a bit…strong.”
“Nothing to worry about, I’m more used to it than you would think.”
“Oh, right, I’m sure you see a lot of passionate parents working here.”
A slow smile spread onto Kingsley’s face; lopsided, the right side rising higher, causing creases in his cheek. “Something like that.”
“Well, anyway, thanks again, Mr. Shacklebolt—”
“Kingsley, please.”
“Kingsley,” Sirius said slowly, and quietly, testing out the way this new name sounded coming out of his mouth. Effortless. “Thank you. I’ll…wait for your post, I suppose.”
“I’ll look forward to sending it.”
“You can also tell everyone that I am not…dead or make up some sort of other rumor about me for your entertainment. For helping...this go smoothly today and if you—”
“Sirius?”
“Yes?” Sirius asked, surprised at the eagerness of in his voice. This interaction with Kingsley had been the most pleasant interaction he had in weeks. Months, maybe. Definitely within the past year where it seemed that the rain kept coming and Sirius’s mood only became more and more sour as he sat in his empty childhood home alone.
“There’s someone…” Kingsley started, inclining his head and Sirius turned over his shoulder to see a woman with a leather bag over her shoulder, twisting her hands together and waiting to approach the desk.
“Right! Right, uh, she probably has an appointment,” Sirius said, and stepped aside, “Thank you, again, for the third time.”
Kingsley gave Sirius another smile before turning his attention to the witch and Sirius turned on his heel to walk out of the department, back through the heavy glass doors.
--
Remus walked into Number 12 that day after picking Harry up from the Burrow, Harry in a much better mood than when he had been brought over that morning. Remus needing to go to Hogwarts to organize his office and Sirius needing to go to the Ministry to smooth things over, was apparently not a good enough excuse and Harry was adamant about not needing a babysitter. An argument that he had undoubtedly lost and had left home late afternoon with his arms folded and scowling before Sirius had flooed over with him. Since returning home from the Ministry, Sirius had felt lighter, heading to the muggle supermarket after his meeting and picking up ingredients for dinner. The kitchen smelled like garlic and fresh lemon, pasta boiling on the stove, and Sirius had lit candles in the hallway, when the tell tale sound of boots on the wood flooring and Harry rushed in.
Harrys dark hair was tucked under a beanie, talking around his glove that he was pulling off with his teeth, “Sirius! Sirius!” Sirius flicked his wand to keep the spoon stirring the sauce as he turned around to face Harry, grinning as he leaned against the counter. Remus was following behind Harry, the tip of his nose flushed pink, and his hands underneath his armpits to get them warm.
“Harry!”
“Ron and the twins and Percy and even Ginny had a massive snowball fight today!”
“Were you there as well or did they tell you to go play by yourself?” Sirius asked and Harry made a face, “Did you win?”
“The twins will say no, but I think we did because our snow fort didn’t get ruined. Ron and I came in and just—” Harry sliced his hand through the air, adding a whooshing noise for the effect to explain the apparent destruction of the twins's snow fort, “It was brilliant!”
“Sounds like you had a great day. Why don’t you take off your coat and boots and tell me more. I’d love to hear what battle strategies you used. And Fred and George.”
“They didn’t have any! At all! Oh, and then,” Harry said, talking as he walked out of the kitchen, his voice rising the more distance was put between them, “Mrs. Weasley got so mad because they spelled out ARSE with snowballs on her window…!”
Sirius flicked his wrist to quickly clean up the wet boot marks on the kitchen floor, looking at Remus, “Organized?”
“By whose standards?”
“Mine, as always.”
“No.”
“Yours?”
“No again,” Remus teased, taking his hands out of his armpits and sitting down at the kitchen table, an odd look on his face as he scanned the kitchen, “I did catch up on reading a book by that bloke who interviewed Prisoners in Azkaban though.”
“Was my cousin mentioned?”
“No. How’s it feel to be related to someone not famous enough to be interviewed?”
“Embarrassing, truly," Sirius said, “Hungry?”
“Starved. It smells great.”
“Garlic loaf.”
“I can get it, if you want—”
“No. No oven,” Sirius responded thinking of all the trips to St. Mungo’s they had taken due to cooking mishaps over the years.
“How was the ministry?
“Better than I expected.”
“Yeah, you don’t have smoke coming out of your ears like you did yesterday…” Remus said, "What’d they say? Did they tell you to come back and make an appointment? Like I said?”
Remus had said. Insisting Sirius play by the rules for once. Sirius hadn’t listened, though, and he was glad for it, mind wandering back to a violet sweater and gold earrings. Tattooed hand and a confidence that was intriguing. A receptionist who had the nerve to spar with Sirius was a receptionist he needed to interact with more, almost wishing things hadn’t gone quite so smoothly so he would have an excuse to revisit.
“No, actually, I’m that good.”
“Arrogant arsehole—"
“Who’s an arsehole?” Harry asked, returning to the kitchen at precisely the wrong moment, Remus wincing as he looked up to the ceiling.
“Don’t say arsehole, Harry,” Sirius chided lightly
“Your godfather,” Remus said at the same time, giving Harry a wink and Sirius shook his head. “I hope you didn’t torment the receptionist too badly. Mary? I think her name is, I’m sure she’s very nice and—”
“Mary?”
“Did you exchange names or were you busy trying to get your way?”
“No, I…met with Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Sirius started, and Remus’s eyes widened, Sirius’s speech slowing down at the reaction, “He…was at the front desk…why do you look like that?”
“That’s just his face, Sirius,” Harry responded, looking at Remus who had his head resting against his hand, raking through his hair. "Oh, no wait, that's his annoyed professor face."
“Kingsley Shacklebolt was an auror, and is now the Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic. Not a receptionist.”
Sirius turned around back towards to stove to disguise his own shock at the new information, focusing very intently on the sauce on the stove instead. He knew Kingsley had known too much to be a receptionist but had played along anyway.
“How do you—”
“He’s in the daily prophet about once a week—”
“Yeah, don’t you read, Sirius?” Harry asked and Sirius snorted, distracting himself yet again with getting plates down from the cupboard and taking the loaf out of the oven. Because Sirius Black didn’t get flustered.
And he didn’t get tongue-tied.
And he didn’t care for authority figures. And he didn't care about impressing anyone.
And knowing he was speaking to Kingsley Shacklebolt, whose name held a weight to rival Sirius’s, wouldn’t have changed the outcome any.
Except Sirius might have worn nicer jeans. Except Sirius would have been more nonchalant; aloof; uncaring; the way he wanted all politicians to view him. Sirius had played too many cards that afternoon, and Kingsley still had a few up his sleeve.
It was unsettling.
Sirius had disappeared from public eye—from political eye—for ten years only to have the mystery solved in an afternoon.
“Please tell me you behaved yourself and didn’t give Harry a further criminal record—”
“Hey! I don’t have a record, Moony. It’s was one snake! We're not even banned from the zoo!”
Sirius inhaled deeply to gather his bearings.
This encounter didn't have to change anything.
He grabbed a bowl of shredded parmesan from the counter and crossed the kitchen to sit at the table where Remus and Harry were now making up scenarios for Harry’s potential rap sheet.
“I think I could steal, maybe,” Harry said, “Oh! Or we could join in crime together and pee on the ministry steps for—”
“No one is peeing on anything,” Sirius interjected, palming the back of Harry’s head tenderly as he sat, “No one has a record here, and…everything’s taken care of.”
Remus paused and titled his head, scanning Sirius thoughtfully, “I’m…sure it is. Don’t remember him from Hogwarts, do you?”
Sirius cleared his throat and ignored Remus who had the beginning of a grin on his face. The kind of grin that came when you knew someone for better or for worse for too many years, who could call your bluff.
Who also knew too much.
“So the snowball fight, babe? How’d it go?”
It wasn’t until after dinner that the subject of Kingsley Shacklebolt was brought up again. Harry in his room, asleep, after falling asleep on the couch three times in a row, insisting every time he wasn’t tired.
Remus had a glass of wine in hand, a book in the other; fireplace between them as Sirius put on a record to carry them through the night. It was the middle-of-the-week days that Sirius seemed to reflect on the times where he and Remus couldn’t sit in the same room as one another without an argument.
Or without Remus excusing himself with silent tears.
Or Sirius reaching for a bottle of firewhiskey as if it would help.
Only to brush it all away, out of sight, under the rug, behind the curtains, in the closet, when Harry appeared the next morning.
“You were whistling…” Remus commented.
“Hm?”
“When we got home today. You were whistling.”
“That’s not exactly ground breaking news, Remus."
Remus took a sip of his wine, smacking his lips together for a moment to delay the conversation, the stupid knowing grin growing on his face again, “Except you…don’t really whistle any more…I know because it used to drive me crazy in the mornings. I’d be trying to sleep, and you’d be whistling away…you stopped.”
“Because it annoyed you, so—”
“You were whistling today,” Remus repeated and Sirius pinned him with a look, “Must’ve been a good meeting, is all.”
“It was…a meeting that happened.”
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“Drink your wine Remus.”
--
Sirius woke up the next morning to the sound of an owl tapping on his bedroom window.
Even if Remus was still in the house with him, a new bedroom, a fresh coat of paint, a duvet cover…made it feel like a new start.
Which…wasn’t as easy as Sirius thought it would be.
He rolled over to his side, magically opening the window for the owl, the cool winter breeze infilitrating his bedroom, and he quickly shut the window again after taking the letter.
“Fuck..,” he muttered to himself, sitting up in bed and taking the blankets with him, as his shoulders shivered briefly. He scanned the envelope, even in the dim light of the morning recognizing the ministry wax seal, and sat up further in bed.
Sirius carefully slid a finger under the point of the envelope before reading:
Sirius,
As I promised, the memo has been added to Harry’s file.
As promised, I also started a rumor you had been on holiday in Belize for the past couple of years or so. The Minister is very interested in hearing about any fine dining you engaged in and if perhaps you could feel restored enough to reclaim your seat on the Wizengamot and Council.
He is asking if I can arrange a meeting between the three of us. I made no promises, though, as I recall you did state you had…endless free time.
Please let me know if you have any follow-up concerns regarding Mr. Potter’s file.
All the best,
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Esquire
Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic
Department of Magical Law Enforcement Communications Liason
Sirius’s mouth twisted into a half smile, humming at the paragraph of titles below the mans name. He quickly conjured a self-inking quill, taking a moment before writing a response.
Kingsley,
Lucky for you, I have been to Belize and won’t have to do much research to corroborate your rumor.
However, I think you misheard regarding my free time, and I am unfathomably busy. Perhaps you can try your hand at scheduling an appointment.
Regards,
Sirius Black, Godfather
The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black
Elder Member of Wizengamot
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Any recommendations for fics where Adrien either never went to public school or just never met Marinette as a civilian until later in life?
Oh, this is fun! The dynamic changes a lot when you remove the square from things. I've read and enjoyed quite a few fics with this premise. Here are my favourites 😊
Lucky Us by PrincessKitty1
-AU- Marinette Dupain-Cheng's life isn't going as planned: twenty-six, recently dumped, and running her parents' bakery. The highlights of her day are the emails sent by her mysterious pen pal, Chat Noir. That is, until handsome model Adrien Agreste starts swinging by the bakery after hours. But how is he to know the Ladybug he loves is standing right in front of him?
Multi-chapter. Normally I'm not one for no power AUs, but this one is so well done, and found a great way to reintegrate the square, even with everything. Once I started reading, I was entirely swept along and found it impossible to stop.
Imbalance by @thelibraryloser
Chat Noir is fighting evil all on his own, not aware he’s supposed to be half of a whole. Hawkmoth is desperate to get his hands on the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculous, knowing that if he causes enough destruction the world will demand balance and the Ladybug will have to appear. And when she does, she's not what anyone expected. Chat thought having a partner would feel different- maybe like how he feels talking to the girl on the balcony.
Multi-chapter. This is a great AU where Adrien not only never went to school, but got his miraculous under different circumstances and without Chat Noir and Ladybug meeting as fellow superheroes. The writing is fantastic, and the storyline is unique.
out of the woods. by @anxiouscupcake
“I- I have a… Someone I care about very much,” Adrien admitted. “I’m only doing this because my father gave me no choice.”
“Well,” she said, lips pursed. “I don’t have it in me to fight The Gabriel Agreste, right now. My hands are tied too.”
“I’m sorry.”
To his credit, he genuinely sounded a little remorseful. She even resented him a little for it, because she had so much more to lose than he did, but he just wanted to stay in Daddy’s good books.
She grimaced. Marriage, for one year, they agreed. And a painful few months of “courtship” to convince the press of the authenticity of their “marriage”.
In eighteen months, her father would be hale and hearty, and she’d divorce Adrien Agreste and be nothing more than his business partner.
(…In which Gabriel is an asshole, Adrien is trying and Marinette’s stubborn but gives in eventually.)
This is a 2-part series that isn’t finished and that I desperately hope is continued. It has a kind of enemies to lovers vibe, even though that’s not exactly what’s going on. Adrien never went to school, so Marinette never fell in love with him. Instead Ladynoir are in love, but can’t be together because of identities. Meanwhile, Adrienette are forced to marry because of circumstances and Marinette resents Adrien for it. The tension in this one is exquisite!
Save You a Seat by @miabrown007
Alya once read that you should invite random celebrities to your wedding — with the more than likely assumption that they won’t attend, only send you a card and an overpriced coffee machine.
Luckily, the chances of Hawkmoth’s son reading his mail and showing up to the event are microscopic. Marinette will be busy enough trying to get to know the boy behind Chat Noir’s mask — if he does decide to come — she doesn’t need to worry about being able to look Adrien Agreste in the eyes.
One-shot. Adrien never went to school so he doesn’t know Marinette, Nino or Alya. They just know him as Hawkmoth’s son. So, needless to say, things are a little awkward when Adrien shows up to Nino and Alya’s wedding… Such a fun (and awkward!) read.
Totally Not a Rom-Com by @nomolosk
Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Graham de Vanily (formerly Agreste) meet for the first time on a trans-Atlantic flight to New York. Cuteness and fluff ensues.
One-shot. I love these kinds of meet-cutes! Especially where they fall for each other so quickly (because it’s them, of course they would) and where their needs and wants align so perfectly. This is just so cute!
A little love by @hanaasbananas
He thought of those weeks visiting Marinette on her balcony, cultivating a friendship as she built a place for herself in his heart. He thought of Ladybug, his partner who had been beside him through everything, who had waited for him even when it was clear he would not return. How, of all the cafes in Paris, Marinette had chosen to walk into his.
Multi-chapter. This one is pretty angsty (but with a happy ending!) Adrien never went to school, so there’s no pre-existing relationship between Marinette and Adrien. But for plot reasons, Chat Nori and Marinette did have a friendship. So when, after Hawkmoth’s defeat and reveal, Chat Noir disappeared, it impacts on these relationships in different ways.
In the Span of a Cat-Nap by @komorebirei
When Adrien boards the Eurostar for London, all he wants is a nap. Instead, he gets a cute design intern as a seatmate, and his napping attempt proves unsuccessful.
Written for Adrinette April 2020 Day 27: Naps. AU where everything is the same, except Adrien never went to public school and isn't personally acquainted with Marinette. Post-Hawkmoth-reveal, and aged-up - they are twenty-one.
One-shot. Did I mention I’m a fan of the meet-cute?? Because this is a great one! I love the way that it feels like these two are meant to be together and no matter where or how they meet, they’ll always fall for each other, and crazy fast at that. It’s really sweet and even though the ending is ambiguous and open-ended, it really worked for me with the feel of the piece.
when you're near by @buggachat
When Ladybug and Chat Noir were together, dancing across rooftops and kissing under the moonlit sky, Ladybug loved her boyfriend. But when the masks fell and all that was left was Marinette, she hated her boyfriend. She hated the lonesome afternoons, the third wheeling, the way his name wasn't in her contacts...
She knows their identities are secret for a reason, and she tells herself she'd do anything to protect that— but when Marinette hears Chat Noir's voice coming from the boy sitting behind her in a coffee shop, she can't help but wonder if it's really worth not having him in her life.
One-shot. Ladynoir are in love, of course, since Adrien wasn’t around to steal Marinette’s heart. And for whatever reason Marinette is able to recognize Chat’s voice, but she doesn’t look to see his face. There’s this amazing push-pull dynamic where they try to respect the secret identities rule while being in love and wanting to be together all the time that builds towards a really beautiful ending.
Masks Off, Heart Eyes On by therealjanebingley
In a world where Marinette and Adrien never went to school together, where there's no magic keeping Ladybug and Chat Noir from recognizing each other on sight as civilians.
Marinette was sure she'd know her Chaton the moment she saw him sans mask, but she did not expect that moment to be at a fashion show. A fashion show he was modeling at, no less.
Two-part series; description taken from the first fic. I love the theme of these Never Met fics where of course Ladybug falls for Chat Noir without Adrien Agreste in the picture. And so, when Marinette recognizes Adrien at a fashion show, things get really romantic really fast. (The sequel features established relationship Adrienette but focuses on djwifi, who get the love square treatment themselves!)
nothing secret is sacred by thegeneralgirl
“Do you think you’ll recognize me if we ever bump into each other outside of—“ he gestures to the black leather “—this?”
Ladybug considers him for a second, her expression barely visible in the distant glow of city lights.
“Chaton, I think I’d know you anywhere.”
Or: Adrien Agreste never manages to enroll at public school. Marinette Dupain-Cheng falls in love with a different blond.
One-shot. The Ladynoir in this one makes my heart so happy! Just - they love each other so, so much and it’s just so sweet with just the right amount of angst and ahhhhh read it I loved it so much!
Look at this Photograph by orphan_account
Nino's apartment is full of unused picture frames, but he claims to know the blond stock photo model that lives in each one. Everyone else is a little more skeptical of his (imaginary) friend.
One-shot. This is such a fun read! Instead of being a big famous model, Adrien does stock photos instead. He never went to school so, when Nino claims to know him, everyone is skeptical. Then, one by one, the others “get in” on the joke. It’s a really sweet fic that I enjoyed a lot.
#miraculous ladybug#ml fanfic#ml fic#ladynoir#adrienette#adrinette#marichat#adrien never went to school#ml fic rec#jennarecsml
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Thank you for your answer to my ask.. do u think it's justified to break up with someone because they made out with someone else? I did that a few years ago and cut a man off very dramatically and suddenly am feeling regret now about how I reacted after just blocking all my feelings post-break up (I want you to be like 'yes it's justified' btw). Not to be crazy but I do feel like he was sort of a soulmate connection and I kind of feel like I just want to exchange a few words with him just because we had such a deep friendship(?)/connection that just was completely cut off by... me.. do you know how to get closure?
It's gnawing away at me knowing I didn't deal with it very maturely back then and now i'm getting my karmic return by having to think about it for months! Oh and also I blocked him on like... everything so it would be weird of me to contact him now and I don't even feel like i'd want to message him really just idk.. I think I need to figure out how to actually let someone go but it's such a delayed emotional response that all the guides online are for when you've just recently broken up with someone. Sorry for bombarding you with this btw u dont have to answer obvs u just seem wise and your post made me think all about my own experience with cheating. <3
hey no need to apologize ! this response is gonna be super long but let’s get into it.
honestly—i get it. i don’t wanna get too public about my present situation right now because things are. weird for me right now lol but suffice to say: i know exactly what it feels like to truly love someone and experience what genuinely feels like a once in a lifetime soulmate-level of connection and then learn they betrayed your love and your trust. it’s an absolute and utter soul-crushing feeling that shakes the foundations of everything you thought you knew. like, i think pretty much any emotional reaction short of anything truly egregious (e.g., cheating back, or straight up violence, etc) is justifiable and understandable, so i don’t think your response was immature at all. had you tried to forgive him and carry on the relationship, you might have found yourself struggling to move on from it, carrying resentment, struggling to re-establish trust, and created a much longer lasting and far more miserable situation. had you broken things off but not blocked him, you might have either been more easily tempted to keep tabs on him (literally digital equivalent of self harm), reach out to him in moments of sadness or loneliness or anger, or be more tempted to respond if he attempted to reach out, while still being mired in anger and hurt without being able to fully take stock of your own feelings. very sincerely i think you made a good move.
as to how you’re feeling now: grieving sucks, delayed grief really sucks. losing someone you cared about in a very sudden and upsetting manner, even if you were the one who justifiably chose to remove them from your life due to their own actions, is still a loss. not only did you lose that person and their place in your life, but you also lose and grieve the person you thought that they were, and you also lose and grieve the potential you felt in that relationship and possibly the future you thought you had with this person. from what i gather it seems like your anger about the situation at the time (understandably!) overpowered any other feelings associated with that grief, and it therefore took a long while for any other feelings to set in. it’s completely understandable that even years later feelings of longing and regret are still cropping up.
unfortunately i’m not going to definitively tell you whether or not you should reach out to him (sorry) but regardless of whether you do or don’t, a few things i think you definitely should do: ask yourself if you’re looking at the relationship through a rose-colored retrospective. memory can distort and idealize things—prior to this incident of infidelity, were there other issues in this relationship or with this person that you’ve let fall by the wayside? were there red flags prior to that? were there any reasons that gave you any nagging doubts prior to that? beyond that, you should definitely take stock of where you’re at in life and what other factors might be stirring up these specific feelings for you. do you feel otherwise lonely or unfulfilled in some way, and you feel the idea of this relationship would resolve that? do you think that could be better filled with hobbies, spiritual pursuits, community involvement, more investment in other/platonic relationships? do you feel like you need more closure on the situation? one thing i’ve found is that closure, even about a relationship, tends to be elusive when we seek it from others—i think it’s generally something we can only provide for ourselves, and that typically comes from making peace with our own past decisions, taking what lessons we need from them, and trying to do better moving forward. have you been experiencing deeper feelings of self-doubt that might be contributing to why you might feel regret about your decision? i struggle a lot with general self-doubt, like, pretty much all the time, in literally everything lol. really the only thing that helps here is going back to the idea of making peace with oneself and genuinely trying your best to accept that you have inherent value, you are capable of good, and acting upon that principle is the best you can do.
IF you do end up reaching out to him, and he’s willing to reconnect: it’s crucial to bring up why you ended things, and don’t dismiss or downplay (to him or to yourself) how it made you feel. since it’s been years, and i’m assuming you’re both fairly young, it IS possible he’s felt remorse for what he’s done and has grown and changed since then—though possible doesn’t mean certain. if you have that conversation, pay very, very close attention to how he responds. if he’s fully accountable, recognizes why he did wrong, and seems genuinely sorry for what he did—and his subsequent actions reflect that—you can go from there. if he makes excuses, makes justifications, or suggests that you were somehow irrational for being upset and ending things, then you unfortunately have your answer (even if it’s not a good one) that the relationship and that person were not then and still not are what you thought they were. and that sucks, but at least it might quell your doubt and regret and allow you to grieve and move on in peace. you are deserving of love, you are deserving of honesty, and you are deserving of a partner and relationship that you can trust and feel emotionally safe with.
i sincerely wish you the best of luck in whatever path you follow ❤️
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I think your post about the Todoroki abuse recently really highlights just why each kid is exactly how they are in relation to Enji. Touya became Dabi after being loved and praised and then tossed away when he could no longer embody Enji’s ambitions, so he became obsessed with Enji’s attention and with power as a means to achieve it. Fuyumi was the only child born before Touya’s quirk incompatibility was known, so Enji probably treated her okay as a little child, though his focus was on Touya, but she at least got to experience a brief taste of the happy family she’s now so desperate for. Poor Natsuo was inconsequential from the very moment of his birth, Enji dismissing him on sight, which is absolutely cruel, and it makes sense why Natsuo is the one Enji can’t build a bond with much now, because it never existed. And Shouto… well, he’s been burdened as always being someone’s replacement, shouldering others’ ambitions, at the cost of his individuality. But his resentment at that at least now gives him the chance to be the only one who can relate to Touya and show him that it is possible to step out of Enji’s shadow when someone reaches out a hand to you. It really is such a well written examination on the dynamics of abuse. I don’t understand how anyone can dismiss it as anything other than abuse for all four of these kids, and Rei of course.
I think in the end it comes down still to trauma olympics - people endlessly arguing who "had it worse".
