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mysteriouslover1516 · 1 year

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Sherlock Holmes (Part 1)

(X-reader story based on the BBC version of Sherlock and characters [character name is chosen, but the pronoun you is used]. This is my take on what could happen in season five of Sherlock. I also shipped John and Molly in this version.)

"You have a sister?!" The tall man asks, completely astonished.

Your brother, John Watson, laughs. "Caught you there, didn't I?"

The man looks at you from under his black curly hair, and his blue eyes meet yours. "He has a sister!" He states.

You chuckle while blushing slightly, "Yes, I would know. I am Syrena Watson, the younger sister of John by three years."

"How did I not deduct this?!" The man shakes his head with a smile.

John clears his throat, "Shouldn't you introduce yourself now?" He says giving the man a meaningful stare.

"Sherlock Holmes," he says. "What brings you back to London?"

You feel your heart rate rise,"I'm getting away from a bad relationship."

"Your eyes hold a certain sense of sorrow in them, betrayal perhaps? And I can't help but notice your clothes have been repeatedly worn, meaning you left as soon as you could without any other supplies or belongings." Sherlock says and then looks away as if bored.

John sighs, "Sherlock, I warned you about this. She is still sensitive about this." He says as he wraps an arm protectively around you.

You try to smile, "Wow, Mr. Holmes. You certainly live up to your reputation of being a great detective."

John was right, you still were hurt and frightened in a way about your break-up, but you hated letting people besides your brother see your emotions.

Sherlock sighs, "I tried my best, John. But so long has gone by before I could deduct something worthwhile, besides the butler who murdered the maid." He shrugs absent-mindly.

“Sherlock!” John reprimands. “What did I tell you?”

“You solved a murder?” You ask, stupidly.

Sherlock sighs, “How dull is your sister, John? She is almost as bad as you.”

John frowns, “Please try to be civil!”

“Mr. Sherlock, tell me more about the case.” You ask, anything about mysteries was interesting to you. You were a novelist and real life mysteries were always good inspiration for your books.

Sherlock stops, “Oh, great. Another blogger, are you going to over dramatize my work, too?”

“That’s it, come on, Syrena.” John scowls at Sherlock. “We don't have to listen to his degrading comments.”

You smirk and walk off, arm in arm with your brother, “He doesn't seem all that bad.”

John smiles, “You haven’t had to spend twenty-four hours with him.”

“Mom and dad send you their hellos,” You say, randomly.

Your parents lived in the United States and tried to come to London at least once a year to see John. Now both of their kids were gonna be living here. Your parents were sad you decided to leave the states, but they were glad that John and you would be there to look out for one another.

John smiles at the thought, both of you were extremely close to your parents and you loved them dearly. “I mean to call them more often, gosh I’m forgetful.” He berates himself.

“They understand you’re busy, John. Maybe we can call them tonight, maybe even on skype?”

“Great idea!” John smiles, then he wraps his arm over your shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here, Syrena. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Thanks for letting me move in with you.” You grin.

John’s face suddenly falls, “Um, Syrena, there’s something I forgot to tell you.”

“Oh?” You ask in a slightly suspicious tone.

“I live in a flat with another roommate.”

“Is there enough room for me then?” You ask, confused.

“Well, of course, but he doesn’t know you’re staying with us. I haven’t told him yet.” John smiles, sheepishly.

“Is he nice though?” You raise an eyebrow, unsure of why John was being so mysterious.

“I think you should decide that yourself. You already met him.”

You immediately rack your mind for all the new faces you’ve seen and the people behind them. Was it the worker at the coffee shop? John had called him by name and the man seemed friendly. The cab driver also was nice though and John had talked to him almost the whole way to where you met Sherlock in the park……..

“It’s Sherlock,” You state more than ask.

“Please don’t hurt me,” John teases as he hides his face behind his arms.

You crack a smile, “Well, at least I’ll have some inspiration for my mystery novel!”

John laughs and drops his hands to his sides, “Just don’t copy my blog. I have a lot of followers on it, but Sherlock doesn’t approve.” He rolls his eyes.

“You haven’t told him that I’m moving in with you?!” You ask with your mouth wide open from shock.

John shrugs, “He won’t mind. There are three rooms and the third one is rarely used.”

You shake your head at your brother, “Oh, John. I hope this works out.”

You and John head over to 221b Baker Street and John leads you up the staircase and to an apartment door. “Welcome to our flat!” He unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You walk inside, carrying the backpack that held the only possessions you brought.

The living room was the first room you walked into when you came in. On the right was a hallway leading to four rooms. Three of them had the doors shut and the fourth one you guessed to be the bathroom, and you were correct. On the left was a wide rectangular arch that opened into the kitchen area. The living room had two windows that let in the sunshine that showered on a desk full of papers and files. Two chairs were arranged in front of the fireplace and the shelves surrounding it were full of books and decorative objects.

“Wow,” You say. “It’s actually pretty spacious.”

“Yep, here’s your room, Syrena.” John says, walking over to the first room down the hall.

You followed him and looked into your new living quarters. The walls were a nice blue color and a bed was pushed against the wall. A nightstand stood on the right side of the bed and a lamp was set upon it. A comfortable chair was in another corner, along with a desk. On the bed were some pillows and a green comforter. Propped against the pillows was a concert-sized ukulele.

“You didn’t bring your ukulele,” John says sorta sadly. “Luckily I have mine. You can have it.”

You smile happily, but sadly at the same time. Your old boyfriend had broken your ukulele out of anger, and that's why you didn't bring it, but you didn't tell John that. "Thanks so much, I seem to find some sort of peace when I play." You try to laugh, but the memory holds you back.

“Sherlock does too, he’s a violinist.” John offers. “Maybe you two could play together sometime.”

You laugh at the absurdity of the thought, “He doesn’t seem like one who would do that. I think he prefers to be alone.”

“Oh, he does. I just think that you’ll be able to snap him out of his cold demeanor.” John smiles hopefully.

"Why me?" You look at your brother playfully.

"You'll see," John smirks. "Oh, I think you and Mrs. Hudson should meet. I think she'll like you well enough.”

“Who’s she?”

“I’m not your housekeeper,” an elderly voice calls from the outside of the door.

“Mrs. Hudson, come on in!” John calls out cheerfully.

The door opens and an old lady with short, curly, light brown hair walks in.

“How long were you eavesdropping?” John asks with a smirk.

“Only long enough to know you were talking about me, dearie.” The woman says.

“Mrs. Hudson?” You hold out your hand and smile.

“Syrena Watson?” She asks and instead gives you a hug.

“She knows that I’m staying here, John, but not Sherlock!” You turn to him.

John winces, “Relax, Syrena, he’ll be fine.”

You shake your head and cross your fingers that John will be right.

You and Mrs. Hudson get to know each other over cups of tea and biscuits and before you know it you are giggling so hard that you feel like you’re gonna cry.

“What is that, John?” You hear Sherlock’s voice come from the doorway.

“It is Mrs. Hudson and Syrena laughing.” John answers, smiling.

“They sound like they are torturing an owl,” Sherlock’s voice holds a tone of annoyance. He walks into the dining room/ kitchen and barely glances at you. “When is she going?”

“I’m leaving in a few minutes, Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson looks up from her cup of tea.

“Not you, her. She is ruining my concentration.” Sherlock states simply as he opens the fridge.

“Pardon me?” You ask.

“When is she leaving?” He turns to John, expecting an answer.

“She is staying with us,” John states.

“When is she leaving to stay somewhere for the night?”

“She is living with us.” John clarifies. “And she has a name, her name is Syrena.”

“Silena can not stay with us, she is too distracting, more difficult than you even.” Sherlock says, nonchalantly.

“Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, I understand if you want me to go, I can find a small apartment of my own.” You say, not even bothering to correct Sherlock's mistake.

"No, Syrena, you are staying with us!" John says exasperated, "Sherlock! Her name is Syrena, and she is not going to live somewhere else!"

“Thank you,” Sherlock says, completely ignoring John. “Now you should be going, I have a case to solve. Goodbye, wait, why are you still here?” His eyes meet yours finally and he looks at you expectantly, “Goodbye,” he says more slowly like you are dumb.

“No, Syrena. You are staying with us.” John glares at Sherlock, “She is staying with us, for gosh sakes, Sherlock, she is my sister!”.

“She is not staying!” Sherlock argues.

“She can stay with me until she finds an apartment, John?” Mrs. Hudson offers. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but Sherlock is going to have to deal with this, he is not going to control how I take care of my sister!” John raises his voice.

Sherlock sighs, “Fine, you win. But she must know that she is not allowed to play loud music, laugh so much, in fact I would prefer if she stayed absolutely silent.”

Mrs. Hudson, who is now standing next to the door, gives Sherlock a disapproving face, “Now Sherlock-”

“Shouldn’t you be going now, Mrs. Hudson, oh is that the downstairs door? Goodbye!” He pratically pushes her out the door and slams it behind her.

“John, where is my file? Nevermind, I’ll get it myself. Shush, don’t breathe so loudly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole street heard you! Now be quiet, I need to enter my mind palace.”

“His what?” You whisper to John as Sherlock sits in a chair, cross-legged, hands held up to his face, fingertips touching, and eyes closed.

“A normal person would call it his brain,” John says.

“QUIET, I am thinking!” Sherlock says, still in the same position as before.

You yank on John’s hand and pull him into your room, shutting the door behind you guys. “I don’t think this will work, John. I think I should find somewhere else to live.” You smile sadly, you had looked forward to staying with your brother, but now it seemed like it wouldn’t work.

John sighs, "Syrena, if you want to get away from Sherlock's degrading comments, I understand. But if you do, let me find a flat for us to share, just the two of us. I promised you a place to stay, and I'm not going to let my sister live in an unfamiliar place if I can be with her and help her adjust."

You laugh, "You certainly are a different sort of brother, most brothers would want to push their little sister away and ignore them."

John shrugs with a smile, "I don't have many friends, so that makes me lonely too."

"No friends at all?" You ask, surprised.

"Well, Mrs. Hudson and Molly Cooper are acquaintances and I like them, they are good people. But I have only one real friend here, and as surprising as it is, it's Sherlock."

You laugh again, "You act annoyed with him all the time, though."

"Trust me, he is annoying and irritating, but fascinating at the same time. He helps prevent my life from being boring with all the cases we run around to solve."

"Do you think he'll let me come along?" You ask.

John smiles, "Sure, all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and give him your best puppy dog eyes, then-"

You wack him in the head, "You're so evil! You know I don't do that and besides, that would never work on him!"

John laughs, "It was worth a shot. But I think he'll be open to letting you come along at least once, he is a show off."

You think for a second then say, "Ok, I'll stay here. But if Sherlock gets too irritated, I'm leaving!" You joke.

John smiles, "That's the spirit, now we have to go meet Molly."

"When? And who's that?"

"Right now! I promised that we'd meet her for dinner." John says, getting up from the bed.

"Are you two dating or something?" You ask, quizzically.

John laughs, "No, she actually secretly likes Sherlock. But she is a kind person and I think you'll like her."

“Why would she like him?” You ask, you weren’t trying to be rude, but it came out like that.

“He may seem cold and standoffish, but he is a good guy.”

“Not as good as you,” You smile cheekily.

John smirks, “Hurry up and get ready. We have to meet her in fifteen minutes.” He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

You sigh and plop onto your bed, there wasn’t much to do to get ready. You pulled out the only other clean outfit you had brought, it was some dark blue jeans and a basic green colored shirt.

After putting the outfit on, you brush your hair and decide to leave it down instead of putting it in a ponytail.

“You ready, Syrena?” John knocks on your door.

“Mhmm,” You nod and open the door. “Ready!” John looks at your choice of clothes, “Hmmm, Molly will know some good places for clothes shopping here.”

You look at your appearance, then back at John. “You think I look terrible?” John laughs, “No, you look beautiful as always. I just know how a girl thinks and that you’d want to go shopping soon and I’d rather not accompany you.” You roll your eyes and smirk, “I see how it is.”

“We should probably be leaving now or we’ll be late,” He said looking at his watch.

The two of you walk out to the livingroom and you are surprised to see Sherlock in the same position as you left him.

“We’ll be back later, Sherlock.” John calls and shakes his head in annoyance as he receives no reply or even an indication that he was heard.

“Bye,” You say as you follow John out the door, little did you know that at your voice Sherlock opened his eyes slightly and watched you as you left, a small smile on his face.

John waves a taxi down and you two get in and John gives the cabbie the destination place.

When you arrive at the small cafe, John leads you to a table where a woman who looks to be a year or two older than you is sitting.

The woman is wearing a reddish-pink blouse and white pants, her long brown hair is in a style where a braid runs from one side of her head over the top to the other. She smiles as she recognizes John and stands up when you near the table. “Hello, I am Molly Cooper. John has told me so much about you!”

You laugh, “Good things I hope?”

Molly chuckles as you sit down next to her, “Absolutely, he practically adores you.”

John hides his face in his hands, “Molly…...don’t, just don’t.”

Molly laughs, “He has told me lots about you, I’m sure he’s happy that you moved here. I am too, there’s not a lot of interesting people here to hang out with besides your brother, Sherlock, and Greg.”

