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[dontmindmeimmalurk]

Golden Time

Nie Huaisang felt aged beyond his years, as he stared at the bloodied hat of what had been Jin Guangyao. The carefully gold-embroidered hat was the results of his labor, his fruits ripe after a decade of effort, and above all, proof his duty was finally fulfilled.

(But even though he felt his heavy burdens lighten, Nie Huaisang found true victory tasted not as sweet, not like what he thought in the early days of his grief.)

Nie Huaisang stood up, moving out from behind the shadow of his brother’s grave, and onto the temple and sun. He stood at the top of the stairs, and watched the people down below, and witnessed each happiness intimately, the one oozing from between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangj, or the quiet joy from Sect Leader Jiang and Jin Ling. 

And closer, but still further, Nie Huaisang saw Sect Leader Lan sitting on the last of the stone stairs, fiddling with the crushed leaves Nie Huaisang had left in his wake, who finally leveled his gaze onto the young Sect Leader.

Nie Huaisang looked down from above, and only smiled, like he had for years.

(To Nie Huaisang, his piercing stare was heavy with years of truth and betrayal, that swirled throughout the stairs of Guanyin Temple, like cold winds. And while it’d be a lie for Nie Huaisang to not have felt its weight, he’d never admit to feeling that, most of all to Lan Xichen.)

And instead said to Lan Xichen:

“Er-ge, you should really get going. The sun will set soon and the clouds will cover the skies again. You’d surely not want to fly on your sword, through the darkness.”

But as the cover of darkness fell from the sky, and Sect Leader Nie saw the shadows recede on swords, he too sat where Sect Leader Lan had done as well, and stayed there for a little while longer, with the hat heavy in between his hands.

[dontmindmeimmalurk]

Different Choices (pt.1)

Nie Mingjue had but felt the onslaughts of death of his cultivation, hanging at the end of his red thread of life, of which he felt the end of his line. Sect work peaked like the mountains outside his window, especially after his absence to heal his battle-wounds and piling responsibility as the leader of the strongest Great Sect. 

But, the famed Sect Leader Nie in battle, never even tasted the smell of the forests and misty wood, since his arrival in Qinghe Nie. He hadn’t time for anything, not even to think, but let the brush flow with black ink; if he wanted his sect to survive amongst the growing voice from the powerful Jin Clan, if he wanted to exemplify his family motto and keep his ancestors from disappointment and pass down a sect worthy for his little brother.

Tiring as it was, Nie Mingjue never had much of a choice.

Such thoughts were passing his mind like the fierce north winds of Qinghe Nie, disrupting his carefully-created office, and scattering all the official documents in his office, until his mind couldn’t focus on his duty.

So when Nie Huaisang burst in, his aura of mountains and forests and lazy-kitchen-roaming, Nie Mingjue felt only relief at the brief distraction.

“Da-ge, you got mail! It’s from Er-ge and he wants to invite us to a night hunt, where people say there are many monsters!”

“Huaisang, you shouldn’t listen to rumors so much. Besides, it’s not an official event, and as such, Qinghe Nie is not required to attend.” “Da-ge! Still you should get out more, if not your grave might be this office, and when have you cleaned here? Besides, san-ge’s playing isn’t working, and you’ve gotten angrier lately, Da-ge.”

Nie Huaisang stomped closer to the Sect Leader’s large desk, where Nie Mingjue was but a small mountain, sending signed and unsigned documents flying, and shoved the letter to his face. His insistence and stubbornness showed true, like his ancestral heritage.

“Da-ge, it’s an opportunity, and don’t you also want to go out and hunt with smelly animals again! I’ll take over here, and I can learn too, da-ge.”

Maybe he really needed some fresh air.

[dontmindmeimmalurk]

Naive (repost from old acc)

Nie Huaisang never liked playing Go, and was never good at the game, but he has always enjoyed watching people play. 

His earliest memories of Go started, when he and his brother were both young, and the sun still blinked far away it’s pointed rays.

Under rare swell afternoons protected by the tall mountains of Qinghe Nie, where sounds of laughter and sabres mixed louder together, Nie Huaisang was familiarly escaping his exhausted caretakers. He ran as fast as his four-year old feet took him, ducking under a table or two, still running even as his chest was heaving painfully; he dashed towards the direction he knew where his brother was still studying.

He remembers barging in the quiet Qinghe Nie Library, upon which neither his brother nor the strategist looked up from their game, he sat on the floor and quietly looked up at the wooden board.

Nie Huaisang stared at the confusing game of black and white, the soft-fingers dancing around and between the myriads of squares, where his brother focused his attention to. The stark white of his brother’s pieces still gleams in his mind, as it eclipses the black of his teacher; the former playing with the recklessness of youth, the strategist with the calmness of age and experience. 

Yet he still liked listening to the sounds of the quiet taps of polished rock against wood, and also to the stream of thoughts pouring out on the faces of each player. Though he knew not the rules, Nie Huaisang knew the face the strategist made as he planned a trap, and when his beloved brother made as he gambled his pieces. 

But most of all, he loved whenever his brother would suddenly grab him from his spot on the floor, and quietly seated him on his lap, whenever he started to lose the game, despite knowing how useless Nie Huaisang would be in whatever game he played.

He was too young after all. 

[dontmindmeimmalurk]

My Not-So-Good Tylenol Adventures (pt. 2/?)