I feel like - ironically - people are hardest on Touya, because there was an era when he was the golden child and they buy into Enji's own narrative about why he dropped Touya so cruelly (it was for his own good, father knows best - kind of arguments), not realizing that by Endeavor's own words, twisting the truth was his own shitty coping mechanism to deal with the guilt and the disappointment for his eugenics project not going the way he wanted.
And hiding Touya's identity in the narrative meant that he was the villain with the least display of emotions or inner works, allowing to build up a narrative where he's just a crazy, remorseless psychopath who doesn't care about anyone.
The Touya reveal and backstory chapters came just on the heels of fandom wrapping its collective head around Endeavor's atonement and efforts to be more decent - so I think many people who have come to root for the character felt relief when Touya wasn't tortured like Shouto - completely missing that he was tortured in a very different, but not less impactful way.
And I think Ch 350 shatters all the narrative that Touya was born evil and never cared about his family - and also is an important reminder that while we did spend now about half of the story with Endeavor trying to change - in perspective, that's still only a few months compared to the YEARS his family was abused.
I've even seen takes now blaming Touya for giving up after returning him instead of kidnapping Shouto and saving his family - somehow managing to miss the point that Touya just woke up from 3 years of coma after a horrible injury, having gone through a traumatic procedure. He's a 13-year-old, stuck in the body of a 16-year-old patched together from dead people's skin... Hori does a good job in my view to draw us into Touya's headspace and I feel like him snapping in that moment is a well-earned story-beat. But people often read only what fits their personal narrative.
Also, people forget that the Todoroki narrative is all entangled relationships. I think we are so used to want to see clear winners and losers and comparative strength levels that we forget that the point of a family is that nobody wins if one of them loses.
I root for the family as a whole (I feel attached to all the characters), and Shouto in particular as my favourite character - and rooting for him to me means that I hope he'll get through to Touya, will help him get out of his narrow-minded hate and I also really hope that Endeavor will finally make the decision he should have made all those years ago and will step up as a father in a way that shows that he values his family not for their quirks, or what they can do for him, but as the valuable individuals they are.
#c1a asks#bnha manga spoilers#bnha 350#keeping up with the todorokis#i can ramble endlessly about this
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Hello! I don’t know if you’re up for Carlos’ promt.😅 I’m really a fangirl😂 I always wanted to right fanfic but I was never good with words, and I always check up on your blog for new ones. I know there’s only one fanfic for Carlos atm, so if I Can I request like Carlos is jealous because Max is the character’s ex? Like they’re already engaged but Max is still trying to fight for her and Carlos is really jealous and mad? A bit of angst would be great🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 Thank youuuu!
You drew circles on Carlos's bare back in an attempt to wake him slightly. You looked at your ring finger on which now stood a beautiful diamond ring, the most beautiful you had ever seen, and memories of last night filled your mind and formed butterflies in your stomach.
When your best friend spontaneously took you to a shopping session followed by a manicure and pedicure appointment, you thought it was her way of spending time with you after she had been extremely busy with work for the past few months. It never occurred to you that Carlos might be up to something even when you saw that he and Lando's location was off. Why would you think Carlos was planning something? It was Tuesday, there were a few months until your birthday, Carlos' birthday had just passed, it wasn't your birthday, damn, it wasn't even your dog's birthday. Although, in retrospect, you had to realize that something was wrong. Your best friend in the mall on a Tuesday afternoon? She the one who goes to work even when she has the flu or when she broke her leg and had to keep it in plaster for two months.
But you didn't even realize his plan when your best friend bought you a gorgeous dress and made you wear it before you left for home. Honestly, you wouldn't look decent for an engagement just in ripped jeans and a T-shirt.
When she stopped in front of the house and stopped the engine you asked her what was going on but she just said she wanted to take the pair of jeans she had lent you a few months ago because she had a date and she wanted to wear them. You didn't pay much attention and opened the car door.
From the house you could see a very diffused and dim light. Candles? You thought then and you were tempted to think it was a power outage but the neighbors had light. Did I pay the current bill this month?
When you opened the door of the house and saw the rose petals on the floor you immediately thought of a romantic dinner with Spanish food, in no case did you expect to see Carlos on his knees in the middle of your living room. At that moment, everything made sense.
“You are the only one who understands me even more than myself. You are the only one with whom I can share everything, even my personal secrets. I want you to be with me always. I believe that if we’re lucky enough to have found each other in the first place, we’re worth betting on for life. Will, you hold my hand and be mine forever?” Carlos had said in a voice trembling with emotion and the ring in his hands.
You would never have answered otherwise than yes. You didn't even notice Lando in a corner of the living room filming everything or your best friend who was no longer behind you but somewhere to your right taking pictures.
Carlos, with trembling hands, put the ring on your finger and kissed you, his hands making room on your cheeks, wiping away your tears. You were happy. You have found your forever home.
You all opened a champagne and listened to how Carlos planned, with the help of your best friend, for three months, the whole engagement. He told you how close you were to turning all his plans upside down.
"I bought the ring when I was in Abu Dhabi for the Grand Prix," he says, and you remember that Grand Prix was three weeks ago. "When I bought it, I stayed with Lando, I think, for two hours in my hotel room, thinking about where to hide the ring so that you wouldn't find it when I returned home and it would be handy for me to take it out quickly and hide it at home. I finally decided to hide it in a pair of socks and put it in the small compartment of my bag. On my way home, however, I completely forgot that I put the ring in my bag. I was firmly convinced that it is in the backpack and when I got home you immediately took the bag to wash my clothes, as you always do. When I opened the backpack and saw that the ring was not there, I panicked extremely hard and ran to you to get the bag." he finishes telling the story and you start laughing.
You remembered that day perfectly.
"Is that why you were so white in the face? I really thought you were sick."
"Good morning, my beautiful fiancée." Carlos says in his harsh morning voice and looks at you with glassy eyes.
You smile at him and bend down to kiss him.
"Good morning, my wonderful fiancé."
He gets up in bed and hugs you.
"You have no idea how happy I am that I can hug you and say that you are mine now."
"And I was yours before, only now I have a ring on my finger."
"Mhm," Carlos says, muffled by your hair. "Now you have a ring on your finger that can keep Max away from you."
The smile on your face faded slowly. Max? What did Max have to do with your engagement? Sure, he's your ex-boyfriend, but you broke up three years ago.
It was a pretty hard breakup, more for him than for you. You broke up with him because you felt your relationship was no longer working. He didn't pay enough attention to you, you often quarreled and you felt like the love you had for him was fading with each passing day.
Max didn't comment on anything when you broke up with him, saying that it was better for both of you to go your separate ways.
That was until he saw you hand in hand with Carlos less than two months after the breakup. What he was feeling was a new feeling: jealousy. He couldn't understand the fact that you broke up with him and now you're in love with Carlos. When had this happened? Did Carlos like you when you were still together? Did you like him when you were in bed with him? He had many questions, but he would have died rather than asking you, showing you that he still cares about you.
So, he decided to ignore you, to ignore you both, hoping that your relationship won't last. But he saw you every day laughing at his jokes, he saw how he kissed the lips he had kissed until recently, how he held your hand that once caressed his hair.
It's true, lately Max and you have gotten closer. You have realized that there is no point in resentment between you considering that you see each other every day and, in the end, you are two responsible adults, you can behave nicely with each other.
Or so you thought. Carlos saw behind Max's actions. He saw how his touch on your shoulder lasted longer than normal, how in a room full of people Max is looking for you, he noticed that he always wants to know your opinion when he asks a question. Carlos realized pretty quickly that Max wants to win you back and he didn't tell you that just once.
How many times have you told Carlos that you don't care what Max's intentions are, that you love Carlos, he didn't seem to understand.
"What do you mean by that, Carlos?" you say annoyed. "Did you ask me to marry you to prove something to Max? To show him he has no chance of being with me?"
Carlos stood up and looked at you with wide eyes. You were angry, very angry and he knew he had said something wrong.
"No, of course not, love. I asked you to marry me because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
"Yeah, that's what you said last night in your speech. But now you're bringing Max up and I don't understand why. Did I do anything to make you doubt me?"
"No, no, of course not. You didn't do anything, love.
"You get out of bed and go to the bathroom.
"Then what is it? I keep hearing about Max. Max said that, Max did that, like Max is the third person in this relationship."
"I don't trust him!" he says in exasperation. "He's still trying to get under your skin and you allow him. I can't believe you don't see that he wants you back!"
"Carlos, for God's sake, do you hear yourself? He wants me back! Very well, let him want me for all I care! It's been three years since I broke up with him, don't you think I'd be back with him by now if that’s what I want? Understand that I can't control if he likes me or not, but I can control my feelings. And guess what, my heart chose you. So stop with this stupid jealousy!"
Carlos bites his lip and looks at you.
"You're right. I'm very sorry." he says and takes you in his arms. "Please forgive me, I'm very insecure because I love you so much and I don't want to ever lose you.
"You smile then kiss him.
"I am yours, forever."
"Forever."
#carlos sainz#carlos sainz junior#carlos sainz jr#f1 fanfiction#f1 oneshot#f1 one shot#f1 2021#f1#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#fanfiction#formula one oneshot#formula one imagine#forumula one#formula 1 oneshot#formula one#formula 1#scuderia ferrari#ferrari#carlos sainz jr oneshot#carlos sainz jr fanfiction#carlos sainz jr imagine#carlos sainz imagine
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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 25, part one
(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)
Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!
Holy crap, Episode 25! We’re halfway through! *Cue Bon Jovi*
Hunt Invitation
After taking a nice long break to watch Word of Honor pick lotus pods, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli return to stressing over the shitshow that is the post-Sunshot cultivation world. Jin Zixuan has come to invite them to the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, with a special invitation from his mother to Jiang Yanli. Jiang Cheng reacts to this in a mature and reasonable manner, while Wei Wuxian...doesn't.
On the surface, Jiang Cheng has matured in recent months; much more than Wei Wuxian, with his secret burdens, has. But it's only on the surface, as we'll see later in the episode, when Jiang Cheng's insecurity will take the reins.
Jin Zixuan is adorably pleased by Jiang Yanli's acceptance of the invitation. Wei Wuxian is less pleased, but sort of tries to suck it up.
Jin Zixuan kind of undercuts the romance of his errand by asking Wei Wuxian for the Yin tiger amulet as soon as Jiang Yanli is out of earshot.
As always, Jin Zixuan makes an impression by being the best Jin currently in existence, but the Jins are terrible. JZX is working to advance his dad's ambitions, and as such he is currently Wei Wuxian's enemy.
(more after the cut)
Opening Ceremonies
There's a bunch of cultivators arranged for the opening ceremony. Later someone will say that this is more than 5 thousand people. Ok, sure.
As I've said before, it's best to think of it like a theatre production and assume the other 4,900 people are offstage or, you know, painted on the backdrop.
The young lead cultivators from the four main clans are standing together. Nie Huaisang is trying out some new body armor.
The clan leaders are seated up on the stage, along with Jin Furen and Jiang Yanli. Unfortunately Jin Furen doesn't seem to have a personal name that I can discover. Her title Fūrén ( 夫人) means she's the primary wife of the head of the family, according to this excellent meta.
So “Madame Jin” is a decent translation...if you're French? I feel like instead of English subtitles including borrowed words from French (”Marquis” in NIH), Greek (”Water of Lethe” in WOH), and other European languages, we could try borrowing Chinese words instead. Jin Zixuan's mom is titled, not named, Jin Furen. Since we don’t know her actual name, I'll call her that and abbreviate it JFR.
Wei Wuxian's childishness continues at the opening of the hunt, as does Jiang Yanli's encouragement of his childishness. I know she's had a rough couple of years, and it's understandable to want to baby her little brother out of a sense of nostalgia. But it's not good for him, and she shouldn't do it; she should encourage him to be more mature, just as she does with Jiang Cheng.
War Crimes Contest
Jin Guangyao says they're going to have an archery competition, and they're going to liven it up by endangering some prisoners. These prisoners are Wens in Wen cultivator uniforms, meaning they're not the noncombatants that were being hunted down earlier. But they’re still helpless people in chains.
There are three different reactions when the Wen prisoners are brought out. All the Jins are pleased, or neutral. All of the Jiangs, including Wei Wuxian, are upset.
The Nies and the Lans, what we see of them, are a little shocked, but not obviously upset. Based on those reactions, it seems like this is a maneuver that in-world is considered shocking and cruel, but not necessarily unethical or immoral. Shocking, cruel displays of power are pretty normal in this world; remember when Wen Chao lit a Lan cultivator on fire just to say hello, and nobody complained?
This whole scenario, of course, has been designed to provoke Wei Wuxian. One major goal of this event, and the whole reason for wanting Wei Wuxian to come, is to get the Yin Tiger amulet. Making him lose his shit in front of 100 5000 cultivators is a good step toward compelling him to hand the amulet over.
We see Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli both signaling Wei Wuxian to keep it together, and he takes a step back and tries to chill.
Meanwhile, Jin Zixuan seems annoyed by all this, and goes to take a shot at it, making it clear from his demeanor that this is easy and JGY is making a show of nothing.
He hovers in the air and makes a perfect shot, pleasing most of the crowd and impressing Jiang Yanli.
Then his cousin Jin Zixun taunts the crowd, challenging anyone to do better. This presents a bit of a problem for Wei Wuxian. For the sake of the Wen prisoners, Wei Wuxian should just take this taunting and let the contest end, if no-one else is willing to take a shot. But for the sake of the Jiang Clan’s status, and his continued control of the Yin Tiger amulet, he needs to put the Jins in their place.
Every Day is Blindfold Day
This moral dilemma is resolved with an abrupt tonal shift, where the humanitarian concerns of all parties seem to vanish. Wei Wuxian flirts embarrassingly with Lan Wangji and then goes as far over the top in besting Jin Zixuan as it's possible to go.
The flirting hits differently, incidentally, when you edit Jiang Cheng's annoyed reaction out of it:
Lan Wangji doesn't seem embarrassed by Wei Wuxian's request, despite it happening in front of 100 5000 of their fellow cultivators. He looks Wei Wuxian straight in the eye for longer than necessary before turning away; it’s not exactly stern disapproval. We’ll get very used to this look, in Wei Wuxian’s second life.
Fortunately, Wei Wuxian carries a blindfold with him wherever he goes, (gifset here), and he is such a good cultivator he can hit 5 parallel targets simultaneously without even holding his bow straight or tightening the string.
(OP fixed the angle of the bow for this gif, which is why everyone is standing on a hill in the background).
Everyone is pleased by this shot except Jins Guangyao and Zixun; even the Jin cultivators are clapping, and Madame Jin is presumably this happy any time Jin Guangyao’s plans go wrong.
With that they start the hunt. Jin Zixun challenges Wei Wuxian to do the whole hunt blindfolded. Wei Wuxian agrees, but the censorship committee said no, apparently, so we don’t get to see that.
Flute Hunting
We do get to see Wei Wuxian luring monsters into his nets by being too sexy for his robe, too sexy for his robe, and playing the flute.
We also get to see Jiang cultivators looking puzzled while random monster roars happen in the woods around them. We do not get to see any monsters, which is probably just as well.
Jiang Cheng is annoyed and concerned, muttering "I told you not to overdo it" which means he didn't, you know, tell Wei Wuxian NOT to do this, just not to do it quite so well. Jiang Cheng knows what Wei Wuxian’s abilities are and he is making use of him, as he should, but he doesn’t have the courage of his convictions.
Tree Confession
Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji and starts to say hi, but then he has a desaturated flashback to Lan Xichen telling him to back off, so he stops himself. But then Lan Wangji comes over to talk to him.
Lan Wangji starts off talking to him about his latest anti-resentment musical discoveries, and Wei Wuxian pushes back, even calling him Lan Wangji, but gently. Wei Wuxian asks "who am I to you?" and Lan Wangji turns the question right back at him, then waits a looooooong time, eyes downcast, while Wei Wuxian thinks of a serious answer.
Wei Wuxian says "I used to treat you as my zhījǐ" --which, as we’ve discussed before, is variously translated soulmate, confidant, intimate friend--with a strong meaning of "the person who truly knows me." Lan Wangji says "I still am." Coming from Lan Wangji, who NEVER says how he feels about Wei Wuxian or about anything, really, this sounds a lot like a confession of love.
It definitely takes the form, visually, of a love confession, as Lan Wangji speaks, then gazes at Wei Wuxian while he waits for a reply. Wei Wuxian's reply is this:
I don't think Wei Wuxian is oblivious (I'm speaking strictly of CQL, not MZDS, as always with these posts; they are different works). I think he loves Lan Wangji back, and knows it. But Chenqing and everything it represents are between them.
Lan Wangji is quite literally NOT his zhījǐ any more, because he doesn't truly know Wei Wuxian right now. He loves him desperately, but he doesn't know about his core, and hasn't accepted his cultivation method. So Wei Wuxian answers his confession by showing him Chenqing, effectively declining to accept his still-conditional love.
Snake Measuring
Next we get terrible hetero courtship in the form of Jin Zixuan finding snake discharge on the ground and talking to Jiang Yanli about comparative snake measuring. Seriously: that is the actual conversation that they are having.
Jin Zixuan boasts for a bit, and then awkwardly tries to ask Jiang Yanli on a date. When she turns him down he gets mad, because he's a typical heterosexual dude even though he's secretly a delightful person...very, very secretly. Jiang Yanli, for her part, can't string a fucking sentence together to save her life whenever he's around, so she's not helping their mutual understanding.
Lan Wangji attempts to hold Wei Wuxian back from beating Jin Zixuan’s ass yet again, but eventually JYL wants to leave, JZX tells her to wait, and WWX intervenes. Why doesn't Jiang Yanli have a maid or Jiang cultivator with her while she's on a date, incidentally? These kids are confused about whether they're doing feudal patriarchy or whether they're doing modern social life.
Jin vs. Jiang
Wei Wuxian jumps in between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, which JZX objects to. Jin Zixuan has no fucking business objecting and Wei Wuxian is 100% right, at this point. As soon as WWX shows up JZX should hand her off to her Shidi, bow, and leave her the fuck alone. Instead, he draws his sword on Wei Wuxian, and kind of on Jiang Yanli since she's right behind Wei Wuxian. Fortunately, Lan Wangji blocks him.
This instantly blows up into a Jiang-Jin Clan conflict, with Jiang Cheng unfortunately absent since he let his unmarried sister go off in the woods alone with the son of the Cultivaton world's most famous lecher. It looks like it’s a personal conflict, but since Jin Zixuan already told Wei Wuxian directly that Jin Guangshan wants his amulet, any arguments between them are part of a larger power struggle.
Cousin Jin Zixun comes running up to start shit. Wei Wuxian pretends--I am SURE he's pretending--not to know who he is. The dude hassles Wei Wuxian every time he sees him; Wei Wuxian is a troll, and right now CJXZ is butting in to something that doesn't concern him. Rather than argue, Wei Wuxian insults him by telling him he’s not memorable.
Jin Furen shows up with several maids and cultivator dudes in tow, which is the proper way for a highborn woman to wander around in the woods. She also brings Clan Leader Yao, because if it's Wei Wuxian Blaming Hours, Yao is going to be there.
I initially found the deep friendship between superhot Yi Zuyuan and dumpy Jin Furen implausible, but then I remembered that my lifelong bestie is a smokin' hot redhead with impeccable fashion sense, while I am a roly-poly nerd. Friends don’t always match. Also, Jin Furen's actress, Hu Xiaoting, looks like this:
...so she is actually hot in real life. Not as hot as Zhang Jingtong (who plays Yu Ziyuan) but literally nobody is as hot as Zhang Jingtong. Don't @ me, you know I'm right.
This is a heck of a long scene, so we’ll pick it up in part two!
Soundtrack: Livin’ on a Prayer by Bon Jovi
Writing prompt: Newly-divorced, cold-hearted CEO Yu Ziyuan buys an apartment next door to newly-divorced, warm-hearted pastry chef ...uhh let's call her Jin Dàngāo (蛋糕), sure. She can name her business after herself.
They discover their daughter & son are in the same college class, and so they meet up over coffee....several times...trying to matchmake their hopeless, hapless kids, while bonding over their own terrible (former) taste in husbands. Who will Cupid strike first, the kids or the moms?
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He, Hercules - Ushijima x Reader
Summary: What is Ushijima if not strong? (~2.0k words)
Warnings: accident, temporary disability, implied depression, some suggestive themes, hurt/comfort
A/N: I have limited experience with athletic injuries and mental illness so bear with me. If there is anything you find inaccurate or insensitive in my depiction, don’t hesitate to pm me! <3
---
“Mr. Ushijima?”
You perk up when you hear the secretary’s voice call out your husband’s name, only realizing now that in your long semi-long wait you’d ended up dozing off, resting your head against his shoulder. Clearly, you must have been exhausted, because it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and why you’re here.
There are very few others in this small office aside from the single middle-aged man in the corner who you realize is staring quite hard at you, and you wonder briefly if it’s because you somehow looked inappropriate or acted inappropriately while you were asleep. There shouldn’t be anything very noteworthy about a young couple inside a therapy practice.
You glance at Ushijima who is barely moving despite the fact that his name was just pronounced. He’s as still as a statue and his expression is neutral as is typical of him, but you still perceive the lack of intensity behind his eyes, a constant reminder that no matter how much he acts as though he’s fine, he’s not.
Why else would you be here in the first place?
You nudge him gently.
“Love, they called your name. It’s time for your session,” you whisper into his ear.
He had been staring off at a fixed point across from him, but he does still respond to your nudges. When he rises, it’s done slowly, and he walks besides you with a slight limp in his left leg. He doesn’t wince with any step but the arm you hold onto as you walk with him through the hallway down to the provider’s office is stiff. You wonder if he resents how clingy you’ve gotten since his injury, handling him with kid gloves as though he were the most fragile of glass. You can’t help it. You’d almost lost him.
The office is open when you arrive, and a man who looks only a few years older than Wakatoshi is seated in a cream armchair, waiting, a measured smile on his face. Ushijima doesn’t smile back but he doesn’t frown either.
“Welcome! Please come in and make yourself comfortable,” the man says without missing a beat, rising to shake his hand. He also shoots a glance at you, but before he can ask you to introduce yourself before politely shooing you out of the room (this is not couples’ therapy after all, even if it will help the two of you), you squeeze your husband’s hand before quickly exiting.
“I’m his partner, I’ll see myself out, thank you!”
You worry slightly about leaving him alone in this stranger’s care, but Ushijima is not a child and this isn’t the first day of kindergarten, he’s a man recovering from a life-altering injury and has finally agreed to go to therapy.
You’re not sure how optimistic to be, but you’ve done an extensive amount of research and this particular therapist boasted credentialing in sports psychology, was highly recommended and had worked with a lot of current and former athletes alike.
Of course, this would all be meaningless if Ushijima refused to talk, but as you started your car to pass the next hour at a nearby mall, you gave yourself a little bit of hope.
---
“Tell me about yourself,” is the first question the therapist asks, after offering not much more than his own name, and Ushijima is slightly annoyed by the question.
He does not want to be here in the first place, he doesn’t need to be here, and now he’s asked a question as vague and audacious as ‘tell me about yourself’ like he’s expected to pour out his feelings to this stranger from the very second he sits in this admittedly comfortable couch.
He pauses. He’s not sure exactly what he would say.
He’s nearing 30. He’s married, no kids. If it’s not obvious, he’s from Japan. He plays volleyball professionally… well, played, up until recently.
He frowns. That’s why he’s here. Because you don’t think he is okay, even if all of his injuries have essentially healed aside from this annoying limp that makes it obvious that he’s in some way not in optimal shape, broken, vulnerable. This limp is the reason why he can no longer play even if he feels fine otherwise, and why he’s not exactly sure what to do next.
But that’s beyond the point. The question is about himself.
What else can he say? How would others describe him?
His friends call him serious, just as the media describes him. Quiet and serious. Dedicated. Strong.
Maybe he’s not that last thing anymore, but that too is beyond the point.
You think he’s sweet; you say this repeatedly. You tell him that he’s kind and considerate.
He thinks for a moment that maybe he was too kind. Kindness is what got him in this predicament in the first place, isn’t it?