“My brother, interesting?” You smile mischievously at your brother.

John groans, “I’m thinking I shouldn’t have even come now.” A waiter comes to your table and you take John and Molly’s advice of ordering the cheeseburger, fries, and shake combo.

“You won’t regret it,” John promises, “this is one of the best meals here.”

Molly smirks, “He basically eats this every Tuesday.”

“Every Tuesday?” You inquire.

John clears his throat, “We always have dinner together on Tuesdays, Sherlock comes every so often, but he usually just dampers the mood.” He chuckles.

You nod, quietly taking in all the information and forming conclusions in your head.

The waiter comes back bringing you all your meals and shakes, a caramel one for Molly, chocolate for John, and strawberry for you.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur full of laughter and lots of teasing concerning your poor brother.

“It was so nice meeting you,” You smile at your newfound friend.

Molly nods, “Clothes shopping tomorrow then, say around two?”

You laugh, “I don’t really have anything else to do. Do you approve of me going, John?”

John sighs and shakes his head, “You brought out the worst in her, Molly!”

Molly only laughs then hails a cab and says goodbye, a second later she is gone.

“Want me to get a taxi or want to walk home?” John asks, “It’s not a very far walk and it is fairly warm.”

“Let’s walk, I need the exercise.” You laugh and put your arm through John's.

John smiles and then sobers, "Syrena?"

"Yeah?" You ask.

"What happened back in the states?" He asks quietly.

You sigh, you knew he was gonna ask one day about your ex, but you were never gonna be prepared for the question.

John notes your hesitancy and quickly says, “You can tell me when you’re ready, I know it still hurts, but I’m here for you whenever you are ready to talk about it.” He gives you a smile and then asks as casually as he can, “What did you think of Molly?”

You quickly look up at him, giving him a cheesy smile. "Is my brother in love?"

John playfully pushes you away, "Sisters, so presumptuous."

You laugh, "Brothers, so obvious all the time about who they like."

John drags his hand over his face and gives you the funniest, tired expression you had ever seen. "Ok, but for reals. Do you like her?"

“She seems sweet,” You say thoughtfully. “Sweet but sad, she seems like she’s hiding slightly, like she’s insecure. I do like her, John. But why does my opinion matter on this? If you like her, go for it!”

“I can’t,” John sighs, “she’s in love with Sherlock.”

You laugh, “Don’t get all depressed on me now. Keep up the good faith, don’t lose hope!”

You two make it back to Baker Street and quickly run up the stairs.

“Watcha want to bet Sherlock is still in the same position as we left him?” John smirks as he puts his hand on the door knob.

“Really?” You ask, totally thinking your brother is being overdramatic.

John pushes the door open and sure enough, there is Sherlock in his chair, cross-legged, fingertips in front of his face touching, and eyes closed. “Told you.”

Sherlock opens one eye and gives you two a quizzical look, then he resumes exploring his mind palace.

“He’s really extreme,” John informs you, like you haven't already figured it out.

Sherlock gets up and says, “Get your adjectives right, John. I am not extreme, a psychopath, or whatever else people label me. I am a high functioning sociopath.”

“Like I said, he’s extreme.” John crosses his arms. “Figure anything out yet concerning the case?”

Sherlock ignores him, walks into the kitchen and then pours himself a cup of tea. “What is it like inside your funny little brains? It must be so boring.”

You laugh at him, then realize it wasn’t a joke, Sherlock had honestly insulted you, again.

“Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket tearing itself to pieces, trapped on a launching pad.” Sherlock says.

“Not again,” John sighs, “I’ve heard this before.”

“Of course you have, John! Your tiny little brain can only grasp the real meaning though, how I truly feel.” Sherlock glares.

“My mind is like a cat spying on its prey, then the cat gets hit by a lightning strike and gets fried.” John mocks him, clearly improvising on what to say.

“That doesn’t even make sense, John. You’re such an idiot.” Sherlock slurps his tea.

John gives him a face and Sherlock sighs and pulls the cup away from his lips.

“Don’t look like that, practically everyone is an idiot."

"At least other people are more sensitive," you mumble. You usually were a cool and collected person, but now Sherlock was starting to annoy you with his constant degrading comments.

"Did that thing say something?" Sherlock says calmly, referring to you as a thing.

You frown and say in a low voice, "Goodnight," and then head to your room, shutting the door behind you.

You sit down in the chair and eagerly grab the ukulele. You knew Sherlock would be annoyed, but part of you wanted to annoy him now.

You smile at the familiar feel of your fingers pressed against the ukulele strings and you happily use your thumb to strum a G chord. You start to think about what to play and suddenly your fingers start to play the familiar and somewhat sweet, longing tune of Edelweiss.

"You play beautifully." you hear a voice say and you jump and look up at your brother who was standing amused against your doorframe.

"Gosh dang it, John. Don't sneak up on me like that." You shake your head with a smile and randomly pluck a few strings.

John laughs, "Sorry about, well, you know who. He is a bit of a jerk."

"A bit?" You smirk.

"Fine, a lot of a jerk. But he'll come around soon, he's not so bad once you get to know him."

“Promise?” You ask dramatically.

“Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” John recites, it was one of the things that he always used to say to reassure you when you were kids.

You laugh and then lean your head on John’s shoulder, “Thanks for being such a good brother.”

“No problem,” John says, then rips the ukulele out of your hands and starts playing really badly.

You giggle and steal the ukulele back, “Watch and learn,” you tease.

Hey lovelies ;) I started this story a few years ago, I hope some of you can appreciate it still, lol. Depending on how many reviews and likes I get, I might post more in this series. Thank you for giving me a chance!

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evelhak · 1 year

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Hi Eve! Hope it's a good day! I'm curious to know about your art process, where does inspiration come from for you? Lots of love 😘, V.

Wow, that's a big question. Short answer is everywhere but obviously that doesn't really say anything. This is hard for me to describe, so thank you for asking such a challenging question. A key feature in inspiration for me is that there's something I need to exist that doesn't exist. Before I start my fan art and fan fiction, a new project especially, I typically have gone through a lot of other people's art, not finding what I'm looking for, and eventually ending up with the conclusion that I have to do it myself. Like, I would be happy just consuming if what I wanted existed in the world. Maybe it's not quite so clear cut, but I think it's heightened on the fandom side of things for me. Yes, in my original work my initial inspiration is similar but I think on that side I would still have the need to create for fun even if I didn't think I HAD TO bring something specific that was missing, to existence.

So, when an existing story and characters are my inspiration it's things that come together in my head from various threads that are sort of just hanging or floating there in the original material that I see no one drawing together, and I get a little frustrated typically, because I realise these things are not going to come together and then I NEED to draw those threads together, because otherwise it won't happen, and I need it to happen. So, it's things like "Why isn't anyone writing this character in these situations?" "Why isn't anyone paying attention to this underlying pattern?" "Why haven't I seen this joke made before it's literally on a silver platter, why does everyone pass by it?" "Why is this character so underappreciated?" "Why isn't anyone talking about the similarities between this series and that literary work or a fairytale?" So, a lot of times it's that I see missed opportunities.

That's not nearly enough for me to actually draw or write something though, because my projects are just usually big because my brain is like that somehow, so they really have to be worth my time for me to start what I know will eventually be huge. And I think that happens when the things that I see mentioned above tie into a bigger context, a bigger theme that I think is important in the world and that it should be talked about more. Of course sometimes I just have fun and giggles within those projects but it's rare for me to start unless there's something in it that I feel is meaningful thematically and psychologically. Basically something that has the potential to heighten people's self awareness and understanding of the world, and the feeling of community. I know this is so abstract and broad but I can't really help thinking these things. It's not like I'm fantasizing about having a big impact necessarily, it's more like awareness of these things just affects my small choices in art and life.

So, um, I'm trying to give examples to bring this a bit more to the ground level.

In my She-Ra comics one big theme was Adora's abuse because it wasn't on the screen the way Catra's was (for a good reason, I mean that's the point), and I felt like some people were missing how important part of the original story that was, so I felt like making the effects of it visible in a way that a children's show obviously couldn't have.

In KnB a lot of my inspiration is things like... "Fujimaki is unknowingly representing something he doesn't understand at all so he's writing accidental minority characters and then he's using those qualities for barely more than running gags, while so much more could be done with these things and this representation could actually make a difference in someone's life if the angle was shifted ever so slightly".

Obviously I already love these stories, I am a fan of them and I think they are doing so many things right, and that's why when I see something missing or I see fandom interpreting things in a way that I think is mischaracterising something, or even toxic, I just feel like I need to do something.

In my original work the process is similar, just less specific in a way. It's a bit broader. Like, I feel like something is missing in the fantasy genre, or some relationship trope is too toxic and overpowering, or detective novels are the antithesis of everything they stand upon, or "not interpreting this fairytale in this way in this time and age is so tone-deaf". Ideas like that come to my head, so then I have to do something about it.

So. In a way a lot of my inspiration to do things is sparked by something being wrong or missing, which is a bit ironic because in the end my fuel for art has always been joy. I can't really do things out of pain like some artists can, for me it's always happiness that keeps me going because really I see no point without it. I suppose that's why my art is also all about growth, even though it deals with heavy topics, the point of it is always overcoming your obstacles and becoming a better and happier version of yourself.

I guess I could conclude with how I have this love and hope for the human nature, and I easily see the best version someone could be, mentally. I see them loving themself and seeing their own good qualities and treating others with respect and opening up to other people, and inviting the world in. I always have hope because I see that so clearly in everyone, in a specific way that is all about who they are as a person, so it's like... I wish that if I could write characters that people love, in a way that demonstrates that hope, and growth, someone who is struggling could be inspired by those characters. That those characters could help them see the way out of their misery and also call people out when they are treating others or themselves badly. Because the power of example is way more effective than telling someone what to do, because the individual has the freedom and responsibility of interpretation when it comes to examples. And really, I believe that's how it should be because we can't influence anyone who doesn't want to be influenced, no matter the good intentions.

That's... my inspiration, in (not so) short? In the end I'm just a naive idealist with a need to butt in, but with the added benefit of an adult's self-awareness and complexity of thought, haha. And I'm aware I'm a weird, reluctantly obsessive fan artist, because really I want to focus on my original stuff and I want to be able to live by my pen and be an "original" artist, but I can never give up fandom because that's where I feel my specific skill set is utilized to its peak. Because my art process is so source based, that obviously the more specific, the more well defined the source is, the stronger the impact of the things I can bring out of it is too, because I know how to use the reader's expectations and viewpoints way more specifically than I can know them in a broader landscape, such as a whole genre I might be writing my original fiction in.

And this is why things like Sherlock Holmes becoming public domain is like a lottery win for me! That's a very specific but also huge and incredibly complex and popular source that inspires me right now!

Thank you again for the ask, and I hope my answer wasn't too overwhelming.

#ask #fan art #fanfiction #spop #knb

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mari--lace · 1 year

Text

thank you for the tag @novasforce

Number of stories posted to AO3:

2. Word count this year:

38568 (on Ao3. It doesn't account for what I only published on an italian fanfiction site [which doesn't have a word count like Ao3])

3. Fandoms I wrote for:

taking the list from AO3:

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Black Widow

Daredevil (TV)

Harry Potter

Hawkeye (comics/TV)

The Mirror Visitor

Miraculous Ladybug

Moon Knight (TV)

Ms Marvel (comics/TV)

She-Hulk: Attorney at law

Spider-Man (MCU)

The Avengers

4. Pairings:

I mostly wrote gen relationships this year, but here are the pairings:

Matt Murdock/Jennifer Walters

Matt Murdock/Claire Temple

Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanov

Clint Barton/Laura Barton

Michelle Jones/Peter Parker

Draco Malfoy/Luna Lovegood

Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng (MLB)

Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng (MLB)

5. Stories with the most:

Kudos: What am I looking at, Matt? — published right after She-Hulk ep 8 and the hype for the episode did the rest, my most popular story ever :")

Bookmarks: same as above!

Comment threads: A marvelous october, which has 31 chapters. The fic with more comment threads on a single chapter would be the same as above!

Word count: Same as above with its 31 chapters. As a writer, most of my stories are pretty short; my longest one-chapter story on Ao3 (for 2022 at least) would be Sorelle dal sangue diverso, a one-shot in Italian.

6. Work I'm most proud of (and why):

What's in a soul? I'm really proud of how this turned out. It has Natasha coming back without her memories when Bruce snaps his fingers and it delves on the bond between memoried and identity. Is she still Natasha? Is she not? She meets Matt along the way.

7. Work I'm least proud of (and why): maybe a short hogwarts!au I wrote in italian for a challenge. I'm not super satisfied with the final result (mostly because it doesn't really go anywhere), but it was one of the first things I wrote for the Daredevil fandom, so there's that.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

"oh my goshhhh this is so poetic and beautiful. "Would you like to tell me why?" MY HEART.

Also, Nat saying she “Swapped it for an orange rock.” made me smile. A very Nat thing to say. (And she says she's not still Nat!)"

