i kinda want to write a fic now of luke being forced into trying a dating app and hes WAY NICER THAN I AM but i need SOMEWHERE to project my petty annoyance at mid dating app profiles. i need luke to be like "surely you can do better than that???" when looking at a profile that had only like 2% effort put into it. hes swiping left on everybody because nobody knows how to describe themselves compellingly and hes not the type to be swayed by pretty looks alone, hes looking for someone Interesting, someone he can have an engaging conversation with.
maybe this is a nxx polycule fic set after he reunited with rosa (he hasnt confessed to her yet and she wants him to Get Out More And Meet New People) but BEFORE the nxx investigation team formally meets and
the only people he swipes right on are artem, vyn, and marius
artem has endearingly terrible pictures of himself (selfies he looked forced into taking, blurry faraway photos of his person, one photo where his face is not even in it it's just his pajama-covered legs lounged in front of a home theater setup) but artem's earnest answers to the profile prompts intrigue him, how he says he loves movies and talking about them, how he admits hes terrible at crafts but he can cook a great dinner
vyn is Gorgeous in his photos in an ethereal way that has luke almost swiping left before reading his profile simply because luke thinks vyn is out of his league. but then vyn's profile is written like. he writes like. like a victorian vampire. a victorian vampire looking for Love. "Kindly refrain from swiping right on me if you are only looking for a fleeting dalliance. I am searching for a genuine connection with someone who can not only keep up with me but can push me further". and luke, who has never backed down from a challenge, swipes right
marius is hilarious because all his photos are mirror selfies where he looks like an absolute FUCKBOY and luke is milliseconds from swiping left until he gets to the last picture and it's a gorgeous photo of marius at a painting easel looking happy and vibrant in such an alluring way. this makes luke actually read his profile and it is. frustratingly minimalist and even a tad bitter "tbh i dont have high hopes for this app but maybe you can prove me wrong?" and luke does have to admit that marius is his Type, in terms of looks, so he goes for it
luke gets to chatting with all three of them and the conversations are BANGIN' theyre SO GOOD luke is starting to catch feelings from MERE CHATS and hes wondering when he can take each one of them out for a date to check for chemistry IRL but before he can do that he---
---gets tasked to go join this "nxx investigation team" by the nsb and he walks in and
x reader should be (and, generally speaking, often is) the most accepting fanfiction space because its consistently, and almost exclusively an expression or fantasy of being desired or wanted or wantingâor in an even more basic sense, considered. even if you dont explicitly self-insert, even if thereâs a an oc thats just you but better or a faceless insert u make - it starts with the same premise. which is wanting to be seen or desired by some extension of who you are. or wanting to fantasize explicitly about a life that isnât yours, any life but yours. its admitting more openly than other mediumsâi want someone to want some part of me. to take interest in me sexually or romantically or platonically. i want this element of myself to be considered or thought of. sometimes that is accomplished through writing, and sometimes that is accomplished through reading and seeking to bits of yourself in other peoples. the other half is having space to want and yearn for something else. how liberating it is to admit that youâd like to be somewhere else.
and it is hardly a flawless medium and im really, really simplifying it but i do think that there is something uniquely enjoyable and freeing about it. i want agency in the stories i love. i want my presence to haunt this fiction like a ghost. i want to be loved, i want to be interesting. i want to experience hundreds of lives that arenât mine. i want i want i want. this a story of you. this is a story of me.