A moment of compassion - a likely exhausted mother whose eyes leave her child for a split second to rummage through her purse, a little girl whose tiny legs take her just a bit too far out into an open intersection, a speeding car that shows no signs of stopping…
He remembers the exact moment he is no longer jogging but sprinting to take the child out of harm’s way, as well as the exact moment he hears his bones snap on impact, and he’s too shocked initially to feel pain, eyes frantically searching for the kid who now is standing on the opposite side of the street, looking at him in curiosity because the toddler is too young to understand what it means to see a body crumple. She’s unharmed, so he’s successful.
A woman screams and she sounds nothing like you. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.
The car speeds on.
---
You sit in a food court, poking at some fries, but you’re not exactly hungry, just anxious. Is the session going okay?
Even if the man is a professional at getting people to talk, Wakatoshi is a hard nut to crack. You could envision him sitting silently until the hour passed completely, before getting up to bow and exit stage left. It had taken you months to get him to agree to go to anything other than physical therapy.
You hope this is not an exercise in futility.
---
“I’m fine,” he grunted, just a couple days out of the hospital, once you’d started nagging him for weight-bearing on the leg that had just been operated on.
“Your leg was literally shattered!” You shouted. “You’re lucky they didn’t amputate!”
He gave you a mildly fatigued look. All he’d wanted to do was walk to the kitchen by himself, without crutches in his own house, and he’d barely made it a couple of steps before you were standing in the bedroom, looking all sorts of stressed and concerned.
He figured your concern was temporary, so he attempted to quell his stubbornness. He had already been benched for the season, possibly to likely forever and pouring out his frustration on you wouldn’t be helpful.
“What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”
He frowned but he let you help him anyway.
---
“My name is Wakatoshi Ushijima. I moved here several years ago from Japan to play volleyball professionally. I was in a bad car accident a few months ago and my wife is concerned that I’m not adjusting well.”
The therapist offers a small smile again.
“Do you disagree with that assessment?”
Ushijima tilts his head slightly. He does disagree… he doesn’t? He’s not sure. He’s frustrated of course, who wouldn’t be, he had just been in the Olympics after all, but he’s fine. He’s strong.
He’s strong.
---
“We just wanted to thank you again.”
Wakatoshi glanced at the gifts the couple before them had brought, a bouquet of flowers and stacks of cookies and pastries in boxes on the living room coffee table, before looking back at you. Your face remained polite and smiling but you were clearly uncomfortable from the way you were perched on the seat, nodding carefully as you listened to your visitors, your arms crossed over your midsection as you leaned forward in your chair.
He knew you wanted to be angry at them, well, her, the mother who looked at him pitifully initially then averted her eyes out of shame. But it wasn’t her fault but yet, it was her fault and still, it wasn’t. It was very complicated. No one was at fault. Her daughter was safe.
Everything was fine.
---
You’re back in your car again, ready to drive to pick up your husband from therapy. Things should get better from here on.
Maybe he will no longer shut down like a brick wall when you suggest that now is a good time to start transitioning away from sports for the future. Maybe he’ll be less upset with small things like not being able to run as far, or lift as much or please you as much in the bedroom as he used to.
They’re small things compared to losing his life.
---
“I would like to go back to playing but I’m told at every turn that it’s too dangerous, maybe even after a year of healing.”
The therapist nods, and scribbles something on a sheet of paper.
“How does that make you feel?”
The therapist notices even through Ushijima’s accented Polish that he’s naturally eloquent, but regardless he still lacks the words to appropriately talk about his feelings.
His hands grip at his knees, the good and the bad one. The word ‘useless’ comes to mind but he can’t bring himself to say that to this stranger, even if these four walls come with the promise of understanding.
For once, silence is uncomfortable for him, and the therapist is surprisingly good at staying quiet. They sit in silence for moments longer and surprisingly, Wakatoshi speaks up first.
“Weak,” he ekes out in a voice that is so small he barely recognizes it.
To that, the therapist leans just slightly forward, focusing his eyes on the man’s restricted range of motion and slightly hunched shoulders. It’s the posture of a man who’s normally stoic and confident, now made uncertain about the future.
“What’s wrong with weakness?” He says quickly, and Ushijima is somewhat stunned which then lends way to a small measure of anger.
Everything is wrong with being weak. Weakness was for other people. How could he protect himself, his livelihood, his team, you?
What is he if not strong?
---
“I love you.”
He says it less often than you do to him, but every time he does, he means every word. You shifted beneath him, weary from the lovemaking of just prior but still nevertheless craning your neck up to reach his lips.
Your hands traveled down his shoulders and along the length of his bulky arms, playing with his biceps, drinking in the sight of his muscles flexing as he moved. He smiled and wrapped his arms tight around you, laying his head on your chest.
“Aww, Toshi, you’ll crush me if you hold me so tight. You barely know your own strength,” you teased with a laugh, prompting him to loosen his grip ever so slightly, and lift up his head to show you the smallest of pouts.
“I love you more,” you added, giggling.
Pleased, he lay his head back down on the softness of your bosom, clinging to you more. He’d protect and take care of you forever.
---
You hold Ushijima’s hand tightly as you walked out of the building to your car, holding in your curiosity about the session the entire time.
Would he go again?
He gives your hand a squeeze suddenly which surprises you, and when he turns to you, there’s a small upturn in the corner of his lips that approximates more of a smile than you’ve seen in recent weeks.
You’re elated enough that you immediately give him a hug, and maybe you’re a bit overzealous about it, but he stops and holds you close for just a moment.
“Thank you.”
There’s a lot in the thank you, and you shed a tear.
---
Strength is relative and inconstant, so our first task is to work on your definition of strength.
But I would say, coming here in the first place is already evidence enough.
#ushijima x reader#ushijima wakatoshi x reader#ushijima wakatoshi#mae.replies#mae.writing#tw injury#tw depression
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Mission Debrief: Chapter Forty-two
...It's all coming together.
I'm just going to come outright and say it; I had no idea what to write for this review- not because there wasn't anything to discuss, but rather this chapter gave us so much that I didn't know what to focus on first. Chapter forty-two has single-handedly thrown open the doors to a hundred different theories, and believe me when I say that after a whole night of redbull and theorizing I couldn't come up with any clear answers (the folks over at the Strix discord group can attest to that).
So here's what we're gonna do; I'm not going to focus on the chapter itself.
It was cute. Cardshark Anya is hilariously awesome. Damian is a little shit (whom I adore), and the chapters where the kids can just be kids are- in my opinion- the best.
That's all I'm going to say on the matter. For the rest of this review, I want to go over all the facts we know so far about the story and setting. All of the things Endo has been slowly building up in the background and the pieces that we can stitch together from them, starting with this chapter. Two key things stuck out to me.
In the entirety of the story up till this point, this is the first time we have heard mention of a royal anything- and not only that, but this chef is a former royal chef. This of course implies that a) said chef was fired (not likely given that Eden wouldn't likely associate with someone who was disgraced like that) or retired, or b) that there is no royalty anymore. Ostania is a totalitarian state and the main power of the government- from what we've seen- lies with the ruling political party, i.e the National Unity Party, a.k.a Desmond's party. Such a political structure would have no room for royalty in a governing capacity, and therein begs the question; is there still a royal/noble class- albeit in a non-governing sense- or was it abolished sometime in the recent past?
Classical language is not proper speaking and diction like I had originally thought. Classical language is a specific term typically used to describe a dead language or dialect (think Latin, or Hebrew before it was revived). I find this particularly interesting because under no circumstance would a child as young as Anya know anything about a dead language unless- as Loid points out- she was exposed to it as a toddler. It would have had to have been when she was very young, as she herself doesn't realize she knows this information. This would mean she likely learned it from her birth family; Anya was old enough to remember the lab and scientists, meaning she became Subject 007 later on in life- otherwise she would have remembered knowing classical language.
These two concepts are incredibly important to keep in mind, both now and later on as the story progresses. We now know that a royal class plays a factor in the political game that Twilight and everyone else is playing, and we know that Anya knows information that she shouldn't know otherwise (even with her mind-reading powers). So where does that leave us?
Honestly, for the first time...I'm kind of stumped?
Let's look back at the story and see what else we can piece together- maybe there's something in there we can extrapolate for our purposes. Another clue to point us in the direction that Endo is seemingly funneling us towards.
From chapter forty-one
Franklin Perkins was a man who believed in making his country a better place to live. In his eyes and from what he saw, Ostania wasn't going in the right direction- but why? He blames his lack of money for his mother's death, and we see him hold resentment towards the government over socialistic policies. Wealth is something to be shared with others, not hoarded for ones self. That seems to be where Ostania's moral compass is pointing towards, but is that really the case?
From chapter 39
Mr. Green mentions that people have been fleeing to Westalis; from the way he says this it sounds like this is happening currently- not in the past- and people are going so far as to travel through a third country just to get to Westalis. Such a journey isn't without its perils, so anyone attempting to crossover from Ostania would likely be taking a huge risk in doing so. Not only that, but most of what we've seen in the story is Ostanians loathing Westalins...so what would compel people to do this in the first place?
From chapter three
As Anya reads the minds of people gathered at a politcal rally near the start of the manga, we see their disgruntled thoughts behind her. There's multiple mentions of losing jobs and not having enough money- some people are even hungry. Most of these people blame Westalis for their troubles, though not the leader of the rally, ironically.
Also from chapter 3
We find out (and often forget) early on that there are multiple political parties in Ostania. Donovan leads the National Unity Party, whereas the political rally we see here is hosted by the Nationalist Party. The latter preaches peace with the west, but many of the people gathered reject this outright. This is important; the N.U.P is the most successful political party in Ostania, which means a majority of the country's citizens approve of their platform. If we're to assume the Nationalist Party's platform is to advocate for peace with Westalis, then we must also assume that the N.U.P stands for the opposite; direct aggression with the west.
From chapter 31
The Zacharis Dossier, though ultimately a bust, hinted at rumors that have permeated East and West since the start of the cold war. We know for a fact that human experiments did indeed take place in Ostania, so it also stands to reason that there is at least a kernel of truth to the claims of P.O.W (prisoner of war) massacres conducted by the west. It's a heinous crime, and also one that leads to another question; why would any country go through with it in the first place? In addition, piggy-backing off the former point;
From chapter 19
While Loid details Project Apple, he uses the word 'regime' to describe the former Ostanian government. The literal definition of a regime is a government, especially an authoritarian one (Oxfrod Dictionary). I won't highlight all the specifics of what is and isn't authoritarianism, but essentially the point I'm trying to make here is that the current Ostanian administration is still very much a regime. Donovan acts as the authoritarian ruler (or would-be ruler; we don't know if he's actively in charge or is looking to usurp power for himself) and continues on the legacy of the former government.
We know for a fact that this is the case because Anya is only at most 6 years old, likely even younger. That would mean the experiments being run on her had to have been recent, which fits with the time frame that we established at the beginning of this rabbit hole- it also aligns with what we know about what Donovan has been doing on the back end of things. Those who have kept up with my reviews know what I'm talking about; gloom pharmaceuticals, the truth serum, OSO-R, etc. All of that, which then leads us to...
...right back where we started.
So...what then? What can we conclude from all this? At least a few things;
Anya is tied to Desmond- either directly or indirectly.
Anya's past is also Ostania's past; she's familiar with a dead language that's no longer spoken, and there's definitely a reason why no one speaks it anymore.
Ostania is in a period of political and economic turmoil. This also comes on the heels of a (possible) former monarchy, and the struggle of a country willing to embrace authoritarianism so long as it means staying alive.
WISE and Westalis are not innocent in this game of chess with Ostania and the SSS, and more than likely have committed atrocities that may or may not be directly tied to Ostania and- possibly- Anya's past.
And...this is as far as I can go. I've hit a wall, as have other people I've talked to. We're still missing pieces to the puzzle. Endo will of course provide us with more clues and theory fodder as the weeks and months progress, but for now this is as far as I can go on my own. On the one hand I feel defeated because I can't come up with a meaningful explanation for everything and present it in a neat little bundle for you all to read, but on the other hand I'm thoroughly enjoying this. I'm more engaged with this manga and story than any other I've read before; I'm at the edge of my seat every week, and I'm sure most of you are, too. For now, I'll leave the review here. I find it fitting to leave it open ended, just as Endo did with Loid's self-imposed question. Hopefully, like him, we can find answers in the near future.
Also, BONUS...
...No fun panel with a snappy comment this time. Instead, I’m going to humbly ask for your help.
If you have any ideas about where you think the story is going, theories as to how everything fits together, or just really want to discuss the manga with other fans- please check out our forum and share with us. We’d love to hear what you all think; not only that, but a lot more heads makes theorizing both more productive and a whole lot more fun. Check it out if you have the time, or- if you don’t feel like clicking on any links- you can always leave a comment either on this post or send us an ask or message. Anytime, any reason, we’d love to talk SxF.
Again, thanks for reading, and we’ll see you all next chapter!
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LQR Week Day 7 - AUs
Yeah I’m not quite done yet! :D
This was a fic I wanted to write for a few months now, and finally managed to outline and write it out in time for Shufu week. So one more Shufu fic, featuring Da-ge!
one day i will make the lqr & nmj tag canonical on ao3
I hope you enjoy!
AO3
---
I.
“You father was a good man,” Lan Qiren says to Nie Mingjue at his father’s funeral.
Nie Mingjue is pale – whiter than the mourning robes he wears save for the thick dark circles under his eyes, are his movements and voice are stiff.
“Thank you, Grandmaster Lan,” he says quietly. “My father always spoke highly of you. He greatly valued your years of friendship.”
Nie Mingjue’s father was a man with many friends. He had a natural charisma that drew people in, yet few of those friends remained in his descent to rage and madness.
Lan Qiren had made one visit, during the second month when his old friend’s injuries had healed enough to let him leave his bed. Lan Qiren doesn’t remember now how he was then – from his understanding, the fits started later – but he left the Unclean Realm thinking his friend’s vitality was a sign of healing.
It wasn’t, and the Nie sect forbid all visitors after that.
Now his friend is dead, and Nie Mingjue is a sect leader at 15.
“I am sure you must have heard these words a lot today,” Lan Qiren says, “but I will say them anyway. Our sects have a long history of good relations, and your father was my close personal friend. If there is anything I can do to help you, you need only ask.”
Nie Mingjue lips trembles, but he quickly folds his arms and thanks Lan Qiren for his kindness. Then he excuses himself to tend to something else.
Lan Qiren’s offer is swiftly forgotten.
II.
Nie Mingjue is a very smart and strong man, but he is not a particularly eloquent one, and this becomes clear when he begins to speak at conferences.
The world of politics has little love or patience for a child whose temper is faster than his wit, and the other sect leaders quickly make a sport of antagonizing him.
“These lands have always been under the Nie’s protection,” Nie Mingjue says with a barely contained fury. “Why do the Jin suddenly worry about them so much?”
“It’s more a mild concern than worry.” Sect Leader Jin fans himself as he smiles. “Sect Leader Nie must have so much else on his plate right now. Meanwhile, our sect is growing rapidly and our juniors practically trip over themselves when they hunt. Surely a little assistance with our bordering cities isn’t undesirable.”
“It’s very undesirable!” Nie Mingjue snaps, and opens his mouth to say more, but Lan Qiren is faster.
“Sect Leader Jin,” he says, “in regards to that particular city, a few of our Lan sect’s cultivators recently passed through on return from an assignment. They noted how well the city was thriving, and how Sect Leader Nie’s disciples diligently patrolled the area. As for your juniors, there are many remote villages that often suffer from unchecked resentment. If new hunting grounds are needed, perhaps that could be a place to look towards.”
“The Grandmaster is so wise.” Jin Guangshan smiles daggers. “I will be sure to consider it carefully.”
Later, Nie Mingjue finally lets his rage erupt.
“I didn’t need your help,” he snaps, though still remembering to keep his voice low. Even in a quiet corner of Lotus Pier, unwanted ears are everywhere.
“You need to control your temper,” Lan Qiren tells him. “The moment you lose it is the moment nothing you say will matter.”
It’s always easier to listen to someone who says pretty things in a pretty voice.
“Remember, your actions don't affect only you. You have to take care of your sect first,” Lan Qiren says. “Don’t play their games.”
“They should play mine,” Nie Mingjue grumbles. “If this were a proper fight, I would take them all down.”
“Unfortunately, they won’t challenge you to one,” Lan Qiren quips.
After a thoughtful pause, he adds, “They know that too.”
III.
“About my brother…”
Nie Mingjue does not ask for help, but when he visits the Cloud Recesses one spring afternoon, the request is clear the moment Lan Qiren serves him tea and he opens with those words.
“Still no progress?” Lan Qiren asks.
“No. I worry he may be regressing even.”
Nie Huaisang will never be an outstanding cultivator. Lan Qiren has known this for years because it is something both Nie Mingjue and his father often complained about. But where the old complaints cited his poor stamina and slow learning speed, Nie Mingjue’s always have one source.
Laziness.
“If it were just difficult, that would be one thing, but he doesn’t practice,” Nie Mingjue gripes. “Once a week, I can drag him to the training field – twice if I’m lucky. Otherwise, he runs off to catch birds or paint, and his saber ends up all over the Unclean Realm for us to hunt down. Recently he’s even started skipping his regular lessons, for all the good those do him. Two of his teachers can’t even look me in the eye anymore.”
Nie Mingjue keeps his composure, even as it looks like the delicately made teacup might shatter in his grip. “I’m worried about him,” Nie Mingjue says quietly. “He’s never fully accepted Father’s death, and I understand his reluctance, but our sect’s situation isn’t one where we can allow him to eschew his cultivation completely. Especially now. Grandmaster, though I never had the opportunity to attend myself, I’ve heard many great things about your teaching. I understand it’s a bit late in the year to apply for it, and Huaisang is young compared to the students you normally accept but…”
“Send him,” Lan Qiren answers without hesitation. “A change of scenery will be good for him.”
“Thank you.” Unrestrained relief washes over Nie Mingjue’s face. The cup in his hands is safely released. “I look forward to seeing what kind of proper gentleman you can make out of my brother.”
“Of course,” Lan Qiren says. “It’s my specialty.”
IV.
Nie Mingjue arrives at the Cloud Recesses with 100 men and immediately orders them to work.
The waiting room he has often sat in during his visits is gone. The buildings his little brother was taught in are destroyed.
Lan Qiren, who has always loomed authoritatively, even to those taller than him, limps weakly and looks thoroughly defeated.
“Grandmaster, don’t push yourself,” Nie Mingjue kneels down. “Forgive me for not being able to come here sooner.”
“I’ve heard you’ve brought crates of supplies,” Lan Qiren says quietly. Despite his injuries and Nie Mingjue’s words, he forces himself to kneel. “We can’t accept this.”
“Our sects have always maintained close ties. The pain is no different than if our own home had burned.”
Lan Qiren is too tired to argue. His gaze drifts to the window, outside of which Nie disciples in dark uniforms run around, sorting through yet-uncleared rubble.
“Also, I have… heard about Sect Leader Lan,” Nie Mingjue continues cautiously. “You have my condolences. I… never knew him personally, but to lose a brother –
“Do you have any news from Qishan?”
Lan Qiren can’t think about his brother right now. Or anyone else they’ve lost. Nie Mingjue understands and stops, but his grimace makes it clear the next topic isn’t any less pleasant.
“My informants are keeping watch, but they can’t get close enough to help in any way,” he says. “They’ve lost their swords and are treated as bait for the Wen-dogs’ night-hunts. Any news from yours?”
“The same,” Lan Qiren whispers. “They’re fed scraps and denied medical care.”
A pause.
“They broke Wangji’s leg.”
“They’ll pay,” Nie Mingjue promises. “Have you heard from Xichen?”
“No. I have no idea where he is or if he even survived.”
“He did. I’m certain of it. I’ll send men to search for him. And if there’s anything else I can do to help –
“I appreciate it the offer, Sect Leader Nie, but it isn’t necessary.”
Lan Qiren is tired. His injuries throb, but the wounds in his heart cut deeper.
There is nothing they can do right now.
V.
Lotus Pier burns.
In the aftermath of its destruction, Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji travel to Qinghe. It is the first of many places they will visit, and it is the most important one.
Lan Wangji is escorted to Nie Huaisang’s courtyard to visit his old friend, while Lan Qiren waits for Nie Mingjue in his audience chamber.
“Grandmaster,” Nie Mingjue greets. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“Lotus Pier,” Lan Qiren answers, skipping past the usual pleasantries. “You’ve heard.”
“I’ve sent people to survey the damage. It’s… thorough. Even if there are survivors, Yunmeng Jiang is finished.”
“Your thoughts?” Lan Qiren asks. “Your true thoughts.”
“My true thoughts are the same as they were years ago. The Wen push, we give, and this is what it’s led to.”
Baxia rattles in her sheath. Nie Mingjue has learned to control his outward rage in his years as sect leader, but occasional slips occur. Mainly where the Wen are concerned.
“What would you say if I told you I’m hoping to organize the sects for a counterattack?”
“I would say “Good luck”, because those cowards will never believe they’ll be next until they are.”
It’s unfair perhaps. Lan Qiren was that same coward mere months ago.
“But,” Nie Mingjue continues, “if the other sects are ready to fight for their survival, the Nie will not sit out.”
“Good answer,” Lan Qiren replies. “I came here first because I hope to use your good name as a rallying point. I can think of no one better to lead our forces.”
“You don’t need to flatter me. Invoke whatever name you want if you think it’ll work.”
“Then let me ask a different way. Sect Leader Nie, will you help us in our battle against the Wen?”
The corners of Nie Mingjue’s lips twitch upwards into a smark, but he doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he says, “Years ago, at my father’s funeral, when you told me to come to you if I ever needed help, many times I considered asking if you would help me avenge him.”
“A tall order,” Lan Qiren remarks truthfully. “Probably not one I would have listened to.”
“And now the situation’s reversed.”
“Indeed. So? Will you help me?”
“One condition,” Nie Mingjue rises from his seat. “Take care of Huaisang?”
“Always.”
+ I
Everything in Nie Mingjue’s body hurts. His head throbs, his golden core burns, and his limbs sting as he drags his battered body to Gusu.
He feels angry. There is nothing around to fuel his ire, but even now rage courses through him like an unrelenting rapid and not even the cool mountain air can cut through the haze.
“I need to see the Grandmaster,” he tells the alarmed guards at the Cloud Recesses gates. “Alone. Immediately.”
It is near the Lan’s curfew, he thinks. For a moment he fears his request will be denied, but one guard rushes up the steps to pass his message, while the other tries to learn what’s happened. Nie Mingjue can’t hear him though. His head hurts too much.
Lan Qiren arrives and quickly orders his disciples to help Sect Leader Nie to his house, and alert no one else of his arrival, not even the sect leader.
Nie Mingjue is grateful. He knows now he’s made the right choice.
On Lan Qiren’s floor, he falls to his knees and struggles to get through the things he rehearsed over and over during the flight.
“This morning… I destroyed Huaisang’s…the song isn’t… my father’s madness,” the words spill out in unfinished fragments but, in the end, there is only one thing Nie Mingjue knows to say. “Grandmaster,” he whispers, and he sounds so much more like the grieving teenager at his father’s funeral than a hardened sect leader. “Please help me.”
Lan Qiren leans down, and slowly lifts him up.
“Tell me everything.”
#LQRWeek21#lan qiren#nie mingjue#mdzs#the untamed#mo dao zu shi#fortune's fanfics#and then lqr saves nmj with the power of shufu-ness!#a fic i really want to write some day#but this was always the original form of that fic#just lqr & nmj looking out for each other over the years#and lqr being a bit of an honorary uncle to nhs#the au part of this fic is canon divergence au :)#theuntameddaily
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leave everything behind but me- part 4 (diane sherman x reader) (NSFW moment)
warnings: same as before, stalking (like full on irl stalking as well as online), drugging, some talk of emotional/physical abuse in this one, death mention. this whole fic is just kinda dark... sorry. Also brief nsfw moment.
summary: this part is from Diane’s perspective. as she looks for her neurotoxin ingredients in a panic, she reflects on how she came into contact with you in the first place, and all the highs and lows of your relationship up to this point.
where the hell are they? thought Diane, looking for the last, most important ingredient in her neurotoxin.
She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. Just like with Chloe.
