#one could say that the difference between these two siblings... are like night and da-

[ellzilla]

Two very different versions of transformation

[pagesoflauren]

Coming 4/29/22: House of Stone

feat. professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother's former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden deaths, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson's disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blind dates/blindsiding siblings (Ari is a menace to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: WHEW the long-awaited spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade is finally coming! So excited to finally get this started. Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

Main Masterlist

Tags are open; if you were on the taglist for Wooden Facade, I have automatically tagged you :)

Your cousin calls your name as you try to spoon another serving into your daughter’s mouth. 

“It’s 6:15,” she says.

“Oh, crap,” you sigh, flustered as you set the spoon on the saucer for it to rest. 

Ivy has a terrible habit of reaching for her utensils, leading to globs of food flying in any direction for you to clean up. 

“She just has this bowl and some milk. Let me know how she goes down and–”

“Call if anything happens,” she finishes for you, handing you your water bottle, already filled up. “I got it.” 

“Thank you, Winnie.” You kiss her cheek, then turn to your daughter. “Mommy loves you so much, Ivy,” you say softly to her. You kiss her chubby face, heart squeezing at the little giggles that erupt. “Only a few more months and I won’t have to leave,” you promise. 

You know she can’t understand you, but at this point, you say it because it comforts you to tell her. 

Saying goodbye one last time before shutting the door behind you, you climb into your car and drive to the university campus. 

You never liked leaving in the evening. You never liked working during the day, either. You had imagined things going so differently, but life had other plans. 

Troy was planning to propose, a last-ditch effort to get the both of you back in the good graces of your extremely conservative family. Neither of you intended to start having children until after you had graduated and he had gotten a higher-paying position at the company he was working for. But when the tests came back positive and were confirmed by ultrasounds, the two of you found yourselves scrambling for ways to build a home for an unborn child.

He died before any of the real planning could have started. The holidays had just ended and it was his last weekend off before he had to return to work. When he hit his head really hard after slipping in the shower, you had suggested going to the hospital to be safe. A friend from the university in the nursing program had told you unchecked head injuries were silent killers. 

Insisting he was fine, he continued about his day, cooking dinner for both of you and watching a film to end the night. 

He was cold in the morning and you tried to wake him up, but his eyes never opened again. 

After the funeral, his mom gave you the engagement ring he had rush-ordered to her house. It was supposed to come before Christmas, but when it didn’t, he had said he would propose on Valentine’s Day. 

It didn’t help when your parents iced you out, and the majority of your extended family cut contact with you as well. 

Your aunt and your cousin kept in touch, supporting you throughout your pregnancy and bereavement. Your aunt put you up in a small, two-bedroom apartment she had previously been renting to students for the nearby university. She didn’t charge you anything, telling you to focus on saving your money to help support your baby. 

You had decided to defer your education until after giving birth, finding a job at the DA’s office as a receptionist to make some money so that you could afford some baby essentials and maternity clothes. 

When Ivy arrived, your world was turned upside even more (if that was possible). Still, your duo of relatives were at your side. When your maternity leave was up, your aunt took her during the day to watch her at the daycare she directed. Then, in the evenings when you had class, your cousin took over finishing up dinner, giving her a bath, and putting her down to sleep. 

Every day came with new challenges, but things also felt easier and you felt less alone. School was distracting, work was somewhat rewarding, and Ivy was happy. 

You had determined a long time ago that she would never experience anything remotely close to the loneliness and sadness you felt. 

Finding a parking spot in a decently-lit area, you gather your things and walk into the building with the designated lecture hall. 

It was far too big for your class; there were only ten other students in this section with you, yet for some reason, you all were placed in a massive lecture hall. Your professor didn’t even bother turning on the lights for the back half of the classroom, trying to prevent students from sitting all the way in the back and getting a nap in. 

“Hi, Professor Barber,” you greet him as he sets up his computer at the podium.

He nods at you, “Evening, Miss Y/L/N.”

You sit in your usual seat in the second row, the third one from the left aisle. It’s in the middle, but not too centered where you make uncomfortable eye contact with Professor Barber as you look up at his slides. 

You get settled, opening up your note-taking software on your computer and setting your phone to silent. As you place your water bottle next to your laptop for easy access, Professor Barber announces that he’s going to begin.

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @stargazingfangirl18 @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky  @madbaddic7ed @mysweetlittledesire @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @buckymydarlingangel @mayasreadingnook 

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic @fizzahocleirigh @marantha @justile

Wooden Facade Taglist: @ghotifishreads @buckysteveloki-me @blackwidownat2814 @wsoldat @sn0wpiercer

[guqin-and-flute]

Modern 3zun/A-Fu Verse--Baby Acquisition Continuation

[Part 1] [Modern A-Fu Verse] [AO3 Series]

[Crediting @little-smartass​ with a lot of the characterization/story beats because I’m positive we’ve had a conversation about this at some point]

“He really is as bald as a little cue ball, isn’t he?”

It took Meng Yao several seconds to register that words had been spoken, another to parse the words, then another to tear his gaze up from the pile of early childhood development books he was accumulating in his lap, color coded tabs bristling from the edges. Da-ge was sprawled in the corner of their enormous sage green couch in his slacks and undershirt, bathed in the ghostly, swimming glow of the TV on mute. He was looking down fondly at the newborn tucked into the crook of his arm, fast asleep with his fist shoved up against his face.

A newborn that was, in fact, very bald. And so very tiny.

“Is that normal? Is that a sign of something?” Meng Yao began to anxiously dig around in the plush crevices of the armchair he was folded into for his phone, preparing to search something along the lines of ‘is baby baldness bad??’

On the other half of the L of the couch from Mingjue, Xichen sucked in a shuddering breath through his nose, making them both freeze and look over. But all he did was sigh in his sleep and return to his motionless sprawl where he had collapsed about an hour and a half ago when Mingjue forcibly removed the baby from his arms and insisted he lay down. “Just for 5 minutes,” Meng Yao had also reasoned in a two pronged attack. “No one says you have to nap. Just close your eyes for a bit, then you can take him again while Da-ge makes dinner, if you want.”

Of course, he had fallen asleep immediately as they all had known he would. But one had to give Xichen explicit permission and then a backup compromise and then incentive before he considered doing something so selfish as making sure he wasn’t dead on his feet, even after a day of running errands with an 7 day old who was still suffering from stomach upset from travel. Meng Yao and Mingjue were long since practiced in being able to maneuver around his particular aversion of self care.

When their eyes met again, Mingjue’s were crinkled and he teased in a lower voice, “Being bald is a sign of being an infant, A-Yao. You really know nothing about babies, do you?”

Meng Yao aggressively squashed back the automatic bridling that happened every time a flaw in his...anything was pointed out. Instead, he primly brandished a pastel yellow book with curlicue flowers around the edge. “I am learning.” It’s not my fault I obtained all my siblings after adolescence. Not for lack of trying...

“I’m telling you, most of those are gonna be useless. Everyone’s got something to say and it’s all going to be different. You’re better off just winging it,” Mingjue stage whispered dismissively, rolling his eyes. “It’s just until Xichen’s uncle gets the custody stuff all worked out, so he’ll be gone before you know it. Just enjoy the baby-head smell while he’s here.”

The what? He narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

For some reason, a grin spread over Da-ge’s face--a delighted, self satisfied grin. “Oh.” He got up--(”Don’t wake him up--” Meng Yao hissed, stiffening, remembering his disconcerting little mewling cries from Xichen’s return from the store)--and easily cupped the infant up to his shoulder as he crossed the thick cream carpeting.

“Make room, come on,” Mingjue whispered, grabbing a stack of books in one large hand and carelessly tossing them onto the basket of neatly folded throw blankets beside the armchair.

Lips pursed and fully harassed, now, Meng Yao neatly piled the remaining books down by the leg of the chair. “Why do you insist--” When he sat back up, he immediately almost fumbled the armful of baby that was thrust into them. But Mingjue seemed to have been ready for this, because he just kept pressing him into his chest until Meng Yao’s hold came up automatically to support him.

The baby was warm and very soft, with no tension in him at all as he slept. And so light--almost like some sort of doll. It was hard to believe he was a real, living human being instead of some sort of strange hairless animal. Baxia had more heft, for god’s sake and she was a cat.

For some reason, Meng Yao’s heart rate immediately spiked as if he were being chased. His palms and neck began to sweat. It’s not like he hadn’t held the child in the day that he had been here, he just...well, he actually hadn’t. He hadn’t held any child before--his nephew wasn’t quite born yet and he had never been in a foster home with a baby. All yesterday and last night, he had shadowed Mingjue while he changed the diapers, observing techniques such as ‘The Turkey Hold’ and ‘Tissues Before Wet Wipes’. He had noted the ease with which Xichen just palmed him belly down like a fragile little football while packing the lunches Mingjue had assembled for him and Meng Yao to take to work, or patiently maneuvered his little sausage limbs in and out of clothes like he wasn’t afraid of breaking him.

And they certainly weren’t keeping him from Meng Yao--but he was still researching and information gathering while they had plenty of experience. And the stakes seemed absurdly high to chance a failure with this particular subject He hadn’t been avoiding it, just...he was sure the opportunity would present itself. Eventually.

His face was round and slightly alien in its minute proportions; a perfect miniature of a proper nose, a fine dusting of eyebrows above completely smooth little eyelids, a tiny squinch of a mouth that had fallen open in sleep.  And he sort of smelled like...slightly sour milk and the floral baby detergent Xichen had bought. Nothing that special.

Cautiously, Meng Yao attempted a gentle joggle with his arms, then froze when those little fingers flexed and the baby made a noise, halfway between a snort and a grunt, but so tiny. How on earth did anything this tiny and helpless even exist? How was he allowed to hold something that had this much potential? This much importance? His father wouldn’t even let him touch his fountain pen at the office--how would he ever let Meng Yao hold his heir? “A-Yao, breathe,” Mingjue’s whisper was nearby and amused and when he looked up at him, Meng Yao saw his face was close, leaning down, hands braced on both arms of the chair. Blocking escape.

“I think you should take him back,” Meng Yao hurriedly whispered back. “I don’t think he likes me. He’s going to wake up and cry.”

Mingjue shrugged. “He might.”

Anxiety, old and choking, rose up in his throat like bile, like failure. “Then take him back.”

The asshole just raised his eyebrow. “No. If he does, it’s not the end of the world. Calm down, smell his head.”

“I can smell him just fine from here, I--”

“Smell his head, I’m telling you--”

“Mingjue--” he hissed, baring his teeth, instinctively looking over at the sleeping Xichen to be the tie breaker and peacemaker, but Mingjue just put the back of his fingers to Meng Yao’s cheek and (gently. Always gently.) pushed his face toward the tiny round head tucked to his shoulder.

Stiffly, he gave a grudging, perfunctory sniff, intending to follow the exact letter of the order and not the spirit, because if he was going to be forced--

Oh. Oh. What? Pressing his nose closer, he breathed in properly. What on earth...

His head did smell different from the old spit up and detergent. Warm and--and--almost sweet but not, somehow mild and calming? It felt familiar, even though it wasn’t. How was this unwinding something in his chest? Without intending to, he breathed out through his mouth in order to hastily draw in another breath, deep and slow. It smelled like... sleep and home and softness. Comfort. And he did have hair, actually--downy little fluff, close to the scalp, soft like velvet when he pressed his lips to it to take a third breath. How did the top of his head smell so good? Was it the baby soap they had used? No, it wasn’t, because he could smell traces of that, soapy and artificial. This was something completely organic that somehow exuded from his scalp?

Mingjue chuckled above his head and Meng Yao opened his eyes--that he didn’t even remember closing. He knew he should probably feel more annoyed at his partner’s smugness but the tension that had been humming through him seemed to have utterly bled away. “There, now, was that so hard?”

“What...is it?” he murmured against the baby’s head, unable to tear his nose away.

“Baby-head smell.”

“Baby-head smell?”

“Mm.”

“Do they--do they all smell like this?”

“More or less. It’s so we don’t eat them when they wake us up in the middle of the night, probably. Hormones and shit.”

“Has someone bottled this? Made it into a candle?” He whispered, affronted. “Is this known?” None of the early childhood development books he had read even alluded to the fact that baby heads apparently smelled like magic. “Does Xichen know?”

Mingjue snorted. “Of course you consider marketing. Yeah, most people who’ve handled babies know about the baby-head smell, so now you do, too. Instant stress relief.”

It was. It was like a drug, how instantaneously it worked. Meng Yao greedily breathed in again, cupping his tiny head closer to him. He could feel the thrum of his heart through his back against his forearms.

Mingjue huffed a fond laugh through his nose and smoothed his hand heavily down Meng Yao’s hair, swaying them both gently as one. “See? Not so scary. Now sit there and relax with baby. I’ll make us all dinner.”

Meng Yao could do that--and quite happily.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I'd love more from your deaging NHS AU verse! Maybe little NHS hanging out more with WWX? Or little NHS meeting JC? Or getting spoiled by JYL?

sequel to Little (deaging NHS - need to read that first)

Hosting another sect leader was both a burden and a privilege.

The burden was mostly logistical – although they’d reclaimed the Lotus Pier, they hadn’t managed to fix it all back up, and it was one thing for all of them to be living in a state more fit for wild bandits than a Great Sect but another thing entirely for them to let someone else see them do so.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t do everything himself, even if he was trying to, so Jiang Yanli stepped up to assist: she turned the kitchens into something livable, requisitioned disciples and laborers to focus on the main hall and the guest rooms, supervised the hiring of those who did the laundry and removed waste, all the important things needed to make their home an inviting one, as long as you were careful to only look at the main parts and not the rest.

Luckily, their guest was Nie Mingjue, not any of the other sect leaders, and he didn’t care. That was, Jiang Yanli suspected, the only reason that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had a full-on heart attack as the date of the man’s approach arrived.

Sure enough, he arrived with as little fanfare as possible, greeted them politely, and promptly sequestered himself, his younger brother, and his chief disciples into a room with Jiang Cheng to discuss sect business. By the time they emerged for dinner, Jiang Cheng looked worn out but immensely pleased, they’d signed a half-dozen treaties, and Jiang Yanli had enough food to feed a small army waiting for them. A good thing, too, since apparently the Nie ate like they’d been starving the week before their meal. Even Nie Huaisang made the food in front of him vanish at lightning-quick speed, and he didn’t even have the build to explain away where all of it was going.

By far the most interesting aspect of it for Jiang Yanli, however, was that Wei Wuxian had made an appearance.

This was something of a rarity recently. Something about the war had hurt him, deeply, and that reason, or for whatever reason, he was very obviously avoiding Jiang Cheng – and, as a result, neglecting the duties that ought to be his as chief disciple. Jiang Yanli knew that it was unintentional, that he still cared for both her and Jiang Cheng, for the sect. But it didn’t make it any easier for them that rather than helping them, he instead spent his days skulking around wine shops, and nothing either of them said seemed to make any difference.  

Both she and Jiang Cheng had already resigned themselves to Wei Wuxian snubbing the Nie sect entirely, but to their mutual surprise he was there with a smile that Jiang Yanli hadn’t seen in weeks, boisterous and loud and trying to steal some of the plates of Nie Huaisang’s food whenever the other man turned to say something to Jiang Cheng. Without success, since being notoriously poor at any martial skill did not keep Nie Huaisang from effectively slapping away Wei Wuxian’s wandering fingers without even looking.

He even volunteered to show them around Yunmeng the next morning – meaning a walk by the river, since the Lotus Pier itself was largely not showable in its current condition – and Jiang Cheng agreed to the idea with no little relief, since he needed some time to get the treaties filed and implemented.

“I didn’t know you two had gotten so close to the Nie sect during the war,” Jiang Yanli murmured to Jiang Cheng, who rubbed his face in exhaustion and joy.

“I think it’s because it’s a reminder of happier days, with Nie Huaisang?” he said hesitantly. “Maybe? Anyway, can you make sure they get snacks along with their tea this evening? Chifeng-zun said he was full when he finished his plate, but Nie Huaisang was definitely eying his neighbor’s bowl longingly at the end there.”

Jiang Yanli hid a smile with her hand. “Of course, A-Cheng. Leave it to me.”

She made an entire pot of soup, plus a handful of side dishes, and brought up the portion to the rooms set aside for the main Nie sect herself. It wasn’t just to give them face, though of course that was important given that the Nie were their most important allies barring maybe the Jin sect – it ought to be the Jin sect, but they were playing games with it, and certain overtures by Madame Jin had led Jiang Cheng to speculate that they hoped to finalize the revival of the engagement between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan that Jin Guangshan had unilaterally raised not long ago before agreeing to provide any actual aid.

They hadn’t yet decided if it was worth playing the game back, hinting and implying and leaving themselves wiggle room in case Jiang Yanli really didn’t want to marry Jin Zixuan in the end; luckily, this visit by the Nie sect would put off the necessity of that for a good while. Maybe even for good, depending on how good some of those trading contracts were, and Jiang Cheng’s expression gave Jiang Yanli some hope.

Still, despite the absolutely critical importance of the relationship, that wasn’t why Jiang Yanli decided to go act the part of a servant personally.

Instead, she was hoping to use the opportunity see if she could get some insight into whatever they’d done to make Wei Wuxian smile like that, and to see if she could replicate it.

She wasn’t expecting to hear Wei Wuxian’s voice from the guest quarters they’d assigned to the Nie sect.

Not only because it was a little too late for any visit to be appropriate, but because Wei Wuxian had been avoiding the Jiang clan rooms for – rather a while, now. He wasn’t even sleeping in his own bedroom.

And yet – here he was.

Talking like a child.

Jiang Yanli’s heart stopped briefly in her chest when she heard the familiar whine Wei Wuxian liked to adopt when he was playing as A-Xian: it had always been their special game, her favorite way to indulge her mischievous little brother who sometimes liked to be fed and hugged and tucked in at night, and she would have sharp words for anyone who dared criticize it. But – in front of another sect leader –

“A-Xian, stop,” Nie Mingjue’s deep voice said firmly, his amusement audible even through the door. “Give Huaisang the toy back.”

“But da-ge,” Wei Wuxian whined, even though Nie Huaisang’s laugh made clear that he had handed back whatever toy they were talking about. “Why does he get to have the toy and I don’t?”

“I brought you three toys, you brat, and Huaisang only has one. Not everything is for sharing; some things are yours and yours alone.”

Jiang Yanli reflected briefly on the differences in child-rearing techniques between the sects – if it had been Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, she would have encouraged Jiang Cheng to share, and instructed Wei Wuxian to share in return – before realizing that Nie Mingjue was reacting to Wei Wuxian’s nonsense with extraordinary calmness. Almost as if he’d dealt with it before.

Almost as if he accepted it.

Jiang Yanli steeled her spine and knocked.

“I brought some snacks, Sect Leader,” she called.

There was a brief moment of quiet – some brief murmuring in low voices – but at last he said, “Enter,” and she did.

Wei Wuxian was sitting on the floor with his face buried in Nie Mingjue’s thigh, Nie Mingjue’s hand petting through his hair in a calming gesture; behind them, a small child of around seven, dressed in oversized Nie robes, lolled around on his stomach, his legs kicked up in the air, as he toyed with some puzzle game. Jiang Yanli hadn’t realized the Nie sect had brought along a child – one certainly hadn’t been present at dinner – but under the circumstances she opted not to comment.

