#I wonder how many people bought the skin without owning the character because they assumed a banner would come soon

[shadowed-dancer]

Friendly reminder that if you don't know who to wish for first in Natlan, it's a better idea to prioritize Citlali and Capitano (if you want them) because they're both cryo and apparently cryo characters don't get reruns anymore :)

[shadowling-guistical]

rubberband heartbreak

"What kind of— What kind of person says that?! What kind of monster is grateful for their soulbond snapping?“ Roman says, wondering.

And all Janus could hear was his baby brother’s desperate, unhinged laugh as he clawed at his own skin.

And all he could see was red. Angry, smoldering red.

(Janus didn’t think the overdramatic prick even saw the fist coming.

***

Virgil had a soulmate, once. What a beautiful, awful, painful thing. (READ ON AO3 HERE) SHIPS: Established LMP, Established Demus, Past Virgil/OC, eventual LAMP, Eventual Remile

WARNINGS: Minor Character Death, Domestic Violence, Angst

--- It would have been roast chicken again that night. It was in the oven, sitting on a bed of potatoes and carrots that perfumed their little house with a smell that was honestly heavenly. No matter how many times he had that exact meal, he thought he could eat that meal for the rest of his life. He’s pretty sure he will. It was the only thing his soulmate knew how to cook without requiring an emergency call to the firestation, after all. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

A bottle of semi-fancy wine was cooling in a bucket of ice on the counter, just waiting to be opened. It was the exact type that they had drunk when they made their courtship official, and the nostalgia and memories only made the taste that much sweeter. 

Fresh flowers sat prettily in a vase on the kitchen table in a bunch. Violets, his favorite. His soulmate had bought home earlier while all twitterpated. 

It was the perfect set up for a date night-- Simple. Elegant. Romantic. Everything someone could ask for in a night in with their soulmate.

And despite all that, all Janus Sanders wanted to do was vomit. Or maybe find a seat. No, a fainting couch. Yeah, he might need a fainting couch.

He briefly wondered if those are still a thing. It should be. God it should be. if the lightheadedness that began lapsing at the edge of his brain were any indication, he really needs it right about now. He nervously tapped a finger on whatever surface it met with, which turned out to be the countertop of their kitchen island. At the back of his head, he registered his knees slightly shaking, and his heart trying to pound out of his ribs. He really should have sat down before he answered the call.

“Yes…” He spoke into the phone that had been glued to his ears ever since the call came, just minutes before the start of his date night with Remus. He spoke without really registering what he was saying. The buzzing in his brain prevented him from catching anything other than bits and pieces of gentle concern and medical jargon. However, icicles are still icicles. And no matter how hard the person at the end of the line tried to soften the blow, each one still dug into his chest. It pierced so harshly and the coldness spread downwards to his stomach.

Urgent.

Emergency treatment.

He needed his family.

He needed them.

With just a phone call, Janus’ whole evening grinded to a halt, “I see. Thank-- right. Of course. We’ll-- We’ll come down. Yes. Thank you. He-- I understand. Goodbye,” Before Janus could even recover, before he could even process the fact that--

“Janus?”

Janus blinked. His hand fell limp by his side, and he didn’t even realize that he was still gripping the phone. Oh-- oh, Remus . He didn’t realize that his boyfriend had even come downstairs. How long was he--? “Jan, are you okay?” Remus’ sharp, bright eyes darted at his form, knowing that the answer is obviously a big fat no, “What’s going on snakey? Is it Remy?”

The icicle twisted, and for a moment Janus thought it must have melted out of his eyes. Oh god-- oh god, Remy . How will he explain this to Remy?--

It would wreck him. Absolutely destroy him when he finds out.

Because he was--

He was…

Janus’ breath came out shaking. His hands even more so. His composure took the worst of it.

They were supposed to protect him. They were supposed to be there for him and annoy him and beat up anyone that dared look at him the wrong way. Because they were his-- They were his-- “I--” He swallowed around the weight lodged in his throat. He must looked as dazed as he felt, because Remus’ expression turned from cautious curiosity into grim concern, “I don’t--”

Janus never babbled before. He was never at a loss for words. He always know what to say-- He should know what to say-- Because he needed to call Remy-- He needed to explain--

The thought was squeezed out of him when Remus took him into his arms. The hug that Remus suddenly enveloped him in shouldn’t feel as relieving as it did. He shouldn’t have felt that small, that unsure nor that scared. But Janus felt everything buzzing in his brain melt away as he felt his soulmate squeeze him.

“Hey...Hey...Shh...It’s cool. It’s okay,” He felt Remus’ breath against his ear and this time, he didn’t shiver out of fear,  “Breathe...That’s it. I won’t have you asphyxiating anywhere else other than in bed, you hear me?” Involuntarily, like Remus always somehow does, he dragged the smile out to Janus’ lips. And in return, he grinned as well. Remus dragged a thumb across Janus’ cheekbones, “There’s that pretty smile. Can you tell me? Or do you want me to--?”

Janus felt a shudder ripple through his chest, and he shook his head. He didn’t need to. He didn’t need to rely on their soulbond for this. He didn’t want to submit Remus to the knot of thoughts and panic that were all tangled up in his brain right now. “That’s okay. Okay Jan,” He felt his large hands rub his back, up and down. But Janus shook his head. “It’s--everything’s not okay, Remus. Far from it--” He brought up a hand, gripping the fabric of Remus’ shirt, “My brother’s-- Virgil’s in the hospital. His-- His soulbond broke,”

---

Remy had come to their home a little over an hour later, looking very much similar to Janus did. Remus noticed the pinched, spooked look on the eldest Sanders’ face, now that his sunglasses were perched up on the crown of his head. He had smiled wanly, and offered a reassuring hand on Janus’ shoulder. But it was brittle and unsure. Both of them reeling from what Remus assumed was shock.

Janus however, then stepped closer. He nearly folded into his brother, who immediately inhaled as if he was punched. Immediately, Remy wrapped his arms and squeezed. Remus, for all the times he would say something at the most inopportune moments, had let him. And Janus couldn’t have thanked him enough. No judgement. No comments. Just someone who wanted-- needed, his big brother right now.

“You know, I can come with? Take turns driving,” Remus offered, once Janus slowly let himself unlatch from Remy. He cleared his throat and shook his head, starting to put on his composure like a mask.. The effect was instantaneous. Janus' back straightened, and the perfect picture of calmness rippled through him like waves on water.  Remus felt his heart twitch in his chest when Janus did. Did his soulmate really want that now? He barely allowed himself room to breathe

“No. It’s okay. We’ll manage. It’s...It’s a family matter, Remus. I’m not sure-- I’m not sure if it’s the best time, right now,” “We’ll call whenever we can,” Remy promised, as Remus helped haul Janus’ duffle bag into the trunk of Remy’s car. He didn’t need to, really, it was only filled with some spare change of clothes and toiletries but...It was still a nice gesture. Before they were set to leave, Janus hugged Remus one last time. The hug that Remus tugged him into nearly made Janus melt and his composure shift. His soulmate was all gangly limbs, bony and sharp. But in this warm skeleton cage, Janus never felt more safe. Remus was like that, Janus had realized. Unlike his twin, his gestures of romance were...A lot more subtle. A lot more tame, actually, compared to the larger than life person that Remus always was. And on the verge of entering a storm, Janus couldn’t help but revel in the stability that Remus unwittingly always provides.

“You’re stuck with me,” Remus smiled, easy and teasing as he nudged Janus’ chin with his knuckle.

The rattling inside his chest petered out, as if Remus was sapping away his worries about Virgil with just a touch. For the first time, each second doesn’t feel like it’s one moment closer to losing Virgil anymore. There was a storm on the horizon, but it hadn’t rained yet. The clouds will part, and the sun will shine again.

Something deep inside him loosened, a knot of tension slowly unravelling.

It’ll be okay.

It’ll be okay.

Virgil will be okay.

“Not going to get off me that easily, Squid,” Janus replied with a lot more warmth than he’d ever let anyone else hear. He’d keel over and perish before anyone else at his firm knew that he’s a sap. He has a reputation, for god’s sake.

“If you start making out, I’m leaving without you!” Remy called, already slipping into the driver’s seat. A hand reached for the coffee he grabbed on the way there, taking a blasé sip. Janus sighed and finally parted from his soulmate. Once he was secured, Remy handed him the coffee and smiled, looking a lot more fragile than Janus had ever seen him. Even more than the time…

“Let’s go get our little brother, shall we?”

Despite the circumstances, something in his heart swelled.

Little brother. They were getting their little brother back.

---

“He’s probably going to be okay, right?”

The hospital loomed, large and daunting. It was a behemoth of a building, stark white against the sky, which was a gunmetal grey from the threat of an approaching storm. Janus felt like he was 20 again, young and viper-tongued. But instead of angry and bristling, he’s...desperate. Out of his depth. Hurting and worried and strung out. Maybe it was the long drive talking. Maybe it was the prospect of seeing Virgil again, years later after their messy goodbye.

The only thing preventing Janus from nervously cracking his knuckles right now, just meters away from the entrance, was the musical notes playing right at the back of his head. It was faint, and he could still just ignore it over the din of people. The chords were familiar, the lyrics faint. But it settled in his bones and stopped it from rattling. Remus must have been listening to a lot of music today, he faintly thought. His soulmate’s playlist had looped back from Vocaloid, to the Hamilton Polka, and back to Video game OSTs for the third time now. Despite the questionable choice of a playlist, Janus appreciated it just the same. That feeling of having one person that was always thinking of you, connected through musical notes and voice and thoughts.

“I don’t know…” Remy admitted. Janus didn’t point out his habit of absentmindedly rubbing his bicep. He didn’t need to judge someone for trying to leech some comfort from a soulmate he hadn’t had the pleasure to meet yet. “I think we just need to be prepared,

---

They said that Virgil laughed.

He had laughed as he did it. Agony must have ripped through him top to bottom. It would have fizzed and flared back up again- leaving him a writhing mess on the floor of his own home. It burnt through him and made him suffer. Yet, he had laughed .

Virgil laughed.

He was still laughing when they got to him , the nurse had said.

Janus clutched his nephew as he slept, his own heartbeat beating in time with his pounding head. He remembers Virgil’s laugh. The cackle, a pleased, borderline mischievous sound.

Now, he wishes he could wipe his head clean from it.

Thomas suddenly whimpered, and Janus fussed over him again. No matter what lullaby he sang, or any reassurance he whispered to the toddler, nothing had erased the sudden cold dread that had washed over him after they knew. Nothing could stop the child from crying out and demanding for the comfort of his father. Nothing could bleach Janus’ brain from the sight of those awful, black cracks spreading out on Virgil’s skin like Lichtenberg scars.

After they found out what that bastard --

That absolute beast of a conniving, cowardly, sniveling bastard--

Janus pulled in a raspy gasp, trying hard not to let a single sob go through his composure. Not when it took this much effort to make sure he was calm enough to take care of Thomas. His nephew had spent the time with medical personnel since they were both brought in, and Janus wanted to make sure that wouldn’t happen again. The boy needed to be with family.

His family.

Their family. Because Thomas is his nephew. His only nephew--

… Oh stars, he had a nephew.

They came in expecting their brother, only to meet their nephew. Janus didn't feel ready for this. He needed to-- He need to be--

Janus squashed the pained noise in his throat. Ready? What a thought. he would laugh if he wasn't so haunted by Virgil's. He isn't ready. His baby brother’s soul had snapped in two, frayed into anguish and Virgil had laughed.

And there was absolutely nothing-- nothing that could prepare them for this.

[gusu-emilu]

seven nights to turn (3/4)

chapter three: turn

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days. He’s spending the next seven in a cabin on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses. On the first night, he hears humming.

Rated E, Post-Canon, Mentioned Canonical Violence & Character Deaths, Grief/Trauma, Panic Attacks, but finally some bonding time

<< Ch. 1 | < Ch. 2

read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

“Wen Qionglin!”

Wen Ning almost looks at him, but then his eyes roll back, and he convulses even harder.

Jiang Cheng holds him firm. “Listen to me! Wen Ning!”

He whimpers. The resentful energy surrounding him thickens, reaches toward Jiang Cheng.

“Say something!”

Wen Ning’s eyes are still fixed on the spot on the floor where the brush had landed. “That’s a—that’s what the Lan use to clean their guqins,” he says.

“I know what it is.” Jiang Cheng staggers to his feet, his back aching from being shoved to the floor.

“Why do you have it?”

Jiang Cheng considers storming out the door and not looking back, but he can’t bring himself to move.

“For…” Wen Ning furrows his brow, like this is the most perplexing situation he’s ever encountered. “For Hanguang-Jun?”

If only Wen Ning had assumed the brush was for someone else, some random Lan disciple, or one of the juniors—hell, even Lan Qiren would do—because letting Wen Ning think that he bought a guqin brush for that stuck-up asshole Lan Wangji is not allowable.

“It’s for Lan Sizhui.” Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. “Wei Wuxian asked me to buy it.”

Wen Ning shakes his head. “No, A-Yuan just got a new brush recently. All Wei-gongzi needs to buy for him is cleaning oil.”

Jiang Cheng is beginning to feel like a caged animal.

Wen Ning takes an awkward step toward him. “Did you leave that bottle of oil outside A-Yuan’s door?”

“How do you know about that?”

He shrugs. “I saw it there.”

It’s a good thing that Wen Ning didn’t light a lamp in the room, because Jiang Cheng’s cheeks are starting to burn. Hopefully the blue moonlight doesn’t reveal any color in his face.

“Why didn’t you leave the brush there, too?”

Before Jiang Cheng knows what he’s doing, as if something outside himself is puppeteering his limbs and forcing him to speak, he walks up to Wen Ning and holds out the brush. “You give it to him.”

Wen Ning stares at it, his lips parted.

“Take it.”

He carefully lifts the brush from Jiang Cheng’s hand, making sure not to touch his skin, and continues to stare at it, studying its red handle. “These colors…A-Yuan can’t use this when other people are around.”

Jiang Cheng wants to bite his own lip open. He’s humiliated himself with yet another useless gift.

“Fine, then. It’s not like you appreciated the other things I gave you,” he says before he can stop himself.

Startled, Wen Ning tightens his grip around the brush. Then he murmurs, “Gave me?” His eyes widen. “The tea…talismans…”

Jiang Cheng’s gut plummets with panic.

“I’ve—I’ve—” Wen Ning stammers. “I’m sorry.”

