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free-pool-trash · 4 years

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folklore - isaac lahey {2/?}

part two because i just couldn’t wait lmao! this chapter focuses a lot on the reader but there is some cute isaac moments in there too because i wanted there to be more to the story than just reader and isaac’s relationship <33 this part is kinda just setting stuff up tho so dw!

platonic derek x reader in this part :) and isaac ofc

please let me know what u think :)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, i think that’s it???? let me know if i misses anything <3

my taglist is still pretty wishy washy for this so i’m gonna tag the people who enjoyed part one, thanks for all the lovely feedback <3

Taglist: @makeusfreefromthisfandom, @cece-lives-here, @chocolate-raspberries, @belsandthings let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

PART 1

PART 3

Endless thoughts plagued your mind as you wandered through the crowded halls. It barely registered with you that Derek could be home and not bother to check in, although maybe it was for the best, you were pretty sure that he was still a wanted man- for a crime you were also sure he didn't commit. You knew Derek, despite the fact that you weren't related by blood you saw each other as family, you knew how he treated his family, it was what he treasured above all else and there was absolutely no way in hell that he had burned his whole family tree to ash.

He and his uncle Peter were the only Hale's left as far as you knew, however saying that Peter was "alive" seemed like a bit of a reach. The man who used to tell you stories and sneak you candy whenever he saw you was completely immobilized now, scarred to the point of being almost unrecognizable, he couldn't talk, he could barely move, he was even being fed through a tube.

Peter was a particularly close friend of your father's, he'd always made you refer to him as 'uncle Peter' and the man did the title justice treating you like one of his own. And while you called him Uncle Peter, he- and the rest of the Hale's- always called you something different; "The littlest of the pack" though you never understood why the family had such an obsession with being known as a pack, you were more than delighted to know that they considered you part of it.

When you were old enough you started volunteering at the hospital which held Peter and after six months of hard work, sweeping hallways and helping the overworked nurses they finally bumped you up to keeping patients company. Since you were still in school you were mostly at the hospital at night and on Sunday mornings, the same time as your favourite nurse, Melissa, who always assigned you to Peter when she was manning the same ward as you. To be honest it was rough seeing him in such a state, it was as though everyone you loved seemed to struggle- the thought alone always made you choke up, made you wish you had some kind of power to take it all away, to make everything better. But you didn't, so you simply read to him, told him about what was happening in the news, stories about what was happening at school as Peter was always one for a good scoop of gossip, you even confided in him about the sharp sting you felt in your chest whenever someone you cared about was in pain, himself included. The logical thing would've been to simply stop visiting him but if you did then he'd barely have any human interaction for the rest of his life and ignoring the fact that he couldn't show it, you knew deep down that he could hear you, felt that he appreciated your visits.

Without even realizing where your feet had been carrying you, too lost in thought to notice, you found yourself nearing Isaac's locker, the boy himself hunched by it, his face hidden by the blue metal door. It was easy to forget over the weekend and after hanging out alone how shy Isaac was, he was a completely different person around you, he was loud, granted he still wasn't as loud as you but he certainly knew how to find his voice, he stood straighter as opposed to how the tall boy stood in the school hallways. To you he stood out, in a perfectly beautiful way, you often chastised him for not giving himself enough credit, always asking if he'd ever even looked in a mirror. Even with your endless compliments that made him blush every time without fail, Isaac still chose to blend in, but you didn't blame him- you blamed his asshole of a father for making him believe he was anything less than wonderful.

It was no secret that Isaac was taller than the average teen in Beacon Hills standing at six foot one, which meant he gave incredible hugs but it also meant he tried his very best to fold into himself in larger crowds and he regularly walked with his head down as to not draw attention to himself, even standing at his locker he bowed his head.

Shaking off your thoughts you walked up to your best friends side, tugging his sleeve softly to alert him of your presence before wrapping your arms around him, enveloping him in a side hug and allowing your head to rest against his arm while he wriggled it out of your grasp to wrap around your waist more comfortably, not paying his burning cheeks and racing heart any mind as he shifted his gaze from organizing his books to the girl clinging to him with a pout on her face, "What's up, buttercup?"

Nuzzling your head further into his side you let out a dramatic sigh, "I heard from Scott that Derek is back in Beacon." Isaac felt his eyebrow raising at the mention of both names, Scott's because you seemed to be hearing a lot of things from him in the last couple of days and at Derek's because he was pretty sure you hadn't seen him in years.

"How would McCall know if Derek's in town? Isn't he pretty much your cousin?" Isaac asked, thumb moving soothingly against your hip as you melted into him, shoulders slumping sadly and your pout only becoming more prominent. His voice sounded slightly aggravated at the mention of Scott but you thought nothing of it, thankfully. Isaac didn't want this to turn into a conversation about his petty jealousy.

"Forget cousin he was more like my big brother. That's what's got me so twisted! Why would he come home and not even bother to check in?" You murmured grumpily against the fabric of the flannel Isaac was sporting instead of his usual cardigan, which reminded you that he couldn't have worn his usual cardigan because you'd forgotten to give it back to him the night before and sported it yourself. The comfy grey material hugging your shoulders as you hugged the boy that the item of clothing actually belonged to.

"When did McCall say he saw him?" Isaac inquired, sorting his books with one hand.

"Yesterday."

"Alright well that wasn't too long ago maybe he's planning on checking in today?" He suggested, finishing up at his locker and throwing his bag over his shoulder, dropping his hand from your hip and sliding it into yours, interlocking your fingers and giving you a comforting squeeze before he began leading you towards the school's double doors, the last class of the day having already ended.

Letting out another sigh you only nodded, swinging your interlocked hands between you as you walked towards the exit.

"I promised my dad I'd finish a plot at the cemetery so he'd let me come over tonight so I'm gonna be a little bit late." Isaac broke the silence, looking at you with an expression that was mixed with disappointment and exhaustion, "That's okay." You offered, squeezing his hand as he'd done yours earlier.

"Do you want a ride home?" You asked him, nodding your head toward your beat up, second hand car that the pair of you had already made several memories in since you got it almost a year ago for your sixteenth birthday.

The brown haired boy only shook his head, giving you a soft smile and nodding towards the bike racks, "Nah, I brought my bike today."

Nodding in understanding, you leaned up and pecked his cheek while you let go of his hand, "Alright. Since you're gonna be late I'll pick up the movie for tonight myself. You just meet me at my place whenever you're ready, Kay?"

"Yes, ma'am." Letting out a soft laugh he watched you walk to your car, already missing your warmth beside him.

The first thing you noticed upon pulling into your driveway was the slick black car that was parked beside your mother's blue one, in your usual spot. The car was new and you didn't recognize it, you quirked an eyebrow, putting your car in park behind your mother's, grabbed your school bag from the passenger seat and got out with a slam of the door.

As you entered the house you were met with the sound of voices floating from the kitchen, picking up on the hushed conversation as you made your way towards the three voices, "You need to tell her." One said, a man. "It's too soon." Another sounded, you recognized the voice to belong to your father. "No, he's right, if what he says is true she's going to get caught up in it either way. Especially now the Argent's are in town." That was your mother. Your eyebrows furrowed, you could only assume that the 'she' they were talking about was you but what you didn't understand was what exactly they were debating telling you and why it had anything to do with the Argent's, were they talking about the Allison girl who had just joined your class?

You pushed open the kitchen door, eyebrows knitted tightly together, your brain taking a second to catch up with who your eyes were seeing, "Derek."

The name left your lips in barely a whisper when your eyes landed on the dark haired man leaning against your kitchen counter with a small smile playing on his lips as he greeted you, "Hey, kid."

Without wasting anymore time you launched yourself forward, arms wrapping around Derek's middle as he let out a sigh, his own arms moving around you slowly to reciprocate your action with a tight squeeze.

"I missed you!" You exclaimed punching the older man in the shoulder once you detached from the hug, expression turning accusing after a moment prompting Derek to purse his lips and brace himself, he knew that look, he hadn't seen it in a while but he knew it. That was your "I've got a bone to pick with you" look, Derek had to fight off the smile that threatened to grow on his lips when he realized that this particular look hadn't changed since you were five years old.

"Do you want to tell me why Scott McCall got to see you before I did?" The man under fire let out a defeated sigh, "If it makes you feel any better I would've rathered it be you that I bumped into." He responded halfheartedly, letting out a huff you turned towards your parents who were sat at the dining table.

"What were you guys talking about before I came in?" You questioned, feeling nervous as the three adults suddenly went rigid, glancing between each other before Derek nodded his head in your father's direction, silently encouraging him to tell you what they'd been discussing earlier.

Letting out a heavy exhale through his nose your father motioned for you to sit down in the chairs across from him, Derek moving to sit beside your father in front of you as you did. "This is going to be hard to believe but I need you to keep an open mind while we explain, alright?" You only managed a nod of your head, nerves ever-growing as you waited for someone to elaborate on whatever they were about to tell you.

"You've heard of werewolves haven't you?"

"Sure." You responded confused, the question seemed out of place in what you assumed was to be a serious conversation.

"Well they're real." Your father responded. You couldn't stop the snort that left your mouth, breaking out into a fit of giggles before you noticed the three adults before you looking at you with absolutely no trace of amusement. "Wait you're serious?!" Your eyes almost bugged out of your head as Derek's eyes flashed blue and he bared his teeth in response to your exclamation.

"...So the howling Scott said he heard in the woods?" You trailed off, eyes wide as Derek nodded his head, "it was a werewolf."

"You?"

"No. An alpha."

Eyes never leaving Derek, you posed another question, "Is this why you're family called themselves a pack?"

The man nodded, not being able to get a word in edgewise while you continued to fire out question after question, "You guys always said I was the littlest of the pack does that mean-" Your mother cut you off with a light chuckle, "No babe, you're not a werewolf." A sigh of relief left you when you slumped back against the kitchen chair, a small twinge of disappointment flooding through you, that would've been cool.

"You may not be a wolf genetically but you're still a member of our pack." Derek assured you, sensing your disappointment. "Are they in the pack too?" You inquired, glancing quickly at your parents before returning your gaze to Derek.

"No. Just you." You couldn't lie and say the statement didn't make you feel special but still, it confused you, "Why not?"

It was your mother's turn to speak now, giving the werewolf a break from your constant curiosity.

"Back before the fire your dad and I had a certain role to play in Beacon Hills," she started, reaching for your hand before she continued, "from the minute you were born you bonded with almost everyone in the Hale house, we didn't understand it completely but we assumed it was because of how close me and your dad were to them. I guess they kind of saw you as their newest cub after Cora." Derek chuckled, chiming in with a quiet, "More like runt of the little." Giving him a glare you kicked his shin under the table while he laughed and you nodded for your mother to keep going.

"Anyway, as you already know me and your dad met in college- studying Mythology. We uncovered supernatural occurrence after supernatural occurrence and those supernatural occurrences eventually led us here, to the Hale's." She told you, looking to your father for him to continue, he cleared his throat before speaking, "We got caught up in it, built a huge repertoire of supernatural entities, including werewolves, I met Peter and we made a truce, ended up becoming best friends in the process."

Nodding your head slowly you spoke up again, "So you guys were like… their supernatural encyclopedia?"

"Pretty much." Derek answered.

"Okayyyy… but that still doesn't answer my question, why am I in the pack and not you guys?" You posed the question to your father who looked at your mother nervously.

"When you were four things got messy, really messy," Derek scoffed, rolling his eyes muttering "understatement of the century" under his breath as your father went on, "Your mother got captured by hunters, Chris Argent and his little gang of merry men." He tensed his jaw, saying the name through clenched teeth before composing himself, "So your uncle Peter made the executive decision to initiate you into the pack to make absolutely sure that nobody would get their hands on you."