“I thought you might still be hungry,” she said with a smile. “So I made some snacks, and soup.”

“Soup!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, lifting his head to reveal red cheeks. “Da-ge, you have to try shijie’s soup!”

“I intend to,” Nie Mingjue said. He was looking at Jiang Yanli thoughtfully. “Would you care to join us, Mistress Jiang?”

“I’d be happy to,” Jiang Yanli said, though she’d originally intended no such thing, and settled down to serve it out. “Thank you for taking care of A-Xian.”

“It’s nothing,” Nie Mingjue said. “A charming child, and one that speaks very highly of you. You must be very proud.”

“I am,” she agreed, and from the corner of her eye saw all the tension drain out of Wei Wuxian’s shoulders at her affirmation of their game. He scrabbled over to her side, abruptly affectionate, and cuddled up. “A-Xian, no! I need that hand to serve the soup. Didn’t you just say that you want Nie-da-ge to have some?”

Wei Wuxian pouted, but withdrew his sticky tentacles. The child on the bed laughed again and rolled over and up to his feet, hopping over to where Wei Wuxian was. “Wei-xiong can play with me while we wait.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian agreed at once. “We can play tag!”

“Don’t break anything,” Jiang Yanli said, and discovered to her amusement that Nie Mingjue had said the same exact thing at the same exact moment. He smiled crookedly at her, very briefly – his expression was not one usually given for smiling, typically stern and grim even when it was neutral, and the expression made him look suddenly younger.

“Younger siblings,” he said, an explanation and an excuse, and abruptly Jiang Yanli knew who the child must be. She didn’t know how it was that Nie Huaisang had physically regressed into childhood, as well as doing so emotionally the way Wei Wuxian did, but she supposed it didn’t really matter.

“Yes,” she said, and smiled back at him. “A-Xian likes it when I feed him his meals. Does…?”

Nie Mingjue shook his head. “Huaisang is very proud,” he said, voice fond. “He wouldn’t accept that sort of help from me, though perhaps he might accept it from you if he sees A-Xian getting a treat.”

“Children that age can be very jealous of each other,” Jiang Yanli agreed. “It’s a good thing that A-Xian is five today, so he can play with his friend, and not three. Maybe he can be three another time.”

“I must admit I haven’t noticed much difference so far,” Nie Mingjue remarked. “He’s still always clamoring for hugs.”

“Da-ge gives the best hugs,” Nie Huaisang said loyally.

Wei Wuxian looked a little shifty, but Jiang Yanli nodded at him supportively and he smiled. “They’re really good, shijie,” he confided in her. “He can pick me up!”

Jiang Yanli’s smile broadened, even as Nie Mingjue’s shoulders went up a little in embarrassment.

“We’re all good at different things,” she assured him. “Nie-da-ge is good at hugs, but I bet I’m better at doing your hair, right?”

“Yes! Shijie’s the best!”

“I want my hair done by Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang declared, eyes avid. “Can I?”

“After we eat,” Nie Mingjue said. “And only if you ask very nicely, and Mistress Jiang says yes.”

“I’ll say yes,” she said, and then, as an aside to Nie Mingjue, added, “You can call me Jiang-meimei if you like. If I’m calling you Nie-da-ge and all.”

He smiled again.

At some point, Jiang Yanli would need to examine how exactly Wei Wuxian had ended up taking Nie Mingjue as one of his caretakers, as well as how Nie Huaisang managed a full-fledged bodily transformation – and they’d need to bring Jiang Cheng in on this, somehow, even though he was neither caretaker nor little, simply because he would be jealous at being left out. And there was still Wei Wuxian’s unusual behavior, his inexplicable distance from all of them…

But that was a problem for later.

For now, they could just be there for them.

[shirophantomvox]

Hold My Hand- Illumi x Reader

OMG thank you! My first international fan! Thank you for this wonderful prompt! This was requested by @illucilfer .

Summary: Today’s story takes place in a 1950s diner by a frequently used Interstate; Interstate 95. We know this dinner for its delicious hamburgers, hot dogs, milkshakes, and jukebox records, but every night one Patreon never returns home. A few men who were angry about your recent arrest have shot you both. As you both stare at each other exchanging mental signals, everyone around you tries to help you to the hospital. Y/N is narrating the story. I seem to have fewer grammar errors that way. FYI, Bold and italicized font will reference a thought or flashback.

Story Navigation

Let’s get started!

The leaves have turned bright yellow and orange, fluttering every second to the ground. I could hear little children a while away laughing and playing in the community park; throwing up the leaves, jumping into piles, and throwing them at each other. The smell of freshly baked donuts brightened everyone’s mood. All you had to do was take one bite and your face would brighten and crack a smile. Dining at Cupid’s Kitchen will always have your heart and interest.

Interstate 95 was always heavy with traffic during this time of year. The folks of Dallas celebrated mulch annually. The “Mulch Fest” was a street fair that stretched 1.5 miles to the east that contained music, drinks, farmer panels, homemaker Q&A, and other activities that southerners enjoy. Illumi and I are only here because of an unfinished assignment. We have worked night and day for countless days trying to catch Jack “Da Hamor” Gilberton, but he was nowhere to be found. Eventually, I allowed my anger to get the best of me and made the executive decision to take a day off. I barred Illumi from searching, tracking, or any form of hunting for our target. The life of a bounty hunter and an assassin can thrill, but it can drive you insane if you allow it.

Ironically, Illumi and I both enjoy fall. It is perfect for cuddling (although he acts as if he’s too good to cuddle), wearing creative hoodies, going to pumpkin patches, and attending apple orchids. I tend to “lose my cool” when we have dates there. When I was a child, my family did not go on trips like these because they were over an hour away from our home and I had 5 siblings. But once I made money for myself, I made it my mission to go to one at least 5 times out of the year. Illumi enjoys the different fudge, hot cider, and candy apples. He almost broke a tooth on one!

“Say cheese snag-a’-tooth!”

“Stop it. It’s not funny!”

“It is! Could you imagine if you lost your two front teeth? You’d look almost adorable as you did in the 1st grade!”

“How did you know about that?”

“Duh! It happens to everyone, but your mother showed me the pictures, of course.”

“Curses!”

Illumi’s sweet tooth is just like Killua’s; both have a weakness for chocolate. Except, Killua will admit defeat while his older brother keeps denying it.

Cupid’s Dinner has been in Dallas for over 55 years. A black woman established it in 1945 by the name of Mary-Lou Benson. Since then, Mary’s family has been running the shop, making sure all of her customers are happy with the service. During the turn of each season, Cupid’s Dinner gives its customer's food options based on the season. The fall options include donuts, candy apples, different flavored cider, fudge, and hot coffee specials. As much as everything looked appetizing, I could not order it all. Our server, Little Ben, placed our drinks in front of us and handed us the menu. I could tell he was happy with his line of work, just as I was to be with Illumi.

“You all take your time. I’ll be back in five.”

Ilumi glanced on both sides of the room, scanning for Jack Gilberton, already forgetting the agreement we established.

“Illumi, what are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking around like you’ve seen Da Hamor. Eat your donut and relax, sweetheart.”

“I cannot relax. I must stay on alert.”

“If I can relax, so can you. It’s not that hard.”

“Fine. If I die, it’s on your head… literally.”

The jingling bell rang almost every second when a customer walked in. It was a joy to everyone's ears; the spirit of Mary Lou-Benson was alive and well. An overwhelming feeling of love seemed to have overtaken the diner. After examining the bistro for quite some time now, each customer had been using their cellphones at the table instead of chatting with their families. Many traditional families hated that about this generation but they should be open to new traditions forming. Illumi dislikes using cell phones or tablets at the table unless we use them for missions. He has emphasized how rude it is to be surfing the web about utter nonsense while someone is speaking. This is a pet peeve of his, something I’ll never step on his toe about. Although I think that is overdoing it, I respect it.

Little Ben served our table quickly, leaving us with two dishes of a classic chicken sandwich, kettle chips, one chocolate, and vanilla milkshake. Milkshakes were my weakness; I nearly foam at the mouth when I see one. When I found out that Illumi had NEVER had a milkshake, I almost fainted.

“No. I’ve never had a milkshake.”

“Huh? You’re missing out, pal.”

“What’s the big deal? Isn’t it frozen milk?”

“Not just frozen milk. You can add many flavors, toppings, and whip cream!”

“Well, then. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

We thanked Little Ben for his service as he clocked out for the day.

“I have to admit these sandwiches look very appetizing.”

“You can say that again!”

Before I nibbled on my sandwich, I wanted to take a moment and adore the man before me; Illumi Zoldyck. A man full of mysteries, professionalism, skill, and talent. His enormous eyes were immersed in the large pieces of chicken in between the sourdough bread. He licked his index finger vigorously; allowing the homemade honey mustard to drip enough from the bread to the plate in between licks. Just the sight of him actually relaxing for once has blown me away. For once, Illumi Zoldyck could be himself and I had the privilege to witness it.

“Um… why are you staring at me? Do I have food on my face,” he asked; violently wiping his mouth off with a provided cloth napkin.

“Oh! Ha, ha; no reason. I wanted to see your reaction after drinking your milkshake. That’s all.”

“Why? It’s just a drink.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“Babe? What happened to LuLu or Illumi-Lu?”

I gasped and pretended to be surprised… although I was a little.

“I did not know that you liked those pet names. I assumed it mortified you.”

“Who told you that? That never rolled off my tongue. “What I said was” — He bent closer to the table and to me; glancing both to the right and left to ensure no wandering ears were around — “I prefer Illumi-Lu to be said in the bedroom and LuLu when we’re alone, like how we are right now.”

“Aww…. ok,” I yelled in excitement.

“Don’t blow it out of proportion, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

As we ate, Illumi hummed along to the tune that played a few times on the restaurant's jukebox. Illumi and I were born in the mid-90s, but listening to 50s music was a part of his aesthetic. I was told that he had an “old soul” which sounds romantic at first until you realize how men were during that era. His raging temper was a noticeable toxic trait, but it has drastically improved. Nonchalantly sipping on his milkshake and then eating more of his chips, he grazed the soft part of his left hand over mine as he continued to hum.

“What’s the name of this song? You seem to know it rather well.”

“Put your head on my shoulder, a famous song from the 60s. I heard my parents sing it once and since then, they have addicted me to it. Do you like it?”

“Yes, in fact, I love it. All of this is—”

“A surprise to you? Well, enjoy it while it lasts because once I find Jack Gilberton, this side of me will hide for a while.”

“Understood.”

Damn! I was just feeling connected to him again!

The music swelled; everyone seemed to be happy. Not an evil spirit insight to disrupt this beautiful moment. For once in my life, my raven-haired beauty actually held my hand tight, stole a few of my barbecue kettle chips, and gazed into my eyes harmlessly. His lips brushed against both of my hands, ever so lightly placing kisses on both sides of them. Illumi’s gentle smile warmed my heart as my lingering thoughts of hope stayed intact.

The welcoming bell jingled again. Two men in black leather jackets, stone-washed blue jeans, and tattooed all over their arms came into the diner. The men seemed to be bikers who had just left their own “spot” but one thing struck me as they continued to walk towards the staff. They both wore sunglasses when the sunset for the day. Not to mention that the lights were not dim in the diner and the moon was as bright as ever. The second man had his eyes glued in my direction. My heart beat faster as I wondered if Jack Gilberton had found us. Could you imagine?

Put your head on my shoulder

Hold me in your arms, baby

Squeeze me oh-so-tight

Show me you love me too

I am used to coming in contact with enemies on my hit list, but given Jack’s criminal history; I felt like I may not survive his attacks. Illumi will survive, but just barely. Both men approached the checkout, crowing over Little Ben’s sister. She was a short woman but full of might, and I could tell by the shakiness in her voice she was frightened. I wanted to step in so badly, but I didn't want to blow my cover just in case it was, in fact, Jack Gilberton. After I assume, ordering food, both men stood by the entrance, blocking it from others from entering and leaving. The sound of their old, beat up-lighters crackled as one lit a joint and the other lit a cigarette. This horrid smell ruined the atmosphere because they were not in a designated area and it drowned out the lovely aroma of the food being served.

“If you gentlemen would like to smoke, you need to go outside. There is no smoking in here.”

“What? You think you’re better than me because you don’t smoke?”

“Huh? I never said that, sir. I asked for you to go outside. Not all of our customers can deal with it.”

They did not move a muscle. The sound of their mucous laughter made everyone’s stomach turn. They laughed at the young girl and called her many slurs. Little Ben’s sister didn’t flinch, nor did she cry; she remained still, staring at the men. I had just enough of their obnoxious behavior.

“If you do not leave, I will call the police.”

“The hell you won’t.”

Put your lips next to mine, dear

Won't you kiss me once, baby?

He drew a gun from his left side. He aimed it at Little Ben’s sister and demanded that she emptied the drawer. She refused. Her stone, iron will reminded me of Illumi; no matter the circumstance, they remained intact, determined to fight until the end. Bravery is always encouraged, but too much will cause your life to be taken away. Little Ben’s sister grabbed a fake till that they kept under the real one and threw it at both men. Fake money fluttered everywhere in the small diner, mimicking confetti. Gunshots rang in all directions as the imbeciles recklessly shot, aiming for Little Ben’s sister. Everyone threw themselves on the ground to avoid being shot, but luck cannot spread itself throughout an entire room of people. A young child, an older man, and another worker were shot in their lower leg. Blood reflected from the ground as it continued to seep. Ignoring injured civilians is a jackass move and continuing to deny the fact would prove that the oath I pledge to meant nothing. Sure, bounty hunters must remain hidden, but if someone is injured, I must help them.

The child was lying lifeless on the polished marble floor. He would not respond to my shaking or my silent whispers. When I rolled him over, my heart broke into a million pieces. This child had no chance of survival; a few bullets struck his chest, one just inches away from his heart. A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Why must the good die young,” I whispered to myself.

“... Because snitches get stitches.”

Before I could gain sight of who stated this utterly corny response, I felt an overwhelming amount of pain in my lower back. It felt like a million tiny needles were jabbed so far through my skin that they entered my intestine. I could still hear, but my body would not move. I tried and tried, but my brain would not signal my legs.

Move! Move, damn it!

It’s odd; I could hear myself talk, but my body would not move at all. The sound of another thudding body made my mind jump. My heart had already been pounding enough to try to resuscitate my organs to move, but a familiar semi-blurring sight of none other than Mr. Illumi Zoldyck cleared my sight. My brain went wild. I didn’t know if Illumi died or if he became paralyzed, but one thing is for sure. We finally made eye contact that felt special; something I hadn’t felt since the day I met him. Our contact felt like magnets; an unbreakable bond. Suddenly, my icy hand felt warmth around my palm and fingers. Illumi simultaneously fell in a way that connected our hands. Our unbreakable bond, the warmth of his fingers laying on top of mine, and the gaze we shared somehow made me feel like it was just the two of us alone. I could hear his thoughts loud and clear; thoughts that came from the heart.

“Please help me. Before it’s too late, LuLu,” I cried, thinking I was going insane. “I don’t want to leave if it means leaving you behind.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

“Please! I want to live a life. Life as a bounty hunter, build a support system to our children, and a good lover is all I want to be.”

“You are a warrior and so am I. We have been through worse. This is nothing.”

Mere eye contact is all we need to exchange wandering conversations. The bond that we’ve created is something so strong that I haven’t realized it until now. The warmth emitted from his loose grasp seems to lose its effectiveness. It blurred my vision beyond recognition, leaving Illumi as a near figment of my imagination.

“Oh no. I guess this is it.”

My vision darkened. Illumi was slipping away as my lingering thoughts almost made my heart give out from exhaustion. I was ready to accept my fate, but it seemed like fate had other plans. My vision was still darkening by the second, but my sense of touch remained there. Smooth fingers outline my arms, torso, and chest. I heard muffled voices yelling and screaming about calling for assistance, but I didn’t care if they came or not. I made peace with my life’s end. Bit by bit, my breathing slowed down, but my sense of touch remained heightened. I felt a rubber glove touch my face and neck, examining it for any damage.

The jukebox continued to play Illumi’s favorite song, Put Your Head on my Shoulder. I remembered the day I laid my head on his shoulder; boy, what an endearing moment that was. It was something I took for granted, something I should have savored, for I never knew that this moment would have happened. The song grew muffled by the second verse. That verse repeated every time I tried to force myself to take what felt like my last gaze at my raven-haired beauty.

Just a kiss goodnight, maybe

You and I will fall in love (you and I will fall in love)

-FIN.

A/N: Since you’ve made it to the end, I’ll say something. The reader did not die in the end. They were later revived at the hospital.

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt92

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When Chloe pulled back Marinette kept a hold of her shoulders to force eye contact. She knew Chloe still got embarrassed showing any type of affection so if she let go Chloe would likely retreat back into herself. As it was she just looked confused.

“I’m sorry.” She watched as Chloe blinked at her, obviously not sure how to react to that.

“Sorry about what?” Where did she even start?

“I’m sorry I scared you last night.” Chloe opened her mouth to respond but Marinette just kept going. If she didn’t get this out now she wasn’t sure she’d be able to. “Sorry that I’m so used to pushing myself past my limits that I don’t even stop to think if I need to anymore. I’m sorry you feel like you need to keep up a front around me because you’re afraid I won’t be able to handle hearing your problems. And I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like this was something you could talk to me about.” She motioned to the papers still spread out on the table. “It’s obviously something that you’re passionate about and have put a lot of work into. I can’t believe I got so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t even notice you were working on something. You deserve better.” It hurt that Chloe was so afraid of adding stress to her that she didn’t even want to share the good things.

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, at least not until I had a better idea of if it will work or not.” The mumbled response just made Marinette feel more guilty.

“Chloe.” She waited for her girlfriend to make eye contact. “You are not a bother. Your ideas and thoughts are not a bother. We’re partners. Even if you don’t want my input on something, you can still talk to me about it so I can at least offer you support. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” Chloe just stared at her for a minute before Marinette saw tears in her eyes. The next thing she knew she was in another crushing hug.

“Thank you.” She sounded so grateful and Marinette was mental cursing at herself. She forgot to take into account how different their home lives were far too often. Marinette had parents who loved her. More than that they were present in her life. If she was excited about something she knew she could go to them and they would at least be interested in how she felt about it. Chloe had never had anything close to that. Her father gave her money and shooed her away. Her mother couldn’t be bothered to remember she had a child most of the time. Chloe had been alone for most of her life other than Sabrina.

“You don’t have to thank me. Given all the times I’ve bored you to tears with my nonsense, not to mention everything you do for me, I’m the one who should be grateful.” And she was. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done without her.

“You’re never boring and after everything I’ve done I still can’t believe you’re even willing to talk to me.” That was the problem. She felt like she deserved to be alone and ignored by everyone around her. Marinette was fairly certain Chloe expected her to just up and leave one day, or maybe even start being abusive towards her because that was really all she knew to expect.