"oh wow, this is so good, and so poignant? in a way. how you portrayed Nat’s identity issues and struggling to be someone you’re not, someone everyone expects you to be, felt so real. this fic was so lovely. thank you so much for writing! <3"

Both those two comments made me smile so much 🥹

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: Pretty much all the first part of the year, from January to September. I wrote next to nothing then.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Maybe that I actually wrote about Clint and Laura. Also Jennifer Walters, I wasn't expecting it but I found writing from her pov pretty easy and kinda fun.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: from What's in a soul?:

“I'm the ghost of a sister. I'm the ghost of a friend. I'm the ghost of a killer and a hero.” She pauses. Her heartbeat slows back to its usual steady rhythm. “I'm a shadow who is more comfortable talking and fighting with a vigilante than surrounded by people who say they love her.”

12: How did you grow as a writer this year: I wrote a lot directly in English, which is something I didn't really do before (I've translated a few stories in the past, but translating and writing are pretty different processes).

13. How do you hope to grow next year: I hope to keep writing, first of all, in both English and Italian. I hope to improve and to be able to write meaningful stories.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): I can't not mention @ceterisparibus116. I read pretty much every Daredevil story on her profile and I fell in love with everything – the themes, the characterizations, the plots. So good aaaaaaaaaaaa

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: there's always something from my experiences in my writing, usually in a not very explicit way, but yeah.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: Don't write to cater to an audience; write to cater to yourself. If you love what you do, readers can see that love, and they'll believe in it, too. <- I'm keeping @novasforce's advise because it's really good! And I completely agree. Write what you like first and foremost, without worrying about how many people might or might not read and appreciate it.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: I am working on something for the DDE, so there's that. I'm also joining a challenge to write a story a month according to certain themes, so I hope to be able to fulfill that too (last year I only got 7 months/12).

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

Just, anyone who wants to do this feel free to! Plus @reginadiutopia @drogatadiapifrizzole @folkloristico

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askfallenroyalty · 3 years

Note

I don't think you did anything wrong. When a story is being written, there are a lot of different ways to adress and express something and maybe that's why you're being misunderstood. I think there are just too many things to adress in this story that maybe some people will get when these things are implicitly implied and some people will not. So when a breaking point comes, they'd think it came out of nowhere. You can see this with the amount of asks you receive asking you often the same thing.

Does that mean it's wrong? Ofc not! I myself was a little bit confused with Frisk's reactions and conduct in general until you explained it in your recent asks, and I thought man, that was what I was missing!

Now, yes I believe some parts of the story could have been explained in a different way, because in my opinion there's a lot to read between the lines. If you don't try to understand the characters, you'll clearly be confused as hell. But that's why I love this story! As you said before, there's nothing meant to be black/white coded, and I really appreciate the world and the character's complexity in general. You don't have some of the answers in hand, an that's when you have to analize! (At least that's what I do haha)

I also really felt like telling you something I've been relating to, so I'm putting the respectives tw if someone doesn't want to keep reading (TW: Suicide mention).

In the DW Arc, when the Christmas and Feylow stuff happened, I realised through Chara that I was doing the exact same thing with a friend of mine. He was going through a lot of stuff, and tried to commit suicide multiple times. I was focusing a huge amount of energy on him because I was afraid to lose him, and when he suddenly stopped talking to me so he could take a break, I felt really lost. Because he was the person I talked with the most, one of my dearest friends, and the idea of losing him and not being there to stop it made me insanely anxious, because that used to be the situation most of the times. Now it's been a year since he's stopped talking to me, and I don't exactly know the reason. But I couldn't keep running behind someone who didn't seem to keep wanting me around. And if it wasn't for you, I couldn't have realized how much this was hurting me.

And now, as much as it hurts me to see him acting this distant and cold with me, I'm okay with it. I really am. Because I now have the tranquility to see him continue, even when things are not okay. I can't force a friendship and I really needed to understand that back then. I trust him as much as he trusts me.

I really wanted to thank you for writing this story because it has helped me in a way I didn't expect, and I'm sure it will help a lot of people too! I'm even learning from your way of taking and discussing things haha.

I just wanted you to have this tranquility I have with this story because I trust it'll work out and explain itself once it's finished. And I just can't express how thankful I am to be reading your story.

Thank you again,

I'm looking forward to more of your work and please, take care! Don't stop doing what you enjoy! 🦋

putting it under a readmore because of how long the ask/response is, sorry!

i’m at a loss of words because wow, this ask really hit in a way i’ve never really could of anticipated. when writing AFR, i write a story about things I felt. I’ve been Chara, I’ve been Asriel and Frisk at points in my life. I write because I need to tell their stories and make it real, specifically for my own sake of getting through my own pain and to tell the world this is who i am and that I will be ok, there is hope in this world. It’s a selfish desire for me, but ultimately that’s what art is i feel. I couldn’t draw this much and put so much time and effort into something without it being meaningful or personal.

but art is communication, and when I write to be seen and to be heard, I know there’s others who are reading and are connecting with the work. (otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting asks right? its a lonely process, i forget there’s the second half of the equation -you guys) and i’ll do my best to make sure people are accommodated and can experience this story without hurting in a way that’s past enjoying a emotionally gripping piece of media. i don’t want people to be upset or hurt for my work, and I want to ensure I can make this without hurting others.

I try to leave a lot of ambiguity and room for people to interpret stories and I don’t mind people missing the point or interpreting things vastly differently than what I intended. that’s fine, that’s what art is all about. i don’t want to hold people’s hands and tell them what’s happening or what they should feel -i want them to choose and decipher and think things over. stories should be stimulating and thought provoking, and i can’t decide what those thoughts are. I wouldn’t want to. Personally, if it means people become more confused and lost over the story -well, that’s a trade off I have to take. if it means the story is more up-to-interpretation, than it’s worth it to me.

i do regret with how fast and punchy the arc ended up, and I feel my hints may have been too weak. asriel/flowey has been bluntly surprised/asking to be killed twice, he hasn’t felt like himself since dying and has lost his support systems ect. as a person who’s Been Through Shit, I thought it was as obvious as the sun what was to come but thinking on it now?

with how distance asriel is, how limited the perspective is to chara (who hasn’t known Asriel has been going thru the same depressive/suicidal thoughts as they have this whole time) it was a shock to the system. and in a way that’s fine in my eyes if the reader was completely shocked as you can emphasize more with chara that way... but in the same sense its horrifying for them, it must be for the reader as well.

and I do feel I should of thought of a way to handle the scenario to where it was less in your-face with Asriel’s decent into desperation and attempts. I don’t want to ever show it on screen, I don’t want to ever go into detail and make it any sort of fun for the viewer. it’s supposed to be disturbing and painful and I tried to show how greatly painful it was affecting both chara and frisk. Suicide victims are victims and everyone involved suffer from it. It’s ugly and never something one should be anything but ugly.

that is my intent for it be that, but as I’ve heard from people it’s still a shock and went too far. Authorial intent doesn’t matter when people react to your stories. yes, the context can be good to have, but people’s feelings and reactions mean the world more. I hope with the added context of the complete story that helps it in the long run, but as it is I’m very unhappy with how I tackled it and I don’t really have a good answer to how I should of gone about it. but at the end of the day that doesn’t matter as it happened and I can’t change it.

i’m sorry about your friend and i’m sorry for the pain you’ve experienced as well. it’s not easy being in that position (nor is it for ur friend as well of course) and it’s perfectly fine to feel hurt and to take time for yourself to address those feelings. You, as a person, matter and your feelings are justifiably important as well. nobody asks to be mentally ill and your friend’s choices aren’t fully theirs because of that, but it doesn’t change how it’s affected and hurt you. Losing someone’s friendship has always been a painful and inevitable experience people must go thru in life. I’m sorry that you’ve gone through that, but I’m glad -so happy that my story has helped you in any amount. I sincerely wish you both the best and to heal, I’m proud of you anon for getting through this.

I can’t really express how much it means as a writer to see how my work helped you. Like I mentioned before, I write and feel like it’s by myself that makes this work but it’s a 2 way street -you guys contribute to the story and the story only exists and is perceived by you. without an audience, it really truly is just me here. what you gain and experience within a story is just as important as the writing of the work itself and I often forget that.

Thank you. This was a really nice and eye opening ask and it’s going to be on my mind for a while, haha. I hope once the story is done and I can post-correct how I handle the story, people can learn and gain meaning to it like you have. Sorry if this was a bit rambly, I’m very thankful for your response (as well as everyone else who’s messaged!) and I’m very happy and excited to continue and to do my best. Thank you all so much.

#ooc #tbd #not art #suicide #ask to tag #also sorry i do not mean to get so parasocial here! is it parasocial in this instance?#i'm not fully sure but regardless #i do want my readers to be ok and I hope its not out of line to respond like this #maybe i'm overthinking things im sorry asdfkljasd #Anonymous

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impala-dreamer · 3 years

Note

I'm not a writer but here's my best try at a 'comfort fic.' hope you like it.

Jensen x Becca

"Fuck! Not again!" Becca grunted, throwing her computer on the floor of her bedroom. The fragile bundle of plastic, metal and glass landing with a less than satisfying thud. Becca had half a mind to take it outside to the garage and beat the damn thing with a hammer until nothing remained.

She begrudgingly dragged herself from her bed, stepping over the object, fighting the urge to stomp on it, as she made her way out of her bedroom.

"Oh, hey." Becca said opening her door to her roommate, Jensen, with his hand in midair about to knock.

"Hey, uh, you okay? What was that thud? You stub your toe or somethin'?" He inquired with a cheeky grin, that is until he seen the unimpressed expression on her face. His tone then became much softer, softer than she was used to. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Becca closed her eyes with a sigh, before releasing the flood gates, and airing her frustration to the emerald eyes staring back at her.

"Nothing, it's just my laptop, it's been messing up for a while now, and it just quit on me. Like completely dead. And now I have no way to do any of my work, or write my stories. Which means I'm gonna be even more broke this week because I'm gonna miss all my deadlines. Which also means I can't afford another computer which will put me even more behind and I'm never gonna catch up, and I'm just so, so very so tired. And-"

"Hey, hey, calm down for a second and take a deep breath." Jensen said, gently cupping her cheek, running his thumb across her cheekbone.

Becca complied.

"Okay, and another."

He paused while she took another deep breath.

"Good. Now come here." Jensen smiled as he pulled Becca into his chest. One hand came up to cradle the back of her head, as the other wrapped around her lower back pulling her body flush to his own.

For a long moment he said nothing, gently rocking her while they stood there in the doorway of her bedroom. It wasn't long before Becca burst into tears, crying into his neck as he held her close.

See it wasn't just the stupid laptop eating away at her, actually it was everything. Lately it just seemed like the world was closing in on her. Becca's anxiety had been through the roof for weeks now, and she just couldn't take it anymore.

Not to mention the fact that she was in love with her best friend, who was in love with someone else. Standing there in his arms crying her eyes out, she allowed herself to imagine that he loved her the way she loved him.

She was almost able to believe it, but she knew better.

"Okay listen, here's what we're gonna do-" he started, leaning away from her so he could look into her eyes, wiping away her tears. "I'm gonna go run you a bath with some of that bubbly shit you like, and you're gonna go in there and relax for a while."

"Jensen you don't have to do that, I can run my own bath." Becca sighed with a roll of her eyes.

"I know you can, that's not the point. Now go find some clothes to put on, and I'll go get it ready. Ok?" He confirmed. Becca just nodded, and he grinned before kissing her head and walking off towards the bathroom.

'Stupid, sweet boy.' she thought to herself, opening her dresser to gather her things.

Ten minutes passed before Jensen called her into the bathroom, and when Becca entered she couldn't believe her eyes.

He had done more than just prepare a bath for her. No, he had set the scene entirely.

He had lit candles, and sprinkled rose petals along the floor and over the bubbles in the bathtub. There was a bottle of wine and a wine glass sitting on the counter, and her favorite song was playing from the bluetooth speaker.

"Jensen.. wow." She breathed, already feeling like she may cry again.

"Ah, it's nothing." He dismissed, rubbing the back of his neck and nibbling on his full bottom lip.

"Nothing.. what? Jensen this is beautiful. No one's ever done anything for me, remotely as sweet as this before." She said, gesturing around the room.

"Well.. I'm glad you like it, darlin', enjoy. I'll let you know when dinners ready." Jensen stepped around her, kissing her temple, before closing the door behind himself.

Now Becca's head was swimming with thoughts of what that means. It's not that it's unusual for Jensen to kiss her head, but he'd never done it twice in one day, let alone in ten minutes.

Becca got undressed, clipped her hair up, and slowly eased her aching body into the scorching hot water, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips.

She inhaled the thick scent of lavander as her eyes drifted shut, relishing in the feeling of her entire body relaxing all at once.

It wasn't long before she was fast asleep, the wine long forgotten on the counter. Before she knew it Jensen was gently knocking on the door with the promise of delicious food right down the hallway.

As Becca entered the kitchen, her mouth once again hit the floor.

Jensen had once again set the scene. He'd dimmed the lights, lit candles, put on some quiet music in the background, and the dinner he'd made for the two of them was spread out on the table.