I really don't think there's anything more tragic than the fact that Xiao used to have siblings. That once, he had a family too. Two brothers and two sisters. And he lost them. I don't know how to articulate it. Unless you have one already, I'd have to contrive you a sibling somehow.Â
There's you, and there's your sibling, and sometimes you get along, and sometimes you don't. If you're close enough in age there's this⊠hyperspecific connect. You go to school together. You come back. You share a space with your friends. You leave, outgrow it. You share a space with parents. You leave it. You're always with your sibling, though. Sometimes there's no space. Sometimes you share a room. Sometimes you grow up and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you worry about something they're yet too young for. Or too old for. When you disappear and don't speak to anyone for weeks because you just need a break, your sibling is exempt. You ask them if they finished their assignments and they send a twelve second voicemail. It's silence for ten seconds and in the final two they whisper âcheeseâ and go offline. They're not a different person. They're just your sibling. You don't tell them everything about you. You don't have to. They don't have to know. They beg and beg for a bit of your french toast when they didn't do jack to help you make it and you say sure, I'll give you this tiny corner. But you have to do the dishes. You end up giving them a bit more anyway because they make puppy eyes at you. You remember being too young to understand why they always needed you but being there anyway. You remember no one raising them so you do it yourself. You yell and mess up with every step but there's nothing but love. I don't know. I can't explain it. If they asked me for a heart on a whim I'd tear out mine with my nails. Only for them. Parents die and friends move away and you move around but you have siblings.Â
I think I've done a poor job of explaining it- but Xiao was the one who'd have eyed the toast without asking, I think, and one of his siblings would've given him a corner. âYou have to polish my weapon in return, though!â
Did he ever wake up to Indariusâ screams? When the Karma got so bad and she feared everything? Did she try to overcome it? Did he see it? What if she screamed and he flew into her room? What if he watched her cry and begged the skies for an enemy he could kill, instead of this thing, this Karma, that was inside of her? That he could do nothing about? Did he despair? What if she looked at him as though it was her he was going to kill, what then? What if she tore his heart to pieces just by flinching away. What if he remembered eyeing her toast and her sniggering and giving him a tiny corner. She didn't even put any honey on it. âYou have to polish my weapon in return, though!â
What if she saw him fly into the room and saw an enemy, juxtaposed over her brother. Her brother. What if she didn't remember that piece of toast. What if it wasn't that important a memory. What if a sweeter memory was of him sitting on a rock staring out at the stars, what then? What if it was a moment that passed him by and he'd never remember but what if Alatus looked at the stars once? Turned his face upwards and sat there illuminated by the moonlight? What if she wished she could keep him that way in amber forever? What if she didn't remember this memory either, because Alatus is before her, wings splayed and spear in hand and reaching for her? How could he become the enemy? How could he hurt her? What if she screamed for him and begged him to save her from himself?
âWho raised you?â Menogias maybe huffed once. âWere you raised in a barn?â
Maybe he'd realise no one raised Xiao, and quietly swear to do so himself. âUse these utensils. Why don't you find me funny?â Maybe Xiao looked at him, face carefully schooled into neutrality. What does this guy want from him? Why is he continuously dissatisfied with whatever Xiao does?
Why does this punk avoid me? Menogias maybe wondered. I'm trying to help. I'm just trying to help.
Maybe it took years, but maybe they thought they had forever, once. Maybe Menogias caught him clutching his chest and retching and crying and asked him what was wrong. Maybe there were no words either could have said, so he just stayed close. Maybe he got him new clothes. Maybe when Xiao got back Menogias threw out all of the old ones, and any goodwill he earned vanished in an instant. Unfitting and unflattering and undignified and un. But maybe they were his and Menogias threw them out. Maybe Xiao spoke to him in a fury, just once, genuine rage. They were his. Maybe Menogias understood, finally understood. The need to have something that was his. Maybe he laughed and laughed and Xiao grew angrier and angrier and maybe Menogias told him with sincere satisfaction- âyou're finally telling me how you feel. Good job.â Maybe he gave the clothes back. Maybe Xiao gave Menogias a chance and wore what was made for him. Fitting and flattering and dignified and comfortable and nothing un. Tailored for him. For Alatus, not General Alatus. Because Menogias understood. Maybe he remembered Menogias quietly teaching him court etiquette when he didn't have to at all. Maybe when stone spires pierced Bonanusâ heart and tore it out with enough force to splatter godly blood all over Menogiasâ aristocratic face, he remembered his brother quietly staying awake for days on end. Stitching together new clothes and a new understanding and a new life that he never even had to ask for.Â
