#there was nothing very creative about those pages it was just doodles of a few animals labeled with their irish names | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

herblackabyss · 7 months

Text

About • Tag List • Ask • Series Masterlist •

[Title] 7 Dates, 7 Conflicts [Rating & Genre] [M] 18+, strangers to lovers, slow burn, Collage AU [Pairing] Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Amaya Bradford) [Trigger Warnings] a few cuss words

[A/N] I'm baaacckkk~! I apologize for my absence, but I truly struggle with this whole social media and social interaction thing. I had to restructure this part because I've come to the realization that my brain doesn't quite know how to write multiple events into one part...

P.S the last bit is a mess but I'll update it soon...<3

ALSO HAPPY HUNTER DAAYYY!!

[Word Count] 2740

"This is an absolute colossal fucking disaster, Chenle," I hiss under my breath, pacing across my bedroom with my phone clutched tightly to my ear. On the other end, the low hum of my best friend's tired yawn slips through the line, the digital clock on my nightstand casting an ominous glow – 10:47 PM.

I roll my eyes, my frustration lacing into the very syllables of my words. "I mean, how on earth are we even supposed to tackle this if he's out there getting his dick sucked instead of meeting me to work on the assignment?" Veronica had given us a unique homework assignment during our last COMM101 class—a creative pair-building exercise intended to break the ice. It was supposed to be an opportunity for Jungkook and me to explore each other's perspectives and come up with something that was at least halfway decent. Yet, instead of paying even a sliver of attention, Jungkook seemed to be far more interested in sketching bizarre doodles across my meticulously taken lecture notes. Since that fateful Monday morning, I've embarked on a one-woman crusade to pin him down and get him to work on it. But every attempt I make is met with flimsy excuses and empty promises. He's always conveniently "busy" or "tied up with something else." And me? I'm not naive enough to swallow those slippery words whole, not when they spill from his slick, slithering tongue like a practiced dance. As the relentless ticking of the clock emphasizes the looming deadline for my not-so-friendly essay, the harsh reality sets in. I realize that I know next to nothing about this bumbling baboon, except for the fact that he can't seem to keep his... cock out of people's mouths. The idea of crafting an essay detailing his countless escapades with the campus coeds is tempting, but it also feels like a peculiar form of self-inflicted torture. I flop onto my bed, clutching my phone as if it's my only lifeline in this chaotic situation.

"Guess I'll just have to corner him tomorrow," I murmur to myself, feeling a potent mix of determination and resignation settle in my chest like a heavy anchor. I reach out for the worn notebook resting nearby and flip it open, its pages ready to receive my thoughts and ideas for the upcoming project, even if, for now, it's a solo endeavor. After all, if Jungkook insists on making things difficult, I'm more than willing to return the favor. "Key word: 'probably,' but I can't take that risk with Jungkook," I try to speak as calmly as possible, frustration mounting within me. There's no way I can just sit here and hope he comes to his senses. I need to take action. I shouldn't be in this position, having to babysit a grown man when it comes to his academics. I mean, seriously, I'm baffled by his attitude towards this assignment. How on earth is he the top student in the Computer Science department? Does the university randomly select his name from a hat filled with sheets of paper with only his name on them? Or is he secretly paying someone to do his assignments? "But I hope you're right," I concede with a sigh as I wrap up the call and head to bed.

"Jeon!" I shout, my voice slicing through the noisy street, instantly grabbing the attention of curious onlookers. He strides purposefully toward Avery's Bagel Shop, his arm wrapped around the waist of a wavy-haired blonde. Her stunning long legs propel her forward, her eyes locked on him, with hearts practically sparkling in them. As I watch their interaction unfold before me, it becomes painfully evident that this is a heartbreak in the making. Jungkook, of all people, isn't exactly renowned for his ability to commit, and that's common knowledge around campus. He cycles through new romantic interests every week, and he's openly professed his disinterest in love on countless occasions. Yet, here she is, hopelessly falling for him—poor thing.

I raise my voice, frustration bubbling within me as I call out to him once more. But he remains utterly indifferent, his gaze fixed solely on the entrance of the quaint, inviting eatery. With a graceful sweep, he swings the door open, his hand tenderly resting on her lower back as he ushers his companion inside. I can't help but let out an exasperated sigh, my impatience growing by the second. I shake my head in disbelief before navigating my way across the bustling street. What the fuck is his problem? Stepping through the gleaming silver double doors, I make my way to the established ordering queue. Contrary to any wild ideas he might be concocting in his thick skull, I'm not here because of him. I wanted to get some work done on a few of my assignments before making my way to Chenle's place. Avery's holds a special place in my heart— it's been my favorite spot to grab a bite and study for years. Avery, the owner, is a culinary virtuoso in her mid-thirties, a mastermind behind a medley of bagel creations that are nothing short of life-altering. Over time, she's expanded her menu to include other breakfast and lunch delights, all of which keep people coming back for more.I became a regular of Avery's in her food truck era. Back then, she operated her modest business right in the heart of the city, serving her delectable creations from a weathered, banged-up red truck.Since then, I haven't looked back, it feels like I've gained a good friend and a great place to study when I need to. "Are you planning to ignore me for the rest of your life?" I say, my voice filled with frustration as I approach Jungkook. He's engrossed in a conversation with the blonde, oblivious to my approach. It amuses me how much effort he invests in girls he never intends to pursue beyond a casual fling. I mean, what's the point of all this when there are no intentions of going any further?

I watch as he slowly turns his head to identify the source of the voice. When he realizes it's me, his expression shifts, but he doesn't reply. The blonde clinging to his arm shoots me a nasty glare, clearly annoyed that I've interrupted their conversation. It's even more amusing to me that there are girls who willingly put themselves in such situations with guys like Jungkook, thinking they can be the ones to change them. "The assignment is due in just four days, Jeon, and I haven't even started because of you," I huff, frustration gnawing at me as I rummage through my bag to find my purse. Earlier, he had told me he had important matters to attend to today, which was why he couldn't meet with me. When I proposed meeting later in the day, he promptly shot down the idea, insisting he didn't have the time. So you can imagine my surprise when I spotted him with his little date. Emerging from the depths of my bag with my purse in hand, I shift my gaze toward him, awaiting his response. But there's nothing. No glimmer of recognition in his eyes, no hint of acknowledgment. He just stands there, unmoving, as if I'm invisible.

Is he really going to stand there and ignore me like a petulant child

I exhale a deep sigh, my eyes narrowing as I focus on the back of his head, frustration bubbling up inside me like a simmering volcano. A million wicked scenarios play out in my mind, each one more devious than the last, all focused on how I could effectively sabotage his date.

A mischievous thought dances through my mind. What if I were to swing my bag, aiming it at that unsuspecting, utterly useless head of his? And just for good measure, I could give his blonde friend a forcefully playful shove, a move that would surely knock her on her ass.

Or perhaps... A sly smirk gradually creeps across my face as a more subtle, yet equally potent, idea blossoms in my mind. It's nothing too extravagant, but I have complete confidence that it will work like a charm.

As I stand here, contemplating my revenge plot, I can't help but notice that the queue opposite the one I'm currently in has emptied out. Without missing a beat, I smoothly slide into that vacancy, feeling a rush of anticipation building within me. My eyes immediately fixate on the illuminated board behind the cashier's head. I tilt my head to the side, carefully examining my options before allowing my gaze to shift to Jungkook, whose irritated expression is now in plain view.

As I observe, a smug grin slowly creeps across my face. I can't help but revel in the satisfaction that washes over me as I witness the subtle twitch in his furrowed brow and the rhythmic clenching of his jaw. The tension practically oozes from his pores, an electrifying aura that I can almost taste. After all, he doesn't deserve to have a good day, not after all those lies he's been feeding me these past few days. I'm in absolute awe of his extraordinary ability to seemingly disregard my very presence. My eyes meticulously track his every move, from the way he confidently places orders for both himself and his date, to the charming, heart-melting smile he offers her and with a delicate touch, he tucks a strand of her golden locks behind her ear. It's almost as if the world revolves around them, and everyone else in the room merely fades into the background. I watch, captivated, as he tenderly grasps her hand, guiding her with a gentle assurance toward a cozy booth nestled in a secluded corner of the establishment. They settle in, their bodies so close that their shoulders brush against each other, creating an aura of intimacy that's impossible to ignore. Their conversation flows effortlessly, brimming with laughter and whispered sweet nothings. I have to admit, this guy knows exactly what to do to make a girl feel special.

A simmer of irritation bubbles beneath my skin, while amusement dances at the edges of my thoughts. Jungkook, so blissfully unaware of just how persistent I can be and utterly clueless about my insatiable appetite for pettiness, continues to test my tolerance for his behavior daily. What he doesn't know is that I've always been known for my excellence in theatrics, and quite frankly, if Jungkook wants to put on a performance, I'll give him a whole damn show.

As soon as I place my order, I waste not a single second in moving toward my target. I stride with unwavering purpose toward their booth, my head held high, my hips swaying seductively as I saunter across the room. A mischievous glint flickers in my eyes as I gracefully slide into the seat right beside him, his murderous glare meeting my unflinching gaze.

I respond with a sickeningly sweet smile, my voice dripping with a teasing tone, my eyes twinkling with faux longing. "I haven't seen you since Monday, Jeon. I really missed you," I say, letting a pout form on my plump lips as I lean in closer to him. My gaze shifts to his date as I rest my head on his shoulder. "Who's this, Kook?" I mumble, deliberately ignoring the way his fists clench between us. I'm fully aware that my intrusion on his little date will undoubtedly annoy the ever-loving shit out of him.

He exchanges a quick, awkward glance with his date, who appears thoroughly confused and uncomfortable with my sudden presence. I release a sigh, my gaze carefully assessing her features. "My replacement, perhaps?" I ask, shifting my attention back to him. I catch that split-second flicker of surprise on his face – he clearly didn't expect me to say that. "Amaya," he warns, his demeanor growing stern as he clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. But if I'm completely honest, I've never been one to heed warnings; Chenle always claimed that it would take a miracle worker to handle my attitude. "I'm Amaya, by the way. You?" My focus shifts to her.

"Kiarra," she whispers, her voice barely audible, and I notice her eyes closely following my fingers as they delicately trace the contours of Jungkook's exposed neck. Her lips curl into a condescending smile as she shifts to the seat opposite ours. Girls like Kiarra, the quintessential "it" girl, always seem to gravitate towards guys like my insufferable group member.

To be honest, I've got her type down pat. Her shallowness cuts through the layers of designer labels and caked-on makeup. She gives off vibes of someone who places an exorbitant amount of importance on her position within the social hierarchy, evident in the meticulous effort she pours into her appearance.

She's undoubtedly frequented the finest surgeons, splurged on the most lavish clothes, and surrounds herself with a clique of girls who are both beautiful and, well, rather uninteresting. "So, how did you end up meeting my favorite boy?" I ask, a gentle smile gracing my lips, my head still comfortably nestled on his shoulder, my gaze locked onto her as we engage in this unspoken standoff. She's challenging me for control of the situation. "We met at Jimin's party last week," she responds with a manufactured smile, her impeccably white teeth on full display. However, I can discern the underlying annoyance in her eyes, even through her facade.

"Jimin's party," I inquire, my brows furrowing in faux hurt, pretending to be genuinely surprised as I maintain that delicate touch along Jungkook's collarbone. My fingers trace a slow, teasing path, eliciting a subtle shiver from him. "I'm hurt, Kookie. You told me you were too busy," I pout, my tone dripping with feigned disappointment. I shift my gaze to Jungkook, my eyes wide and glistening, attempting to make it appear as if I'm truly saddened by his recent evasiveness.

Kiarra, caught off guard by my interaction with Jungkook, shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She clears her throat, her irritation growing the longer I linger. "Well, I guess he had some free time after all," she retorts, her voice laced with hostility. The cracks in little miss perfect's facade are becoming more apparent, and I can practically feel the tension radiating off Jungkook in waves. He's obviously annoyed by my intrusion, but by the look on his face, you could never tell well aside from his clenched jaw. "Amaya, what are you doing?" His deep voice carries a warning as he slowly turns his head to look down at me, his dark eyes fixed on mine.

I maintain my act, tilting my head ever so slightly to meet his gaze, a playful smile dancing on my lips. "I mean, I have to get your attention somehow, right?" I respond, my voice brimming with faux innocence. Leaning in a little closer, my lips hover dangerously close to his ear, and I whisper, "Besides, it's been weeks, and you've been so absorbed in... other endeavors." I punctuate my statement with a sly wink.

Kiarra's perfectly manicured nails clench onto the edge of her designer bag as she observes our little spectacle, clearly flustered.

Drawing even nearer to Jungkook, my lips graze his ear as I murmur, "You know, we do make quite the convincing pair, don't you think?" My words are laced with just enough mischief to set him on edge, and I can see the gears turning in his head as he contemplates how to navigate this unexpected scenario. "Excuse me," she mutters, abruptly pushing her chair back and rising to her feet. Her frustration is palpable in her tone.

"Leaving so soon?" I inquire, my voice dripping with feigned concern.

Jungkook attempts to intervene, but Kiarra is already making her way toward the exit. "Kiarra, wait," he pleads, reaching out for her, but she brushes past him without a second glance.

With a theatrical sigh, I rest my head on Jungkook's shoulder once more. "Well, that didn't go as planned, did it?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes, a hint of amusement twinkling in his gaze. "You're un-fucking-believable."

I flash him a mischievous grin, my façade dropping as Kiarra departs. "Just rescuing you from a bad date, Kookie," I remark with a wink. "And reminding you that you can't keep avoiding our assignment forever." With a satisfied hum, I smoothly slide out of the booth and stride toward the exit, shooting him a playful wink before making my way to Chenle's place.

← PREVIOUS | NAVIGATION | NEXT →

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fiction #jungkook smut #bts fanfction #bts fic #bts smut

14 notes · View notes

twilight-linkess · 2 years

Note

HEY it's "love yourself and talk about what you love" hours!

First of all, your art is wonderful and so creative!

Now, tell us a few things! Who's your favorite character to draw? Do you brainstorm ideas or do they just pop in and you're like wait hold up gotta draw this RIGHT NOW or both? What's your favorite piece that you've drawn?

If you were to meet somebody who knows nothing about you, how would you describe your art? Lastly, what's one thing about yourself that you love?

Hope your week has been good! :)

Thank you!

Hmm... my favourite character to draw is probably Twilight or Sky. Twilight’s my favourite Link and Sky has the LU design I like best.

Ideas tend to just pop into my head and I need to doodle/write something down immediately or else I’ll forget it. Sometimes this results in me staring at a scribble for several minutes thinking, ‘what was this supposed to be again?’ before it finally jogs my memory. I have way too may wips

Let’s see.. as for my favourite piece...I’m gonna give two answers again because I’m terribly indecisive. I really like this piece with fairy Hyrule and the first panel of the first page of my sorry comic. Backgrounds/environments is something I’ve wanted to work on for a long time, but I’ve only attempted relatively recently so I’m proud of how those turned out!

How would describe my art right now? Probably “Twilight can act a little dumb, as a treat (to me).” Umm... more seriously I tend towards semi-realism when doing portraits, but more cartoony for anything beyond that. I also think I’m alright at drawing facial diversity. There was a point a few years back where i was very serious about not falling into Same Face Syndrome. I’m less serious about it now, though. I’ve also been working on body diversity/anatomy recently, too. I have a fairly sketchy style, I think. Sketching something out = great fun. Cleaning it up = can be a slow torture until you finish and then it’s all worth it because it looks so good. Still, I never clean things up that much.

And finally, creativity is a trait I’ve always valued in myself so it’s nice to hear that you think my art is creative. I suppose my creativity is one thing I love about myself.

Whew! That got longer than intended. I’ve not had a great week, but this was nice to get. Thanks again!

#linkess answers #skyloftian-nutcase

4 notes · View notes

theyearthirtytwo · 2 years

Text

Day 2.

Knowing what to write about and sitting down to actually write are often, for me, two very different things. I suppose maybe that is the whole point behind Morning Pages a la The Artist's Way and warm-ups in general. Basketball games. Doodling. Vocal exercises. That first morning cup of coffee. We often need a little cajoling to get our best work. (full transparency, I googled how to spell "cajoling" to make sure I got it right. I did. I am irrationally proud.)

So much of the "art" we see on the internet is just shitty first drafts. It's embarrassing, I think, that we've created a society of instant gratification that no longer allows creatives to actually create without near constant production. We ask for more, more, more until there is nothing more to give. That is what happened for me and We Live Here Now. You simply cannot create top-tier prose day after day, month after month, and expect to like even a quarter of what you produce. Or at least, I believe anyone with a [not so] healthy dose of imposter syndrome can not.

When I decide to look at my twenties as a shitty first draft, it feels better. It also is tinged with an ounce or two of regret that I "wasted" an entire decade mostly fucking up, but it's true nonetheless. (I had no idea nonetheless was all one word. Back to standard pride level.) My twenties were, without question, my shitty first draft. I'm still figuring out how to edit out the worst parts.

I am sure my therapist would encourage me to not think of it as "editing out" but rather, lessons learned - the shit that doesn't get to make it to the next draft. And sure, that's fine.

I have this idea about myself that continues to be proven inaccurate. In my version of self-loathing, I believe that everyone knows what a mess I am/was/have-been/will-be. Over the weekend I attended a party at a friend's house in Portland that would prove this theory unequivocally false. I've been friends with this person for close to a decade (wow), meaning - through the majority of my messiest years - and have met/known/loved many of the other dear people in his life during that time. Within moments of stepping foot on the lawn I was swooped into not one, not two, but three massive hugs and gleeful conversations. I didn't make to to the back yard for another 40 minutes....

AHHHHH!!!!! I JUST SAW A QUAIL FAMILY ON THE LAWN!!!!!!!! QUAILS ARE SO CUTE!!!!!!!!!

ok, back to how many people love me.

After the party, my friend texted me how wonderful it was to have me there and how the general feedback he's been receiving since has been "great party, it was SO GOOD to see Sharlyn." Being loved is a pretty special thing.

Not one of those people said "Sharlyn was pretty drunk, but it was still fun" or "She kind of overshared" or "She's put on a few lbs" or "I can't believe she's still not happy" - Probably none of them were even thinking it. Almost certainly none of them were even thinking it.

If I can learn to love myself like my friends do - for the joy and comfort I bring, for the loving and accepting space I leave for people, for the complete lack of judgement or expectation I put on others, and if I can learn to accept the human parts of me that have previously created a "pillar of fire, shooting directly from my chest" (call back), maybe this decade I will be able to create (produce, yuck) the work, the live, the me that I can be truly proud of.

I deleted the Zillow app from my phone. I also deleted Instagram, Pinterest, and Reddit. The applications I onced used to be anywhere else mentally are gone. Replaced with a silence and a discomfort that forces me to be right here, right now. I hate it.

It's probably great for my relationship with the kiddo that I nanny. I imagine it's great for my brain and cognitive function. I can already tell that it's great for my mental health.

I've wanted to redownload Zillow approximately 25 times already (it's been two days), but I am sticking it out for a few reasons.

Reason #1: It's Just Not Helpful

It's not helpful to imagine all of the other places I "could" be or "might want" to be instead of the place where I am. I am in no position to be purchasing a home at the moment and do not even know if I would like these homes beyond the internet (recent research - driving by homes in Salem and Eugene I was convinced that I would love, but didn't - tells me I would not) and even if I was in a position to buy a home (again, I am not), my partner and I are in the process of figuring out some very big things - including where we ultimately want to live together. This future-tripping-game-of-imaginary-house I am playing WITH MYSELF just isn't helpful.

Do I freaking love imagining how I would pretend decorate or renovate a home? Sure. Will I return to my lifelong-favorite-waste-of-time-and-creative-energy again? Without a doubt. But for now, it's unhelpful. So away it goes.

Reason #2: The Gift of Presence

In the era of the internet, being physically and mentally present is fucking hard. It's also really fucking important. Not having these freshly updated apps readily available inside my pocket computer any time of day and night requires me to notice when I would like to numb via escapism (and, unfortunately, how often) and highly encourages me to do anything else - focus on my breath, notice the nature around me, give myself comfort, give myself grace. So I'll start there. I'll notice when I am feeling the need to escape and I'll change my habits to not require the escapism I seek. How boring.

The act of actually re-downloading the apps wouldn't take very long, but the moral failing and personal disappointment I would feel in myself if I did so wouldn't be worth it.

So, for now, I have my feelings, my thoughts, my breath, and my body. I have the right here and the right now.

Let's hope that's enough.

0 notes

sunrisefairy · 3 years

Text

Sketches

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Y/N likes drawing people. More specifically, she likes drawing George Weasley. Which is fine, until she loses her notebook and George is the one who finds it.

A/N: Okay so because of lockdown and me having legit nothing to do i spent the last 2 days writing this fic for @teawiththeweasleys writing challenge and i couldnt wait to share it with you. im lowkey very proud of it so i hope you all like it

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines message me if you would like to be added!

Ever since Y/N was a little girl she was always drawing whether it was scribbles of her family, animals, magical creatures or plants, you could always find the girl with a pencil and paper somewhere nearby. For as long as she could remember her home was covered in her drawings, Y/N’s mum and dad would frame and hang up all of their daughters’ drawings all over the walls. They were so proud of Y/N’s creativity and encouraged her to keep creating her art. It had become a tradition that every year for her birthday Y/N would receive a new notebook and pencils form her parents and it was always her most cherished gift.