“You made mistakes, yes. But you learned and grew from them. Judging someone on their past actions but completely ignoring their current ones is insane. We’ve both done things we regret, but letting those things define you just keeps you trapped in the past. I’d much rather concentrate on our future.” Marinette caught Selina give Chloe an ‘I told you so look’ that she was going to have to ask about later. “But to do that we’ve both got to get better at talking to each other. I need you to remind me every once in a while that I don’t have to do everything by myself anymore, and I’m going to get it through your head that just because your parents don’t think anything is more important than themselves doesn’t mean no one will ever put you first.”

“You two are so cute. I imagine this is how talks with Bruce would go if the man understood the concept of communication. Or admitting he’s wrong about something.” Chloe let out an amused snort before pulling back to look at the woman.

“So you’re saying Damian comes by it honestly then?” Marinette shot her a glare but the girl just stuck her tongue out at her.

“Between having a mother with no emotions, and a father with no idea how to show them you could certainly say so. He seems to have gotten much better at it since moving here though. We actually talked for once instead of just poking at each other.”

“Mari has that effect on people.” Marinette just rolled her eyes at the praise.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not the one calming him down.” Selina’s eyes lit up and Marinette regretted being so flippant.

“Ah yes, the mystery boyfriend that the boys think doesn’t exist. I’m looking forward to meeting him as well.” Marinette shared a look with Chloe.

“That will be on their terms if it happens at all. Given some of the things they’ve said and done, Damian’s not thrilled about having told them that much. And he doesn’t want to subject his significant other to their interrogations until they’ve had a chance to calm down either.” Selina rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated breath.

“I don’t blame him. Bruce was an only child and really has no concept of how siblings should interact versus how his kids actually do. Some of the things that come out of their mouths are ridiculous, especially Jason and Steph. Bruce always seems surprised when their teasing results in Damian pulling out weapons. It’s sad really.”

“So you’ll leave him alone to tell everyone in his own time?” Selina looked surprised by the question but Marinette had to make sure.

“Of course. When I figure out who it is I’ll keep it to myself. I promise I won’t even tell Bruce.” Chloe was eyeing the woman with a calculating expression.

“What makes you think you’ll figure it out before he tells you?” Selina chuckled.

“Because unlike the Bats I pay attention to the things that are right under my nose. Not to mention they all seem to be expecting some drastic transformation whenever he’s around this person and won’t be looking for subtle hints. I do know that Alfred and Cass have figured out who it is already and aren’t sharing, so I’m confident I’ll be able to figure it out, and keep the boys from looking too closely at the wrong things, just in case.”

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[faunusrights]

Citrus Summers (GWS AU)

just had this idea nip into my head... i really wanna do more with menagerie and the scarlatina fam but for now have this lil snapshot of velvet growing up :)

great weiss shark au, weiss's pronouns are she/her, velvet's pronouns are she/they

###

"So, what was your hometown like?"

Velvet's used to Weiss's interest in her life; they come from two radically different ends of some bonkers spectrum of lifestyles, where one end (Velvet's) is radical self-acceptance, anti-cop sentiment, and a Scroll full to bursting with communist memes, whilst the other end (Weiss's) is... well, to be honest, Velvet doesn't like to think about what that end entails, exactly. All she knows is that it was exactly what a young shark Faunus without any clue as to her heritage didn't need. So, Velvet entertains her with stories of growing up in the deserts of Menagerie, of her time running along the trash-strewn beaches of Kuo Kuana, of her years shooting up like a weed under the relentless freckling kisses of the bright and vibrant sun.

Sometimes Velvet can tell she can't quite wrap her head around how different their lives are, yet have somehow ended up on such an intersection as to be able to call each other friends. Velvet just goes with the flow about it all.

"Well, we didn't have a hometown, really," Velvet starts, attention half-drawn to sets of plans scattered about her desk in her dorm. She's got big plans to improve Anesidora's projector and fix the information compression problems; drawing a flat 2D image into a 3D projection has always been a sticking point, but she's nearly got it down to the extent that her wireframe tests very nearly reveal the dents and dings and imperfections that it'd previously ironed out by mistake. Accuracy is key, and she crawls ever closer to a perfect 1-to-1 copy each and every day. It's just really boring work, is all. "We lived outside of the nearest town by a couple of miles, but we went there pretty regularly, so I guess you could call it that."

Weiss hums, letting herself fall back onto Velvet's unmade bed, the handwoven blankets of orange and black brought straight over from the homeland and still gritty with red dirt to prove it. "What's it called?"

"Desert Sands. Very original, I know."

"You know a lot of the people there?"

"Shit, they trade us meat and gas for potatoes and carrots and tomatoes, not to mention almost everyone there immigrated in a group with my grandparents. I know that town like my own family."

"What's your favourite thing there?"

That pulls Velvet up short, and she worries at her bottom lip as she stares as a variety of absolutely godawful equations. Thank the maidens Weiss has given her something meaty to say, because she can't bear the idea of redoing all this horrible maths. "Uh, probably the inn, as everyone else who lives there would say. Can't go wrong with a good old fashioned pint and a few rounds of pool."

"Even as a kid?" Weiss says, and Velvet can hear the raised brow even though she can't quite see it.

"Even as a kid," Velvet agrees. "My mam had a couple of pints and my da flirted with the guys and I'd go out with my siblings to meet our friends and raise a little hell. Not very often, but often enough."

Weiss goes sort of quiet, in a way that Velvet recognises as an intensive processing of what she's just heard. She wonders, briefly, if Weiss can even imagine that sort of freedom after a childhood spent locked in the same old rooms of the same old house--even when it's as big as the Schnee manor--and then pushes that thought away. If Weiss wants to ever get into all that, it'll be in her own time.

"Describe it to me?" Weiss asks in a very little voice after a few seconds, and Velvet nods. She can do that. She remembers those halcyon days like they were yesterday.

###

"Trench, I swear, if you don't repaint those window sills I'm gonna sneak down here and do it myself, asshole."

This was about as typical an entry as Taffeta Scarlatina could ever make, shouldering open the dark wood door into the Desert Sands Inn with a grin on her face and children in tow, Ash bringing up the rear and trying to pretend he couldn't see everyone turn in their seats to look to the new arrivals. It was one of those establishments with a big boxy interior and just a handful of rooms to the side, where the only three doors led into the toilets and the kitchens and the stairwell to the rooms above, and much like everything else on Menagerie, nothing ever matched; the doors had been collected from a variety of sources, the floorboards uneven and scratched and recut, the paint on the walls patchy with mismatched shades and covered with picture frames in some last-ditch attempt to hide it. No two stools matched, no three tables carved by the same hand, but that was the price of the community effort--everything you ever needed, maybe just not in the way you always expected.

"Taffeta," Trench greeted from behind the bar, turning to fetch a pair of glasses without prompting whilst making sure not to jostle the hanging bottles overhead with his great buffalo horns, split like a strange middle parting on the top of his head. "You're welcome to it, to be frank; Cinna doesn't have a clue where she's put the paint, last we saw it."

Taffeta rolled her eyes, letting go of Velvet's hand to pat her between her ears instead, the ten year old quick to laugh and duck away. "I'm sure. Not at all like I said I have some lying around the last three times I was here. You really that scared of scraping all that flaking paint off?"

"Well," Trench said after a moment, leaning under the bar for a second. "I did get some in my eyes last time, and boy, that hurted. You want your usual?"

"Pint of porter for me, and something weak for my pretty boy, lest he forget which way is up," Taffeta agreed, shooting a wink Ash's way and cackling when he blushed. "And some juice boxes for the kids?"

Trench didn't even pause, turning about to fish out a variety of colourful cartons adorned with a collection of cartoon characters, and Taffeta lifted Velvet up to plop her onto one of the few cushioned stools, Chiffon quick to use her older, longer limbs to scramble her own way up. Trench offered the drinks out freely, letting them decide between orange and passionfruit flavours, before noticing the new addition on Ash's hip. "Oh? This the newest Scarlatina?"

Satin--hardly a year old--was clinging to her da's loose shirt, dark eyes looking about in wonder, and Taffeta smiled before reaching over to brush her loose, light hair out of her eyeline. "Sure is. Gettin' real big already, so we thought it was high time to meet the folks around here. She won't be the last, though." At that, Taffeta leant across the bar, dropping her voice low. "Would you believe me if I said Ash is already askin' for the next one?"

"Slander," Ash shot back, face still pink. "I just said four is a rounder number than three."

Trench made a face, glancing pointedly away. "My girl woulda mounted my horns on the wall for that one. We had just the one and she swore off the rest before I could even consider it. Count yourself lucky."

"Cinnamon's a good kid," Ash offered, rearranging Satin to sit a little nicer in his lap. "I think that all worked out in the end."

Taffeta rolled her eyes, watching as Velvet picked the orange juice for herself, leaving the eldest to the passionfruit. "Doesn't that imply we have so many 'cause you don't think just one was good enough? Chiff's a darling, if a bit of a pain in my ass, huh, baby?"

Chiffon ignored them both to instead help Velvet punch the straw into the carton, and Ash grinned. "Just one was perfect, but you told me yourself that you don't think I know when to fold."

"You don't," Trench interjected, pouring out a pint of something dark and bitter enough to linger on the tongue. "When we played poker last year... phew. Thank the maidens it was a couple's night, else you woulda been walking home absolutely stark--"

"--drunk," Taffeta quickly interrupted, glancing towards the kids who stared back with wide eyes. "Been walking home absolutely stark... trashed. Wasted. Uh, Trench, what's on the menu today, whilst it's on my mind?"

As they discussed the menu (Taffeta eager to point out the contributions of the family crops, asking, overly sweetly, and who traded you those lovely chickens? they must have been very generous), Chiffon turned to Ash in her seat, legs swinging freely, bumping into the overly-varnished wood of the bar. "Da? Can me 'n Velv go out and play?"

"Sure can, kiddo," Ash said, though he was quick to grab Chiffon's arm before she could throw herself off the stool with the straw still in her mouth. "Woah, take that out first before you end up swallowing it. You remember the rules?"

Chiffon nodded, face cast all seriously. "Don't go outta town. Be back before dark. If someone tries to bully us, punch 'em in the nose."

"And?" Ash added, drawing his brows together.

Velvet chirped up. "Cops aren't friends!"

At that, Ash broke out into a grin, as bright as Velvet's and twice as toothy. "That's right. You go have fun, and don't eat too many snacks; we're having dinner here before we go home."

Chiffon slid free of her stool, turning about to help Velvet down too, and then the pair scampered towards the door with a harmonised yes da! before pulling it open to the main road outside, the sunlight blisteringly bright, the sky an endless, cloudless blue overhead. The paint on the windowsill peeled off and flecked away, and under their shoes, the ground crunched.

Everything tasted of oranges.

###

Weiss sits silently.

"Did you get back before dark?"

Velvet snorts, sitting back in her chair until it creaks dangerously below. "Just about, though my mam didn't look all that impressed. Still, can't do much about it; we didn't even have, like, landline calls back then, let alone Scrolls and shit."

Weiss laughs to herself, rolling over and tucking her legs up onto Velvet's bed until she's curled atop the blankets, running a thumb over the wool quietly, repetitively. Truth is, they still smell of Menagerie, of home; Velvet could wash it a thousand times, but the earthy scent of hot summers and prickling scrublands sticks like its own aura.

"I'm jealous," Weiss says simply, and then she draws the blankets up to partly cocoon herself, tight across the ribs, loose about the ankles. "Will I... would you show me it, sometime? If I went there?"

It's sweet. Velvet wishes she could travel through time and show it to Weiss from the start; she wishes she could have told her what she would have, in the future. Look, see? This is real. You can have this too. Happiness doesn't only exist for people far away; you get to feel this, too.

"Of course," Velvet says with a smile, instead. "Bold if you to think my parents don't demand they meet every single last one of my friends."

Weiss grins back, all shark-toothed and sharp, and Velvet likes how it looks on her face. It took her team months to eek it out of her more often than every couple of weeks, but now, it's practically daily. "I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend back to you."

"Thanks the maidens," Velvet says, very seriously. "Because if I ever meet your dad, I'm setting his car alight."

[eigwayne]

Fic Time! It’s the first part of the ChengQing fic I keep mentioning.

A Little Spoiled

Rating: Explicit Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Relationship: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Wēn Qíng Characters: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin, Wen Qing (Módào Zǔshī) Language: English; Words: 4045; Chapters:1/4

Additional Tags: Inadvisable Hook-ups, paying for groceries as a form of affection, kinda sugar daddy jiang cheng, Emotional Constipation, First Time, Awkward First Times, vacillating wildly between annoyed and horny, as many of us are when jiang cheng is involved, Secrets, drama canon

Read chapter 1 on AO3 here.

Wen Qing knows this is a bad idea. He's short tempered, fought a war against her clan, and has responsibilities that dont- can't- include her. She returned his comb and is keeping a secret that could destroy him.

But he's paying for much-needed supplies and when he almost smiles she can pretend things are simpler, that he's just the shy young master who could have loved her. And sometimes even the most commanding people want to be a little spoiled.

(A vaguely drama-canon-compliant affair between Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng during the Burial Mound era, where secrets are kept, gifts are bought, and Wen Qing struggles between respect for herself and desire for Jiang Cheng before deciding she wants to attempt to have both. Fic concept notes at the end, if you’re into that.)

Wen Qing inspected the produce, turning over a potato as she checked for faults. Most were unsprouted but one never really knew. And she certainly didn’t want Wei Wuxian to think she was encouraging him. This was a treat, not a crop! Wen Ning stood behind her, patient as always and uncommenting on her vegetable selections, with his now-empty radish basket waiting to be filled.

“We’ll take some,” she said to the seller, “but you’re asking simply too much for…” A flash of purple caught her eye. Her heart jumped at the thought of him, although it wasn’t easy to tell if it was fear or not.

(Fear would be safer. Her family had made enemies of the Great Sects, Jiang Wanyin more than most, and she should be wary of him. But late at night, when she let herself dream… Well, that was a different story and she certainly wasn’t going to mull that over right there in the marketplace.)

Either way, he had as much right to cross Yiling as she did; Wei Wuxian hadn’t started a sect no matter what the rumors said and Yiling was no one’s territory. She pretended to be unaffected, hoped Wen Ning hadn’t noticed him, and turned back to the potato seller. “No, this price is too much. I am willing to spend…”

Later, potatoes successfully haggled to a reasonable price and more Wen Qing-approved vegetables joining them in Wen Ning’s basket, the Wen siblings walked together toward the exit of the market square. Wen Qing could almost pretend things were normal- that Wen Ning was alive and well, and she was simply restocking her dispensary. They would go home and everyone would have enough to eat and-

She cut that thought off before it could go further. It was too tempting, the fantasies and could-have-beens. Her mind supplied enough of those as she lay in the dark, in the moments after she laid her head on her pillow and before sleep claimed her. And her mind supplied more as she paused near a display of haircombs.

‘I should have at least asked him for some seeds and fertilizer when I gave it back,’ she thought as she remembered Jiang Wanyin’s gift. She thought of a million things she could have asked him for, after the comb had already been returned. But a rebuilding sect could spare none of it, really, and the unspoken offers were heavier than the spoken one. And all of it was foolish could-have-beens.

But she had a practical reason for looking at combs. The last good comb had broken tines and A-Yuan needed something gentle on his scalp. He cried every time he had his hair combed and that simply wouldn’t do.

“I have a few small things to get,” she said to Wen Ning. “I’ll be along shortly. Head back and help the others, okay?” He nodded and murmured his assent, and turned back to the main road. Her heart swelled with fondness. Such a good, obedient, caring boy, even now.

Wen Qing stood in front of the display, looking for something inexpensive but well-made, the tips blunt enough for A-Yuan.

At her level of cultivation, she easily felt him approach. He wasn’t even attempting to hide his presence, but she would know the feel of him even if she was drowning in the resentment of the Burial Mounds. There was his natural energy, a tumultuous pulse that she had spent so long rebuilding. There was the electric feel of his inherited spiritual weapon. And although it wasn’t something she could detect consciously, she imagined she could feel it, as the one who put it there- the blazing heat of Wei Wuxian’s golden core.

He was a storm made flesh, and he stood beside her in the marketplace of Yiling. And he said, his voice low and tight in her ear, “If you needed a comb, you should have kept the one I gave you.”

Anger flashed through her- how dare he get so close, use that voice! How dare he say something like that without even looking her in the eye! How dare he speak of it in public at all! But she swallowed it, never let it reach her face. It was a skill she learned serving a harsher master than he.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” she said with a slight curtsy. It was cute and feminine and she should have bowed, to remind him they were both cultivators and she was not without power, but she was standing straight again before it even occurred to her.

He bowed to her then, just the correct angle for politeness’s sake.

“I need a comb for a child,” she said calmly, in response to his words. “That comb should be given to a bride.”

He flinched, visibly, and she turned back to the display. The shopkeeper was surely drawing conclusions but if she wanted Wen Qing’s business, she’d keep her mouth shut.

She selected two combs, simple in design but tines sanded smooth and blunt with care. Jiang Wanyin stood beside her the whole time and she drew it out, letting him stew. He could say something if he wanted her attention that badly. He certainly had no qualms about getting close enough to be heard.

But drawing it out too long would be a waste of her time, too, so she eventually made her decision. As she reached for her too-thin money pouch, Jiang Wanyin stopped her. His hand was warm on her forearm but then, she was always cold. They were all a little cold, on the Burial Mounds.

“You don’t have to,” she hissed.

“I don’t,” he agreed, and handed the shopkeeper the silver.

The combs were wrapped in fabric- not patterned silk, just a soft linen Wen Qing would use for patching or handkerchiefs later- and she led Jiang Wanyin a few steps away.

“I do not intend to owe you anything,” she said, voice low as she dug the silver out of her pouch to repay him. She didn’t bother to hide her annoyance.

“It’s a gift. Keep your money.”

She looked at him, lips tight. There was still tension in his face (perhaps there always would be), but she saw the shadow of the boy he had been. The boy who looked at her with wonder and longing. It was just a tiny, dying ember but the fact that it was there at all, after everything, made her breath catch in her throat.

‘He is so soft when he hopes, like he could be gentle again someday. Is this what drove Wei Wuxian when he begged me to do the surgery?’

She turned away, too aware that she was staring. “I don’t want to discuss this in the middle of the market.”

“Shall we have tea, then? My treat,” he said, and pushed past her to head for the teahouse. She followed him, and cursed herself for a fool.

They got a private room, but tea was served and they savored the first sips before either of them spoke to the other. Wen Qing broke the silence first.

“Why are you in Yiling?”

“I was passing through,” he said.

“Passing through,” she scoffed. “With no disciples? Do you take me for a fool? Sect Leaders don’t travel by themselves.”

The look on his face was hard, angry, but embarrassed. “I sent them on ahead when I saw you,” he admitted.

She still wasn’t sure she believed the ‘passing through’ bit, but let it go. “You could have just left. I wouldn’t have blamed you for not wanting to speak with me.”

“A-jie would want to know how Wei Wuxian is doing. Who better to ask?”

Wen Qing would have been disappointed that he had not stopped for her, but Wei Wuxian had always been what brought them into each other’s orbits. “He’s managing,” she said. “Still bothering me about potatoes. Trying to branch out into even more fickle plants.” Nevermind that she was the one who enabled Wei Wuxian in the first place, buying those lotus seeds.