What if sweet, gentle Bonanus took one look at him and realised she had to love him. She had to, you see, because life without love is misery, and everyone needs a little, and this boy knows only his master's orders and his master's whims and his master's punishments. She didn't have to and it didn't happen in a day or a week or a month but she chose. What if she thought he needed love and what if she never thought she needed it too. What if he never reciprocated the caresses in his hair and piling of food onto his plate and introducing him to her friends and when he felt silent, giving him space. What if she was struck in battle one day and lay wondering if he loved her. What if Xiao saw his sister get struck down by an enemy he had no sympathy for in that moment. What if all humanity left him and his opponent, just for that moment. What if he left his post to fly at that wretched bastard because that was his sister, and just the day before she insisted he eat something nasty. He didn't know what was in it and he doubted she knew either but he remembered them gagging and retching and spitting it onto the grass outside and she laughed and laughed and cried âI've never seen you make that face before!âÂ
What if he abandoned his post- what if he thought his new master just as firm as his old. What if he left battle to bring his sister a medic. What if he quietly took whatever punishment was doled to him. What if she fought his master and asked furiously to be punished instead. What if Bosacius drew on him in his sleep and she laughed as she wiped it off because he nearly walked into the Guili Assembly with an inked face. What if he saw her cough blood and stare at Menogias with despair. Her heart a few inches from her torn chest. What if this time, Xiao came too late. What if he thought I've seen you make that face before. Just once, millennia ago.Â
What if- where do I even start with Bosacius? Bosacius who remembered every tiny thing about Xiao? Bosacius, his Marshall, his brother, his brother. What has Bosacius not done for him? For all of them? Four arms for his four siblings. His. To bear the weight of the oldest for a bunch whose lives were torn asunder by a war none have a stake in. Bosacius raised them, loved them, led them. Who raised Bosacius? Who did Bosacius pray to? Did Xiao catch him sitting quietly alone, wondering how to do- everything? How do you teach something you never learned? How do you serve out of an empty basket? But he did.Â
After Perilous Trail, Xiao stands quietly behind Pervasesâ temple. The Chasm yielded closure. The Chasm yielded a rock. Did Xiao wish the Chasm yielded his brother instead? When it callously imitated his dead brother's arms- when he thought for a moment that it was Bosacius- did he want to run right into them? He fell right in, after all. He shut his eyes and fell right back in. Â
After Perilous Trail, Xiao stands quietly behind Pervases' temple. "Unlike me, he was both a formidable warrior and a talented commander,â he says. But they're not around to tell him anymore- that he was one, too.Â
saying wanderer is "not the type to fall in love" goes against the laws of his existence.
wanderer's whole story revolves around how he has too much emotion, and how he feels too much.
he is doomed to fall in love.
he will deny it, over and over and over again. but he will be plagued by the feeling no matter what. Its like his very own curse. he will forever ache until he fully accepts that he's in love and has to go about his round about way of confessing it or just simply acknowledging it within himself.
but he is definitely be the type to fall in love.
It doesnt even have to be someone important or special, it could literally be a random in the akademiya that caught his eye one day bc they were being gentle with the birds outside - but i definitely see him falling for someone.
he wont say it or show it, but trust, it will kill him inside if he doesn't.
wanderer feels love just as hes felt heartbreak after each of his betrayals. though he doesnt want to fall in love in spite of his past, he will.
in which you lose your mind over the genshin impact x west lake hangzhou collab outfit !!
xiao x gn!reader, 1.8k words, fluff. just the slightest bit suggestive at the very end <3
If you'd known what dire straits you'd be put into the very instant you stepped into your home, you'd never have returned.
Or perhaps you would have torn through the fabric of time and the barrier that was the very sky to ask the Shade of Time to please freeze itâ to halt the world while you buried your face in your palms and screamed yourself hoarse. While you took a moment to somersault around the object of your simultaneous distress and desire. While you stared and stared and stared. While you composed a hundred sonnets and a thousand poems for your muse that would in time set your mind ablaze in the very second stepped indoors.
After allâ this was a blessing that was sprung upon you with almost cruel surprise.Â
You are used to seeing your Xiao in his usual garments and the guards he wears for battle. And when he is home, you are used to seeing him allow himself the quiet comfort of loose trousers and soft, plain placket shirts in mild colours that make sunlight bounce off of them into the amber of his eyes, making them shine teals and pinks and blues along with their usual gold.