Diane wondered where Chloe was, what she was doing. About five years ago, with an excellent defense lawyer, she managed to get out of jail for what she had done. She looked far and wide for her stolen daughter, who seemed to be nowhere to be found. She still worried about what became of Chloe, but knew she was probably doing alright. And one day, Diane found a new obsession by the name of (y/n).
It was nearly two years ago now. Diane was beginning to give up on finding Chloe, after three full years of searching anywhere and everywhere with no luck. But she did find something else.
She was staying at a hotel in California, near the hospital where she gave birth to Chloe, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be around.
Diane didn’t find Chloe, but she found something else from her past. Her college reunion was being held in the exact hotel she was staying at. She didn’t plan on attending, but then she came face-to-face with her college rival. This woman was the only person who did better in her classes than Diane. Not only that, but she had multitudes of friends, boyfriends, you name it, while Diane had no one. The woman never let Diane forget how much better she was either. It wasn’t the worst thing Diane had ever been through, not by a long shot, but it was a disappointment for sure. College was supposed to be the place where Diane could finally feel like she belonged, and she always resented this rival of hers.
“Diane! We didn’t think you were coming! Oh here, have a seat!” said the woman.
“I’m so sorry about Roger. It was such a shock to hear about.”, she continued, reminding Diane of her dead husband
“Yeah, I still can’t say I’m over it, all these years later.”
“Yeah when the love of your life just drops dead like that, you never get over it, do you?”, she said, far louder than Diane would have liked.
“Can we please talk about something else?”
“Of course, I’m so sorry, Diane, I know it must be so hard for you!”
“Yeah. Um... what’s your family like?”
“Well we have one daughter. Her name is (y/n), and she’s a senior in High School,” said the woman. She then leaned into Diane and said, “But can I be honest? I never exactly wanted kids. Never liked them. I thought it would change when I had her but it didn’t. She’s so... difficult.”
Diane��s blood absolutely boiled hearing this, but she managed to keep a polite face, “But that’s your child. Don’t you love her?”
“There are some good things about her, I guess. I do love her in my own way, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. She’s just not what I thought she’d be. I’m sorry, I thought you may understand. I never get to vent my frustrations about her.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand. But, do you, um, by any chance have a picture of her?”
“On my phone, somewhere. Let me look.”
After a while, she found a picture of (y/n). It was fairly recent photo of you at a restaurant, at what looked like a dinner with the whole family. You looked sad and lost, but Diane thought you looked sweet.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” said the woman, almost stifling a laugh, as if there was no way Diane could have meant that.
“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.” said Diane, as she was starting to turn red in anger and the woman.
“I’ll join you, I need to freshen up a bit.”
“Fine.”
So Diane walked straight into a stall while the other woman followed. Diane started to cry, so angry at this awful woman. She had a child, a beautiful, sweet, girl who was alive, for God’s sake. Diane would kill for what she has, in fact she had killed for it before. But this woman didn’t care about her child, she didn’t appreciate you one bit.
She didn’t deserve you.
Then she heard the woman get into the stall next to her and she decided to leave. But the woman left her purse on the sink. Diane looked into her purse and found everything. All her information was in her wallet, and she took pictures of her address, phone number, and credit card numbers, as well as a couple of photos of you and your father. Diane quickly threw the last photo back into her purse as she heard her enemy get up, and she ran away, all the way back up to her room.
Diane looked at the photos, and started to look for your social media. You didn’t seem to post very often, or have many friends. Most of your photos were of you by yourself, or pretty things you took pictures of, and even a couple of sad poems you wrote. Poetry written by teenagers was usually laughably bad, but hers made Diane cry. She saw herself in you.
Poor little thing, Diane thought. She needs some love. But I can do that for her.
Diane spent about a month following you and your parents around, without any of you even noticing her presence. One day she snuck into their house and bugged it, so that there were feeds of different rooms streaming to her computer at all times.
Diane noticed you spent most of your time alone. You wrote in a journal a lot, and cried fairly often, hugging a teddy bear you had. You just seemed so burnt out from stress from school, stress from your job, pressure from your parents. You fought with both of her parents often. Well... fight wasn’t the right word. Usually, one parent would yell at you and insult you, and you would choose to either take it or not take it.
There was one particular instance where you snapped at your father, telling him how he abandoned you so many times. He didn’t take this well, screaming all kinds of insults. How Diane wished she could hold you, rock you, comfort you and tell you that aren’t any of the terrible things your father told you, and that she’s sorry that you never felt good enough.
Diane snuck into (y/n)’s graduation, too. She knew she couldn’t contact you yet, but she got so much happiness out of just seeing this milestone of your life. All you did was walk across the stage and take your diploma, but Diane beamed with pride for you as you did it.
After graduation, your parents were constantly threatening to kick you out, and the fights got worse, they crying got worse. Diane wished she was there, comforting you, holding you and giving you all the love that your parents didn’t. Diane looked for a window of opportunity into this girl’s life until she found the perfect one. You had put out an ad on facebook for anyone on the east coast looking for a roommate, and Diane put her plan into action. She made a fake account on facebook pretending to be a college girl named “Anna Johnson” and responded to the ad, starting to talk to and getting friendly with you. “Anna” suggested that you take a bus trip and offered to pay the fare, but you refused because you wanted to earn the money yourself. Diane’s heart warmed at your sweet messages, even though they were to “Anna” and not her. “I’ve never had as good a friend as you before”, “Who needs a mom when I have you giving me such great advice?”, “You’re the best!”, every little message that you sent to Diane made her fall more and more in love. Diane bought a little house on the East Coast with the money she got from selling her old house, and hoped everything will fall into place in her new life with (y/n).
Now during the bus trip, Diane needed to follow you closely in her silver minivan, and make sure not to lose track of you during layovers either. Her detour into the coffee shop scared her at first, but once Diane found you, it was the perfect opportunity to finally, after all these months of dreaming, meet you face-to-face. Her new little baby girl, finally. Diane slipped a powdered sleeping pill into her already tired girl’s coffee to make you even more sleepy and suggestible, getting you to come with her to her hotel room.
Back in the present, Diane found the rest of the powdered sleeping pills as she was searching through her medicine cabinet and closet. She got so distracted thinking about you, and all the horribly wrong things she had done to you.
It’s for her own good, all of it. She needs to be protected, she’s too pure for this world, to good, too sweet...
Diane searched through the drugs she had given you, thinking of all the best times the two of you have had.
The first day Diane had been with you in the little house was heaven on earth. Finally Diane had everything she’s been working for for almost a year now right there, in her arms. Diane wanted to give you everything you didn’t believe you deserved. The only catch was that you belonged to Diane, and Diane alone.
She got a job teaching Chemistry at the local High School fairly easily, as she had extensive knowledge (even more extensive than she may have let on in her interview), of the subject, and the school district was completely desperate for competent science teachers. Diane found faking the background check easy, she used her maiden name and an incorrect date of birth and they didn’t ask her about her arrest at all. And now she had her new life set up. A house that she owned, a job to put food on the table, and you.
The next best day for Diane was the day you finally kissed her. Diane was starting to fall in love with you in a more romantic, even a more sexual way, but didn’t know if you felt the same way about her. Then, during one of your movie nights, you kissed Diane, and she felt overjoyed. She kissed you back and finally led you to the bed and fucked you, like she had been thinking about doing every night at this point but was too scared to actually initiate until now. She was in love with the feeling she got from kissing you, from pleasing you. It had been so long since Diane had been this intimate with anyone, and she was your first. And it was a real awakening for the both of you.
It felt so good, you felt so good. This relationship you had was so incredibly wrong in so many ways, but it just felt so right.
Why did it have to change?
Of course, there were still some hard moments. Even Diane admitted that there were times when she could be irrationally possessive of you, getting angry when someone even looks at you the wrong way. She knew that her possessive, obsessive attitude could scare you, and you would even blame yourself for it, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew that you were getting scared she would become more difficult to please, like all the other people that have been in your life.
Or the times that you would cry, and it happened so often. You would get sad and Diane would hold you and tell you:
“It’s ok baby, you’re here now, you’re with me. I love you more than life itself. You’re gonna be okay, my little angel.”
One night Diane woke up to you crying into your pillow, and immediately grabbed you.
“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”
“I- I was afraid that you might- that- one day- you might not want me anymore... what would happen if you d-don’t want me....”
“Listen, I will never not want you. You are all I have, remember? And you’re all I need. Come here, that’s right. You’re my baby, all mine.. shhh....”
Or, there was the time you asked about the scars on Diane’s back. She was mortified, but finally told you about her terrible childhood. The horrible abuse from her mother until her death, the foster home, everything. Her desperation to become the mother she never had. You hugged her tight.
“I’m so sorry, Diane, I had no idea... and to think I complained about-”
“Baby, don’t compare your life to mine. All that matters now is that it’s you and me, and I need to take care of you.”
“Sometimes I think I should be the one taking care of you, Diane.”
“Trust me baby, you do so much more for me than you think.”
Then Diane found it. The rest of the paint thinner. And she was ready to take away all your sadness once and for all, and make you hers forever.
#my fics#sarah paulson x reader#diane sherman x reader#diane sherman#sarah paulson#sarah paulson fics
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Title: any old tuesday
Pairing: Pang/Wave
Ao3 link
Excerpt:
He doesn’t want to wonder the malintentions behind someone’s kindness the way he used to; he doesn’t want to constantly worry that he’ll be left without warning. Like a wise — and infuriating — boy had said a while ago, the other shoe doesn’t even exist, and waiting for it to drop only serves as a waste of Wave’s time. He knows that, theoretically. And up until two weeks ago, Wave had had a real grip on that as his reality.
Wave’s parents die on a Tuesday.
He’s got his English notebook open for the quiet-work portion of the class as he follows the assignment, to print any passage from Charlotte’s Web by hand. Nothing had spoken to Wave in particular; the book was rather bittersweet and at this point, because he has to, he’s chosen a page at random to copy down lest he run out of time.
These autumn days will shorten and grow cold. The leaves will shake loose from the trees and fall. Christmas will come, then the snows of winter…
He takes his time because even if the quote doesn’t necessarily mean much to him, he can at least be sure that his handwriting is neat. The headmaster appears in the doorway, beckoning their teacher toward her, but Wave doesn’t spare them much attention as he goes on with his careful work.
…the days will lengthen, the ice will melt in the pasture pond. The song sparrow will return and sing, the frogs will awake, the warm wind will blow again. All these sights and sounds and smells will be yours —
“Wasuthorn.”
He’s asked to speak with the headmaster in her office, and the walk there is strange for a reason he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to warrant a scolding; for him to have somehow gotten in trouble when there’s only an hour left of the school-day would be unbelievably irritating.
His hands flex with nerves as he tries to keep in mind that he’s really only ever minded his business and done his best in class. Unless someone’s made up a story about him, or there’s been some sort of rumour, Wave can’t imagine what he might’ve done.
His certainty falters when their arrival at the office shows Wave’s grandparents already waiting there.
Wave can’t help questioning, “Did I do something?” as Headmaster Weerawatnodom ushers him inside. His grandmother’s flushed cheeks give her a look of perpetual discomfort, the buttons of his grandfather’s overshirt have one done incorrectly, like he had been in a rush. “Are you okay?” he asks them.
They’re perfectly fine, they assure him. Wave is whisked away to his grandparents’ house in a flurry of confusion as they refuse to tell him exactly what’s going on until he is planted on their familiar sofa.
As it turns out, his grandparents are fine, but Teep and Wipha Worachotmethee aren’t. Wave’s parents had been shot that morning in their duty as officers, Wave is told. The fact is spoken in such a tone that implies even a 12 year old mind should understand that this sort of death is more meaningful or less of a complete waste than another. He’s a smart boy and in a way he does understand, but that doesn’t prevent him from shutting down.
His interest in class dwindles to half, if that, of what it had been, and if it weren’t for his natural intelligence he would likely be out of luck. What little luck he retains is drained when his grandparents pull him from school into another, public instead of private and therefore more affordable for their lifestyle. Wave didn’t dare ask them to reconsider, not when they’d already sold their own house to move into Wave’s. His parents’ will had made such a request so that Wave, should he lose them, wouldn’t be uprooted from the house he’d grown up in.
With that sacrifice on his guardians’ end, Wave does what he can to stay out of the way and as quiet as possible. However, the change in schools does nothing to help Wave’s attentiveness in class, and his new teacher is judgmental and prickly, completely infuriated by what she takes as Wave’s disregard for her teaching. His parents only passed a year ago — 11 months and three days — and he’d transferred here less than four months ago. Did she never get the memo that maybe Wave’s inattention in maths doesn’t stem from rudeness, but from simply struggling to function as normal in a world he doesn’t see his place in at all, let alone something so dreadfully easy as maths?
He’s made to transfer for a second time after the Incident occurs. The woman responsible is fired from her position but Wave can’t possibly stay at this school, where the rumours about him have spread like a forest fire. It doesn’t matter that they’re all total falsehoods; if anything, the lack of clarity around the subject spurs their need to fill the gaps. So he moves again.
More than ever, Wave hides in his bedroom, and when he’s alone he often can’t help thinking of how the grandparents he’d known for so many years had seemingly died with his parents. He wasn’t their grandson anymore — he was the burden they’d had to sell their own years-loved home for, he was the troublemaking child whose every move was suddenly their responsibility for a lifetime instead of the occasional weekend visit. Wave came to recognise stress and disinterest toward him in place of where had once been hands helping him to stir pots and arms lifting him onto a bicycle.
He’s resentful, is what it comes down to. Still, after so long, he’s resentful, even though he knows it isn’t fair to them. But with so much of Wave’s recent life reminding him again and again just how unfair things actually are, he found it difficult to tamper that resentment. Why had losing his parents meant losing his grandma and grandpa too? Why did he have to hide away in his bedroom to avoid the fact that neither of them could really look at him anymore? They’re disjointed, a caricature of anything resembling a family, his grandparents at one end of the house and Wave tucked away in the other.
As though his final year of high school isn’t hard enough, his grandfather dies the week before the semester is set to end.
He knows how he’s supposed to feel, but it’s been nearly a fortnight since the elder’s passing and the feeling itself has remained elusive to Wave. His grandmother hasn’t cried so much as she’s been quiet, quieter than ever. After the death of his parents, her quiet had become something more resigned than calming, and he’d grown used to that too. She’s again in shift, and allowing her space to grieve is nothing new to Wave. Unwilling to be seen or heard, he’d spent years doing what he could to remain separate from nearly everyone, and up to becoming Gifted he had been content to remain so. Maybe content isn’t the word; it’s more likely that he’d been resigned as well.
With his grandfather’s passing, Wave thinks of the ways in which his grandparents had had a fair hand in cultivating his negative thoughts, even if they hadn’t been aware of it, and he just… can’t find it in himself to cry.
In the absence of tears arrives an all too familiar voice in his head, sounding remarkably similar to his grandfather, to inform Wave that the reason he hasn’t cried is because he’s self-centered, that Wave’s care for the world starts and ends with himself. In a correlated sense, those who claim to care for Wave don’t, when it comes down to it, because how could anyone care for someone so self-obsessed?
Wave knows that can’t be true, because how could it possibly be? But outward logic does nothing to help, and his final semester of high school’s arguably sour end finds Wave in a similar state to a friendless, bitter self he thought he’d left by the wayside ages prior. If not completely discarded, he’d maybe hoped that that part of who he’d been was buried deep enough down to never resurface, but like that incessant voice, Wave can’t seem to shake him.
He doesn’t want to wonder the malintentions behind someone’s kindness the way he used to; he doesn’t want to constantly worry that he’ll be left without warning. Like a wise — and infuriating — boy had said a while ago, the other shoe doesn’t even exist, and waiting for it to drop only serves as a waste of Wave’s time. He knows that, theoretically. And up until two weeks ago, Wave had had a real grip on that as his reality.
He’s been staring at his black laptop screen for the past hour. The battery bit the dust a while ago but he hadn’t had it in him to grab the charger from the floor. There’s an incredible tightness to his chest and he also feels like his head is wrapped in fish netting, so although he’s likely conscious, in no way would he bet his life on it.
Wave can’t sit here anymore. He walks right down the stairs and onto the street, stopping only a few steps off their property. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. He would go to the rooftop but the school is closed to students for holiday — besides which, he’s no longer a student, and that’s an entirely separate headache for another time. He just goes on walking, paying no attention to wherever it is his brain is leading his feet. It doesn’t matter anyway, really.
He trudges onto a grassy path and however long later comes to a stop in front of his parents’ grave-markers. Their photos smile up at Wave from their place right beside his grandfather’s.
He hadn’t looked at the newest addition to their family plot, hadn’t even lifted his eyes from the ground when he’d come with his grandmother. But there it is, a shot of him and his grandparents, Wave kept snugly between them as though he belongs, some fantasy world where neither of them had slapped Wave to bruising for lying or made him feel like an outsider in his own home. A sweeping nausea hits Wave and he turns around, unable to look anymore.
He presses his forehead and hands onto a nearby tree to steady himself, the bark digging hard into his skin. He knows he’s crying when he pushes weakly off the tree to rub at his tired eyes, only to have the palms of his hands sting from the tears. He shakes his head and sets off for somewhere else.
It’d been another hour of wandering around until he had to accept that walking all over the city can’t change the final destination. The surprise comes when he sees a certain someone with their back to the wall by Wave’s house, eyes on the sky. He’d even brought his dog, for whatever reason. Wave removes his glasses to wipe them down, quietly and ineffectually preparing himself for whatever this is going to be.
Even with Wave trying to be noiseless, Pang’s attention falls to Wave within seconds of his approach. Wave would ask what he’s doing here, but he doesn’t have to. They’d promised months passed that they would always reply to one another’s messages, even if that message was two or three words, so that the other wouldn’t worry. But Wave’s not responded to Pang in a week, his negative spiral not allowing him room to honour their agreement. He’d even silenced his phone because he knew that hearing his phone beep with any message from Pang would have cracked him, and Wave hadn’t wanted to allow that.
He knows the system is especially for situations like this, when either isn’t able to communicate like usual, but now that Pang is standing here looking all concerned, Wave has to wonder if they might need to entertain a Plan B.
Wave doesn’t want to see Pang though. Actually, he does. It’s just that the idea of facing him after six days of radio silence leaves a heavy anxiety in Wave’s gut that he doesn’t want to face right now. He isn’t sure that he’ll be able to handle the sympathy in his eyes, or how he’ll be extra careful in dealing with Wave. Always Wave with FRAGILE stamped across his forehead in blocky red ink.
He doesn’t try to walk past Pang. He just stands there some distance away, useless, while Pang holds tight to Dip’s leash to keep him close.
“It’s past midnight,” is the first thing Pang says. Wave gives a slow, meaningless nod. “You left your window open so I tossed a rock through, but… you didn’t answer.”
“What’s up?” Wave manages. It’s vastly inadequate a question, all things considered.
“I wanted to see you,” because he’s always been forthright and transparent when it comes to Wave.
“Well, you’ve seen me,” Wave says, because he’s notoriously dismissive and unable to let himself be vulnerable.
This mood Wave has found himself in is one that they’ve seen less and less, but if Pang is taken aback, he doesn’t allow it to colour his words.
“Ohm invited us to some karaoke thing tonight but I said we have plans already,” he says. Wave shifts where he stands and Pang is quick to assure him, “It was just an excuse to get us out of Claire’s typical solo and double encore.”
Wave sits on the ground. He’s tired and remaining on his feet feels pointless right now. Pang follows suit without hesitation, still talking as he rubs Dip’s head.
“I had to say I forgot Dip’s after-dinner walk just to get out of the house. Mae thinks he’s taking an extra long bathroom break. Not sure how much time I can buy with that one before she wants to call up the vet. And then Prae wanted to come so I had to promise a whole cake or whatever it is from that French bakery just to shut her up. I can’t even pronounce the name but of course the six-year-old has the menu memorised — ”
“Are you done?” Wave interjects. “It’s one in the morning, Pang.”
Pang nods slowly. He releases Dip’s leash and Dip scampers over to Wave, leftover excitement at seeing him for the first time in a week coming back fast. Reflexively, Wave runs a hand down Dip’s head to his back and the dog wags his tail. Prae loves that bakery. She’d become obsessed with France after a school lesson and already asks when their family can visit the country. Prae’s the one who’d convinced her parents to get Dip, so Wave has no doubt she’ll wear them down into Paris. She always includes him in that too, like they couldn’t possibly go on holiday if Wave isn’t going with them.
It’s dark enough that Wave doesn’t bother wiping at his damp cheeks. He’s a pretty quiet crier, so he just sits it out, Dip in his lap and Pang across the way.
“I’m sorry,” Wave murmurs after some time.
“I know. You were caught up again? With the bad thoughts?”
“I haven’t… I’m not doing well,” Wave says. There’s so much more he needs to say, but the words won’t come out. As it is, he’s speaking through partially gritted teeth.
His grandpa is gone, and the best memory of him is from before Wave had turned 13. His grandma is a living ghost, his parents are long dead. It’s all too easy for Wave to think that he has absolutely no one left to care whether he’s here at all.
It’s taken two weeks to cry at his grandfather’s passing and half the tears aren’t even for him. The remaining can be attributed to so many miscellaneous bits and pieces that Wave can’t begin to think about them, at least today. He just focuses on how soft Dip’s ears are.
“Since the funeral?”
“Mm.” Wave inhales. “I hear him, and the usual — and before I know it — ��� Wave doesn’t go on.
“Will I sound like an asshole if I say you’ve been doing so good?” Pang asks a few moments later. “I thought — I hoped since it wasn’t happening as often, it might’ve meant — ”
“I know,” Wave says quietly. An afterthought, though he means it, “You’re not an asshole.”
“Wave, I… I love you, you know? I just love you and I — God, I hate how mean your brain is to you. Like, you’re supposed to be on the same team and it’s…”
“Yeah,” Wave scoffs, “you’d think so.” He sighs a little and shakes his head, eyes on the dark sky. “You came all the way here because I can’t answer a LINE.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Pang says immediately. “You should know by now I’d run cross-country to meet you; a couple blocks’ walk is nothing. And you are a pain in the ass, but I like that.” They both cringe and Pang says, “So that didn’t come out — ”
“Let it go.”
“Letting it go.”
Wave gets to his feet and adds, “I cried.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I didn’t… cry at the funeral.” Pang knows this, as he’d been there too. “And I hadn’t up until earlier, and here, just now. Is that… Do you think that’s, like… weird?”
“Why would it be weird?” Because of course everything is that simple with Pang. “I didn’t cry when my parents told me my grandma died, and I lost it at her funeral. Cried the whole time and looked like a baby in front of my entire family. Brains are weird.”
Pang takes the hand that goes to relinquish Dip’s leash, giving Wave time to decline the hug, but Wave lets Pang hold him close instead. He always feels like precious cargo in Pang’s arms, but rather than feeling humiliated as he’d feared, Wave feels embarrassed but touched by Pang’s sweet disposition. How he’s still constantly surprised after years of living around it, Wave doesn’t know.
“Are you alright to go back in on your own?” Pang asks.
“It’s whatever,” because there really isn’t much else to say.
“We’re going to have our own place, you know.”
“Huh?”
“When we’re at uni,” Pang clarifies. “Like, I just think about how we’ll have a dorm-room to share, the two of us. And then we can get an apartment, if we want to.”
It isn’t shocking to hear that Pang has ideas for their future, seeing as they’ve spoken about it, but the same as it always does to hear it said aloud warms a place inside Wave, the furnace Pang started up when they met.
“I’ll be there when you need me and I won’t let you be lonely,” Pang goes on. “You can tell me to fuck off when you have to though; I won’t be mad.”
“I won’t tell you to fuck off,” Wave says, even if he very well might.
“Maybe we can have a precaution for whenever you can’t answer messages,” Pang says. “You were too stressed this time to message me but not messaging me added to the stress. We’ll come up with something to help.”
Wave nods a little against him. Satisfied, Pang gently ruffles Wave’s hair as they pull apart.
“I’ll get going,” he says. “Mae’s probably got the vet on hold by now. But I’ll call you.”
“Mm.”
“Sleep, okay? At least 10 hours.”
Wave rolls his eyes but nods. “Yeah, sure. You too.” Pang grins and tugs Dip along on the street with a hand raised in goodbye.