“The hell are you apologizing for now?”

“You really were just trying to be kind, and in return I’ve…harmed you.”

“You didn’t harm me!” More heat rises in him at the suggestion that Wen Ning somehow hurt him—especially because in a way, it’s true. “And I wasn’t—I wasn’t ‘trying’ to be anything! It’s just, if you were going to hum outside my door every night, you should’ve at least done something to make it sound good!”

Wen Ning gives a sad, thoughtful look. The face of a corpse shouldn’t be this expressive. “I’ve disturbed your sleep.”

“I don’t sleep anyway!” He immediately clamps his mouth shut. He didn’t mean to say that.

Wen Ning seems to contemplate this for a moment. “I don’t either.” He walks away to find a place to set down the brush, his back turned to Jiang Cheng.

An excellent opportunity for Jiang Cheng to slip away.

He doesn’t.

He can’t push it down anymore. He can’t not admit it to himself.

There is something about Wen Ning that keeps Jiang Cheng rooted in place, waiting. A sense of Wen Ning’s potential to both heal and destroy him. A feeling that they share some of the same miseries. A hope to set one thing right out of the mistakes he made in the past.

The moment that Wen Ning protected Jin Ling from Baxia—his body bent over and strained, his teeth bared in a grimace, the skin of his palm slicing open under the blade as he held it back—Jiang Cheng’s entire perception of him flipped.

He can’t hate someone who is the reason Jin Ling is still alive.

Could Lan Sizhui be the key to changing how Wen Ning sees him?

A brush and a bottle of oil are nothing, pitiful gifts if they count as gifts at all, but Wen Ning seems like the type of person who would gaze in wonder if you gave him a pinecone and said it was because it looked pretty.

Could this sudden softening of Wen Ning’s demeanor be from Jiang Cheng’s show of care, however small, for Lan Sizhui?

How much more could he change how Wen Ning saw him if he actually did something worthwhile?

Dread rises in him at the thought. Somehow the idea of undeserved forgiveness from Wen Ning is more frightening than his wrath.

His thoughts break when Wen Ning returns to stand in front of him, his expression much softer than before. “Thank you. A-Yuan will like the brush.” He tugs at his sleeves. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. I just—I thought you would have understood.”

“The brush was just a random color.”

“No, not that—I mean, that too—but I…I mean, the other things.”

“I don’t have time to listen to you speak in riddles,” Jiang Cheng says despite the fact that it’s the middle of the night and he has nowhere to be. “Say it clearly.”

“Well, first—"

“It doesn’t need a preamble.”

Wen Ning’s expression darkens. “First, I don’t like to be called a Wen-dog.”

Jiang Cheng feels a pang in his chest. “I…I didn’t mean that anyway.”

Wen Ning nods, but he doesn’t seem exactly happy. Perhaps Jiang Cheng had snapped at him too much.

“Your humming…” Jiang Cheng looks away. “I didn’t mean that either. It’s fine. It could be better. But it’s fine.”

“Really?” Wen Ning sounds genuinely surprised. Then, more quietly: “I really had thought you would’ve understood.”

“Understood what?”

“Now that you know.”

“You—" He stops himself, takes a moment to sap some of the impatience from his voice. “Just get to the point.”

Wen Ning frowns. His voice is a low murmur, rough with the same imperfections as his humming. “I’ve always wondered what it might be like to be more human again. When Wei-gongzi returned from his travels, I asked him to help fix a few things about me. The first thing he worked on was my voice, so I could hum and sing.”

Jiang Cheng shifts his feet, waiting for him to continue.

Wen Ning looks out the window. “I’m very grateful for it. Wei-gongzi was happy too. After that he came up with more plans, more ways to help me. I thought that it would make me feel better.” He shakes his head. “It didn’t. Already the next day, I didn’t want it anymore. It just made me think of...” He trails off, then collects himself. “I’ve been experimented on enough already.”

Jinlintai.

What had it been like, those sixteen years Wen Ning was locked in Jinlintai?

Something claws up inside Jiang Cheng, and he realizes that it’s…protectiveness. “What did they do to you?”

“I don’t really remember.”

“That’s…good.”

Jiang Cheng had been tortured at the hands of the Wen, and that had only been for a night. He still dreams about it sometimes, the sting of the discipline whip on his back, the horror of his parents’ bodies bloody and lifeless on the ground, the iron grip that seemed to rip his core right out of him. He can’t imagine remembering years of agony like that. To have that pain forever weighing on his mind.

“I didn’t want Wei-gongzi’s help anymore,” Wen Ning says. “But I didn’t know how to tell him.” Apparently that’s the end of the story, because he meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes expectantly, as if waiting for something.

Jiang Cheng can’t help but be reminded of the golden core transfer.

He has been changed. Been experimented on.

The realization hits him, and his heart sinks. Wen Ning had expected him to know how it feels to be broken and fixed. To know the conflicting feelings of gratitude and inadequacy and guilt that resulted from it. This was why Jiang Cheng’s attempt to improve his humming offended him so much—because all his “help” did was tell Wen Ning that he was incomplete.

Of all people, Jiang Cheng should have known.

“I…” He swallows. “I understand.”

Relief appears on Wen Ning’s face. He looks down at his hands. Then, like he doesn’t want Jiang Cheng to hear it, he mumbles, “I’ve been avoiding him.”

That’s a shock.

To his surprise, Jiang Cheng finds himself getting angry on his brother’s behalf. “You shouldn’t do that,” he says. When Wen Ning glances up, confused, he clarifies, “Shouldn’t avoid him.”

“Neither should you.”

Jiang Cheng freezes.

He knows he can’t argue with that, but he tries anyway. “It would be easier for you,” he says, sharper than he means to.

Wen Ning looks him dead in the eyes. “Would it?”

That catches him off guard.

“One thing I do remember from Jinlintai is…” Wen Ning seems to wince as if old wounds are torn open again. “I remember M-Mo Xuanyu.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen.

“He would talk to me. Sometimes he was even nice to me. But he also had to…had to…”

Now he fully understands.

What must it be like for Wen Ning to see his closest friend return in the body of someone who tortured him? How could he explain this to Wei Wuxian without making him feel guilty about something he couldn’t control?

Wen Ning looks lost in memory. Miserable.

Uncertain of what to say, Jiang Cheng rests his hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder.

Wen Ning makes the tiniest gasp and glances down at Jiang Cheng’s hand. Something shifts in his expression—Jiang Cheng can’t tell what—but it’s like a single knot of a giant tangle has come untied.

Jiang Cheng slowly removes his hand. “You shouldn’t have been there in Jinlintai.”

“But I killed so many of their clansmen.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I killed Jin Zixuan.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“It was by my hand. The resentful energy was mine.”

“You were being controlled!”

Wen Ning draws his lower lip between his teeth. His voice is thick with emotion, like he is afraid of his own words. “I have so much resentment in me.” He looks away suddenly, wrings his hands. “I never wanted to kill Jin Zixuan. I never wanted to kill anybody. But…I…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I didn’t like him that much.”

Of course Wen Ning wouldn’t like Jin Zixuan. He was in a position of power, the best candidate to protect the Dafan Wen. He was the favored son of that gilded swine of a man who led the cruelty against them, and he did not prevent it.

“You can’t control whether or not you like someone,” Jiang Cheng says. “I didn’t like him all that much either!”

“But I couldn’t stop myself,” Wen Ning says. “All it took was Wei-gongzi losing control, and I lost control too. And because the resentment was already in me…I killed him. It was me.” He shakes his head. “This is why we can never be even, Jiang Wanyin. You stepped aside when you could have helped, and I—I can’t forgive you for that. But my people were already doomed to die from the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. You didn’t even do anything to directly harm us.

“But I killed with my own hands. Jin Zixuan was never meant to die, and I had the chance to stop it. I didn’t.” He looks at the floor, his lip quivering. “If I hadn’t killed him…Wei-gongzi and Jiejie could’ve lived.”

Jiang Cheng grabs him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“But—”

“I hate you for it. But I don’t blame you.”

“Then we truly can’t be even, because I still blame you.”

The words are like a punch in the stomach. But what else could he expect?

“Then blame me! Blame me all you want!”

“I don’t want to blame you.”

“Just…” Jiang Cheng lets go of him. “Make up your mind.”

Wen Ning is silent for a few moments. “I’m still worried about something like Qiongqi Path happening again. It almost did, when I was possessed by Baxia.”

“No. You saved Jin Ling.”

Wen Ning doesn’t reply.

Now would be the time for Jiang Cheng to leave, to finally let Wen Ning remain undisturbed. But he stands in place, suddenly calm.

“You said you don’t sleep.” Jiang Cheng tries to make it sound like a question.

“You don’t either?”

“…Not really.”

“I don’t need to sleep, though.”

“Can you?”

Wen Ning’s jaw tightens. “I don’t like to.”

Jiang Cheng rubs his thumb back and forth over the metal coils of Zidian. There are only a few things that could make someone choose not to sleep. “…Dreams?”

The only answer is a telling silence.

Nodding, Jiang Cheng turns toward the door and slides it open. Pauses.

He shuts the door. “If you…if you’re going to be up all night—”

“You can stay.” Wen Ning gestures toward the tea table. “If you want.”

Jiang Cheng chews his lip. He was going to ask Wen Ning to come to his cabin, but…that might be too much to ask for.

They sit.

The air feels slightly warmer, but dense and heavy. Wen Ning rocks back and forth in his seat, staring down at the table, until eventually he stops and there is no movement left in the room.

Anxious to break the stillness, Jiang Cheng pours a cup of tea, but he can’t bring himself to drink it. His eyes wander around the dim room, hunting for a distraction from the heaviness in the air. He nods toward the assortment of plants and cultivation objects on the windowsill. “What’s all that?”

Wen Ning turns toward the window. “Medicinal herbs.”

“Are you the doctor around here or something?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m…I’m trying to recreate some medicines that my sister used to make. A lot of the recipes are missing from her writings.” He looks down at his hands. “A lot of her work has been lost.”

A strange silence settles over them. Jiang Cheng feels a warm pulse from his golden core.

He clears his throat. “It’s uh…it’s a shame.”

Wen Ning thins his lips. Slouches forward.

“Have you made any of the medicines?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“Not quite.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “My…my sister used to write songs. She’d sing them.” He adds, more quietly, “Or hum them.”

Wen Ning’s gaze intensifies.

“She had pages and pages of music in Lotus Pier.” He turns the tea cup back and forth, wearing its bottom into the table. “All burned. She never rewrote them.”

“Do you remember them?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.” Suddenly uncomfortable, he props his elbows on the table and folds his hands in front of his face, studying Wen Ning and wondering how to continue talking. If he should continue talking. He isn’t good at…whatever this is.

But questions are easy enough. Questions are working.

He points toward the window. “What’s the rest of the stuff there? All the spiritual items between the plants.”

Wen Ning hesitates for a moment, then walks over to the windowsill. “They’re mostly things the juniors found on night hunts.” He picks up a dark red gemstone. “This is a garnet stone that helps dissipate negative energies. A-Yuan found it near Qinghe.” He exchanges the stone for a necklace of carved wooden beads. “A-Yuan bought this in a town we visited.” Next he picks up a thin bundle of talismans, and his face lights up. “Wei-gongzi has been teaching A-Yuan how to invent his own talismans, and he wrote these himself. If you light one, it makes sparks that take the shape of an animal and fly through the air.”

He explains more items on the shelf, and although there are one or two “Lan Jingyi”s or “Ouyang Zizhen”s or some name Jiang Cheng doesn’t recognize in the mix, the same refrain comes up over and over: A-Yuan gave me this, A-Yuan bought that, A-Yuan made this, A-Yuan found that.

Apparently once Wen Ning gets on the topic of “A-Yuan,” he doesn’t shut up. Jiang Cheng finds himself reminded of how proud he felt each time A-Ling won a sword fight, or passed an exam, or defeated a beast on a night hunt. The corners of his mouth creep upward.

“And this one—" Wen Ning cuts off and stares at Jiang Cheng like something is wrong with him.

Embarrassed, Jiang Cheng clears the smile from his face. “What?”

Wen Ning stares for a little longer, then glances away. “Um, nothing.”

He doesn’t discuss the few remaining items, instead wordlessly examining the plants. Jiang Cheng finds himself relieved by this choice, as his thoughts of A-Ling disappear, replaced by the memory of a toddler hugging his leg in the Burial Mounds, and suddenly he doesn’t want to hear more about Lan Sizhui.

Although some of A-Ling’s milestones happened out of Jiang Cheng’s sight, he learned of them no less than a day later. Even so, Jiang Cheng still has keepsakes from A-Ling in his bedroom.

But Wen Ning missed everything in Lan Sizhui’s life. Of course he would clutch onto these small trinkets and display them like decorations.

Jiang Cheng rubs his thumbs together. “He’s…he’s a good kid.”

Wen Ning fiddles with the leaves of a plant. “He is.”

For the sake of something to do, Jiang Cheng finishes the tea in his cup. Pours another.

Wen Ning rests his hand on one of the pots on the windowsill. “I just remembered that I need to prune this plant. Is it alright if I—”

“I don’t care.”

Wen Ning carries over the large potted plant, some kind of small bush, and sets it down on the floor next to the table. He brings over shears that are bit too small for his hands and starts cutting away tiny sections of the bush. Jiang Cheng sips tea and listens to the gentle snipping sounds, sometimes watching Wen Ning tend to the plant, sometimes watching the liquid swirl in his cup, sometimes staring at nothing at all. Exhaustion begins to seep into him.

After a while, a faint sound of music reaches Jiang Cheng’s ears.

Humming.

Tension releases from his muscles. The cup feels heavy in his hand.

He must nearly close his eyes, because the humming stops, and Wen Ning murmurs, “I thought you don’t sleep.”

“Mn.” Jiang Cheng blinks a few times and straightens himself up.

He expects Wen Ning to suggest he go back to his own cabin, but instead Wen Ning asks, “Does this…does this help you sleep?”

“No.” He sounds drowsier than he wants to.

Wen Ning resumes his trimming of the plant.

The last thing Jiang Cheng remembers after that is half-walking, half-staggering back to his cabin, a phantomlike pressure steadying him—or perhaps nothing was touching him at all—and then soft blankets surround him as he drifts asleep to the faint melody of humming in the distance.

* * *

He wakes with a jolt.

