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totallysharkycomplete · 4 years ago

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Waiting For You Part Three (Ford Pines x Reader) Her Family Too

“Morning,” Stanley grumbles as he enters the kitchen.

She told him he could stay the night at the cabin, but she wanted him gone in the morning. She doesn't reply, but grips the counter with white knuckles.

“Listen, I know you said you wanted me gone-”

“Correct,” she cuts him off, refusing to look at him.

“But listen,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I want to help, this is all my fault and I want to help you get him back.”

Again she is silent. Stan sighs and turns away from her, she looks at him walking away before noting the burn from yesterday peeking out from his tank top. She grabs his forearms to stop him. “Sit down,” she instructs before going to get the first aid kit. Although the first encounter with Stan made her lose her fiance, he was Ford’s family, which meant he was her family too, and family looks after each other.

He obeys and sits at the table. He watches as she sets the kit on the table for digging around for a few things. She moves behind him and applies something to his shoulder that burns. He hisses and slightly pulls away before settling back down. She knew it would burn but didn’t warn him.

“This is going to scar,” she informs him.

“It’ll be a good reminder to be less of a jerk,” he jokes, causing her to smile.

She continues to clean the burn, apply an ointment and a bandage. “You can stay until that heals. Just so I can make sure it doesn't get infected.”

“Uh, right.”

----------- The next few days are spent awkwardly shuffling around each other as she continues to take care of Ford’s experiments, while looking around the house for his journals. She didn't think he would hide them there but it was as good a place to start looking as any. The majority of the day she spends in the basement tinkering away at the portal.

Stan makes his way down there one day to find her wiping away tears as she rearranged some wires. Her arm was deep in a metal compartment and she was on her knees.

“I don’t know much about science, but aren’t you not supposed to mix water and electricity.”

She scowls at him having not noticed him come in, then turns away to dry the rest of her tears. “What do you want?”

“Like I said, I want to help, just tell me what to do.” He walks to stand in front of her but she doesn’t look at him. “I know I messed up, but can’t you at least look at me?”

“No!” She snaps. “You look so much like him!” A sob escapes her. “I hate it,” she cries. “I hate it so much! I hate you!”

Stan can feel the heavy weight of guilt in his chest increase. Still, he kneels down to embrasse her. “I know kid, I hate me too.”

To his surprise she holds him back while she cries. After a few minutes her sobs calm down and she pulls away. Her cheeks are tear streaked and eyes red and puffy. She looks up at him before looking away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know you enough to hate you.”

Stan let out a chuckle.

“Also, I don’t think I’m being fair, I lost my fiance, but you lost your twin brother too. How are you?” She looks at him again, sincerity in her eyes.

Stan is taken aback. How could she be so caring about him when he just ruined her life? He swallows, feeling a lump start to build in the back of his throat. “Me? Just peachy.” He lies.

She stands up and moves back to what she was working on. “You’re a bad liar, just like Ford.” ----------- She agrees to let Stan stay with her indefinitely. Deciding she can’t kick her family out when he had nowhere to go. One day a few months in, he approached her with an idea to turn the cabin into a tourist attraction.

“A shack of mystery, The Mystery Shack!” He grins.

“No, definitely not. Absolutely not.” She argues.

Stan sighs. “Listen, you told me yourself the grant money had run out. Unless you want to get a job at that greasy diner, I’d like to hear what else you plan to do for money.”

She turns away from her work with a groan of annoyance. “I… I don’t know. That feels almost disrespectful to all of Ford’s work. Showing it off like some cheap roadside attraction.”

“We don’t have to use his work, sweetheart.” He coos, she makes an almost disgusted face at the nickname. “I’ll make up all new attractions, fake of course. Wouldn’t want the rubes of this town getting freaked out or nothing.”

Reluctantly she agrees. She moves the rest of Ford’s experiments to their room or the basement. Since Ford was gone their room seemed too big to be in all by herself. She moved into a smaller room across the hall, and with Stans help they sealed up his room until they could get him back.

It wasn’t long until Stan was getting customers. At least a few everyday. She had told him she wanted nothing to do with it though and spent her time in the basement.

A few months of this routine had passed, Stan swindling the townsfolk and anyone stupid enough to come in. He glued different animals together, bought wax figures, anything to get people in, and she couldn’t really complain. He was taking care of all the bills as she tried to fix the portal.

One night Stan heats up some soup and claims to have made dinner. The atmosphere while they eat is more tense than normal. Finally Stan decided to ask if he did something stupid and not notice.

She stares at the soup without looking up. “Today marks half a year, Stan.”

“Oh,” now it's his turn to stare at his soup. “I hadn’t realised.”

“Unless we can find the other two journals this is hopeless,” she cradles her head in her hands.

“As long as we don’t give up, it’s not hopeless.” Stan disagrees.

Later that night she sits in her new room on the edge of her bed. She looks down at her hand, and thinks about how empty it is. How empty she feels. How she would give anything to feel Ford’s hand in hers right now. How she’d give anything to not feel so alone. Her body shakes as she begins to sob. She lets herself have a real good cry for the first time in half a year.

Stan could hear her cries. He was standing outside her door which was cracked open. He was unsure whether to let her cry it out or if he should intervene and stop her from feeling so sad.

After letting her cry for a few minutes he walked into her room without knocking and sat beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her hand. She leaned her head onto his chest.

“When is this feeling going to stop? I don’t want to be sad anymore, Stan.”

“I don’t know kid,” was all he could say. Anything more and he would cry as well.

Eventually her cries died down and she began falling asleep against him. He tried to lay her down on the bed but she grabbed onto him.

“Please stay, I don’t want to be alone.” she sniffed.

He didn’t argue and layed down in bed next to her, a foot away. She held his hand as she fell asleep.

The year anniversary of Ford’s disappearance Stan cried for the first time. He thought he was alone as he stood in front of the broken portal.

“A whole year, huh, Sixer? Time flies. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of the kid for ya’. We’ll have you back in no time, we…” Stan lets out a sob and places his hand on the portal. He allows himself to cry. Even when he feels arms wrap him in a hug from behind he continues to cry.

She presses her forehead to his back and holds him while he cries. When he begins to calm down she lets go and wordlessly excuses herself from the room, knowing he wouldn’t want to talk about it. ---------- Three years pass and still not much has changed, except Stan has roped her into working in the gift shop on busy days. He doesn’t like how much time she spent in the basement, and she had to admit she liked the experience of talking to people who were traveling. Most had a fun atmosphere about them.

However, on day a familiar face comes in. Stan was already on a tour when the door chimes. “Welcome to the Mystery Shack, tours are every half hours and…” She stops when her mind registers who it is. “Fids!” She shouts and runs around the counter to give him a hug.

He chuckles. “Good ta’ see you to, friend.”

“What brings you here?” She lets go of him and takes a step back.

“I kept hearing about this ‘Mystery Shack’ and had to find out if it was really this old cabin.” He tells her.

She bashfully looked at the ground. “The grant money ran out. Had to make money somehow.” She confides in him.

“I just never thought this would be Ford’s style.” He confesses, and watches her face fall into a frown.

“Fids, I…” She thought hard about how to tell him. “You were right about that portal being no good. I….” She sighs. “There's so much I need to tell you.”

“How ‘bout we have dinner and catch up sometime then?” He smiles, not knowing that Ford wasn’t included in the ‘we’.

She offers him a small smile. “That'd be nice.”

They agree on a date and time for her to come over to his place, and he goes to leave when Stan ushers a crowd of tourists into the gift shop. He makes his way over to you.

Your face is panicked and you look from him to Fids. Stan leans against the counted and mouths to you, “What a bunch of rubes.” He then turns to Fids and offers him his hand to shake. “Mister Mystery at your service.”

Now Fids looks at Stan’s hand, then to her, back to Stan. She sighs and places a hand over Stan’s, pushing it down. “Stan, this was mine and Ford’s colleague, Fiddleford.”

Stan’s eager grin falls from his face. “Oh,” he clears his throat. “Well I got a tour to give.” He excuses himself.

Fids gives her another look. “I’ll explain everything.”

A few nights later she arrives at Fiddleford’s house. He’s made a simple pasta dinner and they enjoy some small talk as they talk about their time in Gravity Falls. When they’re done they go and sit on his couch.

“I see Ford finally popped the big question.” Fids smiles as he looks at the ring on her finger.

She fidgets at it with her thumb. “He did, and we were on a spaceship no less.”

“No kiddin’?” He ignores the spaceship part as much as he can. “So what’s been going on in that cabin in the woods?” He finally asks.

She lets out a heavy sigh. “So it all started around the time you left.” She begins, and explains everything that happened, Ford falling into the portal, Stan taking care of you and the cabin.

“I’m so sorry,” Fids lays his hand on her knee. “I knew no good would come of that portal,” he said almost under his breath.

“If only we had listened to you sooner. Maybe all of this could have been avoided.” She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder, his hand not on her knee wraps around her shoulder and rubs circles with his thumb.

She can’t help but feel so welcome to the touch. It had been so long since a man had touched her. She stopped her thoughts there. Fids is just being kind, don't be a pervert, she scolded herself in her mind.

Her thoughts quickly changed, however, when he softly said her name. She tilted her head to look up at him, and his hand from her knee moved to hold her chin. He looked in her eyes for any sign she wanted to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead she leaned up to hesitantly kiss him.

He kissed her back, more sure of himself than she was. After some kissing he slowly layed her back on the couch.

“Is this too much? If ya’ want I’ll stop just say the word.” He checks.

“Fids, it’s been so long since I’ve been touched. Please.” She almost whimpers, and he complies.

They’re time together is quick and imperfect, but leaves her feeling satisfied. Almost as soon as they are done she moves to put her clothes on.

“Leaving already?” He smirks.

“Fids, I…” She's unsure how to explain what that was. A moment of need and lust with no feelings?

“I’m just teasing, darling. Don’t have to mean nothing if ya’ don’t want it to.” He stands to dress as well, then walks her to the door. “Doors open anytime ya’ need me.”

She nods in understanding before scurrying off to Stan’s car she had borrowed. When she returns home her hair is out of place, shirt not tucked in correctly, and of course Stan is up late enough to comment.

“How was your date?” He jokes before he actually looks at her. He gives her a quick once over before grinning ear to ear. “You got laid? Nice!” He raises his hand for a high five but she just scowls at him.

She and Fiddleford see each other a few more times before calling it off. She can tell too much of his heart is in it and she doesn’t want to lead him on. He understands and they go their separate ways. It’s not long before she hears a rumor he’s got a steady girlfriend, and not long after that that he’s married with a kid.

The next time she sees him he’s not himself. He’s panicked and his country accent is more prominent than normal. He explains how he’s been using his memory eraser on himself, how all the things in Gravity Falls is too much for him. She tried to get him to promise to stop but he refuses. They argue and he raises his voice. She leaves, not to see Fiddleford for almost thirty year. ----------- She absolutely opposed the idea. “So let me get this straight,” she’s pinching the bridge of her nose, a habit she definitely picked up from Ford. “You want to fake your death?” She watches as Stan nods. “And pretend to be Ford?” He nods again. She slams her hands down on the table. “For what reason on Earth would you want to do that?”

“Listen, I’ve made some mistakes in my life,” he pauses as the look she gives him pretty much says she knows. “So I may have multiple warrants out for my arrest. If I’m gonna keep running the shack. It needs to be like Ford Pines and not Staley Pines!” He insists.

She sighs knowing he’s a little right. Sitting down at the kitchen table she looks up at him. “What about your mother, Stan?”

He pauses confused. “What about her?”

She scowls at him. “What do you mean ‘what about my mother’? Stanley Pines she's going to be heart broken. Not only has she not heard from you in almost ten years, the next thing she's going to hear about you is that you’re dead?” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Well actually…”

“Well actually what?” Stan grunts.

“The last thing she heard about you was that you had joined Ford and I for Thanksgiving last year.” She looks up in thought. “At least that’s what my letter said.”

“You’ve been writing to my mother?” Stan’s face is distraught.

“Oh course I have! Ford never stopped working long enough to call her, so I started writing to her.” She looks annoyed at Stan.

“Did you say anything about…” He moves his hands awkwardly.

“Did I tell her Ford fell into a portal to another dimension and has been missing for almost five years? Yeah, Stan, I told her that.” She mocks. “Oh course I didn’t! To your parents and brother’s knowledge, Ford is still hard at work here in Gravity Falls with his loving girlfriend!”