In bed that night, Wave takes his phone off silent. He catches the most recent messages from Pang, before Wave had been responding, but he tries not to look at them and focuses on the present.
let’s take Prae to the bakery tomorrow.
she already loves you more than me, stop this!
but i love you more than *anyone so i get it
ugh
gn
love you
i love you too
He’ll be fine, even when he inevitably falls apart again. He’ll be fine.
God, if only he could bet on it.
#my writing#pangwave#ao3#archive of our own#the gifted#the gifted graduation#tgg#mlm#thai series#pang x wave#fics
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Defender of Men
Alex Lightwood birth storyyy!! I’m finally publishing it because someone sent me an ask on it, but it became too long, so here’s part one:
“Cecily, are sure you’ll be alright?” Gabriel asked.
“Jiw jiw, for the millionth time, I’ll be fine.” she said, pushing Gabriel out the door. “Now go do something useful.”
Anna was already outside, leaning against a tree, frowning down at her dress.
“Anna, gwnewch yn siŵr bod eich tad yn stopio poeni.” Cecily said.
Gabriel looked at her, annoyed. “I speak Welsh, Cecy.”
Cecily kissed his cheek, “Then make sure you do well on what I said.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes and hugged her with one of his arms.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“No, Gabriel.” She said, putting a hand on his chest. “Just have fun sledding with Anna, your nieces and Gideon. Sophie is right next door, if I need anything—which, I won’t—I’ll just call her.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not made of glass, love. I’ll be fine. Now go before our poor Anna gets stuck frozen to that tree.”
Gabriel dropped a kiss on the top of her head before letting her go.
Cecily watched as he walked to Anna, who made a show of pretending to be asleep. He ruffled her hair, stealing her hat in the process and running down the street. Anna laughed and chased after him.
…
“Kit, bach, are you sure you don’t want to go sledding with Anna and your father? I’m sure it will be loads of fun,” Cecily said, once she was back inside.
Kit furrowed his eyebrows and cast a hesitant look outside. “I think I’d rather stay with you, Mam.”
Cecily smiled, knowing perfectly well Kit didn’t like the cold. “Alright then, fy ngalon bapur i.” (A/N: my paper heart)
Cecily walked to the kitchen and pulled out two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea. Before she picked them up, she grabbed a pocket watch that was on the counter and hung it on her neck so she could time her contractions.
When she got back to the drawing room, she tried to set the mugs on the table, but she couldn’t bend down that far. Christopher shot to his feet and helped her put them down, and lowered her to the couch.
“Thank you, darling.” Cecily said, bracing a hand of her belly. She felt like she was at the verge of giving birth, which is never a good thing, as a mother’s instinct is rarely wrong. The first stage of labour takes around fourteen hours, hence Gabriel’s hesitation to leave her at home. Cecily had thought he was being dramatic, but that was before she realized that she was maybe closer to birth than she had thought. Had fourteen hours already gone by?
“What book are you reading?” Cecily said, looking over her son’s shoulder, distracting herself.
“The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
Cecily scrunched up her nose. She had never read the book herself, but from what she’d heard of, it didn’t seem like a book Christopher would be interested in.
“What a peculiar choice of literature, cyw.”
“Matthew recently read it and said it was at utmost importance I read it as well. I don’t understand much of it, though. I’m also not very fond of the characters. I’d prefer your company over that of this book.”
Cecily smiled. “As do I, bach.”
Having children was a strange experience for Cecily. She was apprehensive at first, afraid she wouldn’t be a good mother and her children would end up resenting her. When she got pregnant with her first child, she was so happy.
And when she lost it, she had been so incredibly grief-stricken.
She had felt like she’d already failed as a mother, even though the Silent Brothers confirmed there was nothing that there was nothing that could have been done differently to have saved it, that it wasn’t uncommon to lose a child in the early stages of pregnancy.
That was the cruel irony, wasn’t it? To feel so much regret, to have your child die inside of you, and not know what went wrong.
They’d tried again, and then she was pregnant with Anna. The whole time she had been so horribly sick, she was terrified of losing another child. This time, however, she’d been pregnant long enough that she’d have to give birth to the child, whether it was alive or dead.
Those months had been the worst in Cecily’s entire life. Not even when her father had gambled away their home in Wales, the one she had memories of running with Will and Ella down valleys, had she felt such despair.
“Mam?”
Cecily shook her head, bringing herself back to the drawing room sofa, beside Kit.
“What is it, bach?”
“Does the baby have a name yet?”
Cecily rubbed her belly. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”
Kit shrugged.
Cecily suddenly felt a contraction. She started the pocket watch timer and sat forward and breathed deeply to try to relieve the pain. This one felt longer than the rest had been.
Kit looked at her from over his book, his eyebrows together.
Once it had passed, Cecily stopped the timer. After a couple of seconds of recovering from the contraction, she looked at the time, and swallowed.
“Kit,” she said as calmly as she could. “Bach, I need you to ring for the Silent Brothers.”
…
Brother Enoch, Zachariah and another brother Cecily couldn’t remember were preparing for the birth. Christopher had helped her up the stairs, before the brothers had come, and was now standing in a far corner of the room, at loss for what he should do.
“Christopher.” She said, motioning for him to come.
“You needn’t be here. I’ll be fine and your father will soon be here. I already asked Sophie to send him here once he stops by after sledding. You can wait outside until then.”
“But Mam, I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I’m with the Silent Brothers.”
Christopher looked over his shoulder at the Brothers.
Cecily put a hand under his chin and turned his face to face her own. She smiled at him.
“Go, Kit. It’s alright. I’ve done this before.” She said with a smile.
“I want to stay here. With you.”
Cecily tried to rub away a smudge on Christopher’s face, perhaps something to do with his most recent experiment.
“I don’t think you do, bach. When people say birth is a natural process, it’s because they’re trying to glorify a process that’s ghastly.”
Cecily looked deep into his lavender eyes and smiled. “Now go, before I start crowning. Trust me when I say you’ll wish you’d have gone.”
Christopher made to move, but didn’t get up.
“I want to help you. I want to stay with you the way you stayed when I got my first rune.”
Cecily wanted to argue that this was different but she suddenly got a contraction that was long enough she knew she’d have to push at any moment.
Sure enough, Brother Enoch said, you must begin pushing soon, Cecily Lightwood.
“You have to be sure, Christopher.” She said through her teeth. “One-hundred percent sure. And you must stay on this side of the bed, because I don’t want you to see the birthing process. I’ll only let you stay because if not I’m afraid you’ll ‘stress experiment’ and blow up the house.”
Kit nodded quickly.
“Alright then.” She said.
Are you ready to push?
“Yes. Let’s finish what we started, Enoch.” Cecily said, taking Christopher’s hand in her own and bracing herself for the birth.
…
Congratulations, Cecily Lightwood, it’s a boy. Enoch said in her head, less than half an hour later.
Cecily fell back on the pillows, exhausted. Birth never really got easier over the years.
Jem came around with the baby in his arms and gave him to Cecily. She swore she saw him stroke the baby’s hair as he walked to her. She smiled up at him.
“Thank you, Jem.” She said, quietly.
He inclined his head at her and walked away.
Cecily looked down at her youngest son for the first time. She’d helped other women give birth when she was younger, and had always thought newborn babies ugly, but whenever she looked down at her own, they were the most beautiful and perfect little things in the entire world. She smiled and offered the little baby her finger to hold.
Like with all of her other children, she felt her eyes sting. There was something about holding her child for the first time that always brought chills to Cecily’s body. It’s not like when she held Anna for the first time, the feeling she felt that her life would forever be changed, but it was more like when Christopher was born; she didn’t feel any fear, just happiness. She kissed the baby’s forehead.
“I wish you could have met your grandparents.” She whispered.
Edmund and Linette had passed away four months ago, and it had been difficult for Cecily not having been able to visit them when they were still alive. Since she was pregnant, she and the baby would be at high risk of death, if she caught the influenza disease.
She tried to shake off the memory. Right now, she only wanted to focus on the good things in life, not the bad.
She looked up and saw Christopher a distance away from where she was. He must have moved away from her once the baby was out and the Silent Brothers began moving about, preparing the child to be held and checking to make sure everything was alright. Christopher looked at the baby in wonder, one of the first babies he’d ever seen.
“Come meet your brother, Kit.” She said, holding a hand out.
She motioned for Christopher to sit next to her on the bed and, resting the baby on her chest momentarily, demonstrated how to position his arms.
“That’s right, bach.” She said, lifting the baby to put in Kit's arms.
“Mam,” he said nervously. “What if I drop him?”
Cecily smiled. “You won’t. I have faith in you.”
She gently placed the baby in his brother’s arms, Christopher looking like he was holding his breath.
“Breathe, darling. It’s just your brother. Look at how much he likes you. He’s already reaching out to you.” The baby’s hands were indeed opening and closing slowly. Cecily helped Christopher adjust his arms, so that he was supporting the baby’s head better, and when she sat back, she felt a pang in her chest at seeing her two sons together. Christopher had a soft smile on his lips, the smile that many people had told her is the same as her own.
Sometime after she’d put the baby in Kit’s arms, a Silent Brother told her she needed to push out the placenta, so that they could begin healing the tears induced by the birth. She nodded and when she began pushing again, Kit looked up, confused.
“Is there another one?” He asked, surprised, his eyes wide with curiosity.
“Heavens, no. Thank the Angel. It’s just the placenta.”
Christopher still looked confused.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about, bach.” She reassured him.
…
The Silent Brothers were gone by the time Gabriel and Anna got home.
Cecily had been feeding the baby, and Christopher was reading a book on his back, keeping her company. He’d given up on reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, had switched it for a book on science. Cecily had tried to read a couple of sentences, but was deeply confused by them, not being able to understand a thing.
“I don’t know how you can read that, Christopher. I can’t follow a single sentence, much less the entire book.”
Kit looked up at her. “It’s not that hard, it’s just that Biology is interconnected, so you have to understand the previous concepts to understand this one.”
Cecily laughed. “You put a lot of faith in me, Kit.”
Christopher tilted his head to the side.
“What are you reading about now?”
“Genetics. Why children come out looking like their parents.”
“There’s an explanation behind that?” She asked.
“Yes! We all inherit half of our genes from our mother and half from our father.”
“Are you sure? I can’t imagine your father inheriting anything from Benedict.”
“It’s more so to do with physical traits.” Kit explained. “Like blue eyes or green eyes.”
“That’s quite interesting, bach.” she said.
And that’s how Cecily got a lesson on genetics. She was happy to listen to her son talk happily about science and to have her new baby in her arms and be able to kiss his tiny, soft nose and occasionally ruffle Christopher’s hair.
…
“By the Angel, Cecy.” Gabriel said, coming inside, worried. Both Anna and Gabriel had a lot of snow on their coats. They must have come home running after hearing the news. “Are you alright? Is the baby?”
“Yes, yes. Stop worrying.” Cecily said, holding up the bundle of blankets they’d hidden the baby inside of.
Anna’s eyes widened as her eyes landed on the bundle in Cecily’s arms. “Is that the baby? It’s so small.”
Cecily nodded and Anna walked quickly to kneel beside the bed and smiled at the baby.
“Hello.” She whispered, touching his cheek lightly.
“This is your new brother,” Cecily said, smiling at Anna.
Gabriel leaned in over Cecily’s shoulder, close enough that she could see his face as he smiled down at his youngest child. He put a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her temple lightly while Anna cooed at the baby.
…
A few moments later, Anna was sitting on the armchair across the room, holding the baby for the first time, Christopher standing to the side, letting the baby hold his finger.
Gabriel leaned close to her and whispered, “what do you think about Alexander?”
Cecily turned to look at him and smiled. “Alexander?”
Gabriel shrugged, brushing her hair away from her face. “I was thinking about names while I took Anna sledding. I tried to come up with names for each letter of the alphabet and I got to ‘Maxwell’ before I thought of Alexander.”
Cecily looked back at her children, interlacing her hand with Gabriel’s. “What made you think of Alexander?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe the letter ‘X’ that they have in common.”
Cecily felt her smile grow wider. “I love it. Alexander.”
She felt Gabriel put his arms around her and she rested her head on his warm chest.
“The birth wasn’t that bad, was it?” Gabriel said, his voice lightly amused.
“Go to hell.” Cecily mumbled against his shirt.
Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures
If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Oh, an if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded haha)
#cecily lightwood#gabriel lightwood#cecily x gabriel#alexander lightwood#christopher lightwood#anna lightwood#tsc#tsc fanfictions#tlh fanfiction#tid fanfiction
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His (Part one)
Edit by the wonderful 💕💕💕 joker_jessica295
Instagram: @joker_jessica295
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Special thanks to @neon-umbrella-for-stella (thank you so much for the ideas!) and @darkshadow90 for the tips on certain scenes 💕💕
• Author’s note¹: Another Arthur/Harley smut. Yes. It took me more than seven months to write it, based one a suggestion from a reader on a different take.
• A/N ²: 447 FOLLOWERS? WHEN tHE HELL DID I GET SO MANY?! THANK YOU SO MUCH OMG
--------------------------------------------------
Summary: A piece more centered in Harleen and her feelings towards Arthur, Flashbacks to the first meeting and kiss. More sex comes after their first night together as they open up about each other. Meanwhile, a clown has stirred Gotham City by murdering three young Wayne employees, awakening a popular fascination which not even Harleen won’t escape from. She doesn’t know this (wrongly) crowned hero is closer than she thinks.
Warnings: insecurity, self-hatred, swearing, darker Arthur ahead (possessive, lusty, crossing boundaries), age gap, strong sexual themes, sexual humor, oral sex (male receiving), fluff, breast oral stimulation, dirty talk, mild praise kink, possessive, unprotected sex.
WC: +9.946 (IT’S LONG I KNOW… I hope you don’t get bored!)
_________________________________________
November would mark one year since she got to Bronx Apartment after finishing her studies in Gotham’s University, obtaining a degree as a psychologist. Harleen was blessed with an exceptional intuition and a brilliant memory, this preventing her to burn her eyes away studying day and night for exams.
Once finished, she got a job as a therapist in social services. It had been hard to get but Harleen used her charm to convince the man she was ardently committed to social causes. A few smiles to the old, drooling creep during interviews and she got what she wanted. But with the unemployment rate increasing in the city, Harleen knew crisis couldn’t be avoided with a charming smile. Resenting her situation but with no other option, Harleen obtained a job as a bartender in shifts, most of them at night.
She was a frequent target of blatant ogling and indecent comments from men of all ages to which Harleen always replied with sarcasm that either scared them off or ended up with men insulting her under their breath. The first two months in the building were boring and gloomy, until she saw him.
Harleen had seen him a few times. He always seemed so mad, so drawn within himself and yet there was something oddly attractive about him. If not beautiful, it was certainly intriguing. He was the neighbor the other residents warned her about: the laughing guy from the eighth floor. Some told her he was ugly, deranged and creepy. Harleen got her first impression of him during a day off: she went for a drink when the mail boxes, surrounded by a small cage, were checked by the mysterious man.
There he was. The guy was wearing the usual yellow hoodie, navy blue pants, brown vest and a white polka-dotted shirt. Shoes were worn as much as his outfit, hair slicked back, gaze focused on the box that seemed eternally empty. She then noticed the frown that hardened his features, reinforcing the idea that he was always angry, while asking herself some questions about him. Who was he? What did he do for a living? Was he married? Did he have children? He looked old enough to have them.
What was his name?
She would have never imagined she’d figured it out months later. It was one particular night she went out to a party just to return home a little drunk. A catchy song refused to leave her mouth, while dancing in a lively way were enough to get the attention of the loner. He returned from getting his medicines. Hunched pace tracing his way back home, Arthur saw the young recently graduated young lady dancing shamelessly in the hall. She wore a short red dress and her lips shone in crimson gloss.
The image of her hair flowing, creating a blue and pink spectrum of colors turned out to be so unusual and beautiful that immediately sent involuntary visions of her in sexual situations. He hated the idea of her being out of his reach but felt a modest share of satisfaction just by seeing her. This became a common practice on his routine, with Harleen being completely unaware of it. She only saw her mysterious neighbor a few times from then, probably because he had to work. A lot, from what she could tell.
It was Thursday in the evening when she returned from the theater. Harleen was thankful she was on the taxi when the rain started. It was a small luxury she could gift herself after working so hard. She thought her day couldn’t get better when back home when she’d finally get what she wanted for so long.
Once in the elevator bag, in hand, she saw him. The door opening revealed the crestfallen individual, always withdrawn in his thoughts. That would explain why he almost jumped out in shock when he saw her, as if she was some kind of ghost. Harleen finally found the courage to grin and speak up.
“Hi”. One kind greet was enough to freeze him. At the same time, Arthur stared at her, examining the funny hairstyle that embellished her. Simple but pretty: a white sweater and jeans with short boots and a blue bag hanging from her left arm. Buns held her hair, blue the left one, pink the other one. A few platinum locks fell over her neck.
“Hi”, he finally replied. Doubt made his vocal chords tremble. His stare betrayed everything he felt for her, showing even how surprised he was for a woman like her to talk to him. He did his best to return the grin, his lips curving into a sneaky, playful one. Something inside Harleen trembled. Of all the reactions she expected, this was certainly an unexpected surprise. It was like a powerful bolt whipping her body. The odd attractiveness of her older neighbor caught her off guard. She did not expect him to actually have… charm.
There was something that tainted his unique beauty, however. She couldn’t help but stare in silent horror at the small bruise on his eye and a dry trace of blood on the bottom lip. His deep silence and mirthless look on his eyes despite the smile carved a deep wound in Harleen’s soul. He looked so destroyed and yet he managed to be polite enough to reply. She now paid attention to the adorable dimples embellishing his smile. The only thing she could do was smile back, not imagining the magnitude of the feelings she would unleash on him.
The bell rang. Harleen suddenly felt bad to leave for her flat, desiring just a few more seconds to appreciate his features. But she wasn’t willing to lose and her generosity gifted him an awkward but cute hand gesture, which Arthur took a long time to respond to. The absolute amazement in his eyes turned out to be an unexpectedly pleasant shock. That smile… so distant from the serious expression that usually carved his features, lost inside his thoughts.
Once in her flat, Harleen was incapable to stop thinking about him. And that wasn’t the only problem. Thoughts replayed the charming smile over and over again and became particularly intrusive while undressing to take a hot shower. She wanted to know more about him by being subtle, to increase the thrill this stranger had caused to her.
Probably the premise of “opposites attract” took a special meaning for the two of them, causing an authentic interest over the loner’s magnetism, not imagining how much of a surprise he’d turn out to be. What Harleen would have never thought was that the loner was also immensely interested in her…
Through fleeting glimpses of a yellow hoodie, she learned she had a secret admirer (this being a soft epithet for what it was actually an stalker).
Harleen became aware of it after noticing there was always a tall, thin man lurking in the shadows of the buildings in front of the playground she was always in during nighttime. It also happened while she was jogging or hanging on a rope to avoid any further danger lately. The latter was more interesting for him, given she could notice him better: still, predacious, not missing any second of watching her involved in such graceful moves, like floating in the air.
Harleen was sly, of course. She knew she was gorgeous. And the notion of being unreachable was highlighted by adding more sensual moves in this effective way to attract him, assuming the unpleasant cost of being constantly catcalled by other men. But of course her efforts paid off: the long expected meeting would occur on September. She actually expected another day to play innocent and let him stare at her instead of an actual interaction. A few pedestrians passed by, following a series of unpleasant whistling and blatant sexual commentaries.
But she couldn’t care less now, noticing it took him longer for him to show himself up through the dim lights in comparison to other days.
Harleen kept doing her job, however, repeating and extending the same moves to maintain her anxiety at bay. This resulted in more pirouettes so she could catch the familiar glimpse of the yellow hoodie near the darkened corner he usually stopped by to stare. The exercise turned out to be so pleasant that almost made her forget her initial goal, her focus now being to make a risky but stylish twirl.
There were no whistles or any indecent comments this time. Just a soft chuckle that evidently showed his amazement at the pirouette broke the deaf car honks, far screams from angry people that shattered the already silent place. Her swinging form immediately got down while trying not to lose the composure, calling him.
But far from what she expected, the man reacted horrified just to run away. She wasn’t going to give up, quickly jogging towards the fence that separated them.
“Hey!” she extended one hand, clawing herself with the other one. The hooded shadow stood there, panicking. He couldn’t bring himself to disappear in the dark, which made him look like a malevolent spirit.
“Come back!” she yelled, waving her hand incessantly to convince him to return, daring him to answer for such tenebrous and creepy attraction for her. It seemed her call paid off, since the man had no intentions to keep running, choosing to walk his uncertainty away through disoriented circles. He suddenly stopped walking, standing completely still now. Harleen rose an eyebrow, honestly expecting what he would do now.
That man had issues for sure.
The idea soon morphed into a fact. Once she saw him coming closer to her to finally face her, she found herself unable to hold back a gasp to discover it was precisely her handsome but distant neighbor she had seen so many times and the reason why she had let him cross the line. She liked intense emotions, and something told her this man could give her a good thrill. The loner, for his part, turned around and almost tripped once realizing the short proximity between them.
It was certainly shocking to see an apparently cold, aloof individual who never talked with such searing lust in his eyes. Her hands now clawed at the fence, her icy blue eyes stared at him, feeling a shiver down her spine while she their glare revealed more things about him, one being his complete bewitch (or more like aroused) hearing his breath becoming more and more shortened. But there was also a glimpse of guilt, lips twitching as if he was repressing a word or even a kiss, she’d dared to say.
The darkness highlighted the odd yet irresistible attractiveness that stole her heart, tracing a smile on her lips. He set his eyes down her body, ending the visual enjoyment focusing on the striking, extravagant mane that reached the upper part of her hips.
“You’ve been enjoying my show, have you?”, she went straight to the point.
A reply came out ringing in a remorseful, broken whisper:
“Yeah”
His name was Arthur. Harleen couldn’t be happier to finally know it, repeating it while taking her time to savor it.
Arthur Fleck.
Nothing prepared her to witness the very thing he was known for, however: the pained, cursed laugh that now resounded through the air.
At first she thought it was genuine but the horrifying shameful look warned her about his desperate attempt to stop and to breathe. The cackles were frustrating and, worse yet, exhausting to the point it made him lose balance while trying his best to look for something inside his pocket. She climbed up the fence to finally make direct contact with him. That seemed to shock him enough to distract his features in a more skeptical expression at the first time someone showing him kindness rather than giving him the usual disgusted stare.
A plastic, worn out card explaining his condition came from his pocket. The fit diminished to painful hiccups to tired sobs, relieved by a few reassuring words to make the stranger stay. It followed with a small talk about Thomas Wayne, unemployment in Gotham City and revealing each other’s “do for a living” but the topic of conversation seemed off. She could tell Arthur wasn’t used to social interaction, noticing how much it took him to find a tone and words to reply coherently. He never lost a sight of her, never taking his gaze off her as she spoke. The blonde felt actual amazement on the intense lust she had awakened on him, motivating her to test him, to see what things he would do to her in a more intimate place.
They arrived to the building. Harleen led her guest to her humble flat. Arthur was fascinated by the pink neon lights that banished the darkness to plunge his senses in a pleasurable, dreamlike numbness. They continued talking. Her flirty attitude and smiles made Arthur feel he was living the best night of his life. The loner was too lost in her bicoloured mane. A small smirk traced his lips, forming those dimples she secretly admired so much.
“It looks like cotton candy”, his mutter rang through her mind, resounding like a small demeanor confessed with relief. The sweet compliment was rewarded, subsequently, with a short, noisy kiss on his forehead. The action quickly makes him recoil for a few seconds, as her memory remembered, just to feel confident enough now to unleash a furious, hungry kiss on her lips. This violent outburst of passion had her lips against his dry, cracked lips, shocking her at first to eventually surrender and responding to the kiss. His inexperience was clear from the beginning but she had more of a convincing proof that the vehemence of the touch starved was, sometimes, more arousing than the dexterity of an experienced lover.
The sound of their lips breaking the caress made the sexual tension even more unbearable. He apologized; covering his mouth like punishing himself for behaving like a deranged creep but Harleen was just too impressed and lost after the spontaneous gesture, praising him for his passion instead of screaming at him. She had already accepted she’d never yearn for another lips except his.