Time, patience and consistent adoration have blessed you by bestowing this particular honour upon youâ of seeing him at his usual, and seeing him at his mundane.
Nothing, however, prepared you for this.Â
"My love!" You obliviously chirp, throwing the door open to your shared home. A long day of work was made even longer by the slower-than-usual passage of time (and perhaps this was Istaroth's unheeded warning to you) but it was made bearable by the knowledge that you'd celebrate with friends by the end of it. A party hosted, much to everyone's surprise and delight, at your placeâ to congratulate Yanfei on having perfectly resolved a difficult child custody dispute (her worst nightmare).
You'd prepped before you'd set off, so cooking would be as quick as you could make it. You'd vaguely decided on what to wear, and entrusted Itto and Shinobu with bringing over flowers and the like in advance. Yelan was to somehow dress Yanfei appropriately and bring her over. It would all be tricky at such short notice, you knewâ but it was alright.
After all, you were prepared for every difficulty that would present itself in throwing a surprise party.Â
Save for this.
Your beloved stands immediately in your line of sight, by the coffee table, settling the cushions and covers carefully on the sofas. He glances up when you come inâ evil little jerkâ as though everything were alright, everything were normal. As if you don't feel faint and hot to the touch and in need of some privacy and probably something more that shouldn't be mentioned where children may hearâ and now.
"My..." You weakly falter, bracing yourself against the doorway. Congratulating yourself on not tripping and falling onto the floor face-first, you swallow and try for a 'hi,' but all that comes out is a whimper.
Xiao frowns immediately, the tips of his ears turning sweetly pink.Â
"What is it?" He asks, crossing his arms self consciously. "Does it not look well?"
Oh myâ Morax. Barbatos. Raiden Shogun. You mentally scream a fervent prayer to every Archon you canâ to lend you even the slightest bit of composure.
Because Xiao looksâ he looks devastating.
"Well?" You croak out, and he huffs and flushes further, somehow looking even lovelier.
"If you mean to flatter me you're doing a poor job of it. Unless I misunderstand your sarcasmâ"
"Sarcasm?"Â
"Yes, sarcasm." He purses his lips, not looking at you. "If you'd rather I changedâ"
"Xiaoâ no. What?"
Change? Change? What in hell is this man talking about?
Xiao looks breathtaking.
Somehow the whole of it is ethereal, not simply the details. The fabric itself is so smooth and even it puts you in a tranceâ you cannot help but walk slowly over to brush your fingers against the green as it drapes over his front, then trail your fingers across the embroidered gold on his sash up to his chest. Even as you finally put your hand on his shoulder, it is difficult to tear your gaze away from the soft, clean white of the top half. When you gently twist the fabric by his shoulder, Xiao softly shudders. The silk holds firm in a way that convinces youâ it would hold similarly steady in a thunderstorm.Â
Trailing your fingers along his sleeve-clad bicep, down his arm, has him speakingâ it has him calling out your name in the soft, questioning way that makes you step nearer out of habit. You take his hand in yours, breathless, and hold it up to see.
His wrist and palm are wrapped in soft bandages, but his firm fingers have been left out in the air.
A rare treat.
Theyâre long and elegant, made still longer and prettier by the length of his sharp nails. You feel Xiao's breath against your cheek as you examine themâ they're just so perfect. Avian, you think. So gentle to all that he loves and deceptive to all that makes an enemy of him.Â
And the other armâ the shoulder and the tattooâ
"I need a break," you hiss, warm and flushed now. Morax. Morax. You need help.
You canât bear to even look at him anymore. From up this close, every superlunary detail in his golden irises is visible to you, every curve and crease of his soft lips.
You do not want to party.
When you tell him so, he brings those lovely fingers to your cheek with a frown.