"Why?" The three of them erupted into laughs at the look on your face, Derek opting to answer the question, "I don't know how you did it but you had him completely wrapped around your finger. Peter is the most selfish person I've ever met but he would've sooner died himself than let anyone touch a hair on your head. As part of a pack members protect each other at all costs. With you officially a member it meant that we were bonded to you, you were one of us." The mention of Peter made you smile, not that you'd admit it to Derek but you felt the newly exposed pack bond strongest with Peter, the dots only connecting in your head now years later. Derek picking up on your train of thought spoke up, "That's why you can't bring yourself to stop visiting him."

Your mother's voice cut in again, "Those four crescent scars on the back of your neck are from Peter, it's how he marked you as a member without actually turning you." She explained, your hand absentmindedly rubbed the nape of your neck, fingers tracing deftly over the scars that you often forgot about.

"I know it's a lot to digest but there's one more thing." Derek sighed, a slight feeling of guilt growing within him for having to dump this on you all at once. When you didn't say anything, only looked at him he continued, "The hunters who kidnapped your mother, well they're back."

Anxiety bubbled up in your stomach as you whipped your head to your mom, "Are they gonna try take her again?" Your voice was bordering on sounding manic, Derek's voice quelling your worried before you had a panic attack.

"No. I don't think so at least. It's me and the alpha they're after, and- I trust you not to tell anyone this- your friend Scott too." Your eyes widened yet again, Scott was a werewolf? That must have been why he was seeking Derek out earlier today, "That's why he was looking for you isn't it?" You voiced your thoughts, Derek rose an eyebrow in response, "Looking for me?" You nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, today in school, he and Stilinski started asking me a bunch of questions about why you were here- I told them I'd help them find you." You clarified, trying not to laugh at the exhausted look that came over Derek's face when the name Stilinski fell from your lips.

"Tell him to meet me in the woods later. I need him to help find the alpha." Derek instructed, watching contently as you pulled your phone out of your pocket and began texting Scott, thankful you'd gotten his number.

You: I'm with Derek

You: He wanted me to tell you to meet him in the woods later

Scott: When is later?

"When is later?" You voiced, not looking up from your phone, "After dark." Derek answered and you laughed, "Alright, Bruce Wayne."

You: He says "after dark"

Scott: :/ cryptic much

You: Best I could do wolfie

Scott: He told you??????

You: Yep, I'll fill you in tomorrow there's a lot to unpack here…

Scott: Please don't tell anybody

You: Your secret is safe with me don't worry

With that you set your phone down in front of you, before something crossed your mind, "Wait you said Argent earlier right?" Derek nodded, your mother and father having moved from the table, preparing food in the kitchen.

"Allison Argent just started at my school, I'm pretty sure Scott has a crush on her actually." You informed, shrugging your shoulders lightly, picking up your phone when it buzzed and missing the way Derek rolls his eyes.

Isaac: I'll be over at 7 <3

You: Great what movie do you want me to get?

Isaac: Ladies choice ;)

You: Hope you like Legally Blonde xoxoxo

Isaac: Seriously again?

You: You said my choice no take backs, love you <3333333

The time was 5:45pm and the sky had turned from blue to black, you assumed Derek would be heading off to stress Scott out soon enough so you stood from the table and grabbed your jacket, "I'm gonna go rent a DVD for me and Isaac, you guys need anything?" You directed towards your parents who were messing around in the kitchen like teenagers causing you to roll your eyes but smile.

"Huh? No we're okay. When is lover boy coming?" Your father asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you, laughing at how you groaned, "Stop calling my best friend 'loverboy' one of these days you're gonna slip up and call him that to his face and he'll literally die of embarrassment on the spot!" You yelled, cheeks burning and expecting your mother to come to your defense only to have her laugh along with your father, "Yeah, don't talk about your future son in law like that."

"God, you two are the worst. Derek tell them to stop harassing my friendships." The dark haired man rose an eyebrow from his seat, a strict look on his face, "She's too young for a boyfriend."

"Thanks, Derek. That was absolutely not helpful at all, but thank you." You muttered, grabbing your car keys and heading out the door.

You loved your parents, adored them, they raised you incredibly- that didn't mean they didn't annoy the hell out of you sometimes, though. They had about fifty names that they liked to call Isaac instead of his actual name, the most popular being "loverboy", "heart eyes", or your mother's personal favorite "future son in law." You supposed it was good that they liked him enough to consider him a future son in law, however, it was pretty insensitive when they could clearly see that you were painfully in love with him and fighting with inner turmoil because of it.

After a five minute drive you pulled up to the video store, stepping out and noticing Lydia Martin in the car next to you, you made brief eye contact with the strawberry blonde and the pair of you exchanged friendly smiles before you entered the store. Lydia was nice but you noticed she wore a facade around school, more specifically around Jackson. You remembered quite vividly how she shot Isaac down rather brutally back in freshman year. He'd only asked her out to prove a point to you, you couldn't remember what now but you'd gotten in some form of argument and the resolution you'd come to was that he prove himself and ask someone out, that someone happened to be Lydia. He didn't really like her but the whole debacle did significantly bruise his ego.

Of course, wherever Lydia Martin is Jackson Whittemore was never far away. You almost laughed when the first thing you heard after walking into the store was the jock shouting about not being able to find "The Notebook".

"It's over there." You chimed in, alerting him of your presence and pointing straight ahead of him towards the movie he was searching for.

Nodding thankfully the blonde made his way toward the far shelf while you walked to the other side of the store.

Despite being across the room, Jackson's gasp sounded clearly making you nearly jump out of your skin. Placing a hand on your rapidly beating heart you just shook your head and let out a long breath. You were probably just hearing things, your mind concocting noises to psych you out after learning the new information about the supernatural, Jackson's gasp had absolutely nothing to do with the snarls you thought you were hearing from behind you.

You had yourself convinced you were just hearing things. That was until the snarls became mingled with hot, slobbery breaths that hit the nape of your neck, shocking you into spinning yourself around. You couldn't help the yelp of fear that left your lips when your eyes met beaming red orbs… the eyes- they weren't human.

What you were looking at you could only describe as a beast. A wolf. The ability you usually possessed to control your breathing left you as you heaved, continuing to stumble back as the creature took steps forward until your back hit a row of shelves painfully. DVDs crashing to the floor in your wake.

The creature was face to face with you now, snout coming in contact with your nose as it's demonic eyes bored into your soul. It snarled as you felt your heart rate increase, it was going so fast you were half scared it would detach from it's blood vessels. Everything about the creature scared you, from its eyes, to it's snarl, to its fangs baring in your face, but what frightened you the most was that you felt like you knew it. There was a familiarity with it and you could not for the life of you explain it but you could feel it.

The scream that left you when the beast finally lunged for you with snapping jaws shook the store as the wolf sunk its teeth into the soft tissue of where your shoulder connects to your neck. The pain you felt was as blinding as the eyes that stared at you, the beast raised it's hair covered paw in the air, fully intent of swiping the last remnants of life from your now limp form before it suddenly stopped, looking at you with so much uncertainty. Not getting a chance to analyze the new look on the things hairy face the creature resumed its position on all fours then crashed out of the store window.

"(L/n)?!" Jackson whisper shouted, from around the corner, only seeing your legs peeking out from behind a row of shelves as he made his way over to you, his movements jittery. You tried to call out but your voice failed you, you kicked your legs out weakly to let him know where you were, not knowing he was already rushing towards you.

"Christ… ok just stay awake I'm calling the police right now." The blond, who you'd never known to care for anything other than himself, spoke frantically- shaking as he pulled out his phone.

Your hearing faded in and out as Jackson shouted at law enforcement over the phone. Tilting your head to the side, very painfully, you began to panic once you noticed the gaping bite that had been taken out of your neck, you whimpered pathetically at the sight of your entire shoulder, neck and hair drenched in blood, your blood. Your panic seemed to rub off on Jackson as he noticed your breath becoming heavier and heavier by the second, tears falling down your face as you stared at your injury in fear.

It was just then that sirens wailed from outside, this eased Jackson's nerves, the boy, you had to hand it to him, didn't leave your side until you were safely in an ambulance- your nerves however were still fried, panic growing by the second as strangers fretted around you, yelling orders at each other and pushing painfully against your wounds. Calm didn't settle over you until one of the medics injected you with a needle, you didn't have a clue what was in it and you didn't have time to theorize as your world turned black.

#isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf x reader #isaac lahey

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rosethornewrites · 3 years

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Fic: frost on the frozen ground

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo

Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui, Lan Qiren, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Wen Qing, Fourth Uncle, Jin Zixun

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Bad Uncle Lán Qǐrén, Anxiety, Confrontations, Family, References to Depression, Bunnies, Found Family, Podfic Welcome

Summary: Wei Ying and A-Zhan are still dealing with the fallout weeks after the public arrest of Meng Yao and Jin Guangshan cleared Wei Ying's name, when an uninvited visitor shows up. Second in the moonlight falls corporate spy AU series, inspired by @angstymdzsthoughts.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link

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Wei Ying was exhausted. It wasn’t even a physical sort of exhaustion, but one brought on by the absolute circus the last few weeks had been, following the very public arrest of Lan Xichen’s fiancé for the exact corporate espionage Gusu Lan Tech had accused him of and ruined his life over five years ago.

Trust Nie Huaisang to somehow convince the FBI to arrest Meng Yao during a major family dinner for the grooms that was well-attended by the media as a sort of social gala, and to also ensure they arrested Jin Guangshan at the same time. He was only the head of Jin Enterprises, so it’s not like it didn’t send that company’s stocks tanking immediately while also humiliating Gusu Lan Tech.

Nie Huaisang did petty well.

Wei Ying just wished the aftermath hadn’t meant reporters hounding him and A-Zhan almost constantly, though that wasn’t Huaisang’s fault. At least, that he knew of—his old friend hadn’t reached out, and Wei Ying didn’t know whether to expect him to.

They’d had to start screening their calls and if they did go out, it was wearing disguises and usually separately.

It had started when Jin Guangshan’s shitty nephew had attempted to ambush interview them while they were shopping for groceries with A-Yuan.

Everyone knew he was a hack. Jin Zixun had majored in history at a university his uncle was on the board of (the only reason he was even admitted) and barely got his degree. He’d been resoundingly rejected by every reputable employer despite his uncle’s best efforts, and could only get a job at some hack blog site pretending to be news and to have journalistic integrity. He was largely known for ludicrous conspiracy theories, vehement misogyny, and, weirdly, white nationalist talking points, but his articles and livestreams apparently got enough advertising revenue to merit his continued employment.

He had the nerve to imply Wei Ying had somehow framed Meng Yao and Jin Guangshan.

On the bright side, the camera had been livestreaming, and A-Zhan had verbally eviscerated him and implied that he probably had a hand in the corporate espionage, that maybe the investigation should look into him.

“I recall your name and the insulting things you said and wrote about Wei Ying. You claimed, without evidence, there was a connection with Compu-Jiang, and then they took a financial hit. Trying to take out your uncle’s competition?”

Jin Zixun’s face had turned interesting colors and he cut the camera, but the damage was done. They learned the next day he was canned from the pseudo-journalist farce and the FBI had declared him a “person of interest” and seized his electronics.

The interest in that led to more media coverage looking at the Weis, rekindling interest in the false accusation and Wei Ying’s blacklisting from the industry. Uncle Four had banned reporters from the premises, and since he owned the building that meant they at least weren’t buzzing the apartment from the lobby or, worse, somehow getting in and knocking on their door, for the most part at least. Now they were simply waiting across the street and accosting them if they spotted them, something that most often happened if they were together, and less if they were separate.

Wei Ying didn’t want to revisit the year or so following the blacklisting. Even with A-Zhan beside him, it had been like a montage of humiliation and pain. He hated that these reporters wanted to put all that on display again.