Jiang Wanyin huffed. “He never could do the practical thing.”

“It seems to be working. The lotuses are growing well, at least.” Wen Qing bit back a smile at how his eyes bulged. Good. Let him be surprised.

Jiang Wanyin looked down at his tea for a moment, digesting the fact that the man he cast out, the man he let exile himself, was growing the family emblem. Wen Qing waited a bit, then asked, “So what made you take out your wallet for my combs? We’re not beholden to you. Or was that also an excuse to ask after Wei Wuxian?” She wasn’t going to lie to herself about the combs any more than she would about his reason for stopping at all. Jiang Wanyin may still hold a tiny spark of his adolescent crush but he was no altruist.

“I felt like it, and Yunmeng Jiang is in a position where I can do things because I feel like doing it,” he said.

So he was showing off. She bit back the urge to slam her teacup back on the table. As it was, she still put it down with more force than strictly necessary.

“You don’t need to look down on us, Sect Leader Jiang,” she said with as much calm as she could muster. “It may be a simple life but we are managing.”

“Are you? Because I remember what you looked like before. Are you getting enough to eat? Is that boy getting enough?”

“You would dare-“

“I would dare! Wei Wuxian meddled in things he shouldn’t have, and now he can’t even take care of you! This is what playing hero does! You’re still suffering!”

“There are different types of suffering. I prefer this to the Jins.”

Her voice was level, the heat simmering below the surface of her cold tone. Jiang Wanyin had the grace to look embarrassed. They sat in silence again, and Wen Qing contemplated on whether she should leave now or later, after their food was brought in. Her pride said now. Her stomach said later.

“I’m not a hero like he is,” Jiang Wanyin said before she decided. He looked down at his teacup rather than meet her eyes. “I can only protect what’s mine. But I still wish to include you in that, sometimes.”

“So you bought my combs?”

He gave a curt nod. “I know I’m nothing compared to him, but-“ There was a soft knock at the door of their private dining room. They fell silent again as a waiter bustled in and their food was set down. The smell set Wen Qing’s stomach growling and she had to hold herself back, too conscious that eating quickly would make her sick, and prove Jiang Wanyin’s point about the insufficient dietary needs in the Burial Mounds (she also wondered how much she could stow away to bring home for A-Yuan without sacrificing too much of her dignity). And frankly, she had better manners than to bolt her food in front of a Sect Leader, no matter how much she wanted to. It kept her occupied, keeping up the pretense of being genteel, and she didn’t have to think about how this was possibly her longest conversation with Jiang Wanyin and how Wei Wuxian would be surprised at open he was with her. She wouldn’t think about how he looked healthy enough, no signs of weakness in his spiritual energy (although she’d have to check him properly to be sure, and oh, how her fingers twitched to grasp his wrist at that!), or how he looked charmingly uncertain when the silence went on. And she definitely wouldn’t think about how pink his lips were around his chopsticks.

She had just taken a bite of course, when he finally spoke again. “It’s been six months since A-jie got married. My third-in-command- well, second-in-command, now- he knows what to do to keep things running. Now that most of the boardwalks are rebuilt, it seems all I do is paperwork and oversee lessons. Buying those combs… I felt….”

He poked at his food with his chopsticks, clearly not comfortable with the thoughts he was forming. No one Wen Qing knew was comfortable with that much truth about themselves.

‘For all we aspire to the inner peace an immortal would have, we are ill-suited for it,’ she thought, about herself and Jiang Wanyin and every cultivator they knew (except perhaps her own little brother).

“You felt needed?” she suggested. “There would be nothing wrong with that, if we were any other people.”

“If we were any other people, I would buy you much more than a couple combs.” As soon as the words were past his lips, he looked up at her with wide, startled eyes. He clearly hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

She should ignore it, might have if they were adolescents still, but the fresh food with proper spices (and no radishes at all, because even she was sick of them by now) made her feel alive and bold.

“If we were other people, I would let you,” she said. As angry as he made her mere moments before, she liked this honesty in him. She was treated to the sight of hope in his expression again- a softening of tension, the creases between his brows smoothing just a bit- before he remembered his responsibilities.

“I can’t spend too much more- time or money. My disciples will worry if I don’t catch up with them soon. But-”

“It’s fine. I also have to get back before anyone starts to worry.”

“Let me walk you back,” Jiang Wanyin said in a rush.

Wen Qing wanted to say ‘yes’. Jiang Wanyin was pleasant to look at, after all, and had warm hands. If he was a bit awkward and kept putting his foot in his mouth, well, Wen Qing wasn’t the smoothest individual either and rather liked having someone she could get snippy with. Plus, Wei Wuxian still cared about him and would want to see him. But he was also the master of a Great Sect and her family, small as it was now, had been his sworn enemy.

“I’m not sure that would be wise,” she said. “We’ve already been seen together. Someone might recognize us.”

“Only because we’re known here. If we were somewhere else, I would do it. I would buy more than a couple combs for you."

Wen Qing stopped picking at her food and looked at him. There was that expression again, the hopeful puppy one she enjoyed but so often turned away from. She hated saying ‘no’ when he made that face.

So she said ‘yes’ for a change.

‘This is terribly selfish,’ she thought as they walked. Despite saying he shouldn’t spend more money earlier, he bought a rather large amount of baozi, and a couple hair ribbons in neutral tones (he must have noticed her frayed edges, damn him for being observant), ginger and dried peppercorns for her family and chili paste that was clearly for Wei Wuxian, and a very nice kitchen knife. He tested it on his thumb for her, like an idiot, and she used just a bit of her spiritual energy to heal the cut for him, ignoring the small gasp he let out when she took his hand.

(The contact wasn’t long enough, for all it seemed to burn them both. But he took her healing easily and she has no cause to worry about the golden core’s function, and no cause to keep holding on to him.)

He pressed all these items into her hands and she didn’t protest at all. She should, a token refusal for politeness’s sake or a real refusal because this was foolish of him and she couldn’t repay this kindness. But she thought of how well her family would eat tonight, between the fresh vegetables she sent with Wen Ning and these baozi. She didn’t dare take a chance that he would accept a refusal and take it all back.

She carried the baozi in a wooden box while Jiang Wanyin walked beside her, eyes straight ahead and hand on his sword like he was ignoring the people on the street and daring them to say something, all at once. Wen Qing had seen Wen Ruohan and his sons manage it but Jiang Wanyin was too self-conscious to pull it off quite yet. But then, their circumstances were different. Jiang Wanyin’s position was still precarious in many ways, and the Wens of her youth were unquestioned masters of Qishan.

Well. Things changed. Perhaps someday, Jiang Wanyin could walk down the street with a young lady and be confident about it. Wen Qing felt a pang that that young lady would not be her.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed when they reached the edge of town and kept going. Jiang Wanyin was still beside her and it seemed, perhaps not natural but certainly pleasant to feel his stormy presence and see the violet of his robes out of the corner of her eye.

“I shouldn’t go much further,” he finally said. They were at the foot of the Burial Mounds, within sight of the dark forest and the walls.

“You let me walk all this way without thanking you?” Wen Qing set the container of baozi down and bowed. “I want to repay you for this kindness, Jiang-zongzhu. I will find a way.”

“I told you I don’t want repayment,” he said, putting his hands under her elbows to stop her bow from sinking deeper. “We are even and this changes nothing.”

“This is money you weren’t planning to spend. Money that should go back to your sect.”

“My sect is fine and that money was my own!” He stepped closer, forcing her to straighten or hold her bow with her arms pressed against his chest. She chose to straighten her back. “You don’t owe me for this. I wanted to- to check on Wei Wuxian. For A-jie’s sake.”

“And yet you won’t come to see him?”

They stood for a moment, Jiang Wanyin’s hands still on her arms, almost as close as that day in the teahouse when they’d both been chasing Wei Wuxian. She glared up at him in challenge and started to pull her arms away, but he held her fast.

“I can’t. But… I’m not ready for you to go,” he said, and he pulled. She stumbled, two jerky steps, into the circle of his arms.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” she started, but her voice trailed off. He was warm and- well, not soft, but his muscles were invitingly firm under his robes. While she contemplated the feel of his chest and the silk of his robes (both very nice and she wanted to spend an hour or two running her hands over them), he wrapped his arms around her.

She was caught. She should have been angry, alarmed. He was the leader of a Great Sect, a danger to her family, and even a normal man could be dangerous to a woman alone. But she was hardly helpless and he had spent his money on them and he didn’t feel dangerous, not now.

‘It’s just a hug,’ she told herself. It was extremely inappropriate, with them being unrelated and unmarried, and even though she was still annoyed (he was infuriating! And infuriatingly inviting), she leaned into it anyway. There was something nice about being held close, secure in the cradle of his arms, hidden from the world by his expensive silks.

“A kiss,” he said, shattering the quiet of forest. She looked up at him. It wasn’t a good angle on him, mostly cheek and sideburn and nostril, but that didn’t calm her wild thoughts at all.

He didn’t look down at her or loosen his hold, and indeed he tightened his grip until she could feel Zidian digging into her shoulder. “What if I said a kiss would make us even?”

Her first response was a resounding ‘Yes!’ Their bodies were pressed together, his arms holding her tight, and she could see his lips, tempting and moist where he licked them in nervousness. A kiss seemed like a natural extension of their embrace.

But she had never traded affection for anything. Not goods, not money, not position, not even safety for her family. ‘I’m not that kind of woman,’ she wanted to say, needed him to know.

She could be, though, if it meant having Jiang Wanyin’s lips on her.

But she took too long thinking about it, and he loosened his hold and started to pull away. “Nevermind,” he snapped. “It was just a whim. I’m not so desperate that I can’t get a woman without bribing her with gifts!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Wen Qing said as she grabbed his sleeve. “And I’m not the sort of woman who can be bribed with gifts. Make no mistake about that! When I kiss you, it will be-.”

She was cut off by the crash of his lips against hers. One of his hands grabbed her arm. As if she would try to escape! She let him deepen the kiss, all her hesitation fleeing in her eagerness to have him. She put one arm about his shoulders, and he slipped his other arm around her waist, still holding tight with his other hand as he kissed her.

He tasted of the tea they’d had with their meal, and he held her too tightly and kissed like he was trying to devour her, all tooth and searching tongue. She should have shook him off, demanded he be more gentlemanly.

Instead, she said, “Don’t bite,” nearly breathless. She let him back her against a tree and press himself to her body, and the one harsh kiss softened and became many.

These kisses were not as frantic, but were still demanding, deep and wet. His breath was burning hot against her skin, his body firm under her hands. He had one thigh between her legs and she could feel everything. These kisses? These, she wanted more of.

Why shouldn’t she have this? What good was maintaining her virtue? Making a good marriage would never happen now, and she no longer needed to keep herself chaste as a bargaining chip for her family.

Ah, but he looked down on her family, didn’t he? Would she have any self-respect left if she let Jiang Wanyin touch her? She hoped so, hoped that his small kindness today meant that he wasn’t so bitter.

But did she have any right to touch him, knowing what she did about his golden core?

She flinched, and he loosened his hold on her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking away from her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I know you’re a respectable lady.”

“I… Even respectable ladies have wants,” she confessed. “I just… I have to get back soon. And this isn’t the sort of thing I want to do under a dead tree.”

Hope blossomed in his face, a smile on his kiss-dark lips, and he touched her cheek with more gentleness than he’d shown since before the war. “Agreed. And… I liked spending the afternoon with you, Wen-guniang. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.” His tone suggested that had been a possibility, and she found she didn’t want that, either.

She returned to the settlement shortly after, with the box of baozi and an agreement to meet again in ten days. Wen Ning leapt to his feet with a happy “Jie!” when he saw her. Her family gathered around her all talking at once.

“Qing-guniang, what’s all this?”

“I got good deals on some things,” she started to explain, and because the truth was easier than another lie she admitted, “Wei Wuxian’s martial brother sent some, but be quiet about it if you’re in town. He still can’t be known to help us.”

Wei Wuxian’s head peeked over the others’ shoulders as he joined them, drawn out of his cave by the commotion. “Jiang Cheng? Really? What did you say to him to get him to send something over?!”

Wen Qing just smiled at him, and started distributing her acquisitions.

~Notes~

So yeah, at the beginning I mentioned this had a note on the fic concepts, so here it is. Be grateful it's at the end; it was at the beginning at one point.  

This has been kicking around my harddrive for a while in various drafts and levels of completion, and I decided to just wrap it up and start posting it. Right now, I estimate it at 4 chapters. Please do not expect the chapters to be a consistent length; they're looking to be very different.

The concept is to let Wen Qing be the one being taken care of for a change, and to let Jiang Cheng spoil someone he cares about (I believe my initial thought was something like "Jiang Cheng wants to be Wen Qing's sugar daddy but he is not daddy enough at this point").

And I love and firmly believe that Jiang Cheng would go down on a partner and enjoy it, I don't think he could have started out that way. He's in essence a spoiled rich kid with no experience with women, he's going to start off as a stumbling, selfish lover. He has to learn about possibilities, and that's going to involve some fumbling first. And I also love confident and commanding-in-the-bedroom Wen Qing but I don't think she would have much opportunity for that experience in canon. I also very much want Jiang Cheng to support Wei Wuxian in secret ('cause during my first Untamed watching, I thought he was sneaking Wei Wuxian supplies or money during the Burial Mounds exile), for Wen Qing to follow-up on her miraculous and devastating secret surgery (like seriously, she never tried to sense his qi or anything after, not once?! And then some posts floated by my Tumblr dash- iirc, winepresswrath is a ringleader but you can find them kicking around i’m sure- that I was not the only one who thought things like this and I knew I had to do it, at least a little), and for Jiang Cheng to dress Wen Qing up. So I mulled those thoughts for a bit and eventually a couple snippets came to me, and I attempted to make them into a story.

And then I was an idiot and challenged myself to 1) not use any scientific or 'vulgar' terminology in the sex scenes but also not use too much purple prose, no Jiang sect color puns intended at this time, and 2) end it so that the story is, in some way, canon compliant. This is a side moment, something Wei Wuxian knows nothing about and therefore canon theoretically continues uninterrupted. Of course, if you prefer a future where Wen Qing develops the sexual confidence we all know she has in her and rides Jiang Cheng to a different and possibly better fate, please think of that instead (and wish me luck on the idea I had for a canon-divergence sequel).

Next Chapter

[ericsonclan]

The Family Potato

Summary: AJ decides to surprise Clementine and Louis by adding to the carving on the piano.

Word Count: 3076

Read on AO3:

Many thanks to @bluebutterfly1​ for helping inspire this fic!

AJ wandered down the hallway that led to the music room. His fingertips trailed on the side of the wall as he turned around the corner. Soon he was in front of the music room doors and with a heavy push AJ opened the doors. His mind was pulled back to the first day he was brought here. AJ remembered how scared he was and how much he wanted to know where Clementine was. His mind and heart were out of control until Louis began to play the piano.

AJ walked forward into the music room and towards the piano. He had never heard the sound of a piano before that day. It had startled him at first, firstly because it was so loud and he had always been taught that loud sounds were bad and secondly because even though it was loud the sounds it made were so pretty. AJ could recall how enraptured he was by the piano and in awe that Louis had made those sounds come to life. He remembered the friendly smile that Louis gave and that he’d treated AJ more as an equal than he thought he would.

Now years had passed and what started off as an acquaintanceship had morphed and blossomed into something more. Louis had become more than a friend or even a best friend. He had become like AJ’s dad. No, that wasn’t quite right. Louis was his dad now. That had become true the moment that Louis and Clementine had gotten married. AJ still wasn’t sure why the tradition was so important. He remembered them telling him that it meant that they would stay together forever. That they would all be a family. And although AJ already thought that was true, now that Clementine and Louis were married it made it doubly true.

AJ stopped in front of the piano, his eyes traveling over to the carved heart which held Clementine and Louis’ initials. It was a sign of their love for each other, that's what Clementine had told AJ the first time he had spotted it. AJ had already guessed that though thanks to the heart inside the fishing shack. Although that one was different now, a love that was no more. A love that had ended forever on the night of that bridge.

But as for the piano heart… AJ stared at the carving. Because Louis and Clementine were still together and alive and they were married, that had to make this carving mean even more, right? AJ shook his head. All of this was so confusing. But he didn’t need to focus on that. He had come here with a goal in mind. AJ planned to surprise Clementine and Louis and show that he wanted the three of them to be a forever family.

AJ hopped onto the piano stool and kicked his feet lazily as he took out his knife. Everyone was busy right now. Prisha was trying to get some lesson plans done with Aasim for their educational book club. They’d said they wanted to help everyone strengthen their reading skills, not only so they all could enjoy books but also to gain the knowledge they had in the books that remained at Ericson. Ruby was busy with Clementine in the greenhouse while Violet was on watchduty and Willy was helping out Omar with meal prep. It was the perfect time to work on his surprise.

AJ smiled to himself as he lifted his knife and carefully placed the blade below the set of initials. With a small grunt he began to carve his own initials. His eyes were laser focused; soon he’d finished up the A and moved on to the J. It ended up being a bit crooked and looked sorta funky but still, AJ was proud of his handiwork. Tucked away his knife with a grin, he sprinted off to find Clementine and Louis. He couldn't wait to show them.

“Okay, are your eyes closed?” AJ looked back as he held onto one of Clementine’s hands and one of Louis’.

“They’re closed, goofball. Isn’t that right, Louis?” Clementine moved her head over in the direction of Louis, her eyes firmly shut.

“That's right, my darling,” Louis gave his classic, charismatic smile as his eyes remained closed.

AJ beamed at that and led the two through the doors then kept going until they were standing right in front of the piano. “Okay,” AJ scampered over right by the carving and took a deep breath. “Open your eyes!”

Clementine and Louis listened and opened their eyes at the same time.

“Ta-da!” AJ held out his arms and displayed the carving.

Both Louis and Clementine blinked for a few seconds before they caught sight of the change to the carving. There, underneath the C + L   now stood the initials AJ that were slightly crooked.

AJ smiled up at Clementine and Louis but his smile immediately faded when he saw that neither of them were reacting to this in the way he thought they would. Both of them were frozen in place, their emotions hard to read. “Did I do a bad?” His eyes stared at the ground, too worried to look up at the pair.

“Did you do bad? AJ, no, this-” Clementine felt her voice get caught in her throat and watched as Louis silently walked forward. His fingers gently brushed against the carving.

“You did this?” Louis looked over at AJ who gave a nervous nod.

His nervousness spiked when he saw tears in Louis’ eyes. Was he mad AJ had drawn on his piano? But no, these weren’t normal sad tears. Instead Louis looked thoughtful.

“A family,” Louis whispered. “You made this even better, little man,” He smiled warmly at AJ before kneeling down and wrapping him in a hug. Louis softly nuzzled his face against AJ’s and gave a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“So, you’re not mad?” AJ pulled back and glanced at Louis then over at Clementine.

“Mad? No, AJ, we’re surprised,” Clementine walked over and knelt beside Louis then took his hand in her own. “Surprised and happy.”

AJ’s eyes shone with pride and joy at those words and he did a happy little dance before tackling both Louis and Clementine in a hug. “I did good!”

“You did!” Louis sniffled as tears of pure happiness slipped down his face and he tightened the hug, his eyes looking over at Clementine to see that she was tearing up as well. “Now the potato has become a family potato.”