Stan looks at hurt like a kicked puppy and she sighs, before saying she’d be right back. When she returns she has a handful of hand written papers. “These,” she sets them on the table, “are all from your mother.”

Stan looks over at them as she spreads them out. “I, listen Stan.” She gently touches his shoulder. “I know you haven't talked since you were kicked out, but your mother still loves you. Maybe… I don’t know, write her a letter before you go through with your choice.” And with that she leaves the room.

Stan waits a moment then sits down at the table. He reaches for the letter on top and begins to read.

Dearie, Thank you so much for taking the time to write. I know how busy Ford is. I love the picture you sent of you and Ford at the waterfall, we have it hanging in the living room. When are you two getting married? I can only wait so long for grandkids!

I was surprised to hear Stanley joined you for Thanksgiving, I didn’t even know he and Ford were talking again. Makes my heart glad to hear two brothers can make up. How did he look? Was he taking care of himself? I love that boy to death but he never did a good job taking care of himself. He needs a good woman like you in his life!

Stan sets down the letter, unable to read on through the tears that are clouding his vision. He wipes some away before deciding on what to do. After finding a pen and paper he sits back down to scrawl out his own message.

Hey Ma, Long time no talk. Listen, this message will be short. I know you haven’t heard from me in awhile I just wanted to say hey. Hope you and the old man are well, Shermie too.

I’ve been having the time of my life traveling the country. I even visited sixer and met the lovely lady in his life, boy what a catch, huh? Anyways I’ve got to get going. Adventure awaits and all that.

Love you, Stanley Pines ---------- A few days later she's sitting in the cabin kitchen to read the paper, she unfolds it to read STAN PINES DEAD across the front of it and sighs. She looks up at him over the paper and he’s staring out the window.

She sets the page of the newspaper aside. “Who’s going to tell your family?”

Stan eventually sits down at the phone and dials a number. His voice isn’t his as he pretends to be his brother. “Hello, mother. Yes, we’re doing just fine thank you for asking. Listen, I, uh, I have some bad news.”

She watches as he talks to his mother. Tears form in her eyes at the sounds of Ford’s voice. She wondered how he could sound so perfectly like him. Stan said a few more things before motioning her over.

“Ma want to talk to you.” Stan says.

She wipes a tear away and takes the phone. “Mrs.Pines, I’m so sorry. Yes, I know.” Stan listens to one side of the conversation. “Yes, ma, of course he knew you loved him.” She looks at Stan with tears in her eyes. “Of course he loved you too.”

Stan turned from her to hide his tears.

At his funeral she made an excuse, saying Ford was too heartbroken to come, as Stan watched from a distance away, as his family buried an empty casket in the ground. On the drive home she lay her head in Stanley’s lap, red eyes from crying with his mother.

They were silent for hours until she spoke. “Stan?”

He grunts in response.

“Do you think….” she doesn’t finish her thought.

“Don’t say it.” Stan frowns.

“Do you think Ford is dead?” She chokes out.

Stan pulls the car over to a screeching halt. She’s startled and sits up.

“Don’t,” he whispered before raising his voice. “Don’t you ever think like that!”

Stan stops from yelling more when he looks at her. Her shoulders are hunched over and her head is down, her hands held over her chest. Stan could compare her to a lost kitten.

He groans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, but we can’t afford to think like that. Ford’s alive I can feel it. If anything happened to him, I’d know.”

She nods, still clearly shaken by his sudden agner. He sighs and motions her closer, she complies and he pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

One morning a few months later the shacks received a call that Mr.Pines had passed. She’s there to comfort him, and a few years later he gets the same call about his mother, she’s still there by his side.

---------- On the thirteenth year anniversary of Ford’s disappearance, as she still called it, Stan found her sitting in front of the portal reading his journal. He sighed and sat down next to her.

“This is no way to spend a Friday night, kid.” He says.

She smiles, but it isn't sad. “It’s a fine way to spend it for me.”

“You seem awfully cheery for… today.” Stan comments.

She sighs, almost sounding content. “It’s just, the more time goes by the more sure I am we’ll get him back.”

He just stares at her. “Well I’m glad you feel that way. But for me, tonight I’m thinking about pitt cola and some dark liquor. Care to join?”

She snaps the journal shut. “Absolutely.”

A few hours later they are playing a childish game of never have I ever, clearly calling the other out. He’s sat in his armchair, she’s sat on the dinosaur skull next to him.

“Never have I ever been to jail.” She sneers as Stan drinks from his cup.

“Never have I ever kissed someone’s twin brother.” Stan sneers back. She rolls her eyes as she drinks.

“Never have I ever faked my death.” She laughs.

“Never have I ever, um, slept with my fiance's college roommate.” He watches as she narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s low Stanley,” she takes a drink. “Never have I ever lost a girlfriend to a hippie.” She bites her lip to stop her shit eating grin.

Stan frowns as he drinks. “Alright I’ve had enough of that game.”

“Why,” she jeers. “Because you know I have more dirt on you than you do me?” She turns to straddle her chair.

He grumbles some excuse and drinks more.

“Oh that’s exactly why.” She takes a drink.

“Well what do you expect, kid? I’ve lived a life of crime and you went to college and met a nice boy, who swept you off your feet to a romantic cabin in the woods.” He huffs.

“Hmm,” she thinks. “I suppose that’s true. Stan why haven’t you found a nice girl, or guy, to settle down with?” She asks sincerely.

“I’ve been too busy. Plus I got you to take care of.” He laughs as she punches his arm.

“I could take care of myself if you want to go off and get married. You’re a total catch Stan, some girl would be happy to be with you.” She smiles and finishes her drink.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” He jokes.

“I’m just being honest, any Pine’s boy is a catch. Why do you think Sermie is already married with a grown kid? Plus I got lucky and snatched up the cute twin before someone else got him.” She jokes and Stan shoves her shoulder playfully, however in her buzzed state she begins to fall back. Stan moves to catch her, both his hand landing on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she breaths, her face right next to his. Before she knows it Stan leans in and gives her a kiss. She kisses back, after a few kisses they both pull back.

She laughs and covers her mouth. He chuckles too.

“Yeah, that was weird.” He states.

“Yeah, don’t do that again.” She bursts out laughing and he blushes. ---------- On the twentieth anniversary Stan wakes up to the sound of banging. He sits up with a start and heads down stairs to the basement. He finds her hard at work tinkering away.

“You alright, kid?” He asks.

“When are you going to stop calling me kid, Stanley? We’re a few years apart, not to mention, we’re almost senior citizens.” She smirks.

“Gross, don’t say that.” He scratches himself. “But what are you doing down here so early?”

She continues what she was working on. “I just feel like we’re so close. Closer than we’ve ever been. Don’t you feel it too?” Her eyes are bright and hopeful.

Stan doesn’t really feel the same, but with the look she’s giving him, there's no way in hell he’d say it outloud. “I trust your instinct.” He starts helping her before she yells at him to go put on clothes and change out of his slippers. ---------- It's a gloomy day outside, the wind is howling and the snow comes down in blankets. She's sat in the arm chair with a pen and paper, writing something down when Stan walks by.

“What’re you up to today, toots?” Stan asks.

She doesn't reply lost in her writing. He leans over to take a look before she pulls it against her chest.

“Are you writing a letter?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t everyone we know dead?”

She scowls. “You still have two brother who are alive, buttface.”

“You write Shermie?”

“Not often but I do. This isn’t for him though.” She pouts.

Stan pauses and thinks before he speaks, what a rarity. “It’s for Ford?”

She slowly nods. “I’ve written him a letter every year on his anniversary since he’s been gone. Today marks twenty five years. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Stan frowns.

She lets out a small laugh. “Stan we aren’t exactly spring chickens. I could have a heart attack tomorrow and-”

“Don’t talk like that, Ford will be back soon, you won’t need those lousy letters to tell him what’s been going on around here.” Stan states gruffly.

She smiles. “I’m sorry if me talking of my own mortality upset you Stan. I won’t mention it again.” ---------- “Shermie’s grandkids are coming up for the summer.” Stan tells her one morning over breakfast.

“Really?” She beams. “I can’t wait to meet then, Stanley that’s so exciting!” Her smile wavers for a second. “But, Gravity Falls really isn't the safest place for kids.”

“What was I supposed to tell Shermie’s kids, No they can’t come because there's gnomes and mythical creatures in the forest?” He pinches his nose. “It’ll be good to get those city slickers in the forest for a while, toughen them up.”

“How old are they?”

“12.”

#ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #waiting for you part three #beautiful-river on AO3 has them posted until part 6

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thehaemanthus · 3 years ago

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Our Savaged Souls

Trying out a new thing of posting the full chapter on tumblr. You can read from chapter one one AO3 (unless it’s not your thing, and in that case you can send me an ask and I’ll be like! sure! I love to be accomodating! I’ll post full chapters on tumblr :) )

Feyre Archeron is born under the new Wall separating human lands from the Spring Court- her home. She hunts in her forest, forms a friendship with the High Lord's third son, and is introduced to his friend. Then it all goes wrong.

Chapter 6

Tamlin soon forgets his ire about the Suriel. Or at least, he pushes it down far enough and eventually bounces back, dragging her out on more adventures. He manages to swing by for a few hours of her birthday party, and then is required at home for much of the spring. By the time the summer rolls around, Feyre can tell he’s eager to be away from family and make up for lost time.

The latest outing is a jaunt to a pool of liquid starlight, one that Feyre has visited only a handful of times. It’s one of Tamlin’s favorite places, she knows, and she felt the honor in the first invitation.

Her linen dress brushes just past her knees, only half of her hair pulled back in anticipation of a relaxing afternoon spent lounging in the shade and wading in the water. No boots or tight braid needed today. Her contribution to the picnic is a batch of scones, some ruby-red cherries, raspberry preserves, and roasted almonds. With her bounty and dress, Feyre decides to winnow rather than pick through the forest.

Feyre expects it to be a small party, but she does not know how small it actually is until she arrives.

There are two people there. Tamlin and Rhysand.

Of course. Rhysand. Of course he is here.

“You managed to make it on time!” Tamlin greets her with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and takes her basket from her hands, retreating to add it to their pile of food and blankets. The space already looks inviting, dappled in shade. Sweating bottles of lemonade and ice water peak out from a wicker basket full of white porcelain plates with painted primrose borders and crystal glasses. A partially wrapped loaf of bread and hard cheese rests on top, along with a sharp knife and a bounty of fresh fruits.

Feyre scowls. “I was late one time, Tam, it’s not funny anymore.” She glances at Rhysand. It would be impossible to pretend he’s not there. It’s just the three of them. It would be rude to not say anything. It should not be difficult at all to just greet him. She wrangles her expression into something pleasant. “Hello, Rhysand.”

“Feyre darling,” he smirks. “I thought you were calling me Rhys now?”

She actually turns a bit red and fumbles. Thankfully, Tamlin’s big mouth saves her. “When did that happen?”

“A while ago.” Rhysand reclines on one of the picnic blankets, lounging like a cat. He waves a hand. “Won’t you join us, Feyre?”

There’s really no way to refuse. She takes a seat, folding her legs under her. “It’s hard to break a habit. I’ve been calling you Rhysand for a long time now.”

“I’ll have to keep reminding you, then,” he says as he roots through a picnic basket, plucking out a tin of cookies. “Want one?”

“Thank you, Rhys,” she stresses his name, plucking one of the cookies from his hand.

He smiles at her, and the tension seems to melt away.

Has she always looked at him like this, or did the Suriel trigger something in her soul that flipped the world upside down? Feyre wonders how long this feeling, this awareness of him has been growing in her heart, encroaching so slowly and naturally that she has not noticed until someone drew her attention to the blossoming.

For a child of the Night Court, Rhys looks good in the sun. She has always known he is beautiful, but something has changed. As they chat and nibble on the picnic, Feyre observes him. There is something fuller in his laughs, more playful in his smirks today. It would be impossible to forget that he is an Heir— powerful radiates from his body and he approaches every conversation and confrontation with arrogance. He is still guarded. But if his true soul is an impenetrable fortress, Feyre thinks they’ve passed through the gates of one or two battlements.

The sun beats down on them, stronger now that the world has moved and positioned itself in summer. The Day Court is absolutely sweltering, Rhys informs them, and there’s been some problems with heat sickness in Summer. In Spring, Feyre keeps an extra canteen of water and takes frequent breaks when romping about.