The Wens had been amazing, often bringing them groceries and cooked meals, but they couldn’t stay cooped up—they had a son, and he was fond of parks and libraries. Sometimes his aunts or uncles or Granny would take him out for them if there was a congregation of reporters, and that had at least ensured the parasites hadn’t caught on to A-Yuan’s existence connected to them yet.

As a bright spot, A-Li had contacted him. With her father-in-law in prison for the corporate espionage Wei Ying had been framed for, her husband had consented to let him meet his nephew. She was excited to meet A-Yuan. They were just waiting for some of the furor to die down.

Even though it was Saturday, Wei Ying was finishing a coding project while A-Zhan was taking A-Yuan to the library and then a different park than usual. He wished he could go with them, but it was better not to tempt fate.

He was nearly finished sorting out a coding error when the bell for the apartment building buzzer rang. Sighing in irritation, he stalked to the door and pressed the button to respond, careful not to press the one that unlocked the door.

“No comment. Please leave the premises.”

“I am not the press,” a gravelly male voice responded.

Wei Ying blinked. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it.

“Name?”

“You know perfectly well who I am.”

It was the haughtiness of the tone that pinged his memory. How could he forget, being lectured by Lan Qiren on his ungrateful nature and ruining of his nephew when he was being fired?

Just the memory made him nauseous. As far as he knew, Lan Qiren hadn’t reached out to A-Zhan, though Lan Xichen had, apologizing that they would be dragged into this again.

Quickly, he pulled his phone from his pocket and fired a text message off to A-Zhan.

Your uncle is here

“You’ll need to make an appointment,” he said blithely. “Have Lan Xichen set it up with A-Zhan. He has his number.”

His phone dinged as the uninvited visitor made outraged sounds that he very carefully refused to allow to register as words. Then the buzzer started up again, and he ignored it.

Not invited. Do not let him in.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Wei Ying had to smile over his husband’s use of proper punctuation and capitalization, ever proper even via text.

on it, he replied. will let you know when clear

The noise from the intercom/buzzer ceased, thankfully, and Wei Ying moved back toward the office, stepping over the barrier that kept Turmeric from getting to all the cords. As he did, he texted Wen Qing to let her know what had happened.

a-zhans uncle buzzed from lobby

told him to make appt

idk what he wants

He sat down with a sigh and stretched before trying to immerse himself back in the code. He’d just found his line of coding error when a knock on the door reverberated through the apartment. Before he could even contemplate getting up, his phone chimed, a text from Wen Qing.

Auntie 6 came to me

He followed her in

Uncle 4 and I are on it

Which meant, of course, that Lan Qiren had breached the building, likely not even registering that he was trespassing, or so privileged that he felt trespassing laws didn’t apply to him.

Fuck.

He could feel his anxiety rising, something he didn’t need. Now was not the time for a Xanax, no matter how much his heart was fluttering at the idea of having to deal with A-Zhan’s uncle.

lmk when i can escape, he sent back.

Then he texted A-Zhan.

breached perimeter

qing-jie & unc 4 to rescue

will come to u

where r u?

Wei Ying crept to the living room, trying to stay quiet as the intruder knocked again, more forcefully. He debated for a moment, fiddling with his phone nervously before slipping it in his pocket, then grabbed Turmeric’s carrier, leash, and harness. The bunny needed some outdoors time, and Wei Ying would probably be able to meet A-Zhan and A-Yuan at the park.

The knocking continued, and he was certain before long Lan Qiren would lose all sense of decorum and start yelling through the door.

plz hurry, he texted Wen Qing.

He donned a hat A-Yuan had gifted him for Father’s Day, an adorable white bucket hat with bunnies and carrots on it, and a pair of big sunglasses. He was wearing torn jeans and a black t-shirt with a binary code motif Wen Ning had given him for Christmas—it read “fuck off,” but wasn’t too inappropriate given that only coders could read it. He was as decent as he was going to get.

Wei Ying opened Turmeric’s hutch and scooped him gently into the carrier, hushing him even though he was completely quiet and cooperative. He felt like an intruder in his own home, and it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Finally, he could hear voices outside the door—Uncle Four’s boisterous voice asking what he could do for “the gentleman,” Wen Qing mentioning trespassing, Lan Qiren’s haughtiness slowly sputtering out, growing distant as they led him away.

His phone dinged twice, A-Zhan texting the location of the park, and Wen Qing giving the all-clear. Wei Ying grabbed his shoes, keys, and wallet, Turmeric’s crate and his sundries, and slipped out of the apartment in socked feet, easing the door shut and locking it as quietly as he could.

He practically tiptoed down the side staircase, the one that didn’t lead to the lobby but straight outside, and slipped his shoes on in the vestibule before slipping outside into the sunshine, making sure the door shut behind him without anyone getting in.

The park, thankfully, was not too far away, and he didn’t see any reporters on this side of the building. Likely they had seen Lan Qiren enter and were all crowded on the side near the lobby hoping to see something good.

Fat chance.

Wei Ying booked it the first few blocks before he felt like he’d escaped and started to calm, but he didn’t really relax until he could see A-Zhan in the distance, looking in his direction, A-Yuan beside him sipping on a boxed apple juice. His husband folded him into a hug, and he could feel the tension ease from his body with a soft sigh.

“I brought Turmeric. He could use some outside time.”

The tiny smile he got from A-Zhan finished the job of easing the worst of his anxiety, and they sat with A-Yuan on the grass to bring Turmeric out of the carrier and belt him into his little harness.

His fingers fumbled on the buckles and he sighed in frustration.

“Sit, A-Ying,” A-Zhan said. “Relax.”

There was a bit of worry in his eyes, and that told Wei Ying he must look frazzled. A-Zhan knew his anxieties, knew what Lan Qiren had said to him, something he’d opened up about long ago, when they’d learned to communicate and work as a team, and when Wei Ying was learning not to push him away.

And so Wei Ying settled back and let him finish with Turmeric, focused on the sunshine and the breeze and the soft grass beneath him. His fingers itched to pull out his phone, though he’d received no notifications, and he resisted it, instead rubbing his hand along the surface of the grass, letting the individual strands tickle his palms.

Before long, their absolutely adorable second son was contentedly exploring the grass, and curious children were starting to gather. A-Zhan explained bunnies didn’t like loud noises and sudden movements, and told them if they had permission from their parents, they could approach one at a time to pet him.

A-Yuan tumbled into Wei Ying’s lap, content to watch Turmeric from there, and he had no doubt his son had picked up on his anxiety. He was a bright boy.

Eventually, the children wandered away, a calm bunny only so interesting, and A-Yuan was half-asleep on his lap. A-Zhan’s phone dinged, and he handed the leash to Wei Ying before fishing it out. A bit of texting and a few alerts later, his mouth was downturned.

“A-Zhan?” he asked.

“I sent Xichen to retrieve Qiren, but he insists he must speak to me.”

Wei Ying fantasized briefly about Lan Qiren being led from the premises in handcuffs, yelling, but he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. It could well make things worse, so he wasn’t even able to enjoy the fantasy.

“The board voted to remove xiongzhang,” he added. “Likely he wishes to insist I take over the company.”

He felt his chest clench at that. Pity toward Xichen, who had done what he could to keep Wei Ying out of prison even if only for A-Zhan’s sake, and the grief he was facing as his life fell apart around him. But more, there was fear that A-Zhan would take it, would leave him behind—not a rational fear given everything they had weathered together, but anxiety was cruel.

“You can take it if you want it, A-Zhan,” he said after a minute.

A-Zhan made a noncommittal noise.

“I am texting Wen Qing to prepare a conference room so we need not open our home to him,” he replied after a moment. “I should hear him out.”

Wei Ying looked away, swallowing hard at the taste of bile. His vision was blurred, but he kept a handle on it, refused to cry again over this.

“I… I’ll stay with A-Yuan while you meet him.”

He startled when A-Zhan knelt in front of him and took his hands.

“We are together in this and all things. Granny will meet us and watch A-Yuan during the meeting. I need you there, A-Ying. I will say no.”

Wei Ying glanced up at him.

“He will hound us until I meet with him, but I will not go back to Gusu Lan Tech,” A-Zhan said, his voice insistent, worried. “My place is with you, at Dafan.”

“You’re sure you don’t want it?” he couldn’t help asking.

This was, after all, a chance for A-Zhan to reconcile with his family and further his career. But his husband’s expression turned stormy at the question.

“They will never admit to having wronged you, A-Ying. I cannot abide that.”

Wei Ying manages a weak smile.

“They’ll never admit they wronged you, either.”

A-Zhan nodded, the corners of his lips taut with stress.

“Wen Qing will sit in with us since this is now a Dafan Applications matter. Uncle Four, too.”

Wei Ying blinked at him blankly for a moment before he understood. Technically Gusu Lan Tech was trying to poach A-Zhan from Dafan Applications, which made it company business. Lan Qiren was trespassing on Uncle Four’s property, which made it his business. And it meant they’d have witnesses. His husband was clever, and so was Wen Qing.

“A-Die, baba, okay?”

A-Yuan looked up at them solemnly. The poor child had been with them at the grocery store when Jin Zixun had ambushed them, had seen so much these past weeks that he didn’t understand. He deserved some explanation.

“We are, baobei,” Wei Ying said firmly. “Bad things happened a few years ago. Someone made it look like a-die did something bad, and they just got caught.”

He could see the moment their son understood.

“That’s why the mean man said it was your fault?”

Wei Ying nodded, and A-Yuan squirmed out of his lap to give him a giant hug.

“Thank you. Now baba’s uncle wants to talk to us, so we need to go home. You’ll visit with popo while we find out what he wants, okay?”

A-Yuan bit his lip, looking more anxious than a child his age should.

“Baba’s uncle won’t be mean to you, will he?”

His heart broke at his son’s concern. It was clear he’d picked up on undertones they thought they’d kept away. A-Zhan wrapped A-Yuan in a hug.

“Baba won’t let shufu be mean to a-die,” A-Zhan said seriously.

“And your gugu will be with us, so she won’t let him be mean to either of us,” Wei Ying added.

A-Yuan brightened—Wen Qing had a reputation, one even her five-year-old nephew was aware of. He trusted her to protect his dads.

“Okay,” A-Yuan said. “If you bring Turmeric with you, he’ll comfort you if he’s mean!”

Wei Ying smiled at that.

“That’s why we’re leaving Turmeric with you, so he can comfort you. I know you’re worried, but baba and I will be okay. We’ll come right home when we’re done and snuggle with you and Turmeric.”

Their son seemed to accept that, and A-Zhan deftly removed Turmeric’s harness and placed him in the carrier. He pulled their disguises from a bag. Wei Ying was delighted when A-Yuan put on his brown bunny bucket hat, and he reached out to arrange the ears once the boy had it on. A-Zhan was wearing his own bucket hat, green with frog eyes, also a Father’s Day gift from A-Yuan.

Honesty, he hadn’t expected that fatherhood would make A-Zhan even sexier, but he wasn’t complaining.

The walk home was quiet. Wei Ying dreaded reaching home and hated that he felt that way. The home he had made with A-Zhan and A-Yuan was precious to him, and it felt like a sacred space had been violated.

As they drew nearer, they planned to separate, A-Zhan taking A-Yuan to one side staircase, and Wei Ying taking Turmeric to the other, the plan to meet at the apartment.

Wei Ying was actually surprised when it went off without a hitch, and he opened the stairwell door to see A-Zhan unlocking the door, Granny already hugging A-Yuan. Just a few years ago she’d have picked him up, but he was a bit big for that now.

She smiled at his approach, reaching up to pat him on the cheek.

“Aiya, you look so stressed. Popo will make dinner,” she said. “Auntie Three is making baozi for the building, too.”

