#i wish people explained what 'impulsive' means better because I did not realize it was this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ingravinoveritas · 1 year

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Hi Amy, I'm the cursed anon who asked Neil lol (and I guess I'll stay anon for all my life after what happened today). I just wanted to thank you for what you wrote. I was sure my ask would have reached your blog somehow, alas. I don't know what to say, I'm mortified, it's been a rather hard day for me, since I felt completely misunderstood and belittled by someone I looked up to. I'm sorry because I must have phrased my ask in a weird way, an even "creepy" one, it seems.. By the way, I'm so glad you didn't find anything creepy in that, because I don't know for the life of me what I said that was perceived that way. I spent the entire day thinking about it and, at the same time, I tried to distract myself from shame. I don't know how to describe it, but this answer made me question so many things, about my mental health too, and I definitely didn't need that. He could have just said that he didn't quite understand what I meant, instead he only made me feel stupid and fed me to the lions. I mean, of course I know that season 2 is wrapped for example, I just wanted to tell him that maybe this sort of casting might be a future problem for season 3, and that I hope it won't be an issue for season 2, even though I saw many people turning up their nose already. (As I also bloody know that David Tennant and Michael Sheen are actors playing a part, evidently this is not what my concerns were!) I really don't know how to better explain it, English is a hard language to convey things sometimes. Neil doesn't speak any other language than it, and it shows honestly, because he doesn't know how hard it is for someone who is not native; me asking that might have been an impulsive decision, but I really tried to do my best with the language, it was hard, and it's like he pretended he didn't understand nevertheless. I don't know, I'm so disappointed by such a response. I thought it was more likely that he just read and didn't answer, but that condescending response? I didn't expect that. I'm sorry that I made him so sour/sharp/harsh (I don't know which adjective is the more appropriate in this case, and it drives me crazy that it can take so little to be misinterpreted, that's what I was referring to) because evidently I must have offended him or hit a nerve, which was not my intention. I might have been stupid to ask that, but if the ask was so annoying to him, it's not like he was obliged to answer it and being so cruel at the point to completely distort its meaning. Do I regret it? I do, but maybe without all of this, I wouldn't have ever seen this side of him, and I'm for the truth, even if it always tastes bittersweet, so.. Good to know, I guess.

Sorry for ranting! Oh my god, I didn't realise, it's just that it's still an open wound to me. Coming back to you, I wanted to tell you that even if you might not agree with me (you have all the right not to), your response is actually the kind I expected from a man of power who is twice my age (just saying). Thank you for always being so considerate and tactful, you really did made me feel a little better. I wish there were more people like you in the world, I mean it.

(Sorry for the disappeared ask, I deleted the account after sending it, thinking that it would have stayed in your inbox once it was there.. Well, I was wrong haha. I'm going to delete it after you answer then, I had reactivated it just because you turned the anons off and I wanted to thank you instantly <3)

Hi, Anon. Oh, I am so sorry for what you went through yesterday. I'm also floored to have you reach out to me, as I didn't even realize you were aware of my blog, but I thank you for doing so and sharing your thoughts/feelings with me.

It saddens me so greatly to know how much Neil's response has hurt you, and how it has affected your mental health. If the comments on my post about what happened are indication, however, you are definitely not the only one who felt that his response was not okay. What you said about feeding you to the lions was something one of my followers also mentioned, and whether Neil intended it or not, I would have to agree with that assessment.

The fact is, Neil is a writer. He knows how powerful words can be, and how suggestive. So by calling your question "creepy" in that first sentence, he is creating the lens through which the reader is going to view your question. And so what I would say is that two things can be true here, which is that 1) You have every right to feel the concerns you do, but trying to engage Neil about it was probably not the best idea; and 2) Neil has the right to feel/say what he wants, but deciding to answer your question the way he did instead of simply ignoring it was also probably not the best idea.

I don't know if you've been on his blog at all today, but Neil actually went into a bit more detail about his rationale, re: the use of the word "creepy" in the comments on this post, as part of a back-and-forth exchange with another fan who again brought up the issue of nepotism. I thought I would highlight these two comments in particular:

What I was struck by in the comment on the left was two specific things: 1) Neil's mention of the "undertones" to your question. Going by what you wrote, Anon, as well as the message that you've written here, I do not think there were any undertones to your Ask--with the possible exception of calling Neil's character into question (which, if he was hoping to squash that, it is now beyond ironic that his response to you has achieved the exact opposite); and 2) That someone who has been described as "so Tumblr" and "Neil gets it" would somehow be oblivious to how venomous people can be on social media, especially when encouraged by the creators of their favorite works, and why someone would therefore not want to make themselves a potential target. In just the first sentence of his response to you, however, Neil proved exactly why you were right to use a burner account.

In terms of the comment on the right, we see Neil draw a false equivalence between your question and people criticizing him for casting POC actors in Sandman. This was (in my opinion) Neil doing this fan what he did to you, which is twist around what they were saying as a means of deflection and avoiding answering the question that was actually being asked, which was about nepotism. The other irony for me is him talking about people accusing him of having a secret agenda, while he was the one doing the same thing to you. The only difference is that his assumption ended up having serious consequences, as we are now seeing.

I think you did hit a nerve, Anon, but--as strange as it may sound--I don't think it had anything to do with you. My feeling is that there is something going on with Neil and he is using Tumblr as an outlet--much in the same way that Michael used Twitter as an outlet in 2019/2020. So I do not think you are "cursed" or "made" Neil be salty/harsh--I think he was already this way and took whatever is happening with him out on you. Because if everything was absolutely fine--if what you were mentioning in your question was totally ridiculous and Neil was entirely unbothered by it--I do not think he would have answered it, nor would he still have been engaging this fan about it for hours afterward.

I know this probably won't be of much comfort, and I am sorry. English is not my second language, but I am autistic, and I relate very deeply to what you described about searching so hard for the right words (which is probably why it takes me forever to answer my Anons) because of not wanting to be misunderstood. And I know very well what it's like to have someone you so greatly admired turn out to be not at all what you expected, especially when everyone else's perception of that person is so wildly different.

It is for that reason that I can understand fans on here and Twitter rushing to defend Neil, not wanting to feel that someone they love could possibly do anything wrong. "Neil is a human being" is a comment I've seen frequently...but if we are going to say that Neil is human, then that means he is imperfect. It means he makes mistakes. And it should not be controversial to say this. I've also seen people in the aftermath of this saying how kind Neil is to the fans...but his response to you was unkind. Setting someone up to be a target is not kind. Neil has so many people who write into him who are dealing with mental health issues and concerns, and at best his response to you was thoughtless...but at worst, it sends a message to other fans that they, too, could become targets for absolutely no reason. And while I do not believe that Neil owes the fans anything, having an awareness of the power he wields and a sense of basic human decency does not seem like much to ask.

You do not ever have to apologize for ranting to me, Anon. I'm so glad that what I wrote in my other post helped you to feel better, even if just a little. I am by no means perfect--far from it--but I've been in enough fandoms and had enough heartaches to know that I would want to do anything I could to spare someone else from going through the things I went through. The shame here is not yours for asking a question that yielded a disproportionate overreaction from Neil--the shame belongs to the people who piled onto you because of it.

I want you to know that I was truly touched by your compliments, and that you felt comfortable enough to be so vulnerable with me here. I'm sending you lots of love, as well as the hope that we can continue to have honest discussions about these subjects. A lot of people are with you, and believe me when I again tell you that you are not alone. xx

#anonymous #reply post #good omens #good omens 2 #neil gaiman #michael sheen #david tennant #also FWIW I do agree with you Anon #regarding the nepotism #especially when it comes to Georgia and AL #but that's a whole other post for a whole other day #the GO fandom has meant so much to me since 2019 #so all of this has been so disquieting on so many levels #my heart hurts #fandom woes #discourse

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ace-of-gay · 2 years

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Happiness greed?

Steve rogers x reader

Warnings: depressing a self depreciating/ destructive thoughts, mental health, physical ailments, being held still, head banging, angst with a tiny little piece of fluff in there but not alot, this is a very self indulgent fic with a terrible mental thought process that i still deal with but am working on healing myself from this is putting you into my shoes from a few years ago shifted a little with how someone helps you, to fit it into a fanfic.

No pronouns or skintone used or implied

Welcome to all body types

1,353words

Edited to the best of my ability

Im being serious as ever when i say this, the thought process in this may be triggering for some, if you are struggling with mental health and are impulsive on it or triggerd easily do not read this, you are responsible for your own media consumption especially after two sets of warnings.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Neutral for you was normal, but if you happened to explain Neutral people would probably fear for you, all your life you’ve been shut down and walked all over, never given a chance to have someone listen to your desperate cries for help.

So be it, you shut all emotions out and after enough time Neutral became safe, a cascade of walls to surround the figmented little version of yourself that lives inside your head, screaming, begging, desires so sick all behind a straight face, it was easier to be what you needed for others than the other way around.

Maybe it led to frustration and pessimism and really by Maybe I mean it does, its like drowning to the point the deep end becomes your air.

After so long of walking in darkness your eyes dry of trailing useless tears that you start to see the tiny glints of others happiness.

Your body doesn't deserve happiness, it hurt you, all you wanted was happiness and everyone else on a parallel path said that the doctors could fix you how they did them so you tried it, you sought help.

But your body became a vessel of negative reaction, no one would listen, every moment it continued the worse it got, the convulsions, the tremors the tics, your body no longer yours but freedom to chemical derangement, just a happiness greed.

Emotions being turned off, if everyone else can ignore them surely you can as well, your mind finding itself to be on autopilot almost always there for someone else’s desires, take take take, desperately feed their desperation from a merely empty wishing well.

Drowning in burning chemicals and bodily ailments but everyone else’s rose tinted glasses cancel out the crimson words figuratively written in vein.

For some time you could push through it even while watching peter parker golden retriever teen bounce around the halls or the bump in Steve’s step, it took him years and years of therapy to get where he’s at.

Therapy, it only works for people who deserve it, who have a reason, and you’ve helped everyone you know without being a licensed therapist but the doctors cant fix you, its a sickening feeling, you’re only here to make people feel better, surely somehow you deserve to as well right?

Everyone greets you with kindness and than there’s Steve, you don’t realize he sees it, he sees himself in you he tries to check how you’re doing everyday but your mind has written rules that if anyone ever asks the dreaded "how are you" it give in return a chuckle and "debatable" to let it all carry on.

Lost in your mind there’s just something desperately different about the way today etches in your chest, but you wont find out why until later.

A façade on your slate you head out to meet up with the team in the common room, the only reason you get out of bed is because you cant help remind yourself of everything everyone else has gone through.

Oddly enough your day went by with a breeze, you cant remember much of it but in this case its good, you got done with work around five giving yourself time to finally eat and than go about your personal life for as long as your head will let you.

You end up in a call with one of your friends, everyone would think that’s great but its the type of phone call that only happens when you’re needed to be someone else’s serotonin service.

Letting them rant is the best you can do but when they just go on and on about the same thing it bores into time you could have spent trying to chill the once rolling fire now scolding drilling agony of a spike in your migraine. Your neck twitching from medically induced illness, happiness is a drug and it one you cant get addicted to, what good is a dealer to be addicted to their own give, easy answer they’re not, they would just take it all for themselves. But greed for your own space is all it is that you feel so as you sit there listening to them drone on your mind fills with the sound of tv static.

the one tremor that really causes issues sets in, you cant fight the fragment false signals that come from the remnants of serotonin syndrome damage, like a shiver in the cold your jaw rattles and tremors, the person finally hangs up and you’re left alone in agony.

The dark of the room seeping to your thoughts you cant even feel the rapid jolts in your body, your body lurching forward and than relaxing and lurching once more over and over until the direction of everything's torment shifts.

*thud* and your head slams backwards into the wall, you don’t have the strength to move, again *bam* the sound resonates through the floor followed by choked trembling sobs, your hands so numb but electricity coursing through your arms, you can taste the blood of despair in your mouth *thud* you have no control of anything happening but the tears and sobs.

Your eyes fluttering in time with your jaw causing a strobing affect... strobing? *thud*

And in seconds you feel a hand cushion behind your head, pulling you into sitting in-between their legs, your back to their chest.

They shift their hand to your forehead holding your head against their shoulder, their other arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders to keep you from lurching and slamming.

They cross their legs over yours to keep them still to not hurt yourself in your brains signals redirection of electric pulses.

Your jaw continuing and your hands trembling your body convulsing but still enough to silence the you inside your head from screaming to end it.

Your hearing coming back slowly still plagued by the beat of your heart thrumming in your ears "shhh hey were okay, you’re okay, were just going to sit he and breathe for a bit, you hear me y/n? I’m here I’m not going anywhere."

Your hands eventually stop and you subdue your convulsions to a gentle rocking that he does with you.

Someone is finally there and you don’t need to speak, he takes his hand from your forehead as your bodies attack finally settles enough to leave you with the tremor in your jaw.

"Hey Jarvis can you ask Bucky to bring a bottle of water to y/n's room please?"

A few minutes later Bucky walks in handing the water to Steve "do you need me to stay or do you want me to go?"

"I’ve got it bud, but thank you, ill call if i need some help" leaving it to you and who you’ve determined to be Steve, his hold warm and kind, "do you think you can drink some water for me?" You nod letting him hold the cup to your mouth not yet able to move your body yourself yet.

He later helps you lay down in your bed, sitting next to you he just wants to make sure you’re safe.

"Do you want me to stay in here with you tonight?" Nodding you cant get speaking to work just yet.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Its three months later, the movements, tremors, convulsions, vocal and physical tics still happen but its three months in time that you’ve been going to therapy, not to fix anything how you hoped but to learn, with Steve you’ve come to finally feel like its not greedy to want to be happy.

Happy, you still don’t feel it but you’re learning, advocating for your health both physically and mentally, its going to be a long journey, the ailments aren’t going to go away, they’re permanent damage but its not because you were greedy, its from medical malpractice.

Steve has promised he’s there for the ride of life with you, even when your body collapses and your heartrate "hits a new high score"

He’s not going anywhere, he loves you and he will make it as abundantly clear as you need him to.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Please know you are not alone, its okay to reach out, you are not weak you are not greedy, you are just as deserving of the help you desire as everyone one else no if ands or buts.

My messages are always always open💚

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x reader imagine #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x female reader

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transamorousnetwork · 5 months

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The Universe Is The Best Trans Dating Service

I so love when the universe helps clients realize they can trust it, instead of “doing”. That’s what happened this week with a client seeking love.

If you’ve read some posts here before, you know I encourage readers avoid online dating. It’s costly. It rarely succeeds. And it’s not very fun. Especially for trans or trans-attracted people.

Recently, a client came to her own understanding of this. She realized, unconsciously, as most clients do, that the Universe is a wish-granting jewel. It constantly fulfills every desire.

Just because it does that, though, doesn’t mean we receive every desire fulfilled. To receive, we must be tuned in. We must be on the same frequency of the fulfilled desire. That means, of course, following Broader Perspective impulses. If we do that, we end up at the perfect place and time to real-ize fulfilled desire.

However, most of us don’t know how to hear impulses. So we move through life haphazardly. Doing that, we learn to rely on “doing”. Especially when looking for that perfect trans woman. Or that guy who will accept us for who we are. We try making things happen, instead of allowing them to happen for us.

That’s what lead to my client’s epiphany.

Attachment breeds unconsciousness

My client currently is in love. Rather, she thinks she is. Actually, she’s in very strong attachment. Strong attachment over this guy she thinks is “The One”. The problem is, no person is that. The only “The One” in our lives is us. In other words, we each are our own “The One”.

Most of us don’t realize this though. That’s because human society talks us out of our inner knowing. We then forget we are eternal. We forget we are eternally loved and that no love can compare to that. Especially conditional love of another human.

This client finds herself thus. She’s struggling, therefore. She’s struggling because she’s experiencing things about this guy she doesn’t like. Every time they spend time together and get close, for example, he freaks out. Intimacy frightens him. So he’ll waffle. One day he’s all Lovey-dovey. The next day, he “needs space.”

This pattern may sound familiar.

The problem for my client is her attachment. She wants so bad for this person to change. But he can’t change when she focuses so much on his behavior. Behavior reflecting her own waffling way of being.