Sweat gathers at her brow and pools on her upper lip. Eventually, sipping cool drinks and relaxing in the shade is paltry comfort.

“I’m going for a dip,” she stands. “Anyone want to join?”

The males scramble up after her. It’s some work to unlace her stays, so they end up shucking their clothes and splashing into the pond before her. Feyre finds herself sighing in relief when they don’t look twice or offer to help. It would be well meaning from them, her friends, if not a little playful and flirty. But if Rhys offered…

Mother above. Surely it should take her longer to fall?

“Are you coming?” Tamlin calls from the water, flicking some water in her direction. It glitters like diamonds where it lands on the grass and dirt. It might not actually be water, but Feyre has never known what else to call it.

She scowls. “It takes a little longer for me.” She toes off her slippers, wiggling her feet in the cool grass. In the past, Feyre hasn’t had trouble with stripping down to almost nothing and jumping into lakes and rivers. Now, she keeps her chemise on and tries not to think too hard about it. After tossing her hair pins on the blanket, she wades in.

The pond is cool and refreshing. Sunlight almost blinds her as it bounces off the surface. Feyre glides through the water, slowly acclimating herself. When she dunks her head under and emerges, the liquid starlight clings to her lashes and makes the world look brighter and chaotic. She swipes a hand at her eyes and blinks to clear her vision.

Tamlin floats on his back, golden hair floating around his head like a halo. Rhys lazily swims a circuit around the pond, much like she was. Feyre treads in place for a moment before floating a bit closer to Rhys.

Sensing her presence, he surfaces. Feyre’s breath catches. She’s sure he reads something incriminating on her face, but before he can speak she opens her mouth. “This pond suits you.”

“Oh?” he questions. His feet must reach the bottom, because while Feyre is working to stay afloat at the edge, he is merely holding out his arms to keep himself steady.

“The starlight.” Her eyes roam over his face and dip down to his neck before shooting back up. If she looks too far down she won’t be able to return her gaze to his face. “Son of the Night Court. It all works.” She waves a hand in his face, and he laughs. The starlight clinging to his hair and shoulders and dripping from his chin bring out the constellations in his eyes.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, darling,” Rhys nods at her.

She wishes she had a mirror, if only to try and memorize her own look for a painting later. “Do I?” she asks, leaning back a bit in the water and pretending like his words do not send her heart racing.

Her eyes are on the sky, but when Rhys is silent for too long she propels herself upright. He’s frowning a bit, looking more unsure of himself than she’s ever known him to be. “Rhys?”

“I can show you,” he says, expression much too serious for an afternoon swim.

Feyre laughs softly. “You have a mirror? Where are you hiding that?”

Rhys’s smirk lacks some of its swagger. He brings up a hand and, from nowhere, conjures a hand mirror. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” As quick as it appeared, it's gone.

Feyre cocks her head. Rhys wants to show her what she looks like, but without a mirror or any reflective surface...and it’s not like he’s an artist…

She gapes a little, swimming closer. Tamlin is still floating on his back, hearing muffled from the water, but she lowers her voice anyway. “You’re daemati?”

It’s the only thing that makes sense. And she would expect no less from Rhys. In addition to being obscenely powerful, to have this as well...he won’t just be a powerful High Lord, he’ll be unquestionably dominant.

His brows lift a little in surprise before his expression settles. “Clever girl. I shouldn’t be surprised that you guessed.”

Feyre bites her lip, torn between being pleased and being concerned. She does not think that Rhys has ever used his power against her. But how would she know? She has heard plenty of stories, has been given plenty of reasons to be wary of the Night Court. Feyre is not so arrogant as to think that she is a worthy target, but just the thought of her thoughts being combed through or someone getting information from her mind is disconcerting.

Rhys— whether by looking at her mind or her face— knows where her thoughts lead her. He moves a little closer as well. “I have never looked in your mind, or Tamlin’s for that matter. I’m not that kind of male.”

“I know.” The words are said without thinking, but they ring true.

He does not look convinced. “If I wanted to use you, I would have hovered in your mind as you hunted the Suriel and asked them a question myself. I would have probed your mind to see what you asked.”

She nods. Part of her knows it to be true, but another part, an animal, instinctual part, shies away from him.

But the Suriel told her to trust Rhysand.

It’s not effortless, but she stays. “You keep it a secret?”

“We keep it quiet,” Rhys admits. “We” probably means his family, his Court.

What does it mean that there is a secret daemati ready to inherit one of the mightier Courts of Prythian?

If she was a good person, she thinks, she would tell someone. But being a good citizen and a good friend are directly opposed at the moment. It does not take Feyre very long to decide which title is more important to her.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She values her friendship with Rhys, trusts him more than she maybe should. Even considering what the Suriel said, she would be a fool to throw herself into his arms blindly.

“Thank you.” Under the water, he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I know you still aren’t comfortable with this.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes, so she looks down. Right at the curves of his shoulder, where brown skin and black ink peek from beneath the surface. Her mouth goes dry, but she manages to force words out. “It is...strange. To realize how vulnerable I’ve been.”

There are dangers in Feyre’s life, but she has always known them. She has rules, has trained and armed herself against threats. Don’t stay out too late after night falls in the forest, don’t stray too close to creatures who have young ones to protect. Keep your eyes averted when speaking with the High Lord and try to not attract too much attention, bite your tongue in front of certain people and laugh and gossip in secret circles only.

There is no such defense against Rhys. At least, she assumes so until he speaks. “I can train you to shield your mind.”

Feyre blinks, shocked. “You can?” It’s possible? And he would offer that to her?

A deluge of cool water drenches her. Feyre cries out in shock, whirling to scowl at a laughing Tamlin.

“You two are much too serious,” he says, slapping the surface of the water again to send another splash their way. “What were you talking about anyway?”

“We had a run-in with a daemati in the Night Court a while back,” Rhys says smoothly. In an instant, his cool confidence is back. He swims away from Feyre, closer to Tamlin. She is sure there is a good reason he turns his back and tells herself it does not sting. “I was telling Feyre that I wouldn’t mind offering some lessons on how to shield her mind.”

“Why would you need to shield your mind?” Tamlin asks her.

She scowls. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you want to keep your thoughts private?”

“Sure,” Tamlin shrugs. “But it’s not like any daemati would target you.” He is lackadaisical and inattentive, paddling around the pond like a slippery otter. The mere word “daemati” was enough to alter Feyre’s mood, but Tamlin is barely affected.

“She’s been spending time with two sons of High Lords,” Rhys points out, flicking some water into Tamlin’s face. “I’d say that makes her plenty vulnerable. You should learn to shield, too.”

Tamlin nods, finally starting to take it seriously. “You were taught?” He propels himself upright, staring intently at Rhys. It is not hard to see how Tamlin esteems their older friend. Anyone who spends five minutes with the two of them can see how Tamlin might look at Rhys for approval, how he weighs Rhys’s words and commits them to memory. Sometimes, Feyre worries about how reliant Tamlin is, how he has replaced his own older brothers with the Heir to the Night Court. But she hardly has room to talk.

“Almost as soon as I could grasp the concept,” Rhys says. “I’ll give both of you lessons. It’ll be hard to test without an actual daemati, but it’s worth trying.”

You’ll have a bit of an advantage over Tamlin. Feyre gasps as Rhys’s voice echoes in her head. Her limbs freeze. She sinks a little in the water before propelling herself back up, sputtering.

Tamlin glides closer. “Feyre?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, pointedly not looking at Rhys. “I thought something brushed my leg. What lives in this water anyway?”

“Nothing natural,” Tamlin scowls at the opaque surface as if his ire can be translated to whatever dwells below. “Come on, let’s leave before we find out.”

Feyre wades out of the pond, chemise sticking to her skin and hair dripping down her back. She squeezes her hair to dry it as best she can, then moves to gather a fistful of her chemise and wring out the water.

It’s silent for a moment. When Feyre looks up, she sees two males looking at her instead of getting out of the pond.

Emboldened by their attention, Feyre raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Tamlin coughs, looking away and stepping out of the water. He passes her without a comment, even as Rhys continues to look. Her challenge is answered as his eyes rove over her body, from long bare legs to the wet material clinging to her hips and chest. She half expects something flirty to spill from his mouth, but he just keeps the smirk on, looks his fill, and emerges from the water.

It takes a lot of effort not to pay him back in kind, though Feyre does sneak a look at those tattoos and well-muscled chest.

The light breeze chills their damp skin, and the once sweltering heat becomes a comforting embrace. The trio sprawl out. Between bouts of dozing off, they have a contest to see which pair is best at tossing grapes into someone’s mouth. When Feyre’s hair is mostly dry and her fingers get caught in tangles, Rhys slips behind her and braids it back.

She is half awake as his fingers comb through her hair, catching every other word of his explanation that his little sister has now grown old enough to demand all sorts of hairstyles and pampering from her devoted older brother. Feyre hums with a smile, picturing the scene.

There’s a knock on the edge of her mind. One she is better prepared for this time. Rhys slips a memory into her mind, one that is not hers, but his. Through his eyes he sees a head of black hair, a young girl’s bedroom, a reflection of him and a little girl, the former wrestling with a hair brush and the latter rifling through a basket of ribbons. There is a love infused in that memory, a feeling so pure that it nearly brings a tear to Feyre’s eye.

I almost neglected my promise earlier. Rhys’s voice is low and smoky in her mind. A moment later, a different memory. Her grinning face, covered in droplets of starlight.

There is emotion in this memory too, though not the all-consuming devotion Rhys feels for his sister. But it is something, and it makes Feyre smile anyway.

It is the perfect day. Feyre is not naive enough to think that this dynamic, with her two dear friends, can last forever. Rhysand will one day become High Lord, and Tamlin’s own role will likely change when his father passes. But fae are immortal, and she is untouched by death, and the thought of painful change is so far away in that perfect summer afternoon.

She cannot be blamed for thinking peace will last for a good, long while.

Being the Lady of the Spring Court is good for little else besides ordering the servants around the house.

Alis can grumble and protest and toss every veiled hint that she can think of, but in the end she cannot prevent Feyre from leaving her bed. Sleep came and went in the night. When the discomfort impeded her peace, Feyre tossed back healing tonics and pain remedies and whatever cocktail of drugs that the healer left on her nightstand.

Her smaller cuts are healed, but her ribs are still tender. The worst bruises are black and blue and impossible to look at. Feyre chooses a boring corner of the room to stare at as Alis dresses her in light fabrics and a dress that laces loosely. Alis picks a gown in an opaque green with a yellow underskirt, as if that will lend color to her pale skin or brighten her gaunt face.

Feyre tells the staff that she and the High Lord will not be entertaining any guests and to send away anyone that might drop by. Not that anyone comes for Feyre unless she specifically invites them.

The only other person in her home besides the servants is Lucien. He clearly did not expect her to leave bed and nearly leaps from his seat when she slips into the dining room. “You should be resting.”

She probably should. There is an exhaustion that has settled in her, infused in her bones and powdered on her skin. Her tongue is weighed down. Feyre has no words for her friend, only enough energy to squeeze his shoulder as she walks past to take her seat. She sees the way his eyes scan her, the way his jaw clenches when he notes how she sits gingerly.

Tamlin’s chair at the head of the table is empty. The space feels like a chasm.

When Tamlin is home, the table usually is weighed down with food. Today, Lucien just has one plate sent up from the kitchen. Feyre gets the same toast, fried eggs, and sausage. No platters of sliced fruit or tureens of gravy or plates of sugary pastries. Lucien pours her a cup of tea wordlessly.

Feyre eats in peace, but Lucien has a stack of papers by him that he leafs through in between bites. With Tamlin gone, his work will be all the more difficult. Lucien cannot make certain decisions, cannot sign off on projects, cannot approve a budget. But there are some things that must get done and emergencies to deal with.

“Anything I can help with?” Feyre speaks her first words of the day.

Lucien’s eyes flick up briefly. “I’ll let you know.” He’s gone a few minutes later, only a squeeze of her shoulder as a goodbye.

There are things Feyre can do, even some things that Tamlin might expect her to accomplish. Ferye thinks of the piles of letters she can respond to and the parties she might plan. The next holiday is never more than a few months away, and Tamlin likes to take any opportunity to celebrate and fill their home with his friends.

She does not do any of that.

The servants push back on some of Feyre’s whims, but they can never outright refuse her. A few months ago, it was a battle to get them to relinquish their gardening tools. Another battle to ask one of the gardeners to teach her, show her, and not do anything beyond that.