Several of the aunties loved cooking different things in excess, so every few weeks they would make a huge batch of something delicious for the whole building, since everyone in the building was family. Auntie Three’s baozi were a favorite of his; she remembered his love for spicy food and always accommodated that in his.

“Extra spicy for A-Ying,” he chirped, though popo clucked softly in a way that let him know she saw through his attempt at cheer.

She headed straight for the kitchen, where she would likely catalogue the fridge to decide what to cook. Whatever she made, it would be delicious; his mouth was almost watering just thinking about it.

He focused on getting Turmeric settled in his hutch, and A-Zhan got A-Yuan situated with a coloring book and crayons.

“I should change,” Wei Ying said, remembering his torn jeans and the shirt Lan Qiren might be able to decode.

He’d probably think Wei Ying wore the shirt on purpose to send a message. Frankly, Wei Ying wouldn’t mind that interpretation, but he didn’t want to antagonize.

“What you are wearing is fine,” A-Zhan said, catching his wrist. “He interrupted our day, and he can get us as we are.”

A-Zhan was still wearing the frog bucket hat, with apparently no intent on removing it. His light blue shirt, Wei Ying noticed for the first time, was the one with a print of a rabbit wearing glasses and a bow tie, with ‘daddy’ in script underneath. Wei Ying snagged his hat with the bunnies and carrots motif from where he’d placed it atop the bunny hutch and put it back on. They’d match, to a certain extent, present a united front.

“Be good for popo,” A-Zhan directed A-Yuan, as though their son would ever be anything but good.

The boy simply nodded and discarded his crayon to run over and hug them both.

The first two floors of the building were Dafan Applications office space. Though the first floor also held a lovely coffee shop and several other stores open to the public, the core of the building was the headquarters. An elevator and staircase serviced the offices, accessible with employee IDs. Each office was accessible only by swiping employee IDs, and record was kept of who entered and when.

Since the apartments were held entirely by family, it might have seemed paranoid, but Wei Ying was glad for the security the building had—after all, the lack of it at Gusu Lan Tech had led to him being framed for corporate espionage. Poorly, but it ultimately hadn’t mattered.

He hadn’t understood why he’d been framed, only that he’d had to correct Su She’s subpar coding many times when he’d worked there, so it wasn’t very surprising that he’d fuck up installing the code to the point where it would be caught before it could do damage. Since he’d never been anything but pleasant to Su She, that he’d been targeted had surprised him.

When he had mentioned his confusion to A-Zhan, about a week after the news broke, he learned that Su She had tried to tell A-Zhan that Wei Ying was a poor choice as a romantic partner, implying he would be better.

“I told him he was not qualified to speak with me,” A-Zhan had recollected.

It made a sick sort of sense—if Wei Ying was out of the way, fired or imprisoned, Su She might think he had a shot. And given that Lan Qiren had hated him even before he and A-Zhan started dating, the frame up job was sufficient.

A-Zhan took his hand and led him into the elevator, and he realized he must have blanked out because he hadn’t even heard it arrive. His husband was watching him in concern, and he hated how much this invasion by Lan Qiren was messing with him, but he absolutely wasn’t going to abandon A-Zhan to face him alone.

“I’m okay,” Wei Ying said. “I just want to get it over with.”

Uncle Four was waiting for them by the elevators. He offered a smile.

“I’ll bring by a few bottles of my newest brew later,” he said in greeting.

“That bad, huh?” Wei Ying asked ruefully.

“I don’t wish to speak ill of A-Zhan’s family,” Uncle Four said deferentially.

‘But that man…’ was heavily implied.

A-Zhan inclined his head.

“He decided Wei Ying’s guilt on flimsy evidence,” his husband said, his tone dismissive.

Wei Ying squeezed his hand—it was as close to disparaging as A-Zhan had ever come toward his uncle. More often, they simply pretended he didn’t exist, which prior to this had been fairly easy. When they had spoken of it, when he had finally told A-Zhan in one of his darker moments what Lan Qiren had said to him when running him out of Gusu Lan Tech with security, his husband had simply folded him in his arms and told him he was wrong, over and over again, and reiterated that he had chosen Wei Ying.

A-Zhan was angry, he realized. Perhaps over Lan Qiren returning to their life with all of his customary arrogance, or perhaps in defense of his brother, who was being excised from the company. He remembered, early in their relationship, learning that both brothers had been told what to major in, prepped for what Lan Qiren thought their careers should look like at Gusu Lan, which was why A-Zhan hadn’t been able to pursue music as he had wished. It was why he had expected him to break up with him, as ordered.

He wondered what Lan Xichen had given up, what dreams he had let go to serve his family.

“Tomorrow,” he told Uncle Four. “I think we’ll need tonight for us.”

The older man offered a sympathetic smile and escorted them to the conference room.

It was the ostentatious one they used for particularly obnoxious or status-obsessed clients, with handsomely-carved panels with the Dafan Applications logo and an imposing table that looked expensive but were actually the work of a family member with a woodworking hobby. It had two doors, one on either side of the long table, which was ideal—they wouldn’t have to walk past Lan Qiren to get in or out.

When they entered, Wei Ying’s gaze was drawn to Lan Xichen first, seated at the side of the table. He looked… defeated was the first word to come to mind. He glanced at his husband, could see he too was looking at his brother, concerned lines at the corners of his eyes betraying his emotions.

“Finally,” Lan Qiren commented, drawing their attention. “I don’t have all day.”

His gaze was, as usual, disapproving, and he completely disregarded the fact that he had been the one to crash their day, not the other way around.

“My husband told you to schedule an appointment,” A-Zhan said in lieu of greeting.

He tugged Wei Ying to the head of the table, where someone had thoughtfully placed two chairs. Qing-jie was his guess, letting them present as the team they were. She was on one side of the table beside the seats, and Uncle Four sat on the other, probably as owner of the building. Wen Ning was too faint-hearted to handle this, he knew, even though he was technically the head of Dafan Applications.

“An appointment, to see my own nephew?” Lan Qiren grated, glaring at Wei Ying like it was his fault.

“You told me five years ago that I was no nephew of yours,” A-Zhan said, his voice dispassionate.

Wei Ying knew how much that had hurt A-Zhan. Part of him wanted to tell Lan Qiren that, rail at him over every emotional scar he had inflicted on the both of them, but he also knew there was no point in it—he wouldn’t listen, and he knew well enough that it wouldn’t be cathartic. It was better to let A-Zhan get this over with and be here to support him.

“You were making a mistake!”

His continued glaring at Wei Ying made it obvious what “mistake” he was referring to, and he barely managed not to flinch. It was clear this conversation was not going to be pleasant. A-Zhan took his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.

“As I recall, the evidence that he was not making a mistake has been all over the news,” Wen Qing drawled.

“What business is it of yours?” Lan Qiren demanded. “Why are you here?”

“As witnesses,” she replied. “And A-Zhan and A-Ying are family. We’re here for them.”

Warmth spread through Wei Ying’s chest at her pronouncement—he often referred to her as Qing-jie, but hadn’t known the sentiment was returned.

“And I own the building in which you are currently trespassing,” Uncle Four added.

Where he was normally a jovial and friendly man, his expression was serious and bordering on unwelcoming. Apparently Lan Qiren had made quite the impression on him.

Lan Qiren sniffed disdainfully, but finally focused on A-Zhan.

“The board has decided Xichen’s… indiscretions make him unfit to head the company. You have been appointed in his place. You will, of course, be expected to take the Lan name again, as will the child you’ve adopted. I’ve taken the liberty of securing housing for you, and I suppose we can find a place in the company for your husband, on a provisionary basis, of course.”

Dead silence followed his pronouncement, and Wei Ying felt dizzy with the presumption of all of this—A-Zhan was being ordered back to Gusu Lan Tech as though this wasn’t the first they’d seen or heard from Lan Qiren in over five years, clearly expected to obey without question.

“Provisionary?” A-Zhan murmured, his voice icy with what Wei Ying recognized as fury.

He squeezed A-Zhan’s hand, silently asking that he not be angry on his behalf. After all, he expected nothing but this treatment from Lan Qiren, so he wasn’t surprised to receive it.

“He’ll be expected to prove himself, of course.”

“He already has,” Wen Qing cut in. “He’s been an asset to Dafan Applications since the day we hired him, paramount to our success.”

Lan Qiren sniffed dismissively.

“Yes, well, his previous stint of employment at Gusu Lan Tech left much to be desired.”

A-Zhan’s jaw clenched. Wei Ying’s stomach roiled, remembering the constant criticism he’d faced there, how ultimately he wondered why they’d even agreed to hire him.

“I will not subject my husband to further abuse at the hands of the company that attempted to ruin his career.”

To his surprise, Lan Qiren looked satisfied by that statement.

“Then we’ll arrange for your move. You’ll be expected to dress more professionally in the future, as the representative of the company.”

He eyed A-Zhan’s hat and clothing with distaste.

Wei Ying stole a glance at Xichen, who looked haggard and drained and was barely listening to the conversation, and felt empathy for his situation. Xichen had always treated him kindly, until he went no-contact after A-Zhan’s resignation, something he was likely ordered to do. Even so, he also sought to warn them of what had happened, and had informed A-Zhan of Lan Qiren’s intentions. And he had stood fast against the board’s desire to have him prosecuted.

And now the man he had been set to marry is in prison, having brought Nie Innovations to its knees and attempted the same with Gusu Lan Tech, and what happiness he’d been looking forward to was just so much smoke.

“You misunderstand,” A-Zhan said. “I do not intend to relocate, or take on the Lan name, or chair Gusu Lan Tech. I will continue to work at Dafan and live in my apartment with my husband and our son. I will remain Wei Zhan.”

Lan Qiren looked shocked, almost as though he had been physically slapped, and then the anger returned.

“You leave me no choice. It will be a simple matter to buy out Dafan,” he said.

Wen Qing laughed at the threat.

“Dafan Applications is a worker cooperative. You have no power.”

For the first time he’d known him, Lan Qiren seemed incapable of words. After all, it meant that he and A-Zhan were part owners of Dafan, as all employees were, something he would never offer at Gusu Lan. Wei Ying privately hoped he was having an internal fit over the socialism of worker cooperatives.

A-Zhan, however, had plenty to say.

“You disrupted our Saturday after five years of silence to demand I change my life to suit your whims,” A-Zhan said coldly. “You didn’t even have the grace to apologize to Wei Ying, whose life and career you tried to destroy.”

Lan Qiren’s expression turned stormy.

“You chose this ill-bred miscreant over your family, and you expect me to apologize to him?”

“No,” A-Zhan said. “I chose the truth. I chose love. A-Ying is my family.”

“You,” Lan Qiren snarled, turning his attention to Wei Ying. “This rebellion is all your influence! A-Zhan was filial until you came along!”

Wei Ying stayed silent. His anxiety spiked but was soothed by A-Zhan’s hand in his, in the feeling of his fingers entwined. Lan Qiren could do nothing to them—he’d already tried, and they’d ultimately come out stronger. They’d built a life and found new family.

There was so much he could say, but he knew better than to think Lan Qiren would listen; he was a convenient scapegoat, and nothing would convince him otherwise.

“Have you nothing to say, you ingrate?” Lan Qiren demanded.

A-Zhan tensed, but Wei Ying squeezed his hand.

“I see no point in speaking to you,” he said honestly.

“You dare!”

Lan Qiren stood, quivering with rage.

“You broke our family as completely as you broke the Jiangs, and you have the gall to sit there smirking, enjoying the mess you’ve made!”

Mention of the Jiangs hurt—it had been weeks and only A-Li had reached out, but she had never broken contact to begin with.

Wen Qing slapped the table and stood, startling them.

“I’ve heard quite enough. You can’t bully your estranged nephew into uprooting the life he built after you alienated him, so you go after A-Ying again. You act the victim, but you drove A-Zhan away with your unmerited vitriol toward A-Ying.”