"Omg, what's all this?" She gasped, eyes as big as saucers.

"Oh nothing really, just trying to help ya relax, ya know? Come sit."

Becca slowly walked to the table, becoming even more confused when he pulled the seat out for her, sliding it under her as she sat down.

"Again, Jensen, this is not nothing." She almost whispered, not even sure if he'd heard her until he sat down across from her.

"Just enjoy this will ya? It's no big deal, I just hate seeing you so stressed out, especially when something as simple as this will make you feel better. Hopefully, anyways."

Becca nodded, looking at the juicy burger and crispy fries in front of her, hearing her stomach rumble at the thought of food.

They both sat in comfortable silence as they ate. Becca constantly wondering what had gotten into him. Why was he being so sweet? It's not unlike him to care, but grand gestures like this? Fucking weird.

Occasionally the pair would make eye contact and they'd both smile a little, but they never spoke.

When dinner was over Jensen took their plates to the sink before coming back over to Becca, taking her hand.

"Come with me." Jensen said pulling her to her feet.

He quietly led them to his bedroom, making her close her eyes before he opened his door. He led her into the center of his room and let go of her hand.

"Okay. Open em'."

Becca opened her eyes to see that Jensen had set up his bed with every pillow in the house, her weighted blanket folded up at the foot of his bed, a basket full of the candy they keep in the kitchen was on his nightstand, and her favorite movie was up on his tv.

This time when Becca seen what Jensen had set up, she'd had enough.

"Whadaya think? Movies and cuddles sound good?" He asked, as he slid his arm around her shoulders, leaning in to ONCE AGAIN kiss her temple.

Becca pulled away, taking a large step backwards.

"Jensen enough, what are you doing? This is so weird. What's going on?" She huffed.

"Becca, I told you already I'm just trying to help you relax."

Becca couldn't even stand to look at him. Here he was doing something that was incredibly meaningful for her, but to him it was no big deal? This is what she'd always wanted, especially from him, but not in the way she'd hoped. This was too big, it was like rubbing it in her face that this man, who's done these amazing things for her, would never truly be hers.

"Jensen. I.. I think I just need to lie down. Thank you for all this, but I just need some sleep." Becca turned and started for the door, trying to get away from him before the tears in her eyes could fall..but Jensen stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm.

"Becca come on, just one movie? Please?"

Becca couldn't look at him, couldn't even speak, and with a gentle tug of her arm, she walked out of his room.

But, to her dismay, Jensen followed.

Becca didn't have the energy to fight him, and as she entered her room, she left the door open behind her. Sure enough, he followed, closing the door behind him.

"Becca please, tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong."

Becca still hadnt looked at him.

"Nothing's wrong Jensen, I'm just tired." She replied weakly.

"Bullshit. You're crying. Why?"

She couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Because Jensen! Because you're too fucking perfect. I know you're just trying to make me feel better but it means more than that to me." She yelled, finally facing him. "Because you mean more to me than you should, and I can't handle you doing things like that for me, because I know you're not doing it for the reason I want you to be." She finished quietly.

"Sweetheart-"

"Stop calling me that," she shot back.

"Becca. What are you saying?" Jensen asked quietly.

"You don't love me. And when you do stuff like all this, it makes me feel like you do. And I can't take it."

"Don't love you? What the fuck?" Jensen snapped, anger and confusion flooding his system. "I did all this BECAUSE I love you."

"Not like I love you." Becca whispered, tears falling freely down her face.

"And how exactly is that?" He asked, taking a slow step towards her.

"Shit Jensen, you really gonna make me spell it out for you?? I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU." She cried.

Jensen grinned. Actually GRINNED at her.

"Becca, I'm in love with you too, sweetheart. Always have been. I mean shit, literally since the day we met."

"What?" Becca asked dumbly.

"You heard me."

Becca felt dizzy, and her knees felt weak, just as she started to buckle, Jensen caught her. He scooped her up into his arms bridal style, and took her back to his room.

Jensen gently laid Becca on his bed, covering her up with her weighted blanket before climbing in beside her.

He leaned over her and planted a wet kiss on her forehead, before repeating the action on the top of her nose, before finally connecting their lips for the first time.

They kisses for a long moment before Becca suddenly pulled away.

"Wait. You're in love with me??"

Jensen just laughed.

"Yes baby, come here."

Becca cuddled into Jensens side, laying her head on his chest, knee across his groin, breathing in his delicious cologne.

"Get some sleep babygirl, we'll talk about this in the morning, and see about getting you a new laptop, okay?"

Becca didn't even try to argue with him because she knew it would do absolutely no good.

"Okay," she sighed.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Jensen."

And together they drifted off into blissfull sleep.

<3333

#idk it seems like you're a great writer #thank you so much #i read this like 3x this morning #<3

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

Note

Idk if I've already shared this w you but just in case I didn't

I can't reread ch11. I took my sweet time reading it the first time knowing there'd be a chance it would hit too close to home. Idk if you meant for it all to be that way, but vampire!H allowing himself to be happy even though he thinks he doesn't deserve it and knowing it won't work out in the long run but fuck it, he deserves to have some form of happiness in his life and she makes him happy and he seems to make her happy so he allowed himself to be happy even though he knows it's not gonna end up perfectly... Being in therapy for a year and suffering from a lot of things 2 years prior to that and having worked on myself for 2 years now, letting yourself feel whatever good things you're feeling and are happening around you is the most insufferable and difficult and annoying and insane parts of recovery. And you wrote it so beautifully and precisely that it hurts. It hurts because for the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn't let myself accept the good things life has to offer. And then you two come along and create a character that is basically me and I can see myself in him and then I read that he's trying to be better, trying to let himself feel good, despite his brain telling him he's not worthy.

He's a supernatural creature with decades of trauma. I get that he can't be an exactly accurate representation of my journey. But he is. Again, idk if you had mental health and recovery in mind when you created his character in the first place. In case you didn't, I need you both to know that your story is touching people in ways you can't even comprehend and ch11 felt like being wrapped in the most comfortable blankie sipping a warm cup of coffee, looking out the window and smelling and feeling the first drops of rain. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you.

(Please make sure leyla reads this as well)

Wow I’m truly so speechless, thank you so much!! Ch11 definitely gets a bit more into a lot of Harry’s issues, where they stem from, and how he deals with them now, which is definitely an emotional journey because the story is starting to unpack all of his problems on a deeper level now that he’s allowed himself to become vulnerable.

The book is obviously fiction and it’s based off fantasy with the monsters and all, but I feel like every good story needs to have a bit of truth in it to be impactful and meaningful, and I think that’s very well what Leyla and I intended for Harry’s character. I personally think it’s really important for novels to address mental health, because realistic characters just can’t be cookie-cutter perfect, since no person ever is. The fic has been pretty humorous thus far, with a few serious moments here and there that gave a peek into all of Harry’s inner turmoil with himself, and as the story will progress, you guys will see all of his baggage be unpacked and all of his battles laid out bare, which will include a lot of psychological things like depression, anxiety, guilt, self-loathing, trust and abandonment issues, emotional manipulation, etc (which will all have adequate warnings beforehand, don’t worry!!). It’s a made up person in a made up world, but he has his own versions of the problems a lot of real people deal with every day, and it’s good to have them represented and addressed so others know they’re not alone, that their struggles are valid, and that recovery is possible! It’s what gives him substance and makes him relatable!!

I’m really happy those specific parts of the fic resonated with you, it means we’re doing something right. Thank you for sharing your views on it and for letting us know that we made you feel seen in any way. It’s all we could hope for 🥺

#ysijwa!ask

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cherryblossomstars · 4 years

Text

II. Navy (W. Ushijima)

Taken from my AO3 series of one-shots & reposted here

Pairing: Ushijima x F!Reader

Word count: 1,446

Genre: Fluff, birthday fic

Summary: Aoba Johsai's volleyball team has never been able to defeat the Great Ushiwaka of Shiratorizawa. Their manager, however? She can bring him to his knees in mere seconds.

Or, Ushijima Wakatoshi is helplessly in love with Seijoh's Ace's twin sister, and the Aoba Johsai VBC is not appreciative of it.

Previous | Next

It's no secret that Ushijima Wakatoshi is a baby when it comes to matters of love or any emotion that comes with showing affection. His movements on the court are lithe, careful, and precise. Mistakes rarely happen when he's playing his beloved sport, and errors will almost certainly never happen if he's at his peak concentration- then he's at a completely different and untouchable level. He has a degree of grace and beauty on the court that a professional figure skater would be jealous of (not to mention his incredible stamina).

And yet, when it comes to you, he may as well be an infant struggling to walk. It's messy, he's not sure what he's doing, and sometimes he gets hurt trying to figure it out. He knows you, that much he's sure about. You've both known each other for years now. So why, why is it so hard to figure out something to do for you on your birthday?

Around the holidays and on his birthday, he would always tell you not to get him something. He's not a big fan of presents. If he needed something, he'd simply ask his family and then in 1-2 business days, bam. The item in question would be at his front door. And yet, every time, you've still found a way to give him something meaningful.

In the three years he's known you, you've given him a scrapbook, a jar of reasons you love him, and, his most favorite gift of all, a volleyball with everyone's signatures on it. Not just his team's, but other teams as well. People from the Fukurodani, Johzenji, Nekoma, Itachiyama, hell, even Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. You'd somehow managed to coerce Oikawa into signing it. When he'd asked about Oikawa, you'd simply shrug and say "he owed me one". He decided not to press any further. While some people opted to simply write their name on the ball, others wrote little messages too. Iwaizumi Hajime had written a simple happy birthday, while Tendou had to be stopped by you from practically taking up the entire damn ball, a story told to him by his teammates later on. He even cracked a small chuckle imagining your small figure trying to restrain Tendou Satori of all people. He also learned that Oikawa likes to sign his name with a star next to his signature. Ushijima thought it was tacky, but it fit his personality well. Every year you didn't have a physical present for him, you'd take him out on a date or give him one of your homemade bentos.

He was not a fan of presents, but he's certainly grown to look forward to receiving yours.

Yet, every year, he struggles to figure out what to get you. In the past years, he'd given you something simple, but nice or something you just happened to need at the time. One year it was a phone, since Oikawa had accidentally broken yours that year. Ushijima had to visit Oikawa himself and convince him not to buy you a new phone, since Ushijima would be the one handling it. After some debate, Oikawa finally gave in. Another year he'd gotten you a simple silver band, one that you keep on your index finger. He rarely sees you go out without it on, something he's found very pleasing. It brings a sense of satisfaction to his mind when he sees it on you.

Perhaps it was the weather, he rationalized, that was getting in the way of his ideas. Or maybe it was the fact that he had another practice match coming up soon, so he was also coming up with game plans in the back of his mind. He needed to focus. Ushijima was normally ahead of things when it came to plans with you, but he's been so busy with volleyball these past few weeks that he hasn't been able to buy you your gift yet. And now it was six in the evening on a Friday, and he still wasn't sure what to get you for your birthday tomorrow.

He grumbled under his breath, he'd just have to swallow his pride and ask for help. He took out his phone and called the first person he could think of- Tendou. You two were good friends, after all.

"Helloooo? What's up Wakatoshi?" Tendou sang.

"[Name]." He said.

"You're gonna have to give me more context than that." His friend pointed out.

"We're celebrating her birthday tomorrow and I'm unsure of what to get her."

"Something sweet. She's got a pretty awful sweet tooth after all."

"I want something she can keep. Something that will last."

"Oh wow. What a doting boyfriend. Hmm... Well I don't think she needs anything right now... Oh! Why don't you just give that ace from Seijoh a call?"

"...I do not have his number."

"I'll text it to you. Later." And with that, the line went dead.

Damn. He had to ignore his pride just to call Tendou, but Iwaizumi? That was a different level. He'd do it, though, because it's for you.

Ding!

Tendou: It's +81-XXX-XXXX-XXX

Tendou: good luck~ (*´ I `)ﾉﾟ(ﾉД｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Ushijima: Thank you.

Should he call or text? Maybe texting would be the better option. You never answered any unknown numbers, who's to say your twin wasn't the same way? He gave your brother a contact before sending a text.

Ushijima: Hello, Iwaizumi. It's Ushijima. Do you have any good gift ideas for [Name]?

Iwaizumi: dude how'd you get my number?

Ushijima: Tendou had it.

Iwaizumi: cool. follow up question: why does he have it?

Iwaizumi: nevermind. not sure I wanna know.

Ushijima couldn't help but think about how you and your brother text the same way.

Iwaizumi: dunno. she likes meaningful gifts i guess. maybe an album? or a scr:"//ad39E

He furrowed his brows in confusion. A what?

Iwaizumi: sorry. oikawa made a grab for my phone. i was gonna say maybe a scrapbook.

Ushijima: I don't know how to make those.

Iwaizumi: painting?

Ushijima: I am bad at art. What are other people getting her?

Iwaizumi: im getting her a new video game for her switch. oikawa's getting her concert tickets to that band she likes so much. yahaba and kyoutani pooled their money together and got her a bunch of new clothes. kunimi's giving her $20. the rest of team pooled their money together and got her a new tablet. i know the players from fukurodani, karasuno, johzenji, nekoma, itachiyama, and inarizaki got her stuff but i dont know what.