Clementine rolled her eyes goodnaturedly at that, causing Louis to laugh. AJ, on the other hand, seemed lost.

“A family potato?” AJ’s nose scrunched in confusion.

“I’ll explain later, kiddo,” Clementine replied and AJ gave a short nod before looking back over at the carving. His heart felt a soft warmth to it as he looked at it - at the carving of his forever family.

AJ’s eyes stared at the carving, his mind harkening back to that day, now years ago. The soft lilt of piano music drew away his attention as his little sister Maisy who sat beside him on the piano bench continued to practice a new song. Each time she messed up on a part of the song she’d frown, causing her freckles to get lost as her nose scrunched up. But she never gave up on practicing and kept going, trying her hardest to play as beautifully as her father.

“Play?” Juliet’s voice made AJ look down to his youngest sibling who sat on his lap.

“You wanna play a game outside?” AJ smiled at Juliet who shook her head.

“No, you play,” Juliet took one of AJ’s hands and guided it over to the piano.

“Not now, Juliet,” AJ moved his hand away and saw the sadness in his little sister’s eyes. “It’s Maisy’s turn right now,” he explained and Juliet reluctantly gave a small nod.

“You can have a turn,” Maisy’s joyful playing stopped and she looked over at her older brother.

“Oh, umm...” AJ fidgeted with his black leather jacket. “I’m no good.”

“Dad always says practice makes perfect! I wanna hear you play!” Maisy bounced on the piano bench.

“Play! Play!” Juliet chimed in as held onto one of AJ’s sleeves.

AJ looked between his two sisters then gave a small sigh. “Okay,” His smile grew as he heard Maisy and Juliet cheer at the confirmation. Slowly AJ placed his hands on the piano keys and began to play the beginning notes to a song that he had asked Louis to teach him a while ago. The notes to the song “Shelter” came to life and started to fill the room when suddenly AJ missed a key then added the wrong note to the song. His heart dropped a bit; he was butchering Louis’ work. “Shit!” AJ let his face fall for a second before it hit him what he had just said in front of his siblings. “I mean shoot!”

“You said a bad word! I’m totally telling Mom and Dad!” Maisy had a mischievous smile then turned to play the piano again, in part to flex her skills compared to her older brother. Juliet held one of AJ’s hands and looked up at him then focused on Maisy’s piano playing.

Music had always been something that both Maisy and Juliet enjoyed. It was something that AJ shared in common with them although he could already tell that Maisy would become way better at piano playing than him. She’d become just like their dad in that regard. AJ enjoyed the music as his arms wrapped around Juliet, pulling her closer against his red Ericson shirt. AJ let himself live in the moment and enjoy the time with two of his siblings. Then suddenly his eyes trailed back over to the carving. Slowly he reached out one of his hands and let his fingertips brush against the wood. His eyes studied the carving for a moment before his mind was struck with an idea. This carving had been temporarily complete but now with Maisy, Lee Kenny and Juliet around it was no longer a family potato like Louis had called it all those years ago. AJ wanted to fix that.

“Maisy?” AJ’s voice made Maisy stop her playing and look up at her older brother. “Could you go and find Lee Kenny? There’s something important we gotta do but don’t tell Clem or Louis. This is a scallion secret between siblings.” AJ held out his pinky and Maisy beamed as she wrapped her pinky around her sibling’s.

“A scallion secret!” Maisy hopped off of the piano bench and started to scamper out of the room in search of her younger brother.

AJ watched in amusement for a second then looked down at Juliet. “How about you play us some music while we wait?” AJ’s suggestion was met by a big smile from Juliet and her tiny fingers eagerly sprawled over the piano keys.

“Don’t worry, Auntie Vi! I’ll guide you!” Lee Kenny looked up at Violet with a huge smile as he held both of her hands. His feet rested on top of hers as he faced her, his smile never leaving his face.

Violet gave a soft chuckle and started to walk forward through the courtyard. “Okay, I believe in you,” Her words made Lee Kenny’s eyes shine before they set with determination. Glancing back every few seconds to make sure they didn’t run into anything, he successfully guided the two of them around a picnic bench where Prisha was sitting with Savannah who was focused on braiding Prisha’s hair.

“You’re quite skilled at this,” Prisha smiled back at Savannah who beamed at the praise.

“Thanks! Mama showed me how!” Savannah continued to braid Prisha’s hair while sticking small flowers in it. Prisha hummed happily as her hair was braided, her eyes looking around the courtyard before finding Violet’s. The two shared a loving smile for a moment then quickly returned their attention to their respective niece and nephew. Violet laughed as she struggled to move forward even with the help of Lee Kenny’s encouraging words.

“We’re doing it! Look, Auntie Violet!” Lee Kenny smiled brightly up at Violet who returned the smile.

“Yeah, we make a pretty good team,” Violet started to move forward again then noticed Maisy barreling out of the admin building. The rambunctious kid moved past Zachariah who was doing leaf rubbings with Aasim and nearly ran into Willy who was on his way to check on Allison to see if she needed anything.

“Oops! Sorry!” Maisy called out to Willy who waved dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it!” Willy smiled then went off to the dorms.

Maisy’s attention soon turned back to her little brother and she pulled excitedly on his arm. “AJ needs us! It’s important!”

“But Auntie Vi needs me!” Lee Kenny’s eyes turned sad as he looked over at Violet then at his older sister.

“It's a scallion secret though!” Maisy whined as she yanked on Lee Kenny’s arm.

“You can go for a bit. We can do this later,” Violet smiled down softly at Lee Kenny who gave a small nod. He turned and began to run towards the admin building when he picked up on the fact that Maisy wasn’t beside him. Turning around, he saw that Maisy had convinced Violet to play the same game with her but only up to the point of the admin building.

“That’s not fair!” Lee Kenny pouted.

Maisy stuck out her tongue at her brother as Violet walked them forward, Maisy’s feet on top of hers. “Is too!”

“Is not!” Lee Kenny shot back. The two kept bickering until they reached the steps of the admin building.

“Guys!” Violet’s voice made them quiet down. “We’re here. No more fighting because then I might not play the game with either of you.”

That made the pair of siblings grow quiet and after promising not to argue anymore Maisy grabbed Lee Kenny’s arm and was off like a shot to the music room.

It only took them a minute to get there. Upon entering they heard the disjointed notes of the piano and saw that Juliet was trying her best to play the instrument while AJ gave instruction.

Hearing his siblings’ footsteps, AJ glanced up with a smile. “Good job, Maisy.” AJ’s praise made Maisy smirk as she strode forward, still holding Lee Kenny’s hand. “Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do..”

“Come on, Dad, hurry up!” Maisy pulled on Louis’ arm desperately.

“Okay, okay, slow down, missy!” Louis chuckled as he stumbled around to try and keep up with his daughter.

Clementine laughed beside him as she held Lee Kenny in her arms who was pulling on her jacket sleeve, trying to get her to walk faster too. “Must be quite the surprise, huh?” She smiled at her son who gave a big nod.

“It's the best! But I can’t share it yet,” Lee Kenny hid his face so he wouldn’t spill the secret surprise.

Clementine ruffled her son’s hair affectionately then placed a kiss on his forehead before she kept walking.

Soon the pair was brought into the music room where AJ was standing, wearing his red Ericson shirt with the number forty four on it, hidden a bit thanks to his black leather jacket that was still a tad too long on him. Juliet was in her brother’s arms, happily clinging onto his jacket. Lee Kenny immediately squirmed out of Clementine’s arms and ran over along with Maisy towards where their other siblings stood.

“On three,” AJ instructed. “One, two... three!” On the final number he and his siblings held out one or both of their hands and did jazz hands towards the carving.

“Ta-da!” Maisy and Lee Kenny yelled at the same time.

Louis and Clementine’s eyes wandered over towards the carving and they felt their hearts melt. There were new initials added to the heart carving. In the right portion of the heart were an M , LK , and J . The sight made tears prick both parents’ eyes.

“We carved them ourselves!” Maisy boasted proudly, her hands on her hips.

“I had my hand on the handle of the knife for each one,” AJ added, reassuring Clementine and Louis who were too overwhelmed by the surprise and pure joy that had come with it to think of weapon safety.

“Now the family potato is complete!” Lee Kenny shot out his hands with a smile while Juliet clapped and giggled.

“Yeah,” Louis swallowed roughly as tears slipped down his face. He never thought a day like this would come. Not only had he met the love of his life and been lucky enough to marry her but now he had kids of his own, kids who he loved with his whole heart. To see the carving that he had started all those years ago, a carving that he had been too nervous to add a heart to himself be filled with the initials of his family... His heart was filled with an indescribable feeling. Joy, happiness, bliss, none of them seemed to encapsulate what he was feeling. Walking over to Clementine, Louis wrapped his arms around her shoulders and swayed back and forth. “It really is complete now,”

“Yeah, our little family potato,” Clementine held onto Louis’ arms for a moment then tilted her head back to kiss his jaw. The romantic gesture made Louis’ heart skip a beat and he leaned forward, capturing his wife’s lips in a tender kiss.

After a moment their attention turned back to their kids who were still excited about the surprise. Maisy bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet while Lee Kenny reached out and held onto the sleeve of AJ’s jacket. AJ smiled and leaned over toward his little brother, whispering that Clementine and Louis were happy.

“Do you love it?” Maisy asked somewhat nervously.

“Of course!” Clementine knelt down and swept Maisy up into a hug. Louis immediately followed her, picking up Lee Kenny and hugging him close before wrapping the rest of his family in the hug. The six of them held onto the hug, feeling the happiness and joy melt their hearts as they let a single truth resonate within them: that this family was forever and that no matter what they would always love each other. The carving on the piano stood as a testament to that.

[wewontstaydead]

Burtonverse Headcanons

Harvey's suits are made from some of the finest water-resistant material available in 1989, which makes them e x p e n s i v e

Still in law school ten years prior, working nights as a cook in a diner and spending weekends winning boxing championships(edited)

Although he generally dislikes facial hair and does his best to shave at least every other day if not daily, he has a striking and well-tended mustache that's become his look

He keeps his liquor cabinet well stocked with scotch and has a number of different glasses available, highball and lowball in particular(edited)

He's got more than one nickname, and the one used depends on whether you like him or you don't; his favorite is Gotham's White Knight

Wasn't a member of any gangs in Gotham, but still mostly lived on the street as he was raised an orphan; he has an intensity that means most people won't mess with him

He is more than happy to offer favors for favors

Known as a ladies man and possibly even a womanizer; often seen at public events with a new woman on his arm, sometimes leaving with an additional one

This was not previously the case - Gilda had been the apple of his eye until she left

Often plays his luck with his female associates, mostly for fun but also to see if he can; still respects others' relationship status in the long run but will still flirt anyway

Smokes cigars like a chimney and almost always has one in hand(edited)

Willing to work under the table with private investigators, photographers, and other criminal sources to gather information needed to take out the big names - more than willing to make a deal, but not afraid to blackmail if needed

Has blackout curtains in his bedroom in case he's had to work on a case overnight; on the Joker case, he was a workaholic, in and out of the house and his office at all times of night, his sleep was restless and wakeful, he usually ate in his office and ignored calls from Gilda intending to call her back later

She left sometime between a Monday and a Thursday; she had told him she would support him so long as he didn't leave her behind, and that was a promised he'd made as part of their wedding pact(edited)

In some circles, he's known as Two-Face, and he doesn't think that's a fair moniker in Gotham City - no matter your intentions, or how strict your moral compass, everything there is grey

Disregard for the influential families in town, Cobblepots, Sionises, Elliots; one exception was the Waynes, at least before Bruce's parents were murdered - they seemed to be genuinely good people who wanted what was best for the city. Their murder had been the turning point, and people started flocking to men like Carl Grissom for help

Old news that Jack Napier had killed the Waynes, but the death of Grissom at the hands of the Joker prevented him from gathering the evidence needed to prove it was a targeted assassination; the death of the Joker had left little reason to keep digging through the boxes of evidence raided from Grissom's office

Considers himself a gentleman through and through and will rarely say a word against a woman unless it's entirely necessary

Harvey knows what he's good at and is willing to work on expanding his repertoire, but he also recognizes that he can't do everything himself; that's part of the reason he's willing to hire/blackmail someone like Selina to do some dirty work for him, because he can't slink his way through vents and rafters like she can

After law school but prior to running for District Attorney, Harvey had run a firm partnered with John Bernstein, and the two had been inseparable for a time; Bernstein actually ran against him for the DA spot, claimed to know a lot of things about Harvey that the public didn't, including that Harvey had invested money in a number of buildings and apartment complexes in the older parts of town that needed some work; on paper, that work had been done; Harvey turned those accusations around on Bernstein and eventually won the DA spot

Wickedly proud of his job and often vengeful when the bad guys go to his enemies for help instead of trying to work something out with him

Still wears his wedding ring occasionally in private, but most of the time has removed it

Half is work is done via the slow ass dot matrix printer on his computer, half is done on the typewriter he keeps in one corner of his office

No siblings, no cousins, no real friends besides Bruce Wayne and doesn't talk to him much; still on decent terms with Gilda, talks with her over the phone, but it's rare to see her in person

Tries to make full use of a resource and wring it dry before pulling in someone or something else - some call him a cheapskate, but he doesn't like throwing money at problems if he doesn't have to

Growing up on the streets, he was used to scraping by with whatever coat or blanket he could find and managed to skirt the edges of frostbite most of the time

Has grown quite used to living more above his means; Gilda had enjoyed it as well and helped him develop the majority of his vices

Dislikes the Mayor and wants to oust him, but doesn't want the job for himself

[milky-pillow]

Song: Then (B.I) / DEMO.1 (131) Characters: Yamada Ichiro, Yamada Jiro, Yamada Saburo, Reader Relationship(s): Yamada Ichiro/Reader

originally posted on ao3 // song lyrics used: here

“I guess I must live on even though you aren’t by my side. Or was it me who wasn’t by your side first?”

You can’t remember the last time you truly smiled. The sunlight beams through the windows, hitting your face. Since you’ve parted with Ichiro, you have filled your life with distractions. Anything that can get your mind off of him worked. You roll off your bed and stretch, letting the sun warm your body. To block any sadness from entering your soul, you decide to go out to eat breakfast.

“A cafe… pancakes maybe? Ooo, and a cup of coffee or something,” you murmur to yourself, feeling your hunger grow by the minute.

Though it’s early, the streets of Ikebukuro are bustling with people. Most people seem to be going to work, their formal clothing making you stick out like a sore thumb.

Quickly ordering your food, you take a seat near a window-- your usual seat. People-watching is calming to you. Their lives seem to be so different from yours and it is the only thing that makes you feel unique. You like to guess what kind of jobs people were making their way towards as they pass. Judging their outfits and comparing it to your own is also another pastime.

“Here’s your order,” a worker comes by and places your drink and food on your table with a smile. Your stomach growls at your thought at finally eating.

You nod to them, “thank you.”

Leaving you be, you spend your time between scrolling your phone, eating, and observing people. Before you know it, an hour passed. Already having paid for your food, you bring your empty plate and glass by the counter and leave to continue your day.

“And I know my words must seem like excuses, but it was never my intention to hurt you.”

“Ichiro, I have my own life to live! Don’t you have your brothers to look out for?” you lashed at Ichiro.

His eyes seemed to flash with anger-- a look you’ve never seen before, “am I not allowed to care for you?”

A pang in your heart. Misunderstanding, yet you couldn’t get yourself to say anything. He could care, but you felt it was getting out of hand. Were you overthinking it? No way. You couldn’t be.

“I never said you couldn’t. Don’t twist my words,” you folded your arms with a huff, “plus, why do you care about me so much now? I thought you were too busy ‘preparing for rap battles’ or whatever. Sometimes it seems like you care more about that stupid hypnosis mic of yours than you care about me!”

“That’s not true Y/n, and you know it! If you had a problem with that, why did you just tell me?”

“You know that’s not what this is about. Don’t change the subject like that.”

You couldn’t believe you were arguing in his home. Not wanting his brothers to see, you made your way towards the door, hoping Ichiro would follow.

“Where are you going now? The bar? Someone else?” His questions made you stop all movement.

Tears filled your eyes as you dropped your head to the ground, “so that’s how you see me? Ichiro, I don’t want to argue here. We can’t have your brothers hearing this; they don’t deserve to hear this.”

As if someone flipped a switch, his tone softened, “look, Y/n… you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It definitely seemed like it though. You know what? Just leave me alone. I can’t handle this right now,” the cracking in your voice gave away your sadness. Ichiro took a step towards you, but you stopped him, “if you cared, you’d give me time. Time: that’s all I ask of you.”

Unable to look at him, you could only listen to his response, “okay, if that’s what you want. Just… know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Even if I never learn to love for the rest of my life, if we ever meet again for as long as I live, I promise to keep my loyalty then.”

Looking at your watch, you wait by the gate for Jiro. Compared to Saburo, Jiro sometimes has you tutor him. Every Wednesday is what you both agreed on. Since then, you dread Wednesdays. It means you have to go into their home. The same home that you and Ichiro argued in. You are lucky enough that Ichiro is usually out, but when he’s around you do your best to avoid talking to him at all costs.

“Did I make you wait long?” Jiro runs over to you, clearly out of breath.

You shake your head, “no. I just got here a few minutes ago, and waiting doesn’t hurt.”

Jiro makes small talk while you head over to his house, boasting about something amazing Ichiro has done earlier that week. While it tends to go in one ear and out the other, he says something interesting: “he doesn’t want me to tell you, but he saw you while you were shopping over the day. He told Saburo and I that he was too nervous to talk to you. Nervous! Brother Ichiro is never like that!”

You are taken aback by what Jiro said, “he was? He shouldn’t have to feel that way, that’s so unlike him.”

Jiro laughs, agreeing with your statement as you both enter his living room and get started on tutoring.

“How did you get that?” Jiro will ask every once in a while on a math problem. As usual, you’ll walk him through each step until he understands the concept.

Every once in a while Saburo will pop in to pick on his older brother, or you’ll take breaks for snacks, but for the most part, you were incredibly focused on helping Jiro.

“I woke up from a deep dream, but was never able to tell you that you were the reason I felt like I was living.”

The day after your dispute with Ichiro, you woke up in a cold sweat. Unable to recall anything that happened the previous night, you check your phone for the time.

12:45 pm. You overslept. You were lucky to not have any plans that day or you would’ve been screwed.

You sat up in disbelief when remembering your argument with Ichiro. “That really happened,” you told yourself. Part of you wanted to reach out to him, but you couldn’t get yourself to. While you remembered the hurtful words exchanged, you weren’t able to figure out what started the situation in the first place.

“He really thought I had another destination when leaving,” you feel your cheeks flare. Were you angry? Or maybe embarrassed? What made him think that in the first place?

You fall back onto your bed, covering your face with a pillow, tears slowly spreading and soiling your clean rectangular mold of fluff. What to do now? The person you deemed your other half seems to have turned into something else.

“Time?” you wept, “Is that really what I need?” Maybe reconciliation is what you needed, but you couldn’t dare to face him properly. If anything, you believed he needed to apologize and face the problem first. But how could he if he obeyed your wish for time apart? You didn’t dare think aloud, fearing that the worst would only come out of it.