Uncle Four stood as well. He was a calm man, but Wei Ying could see him tremble—in anger or nervousness, he didn’t know.

“You are not welcome here, Lan Qiren. Leave or you will be removed.”

“And given that you attempted to poach two of our best employees and threatened our company, you can tell your board that Dafan Applications will never do business with Gusu Lan Tech,” Wen Qing added.

Wei Ying knew her level of petty and wondered if their new apps would unexpectedly glitch on Gusu Lan products in the future. Probably not, since she was focused on user experience.

Maybe he was the one feeling petty, but he doubted anyone who mattered would judge him for it.

“Clearly attempting to reason with any of you is an exercise in futility,” Lan Qiren said.

It took far too much energy to suppress a nearly-hysterical giggle building in Wei Ying’s chest at his complete lack of self awareness.

“Come, Xichen. We’re done here.”

A-Zhan bristled further, glancing at Wei Ying with a question in his eyes, and he nodded. Xichen deserved to know he still had family.

“Xiongzhang may stay for dinner, if he wishes,” A-Zhan said. “Our son would love to meet his bobo.”

A tiny smile lit up Xichen’s features, and Wei Ying got the impression it was the first time he’d smiled since his fiancé’s arrest.

“I would be honored to,” he said softly.

His voice was hoarse, as though he was no longer used to speaking, or was overcome with emotion. It could easily be both.

“Thank you, didi.”

Lan Qiren scoffed, and Wen Qing pointed at the door, raising an eyebrow. When he stomped out, she and Uncle Four followed him to escort him from the premises, leaving the three of them alone.

“Were you offered another position in the company?” A-Zhan asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Xichen shook his head, the fleeting smile gone.

“No. Uncle believes I need time to reflect on my mistakes.”

Wei Ying didn’t hold back a scoff, given that Lan Qiren had referred to him as A-Zhan’s mistake.

“You didn’t make any mistakes. You had no way of knowing.”

The smile Xichen offers is wrong, bitter.

“I should have done more. Instead of letting them scapegoat you, I should have insisted on a full investigation. Maybe we would have uncovered the truth and protected you. Maybe we could have prevented the damage to Nie Innovations and Mingjue’s health, too.”

He had forgotten that Xichen and Mingjue were friends somehow. Wei Ying wanted to tell him the guilt he carried was a burden that shouldn’t be his, but he also knew from struggling with his own that it was something Xichen would need to come to terms with himself.

“You should reach out to him,” A-Zhan said, looking at Wei Ying like he knew what he was thinking. “I doubt he blames you, and perhaps he could use the help.”

Xichen looked torn on the idea. Wei Ying could almost see the thoughts running through his head—that he would be unwelcome, a burden on his friend, but that it was a way to do penance for the sins he believed he’d committed.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

Wei Ying walked around the table and patted his shoulder, gesturing to the other door, the one that led to the interior of the building. A-Zhan had offered an olive branch with the invitation, and this was his.

“Come on. Popo is cooking, and Auntie Three made baozi for the whole building. And A-Yuan is waiting.”

The smile returned, a little stronger this time, and Wei Ying smiled back as Xichen levered out of his seat to follow them home.

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

Jin Zixun’s background is maybe based on a very well-known “journalist” who just constantly looks confused and outraged. To narrow it down, John Oliver did a segment on him recently. Uh, and maybe slightly on two other conspiracy theorists who pretend at journalism, one of whom keeps getting sued.

Also, I am old enough to text in full sentences most of the time. I had some friends check over Wei Ying’s panic texts so hopefully they’re believable.

This was difficult to write because of the anxiety Wei Ying was feeling and the uncomfortable conversations.

Also, I forgot the Nie company name and had to check—I couldn’t remember if it was Nie Innovations or Nie Industries. Turns out I accidentally used both in the first fic in the series. Fixed it now.

I maybe spent too much time researching worker cooperatives and employee-owned companies. It’s not a major part of this fic, but I thought it was a cool detail to bring in.

The title is, again, from the Li Bai poem.

27 notes · View notes

love101imagines · 4 years

Text

Will anything happen?

(sinan | imagine)

request: could u please write an imagine, with Sinan having been in love with s/n for years, but he never knew how to tell her that, until she became friends with the group, so he sees an opportunity to approach her.

tags: @zaynlikfalls @girl-looking-out-window @imtoolazytothinkofacoolname

You were sure your life had changed the moment you were doing your philosophy homework during recess, too immersed with trying to finish Miss Ayse's assignment on time you didn't notice how five students entered the room and ushered the rest to leave, even if the room was almost empty.

"What the fuck?" You blurted out confused once someone closed your notebook.

Eda, one of your classmates, sat in front of you, while another boy you vaguely remembered leaned against the wall.

"We need to talk." Osman, a boy you had bought some homework a few times, stated as he sat down next to you.

A quick look around the room made you panic internally, with Kerem, another boy you knew because of his anger issues, closed the door. Your mind tried to come up with a reasonable reason why your classmates you had only spoken a few words were now acting so strangely.

You looked at Osman, the only one you had talked the most out of them, with a raised brow. "Do I owe you something because of the homework? I don't have any money left, I— Are you going to beat me up? What is wrong with you?" You ranted.

"No!" Işik, the one you liked most because of her charismatic personality, reassured you, taking out a chair and sitting next to you. "We only wanted to talk to you."

"We need your help." Eda continued. "It's about Miss Burcu, we want you to help us set her up with another teacher. Otherwise, she'll leave since her transfer is confirmed."

"And this way we'll all make a beautiful thing happen. We’ll spread love." Işik added with a grin.

You furrowed your brows at the strange request. It didn't take you much to see through their act, Isik being the only one who seemed genuinely sad about your teacher leaving, so you just assumed the rest were doing it to their own advantage. Probably because of what had gone down a few days ago during a school debate, in which the auditorium was almost burned down and they were almost expelled.

Still, you had a few questions left. "Why me? I don't know either of them that well."

Eda shrugged. "You have a boyfriend."

"And you two have been dating for almost two years, you must know about love and dates. That really can help us. Isik knows the theory, you know the practice." Osman explained trying to convince you with his businessman smile.

So that was the reason why they thought you were a love expert.

You only could give them an awkward smile, feeling your cheeks slightly blushing because of the obvious fact they didn't seem to be aware of. "Boran and I broke up two months ago."

Being stopped from doing your homework was worth it once you bit down on your lower lip trying to avoid laughing at their faces of sudden realization.

"Fuck. You told us they were in love." Eda complained, glaring at the boy who was leaning against the wall.

He didn't answer, his eyes fixated on the ground while the rest looked at him angrily.

You slowly stood up from your chair while the rest seemed deep in thought. "Well, this was fun but now you've realized I can't really help you. Good luck though."

"Wait, you can still help us." Işik tried, standing in front of Kerem once she noticed he wouldn't let you leave.

With a huff, you sat down back on your seat. "(Y/N), dear. You're the only person who's been in the longest relationship in the whole school." Osman continued. "Come on, help us. This is what you and Isik know best."

You thought about it for a moment, almost flinching when Kerem suddenly stood next to you even if Osman had already said that you didn't owe him anything and even if you did, they wouldn't beat you up.

"Don't worry, he only talks with his fists but we need you."

You looked up at the boy leaning against the wall, now realizing where you recognized him from. You couldn't really blame yourself, after all, Sinan usually skipped classes or never participated, only sleeping most of the time or drinking his flask. You were almost sure you had done one or two school projects with him and Isik, because even if she was the smartest girl in the class, nobody else wanted to work with them, too annoyed with the boy and his usual remarks.

He stayed silent throughout the whole interaction until you shifted uncomfortably because of Kerem and how you only knew him because of every time you had seen him punch someone during a basketball game or recess. But right now, he only glanced at you for a second before returning his gaze back to the ground.

Kerem glared at him. "I'm so sick of his bullshit."

"Calm down." Osman said once he noticed the tension in the room.

You only chuckled, almost giving in to their offer once you noticed Sinan glancing up at you again for a few seconds. But still, you couldn't do what they were asking.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm going to fail Philosophy and Miss Ayse has sent me all of this..." You said referring to the numerous papers in front of you, most of them highlighted with your own handwriting in some notes. "I'm literally fucked with this, and I can't fail another subject again."

Still, Osman wasn't going to give up. "Sinan will help you."

"What?" You both said at the same time.

"If he helps you pass, will you help us too?" Eda asked hopefully.

"These assignments aren't to help students learn what they don't understand, they only exist so teachers feel even more powerful having someone else's future on their hands." Sinan spoke, annoyance clear on his voice.

Kerem rolled his eyes. "You're the man for the job. Every sentence you say sounds like a riddle."

"Can you help me? You can lend me your notebooks if you want, I can manage." You said, trying to ignore the fact that he was always sleeping in class.

He fumbled with his hands, not answering instantly which made you wonder if it was because of a hangover or if he simply didn't like you. "I...I'm not good at writing down notes." He explained.

"But he's really good with philosophy!" Işik added nudging him forward. "He's in the debate team too."

"There you go, he'll explain to you what we covered and you'll help us make Burcu fall in love." Eda concluded.

Before he could disagree, you nodded. "Okay, deal."

They seemed finally grateful, and before you could think better about what you had just gotten into, the bell rang. You got up from your seat and started gathering your things, not noticing how the rest left and how Eda practically pushed Sinan forward in your direction.

"I'm sorry you assumed I would be of any help to you." He started somewhat reluctantly, stopping once you looked up at him in the middle of leaving your notes on your bag.

"Sinan, we've done a few projects with Işik before, and even if you didn't come to my house you helped out in the end." You said forcefully, not taking no for an answer.

Under his impressed look, you paused for a moment as he started helping you with your things, knowing you wouldn't be able to do it before the next class started.

"So..." You started with a soft smile. "Your house or mine?"

As Sinan opened the door for you, you thanked him with a silent smile before entering his house. You gathered your surroundings, amazed by the numerous pairings hanging in the walls while you followed him.

"Sinan, your house is beautiful. I can't believe you never invited us before." You said leaving your bag on the floor next to the couch.

"I have to make lunch for my grandpa and feed my dog..." He trailed off opening the fridge on his kitchen.

You made your way towards him after taking off your jacket. "I'll help you." You offered, taking the bowl of dog food out of his hands before he could say anything.

As you petted his dog, he left a tray of food for his grandpa and then you both sat down on his couch, you looking for a highlighter and him fumbling the only pencil he had.

He cleared his throat a bit, your knees touching while you unknotted your tie. "We're seeing idealism, right?" He asked and continued once you nodded. "Um, it can be classified into subjective and objective idealism, the main difference is that one believes the object is more important, and therefore, it's independent of our consciousness."

He gave you a side look to see if you understood. You looked at your notes, confusion clear on your face as your brows furrowed and you tried to search for what he had just said. You expected him to snap at you for not understanding, which would only cause you to get even more frustrated and to storm out of his house, but that wasn't the case.

"It's fine." He said patiently, taking your notebook to help you search what you needed. "Here, you mixed them up. You should remember that the objective idealism regards as the prime source of being not the human mind, but some objective other-world consciousness."

"And the subjective denies the existence of objective reality." You carried on connecting the dots.

You fixed your notes, a green highlighter on your hand, and the cap between your teeth.

Sinan stood up from his seat. "Tea?" He asked.

You nodded. "Please." You said with a smile, noticing how the corners of his lips curled in a small smile.

After that day, your usual routine changed completely. You planned the perfect date with the rest, helped with the fake fight between Burak and Kerem, went to a rock concert, and even got closer to the rest. You weren't sure, but you felt closer to Sinan after spending every afternoon at his house.

You saw a different side of his, a boy who cared for his grandpa and tried his best to help you with things you found difficult, not losing his patience and explaining it as much as you needed.