Over the last few years Y/N has become very intrigued with drawing faces, she loved how she could capture a person’s emotion with just some charcoal and parchment. More recently when Y/N was sketching she’d try to focus on the subtle and small features that make humans unique and beautiful, may it be the way their eyebrows arched in curiosity or the dimples and freckles etched into their skin or small wrinkles that danced near their eyes when they smiled. Y/N loved it all.

Because Y/N was so captivated with how facial features made everyone unique she found herself draw a particular ginger a lot more than anyone else. George Weasley. Everybody at Hogwarts knew George Weasley was the twin to the confident and loud Fred Weasley. And being that they are identical twins they look very similar. Y/N found it fascinating trying to pinpoint their minor physical differences and she had become quite good at it.

Her brown leather notebook, which if it wasn’t in her hand was usually found stuffed in her book bag, was full of sketches of George. It started of gradual, her drawings of the sweet boy. Y/N was usually found sitting on a bench in the courtyard if the weather was nice, drawing anyone she saw nearby and normally it was someone new each time. But when her eyes landed on the loud group of Gryffindor boys, she felt a pull to the tall boy with fiery hair who was standing next to his twin, both taking turns to tell a story which had the rest of the group engrossed. Y/N wanted to challenge herself, it was simple, she wanted to capture the features that made an identical twin unique.

Y/N spent the last few weeks ‘studying’ George in a very non-threatening and not at all creepy way. The pair had a few classes together being in the same year at school but the two hadn’t really spoken much to each other. So, Y/N admired from afar, normally from across the great hall or in class. She quickly learnt that George’s face was longer than his brothers, his eyes were more slanted, and his lips had a curve in them that was more prominent when he smiled, something he does a lot, Y/N observed.

~~~

The weather was particularly nice on this Saturday afternoon, so naturally Y/N found herself on a bench in the courtyard with her pencil tin open and a range of charcoals scattered around her as she doodled in her notebook (the one which wasn’t unofficially dedicated to George).

“Hello there little Gryffindors-” Y/N heard a voice call from nearby, the voice belonging to Fred Weasley. George was standing next to his twin and the duo were chatting to some unsuspecting first years.

“-anyone fancy a nougat? They are delicious” George finished; the twins shared a mischievous glance at each other.

Y/N quickly grabbed her other notebook and some charcoal and began sketching the boy’s face focusing on the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed at the poor Gryffindor who accepted the free candy which turned out to be a nosebleed nougat. Y/N was absorbed in her sketching she didn’t notice her best friend sit next to her, peering over her shoulder.

“Ah, drawing your lover boy again I see” Alicia chuckled as Y/N slammed the book shut.

“He’s not my lover boy, I’ve already told you; I draw him to-”

“-capture the features that make an identical twin unique. Sure, so if I flick through your other notebooks, I’ll find one dedicated to Fred too then?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “shut up.”

“Come on creeper, we told the others we’d hang out today.” Alicia pulled on Y/N’s hand as she quickly threw her notebooks and pencil tin in her book bag.

“Merlin, hang on! You’re gonna rip my arm out of its socket!” Y/N giggles hoisting her bag strap higher up her shoulder.

The two girls walked off, arms linked and laughing, neither one noticed the lone notebook that was left on the bench.

~~~

George, Fred and Lee were heading towards the great hall after their amusing interaction with a group of first years when the younger twin noticed a brown book perched on a bench. He detoured that way to pick it up, flicking through the pages in hopes he will find who it belongs to so he can return it.

George furrowed his brows as he dove deeper into the book. He expected it to be filled with notes and writing but he was not expecting to see drawings of people; of him and Fred. But as he looked closer, he quickly realised that they weren’t sketches of him and Fred, just himself.

“Oi! What are you doing? We’re gonna be late for dinner” Fred’s voice pulled him back. George shoved the notebook in his pants pocket and hurried after his twin very confused as to why the notebook was filled with drawings of him.

Later that night George found himself sitting on his bed in his dorm room flipping through the notebook. These drawings were incredible, whoever it belonged to had some serious talent but he couldn’t get over why someone had drawn him, let alone multiple drawings. Each sketch was different to the last though, some were of his whole face others just of his eyes or mouth. George was in awe of the skill this person had; they had managed to capture his face perfectly.

