#by cultivating chillies

[xyrarei]

happy birthday my lil foxy gremlin!! choco chilli cake just for you! (don't worry, it's edible, I tried it before)

[greatloss]

working against the clock to stop the apocalypse for so long, the start of 6 years without that could only have been rough, to put it mildly. not only would it be a tad overwhelming ; c - ptsd developed from decades of always needing to be prepared for the other shoe to drop otherwise you and / or your family die, but also bring out the reginald in five. i'm always on my reginald + five parallels bullshit, but five's operating would not only be quite similar to reginald's, but almost inherited ; the same mantra of 'we must always be prepared for the apocalyptic' that's haunted their family since they were born. five obviously lacks the same means as reginald to monitor his siblings, but he absolutely would monitor them. each apocalypse thus far required their powers as a major element of causation, but the last time five assumed they were in the all - clear, a kugelblitz almost unmade all of reality, so he can't really afford to take any chances. he keeps tabs on where his siblings live and work, and creates profiles to keep updated information on. he finds some shithead who owns a van he can steal [ don't need teleportation to break someone's unsuspecting neck because all they see is a teenager harmless enough to turn their back on ] and keeps his meager belongings in there, the majority of which are little debbie's snacks and a filing cabinet he nicked from the junkyard. he keeps tabs on their father as well, seeing as you can't separate any of their apocalypses from him either, and starts building a profile on who he doesn't yet know to be their mother, but he makes uneducated guesses. if anyone were to stumble upon his van, one could only assume him to be a federal agent of some kind or a very shitty serial killer.

[infomatic93]

Birds Eye chili or Thai chilli Why has it’s become so expensive? 14 health benefits, advantages and disadvantages

Birds Eye chili or Thai chilli Why has it’s become so expensive? 14 health benefits, advantages and disadvantages

[moonstruckme]

I feel like Poly!marauders are sooo caring so maybe a dynamic where the reader is like an overly-insependent person and is not used to this kind of care and affection. Maybe it is reader’s first relationship so they have a hard time with the concept of leaning to others for support. Thank you in advance love!

Lmao this came wayyy too easily because I've definitely done all of these things! Thanks for requesting lovely <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

"Where you headed off to, gorgeous?" Sirius looks up from his laptop as you step into your shoes.

"Grocery store," you say. "I'm thinking of making souffle tonight, would you want some?"

"Yeah, that sounds great." He grins at you in that way of his, and you know he knows your knees just went wobbly. "Want a lift?"

"Thanks, but the bus goes almost directly there."

Remus looks up from his book with eyebrows already furrowed in disapproval. "It's nearly dark out, love. You shouldn't be walking around by yourself this late."

You roll your eyes. Men. "I can handle myself, been doing it for years," you say as reassuringly as you can, slipping out the door before either of them can argue with you further. "I'll be back soon!"

You keep a hand close to the rape alarm attached to your bag as you maneuver your way through the shadowy streets. You've been tired since you woke up that morning, so a ride would have been nice, sure, but you don't want to become one of those girlfriends who relies on her boyfriends for everything. That was your biggest concern with getting into a relationship: losing the sense of self-reliance you've cultivated over your life. You don't need help from anyone, even if the big, strong men think you do. You huff a laugh to yourself.

The grocery shopping goes quick, soon you're back at your own front door. Sirius and Remus are almost exactly as you left them, both curled up on the couch, but now James is home from the gym. You know this, because he apprehends you as soon as you walk through the door, hair wet from the shower and dripping on your paper grocery bags as he attempts to take them from you.

"I've got them," you laugh, dodging him.

James gives chase. "You're carrying three! Let me take a couple."

"I can handle it." You kick at his ankle playfully, sniffling.

He pauses, and you take the opportunity to whisk the bags into the kitchen, setting them on the counter victoriously. "You feeling alright, sweetheart?" he asks.

"Yeah." You wave him off. "It's just chilly outside. Go relax, I'm about to start dinner."

James pouts but goes, flopping dramatically over the side of the couch. His head lands in Sirius' lap, and the other boy starts combing his fingers through the tangles of James' wet hair absentmindedly. Satisfied, you start setting out the ingredients you'll need, but a moment later Remus materializes beside you.

"You've been running around all day," he says. "Let me make dinner. You go relax."

"I don't mind," you say, slightly affronted. "I can handle dinner."

"Baby," Sirius pipes up, turning to look at you over the couch, "just let him do it. Take a—" he stops as you sneeze. "Are you sick?"

"No," you sniffle. "I don't think so."

Before you can move away, Remus has a hand on your forehead. "You're warm!" he says, in the same tone as one might say You're killing people and burying them in our backyard! A bit dramatic, in your opinion.

"Oh," you say, covering your face with your elbow as you sneeze again.

"Aw, angel," James says, your sole ally as Remus and Sirius look at you accusingly, as though they suspect you've been keeping this from them on purpose. Which....to be fair, isn't outside the realm of possibility. "Come sit with us, let us take care of you."

"Go," Remus says, moving his hand to the back of your neck and pursing his lips at whatever he feels there. "I'll make dinner, and some tea for you, yeah?"

You shake your head. "That's alright, I can—"

"Don't say you can handle it."

You huff, but it's clear you're not going to win this one. You go to the couch, where James accepts you with eager arms.

"Our poor girl," he coos, kissing every inch of your cheek sloppily. "Fuck, you are warm. You just need to take some time to rest, yeah?"

You sniffle grouchily, but Sirius pokes at your side, eliciting an unwilling snicker. "You could stand to let us help you out every now and then," he says, already seeming less upset with you. You suspect you have your illness to thank for that.

"I can take care of myself," you argue, but the fight is going out of you as you finally give into the cold you maybe sort of knew was coming on all day.

"We know you can, dove," Remus chimes in from the kitchen. "And that's what you've always done, but letting us take care of you sometimes isn't going to suddenly make you helpless, either." He shoots you a knowing look, too perceptive for his own good. And yours, apparently.

You sneeze again, jerking away from James so you don't spray on him. You feel disgusting, and pathetically vulnerable. Is this what they want you to succumb to? "I don't want to get too used to this," you say, voice small as you sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve, "and forget how to manage without your help."

Each of your boyfriends, even Remus, softens like butter in the sun.

"Baby." Sirius wraps an arm around you, looking at you with eyes so soft you feel like you could cry. "You won't forget. You're tough, and that's not gonna change just because you let us do some things for you, yeah?"

You look at your lap, contemplating. He's not not making sense. The idea of accepting help is so unfamiliar to you, it feels like a betrayal of your core values. But you love Sirius, and Remus, and James, and if what they want is to help you, maybe you can try to let them. Some of the time, at least.

Sirius curls a finger under your jaw, his thumb resting on your chin as he tilts your face up to his. He must see the concession in your eyes, because he smiles softly. It's almost an apology, and you know that he's aware of how difficult this is for you to give up.

"You're gonna have to get used to this, sweet thing," he says lightly, pressing a kiss to your overwarm forehead. "Because we're not letting you go."

[baddywronglegs]

You hear quite often that humans liking spicy food is weird:

Spicy food evolved to discourage mammals from eating it, because we chew up the seeds so mammals are bad at spreading more plants so our shit isn't worth shit to them - birds, who are famously bad at chewing so can shit out a perfectly intact chilli seed, aren't affected, but to mammals it tricks heat receptors into thinking a Bad Heat is happening.

But then along came humans who go "You know what, put that pain in me, I want to be hurt on the way in and the way out" but this is also the species really reliant on cooking so I guess it makes sense that we'd have less aversion to something in our mouth appearing hot.

But bitterness? That's weird.

So how you taste the primary tastes is a reall loose categorisation done on what simple chemistry your tongue can manage:

Sweet is things your mouth thinks are sugars. Sugars mean quick energy, and body like quick energy so its reaction to them is "yum".

Sour means it's acidic, that's literally just tasting hydrogen ions which are what make acids acids (mostly anyway but you don't want to taste any that are acidic any other way). Sour can mean "This fruit has gone from having sugar in it to having bad in it" so it's a not-great taste.

Umami is protein taste for the most part, and we need that to make more body, so yeah generally positive response.

Salty is salt. That's pretty much all I have for you there. It's your body looking out for sodium ions it needs *some of*. So it's pleasant in a modicum but your mouth has a way of telling you that's too much salt. Some people like their mouth telling them it's too much salt. It's not a perfect system.

And then there's bitterness. Bitterness is really vague, lots tastes bitter, because it's a really scattergun sense to detect poison.

That's literally all bitterness is to detect. Poison. It's your mouth telling you not to eat this.

Humans... Do not care. We name drinks after this taste, voluntarily buy and drink them. We cultivate plants for this taste. Hmm, this gin could do with tasting more like poison. What's your favourite kind of beer? Going-off fruit taste? Oh, mine's tastes-like-poison.

I'm not saying everything that tastes bitter is poison. But I am saying the most bitter thing known to man is strychnine. And the Victorians were so obsessed with the idea that if a sensation is unpleasant it must be good for you led to them trying strychnine as an anti-malarial.

It had some success, as it doesn't take much strychnine to guarantee you don't die of malaria.

[amnhnyc]

Even though it's still chilly in New York, spring has technically sprung! With the start of the season comes the arrival of fragrant and colorful flowers, like the tulip. This archival image, from the Museum's library, shows tulips in the flowerbeds at the 77th Street facade. This vibrant blossom is a member of the Liliaceae family, which also includes lilies. The tulip is a bulbiferous plant, meaning its organs are stored within a bulb underground, from which the main stem and flower emerges. The tulip was first cultivated in Persia, but today, it’s widely grown for its pop of color and can be spotted around the world.