At school during recess you flopped down on a bench, Sinan sitting at the end of it like usual. “What’s up?” He asked.

"Look at this!" You beamed with a grin pushing a paper into his hands.

He raised his brows at you before reading your test, you waiting expectantly for his reaction. "You passed Philosophy?"

You let out a sigh of relief. "Yep, no more assignments from Miss Ayse. Now I can help you even more with Miss Burcu, it's a shame she has a boyfriend. We're fucked."

"You aren't." He pointed out, slowly taking out his flask from his jacket. “You can stop with everything if you want, you’ve achieved what you wanted and nothing changes for you if Burcu leaves.”

You scoffed. “Do you really think that of me? That I would leave all of you now that we don’t have to study anymore?”

He only shrugged, going to take a sip of his flask before you stopped him, your hand on top of his. “Can you...not? Please. I don’t like the smell.” You explained taking the flask from his hands to his amused look.

Sinan rolled his eyes and took the flask out of your hands, except this time he didn’t drink from it and only left it back again on his jacket.

With a soft smile, you stood up. “Come, let’s go to my house and have lunch.”

“Why?” He asked confused about why would you want to hang out with him but nevertheless stood up.

“I’m hungry...and we have another Music project to do. I don’t have a partner so, lucky you.” You tugged on his arm to walk.

“Lucky me.” He teased.

With your music cassette playing on the background a Tarkan song and a few books scattered on your bed, you continued with your research on Mozart, your legs crossed while Sinan sat opposite you.

After fumbling with his pen for a few seconds, he looked at you. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced at him after taking a sip of your water. “Sure.”

“Why did you and Boran break up?” He asked curiously. “Everybody thought you would get married like the two high school sweethearts you are. Were.” He corrected himself.

You shuffled uncomfortably in your place, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked at the boy in front of you. You smiled weakly before starting to talk. “Um, dunno. I mean, things weren’t as smooth like they were at the beginning. I didn’t feel the same and he thought that I had too much...baggage, so we talked and decided to end things. We’re still friends though.”

Sinan’s face softened at your words. “I’m sorry, I thought you two...”

“You thought we were in love, right?” You interrupted him, your voice teasing but quiet. “I remembered Eda said that the first time we all talked, how did you know?”

He looked away as a small blush crept on his neck, and you only waited for him to answer.

“A few years ago we had a History assignment, do you remember?” He asked slowly.

You furrowed your brows. “Sinan, we have History assignments almost every day.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but this time I was with Işik and we needed someone else and you volunteered. Then she dragged me to the library and we spent some time together.” He continued trying to make you remember.

You thought about it for a few seconds until you came to the realization of what he was recalling, your mouth opening in surprise. “Yes! I remember. You slept the whole hour until I told you to help me with the dates.”

He nodded, not talking for a moment and avoiding your look before he took a gulp of his flask, ignoring how you sighed when he did that. “I...we didn’t talk much but I knew that you could see something good in everyone, even in me.”

Sinan struggled with his words, so you left the books aside and moved closer to him. “Why didn’t you talk to me after that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why do you think?” He answered sarcastically. “You met Boran and...it wasn’t worth it. He was better for you.” He explained with his usual emotionless tone.

He looked at you for another moment, his eyes slowly trying to figure out your expression. For a moment, you basked into the attention he was giving you shamelessly, remembering even more about what had happened two years ago.

“Işik! Guess what! After you and Sinan left I met this super cute guy. His name’s Boran and we talked and he asked me on a date tomorrow!” You gushed to her the next day you went to the library to finish your History assignment, not noticing Sinan’s expression, a mix of jealousy, disappointment, and heartbreak.

“Sinan...” You started slowly. “...did you have a crush on me?”

Eyes darting from where they were fixed on your face, he stared at his lap. “Why would it matter? I’m sure you and Boran will fix things and...” He paused and took a sharp breath. “...you’ll be back again with him. You’ll forget about us, living the true romance fairytale you’ve wanted your whole life.”

Once he finished his rant, he grabbed his flask to take another sip again but you were sick of it. “That’s not true!” You scolded taking the flask out of his hands, leaving it next to your pillow. “And that wasn’t my question, why are you like this?”

He didn’t answer, only moving forward to reach for his flask, but you were faster and cupped his face to make him look at you.

“Sinan, you should have told me. Do you like me or no?”

He stopped breathing, his chest visible not moving as he stared at your eyes. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, realizing all of a sudden how close you actually were. Before you could think about it, with your hands still cupping his face, you pulled him towards you and placed your lips onto his.

He was clearly caught off guard, but it didn’t take long for him to kiss you back and place his hands on your waist, a few pencils falling off your bed while he moved to be closer to you.

Out of breath, you broke the kiss, your hands remaining on his face while he looked at you, studying every inch of your face trying to read your expression.

“Things have been different between us in the last days.” You said, your voice coming out like a whisper.

He hummed, waiting patiently for you to continue. “I...I just got out of a fucking long relationship and, I have a lot on my mind.”

“I understand.” He nodded, your hands falling to your side finding his.

Your thumb traced soothing circles into the back of his hands and his eyes almost fluttered shut at the sensation. “But we could try, right? Not a relationship right now, but maybe a date first.”

“Yeah. Yeah for sure.” He mumbled.

He had already waited two years to finally tell you how he really felt, but it seemed like it was worth it seeing how you were smiling at him at that moment.

#love 101 #love101 #burcu #eda #kerem #osman #sinan #ask 101 #aşk101imagine #aşk 101 #aşk 101 imagine #aşk101 #love101imagine #love 101 imagine #sinanimagine #sinanxreader

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murkrees · 6 years

Text

art style; huang renjun ft. dream

summary: “i’m not stalking you, exactly, it’s just that you accidentally put my sketchbook in your bag and i’m waiting for a good moment to steal it back before you see the drawings of you i did in it.” based on this post.

pairing: renjun x reader

genre: high school! au

Renjun thumbed through the pages of his sketchbook, flipping through various sketches of you until he arrived at a blank page. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, he gnawed at his lip in concentration as dark streaks started to appear on the pages. His hand flowed across the page, the rough outline of you starting to take shape. He continued on, looking up from his hunched position once in a while for reference even though he had drew you so many times by this point. The morning light streaming through the classroom window was hitting you perfectly, your hair framing your face in a way that made Renjun’s heart beat just a little bit faster. His cheeks pinked slightly, wondering what it would be like to run his hands through them -

“Renjun!” He startled, breaking out of his thoughts. Renjun’s wide eyes met his teacher’s by the board, raising an eyebrow at him in a questioning manner, “Would you bother explaining the differences between an oligotrophic, mesotrophic and eutrophic lake, please?”

“U-Uh…” he straightened in his chair, shifting the notebook closer to his body as he squinted at the whiteboard, “An oligotrophic lake has low nutrient concentration and organism growth, a eutrophic lake has high nutrient concentration and organism growth while mesotrophic lakes fall in the middle?”

“Correct,” his teacher narrowed her eyes, “Even though you may understand the material, Renjun, it would be beneficial if you kept your focus during classtime. Now sit with your partners, everyone – we’ll spend the rest of the time discussing our project.”

Renjun sighed in relief. His back slumped once more before he locked eyes with you from the other side of the classroom. You had stood up, grabbing your books and bags before making your way to him. He blushed in embarrassment, remembering that he had just zoned out in front of you, his partner and longtime crush.

“Morning!” You slid into the seat next to him, a bright smile on your face despite the early hours of the day. He slammed his sketchbook shut, hiding it behind the messy pile of papers and books strewn about on his desk before giving you a shy smile back.

“You’re cheery today,” he commented, toying with the corners of his biology notebook. You shrugged.

“Woke up on the right side of bed, I guess. I have a feeling something good’s going to happen today,” you turned to face him, “So, how are we going to make this self-sustaining terrarium?”

The class whizzed by, the both of you caught up in talking about the project. Papers were scribbled on and discarded, ideas crossed out and jotted down. The supposedly boring class of biology became more exciting as the both of you joked around and debated, planning on times to work on the project and who was going to keep and look after it. He couldn’t stop staring at you at times, a faint pink blush on his cheeks and a stupid smile on his face. Sure, he had drawn you a few times and more than his fair share of decent conversations, but the thought of being this close with you for the rest of the semester sent his heart fluttering a tad bit faster.

Before you knew it, the bell rung. Students were already packing their bags, ignoring the teacher up front reminding them of the project’s due date. Renjun himself was in no rush to stand up, wrapping up the conversation he had with you.

“What class do you have next, (Y/N)?” He asked.

“Oh, algebra,” you shrugged, before freezing, eyes wide in shock, “Oh, algebra! The test!”

You sprang out of your seat, hurriedly shoving all your papers inside and grabbing all your books. Renjun watched with an amused eye as you waved goodbye at him, rushing out of class in order to spare a few minutes of studying. He looked down to his lap, biting his lip as he remembered the easy flow of conversation you two shared and how there were going to be more to come. One thing was for sure – biology was quickly turning to be his favorite subject.

Renjun sighed, head resting against his propped elbow. His hand cupped his cheek, right hand absentmindedly doodling a sleeping moomin on the pages of his book. His chemistry teacher ranted on about acids and bases, but it seemed like his brain had just upped and left, taking his interest in the subject with it. Jaemin sat next to him, looking at the teacher simply because he didn’t have anything else to stare at while twirling his pen absentmindedly in his hand. Struck with a sudden urge to draw you, he reached down to his bag and rifled around for the familiar leather cover of his sketchbook, failing to find it for the first time.

He straightened in his seat. Leaning fully to the side, he started searching for it with both hands. He took out all of his notebooks and large objects, staring at the now empty bag with shocked eyes and a panic-frenzied heart. No, no – this sort of thing only happens in movies, right? He groaned out loud (earning a few startled looks from his classmates) and let his body flop, banging his head against the table as he buried in in his arms. The one thing you weren’t supposed to see (ever) was now in your possession, tucked snugly in your backpack.

Something poked his arm. Renjun let out another small moan, wordlessly letting his arms drop uselessly to his sides as he turned his head to face a worried-looking Jaemin. He stopped poking the older with his pen, pulling it away from his arm and tapping it against the table unconsciously.

“You okay, bro?” Renjun closed his eyes and whined, burying his face in his arms once more before abruptly straightening and throwing his head back. He mussed his hair up in frustration.

“She has my sketchbook,” Jaemin’s brows only furrowed deeper, “The black one. She has it.”

“And?”

“You don’t understand, Jaemin,” he put both hands on the boy’s shoulders, shaking him, “She has my sketchbook. I’m going to die.”

Jaemin’s lip formed an ‘o’ of understanding. Renjun bemoaned his fate, glancing at the wall clock. Seven more minutes until class ends – it was too late to ask for a bathroom slip now. He would just have to wait until the bell rung before he had any chances of getting his precious sketchbook back. That was all Renjun had to do; wait.

Renjun couldn’t wait. He had zero patience at all, if any, which explained why it was his third time in the hallway right now when they were barely half an hour into class. His bathroom pass was slung over his neck like the picture of a model student, and he walked extremely slowly to the bathroom on the other side of the building, making sure to slow down even more when he passed by the physics classroom.

He spotted your figure, heart feeling a little lighter when he saw you diligent in your own work instead of rifling through his sketchbook. Of course, that was what you had been doing this whole time. His eyes zeroed in on your backpack, unzipped and filled to the brim with books and papers. He sighed in relief. At least with the amount of stuff piled in there, the chances of you actually noticing his sketchbook were slimmer than ever.

Instead, he focused on the way you looked up and down from the board to your work, biting your lip in concentration as you pondered over calculations. He was entranced with the way your hand scribbled across the page, listening to the teacher explain the workings of a rollercoaster intently. He was confused over how you sent his heart skipping a beat over doing normal, mundane things; tasks you probably didn’t even think twice about doing. He stopped questioning it a long time ago, instead letting his feelings flow through lead to paper.