But a few months ago she was also a bit more fragile, and so they followed her directions with less protesting than she usually was in for.

Now, Feyre knows where to find the tools she needs. She slips on the gardening gloves that Alis procured and forced on her. While it might be seemly for the Lady of Spring to prune a few roses, cuts and calluses were utterly unacceptable. Feyre can stroll in the gardens, can even kneel in the grass, as long as she has a wide-brimmed hat to shield the delicate skin on her face.

How she longs to rip off the hat, unpin her hair, and sprint through the fields once more.

No one disturbs her as Feyre weaves through the perfectly manicured gardens. She passes tall hedges, venturing deeper until she crosses into a little hidden nook. It is cordoned off by nothing more than a charming wooden gate, but symbolism is strong. No one has ever entered without the express permission of the Lady of Spring.

Feyre let the little space go unattended for years, not caring much for gardening or pretty flowers. Now, the hidden nook is ringed with blooming jasmine. She might add a stone bench in the middle, but for now she is happy to sit on the grass.

A proper gardener might prune and use sophisticated techniques to care for the jasmine, but Feyre likes to see it grow wild. She removes weeds and brushes away dead leaves. In Spring the bushes are almost always flowering, clogging the space with their intoxicating scent. She would have kept blooms in her room, if not for what they symbolized.

Jasmine is a Night Court flower.

Tamlin does not come to her jasmine garden. He either does not know or was informed and has not confronted her directly. Now that she is in the garden, Feyre wonders if this is, in part, what set him off.

The flowers are not for Rhys. Not really. True, they remind her of him, in a way. But she mostly likes the scent, likes that when she smells it she immediately feels at peace. Jasmine is not the most beautiful flower in the world, but it is still pretty. A flower alone cannot make her happy, but it settles something in her soul anyway.

White jasmine is crisp and clean. Pure.

For a while, Feyre had no closure after the loss of her child. These things happened, so the healer ensured she was physically healthy and then sent away. There was no goodbye, no body, no ceremony to send the child off. They were there one moment and gone the next, not having made any mark on the world besides a scar on Feyre’s heart. She does not know if they were male or female, if they had Tamlin’s blond hair or her own darker shade, if they would have had freckles or their father’s straight nose. After they were gone, the child seemed to exist for Feyre and no one else.

So she planted the jasmine.

Now, as she lays on her back in the grass, she can imagine it. A giggling toddler, running circles around her. But not here, not in Spring. The flowers perfume the air and make it all too easy to pretend she’s in another place.

Maybe the jasmine is selfish. Maybe Feyre did have another motive in creating this secret space.

While she is here, she can mourn her child. While she is here, she can pretend that she is someplace else.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction

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theleakypen · 4 years ago

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first lines: fic-writers meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

I was tagged by @la-muerta! I've mostly been archiving my kissing fics on AO3 lately, so that's what these will be, probably. I'm going to skip the ones where the first line was given to me by another person, since those are not illustrative. I am also skipping my filks. XD

1. Terms of Care - in answer to the prompt: "wei wuxian & wen ning + forehead kisses"

“Ah, Wen Ning, come join me!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, waving Wen Ning over to his spot in the bunny clearing.

2. Not To Be Alone - in answer to the prompt: "jiang cheng/song lan - hating separation"

“I was in shock still, and I said such awful things… So I’m looking for him now, to apologise. To say: traveling with you is better than traveling without you.”

3. This One's Spicy - in answer to the prompt: "lan jingyi/lan sizhui - yi city"

Lan Jingyi was still making elaborate disgusted faces, scraping his teeth over his tongue and the like.

4. fell through the cracks, but we're okay - in answer to the prompt: "oyzz/a-qing, au where they meet when they're both alive"

“Excuse me, are there any powerful people around here? Powerful people who cultivate?”

5. All This Burning Sexual Tension - in answer to the prompt: "wei wuxian/wen qing + laughter"

“Qing jiějiě!” Wei Wuxian shouts, bursting into the mess. “Jiang Cheng has brought it to my attention that we need to work out the unbearable sexual tension between us.”

6. In the Officers' Baths - in answer to the prompt: "mu nihuang/xia dong - something fun and not sad"

“Jùnzhǔ!”

7. in this great golden tower - in answer to the prompt: "qin su/wen qing, koi tower"

Qin Su has never asked xiǎo-Qing about her past.

8. sharp words, soft hands - in answer to the prompt: "chengxuan after like a big battle or something and one of them is hurt and the other one is worried and expressing it through getting snappy?"

Jin Zixuan opens his mouth to speak when Jiang Wanyin strides into his tent, but before he can say anything, the Jiang sect leader snaps, “Don’t bother. I saw exactly how it happened. You’d think someone raised in the great Lanling Jin sect would have learned a modicum of tactics.”

9. corpse kiss - in answer to the prompt: "how about wn/jzx with the prompt “qiongqi path”" (content warning: this one is noncon)

There was no longer a flute playing, but Wen Ning was still rushing toward Jin Zixuan like a hurricane in human form.

10. Closed Fist, Warm Mouth - in answer to the prompt: "xianxuan, in the middle of an argument"

It was lucky that Jin Zixuan had stomped away from his entourage as well as from the Jiang contingent, because it meant that there was no one to stop Wei Wuxian from throwing a punch this time.

11. Growing Things - in answer to the prompt: "lan sizhui & ouyang zizhen (my underappreciated boi!), growing things"

The Baling gardens were one of Lan Sizhui’s favorite places.

12. what's left when revenge is over - in answer to the prompt: "Sisi/Nie Huaisang post Guanyin temple"

“It’s done, then,” Sisi says, standing behind Nie Huaisang and beginning to take his hair down.

13. a good bruise - in answer to the prompt: "chengqing, jiang-furen wen qing. after training disciples"

They have been married for just over a year, but it still somehow seems scandalous to Wen Qing that she gets to be here, in Sect Master Jiang’s own personal quarters, as he gets ready for his post-training bath; that she gets to pull at the ties on his outer robes, skim her fingers along his collarbones to feel him shiver, help him shrug off each successive layer of clothes until all that’s left between her and his sweat-slick skin are her own clothes.

14. why the hell not - in answer to the prompt: "wwx/nhs, burial mounds. why the hell not"

“Nie xiong, what the hell are you doing here?”

15. Rivers and Lakes, Towns and Cities - a prequel of my Songxiao Middle Earth AU, where the Elf Xiao Xingchen meets the Human Song Lan after leaving Baoshan Sanren's mountain (which is, like, an Asian equivalent of Rivendell)

Baoshan Sanren always said that the world west of the Mountain was full of corruption and iniquity, that the Western Elves were liars to a one, and that the gods they called the Valar were betrayers.

16. A Hundred Beautiful Things - The Untamed (TV) fandom, Jiang Yanli/Nie Huaisang political marriage set after the Qishan indoctrination arc.

It was an adjustment, to be sure.

17. Taste You In My Core - 魔道祖师/Mo Dao Zu Shi novel fandom, Nie Huaisang/Xiao Xingchen monster4monster porn with Eldritch Xiao Xingchen and Beast Nie Huaisang.

“Are you all right, gōngzǐ?" the young man asks, and Nie Huaisang does his best not to laugh.

18. A Fruitful Correspondence - The Untamed (TV) fandom, Lan Wangji is forcibly befriended by Jiang Yanli (and by extension Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng) during the time that Wei Wuxian and the Wens are holed up in the Burial Mounds.

Lan Wangji’s plan upon attending the wedding between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli is to put in the bare minimum of appearances and then go home at the earliest opportunity.

19. Bored - Leverage (!!) fandom, in Season 2, Episode 1, Parker mentioned stealing the Hope Diamond and then putting it back. This is the story of that heist.

Planning the heist still carries the same thrill as it always does: scoping out guard rotations, evaluating the schematics for their new security system (laughable, even with the increased bandwidth to support a greater number of security cameras), visiting the museum as a paying guest… Parker loves this part, and it’s good to stretch her muscles in this way, relying on no one but herself.

20. Best Friends for Best Friends - The Untamed/MDZS fandom (could go with either canon) fic for Jin Ling's birthday featuring the Juniors quartet and a whole litter of puppies - this is an archived threadfic that was cleaned up and then thrown on AO3.

Jin Ling totally forgot about the "no pets at Cloud Recesses" rule, okay?

I've noticed that I tend to like to start with some kind of dialogue most frequently; otherwise, something to establish the POV character's interiority. The big exception is the Middle Earth fic where I was emulating Tolkien's narrator, somewhat.

I think of these twenty, my favorite opening line is probably either 7 or 16. They're so sparse, but still set up a lot.

Tagging @hunxi-guilai, @iamwestiec, @bladedweaponsandswishycoats, @shadaras, @withbroombefore, @vyther15, @vivisextion if y'all wanna play! If not, no worries ofc :3

#long post #tag game #puck writes

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rosethornewrites · 5 years ago

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 7

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin, Fourth Uncle

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education

Summary: A little making out, and family time.

Notes: Soft chapter, but one that was difficult to write. Definitely look up the song Wei WuXian plays on the dizi. There’s a version on YouTube played with the xiao, and it’s lovely. Last week of summer semester, so it might be a bit before I update.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

------------------

Though at first their teeth collide a few times, Lan WangJi discovers that kissing, as with anything else, is a skill one can improve with practice. He is startled a bit when Wei Ying opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, but he finds the sensation of his tongue against his own more than enjoyable.

He finds it even more enjoyable to be able to finally give attention to the mole under his lip that has taunted him all these years. Wei Ying seems to realize his focus because he laughs, joyous and breathless and beautiful.

Lan WangJi hooks his arm around Wei Ying to pull him closer, but he freezes at his pained hiss.

Of course; Wei Ying was injured by Wen Ning, and likely hurt himself last night falling to the hard cave floor in his haste to escape the dog spirit.

As much as he would prefer to continue this, Lan WangJi forces himself to stop. He can’t help but remember Wei Ying’s reminder that their union hasn’t been consummated, and that doesn’t make it easier. He has, after all, been waiting since he was fifteen.

“You are injured,” he says softly, sitting. “And malnourished.”

Wei Ying pouts, but doesn’t protest vocally or move to get up, which tells Lan WangJi he truly is in pain, and judging from the way his eyelids are drooping, absolutely in need of more sleep.

“I will meditate here, and we will have breakfast together when you wake. We should also discuss my brother’s impending visit.”

“Ah, I guess you want to tell him we’re married, then?” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Can we at least ask him to keep quiet about it until after shijie’s wedding? She deserves better than to have her happy day overshadowed.”

Lan WangJi has not, in fact, thought yet of how he will tell his brother he married Wei Ying all those years ago and neglected to tell him. But he does agree that the news should not detract from the marriage of Jiang YanLi and Jin ZiXuan, though he disagrees with the idea that the their marriage could be a dark thing.

“Agreed, but…”

He pauses, considering how to say what comes next, how not to risk driving Wei Ying away again.

“Please consider telling my brother you no longer have a golden core, if not the circumstances,” Lan WangJi finally says.

He is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t pull away, only grimaces, but his relief is short-lived.

“You think he’s more apt to help if he knows I’m broken,” he whispers.

Lan WangJi feels his jaw drop, horror rising as he realizes just how deeply Wei Ying’s self-loathing goes. He wishes he could assure him of his own worth, but he also knows it will take time to convince him. But this, he knows, is his fault. He did not help Wei Ying until he knew the truth, when he should have helped from the beginning, should have trusted him.

Does Wei Ying believe he pities him? The idea chafes.

“You are not broken,” he tells him, “and certainly not simply by virtue of being without a golden core.”

Wei Ying snorts derisively.

“Then what am I? A cultivator who can only cultivate on the crooked path?”

Lan WangJi gently pulls Wei Ying closer until he’s pillowed in his lap, until he can look at him directly, if upside down.

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying. You need be nothing more.”

His zhiji looks away, his eyes shining in the dim candlelight. Lan WangJi feels helpless in the face of his despondency, knows he is in part the cause.

“I haven’t even told Jiang Cheng. He’s going to be so angry.”

He understands; the secret involves his brother, and he has a duty to tell him first, regardless of how long it will be before he sees him next. Wei Ying’s public break with the Jiang clan makes that uncertain, and it is not the sort of revelation that would be appropriate in a letter. In fact, if it were known he sent a letter to Jiang Cheng at all, problems could arise.