Some might view finding a notebook filled of drawings of themselves a little creepy, however George Weasley found it flattering. You see, for his whole life, George has seen himself as the other half of Fred. Most people in their lives couldn’t tell the pair apart and opted to talk to them and refer to them almost as if they were one person as FredandGeorge and not Fred and George. This notebook was proof that someone out there noticed George as a singular person, an individual, which made George’s heart flutter.

~~~

“Oh godric” Y/N mumbles pouring out the contents of her book bag on the table.

“Hey, Y/N relax. I’m sure it will turn up eventually.” Alicia says in attempt to calm her friend down.

Y/N ran her hands through her hair, very stressed. She had been searching for her notebook all morning with no luck worried that the wrong person had found it and would deem her a creepy stalker.

“How can I relax when my notebook-the notebook which is filled with drawings of George Weasley-has gone missing. Oh merlin, whoever has it will most likely recognise the drawings of George and give it to him and he’ll eventually find out that it belongs to me and think I’m a freak” Y/N’s arms are frantically waving around to empathise her point as she paces up and down the room.

Alicia stops in front of her friend, placing her hands on her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly “Y/N breath. You’ve told me a million times that those drawings are just about capturing someone’s facial features, right? It’s not like you have a crush on the guy so it doesn’t matter if anyone thinks that, because it’s not true.”

Y/N’s sketches of George Weasley had started just as Alicia said but it quickly turned into Y/N possessing a small, okay maybe huge crush on the red head and her trying to find any excuse to stare at him and draw. Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest at the thought of George being the one to find her notebook. There was no way George wouldn’t be freaked out and think Y/N had some weird obsession with him.

“Okay so when was the last time you remember having your book?” Alicia questions.

Y/N racks her brain trying to remember, “yesterday afternoon. In the courtyard on that bench, I was drawing him when you came over. I’m sure I put it in my bag but I haven’t seen it since.”

Alicia nodded, the two deciding that was the best place to start.

Y/N practically sprints to the courtyard, luckily there wasn’t many students here, giving it was a Sunday morning and everyone was probably still sleeping. The two girls look around trying to spot the leather book. Y/N sighs in defeat, collapsing onto the bench and groaing into her hands.

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe I lost it. I’m so stupid”

“Err, Y/N” Alicia nudged her friend’s shoulder.

“Geez, thanks Alicia, you’re meant to say ‘No Y/N you’re not stupid’”

Alicia widened her eyes at Y/N before glancing behind her, “look”.

Y/N follows her gaze and freezes. George Weasley was walking towards them, that in itself was strange but it wasn’t until Y/N looked down at George’s hand and noticed the missing notebook.

“Oh no.”

George had figured whoever misplaced the notebook would probably come back to the last place they had it to search for it. He was hoping for that at least. Not only did he want to return the book to its rightful owner, he also wanted to thank them for seeing him, for noticing him.

As George rounded the corner his eyes scanned the courtyard and were met with Alicia Spinnit and Y/N L/N sitting on the same bench he’d found the notebook on, bingo. Judging by Y/N’s wide eyes that were glued to the notebook in his hand and how Alicia gave her a pat on the shoulder before disappearing, George figured the drawings were the work of Y/N. George’s heart sped up with this information. The two of them weren’t close but were friendly having shared some classes together. George had caught himself on more than one occasion glancing at Y/N during lessons and mealtimes, wondering what it would be like to get to know her. Guess now he has a chance.

His feet stopped a few paces in front of the bench as Y/N gawked up at him.

George cleared his throat, “uh I believe this belongs to you?”

Y/N basically snatches the notebook from his fingers, feeling insanely embarrassed and when Y/N is embarrassed, she rambles. “Oh merlin, I’m so sorry! I’m guessing you looked through it, of course you did. I would have too if I stumbled across a stranger’s book. I’m also guessing you realised all the drawings were of you. Look I’m not some stalker, I swear. Like I’m not some girl that has a massive crush on you and decided to fill a notebook with drawings of you… Well I do have a crush on you. But I promise I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just, I like drawing people and you have a nice face.” Y/N chews on her bottom lip, forcing herself to shut up.

George opens his mouth and closes it a few times as he processes the girl’s words. “Wow, um- I want you to know that I don’t think you’re creepy at all. I was actually really flattered looking through your pictures. It’s nice to know someone sees me as me and not as an extension of Fred.”

The two stare at each other for a few moments, neither one knowing what to say.

George moves to sit beside Y/N, close enough that their thighs are touching, “they are really good by the way. The drawings I mean. You’re very talented.”

Y/N blushes at his words, “thank you. I don’t normally share my art, with the exception of my parents and Alicia.”

George places a hand over his heart, “well in that case I feel very honoured.” He runs his fingers through his hair as Y/N giggles before continuing, “I know we aren’t super close and I kind of hate that it’s taken me this long to ask but would you maybe wanna hang out sometime? Like a date.”

Y/N fiddles with the notebook in her lap trying to hide her excitement “for sure, I’d love that.”

George lets out a sigh of relief, “great, well what are you up to right now? Maybe we can hang out and you can draw more pictures of my handsome face.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and playfully shoves at his side “careful, your head might explode with all that ego. But yes I’d love to hang out with you right now.”

“Cool.”

#George Weasley #George weasley one shot #George weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fluff #George weasley fanfic #George Weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley one shot #harry potter #harry potter one shot #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you

662 notes · View notes

issaxcharlie · 3 years

Text

We say we're friends, we play pretend (1/2)

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem reader

Summary: Charlie and Y/N were best friends and a couple as teens, after their breakup they meet again 4 years later on the bootcamp of JATP and have to work together. Will something else happen or they are just friends?

Charlie must have imagined something like this could happen. Since Kenny discovered her 5 years ago, she has been a really close friend to the director, participating in some way or another in almost all his projects.

In front of him after years, Y/N Y/L, his childhood best friend and ex-girlfriend. The young actor is not going to admit that he saw every single one of her projects or how moved he was by her in each one of them, many times even thinking of maybe sending her a little message saying the incredible job she did.

But he never found the courage.

It’s weird to remember how he spent most of his life next to the woman, now one of the top youth artists with multiple musicals and movies on her hits list. They always had a strong bond, every single day together. Sleepovers, music classes, dancing classes, homework, parties, movie nights, hockey, illness days, pretty much everything. At the age of 15 they began a very sweet and innocent relationship that ended at 18 when Y/N moved to New York to work in her first leading role.

The break up was on good terms but painful, so painful that both preferred to lose contact completely than to have the other from time to time opening the wound again and again.

And there she was. As beautifil as ever, speaking happily with Kenny while Madison and Owen jump up and down, Jeremy smiles and Charlie looks like he wants to throw up.

“Y/N Y/L, my golden star. She is the official composer of the soundtrack, and she will be supporting you throughout the album process as well as helping Paul and me in other creative aspects, I know she is the same age as some of you but she has a lot of experience in this and all the necessary preparation so don't hesitate to get all the knowledge you can out of her."

Everyone introduces themselves until the guitarist is the only one left, luckily for him, he’s in voice rest these two weeks so he literally cannot speak.

They both look nervous but the moment their eyes meet their complicity comes out and both smile slightly.

“He’s Charlie, he is in voice rest but we are fans of yours. We cried yesterday watching your last musical, it was just brilliant." Owen lets out hardly breathing, Y/N turns with a smile to see the Canadian boy who wants to kill his friend and then commit suicide.

“Thank you! This is going to be such an interesting experience.” The singer murmurs as she winks at Charlie.

2 hours later they had both been avoiding each other, Y/N writing in a corner while the band and Kenny discuss costumes with Soyon, in which at least half an hour has been wasted trying to understand what Charlie is trying to say with the few words he writes with an apple pencil on his ipad in his horrible handwritting.

Y/N gets frustrated and goes to where they are, approaching behind Charlie's shoulder to see the iPad. She quickly identifies the two words, one so crossed out that it looks like a doodle, but years copying each other's homework pays off.

"He's trying to say that if Luke isn't going to wear bandanas, at least consider wearing beanies." The young woman says as she leans on the shoulder of who was her first love.

Charlie freezes at their proximity, blushing a little at the feeling of being close after so long. Luckily his castmates don't realize it because all their attention is on her.

“You are just good for everything huh? Even deciphering hieroglyphs." Owen comments, smiling at her and winking exaggeratedly to make her laugh.

Charlie can't help but feel insecure with the situation. It could be a friendly thing but If Owen really tries to flirt with her, he doesn't know how he would react. Is sad enough not having her in his life anymore, having her as his best friend's girlfriend would just be too painful.

Now, he knows he’s exaggerating, and a lot. But he has to do something about it. Better safe than sorry.

He stretches his neck to meet the eyes of his ex-girlfriend, who is now only inches away. She quickly gets flustered, but hides it pretty well. The problem is that he knows every gesture perfectly and sees through her mask.

“Wh- What, Gillespie?” She manages to say, Charlie can’t help a smile seeing the way she still reacts towards him.

When you know a person completely, every facet, every gesture, every peculiarity, speaking without words is as natural as breathing. And they had both forgotten how amazing it feels to have someone in your life who is this compatible and magnetic.

They start a conversation, she answers to who secretly still believes as her person while he continues making gestures and mimics that no one else understands, writing a word from time to time to make the talk flow better.

"I know. Hey, it's not my fault! So you excuse yourself with the ‘can't talk’ thing huh? how convenient. Yeah, Ok, I will. I said I will!" Her words are the only thing that they manage to get out of the conversation that the secret ex-couple is having, since no matter how much attention they pay to him, they have no idea how Y/N manages to decipher it.

"I have no idea what's going on but I'll take it as a miracle, I was just going to suggest ignoring Charlie these 2 weeks." Jeremy jokes, everyone nods their heads.

“I mean, it’s still a good option.” Madison replies.

The 14 days go by quickly, and with the former couple spending time together daily, rehearsing Charlie's guitar solos together, with Y/N translating his horrible scribbles, or sometimes simply being close to each other enjoying the company, absentmindedly placing their hand on the other's leg or their forehead on their shoulder for a few seconds during the breaks.

Basically the whole team has noticed the flirtatious smiles and the looks, but Charlie was the weakest rival of both and the one who could release some information about it, and without being able to speak they basically ran out of an informant, since the young singer didn’t let go a word about her unexpected chemistry with the guitarist except the typical ‘we are just good friends’.

But without a doubt the energies began to multiply on Monday when Charlie arrived with the green light to be able to speak and start singing in rehearsals. Madison couldn't attend the first few hours because she was at school, so Y/N was going to cover her so the boys could practice.

“The first on the list is Finally Free, the place where we are going to record it only gave us two weeks from now so it will have to be one of the priorities. For the first rehearsal just vibe with the song and we’ll discover where to go from there. Oh, and good luck keeping up with my golden star, you’ll need it."

Y/N starts the first verse on the keyboard, and gets up to sing the chorus in the center, trying to ignore Charlie and looking up at Jeremy. She hadn’t heard him sing for a couple of years, but the same butterflies appear in her stomach and she knows that she will melt if she looks into his eyes.

Unfortunately for her, Kenny doesn't have the same plan, and just before the second verse ends he tells her to walk over to Charlie, who immediately smiles and sings the pre-chorus with much more enthusiasm. The energy they radiate floods the place, both getting closer and closer. By the time the bridge arrives, their foreheads are practically against each other, their lips only an inch apart, and with a confidence and comfort while singing to each other that makes all those who suspected that there was something between them now practically sure.

Luckily there are only Jeremy, Kenny, Owen and Paul in the room, who decide to play a game of divide and conquer now that the snitch part of the equation can speak.

“Y/N, can you come with me for a moment? I have a new idea for ‘Wow’ and a fresh pair of eyes is just what I need.” Paul says, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right back.” The singer takes the opportunity to leave this staring game with Charlie and quickly walks away from the guitarist, who winks at her in a flirting way in response.

The moment they walk out the door, everyone turns to see Charlie, who has no idea what they're up to.

“What?”

"After what just happened you just can't keep pretending nothing's happening. Man, that was more intense than the whole Troyella moments during all three movies." Kenny pretends to be offended for a second and then nods.

"I have never seen anything like this in all my years of career."

“Yeah dude it was electric.” Owen replies, smirking.

“She’s my person.” Charlie mumbles.

If he’s being honest with himself, deep down he always knew she was the only one for him. But that realization was freaking scary. What's next if the only person for you has already turned the page? gave up without a fight? what's left?

"What?" The three ask in unison, and Charles begins to sing like a bird.

“We grew up together and then we lost the way. Like in those romantic movies where just everyone knows they belong together except the childhood best friends and then they end up ruining their lives by being in denial.”

“From what I saw getting back on track shouldn't be too difficult, Charlie. I assure you that whatever you feel she feels it too. Her eyes don’t lie." Jeremy tries to reason with him.

“Leave your teen problems behind. You are old enough to decide what you want and find a way to make it work. But you have to stop pretending that nothing is happening first." Owen scolds his friend.

“Do you love her?” Jer asks.

“That answer is always going to be yes, I just could never stop loving her even If I tried. And I did.” He really did. The surprise he got when the second he had her close to him his heart began to beat like crazy and all he wanted was to hug her and fix everything. It was as if when seeing her eyes time hadn’t passed, as if only the day before they’d been goofing around together. That bond is so big that he doesn’t believe it’s possible to break.

“Then do something about it, bro! Go get your girl back!” Jeremy advises while Kenny smiles.

“Yeah man, it’s ‘Now or never’ like her song, and I guess ours too now? Since she wrote it for Sunset Curve? Well, anyway, it’s like our song says.” Owen exclaims excitedly.

“Ohhh, musical inspiration, let me try. ‘Get up, get out, relight that spark’.” Jeremy sings to Charlie.

“Jer, you are a genius. If you think about it wake up is actually a pretty good soundtrack song for this situation. ‘It's not what you lost, It's what you'll gain raising your voice in the rain’.”

They both keep singing the song until they reach the bridge, Charlie tries to look frustrated but a slight smile escapes his face.

They are right, he still hasn't lost this fight.

👻PART 2 RIGHT HERE

#jatp fanfic #jatp imagine #jatp fanfiction #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie one shot #jatp luke #luke patterson fic #luke patterson x reader

900 notes · View notes

lyrical-panic · 3 years

Text

Love Letters

Tenya Iida X Writer!Reader

(This is absolutely a self insert leave me alone)

Requests are open!!

Tenya's morning routine was always the same. He was awoken by his alarm at 6:20 A.M. He went to the bathroom and washed his face. Then he'd get dresses, comb his hair, and go downstairs for breakfast. After he'd eaten, he would brush his teeth, and head to class with his peers.

This system was so ordinary, so methodical, that he almost missed the folded sheet of printer paper on the floor in front of the door.

Probably Mr. Aizawa, he'd thought, stooping to collect the note. His teacher occasionally left notes taped to the class rep's door, asking him to take attendance or start class if Aizawa knew he was going to be late. Still nothing out of the ordinary for Tenya.

When he unfolded the paper, though, he was surprised to see not a message from his teacher, but rather a very sweet note; something that Tenya was not accustomed to getting at all.

I hope it does not alarm you to hear that I adore you. Your unbridled passion for heroics, your eyes; which are oceans of kindness, and your aptitude for helping others. Every little bit of you never once ceases to amaze and enamor me. Though you are a vessel for speed, you choose to walk alongside your friends, instead of tearing off into the future. You build me up and make me feel strong, whether you realize it or not. You make me feel like I'm actually worth something. You keep my head up when I feel as though I'm drowning in a sea of my insecurities.

Perhaps one day I'll have the courage to tell you this in person. For now though, this will suffice.

The letter was not signed off, but rather ended with a red pen sketch of a heart. Tenya's eyes nearly doubled in size. He re read the note several more times to make sure he hadn't imagined the loving words. Who could've possibly written it? He wasn't aware of anyone in his class who harbored these kinds of feelings, much less for him, but he had never been particularly good at reading emotions.

Realizing he was going to be late for breakfast if he dwelled any longer on it, Tenya pocketed the love letter and headed downstairs. The mystery would have to wait until after school. His responsibilities always came first, no matter how often his mind still wandered back to the letter in his pocked, yearning to pull it out and read it yet again, just to make sure he still wasn't dreaming.

. . .

Whoever had written the note was smart, Tenya realized. They had typed it, leaving no room for the possibility that he could recognize the handwriting. The only part that had been done by hand was that little red heart, but a doodle wasn't nearly enough to tell him who the author was.

He turned instead to analyzing the words themselves.They were well chosen, poetic even. The fifty cent words like "unbridled" and "enamored" led him to believe that the author was an experienced writer, or perhaps simply read a lot.

Yaoyorozu was a good contender, she was an eloquent speaker. Kaminari also read a lot, he was good with literature. And there was Tokoyami, who seemed to speak exclusively in poetry. Tenya jotted down his ideas, crafting a short list of his classmates.

"Oh, (L/N) writes a lot," he mused, adding their name to the list. (L/N) actually made a lot of sense.

Oh, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. Perhaps he only read the love letter in (L/N)'s voice being he wanted it to be them.

...or maybe it actually wasn't a bad idea.

(L/N) was always writing. They viewed it as a privilege, a challenge. They leapt at every creative writing assignment they got in English class, and the few stories they had shared were spectacularly inventive and elegantly crafted.

Tenya halted, scanning the message again. It suddenly seemed more and more likely that (L/N) was in fact the author.

He chewed his lip. It was too easy. Too convenient. Too perfect. How could someone he already cared for so deeply send him something like this? It was too good to be true. Besides, it was only one note. How could be possibly-

"What if they write more?" Tenya suddenly said out loud, his train of thought coming to a screeching halt. "I'd have a better line up to analyze. I could also ask Present Mic for the short stories assignments he's grading so I can pass them back. I could probably be able to look over at least a few of them and see if I recognize the writing."

A man on a mission, Tenya resigned himself to waiting until the next day to see if another note appeared, and to ask Present Mic about the stories.

Too anxious and oddly excited, he hardly got any sleep.

. . .

Sure enough the next morning, there was a new note. Tenya all but flew out of bed and scrambled to unfold it.

I find myself caught in a storm of uncertainty all too often. I'm tossed from wave to wave in an ocean of fear. You are my rock. You hold me fast and secure in this ever-changing and frightening world. You are safe. You are my home.

You are my everything.

Tenya unconsciously read the letter in (L/N)'s voice again. He felt his heart beat harder at the thought of them penning these beautiful words.

"You don't know that it's them," he scolded himself, unwillingly placing the new note on his desk next to the old one. He tore himself away from them to retreat into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

The new message did offer one new clue already, though. It used the same ocean metaphor as the first one. It was a comparison the author seemed to favor. Maybe he could find it in their other works.

He had to get his hands on those short story assignments before he lost his damn mind.

. . .

Tenya felt slightly uneasy about telling Present Mic he wanted the stories to pass back, even though he was technically telling the truth. He was eventually going to pass them back. When he was done looking through them.

A lie of omission is still a lie, that annoying voice in his head insisted, but he pretended he couldn't hear it, pushing it down. It wouldn't do any harm, he rationalized. And he had to know.

Tenya flipped through the papers, looking for (L/N)'s first. It was a desperate wish that they were the author of the anonymous notes, but it also seemed to make just enough sense to justify thumbing through their assignment.

There. (L/N) always went above the beyond with creative writing, and the five pages of neatly typed text was a testament to that. It was the longest assignment in the stack by two pages.

Wait.... typed?

It was probably a coincidence. After all, (L/N) hadn't been the only student who'd opted to type their story. Tenya was too convinced already that they had sent him those letters for him to entertain the idea that it was simply just a coincidence.

He skimmed the story quickly before class started. He found himself impressed, not for the first time with (L/N)'s abilities as a writer. Each word was carefully selected to craft perfect sentences and immaculate paragraphs full of feeling and vibrant imagery.

He stopped suddenly a page in as the protagonist compared their anguish to a stormy sea, heavy waves tossing them to and fro.

There it is again.

The sentiments from the letters, which Tenya had all but seared into his brain, echoed that of what he was reading now. The vocabulary, the imagery, the deep feelings evoked by each sentence, and even the fact that it was typed.

It had to be them. It had to be (Y/N). It was just too perfect.

. . .

(Y/N) sat a few seats ahead and to the right of Tenya, so he spent quite a bit of class time staring unabashedly at the back of their head. They were scribbling madly on a sheet of lined paper. Lecture notes? Short story?.... Love letter?

People often say that opposites attract. Tenya was just realizing how true that was as he sat in class, half listening to the lesson, half watching (Y/N). He was all angles and sternness, whereas they were flexible and soft. Perhaps it didn't always show physically on their features, but in their mannerisms, and even in their writing, they were stunning curves, twists and turns. With them, you didn't always know where you were going, but it was an adventure all the same. They were a warm, comforting feeling. They felt like home.

An idea bloomed in Tenya's mind, a delectably wonderful way for him to show (Y/N) that he reciprocated their feelings. Having a difficult time smothering his smile, Tenya fished through his school bag for a sheet of lined paper.

. . .

You frowned thoughtfully at your paper, lips pursed. You tapped your pencil against your dorm room desk as you considered your next words.

This was the hardest, part, but still the most fun. The first draft. You could change whatever wording or dialogue you wanted while you were typing it up, nut you still needed a good base. You still had to carefully choose every word that you wanted to use to move your audience.

Tenya Iida

You grinned giddily just thinking of him. He had given almost no indication these past two days that he'd gotten your letters, but you could tell. His eyes had darted around, scrutinizing everyone they landed on. It had felt a bit like being dissected when his gaze had fallen upon you.

There's no way he knows, you had reasoned, giving him a tight smile in return. He's just trying to sus me out. For all he knows, it could be literally anyone.

You had ridden that wave of shaky confidence in your anonymity, all the way to that moment, where you turned around in your desk chair, intending to grab your phone, only for your eyes to fall upon a folded up piece of paper next to your door.

You felt an anxious lurch in your gut as you shakily picked it up. "If this is Iida telling me to never speak to him again I'm going to cry."

You unfolded the message, fully expected the worst, and praying to whatever god was or wasn't out there that you were wrong and that Iida wasn't completely creeped out and now hated you.

You remind me of the ocean waves you write about so often. You're a crescendo of carefully chosen words, actions, and kind thoughts. You're soft yet strong, never backing down from a fight or a friend in need. Your determination and drive impress me to no ends, and make me want to impress you as well.

You've cast a spell on me for quite some time now, but your hold over me was only strengthened by the heartfelt messages you sent me. I'm beyond happy that you share my feelings.

The letter wasn't signed, but it was written in what was distinctly Iida's penmanship. He had ended his message the same way you had ended yours; with a hand-drawn heart.

"Oh my god," you whispered, paper crinkling as your grip tightened around it. You read it again. Then again. And then again. "Damnit, he's right. I do use the stormy sea metaphor a lot."

Note still clenched in your hand, you sped-walked to Iida's dorm room, heart thundering in your chest. The thought that Iida; sensible, respectful Iida would have feelings for a disaster like you was a little discombobulating to say the least, so you were determined to hear it straight from the horses mouth.

You rapped on his door, foot tapping impatiently. The few seconds it took for Iida to answer dragged on for what felt like an eternity. When he finally did open the door, a pleasantly surprised look crossed his face upon seeing you.

You held up his note. "Hi. Um, so."

Iida chuckled, cheeks reddening. He gestured you in as he stepped back to his desk, where he produced the letters you had sent. "So."

"Y-you're not messing with me, right?" you asked nervously. "'Cause if you are I'm going to kick you."

"Trust me, everything I wrote is 100% true." He smiled earnestly. "And you...?

"I think those letters are the most honest I've ever been about my feelings ever." you admitted, shifting your weight from foot to foot. A wry smile played on the edges of your lips. "I was drafting you another one, but you just had to go and find me out and ruin it."

"You can still give it to me," Iida said hopefully, palming the back of his neck with his hand, flustered.

You laughed a little, your own cheeks warming up. You twisted the hem of your shirt. "Uh, can I hug you?"

"O-of course!"

You wrapped your arms around Iida's torso, resting your head on his chest, listening to the drumming of his heart. He slowly followed suit, snaking his arms around your shoulders. He let out a contented sigh, relaxing into your touch. He was so warm. He was a cozy fire in the dark of winter, a blissful reprise from a cold and harsh world.

You pursed your lips, stifling a snicker. I've gotta write that down.

#bnha #mha #tenya #iida #tenya iida #tenya iida x reader #tenya x reader #iida x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

191 notes · View notes

bananasmores · 2 years

Text

Talking about what I’ve learned recently about art block/motivation in a way that I hope is helpful

I have art block more often than I don’t have it, I think I just always have it and sometimes I can push art through the cracks of it very rarely, but it doesn’t seem to go away at all; making art has always been uncomfortable for me (personally) I’ve always been really frustrated because the only thing I’ve been passionate about is art, but if you don’t have any strong interests besides art and a vague idea of ‘getting good enough’ then you dont have things to draw and things come out stale and lifeless. honestly the best art advice that i didnt understand well enough when i heard it the first time, and only really GOT when i fell ass-backwards into figuring it out, was “find interests/hobbies that arent related to art”.

if you let obsession with improvement and nothing else get ahold of you, it’s going to get out of control fast. ‘why am i not better yet when all i do is think about this and try to paint ladders on the wall to get out of this hole’. it gets really embarrassing to yourself. It’s really really hard if you have this mentality but you have to draw for yourself, learn to be self indulgent. I’ve read literally those words a hundred times and didnt fully absorb them in a way i could act on, so i dont know that typing them here for other people having the same problem is helpful. actual actionable advice that has helped me with this specific problem: -chase passing interests in anything, just enjoy things. put the idea of art out of your brain, itll come back. (personally the way that worked for me is “im very passionate about this subject and i want to tell people about it AND communicate how it makes me feel”)

-have secret hobbies to let yourself be bad at. pick up a new creative thing and make stuff that way without focusing on improvement, just enjoy whatever comes out of playing around. make some kind of pseudonym/secret blog/whatever so you can collect what you make. even if youre not trying to improve, its going to happen and being so new to something that youre constantly improving a ton is exciting and this will help you feel something about creating things without expectations. its especially fun if the specific avenue you go with has a reputation for being “cringe” or “childish”. have fun, cringe is fun.

-if you post art and then keep checking back to see if people like it: holy shit do not post something when you’ve just finished it and you’re proud of it; make the art and then drop it in the queue for a few days away, make the time longer if youre antsy about it. try really hard to not tie your feelings to other peoples reactions to your art.

-i dont know how universal this is, maybe it’s just me being avoidant, but i make art and personal accounts separate, and turn off notifications for art accounts. if its important and for professional stuff, have a contact page. if its a tumblr sideblog where i doodle horses, i turn the askbox off. i don’t remember who said it but “i drew this for myself but you can look at it too if you want” has stuck with me and has been one of the most helpful things about art ive heard.

i think because of the entire Capitalism Thing, if you do art for a job, there’s a feeling that if it’s real work it needs to be miserable and hard or else you’re goofing off. but if you burn yourself out for years because you think art as a job needs to be torturous or it’s rude to people working other jobs then.obviously thats not sustainable. take care of yourself and your mental health. ive worked a lot of (non art, physical industrial) jobs and while i’m glad to do art now, please remember you’re a person before you’re your job title. (especially right now) i hope this is understandable, ive been dealing with this issue (+avpd) for years and am finally starting to get ahold of it and i want to shorten this struggle for anyone else that has it if at all possible.