You looked up from your book, eyes catching his in a heartbeat. You lit up, sending him a small, discreet wave. He stiffened, cheeks flushing like a deer caught in headlights. Shyly, he brought his own hand up in greeting, his awkwardness earning him a small laugh from you.

He saw you stop abruptly, looking up before bowing your head in shame and readjusting yourself in your seat. Confused, he looked up himself to see the angry face of the physics teacher, glaring daggers at him through the glass window of the door. Renjun gulped, taking a step back before spinning on his heel and turning tail out of there before the teacher could storm out and give him the scolding of his life.

His cheeks were still tinted a deep red by the time he reached his language arts class, both from the embarrassment of being caught by the teacher and the giddiness of being noticed by you. He bowed to the teacher mindlessly as he entered, putting his bathroom pass on the door handle. She eyed him with a concerned look on her face.

“You took long, Renjun – If you have diarrhea, don’t hesitate to go to the nurse’s office, okay?”

From the back of the class, he swore he heard Donghyuck cackle.

“Woah! You have a Snorlax!” Jisung snatched Chenle’s 3DS from his hands, the older whining in protest. The maknae tinkered around with it, hunching to the side and ignoring the arms of the 2001 liner around his body in an attempt to grab it back, “That’s so cool!”

“Yah, Jisung Park, give that back,” Chenle complained. Jisung ignored him, far too invested in the pokemon.

Renjun ignored their antics, pushing his food around with his fork. His knee hopped up and down restlessly, appetite gone as he pictured you flipping through the pages of his sketchbook and the drawings of you that decorated them. The rest of the Dreamies were fooling around; Mark was ignoring the small pellets of food Donghyuck sent flying from his tray, Jeno and Jaemin were conversing about their biology project while Chenle and Jisung were shoving each other playfully in their fight to obtain the 3DS. He craned his neck slightly and looked around the cafeteria, hoping to spot you eating or in line for food instead of looking through his precious sketchbook. You were nowhere to be found, though. He huffed out an irritated sigh.

“You okay, Renjun?” Mark glanced at him, brows furrowing with worry, “You’ve been acting kind of… weird. Jittery. Nervous. You get my point.”

Donghyuck snorted, “He has diarrhea.”

“Is that true?” The eldest’s eyes widened, “You should head back to the dorms, dude. Taeyong hyung just stocked up on our medicine-“

“I don’t have diarrhea,” Renjun cut in, sending a dirty glance at the troublemaker, “And I’m not heading back. I have some important stuff to do.”

“Like stalking (Y/N)?”

Mark’s head whipped around to face the younger, bewildered, “You’ve been stalking (Y/N)? Renjun-”

“I haven’t been stalking anybody! Mark, why are you believing everything Donghyuck says?” He let his body flop onto Jeno’s side, “She took my sketchbook and I need to get it back! This is a tragedy - I’m never going to live this down.”

“The one with all your drawings of her in it?” Chenle questioned, managing to wrangle his 3DS from the bluenette’s hands. Renjun rubbed a hand over his face, wanting nothing more than to melt into a puddle.

“That one.”

The eldest winced, “That’s harsh, dude. What are you going to do about it?”

“Just ask for it back, Junnie,” Jaemin commented, swiping a french fry from Jeno’s tray and popping it in his mouth, “Easy peasy.”

“Because everyone’s good at confrontation like you, Jaemin,” he stated, “I can barely hold a decent conversation without wanting the earth to swallow me up whole.”

“The solution’s pretty simple, then,” Jisung cut in, “Snag it the moment she leaves her bag alone.”

“That could work,” Jeno supplied, frowning all the while, “But I’m not sure-“

“That could work! Jisung, you’re an angel!” With that, Renjun stood up and grabbed his tray, “I’m going to be home late. Go back to the dorms first without me.”

He was about to turn around and leave, but the sound of Mark calling out his name stopped him.

“Yes?”

“You don’t really have diarrhea, right?”

Donghyuck let out another loud cackle.

Renjun hid in the staircase beside the art room, waiting until the moment you would pass by. He knew you spent your time after school in that room, so he specifically chose to camp outside it and wait until you would go outside before taking his sketchbook. He’d been tailing you the entire day, walking behind you in the small, five-minute margins between classes to make sure you didn’t see any of his drawings. He also made sure to pass by your classes, only to see you diligent in your work most of the time.

Granted, there were a couple of close calls, but he made sure to hide between lockers or behind some pillars. It was a miracle you hadn’t even caught on yet – and he thought he was slow. Nervously, he pressed his phone’s home button, the digital analog showing the numbers 16:21. You would be here soon, probably. Unseemly thoughts swirled in his head; what if you needed to go home early? What if you didn’t go to the bathroom at all today? What if you had already rifled through his sketchbook and decided to head home to ponder how to reject him as harshly as possible or wonder about how much of a creep he was?

All of the thoughts in his head dispersed once he spotted you walking down the stairs, talking animatedly to one of your friends. He ducked down to avoid being seen by you, but kept it raised just enough to watch your moves. You waved goodbye to your friend, parting ways with a cheery goodbye. Renjun ducked his head down further. You were in high spirits; mouth upturned in a pleasant smile, steps light as you entered the art room. Carefully, Renjun made his way down the staircase and situated himself beside the lockers. His fingers gripped the small ledge of the wall, pulling himself up to peer through the windows.

You had put your backpack down on the table, stretching with your arms high above your head. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, spending a good minute standing beside the table staring at your screen. Just as he felt like you weren’t going to leave the room at all, you turned around and made your way to the door, all the while typing something.

Renjun turned around and pressed his body flat against the wall, trying to stay hidden. You passed by him without a cinch. He waited until you turned the hallway and an extra 5 seconds after that before slipping inside the art room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. After another check out of the window to make sure you weren’t returning soon, he made his way to the table you set your backpack atop of.

With a quick glance left and right, Renjun gingerly opened your bag and snuck his hand in. His hand bumped around your papers and books, wincing every time he heard the crinkling of your papers. He tried to feel the leather cover of his sketchbook, growing more frustrated with each passing second. After a few heartbeats, he pulled the flap up and peered inside. His hand grazed over a familiar texture, and with an internal leap of joy, he grasped the top of his sketchbook.

“Renjun? What are you doing?”

He froze. He dreaded turning around; you had caught him red-handed, hand still in your bag. You didn’t sound accusatory or hurt, though. Instead, your voice was laced with confusion. Face turned up in a wince, he imagined your expression right now.

“(Y/N)! F-Fancy seeing you here, haha,” he whirled around, laughing awkwardly as he pulled his sketchbook out of your bag and held it up beside his head, “I was – I was just, uh, this?”

You nodded slowly by the doorway, eyes locked on the sketchbook, “Will that also explain why you’ve been stalking me for the whole day?”

His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, “I-I wasn’t stalking you, exactly, it’s just that you accidentally put my sketchbook in your bag and I was waiting for a good moment to steal it back?”

“O-Oh,” you cleared your throat, blushing, “Sorry about that. Just tell me about it next time, okay?”

“Noted,” he looked down before looking back up at you, “Now that I’ve got this, I’ll just, um, go now?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” you stepped to your side as he exited, watching as he turned around and waved at you.

“Thanks for this,” he gestured to his sketchbook, smiling bashfully at you, “See you tomorrow, (Y/N).”

“Get home safely,” you added. He nodded, whirling on his heel to walk down the hallway. Before he could get too far, however, you called out his name once more, “Renjun!”

He looked back at you. You smiled at him, eyes glinting with mirth, “I love your art style, by the way!”

Renjun really wanted the Earth to swallow him up whole now.

cr. gif not mine unless stated!

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autodidact-adventures · 6 years

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World War I (Part 49): The Home Fronts & the U-Boat Campaign

By the end of 1916, it was clear that things were going badly for the Central Powers. The military situation was worse than a year earlier – the Austro-Hungarian army was now basically useless; Verdun, the Somme and the Brusilov Offensive had exhausted the Germans; and the Ottoman Empire was falling apart. Back at home, it was even worse, with many people dying of starvation and disease.

In October 1916, Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg was trying to get the American President Woodrow Wilson to be a mediator between the two sides. But Wilson was in the middle of an election and it wasn't certain that he'd win it. Bethmann sent a diplomatic note to the neutral European countries, in which he stated that Germany was willing to enter into negotiations. While he set not conditions, he also offered no concessions; he also boasted about recent German successes, including the defeat of Romania.

The pope supported Germany's offer of negotiations, but it was rejected by all the Entente countries within days. The Russian Duma passed a resolution stating that peace would only be possible after “victory over the military powers of Germany” had happened. The tsar sent a message to his troops in which he was scornful of Bethmann's offer, viewing it as evidence of Germany's desperation.

The British PM David Lloyd George said that Britain would “put our trust rather in an unbroken army than in broken faith.” Germany had said nothing about Belgium, and this was a major issue for Britain – they believed that permanent German domination of Belgium would be a threat to security. Bethmann knew that leaving out Belgium greatly reduced his chances of actually accomplishing anything, but he had to, because of divisions within the German leadership. Powerful generals & admirals who couldn't be ignored were insisting that Belgium had to remain a German dependency after the war (or even be absorbed into the Reich). Ludendorff was one of them, saying that after the war, Belgium had to be dependent on Germany economically, politically, and military-wise.

Woodrow Wilson was re-elected on November 7th, 1916; he had used the campaign slogan “He kept us out of war”. Now, he was able to work on being a mediator, and positioned himself as the world's peacemaker. He issued a diplomatic note, suggesting that they hold an international peace conference. He asked all the warring nations to state their war goals, i.e. what they wanted to accomplish from continuing the war. This was to be the basis for the peace discussion.

Germany was the first to reply. They supported the idea of negotiations, and grandly proclaimed their “innocence” & their willingness to talk, and also to participate in establishing a new international system to prevent wars. They still said nothing specific about Belgium, though. Again, this was the best Bethmann could do – if he'd said what Ludendorff wanted, that would have ended all hope of negotiations. But his avoidance of the Belgium issue just made things worse for Germany.

Understandably, the Entente dismissed Germany's declaration as empty posturing, and again demanded that they withdraw from France and Belgium. On January 10th, the Entente laders went further, complaining that Wilson had implied “a likeness between the two belligerent groups”, whereas, to the contrary, Germany & its allies were the ones responsible for the war. They then presented their demands, beginning with the restoration of Belgium, Serbia and Montenegro; and also the payment of reparations from the Central Powers. They also demanded the “reorganization of Europe” – i.e., for Alsace & Lorraine to be returned to France, and for the Austro-Hungarian & Ottoman Empires to be broken up. This was the most ominous part of their demands, for the Central Powers.

Recriminations came from both sides, and the possibility of negotiations actually achieving something disappeared. The Entente, at this point, may have been insistent on full victory and nothing less, or they may have been intending to begin the discussions on the strongest possible footing. At any rate, neither side wanted to appear weak to the other, or to their own people. Lloyd George knew that his position was dependent on Conservatie support, and if he'd shown willingness to negotiate with the Germans, they would have rebelled. For Germany, the Entente's contempt towards Bethmann & Wilson's notes made their conservatives feel even more justified in rejecting peace efforts.

But they were not doing well in the war. Since being placed in command, Ludendorff had been reviewing the Western Front, and he believed it to be extremely discouraging, saying, “Our position was extremely difficult, and it seemed impossible to find a way out. We ourselves were not in a position to attack, and we dared not hope that any one of our enemies would collapse. If the war continued for any length of time, defeat seemed inevitable.”