Perhaps XiChen could send one on their behalf, though, asking Jiang Cheng to at least visit in secret.

“I will tell no one, Wei Ying. Not even xiongzhang, if you do not wish it. But… eventually you will no longer be able to hide it.”

Lan WangJi strokes Wei Ying’s cheek, hating to have to think about or reference the inevitability of his mortality. Hating that it is an inevitability.

“I ask only that you consider it, nothing more. I will honor whatever decision you make.”

Wei Ying doesn't reply, instead curls closer, shifts until his face is hidden against Lan WangJi’s side, his arms around his waist, his body further in his lap.

“You are not broken,” he repeats, running his hand through Wei Ying’s hair. “You are beautiful and honorable.”

He wishes the rest of the world could see Wei Ying as he does.

In the silence, he has little to focus on, noting the brittleness of his hair, how it seems as unhealthy as the rest of Wei Ying. But Lan WangJi has never had much opportunity to touch him this way—after XuanWu and when he fell after Wen RuoHan’s death notwithstanding.

Neither are pleasant memories, particularly the latter. The image of Wen RuoHan dangling Wei Ying by the throat over the steps of Nightless City still fills him with dread. He was certain then he was about to witness his zhiji’s death, to watch his neck snapped, to see him tossed aside like a broken doll.

Afterward, in the days he was unconscious, watching the bruises around his throat fade slowly, fearing he may never wake again as his spiritual energy did not seem to be recovering… It did not recover, but it was not, as he suspected then, due to demonic cultivation.

Lan WangJi wishes he realized sooner. He will always wish that he somehow was able to help Wei Ying more, will always feel the sting of having failed him for so long.

Wei Ying’s breathing evens slowly as he falls asleep, and Lan WangJi matches his breathing. Though he has never attempted meditation with someone in his lap, his zhiji’s presence is soothing, and he slips into the necessary trance easily.

He slips out of it just as easily a couple hours later when he hears footsteps approaching their chamber of the cave. From the sound, very short legs, the pace puttering against the stone and dirt of the cave.

Lan WangJi is unsurprised when a-Yuan enters. The child surveys them quietly for a moment.

“Xian-gege sad?” he finally asks.

Only then does Lan WangJi remember that Wei Ying is asleep in his lap, arms still twined around his waist.

“Mn,” he says with a nod.

Because despite Wei Ying’s happiness at his insistence that he indeed wanted to be married to him, his request regarding his brother upset him. And it had taken far too much convincing for his liking for Wei Ying to believe he was worthy of him.

“Hugs make me feel better when I’m sad,” the child says. “I can hug Xian-gege, too.”

Lan WangJi nods again, and a-Yuan toddles over and chooses the most expedient way to deliver a hug: flopping onto Wei Ying and then hugging him.

He resists the urge to scold the child when Wei Ying wakes with a pained grunt, and instead lifts a-Yuan off, settling him on one knee.

“Ah, a-Yuan, be careful,” Wei Ying murmurs, his voice a bit strained. “You’re getting big.”

“Xian-gege needed hugs. And gugu said you need to wake up for breakfast. And popo said you’re too skinny.”

“Popo always says that.”

Wei Ying winces when he sits up, which lets Lan WangJi know Wen Qing should examine him. He hopes he will not injure as easily once he’s in better health.

“She is not wrong, Wei Ying.”

He pulls a face in response, but can’t help but laugh when a-Yuan imitates him.

“All right, all right. Let’s go eat.”

Lan WangJi is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t need help getting up, though he doubts very much he would ask if he did. He carries a-Yuan with them, and the boy seems content with being carried.

“I did not inquire yesterday about bathing facilities,” he comments as they make their way to the communal area.

Wei Ying laughs shortly.

“‘Bathing facilities.’ You’re so proper. We have a river, Lan Zhan. That and basins and rags. That’s about it right now.”

The river was practical, but not in the long term. Perhaps that was something to address with Wen Qing, then, whether tubs could be purchased. Before winter, when bathing in a river would be less than ideal.

“I know you’re used to better, but I’ll show you where later today,” Wei Ying says. “Honestly, I’m probably overdue for a wash myself.”

“Xian-gege stinky?”

Wei Ying drops back to tickle a-Yuan.

“Stinky, eh? You just wait, stinky radish. I’m sure your gugu will want us to give you a bath, too.”

“A-Yuan not stinky!” the boy squeals with a giggle.

Wei Ying darts in and makes a show of smelling him.

“Oh, my little radish is ripe. It’s almost time to pick him and cook him up for dinner!”

“No cook a-Yuan!” he shrieks, still giggling, as they enter the communal area.

“Oh? Should we sell the little radish at market instead?”

“Noooooo! Gugu, tell Xian-gege!”

Wen Qing scowls at Wei Ying, but it’s without heat, a sort of play-acting likely affected for a-Yuan’s amusement.

“I swear sometimes you’re a child yourself,” she mutters.

“Xianxian is three,” Wei Ying sings with a grin.

“Brat,” she says, rolling her eyes, her voice fond.

They’re a family here, Lan WangJi has come to see. The closeness of their relationships brings light to the darkness of the Burial Mounds. He is glad they have been there for his zhiji when he has not.

Wei Ying winces when he settles on one of the seats and Wen Qing’s sharp gaze catches it. She looks between them with an expression that looks far too amused, and despite the fact that her assumption is incorrect, Lan WangJi can feel his ears heat.

“Dog spirit,” he explains. “Wei Ying fell.”

Wen Qing’s expression shifts to concern. It’s clear she knows of Wei Ying’s phobia.

“The damn thing came back again?”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying—he didn’t mention it had bothered him on previous occasions.

“Bad dog,” a-Yuan contributes.

“Lan Zhan eliminated it this time,” Wei Ying says, avoiding both their gazes.

Wen Qing shoots him a grateful look.

“Last time he knocked into the cave wall and almost broke his nose,” she tells him. “Hopefully all he’s got this time is a few bruises, but at least it won’t be back.”

She turns her attention back to Wei Ying.

“I’ll examine you after breakfast to be sure. Cooperate or I’ll make you.”

“Aiya, no needles, Qing-jie! No need to bully me.”

Wei Ying grabs a-Yuan from Lan WangJi’s lap to use as a shield. The boy just giggles, like this is a common occurrence. Knowing his propensity for dramatics, it probably is.

“A-Ning is giving you double portions today,” Wen Qing continues, ignoring his antics. “And I’ll trust Hanguang-Jun to make sure you’re not feeding it to a-Yuan. He’s getting plenty, too, and we have radishes ready to harvest in a few days so we’ll be fine with food for a little while at least.”

She glares at him when he looks like he might protest.

“You’re unhealthy and everyone is worried about you. Popo was encouraging me to use needles and find a way to shove it down your throat earlier. Don’t think I won’t resort to that.”

Wei Ying, thankfully, takes her seriously enough to behave throughout breakfast. He eats enough that even popo, who seats herself at their table and manages to look both sweet and intimidating throughout the meal, seems satisfied.

True to her threat, Wen Qing has popo take charge of a-Yuan and drags a lightly protesting Wei Ying back to the Demon Subduing Cave to be examined. Lan WangJi hesitates, but follows at his zhiji’s pleading look.

“Sit,” Wen Qing orders when they’ve reached the alcove “I want to make sure you didn’t break anything, at least. You have horrid luck. Where did you fall?”

“Shoulder and hip,” Wei Ying says with a resigned sigh. “But it’s really not—”

He goes silent at her glare, which Lan WangJi has to admit is formidable.

“Don’t even,” she huffs. “You always lie about your injuries. Strip.”

Wei Ying, to Lan WangJi’s surprise, actually blushes, glancing at him. Wen Qing takes notice, looking between them.

“Ah, you told him, then?”

She looks almost amused.

“Wait, you told her?”

Lan WangJi almost winces at the bit of hurt in his tone.

“That he’s besotted with you? Any fool could tell, except you,” Wen Qing snaps.

“I did not tell her,” Lan WangJi confirms.

He is a little concerned when a slightly gleeful look passed over Wei Ying’s face, replaced with one that is utterly fond.

“So I was the first one you told that you handfasted me when we were sixteen?”

Wen Qing makes a noise that sounds almost like a choke, looking at them uncertainly.

“I did not even tell xiongzhang,” he confirms. “I would tell no one without telling you first.”

Wei Ying’s expression turns to one of adoration, and Lan WangJi starts mentally reciting the Lan principles, as he is sorely tempted to revisit their morning activities.

Wen Qing is still staring at them, and Lan WangJi takes pity, explaining in brief what occurred in the Cold Spring cave, with Wei Ying contributing details. He finishes by explaining the meaning of the forehead ribbons in a wedding ceremony and the bow to Lan Yi as essentially an elopement.

“You’re married?” Wen Qing murmurs, her voice hoarse with shock. “Married.”

Her gaze turns shrewd.

“Has it been consummated?”

It’s Wei Ying’s turn to choke.

“Qing-jie!”

Lan WangJi doesn’t trust himself to answer verbally and simply shakes his head.

To his surprise, she starts pacing, hands clasped behind her back. He didn’t expect her to be someone who paces.

“And you want to be wed, correct?” she asks after a moment.

Wei Ying’s “definitely” and Lan WangJi’s “of course” are simultaneous.

“Good,” she says, her tone surprisingly emphatic, as she turns to them. “So you’ve had quite an extended engagement, and we can figure out what this idiot gave as courting gifts since you bought a-Yuan toys and provided the Burial Mounds with money. I hate to simplify what is obviously a love match to political terms, but you need to consummate before Zewu-Jun arrives, in anticipation of the question of its validity.”

Lan WangJi can feel his ears heating, and Wei Ying’s face blushes more fetchingly than before. Wen Qing looks between them, and her brief look of glee is ever more concerning than Wei Ying’s was.

“Well, since you’re both clearly virgins—”

She ignores the “hey!” from Wei Ying.

“—and I am familiar with all forms of sexual hygiene as a doctor, I’ll go ahead and explain exactly what you’ll need to do to make it a safe and enjoyable experience.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. Wen Qing gestures for Lan WangJi to sit, and he’s honestly grateful to as she starts talking. She brusquely yanks Wei Ying’s robes from his shoulder to check his injuries as she does, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze from his zhiji’s milky skin to avoid reacting to it.

He cannot deny he has thought quite a bit about what he wanted to do with Wei Ying very often almost since first meeting him. Wen Qing’s very detailed and blunt explanations make those imaginings far less fuzzy than they were before. She even includes a discussion of aftercare, advising they keep a basin of water and rags nearby for the “mess.” By the time she’s finished, Wei Ying’s very red face is buried in his hands, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze as she pulls his trousers away from his hip, revealing the curve of one bruised buttock.

“And I guess I’ll have to send Merlin-yi to market for the oil,” Wen Qing says as she wraps up both her lecture and her examination. “I’ll send a-Ning, too. Even if we can’t provide a proper banquet, a marriage deserves celebration. You’re family, Wei WuXian, and we’ll do our best.”

“Qing-jie,” Wei Ying whispers, sounding touched.

She offers him a smile and shoves his robes at him.

“If we could afford red silk, we’d throw a whole wedding. You don’t mind the others knowing, right? They’ll be very happy for you.”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying, careful to keep his eyes on his face—he may be wearing trousers, but he might as well be naked and it’s terribly distracting. The look on his face assures him he doesn’t mind, so he nods affirmation to Wen Qing.

“It’s just some bruising, thankfully,” she assures them. “I’d put on salve, but I heard you discussing bathing at the river, so I’ll leave that for later. It’d be a waste to apply it twice.”

Wei Ying pulls his robes on, still red in the face.

“Right, a bath.”

His gaze is shy when he looks at Lan WangJi, who is trying to imagine how they’ll get through bathing together without engaging in some of the activities described by Wen Qing.

Some of that thought must have been apparent to Wei Ying, because his face flushed again.

Wen Qing snorts.

“Not so shameless after all, are you? We’ll be sure to give the river a wide berth.”

Wei Ying’s response is to hide his face in his hands again.

“We will bathe separately,” Lan WangJi states, pulling Wei Ying to his feet.

Wen Qing just laughs at them.

When they reach the river, which is a short trek from the settlement, Lan WangJi insists Wei Ying bathe first, pulling the fragrant soaps he uses for his body and hair from is qiankun pouch for him to use. He knows they are likely a luxury, and he is happy to share it with him.