Photo: Image no. K13056, AMNH Library

[shanastoryteller]

Happy pride!!

Fem MXY WWX pls!!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

They're back to riding, only a couple hours away from Jin Tower, and Wei Wuxian is happy to be off his feet, but he can't even focus on that.

He's too busy feeling desperately sad for Mo Xuanyu.

She lived as a pauper in a family that despised her, had a father that ignored her, was so lonely that she named her sword Friend, and killed herself rather than marry Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan would have been nice to her. It took him a while to warm up, but he's trying now, to do his duty as a proper husband. Which is inconvenient for Wei Wuxian, but probably would have meant the world to Mo Xuanyu.

She didn't have to die. If she'd been able to hold onto hope for just a few more days, instead of giving in to revenge and despair, then she could have lived out her life out from underneath the thumb of other people.

"Are you okay?"

He startles out of his thoughts, looking up to see Sizhui has pulled his mare up beside his and is peering at him in concern.

He forces a smile, because he's put Sizhui through enough today, and he's a good boy that doesn't deserve to be involved in any of this. The worst part about dying again is going to be leaving behind Sizhui. He's such a sweet boy who loves him so easily and he just knows that it's going to break his heart when either the cultivation or the curse mark has run its course. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just thinking."

Sizhui looks unconvinced, but nods before looking up towards the front of the procession, where Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan are talking about something while Jin Guangyao pretends to be interested. He reaches into his sleeve. "I found some of these in town when I went looking for you."

He pulls out a small bag of the sweet, spicy pepper candy that Wei Wuxian likes so much and hold it out.

"You're the best!" he says, taking the bag and also pausing to squeeze his arm in thanks, only not pulling him into a hug because he's not sure how tolerant the horses will be about it.

The food in Cloud Recesses is ass and he can't cover everything with chilli oil because the only person he'd met who liked food as spicy as he did was - well, no one. So having Mo Xuanyu like spicy food had seemed like edging a little too close to obvious.

He'd been so happy when Sizhui had brought pepper candy back for him for the first time and had sworn him to secrecy to how how much he loved them.

Wei Wuxian pops one of the candies in his mouth, sucking on it to more quickly get to the firey pops of pepper, which is his favorite.

There's about five seconds of deliciousness and then his stomach rolls with nausea. He tightens his grip, trying to ride it out, but the taste of the candy he loved turns sour and he's seriously worried he's going to hurl, which Lan Zhan would never let him hear the end of.

He spits the candy out onto the ground, rubbing at his mouth.

"Lady Xuanyu?" Sizhui asks startled. "Is - sorry, did I get the wrong one?"

"No, no, it's perfect," he assures, internally sighing in relief as his stomach starts to settle. "I guess I shouldn't eat them on an empty stomach! It ruins the flavor. Who knew?"

He's eaten them on an empty stomach a dozen times before and never had an issue.

"Okay," Sizhui says slowly. 'Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Sizhui, don't worry," he says, and means it, even though he sort of wants to cry.

The pepper candies were one of the only things he could get his hands on that he enjoyed eating, and now even that's gone?

At least the Jin go all out on the banquets.

[v-is-obsessive]

God Only Knows

Angus Tully x fem!Reader

summary: being in love with your best friend is hard, and another date fails at trying to distract you from your feelings for Angus. feeling alone and ashamed, you run to him for comfort. (hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers)

warnings: none really... (let me know if i missed any)

requested: yes | no

word count: ~1.3k

A/N: first angus fic!!!! this actually took so long to write but i'm decently proud of it. let me know what you thought and send me requests!!! <3

masterlist! / request!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You hadn’t meant to develop feelings for Angus. Truthfully, you wished it would go away as quickly as it was brought on. But with every moment you spent together you could feel yourself slipping further and further into the hole you’d dug yourself. He was a major pain in the ass, but he was also sweeter to you than anyone else had ever been. There was never a moment with Angus that you didn’t feel completely loved and cared for. He listened to all your problems, offered advice when you asked, cheered you on in all aspects of your life, and had always been there for you. You did all the same things for him gladly, and it created a beautiful friendship that cultivated your growing romantic love for him.

You and Angus met when you were twelve years old. You both attended the same private school for junior high and you had become fast friends. You were truly inseparable: walking to and from school, eating lunch, walking to class, hanging out after school, all the way down to your extracurriculars, you did everything together. When high school came around, you were devastated by the news that you would be attending different schools. You were shipped off to an all-girls boarding school and him to an all-boys school. However, with each school that he was sent to after being kicked out, you managed to keep in touch. Writing letters, spending all your dimes at the payphones, sneaking out: you refused to let distance break apart you and your very best friend.

When you realized your feelings for him last summer, you decided your best course of action was to bury them away. You had no reason to believe he felt the same way, so you figured if you never did anything about them, they would fade away and you wouldn’t risk losing him. However, burying your feelings only served to make them stronger. Suddenly, every time he touched you it felt like all your nerves lit on fire. Your heart raced in his presence and nothing else seemed to matter but him.

In an attempt to forget about your feelings for Angus, you begged your girlfriends at school to set you up on blind dates with other boys. You desperately wanted to just meet a half-decent boy that would fix the situation you had gotten yourself into. Unfortunately, though, all of the boys were either terrible people or just didn’t feel right. Even the nice ones you managed to find flaws in. In your mind, although you hated to admit it, nobody else was as good as Angus.

Another date in which the boy talked all about himself and barely let you get a word in led you to this moment. You stand at the window of your longtime best friend's dorm and knock just loud enough for him to hear. The chilly December wind sends a shiver through your body, and you hug your arms closer to your body.

Angus shoots his head up from the magazine he was half-reading. His eyes meet yours and he clumsily stands up from his tiny dorm room bed. He rushes over to the window and slides it open, beckoning you in from the cold. A record is spinning on the player, and you can hear the Beach Boys singing “God Only Knows,” one of your favorites.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought you had that date with what's-his-name?" he asks, surprised but still visibly happy to see you. It's then that he notices your expression. Your features are laced with sheer disappointment and exhaustion. His face softens and he guides you over to his bed and sits down next to you.

"Didn't go so well." you say simply, eyes cast down to the floor. You shrug the heavy jacket off your body and sigh.

"I thought you liked this guy?"

"I thought so too. He was so nice to me when we met, but he was horrible when we went to dinner." you groan.

"I'm sorry. You wanna talk about it?" he asks. You shake your head. "Okay then." He takes your hand and interlaces your fingers comfortingly. You mindlessly rub your thumb over his knuckle as a means of grounding your swimming thoughts. Your spirit feels crushed from the failed attempt at making something work with the stupid boy you thought might distract you from whatever you feel for your best friend. Overwhelming feelings of failure and frustration cause emotion to rise in you. Your chest feels heavy, a lump forms in your throat, and tears begin to well in your eyes. Angus notices you becoming upset and turns his body to face you more directly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” he comforts, pulling you into him and wrapping his long arms around you. A sob racks through your chest.

“I’m so sick of it, Angus.” you cry. Angus feels his heart crack. Unbeknownst to you, Angus hated it when you went on these dates. Every time you told him about a new guy you were going out with, his blood boiled. At first, he couldn’t quite figure out why it made him so upset. He chalked it up to protectiveness over his best friend, or even just being sad you won’t be around him as much. But as time went on, it became increasingly obvious that these theories were not the whole story. He was jealous of those boys.

He didn’t think anyone could ever know you as well as he did, or care for you the way he wanted to.

Angus had enough. He knew in this moment that he never wants to see you hurt like this again, even if it means breaking his own heart. He takes a deep breath before taking the leap of faith.

“Y/N, none of these guys you’re going out with are even close to good enough for you. You deserve the best the world has to offer." He pauses slightly to think of how to tell you his feelings. "You’re hilarious, you’re wicked smart, you’re way too clumsy for your own good, you’re goofy, your smile lights up every room, you’re beautiful, you’re caring and loving even when I don’t deserve it." He stops, smiling at his next words. "You’re perfect.” You pull your head away from his chest, staring into his eyes, tears still stained on your cheeks.

“I love you.” he says, almost whispering. Your eyebrows raise a little with bewilderment and hope.

“Like, you love love me?” you ask.

“Yeah. Love love.” he confirms.

Another tear spills from your eye, but this one is joyful. Your heart swells with happiness and you give a genuine and bright smile. Butterflies flutter in your stomach and relief washes over you.

“I love you too, Angus. God, I feel so silly right now. I only went out with those other guys to get you off my mind.” you laugh. He smiles back at you, a rare wide smile gracing his usually sour appearance. He wipes your tears away, his face only inches away from yours. He’s looking at you with more love than you’d ever seen.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, shyly.

“Of course.” you respond, feeling nervous but dizzy with excitement. His hands cup your cheeks, and he gently moves forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips finally meet and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are slightly chapped, but they fit so perfectly with yours. Every nerve in your body is buzzing with exhilaration. You both grin like idiots through the kiss.

Eventually but reluctantly, you both pull away from the kiss. He smiles and pulls you back into him, laying you both down on his teeny bed. Your head is resting on his chest, and he has both arms wrapped around you. He places a gentle, loving kiss to the top of your head.

The record is still spinning across the room, and it’s nearing the end of the song.

God only knows what I’d be without you… the Beach Boys croon.

Suddenly, you’ve found that one of your favorite songs has taken on a new meaning.

God only knows what you’d be without him.

[hamsterclaw]

Bloom

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 2 - read the rest here.

In a post-nuclear war world, all you have is your son Jiwon. You'd do anything to keep him safe, including putting your trust in your new neighbour Kim Namjoon. You hope you haven't made the biggest mistake of your life.