That’s right, my client realizes in this contrast presented by this guy that she was this way in relationship for decades. So here she is having her dominant way of being in relationship reflected back to her.

I told her this was the purpose of this relationship. To have her see what stories she’s telling. To have her see them so that she can change her stories.

But she’s not having that. Which has her suffering in indecision and strong resistance. Resistance she thinks is desire. Resistance she thinks is love.

Which is why what happened next is so compelling.

The Universe delivers

While my client holds onto her attachment for dear life, her focus on what she doesn’t want already has created what she does want. The Universe already answered her desire for a better relationship, in other words.

And even though she witnessed this unfolding, which I’ll describe in a moment, her attachment still has her pining for this one guy, rather than going with the flow of her unfolding manifestation. Here’s what that looks like:

“I was on my Facebook profile,” she explained one session. We were talking about her dating possibilities and how the Universe keys up an infinite stream of better quality men for her.

“I rarely visit that profile,” She said. “But when I did lately, I noticed I had 150 new friend requests!”

Then she changed the subject: “I’m on eHarmony,” She said. “None of the men I see there are attractive to me. It’s depressing.”

The client said she wondered while viewing her online dating profile if she should date only widowers. She thinks such men would be better matches. That’s because, supposedly, they had long, enduring relationships right up to the bitter end! Then she said she also thought she should date only engineers, since she gets along with such guys easily. (She used to work in an engineering-heavy industry.)

“So when I looked at the friend requests,” She explained, coming back to the original subject. “Four of them were really handsome men. All four were widowers and all were engineers! And…each of them expressed interest in me! That’s so weird! “

“Weird” means “I’m oblivious”

“Weird” is a common refrain from clients. Like the majority of people, they don’t get how consistently Universe delivers on all desires. So they don’t experience enough evidence of this in their lives. When I point it out as happening, they can’t believe it’s just how the Universe works. They instead see these experiences as standing out. As strange. As “weird”.

In time, anyone will move beyond “weird” to just accepting their worthiness. But until then, people just can’t accept that these “coincidences” are how the Universe works. In other words, they’re oblivious. And that obliviousness blocks them from seeing their desires fulfilling themselves, like this client seeing the Universe give her matches without her having to do anything.

This obliviousness is why people are dating online. And trying to “make” other things happen in their lives. They think “doing” is the key to getting what they want. When in fact, relaxing and trusting will make it happen easier and with more fun.

People make a lot of money off other people thinking “doing” is the only way.

I encouraged my client to get this. That the Universe knows better how to deliver what she wants. And that no amount of doing can replace the power and leverage of the Universe.

She’s still attached. So she’s still struggling. But the wonder wasn’t wasted on me. I reveled in the awareness giving me insight into the gift the client received. Even if she didn’t enjoy that awareness fully…yet.

Because I know, in time, should she continue, she will gain that awareness. It’s the natural unfolding of All That Is. All That Is, which is what we all are.

Discover how the Universe is serving you with utmost loyalty. Contact me. Let’s get you started in your own practice.

#transgender #transamorous #mtf #transattracted #transgirl #transisbeautiful #transsexual #transamorous men #transattraction #transamorous network #dating advice #dating and relationships

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zoobus · 5 years

Text

ADHD be like

I need this. I need X. I need item X which I learned about through someone's offhand comment right now, right this second. I have been researching this product for 15 hours straight, have read every single review on every single review platform, watched every single youtube video even slightly related to it, and I have verified without a doubt that if I don't physically have X in my hands by the end of the day, my life will be irreversibly ruined and I should just end it right now.

The item 3 days after I get it:

#recognizing this pattern has helped me deal with this better but god does it still get me #i wish people explained what 'impulsive' means better because I did not realize it was this #totally unrelated note: if I don't get a babylock brand Imagine serger machine I might not make it through the week :'(#adhd problems

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Prompt: WWX is one of JGS's bastard sons, raised by his mother and her husband - until they die when he's young. Then he gets taken into the Jin sect instead of the Jiang.

Right Hand Man - ao3

It was a bad day.

All the days were a little bad, but this one was especially bad.

“He’s Cangse Sanren’s child,” Jin Zixuan’s father said, tapping his fan against his palm so that he would look more like a scholar. Secretly, shamefully, Jin Zixuan thought that it didn’t really work – he just looked like one of those scoundrels that tried to pay for their meals with calligraphy instead of pennies. “Taking him in will show our strength.”

“You dare bring one of your bastard children here,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, “and I will drown A-Xuan myself rather than let him suffer through the shame of it.”

Jin Zixuan shivered. No matter how many times he heard his mother say that in her cold and vicious voice, he never got used to it. She’d explained to him that it was the only thing that might work on his father – the fear of losing face like that, of shaming his ancestors, of cutting off his legitimate line – and she was his mother so of course Jin Zixuan believed her, but sometimes when she said it like that he thought she might really go ahead and do it.

“It’s the immortal mountain,” his father argued, ignoring the threat. “The perceived connection is only to our benefit…and anyway, he wouldn’t be legitimized or anything. Legally, his father is that Wei Changze – I could even bring the boy in as a servant if that pleased you more!”

“Nothing you say or do will ever please me,” she said, and that’s when she started throwing things and he started shouting and Jin Zixuan waited until they weren’t paying any attention to him before slipping out.

They’d make a decision one way or another.

It didn’t have anything to do with him.

Wei Wuxian was nominally brought in as a guest disciple, but everyone knew he was really a servant.

Jin Zixuan’s mother made sure everyone knew.

Despite this, Wei Wuxian smiled at everyone, seeming as carefree as a butterfly. It didn’t seem to bother him when he wasn’t allowed to wear sparks amidst snow, or even the usual gold of the guest disciples – Jin Zixuan’s mother said that it was better that he wear plain colors, like white or black, to represent his father and mother and show the world that he hadn’t forgotten his filial piety. It didn’t seem to bother him that he had to room with the other servants, or that he wasn’t invited to dinner at the same time as the rest of them, or that he got less training time –

Whatever it was, it didn’t bother him.

It bothered Jin Zixuan, though.

He started having the old nightmares again – the ones where his mother belatedly found out that he’d been swapped in the cradle for another bastard child of Jin Guangshan, and started treating him just the way she treated all the rest of them while praising some other boy up to the heavens – and his temperament, never considered especially good, got worse due to lack of sleep.

“Go talk to him,” Mianmian suggested. “Maybe if you see he’s reallynot bothered by it…”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s not bothered,” Jin Zixuan muttered. “It’s that I would be bothered if I were him.”

She didn’t understand, of course. Most people didn’t.

They couldn’t understand why Jin Zixuan was so bothered by the knowledge that his parents’ love was conditional on his bloodline and legitimacy – after all, he was the beneficiary of that bias, wasn’t he? What did it matter to him if they were cold to others?

Jin Zixuan didn’t know how to explain that the problem was in knowing that their love was conditional.

It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian was excelling despite all his disadvantages – all their teachers praised him in private, or else when they thought that no one surnamed Jin was listening. All of his mother’s dark speculations about what his father would do if ever there was a bastard child brought back that turned out to be even more talented than he was rang in Jin Zixuan’s ears, and he couldn’t help but look at Wei Wuxian, and wonder if this was it, this was the moment, if he was finally going to be replaced…but no, that would never happen. He was the one with the right blood.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually the best.

Nothing he did in life mattered, really. Nothing had ever mattered since the day he’d been born from the right womb.

“He’s actually really nice,” Mianmian said, and Jin Zixuan looked up, wondering what she was talking about, only to blanch when he realized that she was talking to Wei Wuxian. “Just shy, that’s all –”

“Mianmian!” Jin Zixuan hissed, rushing over, horrified. “He can’t be here! If my mother finds out –”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Wei Wuxian asked, his face brightening. “I thought you just didn’t like me!”

“I don’t know you,” Jin Zixuan said. “How could I dislike you? But really, my mother –”

“We can be friends!” Wei Wuxian declared, and Jin Zixuan was rendered immediately mute. What exactly could he say to that?

He wanted to be friends, too.

His mother found out, because she always found out, and when she did, she threatened to feed Wei Wuxian to the dogs.

It turned out that Wei Wuxian was scared of dogs, something Jin Zixuan’s mother had figured out pretty quickly. That wasn’t a surprise – she knew best how to find people’s weaknesses, and also how to use them. Looking at Wei Wuxian’s sickly pale face, it was clear to Jin Zixuan that this wasn’t the first time dogs had appeared in one of his mother’s punishment, although this was clearly more severe than in the past.

“It was my idea,” he lied, acting on impulse. “Mother, I want him to be my personal servant.”

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“Why is it ridiculous?” he asked. “Wouldn’t the contrast between us only be magnified that way?”

She pursed her lips, but that wasn’t a ‘no’.

Seeing a possible waver, Jin Zixuan decided to trade away one of the very few point on which he and his mother had long disagree.

“He’s charming,” he said. “He can help me woo the Jiang sect girl.”

His mother knew him well enough to know that he was trying to manipulate her, but he also knew that she liked it when he did that. Men were supposed to be upright, straightforward, and virtuous, and yet she liked to see him being subtle and sly – it reminded her of herself. It made her feel like he was more her blood than his father’s, even though in actuality those traits could very well be his father’s, too.

Unfortunately, sneakiness wasn’t really in Jin Zixuan’s nature. Comparing his straightforward and even a little stupid self to his clever and cunning parents, he didn’t know who he took after – it was part of the reason he had so many nightmares about being some cuckoo’s child left in the Jin sect’s nest.

“Fine,” his mother said at last. “He gets one shot.”

Later, when she’d swept off, an empress with her retinue, Mianmian looked at Jin Zixuan with wide eyes. “But Jin-gongzi,” she said. “You don’t wantto marry the Jiang sect girl.”

“I’ve never met her,” Jin Zixuan hedged, which was also true but a little vaguer. He didn’t want to marry a girl he’d never met, one who was several years his elder and who had been described to him only as ‘nice’ and ‘average at best’, just because her mother was his mother’s old friend. He didn’t want his marriage to be yet another thing he had to do because he was someone’s child, rather than his own man.

He wasn’t going to get a choice, though, no matter what he did, just as always. Might as well use it for something good.

Wei Wuxian crashed into him a moment later, clutching him so tightly that it hurt.

“I’ll pay you back,” he promised, his voice tight. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be your best friend ever!”

“That’s good enough,” Jin Zixuan said, his face suddenly hot. “There doesn’t need to be anything more.”

Wei Wuxian really was very charming when they went to visit the Lotus Pier, far more charming than Jin Zixuan ever was or would be, and his future bride seemed positively enchanted by him, which was probably a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan felt he should probably do something about it, but he didn’t know what, so he just snuck off and went to go dip his feet into the river, something he almost never got the chance to go while at home.

“I’m sorry,” the Jiang sect heir, Jiang Cheng, said, sitting gingerly next to him.

Jin Zixuan looked at him sidelong, a little surprised. He’d thought that Jiang Cheng hated him. “What for?”

“My sister. Your half-brother.” Jiang Cheng looked uncomfortable. “I can’t even imagine growing up with someone who’d flirt with the person I was engaged to.”

Jin Zixuan thought it over, then shook his head. “I don’t think he likes her like that. Or her him, either,” he said, since it seemed like Jiang Cheng had misunderstood both Wei Wuxian and his own sister. “Wei Wuxian’s just – like that,” he added. “Always. Everyone loves him unless they’re specifically told not to.”

“That’s worse.” Jiang Cheng wrinkled his nose. “He’s the ‘other person’s child’ here, you know. My father really liked his parents – he’s always talking about him. My mother says he wishes he were his son, instead of your father’s.”

“Now that sounds awful.” Probably better for Wei Wuxian, though. Jiang Fengmian would probably treat him like a real son, not the way Jin Guangshan did, like a pawn or a liability or a bastard brought in just for his possible connections – but it would probably be much worse for Jiang Cheng, who’d have to live with that happening right in front of him. It seemed mean to wish for such a thing. “He’s actually pretty nice? We’re friends. I asked him to help me make friends with your sister…I’m not really good at making friends, when it’s just me.”

He hadn’t expected them to hit it off that well, though. At least to Jin Zixuan’s eyes, they’d clearly all but adopted each other as brother and sister the moment they laid eyes on each other…which in his opinion was actually a little bit worse, since he felt like he himself was still painfully trying to figure out what being a sibling was like, and maybe failing at it.

And in all honesty, he felt a little resentful at Wei Wuxian for being picked, too – or was it a little bereft? No one ever picked him just because they wanted to; it was all because of who he was.

Who his parents were.

“I can be your friend, too, if you like,” Jiang Cheng said. He was scowling into the distance. “A better one.”

“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, startled. “Don’t you – not like me?”

“We’re friends now,” Jiang Cheng scowled at him. “Deal with it!”

Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a lot, and he liked Jiang Cheng, too, and Nie Huaisang, who he’d just met, fit in with the two of them as if they were three peas in a pod, so he guessed he must like him, too – but if those three endlessly chattering idiots didn’t shut up and let him study he was going to throw himself off some cliff in Gusu and be done with it.

“You really don’t mind me sitting here?” he asked Lan Wangji, who nodded.

Nodded and did not respond verbally – blissful silence!

Still, Jin Zixuan lingered a bit by the door to the peaceful little pavilion he’d found and thought to claim for himself as a secret study place – necessary on account of the fact that Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang spent all their free time together making trouble instead of studying, because Wei Wuxian just did that to people, winning them over despite themselves and then leading them into mischief – only to learn that it belonged to Lan Wangji. It was filled with gentians, which were more Jiang Cheng’s color than Jin Zixuan’s, but Jin Zixuan had seen enough peonies for a lifetime and needed the concealment besides.

It was very kind of Lan Wangji to let him stay, but he still felt he ought to apologize.

And not just for the intrusion.

Wei Wuxian’s ignominious departure from Lan Qiren’s classroom had made it much more peaceful, but that had come at a cost to Lan Wangji’s own education and opportunity to make friends with others – and while Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a great deal, he wasn’t sure how Lan Wangji felt about being stuck having to monitor him all day.

And now Lan Wangji was being nice to Jin Zixuan, letting him disturb his privacy like this without complaint, and even agreeing to let him stay so that he’d have somewhere quiet to study…he really ought to say something. Maybe apologize for Wei Wuxian, if that was appropriate. It probably was: he was responsible for him, in his own way. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation –

“Do you like Wei Wuxian?” he blurted out, then felt his face go bright red. He hadn’t meant to ask it that way! After all, who didn’t know how much Lan Wangji disliked Wei Wuxian? He was always glaring at him and saying he was speaking nonsense and telling him to get lost and –

Lan Wangji nodded.

Jin Zixuan blinked. He did? But then why –

“Oh,” he said, suddenly realizing. “You’re socially awkward, too!”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, and Jin Zixuan waved his hands.

“No, no, I don’t mean that as an insult,” he said hastily, trying to cover for his blunder. “It’s like me! I always say the wrong thing, so most of the time I try not to say anything – of course people always get the wrong idea anyway, thinking I’m being quiet because I’m looking down at them…Wei Wuxian’s getting better at understanding people, but he’s still not very good at it, either. I bet he has no idea! If you like him, you should say as much.”

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“…I could say it for you, if you want?”

Even more urgent head-shaking.

Honestly, if Lan Wangji were a woman, Jin Zixuan would’ve thought that he had a crush.

As it was, he was probably just like Jin Zixuan: naturally awkward, and shy about it, too.

“It’s all right,” he said encouragingly. “Next time they throw a party, you can come and sit with me; we can have tea and pretend not to know them. It’s what I always do.”

Lan Wangji stared at him for a long moment, and then finally nodded very slowly.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice neutral. “Thank you.”

When the time came and the Wen sect pushed things too far, naturally Jin Zixuan stood up for Mianmian.

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji all did, too.

Naturally, this made Jin Zixuan feel like complete crap on their account – Mianmian was his friend, his sect, and naturally he had a responsibility towards her; the rest of them were just helping because they were good people, and good friends. But at this point they’d done it, and Wen Chao was angry at them all over it, and there was nothing to be done about it.

And then there was the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and they were all trapped inside with it.

Sometimes, he really hated the Wen sect. Often, even.