#askbox is briefly open for this #verryy briefly and super selective about answer things bc. avpd #i appreciate nice comments and i save them in my inbox but its hard to answer them publicly without feeling like a jerk #but sincere thank you your nice comments mean a lot to me

22 notes · View notes

wolfish-trickster · 3 years

Text

Loki x female!artist!reader

Word count: 1 281

Summary: you were going through a difficult time and your boyfriend wants to make you feel better.

Warnings: adult themes (nothing too explicit), little bit of sadness

A/N: i felt kinda depressed lately, so I wrote something to cheer myself up. This might have some grammar mistakes or typos, so please try to ignore them. Enjoy :)

Loki admired you. From the way you looked to the way your magnifficent mind worked. It never ceased to amaze him how creative a human's mind can truly be. He has seen all those paintings in art galleries, and witnessed all those adventures written in books, hidden in the deepest parts of library. He has seen architecture that took his breath away. He never really thought something so asgardian could be seen here on midgard too. He must admit, some of the midgardian pieces were too shoddy for his liking. He even despisedcertain parts of midgardian culture and art. Probably because he missed his home too much, a place where he grew up surrounded with those beauties. He never made even the faintest effort to understand midgardian art. Until he met you.

You showed him different kinds of art. You even taught him few things. He never stopped admiring you, even after several years of living together. He never got tired of you and your talent.

On one night, after a very difficult day, you were lying in bed covered by the smoothest sheets to ever exist. You were safely cuddled against Loki, sleeping soundly, getting your deserved rest. But Loki wasn't sleeping, no. He was thinking. Thinking of a way to make you smile again. It has been a long time, since he saw you smile, truly smile. Not faking smile to make him feel better. He saw you, fighting whatever got into your way throughout the day, everyday. It tired you, drained you of your power. And yet, you still smiled at him (even if it was fake smile). You never brought up your own problems, istead you listened to his, and that made Loki feel two things: selfishness and love. Selfishness, because he should've insisted on listening to your problems too and love, because it just showed what a caring person you can be. Even in your darkest times. He loved you for it even more, if that could be possible.

As careful as he could he untangled himself from your warm embrace, got up from bed and went on a dangerous mission of searching for your sketch-book. You always had one filled with doodles, paintings, drawings or designes.

When he found the said book, he started browsing through it, page by page, looking for something you started working on a while ago. And he found it. 'Tomorrow will be one happy day for my darling' Loki thought with a small smile blooming on his face.

As soon as you regained consciousness, you wanted to go back to your dreamland. Away from your struggles. From mean people, from every day stress, from your anxiety, from EVRYONE. Well, maybe not everyone. Not from your boyfriend. You started blindly looking for his body in your king-sized bed, but to no avail. Maybe he got up sooner than you? But whenever he did, he stayed in bed watching after you. And then teasing the living hell out of you, for snoring so laud it woke him up. He never meant it in the bad way, you always tickled him for revenge. And tickling turned into make-out session and that to love making. You loved those times, that's why you groaned upon descovering he left the bed.

You slowly sat up and looked around your bedroom. Not too big, but not too small either, pretty cosy looking. You dragged yourself to your wardrobe to put something on yourself, you couldn't just walk around your house naked now, could you? 'I'm sure Loki wouldn't mind' you thought after picking one of his green t-shirts. He rarely wore something from Earth and if he did it was just his all black suit. You occasionly gave him sweatpants, few hoodies and t-shirts, so you could steal-ehm borrow them like a normal girlfriend would.

With nothing but his t-shirt and fluffy socks on you made your way downstairs. Soft bubbling of water and sound of cutting was coming from kitchen.

Loki didn't cook often, but when he did... Let's just say you were always full afterwards.

You rounded the corner and plopped down on sofa. Damn, that was a lot of stairs. Snuggling with pillows you tried to spot your god, but he was nowhere to be seen. How about a quick nap before breakfast? It's saturday afterall, the lazy day.

"Oh, you already woke up. How did you sleep my sweet?" asked the velvety voice you loved so much.

You turned around, ready to hug him to death, but you halted when you saw his clothes.

"What, the living hell, are, you, WEARING?" you didn't mean to scream that last lart, you really didn't, but seeing this too early in the morning would startle anyone.

"You do not like it? One of your own creations?" aked Loki with that smug smile on his damned lips.

He was wearing your redesign of his asgardian battle armour. It was more leather than metal, Loki's signature green, black and gold. Looked more badass too with horned golden headpiece instead of the whole helmet with slightly shorter horns. You thought he didn't notice, but how couldn't he, when he just loved every little thing you make?

Maybe you were quiet for way too long, cause Loki started anxiously picking on his palms, never a good sign.

"I love it Lo, I just... I never expected you to do something like this. You never cared about my designs before, " that send hurt straight to his heart. You always asked him about his projects, his interests. He has never done something similair. Out of respect, he thought. To give you space. Now he blames himself for the dissapointed way you said those words.

"Darling, of course I care about everything you draw. May it be a mindless doodle or a piece of art. I've seen the joy drawing brings to your life. Your eyes are so bright whenever you make art, and lately that light has faded. I wanted to make you smile again, to see the playful twinkle in your eyes I fell in love with. I figured this was the way, but... Maybe I shouldn't have gone through your book. "

He reached up, ready to change your design into his usual attire, when you cought his hand. Loki wanted to say something when you cut him off with a sweet kiss. He closed his eyes, one hand cupping your cheek, the other snaking around your waist pulling you closer.

You pulled away first, breathing heavily. Your head spinned. It always does when you kiss the love of your life.

"I love you Loki. Thank you for making me feel better. But next time don't go through my sketch book, what if I designed something for you and you'll spoil your surprise?" you asked with a smirk on your lips.

"I love you too darling. And don't worry. As long as you smile, I won't. By the way, did you really design something for me, except what I'm wearing?" he gave you the same smirk, giving you eskimo kiss.

"Hmmmm, you'll have to wait and see" you murmured against his lips.

"You minx, you know I'm not a patient man."

"I know, I know. What about we eat breakfast and then I can give you different kind of surprise?" your lips barely brushed his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"I love the way you think, darling. Now go sit by the table, the sooner I finish the breakfast, the sooner we'll get to your surprise."

'What a pleasant way to start a morning' was the last thing you thought when Loki parted himself from your embrace.

#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #young loki #loki odison x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fluff

100 notes · View notes

izzyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Remile - Moonbeams and Poetry

(This is a part of my Clouds and Moss au, which is a gods au, though you don't have to read it in order or even all of it to understand this, as each oneshot in this au has been about separate characters so far)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlinn @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff

CLOUDS AND MOSS TAGLIST: @emerald-and-fluorite @noisavalidmood @themagicheartmailman

WARNINGS: Crying, talking about death

Masterpost

Clouds and Moss AU Masterpost

Emile had a problem, and it was getting out of hand.

He fell in love far too often, and far too easily.

And not with people, either, not usually. No, with stories.

He fell in love with the handsome heroes and perfect princes that leapt off the pages of his favourite books, through the stories people told, right into his daydreams, and then into his poems. These were often his best works, his most favourites, coming straight from the heart, but he could never show them to another living soul. His family and few friends already thought him to be odd – an eccentric loner, one who didn’t belong. They didn’t understand him, they’d never understand this.

But, now? He had somehow managed to fall for someone even more spectacularly out of his league.

Emile had fallen for Remy, the god of the moon.

There were just so many wondrous stories about him – he was one of the most worshipped gods, after all, applicable to most everyone – about his various antics and adventures, about his countless lovers (both divine and mortal alike), with vivid descriptions of his eternal beauty. There were numerous statues, too, especially in his temples – which Emile frequented often – of his most-used form, and Emile couldn’t look at any of them without his heart skipping a beat.

Emile paused mid-step, running his fingers through his already mussed up hair, his eyes scanning over his piece of paper, over the words he’d just been writing, a third of them already scribbled out. It was okay, he could write a perfect copy later – dotting every I with a star and doodling hearts and crescent moons across the page – and add it to his ever-expanding collection, hidden in his desk drawer. His hands were speckled with ink stains, matching the freckles on his face, and there was a smear of black on his cheek that he’d yet to notice.

“His skin was woven from moonlight,” Emile mumbled to himself, before wrinkling his nose and shaking his head as the line still didn’t sound quite right.

He sat down on his bed, smoothing out the sheets beside him and pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, his back against the wall, balancing his paper on one knee.

“His hair... no, his eyes...”

“I like the part about my hair.”

Emile yelped, his paper slipping off his leg and his pen falling through his fingers, cluttering to the ground and hitting the floorboards noisily. His glasses almost fell right off his face, but he caught them just in time, pushing them back up his nose. He couldn’t afford to let them shatter, not now. His head then swivelled around, his eyes immediately landing on the man now sitting casually on his windowsill, his legs crossed, one over the other, who definitely hadn’t been there just a minute earlier.

It took a moment for Emile’s vision to adjust, to separate the beams of moonlight that shone through the window from the moon god’s smooth, identical skin. They were one and the same, made up of the exact same material, Emile could only tell them apart because Remy wanted him to. His hair and his eyes were as black as night, matching his clothes and the sky behind him, speckled with tiny, near-invisible stars. He looked like one of those gorgeous, hand-carved statues had burst to life, stepping right off their pedestal and wandering up to Emile like it was nothing, and Emile was sure he was going to melt on the spot.

Remy grinned, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth that shone like moonlight, and tilted his head to one side, looking over Emile with an indecipherable expression.

“Wow,” Emile breathed, before he could stop himself. “You’re beautiful.”

There was a beat, and then his eyes widened dramatically, his hands shooting up to cover his mouth, as he certainly hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Fortunately, the god didn’t seem offended in the slightest, just amused, and with a slight twinkle in his eye.

“Well, I’ve never heard that one before,” He mused.

Emile blinked, dropping his hands and tilting his head. “That... that can’t be right.”

Remy thought about it for a moment, humming. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right. But never from someone as pretty as you before,” He said, leaning forward, his hands still gripping the windowsill, watching Emile with a teasing grin.

Emile’s heart was going to burst (and what a way to die that would’ve been), it was racing so fast. He was sure that his face had turned even redder than a strawberry, his eyes wide, which couldn’t have been very attractive, but Remy was staring at him like he was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t blink, he didn’t need to, which perhaps should’ve been a little off-putting, but Emile couldn’t stop staring at him.

(Was he dreaming? Was this all just a dream – a wonderful, fantastic dream? Simply a product of his subconscious? And did that really matter? Remy was the god of dreams, too, after all. Was he any more real in dreams versus reality? Did even he know the answer to that?)

“But you must’ve come across so many humans in your lifetime?”

Remy nodded, his eyes shining, entertained. “I have,” He said, as if that changed nothing. Then, he paused. “Can I see that?” He continued, gesturing to the paper that now lay face-up, abandoned, on the floorboards.

Emile slid off the bed, bending down and snatching it up quickly. He held it to his chest protectively, guarding the words like they were precious secrets he was desperate to keep.

“It’s, um... it’s not done,” He said weakly.

Remy didn’t say anything else, just tilted his head, waiting.

“Uh...” Emile swallowed, mulling things over for a moment, before he slowly walked up to the god, cautiously handing him the paper. “Here.”

Remy took it, his fingertips almost brushing against Emile’s, but not quite, barely a centimetre apart, though that was probably a good thing, as Emile likely wouldn’t have been able to handle the physical contact. He wouldn’t have put it past himself to pass out. He then took a step back, fiddling awkwardly with his hands and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He held his breath as the moon god’s eyes scanned the page, reading the lines, his expression unchanging.

Then, Remy glanced back up at him.

“It’s good,” He complimented smoothly. “Can I keep it?”

Emile nodded before he could really think it through, and then watched, wide-eyed and nervous, as the paper sunk into Remy’s hands, through his skin, disappearing as if absorbed. The unfinished words lingered on his skin for another moment or two, flashing silver, before they, too, were gone.

Emile didn’t understand what had just happened, but didn’t have the chance to ask, before Remy melted back into the moonlight, leaving nothing but a feeling of emptiness in Emile’s soul behind.

Had he ever really been there in the first place?

***

To Emile’s surprise, it turned out that, yes, Remy had been there, as he returned again three days later, sitting with Emile and talking with him for hours and hours about nothing, and everything.

And then two days after that.

(Remy read another poem, and another and another and another, complimenting them as he did so, and then gave Emile a charming smile that made him want to kiss him until he ran out of breath.)

And then a week after that.

(They held hands as they talked, Remy letting Emile ramble on about his day, and Emile couldn’t stop smiling for hours afterwards.)

And then three days after that.

(Emile fell asleep listening to Remy sing.)

And then, by the sixth visit, it had somehow become a semi-regular occurrence, which Emile couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Why would a god want to spend so many nights with him? It didn’t seem real, but Emile was too busy floating on cloud nine to care.

“Hey,” Remy greeted, his arms crossed and laying on top of Emile’s windowsill. His legs were floating in the air behind him, drifting up and down at a leisurely pace, and Emile wondered what his neighbours would think if he saw him. “Can I come in?”

Emile giggled, putting down his pen and smiling at Remy. “It’s not like you to ask,” He teased.

(He was teasing a god, a god. What had his life come to?)

Remy grinned widely, hopping through the window, and then strolled up to Emile’s desk, where the human was sat. He stopped just behind his chair, wrapping his arms around Emile’s neck, placing his chin on his curly head of hair, and peering over to see what he was working on. Emile froze, his breath hitching, but then immediately tried to pretend that that hadn’t happened, though there was no way that Remy hadn’t noticed. He leant forward, covering his paper with his arms, trying very hard to ignore his rapidly reddening cheeks, and Remy pouted.

“Why can’t I see it?”

“It’s not done, yet,” Emile explained.

Remy huffed, though he didn’t actually seem too annoyed, as he didn’t argue, and just stayed where he was, pressed against Emile’s shoulders.

After a moment, his grin returned, and though Emile couldn’t see it, he could practically sense it.

“Is it about me?” Remy teased playfully.

“Um...”

Perhaps Emile should have ceased writing these poems since meeting and befriending Remy, but he just couldn’t help himself. He continued spilling his feelings through his pens, onto the paper, into his poems, despite their newly blossoming friendship. His attraction to the god – previously shallow and based solely on stories and statues and appearances – had increased tenfold since their first meeting. He was just... perfect. Indescribably perfect. All of the tales and legends had described him as smug, self-centred and flirtatious – vain, too. And whilst these descriptions weren’t quite wrong, per se, they were incomplete. Missing multiple pieces. He was also playful and funny, teasing Emile almost constantly, and not quite as arrogant as he’d first seemed.

His beauty was unmatched.

“So, it is, then?” Remy smirked.

Emile opened and closed his mouth, his face warming further.

Then, suddenly, Remy took a step back, removing his arms from around Emile – to the human’s obvious disappointment – and flicking his wrist, causing Emile’s chair to spin around to face him. Emile blinked, surprised, his eyes widening, his face still flushed, his hands tightly gripping the arms of his chair so he didn’t slip off.

He looked up at Remy, who was still grinning smugly.

“Hmm?” Remy tilted his head, still awaiting Emile’s answer.

Emile cleared his throat, awkwardly looking down at his lap. “Um... maybe?”

He then bit his lip, glancing back up at Remy and watching as the god stared at him, his eyes drifting downwards, remaining on Emile’s lips for a few moments, before moving back up to look into his eyes. Emile’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he was sure that Remy could hear it. He could hear everything.

There was a beat.

(A heartbeat.)

And then Remy moved forward, placing one hand on the back of the chair, over Emile’s shoulder, and the other on his arm, leaning in close so their faces were only inches apart.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked suddenly.

Emile’s eyes widened even further, and he inhaled sharply in surprise, but before Remy could pull back and apologise, he answered quickly.

“Yes!”

Emile didn’t have the time to really process what was happening after he said that, as Remy’s hand immediately moved to cup his cheek, and then his lips were on Emile’s, and it was suddenly impossible to think of anything but him, him, him.

For a brief moment, it was like kissing a marble statue – cold and solid, too smooth and uncomfortable – but then Remy softened, his touch now gentle, his lips still cool but now feeling almost human. Remy kissed him like he was handling a beam of moonlight, like Emile was fragile and breakable (and he was, compared to Remy), but skilled, so skilled. He knew what he was doing.

Emile would keep kissing him forever, if he could.

When Remy pulled back – his mouth remaining oh-so close to Emile’s – Emile whined softly, involuntarily, and Remy huffed out a quiet laugh against his lips.

“Can we, um... can we keep doing that?” Emile asked, breathing softly, sure that his face couldn’t get any warmer.

Remy hummed an ambiguous answer, but Emile didn’t have the chance to question him any further before Remy’s lips were on his again, his hands slipping down Emile’s sides as the human wrapped his arms around the god’s neck, pulling him in closer.

They didn’t talk for a while after that.

***

It was impossible to forget that Remy wasn’t human.

Sure, sometimes he looked human enough, when he wanted to. Sometimes his skin was more peach than moon-white, his eyes more earth-brown than night-black. If Emile hadn’t known him so well, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish this form – a near-perfect imitation – from any regular human’s. But, even then, his skin was perfect and unmarred, his cheeks never rosy, and his eyes shone with ancient, incomprehensible knowledge. They were the night sky; it was impossible to truly hide that.

And he never behaved quite human-like, either.

His kisses were like nothing Emile had ever experienced before, like touching moonbeams, like floating amongst the stars – cool and perfect and practically addicting. Whenever he held Emile, it was like being wrapped up in moonlight, protected from the dangers of the world, and he’d never felt safer, never felt happier. It was bliss: pure, unwavering bliss.

And Remy always moved like he was floating, dancing – flawless and perfect. He never missed a step, never stumbled, not even once.

He stared a lot, too: unblinking, unmoving, practically a frozen, marble statue. It often looked like he was staring right into Emile’s soul, reading him like a poem. Emile wasn’t sure he would’ve minded if that was the case.

Emile shifted, nudging Remy with his elbow and breaking the god’s trance.

“What are you looking at?” He teased.

(Teased, teased, teased.)

Remy blinked, like a statue coming to life, and then smiled, taking Emile’s hand in his own, much colder one. He didn’t squeeze it – Remy never wanted to risk hurting him, even though he was always perfectly in control of his own strength – just held it softly. His skin was like smooth, perfect stone for just a moment, before it changed, like melting into flesh.

“You,” He said simply, as he always did. “You’re gorgeous.”

That was always such a silly thing for him to say, in Emile’s opinion. Compared to the eternal beauty of a god, Emile was nothing. You may compliment and smile at a child’s first experiments with clay, but they will always pale in comparison to the flawless creations of a practiced sculptor.

He didn’t say that, though – didn't want to ruin the otherwise pleasant moment – and instead just smiled back, leaning forward to affectionately nuzzle his nose against Remy’s. The gesture was quickly returned, and Emile sighed contentedly, his eyes fluttering closed as he moved again, pressing his lips against Remy’s with a kiss that was immediately and enthusiastically reciprocated.

Cold, and then slightly warmer. Stone, and then flesh.

It ended too quickly, however, as, to Emile’s disappointment, Remy suddenly pulled away with an exasperated groan.

Emile tilted his head, making a quiet, questioning noise.

“My brother’s summoning me,” Remy explained, leaning back on his hands and rolling his eyes in annoyance. “He knows I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m with you.”

Emile blinked, surprised. “He knows about me?” He asked softly.

That was news to him.

“Of course, he does,” Remy answered simply, shrugging, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s my brother, and it’s been, like, six months, babe. I told him ages ago.”

It had been about six months since their first kiss – the best six months of Emile’s life. He had almost expected the god to never show up again after that first night, but he had, again and again and again, almost every night since, and Emile had found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with every encounter.

(This couldn’t end well. It just couldn’t. Remy would move on eventually; it was an inevitability – a relationship between a god and a human was unsustainable at best, and Emile’s heart would soon break. It would shatter like a mirror – seven years of bad luck – into a million tiny shards, and it would be practically impossible to put the pieces back together again.)

(But was that really certain? If Remy had told his brother, Thomas, the almighty king of the gods, who surely had better things to talk about, then... then, maybe Emile meant more to him than he’d thought. Maybe...)

Emile pushed that thought down. That kind of hope was dangerous.

“Ages ago?” He prompted.

Remy nodded, though he looked a little distracted, like he was listening to something: maybe a voice in his head, a whisper in his ear, or maybe something a little more abstract, more of a feeling. There was no way for Emile to know.

Emile smiled, though it was a little sad, placing his hand on Remy’s arm and squeezing it lightly.

“It’s alright,” He said sympathetically. “I get it. These things can’t be helped. You should go, it might be important.”

Remy sighed. “Ugh, you’re probably right.”

He looked up at the ceiling, like he was looking right through it, glaring at and silently cursing out the sky. This continued for another moment or two, before he turned back to Emile, taking his hand and pressing a surprisingly warm kiss to the knuckle. He held it there for another moment or two, before pulling back, giving Emile a small smile.

Remy was so close that Emile could see all the stars in his eyes (he could practically count them) a sight that he’d never tire of.

There was a beat.

“I love you,” Remy said suddenly.

Emile’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he could’ve sworn his heart had just stopped in his chest. He felt a little faint, like he might pass out, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He didn’t know how to put into words the sudden wave of love and shock and pure joy that had just washed over him.

“I... I love you, too,” Emile whispered, when the words finally unstuck from his throat.

Remy smiled, reaching out and cradling Emile’s cheek with his hand – light and gentle. He then leant forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips. He pulled back before Emile could really start to enjoy it, though, and it was like suddenly waking up from the best dream Emile had ever had.

“I have to go,” Remy said softly.

“I know.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Remy assured him. “If you’ll have me.”

Emile smiled. “Always.”

Another moment passed, with lingering eye contact that seemed to last eons, and then Remy disappeared, as quickly and suddenly as he often appeared.

In his place, he left a blurry silhouette, like a portion of the night sky had been brought right into Emile’s bedroom, stars and all. The edges were fuzzy, and if Emile looked too hard, it made his head hurt, like he wasn’t supposed to be able to comprehend it. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away, that wouldn’t feel right, so he just kept staring, watching as it melted away, until he was truly alone again.

Emile lay down on his bed, his limbs spread out like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the words Remy had spoken finally hit him.

Remy... loved him.

Remy loved him?

Remy loved him.

Oh.

Emile burst into thrilled, ecstatic laughter, burying his face in his hands as it spilled out of him like an overflowing waterfall of emotions. He was giddy with delight, beaming so wide his face almost hurt, but he couldn’t possibly have cared any less about the pain. He was so full of joy, it felt like he was amongst the stars, amongst the heavens, like the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he could do anything, anything imaginable.

Remy loved him.

***

That night, Emile dreamt he was the size of the moon, floating in space beside the bright white crescent, feeling the stars’ warm light on his bare skin. The night sky was a blanket, wrapped around him, holding him right, keeping him safe. It was warm and soft, like the comfiest bed he’d ever been in, and if he hadn’t already been sleeping, he was sure he would’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

Then, the moon turned over, and suddenly it was Remy, reclining beside him, one leg over the other, watching him with the same half-curious, half-amused expression that he often wore.

Emile felt Remy’s hands on his skin – cool and soft – though the moon god hadn’t moved another inch, his hands still folded in his lap.

“Is this what you usually dream about?” Remy asked.

He didn’t speak the words aloud, his mouth remaining firmly closed, but Emile heard the words in his mind, as clearly as if they’d been spoken.

“Are you real?” Emile thought, the words projecting from his thoughts, echoing through the dream, and then landing in Remy’s mind.

Remy laughed, sliding closer and cupping Emile’s cheek with his hand. His touch wasn’t quite as light and careful as it usually was; it didn’t need to be, Emile wasn’t quite so breakable in here.

Remy ran his thumb over Emile’s lips. “Honey, I’m always real.”

“Always?”

“Always,” Remy nodded, tracing invisible constellations across Emile’s skin with his other hand. “In every dream, every nightmare, every star in the sky, I exist. It’s always night somewhere, there’s always a moon shining in the sky, always moonlight shining through someone’s window. Even if you can’t see me, I’m always there. I can exist in multiple places at once – I always exist in multiple places at once – and I’m existing right now, with you.”

Emile leant into his touch. “It must get confusing.”

“Not to me,” Remy smiled. “This is just how I exist.”

“What’s it like?”

Remy made a quiet sound – it was almost like humming, if the stars hummed back, a symphony of music – his hands still dancing over Emile’s body. The touch felt almost real; everything about this dream felt more solid and real than any other Emile had ever experienced, though he knew that that was likely due to Remy’s influence. Time passed differently there, too, like they’d been there for either a moment or an eternity. Both at once.

“I don’t know,” Remy admitted eventually. “It’s all I've ever known. I have nothing to compare it to. I can’t explain it.”

Emile nodded as if he understood.

“Oh,” He said. “Is it... nice?”

“Yes,” Remy answered. “But it gets lonely, sometimes.”

“Lonely?”

Remy laughed. It was a big, echoing sound, and Emile felt in resonate throughout his whole body. “I know. It’s silly, right? I’m a god – I have the whole world in the palm of my hand. I can do anything I want, see anything I want, see anyone I want. And yet, I’m... lonely.”

“It’s not silly,” Emile reassured. “It’s understandable.”

Remy smiled, though it was still a little sad. “There’s no one else like me in the whole universe, no one at all – not even my brother. We may both be divine, may both be immortal, but we’re opposites. Night and day. Darkness and light. Moon and sun. We oppose one another. I’ll never truly understand him; he’ll never truly understand me. That’s just how it works.”

“That’s... sad.”

Remy gave Emile an undecipherable expression, though it was unmistakably loving, looking him over, before reaching out and cradling his face in both hands.

“It’s life,” He said. “But I feel a lot less lonely when I’m with you.”

***

Emile wanted to cry.

His feelings, his dread. They only increased with every passing day. Whenever he was with Remy, they went down, overtaken by his overwhelming love and joy. When he was with him, he felt better, more at peace.

But when he was alone, especially during the day, it could become practically unbearable.

Emile pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in them, trying his best to keep the tears that pricked his eyes from falling. His breath was shaky and his heart felt tight, like someone was sitting on his chest.

He had to breathe, breathe, breathe.

(Remy would move on eventually, leaving Emile behind. He’d had hundreds of lovers in the past, maybe even thousands, too many to count, who knows how many he’d loved and left. Once this was all over, Emile wouldn’t stand out amongst them, amongst gods and heroes, amongst all the people Remy had loved before. He’d be forgotten by the one he loved most.)

Emile tugged at his hair, like he was trying to forcibly remove those nasty thoughts from his head.

(And even if Remy never left him, Emile would die someday. It was the curse of mortality. The thought of breaking Remy’s heart like that was killing him.)

There was a bad taste in his mouth.

(But the thought of Remy moving on afterwards didn’t feel much better, and that filled Emile with guilt.)

(There was no point in thinking about that, though. Remy was a god; Emile was a human. Their views on this relationship were different. Remy knew what was inevitable, knew that this was only temporary, Emile just had to accept it.)

Emile finally allowed himself to sob, to let the tears drip down his face, his lower lip quivering and his hands shaking. He clutched desperately at the blankets beneath him, letting them bunch up in his fists, releasing them and then grabbing them again and again repetitively. He knew that his thoughts were ridiculous, that he was overthinking things, that he should just enjoy his time with Remy while it lasted and not worry about it, but he just couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t calm himself down.

He exhaled shakily.

