#bean replies

heLLO yeah i would love to scream and be screamed at about this series (╯✧∇✧)╯

i came here for the funky space sci-fi adventures and stayed for the narrative arc on healing from trauma, building support networks, and "fuck capitalism" attitude.

i think one of the neat thing about murderbot is that because it's not human, its commentary on human behaviours and compassion is just on the other side of familiar that it makes me want to shake the people around me like. why do we do this. but also like. we DO do this and i don't know why but i'm glad we do. and the thing about murderbot being all "ugh humans" yet consistently trying to hard for its humans and often just humans in general... mayhaps i have tears in my eyes.

ALSO constantly thinking about murderbot being overwhelmed by humans and giving up on interactions by just walking over to the corner and facing the wall. biggest mood ever

wangxian ❄️snow

Snow is pretty to look at but awful to live in. Wei Ying hates it, even though he grew up on the west coast where snow has become increasingly rarer as the years go by. It’s not even Yu-ayi making him shovel the snow in the driveway. Just the fact that traffic sucks and everything is wet and he can’t get his favourite bubble tea because it’s too cold. Hot milk tea is good but it’s not the same having to scoop out the pearls with a spoon.

But here is Lan Zhan with the scarf that Yanli-jie knit him, here is Lan Zhan in the new coat Wei Ying convinced him to buy last time they went shopping together. Here is Lan Zhan with snow in his hair and on his eyelashes, cheeks rosy and so very kissable. Here is Lan Zhan with his large hands somehow not ice cold, not like Wei Ying’s—perfect to hold as they make their way to the cafe for some hot chocolate.

The bell above the door rings when they enter, the barista calling out a cheerful greeting from the counter. Wei Ying shakes the worst of the snow off his toque. He can already smell the melting snow, the sweat underneath their layers, the cozy cafe smell of coffee beans and vanilla. He rubs his hands together, trying to warm his red fingers up.

“Wei Ying should wear gloves,” Lan Zhan says.

“Aiyou, I know. I always forget them, though.”

“Hm. I will remember for you next time.”

Wei Ying laughs. Lan Zhan is so good, really. From a distance, he looks like a prince of winter, with his regal posture and quiet demeanor, but Wei Ying knows. He knows that Lan Zhan has a heart that blazes like a lit fireplace, that his large palms are always ready to offer warmth, that he surely has a soul made purely of light.

“Okay, next time,” Wei Ying says, liking the sweetness of those words in his mouth. “Come on, this place has the best mocha latte I’ve ever had. My treat.”

The new lease has been signed, a moving company has been scheduled, their friends confirmed to help out on the day of. Most of the apartment has been boxed up, only the bare essentials he needs to live through the last few days before the move. Work has been light enough lately that Keiji manages to excuse himself early to finish packing.

He’s in the spare room now, hair still a little wet from his shower. It’s half his study and half a guest room, but Bokuto has slept in here maybe once. Keiji’s bed is more comfy, Bokuto says. Not that Keiji is complaining. In fact, he did the opposite of complained so much that the new apartment they’re moving into together has a queen-sized bed in the master bedroom.

He’s sorting through the bookshelf when he finds it. A thick, sleek spine. A photo album, carefully stickered with his neat handwriting on the cover. Keiji sinks to the wooden floor, flipping the album open.

There is Konoha, a peace sign in every photo like his own personal trademark. Sarukui, somehow always blinking when the camera flashed. Komi, who likes to launch himself a little too close to the camera when he realizes pictures are being taken. Washio, whose candids look so good blushing underclassmen often asks Keiji for them, yet when he smiles on purpose for the camera, Komi swears the photos could be used to keep evil spirits away. Perfectly angled selfies with Yukie. Silly group photos with the freshmen, the back of Onaga’s head that Keiji must have printed because Bokuto’s sleeping face is in it, too. Millions more of Bokuto, Bokuto, Bokuto.

Keiji really liked photography back then, he remembers. He’d saved up enough to buy a secondhand camera, went around on the weekends taking pictures of the skyline, of his friends, of the sky. Bokuto was the one who convinced him to print the photographs out. He never understood the finer details of the numbers, the ISO, the angles, or lens---but he’d listened when Keiji debated to himself about which kind to invest in, he’d asked questions when Keiji trailed off, sure he’d talked too much.

He’s always been like that. Steady, warm, encouraging. Even when he’s away, on a brightly-lit court, a figure on a television.

Lan Wangji returns to the Jingshi to find his husband practising sword forms outside. His footsteps slow until he is just standing on the path, watching Wei Wuxian go through the movements, sure and steady. He’s only wearing two layers of robes, sweat sticking his hair to his face. The sword is trembling slightly in his hand, but not as much as it used to, when he first took back Suibian from his brother.

Wei Wuxian turns and catches sight of him. He lowers the sword, a grin at the ready, waving his other arm. “Lan Zhan! Welcome back!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji greets. He walks the rest of the way to his husband, unable to take his eyes off the flushed cheeks, the air of contentment and weariness from exertion of effort. Wei Wuxian looks healthy. Alive. Absolutely glowing.

“Ah, no, I’m all sweaty!”

Lan Wangji ignores the half-hearted protests, leaning into kiss Wei Wuxian. “How long have you been practising?”

“About one shichen. I joined the juniors in the training hall in the morning. I’ve really built up this body’s stamina, huh? Aren’t you glad, Lan Zhan? Are you thinking about how our everyday is everyday will be even better now?”