Groaning. Someone is in pain—

It’s still nighttime. He must not have slept for long. He shoves off the covers and hastens outside, following the gut-wrenching groans until he arrives at the creek where Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui had played music four nights ago.

Wen Ning is on the ground, hunched over at the bank of the creek with his hands in the water. His body is convulsing. Dark, cloudy tendrils snake upward from him.

Resentful energy.

Jiang Cheng runs forward and drops to the ground beside Wen Ning. He grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him away from the water.

“Wen Qionglin!”

Wen Ning almost looks at him, but then his eyes roll back, and he convulses even harder.

Jiang Cheng holds him firm. “Listen to me! Wen Ning!”

He whimpers. The resentful energy surrounding him thickens, reaches toward Jiang Cheng.

“Say something!”

Wen Ning opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out.

Jiang Cheng is not the man to help in this situation. When has he ever been able to calm someone down? Wei Wuxian would know what to do—

Should he get Wei Wuxian?

But what could happen if he leaves Wen Ning alone?

He uses strength from his spiritual energy to steady Wen Ning’s convulsions. “I need you to come back! Tell me—”

“Don’t do it…” Wen Ning moans toward some unseen figure, as if trapped in a nightmare.

What could shake Wen Ning back to consciousness? Force him into the present?

The one thing that has grounded Jiang Cheng through the darkest times has been work—the tedium of life, of running his sect, the constant chores and movement. Something to latch onto and distract himself.

The idea doesn’t seem promising, but it’s worth a try.

“Tell me everything you do during a day,” Jiang Cheng says.

“A…a day?” Wen Ning croaks out.

“Just list it for me. List everything you do in the Cloud Recesses.”

Wen Ning doesn’t respond, but the smoke of resentful energy begins to wither, folding in on itself as it floats downward.

“What did you do today?” Jiang Cheng squeezes his shoulders tighter. “What do you need to do tomorrow?”

Wen Ning rocks back and forth. “I—I usually…b-buy things…”

“Good…good...”

“Go on night hunts.” The resentful energy begins to thin.

It’s working. He can’t believe it’s actually working.

“Keep going,” Jiang Cheng searches his face for signs of his awareness returning. “You’re—you’re doing well. Keep listing.”

“I take inventory of m-medical supplies.” Wen Ning’s voice is hoarse, but it’s beginning to sound less pained. “Sometimes I clean them.”

Jiang Cheng loosens his hold on Wen Ning, who has stopped rocking back and forth. “Good…tell me more.”

“Read music books that Hanguang-Jun gave me. Take care of the rabbits on the back hill.” He smiles a bit. “Get chased out of the Main Hall by Lan Qiren.”

He meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and the last wisps of resentful energy dissipate.

They stare at each other until Jiang Cheng realizes his hands are still on Wen Ning’s shoulders. He pulls away and stands up. Takes a few steps back and clears his throat.

Wen Ning hangs his head. “Th-Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng nods. Swallows. “You…weren’t kidding when you said you can’t control yourself.”

“I’m not usually like this.” He turns to watch the flow of the creek like he wants to dissolve into it and drift away. “This hasn’t happened to me in a long time.”

“…Why’d it happen now?”

Wen Ning gives a small, rueful smile. “I fell asleep.”

“Your dreams are that bad?”

“I don’t exactly get dreams anymore.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his robe. “They’re more like recurring memories.”

Memories. Those can be much worse than nightmares.

Jiang Cheng feels a sudden urge to lift this burden from Wen Ning. To be a well for Wen Ning to fill with his pain until everything from the past hangs on Jiang Cheng’s heart, not his.

His attempts to give Wen Ning something have been useless.

If Jiang Cheng is stuck forever taking from Wen Ning, he can at least try to take away something that weighs him down.

“Memories of what?”

Wen Ning silently trails his fingers through the creek. There is no sound in the forest except the water’s gentle murmuring as it flows around Wen Ning’s hand.

Just before Jiang Cheng is about to ask again, Wen Ning mumbles, “They made me watch.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Jiang Cheng slowly lowers to sit on the ground a few feet away and waits for him to continue speaking.

Wen Ning starts pulling out blades of grass from the ground, his fingers still wet from the creek and dripping beads of water onto the cold grass like dew. “I had to w-watch when she…when she was...” He trails off.

Jiang Cheng’s chest constricts.

He can’t be talking about what Jiang Cheng thinks he is.

But what else could it be?

By the way Wen Ning’s eyes are filled with pain, Jiang Cheng’s guess cannot be wrong.

Wen Ning was forced to watch Wen Qing be burned at the stake.

The image scorches his mind. Rips at his throat and leaves his voice useless.

He had never been able to bring himself to think about what might have happened to her in Jinlintai. He had seen the Dafan Wen hanging by nooses in a row along the wall of Nightless City, seen Wen Qing’s ashes scattered in the wind, and but to have seen her agony before she fell lifeless—the claws of flames, white skin seared red, spine-chilling screams—

Jiang Cheng had held A-Jie in his arms as she died, but at least she hadn’t screamed. At least she hadn’t writhed in pain. She had just quietly turned cold and motionless…

A soft whimper in front of him, and Jiang Cheng realizes that Wen Ning has started speaking again. He makes noises that don’t sound much like words until finally he whispers, “She never looked at me.”

Jiang Cheng suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

“I…I g-guess she thought that if she didn’t look at me, it wouldn’t hurt me as much. But—” He grips his sleeves tight, stretching the fabric as his hands begin to shake. “But I wanted her to look at me. And now when I sleep, I keep—I keep dreaming about it, but even in the dreams she never…n-never…”

The forest fades away.

A-Jie is limp in Jiang Cheng’s arms.

Bloody. Trembling.

Pulling her hand out of Jiang Cheng’s grasp, reaching one last time for Wei Wuxian.

She never looked at Jiang Cheng while she died.

The nightmare of A-Jie’s death has returned to him over and over, lurking in the depths of his grief and slithering into his dreams on nights he was already close to breaking.

But no matter how many times the nightmare repeats, A-Jie still never looks at him.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes feel like they might be wet, but his body seems separate from himself, distant. He sits closer to Wen Ning without being sure of how he gets there, without fully feeling the sensations of shifting his weight or pressing his hands into the grass or letting his breath become unsteady.

He wonders how Wen Ning was able to fall asleep here. If he does not need to sleep, why would he try, knowing what he would dream about?

But Jiang Cheng does not ask.

As they sit there at the bank of the creek, watching the water trickle along and catch the moonlight, the memories fade as if washed away by the stream. Wen Ning’s presence beside him, steady and motionless and slumped over slightly, is almost…comforting. It’s nice to have someone to sit next to.

His mind wanders to the list of Wen Ning’s daily activities in the Cloud Recesses. Despite all the chores and organizing, his life here sounds peaceful. Relaxed.

But why does Wen Ning only perform the jobs of an errand boy?

Jiang Cheng has seen him on night hunts, seen him step forward from the shadows and instantly eliminate danger with his strength and cleverness. And now Jiang Cheng has also seen the small collection of herbs Wen Ning grows in his cabin and uses to recreate lost medicines.

Yet to the Cloud Recesses, he is just an errand boy.

Doesn’t he have...more to offer than that?

The conversation Jiang Cheng overheard between Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi makes more sense now. Wen Ning acts differently while on night hunts than while in the Cloud Recesses because on night hunts, he is useful. In the Cloud Recesses, what difference is there between him and any ordinary servant?

Especially if Lan Sizhui is always busy training, and Wei Wuxian…he has his own issues to work through with Wei Wuxian.

“Do you want to be here?” Jiang Cheng finds himself asking.

Wen Ning must have been lost in thoughts of his own, because he tenses, startled. “What do you mean?”

“The Cloud Recesses.” He gestures around vaguely. “Where else?”

Wen Ning is slow to answer. “Yes. A-Yuan is here.”

A small bit of jealousy nips at Jiang Cheng, knowing that Wen Ning can live in the same place as the last member of his family. Jiang Cheng does not think he would answer differently himself.

“If you could go somewhere else, where would you go?”

“Tanzhou,” Wen Ning says without hesitation.

Tanzhou. The city south of Yunmeng with all the gardens. A quick glance at the array of herbs on the windowsill is enough to make it obvious that Wen Ning likes plants, but that doesn’t seem like a reason compelling enough for him to be so sure of his destination, as if he has thought about this question daily.

“Why there?”

“I heard that Song-daozhang is staying there for a while. I…I’d like to talk to him.” To talk to someone like me, is what goes unsaid.

A sinking feeling grips Jiang Cheng.

Song Lan would understand Wen Ning much better than Jiang Cheng ever could.

There are probably many others who could understand Wen Ning better. Who could help him heal. Who could give him something.

As soon as Jiang Cheng recognizes the thought in himself, he tries to stamp it away, but it persists. He shoves it down enough to continue speaking. “You should go to Tanzhou before Song Lan leaves.”

“But—"

“Why wouldn’t you?” Jiang Cheng scowls at him. “Don’t tell me you like this white-robed hellhole.”

“But A-Yuan…”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “He’ll be fine without you. He has Wei Wuxian and the entire Lan Clan to look after him.”

His own words nearly make him laugh with spite at himself. Who is he to speak like this? He still stalks A-Ling on night hunts, still worries about him every day, still feels like every moment with A-Ling is not enough, because one day he could be gone.

But a trip away from the Cloud Recesses would be good for Wen Ning. If he has thought so much about meeting Song Lan…he should go.

“It isn’t that far of a journey,” Jiang Cheng says. “You could come back to the Cloud Recesses whenever you’re finished.

Wen Ning tilts his head and stares into the water. “Maybe…maybe I’ll go, then.”

“Stop in Lotus Pier on your way there.”

Wen Ning looks up in shock.

It takes a moment for Jiang Cheng to realize what he said.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Heat rises to his face. He stands up, tries to put distance between himself and Wen Ning. He needs to cover for himself—needs an excuse—“Well, look at yourself! You can barely control your resentful energy! You think I’m going to let you pass through Yunmeng unsupervised?”

“I can—I can just travel south of Yunmeng—”

“I’m not letting you pass through the neighboring territories unsupervised either!”

“O-Okay.”

They freeze like that, Jiang Cheng blushing and clenching his fists like an idiot, and Wen Ning sitting on the ground and staring up at him with round eyes.

When Jiang Cheng finally gets his voice to work, it sounds unsure and creaky, like a rusted metal hinge. “Then you’ll come to Lotus Pier with me when I leave tomorrow morning.”

Wen Ning blinks. “Okay.”

“Alright.” Jiang Cheng takes a step back. “I’m—I’m going to my cabin now.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“…Y-Yes.”

Jiang Cheng turns and walks up the path until he is out of Wen Ning’s sight, then races to his cabin. He doesn’t slow down until the door is shut behind him, and even then his heart is still pounding.

He mindlessly follows his nighttime routine in an attempt to calm his nerves. His muscles ache when he climbs into bed for another futile attempt at sleep. He has no idea what time it is. Sunrise could be in as soon as an hour, and then he will already be taking Wen Ning with him to Lotus Pier.

He is taking Wen Ning with him to Lotus Pier.

He flips onto his stomach and tries to sink into the mattress, hoping the pressure will stifle the bizarre tingling in his chest. Flips onto his back and rubs between his eyes.

What the hell did I just do?

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

Ch. 4 >

[longitud-de-onda]

{un veneno} january: captivate

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; the year is 1980. javier peña has been at the embassy in bogotá for a year when he meets you, fresh out of college and brand new to the country. rating; nc-17 warnings; smoking, masturbation word count; 2.4k a/n; so this is a passion project of mine, it will be 12 chapters, full of fluff, smut, warm tropical nights, and later on, a lot of angst. bonus; there’s a playlist for the series! check it out here on spotify or message me for apple music

un veneno masterlist

“Quero um–no, fuck–un paquete de cigarros?” you said to the shop attendant. Spanish was no easy task. It was a dumb decision to come here without any knowledge of the language, but you had assumed some university-level Portuguese would help. Apparently not, because the man behind the counter shot you a confused look as he pulled a pack from the shelves behind them. He understood, that was clear, but you didn’t know the words.

“Ella quiere unas Pielrojas porfa, con filtro,” said a voice behind you, “No esos malditos y caros Marlboros. Bueno, que sean dos y yo pago.”

“Señor Peña, ¿cómo vas?” the shopkeeper said, and you turned to look at this ‘Señor Peña.’

He was a bit taller than you, and more than a bit older. Tanned skin, tight pants, a pink shirt. A large pair of orange-tinted sunglasses masked his eyes.

“Muy bién, Roberto, ¿y cómo va tu esposa?” He said, and the shopkeeper laughed. You only caught a few words of the exchange and were unsure if you were getting your cigarettes.

You flew into Bogotá the day before and had just gotten settled at the hostel you’d be staying in for the next couple of weeks. It had been a solid three days since you’d had a smoke and you wanted to go to the park nearby and relax.

The man turned to you and began to speak with a rough but refreshingly familiar American accent, tinged with the light musicality of the Southern states, “I’m sorry ma’am for the interruption, but Roberto here was going to try to sell you the Marlboros, which are much to overpriced, and I couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you get ripped off like that.”

“Thank you? But I can handle myself,” you said.

“Obviously not, you sound like you’re confusing Portuguese for Spanish, which just won’t cut it here,” he said, turning to pay for the two boxes that Roberto placed on the counter.

He tossed you one pack, which you fumbled with, clutching it against your stomach to ensure it didn’t fall. He laughed.

“That right there’s a pack of Pielroja, it’s loosely packed, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s cheaper, local, and ten times better,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said. As interesting as the guy was, you really wanted to leave for the park. Colombia wasn’t your first rodeo, but somehow every new country was exhausting between the 24th and 32nd hour marks.

“You’re welcome,” he said as you brushed by him and walked out the door.

Outside the shop, you paused to fish your lighter out of your bag.

“So what’s an American girl doing in Bogotá all alone?” The man was back, standing in front of you.

“You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Not really, no,” he grinned, leaning back against the building.

You opened the pack of cigarettes he bought you, lit one, and drew it to your lips.

“So, do you like it?” he was messing around with his own box and pulled out one. He held it out to you, silently asking for you to light it. You complied.

You weren’t sure if he was talking about cigarettes or Bogotá. “It’s nice. So far,” you said, exhaling smoke.

He laughed again, this time bringing a smile to your face. He had a nice laugh.