This was fine, he could handle this. As long as he calmed down by sunset, Remy would never know of his distress, and he could pretend that everything was okay.

(Remy. Remy. Remy.)

There was a flash of moon-bright light, and then suddenly Remy was right in front of him, standing in the middle of the room, his brow creased with worry. He immediately walked up to Emile, sitting on his bed and placing his hand on his arm.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

Emile looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. “How- Remy, it’s daytime, what are you doing here?”

“You were praying to me,” Remy explained, the concerned look never fading. “I didn’t think you meant to, so I didn’t listen too hard, I didn’t want to pry. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

He looked a little different during the day – a little less shiny, a little less divine, a little more down to earth. He was still obviously a god, but not in his natural habitat. Weaker, but still beyond anything Emile could ever hope to reach. The sunlight that shone through the open window seemed to make him uncomfortable, making him fidget, but not enough for him to move away from Emile.

Emile sniffled, looking down at his lap, fiddling anxiously with his hands as he avoided eye contact.

“It’s... it’s nothing,” He said weakly. “Sorry for pulling you away from the night.”

“You’re lying, I can see you’re lying. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Emile shook his head. “Nothing happened.”

“Then why are you crying?” Remy asked.

His voice was soft, gentle, like a moonbeam taken form. It enveloped Emile, comforting him, making him want to open up to Remy, to be honest and blurt out all of his feelings at once. He barely managed to suppress that urge.

“I...” Emile began.

He finally looked up at Remy, making eye contact with him – his brown, human eyes meeting the night sky as equals – and it was like a dam had suddenly burst. The tears started flowing again, dripping down his cheeks as his lower lip trembled.

There was a blur of motion, and suddenly he was in Remy’s lap, arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. Emile inhaled shakily, before he buried his face in Remy’s shoulder, allowing himself to sob against him as Remy drew invisible constellations on his back with his finger. It was reassuring, comforting, but not enough to keep Emile from crying.

His hands were in fists, bunching up Remy’s clothing, though he was sure the moon god looked as dignified as ever, despite the sobbing mess in his lap.

“It’s okay,” Remy whispered. “It’ll all be okay.”

“It’s not, it’s not okay.” Emile shook his head, pulling back and wiping his nose with his sleeve. He was sure he looked a mess, a very unattractive mess, but Remy was looking at him the same way he always did.

Remy cupped his cheek, his brow creased. “What’s going on?”

“I- I...” Emile trailed off, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “I don’t... I don’t know how to...”

“Can’t find the right words?” Remy offered.

Emile nodded.

“Do you want me to take a look?” Remy asked carefully, gently brushing a stray lock of hair out of Emile’s face.

Emile blinked, tilting his head, confused. “Take a look?”

Remy reached out, lightly tapping the centre of Emile’s forehead with the tip of his finger. “I can look inside your mind, see what’s bothering you. It... it might be easier, but only if you want me to.”

“Oh,” Emile said. “Oh, um... okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Emile nodded.

“I won’t look at anything else,” Remy said gently.

Then, he leant forward, pressing his lips to Emile’s forehead, and, for a brief moment, Emile saw stars – bright, twinkling stars – like there was a vision of the night sky flashing before his eyes: a shining moon and stars against a black backdrop. It was gorgeous, like staring right into Remy’s eyes, his hair, his clothes. Him.

Then, the vision was gone, like waking up from a dream, and Remy pulled back.

He was frowning, his brow pinched together, and Emile’s stomach filled with guilt. It rose in the back of his throat and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

(How could he? He shouldn’t have gotten so upset over an inevitability. There was no point, and now Remy was upset, too.)

“I’m sorry,” Emile whispered. “It was... it was a bad idea to let you see that.”

Remy shook his head. “No. No, I’m glad you did,” He said softly, reaching out and cupping Emile’s face with his hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“It’s- it’s dumb, I know. You’re a god, I’m a human. We’re different. This relationship just means different things to us, that’s all. It’s... it’s just how these things work. I know that, and I should stop being upset about it.”

“No,” Remy said firmly. “I love you.”

Emile blinked, and then sighed. “Y-yeah, I know. I love you, too.”

Remy shook his head, taking his other hand and cradling Emile’s face with it, too. “No, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Ever.”

Emile felt a little feverish – warm and red and a little bit fuzzy. He didn’t know what to think. Did Remy really mean that? He must’ve, right? He wouldn’t lie to Emile.

“Anyone?” Emile squeaked.

“Anyone.”

There was a beat.

“Oh, really?”

Remy nodded. “Mhm.”

“Oh, well... um. Me, too. I love you that much, too” Emile said, a little awkwardly. “What- what do we do?”

Remy gave him a questioning look.

“I mean... you’re a god, and I’m a human. I’m- I’m gonna grow up and die, and you... aren’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“What?”

“Do you want to?” Remy repeated. “To grow up and die, I mean.”

Emile tilted his head. “Is... is there another option?”

Remy’s expression – it was one Emile wasn’t used to seeing on his face. It was thoughtful, almost calculating. He looked like he was thinking deeply about something, something Emile wasn’t supposed to be able to comprehend. He was as still as a statue, frozen, unblinking, and it took Emile reaching out and touching his face to unfreeze him, to snap him out of it.

“Yes, there is,” He said. “We aren’t supposed to do it. It’s not really allowed, but I can.”

“Can do what?”

“It would bind us together – almost like you’d become another part of me, but not really. You’d become immortal, just like me. You won’t die.”

“You can do that?” Emile breathed.

Remy nodded. “We’re not supposed to, so it’s only been done a few times. I’d need Thomas’s permission. And Patton’s, and Janus’s.”

“Do... do you think they’d allow it?”

Remy grinned. “I can be very persuasive.”

“And- and you’d do that? You’d really do that?”

“Honey, I’d do anything for you,” Remy said seriously, not a trace of insincerity on his face.

Emile’s heart felt far too big for his ribcage, so full of love and adoration that it was practically about to burst, especially as – as a god – anything for Remy, meant anything. This almost felt too good to be true, but it was impossible to suppress the hope that built up inside of him.

“It’s a big decision,” Remy continued, taking Emile’s hand in his own and fiddling with his fingers, tracing shapes across his palm. “The biggest you’ll ever make, probably, and it would be difficult to undo, uncomfortable, almost impossible. But you don’t have to make it now – or ever, if you don’t want to. I’ll wait as long as you need. And even if you say no, I’ll accept it. I won’t be upset.”

Emile smiled. “Thank you.”

***

It was time.

After months and months and months of preparation and persuasion, it was finally time.

Emile sat down on his bed, drumming his fingers on his knees and repetitively tapping the floorboards with his foot – the rhythm of a song Remy liked to sing to him. It was in a language Emile didn’t understand, from a country he knew nothing about, but it was always the quickest to lull him to sleep. It was his favourite.

His eyes scanned the room – the drab walls, the little furniture (only a desk and a wardrobe, both worn out and second-hand). He’d miss this place, miss all the memories he’d made in it, but not enough to make him regret his choice. Nothing could ever make him regret this choice.

Excitement bubbled up inside him, like a volcano ready to blow, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

The sun had gone down, the moon was high in the sky – full and shining brighter than usual, like it was happy, too. It was.

Ecstatic.

Emile laughed – loud and giddy. He couldn’t help it; he was just so overcome with love and joy and pure, overwhelming excitement. He kicked his legs, falling back onto his bed and spreading his arms out like a starfish as he giggled.

“That’s my favourite sound in the whole damn world.”

Emile sat up, spinning around and beaming when he spotted Remy, sat on the windowsill, one leg crossed over the other, an amused expression on his face, like the first moment they’d met. But before the god had the chance to get up and walk over to him, Emile hopped off the bed, bouncing over to him and wrapping his arms around Remy’s neck, kissing him quickly. He covered the god’s face in a million tiny kisses, before finally kissing him properly, without even taking a moment to catch his breath.

When they pulled apart, Remy smiled. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to hear it forever.”

“Forever,” Emile repeated. “I can’t wait.”

Remy nudged him gently. “You sure you’re not having any second thoughts?” He teased, though there was a hint of sincerity underneath. He had to check.

“I’m sure.”

“Good,” Remy smiled. “I love you.”

“I know,” Emile replied. “I love you, too.”

“Are you ready to go?”

Emile nodded. “Mhm!”

“Alright.”

Remy looked around the room, scanning the furniture and Emile’s various belongings. The bed was made, the desk was empty. The clothes were all neatly tucked away in the closet. The poems were stacked in the desk drawers. Remy had read all of them, and loved and cherished every single one.

“We can come collect your things tomorrow,” Remy continued, wrapping one arm around Emile’s waist, settling his hand on his hip.

Emile covered Remy’s hand with his own, placing the other on Remy’s shoulder. “Will I need them?”

“Nah, but you might want them.”

“Okay,” Emile nodded. “Shall we go now?”

Remy smiled, pecking him on the cheek. “Of course. Close your eyes.”

Emile did as he was told, and as soon as he screwed his eyes shut, his vision filled with a bright white light, one that he was sure would’ve hurt him if he’d opened his eyes and looked directly at it, maybe even killed him – vaporised in an instant. The hand’s grip on his hip tightened, pulling him in closer, and for a moment, he felt like he was floating in mid-air, with only Remy pressed up against him.

Then, his shoes hit the ground, and he stumbled, but Remy caught him quickly.

He opened his eyes, looking around at his new, unfamiliar surroundings.

Emile was now in a large, white room, with no doors or windows, but he could practically sense that it was still night outside. It was always night here, or, to be more specific, here was always where it was night. Always moving, always changing. It followed the moon, or maybe it was the moon. Emile wasn’t supposed to know the answer to that.

There were numerous large, white columns that towered above them, intricately designed and holding up the ceiling. It looked like they was all made of some kind of white rock – almost like marble, but not quite – smooth and strong. There was little furniture, and, right beside them, there was a replica of Emile’s room, with the same furniture, all laid out identically, though excluding the walls and ceiling, a stark contrast against the bright white of everything else around them.

The only different was that the mattress, pillows and blankets all looked new – patterned like the night sky.

Emile turned back to Remy, tilting his head, giving him a confused look.

Remy gave him a slightly sheepish smile in return. “I figured I’d make things more comfortable for you. Is this alright?”

Emile stood up on his tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to Remy’s ice-cold cheek. “It’s perfect, thank you,” He smiled. “Is this where you live?”

“Uh, kinda. I don’t really need to live anywhere, I just exist. But, yeah, this is my home.”

“I love it.”

Remy smiled, taking Emile’s hand and kissing the knuckle, squeezing it lightly.

“We should sit on the bed for this?” He said. “You... might pass out.”

Emile wrinkled his nose. “Is it- is it gonna hurt?” He asked nervously.

“I don’t know,” Remy answered honestly. “I think so, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t, or to lessen it, at least.”

Emile nodded, and Remy tugged gently on his arm, pulling him over to the bed. They sat down on the edge, and Emile found himself practically sinking into the mattress – it was so soft and squishy, like a delicate cloud; he could imagine himself sleeping in this bed for an eternity.

Remy reached out, plucking the glasses from Emile’s face and placing them on the blanket on his other side.

“Don’t wanna break these,” He said, turning back to Emile and tucking a stray lock of curly hair behind his ear.

“Wouldn’t you be able to fix them?”

Remy nodded. “Mhm. But, still, they mean a lot to you.”

“Thank you.”

Remy smiled, cradling Emile’s cheek. “Are you ready?” He asked.

Emile nodded eagerly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure,” Emile smiled, covering Remy’s hand with his own. “We’ve been talking about this a lot, and I’m certain. I love you, and I’ll love you forever.”

“I love you, too.”

Remy then leant forward, kissing Emile quickly, softly. It was cold, but comforting, and helped soothe Emile’s remaining nerves.

Then, he reached up, pressing his thumb against the centre of Emile’s forehead. For a moment, nothing happened, and then his head went fuzzy, like someone was slowly replacing his brain with cotton, bit by bit. His eyelids got heavier and heavier, and he closed them just in time for his vision to go bright white again. This time, it seared his eyes like burning fire, a white-hot flame, and he screamed, loud and painful, the cry being ripped from his throat before he could stop himself.

He heard Remy make a pained noise in front of him, helpless and distressed, but he didn’t pull his hand away. If Emile had been looking, he would’ve noticed that Remy was shaking.

And then Emile blacked out.

***

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was white.

The white of the ceiling, the white of the walls. The white of Remy’s skin.

Remy.

Remy was holding him in his lap, rocking him back and forth in his arms, mumbling words in a language that Emile was surprised he understood. It was full of sounds he’d never heard before, sounds a human mouth couldn’t make, sounds a human ear couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t have been able to understand it before, but he could now. The language of the gods.

It sounded like music, almost. Music that could lull Emile to sleep, if he let it.

Emile pulled back, meeting Remy’s eyes. He looked concerned, worried – almost afraid, even – but didn’t say a word, just waited, watching.

Emile’s breath caught in his throat (he didn’t even need it anymore, but old habits die hard), and his eyes widened. What Remy had looked like before, the eternal beauty that had stunned Emile every time he laid eyes on him, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

It was like Emile was seeing him for the first time, with a fresh set of eyes. He could make out every detail of his face perfectly, even without his glasses. Remy still looked similar, recognisable, but so so different. Flawless. Divine.

He looked even more like a perfect statue – no pores on his face, not a hair out of place – like he was hand-carved by someone trying to create the perfect man. He matched the walls and the floor and the ceiling, like they were carved from the same stone. White skin. White lips. White teeth. Black hair. Black clothes.

Black and white. Black and white. Black and white.

Emile reached out, touching Remy’s face with his hands.

His skin was warm, soft, and he didn’t even need to change anything to feel like that. He and Emile were made of the same stuff now – like two humans, on the same level, but divine. They felt the same.

Emile’s fingers traced his features. His jaw. His cheekbones. His nose. His lips. Perfect. All perfect.

And his eyes, oh, his eyes.

Before, they were like windows to the night sky: gorgeous and hypnotising, but still just that: windows. Now, they were so much more.

Every star in the sky, every shooting comet – every swirling galaxy, every spinning planet. Emile had never seen the sky like this before, never seen these things so clearly, didn’t even recognise the majority of them, yet he could taste their names on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t need to say them aloud, to recite them like a poem, Remy already understood.

Infinity.

In his eyes, there was infinity.

Remy was infinity, and now Emile was infinity, too.

He could feel the power swirling under his skin, in the back of his throat, in the tips of his fingers. He could do anything, anything. Anything he wanted.

Infinite possibilities.

Emile leant forward, and kissed Remy.

#me #writing #remile #clouds and moss au #sanders shorts #cartoon therapy #remy sanders #sleep sanders #emile picani #fluff #gods au #human au

161 notes · View notes

subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Something to Uplift Us

Ao3, MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic DLAMPR (Roman-centric, kinda Remus-centric), platonic Creativitwins!!!

Do I like this??? Meh. Is it something that I wrote? Yes. I will heal myself from SVS-R with Fluff.

Warnings: Remus Typical Nonsense, swearing, mentions of being in Quarantine, all sympathetic sides, non-sexual Pole Dancing

Word Count: 2,667

Roman was the essence of romance and it showed. For his entire existence, he'd been well acquainted with the hypothetical. If he were his own person, if he had a prince of his own, if he had the chance at a romantic relationship, he knew what he would do. Roman knew relationships, he always had, and it had tortured him to know that he'd never have one.

Which was why it frustrated him to no end that he hadn’t been the one to ask out his fellow sides. He’d honestly never thought that it would be an option. When he first developed his feelings for the others- Virgil, Patton, Logan, Janus, in that order- he had felt nothing more than excitement. He was giddy, he was light-headed, just to know that he could feel that way. He would spend hours daydreaming, just musing over the way they made his heart stop, but he never hoped for anything to come of it. He wasn’t sad, or mournful, or pining per se- just so caught up in the joy of feelings that he forgot that he could do something with them.

So he thought about it a lot, suffice to say. And all he had now was time to think; it was nearly month three of quarantine. Roman had wrung his brain out like a sponge for anything new to think about- The Imagination was practically turning gray! He tried to tend to it, truly he did, but it was getting harder every day. Creativity's fellow sides had all busied themselves taking up new hobbies- Virgil was teaching Patton to draw, Janus had learnt embroidery, Logan took up knitting, Remus made trash sculptures… They all seemed to be having their own little renaissance (complete with plague), and what was Roman doing? Wasting valuable free time!

In a fit of desperation, the artistic trait dived under his large canopy bed, rummaging around until his hand caught on the lip of a cardboard box. With no small amount of effort, he pulled the enormous container out from under his bed so that it could be properly examined. There, piled high in the box, were dozens of notebooks and sketchbooks- all of which filled to the brim with writing, drawings, and poetry. Having no clue what he was specifically looking for, Roman upended the box and watched the contents crash to the floor. Something in here would surely spark his mind! Perhaps some old work would catch his eye and inspire some redraws!

The side hadn't needed to search for long. Right at the top of the pile- bright pink, its cover dotted with puffy heart stickers- sat a large, spiral-bound sketchbook. You could almost see the light bulb pop up over Roman’s head as he squealed and snatched up the sketchbook. Flopping down onto his bed, he flipped it open in one hand and placed the other against his chest.

“Ooh, some of my best,” he cooed to no one in particular, gaze turned to the dozens of love poems surrounded by little doodles of hearts that filled the pages. This was the journal he’d confided in before the sides had all officially begun their relationship, filled with flowery prose about anything from Janus’ scales to Patton’s smile; from Logan’s laugh to Virgil’s freckles (a rare sight, usually hidden by make-up). Roman was so lost in nostalgia that when the ideas hit him, he nearly fell out of bed in excitement at his own thoughts.

Of course! He could take all of these old writings and compose them together, into one eloquent amalgam that would illustrate perfectly all those things that he’d been unable to articulate in the beginning! And it seemed only fitting that such a soliloquy be delivered in The Imagination- in the most gorgeous scenario he could fabricate! Somewhere open to a starry sky, for his left-brained loves- but it had to have ornate architecture, of course, and it had to be cozy. Oh, it was all coming together now.

Roman leapt out of bed, posing with his hand above his head and sinking deeper into The Mindscape extravagantly. He didn’t waste time looking around at the depressing half-formed scenery, sweeping his arms up and erasing the entirety of his half of The Imagination. Time to get to work.

Remus was stretched across the Commons couch, his head in Janus’ lap and feet in Logan’s. The TV hummed with whatever show they’d thrown on as background noise, and a few feet away at the counter, Patton and Virgil were hovering over some sort of scrapbook. Nobody had the energy for conversation; nobody had the energy for anything.

It was magnificently boring. The Duke already filled up an entire sketchbook, written half a dozen shamelessly smutty self-insert fanfictions, constructed and subsequently destroyed eldritch beings in his room, and bothered his boyfriends. So, all that was left to do was doze.

It didn’t help Remus’ tired state that Janus was running his fingers through his hair. The monotonous waking world was finally slipping away. Maybe there was something buried in his dreams that could hold his attention.

But just before sleep took hold, a white-hot energy ran through the trait’s body, jolting him so suddenly that he tumbled off of the couch and onto the floor. His arms and legs were all pins-and-needles as he looked up at his very concerned partners.

“There’s fuckery afoot!” Remus announced, wide-eyed. He pulled himself up and grinned, “You guys stay here!”

Without so much as a good-bye, Remus threw himself into the ground, saving himself the time of sinking out properly. After a moment’s silence, Janus resumed working on his embroidery.

“Should we go see what that was about?” Patton asked tentatively.

“Meh,” the three other sides responded in unison. After a moment, Janus added, “It is Remus, after all.”

Roman’s structure was coming together beautifully! Wide marble columns rose up and held aloft the glimmering silver ceiling, the middle of which was a sky-light open to thousands of stars and a brilliant full moon. Surrounding the opening was a spiral of stone roof- through the gaps of which even more astronomically accurate stars shone!

The inside of the building consisted of an immense mahogany stage, currently cloaked by thick velvet curtains and overlooking plenty of seats. Rather than traditional theater rows, Roman had arranged the seating like lovely cafe tables, all of which were given generous space from each other (Except for two at the very front, of course). Lanterns hung from the walls, casting the space in warm lighting. Creativity currently stood at the very back, thinking that it could use just a little more of something. With a smirk, the side snapped his fingers and the wall of the room was pushed backwards several yards. With a few more flicks of the wrist and dividing columns, a little lobby was formed.

He’d given the theater room maroon carpeting and rich gray walls, but the new back section needed brighter lighting and a more cream-canary color scheme. Now he could just finish the decor!

Or he would have, if not for the fact that at that moment someone crashed into his ribs with all the grace of a flaming motorbike.

“BRO!!!”

“ACK-!” was all Roman managed, as all the wind was knocked out of him. He glared up at his brother, who was sitting on his chest.

“I knew you were up to something! You wiped half of the whole fucking Imagination! What is this!?”

Roman wheezed, pushed Remus off of his chest, and finally pulled himself off the ground to catch his breath. His brother was spinning around the room already, eyes sparkling as he took in the building.

“I had to blank it, I needed my full focus,” Roman explained, back to work and filling the back wall with tall bookshelves, “and it’s a surprise, so don’t tell the others.”

“Oh, I won’t. Provided you let me in on whatever this is,” Remus had an ear-to-ear grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. After a moment’s consideration, Roman hummed.

“I’m doing something nice for our boyfriends. I think we all could use a little pick-me-up, so do not ruin this!”

“I wanna do something nice for them! Lemme help!”

“You don’t even know what it’s for! Plus, it’s personal!”

“I already asked what it was for, Stupid.”

Roman huffed.

“I wrote them something. Hence the stage.”

“So, what, you’re gonna bring them all into your fancy library-opera for your poetry orgy and I sit in a corner somewhere and be quiet?”

“Ideally.”

“Not a chance, Whore!” Remus swung himself up onto the concession stand that Roman had just created, tearing into a box of candy (food made in The Imagination always tasted weirder than food or ingredients they conjured elsewhere in the Mindscape, but he didn’t particularly mind).

“Fine. What do you want to do?” Roman challenged, hands on his hips.

“I. Want. To. Help.”

Roman raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Grumbling, his twin started gesturing around the room as he spoke.

“The stars are too bright, they take the focus away from the stage instead of accenting it. The color of the curtains are too similar to the carpet. You’ve got Corinthian shit in there and bookstore lobby vibes in here, which is garbage and inconsistent.”

Roman blinked, his eyes following along with Remus’ criticism.

“Hm. You have a point.”

“I’m Creativity too, you know. I have some taste.” The Duke said, gnawing on the cardboard box that had contained Imagination Candy moments before.

“You’re wearing crocs and jorts, simultaneously.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively, hopping off the counter and rushing across the room.

“Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea how I can accompany your performance, too.”

“Oh, goody.”

Hours had past and little had changed in the Mindscape living room- Virgil and Patton had finished up their scrapbooking and were curled up together in an armchair, so Logan was sitting at the counter space previously occupied by the two and clacking away on his laptop, and Janus hadn’t moved. The muddled energy of the room had remained pervasive.

That was, until the door to the imagination slammed open, the doorknob cracking against the wall. Four heads shot up to see Remus and Roman, standing side-by-side (quite looking the part of identical twins, matching smiles and all).

“Oh god,” Janus groaned instinctively, carefully setting his embroidery on a side table, “What did you two do?”

“Yeah, I don’t trust that look,” Virgil said.

The twins scoffed in mock-offense, continuing their odd coordination.

“We try to do something nice,” exclaimed Remus.

“And not so much as a ‘thank you,’” added Roman solemnly. Eyes were rolled, but Patton perked up considerably (just as planned).

“Ooo, what are you talking about?”

“It’s a surprise!” Said The Duke, bouncing up and down. Creativity Prime gave a sweeping motion to indicate the still-open door to the Imagination, which had been steadily seeping into the common room with a bright new energy that it had been lacking for days.

“Follow us,” he instructed, disappearing through the door once more with Remus at his back. Patton bounced after them immediately, grinning.

The three left-brained sides exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed suit.

The twins were backstage in an instant, trusting their partners to figure out where their seats were on their own. Roman began pacing around as soon as they finished warming up.

“Are you sure you can do this? I’m still not sure if your performance is well-suited to acoustic guitar-”

He was cut off by Remus groaning exaggeratedly.

“I can work with anything, bitch.”

“Right, right,” There was a beat. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready. What’s going on with you?”

Rather than responding, Roman did another lap around the stage.

“C’mon! Stop pacing before I take a bonesaw to your legs!”

“Okay! Alright! I’m ready!”

Before Remus could come up with any more gruesome threats, Roman snapped his fingers and the curtains began to rise. He took his place half-sitting on a stool up front, a guitar in his arms. Behind him, Remus stood between two sturdy metal poles that rose from the stage and into the ceiling. You can already see where this is going.

When the stage was fully revealed, the lights above the audience dimmed. Figuring that the show would be rather awkward if said audience consisted of four people, the Creativities had The Imagination render dozens of prop-people. They moved and acted like a crowd of humans, but each individual was too vague to focus on for long. Thus it was made very clear where their fellow sides were, sitting right up front with a wide array of expressions from amazed to amused to bewildered.

Roman took a moment to steel himself and then began playing. Originally, he’d planned on spoken-word for his loves, but traditionally there is music involved in pole-dancing, so he’d made a few adjustments in order for Remus to be able to contribute.

Roman started singing, melting as the gazes of the real audience members turned awestruck (and also very flushed, likely from whatever surprisingly impressive poses his brother was pulling behind him). He liked to think that he poured his heart out into every performance, but for this one it felt quite literal.

Roman’s voice picked up gradually, and he could vaguely hear metal clanging behind him. It went on like that for a good few minutes- because if there was one thing the Twins weren’t, it was brief- before the show finally concluded. Roman stalled for a moment as both the imaginary and real components of the audience applauded uproariously. Remus swung down from the pole and hopped over to him.

“We bow now, Dumbass,” he hissed, noticeably out of breath.

“Oh- right.”

They took hands and took a couple bows as the clapping died down, standing back up with wide grins and red faces.

As soon as the auditorium was relatively silent, Patton rushed the stage. He outstretched his arms and hopped up and down excitedly.

“Lemme up!”

Roman grabbed his hands and pulled him on stage while Remus was still attempting to catch his breath. Morality leaned down to give The Prince a brief kiss, and then bounced over to the much more exhausted half of the act to give him the same treatment. He was grinning so wide that it looked painful, his face a bright pink. The Duke wore a matching expression, but the smile was much more unnatural in that preferred way of his.

“So you liked it?”

Rather than verbally responding, Patton grabbed the hands of both Creativities and made a cheerful ribbiting sound.

“It was wonderful,” Logan supplied, climbing the stairs on the side of the stage to meet them, Virgil and Janus right behind him. He was much less outwardly enthusiastic as the other spectacled side, but no less appreciative.

“Yeah, did you guys put all this together today?” Virgil asked, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulders.

“What else did we have to do?” Remus answered with a shrug.

“Good point.”

Janus cleared his throat lightly, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes were noticeably rimmed with redness, a small smile on his face as he outstretched all of his arms.

“Here, all of you, now.”

Patton cooed.

“Group hug!”

Fitting six people into one hug may seem awkward, but it always seemed to work out for the sides. At least, Roman thought so. Virgil would fake exasperation at the affection, but they could all tell he loved it. Logan would try to maintain his dignity and fail miserably. Patton was a ball of warmth and energy that seeped into the rest of them. Janus was by far the best at giving hugs, though it could be considered cheating to have extra limbs.

At that moment it hit Roman that, perhaps he hadn’t started this relationship, but he was still a part of it. And that was all he could ever want.

These Performances inspired Remus’. They are oddly calming to watch, and super impressive!

@shrimp-crockpot

144 notes · View notes

merakilyy · 4 years

Text

Tales of an Unsuccessful Matchmaker

Six months after the Guanyin temple, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji still aren’t together. Jingyi snaps because if his oblivious seniors can't talk about their feelings, then Jingyi is going to take matters into his own hands and make them talk.

Naturally, he enlists the help of Lan Xichen to matchmake a little.

Just a little.

(In which Sizhui is 100% of Jingyi's impulse control, Wangji is lonely, Jingyi may or may not break into the Hanshi via window, and Xichen is surprisingly permissive.)

Tags: Wangxian, post-canon, matchmaking, accidental secret marriage, Jingyi being a menace who just wants his otp to get together already

(On AO3) Wordcount: almost 7600