It wasn’t easy for him, however. His rigid posture put in evidence his shame at the (obvious) first intimate contact he held with an actual person. With her head tilting tenderly, Harleen put a rebel curl behind his ear. He shrugged, stepping back, maybe processing the word she chose to describe him. As if that wasn’t enough, Arthur was too self-absorbed in his visible fascination over her chest. There was more than mere lust in his gaze over his disturbing fixation on her bosom, a far cry for the abandonment and yearning for intimacy but being too afraid to show it. Harleen fought the persistent (and reckless, utterly reckless, she had to recognize) urge to grab his hand and let them knead her soft forms, getting him to know her more personally.
Instead, Harleen took his hands on hers, caressing them tenderly. A defeated sigh, at last, made him regain composure. His whisper sounded broken but clear, much to her joy.
“Can you please...?” Arthur wasn’t able to even to complete the plea as the blonde closed her eyes slowly as her face broke distance with his to once again experiment the clouding, soaring euphoria their careless closeness brought with it. The party clown had a hard time processing the warm and maddening sensation of her lips on his, convincing himself that this was no hallucination. They took their time, finding the perfect angle to get a better caress from each other: Harleen had the initiative throwing her arms to his neck, causing the loner to respond by locking his arms around her waist.
Intimacy became too overwhelming when her tongue tried to play with his. The lovers laughed the nervousness off as the kiss finished momentarily to recover from the numbness. But he went back to devouring her to memorize every little sensation, growing more and more confident, tilting his head now to obtain a better taste of her mouth. It proved to be too much for him, however. She sadly felt him distancing from the embrace, most probably because his old fashioned ways deemed improper to sleep with a woman he just had met.
She felt so many things that fateful night misting her senses to verbalize her thoughts. But one thing was for sure:
She would burn Gotham to see him smile.
*-*-*
It was 09:33 am according to the green bluish digits on the old clock, light drizzle falling over Gotham City. A disheveled, yawing Harleen woke up by herself. Laziness held her muscles still until her stomach made clear that breakfast was a must.
She put on black shorts and a grey, long sleeved-shirt, combing her hair to then make a couple pretty braids that fell over her torso. The combination of pink and electric blue was pleasant to the sight, as the mirror revealed. Soon after the observation, she contemplated the empty space left by her lover: Arthur Fleck. She closed her eyes.
That name sounded (or more like tasted) so different now. The memory of this lonely, sad man turned into a sex crazed lunatic still shocked her, as her facial expressions brought out. The fierce passion he had just loved her with turned out to be hard to be believed considering how deprived he was of human contact.
It wasn't just the thrill of surprise but the tenderness of his vulnerability, an aspect whose contrast between despite looking twice as older than her and being a late bloomer just highlighted their affair: Arthur was so different in intimacy, letting go of that repression that harmed his soul since he understood his needs as a man. She smiled, still thinking about what they had done. The thought led her to look for him while her vision became sharper, slowly overcoming the persistent need to go back to sleep.
When she stepped outside her room, a chuckle reverberated through the air, making her come to her senses. Eyes blinking, a pleasant feel of lightheadedness befogging her mind as the silence was broken by a familiar voice.
“Knock, knock”. Harleen was still too sleepy to catch a clear glimpse of the loner behind her who, in turn, locked her form as if she was a prey.
"Huh?" she hummed, confused. But there was no verbal response from him. Arthur reacted kissing her neck with ferocious passion, holding her figure possessively, absorbing her scent. The blonde made an instinctive futile attempt to free herself to recover from the scare the sudden grasp had caused on her. A breathy whisper in her ear dissuaded any intention to undo the embrace.
“You’re supposed to ask who's there”
Harleen turned around, her long blond hair tickling his face. He wasn't gone but by God, she was thankful for that. Arthur undid the hug, directing his hands to her face to press kisses on it repeatedly.
"Mr. Fleck--" the blonde murmured, "I thought you were back on the business making people smile". Arthur smirked. A high pitched giggle left his mouth. He now directed his fingers to feel those attention drawn to her gorgeous, full pink lips.
"I am right now" the loner leaned his forehead against hers. Now that her vision was slightly clearer, she noticed Arthur had left her flat for a moment, given he was wearing a red sweater he didn't bring before. The loner then proceeded to take a black wand off his sleeve, offering it to her. Harleen giggled and took it, deciding to play his game. The object lost its rigid shape, causing Arthur to laugh at her disappointed reaction. He demonstrated his aptitudes as a party clown taking back the wand just for it to regain rigidity once on his hand. He whistled, adding a funny sound as he shook it against his other hand, checking its stiffness.
"What are you doing?" Harleen seemed completely taken by the action, her smile encouraging him to finally offer her the aforementioned wand as a bunch of flowers while humming a song. A tender, excited scream made him chuckle as her hands stopped shaking to hold carefully the gift. It had plenty of feathers of different colors but she loved the simplicity of it.
"Thank you" she placed them in the table, along a small pot of flowers.
Harleen stared at him, tenderly. All Arthur could do was smile, holding her hands briefly on his to then slide one up her arm to reach her face. She suppressed a gasp, which seemed to change the course of the original touch in thought, as his hand recoiled for a moment to return with more intensity to her face.
"We had one hell of a good fuck, Mr. Fleck" Harleen whispered, intertwining her fingers with his. Arthur burst out laughing as her swearing manners still made a great impact against his older ways. But he liked her honesty, nonetheless.
"I think we woke up the whole building" Harleen laughed.
“I don’t see the problem with that”.
“I never said it was“, Arthur replied, cocky. A deep intake of breath then happened, “You know I—“he stammered, nervous. With a cute giggle, the blonde slid down her hands through the soft fabric of his half buttoned shirt that left a glimpse of his chest, invigorating him to keep on. Arthur stared at her, not a word from his mouth, enticingly.
“I-- was just wondering-- what else we can do", he kept on after seconds passed by, trying to catch her mouth with his, nuzzling her face, “’because-- I told my mother I had a call—“, he continued, “from work… so I'd stay away from my apartment for a while. I need some—“he took another deep breath, trying to find the courage to look at her in the eye to pronounce his intentions.
“I need some space, Harleen…” Arthur stared up and down at her figure, hands sliding up the collarbone to rub her shoulders, persuading her to be an accomplice of this reprehensible deed, "but not alone”. The words, though flawed in pronunciation, were perfect to keep her gaze lost as if Arthur had cast a spell on her.
“I plan to have you all for myself today and I'm--" he closed his eyes, hiding his face in her neck, sniffing her hair while trying to voice his intentions despite the nervousness that made him stammer, "I'm eager to know you more personally".
Harleen was actually shocked with what she just heard. A mixture of utter tenderness and searing lust made her blood boil. Did he lie to his own mom to spend more time with her?
"Well with the riots out there, bar is closed for a couple of days so consider it your lucky day” her voice chirped in joy. His eyes shone with modest but genuine happiness at the good news. Then he smiled, flaunting those crooked teeth Harleen loved so much.
The blonde felt she was about to kneel and unzip his pants to give him the reward he deserved for such gesture when her stomach claimed for some food, impeding the spontaneous sexual fantasy to become real, earning a disapproving look on his face. It took them time to regain calmness, as their laborious breaths tried to cool down the fire inside them.
“Why are you doing that?” his tone of voice revealed impatience, leading her to express the idea to have some good meal before any intimacy could take place, causing his displeased expression to turn into a wide smirk.
“Great!” Arthur chuckled, granting her some personal space.
They made their way to the kitchen. Arthur took a sit while waiting, taking a cigarette to light it. Harleen quickly prepared the table, taking the electric kettle to fill it with water to pour it on the coffee machine, putting bread on the toaster and turning the radio on in hopes to increase the domestic bliss. The smoke filled the room but she couldn't care less. The news announced a cold, rainy week while announcing a new episode of the Murray Franklin’s show presenting a famous actor as a guest next week given the release of the film he recently starred in the next week. The announcement ended with a shortened version of the groovy organ of Frank Sinatra’s anthem “That’s Life” which Arthur hummed along. But as soon as the theme song ended on a fade out, he silenced himself to hear, much to his annoyance according to the tired, throaty groan that followed the happy hum, a reporter pronouncing the news related to the continuation of the garbage strike.
Both stood completely silent as the report that exposed most of Gotham's slums to insalubrities. The fear of the possibility to catch a severe disease was reinforced by the citizens who claimed to have seen the rat population increase. The piece of news changed to the Mayoral election, which seemed difficult given the riots and general dissatisfaction of Gotham citizens with unemployment rate and apparent authority's indifference in the matter. The note ended with Thomas Wayne promising order and prosperity if elected. More announcements followed, but the lovers didn’t pay any attention to it. His great displeasure caused Harleen to turn off the device.
"I just can't understand how my mother thinks he's gonna help us" his hand took the cigarette back to his mouth, adding that just because she worked for him more than thirty years ago did not mean he had the obligation to run in aid for her. Arthur rolled his eyes, making clear his profound dislike for people like him and the insufferable infatuation Penny felt for him.
“I’ve told her so many times she doesn’t have to worry about money. Everyone is telling me my stand ups are ready to make it on the big clubs”.
Harleen nodded, enthusiastic at the possibility of Arthur getting a name for himself in the stage.
“I’m not the man of the house for nothing”.
Harleen took the toasted bread and coffee kettle to the table.
“Man of the house, huh?”
“Yes, since I can remember. But even I need a break” he took another long drag, his lost look causing a deep sorrow on Harleen.
She lamented the prolonged solitude that caused him to pronounce such wounded words, hoping (maybe in an unconscious way to cope with stress) to get out the pain it caused him. The blonde extended her hand towards his, in a sweet attempt to cure or, at least, relieve his pain.
His absent gaze combined with the smile caused Harleen to feel a shiver down her spine. She laughed nervously to later pour the coffee in his mug to fill her own later. He didn’t laugh, staring at her and rubbing his forehead with his thumb. This dark glint promised her so many things, and few of them were good. He wasn’t afraid anymore to hide his intentions from her, seeing the affection was mutual. She could also see a spark of pride, engulfing his mind in another deep state of absent thoughtfulness. He pronounced no words, looking now at the recently poured coffee, whose steam slowly diminished to long twirls to nearly invisible white lines. She slowly and carefully extended her hand to his arm to convince him to leave the cigarette aside just to grab the large plate full of breads.
“Aren’t you a cute, little pleaser?”
The tender name immediately washed the worry away from her face while a reddish hue colored her cheeks. Arthur finally gave it a bite, cigarette finally left on the ashtray. The crunchy sound gave Harleen almost a cathartic relief. Whenever the chance to nurture him showed up she didn’t think twice to do it. He left the half eaten piece of bread aside to divert his attention to her.
“You wanna hear a joke?” the playful tone of voice and mischievous smirk made his face adopt such a devilishly appeal Harleen was unable to resist.
“Yes!” she said it as if that could convince him to have one more toast.
“Why are poor people so confused?” his grin drew those adorable dimples in his face again.
“I don’t know” a frisky look gleamed in her eyes.
“Because they don’t have any cents” he answered, before his voice exploded in a loud cackle. Harleen laughed at the simplicity of it. He was actually a funny guy, if only life could have been more generous to him. Bless his soul for making people laugh in such hard times.
Harleen was too lost in his joyful expression beyond if the joke was funny or not. His green eyes shone with a special light in the rare moments he could be in tune with his surroundings. It was as magical as seeing a shooting star. How she wished to take away the pain from him just to see his beautiful smile more often.
Throwing a smoking puff to the air, Arthur leaned in as if to tell her a secret.
“This is the first time someone is so nice to me", the loner confessed, shaking his head. He looked so lost, eyes following the smoke elevating in a single line undone by the move to breathe in the last remains of the cigarette. His personal battle against his warped perception of reality still gnawed his trust on her. A tender pout formed in her lips.
“You’re the first person who doesn’t feel uncomfortable around me” he muttered.
Her thoughts drifted to a greater, sadder horror: to make a difference in such a dark, mirthless man’s life just for being kind barely managed to even imagine the inhuman hardships he had been through during all his life. She lowered her head, trying to resist the actual pain in her chest. How a sentence that was so heartbreaking could also be so beautiful?
“I’m sorry, Arthur”. Her eyebrows arch in a sad expression that seemed to make him reconnect with reality.
“For what?” he frowned, confused. She tightened her eyelids, trying not to embarrass herself in front of him with such an explosive display of emotions, silencing her sobs the best way she could allow herself.
“Everything” Harleen finished. His instinct ordered him to show distrust, unconsciously trying to find any trace of lies. Nobody ever had apologized or even shed a tear for him. As he realized her care was genuine, his mind replayed the phrase over and over again while trying to process these intense, new feelings blooming in his heart over the typical, negative thoughts ghosting around his mind.
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Don’t do that” Arthur reacted panicked, “please…” his fingers dried the watery creeks, “don’t make that face to me. I’m here to put a smile on your face”.
He inhaled deeply, before continuing:
“You know… a famous comedian used to say… uh –“ his troubled mind tried to remember the name but then opted to articulate a coherent word to elude anything that could ridicule him –‘a day without a smile is a wasted day’.
A soft hum left her mouth, though a far shadow of sadness still haunted the tender quote.
“You know what I like about you, Arthur?”
“Yeah?” he was genuinely intrigued to know.
“You could even put the fun in a funeral”
His wide and evil grin, made her put a loose lock of hair behind her ear as a result of an involuntary move to cope with the nervousness.
“Fun in a funeral?” he repeated, a loud and moved hum sounding like a purr, staring at her while a chuckle shook his shoulders, “How sweet”.
How didn’t he realize how attractive he actually was? She asked herself surprised.
“Come here” Arthur patted his thigh loud enough for her to listen to it for her to reply. After drying the creeks coming from her reddened eyes, Harleen calmly got up from the chair. Arthur took distance from the table to allow her a comfortable sit. His fingers held her cheeks to create a smile despite her watery eyes.
Harleen blinked, and a tear escaped. Arthur brushed it away once it ran over her face. He thought she looked pretty when she cried, though. She gave him a sad smile and soon found solace in his face, ruffling the fluffy hair to distract her mind from any unhappy thought. Arthur closed his eyes, slowly caressing her thighs in sensual payback for her little attentions.
Once their foreheads found each other, the blonde muttered:
“How’s that feel?”
“Feels… good” he hummed against her mouth. His lungs inhaled deep before adding:
“I thought I felt better when I was locked in the hospital”.
Harleen widened her eyes in surprise, taking a short distance from him, not knowing if it was another self deprecating joke or the truth, given the defeated tone the sentence was pronounced in.
“What?” but a castdown look was all she needed to figure out the sadness such place caused on him. It wasn’t a secret Arkham was a human dump, considering it held Gotham’s most demented and dangerous criminals and unfortunate souls who couldn’t go anywhere else. Harleen’s eyes widen in a horrified expression.
“Arthur” her hand caressed his cheek, worried about the lightness he seemed to take his life, she tenderly tilted her head, “why were you locked up in that place?”
His tone of voice revealed his annoyance mentioning that place. He shamelessly nuzzled her right breast, trying to avoid the subject:
“Who knows, maybe I lost it or tried to kill myself...I just didn't want to feel so bad”. Arthur gazed up to her. He had never been more honest in his life.
Her horrified reaction to be told being locked up, bashing his head against the wall almost everyday just reminded him how much worse was to have a significant other who made him feel alone. Months surrounded by people in white outfits, convincing him to take the pills to make him, at least, presentable to the world and also deprived of any loving contact from Penny’s part under the excuse of fright caused by doctor or anything related to hospitals. It reminded him how pathetic his life was. Sometimes he forgot how much forgiving he was with his mother’s recklessness concerning his own wellbeing.
Her kiss on his forehead, however, seemed to bring him back to reality. Arthur felt he had awakened of a bad dream, but found himself amazed as he noticed he wasn’t alone with a blanket on while an alarm buzzed, as it was his usual routine. The loner stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Her blue eyes, dilated pupils, body full given in to him. The loner blinked, eyes half closed, fighting the dissociation.
“Arthur” she called him. He looked dizzy. The blonde felt a pulsing heat making a place between her legs when the loner held her waist to lift her figure in order for it to adopt a riding position. She gasped, clawing to his shoulder once her figure obtains the desired position.
“What is it?” she whispered. But there was nothing except for a dead silence. Maybe it was another relapse of a dissociative episode, which made his mind to distract so any negative thought would fade. He panted, hiding his face against the silky platinum braid falling over her breast. The blonde didn’t move an inch, anxiously expecting to know what he would do now. He was so hard to read most of the times, leaving so many doubts and thoughts capable to drift anyone off sanity. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk. Maybe he just wanted to bond through touches.
Harleen felt a shiver once his mouth kissed the covered breast, playfully nuzzling with the erect nipple highlighted by the thin fabric. Blood boiled, as if her body demanded immediately to respond to such attentions.
She could tell Arthur was immensely pleased at her receptiveness concerning sex. His breath shortened, fighting the lightheadedness their suggestive position caused on him, loving how her body rode his hips, like a thrilling prelude before any intimate encounter could take place.
An impish, seductive smile must have given him the hint to keep on but he was way too shocked at first to react immediately. Harleen tugged on the shirt for it to loosen enough in order to offer him a privileged view of her bare breast, awaiting his mouth to finish what it just started, setting aside a few obstructing locks. Arthur’s jaw dropped, a line traced by pleasure soon contorted his lips. She hummed softly, admiring the sight of the loner hungrily lapping his tongue over the pink areola.
“You’re such a surprise for a late bloomer” the blonde leaves a beautiful, mischievous expression take over her face. Arthur detached his lips from her to ask:
“You calling me ‘old’, Harleen?”
“No!” she rushed to explain herself. The sassy tone of the question eased down any thought of annoyance, “I just—”
“I may look old, but I’m a fast learner” he cut her off, mouth back on the sensitive part. Harleen threw her head back, not showing any sign of opposition while Arthur clumsily undid the garment to leave her topless. This only ignited the fire inside of him, hanging on to her waist to sink his head between her breasts, rejoicing in the softness of her skin as his arms imprison her body. The elation wasn’t strong enough yet to stun her muscles entirely, gaining a little strength to make paused (or more like patient) undulatory moves against his body. His eyelashes flutter, causing tickles up her chest.
"I want you to put more than just a smile on my face" she caught his bottom lip to devour his mouth hungrily. He consented the kiss but didn’t respond to it, not even bothering to close his eyes.
"And what would that be, Harleen?" he looked genuinely puzzled, intense hue of green piercing her soul. She combed his hair back, sliding her hands down to hold his face in them. Arthur felt like a youngling in love for the first time. And having her covered intimacy grinding the growing bulge swept away all rational thoughts, making him listen to his needs as a man for the first time without overthinking ruining it.
Harleen supported on his shoulders, intensifying the sinful friction. Arthur groaned, relaxing when she generously offered his body another warm rub that was close to send him to heaven. On his face a deep feel of pride and complacency traces his lines given the arousing effects he had on her. Shuddered and impressed gasps left their mouths, until her voice sounds again:
“You’re so hard. That’s a very good thing” a secretive whisper kept him enchanted, her flirtatious glare invites him to get up. Arthur frowned but let himself guide by her when the steps were directed towards the wall, where Harleen didn't hesitate to corner him with famished kisses, feeling his chest underneath the red shirt.
The blonde slowly undid his shirt to obtain a proper look of his upper body to worship with her mouth, starting with the neck, nuzzling a few curls out of the way to brush her lips against the curve lining down his collarbone.
His whole form shrugged, writhing and panting. The dubious nature of this situation slowly dissipated to allow him to enjoy the treatment her mouth gifted now to the notorious prominence coming from his neck, not missing any inch of skin with her lips.
It didn’t take long for his pants to turn into needy groans as soon as his chest was blessed with kisses, then his abdomen, the blonde was careful to not overwhelm him, holding on a few seconds before continuing to reach her goal: Mouth waters at the sight of his the rigid manhood covered by his pants, giving it a tiny nibble.
The mood was immediately killed when Arthur jolted in shock when he finally realized what she was going to do.
The irruption visibly took her by surprise, facial expressions changing from excitement to disappointment.
“Did I…?” she stammered, shrugging in fear, “did I do something wrong?”
He sighed, sliding his hand on his hair in a nervous reflex. Harleen then remembered this was new for him, despite how much enthusiastic he was. How much violence had he faced during all his life, she would never know.
Arthur cleared his throat, inhaling deeply, still processing all those hands on his body with the sole purpose to pleasure him.
“No, no”, he rushed. His voice quavers, afraid a laughing fit could ruin a intimate moment he had longed for so much with a girl, trying to put his mind in order, “This is the first time someone does this to me... and that feels like a good thing to begin…”
A bright smile returned to her face when one hand held up her chin while the other one caressed her cheek in a tender approval of what she was going to perform on him.
“You want this…” she seductively stared up to him, while her hands unbuttoned his pants, obtaining what she just craved: the underwear contains the hardened member, which she frees with a quick fumble on the clothing.
Arthur stared at his private spectacle in hypnotized ecstasy, still trembling.
“Yes…” he hissed, “oh yes, I do”.
Harleen took a few seconds to admire the twitching, aching arousal held in her hand. She smiled as her eyes were up to look at him.
“Then feed me some candy, Arthur Fleck..." his jaw dropped, felt his legs tremble, lust slowly dissipating any other thought. Being addressed by his full name, certainly had an impact on him. The enticing image of a partially undressed Harleen between his legs surely made him forgot how vulnerable he was before her by exposing his almost completely bare body.
However there was not verbal response from Harleen’s part. Her firm hand caressed his erected intimacy for a delightful prolusion, keeping her lover completely in a trance, causing his nervous hands to grab in a contained, almost angry fistful of hair. Nothing prepared him for the next.
Her tongue, of course, did its wonders. First a few, paused licks to the tip while giving him sensual, playful looks to then leave wet traces down that soon derived to long, hungrier licks sent the loner in a desperate, ecstatic state.
“Godfuckingdamni--!” was all he could be capable of articulate, before any feeble attempt to form a word distorted into desirous gasps and screams, Harleen rejoices at his reactions. To be the first woman to see him free from inhibitions, given in to his instincts, shaking away his polite, silent manners felt like a privilege.
“Keep doing that” his demand was desperate, dealing with it by uncoiling a few locks. A wide smirk approved her tongue to explore and taste more of him, feasting now on the tip to absorb it, so he could become more familiar with her mouth. The explicit image gave him the confidence to stop repressing his desires for the sake of decency.
Her greed to have a different taste of him made her take turns between moistening the full erect manhood to partially engulf it later.
He now couldn’t even stand still, writhing like a dying animal, incapable now to look at her in the eye, believing the mere sight would make him unleash his climax, hands held on to his thighs, climbing up to his hips, looking to elicit more sounds out of his throat.
His chest heavily went up and down while Harleen kept on her voluptuous routine: first oiling him with her tongue to then make the tip disappear in her mouth.
His closed eyes, completely given in with an overjoyed expression on his face moved her to cause a greater gratification on him. She waited for the right moment to make Arthur look at her so he could cherish what she had in store for him. For a more dramatic reaction, she choose to disconnect her mouth from him, the sound of her lips detaching from the tip had him about to pass out.
“You’ll love this” were the only words she said. No further explanations. Her tongue gifted him another paused, devoted lick. It worked to make the full intake more enjoyable for him. Arthur’s body rears up violently. Raspy, loud groans and moans elicited by the tease tore the air.
Harleen placed her hands on his hips, helping herself to feel more of him between her lips, staring up to him as she received his swollen, overstimulated masculinity.
Arthur gathered enough oxygen to talk to her.
“Harleen—“ his eyes widened in awe, focusing on not passing out. His chest shook violently still recovering from the initial shock, “you nev-- you never cease to amaze me”.
She let a sweetly sinful smile trace around him, bobbing her head in a faster pace, muffled moans struggling to come out as she savored the stiffened sex with voracious appetite.
“That’s it… that’s better” he hissed, lip twitching, completely bewitched by the scene, “you’re such a good fucking girl for me”.
A happy hum vibrated through his skin.
“Am I, mister Fleck?” her squeaky voice in false innocence crowned an scene so obscenely explicit with a comic touch.