Iwaizumi: wait actually those twins from inarizaki got her a stuffed animal and a box of cookies from a bakery she likes

Yahaba and Kyoutani got her clothes... A lightbulb lights up in his mind.

Ushijima: Thank you. I know what to give her.

Iwaizumi: yea no problem

Ushijima went to the shopping district for no reason, then. He went back to his dorm, stepping inside and immediately opening his closet.

"Figured something out?" Tendou greeted from his bunk.

"Yes." He responded, taking one of his sweaters off from a hanger and holding it out in front of him.

Tendou raises his eyebrows in shock, "she's gonna be swimming in that."

"Yes, but she likes to take my volleyball jacket all the time. She says it smells like me, so I may as well give her this one since she can't keep the volleyball jacket." Ushijima holds in front of him a large maroon sweater with the word Shiratorizawa printed in white on it. It was bought to fit him and all his 189 centimeter glory.

"She'll love it."

"Why are you giving this back to me? I gave it to you." Ushijima tilts his head slightly.

You stood in front of him holding out the sweater he had given you for your birthday a few weeks ago, neatly folded in your hands. You felt your face grow hot in embarrassment. "It... Doesn't smell like you anymore. There's no point if it doesn't feel like I'm close to you."

He's quiet for a moment before taking the sweater from your hands. "So you are returning it?"

You can't look at him in the eye, "for now. I want it back, of course. Just... wash it or something with whatever laundry soap you use and give it back so it smells like you."

He smiles softly at you and presses a light kiss to your forehead. He doesn't look like someone who could be soft. His sheer strength on the court and his powerful spikes on the court can attest to that, but he can't help it when it came to you.

"I love you."

Fin.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #shiratorizawa x reader #platonic tendou x reader #aoba johsai x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #reader insert

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hellchilde · 3 years

Text

The Thing With Feathers

wow it feels like ten million years since i posted a real fic

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén, Song Lan | Song Zichen & Xiao Xingchen, Xiao Xingchen & Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei

Characters: Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan | Song Zichen, Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei, Wen Qing

Additional Tags: Disabled Character, Blindness, Blind Xiǎo Xīngchén, Lack of Communication, Established Relationship, brief scene with blood, Recreational Drug Use, (but it's just weed), Alcohol, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Cock Warming, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Reincarnation Vibes

Words: 8970

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to throw your life into sharp focus it to stumble over a dying criminal in the street and let it consume your life.

Or: Xiao Xingchen finds Xue Yang injured alongside the road and the rhythm of the carefully constructed life he has with Song Lan no longer seems entirely stable.

It happens when he's walking home from class.

This time, the reason for Xiao Xingchen's loss of vision is not so noble or meaningful. Sometimes things happen for a reason, but sometimes things just happen and it's shit luck and you have to make due with the cards you're dealt. Sometimes you're too young when your vision deteriorates to nothing, but at least that means you don't have to see their pitying looks in the encroaching darkness. But sometimes, there is a good man who is there for you and can help you pick up the pieces when your life changes too quickly for you to deal with. That is a spot of good luck, because this man is someone you love and could picture a life with, even if it's not the life your parents had intended, or the life you set out to start back when the possibilities were endless. This time, Xiao Xingchen learns the lines of Song Lan's face with his fingertips before his sight is completely gone, and lets him reshape their lives to accommodate this unforeseen obstacle to what could have been a story of happily ever after.

With a white cane in hand and a determined set to his face, Xiao Xingchen walks the increasingly familiar path between home, subway, school, subway, home. Never did he plan on learning a new language in his late twenties, but that language is braille, and he refuses to be totally helpless in a world designed against him. Audiobooks help, but he can't listen to them while he walks, has to stay vigilant with his remaining senses or let himself be pummeled by people who won't see him. Shame the onus has to be on him. So it might be dark, but maybe it's not, when he trips over something and sprawls inelegantly, embarrassingly to the ground. His cheeks and ears are burning, he dropped his cane but finds it quickly. Stupid, stupid, he should have felt it.

He reaches back to feel what he tripped over, and feels fabric, flesh. He gropes his way up, increasingly concerned when the person doesn't move or make a sound, and he smells blood. Then finally he feels the blood, sticky and warm but cooling, and is worried he is feeling a corpse until he feels the chest rise and fall and hears the wheeze of breath. He snatches his hands away, worried, and scrambles for the phone in his pocket. It has a voice-to-text option, and that makes up for the lack of buttons. He's never had to dial 9-1-1, and he thinks his voice on the line to the operator is nervous and panicked. He can't even tell her for certain which street he's on, except that it's five blocks from the campus where he had class.

That must be enough. The EMT's arrive and take stock of the situation, and they reassure him, and when he asks them if he can ride in the ambulance, they agree without too much argument. The ride to the hospital is horrible, though, because he has no idea where he's going or how far away and every turn makes him motion sick. He still doesn't consider leaving behind the man he found. The emergency room is chaotic, but one of the EMT's spares the time to lead him out to the waiting room, and someone eventually gets him some water.

“He's in surgery, and then they'll be admitting him for observation,” one of the staff says to him. He's already given his report to the police, explained his innocent side. He's not a suspect for what appears to be a violent crime, but they took his contact information. Otherwise, Xiao Xingchen doesn't know much. “You don't know him, so … you can go home if you want. I'm sure he would appreciate the kindness of a stranger.”

“Were you able to find an emergency contact?” he asks. So far, he has been the only visitor present.

“No,” the staff says. “Don't worry, the police are looking into it.”

“I would prefer to stay with him,” Xiao Xingchen says, because he does always try to be noble, even without a sword in his hands.

The staff member, maybe a nurse or a receptionist but probably not a doctor, reaches out to touch his hands where they're clasped protectively around his cane. He makes a face because he wouldn't have accepted the touch if asked permission, but at least it's kind. “You're a good man,” the staff member says. “We'll help you to the waiting room near where he'll be resting.”

At some point, someone gives him a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a cup of coffee. The sandwich is ham and soggy, but he eats a little of it, and the coffee tastes old and watery. At some point, Xiao Xingchen sleeps in his chair. At some point, someone informs him that the man made it through surgery and is sleeping. At some point, Xiao Xingchen awakens to the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“You didn't come home,” Song Lan's voice says, strained. “I was worried.”

“I'll be home soon,” Xiao Xingchen replies. “I have to make sure he made it through. I'm the one who found him, it's my responsibility.” He doesn't like the hospital, which is cold and antiseptic, and his chair isn't comfortable. He's still going to stay. He has to, even if he has to rely on the kindness of strangers to find the bathroom.

Song Lan sighs, too familiar with this side of him. “Call me to come pick you up,” he says quietly. “The hospital isn't far.”

Xiao Xingchen says goodbye and hangs up and only resents a little that the offer makes him feel helpless. He rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty and sore, and locates the remains of his soggy sandwich to at least get something in his stomach. He listens to the sounds of the hospital around him, beeping machines and ringing phones and quiet voices and people rushing by in non-skid shoes. He seems to be politely ignored, or perhaps forgotten, but he doesn't know how long it's supposed to take until he learns what happened.

At some point, another member of staff approaches him and sits beside him, clearing her throat softly. “I have some news, Mr. Xiao,” she says, accented Mandarin. He tries not to be insulted that they think his English isn't good. “The police have found out the identity of the man you found. Apparently … he's wanted for murder, and some other crimes. He works for some very bad men.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns, the information hard to take in. A criminal? He saved a criminal?

“You did a good thing,” she continues. “They'll bring him in to face justice. They wanted me to thank you.”

He manages to nod, trying not to reveal how shaken he is by the news. Why should it bother him so much? He doesn't know this man and has no connection to him other than finding him mostly dead on his walk to the subway. And yet he still feels betrayed. He did something good, he saved a man, and he turns out to be a criminal. It doesn't feel fair, but so little in his life feels fair.

His intentions have been to stay until the man wakes up and introduce himself, get to know him, but he no longer wants that. Instead he digs out his phone as soon as the nurse leaves and dials Song Lan's number to request a ride and pulls himself to his feet, legs feeling stiff from a long night spent in an uncomfortable chair. He still has that feeling that he should at least peek in on the man that he saved, but then, what's the use in that when he hasn't peeked at anything since his vision gave up on him?

It doesn't take very much help from others to make it down to the front of the building and out the doors – the elevator had braille, and the flow of traffic was relatively logical. He takes a breath of fresh air and stands by the curb to wait for Song Lan, his cane clasped in his hands. He hasn't bothered to ask the time, but by the temperature outside and the birds and the angle of the sun he can feel on his skin, he guesses it's midmorning. He's been out all night. No wonder Song Lan was worried.

He hears the car, and the door opens, and there's Song Lan's voice instructing him to get in. He reaches out to feel the edge of the car door and then climbs inside, settling gratefully into the familiar passenger seat to let Song Lan pull away from the hospital.

“Did he wake up?” Song Lan asks after a few moments of silence.

“I don't know,” Xiao Xingchen replies, collapsing his cane back down to make more room in the footwell for his legs. “They told me they found out who he was. A criminal wanted for murder, with mob connections. I didn't want to stay after that. I'm sure they'll arrest him.” He's still not sure how he feels about that. Bad, bad, like there's rocks in his stomach.

Song Lan thinks about that, his driving much smoother than that of the ambulance, mindful of not taking the turns too quickly. “Well, it's a good thing he's off the streets,” he says at last. “And good that you didn't let him die. It's best that he faces the consequences of what he's done.”

Xiao Xingchen nods and chews on his bottom lip, turning towards the window to feel the sun on his face. He's tired, more tired than before, and he thinks he'll sleep all day even if it'll totally throw off his sleep schedule. He feels depressed, for no reason he can put a finger on. How had he been the one to stumble on that man?

He takes Song Lan's help here and there to get inside, finding it reassuring to always reach out and find him there, and then they are safely behind a door and he finds the bed and collapses into it. When he wakes up again, Song Lan is stretched out beside him, breathing deep and even in sleep. Xiao Xingchen sighs, rolls over, and scoots unobtrusively out of bed to find the cigarettes he has hidden in a corner of the closet in case of emergency. He secludes himself on the fire escape to smoke in peace and rub his temple while he attempts to figure out what he's feeling.

He hasn't figured it out by the time he's finished one cigarette, and he has just enough self control to cut himself off after one, then retreats back inside to at least pretend to do some work.

The next time Xiao Xingchen hears about Xue Yang (which is the name of the man he saved, that murderer and mobster and … rapist, for all he knew) he is on the news. He emerges from their bedroom one morning in search of the coffee pot and some breakfast, and Song Lan actually has the TV on, a rare occurrence this early in the morning.

“... released from City Hospital this morning, in custody of the police,” the reporter says. “Xue Yang has known connections with alleged crime lord Wen Ruohan, and charges against him include murder, arson, assault, armed robbery, and fraud. Yang will be facing these charges in a court of law, following investigation into the listed charges, and is currently being kept in custody at an undisclosed location. Yang was found two weeks ago by a civilian on the street following a vicious stabbing, supposedly an attempt on his life carried out by a rival gang. The investigation into Yang's attack is still ongoing with no suspects.”

Xiao Xingchen feels his face fold into a frown, and he steps forward until he finds Song Lan, letting him press a bowl into his hands and starting to eat without really tasting.

“I guess he can walk now,” Song Lan comments with a dry voice.

“What does he look like?” It doesn't matter. Xiao Xingchen still wants to know, to satisfy some perverse curiosity about that evil man he happened to save from bleeding out on the street.

“Like a punk,” Song Lan says. “Like a smug little punk. Like he's going to get away with all of it.” He sets his bowl down and leans in to kiss Xingchen's cheek, running his hand over the other as if he can smooth out the frustration there. “Don't listen to too much of this. I'll be back tonight.” And then he leaves, the sound of his footsteps circling the kitchen island, pausing to pick up his coat and bag, pausing to slip on his shoes, and then the sound of the front door.

Xiao Xingchen takes a few more bites of the food – it's oatmeal, and it's alright, but it's not the way he would have prepared it – and the news is still on in the background, now on to some other story that he cares less about. He puts the bowl down and goes for coffee next, still half the pot left and soy creamer set out nearby. Thoughtful. Song Lan takes care of him.

He doesn't follow the direction. He gets his tablet and sets it up to search for this Wen Ruohan guy. He doesn't keep enough track of the news to have any idea about organized crime, but once his tablet understands what he's asking of it, it pulls up some articles. The text reader's voice renders the shocking events dry and bland, but at least it's something. It makes it sound like Wen Ruohan has fingers in pretty much every bit of crime in the city, maybe further out too. Not surprising that a criminal like Xue Yang would take up with him, do some of his dirty work. The top of the pack never lets that kind of thing touch him. That's why they can't make anything stick when it comes to bringing charges against him. The movies get that much right.