~~~

If you asked Lan Sizhui, he would describe Lan Jingyi as a cesspool of bad ideas. He would say it with affection and add that Jingyi is still a very talented cultivator whose penchant for more creative solutions has provided much entertainment during their night hunts and saved his life at least once, but it was unofficially Sizhui’s job to keep Jingyi’s worst impulses in line.

However, with Sizhui travelling with Wen Ning outside Gusu for several months, there was no one left to temper Jingyi’s wilder ideas.

Furthermore, Sizhui had inadvertently planted another questionable idea into the mind of Lan Jingyi in his most recent letter.

Lan Jingyi,

I hope that you are well and that you have not caused Grandmaster Lan to suffer another aneurysm.

Uncle Wen Ning and I went to visit the Burial Mounds. It is just as barren as the last time we were there but Uncle Wen Ning told me stories of how Wei- qianbei learned to restrain the resentful energy so they could farm the land and grow radishes. No potatoes, though. It is not a nice place, and even the best memories are bittersweet, but it is a part of my past and I am happy to learn all that I can about my first family. Uncle Wen Ning says Wei- qianbei even managed to grow lotuses in the Burial Mounds. Can you imagine? I thought Uncle Wen Ning was teasing me until I saw three dried lotus seeds in the dirt.

Briefly, Jingyi wondered when the fearsome Ghost General became Uncle Wen Ning to Sizhui, to himself, and to all the other junior disciples. Was it before they accidentally turned Wen Ning green from an aggressive plant spirit, or was it after Wen Ning paused a night hunt so he could rescue a kitten from a tree as they all watched? Jingyi didn’t ponder this very long; his thoughts quickly drifted elsewhere as he continued reading.

After we left the Burial Mounds, we ran into Wei- qianbei and Lil’ Apple in Yiling. He says that he’s been travelling on his own for the past few months. I was surprised that he’s been gone for so long without Hanguang-jun at his side. He seems tired. Later, I asked Uncle Wen Ning about Hanguang-jun and he simply said Wei- qianbei and Hanguang-jun know each other best. I am not sure what that means but Uncle Wen Ning did not say more on that subject. Before Wei-qianbei parted ways with us, I offered him the lotus seeds I found in the Burial Mounds but Wei- qianbei refused. He said that I should hold onto them until he can settle down somewhere to plant them. Do you think he’ll ever come back to Cloud Recesses?

Sizhui’s letter went on a bit more to say he and Uncle Wen Ning were going to Lanling next and that they might visit Sect Leader Young Mistress Jin but Jingyi’s mind had already begun churning with a new idea.

Sizhui had said nothing about whether or not Wei Wuxian was lonely but he was alone! And tired! With only that stupid donkey! So of course he was lonely without Hanguang-jun at his side. Furthermore, Uncle Wen Ning was the one who knew the most about Wei- qianbei and Hanguang-jun’s relationship and describing them as those who know each other best is basically confirmation that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are soulmates.

Plus, Wei-qianbei was waiting to settle down somewhere. Somewhere with enough space to grow lotus flowers. But, also somewhere where Sizhui could easily give him the seeds which meant Cloud Recesses. And, since Hanguang-jun lived in Cloud Recesses, Wei-qianbei must be waiting for Hanguang-jun to confess so he can settle down in the Jingshi. In Cloud Recesses.

Rather proud of his ability to read between the lines, Jingyi began to formulate a plan with his newfound knowledge.

~~~

When he woke up the next day, Jingyi reviewed his plan from the previous night and almost considered scrapping it as he realized he forgot to account for Hanguang-jun’s feelings. Even though Uncle Wen Ning almost confirmed Hanguang-jun’s feelings, how well did Uncle Wen Ning really know Hanguang-jun?

As he finished tying his forehead ribbon in place, Jingyi decided to shelve his plan until he could properly ascertain Hanguang-jun’s feelings towards Wei- qianbei . For now, he decided to simply gather evidence of Hanguang-jun’s feelings.

Evidence, as it turned out, was not difficult to find.

As he headed towards the cafeteria for breakfast, Jingyi saw Hanguang-jun sitting on the porch of the Jingshi in a chair that Jingyi had only ever seen Wei Wuxian use before. Hanguang-jun was impeccably dressed as always, an intricate guan woven into his hair and without a wrinkle to be seen on his spotless white robes. With a pot of tea balanced on the window ledge beside him, Hanguang-jun was reading a letter. Ducking behind a pillar, Jingyi watched as Hanguang-jun flipped through page after page of writing. There were so many pages that Jingyi initially thought the letter might actually be documents from other Sects requiring mediation from the Chief Cultivator. But after taking a closer look, Jingyi saw how a few pages contained doodles in the margins and only one person could be so shameless. Even without seeing the messy scrawl, Jingyi knew it was from Wei Wuxian because no one else would send such ridiculously long-winded letters — especially not to Hanguang-jun. No one else dared send long, verbose letters to a man whose Sect literally had rules that restricted the use of words.

Do not use frivolous words, speak meagerly for too many words will bring harm, do not take your own words lightly, be careful with your words, Lan Jingyi recites in the back of his mind. After having copied the rules so many times, they are easily imprinted in his mind. Wei- qianbei definitely broke all of the rules , Jingyi thinks while he observes Hanguang-jun’s expressions as he reads.

Unlike Sizhui, Jingyi did not have the privilege of being raised by Hanguang-jun for most of his childhood. It was more accurate to say Jingyi, like most members of Gusu Lan, knew of Hanguang-jun instead of knowing Hanguang-jun.

Still, Jingyi has taken enough classes with Hanguang-jun to be familiar enough with major changes in Hanguang-jun’s expressions. Even if Jingyi can’t name the soft expression on Hanguang-jun’s face right now, Jingyi recognizes the look. He saw it at Dafan Mountain, when he requested Mo Xuanyu be moved into the Jingshi, when he and Wei- qianbei rescued them from the Burial Mounds, and after the Guanyin Temple.

It was an expression reserved for Wei Wuxian.

Hanguang-jun’s expression barely changes as he continues reading. Occasionally, Hanguang-jun will flip back to an earlier page with an amused huff.

This should be the most boring endeavor Jingyi has ever undertaken. He has never been a good scout, and even worse at night patrols because he would get bored so quickly.

But, watching the subtle shifts in Hanguang-jun’s expression is more entertaining than Jingyi would have guessed. He is no expert at reading Hanguang-jun, or at reading people in general, but it is fun to guess at the shifts in Hanguang-jun’s expressions. Even Jingyi can see the soft, deeply rooted affection Hanguang-jun has for Wei- qianbei in how he holds the paper with such care, in how he is possibly smiling at Wei- qianbei ’s little drawings, and in how Hanguang-jun looks very lonely sitting on the Jingshi porch alone.

Ouyang Zizhen would be having a field day with this information, Jingyi thinks.

Jingyi is so lost in his thoughts between what his friends would say about observing Hanguang-jun and actually observing Hanguang-jun that he startles when Hanguang-jun himself says, “Breakfast will begin soon. Do not be late.”

Carefully tucking the thick wad of paper into his sleeve, Hanguang-jun stands and makes his way to the communal dining area.

Jingyi has too much dignity to scurry out from his hiding spot right before Hanguang-jun’s sharp eyes. Luckily, Hanguang-jun is not interested in punishing Jingyi and moves toward the dining area. But, before leaving, he says, “Eavesdropping is forbidden, Lan Jingyi.”

Just as Hanguang-jun’s back disappears around another corner, the warning gong for breakfast rings.

Flustered, Jingyi tries to collect himself as he scrambles to his feet. He is enough of a Lan to not run, but he is definitely pushing the limits of speed walking so he will not be late for breakfast.

~~~

Having deemed that morning’s events to be sufficient evidence of Hanguang-jun’s deep yearning for the return of Wei- qianbei , Jingyi decides he needs someone who knows Hanguang-jun well enough to help him formulate a plan.

Ideally, Sizhui would have been the best partner. Not only has Sizhui been raised by Hanguang-jun, Sizhui is also Jingyi’s equal and a close friend which would make the need for formalities unnecessary. Sizhui is also the best at curbing Jingyi's wildest ideas.

But, Sizhui is still travelling with Uncle Wen Ning.

The only other person who knows Hanguang-jun well enough to assist Jingyi is Zewu-jun who is...not exactly in seclusion, but he is not not in seclusion either. Jingyi doesn’t understand it either.

But, Jingyi does know that while Zewu-jun himself has not been seen leaving the Hanshi, Zewu-jun is perfectly free to leave if he so desired. More importantly, people are allowed into the Hanshi. Confident that Zewu-jun would do anything to help Hanguang-jun, Jingyi decides to seek his aid.

Without Sizhui around to slow Jingyi down, to encourage Jingyi to sleep on his plans before enacting them, Jingyi decides to put his plan into action the first chance he gets.

That evening, armed with nothing but the bare bones of a plan and his desire to help Lan Wangji, Jingyi marches up to the doors of the Hanshi for the first time in his life.

Seeing the candlelight flicker through the open window of the Hanshi, Jingyi takes a deep breath and knocks.

He meant to gracefully entire the Hanshi, politely and through the door. He would bow at the full angle, speak at the proper volume, and would present his objective in a calm, respectable proposal. There was a plan, and Jingyi had intended to carry out that plan.

What Jingyi did not account for was Sect Leader Lan’s refusal to open the door. Like any self-respecting cultivator of the Gusu Lan Sect, Jingyi was reasonably terrified of Lan Xichen. But, dire circumstances call for extreme measures. With no other choice, Jingyi turns to the window.

Seeing that there is no one else in the vicinity, Jingyi messily pushes his long sleeves up to his elbows before leaping at the window ledge.

Admittedly, Jingyi didn’t think it was a good idea either. He is basically breaking into the Hanshi, breaking hundreds of rules, and Zewu-jun might run him through with Shuoyue if Jingyi is mistaken for an intruder. Which...Jingyi technically is. But Jingyi tells himself this is a necessary evil, that Zewu-jun is too level-headed to respond with Shuoyue, and that Hanguang-jun’s happiness is on the line. He is still reciting this in his head, like a mantra, as he backs up and dives directly into Zewu-jun’s window.

Jingyi miscalculates his own power and ends up jumping through the window entirely, landing in a flailing, graceless heap as Zewu-jun watches from behind a desk. Zewu-jun’s face is composed as always and his eyes aren’t even open, but Jingyi feels judged as he picks himself up from the ground.

“Sect Leader,” Jingyi salutes, robes askew and regulating ribbon crooked across his forehead. He had already broken enough rules, he figures being respectful to his Sect Leader might mediate the number of lines he’d have to copy as punishment.

“You should not be here,” Lan Xichen’s voice is...impassive. Where he once faced the world with a serene smile, Xichen now faces directly ahead, eyes closed, as still as jade. He does not even bother to address Jingyi directly.

In retrospect, Jingyi will later realize that he has interrupted Lan Xichen’s nightly meditation.

At the moment, Jingyi is more than a little desperate. “Sect Leader Lan,” he bows again, even though Lan Xichen’s eyes remain closed. “I know you are...taking a personal leave from many of your duties, but this is a problem that has plagued Gusu Lan for several months now.”

“Then I suggest you take it to Wangji,” Xichen says, unmoved, in the same placid tone. “Hanguang-jun is more than capable of resolving any issues that have arisen.”

Even though Jingyi’s arms are getting tired and Zewu-jun still isn’t looking at him, Jingyi holds the salute. Just in case. “But Zewu-jun,” Jingyi says, trying very hard to not sound like he is challenging Zewu-jun’s authority, “This is an issue that concerns Hanguang-jun directly.”

Immediately, Zewu-jun’s eyes open and he finally looks at Jingyi. “What is the situation?” Xichen asks, concerned.

“Hanguang-jun is sad!” Jingyi says. It is only his rigorous Gusu Lan education that allows him to will his arms from shaking as he continues to maintain his salute.

“At ease,” Xichen says, giving up on his nightly meditation. “Wangji has been in mourning for a long time but he has been content since Wei- gongzi ’s return.”

Folding his arms in his sleeves politely, Jingyi protests while trying very hard to not sound like he is protesting. “I have evidence that Hanguang-jun is sad!” he says.

“Please take a seat,” Zewu-jun sighs and waves a hand at the cushion before him. He waits for Jingyi to kneel before continuing. “What does this evidence entail?”

“Hanguang-jun was sitting in front of the Jingshi alone before breakfast!”

Jingyi can see that Zewu-jun is unconvinced, even if Lan Xichen’s expression does not change. “Wangji often spends time alone. Wangji enjoys solitude.”

“But he was lonely! He looked lonely!” Later, Sizhui will smack Jingyi for impertinence and Lan Qiren will assign more handstands.

Now, Lan Xichen is unruffled at Jingyi’s boldness and is even amused at the extent of Jingyi’s sheer brazenness. “You have seen Wangji alone before,” Xichen points out calmly. “Why the concern now?”

“Because Wei- qianbei isn’t with Hanguang-jun!”

“Wangji’s connection with Wei- gongzi is profound. It is not our place as outsiders to interfere.” Zewu-jun says this with the weighty experience of someone who has attained this knowledge firsthand in the worst way.

“But they still aren’t together! Lan Sizhui has written to me so much about how lonely Wei- qianbei is! Read for yourself!” Having at least the foresight to prepare himself beforehand, Jingyi pulls Sizhui’s crumpled letter from his sleeve and just barely resists the temptation to thrust it in Lan Xichen’s face. At the last minute, he remembers some manners and offers the letter to Zewu-jun with both hands and lowers his head..

Taking the proffered letter, Xichen skims the contents of Sizhui’s neat handwriting. To Jingyi’s frustration, Xichen’s composed expression does not change.

“Lan Jingyi,” Xichen says slowly, choosing his words with care as he looks back up at Jingyi, “I understand that you are frustrated.”

Jingyi huffs a laugh under his breath — as if frustrated even begins to cover how he feels , Jingyi thinks — before he remembers who he is speaking to and tries to look abashed over his rudeness.

Brushing past the infraction, Xichen continues, “And I understand that you wish to see Hanguang-jun and your Wei- qianbei together again. But, you are not the first to attempt such an undertaking.”

“But Zewu-jun! They are clearly pining and miserable without each other!”

If Jingyi had been paying attention, he would have realized that Sizhui’s letter was actually not very good evidence as it made no explicit mention of Wei Wuxian actually missing Hanguang-jun. It was sheer fortune that Zewu-jun happened to already agree with him.

“Zewu-jun,” Jingyi begs in a last attempt to sway Xichen to his side, “They use their birth names with each other.”

Xichen sighs. “I will not aid this endeavor of yours, but I see no reason to prevent you from undertaking such a project. So long as you operate within our Sect rules, I will not stop you. In exchange, I expect routine updates on how this project of yours proceeds. I invite you to join me for tea in one week's time so you may inform me of developments in the situation.”

Much later, once this ploy has reached its conclusion, Lan Sizhui will hit Jingyi over the head for his audacity in breaking into the Hanshi, for his disrespect in speaking back at Zewu-jun, and for violating curfew.

For now, Jingyi is simply grateful that Zewu-jun agrees with him.

~~~

The first plan is fairly benign.

What Jingyi needs is to first bring Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses. So, he simply sends a letter to Wei Wuxian lamenting how lonely Hanguang-jun is and how worried he is for Hanguang-jun and won’t Wei- qianbei come visit an old friend in his time of need?

Wei- qianbei, Jingyi had written.

How long do you intend to run around with that stupid donkey? Don’t you know Hanguang-jun is sick with worry here in Cloud Recesses? Hanguang-jun is very lonely without your presence and it is very rude of you to take advantage of Hanguang-jun’s kindness and then abandon him. You must come back and take responsibility for the suffering you are putting Hanguang-jun through!

It could have been a good plan.

Except, Jingyi had no way of knowing the sheer quantity of letters Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji sent to each other. The letters were constant, daily updates of even the most mundane events. When Jingyi had happened upon Lan Wangji reading Wei Wuxian’s letters in front of the Jingshi, Lan Wangji had actually been rereading and reorganizing a stack of all the letters Wei Wuxian had sent that month and not, as Jingyi had assumed, been reading a single letter.

Since Wei Wuxian gave Lan Wangji timelines of where he intended to go next and when he would arrive, Wangji had been able to leave Wei Wuxian letters and little gifts in every village he passed through.

So, Wei Wuxian was confident that Lan Wangji was in perfect health and no more worried than he usually is.

What Jingyi did not know was that Wei Wuxian also knew how much Lan Wangji missed him. He missed Wangji just as much, but he had some travelling to do first, some loose ends to tie up, and an identity to reclaim.

A couple weeks after Jingyi had sent his letter, Hanguang-jun summons him to the yashi.

“Chief Cultivator,” Jingyi bows. “Hanguang-jun requested the presence of this disciple?” While formal speech is not something that flows off Jingyi’s tongue, he has never been directly summoned by the Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji. Jingyi is most comfortable with Hanguang-jun as a teacher and mentor, but he figures that it is better to err on the side of caution and maintain the utmost formality.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wangji nods his acknowledgement. “I recently received a letter from Wei Ying.”

Jingyi blinks, unsure where Hanguang-jun is going with this and why Hanguang-jun is telling him.

“Wei Ying has informed me that he has recently received an interesting letter,” Wangji continues.

Jingyi blanches.

To his horror, Lan Wangji reaches into his sleeve and pulls out the exact letter Jingyi had sent off weeks earlier.

“I believe this is your doing.”

Jingyi splutters, his mind scrambling for a defense even though he knows there is none he can provide without giving away his entire plan.

Luckily, Hanguang-jun saves Jingyi from answering by continuing to speak. “Do not make assumptions about others,” he recites, listing the rules Jingyi has broken. “Do not exaggerate, and do not act in bad faith. Be careful with your words.”

“This disciple apologizes for his interference,” Jingyi says as he prostrates himself before Hanguang-jun. “This disciple welcomes any punishment Hanguang-jun sees fit to bestow.”

“Rise.” Despite his new position, Wangji is as uncomfortable with being formally bowed to as Jingyi is formally bowing. “You will copy the rules two times, supervised by Lan Qiren in the library pavilion.”

Which is a very light punishment, all things considered, and Jingyi is well aware of how lenient Hanguang-jun is being.

In his haste to leave the yashi, Jingyi does not realize that Hanguang-jun did not quote do not tell lies amongst the rules he had broken.

~~~

“I sent a letter to Wei- qianbei,” Jingyi informs Lan Xichen in the Hanshi the next day, after his punishment is complete.

“Am I correct in assuming it was unsuccessful?” Xichen says mildly as he pours a cup of tea for Jingyi.

“Wei- qianbei sent the letter I sent him back to Hanguang-jun,” Jingyi grumbles, accepting the tea.

With a deeply entertained smile, Zewu-jun hides his amusement behind his own tea cup.

~~~

The second plan is an objectively terrible idea.

The flaw with Lan Xichen’s hands off approach to Jingyi’s whole endeavor is that he is unable to point out the glaring flaws in Jingyi’s plans.

Because of Sizhui’s brief mention of the lotus seeds he uncovered in the Burial Mounds, Jingyi is reminded that Wei- qianbei was not always the Yiling Laozu or a vagrant wanderer. Before he was forced to raise corpses in battle, Wei Wuxian had been the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang who spent his days surrounded by water and lotus flowers.

Consequently, Jingyi has been inspired to plant some lotuses in Cloud Recesses. Growing lotuses, a plant that Jingyi has only seen once in his life and has never handled, requires a pond. A pond, which would require some source of still water which would also require diverting a river. Or building an aqueduct. Or having the means to hire someone else to build an aqueduct. Or use demonic energy to redirect the flow of water.

Neither hiring someone nor using demonic energy is a viable option but Jingyi pushes those logistics to the side as a problem to be addressed for later.

Instead, during a break between training sessions, Jingyi finds himself a shovel and gets to work.

Jingyi is standing in a shallow ditch he has dug out himself behind the Jingshi, right under a window, when he hears Lan Qiren’s familiar bellow coming from too close behind him.

“Lan Jingyi! What do you think you are doing?!”

Jingyi turns to face Lan Qiren. Holding the shovel, Jingyi bows before answering. “Digging?”

“Disgraceful!” Lan Qiren’s face is redder than Jingyi has ever seen it, even redder than when Wei Wuxian paraded around in front of everyone in Hanguang-jun’s under robes at the Burial Mounds. “Look at your robes! This is unacceptable. We do not need a trench in Cloud Recesses. Fill it back up.”

In his endless wisdom, Jingyi protests. “But wouldn’t a lotus pond be nice?”

“Do Cloud Recesses look like Lotus Pier to you!?” Lan Qiren snaps. “We are not in Yunmeng. Did Wangji put you up to this ludicrous task?”

“Of course not! If Hanguang-jun had planted a lotus pond, then Wei- qianbei would be here!”

Which is exactly the wrong thing to say as Jingyi discovers when he finds himself back in the library pavilion, with Lan Qiren, copying the rules forty times in handstands.

And he had to fill the earth back in.