“Jiang Cheng, you and Jin Zixuan lead the way out,” Wei Wuxian instructed. “No, don’t protest! You’re heirs of Great Sects; everyone will follow you and listen to you, and that’s critical – you’ll need to evade the Wen sect’s efforts to recapture you. That means cohesion, and cohesion means hierarchy. I’ll stay behind to distract the Xuanwu…”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jiang Cheng exclaimed.

Jin Zixuan nudged him. “Wei Wuxian’s usually right about this sort of thing,” he reminded him. It was a good thing they’d gotten over that period in their lives when Jiang Cheng thought Wei Wuxian was an evil thief who wanted to take away his older sister and Jin Zixuan’s rightful spouse, when they’d fought all the time while Jin Zixuan desperately tried to get between them. He still had no idea what magic alchemy had happened that had suddenly made them best friends – he suspected Mianmian, or maybe Jiang Yanli – but he was deeply grateful for it. “And we can’t risk the majority. Preserve human life above all else, remember? Teacher Lan’s lessons were very clear.”

“I will remain with Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, to no one’s surprise. They’d been more or less inseparable after Jin Zixuan had recruited Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang to help them get along better after Wei Wuxian’s temporary exile to the Library Pavilion had ended. It helped that Lan Qiren had pulled Wei Wuxian aside for personal lessons to help him catch up with the rest of them, and that those had somehow metamorphosed into afternoon sessions about inventing new types of musical cultivation techniques in which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were the most enthusiastic, and only, students.

Best of all, it had given the rest of them a chance to finally actually do their work.

Well, not Nie Huaisang, but that was only to be expected.

“But your leg –” Wei Wuxian started, and Jin Zixuan nudged him.

“He’ll only be more worried if you don’t let him stay back and join you,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, it’s good for you to have an incentive not to detour into some big flashy heroic bullshit.”

“Awww, but Jin Zixuan, I like big flashy heroic bullshit!”

Jin Zixuan was, by this point, almost entirely convinced that Wei Wuxian actually was the biological child of Wei Changze, and that his father had lied, both about the man’s supposed infertility and possibly about having slept with Cangse Sanren at all. From Jiang Cheng’s stories, inherited from his father, it seemed that Wei Changze was also the sort of person who went in for big flashy heroic bullshit and reckless humor, the sort that would win him a disciple of an immortal mountain as a bride; it certainly seemed more likely than him sharing blood with Jin Zixuan or his father or even Jin Zixun, all of whom tended towards arrogance, but whose flash was all in their clothing.

Not that it mattered at this late date, of course. They were brothers now – as Nie Huaisang would put it, there were no takebacks allowed.

“No bullshit, you hear me?” Jin Zixuan repeated, looking pointedly at Wei Wuxian. “Not allowed. Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t make me have to tell Mistress Jiang that I lost her favorite idiot friend.”

“You tell her?” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “I’ll have to tell her. All right, let’s go.”

Jiang Yanli was not impressed with the fact that they’d left Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji alone in a cave with a giant murderous turtle.

She still made them soup and gave them bandages to wrap up their bloody feet, though.

(Jin Zixuan was never going to make a good impression on her, no matter what Jiang Cheng said.)

“Wen Chao has demanded recompense for the mess at the Nightless City,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, reading a letter. Her lips curled up in a strange little smile. “He said Wei Wuxian’s right hand would do.”

“Mother,” Jin Zixuan exclaimed, leaping to his feet with his eyes wide. He’d only been home a week from the indoctrination camp, and Wei Wuxian was still lying in bed most of the time, pretending he wasn’t exhausted; Wen Chao must have sent the letter almost immediately after he’d realized they’d escaped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s just what the little bastard deserves, always trying to outshine you.”

Jin Zixuan shook his head, frantically trying to think of a way out of this, because he knew his mother wouldn’t so much as hesitate to order such an atrocity. She’d never forgiven Wei Wuxian for the possibility of being a threat to Jin Zixuan’s position, however remote the chance, and she’d tried very hard to convince Jin Zixuan of it, too – it was the only thing they didn’t agree on, the only thing Jin Zixuan didn’t yield to her on, and he hated every moment of it.

But not as much as his mother hated it.

It was the only thing she couldn’t control in his life, and she hatedit, and hated Wei Wuxian for it, too.

(She couldn’t hate Jin Zixuan. She couldn’t, because he had the right blood, because he was her son, because he was the heir of Lanling Jin and the source of all her power. But sometimes, when the light was dim and she glanced over too quickly and thought she saw his father when she looked at him, he thought that she wanted to.)

“You can’t be serious,” Jin Zixuan said a second time, keeping calm by sheer willpower. No one but him would dare to object if his mother made a move, especially in his father’s absence…and even if his father was there, Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure his father cared enough about Wei Wuxian to endure another fight with his fearsome wife. “Mother, he’s my servant – my responsibility. Whatever he does is my responsibility, whether to my credit or to my deficit. That’s how that works. They may be asking for Wei Wuxian’s hand, but who’s to say, when they come to claim it, that they won’t seek mine instead?”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s the Wen sect,” Jin Zixuan reminded her. “What don’t they dare?”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over, and for a moment he thought he’d won. “Perhaps,” she allowed, and before he could even breath a sight of relief continued, “But no matter. They’ve set the price, and we can pay it, so why not? We can cut off his hand and send it to them as a peace offering in advance. After all, they’re important allies of ours, and he’s just a bastard.”

“But –”

“No, A-Xuan. No more arguing; I’ve decided.” Her smile broadened. “We’ll do it now.”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t fight with his mother. He’d never had the courage – he was as spineless as his father.

Almost as spineless.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, and drew his sword.

“A-Xuan..?”

“My servant, my responsibility,” he reminded her, and he knew that she’d misunderstood, that she thought that he was going to go take care of the grim task himself. He knew, because for a brief moment in time she looked happy – not true joy, but the only way she ever looked happy for as long as he could remember, like she’d won one over on someone and gotten her way despite everyone’s efforts. He hated to disappoint her. “I have my honor to think of, too.”

Jin Zixuan sent Wei Wuxian to the Lotus Pier, bearing words of warning. His father’s spies had reported that the Wen sect would probably target them first, using Jiang Cheng’s interference in the Xuanwu cave as an excuse – there wasn’t any point going after the Lan sect a second time, and the Jin sect were longstanding allies of Wen Ruohan, with Jin Guangshan being a coward at heart; if Wen Ruohan could keep him out of the inevitable war for a little longer by playing nice, he would.

Word came back not long after that they’d been right: the Lotus Pier had been destroyed.

It also said that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were missing – missing, but not dead. It didn’t say anything about their parents, and that was suspicious, too.

Maybe sending Wei Wuxian had helped after all.

“We should reach out to the Nie sect,” Jin Zixuan told his father. “With our money and their strength, we can resist the Wen sect long enough for the smaller sects to catch up.”

“The Wen sect is all-powerful,” his father objected. “What’s even the point of resisting? We’d be better off reaching out to them to see if we can reach a peaceful agreement.”

“We’ve already seen what agreement they want to reach,” Jin Zixuan said, and his father’s gaze dropped guiltily to his waist. Jin Zixuan didn’t bother looking down himself. He didn’t do that much, these days. “Am I your heir or am I not? You promised me that I’d inherit a sect, not slavery. Reach out to the Nie sect.”

Jin Zixuan should not talk that way to his father. He had always been a filial son, and a spineless one; his father’s son, and nothing else. The only thing he had going for him was the right blood – and even that wasn't that sure a bet, these days. He knew his father was already thinking about Jin Zixun in a way that suggested that all those rumors about his ‘cousin’ having a different father than the one everyone said he had might have some merit.

It seemed, though, that when pushed to it, he was also his mother’s son.

He hoped she choked on the knowledge.

“Reach out to the Nie sect,” he said again. “With all the cultivation world uniting, the Wen sect’s fall is inevitable. If we don’t act now, we’ll be seen as cowards, hanging back and waiting to see how things fall out to eke out the best advantage – if we act, we’ll be seen as heroes.”

“But what if you’re wrong, and the Wen sect does win?”

“Then we’ll tell Sect Leader Wen that we’re perfectly positioned to negotiate the other sects’ terms of surrender, and use that to win anyway,” Jin Zixuan said, less because he thought that was an acceptable course of action and more because he knew it would be what his father would do anyway. “Call the Nie sect.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng hissed, wild-eyed, and Jin Zixuan blinked at him, taken aback.

“Is it because I wasn’t able to do more to help with the Lotus Pier?” he asked, feeling helpless. “I really did try to convince my father to send more people, but I barely even got him not to block my sending Wei Wuxian –”

“Not because of that!”

Jin Zixuan took a step back. “Uh, then –”

“You cut off your own hand you maniac!”

“The situation –” Jin Zixuan started backing up. “It was necessary – Wei Wuxian, help!”

“No, he’s right,” Wei Wuxian said, arms crossed. His eyes were teary, but they’d been that way since he’d left Jinlin Tower – ever since the Wen sect’s letter. “You’re a maniac, and Jiang Cheng’s going to kill you, and you’re going to deserve it.”

Lan Wangji, standing beside him, nodded.

“It’s not that bad, really.” Jin Zixuan tried to explain. “My mother and father would never have accepted anything else – threats to me are the only thing that work on them, and even that’s stopped working after all these years. Only a real injury would have an impact. If they hadn’t been so shocked, they would’ve just continued to ignore what the Wen sect was doing, or offered them an olive branch, and then then the Wen sect would’ve used that as an opportunity to come and divide up everyone else. We’d lose precious time to regroup, and the Wen sect would only get stronger and stronger –”

“You. Cut. Off. Your. Hand!”

“The Wen sect demanded the hand of the person who started the rebellion in the Xuanwu cave,” Jin Zixuan said quietly. “That was me, not Wei Wuxian. Why should he pay my debts?”

Everyone still seemed very upset, but maybe a little less murderous. Definitely a lot more teary-eyed.

“Couldn’t you have at least picked your other hand?” Wei Wuxian mumbled. “Your right hand – that’s your sword arm.”

Jin Zixuan shrugged. “They demanded the right hand,” he said. “Anyway, it’s fine, I’ve been using my left, and it’s been going smoothly enough…you know, I think I might actually be left-handed? I never knew; everyone always made me use my right.”

“Does it hurt?” Lan Wangji asked suddenly, and Jin Zixuan hesitated, not sure how to respond to that.

Unfortunately, everyone else took that in the worst way possible, and insisted on taking care of him, no matter how much he tried to explain that it didn’t hurt, not really, not anymore; it was just the strangest feeling of absence. Like something that had always been there wasn’t there anymore.

A bit like his mother. She wasn’t talking to him anymore.

He was a terrible son, and would probably end up spending eternity in some afterlife hell being tortured for failing to properly honor his parents.

He’d already resigned himself.

“How are your parts of the war going?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Chifeng-zun says it’s going well, but you know how he is; it’s all business with him, you never hear any stories. Did Wei Wuxian really knock out old Sect Leader Jiang when he refused to leave the Lotus Pier? Tell me he didn’t.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng said, and he looked amused about it – maybe he’d be in the next boiling pot over in the afterlife of unfilial descendants. “He was a little frantic, you see, on account of not wanting to fail you by letting them die. After all, you had just cut off your own hand for him…”

“Are you ever going to let that drop?”

“Sure. As soon as you have two hands again.”

“…so, never.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said patiently. “Never. Never ever, if that makes it clearer for you.”

Jin Zixuan’s new hand was made of steel and wire, under the gilding, and functioned using some of the innovative new talismans that Wei Wuxian had invented. He couldn’t help but hope that they weren’t part of the subset that constituted demonic cultivation because people were being really weird about that.

“It’s like people wanted for me to just die in the Burial Mounds,” Wei Wuxian complained. He was dressed in black and grey and red, which he’d apparently adopted as his new sect colors – Jin Zixuan had only managed to send him out of Lanling the first time by officially ejecting him from the Jin sect, a decision his father had initially endorsed but now, he suspected, was regretting.

It was a lot easier to throw out a servant than it was to invite back the founder of demonic cultivation, especially now that he was a war hero and a sect leader.

“You didn’t have to be in the Burial Mounds to begin with,” Jin Zixuan reminded him, to no avail. “I know I said I needed an army because my father wasn’t supplying us properly, but I didn’t mean ‘invent an entirely new cultivation technique and raise an army of the dead’. You know that, right?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged it off, because of course he did.

“You know, they’re calling me the Yiling Patriarch?” he said, and grinned. “It’s because the Burial Mounds are in Yiling, and because I’m founding my own sect. Or whatever. Like I wouldn’t be supporting you, anyway.”

“It has to be your own sect because otherwise you might be forced to share your secret techniques,” Jin Zixuan explained, not for the first time. “Rogue cultivators don’t have the same protections that sects do, even small sects. It doesn’t matter if you’re the only person in it. Or, well, you and Lan Wangji, I guess.”

“I still can’t believe he’s willing to leave the Lan sect to join me,” Wei Wuxian sighed happily. “He’s such a good friend.”

Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure about the strength of his new hand, which was the only reason he didn’t try to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You’re a bad influence, you know,” he said instead of trying to explain to Wei Wuxian that people didn’t generally leave their natal sects for the sake of a ‘good friend’. “I nearly hit a girl the other day.”

“You did? You? What’d she do?”

“She gave me soup and implied that she’d made it,” Jin Zixuan said. “Except it tasted exactly the same as the soup Mistress Jiang is always making for you – I’ve had it recently enough to know. Sure enough, I push the issue a bit and it turns out it was Mistress Jiang’s. The girl was just trying to claim credit as an excuse to get close to me.”

He sighed. He’d been so angry about it. They were at war! People were dying, losing their homes, losing everything, and this stupid girl could only think about how to plot and scheme to try to get to a prized position as the future Madame Jin. Had his mother done the same, when it’d been his father…?

“You’ve had shijie’s soup recently?” Wei Wuxian asked. His expression looked slightly odd. “Shijie made you soup?”

“Yeah, I think she’s been dropping off whatever’s left over at my tent when she’s done,” Jin Zixuan said, shaking his head. Jiang Yanli was so nice, really truly genuinely nice. He’d never met anyone like her. “Could you thank her for me? I appreciate the thoughtfulness – it’s filling enough that I don’t need to go to the mess, which means there’s more left over for everyone else.”

“…sure,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’ll tell her. Or, and here’s a thought – why don’t you tell her yourself?”

“Why would I? You’re the one she likes,” Jin Zixuan said, puzzled. “I mean, you’re her adopted little brother, aren’t you? She’s practically your second soulmate, after Lan Wangji.”

“I’m really busy,” Wei Wuxian announced, despite having been lazing around complaining that they didn’t have any encounters with the Wen sect lined up for a whole week only a few moments before. “I couldn’t possibly take the time out of my schedule to go talk to her – you see, I’ve had an idea, which is going to keep me very busy…in fact, I’m not even going to be here at all! I need to go to the Lan sect encampment to consult with Teacher Lan.”

Discovering that Lan Qiren had a mad scientist streak when it came to musical cultivation had been extremely disquieting, Jin Zixuan reflected. The world might’ve been better off if Lan Qiren had never had a chance to actually get friendly with Wei Wuxian – Wei Wuxian provided the terrible ideas, Lan Qiren scolded him about them and then helped him smooth the kinks out of them anyway.

Teacher for a day, father for a lifetime…

“All right,” Jin Zixuan said, though he still didn’t exactly understand what had just happened. “I’ll go talk to her, I guess.”

“I just wanted to make sure you know you’re not obligated to make me soup or anything,” Jin Zixuan said, not sure where this conversation had gone off the rails.

Probably around the time that Jiang Yanli had started smiling at him, because he always turned into an idiot whenever that happened. She was so very nice, not just average at all no matter what anyone said, and blissfully down-to-earth – she wouldn’t be wasting her time and everyone else’s thinking about how to politically advance herself despite there being a war on. She spent all her time learning field medicine and helping cook meals for the mess and –

And he’d better stop thinking because he was turning red again.

“I enjoy making soup for you,” Jiang Yanli said peaceably. “Especially since I know you enjoy it, too.”

“I do! It’s just, I don’t know, you already do so much, with the medics and organizing and everything…It’s – uh – I – listen, I know our parents – you don’t have to pay attention to that. I only have one hand, I’m not – don’t feel obligated, not because of that. And don’t let Wei Wuxian make you think making soup is the only thing you’re good for, no matter how much he likes it, okay? You do so much more than just that!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, covering her smile with her hand. “You’re very sweet, you know.”