“You never answered me, what are you doing here?”

“Teaching English at an elementary school nearby, I start next week,” you said.

His eyebrows shot up, “How old are you? 20?”

“22.”

“What kind of 22-year-old wants to be a schoolteacher?” he said.

“Me, apparently,” you said, “But it’s not my career or anything. Graduated last May, I’ve been traveling and teaching English, got a gig here, whole school year, pays pretty well, I’m excited.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, “22, fresh out of college, your only experience out of the states was probably in Europe, and you’re gonna teach kids? In Colombia?”

“What’s wrong with a bit of crazy?” you said.

“What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring your question.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said. You liked how he said your name. “I’m Javier.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, staring at him propped up against the building.

The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and a thin sheen of sweat lay over his chest and face. Something about the look with the broad mustache made him appear like he was stuck in ‘73. His smile was one of those that reached the eyes and spilled into those around him.

You exhaled carefully.

“So, what are you doing in Colombia?” you asked.

“I work for the American embassy,” he said. There was a pause as he waited for the impressed look on your face that never came.

“What is this then, a welcome package?” you asked, chuckling to yourself.

“It could be,” he pushed himself off the wall and took another drag, “But then again, you’re only 22.”

“What does that have to—oh.” You found yourself laughing again. Javier was the sort of guy that you’d probably slap in the face back in the USA. But here, with the cloud cover doing nothing to mask the heat and humidity, the smell of papaya and passion fruit wafting through the air, you were only amused.

“See you around, Y/N,” Javier said, and he walked down the sidewalk before turning a corner and disappearing.

Five days of getting to know hundreds of students in different classes during the first week of school, all while trying to develop lesson plans, left you lying in your hostel bed on a Friday night. You were alone in the room, the rest of the residents out partying, as per usual for a hostel in the middle of a city.

You would have loved to be out too, Colombian Rock and rum thrumming through your body, dancing with someone, going home with someone.

But you had spent too much energy this week and partying would have to wait. You had a year left in Bogotá, at least another 50 Friday nights. Lesson planning would let up once you got into a rhythm. And figured out a living situation.

One of the other teachers had offered her spare bedroom during February and a bit of March, but her daughter would be back in town after that, and you’d lose the space. The wait until you got your own space in February felt far away. March even further. But planning for that needed to happen sooner rather than later. The hostel bed was killing you, and you hated the drunk guys coming and going.

At least you knew you’d be alone for another hour. No one dared come back before midnight; if you were caught calling it an early night it was certain fodder for shame the next morning. At least, that was the way your roommates worked.

Still, to be safe, you closed the curtain, encapsulating yourself on your bed in the darkness. You closed your eyes and slipped one hand down your stomach, dipping under the waistband of your pants and into your underwear.

As your fingers brushed over your clit, you let out a small gasp, your free hand fisting into the sheets. The last time you had been touched was over a month ago, back during the cold December winter weather in Brussels. You worked your hand across your slit, telling yourself this had to be a one-time thing. You would go out, find a good hookup this week.

Your brain was overworking, shuddering in pleasure, and the man from last week flickered across your vision: Javier.

You imagined his chest, the open shirt leaving a trail right down his chest, glowing in the sun. You slipped a finger inside, gasping at the sensation.

He would probably take you to bed if you played your cards right. If you found him again. He seemed to have that kind of character. You remembered his last words to you, suggestive and sensual.

He was older, probably by a lot. You shouldn’t be thinking about him, but you wanted him to hold you in his arms, kiss your neck. You imagined how he’d taste, probably like cigarettes and whiskey.

The thought of his hands snaking down your waist, pulling you closer almost sent you over and you moved your fingers faster. His smile, snarky and self-obsessed as it was, had worked its way into your brain, and you wondered where he was now.

Did he remember you? Had he laid in bed like you were now, getting himself off to your name? And that image, flooding into your brain, as unrealistic as it was, caused you to almost scream out loud, your whole body spasming.

Finally relaxed, your body almost limp on the bed, you became aware of the layer of sweat that now covered your body, and made up your mind to take a shower. As soon as you recover. That was the best orgasm you had had in months. But where had those thoughts come from?

You had only seen Javier that one time, right outside the corner store, then tried and failed to shove him out of your mind. In the few minutes you had known him, you had decided he was an asshole who didn’t deserve your time, but the sort of asshole you could see yourself becoming good friends with.

If he was years younger, you could have imagined traveling with him, continuing your round-the-world travels with Javier would have been amazing. You had seen so many things during your six months in Europe and met so many people. Many of the backpackers at the youth hostels you stayed at traveled with others. Mostly, they were single, their companions just good fun and friendship for the journey.

You had long since imagined meeting someone on the road like they did, someone that would sweep you off your feet and set aside a year of their life to spend with you, hopping from country to country, odd job to odd job.

Javier’s shit-eating grin and verbal wit would stick in your mind long after you left Colombia. And here you were, getting off to him.

If he lived in Bogotá? Worked at the embassy, probably lived nearby? You’d probably see him again. And you’d have to look at him in the eye, the only thing running through your mind the memory of tonight.

You wanted to see him again. Wanted to have lunch and smoke with him. Wanted him to show you around. But after what you just did, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Sex was no stranger to you, the one night stands being a common figure in your life throughout college, but even you wouldn’t go for someone as old as him. You had standards. A guy his age was reserved for friendship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Until now.

“God, I’m fucked,” you breathed out, sitting up and gathering your shower stuff before heading to the bathroom.

Javier had returned to the corner store every day for the past two weeks, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. He was back today, 15:30, hopefully after school got out, he imagined, eyes scanning the store as he lingered by the refrigerators full of six-packs.

The bell rang as someone walked in and he looked up. You stood there, exhausted from a day of child-wrangling and his eyes lit up.

All you wanted was a bottle of something and a shitty candy bar. You were roaming the aisles, trying to settle between the foreign brands of chocolate when Javier approached.

“Y/N,” he said, causing you to startle as you looked up. A deep red blush began to blossom across your cheeks as you took him in. He was even better in person.

“Javier, what a coincidence, running into you here again,” that was a lie. You walked past four other stores just to come here, hoping he would be nearby.

“Yeah... a coincidence,” he said, reaching down to grab a candy bar. “This one’s the best, that is, if you like milk chocolate.”

“So two weeks later and all you’re still giving me local product recommendations? You should write for the newspaper,” you laughed, signaling you didn’t want the chocolate when he tried to hand it to you, “But you’d be wrong, because the only good chocolate is dark chocolate.”

“You like that bitter shit?” he said, still holding the bar in his hands.

You reached down for something that said 85% and figured that would be dark enough for you.

“Gross,” he said.

“You can leave,” you said.

You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to go for a coffee?” he said. “You look exhausted.”

“Real good way to charm a woman,” it should have stung, but when Javier said it, you smiled.

“That, um, sounded bad, didn’t it?” his brow was furrowed and his smile was gone.

“Yeah, it did,” you kept smiling, hoping he would light up again. You wanted his excited face burnt into your memory. “So, what’s the best café around here?”

“Are you some kind of heathen who takes their coffee with no sugar or milk to go with your raw chocolate beans? If so, I have no suggestions because that’s disgusting.”

You laughed, loudly, with your whole body, “Unfortunately for you, I do. But if you give me a good café con leche I’ll drink it.”

“Good, because you’re not going to get away with that bar of chocolate and coffee with no add-ins.”

“I worry you have a sweet tooth and can’t appreciate good flavors,” you said. It was so easy to talk with him. He knew exactly what to say to keep you smiling as he leaned against the display like he owned the place.

“I don’t have a sweet tooth, you just like your food to hurt you,” he said, “Let’s go, there’s a good café down the block.”

He reached out to grab your hand and you almost lost it. His palm was soft and his grip firm.

Javier led you to the register where he flung his arm around your shoulders, “Roberto, te acuerdas de Y/N, ¿verdad?”

Roberto chuckled, ringing up your two chocolate bars, “Por supuesto.”

He leaned towards you and said, in broken English, “Careful. Señor Peña is crazy man, yes? He is flirt but he doesn’t mean it.”

Javier laughed, “No somos una pareja, Roberto, somos amigos. Solo amigos.”

You understood that part. You were friends. You grinned. After just ten minutes of talking over two weeks, Javier thought of you as a friend.

next: february: blossom

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights (tumblr isn’t letting me tag so idk if these show up in your notifs)

[baldwin-montclair]

The Unlikely Advocate - Part 5

Just a little more backstory to how this little family of a vampire and two witches formed

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

Tagged: @sylverdeclermont @christi14 @fanficqueen306 @holamor

“You look ravishing.” Baldwin admired when Eileen joined him in the foyer.

“Then why dinner? I already gave you my consent to order me around for a few hours.”

He gave a half smile.

“I suppose you took that to mean I planned to tie you to my bed and have my way with you?”

“Doesn’t it?” She challenged.

“Do you like the dress?” He switched subjects.

She did, from first she saw it, hanging on the outside of her wardrobe. It was a beautiful deep red sculpture and contour dress with a risqué slash reaching from the hem to halfway up her thigh.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she regarded him in his suit and tie, “where are we going for dinner?”

“Dinner will be served on my plane.”

“Where are we going?”

“You will see.”

“I don’t have my passport.”

“You won’t need it.”

“But-“

“Do I hear dissent, so soon?”

“No, it’s just-“

“Come here.” He ordered, keeping his gaze on her as she approached.

“We need a penalty system,” he decided “if we’re to do this properly, you will have to behave, do not challenge, question or lie to me as I will be keeping count of every transgression and you will be punished accordingly.”

“Are you gonna put me over your knee?” She taunted, placing her hands on his broad chest and leaning forward for a kiss.

“Do not enter into a battle of wills with me, I will win each time,” he warned, “but if my terms were unclear, I’ll happily repeat them?”

“I’m curious, what is my penance?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I need to know if it’s worth misbehaving.”

“It isn’t.”

“Are you sure?” She grinned.

With a quiet growl, he pressed her against the wall, capturing her lips in a hard kiss and she was unable to suppress the satisfied smile from her ability to evoke a reaction.

“Is this what you want,” he asked gruffly, “I know you were close before,” I could sense it, smell it, practically taste it. You want nothing more than to be taken hard right here.”

He slid his hand inside the long slit in the side of the dress, running almost the length of her leg, and his fingers slipped inside the delicate lace of her underwear.

“Yes,” she gasped as he toyed with her, barely touching her clit to instead slide a finger up and down her slick entrance, the obvious coolness of his skin against her heat made his touch feel more erotic than all the warmbloods she’d been with.

“However,” he pulled away, “you misbehaved.

As if to underscore his point, he gently kissed her neck, just over her pulse.

“I gave you instructions, they were not followed. Assuming that I failed to make them clear enough, I repeated them. The failure to comply from now on will be treated the same.

He framed her face in his hands tenderly.

“This is not about giving you what you think you want.”

“Then what is it?” She mewled in frustration as the friction he’d created within her dissipated.

“I’m giving you what you need.”

“Which is?”

“Freedom.”

“From?”

“Responsibility, fear of failure. You’ve been white knuckling for a year, and you have managed because of your strength, and courage. Tonight you will do as I say because you have the safety of knowing that I will not drop the plates you started spinning. I will not let you take control over what happens at any point tonight, it defeats the purpose. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he kissed he lightly on the temple and released her, “if I’m unable to discipline you immediately at any point in the evening I will do so when we are alone. I just hope the sun doesn’t rise before your penance is paid. Best let this be the last defiance or it will be a very unsatisfying evening for you.”

She let the protest die in her mouth, internally cursing his ability to find the one thing he could most easily control her with.

A denied climax was annoying at the best of times. Right then, it was the last thing she wanted.

“Stop pouting,” he rolled his eyes with amusement, “I guarantee a wonderful evening.”

“Oh. My God!” Eileen moaned involuntary as the softest, richest chocolate cake she had ever tasted played on her tongue.

After two and a half hours of carefully spaced dishes and conversation, she had already forgiven his harsh denial.

“Good?” He asked.

She nodded with enthusiasm and offered him a forkful.

“No thank you, it would be wasted on me.”

“Am I allowed to ask you questions?”

“Of course.”

“Can you not taste human food?”

“Not in the same way you do,” he shrugged, “Matthew has a theory to explain why it is different,” she nodded for him to continue, “which I did not care to have him explain.”

“You don’t want to know more about your fundamental nature?”

“I know everything I need to, I have not much use for the meaning behind it.”

“But you’ve never tasted chocolate, I cannot even imagine that.”

“Well you needn’t imagine because I have.”

“But you’re so much older than-“ she stopped, “I’m sorry that was disrespectful.”

“And if you were going to say the cultivation of ‘xocoatl’ then it would also be untrue.”

She chuckled, expecting him to admit the joke and stopped when he did not.

“I know that the Romans were not in the America’s two thousand years ago.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, “but we were in Africa, and many from there did travel and trade with the people’s they found in Central America. It was nothing like that confection you are eating now, no sugar, or milk, just a bitter drink that did wake you up. I was lucky to be present for a demonstration.”

“Do you have any idea how big a discovery that is? Not only was it not fucking Columbus, it wasn’t even Leif Erickson who was the first European to ‘discover’ America.”

“Progress is not linear, humans forget much more than they discover, then, when the need arises they ‘invent’ it anew. It’s the way of things.”

“That’s a very kind appraisal.”

“Unlike you, I was not always what I am now, I once shared more in common with humans than creatures.”

“Hard to picture you as a soft squishy human.”

“I could disembowel a man from the age of ten, we did not do soft and squishy in those times.”

“What was Rome like back then?”

“Brutal, beautiful. Have you ever been there in our civilised era?”

“Once, with my family. Sophia and I slipped away as often as we could, we walked around, enjoyed the sun, I found an undiscovered bath-house.”

“Really?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, it was under a space mapped out for luxury apartments. The guy who‘d bought the land was not happy when I uncovered it in front of the police he’d called to have me removed. Turns out he knew and kept it a secret, completely willing to destroy important artefacts to make money.”

“Is that how you know Diana, you find things for her?”

“She doesn’t need my help but I’m happy to give it.”

“You have a talent for finding things.”

“Private Investigator, professional finder of things. I don’t follow people having affairs or being people, I specialise in books, artworks, genealogy.”

“You created your own niche, commendable but dangerous.”

“How so,” she noticed his eyebrow quirk, “it’s not a challenge, I’m genuinely interested in your opinion.”