He plays his guqin while his zhiji bathes, starting with “WangXian” and moving into “Cleansing,” infusing the latter with spiritual energy. He is pleased when the resentful energy in the area eases, and hopes it helps Wei Ying as well.

When Wei Ying returns, clad in fresh robes, he takes his own turn to bathe. The water is chilly, but not inordinately so in the summer heat. He is pleased when the notes of a dizi fill the air, playing “WangXian” as well. Though he composed the song with the guqin in mind, the rendition Wei Ying plays on ChenQing is lovely. Lan WangJi is glad it has brought him comfort.

The notes shift into what he recognizes as “Plum-Blossom in Three Movements,” a song he rather likes but didn’t know Wei Ying knew. Lan WangJi has heard xiongzhang play it on the xiao and can play it on the guqin, though it was originally composed for the dizi. But he shouldn’t be surprised; Wei Ying is a master of the six arts and has displayed such with references to literature and poetry even in his playful moments.

The plum blossom is an apt symbol for the resilience of life on the Burial Mounds and for Wei Ying, who always endured despite the hardships he faced. Perhaps the song is an expression of Wei Ying’s hope, his faith in Lan WangJi. He wants to give his zhiji hope, longs to ease his hardships.

When he has finished and dressed in fresh robes, he rejoins Wei Ying and asks if he may comb his hair.

He uses his own sandalwood scented oil, giving it the proper treatment.

Wei Ying is swaying slightly when he finishes, the pampering lulling him nearly to sleep. Lan WangJi longs to style his hair, to put it in the GusuLan style as though Wei Ying was marrying into his clan. But he is not, and so he refrains.

Instead he brushes the hair from the nape of his neck, leaning forward to brush his lips against the soft hair there.

Wei Ying shivers and turns to him, pulling him in for a proper kiss before taking the comb and hair oil from him to return the favor.

Lan WangJi didn’t expect the sensuality of his husband brushing his hair—husband. They’re married. Wei Ying’s deft fingers make short work of his tangles, gently spread oil to treat his hair, grazing his scalp in blossoms of sensation, love in every touch.

Wei Ying braids his hair, his fingers weaving the locks with care, and Lan WangJi lets him. He is not in Cloud Recesses, not required to wear his hair in GusuLan style. When it is finished he turns to see a flourish of red, Wei Ying having used his own ribbon to tie off the braid.

And so it is natural to braid his hair in return, to weave the sacred ribbon that usually rests on his forehead in his hair, leaving the cloud symbol at the top, adorning the top of the braid like a jewel.

“Your forehead ribbon?” Wei Ying asks, startled, when he catches sight of the very pale blue ribbon tying his hair off.

Lan WangJi cups his cheek in his hand, moving forward until their noses are almost touching.

“Airen, you may touch it.”

A soft smile blossoms on Wei Ying’s face, and he rests his forehead against Lan WangJi’s.

“Airen. I like that,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #chen qing ling #cql #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wen qing #wei ying #lan yuan #wen yuan

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breaniebree · 5 years ago

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Can you share your journey as a writer? How the idea of writing fanfics came into your mind? Do you have other own fiction too? Also how do start a particular fanfic? As in do you make notes, timeline or character sketches and stuff or do you just go ahead and write and then make notes on facts?

What an interesting question -- thank you for asking! This is literally going to be a novel response (letting you know in advance LOL)

My journey as a writer... I guess I always wrote things down, started as a child when I wrote in a diary and then as I got older I wrote a little poetry, none of it very good (though I wrote a poem when I was twelve to describe the loss I felt when my Nana, my great-grandmother died, and my aunt read it aloud at her funeral). I wrote a few short stories, just little things, prompts from teachers in school and such and then one day I decided I wanted to write my own story. But funnily enough, it actually came about through fan fiction.

I used to love this book series back when I was ten called Trash by Cherie Bennett, and I was completely in love with the characters Chelsey and Nick, and when Jazz claimed that she was pregnant and Nick was the father and it did ended on a cliffhanger and I didn’t have the next book, I remember writing my own version of what happened next -- God, looking back, it was probably terrible, I definitely don’t have it anymore. Pretty sure the book series isn’t that great looking back at it now, but when I was ten, it was great! LOL. I also wrote a side story for Demetrius and Karma, so even then I guess I branched off into subplots. When I was fourteen, I started my own original series, which I am still currently working on and probably will be for the rest of my life if I’m honest -- it’s changed over the years, but the characters and my ultimate goal have stayed the same.

How did writing fanfiction come into mind?

Well, with Harry Potter, it was because of my friend Chris. We used to talk on the phone every single night after school for hours on end and after HBP came out and Harry and Ginny were FINALLY together only for him break up with her, I was so livid that I had to wait to find out what happened! I remember Chris and I debated what would happen in the last book for ages and one day I must have ranted too much because he told me to go write my own story if I didn’t want to wait, so I did.

I was seventeen and it was Harry Potter and the Prophecy Fulfilled: Which looking back at it now, I think it’s not exactly the greatest story lol and you can definitely see where I’ve improved since then. After finishing HPPH, I ended up still having different ideas, all Hinny, and went on to write a few one-shots: Almost Too Late and Beautiful Mess. Then I started writing A Different Beginning, which turned into my Beginning series: A Different Beginning, A New Beginning, Why Don’t We Just Dance?, Life Is Fickle Like That, Graduation Party, and The Reunion. Those of you who have been reading my fanfiction since the beginning know that I originally posted the above stories on SIYE between 2005 and 2007 and had then completed (except for the second half of Life is Fickle onwards before Deathly Hallows was published). I didn’t start posting on fanfiction.net until 2008 and only recently on Ao3. Somewhere in between writing the Beginning Series, I also wrote a few other Hinny one-shots including The Greatest Gift, She Never Lets It Get To Her Heart, I Loved Her First (actually Arthur POV, which I later incorporated into the Beginning Series), The River (which is a standalone but also can be read as part of the Beginning Series), When the Sand Runs Out, and then the mini-series Padfoot’s Advice (Late Night Talks with Padfoot 1 & 2, Padfoot’s Advice, and Secrets from the Past). Then I wrote the short Hinny/Romione story: The Trouble With Secrets and was inspired to write a Jily series, which I did with Crazy Little Thing Called Love, which could technically be a prequel to the Beginning Series as I kept some of the story similar. I also wrote a Jily one-shot called Flowers and another Hinny one-shot called I Don’t Like Your Girlfriend.

I didn’t plan on writing any more fanfiction as university became busy, but then in 2017 I started writing these little Missing Moments for Harry and Ginny both before HBP and then during, and then after. I just sort of compiled them on my computer for a while, wondering if it would turn into a story or not and then the idea came to me one day for A Second Chance after seeing some fan art of a five-year-old-Harry in sunshades and a leather jacket while riding a child’s motorbike next to Sirius in the same outfit and the next thing I knew, this story just pored out of me in February of 2018, I had the first twelve chapters written by March and another five by April. I started posting the Missing Moments compilation, added a few more things including the Remus and Petunia scene from ASC and kept writing A Second Chance and in May, decided it was time to share it and uploaded the first twelve chapters.

By the time I realized it was going to be a long one, I knew which characters I would sacrifice and how it would end, but how I was going to get there I still have no idea. I’m not a writer who methodically plots. I have a few general bullet points at the end of my current WIP chapter and that’s really it. I add to it occasionally as I go, but mostly, I just write as I go along. I can’t tell you how many chapters it will be or how long it will take me to get to the next section because frankly, it’s constantly changes. I do not write in chronological order, which means I am often writing anywhere between 2-6 chapters at the same time depending on what scene has drawn my attention. I might write something today that fits in the chapter I am currently working on and then by the time I finish writing other stuff, I realize that it doesn’t really fit there and stick it ahead into the next chapter or ten chapters from now. I write where my heart takes me and where my creativity flows.

I rarely ever work on more than one story at the same time, though I did write the short Newtina one-shot for my friend Heather as a Christmas present in 2018. She requested it and I couldn’t write it, I found it so hard as I like them but it’s not characters I loved enough to write so I did it with a Luna spin-in, which I found helped. I never take writing requests so this was very different for me, but I think it turned out cute: Say Love, ‘Cause We Got All the Time in the World. I only recently uploaded it a month or so ago because I found it on my computer LOL.

Do you make notes, timeline or character sketches and stuff or do you just go ahead and write and then make notes on facts?

Once I am into the story, my notes are EXTREMELY detailed. I do have a time line and separate documents for the following:

Character lists and family trees

General notes on: Political stuff, bills I’ve written, the sacred 28 document I wrote, tattoos mentioned, important dates, moon cycle dates of Remus’ life, classes I’ve invented (what they are about, who teaches them etc), textbook list per school year, notes on each Animagus form and information about their animals, actual time tables I wrote up Monday to Friday for Harry’s third/fourth, and fifth year, details of Zee and Tonks’ engagement rings, history and outline of Dante’s circles of hell with notes on how to incorporate into story, notes on pregnancy, character’s wands, geographic locations of characters, and any other little notes I think are important but don’t belong in the bullet points at the end of my current WIP chapter

History and ancestry of each family (from Harry Potter Lexicon, Pottermore, Harry Potter wiki, and my own personal creations). This also includes manor information for Potter, Black, Longbottom, Nott, and Malfoy.

Hogwarts lay-out including stuff I’ve added or made up

Ministry of Magic departments and people (known and created)

List of spells (including ones I’ve made up and which chapter and which character introduced it to who)

List and pictures of Sirius’ motorbikes with information on each one

List of Pensieve memories and marauder moments (crossed out which ones I’ve shared already, some are written and waiting to be used and others just a general idea)

Terms and phrases from different languages I’ve used in the past

My playlist of songs I have mentioned in the story

An entire document dedicated to Operation FUVP including a Voldemort timeline which I have now shared in the story itself (also includes when and where each character found the Horcruxes)

A list of some of the recipes I mentioned, and

I have a 72 page document that is literally just detailed chapter summaries to help me remember what the hell I’ve written LOL (also highlights introductions to new characters in a different font colour to help me find out when people were introduced).

Hope this answers your question -- thank you again for asking!

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unpack-my-heart · 5 years ago

Text

IT Fandom Prompt Week 2019 - Day 2

I wrote a silly little meet-ridiculous for day 2 of the It Fandom Prompt Week! (College AU / Coffee Shop AU / Roommates AU)

Read it on AO3 or posted below the cut.

Preview:

“This isn’t my room”

“It is not”

“You aren’t … in my room”

“Nope”

“I’m in your room”

“Yup”

[OR: Eddie Kaspbrak has a really bad day]

@constantreaderfool

By all accounts, Eddie Kaspbrak had had the worst day possible. No day could possibly have gone as badly as today had gone.

To start with, his alarm hadn’t gone off.

6:45 ….

6:53 …

7:08 …

7:31 …

8:04 …

“SHIT!”

After launching himself out of bed with all the strength of a river salmon propelling itself upstream, he’d promptly slipped on the hoodie he’d discarded last night, and landed on his knee awkwardly. A dark red mark almost immediately bloomed on his right knee, and Eddie cursed knowing that it’d become an ugly, mottled yellow in a few days.

Hopping on his left foot and cursing past-Eddie for being such a slob and not putting his clothes away properly, Eddie scrambled around trying to find his safety goggles and steel-toe capped boots for today’s lab. They were doing … something … with six-cylinder piston engines, and despite racking his brains, Eddie couldn’t remember what. Maybe Bev would know.

To: Miss Marsh:

What r we doing today?

From: Miss Marsh:

Dunno, didn’t look at the schedule

To: Miss Marsh:

You bring dishonour on yourself and dishonour on your cow

To: Miss Marsh:

Love you too. See you in a bit x

Bev did not know.

One shoe on, one shoe lodged under the wardrobe, and Eddie still couldn’t find his goggles.

Two shoes on, the fundamental principles of aeronautical engineering lodged firmly in his backpack.

Safety goggles, still missing.

8:45 …

8:58 …

9:02 …

“SHIT!”

Eddie had never been late before. Ever. Never ever ever.

Saftey goggles be damned, Eddie sprinted out of his dorm room, slamming the door behind him, and charged off down the hallway.

Three minutes later, and puffing like a train, Eddie careened straight into his door, scrabbling in his pocket for his keys.

Locking the door this time, Eddie sprinted off to his lab.

– x –

If the morning had gone chaotically, the lab had been even worse.