Jin Zixuan made an incoherent sound.

He would need to do something in return, he thought, a little frantic; he really didn’t know how to deal with a sincere compliment from someone he actually liked. Maybe poetry? Girls were said to like poetry. He couldn’t write poetry worth a damn, but he could pay someone –

She kissed him on the cheek.

All thought abruptly departed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not inappropriate – after all, we’re already engaged,” Jiang Yanli said cheerfully. “Which I’m very good with, so don’t worry about that. Good luck in your next battle, Jin-gongzi.”

At some point she must have left, because she wasn’t there anymore, and Jin Zixuan was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Mianmian peeked in, then snickered. “Oh no,” she said. “She broke him. Everyone! Come look! She totally broke him!”

“Did you actually cut off your hand to save a servant?” Jin Guangyao asked.

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” Jin Zixuan said, uncomfortable, then added, “Welcome to the family.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

For some reason, Jin Zixuan felt a shiver run up his spine. He didn’t think he liked this new brother of his, and he felt bad about it – he’d welcomed Wei Wuxian whole-heartedly, hadn’t he? Was it really that different when it actually was someone of his own blood?

He didn’t like that thought.

“I hope we can be friends,” he said, willing it to be true, and Jin Guangyao murmured something agreeable in return.

Jin Zixuan wished he liked him.

“My mother is going to hate you,” he said, because he knew that she would. “If she does, let me know, and I’ll try to stop her…not just her. If anyone treats you wrong, just tell me. I’ll stand up for you.”

Jin Guangyao smiled again.

“You’re so kind,” he said, and for some reason Jin Zixuan had the feeling that he didn’t mean it at all.

Jin Zixuan had been engaged since before he was born, and it still somehow came as a surprise to find himself married. Not just the event, either – these days he woke up with his wife in his arms and was forced to just stare at her lying there in the soft morning light and wonder how he got so lucky.

He was married.

To a very nice girl, who actually seemed to like him a great deal – she’d made that clear enough when she’d had a chance. Very clear, in fact, which was why there was also a very slight curve in her belly that meant that soon enough he wouldn’t just be married, but a father.

“You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who was visiting again. He did that a lot, but in fairness he didn’t really have a settled place to live – everyone knew the supposed ‘sect’ he’d founded was little more than a sham. He’d been technically kicked out of the Jin sect and refused all offers to rejoin, and it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to scandalize the entire cultivation world by marrying into the Lan sect no matter what Lan Xichen had been hinting. Sometimes he and Lan Wangji spent time at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, or the Unclean Realm with Nie Huaisang under Nie Mingjue’s long-suffering gaze…everyone called Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch, on account of him ‘founding’ his sect there – or rather, summoning up extra resentful energy from the Burial Mounds for the purposes of obtaining an army while minimizing the number of disturbed graves – but he wasn’t, not really. He didn’t live there or anything.

Who would want to live there?

“I would,” Wei Wuxian agreed, but he didn’t follow it up with teasing or anything the way he usually did.

He just looked very uncharacteristically perturbed.

“What is it?” Jin Zixuan asked. “Can I help?”

“No heroic bullshit,” Wei Wuxian said at once, which meant that there was a possibility of heroic bullshit. Given Wei Wuxian’s personality, that also meant that it was heroic bullshit that would be bad for the Jin sect, which he still felt bad about on account of them raising him and all…in all honesty, it might be a good thing in the long run that Jin Zixuan’s father and mother had been so awful to Wei Wuxian as a kid, and that he’d known it. If they’d been good to him, he never would have been willing to leave. “But, uh, remember Wen Ning?”

Jin Zixuan blinked. Wei Wuxian had told him some stories: a junior disciple of the Wen sect, from a branch family – Dafan Wen – who’d helped Wei Wuxian out a few times when he’d been smuggling the Jiang clan to freedom.

More than a few times: he’d been Wei Wuxian’s first disciple in matters of resentful energy, which Wei Wuxian had apparently been thinking of since forever and started playing around with more or less the moment he was no longer officially tied to a sect, and had been a valuable contact during the early period of the war before events had changed and he’d been lost.

“Yes,” he said. “What about him?”

He hadn’t thought of Wen Ning in ages, beyond abstractly hoping he was doing well. It might be hard, with a surname as he had, but surely there was somewhere in the cultivation world for those surnamed Wen – Wei Wuxian had argued fiercely in favor of leniency for the remaining Wen cultivators, and the Lan sect had backed him, thanks to Lan Wangji. The rest of them had been exhausted, Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and his parents, even Jin Zixuan…his father had ended up volunteering their sect to help with resettlement of the refugees, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Sure, Jin Zixuan knew his father well enough to know that he was only doing it for the clout and possible advantage it would give him, but he was pretty sure the Wen civilians didn’t especially care why they were going to get a reprieve from death and a new place to live, only that they did.

“I’ll get there,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s a bit complicated…you know how Jin Zixun’s in charge of resettlement?”

Jin Zixuan nodded, puzzled. “What about it?”

“You can’t do that!” one of the guards shouted at Wei Wuxian. “We’re disciples of the Jin sect –”

“Is that so,” Jin Zixuan said, and they all turned to look at him, each one of them blanching in utter horror. “And why didn’t I know that my Jin sect had such people as you?”

“Where’s Wen Ning?” Wen Qing asked Wei Wuxian, looking desperate. “I don’t see him…Where is he?!”

“That monster?” one of the guards blurted out.

“My brother is not a monster!”

“He’s been hiding in the woods,” one of the Wen civilians volunteered. “He’s been raiding the camp, rescuing people who are being abused –”

“Our response was reasonable in light of his aggression,” the guard argued. “He used demonic cultivation – he’s a monster! We had no choice –”

“We’re going to need to question them,” Jin Zixuan said to Lan Wangji, who was looking faintly murderous in his usual righteous sort of way. “To find out who’s their backing – Jin Zixun wouldn’t have dared something like this, not on his own. Can you bind them for me?”

It was his father.

Of course.

“A-Yao, what do you want?” Jin Zixuan asked, and Jin Guangyao stopped in his tracks, staring at him in confusion – as well he should, since he’d only come into Jin Zixuan’s study in order to say good morning on his way to breakfast. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you know, in life.”

Jin Guangayo blinked at him.

Probably not the best question to spring on someone before breakfast, Jin Zixuan reflected.

“It’s about the trouble that my – that our father got into,” Jin Zixuan explained. “The other cultivation sects are furious to no end that he took advantage of their trust in order to do such a disgraceful thing…I’ve ordered Zixun to be confined for now, and I suspect he’ll have to be banished to some country house for a few years. And as you know, my father will be retiring soon and handing over the position of sect leader to me…”

Neither of them especially wanted that to happen, his father as loathe to give up power as Jin Zixuan was to take it. But what other solution was there after such a scandal?

The Lan sect, ever concerned with morality, had been horrified when they’d found out what had happened; the Jiang sect, despite their close relationship to the Jin sect, had immediately denounced it, and Jiang Yanli, who was Wei Wuxian’s friend, was the very first to speak. The Nie sect, never a firm ally for the Jin sect, was growling about righteousness, and if Nie Mingjue was sincere about that being his only concern – and having worked with the man, Jin Zixuan believed he was – then there were plenty of others in the Nie sect that had their eyes on the greater influence and power that would accrue to their sect if Jin Zixuan’s father were allowed to bring his sect down with him.

Handing over power was the only way to make sure their Jin sect remained strong.

“He won’t be alone, at least,” Jin Zixuan sighed. “I won him that much.”

Jiang Fengmian had agreed to step down from his position as sect leader as well, making it seem as though Jin Guangshan’s retirement were voluntary, part of a joint agreement of the older generation handing over power to the newer. Everyone would know in their hearts that that wasn’t the case, but it would be far less shameful than the alternative – saving a little bit of his father’s face.

“You did well,” Jin Guangyao said, listening with a neutral expression. “In uncovering everything, and revealing it.”

“I would’ve brought you in to help, but I couldn’t,” Jin Zixuan explained. “I know he asked you to help in finding demonic cultivators to join the Jin sect, and…”

He hesitated.

“He implicated me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

He had. Their father was shameless: he’d even sought to move all blame to Jin Guangyao’s back, whether as the actual mastermind or, when that was rejected, as the inciter of the scheme. Nonsense, of course.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Even if Jin Guangyao had suggested it, it would have been his father’s responsibility to refuse.

“No one believes it,” Jin Zixuan said, which was only partially a lie. “Even Chifeng-zun laughed in his face and said you wouldn’t be nearly that stupid.”

Jin Guangyao looked – oddly pleased by that, if Jin Zixuan had to guess.

“Still, it’s awkward,” he said, rubbing his head. “People talk, and our subsidiary sects have never been as quiet as some others…you don’t have to tell me right now what you’re planning, or what you want in the long term. But maybe – uh – you have two sworn brothers. Is there any chance…”

“I could go visit them for a while?”

Jin Zixuan smiled helplessly. “I wish it weren’t necessary. And if you did know what you wanted, I could take it into account when planning the future…”

“No, no,” Jin Guangyao said. “Visiting my sworn brothers will be – fine.” He looked thoughtful. “You said Chifeng-zun didn’t think I was involved?”

“Zewu-jun was also vociferous in your defense,” Jin Zixuan said, trying to elide the fact that it wasn’t so much that Nie Mingjue didn’t think Jin Guangyao was capable of such atrocities, but rather that he declared, and loudly, that if Jin Guangyao had intended to do something horrific like that, he’d have handled it better. Judging by Jin Guangyao’s amused expression, he might have guessed anyway. “I appreciate your understanding.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

Jin Zixuan thought he might even mean it, this time.

“I’m an uncle!” Wei Wuxian crowed, holding Jin Ling in his arms. “I’m an uncle, I’m an uncle!”

“Big deal,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, which would be more convincing if he wasn’t beaming foolishly. “So am I. Hand him over...hey, A-Ling! It's me, your jiujiu!”

“Can I be an honorary uncle?” Nie Huaisang asked – Jin Zixuan had no idea when he’d even arrived, or why he was here, or anything, really, but that was probably because he hadn’t really slept on account of over-excitement. “I mean, my brother’s sworn brothers with Jin-xiong’s brother, so it works, right?”

“That’s ridiculous –” Jiang Cheng started.

“No, I love it!” Wei Wuxian immediately declared. “That means Lan Zhan’s his uncle, too!”

“Wei Wuxian…!”

“Don’t worry,” Jin Zixuan said, hugging Jiang Cheng out of sheer excitement. “You’re his only jiujiu, right? Everyone else is related through me, so they have to share.”

Jiang Cheng seemed pleased by that, and Wei Wuxian laughed.

Nie Huaisang was calculating on his fingers. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “This might be the most well-connected baby in the entire cultivation world? The only thing we’re missing is the Wen sect…Jiang-xiong, how about you marry Wen Qing? Then we’d have them all!”

“That is not how I’m determining my marriage!” Jiang Cheng yelped, but notably didn’t reject the idea.

Jin Zixuan looked at Jiang Yanli, who looked back at him, and they both started laughing.

There was more noise after that, and eventually Jin Ling woke up and started crying, making everyone start fussing like a bunch of old hens surrounding a long-suffering Jiang Yanli who’d already grown accustomed to it in a way the rest of them hadn’t.

It suddenly occurred to Jin Zixuan that everyone who was here was here because they wanted to be. Not because of his name or his wealth, not because he was Sect Leader Jin, not because of the circumstances of his birth, but just because they liked him – because they wanted to celebrate with him, and to cherish his child, to share his joy.

It was a good day.

All the days were a little good, but this one was especially good.

#mdzs #jin zixuan #wei wuxian #mianmian #jiang cheng #lan wangji #jin guangyao #jiang yanli #my fic #my fics #right hand man

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merakiui · 3 years

Note

I was wondering I read the Xiao x a sucidal reader and I was wondering if you could do a imagine for that if this is too much please don’t and stay safe drink water and eat and please enjoy your day ^^

Lantern Rite Wishes

xiao x (gender neutral) reader cw: suicide, depression, angst note - somehow the imagine became longer than intended (・・；)

He was just going to get some fresh air and then he’d come right back inside. There was absolutely no way he was looking for you because it was a beautiful night and the lanterns lit up the sky like pieces of sweet, wondrous dreams—

Xiao shakes his head to dispel such thoughts as he steps out into the open, surveying just how empty Wangshu Inn has become. Everyone who isn’t obligated to work is down at the festival, spending time with friends or taking in the sights as a couple. He was going to watch from the balcony, where he’d be alone and unbothered by the usual hustle and bustle of Wangshu. All those plans seemingly evaporate the moment he notices your figure balancing on the ledge, one foot extended outwards.

He’s not sure what overcomes him when he rushes forward, seizing your arm and roughly pulling you backwards. A yelp escapes your dry throat. Just moments prior you were teetering on the edge, teary-eyed and wondering if anyone would miss you. Now you’re falling into someone’s chest as they wrap their arms around your trembling frame in a bone-crushing hug. Your stomach drops when you finally hit the floor, the wooden boards creaking under the combined weight of two people.

For a moment, you struggle to escape Xiao’s hold, but he remains unyielding. It’s during your hiccuping sobs that you finally hear him.

“Why?”

It’s the only word Xiao can utter. Over and over in a confused, pained loop. The thought of watching you fall to your death hurts him, and even though he can’t fully grasp the reasoning behind that feeling he knows it must be a result of your suicide attempt.

“I...don’t know.” Words weigh heavy in your mouth, and your tongue trips over itself in an attempt to explain yourself. But you truly can’t. Why did you do that just now? Were you actually going to jump? “I’m just tired.”

Tired. A word that holds so much meaning. Tired of work. Tired of mundane schedules. Tired of the disconnection between positivity and depression. Tired of life. It’s all so exhausting and the only solution would be to die. That must be it, right?

“You don’t know?” Xiao’s still holding onto you when he mutters that question, his expression clouded in grief and anger. “Why not? You’re a mortal! You should value your life a little because you won’t get another.”

The harshness to his tone startles you and it prompts more tears. Under the lights of thousands of lanterns, the scene should bring happiness and peace. But you’re just sad and tired and absolutely fed up with life.

“I’m sorry, Xiao. I didn’t—“

“Don’t apologize.” His grip loosens slightly and it’s as if his own composure follows. “Just...don’t do it again. If you’re not going to value your life, I’ll value it instead. So don’t do stupid things you’ll regret.”

It wounds your resolve to hear him refer to impulsive desires as stupid and foolish, but it also warms your heart to hear him say he’ll value your life. And you can’t bring yourself to argue. Had you jumped and avoided his outstretched arm, you wouldn’t have had any time to regret the action. Would Xiao have saved you even as you were falling? You’d like to think he would, but even miraculous fantasies remain within one’s mind. And in this reality a dozen alternate scenarios could’ve happened. For instance, Xiao could’ve avoided the balcony and you would be dead.

Your fingers dig into his backside as you finally return his hug. “I’m just tired. I didn’t know what else to do...” A heavy sigh escapes you in that tense moment. “I wish I didn’t feel so lost.”

Xiao realizes he’s been holding you for quite some time and he pulls away in a barely composed fluster, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly. In an effort to change the direction of the conversation, he latches onto the thought of wishes. “Well... I was going to watch the lanterns from here, but then I saw you. I guess we could go see the festival together—if it’ll cheer you up, that is.”

You look at him in mild shock, not having expected him to take the initiative to invite you. “Oh...”

“But you’re probably still scared after what just happened. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Mortals and fear...”

Your breathy laugh startles him. He’s always referring to you as a mortal, as if that’s all you are in his eyes. Although you’re still shaken after your attempt, you feel a little safer knowing he’s with you. And while you may just be another mortal, the fact that he saved you must count for something. Xiao can go on and on about how useless mortals are, but to step in when one was about to commit suicide—perhaps he does have a heart.

“I should thank you for doing that. For stopping me before I could actually do it, I mean.” Your heart hammers in your chest as you prepare to spill your emotional guts in front of the adeptus. “Truthfully, I haven’t been well in a long while. And I don’t think I’ll get better anytime soon, but...I want to forget about tonight. So maybe seeing the festival with you will chase a few bad thoughts away...”