“Very well,” he seemed satisfied, “it’s a disparate skill set, might raise attention as to how you come by the knowledge.”

“Good point,” she relented, “I chalk it down to my superior research skills.”

“Cunning.”

“Thank you,” she replied politely, trying to ignore the flush of endorphins his approving look gave her with respect to her manners, “and for dinner, it was delicious.”

“I will pass your compliments to the chef,” he checked his watch, “landing should be around twenty minutes.”

“The helicopter is ready for you at the airport sir,” a steward advised him and received a curt nod before removing her empty plate and disappearing into the front section of the private plane.

“Exciting,” she watched him carefully, hoping for an indication, “wonder where we can get to in three hours. Not Paris, it wouldn’t take that long.”

“The helicopter will add twenty minutes if it is of any help.”

“May I please open a window blind to see outside?” He silently shook his head.

She opened her mouth to protest and the slight head tilt told her he was waiting for it.

“As you command.” She answered instead.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear the cogs turning, speak your mind.”

“Okay, I still don’t understand why.”

It was his turn to give her a confused look.

“I mean,” she continued, “I have been nothing but a pain in your backside. I yelled at you in front of your staff, you’ve been dealing with my family, why do this for me?”

“Is it not fairly obvious?”

“Not to me,” she admitted, “if we hadn’t met at the Congregation hearing or even Christopher’s baptism, you wouldn’t have to deal with all my baggage.”

“I don’t have to. I’m sure my sister would make sure both you and Izzy were well protected. I choose to help because I care for the both of you.”

“She seems to really like you.”

“Very smart child and an excellent judge of character.”

“Yes she is, but-“

“But?”

“She needs me,” Eileen admitted, “and I can’t get involved with someone while I’m trying to be there for her. I want to trust but-“

“You don’t have to explain, I understand,” he reached out and placed his hand over hers as the overhead lights came on.

“We are coming into land,” he got up, approached and buckled her seatbelt before taking his seat and doing the same.

The landing was very smooth, surprisingly so, and she waited until the all clear was given before trying to stand up.

“Oh no,” he grinned, a hand firmly on her shoulder, “not without this.”

He showed her a black eye mask blindfold.

“This goes on until we reach our destination.”

“But I want to see outside the helicopter.”

“You will, on the way back.”

She nodded and went to take it from him to put it on.

“Allow me?”

“I’m at your command.”

“You learn quickly.”

Baldwin could shield her eyes but could not hide the sound of waves crashing or the scent of sea air as soon as he got her out of the helicopter.

He led her safely away from the propellers and stopped.

“What’s happening?” She asked with a thrill of excitement.

“Patience,” the smile in his voice was evident and he picked her up into a princess lift, she was more than happy to clasp her hands behind his neck as he carried her to god knows where.

“Are you ready?” He asked after ascending three flights of stairs without even a sigh of strain.

“Desperately,” she admitted as he set her down carefully, a gust of seaside air whipping her hair back and catching her breath.

“I’m going to take this off now, but you have to keep your eyes closed until I tell you otherwise, clear?”

“Crystal.” She confirmed with a definite nod and felt him untie the material.

“Remember, keep them closed,” he warned and placed a glass in her hand.

“What’s this?” She asked before scenting the wine.

“I’m afraid if I tell you that, you will know where we are.”

“Okay, I already know we’re on an island, facing the water. It took twenty minutes from the airport to here, and this’ the Mediterranean, Italy I think?”

“That’s incredible so far.”

“I think, somewhere in the bay of Naples.”

“How on earth-“

“I told you, I’m good at finding things.”

“Using your magic is cheating.”

“I’m using my powers of deduction, for example, humidity is high, without the sea air it would feel warmer so Italy instead of Greece. The wind seems to fan in around like we’re facing a bowl, so bay of Naples.”

“Unbelievable.”

“We’re on Capri?” She asked and he hesitated for a moment.

“You were so close to being correct, open your eyes.”

The vista before her was like a moving painting, the night illuminated up by so many lights from Naples, reflected in the water. Waves crashing against the cliffs below at high tide created mesmerising sound.

“We are on Ischia, that,” he pointed to a nearby island, “is Capri.”

“Take your time.” He kissed her shoulder and left her to take a nearby chair with his wine to enjoy the view. Rather, he was enjoying the view of Eileen enjoying the view.

“Um-“ she spoke after five minutes of silence.

“Yes?” Baldwin responded, now that she had emerged from the stare herself.

“You live here?”

“I live a lot of places, but my favourite vineyard is here.”

“Oh, this is your bachelor pad, impress and bed some supermodels from Milan.” She teased before taking a sip of wine.

“No-one save myself has been here, until now.” He admitted, offering his hand.

She took it and let him pull her onto his lap.

“It’s very beautiful,” she snuggled against his shirt.

“Don’t get too comfortable, we have a party to attend.”

“Really?” She grinned widely.

“A festival, to celebrate the harvest,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair, “fair warning, you will probably get fairly messy.”

“Why?”

“Have you tried ever grape treading?”

[ofdogsandwriting]

Emerald Fire

[Ao3 Link]

Hey, @paranormalstopsign I decided to be your back-up santa for the @weekofhetalia holiday gift exchange! I went with the soulmates prompt, I hope you like it c:

Word Count: 1,705

Characters: Canada, Prussia, Scotland

Rating: General

Pairing: Canada/Prussia/Scotland

Summary:  Matthew was born only being able to see red and green, the color of his soulmates' eyes. He always wondered who they are. Slowly, he discovers them, all in due time.

Matthew loved being able to watch the trees change from a bright green to vivid hues of red. He could see the entire transformation before his eyes, like a flower opening its petals, and each year fall came, he was mesmerized by the sight before him.

Red and Green. They were the only two colors he could see, a rarity in itself when it came to soulmates. Often, people were able to only see one color before they met their soulmate’s gaze, then the world became all the more vibrant and full of life, dull greys transforming into something magnificent.

He would stand in a room of grey, and that vibrancy he felt would leave. Sometimes he would only see red or green in the monochromatic world, and try to envision the red in the eyes of his soulmate, or the green eyes that would crinkle upwards in a warm smile as they laughed. 

Red was a rare color for people to see, it would make it easier to find them, someone that more than likely had albinism.

Green was more common. He had met people with green eyes, but they were never the right green, not like an emerald glowing under a night’s sky. They were still beautiful, but not the right one.

Matthew always thought about his soulmates, since the only two colors he could see reminded him of them, putting the idea into the back of his conscious made it complicated. It was hard to find one, let alone two. He had slowly become resigned to the fact that he may never see them.

Until he found himself walking outside on a rainy day, wet leaves of red blowing in the wind and landing in puddles, trees baren from the oncoming winter. He had brought an umbrella that was a darker shade of grey, because he enjoyed the type of grey it was, but the curiosity of its color always laid in the back of his mind.

He turned to enter a shop, but roughly bumped into someone. The other man fell backwards, landing his behind on the hard, wet pavement. 

Matthew gasped, reaching out a hand towards him to help him up. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized profusely.

The man groaned, looking downwards to the ground, muttering something inaudible as he rubbed the back of his head. A head of white, messy hair.

He looked up and their eyes met. Red, a red he had never seen before that glowed in flames of life, providing warmth around it, shining brightly over every other shade he had seen before.

Slowly, other colors swirled in his vision. He could see the color of his skin, the true color of the shop’s door, and so many more that surrounded his vision. It had nearly been overwhelming, so he decided to stare into that beautiful red until his eyes adjusted.

The man broke his gaze, looking upwards to the umbrella in wonder before slowly looking down to him again. “You’re-” he began, but cut himself off, entirely at a loss for words.

Matthew smiled then, nodding, a warmth spreading inside him.

He noticed that Matthew’s hand was still offered to him, and blushed out of embarrassment before gingerly taking it in his own. Matthew helped him up and they stood in silence, until, “The names, Gilbert, by the way. What’d they call you before they cast you out of heaven?” He grinned then, and even without the fact of them being soulmates, he knew that it was blinding for any stranger to see.

Matthew quickly learned more about Gilbert’s quirky and upbeat personality, all with an ego that he might have been fond of enabling. They started hanging out, and going on dates.

They discovered that they still could not see certain colors, but mainly, they could not see the colors of their own eyes. Gilbert informed him that his eyes are blue like the sky, that the umbrella he owned was a darker shade of blue. Matthew tried to get him to explain what it looked like, but explaining colors were more complicated and harder then it seemed.

Matthew told him that his eyes are red, like the bracelet he wore from his brother, or like the perfect apple, and the leaves on the trees during the fall that he was always so captivated with. He tried to explain red in return, but imagining the colors when they were never seen before are hard to imagine.

It was on one of their dates that they finally met him.

A locally owned coffee shop that had just opened recently, filled with greens with accents of red. The door to the entrance was large, and a pale yellow, he learned of the color after some research. He sat down at the table with Gilbert, the booths red and the menus green as the waiter served them.

Gilbert prattled on, joking around and leading much of the conversation, waiting with interest whenever Matthew spoke.

A commotion behind Gilbert caused some turning of heads, including said boyfriend, turning to see two men bickering.

One was blond with green eyes, large brows furrowed, lips formed into a pout as his foot tapped impatiently against the ground. He wore an apron covered in flour. Matthew could tell by the name tag that he worked here, and possibly owned the restaurant, with the stance he carried himself with.

The air was tense between them, until the other man cracked a teasing joke, red hair obscuring his eyes as he smirked. 

The first man lightly shoved him, and let out a sarcastic laugh. There was a slight quirk on his lips, giving way that their argument no longer held any heat.

He turned then, intense green facing them. Emerald like the other man’s, his brother, he assumed, but they stood out so much more vibrantly.

Matthew and Gilbert met his eyes, Gilbert’s jaw went slack, and the entire world came to life. More colors exploded around them, unfurling at every corner, moving from the restaurant, to the outside, the sun’s rays filled with yellows inside of the shop, the tables and chairs, booths, to the scratches on the wooden surface all had color, all came to life.

He looked down, and could see the color of his his cup, and the steam that slowly rose from it. 

The stranger looked genuinely surprised, and the man next to him leaned over to him, mumbling something in concern before his shook his head and looked back at him. He eyed the other, as though he was seeing him for the first time, like he was staring at a complete stranger before his shook his head again and spoke.

They talked in hushed tones, until the man with red hair cocked his head towards them, gesturing to Gilbert and Matthew. 

The other smirked and nodded in response, shoving him towards them before dusting off his apron and disappearing into the back again.

The man approached them, standing at the edge of the table, crossing his arms and leaning his weight onto one foot.

Before they could speak, he talked first. “I never really believed in soulmates, you know. Seemed like a hassle, seemed unfair that people couldn’t just see in color when they’re born, and that these people who are fated-to-be get to.” Gilbert seemed disappointed by that statement and Matthew frowned, a despondent feeling rooted in him.

“Don’t expect me to like you right away, just because you two are my soulmates. However,” a small smile formed on his lips, “that doesn’t mean I won’t try, since you two are here and all. Say, you two have room for one more today?”

Gilbert’s grin returned in full force, and Matthew smiled, inviting him to sit next to him.

They discovered that his name was Allistor.

Matthew loved being able to see in full color, but his favorite colors were still green and red. They always stood out to him more, able to easily see the two colors in the room above all else.

They share dates together, whether it be restaurants, picnics, homemade dinners, visiting each others homes. They usually met at Arthur’s restaurant, Allistor’s brother’s business. They got discounts during lunch, and it quickly became their favorite place to meet.

As months passed to years, they eventually all found a home together. Gilbert brought his dog with him, Matthew had his own dog as well, and Allistor had a cat. Their household quickly became a family with all of the additions. Luckily, all of their pets got along, aside from the bump between Allistor’s cat and Gilbert’s dog.

They make dinners together, lay on the couch in a pile and watch movies, sit at the table and share stories over morning coffee and tea.

It was all so incredibly domestic, and Matthew was happy with it. He appreciated simplicity and love, and in their household, not a moment went by without Allistor staring at one of them fondly, or Gilbert’s excited smile, or Matthew’s reminder of how much he cares about them.

They still went out on dates together.

Matthew sat under a tree with Gilbert and Allistor. Gilbert had his head resting on his lap, strumming the acoustic guitar Allistor had bought him for his birthday. He had learned how to play it relatively quickly, a natural talent he had. He did not sing, but he strummed the guitar, a soft melody befitting their surroundings.

Matthew rested his head against Allistor’s shoulder while he leaned against him in return. He listened to his soft breathing in tune with the music. His eyes were off in the distance, but his lips quirked up in the faintest of smiles. 

He looked down to the pond before them, watching as two swans drifted over to the cattails nearby.

He paused to appreciate the scene before him, the blue water of the pond, still, save for the small waves formed from the swans movement, the red leaves of autumn’s return floating atop the water, and the green grass that surrounded them.

But most of all, Matthew loved their eyes, the emerald green, and the fiery red, those were the most beautiful colors he had ever seen.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Purgatorio: Prologue

Warning: The following story contains mentions of suicide, depression, anxiety, manipulation, abuse, and vivid descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this series will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan seoyandan. Enjoy ~~~

Min Yoongi had never had a truly pleasant experience in life. Since he could remember he had been plagued by self-doubt, anxiety, and a pessimistic view of life. As a child this had caused him to be isolated from everyone else, constantly being considered weird and creepy. Which only contributed further to his situation. Yoongi came to learn the true meaning of happiness in high school, after constantly skipping class and picking one too many fights he was given detention. He found it more of a hassle than anything else, he didn’t really have a social life, but he would much rather lay in bed wallowing in his own self-pity, than cleaning a storage closet with a bunch of dumb kids. Those dumb kids would become his life support. He wondered if it was possible to experience so many emotions – to feel like he was flying in the sky able to touch the heavens. He flew too close to the sun.

           It happened slowly, and it crept up on him without him noticing. Graduation creeping closer, schedules getting too busy, interest changing, and an encounter that confirmed to him that everything he touched ended up broken. So, he simply left and gave up. Continuing the same routine every single day: sleep, eat, work, and fall deeper and deeper into insanity. Until he snapped. The day had started out like all the rest, gloomy and plain, he had been coming back from meeting with another company and selling another demo. Music used to be his passion, it was something his friends had encouraged him to pursue years ago and he had because it was the only thing that caused him to feel something. Now it was just another part of his routine. All his music was deemed beautiful, poetic, and always charted. People always spoke about how it made them experience the beauty of life – it was a cruel irony.