Pairing: Namjoon x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Dystopian future AU, smut, single mother reader

Warnings: Sex, swearing, violence

Word count: 7.5k

With thanks to @vyduan for helping me work out the kinks (heh) in this story. Love you, Vy.

Author note: Written in response to an ask I got early in the year - a story I've kept chipping away at and now it's finally finished. Anon, I think about you often and I hope you and your kids are doing well. I hope you've had time to heal and no longer think of yourself as a heartbroken single mom, because you are and have always been more than that.

Your breath comes out in puffs of white as you carry an armful of logs to the furnace powering your greenhouse.

Inside, the air is humid, warm, perfect for the vegetables you’re carefully cultivating. Outside, the cold of a perennial winter’s seeped into your bones.

Nothing grows outside, not since the Great War. 

You wonder why they call it ‘great’ when everything is worse now than it was before the war.

You’re emerging from the greenhouse, wiping your hands on a soiled rag, when you hear your new neighbour singing softly.

He’s got a melodious voice with a gorgeous husky tone. You smile to yourself as he sings a tune you know.

Suddenly he stops. ‘Oh shit!’

There’s a clatter of metal against worksurface, the unmistakeable sound of breakage.

You walk up to the wire fence and call out. ‘Need a hand?’

There’s another clatter, then the door to the greenhouse opens and you meet your new neighbour face to face for the first time.

He’s tall, broad shouldered, with a face that makes you wish you’d bothered to comb your hair before you stepped outside this morning.

‘I — uh— heard the noises and just thought I’d check if you were ok,’ you explain.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘Do you have a spare pot? I’ll get you a replacement today, but right now my chilli plant is all over my worktable.’

‘Oh,’ you say, quickly turning. You enter your own greenhouse and emerge with one of your own pots.

‘Here,’ you say, holding it out to him. Your fingertips brush as he takes the pot from you, and you hope you don’t look too flustered.

You say, waving a hand, ‘Don’t worry about a replacement.’

‘My chillies and I thank you,’ he says, so solemnly you laugh.

He smiles warmly at you, and dimples appear in his cheeks.

The juxtaposition of his large frame and his delicately pretty dimples is doing something odd to your fickle heart.

You clear your throat. ‘I’m Y/N,’ you say, suddenly feeling shy. 

‘Namjoon,’ he replies. 

You turn as your son Jiwon approaches, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

You pull off your coat and wrap it around him. 

‘Come on, let’s go inside before you get too cold, ok?’

Jiwon, wrapped in your coat, looks curiously at Namjoon.

‘This is my son, Jiwon. Jiwon, this is our new neighbour Namjoon,’ you say.

You put your arm around Jiwon and lead him back to the house.

‘It was nice to meet you,’ you call over your shoulder.

When you look back, Namjoon’s still standing by the fence, looking at you. 

He waves, once, then turns to go back inside.

***

Jiwon regards you over the porridge bowl you’ve made for his breakfast. 

His eyes are serious, too serious considering he’s barely eight. 

You wish there was a way to protect him from the world.

Instead you make sure he eats, and drinks, and wears his warm coat, because the world may be fucked up but your son isn’t going to go without, not on your watch anyway.

You wonder where Jiwon’s father is now but can’t muster up any emotion about it. The burning desire to watch him suffer faded long ago, leaving nothing in its place.

A blank where your perfect life used to be.

You clear away the plates and pull on your coat. 

‘Ready?’

You walk Jiwon to the single room, little more than a shed, where the makeshift school now is, and as you kiss him goodbye and promise him you’ll pick him up later, you wonder whether things will ever change.

It’s been five years since nuclear warfare destroyed the world, four since Jiwon’s father left, and you’re still waiting for life to get better.

Lost in your thoughts, you nearly bump into a uniformed guard.

You bow and apologise profusely.

You can’t see any of the guards’ faces, but you know they make liberal use of their steel batons. 

The pain of a physical beating, though, would pale in comparison to being detained by the intention readers.

You could recover from a beating, but not from being thoughtwiped.

You shiver and resolve to be more careful as you walk the rest of the way to the community gardenhouse to start your work.

***

You glance at your watch and pick up the pace. You’re late to pick up Jiwon. There had been a raid at the gardenhouse just before you were due to leave, and you and the other gardeners had been searched for contraband.

You arrive at the schoolhouse just in time to see Jiwon being questioned by a guard.

Your heart stops, and you hurry forward, already apologising to the three guards standing over your son.

He’s slight, small for his age, and he looks even smaller surrounded by guards.

You step in front of Jiwon, putting your arm out to keep him behind you.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, bowing low.

The cold steel of a baton nudges under your chin, hard enough to lift your head.

Terror slices through you as the guard stares down at you, but you try your best to keep still.

The other guard says, ‘Hey, Jaebeom. The General wants us back. Let’s go.’

The baton stills, then the guard withdraws it and holsters it.

He turns away without another look at you.

You grasp Jiwon’s hand, and you don’t let go until you’re safely home.

***

The thin light of dawn’s cutting into the horizon when you emerge from your front door.

Snow’s been falling all night, is still falling now, piled up on your short garden path. You lift the shovel off the hook by your door and get to work clearing the path.

This early, the snow’s still icy and hard to shovel away.

You’re breathing hard by the time you get to the gate, arms aching, face damp with sweat.

Your neighbour Namjoon’s front gate swings open and he walks out, wrapped up warm.

He slows down when he sees you but doesn’t stop. 

You give a small smile which he returns before walking off.

You watch him go and wonder what he does to be leaving so early. 

You see Jiwon’s light come on and hurry inside to make breakfast.

***

There’s blood in the snow when you arrive back home with Jiwon at the end of the day, drops of red splattered in a trail to your neighbour’s door.

You herd Jiwon safely inside and your conscience gets the better of you.

You walk next door and knock.

It’s a while before Namjoon answers, but as soon as he does you know you’ve done the right thing coming over.

He looks terrible, pale and wincing in pain. There’s a wound in his shoulder, his chest is bare.

You say, ‘let me help,’ and then he’s stepping back, sitting heavily down on a chair. 

He’s so tall you barely have to lean down to look at his shoulder.

‘Can you stitch?’ he asks, voice tight, body taut.

‘I’ll patch you up,’ you tell him.

You worked in a field hospital during the War.

Namjoon grits his teeth, pale and tense, whilst you patch his wound.

By the time you’ve dressed it, there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

You don’t like how pale he is.

‘I have to get back to Jiwon,’ you tell him.

He nods.

Something about the way he slumps back in his seat, quiet and exhausted, makes you say, ‘I can stay overnight to watch you, if you have a spare bed for Jiwon to sleep in?’

Namjoon stares at you for so long you make the decision for him.

‘Come on, let me get you to bed,’ you say.

He staggers as he stands, and automatically you slip an arm around his waist.

He leans heavily on you as you take him to his bedroom and help him onto the bed.

He lays down, eyes already closed. 

You wait until his breathing eases and then you go to get Jiwon.

By the time you get back, Jiwon in tow, Namjoon’s dead asleep.

You make Jiwon comfortable in the adjoining room, hoping Namjoon won’t mind, and set your alarm to check on him periodically.

He sleeps most of the night, waking up once to stumble to the bathroom.

You get up to check on him. ‘Are you all right, Namjoon?’

Thankfully your presence doesn’t seem to alarm him. 

‘I’m fine,’ he says, but you can see the sheen of sweat across his forehead.

You fetch a glass of water and some pain meds from his kitchen. He’s still awake when you knock on his door.

He gulps the water and swallows down the medicine gratefully and lays back. 

There’s something about the irregular rhythm of his breathing that makes you offer your hand.

‘The meds will kick in soon,’ you promise him. You squeeze his hand gently. 

He murmurs a thank you. When his breathing evens out and the grip of his hand eases, you pull the blanket over his chest and make your way back to the other room where Jiwon is.

It’s sometime just before dawn when you wake. Namjoon’s extra bedroom has a pretty view of his backyard, his greenhouse. The rolling hills in the distance are bare in the winter cold, starkly beautiful.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder where Jiwon’s father is, how he’s doing. If he ever thinks of Jiwon, or you. Beside you, Jiwon stirs. 

‘Mama?’ 

‘Yes, baby?’

‘I’m not a baby,’ Jiwon says indignantly.

‘Ssssh, you’ll wake Namjoon up. Are you hungry?’

Jiwon yawns a little. People have always said he doesn’t look like you or his dad, but in moments like this you can see yourself in him.

‘Come on. Let’s go home and I’ll make breakfast, ok?’

You check on Namjoon as you pass his room, only to find he’s already dressed.

He stands when he sees you, and you’re reminded of the height difference between you.

You step back. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to make sure —‘

As though he’s aware of how his height and size intimidate you, he stops where he is.

‘I want to thank you for looking after me last night,’ he says. ‘Will you have breakfast with me?’

Jiwon marvels so openly at the sugary cereal Namjoon produces from a cupboard you can’t help but smile.

Single parenthood in a post nuclear war world has been challenging, and you’re scared about how many E numbers it’s taken to produce a cereal this unnaturally bright, but Jiwon’s so excited it’s worth it. 

Namjoon offers you some, and you accept with a smile. He smiles back at you so warmly that you drop your eyes.

Even injured and tired, your neighbour is the kind of handsome man you don’t think would look twice at you normally.

You cover your skittishness by staring down into your cereal as if fascinated.

By the time you gather the courage to look up, Jiwon’s finished his food. 

You’re about to get up to take him home when Namjoon puts out a hand to stop you. ‘Finish your breakfast,’ he says quietly. 

He gets up. ‘Come on, Jiwon, I hurt my shoulder yesterday, can you help me in the greenhouse until your mum finishes her food?’