Xiao’s staring. He realizes he should blink and actually say something, but the words won’t form. You’ve always been an honest person, but he’s taken by surprise at how quickly you agree to see the festival. It’s an ideal distraction, isn’t it? All sorts of negativity muddles his brain and he wonders why you’d want to see the festival with him. He’s not exactly a cheery person and you’re not mentally well either. For some reason, he feels compelled to weasel out of this situation—to deflect and avoid it before he freely allows himself to experience this pathetic thing humans call ‘fun.’

“Actually, I think making a lantern would be nice. I could write so many wishes on it. It might even make me feel better, too!” You’d like to think that a simple lantern wish will solve all of the murky depression in your life, but it’s just wishful thinking. “And you can make one with me! We’ll write our own wishes.”

“I guess...”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.” You stand on unsteady legs—legs that would’ve broke once they made contact with the ground—and offer your hand. “You can’t get out of this one, Xiao. I’m going to drag you there whether you like it or not.”

He deadpans as he begins to regret his own decisions. But his hand still finds yours and he allows you to pull him up from the floor. Your smile might not shine as brightly as it did before, but it’s still a step in the right direction. And you’re a resilient person; you’re bound to bounce back after this. It just takes time and patience to heal—two things he can easily spare for your sake.

Xiao won’t make any wishes for himself. Rather than selfishly wishing to erase centuries of karmic debt, he’ll scrawl something unlikely on the surface of his lantern. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he’d let you fall, and so he hopes that his wish will come true.

And when your lanterns join the others in the inky sky, Xiao feels relieved to have you by his side, your warm hand gripping his and an infectious smile pulling your lips upward. Your life has so much meaning. It’s just a little foggy and you can’t see it, but Xiao will shine a light through that dark fog to help you reclaim that meaning. In due time, you will find happiness and he’ll be there to guide you to it on a bumpy path.

Without realizing it, his love for you blossoms and it’s a quiet flower shrouded in its own darkness.

No matter what happens, give (Name) the happiness they deserve. That’s all I’ll wish for.

#tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: angst #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao x reader #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact fanfic #xiao #all of this xiao writing #is fueling my desire to write modern au xiao

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years

Text

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

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teamxdark · 3 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn?

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place.

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

#Smash speaks.#Avalon Series.#Stories From Avalon.#Lansoni.#Arthadow.#I wrote 80% of this today after months of barely touching it.#Hope you all enjoy!#I'm going to bed.

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therealvinelle · 3 years

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How do you believe Carlisle feels about Esme? How would their break up go? Would he ever cheat on her? I mean like emotionally?

He loves her.

I don’t doubt that his feelings for Esme are genuine, that he respects and cherishes her and wishes to spend his life with her. Esme, too, worships the man.

My complete lack of faith in this ship comes from the fact that they’re together for the wrong reasons and not compatible.

The Bad Beginning

Carlisle had spent centuries searching for likeminded, he never did. In the end he succumbs and starts creating his own, first Edward and then Esme, and to his joy they both agree to do the diet.

Esme’s transformation was entirely an impulse on his end. He saw this delightful, vivacious young woman he’d known ten years ago lie broken and dying in the morgue, a Jane Doe declared dead, she was all too easy to steal. She was too far gone for him to have time to think it over, and so he went «alright let’s do this. I imagine it seemed rather like God had sent her to that morgue specifically. We learn from Midnight Sun that romance wasn’t on his mind at all (even if it was, that wouldn’t make their marriage more functional) and he expected nothing of her. He bit her because he didn’t want Esme Platt to die.

Esme, of course, wakes up into this new life under surreal, heavenly circumstances. Her child is still dead - but here is the mythic, pedestaled Dr. Cullen, now her savior and more wonderful than ever. To back myself up with the books:

Esme had already been in love with Carlisle—much to his shock—but not through any mystical, magical means. She’d met Carlisle as a girl and, drawn to his gentleness, wit, and otherworldly beauty, formed an attachment that had haunted her for the rest of her human years. Life had not been kind to Esme, and so it was not surprising that this golden memory of a good man had never been supplanted in her heart. After the burning torment of transformation, when she’d awakened to the face of her long-cherished dream, her affections were entirely his. (Midnight Sun, chapter Bloodtype)

Carlisle, on his end, hadn’t had the idea at all until Edward said “Dude, she’s into you, go for it.”

I’d been on hand to caution Carlisle about her unforeseen reaction. He’d expected that she would be shocked by her transformation, traumatized by the pain, horrified by what she’d become, much as I had been. He’d expected to have to explain and apologize, to soothe and to atone. He knew there was a good chance that she would have preferred death, that she would despise him for the choice made without her knowledge or consent. So the fact that she had been immediately prepared to join this life—not really the life, but to join him—was not something he was ready for.

He’d never seen himself as a possible object of romantic love before that moment. It seemed contrary to what he was—a vampire, a monster. The knowledge I gave him changed the way he looked at Esme, the way he looked at himself.

More than that, it was very a powerful thing, choosing to save someone. It was not a decision any sane individual made lightly. (sic)

I’m not entirely void of authorial intent - I get that this was supposed to be romcom where the cute nerdy guy has no idea the girl is interested.

But, what I see is that after centuries of being alone, never finding anybody who shared his values, Carlisle finally has these two people who share his ideals, the only two in the world. He’s had countless friends, but it never worked out because of that damn diet. But, now he has these two people, and one of them is a beautiful, kind, wonderful woman who’s in love with him.

I imagine falling for Esme was easy. It was just so perfect, simply by being Carlisle Cullen he could make her happier than any other man, and given their shared diet, he wanted her by his side always, just as he did Edward. And this was it for him, really, to Carlisle Cullen Esme might as well be the only woman in the world because she’s the only one who'll share his lifestyle. He also felt responsible for her.

I don’t at all doubt their sincerity or affection for one another.

However, they did not fall for each other for each other’s sakes. Esme fell for the ideal since childhood, and Carlisle fell because she was perfect. Stick them in an AU and it won’t happen.

The Slippery Slope

Where they run into trouble is firstly that Esme doesn’t share these ideals, nor value human life for its own sake. Now, I’m not asking her to be a saint - but over the course of these books we had some lapses that I find pretty damning.

She wanted Edward back in Forks, when this would almost certainly mean the death of Bella Swan, simply because to Esme having Edward nearby > a person’s life. This wasn’t the case for Carlisle, he made it extremely clear he wanted Edward to leave.

During the “Kill Bella?” vote, she was in favor of whatever meant Edward would stay.

Carlisle, having failed to get anywhere with talking sense into Edward, sends him home to his mother for an intervention. What happens next is that Esme gives Edward her blessing to eat the delicious girl if he wants to. Now, we can’t know specifically the talk Carlisle and Esme had before this, but I can’t imagine it was this. Also, damn, what a miscommunication.

Esme simply doesn’t have a problem with the deaths of individual humans, and she will put her loved ones above all other things, even if it’s a minor inconvenience. Keeping Bella alive only becomes her priority after Edward makes it clear he wants this.

Now, Carlisle’s standards have been worn down over the centuries, he just wants his family to try not to eat people on purpose, that’s how low the bar is. Tragically for his marriage, Esme is stumbling over said bar.

The further trouble they run into is that I don’t think they’re very compatible people.

Esme means well, but she’s peculiar, to put it extremely nicely. Her ambition in life is to LARP the human life, right down to being a master chef of something her species can’t eat, which could be sweet if she did other things. She doesn’t, the closest she gets is designing homes for her family. There’s being single-minded, and then there’s Esme, who appears to have honed herself into someone who exists only to be the housewife.

This leads to bizarre behavior - for instance in Midnight Sun when Edward has realized he’s in love, he sits around laughing to himself like a lunatic while playing the piano. Something happens with Rosalie, who runs out of the house in humiliation. Esme, responding to all this, gives her infamous “the best and brightest of us all” pep talk.

It’s just such a weird scene, even accounting for the inhumanity of Twilight vampires this is weird.

Mostly, thought, it is Esme’s interests and desires in life that I find so at odds with Carlisle’s. She wants to be an improved human, living the shinier, better, life without actually embracing the inhumanity of vampirism, while Carlisle is doing the human thing because he wants to be a doctor and save lives. Before that, he was travelling the world, living with normal vampires, using his eternity to study and pursue meaning in life. Now, they end up in the same place, with similar goals - wanting to blend in with humans - but the motivation is the polar opposite.

Which in turn means that as the world turns and their lives inevitably change, the way they live will have to change. This will spell trouble.

There’s also me having a strong suspicion these two don’t have much of a physical relationship, if any. Meyer specifically referred to their relationship as spiritual, and that fits the vibe we get from them in the books. Quite notably, Rosalie and Emmett were impossible to be around when they were newlyweds, while Carlisle and Esme weren’t a problem at all.

Not to mention what Esme longed for all those years was very much an ideal of a man, which to me doesn’t immediately point to a very physical attraction.

The Penultimate Peril

Would he cheat on her, you ask. Answer is yes, they’re both cheating emotionally with Edward. No.

He’s with her because he wants to be, and feels responsible for her. More, developing the kinds of feelings necessary for an emotional affair isn’t really on the table for him, since everyone else in the world is either a. one of his kids or the Denali, b. an unrepentant man-eating demon. So, unless Tanya’s feeling frisky, Carlisle doesn’t have anybody to cheat with.

(I’m here defining an emotional affair, which as I understand it is a bit hard to define, as a romantic, but non-physical entanglement. The cheating party has to know their partner wouldn’t be cool with it for it to count in my eyes.)

As for physically cheating on her, nope. God no, not ever. Unless something really convoluted like the plot of Blue Moon unfolded, but that’s really more a case of Esme pimping out her husband to her daughter-in-law, so everyone’s to blame here.

The end

I think the breakup can happen in any number of ways, but I think either way it will be sudden.

These two aren’t going to go “you know, I think we’ve grown apart” because Esme would never acknowledge that nevermind walk up to Carlisle and say it, and if Carlisle realized things aren’t working he’d still want to stick it out for her sake.

I think it’ll be sudden, it’ll happen as the immovable object that is them is hit by an unstoppable force. One will go someplace the other can’t follow. Maybe when the Cullen coven splits down the middle, and they’re on each their own side of the chasm, or maybe some other cause entirely.

It’ll devastate them both, but given the people these two are, I think it’s inevitable.

#carlisle cullen #esme cullen #carlisle/esme #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #hope you all think the header theme was as funny as i did #a series of unfortunate events aka-#Anonymous #ask

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ffeynn · 3 years

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How- how did I just discover your blog? I really like the pale blue aesthetic! Anyways, if it's okay, can I ask for the marine bio club taking their shy fem s/o out on an aquarium date please? Thank u! (and mayhaps a first kiss too pls)

「 aquarium date + first kiss with a shy!s/o: marine bio club 」

a/n: ahh thank you for liking the pale blue and also requesting!! and ofc ofc i love them, i hope i at least can make you smile with this! and the words are around 1.8k if im not wrong but still! im sorry that it gets shorter toward the end anonn

pairings: shinkai kanata, hakaze kaoru, kanzaki souma x shy!reader (seperate)

↬ there wasn’t much of a crowd the day you and kanata went to your aquarium date. maybe even the universe wanted for you two to be off in your own little world, not like the both of you haven’t done so. shinkai was the one who asked you out on a date shortly after you were officially announced as a couple.

☆ walking along the entrance of the aquarium, your eyes immediately brightened up in amusement. it’s been a long time since you visited an aquarium so to have kanata bring you here is perfect. “the aquarium looks nice right? looking at the fish heals me.” he said. you nodded in response, excitement awaits you the more you stepped into the place. all of a sudden, a hand holds out toward your direction.

“h-huh?” by his sudden gesture, you find yourself quite flustered. but not wanting to let kanata wait, you timidly placed your hand over him. he intertwined it with a smile flashed at you. “hehe, now we won’t lose each other.” with that said, you walked to your first exhibition, holding hands with your blue haired boyfriend.

↬ watching how his eyes lit up, the way his mouth curved upward by bits, how he interacts with the marine life inside the humongous tank and how they responded to him so naturally, having your first date at an aquarium truly is the perfect way to start off your relationship.

☆ although that doesn’t mean you’re the only one who feels this. kanata loves how amazed you’re at each marine life you saw, how intently you listened to his words about some fishes and also the way you giggle happily because a guppy swimmed to you from your calls. it would be nice if he can take a picture of you right now, sadly his phone is now being repaired.

well it’s alright then, kanata will just save this sight of you in his mind, he’ll make sure he keeps it well. the sight of you waving at his sea friends with a warm smile on your face, blue shades of lighting surrounding you was more than enough for him to never let himself forget this moment.

↬ it’s a shame that you were already nearing the end of the aquarium, your pace had gotten slower as you lightly swinged your hand which was intertwined with kanata’s. the blue haired stopped on his track, pointing to a flapjack octopus, “that’s flapjack octopus, cute right?” he remembered some days before that you wanted to see said octopus in real life. kanata is glad you seemed to forget that their sweet first date is coming to an end, he doesn’t want to see you sad anymore.

☆ your eyes widened slightly at the rare sight of the octopus, you were so excited to be able to see it for the first time. he lets go of your hand and told you to go up closer, you were such a mysterious being, in a lovely way. for him now, seeing you happy is the best view than seeing any other sea friends of his happy!

while kanata too, doesn’t know where his impulse came from but he took a glance at you. without any warnings, he leaned in straight without hesitation until his lips met yours. you frozened up at your place, obviously startled by it. remember how earlier you said you were quite flustered? now you’re beyond flustered.

“ka- kanata.. you..” poor you, too surprised to even say a coherent sentence. you didn’t make an effort to hide the growing shades of roses on your cheek.

“did you.. not like it? maybe that was too sudden.. I’m sorry.” if it wasn’t for the fact that you can easily notice changes on his expression, no one would know that he feels guilty and gloomy for his love gesture just now.

you panicked at your sad lover and his misunderstanding, “wait kanata no! I, I like it very much!” the moment you realized what you just blurted out, you were sure your face was akin to a tomato.

kanata cracked a smile on his face as he replied to your words of assurement, “ehe, I like it very much too.” oh dear, he’s too dangerous for your poor and timid heart. except you won’t mind him making your heart palpitates out of love.

↬ when he heard that you’ve been wanting to go to aquarium, kaoru was quick to plan a perfect aquarium date in his mind. he was so eager to make you think this was one of the best date you’ve ever gone to but at the same time he’s panicking. sure, kaoru has gone on a few dates at the aquarium but this is you! he’s going on an aquarium date with you! he wants to make it more special!

☆ you looked at your watch and wondered if ever your lover will come to the date. did he suddenly have work to do? just when you were about to call him, a rushed footsteps could be heard from afar.

“soー sorry.. I was too caught upー” he stopped his words the moment you caressed his back as a way to tell him to calm down. before he explains whatever reason it was for his late arrival, you told him to catch his breath first. besides, the mini bouquet he’s gripping seems to give out the answer.

↬ you took out your phone to take a selfie of you and the scenery of the marine life swimming around. despite being shy to ask kaoru to be in the selfie along with you, you asked him, “hey kaoru, do you want to take a selfie together?”

☆ without any thinking made, kaoru took your request positively. happily if I must point it out. he bent himself down to fit into your camera, the close proximity maybe did make your ears red. it’ll be nice if kaoru didn’t see your reddening ears. “one.. two..” and on the count of three, you clicked the button.

you thought the picture would probably look nice if it weren't for the fact that kaoru suddenly kissed your cheek when your finger clicked the button. now the only thing you’re thinking of is how red you must be from the abrupt kiss. in some way, kaoru is thankful that you’re hiding your face from him or you would’ve seen just how he’s more flustered even if he’s the one who initiates it.

↬ around the exit for the aquarium, there was a souvenirs shop. kaoru took a plushie of a sea animal that he remembered you saying is your favorite and rushed to you who’s waiting outside the shop after he paid for it.