The professor had berated Eddie for not bringing his safety goggles, and threatened to refuse to let him participate in the practical until Eddie had begged and promised to never let it happen again. Relenting, the professor let Eddie borrow his own safety goggles, and made Eddie promise on pain of death he wouldn’t break them.

Eddie broke them.

He’d been leaning over the engine, screwdriver held between his teeth as he wrestled with a particularly resistant bolt, when the glasses had slipped off his face and smashed on the concrete floor, splintering into four uneven pieces.

Shit.

Shit!

Panicking, Eddie picked up the pieces of safety goggle.

“Beverly”

“Hang on”

“Beverly Marsh!”

“Edward Kaspbrak! Hold yer damn horses, I just gotta –“

A loud pop echoed throughout the classroom.

“Fuck yeah!”

“Language, Miss Marsh!” came an angry voice from the front of the lab.

“Sorry, Professor.”

Beverly placed the severed bit of engine on the bench, and turned to Eddie, who was pitifully cradling the bits of goggle in his hands.

“Beverly,” Eddie moaned, “He’s going to eat me for lunch”

“Eh, I think you’re more snack sized”

“Not helping, asshole”

“Do you want me to tell him I broke them?”

“No”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know”

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Eddie didn’t have to do anything.

Without warning, water started to rain down from the ceiling, and piercing shrieks echoed around the room.

“FUCK!”

– X –

The class shuffled outside, drenched through. Waiting for them outside were members of the college maintenance team with guilty looks plastered on their faces.

“Sorry about this, guys. The sprinkler system had been malfunctioning in here for the past few days and we really thought we’d fixed it”

Luckily, the professor stormed off to the head of maintenance’s office, presumably to complain about the sprinkler malfunction potentially ruining the engines, but unluckily, Eddie was now soaked.

The students shuffled back into their lab to collect their abandoned possessions, and Eddie’s textbook was almost entirely ruined. The pages had turned to a mulchy soup, the ink running wildly on the page, rendering the text unreadable. Bev patted Eddie sympathetically on the shoulder as he yowled in pain.

“You can share mine”

– X –

Seeing as the lab was Eddie’s only class of the day, and he was now soaked through to his bones, he decided to go home and shower. Working on autopilot, Eddie beeped into the building, and started trudging up the stairs to the third floor. When he’d reached his door, he shoved it open and –

“DANCE THIS MESS AROUND, ‘ROUND, ‘ROUN– WHAT THE FUCK”

There was a naked man in Eddie’s bedroom.

Only, this wasn’t Eddie’s bedroom.

The walls were covered in posters of bands Eddie’s dad had listened to, the bed wasn’t made, the duvet was black instead of white, there were dirty plates scattered on the floor, and most importantly, there was a naked stranger standing in the middle of the room with comically large headphones on his head, a scandalised expression painted on his face.

“Can I help you?” naked-stranger asked, hands now covering his crotch.

“This isn’t 302”

“It is not”

“This isn’t my room”

“It is not”

“You aren’t … in my room”

“Nope”

“I’m in your room”

“Yup”

“Why am I still talking”

“Now that, I can’t tell ya, short-stack”

“I can’t – I can’t move”

“Too awe-struck?”

“What?”

“Y’know. Surveying the goods. Checking out the merchandise. Other synonyms that mean the same thing, checking me out?”

“Uh”

“That isn’t a no”

At that, Eddie’s brain seemed to kickstart, and he turned on his heel and sprinted down the corridor, naked-stranger’s laugh following him as he ran.

– X –

Three days later and Eddie had almost, almost, stopped thinking about the naked-stranger incident every five seconds. It was now more like every hour or two.

The thing that annoyed Eddie the most about the whole thing was that the naked-stranger was the most attractive person he’d seen for years. Years.

Eddie had been telling Stan about the naked-stranger at work, apron’s tied around their waists and faux-smiles plastered on their faces as they made complicated iced drinks for grumpy students.

“He was … kinda beautiful”

“Really?” Stan asked, pumping caramel syrup into a plastic cup.

“Yeah, he was singing this stupid B-52s song and leaping around like an excitable frog, but he had this hair and … well he also had really nice arms and he was tall and –“

“Was he?”

“Yeah, and he really couldn’t sing for shit but … I could tell that he was probably really funny”

“Funny, you say?”

“Yeah! He called me short-stack though which was fucki– really annoying, but … I could get over that for his arms”

Eddie, who was facing away from the counter cleaning spilt syrup off of a mug by hand because they had hit their mid-afternoon lull, looked up at Stan for the first time since he’d started talking.

Stan was staring straight past Eddie, trying and failing to not laugh.

Eddie turned around.

“Hello, short-stack”

Naked-stranger was standing directly behind him, leaning on the counter, and beaming. “

“What the fuck” Eddie hissed under his breath, and promptly dropped the mug on the floor.

“So you like my arms do you, sunshine?”

“I can’t breathe”

Stan and naked-stranger were cackling, and Eddie couldn’t breathe.

“Did you know – how did you know it was him?” Eddie directed at Stan, pissily.

“I’ve known Richie for years, and he told me that some short and adorable guy ran into his room a few days ago. I didn’t think much of it until you started talking about running into some tall naked guys room so I texted Richie to let him know that I’d found you”

“So you’re both taking the piss out of me, then”

“No!” naked-stranger – Richie – insisted, trying to reach Eddie’s arm.

Eddie swatted him away, and ripped his apron off, letting it flutter sadly to the floor.

“I’m taking my break”

– X –

Eddie was leaning against the back wall of the coffee shop when Richie appeared.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“You’re an asshole”

“Hmm… kinda regret spending a penny on that, gotta be honest”

“What do you want?”

“Your number” Richie replied breezily, leaning on his side against the wall, looking at Eddie hopefully.

“Why would I give you that?”

“You like my arms”

“I don’t – I – fuck”

“Maybe after a few dates, Eds. I don’t put out that easily”

“I guess you do have nice arms”

“See! I knew these puppies would help me out one day,” Richie affirmed, flexing his biceps.

“So you promise this isn’t all a big joke? That you aren’t gonna stand me up or tell all your friends that you’re planning on tricking the –“

“Hey, ssh. It’s not a joke. When you burst into my room like that, I gotta be honest, I was a little bit surprised but when I heard that the most attractive guy I’ve seen around these here parts still has the hots for me after seeing me in all my naked glory, I couldn’t not do anything about it”

“Who’s the other guy that saw you naked?”

Richie rolled his eyes and shifted on the wall, bumping his shoulder against Eddie’s.

“You gonna gimme your digits then, or what?”

“Maybe”

Eddie pushed himself off the wall, and brushed his hands on his jeans.

“Ask Stan to text you my number”

“Oh, Eddie Spaghetti, you won’t regret this. I’ll wine and dine you real good”

“I’m already regretting it”

#reddie #it fandom prompt week #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #college au #coffee shop au #IT #it fandom #itfandomprompts

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eyessharpweaponshot · 5 years ago

Note

I really enjoy your fics and the fic recs you’ve done in the past, but with all the new ones for Big Bang and bingo I really don’t know where to start! Any pointers?

Hi nonny.

Wow, tough question. Bellarke Big Bang had so many wonderful fics submitted for its challenge (some that are still on my ‘marked to read’ section on ao3) and mine and @pawprinterfanfic challenge (Bellarke Bingo) has submissions almost daily so again, I haven’t gotten around to reading them all yet.

But I will try to form a fic rec for you based on the ones I have read. I’ll add the links, pop in the summary and then give a brief commentary (in italics) of what I thought/why the fic needed to be included in this rec list.

We’ll start with @bellarkebigbang:

1. Paint me in Trust by @pawprinterfanfic

Clarke is on the run. It’s 1997 in Britain, during the height of the Second Wizarding War. Voldemort is running rampage through the Wizarding World, fear is weighing heavily on everyone, and anyone who doesn’t side with the Dark Lord is in danger. Clarke was expected to side with him. She’s from a pureblood family that has decades tangled with the Dark Arts, after all. But, she didn’t.

So, she ran. Somehow, she finds her way to a safe house where she meets with other wizards and witches on the run.

All Bellamy wanted to do is to keep his sister safe. Instead of saving her, he’s stuck in a safe house with her. She’s a Slytherin, and she’s the daughter of a Death Eater. He doesn’t trust Clarke; why should he? Now, he’s stuck with her as they roam around the country, looking for places to stay safe and stay hidden. He quickly realizes that things could be worse. And… maybe Clarke isn’t as bad as he thought.

A Harry Potter world AU, written by my magnificent friend Essie. I’m not just putting this here because she’s my friend, this fic is actual gold. It’s so well written, like everything she writes, and I cannot get enough of it. Brilliance.

2. We were in love (now we’re strangers) by @raven-reyes-of-sunshine

Bellamy stares at his phone in concern. Asking him to fake date Clarke would be a weird thing to ask even if they were still friends. But they’re not. They hardly even talk anymore. But for Raven to be asking, practically begging, there must be a fairly good reason that Clarke needs a fake boyfriend for this wedding. It’s just not something she would be asking otherwise. Especially not something she would be getting Raven to ask him. It’s a lot and it has him concerned.

He’s not agreeing to it. He’s just saying that he’s going to need more time and more information and maybe a face to face conversation before he makes a decision. He and Clarke might not be friends anymore. But he’d known her forever. He can’t help caring. He cares with his whole heart. He can’t stop that. And he won’t lie. He’s a little curious. So he sends Raven a message that says they’ll discuss it when she’s sober and switches off his phone so he can sleep.

This girl was born with heaps of talent. I actually got the opportunity to pre-read a little bit of this fic before it was posted and it was agony waiting for the rest of it. It grips you from the opening line and I can’t sell this fic enough. READ IT.

3. Take Me to Your River (A Waltz in Three Parts) by @chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky

After the events on the Ground, Clarke and Bellamy no longer feel like the team they once were. They’re puzzle pieces that don’t fit, languages with no connection, and worlds with no peace. So when they venture out into the new planet to scout before waking everyone up, they have an opportunity to relearn who they are after all the time apart, discovering the people they’ve become.

Except when they stumble across an abandoned mansion in the woods from a distant piano, they discover this world has hidden traps that Earth never had. Now they’ll have to survive their own ghosts. Except what will they do when the real ghosts are each other?

The Day Trip 2.0 fic no one asked for.

I adored this fic from beginning to end. It had to be part of my rec list because it’s one fic that stands out in my head when I think of this challenge. And I also love the girl who wrote it too - such a sweetheart.

4. In A Pitch Black World (Anything Goes) by @talistheintrovert

Bellamy and Clarke fell in love in Cairo in 1943, and then Clarke broke his heart. In 1949, Bellamy is working as a Private Investigator in London when Clarke turns up on his doorstep claiming her grandfather was murdered. No-one is above suspicion and the killer is poised to strike again.Or, the Crooked House AU that I’ve been *dying* to write for months.

Is it really a fic rec if Talis isn’t apart of it? The artwork of this fic combined with the story is so so beautiful and I always remember it. It’s such a gripping plot and I’d re-read this until I die. Yeah, this has to make the cut!

5. A Watch With No Hands by @kinetic-elaboration

Bellamy has lived his whole life in space, in a series of 300-year old space stations known as the Ark. When an oxygen crisis sends the stations down to Earth, he flees the beginning of a military dictatorship, and discovers that his long-abandoned home planet isn’t as deserted as he believed it to be.

Clarke lives in peace with her people, making art that celebrates the beauty of the Earth. But a recent discovery by her best friend has opened up the possibility that the world was not always this peaceful, nor this beautiful. Wells’s subsequent disappearance, the surreptitious experiments of her neighbors, and the inscrutable silence of the village’s leader, all contribute to a growing sense of unease in her community. When she encounters a stranger in the woods, they give each other the answers they’ve each been seeking: about history, peace, trust, the Earth’s violent past, and its hopeful future.

This was one of the most intriguing and unique storylines that I read in the Big Bang challenge. The way everything was described, the detail - ugh, it’s just a masterpiece. I wonder why I bother writing when I read fics like this one, how could I compare?

6. Hung up on You by @eyessharpweaponshot

Bellamy Blake does not get hung up on girls. It just doesn’t happen. It’s probably why he’s out of his depth when his easy ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement with Clarke Griffin turns into something he can’t control. He’s heartbroken when she leaves town, leaves him, and he thinks he’s made a good effort to move on. However, upon her return, it only takes the mere mention of her name for the crushing realisation to hit: he never got over her at all.