What a shitty way to end off a shitty entry! Well, I mean I did sort of warn you. Tyler has been on my heels for not writing. I don’t know why this means so much to him, but hey, anything for the man who saved me. If not, I’d be decomposing in the radish field right now! Besides, the dude is pretty hot. His hair being a dimmed auburn color, and his eyes a glimmering yellow. I died a virgin my last life, so it wouldn’t be bad to, uh, pop my cherry (if those fruits exist here). 

My mornings are the same. My afternoons are the same. They’ve been the same since I got here, which means it has been at least 2 springs by now. The changing seasons are the same here, if not pleasant. But, if there has been one feeling that’s been dragging around in me, it is pure boredom that has been nipping at my heels like a slobbering dog. I don’t do anything but water radishes! While yes, that does sound infinitely better than school and seeing stupid people and stupid teachers, it is still mind numbingly boring. In fact, I don’t have anything to do but to write about how boring I am, which truly goes to show how bored I’m feeling. 

I go to Tyler for more work, at least something to do, but he only tells me to water the radishes more! Which is ridiculous because they haven’t been growing at all! At this point, he should give up, honest to god.

Fuck! I’m so bored. I hate when I’m bored. It’s the prime time for my brain to say: hey, let’s try and think of all the stupid things you did in the past! All the embarrassing, the funny, the good and the bad. Lately, I’ve been having recurring dreams. I told Tyler about this, he looked at me funny, and then gave me some pills. He said it’s like a treatment for insomnia, which he seems very convinced I’m having.

Honestly, I don’t think they are dreams. More like the same image or same tune playing in your head. Like I’m stuck on something. I just keep seeing the color red. Artificial red, not the beautiful and natural red, like apples or hot sauce. Just manmade red and when I wake up, I get a lingering sweet taste in my mouth. Whenever I try to explore more of my dreams, I always wake up before anything happens. It’s like an electric shock running through your body, and I feel more surprised than scared. Tyler’s always there for me. When I wake up suddenly, and when I tell him about my dreams.

I don’t think his pills are helping, but it’s nice to have someone caring for you. I didn’t think I deserved it.

[dontmindmeimmalurk]

My Not-So-Good Tylenol Adventures: (pt 1/?)

tw: mentions of su!c!de

Tylenol. 350mg. Do not exceed the 24 capsule dose. Take one capsule 4-6 hours a day. The bottle of pills shook like maracas and the prescription handling repeated in my head as a mantra as I got ready for the day. As I washed my face, sweeping up my unkempt short hair in the mirror, I knew: I was going to die today.

As far as suicides went, I’m pretty far out of my element. I tried not breathing, choking myself, partial strangling in my sister’s bedroom, in the shower, but as it’s probably pretty obvious: none of them went successful. My reasons are childish, that's for sure. A fight with parents (definitely my fault), how none of my SAT scores are looking up (aha same case here), lofty ambitions crushed by the weight of reality, with a dash of dissociation that’s been with me for two years. The usual. Now, the only thing holding me back is one more push. I don’t know how or when it’s going to come, but it’s going to. I have nothing but determination anyways.

Patient Records: Patient D---- is admitted to S------- Hospital at 6:05pm in the ER. Suspected overdose of Paracetamol. 

Tyler said it was good to keep a journal. I’m not sure why though. I’ve never been one for writing my feelings out. It’s way too embarrassing, and it’s not like my handwriting is good. Besides, who’s going to read it? I asked him that question, when he gave me the journal, but he only gave me the Look. The dude looks like he’s from his twenties, but acts way older. Elf perk, I guess. 

The thing is I’m not sure if writing is cut out for me. I’m clunky and I have no sense of imagination to use fancy words and descriptions, seeming like the next Hemmingway or something. I don’t have talent. My older sister (brother?) does. But, whatever, it’s not like I’m getting comments on this thing. 

So, my nonexistent audience, let me tell you about how I found myself in this mess, instead of the comfortable darkness that I signed up for. 

Tyler told me I woke up in his vegetable patch, face down and naked on top of the radishes. (I thought they were radishes, but he told me that they are detik.) That’s the only thing I remember because I wasn’t 100% caffeine conscious. More half-awake and droning. I only “awoke” after the third day of him nursing me. 

So that makes him my savior, and therefore I owe him one. I’ve been staying at his place for a long while now and he seems to be a sort of alchemist or magician. I’m calling him Dr. Tyler because it fits him with how much he knows. 

My routine so far is simple: in the mornings, I’m in my birthplace, Tyler’s detik patch, where I’m watering it with a weird solution that bubbles and froths. It stinks, by the way. After that, I clean myself and eat breakfast with a lazy Tyler, who just crawled from his underground laboratory. Then, my days are spent doing absolutely nothing, as his radish minions as I’ve taken to calling them cleans the rest of the cottage.

It’s an easy life, and I’m satisfied, I guess. Honestly, I’m not really sure if this is an extension of reality. Maybe I’m still dreaming. I poked my arm with a kitchen knife, and I’m still feeling pain, so if this, everything, is true, then I’m probably alive. I don’t know.

[dontmindmeimmalurk]

#okok but like NHS plotted in the dark for like 10 years??? #shen yuan just... existed?? #honestly id rather study shangqinghua than shen yuan #at least the broke ass author of pidw is interesting #whether he was always gay #or was he also in the closet... #ANYWAYS shen yuan is the most normal repressed gay ever #NHS is the true badass #we need to know more about him!!!

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