☆ he took a few seconds before calling out to you, let the guy soften down when he saw you pat the small bouquet he bought for you. if you’re going to smile that way whenever he gives you a small bouquet then kaoru is willing to do it everyday.

and if your smile gets as cheerful and happy as this, if your eyes will brighten up more than ever akin to a star, then he will buy you lots and lots of plushies. a gift from kaoru to you; so that he’ll always be in your mind. just like you never leaving his. so out of the spur of the moment, he asked if he can kiss you. you looked up to meet his eyes and before kaoru could say anything about his question to not let you feel uncomfortable, you answered with a yes. take the lead kaoru, your s/o is letting you kiss him.

kaoru probably had created many different scenarios of your first kiss but outside of an aquarium souvenir shop is not one of them. vacant of people around them, you took this rare chance to put away your things, hold kaoru’s forearms, tiptoe on your feet and left a 5 seconds kiss on his lips. after constantly being on the teased side, seeing your boyfriend so flustered with love was fun. the kiss felt sweet too. not like you were any better. this was the first time you’ve ever done that.

↬ how do you go to an aquarium date? usually in an aquarium, souma will just walk around, admiring and studying the marine life inside the tank. but what if you thought that was boring? this is a date, while he’s content with just walking around with you beside him, talking about all the sea lifes.. what about you? and despite him being embarrassed, he lowered his pride and asked for help from the people around him. (his akatsuki senpais gives really good advice! as expected of them!)

☆ at the first place, when you caught hints of souma worrying over if you’ll feel content with just walking around with him, you almost snorted. really, what was he mulling about, just knowing that you’re going to be with him is enough to make a bashful smile up your face. now that you and him are dating, you really wish he would know that and you’ll tell him that during your awaited aquarium date.

fast-forward to when the two of you were already inside the date location. just before you and souma started venturing into the place full of sea lifes, you found yourself holding your breath when you asked the purple haired, “do you.. want to hold hands?” souma wants to hold hands with you too! he wants even if he was inexperienced with affections. and he would never wish to see you disappointed.

for the greater, we’ll just feign ignorance to the growing blush on the both of you.

↬ you were doing exactly what he thought would make you feel bored but the joyous expression you have says otherwise. souma glanced at his hand which hasn’t left yours since then, your hand in his was perfect. like it was meant to be holding one another. the nervousness he felt while starting his day today was subdued by the time you’ve spent with him.

☆ “um.. souma?” he responded to your call almost immediately with a voice that seemed more warm than before. you turned your head toward him and looked straight in his light purple eyes, “you see, it doesn’t matter where or how, as long as I’m with you, I’ll always be happy with that.”

ending your words, you instantly looked elsewhere. souma never expected you to mutter those words to him, he appreciates you for that. you were right and that fact goes the same way with him. souma also loves how shy you become after saying those kinds of things, it makes his heart swell with adoration. the hand holding yours was tightening his hold yet it feels more calm.

↬ somewhere in the aquarium, tucked from public’s eyes, souma with his face covered in pretty red was still in disbelief. your lover being in such a situation, it helps soothe your own bashfulness too.

☆ with souma, he always makes sure to have your consent first before doing anything. that goes the same with kisses, more precisely a first kiss. he was surprised with himself too from his own little selfish request but there was this urge to lay a kiss on your lips. “may.. I kiss you?” he said, requested, asked, whatever it is, the only answer you’ll give will never change.

and again, somewhere in the aquarium, tucked from public’s eyes, souma cupped your cheek with one hand and leaned in. the process was slow, he looked into your eyes with his face dusted of rose shades. the kiss also felt long despite lasting for a quick 3 seconds.

#enstars x reader #enstars imagines #ensemble stars imagines #ensemble stars x reader #shinkai kanata x reader #hakaze kaoru x reader #kanzaki souma x reader #fey.invites #ah ah it's so cold here #sorry for the late reply nonnie #wait im shivering rn ah ah

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arcticfox007 · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 1: Harvest

This is my first time doing Suptober and I probably won’t do every day (and am already a day late) but I thought it would be a good creativity boost and looking through all the other work it seemed like a lot of fun! Thanks to @winchester-reload for organizing this :)

Check it out on AO3!

Castiel hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation. He was supposed to be on break, but had volunteered to reset room 5 for the next patient because he knew his friend Alex had been in dire need of a break. Cas was only a volunteer, spending his junior year of college shadowing various medical professionals to get a better idea of what a career in medicine would really be like. When Alex had suggested shadowing one of the doctors she worked with, he’d readily agreed, knowing that his friend spoke highly of both Dr. Barnes and Dr. Fitzgerald.

He’d already spent the past few hours shadowing Dr. Fitzgerald (or Garth as he insisted on being called) and had seen enough to realize that Family Medicine was understaffed and struggling to do the best they could for their patients given the absurd constraints on their time. Garth was currently seeing a patient who didn’t want a stranger in the room, so the doctor had told Cas to grab some lunch. Cas had intended to do just that when he saw Alex making frantic phone calls at the front desk. When she’d hung up, she’d looked at the end of her rope, explaining to Can that one of the other nurses called out and she couldn’t find anyone to cover for them.

Which is how Cas ended up in room 5 wiping down the surfaces and pulling a new paper cover over the bed. Cas knew all about patient privacy, but really, the conversation easily carried into the room when the man who must be one of Dr. Barnes patients had decided to continue talking to her out in the hallway. The man had a compelling voice and by the time Cas realized he was eavesdropping it was too late to avoid it as leaving room 5 now would have only made the unsuspecting patient realize he’d been overheard.

“Um, and, I’m really sorry about this doc, but I probably can’t afford the bill for today’s services right away.”

“Dean, just call Meg like I told you. Our pharmacy here is amazing at finding co-pay cards for these types of medications.”

“I will talk to her, I swear. It’s just when we had to switch insurance plans the new one says the co-pay for that grade of medicine is $100 a dose. I’m honestly not sure I can make that work Dr. Barnes.”

“I understand, but you need this medicine Dean. Your RA will flare right back up without it. If that happens you eventually won’t be able to work at all. Even skipping doses is ill-advised, letting the inflammation persist could eventually cause permanent damage to your joints.”

“I get it doc, I do, but $400 a month? It’s basically choosing between eating and my ability to move without pain.”

“Dean, just talk to Meg. We will figure something out. At least promise me you’ll take the Humira every other week. I know it didn’t manage your symptoms well at the lower dose before, but it was still better than letting the RA go untreated.”

Dean must have responded to Dr. Barnes in some way Castiel couldn’t hear, because after a few moments the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading as they moved towards the front desk. Cas hurried out of room 5, the trash bag hanging unnoticed from his wrist. His heartbeat sped up as he worried that he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of “Dean” before he left the office. Cas didn’t really know what he was planning on doing, just that he couldn’t stand the thought of this man resigning himself to pain all because the healthcare industry was such an awful mess that it would burden someone with choosing food over medicine. Something about the way Dean had sounded reminded him so much of his sister, Anna, right before she had left Castiel forever. That feeling drew Cas forward to meet a man he didn’t know. Cas couldn’t solve Dean’s money problems, Cas couldn’t force the government to change how healthcare was run in the country, Cas couldn’t even make Dean’s medical issues any better – but he could meet this man and maybe make him smile for a moment. Maybe, if he was brave enough, he could offer him some sort of friendship so maybe he would have one more person to help him through his struggles. Cas had been too young to understand how alone Anna must have felt but he knew more about it now. Helping people like Anna was what had drawn Cas to medicine in the first place.

Turning the corner Cas was startled to see what could only be a 6-foot flannel-wearing freckled god. The man was Hollywood beautiful and for a moment Cas forgot what had brought him rushing around the corner in the first place. The sound of Alex pointedly snapping her fingers brought Castiel back to reality as he broke of his inappropriate staring. He felt his skin heat up rapidly as he blushed.

“Did you finish room 5, Castiel?” Alex stared at him expectantly. Silently, Cas handed over the trash bag and muttered something about taking his lunch break outside. Too embarrassed by his very obvious admiration of the man that must have been Dean, Cas didn’t think he could talk to him in front of Alex. He rushed out the front door in the hopes that the autumn air would help him pull himself together. He didn’t know why he’d felt so compelled to talk to a man who’s private and very personal conversation he’d overheard. He was almost glad that his humiliating gawking had saved him from speaking to the guy. After all, what would he have said anyway? The air alone wasn’t helping Castiel’s composure, so he began pacing in front of the building.

“I mean how do you go up to a stranger and tell them they aren’t alone and that good things do happen? It’s not like it wouldn’t embarrass the guy to know I overheard him talking about his money problems…” Cas froze as he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

“Uh, hey man. I actually came out to ask you something else, but I think this just got awkward.” Cas took a deep breath already knowing it was Dean standing behind him. Cas’ habit of muttering to himself when anxious had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but never quite as badly as this felt. Sadly, his fervent wish to turn invisible on the spot was being ignored by the universe and he found himself staring into striking green eyes while wondering how he could possibly salvage this situation.

“H-hello Dean. I’m Castiel, and I can’t apologize enough for overhearing your conversation with Dr. Barnes. I swear it wasn’t intentional, I was cleaning out the room you were standing near and – “

“Whoa, hold up buddy. I’m not mad or anything. I mean, it wouldn’t be my topic of choice to start chatting up the hot new guy at my doctor’s office, but you clearly work in healthcare, I’m sure you’ve heard the same thing from lots of folks.” Cas’ brain froze a bit when Dean referred to him as hot, but then it caught up with what he was actually saying.

“Er, actually I’m just shadowing Dr. Garth for the day, but yes, I have heard stories like yours. My sister, Anna, went through something similar. That’s why I wanted to say something to you but wasn’t sure what. Then I actually saw you and, well, you saw. I’m not really good with subtlety. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” Dean threw his head back with a barking laugh and Cas found himself staring at the beautiful man yet again.

“Having someone like you checking me out definitely doesn’t make me uncomfortable. If it makes you feel better, I came out hoping to ask if you’d be interested in going to the Harvest Festival tonight. I have to work for a bit at my store’s booth but if you were free around 7, I’d love to talk with you more. Even if it’s just whatever you wanted to talk to me about before.” Dean smiled flirtatiously at Cas, and there was no way to resist that.

“Yes, I’d love to! Where should I meet you?”

They exchanged information quickly, and parted ways with matching smiles. Cas would get his chance to tell Dean how his sister gave up her fight with cancer because she knew her treatments were bankrupting the family. He’d tell him how he’d was hoping to be a doctor himself one day to maybe help someone else like Anna win their fight despite the shitty healthcare system. He’d also tell Dean that he’d chased him down the hall because he’d desperately wanted to tell him that maybe they were strangers, but that he hoped Dean didn’t give up and that he’d be willing to be there for him if having a friend would help.

Now though, Cas thought maybe he’d already made Dean’s day a bit brighter, and he looked forward to getting to know the handsome man better. Maybe his impulse to offer his friendship to a stranger wasn’t as insane as it first seemed, and if Castiel was reading things right perhaps friendship wasn’t the only thing they had to offer one another.

#suptober21 #arcticfox007writes #Destiel #Destiel fanfic #castiel #dean winchester #supernatural fic #yeah I know I barely worked in the prompt #my bad

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all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

A priority.

summary: Y/N defends herself from the hate and Harry gets mad.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst!

a/n: a little something to hold onto until i finish some requests for my shy little boy, hope you like this! (i’m on a roll, sorry for posting so much mjsiw)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Ugly. Worthless. Bitch. And her personal favorite, slut. Those words along with some others were all over Y/N’s social media accounts every single day.

Ever since some bloody paparazzi took a picture of Harry and Y/N holding hands while shopping, Y/N couldn’t go online without having thousands of strangers on the internet throwing names at her.

She should’ve seen it coming, honestly. It was stupid to think they could hide their relationship forever, she just wished fans wouldn’t be so aggressive towards her.

Y/N wanted to understand, she really did. For a solid week she convinced herself they were just being protective over Harry, but after the insults and derogatory comments about her imagine didn’t stop, she started to grow annoyed. She started believing fans just didn’t want to see him happy.

Y/N had to bit her tongue numerous times, knowing that if she stood up for herself, it would only be worse. So she tried to ignore it.

She didn’t stop using social media, why the hell would she stop having a life because of fans that couldn’t contain their need to harass every person Harry became close with?

A month after the pictures of them were out for the entire world to see, Harry had to travel to the States for work. He was supposed to be away for only two weeks, and Y/N was going to stay at his house a couple of days before his arrival so they can spend time together right away.

Laying on the couch, Y/N scrolled mindlessly through her Instagram feed, seeing what her friends and family were up to. She rolled her eyes when her notifications started to go off, not really wanting to enter and see her entire comment section below her posts full of hate towards her.

But curiosity killed the cat.

Promising herself she would only have a look, she clicked her notifications. She had posted a picture yesterday when she went out with a couple of her girlfriend, so all the comments were directed towards that post.

She’s dressed like a slut here

Can’t believe Harry is dating her…

He can do so much better, what a shame

It can be so easy to slip into a mindset where she let these type of things affect her and her confidence, but she simply chose not to. These people didn’t know her, and probably never will.

I can’t wait for harry to realize the kind of whore you are and dumps your fucking ass.

Oh well, that’s hilarious. Now she was mad. Probably picking a fight wasn’t the smartest decision she’s ever made, but she couldn’t help it. She let the anger speak for itself as she pressed the reply bottom and started writing directly to that specific comment.

‘So he can date you instead or what?”

Send.

Y/N dropped her phone on her lap, deciding it was enough internet for the day. She decided to move to the kitchen and start on the cupcakes she had previously planned to bake her boyfriend. Harry wasn’t one to allow himself to eat a lot of unhealthy stuff, as he has always tried to be as healthy as possible. But, man, cupcakes were something Harry absolutely loved.

She didn’t really touched her phone for the rest of the afternoon, staying busy in other things. She had a facetime call with Harry at night, and she was looking forward to see his face, even if it was only through the phone. Her phone didn’t have enough battery, so she turned on her computer to wait for Harry’s call.

The screen lightened, showing Harry’s upcoming call. Y/N furrowed, thinking he was way earlier but she wouldn’t complain about it. She answered the call, expecting to see her beautiful boyfriend’s dimpled smile on the screen, but she was surprised when she saw a serious look instead.

“Why would you do that, Y/N?” he asked sternly.

“Do what?” Was this some kind of joke?

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Y/N. Don’t play dumb”

“Excuse me?” she raised her eyebrows. “Maybe if you explained what you mean we could talk about it”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how disrespectful it was from you to answer like that to a fan? It was unnecessary and, to be honest, childish from you”

Y/N was surprised. “Yeah, maybe I was rude but I don’t think I was being childish, Harry”

“Yes, you were. Are you aware of how this makes me look? You can’t just say things like those and don’t think it wouldn’t affect my image too”

Well, what the fuck. “Ah, yes. Treat people with kindness and whatnot. I guess that doesn’t include your fucking girlfriend, because the only reason why I said what I said was because your bloody fans wouldn’t stop harassing me!” Now her face had a deep frown.

“You sure you’re not being a little dramatic? I mean, how bad could the hate get?”

“How bad?! Harry, do you even go online? To them I’m nothing but a fucking whore, do you have any idea of how fucking frustrating is to be treated like you’re the worst human being by your fans just because we’re dating?”

“There’s always gonna be people like that, Y/N” he sighed. “You need to learn how to ignore it”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? I’m sorry but it is not my fault the fans can’t contain themselves from sending death threats to every person that breaths close to you!” she paused. “Do you seriously just called me to scold me?”

“Well, I’m not happy about what you did, to be honest. They’re my fans, Y/N. They deserve to be respected”

“And I don’t?” she raised an eyebrow. “You know what? I’m done. Enjoy your day alone tomorrow because I’m fucking leaving”

“Leaving? What do you mean?” Harry’s pulse started to rise, watching his girlfriend stand up from the bed, the computer moved and he saw she was in his house. “Y/N, don’t leave. We’ll talk about this tomorrow”

“No, I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to talk to you right now” She closed her computer, hanging up. She put on her jacket and took her phone from the nightstand.

Before she exited the house, she went to the kitchen and threw the cupcakes she made in the trash.

Harry, you fucking asshole.

They’ve only dated for seven months and have never really got into a fight before. Y/N was a very impulsive person, more so when she was mad. Fuck, she knew his fans were important to him, she understood that. But it was becoming too much for Y/N to handle.

She loved Harry, she was truly in love with him. But was it really worth it to go through all of this if he wasn’t even willing to stand up for her?