The meeting had taken all day and he wanted to do nothing more than crawl into bed and ignore the pain in his head and the throbbing pain coming from lack of food for several hours. His apartment was a forty-minute walk from where he currently was, but he opted to walk. The city’s busy streets and the far too rowdy population was the only thing loud enough to block out the nagging voice in his head and he desperately desired a break. It wasn’t long until he began to recognize his neighborhood: the abstract skyscrapers and shopping malls transitioning slowly into more conventional apartments and privately-owned businesses. It happened in a matter of seconds, a feeling grew in his gut. It was dark and terrifying, an uncomfortable one which caused goosebumps to fill his skin. Then he heard it, the screeching of car tires and several screams. Morbid curiosity caused him to run towards the scene of panicked individuals desperately screaming at each other and with cell phones in the ears. He had to push past several people to reach the front and he regretted it immediately, he wanted to be wrong and he kept blankly staring at the body hoping he was wrong.

It had been years, but there was no way he could not recognize the messy dark hair. The eyes that always shone a little too brightly and lightened up the world. The boy who had followed him like a lost chick who imprinted on as if he were his mother. The youngest of the group – had grown up. The last Yoongi had seen of him was behind a locked door and through a small hole where the other boy had been banging pleading to see him and be let inside – apologizing for everything. He couldn’t under why when nothing had been his fault, and everything had been his. Now Yoongi stared at his distorted body twisted on the gravel floor, blood tainting all his clothes though he couldn’t see exactly where he was bleeding from. Jeon Jungkook stared up at the night sky with empty eyes and Yoongi hoped he was in a better place, no matter how much he desperately wanted the boy to simply jump up right and be okay. That it was merely a scratch and act stronger than he was – the way he had always done. The younger boy had always been much stronger and mature than Yoongi, despite the glaring age difference.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh, to die. He wanted to die. So, before he could even comprehend what he was doing his feet were moving. Leaving behind the little hope he had left, moving robotically to what would be his final destination. The surroundings became quieter and the streets less crowded, until it was only him and a handful of people – some drunks, some criminals, some just lonely – all walking in the dead of night with little care for their life. Simply existing. Yoongi saw his apartment building, its grey faded paint and old rusty metal fence befitting the atmosphere of the people who lived in it. He was about to input the code to get the fence to open when he realized there was someone next to him and speaking to him.

“…fortune.”

“What?” He muttered, annoyance in his voice as he turned to see the person speaking to him. It was an elderly lady, most likely in the twilight of her life, and much shorter than he was. Her clothes were brightly colored and mismatched; she wore colorful makeup he deemed not age appropriate. Had the voice not been so raspy and clearly withered she might have resembled a child playing dress up. The woman cleared her voice and repeated what she had said, “It seems you’re in a need of a good fortune.” This angered him, and he was actually pleased with the emotion filling him up, it reminded him that he was human and not simply an android. “Fuck off lady.” He turned to input the code and the machine beeped informing him, he had put in the wrong code. Fuck.

“I can help you, people like you are simply a victim of fate. But I can change yours for a price, of course.” He rolled his eyes at her and pressed the number pad again, another beep echoed louder than the last. He only had one last chance before the machine called the police and they assumed he was an intruder – he was not in the mood for that. “What do you say, son? Are you interested?” She was now standing far too close for his personal taste, he needed her gone so that he could get a move on with his plan. He would have likely pushed her or told her off, but a culturally engraved sentiment to respect those a lot older than him prevented him from doing so. “Listen, lady, I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling. It’s late you should go home.” Let’s try this again. Before he could press his index finger for the last time against the pad, the older woman gripped his wrist strongly. He turned to face her with a bewildered look, now she had crossed the line. Chivalry be damned. It was the look she had on her face that made the words tangle in his mouth and be unable to come out: it was dark and serious. Almost as if the words she was about to say where the most important she had said in all her life.

“Fate is not predetermined, it can be altered and manipulated to fit our wants and needs. You have been mistreated far too long and too cruelly by this world, my boy. But fear not if it is a soul you lack that is what you shall receive: love, happiness, joy, all the beautiful things in this world can be yours. All you have to do is be selfish, you have been the opposite for far too long. If you want it, take it and never let it go – no matter what.” Her voice was no longer frail and had Yoongi not been far past anger and annoyance at his point, he most likely would have shit his pants at the woman who now resembled something demonic. She let go of his wrist and merely walked away, leaving him to stare at the ground where she had been standing. A couple of minutes passed and every emotion he was feeling faded, returning to the numbness that threatened to consume him. He remembered his plan.

After inputting the code, the third time and final time, the gate finally opened and let him in. The walk to his apartment door was a short one and his steps felt a lot lighter than they did before. He had no desire to take in his surroundings one last time, there would be no point, there would be nothing left after he was done.

Yoongi walked through his barren apartment and sat on his bed contemplating what to do next. What was the best course of action? As his eyes scanned across the room, they landed on an unopened vodka bottle lying on the floor with a thin layer of dust laying on it. He had bought it when his last song charted, and he had been invited to a congratulatory party, he went for a bit merely hoping that it was loud in enough to get some much needed quiet in his head – it wasn’t. After maybe an hour, he left but not before stealing an expensive looking bottle from the bar hoping to feel even a tiny bit of an adrenaline rush pass through him – he didn’t. As he stared at it, a thought popped into his head. It was simple enough. Easy. Painful. Even in his last moments, he hoped to feel something, anything to remind him that he was, in fact, alive before he died.

He stood up and grabbed the vodka bottle, twisting it open and haphazardly draining its contents onto the floor, the bed, the curtains, and finally him. Then he reached into his pockets and pulled out the cheap white lighter he always kept on him; he had stopped smoking long ago, he simply kept it for sake of remembering. The last thing he hoped to see was the lighter, instead of the face of the dead boy that popped into his head. “Goodbye.” It was a soft whisper that left his lips which had formed into a smirk as he let the lighter fall slowly to the ground – it instantly combusting to flames. Yoongi leaned back onto the bed and closed his eyes hoping to sleep for one last time and as the flames crawled closer to him, so did sleep. Until they almost consumed him. He was too far gone to hear the pounding, too far gone to hear the door breaking, and too far gone to feel himself being dragged out of his last chance for escape.

 The old lady stood outside the apartment complex that was now consumed in flames, watching as the young men she had met on the street was lifted into an ambulance by the paramedics – not missing the girl that climbed inside after him. A sinister smirk played on her lips, “Be cautious, boy. The price has been paid and this is your last chance. Don’t waste it.” Then she simply disappeared into the night interested in the events about to play out.

[zukazukazuka]

Serika Toa Translations: August 2017 Kageki and Revue 2017

I’m determined to get more practice translating and also just put more about this girl out there in the world, so have a couple of short blurbs from things I recently picked up in Japan.  I’m still practicing, so any corrections/suggestions are welcome!

August 2017 Kageki - News from Backstage, Wind over Yamataikoku / SANTE!!

About the play – Kukochihiko

Kukochihiko is a person who loves to fight, and becomes excited when he meets someone stronger than him.  Although he is the villain of the story, I wanted to convey that he is a military man whose faith drives him to loyally serve his king, and therefore doesn’t think of himself as evil.  However, to keep him from being simply a serious person, I came up with the kinds of facial expressions and manner of speaking that would better define him as a character.  The stage combat instructor also helped me develop a particular style for handling the sword as well.  When he meets Takehiko for the first time, they don’t really cross blades, so I thought that their final battle should really be the highlight in that regard. To leave the audience with a strong impression [of him], I am treasuring every word of my lines, and striving to bring a lot of energy every day.

The Revue

At first I was a bit shy about doing the onnayaku role in the prologue (laughs), but now I have fun with it every day, and getting to SANTE with so many audience members makes me happy(1).  I especially love my entrance during the gigolo number, I think “I’m so glad to be an otokoyaku!” When Yan-san (Anju Mira) was doing the choreography, she looked so cool, and I worked on creating my own appealing otokoyaku image while thinking that I wanted to dance like her.  When Koshiji Fukubi’s famous song is sung [by Miho Keiko] during the chuuzume, it makes me happy to feel the emotion rise in everyone(2).  The Monsieur Poet scene(3) begins with my song, so I am able to invite the audience into that world.  After that the five of us reprise the prologue on the silver bridge, and it has a very refreshing and purifying feeling to it.  During the kuroenbi, day by day our level of concentration and intensity would increase, and I’d get a sharp feeling in my heart.

1 – In Tokyo the actresses were given SANTE cups in the opening to kanpai with the audience members, whereas apparently in the Grand Theater they just used their fists.

2 – I’m assuming she’s talking about the scene with Miho Keiko and Seijou Kaito where Miho Keiko sings 愛の讃歌 (Ai no Sanka), but that’s not in the chuuzume so I’m not sure if there’s another song by Koshiji Fukubi that is in the chuuzume (Mon Paris??), or if she just…got that wrong?? If anyone knows better let me know!

3 – This is the scene that references the Passion of the Christ

Serika Toa - REVUE 2017

When you’re feeling down or want to cheer someone up, what Takarazuka program would you watch to feel happy?

The version of Me and My Girl I was in.  There are no villains and it’s a lighthearted comedy, so I think it can really lift your spirits.  Even I fell victim to the show throughout the performances, and I felt happy all the time.  My favorite scene is at the end of the first act when we go out into the audience during the Lambeth Walk.  I played both Sir John and Gerald, but the older, more refined and tolerant Sir John was more of a challenge for me, and I think allowed me to expand my horizons.  In contrast, Gerald is a role I can play more like myself.(1)  Since his banter with Jackie is charming, while performing I thought about how I wanted the audience to feel happy watching it.

Do you have any particular habits related to maintaining your physical fitness or beauty regimen that you think “I’m probably the only one who does this…”?

Sleeping.  I’m the type who likes to make sure that even when I’m busy I have enough time to sleep.  During performances I want to sleep at least 8 hours, so I’m happiest if I can get even more (laughs).  I bought my favorite bed about a year ago, it’s king-size(2), and after doing several trial sleeps I selected the mattress and pillows.  As a result I’m very comfortable when I sleep, and my quality of sleeping and waking are very good.

As far as food goes, I’ve been drinking protein drinks.  It’s important for people who move their bodies a lot to consume protein, but it can be difficult to absorb efficiently.  I’ve only started drinking it recently, but I feel like the condition of my skin and nails has gotten better.

When are the times you feel happiest (幸せ)?

It really is when I am on stage.  Especially when everything is lit up during the parade, seeing the delighted (幸せ) expressions on the faces of the people in the audience makes me happy.

In private life, it’s when I’m looking at the ocean, which I love.  On my days off, I often will go for a drive where I can see it.  From my parent’s house in Kobe we could see the ocean, so whenever I look at the sea in Kobe I get wrapped up in feeling happy and think “what a wonderful town.”

 1 – literally 等身大で演じる, or “play [him] life-size”, which I think she means she can play him without putting much thought into it because he’s similar enough to her own personality (or like ones she’s done a LOT before).

2 – literally 大型サイズ , or jumbo-sized, so I’m assuming it’s a king haha

[summerscramble-event]

  ❝ Can you believe that skyline -- ? Ah, well, perhaps you all can’t, you haven’t seen it yet ! Believe me when I say its beautiful, and I’m a man who knows beauty  ! 

      ❝ I know, I know, ‘ Laslow don’t be wasting time ’, but I assure you, you’ll LOVE what I have to say this time  ! I have excellent news regarding our schedule of events  ! Er, that being we have one. Tentative as it may be, myself and Robin squared ( talk about weird  ?? ) have agreed that this will give you all the basics of the week’s layout, so you all can plan ahead  ! Considerate, right  ? I know, you can thank me later for being so thoughtful. ❞

JUNE 25 – SUNDAY KICKOFF.

                     SNO CONE SOCIAL.

     Cabana check-in, but save the unpacking for later  ! Complimentary sno cones are served all day long as we, the mods, spend today welcoming guests to the luxury Hotrealms resort! Grab a sno cone from the cabana bar because today is the day to get to know your fellow resort comrades! Walk around the resort and view the boardwalk, and as always, I am ALWAYS available for any lonely adventurers. Take a stroll on the beach and wade in the water, go for a swim if you’d like  ! This is just a day to get a feel for your surroundings and explore everything the resort has to offer  ! Kick back, relax, and socialize  ! . . . or don’t, if that’s what you prefer.

 JUNE 26 – SWIMSUIT SHOWCASE

      Did someone say ladies in bikinis – AHEM – er, swimsuits all around  ? Surely you’ve already procured a swimsuit, why not show it off  ? We are now taking reservations to walk the stage for this Summer Scramble’s Swimsuit Showcase  ! Handmade or commissioned, if you’re interested in the opportunity to earn bragging rights about being on stage, then this is for you  ! Come in your bikini best -- or, your best in general I suppose, whatever your preference, we have room for you on the catwalk  !

    Also, Robin and Reflet have given me word of a sandcastle contest  ! I personally will offer you bonus points if you manage to build your sandcastle on someone. I would assume they will have more information on this later  !

***STARTING MONDAY, JUNE 26, SENDING ☼ WILL EARN YOU A TURN AT THE MONOMONO MACHINE FOR A PIXELATED PRIZE! THIS WILL CONTINUE ALL WEEK. YOU MAY SEND ONE ONCE A DAY. MODS WILL BE WORKING ACTIVELY TO MAKE SURE ALL ARE ANSWERED DAILY, BUT PLEASE BE PATIENT.

 JUNE 27 – BOARDWALK BUZZ

     The boardwalk is NOW OFFICIALLY OPEN. All shoppes have been open for a while now, we realize, but now there’s more to do  ! Vendors have all moved in and – is that lemon cake  ?? Anyway, there’s going to be a whole big stretch of gift booths, and leis are available for purchase  ! You may see some familiar faces running booths of their own, so be sure to give them your support and stop in  ! Avoiding having to walk all the way into town for something small for your love interest has never been easier! Well, except if they need a new shirt, or a sunhat, but you get the point. Also, along with the boardwalk vendors, we’re excited to announce the dunk tank among many other activities! Yours truly will take the first seat ( more like forced into it ) and the other two will follow suit. No ticket necessary, just jump in line until time limits are cut short, as will the lines. But this is your chance to show no mercy, and get your game face on for Wednesday  ! And have I mentioned the sunset from the view of the boardwalk  ? Not even a beautiful girl could distract me – er, alright, alright, maybe she would a little.