It didn’t help that you would still have to see him every now and then. While twice or three times a week wasn’t harmful, you felt yourself becoming uneasy at the thought of seeing him. Either way, you had to get over it, there’s no avoiding it. You knew this, but you found it hard to accept it.

For the next hour, you reminded yourself of the happy memories the two of you had made together: the theme park visits, the cafe dates, the rap practices. Even the bittersweet memories of your winter walks and deep eye-opening discussions had you yearning for him.

It’s only been a day, it’s felt like a lifetime.

“I’m hoping this isn’t the end‒ I must see you soon.”

“I’m back!” Ichiro announces, entering the Ikebukuro home, unaware of your presence.

The two younger brothers run to the door to greet him while you sit in silence. Usually you’re able to fully avoid him, but there are times like this where he comes home earlier than expected.

“Ichiro! I got a one-hundred on my exam today!” Saburo beams to his eldest brother.

Jiro gets in front of Ichiro and excitedly announces, “I’m finally passing one of my classes thanks to Y/n!”

Pointing to you, his eyes immediately make their way to you. You avoid his gaze, sheepishly rubbing your neck.

“It’s nothing really,” you let out a nervous laugh, “Jiro just needed a push in the right direction is all.”

Ichiro makes his way over to you to eye you better, “thank you, Y/n. But have you been taking care of yourself? You look… tired. Have you been getting enough rest? You know you have to look after yourself.”

You look up at him, revealing your eye bags. He didn’t even have to see your face to recognize your exhaustion? A warm feeling spread through your body at the thought of him caring, but you didn’t let it get to your head.

“I- I do. It was just one of those nights where I didn’t get enough rest, I guess,” you lie with a tired smile. Sweat rolls down the side of your face and you’re unsure whether it’s from feeling unwell or from anxiousness.

“Y/n, are you sure?” Ichiro turns to his younger siblings, “Did you guys notice this?” They look at each other before shaking their heads.

“Look, Ichiro, I’m fine. I am taking care of myself. I even took a walk today!”

“Was that really it? Or was it because you picked up my brother from school?”

“No, really! I walked to that one cafe in the city that I go to all the time for breakfast today. Again, Ichiro, don’t worry about me.”

As much as you wanted to tell him to hop off you, you couldn’t get yourself to, so you let him continue to interrogate you and your well-being. Though, it wasn’t like you’d tell him the truth anyways.

“We left the memory of time losing its breath on the other side; But we brought back to reality the cherished memories we made so sadly, yet beautifully and now we must rewrite our story that we never wanted to bring to an end.”

There was a specific time that you recalled that day where you have never felt happier by Ichiro’s side. You two made a spontaneous trip to the seaside for the weekend. While you claimed it was to get away from the city, it was really to spend more time together. Luckily Jiro and Saburo were okay with being without Ichiro for those two days or you would’ve had to take them with you guys.

When you both arrived at the hotel, you raced each other to the hotel room. The winner got to decide what to do first and with so much to do, both of you wanted the upper hand on how to start the weekend that awaited the both of you.

Much to your surprise, you won with Ichiro being a few steps behind you. Letting out a victorious cheer, you open the door to the room you will be staying in. While you and Ichuro had organized your belongings, you decided to take a stroll by the beach first.

“The beach? Did you want to get a tan or build a sandcastle or something?” Ichiro laughed.

You shook your head, “not really, I just wanted to relax with a walk before we get into the heavy stuff, you know? Take it as a warm up for all the moving we’ll be doing later.” In all honesty, you just wanted to walk along the foreshore and mess around with him, but you didn’t want to sound like a kid. Building a sandcastle did pique your interest as his mentioning of it, so maybe you’ll consider it.

You took your bathing suit out from your suitcase along with some light clothing, going to the bathroom to change into them. When you came out, Ichiro had decided to change while waiting, wearing a different outfit than he was previously.

“Ready for the best trip ever?” Ichiro extended his hand for you to take. From the moment you took his hand till the end of the weekend, you had experienced such happiness that you knew you’d never get such an experience again.

“I dream a sad dream every night. I dance within the loss. Who will become my light? Will you ever extend your hand to me?”

“Y/n, you’re gonna stay for dinner, right?” Saburo gives you an innocent smile, but you know he’s doing it on purpose.

You hesitate, and before you can decline, Jiro pipes in, “take it as a thanks for all the tutoring!”

Reluctantly agreeing, you end up sitting with them to eat dinner. Jiro and Saburo brag to Ichiro about random things they did recently. All you do is listen and eat silently. The warmth of the food adds to the flavor of the food. You begin to list random ingredients that could be in the meal to busy yourself.

“So,” Saburo changes the subject, “how come you and Ichiro don’t hang out as much anymore?”

You look up at him in surprise, nearly choking on your food, “well, uh…”

“Saburo, don’t just ask questions like that,” Ichiro scolds him.

“No, it’s okay. I owe an explanation anyways,” you take another bite of the dinner before explaining, “I just needed some time alone. I thought it would help me to do something like that. I mean, I’ve seen loads of people do it and they come back a new and improved person, you know? Well, clearly that didn’t work out so well.”

The air seems to have thickened, but you laugh it off and wave your hands to dismiss your statement.

“Um, Y/n,” Ichiro whispers your name so his brothers don’t take notice, “could we talk after dinner?”

You nod, growing nervous. Because of that, you rush to eat your food before it gets to a point where you can’t eat anymore. The two younger brothers watch in both astonishment and confusion, but don’t ask any questions.

After dinner, Saburo and Jiro go back to their rooms to prepare for bed. With you and Ichiro sitting together, alone, Ichiro struggles to find where to start.

“How much longer do you plan on making yourself suffer?”

Out of anything he could have said, you weren’t expecting that.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrug and attempt to play it off.

“I know you, Y/n. Why are you trying so hard to avoid me anyways? Was it because of that argument from before? That was months ago!”

“I- look. I didn’t want you babying me like you do with your brothers, okay? I’m not your sibling. I’m my own person. You pestered me so much about taking care of myself that I was overwhelmed I guess. I don’t even know. But after that night everything went downhill.”

“I didn’t know,” Ichiro looks down at his feet, “but was it really just that? It seemed like there was more bothering you that night.”

“Well,” you debate on whether or not to tell him, but decide it’s for the best that he knows, “you kind of assumed I was going to mess around when I was about to leave.”

“But I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Maybe you didn’t, but it sticks. Either way, I guess I was being too sensitive that night,” you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, “I’m sorry Ichiro. I’m so sorry.”

“Y/n, it’s okay,” he pulls your hands away and looks into your eyes with a soft expression. He pulls you into a hug as you begin to cry, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pestered you too much. I’ll be sure to not annoy you like that, but it just happens sometimes.”

You laugh, “that’s fine, as long as it’s not about every little thing I do. I forgive you.”

After the end of that conversation, you both decide to catch up on what happened over the past few months. The night ended up being full of laughter and happiness-- something you weren’t expecting to experience so soon.

END.

[rokutouxei]

the other van gogh

part 4 of: atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theodorus van gogh / mc, theo & vincent | gen | 2403 | [ao3 in bio]

spoiler warning: this fic references scenes from theo’s main route chapters 3, 8, and 18.

You’d heard about Theo before you’d gone to the mansion.

Not by name, no, not by history either. You’d gone to museums with Vincent’s paintings and had read a few descriptions of historical context here and there but for the most part you had heard about his brother with a peculiar moniker.

The Other van Gogh.

When you’d met him that night at the mansion, the roots of guilt began to implant itself into your heart. And with every second you spent with Theo afterwards, knee-deep in his work, the guilt had birthed in its wake curiosity—as to why he was known for his brother, and not for whatever he had done on his own.

Why Arthur would not stop with his brother-complex jokes. Why everyone thought this was normal. Why no one asked questions—why this was just fact.

What did they know that you didn’t? What made Vincent mean so much to Theo to begin with?

Of course, the kind of brotherly connection and support that siblings do have isn’t really news to you, but you could see at a glance that this was different. That they weren’t just brothers, they were partners, and it seemed that Theo derived so much meaning in his life from Vincent’s existence, like he couldn’t hold himself up if not for his older brother.

But why?

If there is anything the passing of time has taught to its scholars, whether they are the ones spending unending hours and days and years in libraries, cooped up, comparing texts from each other, extracting and analysing and cross-referencing, or if they are the ones who are constantly out on the field, making notes, remembering everything, writing everything down to memory—it is that nothing, nothing, can ever truly be captured in its full historical detail. There are always things that will be missed, overlooked, misunderstood, things that no amount of work on history will ever be able to recover.

That is the weakness of the human perspective. Not everyone will write these histories, and there will be many, many experiences that will never be known.

Theo’s, perhaps, is included in those.

You don’t have much knowledge in history to begin with, but the guilt of not having recognized that first night in the banquet continued to gnaw at you, worsening now that you’re spending even more time with him compared to everyone else, and yet you still feel like you knew even less than you started with.

You have an argument, but even to you, it is weak: that the rest of them are pretty  much names you would not have been able to escape in the 21st century educational system. Isaac Newton, of course, the discoverer of gravity. Jean d’Arc, the great martyr. Leonardo da Vinci, with his paintings and sculptures. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose songs you started humming in childhood. William Shakespeare, sometimes called the greatest writer in the English language. Napoleon Bonaparte, perhaps one of the greatest military commanders in history. Arthur Conan Doyle, the author of the famous Sherlock Holmes. And even Dazai Osamu is pretty recognized as an author too, as far as you knew. And Vincent van Gogh—of course, one of the most renowned artists in the world.

But Theo?

While Vincent was a myth, Theo remained largely untold.

Look, you weren’t a history scholar, and considering your work back in the 21st century, this kind of knowledge was and is entirely out of your radius of practical information. You really didn’t have much reason to know about it. It’s just a niche that you’re not in. And that’s entirely fine, you tell yourself, no single human ought to know everything about the world—except, perhaps, if you’re Leonardo da Vinci, who seems to have an answer for everything, but that was beside the point.

For the longest time, these missing bits of his history left unknown to you, matched with the fact that Theo isn’t exactly the kind of person who is easy to get to know, made your efforts of really, really doing your best to get closer to him feel like you were instead making friends with a wall.

A tall, handsome, strong, passionate, smart, ocean blue-eyed, ridiculously rude wall, but a wall nonetheless.

Or a closed door.

Until Vincent opened it for you.

-

It was in response to your bewilderment. When one is a sadist and the other one is an angel, it is easy to wonder how they would be related. The day you go out to the flower fields to deliver painting supplies to Vincent is the day he tells you that “I know Theo’s easy to misunderstand, but he’s a really nice kid, so please be friends with him okay?”

And while the instinct is to say no thanks, Vincent’s not exactly the person you can say no to, so you let it go. And on that very same day Theo had allowed you to see a part of him, one you wondered if he ever really ardently shows anyone else, talking about sunrises and the art world and what he can do. What he wants to do. A little glimpse, a peek of what’s hidden inside, but not enough—barely enough—to satiate your own curiosity.

And you, silly, silly little hondje—Theo is right when he says you don’t know just how much trouble you walk into—you take this little curiosity as a challenge.

So you watch.

Watch what history has missed.

-

Mastering the art of looking at art with a critical eye is one that is honed over time. But with a teacher both as strict and as passionate as Theo, it is a skill that you quickly pick up. Learning the implications of certain gestures; the observation of the tiniest details; the effects of colors; of sharpening one’s gut.

You thought it would be hard.

Or at least, much easier said than done, especially when the man frustratingly keeps calling you dog or snack or any variation of the both of that when he only has miles and miles of praises for his older brother. You were, are, and will obviously be at an entirely different level than Vincent for as long as you will be here. (Not that you minded. Why would you mind it?)

But it isn’t hard at all.

It’s rather easy.

The easiest things to see are their differences. Of course—it’s always like that. That’s exactly why it’s so easy to misunderstand Theo at face value. Where Vincent’s smile is sunny and warm, Theo has a glare that makes flowers wilt. While Vincent likes his pancakes plain and with butter, Theo can get thirty lifetimes worth of sugar for the amount of syrup he puts on his pancakes. Where Vincent is approachable and perhaps a little airheaded, Theo is guarded, distrustful, wary. While Vincent’s words are soft and kind and gentle like wildflowers are, Theo has the formality of roses but also their barbs and thorns.

But the days turn into weeks and your eyes get trained to see past that. Get used to seeing the gentle rays of sunlight illuminating their irises when they look back at each other, talking about art. Vincent sees the softest sides of Theo, see where his thorns give way to flowers, where his distrust smooths into blind faith.

And you want to see that too.

So you practice.

Start with catching the little details like how Theo walks with his hands in his pockets. Or the way he casually adjusts his tie right before he enters a room before a meeting with a client like he’s psyching himself up. Or maybe the way he bites the inside of his cheek when he’s deep in thought, the lines that form on his forehead when he’s squinting so hard at a painting through his magnifying glass. Or the little tug of a smirk he cannot resist when he gets complimented, the one he so subtly and ever so quickly washes away with a neutral face in a second.

Then you catch other things, too. Like how if you matter any single bit to Theo, you can get him to do pretty much anything, bending himself backward over if you ask him. How he pays attention to things that matter to him, down to the littlest detail, like an artist’s changing focus, a shift in style, a change in technique. And how Theo has a dream and it’s one of the only two things he really, really believes in. (The other is his brother.)

You thought it would be impossible to see Theo through Vincent’s eyes, but.

Eventually you do.

You don’t know where it begins, but it begins somewhere. Maybe on that evening you’d gone up the atelier and seen the candlelight shine on his prideful, confident boyish grin, as if he knew all the answers for certain. Or maybe it was later, standing in the garden laughing because how is it that Theo van Gogh, so strong and imposing and scary is now pinned onto the grass with the most playful golden retriever you have ever seen?

But that’s the important part. You start seeing it.

The same way Theo could tell the painting was a fake at first glance that morning at Cedric’s.

And the wall is still tall and opaque and hard to climb but—

You can sort of see the sunlight peering over it.

-

On the day of the storm, in between antiseptic and rolls of gauze, silence permeates the library like a dense fog. The only sound you can really quite hear besides the thunder outside is your thumping heart, racing as if in time with Theo’s labored breathing.

There are too many questions to ask. You want to ask him why he does all of this. You want to ask him if it is worth it. And you don’t know the order in which to ask them, which ones are the ones you have to hear, but you do.

Theo, for a brief moment, opens up to you.

Allows you to see the red of his wounds and his roses. See the garden, not his thorns.

But before the two of you could head out to your rooms, to go back to bed and pretend none of this had happened, you hold the first-aid kit in your hands and turn to him, already putting his bloodied jacket on, and ask the question you had long feared asking, the one whose answer you worried you really didn’t deserve knowing.

You ask, “Why is it that you’re so fixated on Vincent?”

There’s a moment of held-breath silence, then Theo answers.

“Because I made a choice that day, and he is all I have left.”

-

The next day, you catch Vincent in the garden painting. You hesitate at the doorway wondering if you should interrupt him, but eventually decide that this is something you ought to tell him, out of respect.

“I wanted to say sorry,” you say, sitting next to him on the grass. Vincent turns to you with confusion in his eyes.

“What about?”

“When we were at the flower fields, and I asked you and Theo if you were really brothers—I thought about it a lot the past few days, and I think finally see what you mean,” you say. “About Theo.”

Vincent smiles, the smile of someone who knows more than they let on.

-

(A lifetime ago, in the middle of a seaside town when everything was falling apart around him, Vincent had only one person holding him up, and that was his brother. They were young then—but felt much too old, older than they were. Youth was not gentle with them, and for the most part they spend much of their lives making up for times they spent less kind to one another. Dreaming for the children they used to be, the ones they would have wanted to nurture, but cannot anymore.

The seaside town where their paths were linked and then diverged. They were teenagers, walking alongside the mill, hiding in stockrooms, listening to the crash of the waves against the Dutch shores.

And a full lifetime ago, long after they’d grown out of the old family home, Vincent had taken up his pen and had written to Theo:

We’re quite distant from one another, and in certain respects we may have different ways of seeing, but nevertheless, sometimes or some day one of us might be able to be of use to the other. For today, I shake your hand, thanking you again for the kindness you’ve shown me.

The salt in the air, the gray paths, the winding roads, they all remain.)

-

If there is anything the passing of time has taught to its scholars, whether they are the ones spending unending hours and days and years in libraries, cooped up, comparing texts from each other, extracting and analysing and cross-referencing, or if they are the ones who are constantly out on the field, making notes, remembering everything, writing everything down to memory—it is that nothing, nothing, can ever truly be captured in its full historical detail. There are always things that will be missed, overlooked, misunderstood, things that no amount of work on history will ever be able to recover.

That is the weakness of the human perspective. Not everyone will write these histories, and there will be many, many experiences that will never be known.

And because of this the world might only remember Vincent after all. Might only remember he had a brother that stood by him but had nothing in comparison to the legacy of paintings that once were piled up in that said brother’s small Paris home. Might only think that the entire story only revolves around Vincent, and that there is only Vincent and then the other van Gogh.

The world might not know him by name.

But it’s okay.

You hold his face in your hands, that night he tells you he’s sworn to throw everything away for Vincent. The van Gogh that wasn’t the Other one. The name of the feeling you hadn’t wanted to put into words tasting like blood in your mouth.

Theo can do what he wants.

And the world can forget.

But you will remember.

And to at least one person—he will not just be the other van Gogh.

--

in the atelier: Two children on the beach by Pierre van Dijk

[minmotl]

Chapter 46: Tang Fan Spends His First New Year with Sui Zhou and Ah Dong

Context: Nothing much really happens between Chapter 44 and 46, except that Tang Fan’s teacher disagrees with the Emperor on a particular topic and is sort of demoted/sent away to some faraway province. Tang Fan and Pan Bin are not sure how to advice their teacher on this - on one hand, they know that their teacher is stubborn and has his reasons for his views, but Tang Fan, despite knowing how his teacher is, tries to persuade him to make peace with the Emperor and his teacher gets angry. He tells Sui Zhou of his dilemma, but they also agree there isn’t much that can be done and Tang Fan sends their teacher off with the rest of the students. 

This chapter doesn’t have much link to Chapter 45. We begin with the imminent Lunar New Year and how the Tang and Sui family prepare for it. Sui Zhou turns up at the end, and it’s more of Tang Fan and Ah Dong in this, but it was cute and I thought I’d translate it anyway.

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

Tang Fan cannot remember how long it has been since he got to spend the New Year properly and fully. His parents died early and after his sister married far away, the importance he placed on such a holiday decreased. Being an official all by himself in Jing city, he has spent the holiday in increasingly colder and lonelier fashion. He is already used to staying in his house alone, relaxing as he reads his fiction novels and keeping warm by the fire.

However, even though it is already a habit for him, in reality, when Ah Dong gleefully and very obviously begins to hang up chun lian and eating fruits, the memories that have long been hidden somewhere deep in his mind resurfaces.

Even though Ah Dong is still young, she is after all a young lady and knows how to dress up with her clever hands. She is much more meticulous and can think of a greater number of things, so she’s responsible for everything inside and outside of the house. Aside from putting up chun lian, men like Tang Fan and Sui Zhou will never think of hanging up some red lanterns at the corridors to increase the festive spirit, for example.