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Harry changed his flights. After Y/N hung up on him, he realized he behaved like a proper asshole. He could’ve said so many things differently, without offending her the way he did.

He didn’t like she thought she wasn’t important to him. He was scared all the baggage he carried with him was a deal breaker for her, it has been on the past for almost every other relationship he has ever had.

It wasn’t fair of him to straight up scold her without hearing her first. He was upset and didn’t think enough before speaking, and now he regretted it.

He knew he needed to fix things. Fast.

Even though the night before Y/N made very clear she wasn’t staying, a part of him still hoped to see her curled up on the couch watching Netflix and waiting for him to arrive, but he was welcomed by an empty house.

He sighed, passing his hand through his curls, thinking how he could make it up to her. He went to the kitchen, where he kept his car keys. Harry stopped his tracks when he saw the trash can.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he noticed the homemade untouched cupcakes tossed into the trash.

He better make this right.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Y/N was bored. She had cleared her schedule because Harry was coming home and now she had nothing to do other than drown on her sorrows.

Being bored and upset at her boyfriend, made her take the decision to take an afternoon nap on her couch. She had been asleep for a little while when someone started banging at the door.

You see, Harry had a key to her place, but he feel undeserving of using it after the way he treated her. But she wasn’t answering, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t home, he had seen her car in the parking lot of her apartment building.

Keying into her place, he looked around for his girlfriend, finding her sleeping figure on the couch, a blanked wrapped around her. He didn’t want to wake her up but they really needed to talk, so he kneeled down to be at the same eye level.

“Y/N… Y/N, wake up” he shook her a little. Her eyelashes fluttered a little before her eyes opened, a frown immediately appearing on her face.

“What are you doing here?” She sat down, taking the blanked off of her and crossing her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby”

“Now I’m baby? Not the childish Y/N you were scolding yesterday?”

He sighed, moving to sit in the coffee table to be in front of her. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday, it wasn’t fair for you”

“It wasn’t”

“I was upset, Jeff had sent me a screenshot of the comment and I didn’t even check social media. It was impulsive and wrong from me and I apologize”

“I don’t like the way you talked to me yesterday, Harry”

“I know. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. Please don’t leave me over this, my love” he grabbed her hands, feeling tears threaten to spill out of his eyes. “I know it isn’t fair for you, I know you’ll have to put up to so much shit, but please, please don’t give up on us. I swear I’ll make it right, Y/N, I don’t want these kind of situations get in the way of us”

“I’m not going to leave you” she mumbled. “I’m upset, yes. I know I was wrong too, but it all got too much and i… snapped. I know these kind of things affect your image and reputation too, so I’m sorry”

“I don’t care about my image. I should’ve said something sooner, before it all went out of control. I suppose I ignored it, hoping you’d do the same. I’m sorry for not checking up with you about this”

Y/N gave him a little smile, pulling from his hands to make him sit beside her. She wrapped her arms around his torso, pushing herself into his chest. “I know your fans are important to you, and you love them. I swear I want to have a good relationship with them, because they’re a huge part of your life, and I’m gonna work on that, I promise”

“And I promise I’ll stand up for you. I love my fans, so much. But you’re my girlfriend, my priority” he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Y/N, my baby”

“I love you more, love” she planted little kisses on his chin and jaw.

“Enough to make me more cupcakes?” Y/N let out a belly laugh, nodding. “Good. You owe me after you threw those to the trash”

“That’s what you get for being a meanie”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction

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gohyuck · 4 years

Text

pairing: best friend!mark x reader; some neighbor!jaemin x reader

genre: university!au, angst, slight smut

word count: 4.7k

warnings: unrequited love ft. oblivious mark, sex that ends in crying, general heartbreak because what else would it be

playlist recs: heather - conan gray, cayendo - frank ocean, i found - amber run, fools - troye sivan, from here - kafka tamura, drive safe - rich brian

I still remember Third of December Me in your sweater You said it looked better On me, than it did you Only if you knew How much I liked you

“I fucking hate frats,” You grumble, dabbing furiously at the front of your shirt with a crumpled napkin. There’s red - remnants of what you think must be jungle juice - scattered across the yellow cloth of your top, and you just know it’ll remain stained for eternity. “This cost, like, ten bucks at Walmart! I don’t have that kind of money to throw away, you know.”

“That’s just an hour’s worth of wages from the bookstore.” Mark, your best friend, points out, handing you another napkin when you exhaust the one in your hand. There’s mirth in his eyes and the threat of a laugh underlying his tone, but the warning glare you throw at him has him putting his hands up in surrender instead of making fun of you.

“God,” It’s only when someone pushes past you, opening the door behind you to get inside the cursed party house you’d been so quick to rush out of, that you realize just how cold it is outside. The warmth emanating from the inside of the house you feel against your back is short-lived as the door slams shut, but the damage is done: you’re already hyper-aware of what you don’t have. “God, it’s freezing, what the hell?”

“This is literally an end-of-semester party,” Mark, ever perspicacious, points out, adding insult to your injury without a second thought. “It’s early December. Be glad it isn’t snowing.”

“I’m in a t-shirt,” You only whine in response, ignoring everything your friend has said. The night hasn’t gone your way, and if Mark wasn’t here with you you wouldn’t have come at all. Unluckily for you, Mark Lee is popular amongst fraternity circles on account of being Jaehyun Jung’s hometown neighbor and friend, so you find yourself attending parties intermittently. If you could say no to Mark, maybe you wouldn’t smell vaguely of vodka and artificially flavored fruit punch right now.

“I’m in a t-shirt,” You repeat, ignoring any and all thoughts of your best friend you’re having, as always. “And it’s wet which is making me even colder. I hate it here.”

Mark only rolls his eyes, though you’re surprised to see him shrug off his windbreaker before pulling his black sweater over his head to reveal a thin white shirt. He hands it to you wordlessly before pulling his jacket back on and zipping it up, and when you only stare at the piece of clothing he’s given you, he has the audacity to laugh.

“I’m tired of your complaining,” He explains when your gaze meets his, though he jovially knocks his shoulder against yours when your eyes narrow momentarily. “And besides, you always look better in it than I do. Before you ask, I’m not cold anyways, so it’s all good.”

You don’t miss the comment about you looking better in it than he does. For a moment, just a moment before you pull the proverbial wool over your eyes and black polyester over your head, you imagine that he actually means it. He does let you borrow it an awful lot, after all: it’s in your dresser half as often as it’s in his.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” You huff out a lie, putting an arm through before pulling the rest of the sweater on. You’re immediately met with Mark’s cologne, and you pull his sleeves over your hands into sweater paws on habit. His clothes are always just a little long on you. “You’re like a human furnace.”

“Whatever dude,” Mark rolls his eyes again, though there’s fondness evident in them. “Come on - I’ll walk you back to your place.” He loops his arm through yours in a way you’ve gotten dangerously used to, dragging you away from the Nu Kappa Theta house.

He keeps his word, leaving you right in front of your door. When you go to take off his sweater, he stops you, telling you that there’s no rush to get it back to him. A quick hug and a short goodbye later, Mark is walking down the hallway, hands shoved into his jeans’ pockets. You watch as he gets to the stairwell, so desperately wanting him to turn back.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t - you aren’t Heather. You fall asleep in his sweater hours later, still drowning in his cologne. Come morning, you fold it neatly and place it in the bottom drawer of your dresser, out of sight and out of mind.

But I watch your eyes, as she walks by What a sight for sore eyes Brighter than a blue sky She's got you mesmerized While I die

You still remember the first time you’d seen her. It was mundane, really - she’d sat next to you during your first Computing class of the semester, and you’d introduced yourself to her and found her to be a sweet girl, the kind of girl people like being around. There wasn’t anything past that - the two of you went on with your lives, sometimes making idle conversation in class. You hadn’t thought much of your meeting with her until later.

Far more importantly, frankly, you remember the first time Mark had seen her, even if he doesn’t remember it himself. You’d been lounging under a tree, Mark’s back against the bark while you had your head in his lap. He’d been rambling on and on about something Donghyuck had said during their intramural dance team’s practice when he’d stopped speaking mid-sentence, forcing you to turn your head to see where his eyes were leading him.

Heather, in a pleated skirt and a beige sweater over a pristine white button down. She’d looked positively radiant while standing in the grass and laughing with friends, the sun shining brightly directly behind her. Mark, feeling your eyes looking up at his slack-jawed expression, had unfrozen eventually, raising a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck out of embarrassment. He’d been about to launch back into his story - this time likely punctuated by glances over at the other girl - when you’d interrupted him before he could begin.

“Her name’s Heather,” You’d told him, mentally kicking yourself even as you spoke. Who tells the love of their life the name of someone they’re obviously ogling? You hate the value you place on your friendship with Mark almost as much as you hate the fact that you’re in love with him. “She’s in one of my classes. She’s really nice, if you’re into that.”

“Of course I am,” Mark had muttered then, ears burning red. “Why wouldn’t I be into nice people?”

“You spend all your time hanging with me and Hyuck.” You’d pointed out, reaching a hand up to poke at his chin. He’d flicked your fingers away from him, though he’d immediately grabbed your hand right after, holding it tight for a moment on impulse and as if to show you he’d never really hurt you.

You’d wished the constant Mark-inflicted ache you’d felt - feel, still - was physical.

“You’re nice, dude,” Mark had insisted then, finally looking down at you. You’d felt suddenly insecure then, realizing that the angle you were at wasn’t the most flattering. There was no way you could compete to Heather, not with your disheveled hair and eyes that pierced through Mark like arrows. You’d wrapped your arms around yourself in insecurity and Mark had thought nothing of it, only continuing to speak. “You’re nice enough, at least, when you aren’t kicking my ass. Hyuck is… a thought best left for another day.”

You’d laughed then, and Mark had responded in kind. The rest of your break between classes had been spent like that: talking and laughing with your favorite person, irreplaceable by all accounts.

If he hadn’t chanced glances at Heather throughout it, you might’ve been able to consider that he found you irreplaceable in the same way you found him.

Mark hadn’t been subtle then.

He isn’t subtle now.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better Wish I were Heather

Mark asks for the sweater back the day before you leave for winter break. Your flatmate is staying back - has research to work on through Christmas - so you’re free to visit your parents back home, and although you dread all the questions you’ll be asked, you can’t help but feel the slightest bit excited.

“I’ll drop by and pick it up before I head out, then,” Mark says, voice still warm as ever even as the phone makes him sound the slightest bit tinny. “What time is good for you?”

“I’ll be at the bus stop by 5,” You respond, phone between your shoulder and your ear and heart between your mouth and your chest as you pull his polyester sweater out of your dryer. “Come by any time before then.”

He drops past your place a little before 4, eyes sparkling when he tells you that Heather only lives about a half an hour away from him, so he’s taking her with him on his drive home. You muster the brightest smile you can when you tell him how wonderful that is, all while handing back the sweater that smells like your own detergent for now but you’re sure will soon smell like Heather’s perfume.

A week after seeing Heather for the first time, Mark had, by chance, joined your university’s Literature Club, not knowing that the girl who’d stolen his breath was a member. He’d had the same sparkle in his eyes when he’d regaled his first conversation with her to you, talking for ages about her opinions on The Picture of Dorian Gray and Slaughterhouse-Five. They’d clicked immediately, in his words. Two fitting puzzle pieces.

You’d bawled like a baby into your flatmate’s arms once your best friend had left your apartment that night, feeling entitled to the tears after so many hours of half real (you truly were happy for him) and half fake (you truly were sad for yourself) smiles.

It’s been three months since then. Heather and Mark aren’t dating just yet, but they’re an inevitability. You remind yourself of that after Mark leaves, sweater in hand and a promise to text you once he gets home sliding off his tongue.

He messages you a picture - a selfie of him and a smiling Heather - five hours later, a ‘we’re home safe!’ text accompanying it. It isn’t a surprise to you that she’s wearing the black polyester sweater in the photo, but it still stings nonetheless.

Mark had said you look better in the sweater than he does. Heather looks far better in it than you do.

When you reach your own home, you’re not alarmed to see Jaemin, your next-door neighbor who’s home from his own school for break, sitting at your kitchen counter and eating grapes out of a plastic bowl. His parents and your parents are great friends, and you’ve always gotten along fairly well with him. His hair is dyed a light blue, gelled back slightly to show his forehead, and he smiles the same cheeky smile he’s had since his sophomore year of high school at you. Jaemin’s always been breathtakingly handsome, always been as good looking as he is just good. He’d been a decent friend to you when you’d lived here, close enough to tell secrets to but not so close that he’d reveal them to anyone.

Jaemin had been your first kiss way back when, had been your first time barely after that, and you allow yourself to see the purely sexual tension that still exists between the two of you. You feel nothing but friendship - maybe just acquaintanceship - for him, and he for you. It’s perfect.

When both sets of parents go out for dinner, unable to drag the two of you out with them, you pull Jaemin up the stairs to your childhood bedroom to ride him frantically as if you’ll never feel this good again. He coaxes not one but two orgasms from you, cool hands roaming your body and nails raking gently over your thighs. Jaemin fucks up into you when you can’t move any longer, when your thighs shake from overwork, and he doesn’t complain, not once.

He pulls you down to him, bites your shoulder hard when he cums, spilling into the condom he’d managed to get on in the rush to be inside of you. When you don’t pull off of him afterwards, instead only beginning to sob quietly into his shoulder, he’s kind enough to run his hands over the span of your back to soothe you.

“That bad, huh?” He jokes, not letting you go. His hands are warm now. You shake your head adamantly even as you know he’s kidding before muttering a ‘it’s not you, it’s Mark’ into his skin.

“Did you just ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ me?” Jaemin questions, this time more confused than anything. You shake your head again, your tears glistening against his collarbone as you pull away enough to look him in the eyes.

“Mark. It’s Mark,” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. You’ve never voiced it aloud before - that it’s Mark. That it might just always be Mark. Jaemin’s okay, though - Jaemin won’t tell. How could he? He doesn’t even know Mark.

Your childhood neighbor stares at you, though not unkindly, for a long moment before nodding slowly in understanding and pulling you into his chest once more for a tight embrace. He doesn’t ask any questions - you assume he just gets it.

Jaemin manages to finger you to one more climax like that, with you curled up in his lap and your head against his chest. He murmurs sweet nothings that really mean nothing into your ear as he does, and you find that you could get used to this. You won’t, but you could. When you cum again, you only whimper and moan, incapable of forming words.

Mark’s name is on the tip of your tongue, and even though Jaemin would understand if you say it, you don’t. You can’t tempt yourself with a reality that isn’t available for you. It would be too cruel.

By the time your parents and Jaemin’s parents get back home, you’re wearing a sweatshirt you hadn’t been wearing earlier, mainly to hide Jaemin’s bite mark. You hug your neighbor goodbye, and he whispers a ‘it’ll be okay’ into your neck before pulling away, giving you a soft version of his devilish grin and waving before leaving with his mom and dad.

Maybe it will be okay someday, but for now, God, how you wish you were Heather.

You only text Mark back right before you go to bed, a quick ‘damn, guess i’ll have to hire a better hitman next time. for you, not for heather, she’s lovely’ before you rest. Is she at his house, her head against his chest as they talk about books or movies or whatever they talk about? Or is she on her way home right now, wishing for more time with Mark?

Your sleep is dreamless that night, despite the thoughts of Mark and Heather, Heather and Mark that run through your mind constantly. It’s the one stroke of luck you have.

Watch as she stands with Her holding your hand Put your arm 'round her shoulder Now I'm getting colder

You sleep with Jaemin intermittently during your break, finding quite quickly that he’s very willing to solely be a receptacle of your pent-up urges catalyzing. It’s hard to have sex with people at school because you’re always aware that Mark could be waiting at your apartment with food when you get back, or that he could be texting you while you’re getting laid. With Jaemin, you can truly push Mark out of your mind, if only just for a moment.

It’s good that you find a momentary respite in your childhood neighbor, because once you’re back on campus, it feels like the universe is purposefully tugging your stars out of their alignments just to torture you.

The weather still leaves much to desire, and although it isn’t as cold as it had been in December, you still carry a hoodie around with you wherever you go. They’re easy to pull over long-sleeved shirts and sweaters; after all, Heather’s always pulling Mark’s favorite forest green hoodie over the familiar black sweater that she wears.