"Yeah… Like that... Just--" he gently slammed his back against the wall. Further vocal expressions of elation came from his mouth, trying to appease the urge to scream his lungs out for whole fucking Gotham to hear him. A shiver ran down his spine. It was so difficult to keep eyes open in that moment but the need to set his sight on her triumphed over any sense of exhaustion. His worn out hand slid down to hold her nape to obey the instinct to thrust into her mouth, just to better cope with the wet, narrow warmth Harleen welcomed his manliness with.
The blonde placed her hands over his hips, executing a very subtle move to contribute to deepen the intrusion that maddened Arthur so much. The slowness of this action made her push him away to then bring him back into her over and over again, gradually increasing the rhythm that turned the party clown into a noisy, urging mess. The rapturing and breathtaking routine of her mouth colliding with his unrelenting length sparked a merciless shiver that weakened his thighs, a stunning reminder of the glorious pinnacle he was about to reach.
“Stop”, his tortured plea was unexpected.
The mesmerizing image of a joyful Harleen with him appearing and disappearing from her lips right below him at incessant speed was more than he could take without going insane. The situation was getting out of his hands when Harleen also gave it firm caresses and long, rushed licks.
“Please”, he whined, voice too weak, covering his mouth in order to quieten the moans, “oh, God--Stop!”
His command finally made Harleen react, seeing it was actually too much. It took him a moment to catch his breath and recover his strength to pronounce about his intentions.
“Arthur? Is everything okay?” she muttered.
“Take that off” his instincts took over his mind, leaning to get her up and direct his hands towards her shorts, lowering them. She doesn’t oppose, unable to respond verbally, having the feeling the behest was actually told to himself. It didn’t matter anymore. She smiled as she saw the impatient hands lining her curves, fingers clutching at the cloth to whisper, “I like it how it looks but I want it off”.
Harleen eyes the action in fervid silence while he couldn’t stop staring down at her fascinating nudity, directing one hand in a sinuous move to part her intimacy to delicately rummage the silky smooth folds he wanted so much to be wrapped around.
Harleen jolted, lolling her head back, amazed vocal expression resounded in his ears. Her eyes gleamed with resolution about his intentions, and a shivering gasp follows the brash action. A vocal expression of mischievous complicity comes from her.
“I see… you want to fill up the tank?” she chirped with a frisky giggle.
Arthur nodded in impatient muteness, while crashing his lips on hers in such a reckless way their feet ended up nearly tripping on the way to the couch. At the same time, he got rid of his underwear, undoing her braids, bicolored mane perfectly lining her curves now.
A firm push to throw her to the couch was just the beginning. She almost landed completely on her back, if it weren’t for her arms avoiding it.
“Easy, clown man!” her expression turned out to be so funny for the loner to let a cackle loose. From her angle, Arthur looked so frighteningly dominant. It embellished his figure like a statue, his disheveled hair highlighting the hungry and desperate expression which his carnal urges claim to be sated.
The magnificent preface maintains him from a considerable distance from her, surrounding the blonde like a prey, unable to decide what to do to her first.
Harleen makes the first move. to fulfill her purpose, she held her legs with a provocative glare, limbs hardly exposed her undressed figure to him. The wavy moves made Arthur crawl his way to her like a starving beast.
Her receptive reaction to the kiss motivated his hands to roam over her thighs, directing them up to the knee to untangle her legs, eventually.
A devilish smile approves the suggestive image of her pressing now his waist, sensing they were so close yet so far of each other. He devoured her mouth avidly at the same time his sense of newfound dominance urged him to place himself above her.
Harleen slid her hands up his battered back, breaking the kiss to hold and scratch his scalp to mumble:
“I want you deep inside me”.
Arthur hid his face on her neck, wallowing in the gentleness of her touches. She clings to his arms, abandoning all defenses, letting him know she was totally his to possess.
His biceps accentuate by supporting himself. Long, brow curls fell over the curve of his neck, eyes on her when his hips moved even closer to her. Harleen diverted her attention to it, but she immediately crumpled her lungs for air as Arthur teased the burning folds with the tip, becoming familiar with the part he was going to invade soon.
“More… more, oh, please” her lewd smile, cute little hums and whines mixed with his own shortened breath and surprised but satisfied groans made them forget about the world for a short while. Arthur constantly rubbed his manhood against her moistened entrance, exulting at the furious grunts the sweet torture elicited.
In exchange, she pressed her legs as a slight punishment for such daring move. But she was loving every second of it. Her eyes appreciated the paused caress between their bodies.
Seconds passed when his prolonged absence began to cause her actual pain, wrapping her legs around his hips. He let his hands fell beside her head, to plant a last kiss before proceeding.
"Knock knock" he muttered against her lips.
"Who's there?" She replied with anxious anticipation.
"It’s the mailman, miss. I’ve got an special delivery. It can hardly wait for you to see it"
She widened her eyes in surprise before his boldness to even joke in a moment too intimate as this but ended up exploding in loud cackles that left her breathless. Her reaction caused an expression of fascinated disbelief to take over his face. Both laughed it off shortly to resume were they left off.
His stare, predacious and craving, petrified Harleen.
Once his bare sex perfectly fit her hot, silky intimacy, Harleen threw her head on the pink velvety pillow, dramatically panting as her body focuses on adhering to this desired invader. His name leaves her mouth as a desperate prayer, as if he was her only saviour, much to his delight.
"You like that, don't you?" he hissed while giving her body another brutal thrust so she could feel him inside her as intensely as possible.
“Yes!” Harleen replied, not giving a fuck if it sounded indecent, “Arthur, I want all of it, please! Please!”
“All of it?” he smirked, reinforcing his invasion, obtaining louder screams from Harleen, doing her best to deal with the urging length in, searing walls flexing around him.
“Allofit…” but it was unintelligible for him. Arthur was too busy indulging in a deeper intrusion, eyes closed for a better focus. His thrusts were taken over by an animalistic despair, not hesitating to harden the pace even more as the eventual natural need for release set aside any sense of self control.
Nothing could take the wide smile off her.
“You are so good at this, mister Fleck…” the playful praise sounded more like a helpless little whimper, arousing Arthur in ways he would have never imagined. It lead him to lean into her, but she quickly took advantage of it by captivating his form, legs pressing his hips to deepen the intrusion even more.
Arthur threw his head back, stopping for a moment to process the pleasure the abrupt move had caused on him. Harleen contemplated in silent joy how his arms had taken a more muscular shape, gifting him an evil, yet charming smile when she held his face with both hands to pepper it with kisses, holding to his back as if her life depends on it, body ready and eager to obtain more of him.
He slowly made his way out of her just to violently slam back in, causing soft sobs that ended in more desperate praises, which played an important part during the act.
“Keep fucking me like that… I beg you” he closed his eyes, ecstatic, lips parted.
“I will” he gasped.
As soon as she moans his name, Arthur sensed his last sense of self control disappear. He could feel her nails in the skin of his back, which doubled the joy of another brutal thrust into her, exhausted groans leaving his throat. Harleen squirmed while dealing with the intense pleasure his unmerciful pace caused on her.
“Arthurarthurarthurarthurarthur” the blonde called him before losing her own sense of reality, the last coherent word before a lovely, mellifluous mixture of moans, groans, grunts and sobs seized her lips.
Him.
It was all about him, she realized. She swore everything had lost into oblivion. There was nothing except the throbbing welcome her tight walls granted to his twitching gristle.
In that moment she finally comprehended his impact on her life, remembering all the good moments they had shared, everything that led them to this moment, so close to end the act with thunderous moans.
She wasn’t afraid to accept this man had become her entire life since she had lied eyes on him, the first and last person she thought about every time she woke up and certainly the reason why sudden smiles traced her lips during work.
However, her body warned them about the proximity of the peak when the pulsing grip around him intensified, interrupting the happy daydreaming about him, returning her to the raw reality she was protagonist of.
The gorgeous moaning mess he had done from her had encouraged the loner to fasten the rhythm, loving to bring her to the brink, frantic spasms whipping his nerves while her moans echoed louder and louder. Her features showed an agonizing expression, lips partly open but unable to utter anything, mind fogged by lightheadedness.
“Arthur, I can’t— I—” the violent, feverish orgasm caught her unprepared: a blaring, euphoric cry served as the glorious conclusion of their union.
Arthur found the strength to distance himself from her, far too weak to resist the temptation to earn a good vision of her naked body in that moment. Harleen was still numb, hair covering her face like a curtain, blue strands all over her chest, contrasting with her pale skin. He followed the long mane down, eyeing her quivering figure, so full of him. He stopped to stare at their sexes still caught in a sore and reddened embrace.
The loner eventually surrendered with a powerful groan, exploding inside of her. He exhaled in stunned relief and sexual bliss. His eyes behold such beauty so full of him, retaining him even when her moans indicate that it was too much for her to bear. This let an even wilder side of him to appear when pushing slightly deeper, thinking it would go unnoticed, but she was too immersed in her thoughts about the man who lied over her. The stillness helped her to put her mind in order, dimensioning this feelings blooming in her heart.
It was hard to stare at each other at this point, but she slowly turned her head to see him despite the blue mane hinders a proper sight of him. Sunlight shone brightly on his face, curls tousled, from what she could see. It was like a little light of happiness shining at last. For the others, he was a deranged creep, but in that moment, Harleen felt he was the most beautiful man she had ever met in her life.
The blurred image eventually became sharper when his face came closer to hers, oozing his seed inside Harleen through his spurred flesh. It felt like hours passed by.
Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his open mouthed expression was of pure astonishment and fascination. The slender fingers set aside her hair, touching her lips, probably to kiss her again.
But nothing happened. Instead, Arthur decided to break the contact, paying attention to the zone in question.
With slow vehemence, he was finally gone.
The action left a thin, niveous line dripping from the tip, leaking from her in small creeks in a beautiful way their bodies demanded to reconnect each other.
“Fuck” he muttered, grinning. Despite the exhaustion, Harleen mimicked it. They couldn’t say anything else, for words were unnecessary. He wouldn’t know it, but Harleen had already accepted a great truth about him.
She was madly in love with Arthur Fleck. _______________________________________
Weeks passed. It was raining in a cold Thursday on Gotham City when Harleen returned home from work. The garbage strike was worsening, rioters looting any store they could and the mayoral candidate being the focus of criticism and repudiation of people. The reason behind it? She would find it out soon.
A taxi honking distracted from her quest for an answer but that didn’t stop her for too long. She heard people talking about nowadays and what Thomas Wayne had said about people in Gotham after something horrible had happened in the filthy subway. The macabre part awakened her curiosity. Was there something she didn’t know about? She looked for a kiosk at the end of the every block to see if there were papers about the aforementioned topic.
It was near a telephone cabin when Harleen finally found what she was looking for… but she didn’t know where to start. Just a headline in bold was enough to freeze her:
KILLER CLOWN ON THE LOOSE
LATEST NEWS ON THE MURDERS
#joker 2019#joker film#arthur fleck#joaquin phoenix joker#joker movie#joaquin phoenix#2019 joker#joker arthur fleck#dc comics#arthur fleck smut#arthur fleck x reader#arthur x reader#dcedit#arthur fleck x harleen quinzel#arthur x harley#jarley#harley quinn smut#margot robbie harley quinn#joker smut#clown daddy#clown prince of crime#joker 2019 smut
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HALF(have a little fun) pt. ix
→ one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight
→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.
» part nine / ?
» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka
» warnings: swearing, blood/violence, minor angst
» a/n: short chapter D:! edit: i’ve tried and tried but it just doesn’t flow right when i try to make this into an x reader:// HALF will be an oc fic and i’ve decided to cut the backstory here;( thanks for the love and support!
» word count: 2,494
☾ix. pt. ix: youth
3 months later
Loud, bass-bumping music and too many flashing lights fueled the exhilaration and excitement of one of the biggest night clubs in Yorknew City.
Sayomi had defeated her second opponent on the 200th floor with the help of Hisoka’s training earlier today, making this little outing a sad excuse for a celebration.
In reality, Hisoka just wanted to see whether Sayomi could dance or not.
He had insisted they go out and experience the nightlife the city had to offer, and with Sayomi still upbeat from her match, they found themselves sneaking into Octagon- a hip club located in the heart of Yorknew City.
Though technically Hisoka was 21 and therefore could have gone about this in an easier way, he insisted they sneak in ‘just for the fun of it’. The truth was that he’d been kicked out of the club previously after using his ‘magic tricks’ to make people’s arms disappear, but it made his intrusion all the more fun.
As Hisoka watched the floor from his spot at the bar with a drink held loosely in one hand, Sayomi was currently lost in a crowd of passionate clubbers, her violet eyes gleaming with the thrill of the environment.
The black and silver dress she wore highlighted her figure as well as electrifying eyes and hair, the metallic material dazzling under the club lights as she lost herself in the music and people.
She was letting herself go for the night like she often did on her chaotic trips to the city with Hisoka. Free from repressive parents or a fight for her life, Sayomi was at peace with her new life, expressing herself however she wanted to.
Draining the rest of his Cosmopolitan, Hisoka’s eyes shifted to the young assassin, his face remaining expressionless as he watched her draw a crowd with her alluring glow.
He’d been staring so intensely he didn’t even notice a man take the seat next to him. The sound of the man’s voice established his presence, yet Hisoka’s line of sight ceased to drift from the girl with the bright silver hair.
“A stunner isn’t she?”
Hisoka blinked slowly, hardly registering the man’s words. A stunner indeed, but what more? “A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty soul.”
The man laughed, setting his drink down on the bar to face Hisoka. “I take it she isn’t yours then? That’s a relief.”
Hisoka rested his chin in the palm of one of his finely manicured hands, his other tapping on the smooth surface of the bar impatiently. He couldn’t seem to figure out why his bloodlust was seeping through as he followed Sayomi with his eyes.
His? She could never belong to any man, she was her own person.
“Careful with your words there, I’d hate for them to be your last.” His words were venomous, filled with the intent to kill.
Hisoka’s nails had cut through the skin of his own cheek, his other hand clenched into a fist on the bar’s surface.
The man had shifted away from him, quietly taking his leave as he watched crimson seep down Hisoka’s pale fingers.
Over the past 3 months, he’d been able to fight her more than enough times, and now he no longer felt the same intoxicating feeling when he was with her. Sayomi never fought Hisoka to hurt him, only with the intentions of improving her own skills, which in turn left Hisoka aching for more.
However, as the days progressed he was slowly coming to the conclusion that the Zoldyck girl had an undeniable flaw. She doesn’t put up a fight when I’m with her.
He was losing interest in the girl who’d once swayed his unshakable feelings, and it distressed him that he almost felt bad for wanting to leave her behind.
His sharpened fingernails dug farther into the pale skin of his cheek as he watched Sayomi throw her slender arms around a man she’d only just met.
She was laughing and smiling, her silky voice seeming to reach his ears through the music and cheers from where he sat. Loud and clear, the sound of her laughter rang through Hisoka’s head in an almost painful way.
She was becoming a weakness to the man who believed himself to be the strongest, and that didn’t sit right with him at all.
☾ix.
Sayomi wasn’t too sure of what exactly it was that she felt towards Hisoka.
When he took her to dinner with an amazing view or complimented her progress with training, she couldn’t tell whether it was her lack of social contact or actual feelings that led her heart to race when she saw his face.
It didn’t help that on some days she could notice the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, only to leave her heart stinging with his harsh words on other days.
He was taking mixed signals to the next level, playing with her feelings while he was trying to figure out his own.
It was selfish and cruel, falsely gaining the trust of someone who’d been through so much betrayal, all for his own entertainment.
But that was just who Hisoka was, he didn’t care for distractions or hindrances. And as fast as he’d first fallen for the young assassin, he was already in the process of making himself forget her.
He was moving on.
☾ix.
3 months later
It was the day after Sayomi’s 7th match on the 200th floor of Heaven’s Arena. She’d been scheduling her fights randomly, with no regard for who her opponents would be.
With 7 wins under her name, she only needed 3 more to challenge a floor master.
However, with her longtime goal fast approaching, she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be.
It’d been about half a year since Sayomi had first met Hisoka, and all the excitement and jitters about spending time alone with a guy had died down.
It’d also helped that for some reason Hisoka was rather occupied recently. He rarely took her out to the city, claiming he had other business to attend to, and when they did go out, he’d always turn in first mumbling that he was tired.
Sayomi was no fool, she knew that Hisoka was either losing interest in her as well or felt his job was almost through. To herself, she hoped that it was the former, for it would hurt less than to find out he’d only been around her for business purposes.
Regardless, Sayomi’s current situation was puzzling. She stood waiting for what seemed like forever in front of Hisoka’s room, ready to go out and train.
However, after knocking more than enough times and even calling his cell, there was no sign of her trainer.
That’s odd.
Sayomi trained on her own that day, taking it upon herself to get strength training in at the gym.
It was the first time she’d spent an entire day without Hisoka since they’d started training. Deciding that he was out on his so-called ‘business’, Sayomi shrugged away his absence, going to sleep early for the first time in a while.
Yet, another day passed with no sign of the magician, and Sayomi began to grow concerned for his well-being. What if he was picked off by someone? No, he’s too strong to lose to anyone here… Did he pass out in his room?
Sayomi walked briskly to Hisoka’s room with a worried mind.
Once again there was no response to her knocking, and she decided she’d break into the room.
Using one of her longer needles, she picked the lock in no time, stepping into the unfamiliar room.
It was empty. Only the faint smell of bubble gum and something sweet lingered in the abandoned room, the closet and space empty.
There was a note left on the cleanly made bed, the red ink standing out from the otherwise white sheets surrounding the note.
That lazy ass, of course he’d leave a note in his own room.
Picking up the sheet, she read:
Zoldyck-
It’s about time you sneak into my room, I know you’ve thought about doing it before;)
But jokes aside…
I’m sorry, darling.
It’s not like me to apologize(you can ask Kite)and that alone scared me, because I feel like you’ve changed me. Your smile and intoxicating eyes make me weak in the knees…
And I despise myself for it.
I’m not sure why I’ve chosen to expose my faults to you, for that just makes you all the more dangerous to me.
But perhaps I want you to hold my weaknesses, and perhaps I’d like to see you come tear me apart. Yes, that must be it.
I’ve departed Yorknew City to meet up with your twin brother, as it seems as though he’s been searching for you. And perhaps I should have taken him to you instead, but I’m not, because when the time is right I’d like you all to myself.
So don’t forgive me, Sayomi. Resent me, grow stronger, and when the time comes I’ll bring your brother back to you.
Ah, and there is one thing I’d always wanted to tell you…
I always thought that you were most beautiful when you showed your true colors-
A cold-blooded, cold-hearted Zoldyck assassin with no regard for the pain and suffering of your victims.
Stop holding yourself back, people like us can be forgiven for our sins because of the hell we’ve been put through.
-Hisoka
☾ix.
A single tear rolled down Sayomi’s cheek.
And that was all.
The flurry of sudden information rendered Sayomi breathless as she tried to make sense of his words.
This idiot really just admitted his feelings for me after all this time right when he decides to leave me here. Selfish bastard.
And he knows Illumi… but how? Illumi was looking for me?
I have to become a floor master and get that clown to bring my brother back.
☾ix.
6 months later
Sayomi gazed out her window with a blank stare, 241 floors above the ground.
Just a week ago she’d claimed her spot on the 241st floor as the newest and youngest Floor Master at age 19.
She knew Hisoka would find out about her achievement soon, and all she could do now was wait.
Up until defeating and killing her last opponent, time had flown by easily. She was fueled by the goal of finding her brother and confronting Hisoka, but now that she was here, the loneliness began to sink in.
Kite and his student had taken off to another country in search of wildlife to study, leaving Sayomi all alone in Yorknew City.
She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of her situation. Here she was at the top of the tallest building in Yorknew City, a place that others died trying to get to, yet she was unsatisfied.
Her face and name were plastered on billboards and posters all throughout the city, and citizens stood envious of the young teen’s life. She had enough money that she’d never have to work another day in her life, but in exchange she no longer had a family to accept her nor friends to laugh with.
Don’t feel sorry for yourself, there’s plenty of others that have it worse.
Sayomi sighed as she turned away from the window, grabbing her mask she’d started using as a floor master to attempt to conceal her identity.
I won’t have challengers for another month or so… might as well hit the city.
☾ix.
Sayomi walked through the dark streets of Yorknew City, her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes vacant.
She didn’t have a destination in mind, just mindlessly strolling through the city covered with news of her promotion to Floor Master. There were citizens recognizing her as well, pointing and jumping back as if she were some monster.
Though she couldn’t blame them, as her nen happened to be on the disturbing side. The replays of her fights were mostly censored, deemed too inhumane for the public eye as they played on repeat on the sides of buildings,
She wasn’t too sure how far she’d walked, spotting Heaven’s Arena rather far in the distance behind her. The shops and glamorous hotels began to fade as she approached the run down parts of Yorknew City.
It was an abandoned lot of buildings, the ground littered with oil cans and shattered glass. In a way it was tranquil, free from angry drivers and the revolted gaze of commoners.
Walking through an opening in the wired fences that surrounded the lot, Sayomi wandered through a certain building that’d caught her eye.
She felt a faint aura coming from the abandoned office building, but oddly enough it wasn’t hostile or repelling. It was rather comforting.
Sayomi’s curiosity grew as the aura increased, drawing her towards the room located at the far end of the first floor.
She saw the man before she sensed him, his large coat catching her attention. His back was turned to her crouched down on the dusty floor, the windows adjacent to him shattered, letting the pale moonlight reflect off of his coat.
St. Peter’s cross. Interesting taste in fashion…
Another careless step closer and the man’s head turned abruptly in her direction. Sayomi had ducked behind a wall, but not fast enough.
The man stood from his spot, revealing a vibrant patch of violets by his feet. Upon his loss in concentration, the flowers wilted, withering back into the cluttered floor as if they’d never been there in the first place.
Sayomi could see the man’s face from where she crouched, hidden by a barely intact wall. Her heart skipped a beat upon meeting his eyes, deep gray and captivating as he easily identified her from her hiding spot.
It felt as if time was frozen in place, the young man staring intensely into Sayomi’s eyes as if he could read her mind.
Sayomi was unmoving as well, having been caught examining his figure from behind the wall. He was by far the most appealing man she’d ever seen, his dark, raven hair slicked back to reveal a tattoo decorating the middle of his forehead, contrasting with his gentle eyes and youthful facial features.
Handsome, she thought.
The man took a slight step forward, snapping Sayomi out of his hypnotizing gaze as she sped off jumping through an empty window and out of the building.
Though she was eager to know what he’d been doing with the flowers, his aura had changed when he’d noticed her watching. It had been dangerous and intense, a total opposite of his warm and placid one when dealing with the violets.
Her quick steps transitioned into a run, feeling the need to distance herself from the lingering intensity of the mysterious young man’s aura.
She ran back towards the towering building of Heaven’s Arena, not stopping her pace a bit until she was met with the familiar neon signs and billboards that surrounded the heart of Yorknew City.
Her dreams were taken over by the man’s captivating eyes that night. His familiar aura had seemed to beckon her to him, as if she’d known him for 100 years prior.
But no matter how hard she thought that night, she couldn’t come up with an answer as to what he’d been doing with the violets conjured by his feet.
In her dreams she saw her own eyes within the vibrant flowers, it was an abstract thought, though for a second she wondered if he had meant for her to see them.
She quickly dismissed this, however, scoffing at the absurdity of her own thoughts.
What am I, a child? I must be beyond lonely if I think some random guy has something to do with me.
Though deep down inside her heart, she wished it were true. To be fated to somebody, needed by somebody who she could trust with her darkest secrets and love.
☾ix.
to be continued.
#chrollo#chrollo lucilfer#chrollo x oc#chrollo x reader#chrollo lucilfer x reader#kuroro#kuroro lucilfer#hisoka#hisoka x oc#hisoka x reader#hisoka morow#hisoka morrow x reader#hxh#hxh au#hxh imagines#hxh x reader#hxh oc#hunter x hunter#hunter x hunter au#hunter x hunter imagines#hxh killua#hxh chrollo#hxh hisoka#hxh kite#killlua#zoldyck family#killua zoldyck#illumi#illumi zoldyck#assassin au
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I realised recently that I never actually collated all the ideas I had about my Zutara kids so here, have some steambabies! Idk I just really like the idea of Katara and Zuko having a big family after all they’ve lost when they were young, and as an only child, I guess I kind of romanticise the idea of having siblings.