~~~

“I am no expert on the cultivation of lotus plants but I suspect Cloud Recesses is too cold. Yunmeng is far warmer than we are and has milder winters.”

“How was I supposed to know that!?” Jingyi grumbles, wrists still sore from his punishment.

Xichen does not shrug, but his demeanor heavily suggests a shrug. “In any case, Shufu is rather opposed to Wangji’s relationship with Wei Wuxian.”

“Well I know that now .”

~~~

The third plan is indirectly inspired by Lan Qiren himself when he assigns Jingyi the task of delivering Cloud Recesses’ excess harvest to the nearby villages. Jingyi is carrying several baskets of napa bundles and medicinal herbs on his dan when he passes by a field of peppers.

The bright green peppers remind Jingyi of that day in Yi City, when Wei- qianbei tried to claim his lethally spicy porridge was supposed to be medicine. A claim he made to several junior disciples of Gusu Lan. Gusu Lan: the sect with the most experience with medicinal cooking.

At the time, Jingyi thought he was more likely to choke on Mo- xiansheng ’s terrible cooking than die from corpse powder poisoning.

Now, the entire experience has stirred Jingyi’s thoughts as he formulates another plan on how to lure Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses.

The thing is, while Jingyi actually has very little concrete knowledge of what Wei Wuxian enjoys eating, he does know that Yunmeng Jiang is known for their spicy and flavourful cuisine. Sizhui has also mentioned Wei- qianbei ’s penchant for spicier dishes in his letters, as has Uncle Wen Ning in his stories. And, when they had stayed at inns with Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei , Hanguang-jun always ordered uncharacteristically spicy dishes and requested additional chili oil.

With this evidence, Jingyi concludes that Wei Wuxian is a degenerate gremlin who has burned his tongue.

A degenerate gremlin whom Hanguang-jun is desperately in love with.

It is not a secret that Wei Wuxian despises Gusu cuisine for its bland tastelessness and bitter medicinal properties.

But if someone were to adjust Cloud Recesses’ diet to include more spices, Jingyi thinks, then Wei- qianbei will enjoy the food and stay with Hanguang-jun.

“Are these spicy?” With his mind made up, Jingyi asks the farmer tending to the peppers as he unloads the last of his napa and herbs.

“The spiciest in Gusu!” The farmer responds.

Jingyi has no conception of how spicy that is but it must be spicy enough to make Cloud Recesses’ dishes flavourful enough for Wei- qianbei .

“Here,” the farmer pulls a bundle from his pocket and presses it into Jingyi’s hand. “Take this huajiao as well. It is a numbing spice imported from Yunmeng. It is too strong for my wife and I but I am sure a young master of an illustrious Sect like yourself will find some use for it.”

There is no rule against accepting gifts and it is not unusual for disciples to return with goods gifted by grateful farmers so Jingyi doesn’t feel bad about taking both the huajiao and a basket of peppers.

It takes another couple weeks until Jingyi is rotated onto food preparation in the kitchens again. In those weeks, Jingyi observed Hanguang-jun receive another bundle of letters from Wei-qianbei, request additional pillows and bedding for the Jingshi, and told Jingyi not to fill in the ditch he had dug behind the Jingshi. Jingyi filed this as further proof that Hanguang-jun is desperately missing Wei-qianbei and told Zewu-jun as such.

For his part, Zewu-jun simply sipped his tea and listened to Jingyi’s incessant chatter without judgement.

In the kitchen, Jingyi is standing by the stoves, watching the row of pots and pans slowly cook over the fire. The packet of huajiao and peppers are burning in his sleeve.

Briefly, it does occur to Jingyi that he really does not know how much spice is necessary to adequately flavour an entire dish. Thinking on how red and colourful the dishes Hanguang-jun served to Wei- qianbei were, Jingyi figures more spice is better.

When no one is looking, Jingyi slips the peppers and huajiao into each dish, pouring equal amounts into the pot of rice, the pan of leafy vegetables, and the crock of soup.

He uses up everything the farmer had given him.

Belatedly, Jingyi considers that he maybe should have kept some of the spice for the next time he is on kitchen duty, but decides that murmurs of Gusu Lan serving spiced food on one occasion will be enough to at least temporarily bring Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses. Wei- qianbei will inevitably come if only to question Hanguang-jun and Jingyi is rather optimistic that he will be able to convince Wei- qianbei to stay. He just needs Wei- qianbei to be in Gusu.

As he waits for everyone to be seated for dinner, Jingyi is almost vibrating with anticipation. Lan Qiren does not notice, simply giving Jingyi a cursory glare of disapproval. Hanguang-jun, however, does notice. He gives Jingyi an admonitory look, indicating that he knows Jingyi is up to something, but says nothing as he takes his seat at the main table.

Once the dinner finally commences, Jingyi is disappointed to see that the dishes appear to be the same mild colouring they always are. Then the disciple beside him gags on an unsuspecting bite, coughing and spewing his rice back into his bowl.

Looking around, Jingyi sees that several sect members are coughing and choking on the rice. It is no better for those who are attempting to suppress the spice with the soup.

Lan Qiren’s face is dangerously red and he looks like he very much wants to be yelling, but no longer has control over his own mouth. He sits panting heavily, trying to relax his burning throat and cool his tongue.

Only Hanguang-jun is unbothered, calmly bringing bite after bite to his mouth. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the spice, but he appears otherwise unaffected.

Trying his concoction for himself, Jingyi fares much less well than Hanguang-jun as he breaks out in a string of violent coughs. Despite the inoffensive colouring, the spices are very strong even if it is less spicy than the concoction Wei Wuxian fed them.

Still, Jingyi can’t feel his tongue.

~~~

As Lan Qiren is angry enough to want nothing to do with Jingyi and Hanguang-jun is mired under stacks of paperwork, Jingyi’s punishment is left to Lan Xichen’s supervision.

“That explains the delay in my dinner that evening,” Xichen ponders aloud as he watches Jingyi balance in a handstand against the wall of the Hanshi, holding a brush over a half filled sheet of paper.

“Grandmaster has banned me from the kitchens indefinitely.” Jingyi barely bites back a groan as a splotch of ink drips from his brush, marring the characters he has already copied.

“Shh,” Xichen prompts gently, resuming his own meditation. “There are two hundred and eighty-three copies remaining.”

~~~

Despite the monumental failure of his previous attempts, Jingyi’s zealousness has not waned. If anything, continuing to watch Hanguang-jun walk around all alone and very lonely has only hardened his conviction. He is ready to enact his fourth plan which involves Fairy, Fairy finding Wei Wuxian, a long chase through clear fields with no trees to hide in, and the timely arrival of Hanguang-jun.

Jingyi is halfway through writing a letter to Jin Ling to negotiate borrowing Fairy when he receives his own letter from Sizhui.

Lan Jingyi,

I hope you have not pushed Grandmaster any closer to a Qi derivation in my absence. Uncle Wen Ning and I left Lanling last week. (Jin Ling sends his regards.) I will be returning to Cloud Recesses soon. But first, Uncle Wen Ning and I will be making a detour to Qinghe to pick up a parcel for Wei- qianbei before traveling to Gusu together. Wei- qianbei says he will reconvene with us in Caiyi. Hanguang-jun will be with him.

Take care, and do not break too many rules in the coming days. I have much to share with you of my adventures, of what I have seen, and the many stories Uncle Wen Ning has been telling me.

Lan Sizhui

Jingyi is ecstatic, pushing his half finished letter to Jin Ling aside. With Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei together, they would finally talk out their deep-seated, all-consuming love for one another and Hanguang-jun would finally stop being lonely.

He finishes drafting his letter to Jin Ling anyway, just in case he still needs to resort to Fairy.

A couple days later, Hanguang-jun leaves Cloud Recesses.

As soon as Jingyi sees Hanguang-jun’s back disappear around the curved path leading down the mountain, he quickly walks to the Hanshi.

Before Zewu-jun, Jingyi still carries out the motions of bowing even though his arms are sloppy and his angle is sloppy.

“Lan Jingyi,” Zewu-jun nods, gesturing for Jingyi to take a seat at the table. “There are still three days until our regular scheduled tea time,” Xichen says mildly, pouring Jingyi a cup of tea anyway.

“Hanguang-jun has left Cloud Recesses to find Wei- qianbei . Shouldn’t we follow Hanguang-jun?”

To Jingyi’s surprise, Xichen is as placid as ever and completely unbothered, taking a slow sip of his own tea before answering. “There is no need. Wangji has informed me that he will return tomorrow with Wei Wuxian, Lan Sizhui, and Wen Qionglin.”

Jingyi only sips his tea out of politeness. “But Sect Leader, shouldn’t we follow Hanguang-jun to make sure he finally confesses? Wei- qianbei is so annoying and doesn’t realize how much he loves Hanguang-jun!” Belatedly, it occurs to Jingyi that it is bad form to be insulting a senior in front of his Sect Leader, nevermind a senior who is going to become his Sect Leader’s brother-in-law.

But Lan Xichen is unphased, having long since grown accustomed to Jingyi’s brand of chaos. “While there is no harm in facilitating opportunities for Wangji and Wei- gongzi to explore their feelings, we cannot force them to speak what is not ready to be spoken.”

“But they’ve been doing this for so long!”

“Jingyi, you are not the first to attempt to push Wei- gongzi and Wangji together. They are both deeply stubborn people. All we can do is wait. Fate has blessed them and bonded their souls together. I trust that Wangji will find his happiness.”

“Watching Wei- gongzi and Hanguang-jun together is infuriating,” Jingyi is Lan enough to not pout, but his displeasure is clear.

Zewu-jun hums softly, sympathizing with Jingyi. He has watched Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji dance around each other for two lifetimes now and is still watching. “We can wait at the entrance tomorrow for their return.”

Looking up in surprise, Jingyi asks, “Sect Leader is leaving his seclusion?”

“I am not in seclusion,” Xichen answers. “Only in mourning and taking time for advanced self-reflection.”

Jingyi still doesn’t really understand the difference. The purpose of seclusion is precisely for mourning and self-reflection, was it not?

In any case, Jingyi wasn’t about to argue semantics with his Sect Leader.

~~~

At the entrance to Cloud Recesses, Jingyi stands with Lan Xichen as they wait for Hanguang-jun to return with Wei Wuxian and Sizhui, and Uncle Wen Ning. Zewu-jun is only carrying Liebing. Shuoyue is nowhere to be seen, but the usual guards are only a few paces back in case anything unexpected were to happen.

They take up their posts in the late afternoon. Jingyi had proposed waiting in the morning, but Zewu-jun had predicted otherwise. “I suspect Wei- gongzi will want to explore the vendors in Caiyi and Wangji will allow Wei- gongzi such indulgences,” he had said, shooing Jingyi off to training.

Now, Jingyi has to admit that Zewu-jun was correct.

They have barely been waiting for ten minutes when they hear Wei Wuxian’s laughter drift through the trees. Moments later, Hanguang-jun appears first, making the last turn that leads the path directly into Cloud Recesses.

Zewu-jun gives Jingyi a look as Jingyi vibrates with excitement, but says nothing to admonish Jingyi’s restlessness. They watch as Lan Wangji leads Lil' Apple by the reins, Wei Wuxian sitting astride Lil' Apple’s back with Chenqing tucked into his belt. Sizhui and Wen Ning follow closely behind them, carrying baskets of assorted fresh fruits.

Perched precariously on Lil' Apple, Wei Wuxian raises a hand, waving vigorously at Xichen and Jingyi’s waiting figures.

Xichen simply smiles his welcome, but Jingyi waves back just as excitedly.

“So?” Jingyi asks, not even trying to minimize his excitement once they are all within Cloud Recesses’ wards again after they have exchanged the proper greetings and pleasantries.

At his side, Sizhui has already guessed what Jingyi is about to say and desperately shakes his head as vigorously as possible without attracting Wei Wuxian’s attention. Nothing escapes Hanguang-jun’s notice, and Lan Wangji briefly glances at Sizhui with amusement, but Sizhui knows Hanguang-jun won’t draw unnecessary attention to him. Shadowing Sizhui, Wen Ning simply smiles wryly, his wide eyes dancing as if there is a joke that only he is privy to. Lan Xichen simply stands there, lips curled into a resigned smile as he watches the scene unfold before him.

“So…?” Wei Wuxian echoes, confused, as he takes Hanguang-jun’s hand and allows Wangji to help him off Lil’ Apple’s back.

Jingyi does not notice how Wangji’s hand remains on Wei Wuxian’s back even after both his feet are planted firmly on the ground. Xichen, however, very much notices and gives Wangji a knowing look that says as such.

Wangji resolutely ignores his brother’s gaze. Instead, he refocuses his attention back onto Wei Wuxian.

“So have you finally confessed your undying love and devotion to each other!” All the advice Zewu-jun had given Jingyi about leaving Wanji and Wei Wuxian to their own devices has flown out the window as Jingyi says this so emphatically that it is no longer even a question.

Confused, Wei Wuxian turns to Wangji first. Jingyi doesn’t see any changes in Hanguang-jun’s expression but he must have reacted as Wei Wuxian nods and turns back to Jingyi.

“Of course we have,” Wei Wuxian says with an oddly anticipatory note to his voice. There is a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hanguang-jun is my husband.”

There is a brief pause as Jingyi processes Wei Wuxian’s words.

“ What?!” Jingyi shrieks. “ Husband?! ”

Somewhere in Cloud Recesses, during a fine afternoon tea with a Lan Sect Elder, Lan Qiren suddenly coughs up blood.

“Well we’ve already been engaged forever,” Wei Wuxian shrugs as if he hasn’t just distorted Jingyi’s entire world. “We didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Off to the side, Wen Ning is completely unsurprised by this revelation having witnessed their union with his own eyes, albeit from inside a bush. Sizhui was never told outright, but Wen Ning had hinted at Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s union just enough that Sizhui had extrapolated his own conclusions.

Jingyi swings around to look at Zewu-jun, the only one who is not betraying him at this moment by being the only other person who is surprised. While Xichen had already determined that Wangji and Wei Wuxian had confessed, Xichen hadn’t expected them to already be married .

“To be fair, I didn’t know we were engaged for most of it either,” Wei Wuxian continues nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just uprooted Jingyi’s entire world. His hand is clasped tightly in Hanguang-jun’s grasp as Wei Wuxian swings their entwined hands together back and forth between them. “Lan Zhan forgot to tell me.”

“I did not forget,” Lan Wangji hums thoughtfully as he looks at Wei Wuxian with the most adoring, love struck gaze Jingyi has ever seen. With his free hand, Lan Zhan reaches over to cover their entwined hands and relaxes Wei Wuxian’s fervent swinging. “Wei Ying was not ready.”

Wei Wuxian rests his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. With an equally infatuated gaze, Wei Wuxian looks up at Hanguang-jun from his shoulder. “But I’m ready now. Lan Zhan, I’m so ready —“

Lan Xichen interrupts before Wei Wuxian’s smitten tone can turn outright salacious.

“Welcome back, Wei- gongzi , Wangji. I offer my blessings and congratulations to you both,” Zewu-jun says mildly, forcing the words out through his own shock. “May I ask when this union took place?”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look at each other again. Jingyi can’t decide whether he finds their ability to carry a conversation with only their eyes to be the height of romance or absolutely grating.

“A few minutes after we accidentally got engaged,” Wei Wuxian explains rather unhelpfully. “When he tied his ribbon around my wrist.”

“We completed the first bows before Lan Yi,” Hanguang-jun elaborates. This time, Jingyi notices when Hanguang-jun releases Wei- qianbei ’s hand so he can wrap his arm protectively around Wei- qianbei and pull him in close.

“Lan Yi?” Zewu-jun echoes. Hanguang-jun’s explanation clarified nothing for Jingyi, but Zewu-jun seems to understand. “Wangji, that was over two decades ago.”

“You’ve been married for twenty years!?” Jingyi snaps, no longer even trying to mediate his own surprise. Glancing back to the side, Sizhui and Wen Ning are doing their best to melt into the trees and be idle spectators.

Traitors , Jingyi thinks.

“Not exactly,” Wei Wuxian interrupts Jingyi’s thoughts. He is leaning into Hanguang-jun’s shoulder slightly, subconsciously. In any other circumstance, Jingyi would find this to be exceptionally romantic. “We didn’t get to the second set until after we saved everyone in the Burial Mounds, when we all went to Lotus Pier.”

“It took you twenty years to get married?” Jingyi is blurting out thoughts as they come, the shock of Hanguang-jun’s marriage having finally severed the already tenuous connection between his brain and his mouth.

“Lan Zhan and I like to take it slow,” Wei Wuxian says as if it is perfectly to space out wedding bows over two decades, across two lifetimes, without any ceremony, and without telling anyone.

Xichen speaks again. “When did you complete the final set?”

“Right after we left the Guanyin Temple.”

“But Sizhui and Uncle Wen Ning followed you right after you left,” Jingyi says, trying to map out a timeline.

“We finished our bows before they caught up.”

Wen Ning says nothing. At the time, he had briefly gone ahead to clear the path for Sizhui when he had happened upon and witnessed their bows to each other. No one else knew what he had seen and Wen Ning very much intended to keep it that way. It was a tender and very private moment, and it was fortunate that they returned to the road just as Sizhui caught up with Wen Ning.

“But you were lonely! And all that longing!” Jingyi tries to untangle his mess of thoughts, wondering if he spent too much time reading too much into Sizhui’s letters.

“Of course I was lonely!” Wangji’s grip on Wei Wuxian’s waist tightens. “I missed Lan Zhan! I have to leave my new husband behind!”

“Then why did you even leave?”

Wei Wuxian pauses, thinking about how to put into words how he felt. “I was ready to love Lan Zhan,” Wei- qianbei finally says, voice subdued. “But I wasn’t ready to be me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You can’t devote yourself to someone fully without knowing who you are without that person,” Wei Wuxian says with uncharacteristic sincerity.

A silence falls upon them. Jingyi still isn’t sure whether this is real, or if he was having the weirdest dream.

No one notices Lil' Apple stealing an apple out of Sizhui’s basket.

“Wangji,” Xichen breaks the silence, “why did you not tell anyone?”

The hurt in his voice is resounding and Jingyi wonders the same thing. All these weeks, Zewu-jun has been quietly supportive of Jingyi’s misplaced attempts to bring Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei together, only to find out there was no need for any of it.

“It was...not intentional,” Lan Wangji says slowly, carefully parsing through his words. “Wei Ying and I did not wish to leave our feeling unacknowledged for any longer.”

“You did not even have a proper marriage ceremony,” Xichen says wistfully.

“The ceremony was never important to us, Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian answers quietly. “This entire mess happened because of cross-sect politics and interferences. So we wanted something for ourselves, something that couldn't be co-opted for sect politics.”

And despite everything his poor heart has gone through in that single afternoon, Jingyi’s heart melts because of course Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei wouldn’t tell anyone. Having each other was more than enough for them and wasn’t that just the pinnacle of love?

“Now, Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian continues, teasing grin back on his face, “I heard you concocted a plan to lure me back into Cloud Recesses.” Jingyi makes an affronted squawk, but doesn’t get a chance to defend himself when Wei Wuxian continues. “Since you’ve already started on digging a pond, you can help me grow a lotus pond! A-Yuan has even been so kind as to bring back lotus seeds from the Burial Mounds. You’ll help me, won’t you Lan Jingyi?”

Jingyi’s head is spinning with all the newly gained information. And A-Yuan? Who is A-Yuan?

Later, Sizhui will sit down and explain his early history with Wei Wuxian as a Wen, and Jingyi will make the connection between Gusu Lan’s Lan Sizhui — Lan Yuan — and Wei Wuxian’s A-Yuan. But at the moment, Jingyi’s mind is swimming in all the newfound revelations.

Without waiting for Jingyi’s response, Wei Wuxian marches off toward the Jingshi. Lan Wangji follows at his side, his arm never letting go of his husband.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon behind the Jingshi, Jingyi!” Wei Wuxian calls back without turning around.

They leave Lil' Apple in Jingyi and Sizhui’s care, trusting that they will lead Lil' Apple to the back mountains to graze on grass with Hanguang-jun’s rabbits.