Before, it had just been you, Mark, and occasionally Hyuck getting together and hanging out. At restaurants, you and Mark would sit on the same side, sharing appetizers while Hyuck actively guarded his food from your roaming hands. Now, when you go out to eat, you sit beside Donghyuck, Heather right across from you with her perfect smile and kind eyes while Mark sits right beside her, leaning back with his arm thrown over the booth behind her easily.

She’s genuine: when she asks about your hobbies, your likes, your dislikes, she truly wants to know. It’s good of her: after all, you’re one of the most important people in Mark’s life. You figure she must know that, the closer she gets to your best friend, the closer she should get to you.

You appreciate it. You also hate it.

When Heather gets up mid-lunch to go to the bathroom, parting from the three of you for the moment with a dazzling grin and an airy laugh that makes Mark visibly redden, the boy she’s wooing turns to you and your other friend, eyes full of hope. Donghyuck arches an eyebrow even as he knows what the other man is about to say.

“Man, isn’t she literally the best? There’s something between us, right? I should ask her out?” Mark’s running a hand through his hair as he speaks, a nervous habit he’s had the whole time you’ve known him (freshman year Intro to Film, he’d spilled his cold coffee all over you and panic-offered you his black sweater to wear as a cover-up and, the rest, as they say, is history).

“She’s on the higher end of the cool spectrum, yes there’s something, and it’s your life, dude, I can’t tell you who to date or not date.” Donghyuck responds before you can, and you catch him darting his eyes over at you in mild concern as he speaks. You haven’t told him about how you feel about Mark, but you’re sure he’s known for some time. He’s nothing if not deductive.

Mark rolls his eyes, mutters something about Hyuck always being the bare minimum amount of helpful, and then looks you directly in your eyes, waiting for your verdict. In that moment you know that he’ll seriously consider whatever you say, that if you don’t like Heather, he’ll do his best to dislike her too. Friendship above all else.

The word friendship leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, even if you value it so highly.

“Ask her out,” You finally say, the corners of your mouth quirking up together. The smile you wear doesn’t reach your eyes, but Mark’s too elated to notice. Under the table, Hyuck gently rests a warm hand against your knee for a split second, a show of ‘I’m here’ that you’re grateful for.

Before you can continue speaking - what would you even say? - Heather is sliding back into her seat, back from the bathroom. You can’t very well talk about her while she’s there, so you close your mouth inconspicuously, watching as Mark puts his arm around her shoulders rather than against the booth this time, pulling her just a little closer to his side.

You’re wearing two layers of clothing, but the air suddenly feels freezing. Donghyuck casually hands you a fry off his own plate, not keeping his food all to himself for the first time ever.

You accept it, even though it’s cold by now. Bleakness added upon bleakness changes nothing.

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel But then again, kinda Wish she were dead, as she Walks by What a sight for sore eyes Brighter than a blue sky She's got you mesmerized While I die

He asks Heather out a week later with a bouquet of flowers you help him pick our just hours before his trek to her apartment. Donghyuck comes over the night of your florist trip - your flatmate had left for a trip the night earlier, leaving you a tub of ice cream and a pile of 80s movies as a placeholder for human comfort - and holds you for hours, not saying anything as you sob through The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Stand & Deliver.

“I w- I wish she didn’t exist,” You hiccup into your friend’s shirt as he rests his chin on top of your head. “And then I feel awful because she’s just so nice. She’s always so nice. He likes her because she’s so nice.”

“It hurts worse when they’re nice, especially when you’re also nice,” He murmurs into your hair, pulling you closer into his chest. “Because then you can’t plot ways to get revenge without ending up being the asshole.”

“The jilted ex,” You agree, though it only causes you to cry harder. “Except I’m - I’m not even an ex.”

“Someday, you’ll be glad that you aren’t one of his exes.” Donghyuck assures you, and you know he’s right so you say nothing else, only wrapping your arms tighter around him. The healing process for your heartbreak starts then, as you stain your friend’s thin shirt with your tears and he rubs soothing circles into your back. Your heart might just sew itself back together.

The single stitch holding the halves of your heart together rips easily when Mark brings breakfast to your doorstep the next morning, obvious hickies dotting his collarbone once he pulls off his white pullover. The sight alone makes you feel like your lungs are airless and will forever remain so, and you realize that you’ll have to start healing all over again.

Still, you welcome your best friend into your apartment for breakfast like you do every Sunday morning, right before he goes to Church. Mark’s bought bagels today, from the café at the end of the block, and once he’s prayed like he always does before eating he spreads strawberry cream cheese all over one half of his bagel while talking about how well his ask had gone and thanking you for your floral expertise.

“I just thought they looked pretty,” You shrug, mentally begging for him to stop relating you to any aspect of his relationship. “No need to thank me.”

“I’ll always thank you, dude,” Mark says with ease, licking cream cheese off of his thumb. “You’re my best friend.” With this, he finishes off his breakfast, stands up from his chair at your breakfast nook, and wears his pullover again.

“Gotta pick Heather up, she said she wants to come to Church with me,” Mark says, and your heart twinges at how quickly she’s been introduced to the more intimate aspects of his life. You say nothing, only smile and nod, and Mark thinks nothing of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We literally have a class together.” You scoff, doing your best to banter with Mark like you always do. He rolls his eyes at your statement, though his grin never falls from his lips.

“I’ll see you,” Is all he says, before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. He’s halfway out your door before he turns back - turns back like you’d always wished for him to - and calls your name.

“Yes?”

“You really did do me a favor by helping me with the flowers,” Mark says, giving you the most grateful smile you’ve ever witnessed. “She said the bouquet had all her favorites. I don’t know how you do it. You’re a lifesaver. Love you!”

With that, he’s out the door, and you can only watch as it slams shut behind him, trapping in his last two words as they curl around you like currents, pushing you deeper into the water that’s drowning you. It’s platonic, of course it is, it always has been. Still, you believe that if you never hear those two words together again, you might be all the better.

The bouquet had all of your favorites, too.

You need to stop wishing you were Heather.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better I wish I were Heather Wish I were Heather Wish I were Heather

It’s a little less than three months later when you’re out shopping by yourself at the local mall, in desperate need for some winter clothes before the next year’s winter starts. Everything’s on sale now, and you’re not one to pay extra money for no reason at all. You’re sitting through a rack of jackets when your phone vibrates, and you fish it out of your pocket to find that Mark has texted you four images, accompanied with a message asking ‘which one should I post O.o’.

They’re all of Heather in that black polyester sweater - the one you used to wear often - at an ice skating rink, and you assume Mark’s just gotten home from a date. She’s grinning brightly at the camera in the first picture while finishing tying up her skates. In the second one, her back is to the camera and her head is turned to the side, her hand holding onto Mark’s as she leads them across the rink. She’s looking right at the camera in the third one as well, eyebrows raised sportingly as she sips hot chocolate from a styrofoam cup.

You tell Mark to go with the fourth one: a candid of her just stepping on to the rink, eyes wide but smile even wider. Her head is turned, though she can’t see that her side profile is being captured. She’s beautiful without effort in a way you refuse to find in the mirror, and you know the fact that Mark has even taken a picture of Heather without her posing means he wants to cherish every memory with her. It’s sweet, and you tell him so.

You pocket your phone before reading his response, doing your best not to let his earnestness affect you. Mark is a good man, and Heather is a good woman. They’re good for each other, and you’re good for both of them as a friend.

As you turn around to inspect another set of for-sale winter clothes, this time on a table rather than a rack, you realize that, over the past few months, you truly have done your best to try and move on. It had been slow at first, yes, but by throwing yourself into your studies, taking time for yourself, and hanging out more with Hyuck and your other friends - though not less with Mark - has done you good. The ache has weakened, the stinging has stopped, for the most part. You’ve killed almost all of your Mark-related hangups or fixations, almost all of them except…

You rest your palm on top of a light blue sweater - cotton, not polyester - and run your thumb over it, exhaling slowly and blowing air out through your barely-parted lips as you do. It’s pretty, and your size, and you’re in need of one, and the one sweater you used to wear the most isn’t available to you anymore.

Jaemin’s words from months ago echo in your mind: ‘it’ll be okay’. You grab the sweater and make your way to the cashier’s counter, suddenly not needing to buy anything else anymore.

The breath of air you take upon leaving the mall, sweater in bag in hand, feels like the first one you’ve taken in a while. As you settle into your car and turn the ignition key, placing your purchase on your passenger’s seat, you’re hit with a realization that you didn’t think you’d ever have.

It’s all okay...

And you’re starting to no longer wish you were Heather.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better Wish I were..

#neowritingsnet #kwritersworld #nct-writers #mark lee #mark lee angst #mark lee fluff #mark lee smut #mark lee scenario #mark lee scenarios #jaemin #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #jaemin smut #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct 127 scenario

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fandomsonrequests · 3 years

Text

long overdue

fandom: stranger things

characters: steve harrington

reader: gn

word count: 1.6k+

summary: you and steve have been friends since childhood and neither of you could ignore what you felt for each other. but it took some demogorgons for you to realize that

a/n: AHHHHHHH i’m so sorry if this is late ;^; school is really kicking my ass rn ;^; i hope you enjoy!

notes: some swearing; demogorgons

tagged by: @hyposstuffingwell

It was late at night and the breeze was chilly but that didn’t stop you or Steve from sneaking out. He picked you up a couple of blocks away from your house and the two of you drove away to the quarry, belting out Queen’s songs from inside the car.

Now here you were, sitting on top of the car’s hood as you look over the waters, talking over the most mundane things to the crazy events that took place last year. The moon glinted off the soft ripples of the water, causing silver streaks to float through the surface. The smell of damp grass reached your nose and an orchestra of cicadas serenaded whoever was present.

“I still can’t believe that you actually said that to Carol in fifth grade,” You guffawed, holding your belly as more laughs escape you.

“Hey— you thought the same thing!” Steve argues. “Her hair really looked like a bird’s nest.”

“Yeah but you don’t tell her that..!” You retort with a playful shove to his shoulder.

The brunet rolled his eyes at that, brushing back his gorgeous locks. He sighs and leaned against the car’s window, leaving you to your own musings. He eyes the various stars that twinkled against the dark blanket of the sky. He never really told many people this, not even the Party or he’ll never hear the end of it, but he was one of those people who just stared up into the night sky. He liked to take in the sights and smells around him and just enjoy what he had.

His gaze rolls over to you beside him, seeing you lying comfortably against his car’s window. The warm quilt you had brought along was laid neatly on top of your lap, eyes closed as you basked in the ambiance of the night.

At that moment Steve wondered- why did it take him so long to see this? Why did it have to take him supernatural beings, a group of kids, and a secret Russian infiltration paired with a gigantic demonic creature to work up the courage to realize what he had felt for you?

You two were neighbors, practically growing up together. You two were an unstoppable force as children, just the two of you against the world. But once high school rolled around- things changed. It was like you two became two different people. Maybe it was his fault, considering he was blinded by the popularity that managed to find its way to him, but that shouldn’t have stopped him from talking to you.

The brunet shakes himself out of his trance when he feels your hand casually slip in his, lacing your fingers with his and giving his palm a gentle squeeze. He looks up to see you gaze at him softly, almost as if you were contemplating something. He sits up when you do, hands never leaving yours.

“You brought your guitar right?” You ask and he nods. “I wanna hear you sing.”

Steve flushes a brighter shade of red and looks away bashfully. You whine and latch onto his arm, begging him to serenade you. He chuckles at your pleads, his free hand reaching up to run his hand through his hair in nervousness. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to play for you- he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he was scared that he’d mess up and look stupid in front of you- or worse, sing something that revealed his true feelings for you.

Fuck it. He thinks to himself. “Fine,” He relents and you cheer quietly. “Jeez- no matter what age we are you always manage to rope me into doing what you want.”

“You can say no, y’know.” You chide and playfully punch his shoulder, watching as he fetches his guitar from his car.

“I know. But I need the practice anyway.” He hops back onto the hood, reaching up to the neck of the guitar to tune it.

You watch fondly as he did so, memories of hanging out in his room and watching him play come flooding back to you. The sad, heavy wave of nostalgia washes over you at the memories, but you push that aside. You can recreate them again, right here and now.

Steve releases a nervous exhale and you rest a hand of comfort to his shoulder. You give him an encouraging smile, one that he reciprocates with gratitude, and starts to play. His fingers pluck at the strings gently- just some random notes to get the feel of it. He plays a jumble of notes, pretending to be in one of those rock bands and you laugh at his antics. Eventually, he stops messing around and the notes morph into something familiar- a song you heard on the radio many times.

“We’re talking away, I don't know what I'm to say. I'll say it anyway…” He sings softly.

You perked up when you recognized this iconic song. As he played into the night, you realized that it sounded so different when played this way- more romantic even. And you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom in your chest at the sight in front of you. Steve looked so lost in the music as he strummed away, singing along with the melody. He always had a talent for music, you just wish he recognized it.

“Take on me, take me on,” Steve looks up to you, shyly meeting your gaze. “I’ll be gone, in a day or two…”

He strums the rest of the chords, repeating it a couple of times before closing the song and letting the last notes echo into the air. It’s quiet for a while, just the two of you staring at each other as you let the atmosphere settle. Steve poured his heart out into the song and poured a little of what he thinks he feels for you so that you’d know how much you mean to him.

When the tension became unbearable, you spoke up. “I missed you, Steve.” You tell him softly.

“I missed you too, ______,” He replies with a sigh. He reached out to take your hand in his, thumb running over the back of it. “Look… I’m sorry for what happened back in high school… I was a jerk. Like- a jerk-jerk, the kind of jerk you want to just punch ‘cos he’s so self-absorbed and pathetic.”

You scoot over to him, gently taking the guitar and placing it back into the car. When you return, you reach up to cup his face, making the brunet turn to you. At your touch, his skin heats up with shame and he avoids your gaze. He couldn’t bear to look at you— it would just remind him of how neglectful he was as a friend.

His warm brown eyes are glassy with a pang of deep-seated guilt as he stared down at his lap. Your heart clenches at this. You knew that it was kind of his fault- he did turn you away when he became “King of Hawkins High,” but part of it was your fault too. You were so angry at him that you shunned him away whenever he tried approaching you- it was easier for you that way. Because at least, when you acted cold, the heartbreak you felt would be less painful than what it would have initially been.

“I’m not going to lie, you were that kind of a jerk,” You chuckle, thumb brushing the space under his eyes. “But it was my fault too… I gave you the cold shoulder and turned you away. And… I’m sorry for that- I should have listened to you when you tried to explain yourself…”

Steve let out some sort of amused huff. “...I guess we both fucked up big time huh?” His eyes drop down to your lips before flickering back up to your face where he finally met your gentle gaze. He dared to lean forward, pressing his forehead against yours while his trembling hands reached up to cup both your cheeks.

“What if… what if I kissed you right now?” He asks boldly, impulsively.

Your heartbeat speeds up at the question. You had already harbored feelings for your friend back then. Even though circumstances weren’t all that great before, that tiny vulnerable part you had for him never left. And with what happened with the Demogorgons, Billy, the Russians chasing after you (all that shared trauma as Murray Bauman puts it) it had only festered into what you have now.

“Here’s a better question,” You whisper. “What’s stopping you from doing so?”

Steve’s breath hitched when you actually gave him permission to kiss him. He blinks rapidly, almost as if making sure he wasn’t dreaming, before steeling his nerves and leaning forward to press his lips tentatively against yours.

The kiss was shy and hesitant at first. It was only when the both of you pulled away from each other did you two realize that you wanted something more. As your lips slot against his again, you couldn’t help but lean further into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your lips moved against his. Steve on the other hand wrapped an arm around your waist as the other came to cradle the back of your head, holding you as if you’d disappear any moment.

The kiss wasn’t sloppy or desperate- but it was passionate and full of unsaid emotions that could be better off expressed without the use of words. You pull your head away when the call for air was too great but made no move to shift out of Steve’s hold. You couldn’t help but smile at what had happened, the warmth in your chest growing and spreading throughout your whole body.

“That, that was long overdue.” You hum, eliciting a soft chuckle from Steve.

“Well,” He muses and tucks a stray hair behind your ear, kissing your forehead after. “Better late than never.”

#stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagines #fandomsonrequests

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I’ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #jiang cheng #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #you may want to reread previous chapters to get caught up

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