I’m gonna plug my own fic submission to Big Bang here guys. Because, well, why not?

***

Okay. Onto @bellarkebingo. This challenge is obviously close to my heart as myself and Essie are hosting it and I will eventually get around to all the fics on there.

I, myself, haven’t even had time to complete anything off of my own bingo card yet but I’m so excited to do it. The talent that has come out of this challenge already is off the chain and sign ups are always open, so come on over and request a card to start writing.

Here are some of the fics I have been loving so far:

1. Melt Into You by @icantloseyou-too

Clarke might have underestimated the blizzard. What was supposed to be a late finish at the clinic to catch up on paperwork turns into a storm-stayed night with the last person she would have expected, but as she’s about to find out, a lot can happen in one night.

Wow guys, just wow. What people are doing with the tropes on their cards - I can’t deal. I have no fingernails left after this fic - I was hooked, obsessed, invested, heartbroken, intrigued and outrageously happy. I love this girl to death and she created thee most magnificent piece for bellarke bingo. Bravo!

2. guess it’s never really over by @captaindaddykru

“You want me to put a kitchen supply up my—”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he interjects, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. It fades and a heavy feeling of resignation settles between them. “Imagine how many diapers we could buy with that kind of money.”

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, almost petulant. She knows he hates it when she gives him an attitude for no reason. “Well, what do you expect we do?” Does he wanna blow it off? He never used to be a quitter. She lets out almost this nervous chuckle, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she thinks of the most ridiculous option of them all. “The old-fashioned way?”

He half-shrugs, cool expression on his face. Still, she knows him too well to not realize he’s being completely serious. “It worked out pretty well for us last time.”

Or: Clarke and Bellamy think it’s a good idea to try and have another child together even though they divorced three years ago.

Right, for those of you who know me well, seeing ‘exes, angst and smut’ in a bellarke fic just basically shoots the fic into my favourites/will read again pile straight away. This fic more than lived up to it. The plot was awesome and something I’ve never read before and even just describing it makes me want to go back and read it again right now. Amazing.

3. dance away your fear of love by @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold

Life for Bellamy Blake hasn’t changed much in the past few years, not since his mother’s death and he took over her coffee shop in his hometown of Stars Hollow. That is until he receives a phone call from his ex, his high school girlfriend Clarke Griffin. Motherhood brings Clarke back home and from there they slip into new roles, while he battles old forgotten emotions.

This was everything I never knew I needed. The characterisation, the plot, the FEELS. This had to be on the rec list, there was no way I’d consider leaving it off of it. It was honestly perfect, from every angle. Not to mention that the author is a complete and utter babe.

4. to save a life I didn’t have by @kombellarke

Post 6.08 Speculation. Bellamy drags Josephine through the woods in search of Gabriel. He is confronted by a manifestation of his darkest fear and deepest desire, Clarke Griffin.

I have read other fics from this author and honestly, she just gets better and better each time she writes. Such an amazing, heart wrenching fic. It was one of the first submissions I read and it brought the biggest smile to my face to see such talented fics coming to our challenge.

5. Would Roses Bloom by @icantloseyou-too

Clarke was totally fine with being ‘just friends’ with Bellamy, honestly. Even on the nights they kissed they were just friends. Even on the nights they fell into each other’s beds they were just friends. So when Bellamy starts dating Echo it shouldn’t sting at all. It shouldn’t.

Another fic submission by this girl and honestly, I can’t tell you which one I like better. They are both phenomenal but this fic stands out majorly to me. I can relate to it on a personal level and reading it makes me feel like I’m actually living in the plot. My heart races and I feel the shame, the worry, the pain - EVERYTHING.

6. Sick of Losing Soulmates by @pawprinterfanfic

Clarke and Bellamy talk after the events at Gabriel’s. After almost losing her again, Bellamy intends to not let emotions go unspoken.

I don’t think Essie has wrote a fic yet where I haven’t shed a tear over it. This was incredibly beautiful and so well written. I’m so lucky to know such inspirational, incredible writers.

7. hanging all her hopes on the stars by @carrieeve

a month ago, Bellamy and Clarke slept together. a one-time, drunken thing and now they are very much not talking about it. in fact, they are not really talking about anything because Clarke is sure Bellamy doesn’t want it to mean anything and since she’s been in love with him for years now, this all feels pretty much like the world is ending.

the world, not one to be outdone, decides to show off and actually ends.

I just read this fic this morning and I couldn’t leave it off the rec list. It was so good, so interesting and a great concoction of tropes off of her bingo card. I’m very fond of Karolina’s fics and this did not let me down. So good and a perfect fic to end the fic rec with.

#bellarke big bang #fic rec list #eyessharpweaponshot #bellarke bingo #ask #answered #anon #bellarke fanfiction #jensficrecs

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altairs-smores · 7 years ago

Text

Smoldering Gold

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s Vanderan Week! ₍˄·͈༝·͈˄₍˄·͈༝·͈˄( ͒ ु•·̫• ू ͒)˄·͈༝·͈˄₎˄·͈༝·͈˄₎ fudge I am as happy as a bunny right now! RPing as Vandy gives me too many ideas for this cute week so here’s a late post fic for day 1! ~(=^‥^)ノ☆

Day 1: First Meeting

‘It was the same every single day. The same train, the same people, and the same path he took to work and back home. He wasn’t expecting to see smoldering gold when he took the long way home.’

[Also on AO3]

It was the same noisy alarm that woke him up. The same routine to make – quick shower, cook breakfast, get dressed for work, and leave the house at exactly 6:00 a.m. It was the same every single day. The same train, the same people in suits, and the same path he took to work and back home. He wasn’t expecting to see smoldering gold when he took the long way home.

Vanderwood was a normal secretarial employee of C&R International. He would spend long, grueling days with an unending stack of paperwork and projects to handle. The brunet used to have a teaching job, but he wasn’t making enough. He was spending more than what he was earning. Looking back, maybe he should’ve stayed as a teacher. All this stress wasn’t doing him any good, even though what went in his back account was already growing to 6 figures.

The brunet sighed, reading through the project he was assigned to. Another cat project, this time it was a cat daycare. His boss, Han Jumin, had an obsession with cats, it was weird and he couldn’t see why the ladies adored it. Sure, it wasn’t everyday you’d see a man gushing over his cat, but Mr. Han was on another level. Vanderwood shook his head and went back to reading the papers. Thinking about the cat obsession of his boss won’t help with the task at hand.

He didn’t notice when it struck lunchtime, but he was quicker than lightning in going down to the cafeteria when he realized it was break time. He stretched on his seat, the delicious smelling food was inviting and he couldn’t wait but dig in.

“Good job today, Ms. Vanderwood.” Jaehee Kang’s voice was like the gentle jingle of wind chimes. The brunet always looked forward to talks with the assistant, not because he found her attractive. Oh no, Miss Kang was an attractive woman, but she already had a girlfriend. He looked forward to spending time with her mostly because they could blabber about how hectic the day had been, and it would do wonders to their stress levels. Not to mention, it was fun to listen to the usually stoic woman gush about her idol ZEN and her ever supportive girlfriend.

“Miss Kang. I keep telling you it’s not ‘Miss.’ The others are looking weirdly at you.” He teased as the woman smiled brightly at him. It was an inside joke between the two of them – Jaehee thought he was a woman at first and starting then, she didn’t drop the ‘Miss’ which would garner confused looks from other employees, but Vanderwood didn’t mind. “What did Mr. Han demand of you today?”

Unlike other days where Jaehee would go on a long rant about how Mr. Han was insisting in launching another cat project which they weren’t sure would even hit, the woman’s eyes brightened considerably and she made this little, unnoticeable wiggle. Vanderwood was in for a big surprise if the other looked this excited.

“Mr. Han put me in charge of a café.” Jaehee took a sip from her coffee cup before beginning a long, detailed plan on what kind of café, what ambiance, what to sell, who to cater – down to the smallest detail of what furniture to use. The brunet listened intently, never missing a beat or even the slightest gesture the woman was making. She was practically glowing and her actions screamed ‘happy,’ Vanderwood was genuinely glad for her. Jaehee found something to look forward to besides going home to the love of her life. Their lunch break was spent on talking about their projects and asking each other for tips, which was quite a nice change in his monotonous routine.

Maybe something was wrong with this day. Were the fates preparing him for something positive? Or were they merely playing around with him? Either way, he wasn’t expecting to be given an early leave. It seemed that maintenance didn’t do their work right, and now to avoid important soft-copied documents getting deleted or lost on accident, C&R granted its employees to leave earlier while maintenance and IT personnel worked together to fix the problem.

The sun was barely setting and the wind was cool against his skin, so Vanderwood decided to take the long way home. A nice, leisurely walk was perfect for a day like this. Furthermore, he might catch his former students getting out of school. Dropping by for a short hello wouldn’t hurt seeing as he had time to spare.

“Seonsaengnim!” A group of students surrounded him immediately and Vanderwood nodded, recognizing his former students. There had been a lot of questions about him – where did he work, why wasn’t he dropping by, did he have a girlfriend – and as much as the brunet missed his students, he certainly didn’t miss this interrogation part.

“I just arrived and you’re already hitting it hard with the questions. I can only handle a few.” He said with a small smile, his eyes roaming until it met a pair of golden eyes. The brunet felt like his surroundings stopped as his focus was solely on those beautiful, smoldering eyes as if he was in a daze.

“Seongsaengnim?” He tore his gaze from the boy and looked at his students. The brunet looked back to where the boy was standing, but alas. He was gone. Confused, Vanderwood simply shook his head and gave the eager students his attention, but he still was thinking about the exquisite golden eyes he laid eyes on.

It was sunset when he finally tore himself away from the students, claiming to be busy when in fact he left work at the company. Vanderwood took his time, admiring the scenery he didn’t quite have the time to admire before. The sky was ablaze, bright hues of orange and yellow overpowering the blues. The grass sway to the breeze, and the river sparkled under the light like it contained jewels.

That’s when he noticed a red-head lying by the riverbank. Vanderwood cautiously approached him, and upon closer look, it was him – the owner of those eyes he was taken with. Seemed like he was a student at his former school, a transferee perhaps?

“Aren’t you supposed to go home?” Eyelids flew open as the boy abruptly sat up; embarrassed that he was caught taking a nap. He got a glimpse of those smoldering golden eyes once more and the brunet couldn’t help but think about how mesmerizing they were.

“What’s a teacher like you doing here?”

“I’m not a teacher anymore, kid.” The brunet said as a matter of fact, lifting the briefcase he held. Curious eyes flitted all over him, Vanderwood still having a mental quiz, trying to figure out what was it about those eyes that attracted him?

“You should be.” The red-head started, dusting off the grass that held unto his pants. “The others liked you. It also seemed like you’re good at it, despite being grumpy.” The student gave him a small smile, those eyes meeting his once again. The brunet didn’t notice how long he was staring, but the other’s chuckle brought him out of his stupor.

“You shouldn’t give a student those looks, Seongsaengnim.” The smile turned into a teasing smirk, smoldering gold eyes narrowing at him. Vanderwood could feel a smirk pulling at his lips that turned into a chuckle and a shake of his head. For a college student he met the first time, the kid was pretty good at catching him off guard.

“It’s Vanderwood, kid.” There it was again – expressive gold eyes. The red-head might sport the straightest face he’d ever seen, but those eyes tell otherwise.

“Choi Saeran.” The student, Saeran, said after a few minutes of silence. He held tight on his school bag and flashed Vanderwood a smile before walking away. Just like that? He was outwitted by, of all possible people, a student?

“You should go back to being a teacher. I heard the staff is lacking.” The cheeky brat called out with a wave, as Vanderwood followed him with his gaze. The offer sounded tempting. He was kind of missing the atmosphere of a classroom. The brunet went back home, head filled with thoughts and weighing the pros and cons of going back to the teaching practice. Most importantly, his mind kept replaying that short encounter he had with Choi Saeran. Cheeky, playful, has his own pace. Going back to being a teacher never sounded so tempting right now.

No, Vanderwood. No preying on students and especially cheeky brats with smoldering gold eyes you just met the first time.

#vanderanweek #day 1 #vanderan #mystic messenger #mysme #vanderwood x saeran #vanderwood #mary vanderwood 3rd #saeran choi #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #fluff #first meeting #alternate universe #canon divergence #altair's mysme writings

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