Jiwon falls into step beside Namjoon so naturally you have no qualms about letting them go together. There’s a funny lump in your throat as you watch them walking together through the kitchen window. 

You tell yourself sternly to keep it together and not to assign a romantic narrative to your handsome neighbour who’s clearly just repaying your kindness from yesterday. 

By the time Namjoon and Jiwon get back, you’ve finished your breakfast and washed up. The kitchen looks like you and Jiwon were never there.

‘Thank you,’ Namjoon says. ‘For looking after me yesterday.’

‘It was no bother at all,’ you tell him, sincerely. ‘Thank you for breakfast.’

You nod to his chest. ‘You should get the wound checked out at the clinic today.’

‘I will,’ Namjoon promises. He waves goodbye to Jiwon and you, standing on his doorstep until you’ve rounded the fence to your side.

***

You’re walking with Jiwon back from school when you realise there’s someone waiting at your door. You can’t see clearly in the evening light, and you tuck Jiwon closer into your side as you approach.

You call a greeting, and a moment later the person steps into the light and you realise it’s Namjoon.

‘Hi,’ you say, unable to hide your relief.

‘Hi,’ he replies, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just by the river and I passed a cart selling these and I thought Jiwon might like them.’

He holds out a paper wrapped bundle of bungeoppang, still warm despite the cold.

Jiwon’s reached out, already thanking him, and you look up at Namjoon.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you, they’re his favourite.’

‘There’s enough for both of you,’ Namjoon says.

He’s stepping away, halfway down your yard when he stops. 

‘Your gate lock’s broken,’ he says. ‘I can help you fix it if you want.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ you say hastily. The lock’s been broken for a while, you’d meant to fix it but it’s been a busy month at the communal greenhouse.

‘It’s not safe,’ he says gently. ‘Not with both of you in the house.’

His words, though gently spoken, send a flush of shame through you.

He must think you’re such a mess, incapable of even keeping yourself and your son safe. 

He doesn’t give you time to answer. ‘I have tools. I’ll come over tomorrow and fix it, ok?’

‘Thank you,’ you say. There’s a quiver in your voice, you hope he doesn’t know you well enough to hear it. 

You open your door and usher Jiwon in from the cold.

***

You’re clearing your garden path the next morning, shovelling snow, when Namjoon comes to fix the gate. 

He nods politely at you, then gets to work. He doesn’t seem to want to chat, particularly, but that’s fine with you as you’re out of breath from clearing the path anyway. 

Namjoon disappears briefly once the lock’s fixed, comes back with a bag of grit over his shoulder. 

‘Let me grit your path,’ he offers, and you let him as he’s already brought the damn stuff over.

You invite him in as you prepare Jiwon’s breakfast.

He sits at your table, looking big in your small kitchen but not out of place.

There’s a picture on the wall of you and Jiwon’s father, from the Christmas that Jiwon turned two.

You can see him looking at it as you pass him a mug.

Namjoon asks, ‘Is that Jiwon’s father?’

You look at the photo. In it, you’re holding Jiwon up, and Hiro, Jiwon’s father, is laid on the floor, tickling his feet. There are the trappings of what Christmas was like before the war scattered all around you.

Luxuries that weren’t until everything else was taken away. 

‘Yes,’ you say. You lean against the kitchen sink, hold up your own mug. ‘He left after the war.’

‘I’m sorry.’ 

He looks like he means it. 

‘It’s ok,’ you tell him, honestly. ‘We’re doing ok, and Jiwon doesn’t remember much of him.’

There’s a moment of silence, then you hear Jiwon’s footsteps coming down the stairs. 

He greets Namjoon with a total lack of surprise at seeing him at the breakfast table. You’re amused at the nonchalant way Jiwon greets Namjoon, and then you realise it might be because of Namjoon’s calm, gentle manner.

For all his size, you find it difficult to envision Namjoon ever hurting anyone or anything. 

***

The guards come for you a few weeks later, late at night when Jiwon’s asleep. You’re putting away the washing up when there’s a knocking at the door.

Impatient, demanding.

You crack the door open only to have to step back quickly as the door is pushed inward, towards you.

The two guards who enter have epaulets on their shoulders signifying them as of a low rank. 

Any rank can detain a civilian for thoughtwiping, though.

The chill in your spine is only partially environmental.

‘Are you the wife of Hiro Kwon?’ 

You keep your tone calm, steady. ‘We’re estranged. I haven’t seen him in years.’

‘We have reason to believe he stole a very important pre-war relic from General Dei.’

You know where this is going.

‘My son is sleeping upstairs, can I take him into the greenhouse whilst you search my house?’

The guard closest to you gives you a hard stare. 

‘He has nightmares,’ you say, pleading. 

You fetch Jiwon, get him dressed and take him outside whilst the guards search your house. He leans against you, quiet. You hate that events like this are a part of his life.

Next door, Namjoon’s light is on. 

When the guards come out to tell you that you can re-enter your own house, you hear Namjoon’s door opening.

He walks up to the fence, and your heart stops.

He’s wearing full guard uniform, with epaulets that show he outranks the guards questioning you.

Sweet, gentle Namjoon from next door is a high-ranking official in the guard.

And you? You’re the biggest fool alive.

He’s looking at you and Jiwon, face impassive, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he takes you in.

Beside you, Jiwon’s shivering, and automatically, you slip your coat off to wrap around him.

You turn back to the guards. You’re still struggling with the weight of recent revelations but you need to get Jiwon back inside.

‘May we go?’ 

The guard stops you, drawing his baton, and you freeze.

‘He can go. We have more questions for you.’

You can’t look at Namjoon.

‘Of course. Let me take him up to bed and I’ll answer any questions you have.’

The walk back downstairs after you put Jiwon to bed feels like your feet are too heavy for your body.

You cast an eye at the mirror in your hallway. Your expression is a perfect blank, unreadable. You already know the lengths you’ll go to, to keep Jiwon safe.

The questions start innocently enough.

When did you last see your husband?

When did he last try to contact you?

You’re asked differently worded versions of the same questions repeatedly.

Your answers get shorter as the questioning goes on, and then the baton comes out even though you haven’t moved.

It raps on the table next to your hand, and you can’t help it, you startle badly at the sound.

There’s a knock at the door, then.

You look to the guards, and the younger one gets up to answer.

He returns with Namjoon. 

Namjoon’s face is impassive. He gives you a once over, then nods to the two guards. 

‘Leave us, I’ll handle this.’ 

The tension in the room ramps up as the guards leave, and by the time the door closes behind them, it’s taking all your strength to stay still. 

Namjoon, as though sensing your turmoil, takes a step back, away from you. 

His voice is low, quiet, but you have no difficulty hearing him. 

‘Did they hurt you?’ he asks. 

You look up at him, trying to read his expression. ‘No, they didn’t,’ you answer. 

He lets out a breath that sounds relieved.

‘Have you heard from your husband?’ he asks.

‘I told you, we’re estranged,’ you reply.

You can hear Jiwon moving upstairs. You turn back to Namjoon.

‘Can I go to him? I’ll come back down, I just want to make sure he’s ok —-‘

Namjoon’s expression changes. He looks stunned. 

‘Of course, I wouldn’t stop you.’

When you come back down Namjoon’s still standing where you left him.

‘It’s late, you should go to bed,’ he says. His eyes search yours.

You look back at him, at the epaulets adorning his broad shoulders.

He must have earned them somehow. 

The thought makes you avert your eyes, set your chin.

‘I will,’ you say, neutral, cool. 

Namjoon waits like he’s got more to say, but when you look up, he’s headed to your kitchen door, letting himself out.

You lock the door behind him and breathe out, fully, for the first time in hours.

***

You wake the next morning to sounds outside your window.

There’s a man in your garden, and you’d be alarmed if Jiwon didn’t have a similar profile.

It’s Hiro.

You open the back door and gesture him in.

He looks older, thinner, but he still has the spark in his eye that drew you to him. You’re surprised to find you don’t feel anything about his sudden appearance apart from the faintest pleasure of seeing someone who was once dear to you.

You moved on out of necessity, and there’s no going back.

‘The guards are looking for you,’ you say, once you’ve made him a drink.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I need somewhere to stay. Do you have any money?’

‘Not much,’ you tell him. ‘I can spare some.’

Hiro touches your hand, on the table in between you, and you pull back, startled.

You get up, gather the banknotes you’ve saved, and give him what you can.

‘Can I see him?’ Hiro asks.

You don’t have it in your heart to say no. ‘Don’t wake him.’

You take him upstairs to Jiwon’s room, let him peer through the crack in the door.

When Hiro turns back to you, there are tears in his eyes.

You have nothing left to say.

***

The raid on the communal greenhouse today was unexpected, and you weren’t quite quick enough to get out of the way of a wayward baton strike.

Your wrist throbs dully, your fingers are swollen, and the painkillers you dry-swallowed are only just about taking the edge off. 

You’ve sent Jiwon to bed and are trying to dislodge the sack of fertiliser from the top shelf of your greenhouse one-handed, panting at the effort, when Namjoon’s porch light comes on.

Startled, you lose your balance and fall off the crate you’re balancing on, just about managing to protect your wrist as you land.

The noise you’ve made draws Namjoon to the fence.

Thankfully, he’s not wearing his guard uniform.

When he sees you on the ground he disappears, appearing a moment later on your side of the fence, breathing hard from rushing over.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks, helping you up.

You’re about to answer when his face darkens. ‘What happened to your hand?’

Your hiss of pain when he reaches for you makes him flinch.

‘Here,’ he says. 

He cups a hand under your elbow gently, helping you back into your kitchen.