His next search is for Xue Yang himself. Most of what pulls up is the recent stuff about him being in the hospital, the stabbing, the murder charge they want him for this time. Few of the articles he finds come with image descriptions, so if there are pictures, he doesn't know what they are. He can access the public parts of Xue Yang's criminal record. People keep getting his name wrong, calling him “Mr. Yang.” He listens to the text reader list the dates and bare-bones facts of the previous charges. Some of them he had been arrested for, served time. Others seemed to disappear too quickly.

When Song Lan comes home, he is still on the couch, bent over his tablet, hair uncombed and falling over his shoulders and still wearing the loungewear he had put on that morning, which doesn't really count as clothes. He startles when he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, too wrapped up in what he had been listening to and thinking about to pay attention to the sound of the door opening or Song Lan saying his name.

“What are you … oh,” Song Lan says, and Xiao Xingchen feels the presence of him reading over his shoulder. “I see you didn't follow my advice.”

“I wanted to know more,” Xiao Xingchen says, feeling oddly defensive. He switches the tablet dark so Song Lan can't read over his shoulder. “Maybe he's a smug punk, but I saved him. I want to know what kind of man I saved.” Why he's weirdly obsessive about this, he still doesn't understand. Why he wants to know more of these dark details. It isn't like it gives him a thrill – well, not a good thrill, that would be kind of sick. It isn't like he's ever even interacted with Xue Yang. Except that he spent a good portion of one day covered in his blood and waiting for him to wake up at the hospital, and for some reason that made it feel like Xue Yang owed him something.

Song Lan sighs so it stirs the hairs on the top of his head, then pets them down again. Not the first time Xiao Xingchen has forgotten to comb his hair, especially on days he stays in. It's a worried kind of touch. “Will you please turn it off for a little while for dinner?”

Xiao Xingchen considers being contrary and refusing, but his stomach rumbles as a reminder that he only broke away long enough to eat some pickles and crackers in a lunch that required minimal effort but could hardly be counted as real food. He submits, then, pulling Song Lan's hand down from his head to kiss his inner wrist. He rises to his feet to follow Song Lan to the table, sits beside him and takes the prepared plate. Song Lan must have guessed some of his mood that morning, because a couple of the dishes are among his favorites from this particular restaurant.

That softens him, and he feels a little bad for considering being contrary or brushing off Song Lan's worry as being patronizing. Guilty, even. Doesn't Song Lan have enough to deal with without his boyfriend being bratty? It's the unfortunate truth of their circumstances that Song Lan shoulders more of the financial responsibilities, more of the housekeeping, more of the cooking. Xiao Xingchen does what he can, and he's gotten to be a pretty fair hand at cooking even without being able to read labels. It's still more for Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen finishes up his pad see ew, wipes his mouth clean, and gets up to drape himself over Song Lan's lap. His chopsticks clatter lightly on the edge of the plate, and then his hands settle on Xiao Xingchen's waist. Xingchen feels a smile spread over his face, and his hands slide into Song Lan's hair, and he leans in for a kiss.

Being intimate like this has changed. As his sight faded, his other senses sharpened. In some ways it's useful, like being able to so distinctly smell the differences between spices, but his skin is now also more sensitive. Every touch, every brush of lips or teeth, has the potential to be overwhelming. It had caught him off-guard at first, the sheer electricity of it lighting him up more vividly than any lit room. It had been intense enough to scare him, and hence to scare Song Lan, and since then his touches had grown increasingly light and gentle, wary of startling him again. Or perhaps it is that Song Lan is no longer so certain of sharing himself with someone who can no longer see him. He has never been the most touchy-feely person, and Xiao Xingchen wouldn't blame him if the shine of their relationship had faded by now. Occupying that strange liminal space where he was part caretaker, part boyfriend – that can't be easy.

So how can Xiao Xingchen ask for that firmer touch, the way they could get so carried away with each other the way they used to when they were younger and more carefree? What right does he have to demand even more?

He still kisses Song Lan wild and reckless, soft lips and sharp teeth catching at Song Lan's mouth, kissing the flavor of Thai food off his lips. Song Lan sighs against him, hands slipping up under Xiao Xingchen's oversized cardigan and the t-shirt underneath, circling against his waist. There are calluses on his fingers, just rough enough to feel, and at least while they're kissing Song Lan isn't protesting. Xingchen squirms slightly, trying to get his hands to slide down, as if he could wiggle them down. They stay where they are, though Song Lan's grip tightens, starting to dig into his skin.

Xiao Xingchen breaks the kiss to pant softly against Song Lan's lips, only now realizing that he has one hand tangled up in his hair, the other pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady thud of Song Lan's heart beneath his skin. His own heartbeat feels like it's echoing that beat, knocking up hopefully against his ribs. Maybe this time … maybe this time it would work out. Maybe this time he could somehow convey the kind of attention he was craving, and maybe Song Lan would be amenable to fucking his brains out.

Sure enough, Song Lan shifts his grip, finally down even if it is over his yoga pants, cups his ass and stands up with him clinging koala-style. Xiao Xingchen has no intention of letting go, pressing kisses into Song Lan's jaw, his throat, over his lips, wherever he can reach, his arms settling around Song Lan's strong shoulders and his back arching to press closer against him. This is better, this is closer to what he wants.

Song Lan deposits him on the bed, doesn't drop him, just setting him carefully on the mattress like fine china. But still he crawls over him, whispers kisses into his skin, teeth scraping lightly down his throat. The light touches make Xiao Xingchen gasp and writhe, his skin feeling so oversensitive that he can't even stand still wearing his clothes. Song Lan hovers over him, on his hands and knees, still barely touching him except for the brush of his lips.

“Zichen,” he breathes, needy, eager.

Song Lan pulls back, and Xingchen can just weather the feeling of being watched, breathing and trying not to feel self-conscious beneath the weight of Song Lan's gaze. His fingers are still in Song Lan's hair, twisting and trying to pull him back down. He bears it for a few moments, then stretches up to try and find his lips.

But before he can make it, Song Lan's hand takes his own, unpeeling his fingers from his hair and kissing his palm before pressing his hand to Xingchen's chest and sitting up. The gesture has an air of finality to it, and Xiao Xingchen can't help it, he covers his face with his hands. It's like being blind has erased any ability he had to control his expression, and he can only imagine what his face is doing right now, because it certainly feels all twisted up and hurt and mad and frustrated.

“I'm sorry,” Song Lan says, because he isn't good at reading people but he isn't blind, and he sounds regretful. “I'm sorry, it just wasn't...”

Xiao Xingchen rolls away, taking a moment, then sits up, his back facing Song Lan. “It's fine,” he says, as though merely saying the words will make it so, and he knows his voice sounds too tight. “It's fine,” he repeats. He wishes there was a switch in his body that he could just turn off, rather than having to sit with the coiling warmth still lingering in his stomach, refusing to dissipate just because Song Lan is no longer touching him.

He feels Song Lan touch his hair lightly, then the shift of the mattress as he stands up. The ensuite shower turns on shortly after, and entertains the vindictive thought of forcing his way in and pushing Song Lan up on the shower wall and just...

He doesn't know what. Song Lan had already made his “no” very clear, and Xiao Xingchen has no intention of crossing that particular boundary. He knows there wouldn't be any coming back from that. Taking care of himself feels equally out of the question. It's not what he craves, and doing it alone feels empty.

He goes to clean up after their dinner, finding some comfort in scrubbing off the plates and plunging his hands in the soapy water. It doesn't perfectly redirect his energy, but it takes the edge off. Then he steps out to the fire escape again, retreats, cowardice. The cold, damp wind slaps him in the face, and he takes a lungful of the foggy air, pressing his back into the wrought iron to feel it dig in.

He should tell Song Lan. There are things he should say, explanations, verbalizing his desire and upset and love and frustration. How it feels to be treated as an invalid, even when Song Lan does it so soft and gentle. Song Lan will tell his part too, the part where his desire can't always keep up with Xingchen's and that particular quirk where touching makes his skin crawl, where he treasures Xingchen and wants to protect him by wrapping him up tight in bubble wrap, kept and sweet and placed high on a shelf never to be touched.

He kicks the fire escape, just to make himself feel a little better, and wedges himself in. He should have brought his tablet. He could have done more research. Without it, he just listens to the sounds of the city at night, traffic and ambulances, someone singing, a baby crying in the distance. He lets it all flow and melt around him, lets his body relax into becoming the ambient temperature of the fog, cold and misty and amorphous.

By the time Xiao Xingchen retreats back inside, his thoughts are as cool and calm as the air outside. He slips into bed, fitting into the space behind Song Lan, slotting in, his knees in the crook behind Song Lan's knees, his cold nose tucked against the back of his neck. Song Lan smells clean, and Xingchen feels sorry for earlier, silly for letting himself get carried away. He's happy here. He is happy.

That thought circles his brain as he drifts off to sleep.

Time passes. Xiao Xingchen dials back his research to what he thinks is a normal amount of interest. There is always news to follow – Xue Yang seems to be at the same time the media's darling and their favorite villain. The tabloids keep commenting on how he looks, calling him angelic and sweet-faced while at the same time condemning him for what seemed like an ever-increasing number of crimes. Song Lan quickly learns to simply leave him to it, and in return Xingchen can moderate himself so he doesn't lose entire days to sitting on the couch and burying himself in news and police reports.

Life is pretty much normal. There's a routine, a rhythm, comfortable and familiar. Xiao Xingchen further adjusts to life in a world that isn't built to accommodate him, his steps ever more certain on his path. He can visualize his future stretching before him, and none of it looks bad. No surprises, no tragedy. He figures losing his sight is bad enough to fulfill the quota for drama for this lifetime.

Xiao Xingchen listens to the trial when it starts. From what he can tell, this is apparently very fast, but he doesn't know enough about the American justice system to confirm that. There's plenty of media coverage on it, but despite their efforts to highlight the most exciting parts, the trial itself seems to be fairly dull, nothing like the TV shows. That doesn't decrease Xiao Xingchen's interest, but it does help to prevent him from focusing too much on it.

Song Lan has a launch party for work. Xiao Xingchen doesn't know enough about computers to know what it's really for, some piece of software or another, something Song Lan has been working on for months. It's a cause for celebration, and while Xingchen doesn't relish the need to dress up, he lets Song Lan help him with it. Most of his wardrobe is in interchangeable shades of neutral, white and black and gray – he made sure of that before his sight was gone. But it's better to be safe than sorry and accidentally choose something inappropriate or clashing. Anyway, he knows Song Lan quietly enjoys dressing him, making sure he looks nice. It suits the same part of his personality that's so good at the nitty-gritty details of code, a fierce, strict streak of perfectionism.

Xiao Xingchen has no doubt that they make a sharp picture when they arrive. He left his cane at home, since it would be too cumbersome in a party setting, and thus holds Song Lan's arm to navigate their way inside. It's a club, it smells like a club, alcohol and bodies and several layers of perfume and cologne, and there's music playing with a low bassline that reverberates in his ribcage. It's probably dark, which means that people will be asking all night long why he's wearing his dark tinted glasses. Hopefully sticking close against Song Lan's side will decrease the need to explain.

Parties like this are always a little awkward. Xingchen is friendly and willing, but he doesn't speak the same language as these technology prodigies. Maybe he could have wandered and found other partners of Song Lan's coworkers, but he was always wary of losing track of Song Lan in an unfamiliar place. And Song Lan is good, he's considerate, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in whatever conversation he gets involved in that Xingchen falls by the wayside despite being attached to his arm.

It's still fun and interesting to be out of the apartment, chatting with people, picking canapes off the trays, accepting the drink that Song Lan passes to him. It's one of the fruity ones that he likes, but strong enough that he can taste the alcohol under the juice. He's playing the role of arm candy tonight, but he lets it be fun, lets himself be the sweet and sparkly juxtaposition to Song Lan's dry, serious demeanor. Song Lan's coworkers forgive him easily when he doesn't know the more technical details and humor him by talking about other, more accessible topics.

Inevitably, though, they turn back to talking shop, and Xingchen tries to follow but it all starts to sound like gibberish. He sighs and ceases to pay much attention to the conversation since they're not really paying attention to him, and he sips his drink, wishing the music were better. Though, of course, the inevitable result of sipping a drink all evening is that he has to use the bathroom. Xingchen realizes it with some dismay. There's no good way to bring it up without sounding like a complaining toddler, but he doesn't even know which way to point himself to find it if he were to just wander off. So he just … waits. Song Lan will have to go eventually as well.

Except the situation is steadily growing towards urgent, and Song Lan shows no indication of breaking away from his conversation, focused the way he can get sometime. Xiao Xingchen starts to fidget anxiously, hoping to somehow telepathically convey what he needs. Unfortunately, he doesn't magically develop psychic powers. He's inches from giving in to the embarrassment of asking to be escorted to the bathroom when he feels another hand on his free arm.

“Hi,” a female voice says, one that he doesn't recognize. “Song Lan, do you mind if I borrow him for a minute?”

Xiao Xingchen could curse, and desperately hopes that Song Lan makes up an excuse to keep him from being pulled to another conversation with strangers. He can't focus on being friendly when his body is screaming at him. He feels Song Lan look up in surprise, finally breaking from his own conversation.