Closer to the end of the year, the affairs that Shun Tian Prefecture has to deal with has also gradually lessened, but the Northern Administrative Court on the other hand, is only getting busier. Sui Zhou leaves the house early and returns late every day, so only Tang Fan is able to go home early to help out.

However, he is obviously not the type to excel at housework. He can even lose the cloth he’s using while he’s wiping at things and Ah Dong pushes him outside, looking down on him, “Da-ge, don’t make things even messier than they are. Go and write a pair of chun lian, and don’t forget to write the word for ‘prosperity’. Every house has to have one!”

Tang Fan laughs, “I’ve already written them and stuck them all up. Even my sister isn’t as naggy as you are!”

He ends up leaning against the pillar and watches as Ah Dong busies herself, scrambling about. His heart is all warm, “How about I boil some water for you? Or wipe the pillars? The pillars are so tall and you can’t reach them, I have to end up doing it, no?”

Ah Dong is currently wiping at a chair and once again, she rolls her eyes in detestation, “As long as you don’t end up losing my cloth somehow later, I’ll be thanking the heavens already!”

Tang Fan doesn’t get angry and is instead rather delighted at this.

“Didn’t we end up finding it? Besides, Ah Dong, why do I feel like you’ve become much more hardworking recently? You haven’t been eating as enthusiastically anymore too, are you trying to help me save on provisions and food?”

Ah Dong sticks out her tongue at him, “That’s not it. Sui-dage chided me the other day.”

Alarmed, Tang Fan asks, “What did he say? Why don’t I know about this?”

Ah Dong snickers, “It’s not much really. He said you work very hard at the courts and reminded me not to just think about going out to play and end up neglecting you.”

Tang Fan did not expect Sui Zhou to still remember this. He has obviously taken the incident when Tang Fan sat at the back door, sitting there as the cold winds blew and ended up ill, to heart, and that is why he went to speak to Ah Dong secretly.

He also knows that Ah Dong didn’t stop cooking for him because she was playful, but because during that time he was so busy that he ended up collapsing in bed immediately the moment he got home. Every time Ah Dong cooked, he ended up eating outside and not eating when he came home, and the food was wasted. This happened a few times and Ah Dong didn’t know when he was going to come home for dinner. Hence, she stopped cooking, but now that they’ve moved past those days without any routine, everything has returned to normal.

Hearing Ah Dong say that, Tang Fan feels a little sheepish because Little Ah Dong has turned into a scapegoat for this incident, “I’ll speak to your Sui-dage some other day.”

“You don’t have to!” Ah Dong continues to grin, “I know that Sui-dage treats me as his little sister and that’s why he scolded me. If I was someone who didn’t matter to him, he wouldn’t even bother to say so much! I may be young, but I know who is truly good to me. Like previously, the old lady from the Li family, Ah Chun-jiejie and the rest, everyone who has been good to me, I remember them all!”

Tang Fan teases, “So who’s not good to you?”

Ah Dong shakes her head, “I forgot! I was sold to the Li family as a slave previously, and the sellers were not good to me, but I can’t even remember how they look like now. Da-ge, didn’t you say, we should remember blessings and forget grudges, that way we can be happy everyday!”

“That’s right! Aiyo, as your da-ge I am very happy that you remember every word that I’ve said. Seeing that you’re so heartless, I thought you only think of food everyday,” he laughs.

Rolling her eyes again, Ah Dong says, “Eating is our priority, and everything else is secondary to that, this is also something that you taught me.”

Tang Fan rolls his eyes at the retort, “Since when did I teach you something like this, wouldn’t you be a rice bucket already if I did?”

“Yes, you are!” Ah Dong snorts.

***

The people work hard every year as they busy themselves, all so they can reunite at home and peacefully sit down for a good reunion dinner. If they can have an additional plate of fish and meat on the table, then that is the greatest reward they have earned this year.

In a small three-sectioned house in the north of the city, there is the addition of Ah Dong this year and Tang Fan no longer needs to spend the new year alone.

Although Sui Zhou has moved out, his parents are still around and naturally, he has to go home for reunion dinner as well. He did invite Tang Fan and Ah Dong to accompany him to the dinner, but Tang Fan refused, saying that he and Ah Dong have not spent the new year together yet and this year is their very first year, so as siblings they need to spend time with each other properly.

Since he said that, Sui Zhou of course did not press and headed back to the Sui family home for dinner, while Tang Fan and Ah Dong stayed behind to get through the new year together.

Initially when Tang Fan adopted Ah Dong as his younger sister, he did so at Ah Dong’s behest, because Tang Fan could not bear to see her get sold to another family. She is a fine young lady that was forced to become a slave, and so Tang Fan destroyed her slave contract, returning her freedom to her, then adopting her, so that this young lady could have someone to depend on in the future.

Of course, if Ah Dong’s personality was terrible or if she was unable to get along with him, Tang Fan would have simply returned her slave contract to her, or found another family to settle her in. He never would have let her stay at his side, so at the end of the day, this is still considered affinity between them.

And yet, since having Ah Dong around, Tang Fan really does not need to do anything anymore. Even for their reunion dinner, because he wanted to help cut vegetables but ended up making a whole mess, he was chased out of the kitchen while Ah Dong mocked him for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. 

Tang-daren could only stand at the side and help to bring her bowls and ingredients. He is after all a judge, one who has firmly argued with the Western Depot’s chief and managed to hold his own facing him, but today, he is being ordered around by this young little girl. However, his heart is warm, feeling a sense of gleefulness at this.

Once the skies have completely darkened, the ba xian table is already filled with dishes.

***

The two siblings chat happily with each other and after their dinner, they start clearing away the bowls and chopsticks and begin the custom of getting through the night to the new year.

Most people sleep early at night but there are exceptions as well. On the night of new year’s eve, both the old and young in the family have to stay up till midnight. This is a custom that has been passed on from olden times, and it has remained unchanged until today. The night is long, and the children can play with sparklers, while the adults have to think about more activities to pass the time.

There is only Tang Fan and Ah Dong in the house, and it is such a wonderful new year’s eve night, so Tang Fan does not want to read his fiction novels to pass the time either. The both of them end up looking for some games to play.

Forgetting about playing Chinese chess — aside from the fact that Ah Dong is still young and doesn’t understand the game, even if she does, she would have only just grasped the basics. The skill difference between them both is too huge and even if they did play, it wouldn’t be any fun, so Tang Fan finds a vase and some bamboo sticks. 

The both of them start to play toss and betting on who can get their more sticks to go into the vase. Five throws a round and whoever wins two out of three rounds is considered the winner. The loser will have to stand at the door and bark like a dog.

Tang Fan still has a childlike heart despite his age, and he excitedly begins to play the game with Ah Dong.

After one round however, he realizes something is amiss and asks, “Why are you so accurate with your throws, were you naturally gifted like this?”

Ah Dong is confused, “What is that? I didn’t eat that!”

Tang Fan says, “I think we can increase your daily studying tasks. What I meant is, were you naturally so good at tossing?”

“Not at all, it’s only after I troubled Sui-dage to teach me martial arts and he passed me a small bow. He asked me to shoot at leaves everyday, and whenever I can hit one I pass.”

“Then have you managed to hit any leaves yet?”

“I did, but out of ten tries I only manage to hit two, and it was because I got lucky,” she says, embarrassed.

“… I feel like I’ve made a mistake the moment I suggested tossing with you.”

Ah Dong’s eyes go wide, “Da-ge, are you trying to get out of this?”

Helplessly, Tang Fan says, “I’m not, but can we have a discussion about this, how about doing away with the bet?”

Ah Dong seems very dim at times, but when it counts, she is still rather crafty and so she replies, “No. Da-ge you said before, as a person we have to make our words count, and a promise is worth a thousand taels of gold!”

Tang Fan pats at her head, huffing in annoyance, “I don’t see you being so smart when you study, but you’re now reciting idioms! These three rounds have not yet ended, it’s difficult to say who will end up the winner or loser!”

His competitive spirit has been ignited, but physical deftness is also something considered a natural gift and is hardly something that can be had just because Tang-daren is trying his best at it now. His struggles are futile, and after the round ends he still loses. Two out of three wins, this is a rule he set, and now he’s paying for it.

Ah Dong laughs out loud, “Da-ge, those that are willing to take a gamble must bear the consequences of losing!”

Tang Fan is not willing to be looked down on by this little girl, and he thinks, there is no one outside right now on the night of new year’s eve, so what if he opens the door and barks twice? Even if other people hear him they would think some other house’s dog is barking, and so he says, “I am naturally willing to bear the consequences of losing. Your da-ge’s words count, since when have I reneged on my words? You must really learn these virtues of mine!”

Ah Dong makes a funny face at him praising himself, and follows quickly behind him to be entertained by Tang Fan making a fool out of himself.

Tang Fan opens the door and outside the door hangs two red lanterns. Their surroundings are illuminated slightly, the very picture of happiness and prosperity.

Steeling his resolve, he immediately barks, “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

Before he barks for the last time, someone appears before him, nearly scaring Tang-daren to death.

Looking closely, Tang Fan realizes that it’s Sui Zhou.

Tang Fan, “…”

Sui Zhou, “…”

Tang-daren feels like he has lost all his face.

He complains first, “Why are you here, not even a single sound of your footsteps!”

Helpless, Sui Zhou responds, “I have always walked without much noise, what are you doing barking at the door?”

Behind them, Ah Dong’s laughter echoes and Tang Fan’s face goes red, “He made a bet and lost!”

Sui Zhou nods and goes ‘oh’, “What were you playing?”

“Tossing,” Tang Fan replies, and then it dawns on him, “What are you doing back so early? Aren’t you staying the night over there?”

The both of them walk inside the house, one in front of the other as Sui Zhou says, “No, I’m not.”

He does not elaborate but with Tang Fan’s intelligence, he knows that surely some conflict has arisen at home and so Sui Zhou decided to come back after dinner. Without asking any more questions, he smiles, “It’s an opportune time for you to be back. It’s only interesting to play chess with three people, if I play with only Ah Dong, I cannot do it because it’s too easy to win!”

Ah Dong sticks out her tongue at him again, “That’s right, that’s why you chose tossing, the most difficult game, and you ended up losing anyway!”

“You!” Tang Fan schools his expression into an angry one and raises his hand, pretending to hit her and the young lady only giggles before running off, “We have to stay up tonight, I’ll go boil some water and make tea for you both!”

Seeing the both of them make such a ruckus, a hint of a smile emerges on Sui Zhou’s face and he thinks, it is good that he came back. Without saying anything, just looking at them like this, he feels happy.

If this is the first interesting new year Tang Fan has experienced since his family was broken, then it is the same for Sui Zhou and Ah Dong. The three of them have different experiences in life, but have gathered together due to fate.

It is said that they have to cultivate ten years worth of fate to be able to experience life on the same boat. For them to have ended up under the same roof together, they must have at least cultivated fifty years worth of fate or more.

The three of them start with chess and with the addition of Sui Zhou, everything becomes slightly more interesting. Everyone is relaxed and Tang Fan does not go in for the kill, so they take their turns to lose and win. Amidst the chatter and laughter, time passes quickly.

Midnight nears and the sound of firecrackers from both near and afar going off becomes more frequent. Firecrackers are lit not only to welcome the new year, but to also do away with the old, so many families will not only light the firecrackers after midnight, but will also light up another round before midnight to symbolize erasing the old and bringing in the new, welcoming a fresh start for everyone.

Tang Fan and the rest of them have also bought firecrackers. Sui Zhou goes out to light some up and Ah Dong lights up sparklers in the courtyard. The loud popping of the firecrackers echo in the alley, the sound ringing in their ears at intervals. Coupled with the vibrant sparklers, the entire courtyard is awash in light temporarily. Ah Dong laughs, shouts and claps, and even though there is only the three of them, the atmosphere created is both jubilant and lively.

Setting down the firecrackers and the sparklers, Ah Dong runs into the kitchen to cook some dumplings.

The dumplings have already been made, filled randomly with white cabbage, minced pork meat and prawns. The white and tender dumplings bobble up and down in the boiling water. She scoops them all up and plates them. Sui Zhou takes a brief glance and is stunned speechless.

There are prettily made, high quality dumplings in the plate, but there are also flawed ones that have been made in odd shapes. Some of the skin on the flawed ones, once put in boiling water, are torn, the filling inside exposed, and it is truly hard to look at.

Tang-daren is truly very thick-skinned as well, as he laughs, “Haha, it must be that the fillings want to see who are the people eating them, and so they could not wait to come out!”

Sui Zhou and Ah Dong turn to stare at him, and even without saying a word, their gazes both say: Shameless!

Tang-daren pretends not to see their looks and picks one up, dipping it in vinegar before putting it in his mouth. He does not forget to praise his own work, “It’s really delicious! You can see how skilled the person who made the dumplings is. You guys should eat too! What are you looking at me for? Come, come!”

Tang Fan has certainly reached a new realm and level of being thick-skinned.

The other two have nothing else to say and all they can do is bury their heads and start eating.

Suddenly, Ah Dong goes ‘aiya’ and spits out a coin from her mouth.

Tang Fan laughs, “You’ve struck fortune! You’ll have good luck in the coming year!”

Ah Dong is rather happy, and buzzing with joy, she wipes the coin clean and places it on the table.

After a while, Sui Zhou also bites on a coin. Tang Fan and Ah Dong repeat the same congratulatory words to him.

After a moment, Tang Fan himself also manages to hit one.

This repeats a few times.

Finally, Ah Dong is mad and disparages, “Da-ge, exactly how many did you put in there?”

There are thirty-odd dumplings in a plate and subtracting the flawed ones from the mix, the three of them have found a total of almost thirteen coins. Putting these coins in the dumplings are typically used to find some sign of good fortune in the coming year, but look at them now, every once in a while they are hurting their teeth on a coin like this.

Tang Fan and Sui Zhou are paying a little more attention, so it is not as bad for them, but Ah Dong almost shattered all her teeth on one and begins to groan and moan pitifully.

The heartless Tang-daren laughs at her misfortune seeing her like this, “I didn’t get to eat that many coins when I was young, so I’ve put more this time in case we don’t get to eat any, who asked you to bite so hard?”

Ah Dong is unwilling to show any sign of weakness and the two of them start fighting again, until Sui Zhou returns from clearing away the bowls and chopsticks. The young lady is finally drowsy. She rubs at her eyes, but the expression on her face shows that she has never been more content in her life.

“Da-ge, do you think we can still spend new year like this again in the years after this?” Ah Dong lies against Tang Fan as she sits, waiting determinedly for midnight to befall them.

“What do you think, Guang Chuan?” Tang Fan caresses at her head, looking up to ask Sui Zhou, who has just walked through the door.

“Mnn,” Sui-baihu agrees, his answer short but affirmative.

===

Notes:

*春联 chun lian

Lunar new year couplets! Often written on red paper during the new year and comes in pairs. The words written usually have to do with fortune, prosperity, luck and riches and are written either in typical black ink or in gold ink nowadays, since gold ink was made available.

*八仙桌 ba xian zhuo

Considered a traditional Chinese furniture, it is a square table that sits two people on each side, totalling eight people just like the eight (ba) deities (xian), which is why the table has been named as such.

*守夜 shou ye

We still practise this today - it is said that the later younger members of the family stay up, the more fortune they are accumulating for the elders of the family (for example, for their longevity and good health). A lot of people stay up until the wee hours of the morning playing mahjong and what not on the eve of Lunar New Year. Of course, this is not really strict, and most people do go to bed after midnight.

*天赋异禀 vs 天赋异饼 tian fu yi bing

Both four-character words are pronounced as tian fu yi bing, with the first being the more commonly written phrase, meaning someone who is naturally and generously gifted with skills etc. The last character 禀 bing was misheard and misinterpreted by Ah Dong, who thought the 饼 bing was referring to the character than meant ‘pastry’ or ‘biscuit’, and that is why Ah Dong thinks that Tang Fan is asking if she ate some kind of pastry when he asks if she has always been gifted with tossing accuracy in the game.

*丢脸 diu lian

In Chinese culture, being embarrassed or humiliated is described as losing face. There is nothing more important than having and keeping face for the Chinese XD

*脸皮厚 lian pi hou

Thick-skinned, to describe someone without any shame.

[honibee-arts]

Sangcheng atla au in which jc is a water bender and nhs is a kyoshi warrior?

“What the hell are you doing on my island?” 

The last thing Jiang Cheng had expected to wake up to after a long night of listening to his idiotic brother talk the ears off of the two air nomads that had not only offered to teach him airbending, but were also kind enough to allow Jiang Cheng and his siblings to take their flying bison to the Earth Kingdom so Wei Wuxian could get an earthbending master, was to wake up to another weird thing. 

But who could expect any semblance of normalcy when your brother was the fucking avatar. 

Said thing was actually a person, caked in white make up and glaring down at him with red painted golden eyes. The gold silk hanging off their headdress fell into Jiang Cheng’s eyes, the persons crimson painted lips pulled into a frown.

“The fuck...?”

“I said, what are you doing on my island?”

“Shit... Wei Wuxian! Where the hell did we land last night?” He shouted, sitting up and shouting in the direction of his brother.

“Lan Zhan was flying the damn bison, ask him!”

“The bison has a name.” Lan Wangji said coolly, brushing his hands through the sleeping bison’s fur. “Fluffy prefers to be called by his name.”

“Stop petting the damn bison and tell us where we are!” Jiang Cheng snapped back, feeling his migraine begin to grow.

“Assumed it was obvious. You are speaking with the head of the Kyoshi Warriors.”

Kyoshi Warrio- oh shit.

Jiang Cheng stood up and held his arms out in a bow.

“Forgive me, I had no idea. I did not mean to cause offence.”

“Really? You had no clue you were on Kyoshi Island? At all? The statue and my face didn’t give anything away?” The warrior raised an eyebrow.

“Forgive my brother,” A-Jie smiled, stepping forward. “I am Jiang Yanli of the Southern Water Tribe. This is my brother Jiang Cheng. Our brother Wei Wuxian is the avatar. We were headed to the Earth Kingdom to seek out a master for him, and sought help from the air nomads who travelled with us. Their bison, Fluffy, grew tired and Lan Xichen suggested we land here for the night.”

“Lan Xichen, you say?” The warrior asked, opening their fan and flapping it against their face in thought. “Where is he now?”

“I believe he went into the market to restock on supplies.” A-Jie answered.

“That... would make sense. I know the kind of man he is. I’ve known him since I was a child. I really wish da ge would have warned me before you lot showed up though... aiya...” they clicked their tongue and snapped their fan shut. “Come with me, I’ll take you to one of the taverns so you can freshen up and rest. If you need extra weaponry or your tools sharpened, the Warriors of Kyoshi are happy to help.”

“Forgive me,” A-Jie called as the warrior turned on their heel. “May I ask your name?”

“Nie Huaisang.”

“Wait, Nie Huaisang as in... General Nie Mingjue’s younger brother? The one that just... disappeared? The non-bender?” Jiang Cheng blurted in confusion, brow furrowed. “I heard he was dead. Something about being too weak and sickl- yaah!” 