He frowns even more when he sees how swollen your wrist is.

‘We need to get you to a clinic,’ he says.

‘I can’t leave Jiwon, I’ll go in the morning,’ you tell him.

‘You can’t leave this overnight,’ Namjoon insists. 

He runs a hand over his face. ‘I’ll call my friend.’

‘I’m fine —‘

‘You aren’t,’ Namjoon says, the shortest he’s ever been with you. ‘I have a friend who’s a nurse, I’ll call him.’

You sit quietly in your kitchen as he makes the call. 

‘Jimin will be here soon,’ he tells you when he returns.

You’re too on edge to ask about Jimin.

You want to tell him that you’re fine, but when you open your mouth, you say, ‘Hiro, my ex husband, came here yesterday asking for money.’

Namjoon considers this in silence.

‘If the guards find out —-‘

‘I’m sure as hell not going to tell them,’ Namjoon says, sharp. ‘And neither should you.’

‘You’re a guard,’ you point out. 

‘And you told me because you know I’m not like them,’ Namjoon says. His voice is neutral, without inflection. 

‘I told you because I don’t want you to get into trouble because of your association with me. Especially after they came looking for Hiro,’ you argue. 

You get up. ‘And yes, because you aren’t like them.’ 

As soon as you say the words you realise they’re true. 

On some level you know, from the sides of him he’s shown to you, that Namjoon isn’t like the guards you’ve seen. 

Namjoon rubs his eyes. He looks tired. 

‘My father was a commander in the first generation of guards,’ he tells you. There’s a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘That didn’t save me from being thoughtwiped.’ 

You stare at him in shock. 

‘I have all the right decorations,’ Namjoon continues, gesturing to his shoulders. 

He meets your gaze. ‘I can’t excuse the things I’ve done in the past to earn them. I was young, eager to please my father, eager to keep my mother safe, and there’s nothing safer than being a guard.’

There’s bitterness in his voice now.

‘I had my limit though, as warped as I was, and I protested against an order I was commanded to carry out.’ He pauses. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

‘Your past is a fog once you’ve been thoughtwiped, but it comes back slowly, in flashes. Like a puzzle that’s incomplete.’

You’re so caught up in Namjoon’s story you’ve forgotten about the pain in your wrist.

‘This isn’t about me but I told you this because I want you to trust me,’ Namjoon says. He touches your arm, gentle. ‘There’s no threat to you, from me.’

You believe him.

You’re about to say so when there’s a knock at your door.

Namjoon gets up and returns with a man with kind eyes who introduces himself as Jimin.

He tends to your wrist with a gentleness that almost brings you to tears, binding it and placing it in a brace that eases the pain a little.

‘It’s probably broken,’ Jimin tells you, ‘but this is the best I can do until you can get to the clinic.’

You thank him gratefully. 

‘Namjoon says you have a son. If you bring him to my clinic I’ll do a health check for free,’ Jimin offers.

You can’t thank him enough for his kindness.

After he leaves, Namjoon says, ‘Do you have a spare room? Or I can sleep on the couch.’

You stare at him, overwhelmed. ‘I don’t have a spare room —-‘

‘The couch it is,’ Namjoon says. 

‘You don’t have to —‘

‘You did it for me when I was injured,’ Namjoon points out. He dimples at you. ‘Don’t let me miss my chance to play nursemaid….’

You can’t imagine anyone who looks less like a nursemaid than your tall, broad, handsome neighbour.

‘You can take my bed,’ you offer.

There’s a beat of silence, and you realise how it must have sounded to him.

Oh no.

You splutter in your haste to explain. ‘Oh my god, I meant you can take my bed, for you, alone. I can take the couch.’

Namjoon looks like he’s holding back a smile.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ he says, very gently. ‘Now you should go to bed, you look very tired.’

You take yourself off to bed before your mouth betrays you again.

***

You wake to familiar scraping outside. You get up, hissing at the dull flare of pain in your injured wrist, and head for your bedroom window.

It’s Namjoon, clearing your garden path. He pauses to wipe a hand over his forehead, breath coming out in white puffs.

You pull on a robe and head down to the kitchen, open the back door.

‘Hey,’ you call.

He turns immediately, face creasing in concern. ‘How’s your wrist?’

‘Still broken,’ you say cheerfully.

A dimple flashes in his cheek.

‘Go sit down, I’ll finish this and make us breakfast.’

Despite Namjoon’s instructions, you start on breakfast anyway, you’re used to looking after you and Jiwon.

‘I’ll walk Jiwon to school so you can go straight to the clinic,’ Namjoon says.

You look at Jiwon.

Jiwon’s bright smile is all the answer you need.

***

You wake in the dead of night, heart thumping, blood rushing in your ears.

You’re up and out of bed before you’re fully awake, hand on Jiwon’s door, when you hear it again.

The same noise that woke you up.

The creak of your front gate.

You hear footsteps to your front door, then the knocking starts.

You wake Jiwon, wrap him in his coat, wishing you’d remembered your own.

‘Open the door, by the order of the guard,’ shouts a male voice, making you stumble in fear, making your adrenaline surge.

You glimpse the grandfather clock on your landing as you hurry through to the kitchen with Jiwon.

It’s 2am.

You doubt this is a routine interrogation.

It feels more like a raid.

You grab Jiwon’s face, make him look at you.

‘If we get separated, run through the gate and into Namjoon’s greenhouse. Don’t wait for me.’

Your voice is calm, your eyes serious, and Jiwon, with the wisdom of a much older child, nods.

You pull his coat closed, and take a breath, gathering your wits about you before you pull open the back door.

There’s no one there. The guards are still at the front of the house.

You hold Jiwon’s hand, tight, and step into the night.

***

You make it into Namjoon’s greenhouse just as your kitchen lights come on.

Your heart pounds like drums in your chest, insistent, so loud you’re worried anyone within a half mile could hear it.

You tuck Jiwon into a corner between sacks of fertiliser, stacked up, and listen intently.

There’s shouting, the sounds of doors slamming.

You hope it’s snowing hard enough to cover the tracks you and Jiwon made.

There’s nothing you can do about it now.

You wait, Jiwon tucked as far back as you could put him, hands gripping the shovel you grabbed from the back of the door. 

Beams of light bounce over the glass wall, freezing you into position. You close your eyes.

The door creaks open, and you stop breathing.

Steps, then in your terror it takes you a while to recognise Namjoon’s face.

Your eyes meet.

Namjoon holds up a hand, the barest of movements, then he shouts, loud and clear, ‘They’re not in here.’

Your heart pumps, and you start to breathe again. 

***

It’s hours before Namjoon returns to the greenhouse, face drawn and tired.

He says, ‘We need to go.’

‘Where?’ you ask, when you’re really thinking, ‘We?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

Namjoon scoops Jiwon into his arms like he weighs nothing, and you follow.

Your limbs are stiff from the cold and the tension of waiting to be caught, but you make them bend to your will, keeping up with Namjoon’s longer strides.

‘I’ve got a car, a mile from here, can you walk?’ Namjoon asks, terse.

You notice the backpack he has slung onto his shoulders. 

‘I can carry something,’ you say, ‘Give me the pack.’

Namjoon’s tense expression softens, just enough to be perceived, as he glances at you.

‘Keep pace with me,’ he says.

It takes you a quarter of an hour to reach the car, parked alongside a warehouse. 

Namjoon places Jiwon in the backseat, tucks a blanket over him, unlocks the trunk to place the backpack inside.

You climb into the front passenger seat, watch as he starts the engine. His hand curls around the gear shaft, and you put your hand over his. 

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ you ask.

There’s no going back from this. It’s one thing to not report you to the Guard, it’s completely another to help you get away.

Namjoon looks at your hand on his for a moment.

‘I haven’t felt this strongly about anything in a while,’ he says.

He looks up at you. ‘This is the only right thing I’ve done in a long time.’

He puts his other hand on top of yours briefly, then pulls away to start the engine.

He drives.

***

Dawn’s breaking by the time you reach your destination, a cabin deep in the mountains that you access via a narrow road buffeted with snow drifts.

Namjoon cuts the engine, sits back, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks tired.

‘Are you ok?’ you ask, tentative. 

‘Better now,’ he says, some of the tension leaving his expression. ‘Better now that we’re here.’

Jiwon’s stirring now that you’ve stopped, looking at you and Namjoon with a quiet resignation.

You hate that he’s grown to accept his world constantly being turned upside down as his due.

Namjoon turns back to look at him, a dimple popping in his cheek as he smiles.

‘Hey, are you hungry, Jiwon? I have some cereal in the cabin.’

Your heart teeters at Namjoon’s easy kindness towards your son, about to fall.

You’re about to fall for this man who you owe so much to, fool that you are.

You put your hand on Namjoon’s arm, eyes alight with gratitude. ‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon glances at you, hesitates. 

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he tells you. ‘I — I wanted to help.’

You think about his words as you help Jiwon out of the car and you head for the cabin together.

***

Jiwon’s asleep, you make sure he’s tucked in warm before you go into the main part of the cabin. 

Namjoon’s standing by the window, his large frame taking up almost all of it, face tilted up, like he’s looking at the sky. 

He turns when he sees you. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ll get the generator working tomorrow.’ 

There’s a fire in the hearth, not quite enough to light up the whole cabin but it’s warm enough. 

‘Don’t apologise,’ you tell him. 

You can’t see all of his face in the shadows, so you step forward. 

‘Jiwon and I wouldn’t be safe, here, if it weren’t for you.’ 

‘It was a woman and her son,’ he says, a change of subject so abrupt he’s lost you for a second before he continues. 

‘They wanted me to thoughtwipe her because of something her son did. Something stupid, meaningless.’ 