“Oh, right, of course,” he says, gently taking Xingchen's hand from his arm to pass him over to the woman. “Xingchen, this is Wen Qing. She's a doctor and a friend.”

“Alright,” Xingchen says, voice cracking, shooting Song Lan what he hopes is a desperate look before Wen Qing tugs him away. He's panicking, he thinks he might die, he wants the earth to swallow him up. He clears his throat and touches Wen Qing's hand, her pace never slowing. “I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, but...”

Before he can finish, she pulls him through a doorway. Their footsteps turn echo-y, and he feels a glimmer of hope. She continues pulling, then places his hand on what feels like the handle of a urinal. He makes a sound, desperate still, and feels for the edges of the porcelain before letting go of her entirely so he can relieve himself.

“You looked like you were suffering over there,” she says, only far enough away to give him the space he needs to get the job done. “I know how Song Lan can get too intense in his conversations and forget the world around him.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, shooting a small smile in the direction of her voice. “Unfamiliar places are always a little difficult, especially without my cane. I hope it wasn't too obvious.”

“Not to the tech nerds,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder to help lead him over to the sinks after he gets his slacks fastened up. “They might be geniuses, but they're oblivious to any kind of subtlety. Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Xiao Xingchen says again, washing his hands and then relaxing a hip against the sink. He isn't in a rush to go back out to the music he doesn't like. “So you're a doctor?”

“Cardiac surgeon,” Wen Qing clarifies. “I normally don't get to see below the belt. But don't worry, I'll remain professional.” It sounds like she's smiling too. Xingchen isn't surprised to find that she's friends with Song Lan, with that dry kind of humor.

“I wasn't too worried about it,” Xingchen says. “Do you come to a lot of these things?”

“A few. I was dating one of them for a while, made some friends. They keep inviting me, and the appetizers are good, and every once in a while I get to help somebody's poor boyfriend find the bathroom.” He feels her pull his jacket straight, adjusting his collar slightly. “So. Been together long?”

“Since college,” Xingchen tells her. Maybe she isn't very close with Song Lan, to have not heard the story before. “Actually, we met in the airport when I arrived in America. I was so lost and overwhelmed, and he stepped in to help me find my way in a new country and a big city. It was just a happy coincidence that we ended up going to the same school while he was getting his graduate degree. And then from there, it's basically just history.”

Wen Qing laughs and touches his shoulder again. “Somehow, I doubt it's 'just history,' but we can leave it at that, if you want,” she says. “That's very sweet. I'm just glad you look as lost by all their talk as I am. Do you smoke?”

“Ah...” He doesn't want to lie, but also isn't sure about how likely it is his answer would get back around to Song Lan.

“Doesn't matter,” she says quickly, taking his arm again to lead him out. “Come hang out with the wives. We're all the wives, regardless of gender.”

Together, they wind through the party, past snippets of conversation and a speaker rolling out bassline in waves. Wen Qing pulls him out of a door, and the sound of music is dampened. A comforting cloud of cigarette smoke wafts around them, and there's a soft hum of conversation.

“Hey, wives,” Wen Qing crows. “I bring fresh blood.”

“One of us,” someone chants, and Xiao Xingchen grins and gives an irreverent salute.

The wives are apparently the company he was craving. He no longer has to pretend to understand or be interested in the technobabble, and instead he can pluck crackers smothered in cream cheese and prosciutto off of the platter that they stole from the catering staff and sip from the bottle of wine that they had also stolen. He can listen to one of them chatter about a thesis project on Emily Dickinson and steal drags from cigarettes and blunts passed to him. It's closer to the way he and Song Lan operated in college, parting for their own friend groups before drifting back together, and the wives are closer to the kind of people he would choose for friends, free to be bohemian while their significant others take advantage of the tech boom and bring home the bacon.

Xiao Xingchen hasn't bothered to check the time on his phone, but it feels late by the quality of the air and the conversation. They've stopped talking about anything of substance, and he's leaning on Wen Qing's shoulder. He's a little drunk and a little high and feeling soft and easy. Song Lan's touch doesn't even startle him when it comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Let's go home,” he suggests in a low murmur, and Xingchen peels himself up. The wives moan and complain, and someone reaches for him, fingers catching on the edge of his jacket with a soft cry of, “Chen-chen, don't leave us!”

Xiao Xingchen gives his goodbyes and makes his promises to stay in touch – his phone is full of their phone numbers. He leans on Song Lan to make their way out and down to meet their car. They slide into the back seat, and their hands find each other on the seat, fingers folding together in the most intimate touch Song Lan would allow in public.

“Time's it?” Xiao Xingchen asks, sleepy and smiley and soft.

“Close to one,” Song Lan replies. He sounds a little drunk too, and his thumb runs over the space between Xingchen's thumb and index finger, fitting into the hollow. “Did you have fun?”

“Mmm,” he hums and smiles more. “They were nice. Wen Qing was helpful, and you know how useless I am when you talk shop.”

“I should have known you'd get along with them. I should have introduced you earlier. I'm sorry you were bored with me.” He snorts softly. “Chen-chen.”

Xiao Xingchen's giggle is significantly less dignified, but at least it's not too loud out of consideration for their poor driver. “You know I can't help if they think I'm cute!”

Song Lan doesn't protest, but he doesn't have to. They're back home, and he thanks the driver, and comes around to help Xingchen out of the car and back into their building. They're quiet due to the late hour, so the sound of the keys feels like it echoes in the still night air. Xiao Xingchen lets himself inside with a sigh of relief and kicks his shoes off, and opens his mouth to suggest they go to bed only to have Song Lan's lips and teeth and tongue providing an effective gag.

Song Lan backs him against the wall in the entryway, and his hands span Xingchen's waist, broad and solid. Xingchen can taste the alcohol in his breath, but he probably tastes the same. His head spins, his stomach flips, feeling simultaneously over- and under-fed on those canapes, but thrilled with possibility. The kiss is rough, with teeth, not like delicate good morning kisses or gentle good night ones that he's gotten used to. This kiss demands, and expects him to answer – and so he does.

Xiao Xingchen moans into it and grips back at Song Lan's shirt, returning the kiss with equal fervor. Sleep is no longer on his mind. Instead, he has to get his hands on Song Lan's skin or he might just evaporate. He tugs until he can get Song Lan's shirt out of his slacks and he can slide his hands underneath, flat against the skin of his stomach. His skin is warm, solid, and he can feel the frantic rate of his breathing beneath his touch. It feels like a dream, like it's so much that it can't be real, and at the same time it's so real, so perfect, everything he wants.

It feels like Song Lan needs this as badly as he does. With hands tight around Xingchen's arms he pulls him away from the wall, further into the apartment. Xiao Xingchen assumes they'll go to the bedroom, to the bed as usual, but he finds himself bent forward over the couch instead, the familiar fabric under his fingers and the back digging into his stomach. Song Lan presses against him, rubs against his ass, pushes his shirt up and runs his hands over his back. Xiao Xingchen lets out a shaky breath and pushes back against him, just as demanding and desperate.

Finally, finally Song Lan reaches around to get his slacks unfastened, pushes at them impatiently, and locates the zipper to shove it down. Xiao Xingchen squirms to help get them down his legs and winds up with them stuck around his knees, but at least it's some relief. Song Lan seems to think that's enough; his fingers grip into the flesh of Xingchen's ass, squeezing and massaging and spreading. He pants into the couch cushions, his breath coming back hot and wet against his cheeks and the sensitive tip of his cock bumping up against the back of the couch in a way that isn't altogether pleasant but at least it is some sensation. He's hard, he needs it, his skin feels like it's sparking with heat at every brush of Song Lan's fingers.

He remembers with some despair that they don't have any lube in the living room and is just about ready to straighten up, drag Song Lan back to the bedroom so they can do it properly. Then he hears something tear and feels slick fingers slide against his ass. Song Lan came prepared. Such a good, thoughtful boyfriend, even if it is frankly out of character for him to anticipate sex like this. When it happens, if it happens, there's so much delicate kissing and foreplay and it's consistently in the bed or the shower where they're prepared. But he can't even speculate on it, Song Lan's fingers feel too good, pushing the lube inside him fast, impatient. He wants to spread his legs but he's trapped by his slacks and can only pant helplessly against the couch cushions.

Thoughtfully, Song Lan's clean hand reaches down to brush his hair out of his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The fingers inside him spread once more, then slide out, and that's all the warning he really gets before he feels Song Lan's cock press steady and inexorable inside him.

The sound he lets out would be embarrassing under any other circumstance, low and broken and wet. It's been long enough that he almost can't handle the stretch. It's almost too much and makes him choke. His knees feel weak. His spit is making a wet spot on the couch cushions. Song Lan still doesn't stop, not until his hips are pressed flush against Xingchen's ass. His breath is coming heavy now, ragged. He's thoughtful again when he pauses to let then both get used to it, his hands resting on Xingchen's hips, one of them tacky with drying lube, and he pets soothingly at one hipbone like Xingchen is a skittish horse.

Like that, Xiao Xingchen remembers that he's supposed to breathe, and he takes a deep, shaking breath before letting it out loudly, and he can feel it relax down his spine. Song Lan pets him again, approvingly, then eases out of him only to slam back inside. Xiao Xingchen chokes on another cry, and that seems to encourage him, the pace rough and quick.

Time ceases to exist. Xingchen can't see, obviously, but the pleasure feels like starbursts of color in his mind. The apartment is very quiet, except for the wet slap of skin and too much lube (Song Lan was always careful like that) and their labored breathing, punctuated with moans and whimpers punched out of Xingchen's throat. It is so rough, he knows he is going to be sore, aching and remembering this for days. But it's so good too, Song Lan's cock stretching him and hollowing him out, making a space inside him. He's so hard it hurts, and his own cock is leaking. Song Lan's hand reaches down to cup it protectively, preventing it from smearing over the back of the couch. The pressure is maddening without friction to go with it, and Xingchen sobs out his pleasure, trembling and pushing back on him.

When he cums it's a punch to the gut, fingers white-knuckled against the couch cushions and a cry ripping out of his throat. His heart feels like it's hammering so hard that all he can hear for a few moments is the whoosh-whoosh of his heartbeat. But he realizes quickly that Song Lan has felt it. He drapes himself over Xingchen's back, fucking him hard and fast, racing towards the end. It must crash into him too, because he grunts and transforms into a heavy, shuddering weight, pressing him into the couch, his cock twitching inside.

Time still doesn't really exist. They might stay draped over that couch for hours, for all Xingchen can tell. His ass is sore, he can barely breathe, he's going to have bruises where the couch is digging into his midsection, and he feels like he hasn't been this happy in months. It's not just the sex – though, to be fair, the sex is amazing and a big part of it. It's what comes with the sex. He feels connected to Song Lan like this, special, needed. And then, taken care of, because eventually Song Lan straightens up and helps him up, drops down to help him work off his shoes and slacks so they can walk back to the bedroom. His arm supports Xingchen around the waist because he's for surewalking with a limp right now. He helps him get his shirt off and brushes his hair back over his shoulder and kisses his cheek, so sweet.

Xiao Xingchen makes to go to the bathroom. He still smells like smoke and wine and sex, and Song Lan won't want that in their bed. But before he can pull away, Song Lan pulls him back in close, nuzzles his hair and kisses him again in a way that makes his heart feel soft and warm, honey in his chest. He lets Song Lan lead him to bed, even though he has the distinct sensation of cum slowly starting to leak out of his body.

“Here, keep it in,” Song Lan rumbles low, curling up behind him and pressing his fingers into Xingchen, pressing it back inside. Xingchen sucks in a breath, his body feeling oversensitive and raw but good. It's not too much. Then there are some sounds behind him, and then he feels Song Lan's cock press into him again. That is almost too much, and he makes a small sound, not sure if he could handle a second round.

But it's not to fuck him. Song Lan settles, their bodies pressed close, fitting perfectly. Song Lan's nose presses into his shoulder, and he kisses there a few times. Without too much preamble, they fall asleep.

The next morning, of course, they are stuck together. It's a little disgusting, but there isn't a thing that Xiao Xingchen would have changed about the night before. He stirs a little, then makes a sound of complaint, his body protesting the movement from the waist down. Song Lan wakes up next, and Xingchen can practically hear his grimace when he remembers the position they were stuck in.

He's as careful as he can manage when he pulls away from Xingchen's body, pressing a gentle hand to his arm to indicate he should stay still. There are some bathroom sounds, water running, and then Song Lan returns with a warm, wet washcloth to gently wipe him clean. Xingchen has to bite his knuckle; his ass feels raw, sore and swollen. He can feel precisely how hard they went. He still doesn't regret a moment.

Song Lan treats him soft and sweet that morning, brings him breakfast in bed and combs his hair. They're both quiet, Xingchen because he's hesitant to say anything that will break the spell, and Song Lan because he seems exhausted from socializing so much the day before. Sometimes it's harder than others. Then to recuperate, he's quieter than usual, minimizing his interactions, sometimes even with Xingchen himself. Xingchen doesn't take it personally, and usually uses the time to indulge his own inner introvert and work on his own projects.