      And I’ve also heard word of a . . . crushing watermelons contest . . .  ? What in the Gods’ name . . I suppose some of these people can crush watermelons with their bare hands. Perhaps that’s something someone can enlighten me on later.

 JUNE 28 – VOLLEYBALL AND BEACH WRESTLING

     Is your team ready to take the trophy home  ? Is your body beach ready ? Wednesday is being spent on beach front territory  ! The volleyball nets are going up, the referees are ready to call the shots. Gather up your teams and play to win ( you’re joining TEAM LASLOW, right ~  ?) . Trash talk is always fun, but don’t get out of hand, now  ! Nobody likes a sore loser, especially when you already know you’re going to lose ~. Compete to defeat, my friends, lay on that sunscreen thicker than faceless skin  !

      For those uninterested in volleyball  but still wishing to compete and hone their skills: maybe beach wrestling is good for you  ! Go up against other strongmen, or women, in a test of physical strength. Nobody likes a face full of sand so come prepared to knock your opponent to the ground. Try to keep rough physical harm such as actually making someone bleed all over the sand to a minimum . . we’re really trying not to have any casualties . . please don’t turn this into a death match. I’m begging, I’m not a very good nurse.

     Not the sporty type  ? Grab some goodies and flags to wave from the boardwalk and cheer on your favorites to victory! They’ll love hearing your harmonious cries ~, even when you’re cheering for me.

***Volleyball teams ARE ENCOURAGED. There has been talk on the dash about potential teams and this is to organize all of those. Matches will be generated ala ‘ hunger games simulator ’ style. We will be posting a call for captains very soon, are we’re looking for 4-8 teams to compete gauntlet-style. If you are interested in forming a team of 10-12 players, be on the lookout. Ground rules and more description on this to come  ! All ‘ teams ’ will get a special treat!

JUNE 29 – WATER GUNS, PAINT BALLOONS, AND HAVOC OH MY

      Seems like Anna has some new ‘ weapons ’ to share with us  ! Only these come in the form of pelting your enemies without mercy! I daresay no one is safe from the attacks of those who even they think they can trust. All of you sitting ducks in the umbrella lounge had better watch out! Oh, it would proooooobably be wise of you to not wear your Thursday best for this, ladies and gentleman, it’s about to get messy  ! Water guns and paint balloons will be available at checkpoints for pickup, only one weapon per person but balloons are unlimited  ! Let’s see who can avoid getting hit  ! No holds barred and no one’s off limits – w-well except for me of course  ! You wouldn’t hit your humble host now would you  !?

 JUNE 30 – BONFIRE/MOVIE NIGHT

     Spend your day how you like, my friends, but you have to join us for the bonfire  ! Anna has told us she’s providing the makings for uh, s’mores I believe  ? Chocolate and marshmallows on graham crackers  ? Sounds good to me  ! I’m certain a few candy-loving souls will melt at the taste of one! Also, yours truly will have an extra little treat in store for you  ! In addition to this, once nightfall is upon us, we can partake in SCARY STORIES. Bring your most terrifying stale to hold the attention of your comrades and really scare us  ! Make us so paranoid to walk back to our cabanas without holding someone’s arm afterwards  ! Top three scariest stories get prizes ~ Good enough to give it a go, right  !? C’mon, don’t be so afraid to give us a fright  !

*Scary stories can be SUBMITTED to the EVENT PAGE INBOX. These will be compiled into a compilation post for other followers to READ and VOTE on which one they think is best! NAMES WILL NOT BE ATTACHED to give fair chances and rule out ‘popularity’ votes. DEADLINES FOR SCARY STORIES ARE BEFORE THE 30TH !!

** Scary stories MUST be original. Any submitted may be subjected to be cross referenced for copy/paste. Obviously be as creative as you want, and as in character as you can be with this! Names/URLs will not be posted with them to again, avoid popularity vote, so being ‘ in character ’ is encouraged  !

*IN ADDITION, we will be planning a movie night rabb.it stream  ! A poll will be going up to vote on a movie to be shown FRIDAY NIGHT. Time is still TBA once we are able to figure out an ideal timeframe. So pop some popcorn and join us  !

 JULY 1 – FINALE FIREWORKS SHOW

     Ah, the end of a vacation can be so bittersweet. The final day is always the hardest, is it not  ? Having to pack up all of your things and shamefully realizing you’ve bought too many souvenirs . . wait, that isn’t just me right  ? Fear not, my friends, this wonderful week shan’t end with an upset, but with a bang  ! Preoccupy your day with whatever you would like but join us Saturday night for FIREWORKS  ! Anna is helping me put together a great lineup of a lightshow for you all  ! We’re hoping you’ll enjoy it and that will wrap up a breathtaking and relaxing week up nicely with a bow as we all return home  !

       ❝ And I, your humble host, will be most everywhere during this week. If we bump into one another, do join me for a smoothie, eh  ? ❞

   ❝ This is all for now, but if YOU have any suggestions, don’t be afraid to approach me or either of the other two, or drop something into our suggestions box. And if you would rather run something on your own, OUR VENDOR APPLICATIONS are still open ! I would love to see more of my wonderful comrades selling their wares or contributing to this in any way they can  ! It’s been lovely to see the excitement already  ! We’ll see you soon  ! ❞

** Many of the main events will have their own ask meme to coincide with it  ! Activities and other roleplayer’s booth events are taking place everyday, but of course, people are busy and threads and ask prompts can be continued on other days, and even past the event week  ! We are actively working to make this schedule work and be fun for everyone  ! We hope you’re as excited as we are  !

[13luecloud]

Years Later - Dino

Title: Years Later

Member: Dino

Genre: Angst with vague fluff ending, ex-celebrity reader!au, older reader!au

Summary:  Sometimes what we think is the best is the hardest to do, but there are those who are worth the pain. For Dino, you were willing to let go, to get hurt, without knowing he held on after all these years.

Word count: 2.4k

Notes [!!]:

Inspired by The Liar and His Lover (Japanese movie) and its ost song Chippoke na Ai no Uta.

I’ve always liked the idea of mature Dino. :D

Luckily I was feeling better today and had the time to clean this piece. Sincerely, I do hope you guys will like this too. ;D

         Never had you ever liked nightmares; they were defined “very bad dreams” for reasons. They disturbed your supposed peaceful sleeps and often had you sitting up in a jolt with beads of sweat trickling, racing down your damp face. They reminded you of things you wished to never recall such as your fears, your career’s downfall, and hurtful memories. But among all of them, recollections of and with him were your favorite nightmares. Ironic, you called it too, yet nonetheless thoughts of him tasted differently–they were candy-sweet, yet still bitter-filled.

        You held the blue mug carefully, afraid it might break like you were about to. Your thumb caressed its cold surface and you felt the long loss of mirth and warmth it used to have whenever you touched it. The mug was his share of the couple pair he had bought a night before Christmas Eve for you two and was an item with much memories of him. Your lips curled to a small smile as you remembered those times. Continuing like this meant another wave of heart-aching throb in your chest, and you were dead aware of it. But so be it, you mused, closing your eyes, allowing nostalgia to hit you like a bullet train.

        Remembering it now, wrecked best described the you today and the you before Chan came into your life and brought along his blinding, infectious light of positivity. After that one scandal, which you honestly had no involvement in, your career’s future took a fatal hit. Those in power deprived you of singing and music production–the only two fuels that kept you going in this, as you labelled it, unfair world. You had drowned yourself in alcohol the first few months after your forced retirement, and it took much time plus effort for your cousin Sunbi to drag you out of the gloomy place–called your apartment–to the not-so-brighter outside.

        She worked under Pledis as one of the young boys’ managers, and she probably thought the idea of nearing you to a familiar environment was a good one. Little did she knew that she was damn wrong–you missed it more by an ocean-deep, to the point of considering it a miracle for not barging into their famous studio.

        When the company’s artists finally recognized the hooded character who had their sleeping head thrown back against the couch in the office lounge, they greeted you smilingly and politely every time they passed by you, especially the boys of Seventeen. However you always returned their greetings with a lazy hand raised, nonchalance all over your face.

        You were minding your own business and were trying to get more power nap in your usual spot when one of Seventeen’s rappers rehearsed his parts near to where you sat. “The me that’s reflecting on the mirror seems unfamiliar,” he began again to where it seemed like the start. As if on a loop, he rapped the song again and again, groaned or sighed whenever he twisted his tongue then restarted from where he left off. But you twitched at his errors. You may be retired, but your producer-self lived on. Surprisingly, you saw his back within an arm’s reach and you held out your arm, tugging his shirt. He peeked over his shoulders and you recognized him as the group’s youngest member. “Hey kid,” you started, intimidating Chan with your low tone. “Pronounce the words right and better and keep your timings on point.”

        “Y-Yes, Y/N sunbaenim!” You obviously scared him out of his skin.

And that was just the beginning. Whenever, wherever, and whoever practiced their lines close to you received criticisms, though sometimes with tips if they’re lucky enough. Once, although DK sang distantly from where you were stationed you heard his singing and decided to call out to him, “Sing the note higher!” Your ears were sensitive to them. But among everything that you had heard, the quiet line “they’re so cool” that admired you from a corner behind never reached your hearing.

        You continued with your visits at the company as if a real Pledis employee, and soon it started making you wonder why everyone played fine with you being around despite the many things you had done that could pass for “troublesome”. No one reprimanded you about anything at all; you just stayed whenever you felt like it and then left as pleased. Sometimes with Sunbi after her late work even.

        It took a while before courage possessed him and when it finally did, Chan came up front with you and confessed. “I think you are cool sunbaenim!” he said with chest puffed, wanting to appear manly. “No matter what other people say about you, I will still like you sunbaenim!” Was it his glinting eyes filled with honesty? Or the fact that he chose to close his ears to society’s harsh opinions against you? Why did he had you saying yes back then? You never knew.

        Chan was your many firsts despite being a grown adult. He was your first younger and celebrity boyfriend. Because of your age, you looked after him more than you usually did to your exes. He was the first lover you had that thought innocently of in-house dates with activities like binge watching and simply sharing how your days went in mind. You didn’t mind his busy schedule too, to your slight surprise. His professions of affection always rendered you quiet, your face blushing cherry red, and that felt new to you. Chan had you saying yes without you bearing the same sentiments, but in the long run he changed that. And that was a first too.

        But if everything stayed as they were, you wouldn’t be back to the gloomy you today.

        It was like yesterday, with the memories still fresh and vivid. The news articles, his offended expression, your pretenses–everything.

        Back then Seventeen continued to rise at both recognition and popularity at a steady pace, and hungry reporters competed for exclusive scoops on them. Those people were nosy enough to sniff Chan’s regular outings outside of work and eventually captured good snaps of you two in a date. News sped as fast as wild fires, and before long an exclusive headline read, “Seventeen Member Dino Dating Ex-Singer-Producer Y/N?! Pledis Yet Confirmed Rumor”. An army of news and gossip sites alike then followed after.

        To say that you simply stiffened in place was an understatement. Both worry and frustration crushed you in their tight hold, almost choking you. Although Chan and his team were big stars by then, they were not in a position to afford having one of them romantically linked to a fallen celebrity like yourself. Your career’s future dimmed because of these privacy-invading reporters and the same cannot happen to them. That cannot happen to Chan. With thoughts of what you assumed were best for him in mind, ultimately you had come with a tough decision.

        Chan barged in to your apartment while panting from a run and called you with a yell of your name.

        “Over here,” you said as you lifted a lazy hand.

        He followed your voice to the kitchen and was met with a surprise. You were chewing on something as you wore a poker face while typing into your laptop. With the news being everywhere already, was this a good sign? “Y/N”–he paused, catching his breath–“We… need to… talk about something… important.”

        Knowing what he had in mind, you shifted the laptop to face his direction. He raised his gaze to it and read the multiple tabs of articles about your exposed relationship. You had him taken aback when you said, “About time they find out.”

        Chan raised a curious brow at you. “W-What do you mean?”

        “Oh I mean it’s about time they heard of it. I was getting sick at playing hide-and-seek with these reporters anyway. And of this pretend relationship too,” you stated as you fiddled with your phone. You turned to him, meeting his wide opened eyes. “Let’s stop here Chan.”

        He scoffed as he felt offended. “You think that we’re a pretend couple? T-That we’re some kind of joke? A show?”

        “Yeah, pretty much.”

         “Y/N, I was serious with our relationship–I was serious with you!”

        “You were?” You tilted your head to the side. “I wasn’t though.”

        Chan slowly slouched. His lips fell to a frown and his color drained to pale white; even his arms hanged sluggishly on his sides. “You… weren’t?”

        “Uh huh,” you drawled. “I never said the words ‘I love you’ in return to yours because I thought you’d notice those shallow lies. And look, kid, I just used you to satisfy my producer-self’s needs. You know how the story went; I was caught up in a scandal that I had nothing to do with, my company forced me to retire and then no one hired me despite the list of hits I’ve made or contributed to and sang. It wasn’t my fault you ended up falling for me.”

        He snorted. “And all those times that we spent together… were lies?”

        You released a long sigh, throwing your head back against the seat. “I’m a trained actress too Chan. I basically aced that skill.”

        The boy stood still for a moment before mumbling, “We were so good together.” You watched him march away with his head hung low and soon heard the opening and closing of your door.

        Before long, your face contorted. The stinging tears were let loose and you dug the heels of your palms against your crying eyes. You felt yourself shuddering. “This is for the best, this is for the best,” you chanted to console yourself, but it proved its uselessness, the aching of your heart still heavy on your chest. The walls rebounded your agonizing cries until such time your throat sored and eyes swelled. Still sniffling, however, you took your phone by instinct and typed a song’s lyric to him, “No matter if you’re here or not, I can’t be here. No matter if I’m here or not, you will continue to shine here. I’m thankful for the miracle of our meeting.” But to press send was not something you could do.

        Three long years had come and gone since then. Normally it would be safe to assume that one had gotten over their past romance after such a lengthy period of time, but normally did not apply to you. These three long years had you busy, discreetly supporting them from a good distance. They released albums and you bought multiple copies, keeping one for yourself while gifting the rest to lucky, random CARATs. You enjoyed the broadcasts they appeared in and never missed an episode of the drama one of them starred in. You watched them grow well as artists and individuals and felt proud as they achieved their dreams one by one. Although bittersweet, you couldn’t have had it any other way.