He turns to look out the window again. ‘I refused.’ 

‘That’s when they thoughtwiped you,’ you say. It’s not a question. 

He laughs, short, harsh. ‘And then they thoughtwiped her anyway. Last I heard she and her son were separated, sent to different sectors.’ 

You step forward again, wanting to see his face. 

‘You’re a good man, Namjoon,’ you tell him. ‘You can’t be responsible for everything.’ 

‘I should have done more,’ he says, flat. 

‘You’ve done a lot for us,’ you point out. 

You still can’t see his face, but you can see the sadness in the line of his shoulders, poignant and beautiful. 

You take another step forward, cup his cheek. His skin’s warm, and there’s the faintest pressure against your palm as he leans into your touch. 

You shiver a little, more from the feel of him than from the cold, but he’s quick to react, slipping the fleece off his broad shoulders and placing it over yours. 

For a moment his arms are around you, and you’re within a breath of turning away, would have turned away if you hadn’t felt the shift in his weight.

He’s leaning on you.

You curl your hand around his neck, and he leans down with the faintest pressure from your fingertips.

A thrill races through you as his lips brush yours, blooming into a pulse, heady and throbbing as you tilt your head to kiss him again.

He’s slow, so gentle it takes you a while to realise that his kisses are robbing you of your breath.

The tip of his tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, a question you answer by parting them.

Letting him in.

His hand travels down your side to land on your hip, tentative.

Another question.

This time you slide your arms around his waist, under his top. The warm skin of his back is smooth under your hands.

He grunts softly as you pull him closer, comes willingly. 

He kisses you again, firmer this time, and you melt into him. 

Gradually, in stages, closer and closer until you’re so close you don’t know where he ends and you begin. 

He cups the back of your head, pulls away just enough to say, ‘The couch.’ 

You follow him to the couch, and he tilts his head for another kiss. 

You put a hand flat on his chest to steady yourself, and he puts his own hand over yours, covering it completely, anchoring you to him. 

‘I haven’t done this in a while,’ you tell him. 

‘Me either,’ he says. 

His dimple flashes. ‘We can remind each other.’ 

Namjoon’s a patient man, you knew this about him already. 

You hadn’t expected him to be quite this patient though, not pushing you even though you can feel how hard he is under you.

‘Do you want to keep going?’ you ask.

‘So badly,’ he tells you, huffing out a breath, tilting his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, hard.

You lick a stripe along his neck, and he shivers, gripping your shoulder. 

‘Do it again,’ he says, voice dropped low. ‘Can I touch you?’

‘Please,’ you say, and to your delight, his hands drop to the front lapels of your (his) shirt.

‘You look good in my clothes,’ he murmurs. He kisses down your chest, slow, open-mouthed, and by the time he gets to your breasts you’re vibrating with need.

He takes the tip of your breast into his mouth, sucking delicately at first, then more strongly when you moan his name.

Every pull of his mouth makes you pulse and tighten, and you don’t realise you’re grinding against him until his big hand grips your hip.

‘Stop, or I’ll come,’ he warns, voice thick, gravelly now.

‘Take your clothes off,’ you say.

He undoes the fly of his jeans, and the damp patch you see where his cock’s tenting his boxer briefs makes your mouth water.

He stops you with your hands on your own sweatpants, says, ‘Let me.’

Before you realise quite what he’s doing, he’s slid onto his knees on the floor, has tugged your sweatpants down to reveal your thighs, the hot stickiness between your legs.

He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties. Poises himself, open mouthed over your core.

Looks to you once, eyes hooded, and whatever he sees in your face makes him bend down and put his mouth to you.

You cry out, muffled behind your own hand, and he stops instantly. 

‘Is this ok?’ he asks.

‘Yes, yes, please,’ you tell him.

He watches you as he slides his tongue over your slit, eyes hooded and hot.

He’s good with his tongue, you realise dimly in the back of your mind as he laps at you. He swallows audibly, and your hips dance under his mouth.

‘Joon,’ you moan, and he hums, deep voice vibrating against your skin.

‘Joon,’ you moan again. His hand splays on the curve of your hip, fingers tightening on your flesh.

This time, he moans in response, and you cry out, throaty and hoarse, as he sucks at your clit with renewed fervour, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

‘Joon!’

He pushes a finger into you, and you come with a gush of wet, walls tightening around him, your entire body tensing for a glorious instant before giving way to waves of pleasure.

Namjoon groans, deep in his chest, and you reach out and grip his hips, guiding him between your legs.

‘Wait,’ he says, touching your face, gentle though you can feel him hard as steel at your entrance, the blunt fullness of his cockhead nudging, seeking. ‘Are you sure you want this?’

‘Yes,’ you say, ‘yes.’

Namjoon groans again, pressing into you, filling you so well your body arches like a bow against his.

‘Feel so good,’ he utters, jaw tight, voice raspy.

He moves strongly within you, taking control with a confidence that thrills you to your toes.

He says your name as he moves, guttural and wanting, the slide of him into you making sparks bloom behind your eyelids.

He grasps your hand, fingers knitting with yours, as you writhe and moan underneath him. 

‘Sound so pretty,’ Namjoon groans. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t —‘

You grip his shoulder. ‘I want you to come, Joon,’ you breathe, mouth by his ear.

He groans again then, circles his hips, and then thrusts deep, spilling his warmth inside you. 

He’s still for a moment, breathing hard against your ear. 

You turn your head to kiss him. 

You’re still holding his hand, and it’s a while before either of you let go. 

***

You pour out a mug of coffee from the pot Namjoon’s brewed, go out to where you can hear Namjoon chopping wood outside. 

He’s concentrating, splitting chunks of wood with a careful precision. 

He looks up as you approach, and his smile warms you. 

‘Hey,’ he says. 

You’d ended up sleeping tangled up with Namjoon. Some time during the night you’d woken to find him pushing your hair back from your face. 

You’d pulled him down on top of you, taken him in again, slow, languid, bodies moving together until you’d gasped and come, muffled against his chest. 

‘Hey,’ you reply. 

‘Jiwon still asleep?’ he asks. 

‘He’s exhausted,’ you say. 

‘Glad we didn’t wake him,’ Namjoon says. 

‘He’s a pretty good sleeper.’ 

Namjoon glances at you, and you flush. 

‘I didn’t mean —’ 

He laughs at how flustered you are. 

‘Good to know he sleeps well,’ Namjoon says. There’s a spark in his eyes now, dimples flashing in his cheeks. 

For all his size and height and seriousness, your handsome neighbour looks like a little boy trying to get a rise out of you when he’s like this. 

He watches, amusement in his face, as you sip the coffee to try to hide your discomfiture. 

When you look back at him, he’s gathering up an armful of wood. 

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘When Jiwon wakes up I need to talk to both of you.’ 

***

The sun’s high in the gloomy sky by the time Jiwon wakes, lured by the smells of breakfast and the warmth of the fire in the fireplace. 

After breakfast, Namjoon clears the table, and then sits you all down. 

‘We can’t stay here for long,’ he says, seriously. ‘The guards don’t know about this place, but it’s not safe, and they’ll still be looking for you.’ 

‘There’s a place close to the border where there’s a new community, away from the guarded sectors.’

You’re looking at Namjoon, carefully, and he’s looking right back at you.

‘We could go there. It’ll be hard, probably, at the beginning.’

You turn to Jiwon.

Hard? 

Harder than the life you have now? 

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you need to find a better future, for Jiwon. 

Stability. 

You ask the question you asked in your head when you left home with Namjoon.

‘We?’

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says. ‘I’d like to go with you. If that’s ok.’

You’re looking at Jiwon again. 

The hopeful expression on his face makes the decision for you.

***

Ten years later

You’re waiting at the train station for Jiwon.

There’s a chill in the air still, it’s cold for spring but warmer than it has been in recent years.

A lot’s changed in the last ten years.

You, Namjoon and Jiwon had moved to the new community at just the right time.

It had been hard at first, but nothing compared to the constant fear of being detained by the guards.

The world’s been rebuilding itself after the War.

With your experience as a communal gardener, you’d been able to set up your own hydroponic greenhouse, and demand built up for your produce, to the point where you’ve been able to hire your own crew of gardeners and expand.

Jiwon had thrived in the new community, and when universities re-opened, he’d been accepted as part of the first few cohorts of students. 

His university was a few hours away, but the redevelopment of public transport meant there was a regular train linking his campus and your home.

The home you built with Namjoon.

In recent years, you’ve seen more and more of the light-hearted, humorous Namjoon and less of the troubled, serious Namjoon you first met.

Your love for him has only grown.

He approaches you now, a little older, but still as heartbreakingly handsome as the day you met him.

You think the best decision you ever made for you and Jiwon was to let him in. 

And now Jiwon’s on his way back for Christmas, and your heart is full.

Namjoon hands you the coffee he bought you from the cafe, and when you tilt your face up to his he leans down.

It’s a learned response from years of adjusting his height so you can reach to kiss him.

You press a kiss onto his cheek, over his dimple, and his arm slides around you to hold you tight to him.

The train pulls into the station, and Namjoon grasps your hand as it stops.

The carriage doors open, and your beautiful son steps out.

Physically, he looks like you, but the confidence in his bearing, the kindness in his face, the roguish twinkle in his eyes?

That’s you, and Namjoon.  

©hamsterclaw 2023

[gazeofseer]

How to Connect with your future life ? ( Self, Spouse, Kids, & Tribe )

''The seed will sprout, the branch will expand its reach to new seasons of life, there will await a love full of fresh experiences where even pain comes like a lemonade syrup and happiness comes as a chilly wind" 💖✨

Channeled Intuitive Reading 🪞🔮

Image 1.