Nothing wrong with that, except that they continue to not talk about it. Xingchen can't make the shape of his desire into words, the way Song Lan's touch lights him up, the way he craves the desperate way they came together after the launch party. Song Lan's touches feel apologetic, half guilty, wary of pushing too far, like he's afraid of his own attraction. They haven't had to navigate anything like this before, where before they were coasting on instinct and now the waters feel choppy.

Xiao Xingchen finds it a welcome distraction to turn to the trial. There's no shortage of material – Xue Yang continues to be the media's darling or scapegoat by turns, sometimes both in the same article. He figures out how to find the best news channel to listen to what he can, certain amounts of testimony from witnesses and arguments from lawyers. He thinks its a small blessing that he himself was such a useless witness when it came to the stabbing incident, so he hasn't been called to court. In any case, that's how he first hears Xue Yang's voice, surprisingly young, always irreverent and teasing, even when he's supposed to be taking the court show seriously.

And it really does seem like a show. The prosecution is fighting as best they can, but the defense is barely working at all, their questions lazy and confident at the same time. The judge doesn't seem in any kind of hurry to help the prosecution when the defense steps out of line. Everything is played to the media like a huge circus, and everyone is marching towards a foregone conclusion.

Then, as quickly as it started, it's over. The media coverage disappears overnight. It's not old enough to be old news, but that's how it's treated. Xiao Xingchen has to search and search to find anything about the conclusion, and all he can find is basically a footnote stating that a settlement was reached, which sounds frankly preposterous. The charges against Xue Yang included murder! He hadn't thought it was possible that a settlement could be found against a potential murderer, especially when the prosecution had brought witnesses and evidence galore. It feels profoundly unfair, a sincere lack of justice, and he wonders how natural-born Americans feel about their supposed “justice system.”

His dissatisfaction with the finale of the trial makes it hard to put it all behind him. He struggles with sleeping and focusing on his projects and his studies, he's snappish and short-tempered and withdrawn from Song Lan. Even if Song Lan asked what is troubling him, he has no confidence that he could articulate it to any understandable degree. So Song Lan can't help, and Xiao Xingchen doesn't know how to help himself.

It's on a random day when Xingchen hears a knock on the door. That's unusual – Song Lan left for work, but he would have texted if he forgot his keys, and Xingchen doesn't think they're expecting any deliveries. He debates just leaving it, pretending he's not home, but the knock comes again, more insistent.

Heaving a big sigh, he picks himself up from where he had been lounging, attempting to read and feel somewhat productive but mostly just feeling listless. It crosses his mind that Song Lan might have gotten it in his head to do some kind of gesture, getting him flowers or something – not that flowers aren't thoughtful, but he thinks the gesture is now lost on him since he can't see them. He doesn't think he brushed his hair this morning, but this delivery man will just have to tolerate him looking a little messy. He finds the door and opens it, trying to put a pleasant expression on his face.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asks, and waits for a response.

None comes. He waits a few moments, then frowns. Was something dropped off? He considers bending to check for a box, but there's a feeling rising, a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that tells him he's being watched. But if there's someone there, why aren't they speaking? Why aren't they telling him why they're there? Belatedly, he realizes this might be some kind of burglar who could take advantage of him. He doesn't have a weapon, but there's an umbrella in the stand next to the door and knives in the kitchen, and though it's been years he still has his martial arts training. How much that will help, he doesn't know, he hasn't even attempted to fight anyone even to spar since he lost his sight, and he doesn't think running through the exercises and stretches in the morning will really help if someone actually attacks him.

Whoever is at the door still hasn't spoken, and it's making his nerves go haywire, his heart pounding even though he hasn't even moved. Maybe he's being stupid and getting freaked out over nothing. Maybe there's no one even there, and there's no reason for his skin to feel nervous cold/hot. “Hello?” he says again, this time significantly less confident, his voice giving out halfway through.

There's another few moments of silence, then a wild cackle, not an attractive laugh at all. It feels familiar, somehow, though it's not until Xue Yang speaks that Xiao Xingchen recognizes him.

“Wow. I guess you're real, huh?”

#xiao xingchen #songxiao #song lan #the untamed #mdzs #fanfic #my fanfiction #cql

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colour-outside-the-liness · 3 years

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Hi Colour! This is going to be a long one, so buckle up!

Oh wow, that's so precious! You've definitely earned the "real life Dani" nickname haha I wish I could find something meaningful like that to do with my life. I'm actually autistic and have ADHD so hearing you do this kind of work makes me really happy! Keep up the good work Ms. Clayton! 😁 Haha

You sound like a lot of fun to hang out with at pubs! Haha I'm glad you identify with that bit of info on your star placements. I had a lot of fun doing it too!

The thing about Hozier is that some of his lyrics are incredibly sapphic to me for some reason, I'm still trying to figure it out. NFWMB is one of the songs that feels like that to me. Don't know if you've heard it before but give it a try if you haven't. If you close your eyes it sounds like you're in an epic romantic story and there are swords, pretty gowns, and rooms lit by torches. Haha

The beginning of this song was inspired by a poem written by W.B Yeats called "The Second Coming" in 1920, and it talks about an apocalypse of sorts, alluding to all of the horrors men inflicted upon the world which ends up awakening this beast that goes to Jesus's place of birth in the Bible (Bethlehem) to be born. The last lines being:

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

So the song starts with:

"When I first saw you

The end was soon

To Bethlehem it slouched

And then, it must've caught a good look at you"

And oh boy do I think of Dani when I hear that. Especially bc of that scene where Viola accepts Dani's invitation to live inside her. And nobody knows why she accepts it (but I do!).

And yeah at first glance you might not think much of Dani. in the beginning she's just a tiny frail small-town girl with a lot of anxiety, running away from her past traumas. But she proves us wrong again and again and again. She moves to a country she's never been before entirely by herself, sees an opportunity, and doesn't let go of it even when it looks like it went wrong. Then is very loving and tender with these children who have gone through so much and are still going through so much. Tries to fight (with a fire poker!!) the threatening man that keeps harassing her, the children, and her friends. THEN manages to soften the angry, grumpy lesbian who's given up on people after A LOT of trauma (too much in my opinion) and doesn't give up on her when she rejects her either. Freaking exorcises her ex and makes him stop haunting her so she can be with the love of her life. And then finally as if all of that didn't make her the bravest hero in this story, she literally stops an apocalypse from happening and saves everyone from this beast by sacrificing herself without even thinking twice. Saves everyone that came before her and then the ones who'll come after for the rest of eternity. I mean the P-O-W-E-R this girl has. 💪 so hell yeah the lady in the lake wanted to take her.

When Hozier says:

"Ain't it a gentle sound, the rollin' in the graves?

Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes?

Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay?

Ain't you my baby? ain't you my baby?"

I can only think of Dani at the bottom of the lake laying on top of all the bones of the people Viola killed and how she's at peace living forever in a dark place like that. That's kinda hardcore y'know?

After the first verses, Hozier goes on to talk abt his lover, someone so utterly terrifying even the beast of the end of the world can't stand to look at them. But this song is also about being proud to be this person's lover bc nothing can fuck with them, not bc you are there to protect them and wouldn't let anyone harm them, but bc they're more than capable of protecting themselves and you too. So in my head, this song is Jamie's declaration of love to Dani.

And then I think of Jamie's devotion to Dani when she said "If you can't feel anything, then I'll feel everything for the both of us." shown in this verse:

"If I was born as a blackthorn tree

I'd wanna be felled by you

Held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies"

And the fact that she took what she could get just to be with Dani. She knew she'd have to suffer for/bc of her at some point, but chose to be with her anyway. I have no doubts in my mind she'd want to be anything for her as long as they could be together in any way, shape, or form. In all the lives they happened to meet one another too.

Wouldn't it be cool to see them in an AU where Dani is like a medieval princess who's supposed to marry Edmund to form an alliance between kingdoms or something and Jamie is an assassin who is hired to kill the princess so she has to pretend to be Dani's personal guard or wtever but they fall in love and run away together and Jamie teaches her how to fight so Dani becomes this warrior but turns out Dani is naturally good at it and then she becomes a legend? Hahaha I can see her riding a horse in the winter with paint on her face and her blonde hair falling over this fur-lined cloak, fierce look on her face, and Jamie riding next to her (always). Then they come across Viola who's a witch and puts a curse on Dani and then Dani and Jamie have to travel to all sorts of places and fight all sorts of people and go on this whole adventure to rid Dani of this curse. Maybe Dani has to go back to her kingdom bc her father dies and there are other people trying to take her kingdom so there's a lot of angst and suffering but then they win at the end after a lot of sweat and tears and they live happily ever after! 😎Hahaha

Anyway, I hope you're having a great week so far and hope you had fun with your niece today! (I know if I was her and you had us make fudge and paint I'd worship you haha) I'm sorry for the very (very) long ask, but I've been obsessing over this idea for months and I just had to share it with someone! ✌️✨

(And you can call me Libby or wtever since I'm not anon anymore 🤗)

Awwh thank you so much for saying I have earned my 'real life Dani' title is means a lot to me that you guys see that in me!! I am sure you do so many meaningful things in life without even realising it!! I honestly just want to make a difference and I love helping people so going into a career like this just seemed so natural to me and I really do love what I do!! Thank you so much I really hope I can keep up the good work!! I hope I'm a lot of fun- I know I have helped win a few pub quizzes and there's been a few times I've won games of trivial pursuit as well so that really did make so much sense to me and learning about all the placements of my chart was so much fun and was so interesting so thank you very much!! I have heard some of Hozier's lyrics are quite sapphic and I always mean to look into more of his songs and then just never do but I will definitely look in to NFWMB because the lyrics you have sent me here are incredible and definitely give of Dani x Jamie vibes I definitely agree with you in everything you have said about why Viola accepted Dani's invitation- Dani and Viola are similar in some ways and this was something I was explaining to my niece when she watched it with me. I explained to her that both Viola and Dani are strong willed, and stubborn, and would do anything to fiercely protect the people they care about. We saw that time and time again with Dani, how within days of knowing Miles and Flora she was out with a fire poker trying to protect them from a strange man that she kept seeing around the manor. And how Viola would've done anything to protect her daughter. One major difference between them though is that Viola seemed to have a slight selfish streak where as Dani is entirely selfless, she was selfless for the longest time in even agreeing to marry Eddie so she wouldn't hurt him, she was selfless in protecting Miles and Flora, and even more selfless in saving Flora's life and freeing all the trapped spirits of Bly Manor and then she is selfless in the fact that she won't drag anyone down and won't hurt anyone else at Bly ever again. The one thing she did for herself was being with Jamie- and she was able to make Jamie open up and trust people in way she probably hadn't for the longest time. Dani is a truly strong person as was Viola and I can see why she would accept Dani's invitation. I will have to listen to this song to see it from a Jamie perspective which I will definitely do tomorrow but from the lyrics you have sent me I can definitely see it being a love declaration to Dani from Jamie. Jamie knew in the end she would suffer because she knew she wouldn't be able to keep Dani forever, and knew that one day she would have to leave her- but she knew loving Dani for as long as she was allowed to would be worth that pain in the end and Jamie is a truly strong person as well for knowing this and staying by Dani's side anyway when that must have been such a hard thing for Jamie to ever have to accept. Jamie would've been anything for Dani and would've one anything for her as Dani would've for Jamie and that's why I love them so much. They loved each other so purely and without conditions and so wholeheartedly and it really was such a lovely thing to watch play out in front of us (even if it did hurt us all at the end). I think it would be so cool to see an AU like that I think medieval stuff is always so fun and so interesting and a good enemies to lovers start never fails either because there's so much tension there between them. And Jamie being undercover as someone to get close to Dani and them slowly falling in love with each other would just be a great thing to see!! And I am all for warrior Dani and Jamie (women with weapons is a little bit of a weakness of mine)!! This whole AU just sounds incredible I love a good curse in fantasy stories and the curse slowly taking over and you thinking they're going to run out of time but everything works out in the end!! Dani going back to her kingdom because of her sick Dad dying would be great for angst because it would look

like she would have to marry someone to create an alliance and that she would have to take over a kingdom (perhaps something she never wanted to do in the first place)!! I think this could be a very angsty one shot and could be so interesting and fun and the happy ending would definitely make all the angst worth it in the end!! I am having a good week so far thank you and I had so much fun with my niece today, making fudge went great and she was happy that I was able to show her how to do it because she'd never made it before so now that's something she knows how to do (I think she thinks I'm way cooler than I actually am haha thank you for saying you'd worship me though if you were my niece haha 😂) but tomorrow she is teaching me how to do something because I taught her how to make fudge today... she's gonna teach me how to draw in an anime style- which is something she is really into and even though I'm not she loves drawing so I've asked if she can teach me since I taught her something today!! There's no need to apologise I loved this long angst and I loved this idea I think it's really great and interesting and that song just seems amazing and I am definitely gonna listen to it tomorrow when I get chance!! Thank you for sharing this idea with me I loved it!! ☺️ Haha oki doki then as long as that's alright with you Libby is what I'll call you!! Like I said you can seriously call me anything!! ☺️

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