Ludendorff believed that the Entente would definitely be launching new offensives on both the Western & Eastern Fronts in 1917. He also believed that Falkenhayn's defence system was stubbornly holding onto low-value ground and sacrificing far too many troops. Certainly, Germany could not win the war by remaining on the defensive; nor could they survive indefinitely by doing that.

So Ludendorff had two things to remedy: 1) find some way of taking the initiative, and 2) find a better defence system. This first issue led to the reopening of the submarine warfare debate, which had been a controversial issue for a long time.

While the war was of course affecting all the warring countries, it was worst for Germany & Austria-Hungary because of Britain's naval blockade. During the war, France's civilian population was affected the least. Food consumption actually increased during the war, and so the government never had to put effective controls on food production/distribution. This was because the ships had easy access to France's Atlantic & Mediterranean ports; and also because the French government made food imports a high priority, partially to placate the people & limit popular discontent with the war.

Germany had occupied France's best coal-producing region, so there was a coal shortage; however, this was eventually sorted out. When WW1 had broken out in 1914, ¼ of France's agricultural workers were brought into the army, the military requisitioned thousands of horses, and railways were taken over by the military. But even these problems were manageable. By 1917, butter was almost as available & cheap as at the start of the war; but for Germany & Austria, butter was practically unobtainable at any price, and only children & pregnant women were allowed even a tiny ration of milk.

Britain had it worse than France. Before the war, they'd been importing food for 60% of the country's calorie intake. But Britain had a strong, centralized administration (especially after Lloyd George became PM in late 1916), so they were able to place controls on all aspects of the system that fed people.

However, there were food shortages in 1916, because of Germany's U-boats and because of the bad harvest that year. In early 1917, the government implemented measures to increase agricultural production. They first tried voluntary rationing, but that didn't work, so they implemented mandatory rationing on distribution of the staples that were in shortest supply.

Because of the nutrition problems, England & Wales saw a 25% increase in tuberculosis deaths; they also had a rise in infant mortality. Civilian healthcare dropped, because hundreds of doctors were overseas with the BEF; and because hospitals throughout Britain were filled with soldiers.

In America (which hadn't yet entered the war), food exports to Britain & France were increasing, so agriculture boomed. More & more land was put into agricultural production. But this actually caused problems for the American population – this increased demand caused domestic prices for food to rise sharply. During December 1916 – February 1917, there were food riots in several eastern cities.

In Russia, of course, conditions were terrible. It had more than enough food to feed its population, and definitely had the capacity to get it to them. But millions of tonnes of grain were piled up on ships in the Black Sea ports, ready for export – and they couldn't get through the Dardanelles.

Russia was struggling more & more to get food & fuel to the cities, which were crowded with refugees (including the Polish Jews whom Russia had driven out of their homeland in 1915). The military was using most of the railway system, and most of the rest was in terrible disarray. In the big cities, food prices rose far faster than wages. In Petrograd, infant mortality doubled from 1914 to 1916. By 1917, women working 10-hour days in factories were spending forty hours a week standing in line to get food & fuel.

It was not surprising that riots and strikes broke out in response. In 1916, troops sent to suppress disturbances had actually refused to do so (I think this is referring to Petrograd). In January-February 1917, 676,000 workers went on strike in Petrograd. By early 1917, the city had only a few days' worth of grain in reserve.

Germany and Austria-Hungary also had terrible conditions back at home, although the situation was not quite so explosive. The urban centres were the ones struggling. The problem wasn't bad management (although that was a major problem as well), but they simply didn't have enough of the necessities. Neither Germany nor Austria-Hungary had prepared for a long war, let alone a four-year-long siege, and only a few months into the war, they'd already been experiencing food shortages.

In October 1914, 10,000 horses were killed in Vienna. In spring 1915 [Sept-Nov], German farmers ignored a ban on feeding grain & potatoes to livestock, so the government ordered all hogs to be butchered – this was the Schweinemord, and 9 million animals were killed. Pork prices dropped briefly, then shot up permanently, and of course there wasn't enough breeding stock left. A truly ridiculous decision.

Both empires had fundamentally flawed political structures, and so consistent centralized control/co-ordination was almost impossible. Bavaria prevented its agricultural produce from being sent to other parts of Germany. Hungary began selling its agricultural surplus to Germany instead of Austria.

Before the war, Germany had been importing 2 million tonnes of nitrate & phosphate fertilizer per year; 6 million tonnes of grain for fodder; and a million seasonal agricultural workers. As these imports all fell, so did agricultural productivity in response. From 1914 to 1917, grain production declined by half.

The army was given top priority for food – it received 17 million pounds of meat, 60 million pounds of bread, and 130 million pounds of potatoes per week. In May 1915, the first food riots broke out in Vienna. In October 1915, they broke out in Berlin. During the first year of war, food prices rose by 130% in Berlin, and 600% in two years.

Wages could not keep up, even for industrial workers. Men working in German war plants had a wage increase of only 78% from 1914-17 (women were paid even less); men working in non-military factories had a wage increase of only 52% during the same period. Profiteering was widespread, and those who benefited from it were hated.

The 1916 harvest was a terrible failure because of heavy rains, early frost, and a shortage of fertilizer & labour. This lead to widespread famine. The potato crop had been essential (because meat/dairy products were nearly impossible to get), and now it fell by ½ in Germany, and even more in Austria-Hungary.

10,000's of people lined up at soup kitchens every day. Textiles were made from paper & plant fibre; shoes were made from paper & wood; coffee was made from tree bark. Germany had 10,000's of war widows already, and they spent their days waiting in lines for tiny rations. An adult German's diet was the disgusting black “war bread” (with not much real grain in it); sausage without fat; and 3 pounds of potatoes and one egg per week. They relied more & more on the turnip.

The winter of December 1916 – February 1917 was the “turnip winter”. The chief physician at a Berlin hospital reported that 80,000 children had died of starvation in 1916. Austrian families were only allowed to heat one room of their house, which lead to frozen & burst pipes. In Vienna, people used dogs to pull carts, until they were needed for meat. Hungary used to have a strong agricultural output, but now they were eating horses & dogs. German schools were closed because of the lack of food.

Before the war, the average daily caloric intake for an adult was about 3,400; now it was 1,200. Deaths from lung disease for women used to be 14 per 100,000 (0.014%); now it was 23 per 100,000 (0.023%) – an increase of over 50%. Rickets (a deformation of bones & joints, caused by malnutrition) were now widespread among children.

One German woman wrote that, “One of the most terrible of our suffering was having to sit in the dark. It became dark at four in the winter. It was not light until eight. Even the children could not sleep all that time. One had to amuse them as best as one could, fretful and pining as they were from under-feeding. And when they had gone to bed we were left shivering with the chill which comes from semi-starvation and which no additional clothing seems to alleviate, to sit thinking, thinking.”

A German schoolboy would later say that “everyobody seemed to be keeping rabbits because of the shortage of meat. They took us out in whole classes and sent us into the country to help the farmers. We liked that, but it meant we didn't get much teaching. All the teachers were out as soldiers anyway, and generally the whole life of the country was becoming grimmer. There was a strong sense of people saying, 'This war is lasting too long.' Some became quite outspoken. The feeling was that the war was lasting too long and that Germany didn't have much chance of winning it, because the conditions within the country were getting so very difficult.”

Conquering Romania had brought in a lot of grain, oil and livestock, but it made little difference for those back at home – the amount of grain available in Germany & Austria rose by only 6%. City-dwellers who had been rich before the war were now going out into the countryside to trade their jewellery & pre-war clothing (made of real wool & cotton) for food. In Vienna, 10,000's of women turned to prostitution. Governments kept expanding the work week to increase factory output; strikes increased in frequency, size and violence. Mobs of desperate women looted stores and government food depots.

On January 9th, 1917, Germany's leaders met to discuss the issue of submarine warfare. The kaiser was still the All-High Warlord, so he attended, but he was increasingly passive & unable to assert himself. Hindenburg & Ludendorff had recently returned from their inspection of the Western Front; they believed that a continuing stalemate was the best Germany could do in 1917. The navy's leaders were present, including Henning von Holtzendorff. He had been Commander-in-Chief of the High Seas Fleet from 1909-13, and in 1915 had been appointed Chief of the Admiralty Staff (i.e. chief of the navy's general staff). He believed that using the submarine was the only way they could defeat Britain, and was very outspoken on this topic. Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg hadn't been invited until the last minute, and was the last to arrive.

Germany had been holding back its submarine fleet & forbidding unrestricted operations since September 1915, because of pressure from the USA. Bethmann had insisted on this, and the kaiser had been supporting him; but most of the generals & admirals were furious with Bethmann because he constnatly refused to lift those restrictions.

At the beginning of 1915, the navy's admirals had said that removing all restrictions would put Britain in serious trouble within 6 weeks. Now, with a larger submarine fleet, Holtzendorff said that it would take 6 months. Bethmann was horrified at this – he was certain that removing restrictions would mean that America would enter the war against them. Holtzendorff, when asked by the kaiser for his opinion, said, “I will give Your Majesty my word as an officer that not one American will land on the Continent.”

A fortnight ago, Ludendorff had sent Bethmann a telegraph saying that a U-boat campaign was “the only means of carrying the war to a rapid conclusion,” and that “the military position does not allow us to postpone.”

Even though the kaiser agreed with Bethmann, he was unable to challenge the generals & admirals. Almost all of Germany was demanding an end to U-boat restrictions. They believed that unrestricted submarine warfare was morally & legally justified, and completely necessary due to the blockade. Bethmann was almost the only one still trying to maintain those restrictions, and the Reichstag passed a series of resolutions opposing them.

Bethmann & the kaiser had to back down. Bethmann restated his reasons for opposition, and then withdrew it. Later, he would write, “I declared myself incompetent to criticize the judgment of the military experts who insisted that the war could not be won on land alone. In view of these facts and of the declared readiness of Headquarters to risk war with the United States, I could not advise His Majesty to do other than to accept the opinion of his military advisers.”

The kaiser now had to give in, too. Now there was very little left keeping America out of the war. And control of German policy shifted from the kaiser's government to Ludendorff.

However, the decision was actually based on misinformation. Holtzendorff's assessment of the submarines' expected effects was wrong, and so was his understanding of America's military potential. Ludendorff was wrong in believing that Russia was still capable of carrying out operations on the Eastern Front. If they'd waited a few months more, the truth of Russia's collapse would have become evident and they would have realized that unrestricted submarine warfare would not be necessary. And America probably would not have entered the war, as this was their main grievance against Germany.

As Holtzendorff had predicted that the U-boats would need 6 months to seriously effect Britain, they would need to begin by February 1st, so that they would be cutting off British imports before the the 1917 harvest was brought in. He estimated that the U-boats could sink 600,000 tonnes of shipping each month from February to May, and 400,000 tonnes each month after that. He also believed that these huge losses would discourage neutral shippers from trying to reach Britain, and that Britain would therefore no longer be able to keep fighting.

These estimations of shipping losses were accurate. In January (while still leaving American merchantmen alone), the U-boats would sink over 300,000 tonnes of shipping. The restrictions were lifted on February 1st. In February, 540,000 tonnes would be sunk (over ½ of it British); in March, 593,000 tonnes; in April, 881,000 tonnes; in May, 596,000 tonnes; in June, 687,000 tonnes. The German public was delighted.

But although the unrestricted submarine campaign made life more difficult in Britain, it didn't get anywhere near as bad as in Germany & Austria-Hungary. Imports slowed for a while, but never came close to being stopped. Britain and America began using many of the German freighters that they'd impounded in ports around the world when WW1 broke out. They became better at avoiding and sinking U-boats, and it became obvious that Holtzendorff's optimism would not be fulfilled. And America's entry into the war would be far more effective than he had predicted.

However, Holtzendorff didn't lose his job, and neither would Ludendorff (who would become the de facto autocrat of Germany). Only Bethmann would lose his job.

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