âYou are warm to the touch,â he reluctantly concedes. Clearly this worries himâ Itto and Shinobu are bound to get here any second now. Even so, he gently asksâ
âWould you prefer to rest? If so, the rest of us could celebrate elsewhere.â
âWhat?â You blink. In your frazzled state, you neglect to tell him of the needlessness of it, instead continuing on to sayâ âbut the party?â
This concerns him furtherâ he tugs you gently closer and seats you on a couch. âHave you been this nonplussed all day?â
âWhaââ
âShall we pay Changsheng a visit?â
âThatâs not necessaryââ
He straightens up, pursing his lips. âIf you donât feel up to it, I will go tell the rest toâ hm.â
You deadpan. âThe only other person with a house in the harbour is Yanfei herself. Andâ besidesââ you try to stand, but Xiao blocks the way with an arm, sending you sprawling back onto the couch once more. Youâre about to huff when you happen to glance upâ and oh, to think a single glance could be so detrimental to your health.
From down here, you can look up at Xiaoâ up at the sharp planes of his face, at his jaw that you immediately want to pepper kisses over. From this angle, the light seems to pool at the tops of his irises, setting them aglow in a way you cannot describe. Itâs unfair, you dizzily think, as butterflies and bugs and the moonfly thing from Nod Krai all erupt disharmoniously inside of your belly. Itâs so unfair.
You want to tell him this, you really doâ you want to be as articulate and careful about it as he deserves. But youâre just so flushed and itâs just so unfair and so you tip your head up, flushed, and cry outâ âyou make me sick!â
Xiao recoils, blinking. Even that is somehow enough to make you smack a palm into the pillow next to you.Â
âWhat?â
âI said you make me sick!â
âIâ apologise?â He takes a confused seat on the coffee table before you, now looking sincerely worried in that mild way of his. âBut,â he says, trying gently to appeal to your voice of reason, âI confess our dispute is ill-timed.â
You narrow your eyes and he mirrors the motion, frowning. âThere wouldnât be a dispute if you werenât so good looking.â
Xiao blinks, now looking veritably lost. He then turns his eyes to the ceiling for a moment before affixing them back on you, embarrassed understanding seeming to dawn on him.Â
âOh,â he says, and the flush returns to his ears. âAh, so thisâ how foolish.â He clicks his tongue, getting up now and you see the flush creeping down his neck as he walks away. âGo get ready,â he calls. âYouâve shortened what little time we had further.â
âNo, come back!â You jog after him, yanking on his hand as you do and he turns around, exasperated. His lashes are longer now, reminiscent of feathersâ and plumes akin to hair curl round his neck for a moment. âWhereâsâ oh fuck you, youâre doing this on purpose now?â
His voice remains soft, but now his words are flustered, rushed. âAnd what have I done now?â
You point an accusatory finger at him and he crosses his arms again, slitted eyes narrowing. The avian features erase his blushâ that was undoubtedly their purpose, and yetâ
âNow youâre making me even sicker.â
Xiao turns helplessly towards the counter. âThen pay the pharmacy a visit,â he says. âI have side dishes to prepare.â
âOh, so itâs all about Yanfei, isnât it!â You toss your arms into the air as he looks steadily mortified. âNever about me? We talked about this! Youâre supposed to prepare me two to four business days in advanceââ
âBe seriousââ
âI am completely, fully serious.â You take the pan out of his hands as he pulls it out the drawer. He deadpans. âLook at meâ please. I need to see your eyeliner.â
He stares into your eyes for a moment, impassive. Youâre so mesmerised by them you miss the smallest of smiles that creeps onto his lips for just a moment. Soon after, he turns his gaze to the pan and snatches it out of your hands.Â
âDone,â he says, and you bury your face into his shoulder, groaning. You feel a small laugh bubble inside of himâ the shoulder shakes gently and your nose is pressed still more firmly against it, giving you a dizzying whiff of whatever gentle cologne heâs wearing.Â
âIâm sick,â you mumble, and he shakes his head, embarrassed still.
âSo long as you live, I will never wear this again.â
âAre you serious?â You gasp once, then again when he continues to impassively carry on with the task at hand. âPlease donât be serious!â
âI vow it, since it evidently makes you ill.â
âI donât know about being sick, but I do know the cure would be everyone heading home early.â
â...to think this is my reward for all my consideration.â
You nod, smiling, and he softly sighs. Finally smiling and shaking his head, he tells youâ
â...You make me a little ill, too.â
âAww!â
âNot like that.â
psst, he's lyingâ you do make him sick, and exactly like that <3
jacobvanloon
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