As he watches the figures of Hanguang-jun and Wei- qianbei disappear into Cloud Recesses, Jingyi genuinely cannot tell whether or not he is being punished. At least they’re finally together, Jingyi thinks, before resolving to never think about them so deeply ever again.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s relationship was simply too complicated for comprehension.

~~~

Some Notes: Jingyi’s weekly teas with Xichen continue anyway because Xichen thinks Jingyi is hilarious and Jingyi...still has plans.

A dan is a wooden pole that you set on your shoulder and is used to carry goods. It’s still used in rural China.

#mdzs #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan jingyi #lan xichen #the untamed #the untamed 陈情令 #My writing

52 notes · View notes

ourcorny · 3 years

Text

charactersssss (a constant wip)

annie morris … twenty-five. currently haunted by her paintings and doodles. how embarrassing! waitress, artist, medicated for an illness she doesn’t has. is actually just from a bloodline of cursed female creative types. more info can be found @tghluck. (fc: mary elizabeth winstead)

edward ainsley … sixteen years old, is actually fifty-seven, vegan vampire. utterly disliked by his vampiric peers due to his being turned into a vampire in his youth, rendered sixteen years old for life. has a tendency towards alcoholism in order to silence his cravings for blood since he deems vampirism altogether unethical. more info found @pastytwat (fc: craig roberts)

robbie moore … fifty. always one of those too big for his own boots kinda guys – one of the ‘i’m jumping ship as soon as hit eighteen’ types. that’s what he did, and that’s when he absolutely fucked it. ran his mouth too loud for too long and ruined any chances he had anywhere he went. robbie is a writer but his unwillingness to compromise with his work leaves him unable to find any real place in the industry. an absolute self publishing expert. to pay the bills he’s an english teacher but there’s no real passion for it. he came back to his hometown after struggling his way around the country and settled down in a marriage with his high school sweetheart that turned sour quickly. the pair never had children and were heading to a painful divorce when his wife passed away suddenly. years down the line and he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. jesus fuck this guy. (fc: marc maron)

tara shaw … thirty-four. owner of SHAWSPB, an independent publishing company ran (run? past tense…? it’s confusing) by one tara shaw, someone who needs to work on her social skills. as it seems, you can actually only reject so many people so many times before it bites you in the ass. more specifically (and more accurately), you can only reject so many people so meanly after you fire the companies’ reader because they’ve let one too many trashy reads out of the slush pile and you have to start wading through the heaving thing yourself. opening manuscripts seemed well and good and safe enough because all you’d be facing is words that were crappy in a worst case scenario, until late one night, you stumble upon something that a sour faced rejectee (yes, one that landed themselves with a personalised handwritten and very specific rejection from the woman herself) gets their pages in the pile. tara opens it and finds that it’s no story at all. it’s a string of nonsense – words that don’t exist, script she’s not sure she’s ever seen before, but transfixed on the page, tara shaw reads the thing front to back and the second she puts the papers down is hurtled into the space time continuum, left to float around in there til something grounds her back into the real world, when or wherever that is. it’s an act of karma, or something, and whenever she lands she pukes her guts out because that’s what that kind of thing does to the human body apparently. (fc: natasha lyonne)

genevieve walsh … seventeen. was made fun of in year six for choosing to go to an all girl’s catholic secondary school, her classmates saying that she would end up a lesbian. she did, though it was unrelated to her formal teaching. very unrelated. she has too much going on and is too moody for her own good. extra info can be found @genegrieve.

morrigan kenny … age unknown. bringer of the apocalypse. wanders earth with her way too long hair (it collects twigs and mud) looking for someone to spend the rest of the end with.

alex … thirty-odd (undisclosed actual age) years old. she is yet to learn to do her taxes, and is for all intents and purposes: a con-woman. arguably not an ethical profession, charging the old and the gullible for exorcisms and that of a supernatural variety while having no knowledge of the subject. but a girl’s gotta make a living — volunteering yourself for stand up gigs at the same place night in night out with little to no compensation doesn’t provide much. she’s a kind person, if you ignore the conning, and is decent to talk to. will give away any information. whoops. (fc: jenny slate)

lou webster … seventeen. modern prophet. refuses touch with good reason (skin on skin means she see the other person’s skin melting off, right to the bone). regularly sees the end of the world and it gives her stomach aches. (fc: natalia dyer)

liv o'dell … twenty-nine. screaming messy would probably win the lottery (the luck of her) if she ever tried it, multiple time accidental murderer. makes no sense. is rude. is annoying. has a surprisingly sweet daughter (kitty). more info @heavyroads

betty cloverfield … a twenty one year old motormouth who can’t hold down a single thing she’s meant to. she happens to have recently induced some type of magenta sensitive dissonance in her sensory processing that she can’t shake. it’s speculated by many that she’s taken one too many poppers and it’s taken its toll. (fc: kat dennings)

aiden ryder … seventeen years old. the angstiest, quietest idiot with four fully charged portable chargers to hand at any moment you will ever know. heavily associated with @optimistsclub (fc: jack kilmer)

mert james ... 21. a children’s author, the writer and illustrator of the BEWARE GIANT CREATRUES series. he has many reasons to not want to leave his house and most surround the obvious images conjured in the phrase hatemyself1999 — hate myself (explanatory) and 1999 (dexter ‘mert’ james’ birth year. also self explanatory once you know this fact). all that said, he does in fact leave his house. teaches drums to kids. none of them practise and it makes him insane. in a running circuit of bands where none of the members are committed. that, or he’s misjudging their commitment and giving them nothing when they do in fact care and then he is the dick. music snob, deadpan snarker, karma houdini, middle child syndrome, world of cardboard, can’t get away with nuthin, i coulda been a contender!

lazyguts / victoria ... suicide/eating disorder mention. i’m writing her through ages 17-19 and here’s the brief overview/context: lazyguts lost all of her friends the year before she went off to university as a result of her total withdrawal [causes being a) her brother attempting to kill himself (he survived but it’s very confusing to grieve a hypothetical especially when you’re not supposed to talk about it) and then b) her already struggling with food issues getting worse worse worse. these two things alone are not the reasons as no one else explicitly knows about them, but the adverse effects of these things combined make her difficult to be around/hard to maintain a friendship with her. all very tragic, but still happens. uno].going to a uni where she doesn’t know anyone seems like the best move. she does. she makes friends with a girl called olivia and they become mad close very quickly. this lasts maybe two months until lazyguts starts locking herself away in uni room and doesn’t see much of anyone at all. she has to drop out on mental health reasons just before the end of her first year. she moves back home and lives miserably and very solitary. she and olivia have long lost touch by this point. a few months later she sees an in memoriam post up on olivia’s social media from some of olivia’s friends saying how tragic the loss is, etc/ olivia had killed herself. the post had said something about a project for the close friends of olivia and she tentatively sends a message despite having never really known the girl. anyway, after quite a few ‘exaggerations’ and then a few straight up lies, she ends up super into the friend group of olivia’s based on the lie of being a long-time friend of hers. she’s not sure why the lie comes out nor why she keeps it going. it’s something to cling onto so she does. best way to put it is she’s very dear evan hansen about it, lying lying lying lllyyyinng. eventually she’s caught out but we’re not there yet (fc: odessa a’zion)

dale knox ... 30ish. painter/decorator. info literally not ever written out before. he’s lovely and in a constant state of stress! affiliated with @fullyfungi (fc: aidan turner)

lenny gata ... 26. lonely funeral poet. followed by a select few of the unknown dead #irl after an accidental latin spell read out at a graveside (not her fault, literally not her fault - she read this out in good faith). caught ignoring them/walking them to their homes depending on the day. (fc: aubrey plaza)

millie matthews ... 17. half part antichrist. the other half is her twin sister (#MISSING). currently, unfortunately, sadly, disappointgly, worryingly, being tracked down.

more tbaaaaaaaa thank you thank you

#cast.#ignore the state of this blog #the STATEEE

2 notes · View notes

2jiung · 4 years

Text

-ˏ͛ aesthetic tagˏ´-

tagged by @jisusgf (thank you for tagging me baby! <3) tagging @junhee-s @nctyz (you don’t have to if you don’t want to ofc! & if anyone else wants to do this, just say i tagged you !!) rules bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

soft

dark academia

edgy

seventies

preppy casual

cinanamon

jaesmintea

naptimetea

jeonginks

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha

maaneskin

cho1jisu — jani

mirror-mv

resting your head on someone’s shoulder | flower-shaped earrings | writing birthday letters for friends | tinted lip balm | shimmery eyeshadow | drawing little flowers on my papers during class | talking to your pets | spending hours walking around in fabric stores | letting your friends sit on your lap when there aren’t enough seats | rewatching childhood movies with your loved ones and reminiscing those times | picnic dates | paint/pencil stains on your hands and arms | sitting outside with your friends during a party and looking up at the nightsky | skipping and dancing around the house | cycling with one hand on the handlebar and the other one holding your friend’s hand

#i should socialize more on here ahh i never know who to tag ;;#this tag game is so lovely though #i loved reading everone's aesthetics #*everyone's #i really need to fix the y key on my laptop...#tag game #solcore

4 notes · View notes

terrifictomholland · 4 years

Note

I have a request, could you do a au where the reader is more of a bad girl and gets caught in detention with Peter Parker, they both dislike each other at first hearing all about each others reputations but soon band together to escape out of detention stealing their phones while the teacher is sleeping, they exchange numbers and at school the next day the reader acts flirty to him and the whole school is basically shocked (Ned and mj mostly) anyways thnx and luv u 💕

Hi! Im so so sorry for how long this has taken, but it’s here now and I hope you’ll enjoy it! 💕 I love you too!

You'd been caught graffiti-ing on school property, earning you once again, detention. With a heavy sigh you plonked down in your regular chair in the classroom where the detention was held. You surveyed around the room, seeing a few kids spread out across the room, until your eyes landed on one Mr. Peter Parker, now you were intrigued as to why he was there. You smirked slightly, getting up, heading over to him and sitting down in front of him on his bench, seeing the way he looked up at you with a slight scowl.

"Aw did someone forget to bring the good teacher an apple this morning?" you mocked, hearing you antagonize him only made his scowl deepen. It was positively adorable. "Shut up," he growled and you let out a giggle,

"That's the best comeback so far you've come up with," you commended and he rolled his eyes, "So why are you in here? Aren't you the school goody-two-shoes?" you commented casually watching him tense up from the corner of your eye making you smirk.

You loved pushing his buttons seeing how easily he riled up. "None of your business," he bit out clearly flustered and you shrugged getting off his desk going back to your usual seat.

You'd decorated a seat which you always sat at, always adding to it, doodling straight onto the desk. You didn't bother with any homework, believe it or not you had a bit of a photographic memory, not that you let anyone know that. You had crafted your persona very carefully to make it seem like you didn't give a flying fuck about anyone or anything.

Essentially you acted like a bitch. It wasn't hard to fool everyone either seeing as how you almost always wore black and every single pair of jeans had rips in them. You were a bit goth with your looks, a piercing here and there and a few small random tattoos on your arms. Deep down, it wasn't who you were, but you'd spent a lot of your childhood being put through bullying, so when you transferred schools to Midtown it was like turning a new page and beginning a new chapter.

At your old school you'd been bullied over being a straight A student and being a teachers pet so now you were rebelling from that with all your might.

The first time you'd laid eyes on Peter Parker he reminded you so much of the girl you were at your old school. The shy, sensitive, always eager to please, naive and doe-eyed girl and it brought up ugly memories for you because he represented all of the things you once had before those bullies came and made you their victim and full of bitterness.

You used to be a glass half full kind of girl, now you were a glass half empty kind of girl instead. That wasn't to say you hadn't gone to therapy to process and deal with your bullying, you had. Extensively so, but you were still having a hard time letting go of grudges.

Which also made it more difficult for you to make friends once you had moved to Midtown, you only really had one friend and that was MJ. She shared the same kind of self-deprecating humour, though there was a lightness to her which you saw in yourself too, and just her way of looking at the world intrigued you.

Of course the two of you easily and quickly bonded because of your shared likes and interests. That was how you had met Peter and Ned, Peter's best friend in the whole world, through MJ. You broke out of your doodling, looking at the clock which hung on the wall, seeing that only 20 minutes had passed. You let out an insufferable sigh, scooting further down in your seat.

You vaguely felt someone watching you so you turned your head seeing Peter staring at you with an intensity you didn't even know the boy had in him. It shocked and pleased you at the same time. His gaze never wavered as you met his, mouthing "what?" to him seeing how his nerves almost got the better of him. In true Peter fashion, he looked around him before throwing a wadded up piece of paper to you.

You couldn't help the eye roll that escaped, was he five years old? Sending you actual notes in detention? You unfolded the paper seeing in a relatively neat handwriting play hooky? Your eyebrows went up to your hairline and you weren't far from falling off your actual chair. Peter Parker wanted to play hooky?

Your eyes met his with an abundance of mischief, giving him a nod and you skipped over to his desk once more, "What's the game plan Parker?" you asked seriously, seeing the way he gulped and let his eyes dart around the room for a way out. "Well uh, we could use the front door?" he squeaked, you could practically see the sweat drip down his temples and you hummed, "well that's not very creative," you said slightly dismissively and he huffed. "Does it have to be creative? Mr. Dell is already fast asleep," he countered and you grinned at him proudly, "Fucking finally Parker, there we go!" you cheered grabbing his hand letting him almost trip over his chair as he grabbed his backpack. You easily fished your phones out of the box Mr. Dell had on the desk, the two of you slipping out of detention relatively unnoticed.

The kids who were in there didn't give two shits who came or left. "Hey what's that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively as the two of you left school ground and you let out a groan, significantly slowing your pace as you walked, turning to face him seeing how uptight he was. "That you're finally showing some back bone! Or, in a much more crass way of putting it, you finally grew a pair," you deadpanned seeing him flush,

"What'd you do this time to end up in detention?" was what came out of his mouth. You lifted a shoulder up in a half-shrug, "I improved the school." "Meaning?" he implored and you let out a small giggle, "Graffiti-ing," "What awful and horrible crime did you do?" you asked before he had a chance to say anything about your illicit business.

You saw him wringing his hands uncomfortably and swallow harshly as couple of times, his eyes darting everywhere but on you.

Without a reason why or knowing why, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder seeing him jump up at the unexpected touch. "Shit, what did you do?" you asked worriedly, all of your pretenses dropping and you found yourself feeling genuinely concerned for him, it was obviously something bad judging by the way he was acting. "I uh...um, I might've punched Flash," he started meekly, "In the face," he rushed out and you weren't faking your reaction this time, your eyes wide as saucers. "Nice," you complimented seeing him looking at you both horrified and preening at your praise. Hmm, interesting.

"I've wanted to deck that guy since I first saw him," you admitted and Peter did the most surprising thing yet. He fucking laughed. Like full on laughed, knee-slapping kind of laughter. "Are you sure he didn't deck you?" you questioned seeing his reaction as he wiped his eyes finally settling down. "I'm quite sure he didn't. I'm far too aware of him ever getting the upper hand," he said confidently which just stumped you. Getting the upper hand? "What are you talking about?" you were even more confused, watching him with furrowed brows.

He turned serious now and chewed his lip, "Nothing," he said at last. He could tell you didn't buy it, but you let it go for now. "Where did you have in mind we go?" you asked instead, "W-why do I get to decide that?" he asked suddenly back to his nervous self, "Because you were the one who wanted to play hooky so you get to come up where to go," "Oh...well, have you ever gotten the subs from Mr. Delmar’s deli?" he asked and you felt your mouth tug up in a grin, "Good thinking Parker," you praised and he gave you one of his own grins.

It was like a punch to your gut, his smile was fucking blinding, heat crept up in your stomach at the sight of it and you felt your cheeks heat up which you tried to hide - no one could know that you thought Peter was hot. He didn't notice your inner turmoil as he walked a few steps in front of you, chitchatting about the most random things.

Something about some science-y thing which you honestly couldn't keep up with right now as you tried to clear your head. Once you saw the Delmar's Deli sign you felt yourself let out a sigh of relief. "What do you want?" Peter turned to you, you rattled off your usual, hearing Peter get the same. Offering you a tiny smile and he pulled wallet out, paying for the both of you, "I can get my own food," you said but it was in vain, "Consider it my way of saying thanks for playing hooky with me," he let out a small laughter which made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you gave him a soft smile in return.

"Thank you," you said earnestly seeing the tips of his ears turn red, "I think that's the first time you've ever been nice to me," he observed and it felt like he doused you with a bucket of water at that. Did he think you were mean and cruel? He did sense something wrong now and he watched you with an imperceptible look, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked quietly as you got your subs.

The two of you left and started walking around aimlessly. "Do you think I'm mean?" you asked quietly feeling yourself overcome with guilt, "I think you're misunderstood," well..fuck, he saw pretty much right through you. "That wasn't an answer," you replied weakly.

"Well you've never been very civil toward me," he told you, avoiding your gaze at all costs, as if it was paining him to be this blunt to you, but you needed him to be. "I..i'm sorry," you said softly feeling remorse take over. "I just wanna know why? What did I do to you?" he asked and finally looked at you. You almost wished he'd look away because his gaze left you feeling very naked. Even though you were fully clothed.

"You represent something I have tried for a long time to run away from," you said playing with your chipped nail polish.

"What's that?" of course he'd want to know, which you couldn't blame him but you felt very exposed, telling the one person you never thought you'd share your whole life story to, but here you were.

So, you told him everything. About your first school, your aspirations, the bullies and how they put out your light and positivity and most importantly, your spirit. Peter sat there beside you quietly as you told him your story, and once you were finished you sneaked a glance at him. "You're not alone," he said after a moment and you kept watching him closely, swallowing as you waited for him to continue, "With being bullied I mean," he licked his lips and your eyes zeroed in on them, "I am too in a way by Flash," he said and you felt your heart crack.

"I'm sorry," he looked at you now giving you a small smile, "It's okay," he said gently and you shut your eyes, "I felt envious of you..that you could keep on being the person you are, while I had to change," you admitted after a few minutes of a relatively comfortable silence. "Who says you can't be that person again?" you met his gaze vulnerably,

"Me, that's who," "Why not?" "I just can't," you said quietly and your heart beat picked up when he put his hand over yours. "I hope one day you can," was all he said and it made tears spring to your eyes. You hated getting vulnerable in front of people, let alone Peter Parker, your one sworn enemy who wasn't your enemy at all anymore.

You wiped your eyes sneakily, but your sniffle gave you away still he didn't say anything which you appreciated. "I found you really annoying," you sniffled slightly and his eyebrows quirked up, "Oh?" "Because you constantly brag about the Stark internship," you mumbled, being only slightly jealous of him. He let out a tiny giggle. Yes, a giggle. "Are you jealous?" he teased and you scoffed, "What? No of course not," "Liar liar pants on fire," he smirked, all you wanted to do was kiss the stupid smirk off his face. Wait what? "You are," he said smugly looking at you and you felt your cheeks turn crimson.

When did you decide you wanted to kiss Peter? "Fine...yes, I am," you said seeing the way the smirk returned and it made desire burn in your belly. "You have no reason to be," he said after a moment. You looked at him seeing the earnest in them. "Hey," he mumbled after a little while, his hand snaking into yours holding it and it made your heart start beating faster,

"Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me about what you've been through," he said with such honesty and sincerity it made tears well up in your eyes again, "Thanks for letting me talk," you offered softly and the way his face lit up when he smiled lit you up from the inside out. "My pleasure," he smiled.

You leaned forward, closer to his face hearing the way his breath hitched and you felt as though your heart was going to burst out of your rib cage, but before you lost your nerve you very gently pressed your lips against his. His hand coming up, grasping you by the back of your head moving his lips against yours. You held onto his shoulders, loving the way he held onto you, keeping you close to him.

The two of you got lost in the kiss, tongues battling it out and exploring each others mouths, before eventually pulling apart. You kept your eyes shut just reveling in the way your lips were tingling and the calmness you felt wash over you. "That was fun," Peter said and you looked up at him seeing his cheeks turn pink and he was looking at you bashfully making you laugh,

"It was, we should do it more often." you winked and he let out a shy smile, nodding. "How about we swap phone numbers? M-maybe we could do this again some time?" he asked nervously and you couldn't help your grin, "This or the kissing?" you teased seeing his cheeks turn even more red. "U-um both," he said shyly and you couldn't stop the grin from getting even wider. You wordlessly handed him your phone seeing the way his eyes lit up and he easily added his number, fingers flying over the buttons. "I'll send a text to myself," he said bashfully and you nodded in encouragement.

"Well you're just full of surprises aren't you Parker?" you smirked and he looked at you tensely for a second, "W-what?" he squeaked, "Taking charge and asking for my number, hell you're even kissing me," you teased and he relaxed letting out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you uhm, wanna do that again?" "Do what?" you played dumb just to see what he'd do. He let out a nervous breath before holding your face in his hands, kissing you slowly. Chapped lips moving against yours firmly and with pressure. You gripped onto the back of his head letting him lead and take charge of the kiss.

Oh yeah, you were definitely doing this again.

---- The next day when you arrived at school, there was a slight difference today.

You'd taken some of Peter's advice on board, and you begun the day with brighter clothes, a simple pale blue dress. It wasn't a lot but it was a start. You could feel the gaze of everyone as you walked the halls in school, but you kept your head held high and focused on Peter, MJ and Ned at the end of the hallway, by all of your lockers.

You couldn't help but the smile that took over your face seeing Peter there, remembering yesterday. "Hi handsome," you grinned, loving the way his cheeks turned scarlet, "Hey," he said, eyes darting around no doubt seeing the shocked expressions on Ned and MJ's faces.

It didn't even come close to the shock when you walked over to him with intent, kissing him deeply, pushing him up against the lockers. Vaguely, you heard everyone whispering and gasping that the two almost arch-enemies of the school were making out. Once you pulled away, seeing his wide eyes and swollen lips, "Having a good day?" you asked sweetly and he looked at you in a daze. "i-it's uh, it's pretty good yeah," he stuttered making you smile, "Good, how about we make it even better? Maybe play hooky?"

30 notes · View notes