'Yearning for those dreams that used to fill your heart once is how wrenching the period of waiting where you feel hopeless and tired'

Self : You have to cultivate an open mind, when I say this it does not mean you have to form a cult inside your brain or to cut off people, but the way that you don't block the energy flow from your future self 'You saw a dream of speed swap either with a pull or like pushed' this means that energy is trying to connect to you, But I see you scattered and lost for now....collect your mind and its focus without grip any channel it like a river paves towards its destiny and touch your heart and say 'I am listening..'

Spouse & Kids : I see your future self will connect you with your spouse and kids too, as it could be one of your dreams to have your own kind of family, you will have two kids one son and a girl, your spouse has a very flexible energy they are not typical or fixated they even keep saying 'You know it's different for me..' your kids love teasing you with him, he is quite busy with his current energy where he is not ready to connect but when he will do you instead leave a say to him once a day or in a week like an affirmation but pun intended.

Tribe : Your tribe is quite chirpy and hyperactive they literally might even laugh at you when you might stumble upon your feet like they are very random but they do care for you..'I see they would be probably a group of five to six and they could be colleagues from professional spectrum'

In case you feel to connect with them talk into your ideas there is a common factor that connects you to all in general is 'VOICING'

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Image.2

'Hope is the key after all, it is impossible to find hope in everything that happens the reasons are not that important all that matters is the way it ft afterall'

Self : You are already quite in touch through your instincts where the elevated energy seems to guide you be it picking a dress for the day to making a call of no and yes in any given moment still there is a doubt that I am missing out on something? If I do then why? Is your question well here is why this channeled the energy has to say 'You are the gold of a person but don't let your value go in vain focus on the purpose' More the procrastination it is about something you are doubtful towards you are focused but unsure and this feeling of unsettledness comes from losing a state of hope, seeing a dark day, a isolation state seems scary for you but that is where you next step await you your future self awaits you.

Spouse : Your spouse and you are reflecting each other's energy hence why it rubs you off at times where you seem confused but to see through nothing is wrong actually but maybe you both are not looking for wrong but for the right thing, they try everyday to connect with you through dreams but I feel you quite have a sleeping issues where you sleep but your mind is murmuring constantly, listen to music before sleeping something romantic and feel the allure over your mind and body.

Kids : I don't see kids for now maybe you are putting it at last to give a thought after setting few things in between still if you feel like warm rub your stomach and pause after two three times note down the way you feel it would have message for you.

Tribe : I feel your family will be your tribe or spouse's family as you find core strength in integrity and love so you will have knitted personal space who chain well in the tribe, connect to them by talking to your family, go to events collectively, meet new people your family or friends introduce to you.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Image 3.

'The world is not the place where I can be what my soul wants to be but what I want to be?'

Self : There is withdrawal, since your future self is awaiting for your next move, I feel everyone is even people from your past, take time to journal the key decisions you have made and join the way through it is how the you find a way without feeling anxious about finding a key sometimes it is not even a door, listen listen what stairs in when every other voice fades off.

Spouse & Kids : I see you will marry a little later and instead of kids you will have pets or maybe adopt grown upon teens I see a five year old boy and a dog in green, your spouse is quite business oriented which can make you feel a little distant even now you feel as if you have no such feeling of the one in your heart but because they are actually busy building upwards, connect to them through material pleasures whenever you consume something feel as if you are sharing the taste of experience with them, perfumes, accessories, feed dogs, visit NGOs they are quite near but too far by time.

Tribe : I don't see you forming a tribe instead you are quite friendly towards everyone but not friends with everyone, you will have good Neighbors though so often go to the community events in your neighborhood.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

I feel so relieved after the reading it is very rare for me to experience this 🧿🌸

I hope it resonates to your soul and guides you in the future unfolds 🩷

[soov]

𔓕　SAND BLANKETS。 ㅤ𝓨ang 𝓙ungwon

（ 命 ）gn reader 、6OO words　angst ⋄ no au, one-sided pining　─　brief mentions of food & alcohol。

When the sun nudged the horizon line, bounded by the calm waves of twinkling water and sea foam, there was peace. Innocent laughs bounced against the rocks surrounding the beach, committing to memory the afternoon of July eleventh.

With your feet buried in the warm sand, you snorted at Jake and Riki play wrestling in the sea and Sunoo cackling loudly while floating around. Heeseung was dead asleep in a hammock while Jay and Sunghoon had a drinking contest. 

Your group chatted far away by a bonfire, and a distinct silhouette brought a shy smile to your lips. One of your friends — who you had been cultivating feelings for — clumsily burned themselves with their s’mores, blowing on their own hand with a pout.

The chilly wind nipped at your exposed skin, quietly reminding you of your current setting, and that the night would soon arrive. You shuddered, considering approaching your friends and crush before a person came to your side.

Jungwon stood beside you with a fluffy blanket over his shoulders, preventing his own warmth from escaping. He had a white muscle shirt and shorts hidden below the fabric.

An adorable smile stretched his lips, long eyes imitating crescents as he glanced at you. “Hi,” he sat down next to you on the fallen tree trunk, knees and arms touching.

“Hey,” you beamed back, softly shoving his side. “Eventful day, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t even get me started.” Jungwon feigned annoyance by rolling his eyes, but ended up bursting into a fit of giggles. his focus switched quickly to the two young adults downing cups of jack daniels, “I bet ten bucks that sunghoon's alcohol tolerance is better than Jay’s.”

“You’re insane.” A gasp went past your mouth. you knew he was just teasing you. “Sunghoon winning against Jay? You better have that money on you.”

Yang bit his lip to contain more laughs, turning to your shivering form, “You’ll catch a cold like this.” he reprimanded you, wrapping your body with his arms and blanket. “You need to be more careful.”

Watching him card his fingers through his damp hair, covered in sea salt, you muttered, “Sorry… Thanks for the blanket.”

“It’s okay.” He waved you off.

Your eyes rested, and you could only hear the calming sound of water and distant chatter lulling you into a deep slumber. The skies progressively got darker with each passing moment, and the weather got colder, but the temperature ceased to bother you as Jungwon’s coziness embraced you.

While in your best friend’s hold, he pressed his chapped lips to your temple, basking in your presence. He let out little laughs when you groaned and shifted around to find a more comfortable position to rest.

In sequence, you ended up with your head on his lap. Admiration filled his gaze to the brim, fixed on your side profile. A voice calling out for Jay snapped him out of his trance, his eyes traveling to the person you loved the most.

His throat clamped at the sight of your crush walking around so carefree, unaware of your mutual sentiments for them. But jungwon was already conscious of the lovesick problems you were enduring because of this friend — you had broken his heart unknowingly early that morning, ranting your soul out about how you were fond of them.

If that wasn’t enough, Yang noticed the liking they had for you, being ever so caring and kind. It was obvious how they would be the perfect partner, offering everything you deserved and so much more. They would do everything Jungwon wished he could do to you. They would love you and long for you, though not as much as him (or, at least, that was what he liked to think).

Jungwon could also be a good boyfriend, if given the chance. He would take you to adorable dates, litter your skin in tiny kisses, bring you over to meet his whole family, and cherish you unconditionally, like how he had been trying to do for the past years. However, that was not his case, and he could merely watch you sleep on his lap whilst your mind dreamed of someone else.

Despite knowing that you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, Jungwon caressed your cheekbones as if you were his lover, heart crushed like the sand beneath his feet, though still alive and threatening to jump out of his ribcage. After all, maybe someday he would manage to sweep you off your feet, and you’d finally see him in the same lights he saw you.

⠀ ⠀ SOOV © 2O24

STiCKY NOTES ⋄ i used to hate this drabble but guess who loves it now!!!!!!!!

[add1ctedt0you]

Novel quotes: wei wuxian having feelings/thoughts about jiang cheng

Under the cut because it's long

However, Jiang Cheng was gone. Holding steamed buns, flatbreads, and fruits in his hands, Wei WuXian felt his heart skip a beat. He forced himself to calm down. Even after he searched through the neighboring streets, he still didn’t see Jiang Cheng. He finally began to panic. Grabbing a cobbler on the side, he asked, “Mister, there was a young master about the same age as me sitting here. Did you see where he went?” The cobbler licked the thick end of a thread, “The one that was with you?” Wei WuXian, “Yeah!”

The cobbler, “I was in the middle of doing something so I didn’t really see. But he kept on spacing out, staring at the people on the street. And then when I looked up at where he was again, he suddenly disappeared. Maybe he left.”

Wei WuXian murmured, “... He left... He left...”

He probably left for Lotus Pier to steal the bodies!

As though he had gone mad, Wei WuXian sprinted immediately toward the direction that they had come from.

[...]

He gave himself a harsh scolding in silence—he was stupid, useless, ridiculous, it was bizarre, unimaginable. Yet, he was alone, without a sword or any tools, and on the other side of the wall there were thousands of Wen Sect’s cultivators, perhaps Wen ZhuLie as well.

He wasn’t scared of death. He was only scared that after he died, he wouldn’t be able to save Jiang Cheng and betray the trust that Jiang FengMian and Madam Yu left him. In such circumstances, the only one he could place his hope on was a person of the Wen Sect whom he had met only three times in total!

[...]

Wei WuXian’s gaze turned from Wen Ning toward Jiang Cheng, whose body was covered in blood and eyes were tightly shut. His fingers couldn’t help but clenched into fists.