        The sudden buzz from your pocket alerted you of an incoming call. You put away his blue mug back to the cupboard, and retrieved your device. With your cousin’s name flashing brightly on the screen, you answered it. “Hey Y/N?” she asked, almost cooing. “Is everything okay?”

        “Yeah, I’m good”–you lied–“What’s up?”

        “Well, are you free? I’m sorry, someone asked me for this, but can you turn on the television and tune into KBS?”

        “Why? What’s this all about?” You made your way to the living room and did just as asked. It was the weekly Monday show Hello Counselor airing.

        “He just wanted you to hear him say something.”

        As the camera panned through the guests you widened your eyes at the sight of one of them. You were not aware of this.

        “Have you ever seen a friend do something and thought, ‘Wah, he is so cool.’?”

        He raised his hand in the air. “I know one friend like that,” he said. Chan narrated the story of his friend and his friend’s ex-lover. Their relationship was threatened by other people’s views and opinions, and although he wanted to keep them together still, his ex-lover gave up on them, declaring that they were done. “Of course he was devastated,” Chan continued, “He thought they were going strong, but it turned out different than expected.” He talked as if it really was his friend’s story, but you knew better and his quiet co-member knew better. “Until one day my friend was approached by his ex-lover’s friend and said his ex-lover wanted what they thought was best for him. Of course he was thrown into confusion because who was he to trust, his ex’s or this friend’s words? Then he made up his mind, contacted his ex-lover, saying,”–he turned to the camera as if meeting your eyes–“I don’t care what the world has to say, I still love you and that matters more. So stay wherever you are and I’ll come to you, because I won’t let you dump me so easily.”

        His words made you unconsciously gulp. “Sunbi, are you sure I’m on the right channel?”

        “Yeah, I’m sure.” You froze at the sound of his voice. “You’re watching the right broadcast, you heard everything clearly.

        There was a sting behind your eye. It stung, blurred, and before long you felt the tears trickling down your face.

        “Wait, are you crying?” He sounded concerned until you heard his chortle from the other end.

        “Can’t you tell?!” you yelled, feeling offended.

        “Hahahahahah, sorry!” he continued. “I never thought I could make you cry.”

        “Right,” your tears slowed down and made you sniffled, “And you were so childish for saying it was your friend’s story.”

        “I know, I know, that was childish of me to say that it was someone else’s story. But do you know what else is childish of me? Loving you even after all these years.”

        “Ew.” It was your turn to laugh.

        “Hey,” Chan softly called, “Remember when I confessed to you back then? I said, ‘No matter what other people say about you, I will still love you Y/N sunbaenim.’ That still stands. You may not see me holding out my arm for you but… will you take my hand and try again with me?”

        You extended out an arm as if reaching out to him. “I’ll try.” After all the troubles you went through and with every bit of you saying no, why was he getting your yes again? That’s one more thing you might never know.

Dino is whose baby? XDD

[shtfandgo]

New Post has been published on SHTFandGO Survival and Emergency Supplier

New Post has been published on http://www.shtfandgo.com/2017/01/12/no-excuse-for-starving/

No Excuse for Starving

A Colorful History

There is no excuse for starving, especially in Florida. They have citrus of all kinds (orange, tangerine, grapefruit, lemon, lime, cumquat, and loquat), mango, grape, guava, bamboo, banana, plantain, sugarcane, avocado, acorn, dandelion, purslane, podocarpus, papaya, lychee, lemon grass, garlic grass, hickory, chestnut, coconut, cattail, coontie, cactus, cassava, Jimaca, and cabbage palm. They are all edible, all delicious, and each can be found growing throughout much of the Sunshine State, if you just know where to look. Nope, there’s no excuse for starving in Florida.

Florida has been home to many colorful characters throughout its history, from the pre-Columbian Chatot, Timucua, Tocobaga, Tequesta, Ocali, Apalachee, Asi-Jeaga, and fierce Calusa tribes to formidable Spanish Conquistadores like Hernando de Soto and Ponce de León to blood thirsty pirates like Jose Gaspar and Caesaro Negro to the wily Seminole and Miccosukee warriors like Osceola and Holatta Micco to Confederate blockade runners like Captain Archibald McNeill.

For me, the most interesting aspect of Florida’s history has always been the Seminole Indian Wars, partly because the Seminole and Miccosukee tribes are the only Native American tribes to never lay down their arms in abject surrender to over whelming Federal forces. Even the indomitable Comanche and Apache ultimately surrendered, but not so the Florida tribes who melted into the Everglades where Federal troops dare not follow. These two tribes were part of the Civilized Nations; they wore spun calico shirts, smoked clay pipes and were fond of their smooth bore muskets. They survived forty years of warfare (1817-1819, 1835-1842, 1855-1858)1 against a modern and well equipped army, not because of any technological superiority—although the Seminole and Miccosukee were excellent marksmen with bow and musket—but because they were adaptable and were able to live off the land in the wilds of Florida’s untamed swamps, wetlands, mangroves, and hammocks. As it was for the Seminole and Miccosukee, living off-grid in a SHTF scenario means having to live off the land.

Long-Term Scenario

We all pray that SHTF events never happens in our lifetime, but we prepare for them anyway. The Seminole and Miccosukee survived their own SHTF; will we survive ours? Our SHTF, when it comes, may come upon us slowly or suddenly. Regardless of the cause, we owe it to our children to survive, so we pray for the best and prepare for the worst. I don’t have a cabin in the mountains. I don’t own a cattle ranch. I don’t have a fortified bunker with motion sensors and early warning systems. I am forbidden by our home owners association from installing claymores in my yard. Heck, I don’t even own any night vision optics. I just a private citizen who wants to see his family to survive. Faced with a SHTF event, I know that the acquisition of Water, Food, Shelter, and Security will be imperative to ensuring my family’s survival.

Most coastal Floridians have already faced SHTF scenarios—we call them hurricanes, and we take our hurricane preparedness seriously. Since Hurricane Andrew destroyed the southern tip of Florida in 1992, many households have maintained a family sized “hurricane box” containing enough gear and supplies for the home team to survive for at least a few of days. That may not seem like a lot by Prepper standards, but the hurricane box is not part of our Prepper provisions. It’s just a seasonal precaution. We stock the hurricane box in spring, watch the Weather Channel from May (Caribbean hurricane season) through October (Atlantic hurricane season), consume our hurricane supplies through winter, and restock the following spring. This rotation keeps stock fresh and it beats having to run to Publix for a last-minute can of green beans so my wife can whip up one of her tasty casseroles. Preparing for the future requires forethought; the more you accomplish before an emergency event, the less you’ll need to accomplish during or after one. Stockpiling alone, however, can only carry you so far. You must be able to find renewable food sources. Once the SHTF, it will be too late to harvest Ramen at Walmart. Even if you could get your hands on that last brick of tasty noodles, fighting a gang of thugs for looting privileges is not sound tactical advice. If the gangs control your local Walmart, what then? Wouldn’t you rather be able to safely feed you’re your family from home than having to wander the means streets of some post-apocalyptic city scavenging for a nice clean dumpster? So, let’s assume you’ve already taken care of your short-term physical needs. You’ve got plenty of Evian and MRE’s on hand, your storm shutters are up, and everyone on your team who’s tall enough to ride the bog roller-coaster is strapped. No gun fight at the OK Walmart for you, but what about long-term survival? What about replenishment provisions? Have you considered that once your MRE’s run out, you will need to restock your larder with what you can hunt, fish, or grow?

Florida waters are teeming with fish, crabs, shrimp, crawdads, and turtles, not to mention the abundant squirrels, and various fowl that populate our area—with the notable exceptions of birds of prey and carrion eaters, pretty much most fowl are edible. For deer and hogs, we would need to go further afield. Barring a catastrophic decimation of wildlife, protein will most likely not be a problem for Floridians, especially for those of us living along the Coast. Carbs, however, will be much harder to come by.

The average healthy adult requires approximately 200-300 grams of carbohydrates daily.1 My favorite carb is rice, but what we’ve stored won’t last forever. We could try growing our own, but growing rice is a complete mystery involving paddies and some kind of water buffalo. We could try going native by harvesting acorns—a good source of carbs: 1 oz dried acorn (2-3 acorns) contains 14.6 gr. of carbs—but the acorns in South Florida tend to be rather small, and harvesting them is labor intensive, requiring patience and lots of water for blanching out the tannic acid. Acorns are a great supplement—make acorn-raisin cookie—but they are not a staple food.

The Lowly Sweet Potato

To resolve to the how-to-get-enough-carbs-so-I-don’t-starve dilemma, I would recommend the same carbohydrate-rich staple that was grown by the Seminole and Miccosukee and helped them survive as a people while they waged a forty-year long guerilla war. Even if you’re able to fight off the first wave of spam-starved zombies, a single-family dwelling can suffer an extensive amount of damage from a break-in, let alone a firefight. During a SHTF event, we must be able to survive off-grid inconspicuously. This means living under-the-radar. It’s your choice; you can hang a “Welcome” sign over your green house door, or you can hide your food source in plain sight. Because they are so well camouflaged, the only true enemies of these delicious uber tubers are mice, floods, and weed whackers. It grows wild in many parts of the South, not just in Florida. The sweet potato is not a magical cure-all food, but it does have many dietary and strategic qualities that American Preppers may find advantageous. A store-bought sweet potato weighing approximately 7 oz. contains about 3 gr. of carbs while the same amount of rice has almost three times as many carbs (11 gr.), rice is labor intensive. Have you ever tried hitching a water buffalo to a rice plow? Though it lacks the carbs of rice, an average-sized sweet potato does possess many other essential nutrients including: potassium (48 gr), Vitamin A (2,026 IU), and Beta-carotene (1,215 mcg).3

The Growing Process

When germinating sweet potatoes, I employ the “science project” method. It is the skin that produces the buds or “eyes” that become roots, so all you will need is the outer portion of the potato. Slice out one-inch wide slips of skin from the potato. Make them about as half as thick as a pencil (1/8 inch) to lend support to the skin. Suspend—do not submerge—the inch-wide slips of skin in cool tap water by using string to form a “hammock” or tooth picks spears to hold the slips at water level, skin side down. Each slip should have its own container; too many slips in a confined space can cause the delicate sprouting roots to tangle. Direct sunlight can quickly bake young sprouts, so store them in indirect sunlight.

In about two weeks, you should see several healthy root tendrils sprouting downward from the slips into the water. When the tendrils grow to about six inches in length, it’s time for planting. Gently remove the sprouted slips from their containers and plant them about 4-6 inches deep and about 12 inches apart.4 Much of the soil in South Florida tends to be sandy and poor, so you may need to prep your soil before planting. My property is sandy and wonderful for growing sandspurs—they are the reason Floridians don’t walk around bare-footed. I do not prepare my soil before planting sweet potatoes. The whole point of the exercise is to establish a renewable food source that will grow well without any help from me. After about three to four months—depending on the variety of sweet potato, rainfall, soil, soil prep, pests, etc.—the crop will be ready to harvest. You’ll know it’s time to harvest when the leaves turn yellow on the vine, and the growing tubers cause the ground to bulge as though there were moles tunneling beneath the soil. I live in Hardiness Zone 10 (South Florida); your results will definitely vary.

Sweet potato vines can cover ground almost as quickly as kudzu and drop roots at the nodes their entire length. The potatoes grow close to the surface and can be harvested easily with bare hands. I don’t use my bare hands because Florida is home to the dreaded Brazilian Fire Ant, six different venomous serpents, and an ever-growing population of pythons. This is a genuine concern when weeding or harvesting because sweet potatoes attract rodents which in turn attract snakes, and the ground cover from the leaves can be so dense that you would never notice a coiled pygmy rattler until too late. All the prepping in the world won’t save you from a coral snake bite either—they are part of cobra family—with no way to refrigerate rare anti-venom serum during a SHTF scenario. “Don’t stick your hand in there!” is a good rule to live by in Florida, so use a little common sense and employ a small cultivator rake carefully to avoid damaging your crop.

For my first attempt at sweet potato gardening, I cut eight slips, but two failed to germinate. I planted the remaining six slips in a three-foot by five-foot patch of well-drained sandy soil. My little garden yielded 14 medium-to-large sweet taters. These were germinated from one store-bought potato. Not too bad for a first attempt considering the small size of the plot and the fact that I did not water at all. The Florida August monsoons did the watering for me. The rains come so regularly in late summer, between 3:00PM and 5:00PM, that you can practically set your watch by them. That particular crop of even survived a record-breaking three-day freeze just prior to harvest. A three-day freeze might not impress most Northerners, but it is big news in South Florida.

After my first crop, I let the vines continue to grow on their own, hoping for a second picking from the same planting. Unfortunately, the potatoes did not survive my wife’s attempt to clean up the back yard with the weed whacker. The best sweet potatoes are the large ones near the original slip planting. The further away from the original plant that the nodes take root and become potatoes, the smaller the tuber will be. The stunted golf ball-sized sweet potatoes, though still technically edible, are rough and not very tasty. These became seed crop for the next planting.

Another nice thing about the sweet potato is that it can be grown almost anywhere: apartment window boxes, small backyard gardens, empty lots downtown, power line easements, around the edges of county parks, or the woods behind your house. With their dramatic purple blossoms, the attractive broad-leafed vines are used as an ornamental plant. They make such great ground cover that they are regularly incorporated into landscaping around buildings, mailboxes, lakes, canals, trees, and other shrubbery.

There is a storm canal easement behind our property. Like Johnny Apple Seed, I’ve started planting germinated slips on this property. Several plantings have taken root and are growing well. When the summer rains begin, they should really take off. The early success of this off-property experiment has encouraged me to try other locations. I’ve germinated and planted sweet potatoes at my mom’s house, my brother’s house, and at a friend’s house. They’re going to enjoy the attractive ground cover around their shrubs, and I will enjoy helping them establish a prolific and renewable emergency food source.

I’ve started scouting other areas as well for strategic planting locations that will be self-sustaining. Anticipating future fuel shortages, I’ve kept my scouting to within bicycling distance from my property. There is a long tract of scrub woods along the river near our home which will make a good planting zone as the average non-agricultural zombie wouldn’t know the difference between potato vines and kudzu. My plan is to hide a strategic and productive potato pantry in plain sight. Nope, there’s no excuse for starving in Florida.