TW: I hc that Katara would have had a miscarriage, so if that is a trigger for you then maybe don’t read on.
Shameless plug but if you wanna read more about this, my series on AO3 is roots and wings.
Their firstborn is a boy who they name Kai after Kya. His full name is Kaito but nobody who knows him ever calls him that, not even when he’s in trouble. I’m not going to go into too much context about like the pregnancy bc you can already find that stuff here. He turns out very much like Zuko physically - tall, golden irises, straight black hair, narrow angular face - but he has mixed tawny skin and his eyes are shaped round and wide like Katara. He’s born on the last day of summer in 109 AG, so because of superstition that firebenders are born in peak summer, there’s some uncertainty about what he’ll bend - if at all - but then when he’s three and a half, he makes a flame. Iroh trains him to firebend until he’s about 16, then he goes off to the Sun Warriors for a year to finish off, and he ends up a very spiritual firebender. Kai is like the dream first child - the softest boy ever to live - and when Katara and Zuko go on to have more children, he’s a really great big brother, like wholeheartedly adores his little sibs even if they drive him completely nuts about 95% of the time. He’s quite a conflicted and confused kid growing up. He’s never quite sure of what he wants in life but finally, when he’s 17, he decides that he realises that he doesn’t want to be Fire Lord and passes along the heir status to his sister. After that he joins the Sun Warriors and eventually marries the chief’s daughter, Himari, and they have two firebender girls, Aiko and Sol.
Izumi arrives not long after her brother in 110 AG. Katara and Zuko planned to wait but it ends up that there’s barely a year between Kai and Izumi and it comes as an extra shock as Katara didn’t figure out she was pregnant again till like 18 weeks in. Katara goes into labour early at 35 weeks and Izumi is born really small - she never completely catches up either and it’s hilarious because after successive generations of tall male Fire Lords, they get Izumi who’s barely 5 feet - but she’s otherwise fine. She’s physically a mish-mash so overall she resembles nobody especially - Katara’s hair, complexion and big round eyes, Zuko’s irises, Azula’s heart-shaped face and highly arched brow line, Hakoda’s facial features. The superstition about summer births for firebenders peters out real quick when Izumi, born in the autumn, bends blue fire at two and a half and, taught by Jeong Jeong, she grows into a prodigal master. When she’s young, Izumi is the polar opposite of her brother - feisty, stubborn, determined and whip smart - and she’s a heathen teenager but by about 15 she mellows and matures, and part of Kai’s reasoning for abdicating is that Izumi seems a better fit for Fire Lord. Izumi was always kinda apathetic to kids but at 19, she accidentally gets pregnant and has her son, Kazuo, then her daughter, Kira, eleven years later. Izumi becomes Fire Lord at 37 but she only rules for about 14 years before retiring. Since she had Kaz so young, if she stayed on the throne much longer, Kaz would also be an older man when it came time for him to inherit, so she decides to step aside and Kaz is coronated just after his 33rd birthday.
(Kazuo takes after his Gran Gran in more ways than just his blue eyes; he’s a waterbender so Kaz is the first waterbender Fire Lord)
After a break, Katara and Zuko decide to try for a third addition and Katara gives birth - in the Southern Water Tribe, for the first time - to Bashira, four years after Izumi. Shira looks probably the most like Zuko out of all the children, even more than her elder brother does. They share the same tall and lean physique, the same long black hair, Shira is mixed but still the palest of all the steambabies and their faces are practically identical. They’re characteristically very similar, too - serious, intense and reserved. The only differences is that her hair is curly, her eyes are blue and finally, Katara gets her waterbending child. Both of them suspected that Shira was going to be a waterbender even at the early stages of the pregnancy, but it’s still super exciting when Shira tosses a wave at her elder siblings when she’s two. Katara is teaching her as soon as she possibly can but over time some tension develops between them when Shira turns out to be quite different from her mom in terms of natural bending style. Shira is very fight-oriented, she learns dao swords from Zuko and never shows as much of an interest in the healing arts, but when things blow up and eventually Shira is able to explain that she wants to be able fight like her mom did during the war, things straighten out and Katara guides Shira all the way through to mastery. She eventually moves to the South in her late teens to lead the tribe’s warriors. There, she has three children - waterbender twins Kenzo and Kenji, then a daughter named Kanna who’s a firebender like Grandpa - but the marriage to their father doesn’t last and in her 50s, she ends up in a relationship with Aang and Toph’s daughter, Lin.
Katara gets pregnant for a fourth time - planned - just after Shira turns two, but this time she has a miscarriage. Zuko was overseas when it happened so she went through it alone. Katara is devastated and resents Zuko for not being there. She knows it’s not his fault but she can’t help her emotions and that makes her feel even worse so she just shuts down - stops doing her Fire Lady work, stops spending any more time with Zuko and their children than necessary, won’t let the rest of the family visit them and spends most of the day lying in bed. Zuko doesn’t know how to help her so initially he decides to give her space to grieve however she feels she needs to, but it just deteriorates until one day Zuko suggests that maybe they should both go to therapy or marriage counselling or something because it can’t go on like this. Katara just completely loses it at that and ends up yelling at him all the things that she’d been bottling up over the last couple of months. Katara says some awful things and she’s expecting Zuko to take it poorly, hence why she kept it all inside up till now, but Zuko just accepts every bit of it and after that, she’s finally able to grieve properly and mend.
About six months after they come back together, they decide to try again and Katara eventually falls pregnant. The pregnancy itself goes smoothly but both of them are so stressed about something going wrong like last time and the effect that might have on both of them, then Gran Gran passes away when Katara is in her thirtieth week, so the full ten months were incredibly hard-going.
It’s a big relief when the baby is finally born on Ember Island, three years after Shira in 117 AG. They name her Lili in honour of their recent losses, since lilies can ease scars and Iroh once referred to them as lights in darkness. From the beginning, Lili is the image of Katara in every way physically and characteristically - kind, patient, gentle, but does have quite a temper if she’s pushed too far. She’s also a waterbender, though it takes her a little longer to manifest her abilities than any of her siblings, first gaining control of the water at the age of six. Lili is incredibly endearing, as both a child and an adult, and she becomes so particularly popular with the Fire Nation public that the firebending qualification to be considered an heir to the throne is reversed, so Shira and Lili are inducted into the succession. Born in the same year, Lili had a long-term relationship with Tenzin, Aang and Toph’s thirdborn, but as they grew older, Tenzin was concerned that if he married her, their children would have heritage of all four elements and degrade the chances of Tenzin producing airbenders and continuing the Air Nation. That concern resulted in a kind of on-again-off-again thing but eventually Lili sent him off with an "I don’t want to be with someone that isn’t even sure he wants me" and went travelling the world for a few years. When they’re both in their thirties though, Lili and Tenzin reconnect and get back together, eventually marrying and producing five children - Jinora, Aya, Hiro, Rohan and Kano, the elder four airbenders and the youngest a waterbender.
A few months after Lili is born, Sokka and Suki have a baby girl and when Katara and Zuko go to visit their new niece, they agree that night on a spur-of-the-moment that they want one more child. The morning after, they talk about it properly and decide it’d be better to wait till Lili was a bit older, but Katara found out six weeks later that that one time had been successful. About halfway through, they find out that they’re expecting a boy and Katara is especially excited since their son had always been more closely attached to her whereas their girls were very firmly Daddy’s girls. Sure enough, when Kallik arrives in 118 AG, he’s a big Mama’s boy and remains so his entire life. Apart from his curly black hair, Kallik is the spitting image of his uncle, to the point that Hakoda says that seeing Lili and Kallik together is like seeing young Katara and Sokka. Kallik is the hardest to handle out of their children - loud, playful, mischievous and an exhausting troublemaker. All of the siblings fight like cat and dog but Kallik and Izumi are by far the worst, on the level of one walks into a room and the other is like “And I took that personally” and they never seem to grow out of it even when they’re both old and grey. Kallik is the only nonbender in the family and initially he struggles with this a bit but he spends a lot of time hanging out with Uncle Sokka, learns dao swords with Shira and Zuko, and by the time he hits his teens, he comes to view it more as something that sets him apart from his siblings. When he’s 18, he goes to join the United Forces and he stays in service till his late thirties, when he meets Ren, another serviceman from the Northern Water Tribe. After beginning a relationship with him, the pair settle in Republic City and end up adopting two daughters, Kirima and Alasie.
About a decade after Kallik is born, it seems like things are kind of slowly drawing to a close as the kids are getting older - Kai is 19 and has left home, Izumi is 18 and living away in Republic City while she studies at university, Shira is 14 and already talking about moving South the first chance she gets, Lili is 11 and wanting to go Northern Water Tribe to train with the healers there, and Kallik is 10 and dreaming of being a great military commander like Grandpa Koda and Uncle Sokka - when suddenly Katara starts to get really, really sick. Zuko is absolutely terrified, thinking that there’s something seriously wrong with his wife, but after some deduction, it turns out that Katara is actually pregnant again. The relief at realising she’s not dying is short-lived and the reaction from both of them is basically holy shit holy fuck we are too old for this our other kids are practically all grown up now we are done with babies we can't seriously have six children what are we going to do. There’s a lot of discussion, especially since Katara is 43 by then and the risks for her to be carrying another child are higher, but they ultimately decide to go through with it. Ironically, it’s the easiest of all her pregnancies and when Katara delivers a baby girl in Republic City in 128 AG, there hadn’t been a single complication to speak of. Iroh had passed away two years earlier, devastating the whole family but Zuko in particular, but the baby is born with his irises - a darker gold - so they name her Ilah. Her eyes are big and round like Katara’s but other than that, Ilah resembles her Grandma Ursa most strongly, with her thick chestnut-coloured hair and slight, delicate facial features. Naturally, Katara and Zuko think all their babies were the cutest baby but Ilah is probably objectively the cutest, with her big honey-coloured eyes, chubby cheeks and soft little curls.
Inevitably, since Kai, Shira, Lili and Kallik had all either left home before she was born or did so when she was still a little girl, Ilah gets a lot more concentrated attention from Katara and Zuko. She’s completely spoiled and doted upon by the whole family, including her elder brothers and sisters who visit her as often as they can manage. Since Izumi still lives in the palace permanently as the Crown Princess, she and Ilah are close, but Ilah ultimately ends up being closest with Izumi’s son, Kaz, who is only a year younger than his aunt. Ilah was even in the room when Kaz was born, though it wasn't an intentional move. Zuko was supposed to be watching Ilah when things got intense with Izumi’s labour but things escalated from 0-100 real fast and Katara didn't have time to hand Ilah off, so she stayed tucked in a sling on her mother’s back as Katara helped her eldest daughter to deliver her own baby, somehow sleeping through all the noise and commotion. Ilah and Kaz end up more like a brother and sister or best friends than an aunt and nephew, though Kaz always calls her Auntie Ilah when he’s teasing her. Ilah is perhaps the shyest around strangers of her siblings, uninterested in celebrity and attention, but she’s the most adventurous, determined and creative, interested in science and invention from an early age. Growing up, Ilah felt a little pressured by the renown of her family, especially when her firebending turned out to be just about average in power, but when she’s 12, Ilah figures out that she can combustionbend. From there, she applies her bending abilities to science and when she leaves home for university, she invents the combustion engine at age 20. The rest of her adult life is spent travelling virtually non-stop, working on innovation projects for the different nations. She never has children, on the account that it would be unfair to expect a kid to move around as much as she does and she’s happy enough with her numerous nieces and nephews, but she eventually marries her long-time girlfriend Li-Mei, an Air Nomad tasked with searching the world for new airbenders.
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I just re-watched THAT scene and a thought hit me: Lan Wangji just stands there watching Wei Wuxian fall from the cliff... Why doesn't he jump onto his sword and swoops down to at least try to save him? Or is he all out of spiritual power? Or does it simply take to long to start and rev the sword? Not saying it's a plothole, I was just wondering...
I mean, I think this is a fair question and I know I’ve seen it discussed elsewhere. I just can’t seem to find the post or remember if any conclusions were reached, so I’m excited to dive into this. As always if anyone has insights or headcanons they want to add on to this, please do.
Because I like pictures, here’s ep 33 Lan Wangji holding his sword and staring in horror as Wei Wuxian falls (what is Jiang Cheng thinking? Who knows.)
Why isn’t Lan Wangji doing anything? He just stands there for long enough that Jiang Cheng backs away and leaves him on the outcropping, all alone.
Poor guy.
Okay, moving on. I think there are at least two ways to approach this, and one is from the production perspective (since this cliff encounter is a thing that only happens in the drama) and the other is from the in-universe perspective (aka, Doyalist vs Watsonian), so I’m going to look at both.
For the production pov, there’s really only one scene (I think) where we see anyone actually riding a sword in the drama, and it’s when they’re confronting the water demon/abyss in Caiyi (ep 5). At that point there’s no prep time, everyone just jumps up and then steps onto their swords (which is actually even more ridiculous to me than the image had already been in the novel because I thought they were at least riding on the scabbard but no! Riding the bare blade like a skateboard. I love it.)
How majestic.
Lan Xichen is the only graceful and cool person here. The only other sword-riding shot in this scene that shows more of a person’s body than their head and shoulders is when Lan Wangji drags three people into the air at once and we get a brief glimpse of Su She’s feet kicking wildly.
So, based on this scene’s execution and the general scarcity of other sword-flying scenes (even with the Nightless City confrontation, Lan Wangji just flies in with his quqin, no sword under his feet), my out-of-universe theory would be a combination of budget and aesthetic at play. If the production can get by on wire work with super extra long jumps that don’t seem to require actually riding the sword, they will. It’s logistically simpler, and it frankly looks better on screen. It’s also a staple of the entire film genre, whereas this sword thing is not, so the crew and effects people would have more experience with it as well. (In-universe I have a lot of questions about Wei Wuxian’s retained ability to do those jumps. Do they not use spiritual energy? Does he still have spiritual energy, just not a golden core? Is he using resentful energy instead? How does this work?)
From a more story-side view on the production, they’re working against the fact that they changed the plot to add Lan Wangji’s presence at Wei Wuxian’s death and they want to capitalize on that relationship, so having Wei Wuxian knock himself over the edge as he destroys the seal (or something where he steps back as Jiang Cheng rushes him or any other number of possibilities) no longer fits with the emotional beats they’re trying to hit. Also they really need Wei Wuxian to die here for the plot to function. Having Lan Wangji mount a sword and swoop down to try and save him again just adds extra complications and delays the desired outcome of WWX = dead and LWJ = distraught. In that sense, it really does start to look like a plot hole, because it feels like they’re ignoring the capabilities of a character in order to get the result they need. I do think they try to address this, but since multiple people have this question and I personally had to watch the scene more than once while actively thinking about it to notice all the relevant details… the efficacy of those efforts is maybe questionable. (Also like.. why does Jiang Cheng wait three days to go look for Wei Wuxian’s remains? Why is anyone waiting at all? Why is anyone surprised they can’t find a corpse when the visual we get implies Wei Wuxian is falling into lava? There are many, many questions that can be asked here and for a lot of them the out-of-universe answer is probably going to resemble “because the plot/original source material demands it” without much helpful in-universe support.)
In-universe (and probably more pertinent to your question), yeah, Lan Wangji could be low on spiritual power (and upon rewatch, I think he genuinely is). He could be physically exhausted as well as injured, too. For someone who carried three people in two hands 2-3 years ago and canonically has only gotten stronger since, he sure is having trouble pulling one person up over the side of a cliff. And that exhaustion really isn’t outside the realm of possibility, no matter how strong and powerful he is. He just traveled pretty far! If the theories that he found A-Yuan before coming to Nightless City are true (since he’s not injured in those flashbacks), he likely spent a ton of spiritual power even before getting into this battle where he first confronted Wei Wuxian and then started fighting pretty much everyone on the field by himself. Then, in a moment of fear-induced distraction, he gets injured! He’s actively bleeding! So yeah. He could definitely just be physically exhausted.
All that blood loss is not a good sign, and it actually speeds up (visually) as he expends this effort. We can see his arm trembling all throughout this scene, and then his grip slips (thus the face). Even after that he slips again, not losing his grip, but losing the strength to hold himself up at all. In the end he’s literally just lying on the rock depending on gravity to keep him in place and putting everything else he has into holding on to Wei Wuxian. He can’t do more than glare in Jiang Cheng’s general direction and tell him to stop.
Bichen is right there. If he had spiritual power left, I think he’d probably be sending his sword out to block Jiang Cheng’s angle of attack. That, or he needs two hands to accomplish such an action (It doesn’t require hand motions later/in the future, but maybe he develops that skill precisely because of these events). So yes. He’s physically exhausted. He’s spiritually exhausted. But I think there’s more going on here, too: He’s also at the end of his rope emotionally, and that’s how he ends up standing there, horrified and unmoving.
He’s had a rough time recently: Everyone hates his best and only friend/love of his life, and he has to listen to them call for his death/judgement at fancy dinner party meetings on and off for over a year. No one will listen to him when he tries to present a different view. Even his own brother is (not unreasonably) much more concerned about Lan Wangji’s personal safety than what his silence on this issue is costing him emotionally, and his uncle is distinctly unsupportive of the friendship from the beginning.
I think Lan Wangji spends a lot of time questioning his upbringing in those months (we see him actually verbally do so when he’s punished after Wei Wuxian’s death, but I think it starts well before that). What is right and wrong? Who decides it, and how? When does justice and holding people responsible for their actions turn over into unjust persecution? What is true, and what is a lie, and how much does that matter when weighed against social/political/spiritual harmony? These are concepts that are buried pretty deeply in the Lan Sect’s teachings but the world is twisting all of them before his eyes, and I have to think that takes a toll on him. Additionally, just as things start looking up (they let him write the letter to invite Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling’s celebration! They listen to him, other people support his idea!), he has to deal with the facts that:
1) His best friend who he’s in love with just killed a bunch of people, including Jin ZiXuan and some of Lan Wangji’s own Sect brothers.
2) Wei Wuxian is clearly losing control of his resentment-based cultivation path, and is thus personally in danger on a spiritual level, and
3) Everyone now wants to kill Wei Wuxian again, possibly even more than they did before, and anyone who supports Wei Wuxian is an enemy of the entire cultivation world.
Later in the series, Lan Wangji says he regrets that he wasn’t at Wei Wuxian’s side at Nightless City. That he didn’t support him, despite what we see of him trying to help Wei Wuxian find Jiang Yanli and then, after she dies, stop him from killing himself. To me, this could very easily imply that Lan Wangji is still trying to walk a tightrope in those scenes, or perhaps trying to be a bridge. He’s deliberately not choosing a distinct side, because he refuses to hate and reject Wei Wuxian, but he’s also refusing to declare open support. He’s acting entirely on his own, in a balancing act between friendship and love vs his family, his entire life’s teachings, and all of his society. Certainly I find that sort of situation exhausting, and I’ve never had to do it for something so high-stakes or large-scale.
Then there’s the actual cliff scene itself, where he’s visibly desperate. How intense does an emotion have to be for Lan Wangji to so clearly show it?
Wei Ying, he says, come back. He knows Wei Wuxian is breaking down. He at the very least guesses that he’s going to do something wild like step off that outcropping, which is why he follows him in the first place. But he has no idea what to do, so he tries the same thing he’s been trying for years: Come with me. Let me help you. This is a bridge, and he’s offering to help Wei Wuxian cross it. But just like every other time he’s tried it since the Sunshot Campaign ended, it doesn’t work.
Note that Lan Wangji actually is flying here, without the sword, so if he doesn’t have any spiritual power when Jiang Cheng shows up, this is probably a last, desperate burst to go with this last, desperate act.
I don’t think he really has a plan here. Not a new one, anyway. This is a still a plea of Let me help you. And, notably, Wei Wuxian doesn’t accept his help.
Not once during this whole scene does Wei Wuxian reach up with his free hand or try to help Lan Wangji help him in any way. He smiles, and he says: Lan Zhan, let me go. Because he doesn’t want a bridge. He doesn’t want to go back. Honestly it’s a pretty explicit and heartbreaking message: Lan Wangji’s offer of help is not enough to make Wei Wuxian want to stay alive. Not right now. He needs more than that. He’s lost too much to believe, right now, that anyone is going to choose him and his side, or that he’s worth that effort. And to be clear, Lan Wangji isn’t even offering that in this situation. Wei Wuxian is one slippery handgrip away from death, and Lan Wangji is still not saying “You, I choose you.” From anything Wei Wuxian can be expected to infer, his offer here is no different than it’s ever been: let me show you the way back to the right path. Let me help you fit back into the world the way you used to. And Wei Wuxian can’t do that; he has no golden core, it’s literally impossible even if the rest of the world would let him try. But at this point he doesn’t want to go back either. He doesn’t even want to try. That world hates him, and willfully misunderstands him, and has taken too many people from him now for it to be worth staying in. He wants to die.
And then Jiang Cheng arrives.
Wei Wuxian’s reaction to his brother’s presence is to smile, say his name, and just–accept his hatred. He closes his eyes and waits for the sword to fall even as Lan Wangji calls for Jiang Cheng to stop. The only time he shows distress between stepping back off the cliff and his actual death is when Jiang Cheng twists his sword and compromises the stability of the outcropping so that Lan Wangji is also in danger.
I think it’s possible that if Jiang Cheng had also reached for him and tried to pull him back up, things might have gone differently. Maybe that would have been enough to alter Wei Wuxian’s thinking. But as it is, when Wei Wuxian falls, he falls with his limbs relaxed and a smile on his face. There’s no flailing and screaming like when he was thrown into the Burial Mounds (in ep 33. There’s some arm-waving in ep 1). And I think that moment of him pushing Lan Wangji back and then letting go, more than anything, is what stops Lan Wangji in his tracks, because Wei Wuxian could have saved himself. He had strength and energy left. Enough to push Lan Wangji up and back and nearly to a standing position. He could have accepted Lan Wangji’s help, easily. But he didn’t, because he wanted to die, despite all the effort and inner turmoil Lan Wangji has gone through on his behalf (most of which Wei Wuxian doesn’t know about but, still).
That’s a pretty serious emotional kick in the head. Lan Wangji cannot ignore, at this point, that even if he did have any physical or spiritual energy left, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be saved. And that’s when we get this face (actually from ep 1):
He has nothing left. He has at this point spent over a year, maybe two, trying to save someone who, when it came down to the final moment, didn’t want to be saved. There’s nothing more he can do, in this state of exhaustion and despair, and it wouldn’t matter if he tried.
Personally, I think he looks like he’s about to be sick, and I don’t think it’s just the image of Wei Wuxian falling and dying that’s working on him here. It’s also the knowledge that he fucked up. He didn’t do enough, or more accurately, didn’t do the right things, in order to encourage Wei Wuxian to keep fighting for himself or anyone else (I’m not saying this is a healthy or reasonable thought, I just think it’s a thought he’s having). And I think this realization plays directly into how he treats Wei Wuxian when he comes back sixteen years later. He knows that questioning Wei Wuxian on his path of cultivation doesn’t go where he wants it to, so he doesn’t do it. This time is going to be different. He’ll break rules. He’ll drink alcohol. He doesn’t scold Wei Wuxian for making dumb, selfless decisions like transferring the curse mark from Jin Ling’s leg to his own, he just accepts it and expresses concern over Wei Wuxian’s well being. He stops asking if he can help and starts just doing it: Wei Wuxian can’t walk so he’ll carry him. Wei Wuxian needs someone to speak for him, so Lan Wangji will do that, with his brother and with the whole cultivation world. And then we come to this:
This is exactly the same move. Wei Wuxian will protect Lan Wangji, but not himself.
But.
Lan Wangji is no longer trying to be a bridge. He’s not going to hold out his hand for Wei Wuxian to accept or disregard. He’s crossed over to be on Wei Wuxian’s side. And that’s what makes the difference.
#lakritzwolf#cql meta#the untamed#chen qing ling#wangxian#lan wangji#wei wuxian#possibly i got a bit carried away#but this was fun#tw: blood#tw: suicide#in the novel lwj makes that change before wwx dies#and is thwarted by a combination#of wwx's breakdown and his own clan#but the drama cut that scene#so it had to happen after#long post#so long#seriously
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