“Making love with Wei Ying is always and will always be good,” Lan Wangji says just to make Wei Wuxian blush. Truthfully, he hasn’t been thinking about how their sex life can be improved, or about how they can further research dual cultivation. He’s thinking about Wei Wuxian flying alongside him on his own sword when they travel, about Wei Wuxian clashing swords with him on a moonlit rooftop again. “I am glad Wei Ying is enjoying training.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. He wipes his wrist under his chin, eyes drifting towards the gentians in the garden. “I’ve still got a long way to go, to build up this core. But I’ll do it, you know. I’ll catch up to you. Lan Zhan will wait for me, yeah?”

“Mn. Always.”

The teahouse is near empty, the customers scared off by the tension between the two cultivators facing off against each other in the middle of the eating room.

Jiang Cheng clenches his hands, feeling Zidian sparking. Wei Wuxian stares him down, still as a graveyard. His eyes are dark, heavy bruises under them. His skin looks so pale. If Jiang Cheng didn’t know better, he’d think the man before him was a ghost. Something that doesn’t belong here, hasn’t belonged here for a long time.

“Are you just going to hide up there forever?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“Wouldn’t that make your life easier?”

Anger surges up again. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand how he could be so smart and so stupid at the same time. He’s always been like this. Passing with flying colours in their training, their studies, and somehow still unable to understand what it means when Jiang Cheng saves him the last spicy pork bun, or when their sister waits up for him when he gets distracted on the way back to Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng hasn’t seen him in weeks. The worry that has been eating away at his gut has only intensified at the sight of Wei Wuxian.

“If you would just come ho---”

“I can’t.” Wei Wuxian slashes a hand through the air. “You think I don’t want to? I can’t---I won’t abandon the Wens. What would the people say, what would the Jins say, if you were found to be associating with the wretched Yiling Laozu again, huh, Jiang-zongzhu?”

“You were Yunmeng Jiang first,” Jiang Cheng bites out. You were mine first. Wei Wuxian was supposed to stand by his side. A-jie was always meant to be given away, always meant to be lost to him, but Wei Wuxian was supposed to stay, goddammit.

Wei Wuxian barks out a laugh. He stares at Jiang Cheng, something so tired and so lost it yawns across the chasm that has grown between them. It hurts. “That doesn’t fix anything,” he whispers. “Jiang Cheng. Just let me go.”

How dare he.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. Turns away. “Go home to your sect, zongzhu. You have people waiting for you. And I have mine.”

If you asked Gladio, Ignis in one word would be... efficient. He knows how to do his job, and he does it well. Goes above and beyond expectations, often without being asked. When they first met, Gladio thought the guy tried too hard. But now, Gladio can’t help but shake his head fondly.

He likes being competent, too. He jokes often about being the brawn to Ignis’ brains, but the thing about being a prince’s retainer is that you had to be more than just one thing. Ignis covers everything so effortlessly. Gladio is content to fade into the background, supporting him.

If that means following along obediently while Ignis zooms around the shopping centre, then so be it.

He must have written out a list in advance. Maybe revised it, too. But Ignis walks with purpose from store to store, section to section, without so much as glancing at his phone. He turns his head to ask for Gladio’s opinion but just as quickly ends up selecting something on his own. Gladio hefts the shopping bags in his arms, an amused smile playing on his lips.

He thinks if Ignis asked him anything right now, he’d do it, no hesitation. Drive to the other side of the city, buy him an overpriced coffee. Get dressed in an apron, wear a fucking collar. Take him home. Sit still. He’d do it all, no questions asked.

Gladio trails after the man, eyes on the sleek line of his tailored pants and his steady stride. The crowd parts for him, like they should.

Ignis turns back to him, one elegant eyebrow raised. “Keep up,” he says, accent crisp around the consonants, “we still have an hour before we have to pick up Noctis.”

“Right behind ya,” Gladio says back. He can’t help the wide grin that spreads across his face, even as Ignis’ eyes narrow. He hurries to match the other man’s pace.

He’s just skirting the border of Yunmeng when Wei Wuxian finally admits to himself that maybe, perhaps, probably---the curse he’s managed to inflict on himself has gotten worse. He thought he could handle it. For the most part, he did! He’s been through worse. Literally died and came back. A little curse wouldn’t be the best of him.

But the core he’s been cultivating since Mo Xuanyu brought him back is nowhere near as strong as he’d hoped it would be, yet, and a curse in which he’d flick it off like an annoying fly in his old body steadily grows worse until Wei Wuxian is too dizzy to even ride on Little Apple’s back. He stops on the side of the road, plops down under the trees. This road is not too busy, halfway between two small towns. He hasn’t seen another traveller in a while, but eventually someone has to pass by, right?

Flopping back onto the grass, Wei Wuxian stares blankly at the sky. Clouds are rolling in. He wonders if it is cloudy at the Cloud Reccesses, too. Is Lan Zhan looking up, too? Wondering if it will rain soon? Wondering where Wei Wuxian is, when he’s coming back. He’d promised to come back.

For all the reverance that the title Hanguang-jun garners him, Lan Wangji is actually quite prone to sinking into darkness. He’s a lonely man, that one. Wei Wuxian had seen through him when they were fifteen, and a lifetime and a decade later, he’s still the same. Lan Wangji wears solitude like a winter cloak; gracefully, but staying too long out in the cold will make it heavy to bear. That’s what Wei Wuxian is for. To keep him warm otherwise, to keep him company. But what good will a cursed Wei Wuxian panting on the side of some no-name road do for a silent Lan Wangji waiting for his return?

“Aiyah,” Wei Wuxian says to no one in particular. “I can’t let Lan Zhan down. I can’t do that to him again.”