Chapter 59 Poisons—Part Four

Jiang Cheng’s expression was rather strange. It was calm, almost too calm. He stared at the ceiling, as though he wasn’t at all interested in the situation that he was in, as though he didn’t care about where he was either. Wei WuXian didn’t expect him to react in such a way. Sadness, happiness, anger, shock—he had none of these. His heart skipped a beat, “Jiang Cheng, can you see me? Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” Jiang Cheng glanced at him. He didn’t say anything. Wei WuXian asked him a few more questions. Arm supporting himself, he finally sat upright. He looked down at the mark of the discipline whip on his chest before laughing bitterly. If the discipline whip struck, it’d be impossible to wipe away the mark of shame. Wei WuXian comforted him despite this, “Stop looking at it. There has to be a way to get it off.” Jiang Cheng slapped him. His strike was so weak, so powerless that Wei WuXian didn’t even flinch, “Hit me. As long as you’ll feel better.”

[...]

If Wei WuXian were the one injured or if somebody else had saved them, he’d immediately say farewell and leave at once, full of determination. However, right now, Jiang Cheng was the one who had been injured. Not only was he injured, he had lost his core as well. He wasn’t in his right mind. No matter what, Wei WuXian couldn’t find any determination.

Chapter 60 Poisons—Part five

Out of the blue, Jiang Cheng spoke up, “Not to do what?” Wei WuXian paused in surprise, turning to him along with Lan WangJi. Jiang Cheng covered his wound with one hand, his voice chilly, “Wei WuXian, you’re such a great, selfless person. You did the best things possible, and you swallowed all the suffering and didn’t let anyone know. What a touching story. I should kneel down and cry in gratitude, shouldn’t I?” Hearing the mocking tone that lacked any courtesy, Lan WangJi’s face grew cold. Jin Ling saw the displeased expression and immediately stood in front of Jiang Cheng, scared that Lan WangJi would kill him with one strike, “Uncle!” Wei WuXian’s expression worsened as well. He never expected Jiang Cheng to make up with him after he found out the truth, but he didn’t think his tone would be as unkind as ever, either. With a moment of silence, he replied, voice muffled, “I never asked you to thank me.”

[...]

In the beginning, it was precisely because he didn’t want to see such a Jiang Cheng that he decided not to tell him.

He remembered every single thing he promised Jiang FengMian and Madam Yu—to help and take care of Jiang Cheng. If someone as unhealthily competitive as him found out about this, he’d be dispirited his whole life, too tortured to face himself. There’d always be something he could never overcome, reminding him that he could only reach where he was because of another’s sacrifice. It wasn’t at all his cultivation and his achievement. No matter if he won or lost, he’d long since lost the right to compete.

Afterwards, it was because Jin ZiXuan and Jiang YanLi died for him that he had no face to let others know. To tell Jiang Cheng after what happened then would be like shirking responsibility, hurrying to demonstrate that he’d contributed as well. It’d be like telling Jiang Cheng, don’t hate me, look I’ve contributed to the YunmengJiang Sect too.

Chapter 102- Hatred - Part Five

At this point, somebody on the side suddenly called, “Wei WuXian!”

Wei WuXian answered immediately, “What?”

Only after he answered did he realize that the one who called him was Jiang Cheng. Wei WuXian felt somewhat surprised. Jiang Cheng didn’t respond directly. Instead, he took something out from his sleeve and tossed. Wei WuXian caught it by instinct and looked, only to find a black, gleaming flute along with a crimson tassel.

It was the ghoul flute, Chen Qing!

As he felt the flute that he was more than familiar with, Wei WuXian didn’t even have the spare time to feel surprised.

Chapter 108: Concealment - Part Two

After a pause, he asked again, “How have Sect Leader Jiang and Jin Ling been?”

Lan JingYi pouted, “They seem pretty fine. Sect Leader Jiang is the same as before, always lashing out at people with his whip. Young Mistress’s temper has been getting better. In the past he could talk back thrice to his uncle after he scolds him once. Now he can do ten times.”

[...]

Hearing Lan JingYi say so, Wei WuXian relaxed slightly. In truth, he knew that these weren’t what he really wanted to ask. But as it sounded like Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling had been doing quite well, there was nothing left to say.

Chapter 116: Extra—Banquet - Part Three

[tired-fandom-ndn]

It doesn't actually matter if that European fantasy story has potatoes or if that Chinese historical drama has chillies because it's all make believe and historical acccuracy isn't always important BUT I do believe we as a society should think more about how we associate those foods with pretty much every culture except for the colonized and exploited indigenous peoples who spent millennia carefully cultivating those crops.

[conscydraws]

Participating in @mxtxfoodzine this year.

It was a long and complex project. Worked for 9 months on two of my entries, creating one of them in collaboration with my dear friend Aseneth. Both of the works are dedicated to Mo Dao Zu Shi. I've made a really big research of Chinese cuisine that resulted in nice and balanced recipes I'm quite proud of.

🌶️ First is the chili oil recipe. My goal was to recreate demonic cultivation in the field of cooking. To think like Wei Wuxian, combining unconventional approaches and twisting traditional ones. After numerous attempts I can confidently say I succeeded. I created chilli oil with crispy bits and rich meaty aroma. It's more tasty than Lao Gan Ma. I hope you will take some time to make it after the zine releases. Let me know if you do!

🥓 The second recipe is crispy clay pot rice. This one was created in collaboration with Aseneth. I took a more classic approach here, but enhanced it with exceptional balance of ingredients and an ancient recipe of meat curing, attained from 103 years old Chinese woman. I also adapted the recipe for cooking in a stove. We had so much fun with brainstorming, drawing the illustrations and cooking the dish! The experience totally worth of repeating again!

The zine will be released in about a month. Make sure you'll check it out and share what you will cook! 😋

[femininenachos]

So i gotta ask, is the pic of lexa on the streets eating a pap shot or a staged photo shoot? 😂 what’s lexa’s favorite Parisian activity that doesn’t involve Clarke? (Model AU)

Oh, it’s definitely staged - not a single crumb of pastry passed her lips!

When Lexa is travelling solo to Paris she looks up her former roommates - in the early days she shared an apartment with other girls on the agency’s roster. A couple still live in the city, so they visit their old haunts and catch up on all the gossip. Lexa doesn’t have many friends and confidantes (she has a reputation for being standoffish and cultivating a certain chilly, aristocratic hauteur, but mostly others are too intimidated by all that attitude and constant serving to approach her) but these girls knew Lexa when she just starting out, an awkward fawn desperate to be seen as chic and sophisticated. So there’s a bond, a sisterhood almost, and when their schedules align Lexa’s there in a heartbeat.

If Anya’s in town too, a wild night will be had, and Clarke is the beneficiary of the snaps. Lexa’s smile gets a little wider and freer in each one, her eyes unfocused but still so very magnetic, and not a hair out of place as the champagne flows. Let’s just say that by the time Clarke leaves the studio late and arrives home to Frank nipping at her heels for his dinner, the pics Lexa sends tend to edge into raunchier territory, and whatever plans Clarke had for the evening are quickly derailed.

[sngchngs]

Modern mdzs character headcanons

The Lans

Lan Qiren absolutely keeps a Burn Book. He uses it to keep records of every misdemeanour. Of every transgression. He has an entire chapter dedicated to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Xichen keeps a hidden stash of hard candies in his room. He likes to suck on them when he meditates.

Lan Wangji records his guqin playing and listens to it on his airpods when he's practising his sword techniques.

Lan Sizhui likes to sketch people. When he has a few free moments, he will find a spot, either in a park or a bench on a street, and will pull out his sketch pad and pencils and discreetly sketch people's expressions.

Lan Jingyi is a gamer. He plays games like Horizon: Zero Dawn; Yakuza; Minecraft; Kingdom Hearts. All his games (including his ps4 console) are hand-me-downs from an older cousin. He has a page or two in Lan Qiren's Burn Book.

Other sects under the cut ⬇️

The Jins

Jin Guangyao is a philanthropist. When he's not busy being the Chief Cultivator, he likes to (anonymously) donate huge swathes of money to various humanitarian and environmental causes. The only people who know he does this are Lan Xichen and Jin Ling.

An unfortunate accident (involving Wei Wuxian) left Jin Zixuan paralysed from the waist down. He competed in Para canoe in two Paralympics. He is now an editor of a publishing company.

Qin Su did not marry Jin Guangyao. (From an early age, she knew that their relationship was that of siblings.) She owns and manages a law firm that helps victims of sexual assault. Her firm has a high success rate.

A few times a month, Jin Ling helps out at a local dog shelter. He takes Fairy, and together, they help socialise some of the more timid dogs. Jin Ling prefers animals over people.

The Jiangs

Jiang Cheng is a bit of a tea connoisseur. When he's not busy managing his Sect, he likes to unwind with a pot of tea. He has sampled teas from all over the world and has a pantry full of jars of all sorts of teas.

Jiang Yanli is a successful cook/chef who owns her own restaurant and who has her own TV show and cookbook. Her husband, Jin Zixuan, edited and helped fast track the publication of her book.

Wei Wuxian loves eating chilli chocolate. To the point where he makes his own and experiments with the heat of the chilli.

The Wens

Wen Qing owns three cats. One munchkin and two rescues. Her house has been decked out with shelves, ladders, platforms, and scratching trees. She has an entire room dedicated to the cats with an indoor jungle gym.

Wen Ning likes travelling. He's been to over a dozen or so countries and plans to go to more. It was Wei Wuxian who got him into travelling.

The Nies

Nie Huaisang runs an art blog (as well as a few social media pages). As well as his art, he posts pictures of his pet birds as well as any wild birds he sees. His artworks are phenomenal, with a nod to more traditional styles. He has thousands of followers.

Despite his tough exterior, Nie Mingjue has sensitive taste buds and can't handle food that is too spicy, too sweet, or too hot in temperature.

~~