The warrior lunged forward, gripping Jiang Cheng’s wrist and inner elbow, spinning him around until his stomach lurched and pressing a palm to his chest, changing direction before letting go abruptly. Nie Huaisang snatched his belt from his waist and wrapped it around his wrist and ankle, binding them and causing Jiang Cheng to tumble to the ground. With his free arm, Jiang Cheng pushed himself onto his back, only for his Adams apple to bob against the sharp, gold hued metal of Nie Huaisang’s fan.

“Yes. Nie Huaisang. The weak little non-bender brother of the Great General Nie Mingjue, the most powerful earth bender in the four kingdoms. That’s me. Don’t you dare call me that again.” He said sharply.

“I-I won’t.” Jiang Cheng stammered, looking down nervously at the blade pointed at his neck.

“Say ‘Yes sir’.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good! Now, let me show you into the village?” Nie Huaisang said brightly. 

In the end, Nie Huaisang ended up joining them on their journey to the Earth Kingdom. The wind whipped in his long, dark hair, caressing the soft fringe that fell into his eyes under the headband of his gold headdress, causing the olive green robes to billow around him dramatically. 

Jiang Cheng studied his profile nervously. 

Wei Wuxian sat next to Lan Wangji, probably driving the stoic airbender insane with his constant nattering while A-Jie shared recipes and sibling stories with Lan Xichen. This left Jiang Cheng in an awkward silence next to Nie Huaisang.

“Hey... um. Nie Huaisang. I’m sorry, about what I said.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to being underestimated by your kind.” He said calmly, looking ahead at the miles of endless blue sky.

“My kind?”

“Benders. Particularly ones who feel as though they cannot live without their bending.” his golden eyes glanced at Jiang Cheng. “Your kind look down on people like me. Despite our noble history, the Warriors have been looked down on.”

“My sister is a non-bender, how can I look down on her?”

“You feel as though you must protect her, right?”

“I... yes. But thats because my sister-”

“Is capable of protecting herself when necessary.” Nie Huaisang cut in. “Just because she can’t command the oceans, control a typhoon, move a mountain or burn a whole forest does not mean she cannot protect herself. She has proven she can take care of herself.”

Jiang Cheng fell silent.

“You’re protective of her, like my da ge was of me. But have you considered how your protectiveness may make her feel?”

“I just want to make sure she and Wei Wuxian are safe. That’s all I care about. If... If I can protect them. I will.”

“Your heart is in the right place, Jiang Cheng. You just need to reassess your biases.” Nie Huaisang said softly.

Jiang Cheng sighed. This was to be a long journey, but he was glad to have Nie Huaisang with him.

They arrived in the Earth Kingdom without fanfare.

Jiang Cheng sighed in relief. Their time in the Earth Kingdom was appearing to be a peaceful time. For once.

Over their travels, Nie Huaisang had insisted that his older brother would be the perfect teacher for Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng was tentative to agree, having heard tales of the generals temper and lack of patience. The Lan brothers were barely managing his shit as it was.

“Xichen, it’s been some time.” The general called as Lan Xichen dismounted the flying bison, the wind carrying him gently to the ground.

“Mingjue, it is good to see you again.” Lan Xichen smiled, taking his hands.

The two smiled at each other earnestly, murmuring things that Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite catch. Confused, he shot a glance at Huaisang, only to find the warrior was no longer there.

“Da ge!” He cried, running up to his brother. Jiang Cheng held in a snicker as he saw the significant size difference between the two brothers. “Da ge why didn’t you warn me Xichen-ge was bringing the avatar to Kyoshi Island?”

“I did, you just don’t check your damn mail.”

“As leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, I am too busy to be checking my mail like a lovelorn maiden pining after her lover who has gone to war, unlike some people.” Huaisang looked between his brother and the older Lan.

“Well if your business on the island was so important, why did you accompany the avatar to see me?”

“I figured he needed a good reference so you would teach him.”

“Xichen can give it.”

“Xichen-ge nice to everyone, da ge.”

“So?”

“Yes let your biased boyfriend give you a biased reference.”

“Wait, I thought air nomads weren’t meant to marry-” Jiang Cheng began.

“We are not.” Said Lan Wangji.

“It’s complicated.” Said Lan Xichen.

“Huaisang, if you’re going to run your mouth like this you can fuck off back to the island.”

“But da geeeeeeeee” he whined.

Jiang Cheng was wrong. This was not going to be peaceful.

[alloftimeandspacetosee]

Museum Interview

In which Arlette is still struggling with her war memories.

 In the aftermath of the whole Adventure in Time thing! Arlette... I don’t think I dealt with it well at the time, tbh, but it fucked with Arlette a lot. She was always a little bit darker than Aurora - it shows more in some of the pieces that I think need more edited before they go up - and she kinda came face to face with that over this (And other stuff that went down in this roleplay lmao)

~

Arlette walked on until she could no longer hear the rest of the group, and doubled back through the corridors to get to the Dragon Wars exhibit. She stopped before the doors for a while, eyeing them up. Xenos whistled, pressing a hand into her neck.

“Just curious, Xen,” she murmured. “It’s fine.” And she stepped into the corridor.

There were people in here, kids. On a field trip, it sounded like. Arlette wrinkled her nose, but examined the relics carefully.

The first ones were from the first Dragon War, and she didn’t recognise most of them. But still she read about them, moving slowly until the children were ushered into a different hall and the place fell silent.

At the beginning of the second Dragon War, they had a rough photo of the tapestry from the castle, blown up to full size but still a little fuzzy. Arlette sucked at the side of her mouth, staring up at it. She found new details, even within the fuzz. It had been dark in the castle, after all. The memory of that night came rushing back, and Arlette clenched her hand on the railing in front of her.

Xenos whistled and she blinked, taking her hands away from the railing just as a stout, black woman bustled round the corner.

“Is there any trouble?”

Arlette glanced down at her hands and hurriedly hid the armour, shaking her head. “No… did I set off an alarm?” She glanced at the railing. “Sorry.”

The woman gave her a long look, and glanced up to the photo. “Quite impressive, isn’t it? To have survived that long… we’ll have the real one soon enough.”

“It’s coming here?” Arlette shot her a glance.

“Well, of course. Once it’s had a copy made for the castle.” She nodded. “We are the best museum for Unovan history.”

“Of course.” Arlette nodded, staring up at the copy again.

Lenora marked her gaze to the winged warrior’s face. “Interested in the Truth Blessed? We don’t have much on her, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine. I know what I need to.”

“You do?”

Arlette bit her lip. “Uh…”

Lenora glanced between the photo and Arlette closely. “Is she an ancestor of yours? The resemblance is uncanny.”

Arlette paused and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, on my da’s side.”

“Do you have any information that you can give us about her? I am afraid we know very little.”

“What do you know?”

“Her name was Arlette Nightgale, she had a sister called Aurora, and she appeared and disappeared in much the same way.”

“Which was?” Arlette eyed her carefully.

“In the middle of a battle.” Lenora nodded to the photo. “That’s the last sight anyone had of her, we are told.”

Arlette chewed at her bottom lip, looking back up at the photo. “How long after that did the war end?”

“Imeda and Abner came to a truce not long after that battle, bringing the Blessed’s prophecy to fruition.”

“There was a prophecy?” Arlette frowned.

“That there would be peace, but neither side would win.”

Arlette nodded slowly. “Huh. Ok.”

“Would you come with me?” Lenora turned away. “If you are not too busy, of course.”

“Why?”

“I am interested to know more. Is there anybody waiting for you?”

“They’re seeing the fossil pokémon.” Arlette glanced at Xenos, who nodded. She hurried to catch up with Lenora.

They returned to the library and then under it, into the space that had been Lenora’s gym and was now just her office. Lenora bustled around the room, lighting one of the lamps by her desk and gesturing for Arlette to take a seat.

Arlette looked around and tried not to jump as the watchog appeared from a pile of paper. “I don’t know if I have much more information that you about this.”

“Still, you must have some information – small things, family things. Stuff that may not have been widely known.” Lenora sat down, pulling a notebook and a pen towards her. “Such as the relationship between her and the royal family.”

“Relationship?” Arlette blinked. “Like…?”

“Blood ties. Only those of royal blood can be marked by the Tao Trio.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” Arlette shrugged.

Lenora sighed. “I suppose that’s not the sort of thing one remembers… especially after the Civil War two centuries ago.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it… is there any more?” She gestured to the seat across from her. “Take a seat, do!”

Arlette sat down on the edge of it as the watchog ran back and forth with more paper and books, shifting them around the room. “I don’t know. What sort of things would be of interest to a museum?”

“We know so very little about her, I think anything would help.”

Arlette closed her eyes. “She – we were always told that she didn’t want the blessing. That she took it to protect her sister.”

Lenora nodded and started to write. “Which castle did they live in?”

“They lived in the Veil. Behind the army of ideals, but they were safe. They were family.” Arlette started to play with a scrappy piece of paper. “She flew to the Chasm as soon as she was given the blessing.”

“It would have gotten dangerous for her, behind enemy lines.”

“They were family.” Arlette trapped the paper between long fingers. “They were never enemy.”

Lenora paused. “Of course. Do go on.”

“We don’t really know much more.” Arlette shrugged, gazing at the paper. “She fought for them, tried to talk sense into them.”

Lenora frowned. “Watch – notes on the Dragon Wars, book three.”

The watchog chirped and scurried around. Arlette watched with interest as it pulled a book from a pile and carried it to the table. Lenora took it with a murmur of thanks and opened it, running her hand down cramped words.

“It says here that she had a… ‘terrible Beaste, like unto a stunted and dull Emboar–’”

Arlette smirked, beginning to roll the paper again.

“‘With flames around its neck and a fearsome disposition’.” Lenora looked up. “Do you know what that is?”

“Ty-” Arlette hesitated, then shrugged. “Typhlosion, probably, by that description.”

“Are you sure? They are hard to get.”

Arlette shrugged, releasing the paper. It loosened, but didn’t lose the rolled shape. “That’s what we were always told.”

“‘We’?”

“My… sibling and I.” Arlette glanced upwards. “And I think they’re done, so…”

“You won’t want to keep them waiting.” Lenora nodded and marked down the last of the information. “Of course. Thank you.”

Arlette stood up. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“Do you need help finding them?”

“No, I’ll be fine. We’re – connected.” She gestured at Xenos. “Easy.”

“Ah, well… thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Arlette grinned and backed out of the room, almost running up the stairs.

Soise and Lairisse were waiting in the library.

“That was stupid.” Soise looked up as she appeared from the passage.

“Oh, shut up. I knew what I was doing.”

“As long as you didn’t fumble anything, anyway.” Soise pushed the book back onto the shelf.

“I didn’t,” Arlette said, forcing confidence. “Come on. Are the others really done?”

Lairisse nodded. {They are waiting near the entrance}

“Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

[theashofwkm]

Ill-Timed Illness

Summary: Where you bump into your dead lover and brother on the street after they go missing at a party the flu stopped you from attending.

Prompt: “could you write something were the Reader was Willams sibling and Damien’s lover and they run into Dark and Wilford on the street or something? Maybe they were supposed to attend the poker night but got sick so couldn’t? Hope this is specific enough sorry.... Thank you :) and again sorry” by anon

Warnings: mentions of drinking? Blood mention. Big feeling of dread that is correct.

Note: It’s no problem, this is actually a really good idea!!! Sorry it takes me 800 million years to do any one request. Can y’all tell that I had no idea what to call this? Because I didn’t. Also small warning that my writing reads a little off here? It’s not bad, but a little funky. I don’t know. But hey, day 3 of continuous posting due to staying up late!!

———

You had been sick. You woke with a fever and a pending head and a nauseous stomach. So you sent your brother with your well wishes to Damien.

He hadn’t come home. You chalked it up to him drinking too much and being too hungover to come home.

The next day passed. Still no William. Your illness was almost over. Just a small fever, infrequent bouts of nausea you were able to suppress. You thought he got too caught up in seeing Damien again, as the two had not seen each other for quite a while. Things with them had been tense -- it’s understandable that they’d get caught up in reconnecting, isn’t it? But without a note or a call, a heads-up that he was staying over?

The third day after the party, you began to worry. You sent a small letter to the Manor, inquiring if he was alright. The servant returned, saying that no one had answered the door.

Dread began to curdle your stomach.

The next day, you no longer feel ill (besides the dread making a home out of your belly) and head over there yourself. It appeared to be abandoned. George isn’t tending the grounds and the windows are dark.

Knocking yields no results. You grab the spare key from under the mat. The air inside is still, as if it hadn’t been stirred for a while.

You noticed the cracked mirror first. Odd. Maybe that’s where everyone was, you thought. But then you see Damien’s cane and a big, red stain on the floor and you know better.

Something is wrong.

You go through the house, searching for Damien, or Mark, or William, or the Butler. It is empty. No one is home. (Someone has to be home because this is where they were and no one has seen them elsewhere -- Will and Damien haven’t come to you, and that is wrong. Damien always stops by with soup and cuddles when you aren’t feeling well and you haven’t even received a get-well note.)

You leave with an uneasy stomach. It turns and twists and you think you might be sick again.

Damien isn’t at work (you didn’t expect him to be). His secretary sweetly informs you that he hasn’t been in since early Friday - hours before the party had begun. And, strangely, he’s not the only one who hasn’t turned up. The new District Attorney, Damien’s old college friend, is missing too. They had been at Poker, too, you think.

 Your dread grows, gnawing at your churning stomach. 

You go to his house -- maybe Will had simply forgotten to pass on the news of your ill-being? But it’s odd that he hasn’t contacted you in a few days. He’s always in touch with you, too sweet in the frequency of which he sends flowers. You know he’s not at home, but where else could he be?

The butler answers the door. Damien isn’t home, he hasn’t been home all weekend. You try Celine’s house, her shop. Both are empty.

You cannot find anyone. You are out of places to look. Misty-eyed, you idle in front of Celine’s closed shop. They have all seemingly disappeared - Mark and William and Damien and Celine.

Clueless on what to do, you let Damien’s secretary go home for the week. You tell her that Damien is ill and won’t be coming to the office. You hide everyone’s disappearance. Returning home, you request to be left alone, but to be alerted immediately if anything is heard about the three men who have seemingly disappeared.

No news comes.

Months pass, a new Mayor takes Damien’s place. The five of them - Damien, Celine, William, Mark and the Y/N, the DA, are presumed dead. A funeral is held. You don’t go. It feels fake and empty, to hold a funeral for missing men.

You mourn. You always wonder what happened in that Manor that night.

* * * * *

Your life, regrettably, emptily, continues. You never really move on — how could you? Your lover and brother and friend had simply vanished one night. You don’t forgive yourself, harbor a hatred for the simple cold you had.

You would know what had happened, if you hadn’t been ill.

It is years later, and you are window shopping. The shadow of the mystery of that day haunts you, but you are used to it by now. It is the companion you are close with.

You are lost in your head - in that night, of course - when you bump into somebody on the street. You apologize profusely, bowing your head in apology. You are staring at shiny dress shoes, a male.

Your breath leaves you when you meet his face. His hair is messy, his eyes cold and his skin gray, but you know that face. You’d know it anywhere.

“Damien?”

His eyes tighten at your words, something flashing in them before they return to black slabs of ice.

“What are you— are you okay, what happened to you, where have you been, are—?” Your tongue fires off questions, tripping over them in its haste. This is your chance for answers. You are, unknowingly, gripping his suit sleeves.

He shakes you off. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice deeper and layered, not at all like the one you remember. Not at all like the voice that whispered in your ear late at night. “Who are you?”

“What?” The word is cracked, high-pitched and disbelieving. “I- I-I’m Y/N, your girlfriend, what are you—?”

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize you,” the man states coolly. You are sure that this is Damien - the likeness is uncanny, but his hair is messy and his suit is gray and his cane is gone so maybe it isn’t. “You must have me confused for someone else.”

“Yes, I- I suppose I must,” You agree quietly, both believing and distrusting your own words all at once. He is so much like Damien, identical, but his mannerism is so different. It is your Damien, but it also cannot be.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper your apology, flashing an uneasy, sad smile as you take a step back. It feels wrong— this has to be Damien. You think maybe it’s your imagination playing tricks on you.

He steps away, leaving you with your feet stuck to the floor. You had been so sure that he was Damien. He’s unusual, even without fact that he’s Damien’s duplicate.

A man dressed brightly, giddy and laughing, approaches him. The gray one — Damien, appears annoyed, but not surprised. They must know each other, you think offhandedly, your eyes still caught on the man so similar to your old lover.

The colorful one accuses not-Damien of leaving him behind and the voice sends ice through your veins, causing you to turn to the two men.

William?

Your breath is frozen, you are, watching two men who you swear you know walk away. Your feet scramble against the cobbled path as you race to catch up with them. You need to see his face. If it’s not him, not William, then you’ll continue on. You’ll forget that you ever saw them, if you see his face and it’s not him.

“Will?” You call out hesitantly, only steps behind them. He turns around, a little confused as to who’s calling for him, but accepting that it is him that is being called upon.

And you recognize his face. His hair is different, well-groomed and colored pink on top, as is his curly mustache, but it’s him. It’s him.

“William,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes as you try not to cry. “It’s you.”

“Sorry?” His voice lilts, accented in a way it wasn’t before, much more prominent, but still so similar. “Do I know you?”

“Yes,” you say, desperate again, taking a step forward and ignoring the glare of ice from Damien. That has to be Damien, if this is William. “You’re my brother.”

William eyes Damien, posture suddenly nervous. “Brother?” He questions, turning his eyes back to you and softening the features on his face.

He takes a hesitant step forwards that is quickly stopped by Damien. “No, Wilford,” he says, shooting his glare towards you. “You would remember a sibling if you had one, wouldn’t you?”

“I—” William swings just gaze between you and and Damien, looking conflicted at the mismatching stories. “But they seem familiar,” he says, turning to Damien like a child searching for validation.

“You’ve met a lot of people,” the other man replies, your (ex) lover replies. “They’re probably just another crazed fan of yours, wanting to get on the show.”

One of you must be lying and he trusts Damien more. “Right, right.” He nods like the other man’s words make sense. “Trusty Dark, looking out for me.” He pinches Damien’s cheek -- not-Damien? He’s adamant, but there’s personal heat in his glare, rage you don’t feel over a stranger’s misunderstanding.

This is them, but they’re gone, walking away in the skin of men you know, but without the hearts you loved, that loved you. You break right there on the street and neither man turns around to check on you.

That is what makes the reality you’ve been denying sink in. Damien and William -- they are gone. Changed if not dead and they have no want for you anymore. They don’t care about you anymore.

And how could they?

You missed the night that took them away. You weren’t there when you were needed. They went missing and you will never know what happened. Poker went wrong, they changed, your brother didn’t know your name and your lover tried to make you think you were crazy. Maybe you were.

This is what you get, though, for getting sick at the wrong time. No answers and a multitude of questions that will eat you into your grave.

------

Masterlist

I realize that I accidentally made the housing situation a bit strange. So let’s just say that Celine has a cheap apartment and the reader (not the DA) has their own place that Will has been crashing at since the fallout with Mark and Celine. That fixed? Good. 

TAGGING:  @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @notfr0mh3r3 @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open, just ask)